You are viewing a story from harrypotterfanfiction.com
View Online
Format: Novel
Chapters: 60
Word Count: 202,574
Status: COMPLETED
Rating: 15+
Warnings: Mild Language, Strong Violence, Scenes of a Mild Sexual Nature,
Genres: Romance, Action/Adventure, AU
Characters: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, Lupin, Snape, Voldemort, Draco, Pansy, OC
Pairings: Ron/Hermione, Harry/OC, Other Pairing
First Published: 02/09/2005
Last Chapter: 03/10/2005
Last Updated: 04/26/2007
Summary:
Thanks to trixytonks for the FABULOUS new banner!!! In the Golden Trio's sixth year, Hogwarts receives its first ever group of foreign exchange students from all over the world, including the daughter of US Aurors. As the war starts in earnest, some join in to make a difference. Follow Harry and his friends through the end of the war.
DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it. And I make no money from it.
"We welcome you to Hogwarts," said Deputy Headmistress Professor McGonagall with a severe sort of smile. The little knot of students nodded their thanks, looking nervous, trying to look cool. They were, after all, sixth and seventh years.
"One of the traditions that we observe here at Hogwarts is the Sorting Hat," she went on. "This will place you in your House, which will be your home away from home, your surrogate family. You have all chosen to be Sorted publicly, and so when I call your name, please come forward, sit on the stool, and I will place the Hat upon your head. It will announce your House."
There was a slight shifting among the group, and before McGonagall could say "Adamson, Angela," a confident blond girl stepped forward. She perched on the stool with a bounce and rolled her eyes up to watch for the brim of the hat. After only a moment, it called, "Hufflepuff!"
The students watched this Sorting much more avidly than they had the first-years. There had never been international transfer students there, as far as they knew, only visitors from rival European schools the one time, for the Triwizard Tournament. Benjamin, Ira, was tall and lanky, and went to Ravenclaw. Brookes, Shelby, went to Slytherin. Cameron, Graínne, was the first Gryffindor. Harry watched her heart-shaped face, which was very solemn, with a certain detachment, although he sensed Ron and Seamus coming to attention to his left, and Hermione across the table sitting up, too. She was, he noticed, very pretty. There was more about her than looks, though what it was he couldn’t tell. Whatever it was slipped through his dulled senses and made him alert to her, when normally he would not have noticed her at all. The candles of the Great Hall, though bright enough, failed to show just what color her hair was, only that it was dark but not black, and very curly, pulled back from her face. She dropped onto the bench by Ginny Weasley, who welcomed her pleasantly.
Gryffindor also gained two boys in the Sorting, Lynford Ross and Joe Welles. Harry nodded a greeting to them as they joined the table, smiling benignly. His insides were aching with hunger-- he had gone through another growth spurt on the train, he was sure-- and he just wanted the formalities over. He had also caught a glimpse of a new Slytherin that made him wonder: pale and pointed like Malfoy, they looked like brothers. However, hunger was uppermost.
"Welcome to Gryffindor," said Nearly Headless Nick cheerfully, to the newcomers as the food appeared. "From whence do you hail?"
"I’m from Northern Witchcraft and Wizardry, in Michigan," said Joe Welles. "We call it Northern WW. My dad got transferred to Birmingham in his job. He’s a Muggle."
"I went to Sturdonville," said Lynford Ross in a deep-South drawl. He had a pleasant voice, deep and calming. He was tall and thin like Ron, but his hair and eyes were dark, and his skin was deeply tanned. "It’s in Georgia."
"Are all the transfers from the US?" Hermione asked curiously.
“Um, no, some were from other countries. There’s one girl from Africa, and a guy from South America, that I know of." Lynford tasted the pumpkin juice cautiously. "But I didn’t meet everyone."
"Neither did I. What about you, Cameron?" called Joe Welles, leaning a little to catch the girl’s eye. "Where are you from?"
"Thunder Hall," she answered quietly. "Colorado."
"It’s a Scottish name, though," Seamus pointed out.
She nodded. "My parents went to school here."
"Really?" Harry asked. "Mine did too. A lot of us are legacies, in fact. How long ago?"
"Oh, ages. My parents went to the US over twenty years ago." She eyed him very briefly, but Harry had the feeling it was a thorough inventory. "I’ll ask them, though. What are their names? Maybe they knew each other after all. My mom has a good memory."
"James and Lily Potter. Uh, Lily Evans," he corrected.
He was watching her for a reaction. She only nodded, and said, "That must mean you’re Harry. I’m Graínne."
"Grawnyah?" Ron echoed, wanting to make sure he got it right.
"Yes. As this one has surmised, it’s Scottish. My parents are both from the clans." She had indicated Seamus with her eyes, but now she looked up at the ceiling and around at the walls. "This is a gorgeous place. You’re very lucky." Despite her flat American accent, she spoke very precise English.
"What’s Thunder Hall like?" Ginny asked.
"Stuck up," said Welles with a laugh.
"Not nearly so much style, architecturally speaking," said Graínne Cameron, ignoring him pointedly. "It’s in the mountains, very isolated. The buildings are probably all just as big, but not so great to look at, more institutional and utilitarian, not nearly so old. Academically, it’s probably one of the best in the Western Hemisphere. And they are very long on learning good manners." Though she never looked at Welles, everyone knew it was a barb aimed at him, and he had the grace to blush.
"Do you play Quidditch there?" Harry asked, looking at Graínne, but meaning the US.
"Yes," she replied. "The schools often have better teams than the amateur leagues."
"Thunder Hall teams are rated the best amateur Quidditch teams in the whole country," said Lynford fairly. "Better than the adult amateur leagues, and better than a lot of semi-pro teams."
"That’s where I’ve seen you before!" ejaculated Welles. "You have twin brothers, don’t you? They’re Beaters, and you’re a Seeker--"
"No. You’re right about Jamie and John, they are Beaters. Or maybe you mean Will and David, they’re twins, too, only they were Chasers in school. The Js are identical."
"But do you play?" Ginny persisted.
"Ginny!" interrupted Colin Creevey. "Professor McGonagall wants the prefects!"
Harry now found himself next to Graínne Cameron. "Do you?" he asked.
"I have," she said at last, pushing her potatoes around. "But your teams are probably all set by now. Summer try-outs and Quidditch camp?"
"No, our season doesn’t start until October. We don’t do any pre-season preparations or camps or anything, but I wish we could. We’re looking for Beaters and Chasers. I know Ginny’s going to try out for Chaser, but there are still three other openings."
"Who is Ginny? That nice one who just left? Oh. And do you play?"
“He’s team Captain," put in Seamus Finnigan proudly.
"Seeker. What did you play at Thunder Hall?"
"Chaser. Keeper, a few years back, during a desperate few months. It was ugly. I played Seeker my first year."
"This is Ron Weasley, our Keeper, and that’s our friend Hermione Granger. This is Seamus Finnegan, he’s a sixth year too, and Ginny’s Ron’s sister, she’s a fifth-year. That’s Dean Thomas, over there, on your other side. And you’ve met Welles and Ross, apparently."
"Howdoyoudo?" she said automatically, nodding to each. She shook the hand that Hermione stuck out over the table. So far, she had only given them a little smile, in the way of expression, but something in Hermione’s face made her relax, and her smile became dazzling.
"You’ll be rooming with us," said Hermione, returning the smile. "Very top of the tower. Gryffindor is definitely the best House."
"She’s only a little biased," said Ron.
When the last of the desserts had faded away from the golden plates, Professor Dumbledore stood up and addressed the school. Harry paid attention, but his eyes kept straying to the curly dark hair beside him. It was in a single braid, which hung down to her waist, and was as thick as his wrist. He had a suspicion it was dark red. She was shorter than he, and her hands were graceful, but they looked strong, too. She never moved while Dumbledore was speaking, and afterwards she looked around at her tablemates. Harry’s was the only eye she caught in the scramble to go up to bed.
"Is that a half-giant?" she asked softly.
"Hagrid, yeah. He’s a right one. Care of Magical Creatures."
"Oh. And the dark, greasy one?"
"Snape. Potions."
She gazed up at him. "You hate him, I see."
"Devoutly. And it’s quite mutual."
"Mmm. And the vice—I mean deputy headmistress?"
"Professor McGonagall? Transfiguration. Also Gryffindor Head."
"Ah. I should have known. That explains – and she’s our Head of House? Where is this House to which I now belong?"
For the first time in months, Harry smiled, though it was just a small one, and rather painful in coming forth, as if he wasn’t used to it. "I hope you don’t mind stairs."
---------------
Graínne Cameron peered through the door of the dormitory. "Is this where I am supposed to be?" she asked humbly.
"Ah, there you are! I lost sight of you after the feast, I meant to bring you up here and show you around. Your trunks are just there, that’s the empty bed. Only it’s yours, now. This is Lavender Brown, and this is Parvati Patil. Ladies, this is Graínne Cameron."
"Hi," said the two girls, smiling.
"Hi," answered Graínne. "Just us four?"
"Yep."
"Super. Do you all like chocolate?" She opened the smaller of the two trunks.
"Who doesn’t?" giggled Lavender.
Graínne pulled out foil-wrapped chocolates shaped like rosebuds. "My mother’s pretty old-school, and believes that newcomers should bring gifts. These are from Bridgers Confections in New York City. It’s the best wizard candy in the States, they say." She unwrapped one for herself. "I always have room for chocolate, especially around that time!"
Parvati laughed, and Hermione nodded knowingly. Lavender looked faintly embarrassed, but she giggled. Apparently sisterhood superseded the national reputation for reserved demeanor.
They chatted while unpacking, tacking up pictures and posters, preparing for bed. Suddenly Ginny knocked and put her head in at the door. "All right, Graínne?"
"Cheers, Ginny," said Graínne with a grin that charmed all of them. "Us red-heads have to stick together. You’re a prefect?"
"Yeah. Don’t hold it against me. Hey, what kind of broom is that?"
"It’s a Thor." She stretched out her hand, and the broom hopped off its rack on the wall into her hand. She held it out to Ginny. "American. It ranks with the Firebolt in independent consumer studies. Rumor has it that the new model is going to be tapped for the World Cup in two years."
"It looks sharp. It has to be fast if it’s ranked with the Firebolt. Our Seeker has one."
"Wow. I’ve read they’re really good. I’ve wrecked a broom a year since I was nine. This is the only one I’ve had longer than nine months, and I like it better than any of its predecessors. I never had a Firebolt, though, only American brooms. They don’t have the import duties on them, and my parents, being good Scots, are cheap."
"Are you going to try out for the team?" Ginny gave it back and accepted a chocolate rose.
"I don’t know. Maybe. I had thought your teams would be set already, so I didn’t give it much consideration. And I didn’t want to seem like a pushy bossy American."
"Why did you transfer, Graínne?" asked Parvati, as Lavender looked embarrassed. It was so patently her opinion of Americans, being the loudly-voiced opinion in her home, that she was embarrassed to find it voiced here, by an American. It was like having a secret discovered.
"Oh, my parents have been contracted by the Ministry of Magic. My younger brothers stayed in Colorado with my oldest brother and his family. They’re still at Thunder Hall. I was going to stay there, too, but a chance to come here to school -- I wasn’t going to miss it."
"I don’t know, what you were saying about Thunder Hall sounded like it’s a pretty good school," said Hermione.
"But it doesn’t have Professor Dumbledore. He’s legend." She tacked up a photo of a large group of people, mostly boys. Most of the boys had dark brown hair and laughing blue eyes. Graínne and her mother had dark red curls and dark green eyes. Her dad was like the boys, except he was going gray. One of the boys, though, had dark blond hair and gray eyes.
"Wow, those are all your relatives?" asked Parvati.
"No, not all. Just the immediate family. My parents, my brothers Bart, Will, Dave, Charlie, Johnnie, Jamie, Fergus, and Bruce."
"I’m an only child," said Hermione. "Wow! They’re all hot, Graínne, even the young ones! Will they come to visit you, I hope?"
She laughed. "Will and Dave, maybe. Bart is looking after the brats--he’s married, anyway, and Charlie doesn’t go out of his way for anyone."
"Let me know if they do come to visit," yawned Ginny. "I’m for bed. Good night, ladies."
They called their wishes for her rest after her as she went out. Graínne pulled off her robes and sat down to jack off her boots with a quaint wooden tool that she used and tossed back into her trunk. The Muggle clothes she had on were extremely cool, narrow-cut hip-hugger jeans and a fitted shirt that showed a slender waist and a curvy figure. "It has been such a long day. I could sleep for a week!"
"Well, unfortunately, we only have about eight hours available right off the bat," Hermione answered, unbuttoning her skirt. "Hey, you photos, about-face!"
Obligingly, all the figures in the photos turned around. Graínne stripped out of her clothes along with the others and slipped into her flannel pajamas. "I don’t think I brought enough warm clothes," she said with a shiver. "Is it still the first of September?"
"All day. And wait until January," Parvati told her. "Castles may be picturesque, but they’re as cold and drafty as the great outdoors."
Soon they settled down, and the candles were extinguished. Graínne, restless, looked out the window over the grounds below for a while before closing the red velvet hangings around the head of her four-poster bed. So far she liked it here. Her roommates were nice, her house-mates seemed to accept her. She just wished she could go home on Friday.
Professor McGonagall handed her a card with a smile. "How is your mother, Graínne?"
"Just fine, ma’am. She and Da both send their greetings. They’re looking forward to work."
"Indeed. We are very pleased that she and Rory have returned." She passed on down the table, giving out class schedules.
Hermione seemed to understand this exchange, but the others looked around questioningly.
"What did she mean?" asked Ron.
"My parents are working on assignment with the Ministry of Magic. They’re Aurors."
"Really? Cool!"
"That’s what I’d like to do," said Harry. "I didn’t get a good enough O.W.L in Transfiguration or Potions, though. I’m on probation for N.E.W.T.s. So my nose is to the grindstone. I can’t slip up at all."
"Funny, you struck me as an apt student," Graínne said, turning to her coffee.
"Surprise," he answered dryly.
"Why are the Mondays always so painful?" Ron demanded, looking at his schedule. "Look, Double Potions.... Astronomy, Charms, Magical Creatures, those aren’t so bad. Hey, Graínne, you have those classes? Great. What’s that ‘language block’ thing there?" He leaned to look over her shoulder.
"Oh, I’m studying some different languages. That’s when I’ll be meeting with tutors."
"Really?" Hermione looked up from the Daily Prophet. "Which ones?"
"Goblin, Hungarian, Russian, Giant, and Portuguese."
"Why d’you want to study all those languages?"
"Because it’s easier than Arithmancy," she said with a grin.
"Diplomatic corps?" Harry guessed.
She laughed. "I’m way too...candid for that work." She drained her cup and looked purposefully and calculatingly at the Slytherin table. Her expression was not friendly, and she frankly looked dangerous. "Who is that white-haired jerk? He keeps looking at me."
"Which one?" said Ginny, unable to keep the disgust from her voice. “I saw they picked up a demon twin last night in the Sorting.”
"Well, the one we know is Draco Malfoy. The other is a transfer. I didn’t catch his name last night. They look like near relatives, don’t they?" said Hermione thoughtfully.
"Most pure-bloods in Britain are related somehow," said Seamus, who was half-Muggle. "Say, Ron, does that mean you and Malfoy are somehow linked?"
Ron looked alarmed. "Blimey! I hope not!"
"Maybe by marriage," said Harry, thinking back to the tapestry of the House of Black. "You were related to Sirius by marriage and by blood, and he was related by marriage to Lucius Malfoy. Draco was his second cousin or something."
"I don’t mind being related to Sirius, even given what his mum was," Ron replied darkly, "but Malfoys? That’s too far. Daresay they wouldn’t admit being connected to the Weasleys, either. Mutual, I’d say. And that suits me fine."
"He looks bad," said Graínne thoughtfully. "Something about his eyes. Funny, isn’t it, how the evil inside spoils the outside looks. Good for the innocent, though, so they can see what’s coming."
Before Harry could respond to this extraordinary and insightful idea, someone tapped his arm.
"Harry," said Ernie MacMillan, bending down to speak softly. "Are we continuing D.A. meetings this year?"
Harry felt a pang, casting a quick glance at Ron and Hermione. Ron still had scars on his arms, and Hermione, he knew, still had to take a potion every day (just one, now, down from ten right after she’d been injured) as a result of their end of the year activities with Dumbledore’s Army. And that was where Sirius had been killed. "Surely that won’t be necessary," he began.
"Depends on the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, doesn’t it?" said Hermione matter-of-factly. "If it’s another git, we’ll have to carry on."
"Who is it?" Ron craned his neck to see the head table, which was only half full.
"According to our schedule, it’s someone named Professor Ferguson."
Graínne picked up her book bag. "Where the heck is the dungeon for this Potions class?"
"Oh, it isn’t that far from here. We have a couple minutes. Let me see your schedule, we’ll figure out who is going where, and can show you the way." Hermione reached for her card.
"Whatever you do, don’t ask a Slytherin, and don’t ask Peeves," Harry warned her blandly. "They’ll both send you the wrong way. And you could get hurt, with Peeves."
"Who is Peeves?"
"Poltergeist," said Ginny shortly. "He’s a pain to all, loyal to none. Although after what he did to Umbridge, I’m rather fond of him."
"Who is Umbridge?"
"That’s a long story," said Hermione. "I’ll tell you later. Suffice it to say, she was temporarily in charge of trying to destroy the school last year."
"Did a damn good job, too," said Harry quietly.
"In the end, she was removed, and then she was chased off the grounds by Peeves," Hermione went on. "She was an evil old toad."
"We call them something else, where I come from," said Graínne calmly.
"Well, she was that, too, but it isn’t a strong enough epithet. She just happened to look like a toad." Hermione picked up her book bag. “The worst of it was, she was so evil, and she wasn’t even the enemy.”
The Potions classroom was not too far from the Great Hall. Graínne had stopped in the girls’ bathroom, and therefore slipped into the classroom on her own, just as Professor Snape was coming to shut the door. He stared at her coolly.
"Name?"
"Cameron, sir."
"Nearly late, Miss Cameron."
The bell rang to start the class. "Yes sir, nearly." She smiled dazzlingly.
"Take a seat." No sign of a return smile, or that he even saw it, but it didn’t seem to dampen Graínne’s attitude at all.
She retreated toward the only seat left among the Gryffindors. No boy in the room had been immune to that smile who saw it, regardless of his House, but their reactions varied. A leg shot out into the aisle, just in front of her, but with cat-like reflexes, she kicked the ankle sharply with the pointed toe of her black cowboy boot, stomped the arch of the foot with her heel, and when Crabbe yelled in pain, she turned solicitously to him, accidentally smashing his shoulder with her heavy courier book bag. "Oh you poor thing! I didn’t see your little leg sticking out there into the aisle like that! Did I hurt you?" she asked in a sweet, worried, and totally falsely concerned voice.
The idea that this small girl could hurt meaty Crabbe and call him “little” caused laughter throughout the entire room, even the Slytherins. He shook his head, eyes watering, and Graínne continued to the chair in front of Harry, next to Dean and Seamus.
The potion was difficult. Snape paced around, making nasty comments wherever there was a Gryffindor having problems. His remarks were so cutting and snide that Graínne was arrested in her work several times to stare at him in disbelief. When he approached her cauldron at the most critical phase of the potion and spoke to her, she answered distractedly, without taking her eyes off her dropper. In the middle of her reply to him about the O.W.L grade she had earned the year before, she actually counted to seven, watching drops of pomegranate juice fall from the tip. She stirred the required number of times and set her timer for four minutes before finishing her reply.
"Pardon me, Professor. I received an outstanding in Potions." She looked him in the eye.
Snape stared back. "With whom did you study?"
"Professor Josephina Keller-Glass."
His eyebrows shot up. "Quite impressive. An outstanding from Professor Keller-Glass is an achievement worth mentioning. I wonder that she did not mention you to me."
"Oh, she probably wasn’t aware of my transfer. She retired at the end of last term, sir." She turned to her cutting board to chop her roots. It was as if she had dismissed him.
"Are you being rude, Miss Cameron?"
"Oh no, sir. Only if I want this potion to be just right, I have to get these roots chopped soon, so they are at the right stage to add at the right time." She didn’t look up.
Harry had to hand it to her: she did not lose her temper at his persistent questions, she gave him no reason to be rude to her, and she did not allow him to distract her into making a mistake. He wished dismally that he had the same self-control when it came to Snape.
Snape, irritated that he had not thrown all of the new Gryffindors (he had already panicked Ross and Welles), vented his spleen on Harry next moment. Resolutely, Harry said only the answers to the questions asked, and added sir without being prompted. He was determined to control his temper with Snape. Much as he hated Snape, he had decided to treat his as immature and therefore contemptible behavior. He noticed, though, how carefully Snape avoided reference to the past.
Directly after class, Snape called Graínne forward. "A moment of your time, Miss Cameron. You can wait outside, Finnegan."
She stood while the rest of the classes filed out. Harry went out like the rest, but he squatted shamelessly outside the closed door afterward and stuffed an Extendable Ear into place.
"I would have heard from Josephina if she had given an Outstanding," he began.
"But it was an O.W.L, Professor Snape. I am not aware that she even received the exam results. She was not on the examiners board for that school because she taught at that school, and I believe she was taking a cruise to celebrate her retirement when exam results came out, sir." Graínne’s voice was as calm and cool as ever. There was a short pause. Harry relayed the gist of the conversation in a whisper to the others waiting outside the door with him.
"Where did you study Occlumency?"
Harry sat down abruptly.
"At home. Sir."
"Have you something to hide, Cameron?"
"Nothing that would ostensibly be any of your business, sir."
"Do not trifle with me. I can make it very miserable for you here."
"Yes sir, I’m sure you can. And I have no intention of trifling with you, sir. But my private thoughts are no concern of yours, as I am sure you will agree. Sir."
"I doubt you have any real idea of what is and is not my concern, Cameron. Watch your step here. Hogwarts can be a very dangerous place."
"Yes sir, thank you for that threat...ening-sounding warning. Am I dismissed?"
"Get out of here."
Harry hastily yanked the Extendable Ear back and wadded it up, shoving it into his pocket as the door opened. Hermione had gone to the library for a moment before Astronomy, so there were only boys left waiting for her. "All right?" he asked quietly, turning his back on the door before Snape came out.
"All right," she answered with a suggestion of a sigh. "What’s next?"
"Astronomy, if we’re all still together," said Ron.
As that was an easy class, comparatively, Harry relaxed. Snape had been intent on embarrassing him or making him lose his temper in front of the class, but Harry had been in control today. Sinistra wasn’t out to get anyone. The Astronomy room was arranged in a circle, so that models of the solar systems could be seen by all. Harry and Ron dropped into chairs on the north side of the room, and Graínne slid in beside Lavender and Parvati on the east side. Dean and Seamus chose the west side of the room, and Harry suspected it was so they could watch the girls. Hermione slipped in at the last moment and sat beside Ron. Resolutely, Harry paid attention to Professor Sinistra, but once he glanced at Graínne, and found her looking his way.
Neville, who was sitting a row back from Harry, nudged him when the lesson was over. "The new girl was watching you. I think she’s pretty," he whispered.
"Yeah? I guess she is," said Harry casually, as if he had not noticed this before. However, his stomach gave a lurch. "I’m starving. Wotcher, Justin. Good holidays?"
"Very good, yeah," answered Justin Finch-Fletchley, shaking the hand Harry held out to him. "Started taking the Daily Prophet, just to keep up on the news, you know. My mum like to freaked out. She read the series on You-Know-Who like it was a novel she couldn’t wait to finish. She almost didn’t want me to come back, worried that it wasn’t safe." His eyes strayed to Graínne.
"Safest place in Britain," said Ron with a shrug. "Mind you, that isn’t saying much. Allow me, Graínne," he said, hastening forward to pick up the book that had fallen off her desk. "I wish it was lunch time. I could eat a hippogriff."
"Hello, you’re new," said Justin to Graínne, since no one offered to introduce her.
"Yes, I am. Graínne Cameron." Her hands were full so she didn’t offer one.
"Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hufflepuff. Welcome to Hogwarts."
"Thanks." She gave a little smile and went on with Parvati and Neville.
"Not much for talking, is she," Justin observed.
"Maybe she’s just shy. She’s been meeting a lot of people, last two days." Hermione handed a stack of brochures to Justin. "Information meeting on Wednesday about Dueling Club, hand these out, especially to fourths and under. As officers, it’s our job to promote."
"Oh. Thanks."
The next class was Charms. Graínne had nice, precise wandwork, but her repertoire of Charms was curiously small. The speed with which she picked up a spell they had learned two years before was astonishing. "You see, class, when you have mastered the basics of motion and enunciation, it is more than half the work done," squeaked Flitwick as Graínne performed the new charm on the first try.
"You had that one before," Ron accused good-naturedly as the professor went on his way.
"I honestly did not," she laughed, which charmed Ron. "I haven’t had much practical work, though. Lots of theory."
The others glanced at each other darkly.
"What did I say?" She became very still, and her book pages stopped turning.
"Oh, that’s just what Umbridge said last year, tried to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts by teaching only theory--" said Hermione.
"And bass-ackward theory at that," Ron ejaculated. "All about non-violent alternatives, legal magical response, bilge like that. As if you’re going to be discussing what’s legal when a great dirty Death Eater is shooting Cruciatus at you."
"Slinkhard?"
"What?" asked Ron.
"Yes, that’s the book," said Hermione. "You know it?"
"I saw it. It passed around Thunder Hall, but we all thought it was just a joke."
"Well, it was, but it wasn’t meant to be," she answered ominously.
Lunch in the Hall was always noisy. Graínne came in after her classmates were already at table, sliding into a seat next to Hermione across from Harry. Her face was flushed, but she seemed calm otherwise. Raucous laughter from Slytherin drew his attention to Pansy Parkinson giving an impression of something, to the delight of the others.
"Are they bothering you?" Harry asked softly, and Graínne seemed to know he was speaking to her. "I mean other than by merely existing?"
Suddenly she chuckled. "Yeah, and yeah. I guess embarrassing moments wouldn’t be so embarrassing without hostile witnesses, would they?"
He nodded knowingly. "Try the shepherd’s pie. It’s good."
She flashed him a smile that jarred his stomach. She was pretty, but when she smiled, she was much better. "Thanks, Harry."
"Quidditch tryouts on Friday, Harry?" asked Ginny, sitting down with them.
"Right." He glanced at Graínne, wondering if she would try out. Wondering if she was really good at Occlumency. Wondering how he could find out if she had a boyfriend back in the States, and would Ginny be trustworthy enough to find out for him.
An owl landed on the table in front of Graínne halfway through the meal, a little white envelope in its beak. It soared away as soon as she took it.
"What’s up? Late mail?" Parvati asked absently.
"Not really. I’ve been summoned to the Headmaster. I haven’t done anything to get into trouble yet!" For the first time, Graínne Cameron looked something other than calm and collected. She looked flustered and anxious.
"Then you don’t need to worry. What do you mean, yet?" Ginny demanded, pretending to be stern. It made Graínne snort with laughter, but only briefly.
“Dumbledore’s all right, he won’t give you a hard time," Ron reassured her.
"Really? No anti-American views, or anything like that?" She looked at him, craving reassurance with her expression. Harry found it every bit as appealing as the smile.
"Not that we’ve ever heard, and we know him pretty well. Of course, we’ve never had to deal with Yanks. No offense." Ron was busy shoveling in food, and missed her look.
"None taken. Two o’clock at his office. Where is his office?"
"I have a free period then, I can show you," Harry offered.
"Thanks." She shot him a grateful look, and pushed her plate away.
"Eat up, now, there’s nothing to worry about," said Hermione bracingly. "I swear, unless you are a Death Eater in disguise, you have nothing to worry about."
Half-heartedly, Graínne pulled her plate toward her again, and managed to eat about half. She listened to the conversation around her without entering into it, answering questions directed at her as shortly as possible without being rude. After lunch, they headed out into the entry hall.
"You’d better report to your class, even if it’s only a half hour. I’ll meet you here at five minutes to two. Be prompt, it’s almost five minutes from here," Harry told her, thinking that this must be how a big brother would feel. He didn’t realize he wasn’t feeling remotely fraternal. "Wait, where is your class?"
"Room eleven," she said, pointing to the door.
"Divination?"
She sighed. "I couldn’t get into Ancient Runes without some remediation. Here, five til."
"Right. Enjoy Firenz." He watched her go in, and headed for the library.
--------------
He was waiting for her when she came out, and smiled a greeting. "Got your note? It’s your excuse if you get stopped by Filch."
"What’s a Filch?" She slung her book bag onto her back.
"A caretaker. He patrols the halls with the mistaken conviction that one, it’s his job, and two, students are the bane of the school and ought to be eradicated."
She smiled. "I see. Why’s he still here?"
"Dunno. He can still do his job, I guess. Dumbledore is not large of getting rid of people." He slanted a look at her. "Will you try out for Quidditch?" he asked after a moment.
"Hm? Oh, if there’s an opening on the team, sure. But do I really have a right to sail in here from the US and take positions on the team from the natives?"
"Look, the school population isn’t so dense that we’re overrun with talent in this department. Unless the second-years are full of junior Quinns and Aidans, you won’t be taking anyone’s place from them, and their broom-riding grades from Professor Hooch weren’t promising. Last year we barely squeaked through. The Beaters both told me they would rather die than do that again, and they resigned at the end of last year. And Katie Bell is the only Chaser I have left, after Angelina and Alicia graduated. I need talent. If you’ve played on such reputable teams, then you owe it to your House to try out."
She laughed suddenly, despite being nervous about meeting the Headmaster. "My duty," she said with a grin. "Well, that would be one time when duty was joy. I’ll try out, but if there’s anyone local who deserves to play, even remotely, I’ll step back."
"If you’re good, no one is going to deny you the right to play. Least of all me. This is it. Did he give you a password?"
"No. There’s no bell?"
"Nope. Let’s try *Fizzing Whizbees.*"
Nothing happened.
"Should have known, that was last year’s. *Lemon drop. Cockroach cluster. Chocolate Frog.*"
The gargoyle leapt to life, and the wall split open. A voice called down, "Good afternoon, Miss Cameron. Harry, is that you? Come up a moment, won’t you?"
Together they stepped onto the moving stairway. Harry heard her mutter, "This is so cool!"
The oak door was open, and Dumbledore smiled benignly, holding out his hands to them in greeting. "I appreciate you showing her the way, Harry. I wonder if you would carry a message down to Professor Ferguson for me, if you are free?"
"Yes sir." He accepted the sealed scroll and waved to Graínne, and went out.
Dumbledore turned a mild gaze upon Graínne, and gestured to a chair facing his desk. "Please sit down, Miss Cameron. I normally do not need to attend to individual students, since I have an excellent staff to meet their needs and analyze their data. Harry, you are wasting time trying to eavesdrop." His voice and inflection never changed from what had preceded it, but there was a moment of silence and a distant rumble as the wall closed at the foot of the revolving stairs. A smile twinkled in Dumbledore’s eyes. "How have you found it so far, this transfer business?"
"Not as hard as I expected, sir. Most of the Gryffindors have accepted me into their House without blinking. I guess the Sorting Hat is like a letter of introduction. I expected to be an outsider for much longer, but they seemed to like me right off. I don’t really understand it."
"You are quite likeable. And you look like you belong here, good Scottish face and name. Well, I’m glad it has been easy. Harry has taken you into his circle?"
"Hermione Granger, really. But I’m beginning to see it’s all one, if one of them takes you up, all three do. They’re remarkable, the three of them. I’m sure you know that."
"I do indeed. I received your files last week, when the transfer was finalized, but to be quite honest, I haven’t bothered to look at them until today.” There was no sign of a file anywhere, though he referred to its contents as if it were before him on the desk. “It came to my attention that you are rather remarkable in Occlumency, and I have a need right now to teach Harry Potter that skill."
Graínne closed her mouth as an act of will. "What is it with Occlumency? Professor Snape tried to pick my mental pocket and accused me of keeping secrets. Why was he doing that to begin with? What gives him the right?" She was indignant, but polite and in control of her emotions.
"I asked him to let me know if any of the new students were spies for our enemy, Lord Voldemort. He was simply trying to ascertain that information, not knowing your background. Camerons, after all, are a dime a dozen up here, he had no idea you were connected to Morag and Rory. And actually, there’s no need to call that to his attention. He will know at the right time. Meanwhile, I have been given, along with your school file, a file from the Magic Regulatory Agency. I am quite interested in your very rare skills."
"What, the Discerner bit?" She laughed, her bad mood gone. "You’d be amazed, sir."
"Indeed I’m sure I would. I was speaking of how you have managed such complex magic as Apparating, Occlumency, Patronus, and Legilimency at your age. I understand Discerners are born, not made, but these others are high levels of magic that not every wizard is able to master. And yet, while your O.W.L was good in Charms, Professor Flitwick tells me that you are behind your year."
"Yes, your program seems to be more advanced than ours. I’m going to try very hard to catch up, though. I am hoping to finish both years here, rather than transfer back to Thunder Hall. I want to take a N.E.W.T. in Charms."
"You have not answered the question."
"No sir, sorry. I don’t really know, though. Mom and Dad taught us early how to shield our minds, because the Darkers would not have blinked at using us to get at them. We can all do it, to varying degrees. Once I mastered Occlumency, Legilimency seemed easy. And because I’m a Discerner, I went to work for the MRA two years ago. They taught me to Apparate because it was often important to get on the scene immediately. I don’t know why it’s not hard, it just isn’t."
He gazed at her a moment, and she did not shield her thoughts. There was no reason to be less than candid with Professor Dumbledore. "And the original question remains: will you teach Occlumency to Harry Potter? I have an urgent need for him to be able to shield his thoughts, and the sooner the better."
"Then I’ll have to teach him. Why doesn’t Professor Snape do it?"
"Mutual dislike."
"Oh. I thought I sensed something. And why don’t you do it, if I may ask, sir?"
"Because it will draw too much attention to myself, and that would be bad for Harry and for those who have set themselves against Lord Voldemort."
She didn’t pretend to understand, but she didn’t ask again. "I will do it, sir, but how do I approach the subject with him?"
"It should be private, of course. It may be difficult for him to trust you more than superficially. Harry has experienced very painful things over the last two years, not least of which were his initial lessons in Occlumency and his failure to master it. I rather suspect that he is withdrawing from intimacy, for fear of causing or feeling more pain. I believe I may trust you to win the right to be heard and to teach him, Graínne. I do not give my trust without just cause."
When she left the office, she tried to retrace her way back to the entry hall, and finally managed to find the library. Thinking to spend the last of the period here, where at least she might see a Gryffindor from whom she could ask directions, she went in and spotted Harry at a table, several books around him, tipped back in his chair as he read. For a moment she watched him.
Of all the boys she had seen over the last twenty-four hours, she liked his looks the best. He was handsome enough, darkly handsome, although sort of skinny, but of course it was more than looks. He was more mature in many ways than any of the others, even the seventh years. His green eyes, lighter than hers, almost emerald in color, flicked back and forth over the book’s page. An inch too much wrist at the end of his sleeve showed he’d had a growth spurt since being measured for robes, so this maturity wasn’t necessarily physical. It had been growing on her, this idea, and became full-blown as she watched him reading. She realized that here was one who could see thestrals. Pain and anguish and even a little guilt (whether appropriate or self-inflicted) had grown Harry more than his pituitary gland.
Cautiously, she crossed the library and walked up to the table. "Can I hang out here until the bell? I promise not to bother you," she said in a low voice that was softer than a whisper.
He startled, and then grinned. "I didn’t hear you. Sure, have a seat, you can’t possibly bother me. My mind’s not on this stuff anyway. What did Dumbledore want?"
"He wanted to discuss my files." She smiled disarmingly. "I have some talents he needs."
"Other than Quidditch and a penchant for languages?"
She grinned. "Neither was mentioned."
"Occlumency, perhaps?" He did not grin in return.
"Well, yeah. How’d you know?" She composed her face along somber lines. There would be no beating around the bush, then. Well, she preferred it that way herself.
"I listened at Snape’s door," he answered unblinkingly. "Does he reckon you can teach me where Snape failed?"
"He hopes so." She answered forthrightly, since he was asking so plainly.
There was a struggle in his face. "I’m not ready yet, Graínne."
"Okay. I only just got here, I don’t think I am either."
At that he looked up, and his eyes thanked her for it. "I know it’s important, and now I even know how important it is, but I just can’t face it yet."
"When you can, just tell me how it went with Snape. I would bet, after seeing the two of you just once together, that he abused his privilege. The way I was taught was not sink or swim, but very methodical and gradual."
He didn’t answer her, couldn’t speak. His failure to master Occlumency despite his differences with Snape had resulted in Sirius’ death, by his reckoning. The bell rang, saving him the necessity of answering. He gathered up his books and put them in his bag, and they both got to their feet and joined the throng in the hall. She could not possibly understand the extent to which his thoughts and Voldemort’s were connected. She could not understand how guilty he felt about failing. No one could understand.
Even as he thought it, they came to the place in the hall where Ginny Weasley had written messages while being possessed by Voldemort. And he remembered Ginny telling him it was stupid to assume that no one knew what it was like. Glancing at the girl beside him, he decided he’d take the lessons from her. If Dumbledore said it was okay, it was. And if he learned this method, he would be taken farther into the plans of the Order. Automatically he would become more trustworthy, and be better equipped to fight. He might just get another crack at Bellatrix Lestrange. And maybe, just maybe, this awful gulf that existed between him and Dumbledore, and indeed the rest of mankind, would be bridged.
Friday try-outs were rather painful. Twelve people showed up for three positions. Ginny, who was already on the team, tried out first, and set the bar-- she was quite a good Chaser. She had been Seeker in Harry’s absence, so she was already on the team, but one of the open slots went to her. Lynford Ross was a natural Beater, and Welles insisted on trying out for Chaser, at which he clearly performed miserably. He thought he was pretty good. He refused to try Beater, which surprised Harry. As baseball was the national pastime in America, Americans ought to be good Beaters, he reasoned with typical Eurocentric prejudice. A fourth-year, Bran Jones, was promising as Beater, and teachable, more importantly, but none of the rest could hold onto the Quaffle, much less throw it with accuracy, and were frankly dangerous with Beater clubs. At the last minute, Graínne showed up at a dead run. It was getting late, the sun was going down. She was wearing a blue and gold striped robe with G. CAMERON on the back, and the words "West Tower Wildfire" on the front.
"She played for West Tower?" Harry heard Welles exclaim with dismay. "They were the best amateur team of all age groups for the last three years."
"Mount up, Cameron, let’s get to it, we’re losing light," he called down to her, making a mental note to check statistics.
Watching her, he figured the broom did zero to eighty in about five seconds. She was so much a part of it, it seemed to *be* her thoughts. She made eight goals out of ten shots, and one of his saves bloodied Ron’s nose. She handled the Quaffle as if it was a part of her, too, passed it with flawless accuracy, even to fast-moving targets. When Ginny and Welles moved to intercept, she simply did not make a shot, which would have lost her possession of the Quaffle, but re-maneuvered to get another. There was no contest, the others realized. Here was one of the Chasers. Maybe the best Hogwarts had ever seen.
"Damn," said Katie, pausing beside Harry. "She’s national team quality."
"Well, remember what happened last year," Harry answered. "Ron did okay in practice and fell apart when there was a crowd watching. She may not know how to handle pressure." He said it, but he didn’t believe it. He blew his whistle and headed for the ground.
"Okay, it wasn’t easy to choose,” he fibbed, “but the Beaters will be Ross and Jones, and the Chasers will be Weasley and Cameron. Thank you all for coming. Keep practicing! Remember last year!"
"Why, what happened last year?" asked Joe Welles, who had grace enough not to be a sore loser. He was wearing the orange team robes of Northern WW’s Hippogriffs, but there was no name on the back, so they weren’t official player robes.
"Three of us lost playing privileges after the first match, for the rest of the year," said Katie dully. "I still have nightmares about it."
"Me too," said Harry. "I’m sure you’ll hear all about Umbridge, Joe, and it won’t be those of us who were used the worst that have to tell the story. Let’s get up to supper. Thanks, everyone. Team," he added, as the defeated left the field.
They turned back, a dawning sense of pleasure at the sound of the word. "Practice tomorrow, I’ve booked the pitch for four o’clock. Expect the spectators."
Ron groaned. "I wish we could get them banned," he grumbled.
"Yeah, well, remember last year’s lost freedoms and bear up," said Ginny wisely. "Cool robes, Graínne. Can we get new robes like that, Harry?"
"Ravenclaw might object, since they’re blue and gold."
"Ha ha. I mean the vertical stripes. They’re very hip, from what I’ve seen in Quality Quidditch Supplies’ catalog."
"Tell you what, Ginny, if you want new uniforms, you need to contact alumni and raise the funds. It’s more than I can think about." He grinned at her. "I need you to teach me Bat-Bogey hexing, too, by the way."
“No problem. Trade you for that tickling thing you do."
Graínne fell into step with Ron. "Sorry about your nose."
"Don’t be!" he laughed. "Just do it to Slytherin, I’ll be happy. You were great out there. Where did you learn?"
"They have phys ed at Thunder Hall."
"What’s that? Oh, physical education. And they taught Quidditch?"
"The rudiments. And I also know how to play baseball, basketball, volleyball, soccer, football, tennis, and Spud." She affected a bright, moronic tone, bobbing her head around like a cheerleader. Ron laughed. "Oh, and golf. I sort of liked that one. But the fact is, I have four older brothers who are avid about Quidditch, and they started me when I was six, flying whenever Mom and Dad weren’t looking. They needed another Chaser so they could practice. And some of them played national team for a while. I’ve just been flying a lot longer than most kids."
"It shows. My brothers are avid, too, mostly. Charlie was invited to try out for England, but he went to Romania instead, to work with dragons."
She looked interested. "That’s pretty cool. I have a brother Charlie, too, but he’s the only one who doesn’t care about Quidditch. He’s a boring lawyer. Who are your other brothers?"
"Bill is the oldest, then Charlie, Percy, Fred and George--they’re twins, and me, and Ginny."
"Our William goes by Will. Fred and George? They made that swamp in the upstairs hall?"
He grinned. "They did that last year. It was much bigger while Umbridge was here. Filch had to punt people across to their classes. It was sweet! Professor Flitwick left a bit of it in their memory, as those who stood up to Umbridge."
"So I guess the teachers didn’t like her any better than the students."
"You’ve got to understand, Graínne, she was seriously evil. Not in You-Know-Who’s camp, but with friends like that, who needs enemies? And like the man said, the world isn’t divided in to good people and Death Eaters."
"Which man said that?"
"Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather. He was killed by a Death Eater last June. His own cousin."
She looked strickened. "First his parents, then his godfather. It’s amazing he’s still upright."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, there’s an expression, *prostrate with grief.* Seems like it would apply."
"Well, mind you, Harry was just a baby the first time. But he is pretty beat up about Sirius. Doing his best not to show it. Reckons it was his fault, that Sirius would have stayed in hiding if Harry had been able to do Occlumency, but that’s rubbish, really. Sirius was itching for a fight. He hated being locked up safe. I reckon that for him, it was worse than being locked up in Azkaban under false charges." Ron looked sad and troubled. "I wouldn’t mention Sirius to Harry, Graínne."
"I’m not totally without tact," she answered.
Up in the dormitory, Graínne stowed her broom and stripped out of her robes. She really wanted a hot bath and a pizza and early bed, but she had noticed that pizza wasn’t on the menu, here. She had had sword practice with Mr. Jahrho this afternoon, her new personal defense tutor, and he had gotten in more than a few good whacks with the wooden practice blade. She was grateful it was only practice blades-- she didn't have time to go to the infirmary. The practice had made her late for try-outs. Of course the Quidditch try-outs weren’t strenuous, but they were emotionally tense. She’d worried about them all day. Coming late, she had only caught a few minutes of a third-year girl’s try-out, which made her confident that she wasn’t the very worst. She was surprised that she only had to take ten shots, and she was taken on the team with what she considered a mere Acceptable.
"Graínne? What happened?" Hermione asked with a gasp, entering the room.
She had just taken off the tee shirt she had worn for her workout with Mr. Jahrho. "Oh, I made the team, I got a Chaser spot --"
"No, I mean to your side!" Hermione reached out and touched her bare ribs gently. "Should you go see Madam Pomfrey?"
"What? No, I had self-defense with my trainer this afternoon, that’s all. It’s nothing." She glanced over her shoulder into the mirror, though, and was surprised at the bruises. She slid a clean sweater over her head, a turtleneck of deep green, and stripped out of the black leggings she had worn all day, under her uniform skirt, and pulled on jeans. All the while, Hermione was going on.
"I’ve never seen bruises like that. Are you sure you shouldn’t see the nurse? She can fix it in a trice, she’s really good. It has to be rather painful. Why are you learning self-defense, anyway?"
"Because of the International Restriction on the Reasonable Use of Underage Magic." She took down her hair, which was every bit as bushy as Hermione’s, and then some, and dragged a comb through it. Then with a flick of her wand, she did it up in a graceful French braid. "My parents are Aurors, Hermione. And they have nine kids. Kidnapping is a favorite Darkers’ ploy in America to get the Aurors off your back. And hearings for underage magic take months. They don’t try to fit them in during vacations, and it ruins the grade point average when you can’t do magic at school. So I learn how to defend myself with things other than magic. Today was sword lessons."
"You came off the worse in your lesson," said Hermione, her voice still full of doubt.
Graínne pulled on a black silk robe with a vee neck and a single button at the waist, and then glanced in the mirror again. "Ugh, I smell like a... Does that look enough like everyone else to pass?"
"Enough and yet different. As long as you aren’t showing a lot of skin, I don’t think anyone would say anything to you. McGonagall might, but she might not notice. Of course, unis aren't required after class hours, and as long as you're modestly dressed, no one cares." She watched her for a moment stomping into the black cowboy boots. "D’you think my hair would look good like that?"
"We can try it this evening, if you want. It might. Your face is a nice shape, and while your hair doesn’t detract from it, it does cover it up a bit. The braiding charm has to be done just right, though. I know girls who have set their hair on fire by mispronouncing it."
They emerged into the common room, still giggling.
The rest of the team had changed clothes, too, and they were all hanging around. "What’s taking Ginny so long? I’m starving," Ron complained. "Ginny!" he called up the stairs.
"Keep your hair on," Ginny shouted back.
Dean Thomas tried to look casual, but he shuffled his feet, embarrassed, when one of the fifth year girls said Ginny was still primping. "Giggling ought to be illegal," he muttered, which made Hermione and Graínne giggle again.
Harry grinned. "I know what you mean, mate."
At last Ginny descended, still buttoning her robes, and they set off in a group for supper. Harry wanted the team to sit together, but he was agreeable that their friends could join them. He was hoping to strengthen that feeling of camaraderie that he had sensed at the end of tryouts. On a team of seven, four new people tipped the balance away from experience. They had to rebuild a sense of teamwork, and he wanted to foster it outside the pitch as well.
Suddenly, in front of him as they came down the marble stairs, Graínne sank into the trick step up to her knee. Automatically, he grasped her elbow and helped her pull out again. There was some kind of shock that passed between them, like static electricity, but different. They stared at each other a second, and then it was gone.
"Thanks, Harry," she said, blushing.
He wasn’t sure why he was blushing. *He* hadn’t fallen into the step, and it wasn’t his name now ringing through the entry hall from the mouths of the delighted Slytherins. "Not at all."
"This is the second time they’ve caught me stepping in the hole," she added low. "Don’t they ever do anything embarrassing?"
"Oh, sure. Once, Malfoy got turned into a ferret and bounced all over the entry hall by a teacher." He grinned at the memory. "I was happy for a week. Ron was ecstatic."
She laughed. "I wish I’d seen that. Would he get it if I called him Ferret-face?"
"Maybe. Probably. Hermione does, every once in a while. Of course, he calls her filthy names regularly, since she’s Muggle-born and he’s a pure-blood."
Her eyebrows rose. "That’s -- archaic. It’s considered bad taste where I come from just to mention bloodedness. Even among Muggles, the more diverse your lineage, the better, but you only talk about it in terms of cultural diversity, not bragging rights."
"Yeah, most people here think so, too, but Slytherins love pure-bloods." He slanted a look at her, and decided he wouldn’t ask. It didn’t matter.
"They don’t love Weasleys," Graínne observed, as Malfoy taunted Ron about his goal-keeping and a fifth year girl tried to trip Ginny.
"Well, Weasleys like Muggles. Pure-bloods like them are called blood-traitors by prats who care about such things."
"Maybe I’ve lived a sheltered life."
"That’s not a bad thing."
The evening’s homework was laborious and finicky, but having many heads together helped all finish in a timely fashion. Harry settled himself to his extra Transfiguration work, Ron started on Asian antidotes, Hermione buried herself in Arithmancy, Seamus dragged out reference books on Muggle transportation, and Graínne began translating a Goblin history.
"It’s a drag to be stuck inside on a Friday night when the weather is nice," she said after an hour of Goblin history translation. "Are we all on the straight and narrow, or is it expected and acceptable to sneak out occasionally?"
"No," said Hermione. "It’s frowned upon to sneak out. That hasn’t ever stopped us, but no one wants to lose privileges for Hogsmeade, later, so we behave ourselves."
"What would make you sneak out?"
"Oh, we’ve always had a good reason," said Ron. "Like that time we went to see the Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest, to find out if Hagrid was setting the beast loose on the school? That was an emergency."
"From beginning to end," Harry agreed, and he and Ron grinned at each other.
"Then there was the time we went through the trap door in our first year, that was after hours, and strictly forbidden. Quirrel was trying to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone for Voldemort. That was an emergency, too." Hermione flexed her right hand to get rid of a cramp.
"And when you two smuggled Norbert up to the tower so Charlie could release him in Romania," Ron reminisced. "I couldn’t go because his bite was poisonous, and I was in hospital."
"Who’s Norbert?" asked Seamus, before Graínne could speak.
"Norwegian Ridgeback." Harry turned the page of his book.
"A dragon?" she gasped. She knew her dragon breeds.
"Well, he was just a baby," he answered in a fair imitation of Hagrid. He grinned at her.
"And the time we followed Sirius and Wormtail, and Harry fought the dementors, and we used the time-turner to rescue Buckbeak and Sirius." Hermione brought out a box of sugar mice and indicated that they should help themselves.
"Last year, too, when we rode the thestrals to London," said Ginny. "That was the first time you let me in on your adventures."
"We had too much to hide, before. Until Voldemort was exposed, how could you be sure Sirius was an innocent man and not a murdering Death Eater?" Harry pointed out. "Besides, you were in the Riddle adventure."
"Way too much in the Riddle adventure," she agreed. "But we weren’t working together then. If we had, maybe it would have stopped sooner."
"I can see I have some stories to hear," said Graínne, adding a huge bag of Bertie Botts’ Every Flavor Beans to the sugar mice.
By tacit agreement, they put their work away and sat around the fire, telling some of the stories. Dean and Seamus had smuggled in butterbeer, and there was enough for everyone. They stayed away from stories concerning the Order of the Phoenix, still fearing a careless word might cause someone death or injury. But there were enough stories without bringing that up.
Harry thought it would be hard to hear about Sirius, but instead he found it rather healing. He did not tell any of those stories himself, sticking instead to Voldemort’s possession of Quirrel, Ron’s chess match, a little about the Moody impostor, and Hermione’s Polyjuice Potion.
"Oh, do you mean that ghost in the girls’ john? She’s a bit whiny, but she liked my joke." Graínne nibbled the nose of a sugar mouse.
"What joke did you tell her?" Ginny asked curiously.
"How many Slytherins does it take to—wait, I can’t tell that in mixed company," she grinned, which made them laugh.
"How come you had all these adventures and you never told us?" Dean asked, sounding a little wounded.
"We didn’t want to get you killed or otherwise trouble," said Harry seriously. "Besides, a lot of those things cost Gryffindor house points, if you remember, and our name was mud. The last thing you would have wanted to do was aid and abet us in losing the House cup. Neville stood up to us, though, the lion heart," he added, clapping Neville on the back.
Neville looked pleased.
"Have you had any adventures?" Seamus asked Graínne.
"Oh, a few. My folks are Aurors, so they’re always into something. There’s always Darkers coming after us." She shrugged. "But mostly in school I just got into mischief."
"What kind?" asked Ron eagerly.
"Oh, staying out all night, turning the Quidditch field into an ice rink, working for an underground student newspaper, and the usual sophomoric stunts like putting soap bubbles in the fountain, spiking the punch at the dances, running the rival Quidditch captain’s drawers up the flagpole. Stuff like that."
"How do you think of these things?" Ginny asked in awe.
"That’s standard, even for Muggles. The ice rink was some cool magic, but it was harder by far to stay out all night and not get caught."
"Did the captains have fits about the ice rink?" Harry asked.
"Well, they were all in on it with me. There were about twelve us who worked on that, I think. It caught on, actually, and now they make one every year-- only not on the Quidditch field, since that really screwed up the green and washed away most of the sand pits. I heard a rumor that they were going to add ice-skating to the phys ed curriculum next year."
"Didn’t you ever get caught?" asked Neville.
"Oh, yeah. For three years running, I had detention at least twice with every teacher I had, plus about half that I didn’t have. I had a regular session with my head of house at least twice a week just so she could yell at me. I started to settle down, though, fourth year, and pick my rebellions more carefully. Last year I only got caught in something once, and that was unauthorized fly zone, which is hard for Quidditch players, and they’re usually the ones who do it. Compared to the other stuff I was doing last year, I was glad I only got busted on something so minor. They only grounded me from four practices, not a game. My Head liked winning too much to keep me from playing."
"You only got caught once," Ginny echoed. "I can see I’m going to have to watch you."
"Hey, is this a closed party, or can any old hick join in?" asked Lynford Ross, coming up with Bran Jones.
"Pull up a chair," said Harry, and room was made. "We’re sharing prank stories. Cameron was just telling us of her exploits at Thunder Hall."
"What’s the favorite prank at Sturdonville, Ross?" Ron asked as Seamus passed bottles to the newcomers.
"That would have to be fake wands," he said thoughtfully. "And short sheeting."
"What in the world is that?" said Hermione.
"It’s where you remake the bed without a bottom sheet, you tuck the top sheet in under the mattress at the top of the bed, but then you pull the bottom of it up and fold it like that’s the top sheet. So when the guy comes to bed, he’s trying to get into a pocket that’s only half as long as he needs it. That was used on prefects and head boys a lot, especially if they were buttheads. You’d be laying there in the dark waiting, and then some guy would start cussin’, and everyone would bust out laughing." Lynford sipped his butterbeer.
"I’m going to be watching for that one," Ginny warned with mock sternness.
Hermione snapped her fingers as if disappointed.
Around midnight, most drifted off to bed. The rest of the students had gone to bed, too, and soon it was only Hermione and Graínne, Harry and Ron.
"So, is the first week of term always like this?" Graínne asked, putting her feet up on the table. She undid her braid and spread her hair over the back of her chair and massaged her temples.
"This was rather calm, I’d say," said Harry, watching those liberated curls tightening up.
"Homework is a little light, it seems," Ron agreed.
"Nice and quiet," said Hermione. "Can’t say I’m sorry."
"You guys have had some wild times. I almost wish I’d been here."
"It would have been nice to have another girl along," said Hermione with a grin. "But you’re here now, that’s the important thing."
"There’s no guarantee that we would have taken her up, even if she had been here," said Ron, almost as if he wanted to start a fight with Hermione.
"Well, after seeing her play Quidditch, I’d say we would have had to fight for her, early on. Wood probably would have proposed marriage." Harry slumped in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankle. His legs were getting very long, it seemed.
"Who is Wood?"
"Two captains back. Plays for Puddlemere United now, I just heard he’s moved up from reserves. He was our Keeper before Ron."
"Oh. Was he cute?"
Ron and Harry goggled at her, but Hermione nodded dramatically. "Very. Highland accent, dark brown eyes, shoulders out to here—!”
"Hey," Ron objected, and the girls giggled, which made Harry laugh.
"I wonder if he’s seeing anybody," Graínne continued blandly, which made Ron throw a paper wad at her. She caught it and thumped him in the nose with it, lightning-fast.
"Anyway, if it stays quiet this year, I’ll be very surprised. Now that Voldemort has a body again, and some kamikaze followers, it’s only a matter of time before we’re into another flap," said Harry. "He’ll be after Dumbledore, too, since it was Dumbledore that knocked him down in June."
"Dumbledore’s too powerful," said Ron dismissively.
"Why hasn’t he just gone after Voldemort and destroyed him, then? No, really, he told me something in June. He said that he knew Voldemort’s knowledge of magic was extensive, maybe more than any other wizard alive, and that no protective spell would suffice if he ever reached full power again. I don’t think he was being falsely modest when he didn’t name himself as an exception. I agree Dumbledore’s powerful, Ron, but he doesn’t believe he’s more powerful than Voldemort."
"If he ever reached full power?" Hermione repeated. "Is that what he said?"
"Yeah, but he was speaking in context to placing me in the protective custody of my mom’s sister when I was a baby. Voldemort had gone from power, but he wasn’t dead. I don’t think we can assume that he hasn’t returned to power yet. That duel with Dumbledore was masterful."
"And yet Dumbledore won, at least for the moment," Graínne pointed out. "Maybe there’s hope, yet, that he’s still not at his peak."
Harry gazed at her, thinking two lines of thought at the same time. She had picked up the gist of things with astonishing aplomb, and the prophecy said neither can live while the other survives. Perhaps she was right, maybe he was not yet at his peak.
"Of course," she said into the silence, "it’s none of my business."
"If we thought that, we wouldn’t be discussing it in front of you," he answered. "I was just thinking about what you said, is all. How do you know what we’re talking about?"
"Well, I read."
"The duel in the Atrium was not published."
"But there is a written account of it, nonetheless. In an unofficial document which was sent to my dad in June."
"From whom?"
"A.P.W.B. Dumbledore. I’m assuming that’s our headmaster."
"Yeah, he’s got a bunch of names, but I don’t remember them. Percival was one, I think. I remember that because of Percy."
"The tick," said Ron with disgust. He and Hermione had been watching Harry and Graínne talk like avid tennis fans, but this reference to his brother was more than he could stand in silence.
"What did the letter say about it?"
"The duel? I’m pretty sure it was a blow-by-blow, because he was wanting Dad’s expertise about energy expended, and how far one could Apparate afterwards while holding another person, stuff like that. Of course, Dad could only figure it based on averages, not knowing any of the specific index numbers."
"Your dad would know that?"
"He could calculate an estimate of it."
"What else did Dumbledore tell your dad?"
"To get his ass transferred back home, it was about time he stopped screwing around with those bloody Yanks." She said this with a straight face, but a twinkle in her eyes gave her away.
"He didn’t say ‘ass’ or ‘screwing' or 'bloody,’" said Hermione in disbelief.
"Okay, no, he didn’t. He did request, very firmly and respectfully, that Mom and Dad come and help. I don’t know why. Maybe they owed him a favor."
"That’s a pretty big favor," said Ron, choosing a Bean carefully.
"I’ve heard about Dumbledore my whole life. I’m betting it doesn’t matter, they’d do anything for him if they could." She stretched. "Hermione, want me to try that charm?"
"Sure." She sat up in the chair, and let Graínne perform the braiding charm on her head. Her hair formed a pretty braid, making it look smoother all over. "How does it look?"
"Nice," said Ron, a mixture of surprise and sincerity in his voice.
"You should learn that one, H, it looks great," Harry agreed.
"Really?" She blushed, getting up to look at her reflection in the mirror over the mantle. "Will you teach me?"
"Yup. Here, you can practice on Ron, we’ll just give him longer hair--"
With a yelp, Ron leapt up and ran around the table. Hermione proceeded to chase him around the room in a very undignified and hysterically funny fashion, and Harry laughed to watch them. Graínne dropped into the seat beside him.
"She doesn’t goof off enough," she said lightly, watching them dodge through the collection of armchairs around the room. "Being an only child, she takes herself so seriously."
"She’s always done that," Harry agreed.
"Whereas you, as an only child, don’t take yourself too seriously at all."
"Wasn’t raised as an only child. I was raised as an unwanted penniless burden on my relatives. But I think it’s Ron, really. I didn’t laugh much before I came here."
"It’s a shame. Laughter is very healing."
He nodded, already thinking about something else. "I was thinking about what you said in the library Monday, about taking Occlumency. I don’t really want to, but it’s not you, I want you to understand."
She looked over at him, serious and attentive.
"In third year, I had to learn how to do the Patronus Charm. You have to have a happy memory to make one, ye see--"
"Yes, the very happiest you’ve ever felt, that makes it a stronger Patronus."
He blinked at her. "Right. I had a really hard time with it, because I just don’t have that many good memories." He looked back at the fire. "When Snape tried to teach me Occlumency, it seemed like he saw every humiliating thing that ever happened to me. I was powerless to stop him."
Ron hurtled over their outstretched legs and Hermione dodged around the backs of their chairs. After they passed, Graínne said softly, "And why should you endure that again, why should yet another person have access to all that stuff about you?"
"Right."
"I have no intention of looking at any of your thoughts and memories that you don’t want to show me," she answered after a moment. "Properly taught, there’s no reason for you to expose things you wish kept to yourself."
"Is that what you meant by 'sink or swim'? You think Snape just performed Legilimency on me without teaching me any of the Occlumency first?"
"I think so. Did he give you any instructions?"
"No. He just told me I could do anything I could think of to stop him. He told me to clear my mind of all emotion."
"And hating each other as you do, I’m sure you would have found that hard."
"And he didn’t give me any time to do it, either."
"A Darker won’t give you time to get your thoughts together, Harry. But it does seem unfair the first lesson. Well, if that’s all he told you, I’m not surprised you failed to learn. It’s pretty brutal, what he did. Little more than assault."
"And you think you can teach me better than that?"
"Try something for a few weeks, Harry. It’s the first step. If it works, say by the end of this month, then maybe you’ll feel like you have a chance to learn. It’s just the clearing your head part."
He looked over at her. "Yeah, all right," he said at last. "What do I do?"
"Close your eyes and envision your thoughts and memories as if they were physical things, as if they were, for instance, photos in an album, or cards in a file. Take as long as you need, find an image that feels right, and play it out."
First he tried to see rows of file drawers, neat little hanging folders, alphabetized and cross-referenced, but that seemed more like Hermione’s mind, not his. His, he reasoned, was more like the kitchen at the Burrow, places for everything, most things in their places, but a good deal of other stuff laying around besides what belonged there. Gradually, though, this image shifted into a sort of study, furnished with comfortable chairs and sofas, lined with shelves and cabinets, dressers, tables, a few nice lamps, the walls a deep mellow gold, and deep red upholstery on the furniture, lit by pleasant lamps with golden-hued light. It was a bit of a mess, drawers open, cupboard doors standing wide, things jumbled out like clothes and toys and equipment, all over. The big desk was a bit more organized, but everything seemed untidy and in danger of getting lost.
He began to put things back into the proper spaces, not neatly, necessarily, just away. The only thing left out was his school work on the big desk, topped with a few pictures, his parents, Hagrid, Ron, Hermione, and oddly enough, Graínne. And there in the doorway stood Graínne herself, smiling at him with approval.
He opened his eyes hurriedly. Ron had Hermione in a bear hug from behind, trying to keep her from putting a charm on his hair, and their voices had fallen in volume to whispers. Graínne was blinking owlishly, but she was pleased. "That was great, Harry," she said quietly.
"How long were you watching?"
"You mean from the doorway? I only got there as you were looking at the desk. That’s an excellent visualization, and I saw in a glance that you went ahead and closed all the drawers without being told. The practice of Occlumency has to do with keeping that room tidy, like that. There may come a time when you want to put away the photos on the desk, or even go out into the hall and close the door behind you. That’s later, though. If you can make your mental room neat like that before you sleep, your sleep will be protected."
"That’s all it takes?"
"Yes."
"My scar didn’t hurt once!"
"It shouldn’t. Why should it hurt?"
"I-- it always did, when Snape was trying to teach me. It-- I can tell when Voldemort is angry, because my scar always hurts."
She gazed at him, puzzled. "I guess I’ll understand that at the right time." She glanced around at the others. "Hand check!" she called, at which they bolted apart, blushing. They had still been wrestling over the wand in Hermione’s hand, but they seemed to have been enjoying it a little too much. Harry snorted with suppressed laughter.
"I wish you had come here last year," he said with a grin. "We needed you."
"Oh, I would have gotten myself expelled pretty quickly, I think, if Umbridge was half of what is said about her. It’s not in my nature to submit to stuff like that." She shifted in her chair. "I try to make it a rule never to prank on a teacher, but she sounds like one I would not have been able to resist. And she drew blood from you -- that would have justified some of the more dangerous tricks I’ve thought of and never used." She frowned darkly.
"What’s wrong?" Hermione asked, catching the frown.
"I was just thinking about what I would have done to Umbridge, if I had been here last year. I’m thinking it was a good thing I wasn’t, because I wouldn’t have been able to stay long."
"If you’d been caught," Ron grinned. "Well, I’m beat. ‘Night, girls. Coming, Harry?"
Harry levered himself out of his chair. He didn’t want to go to bed yet, but he couldn’t think of a good reason to stay. "’Night, girls."
"The party’s over," Graínne sang suddenly, rising from her chair, "it’s time to call it a day. Good night, boys, see you sometime tomorrow."
"Say, you have a nice singing voice," said Hermione as the doors of the stairs closed.
Harry lit his wand to find his pajamas and changed his clothes in thoughtful silence. He still wished she’d been here last year. Maybe he could have spared Cho and himself that whole embarrassing episode, if he had seen Graínne first. As he lay down, he went rigid. He liked Graínne! The way he had liked Cho! Even more so!
And Ron and Hermione, wrestling like that. Ron had grabbed her from behind and held her for several minutes, talking softly in her ear, and she had answered back, blushing, not struggling.
"What’s up with you and Hermione?" he asked softly.
Ron gave a noisy snore, even though he just pulled the drapes around his bed, and Harry knew he wasn’t even lying down yet.
"Fine, you could just tell me it’s none of my business."
"It’s your business, right enough, you’re my best mate. I just got taken by surprise. I didn’t think you’d noticed, you seemed deep in conversation with Graínne."
"It’s about time you made your move, you’ve been wanting to for the last two years."
Ron pulled aside his drape and looked at Harry, who sat up and looked back. "It wasn’t that simple. For a while I thought she liked Krum, and after that I thought you liked her, and then for a while I thought she liked you. Now, it seems that she’s just been worried about you, and she didn’t want you to feel like a third wheel."
"What changed?"
"Graínne got here. Even if you don’t get together as a couple, there are still two friends left, if we get together. No one’s alone."
Harry gazed at him thoughtfully. "Thanks, mate," he said, lying down again. "G’night."
There was no way Ron could know, Harry thought, watching the scudding clouds through the window. No matter what happened, he was alone. There was no one he could ask to care about him, risking either bereavement or disillusionment when he was killed or when he became a murderer. No matter how he liked Graínne, there was still the Prophecy.
Graínne shuffled into breakfast late on Saturday morning, helped herself to coffee and buns, and buried herself in the Daily Prophet. She took the mail from several owls who had been waiting for her, and laid it all aside. She drank three cups of coffee, and after that she began to look around. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had been watching her, amused.
"What?" she growled.
"Did you stay out all night?" Ron asked.
"You know I didn’t, I was in before curfew because I wanted to get my homework under control." She frowned at her half-eaten doughnut and dropped it onto her plate.
"You look like a hangover," said Ginny with a mock frown.
"You know I don’t have one. I don’t think I’ve ever had one. Partying with alcohol has never been attractive to me. I just had a long week.” She ignored their joking, incredulous looks. “And morning is never my best time. What’s happening today?" She tossed the paper aside and took up her mail.
"Homework, Quidditch practice at four, and whatever else. We haven’t visited Hagrid yet," said Ron hopefully.
"That sounds interesting. A teacher who encourages visits?"
"We knew Hagrid before he was a teacher," said Harry, thinking back. He had had the best night of sleep in two years, and felt like he could conquer anything.
She gazed at him a second longer than a glance, one of those evaluative looks that he had noticed before. "Can I tag along?"
"Oh, he’d not forgive us if we didn’t bring you along," Ron answered confidently. "What’s that?" He craned his neck trying to see a wizard photo that had fallen out of one of the scrolls.
"Hm? Oh, my baby brother made the Quidditch reserves team for West Tower." She handed over the photo, and they watched a brown-haired boy tossing a Quaffle and grinning.
"He’s, what? eleven?" Hermione asked.
"Um, I think the Bruce turns twelve next week. Jamie says the varsity team captain is in mourning because I left. Jamie’s full of it." She tossed the letter aside and turned to the last one. "Mom, good. I was waiting for her."
They let her read, planning among themselves to go down to Hagrid’s after lunch.
"Oh, hey, listen," said Graínne suddenly. "Of course we know Arthur and Molly, they were a year behind us, we had supper with them last night, and James Potter and Lily Evans were third years when we graduated. My folks know your folks!" She started folding up her letters. She had done a credible Highland accent, much to their amusement, and then dropped back into her normal American drawl.
"I’m surprised," said Harry. "You made it sound like they were a lot older."
"I thought they were. So what’s the plan?"
"Hagrid’s after lunch." Hermione sat primly, trying not to look conscious of her hair, although several people had noticed it already.
"I’d better get on my work then. Oh! Aramis!" She held out her arm to a snowy owl. He delivered a note in an envelope, accepted a little attention and a little piece of bacon, and flew away.
"Was that your owl?" asked Ginny.
"Yeah, Dad was borrowing him. I guess he’s done. Yep, that’s what this says."
“Harry’s owl’s a snowy," said Ginny absently. "That reminds me, Ron, can I borrow Pigwidgeon? I want to have Mum send an extra pair of trainers."
"He couldn’t carry them that far. Wait, you have an extra pair?"
"Yeah. I reckon he could carry them; my feet aren’t nearly as big as yours." She ducked automatically and slid away.
"Are you guys waiting for me?" asked Graínne, looking around at them.
"No, we’re stalling, we don’t want to start our homework," said Ron with a yawn.
"Yes, I’m waiting for you," said Hermione, with a huffy look at Ron.
"I always heard that girls can’t go anywhere alone," Ron retorted, to Harry. "Have you ever noticed that? And whenever there’s more than one of them, they giggle."
"I resemble that remark," said Graínne, swinging off the bench.
They strolled out into the hall, fully aware that several Slytherins had fallen in behind them.
"I hear that American Quidditch is so second-rate, they can’t get a team together for the World Cup," drawled Malfoy loudly.
Graínne smiled to herself. "You’re twitching up the wrong tree, ferret-face," she answered just as loudly, without turning around. On the landing, though, she caught a glimpse of Malfoy with Crabbe and Goyle, staring after her in fury.
"That shut him up for the moment," Hermione observed.
"Well honestly, with the record England has had for the last seven years, picking on the national team is a poor joke, isn’t it. It just means he can’t get anything more personal on me than where I’m from. And I can take American jokes forever. A lot of them are true."
"His link to the Ministry was chucked in Azkaban in June, so he doesn’t hear much news. But it means that your parents are still considered unknown quantities by the Death Eaters, and I can’t help but feel that’s a good thing." Harry pulled aside the drapery and ushered them into a shortcut.
He frankly had a hard time concentrating on his homework. Ron and Hermione worked steadily across from him at the table, but Graínne had her books spread out on the floor under the window, and he could look over the top of his book and see her, sitting there cross-legged, barefoot, in a white hooded sweatshirt that advertised Thor brooms, a pair of red plaid flannels and no robe in sight. Her hair was tied back in a braid again, very loosely. She had ink on her fingers. She worked very diligently, but suddenly she raised her head and looked him right in the eyes. She smiled instantly, a transforming smile, but dove right back into her work. Harry tried to dive into his. That smile rather confused his concentration.
He had only just finished his homework when the girls came down from their dormitory for lunch. She had changed clothes, stylish jeans and white trainers, a blue sweater, a shabby black robe, her hair braided tight. Harry wondered if he had ever noticed what a girl was wearing before.
"All done?" she asked with a smile.
"Just," he answered.
"Great, let’s go eat. I’m so hungry, I could eat Hagrid’s rock cakes," declared Hermione.
During lunch, Cho Chang came over to talk to Harry, just as if there had never been a row between them, just as if she had always fancied him and never wavered. Just as if, he thought, she hadn’t dated Michael Corner and Zacharias Smith since the necessary dissolution of the D.A. Maybe it was more like they had never been anything other than acquaintances, he thought suddenly. It suited him.
"Hi, Harry! How’s the first week been?"
"Good, thanks. Yours?" He smiled. There was no hint of a flip in his stomach.
"Good, yeah. I heard you’re captain. Congratulations."
"Thanks."
"I decided not to play this year. I need to concentrate on my N.E.W.Ts. And there was a lot of talent coming up, it seemed only fair to make way."
"That’s nice of you, Cho. Won’t be the same, though, when we play Ravenclaw." He did not mention that he knew she had been on probation since before the last match the previous year because of her poor flying, and had been told if she wanted to stay on the team, she had to try out just like the newcomers. She had opted to drop Quidditch rather than undergo the humiliation. Parvati had it from her sister, who was in Ravenclaw, and knew Cho pretty well.
She smiled, flipping her ponytail a little. "Do you think you’ll continue the D.A.?"
"I don’t think there’ll be a need. If you still have your Galleon, keep it in your pocket, if things get tense. I’ll use the Galleons to notify of a meeting. Same place."
"I guess since there’s no High Inquisitor, it would be safe."
"As long as Dumbledore’s in charge, we would be safe meeting here," he said, waving a hand.
"That’s true. Well, see you."
"Yeah, see you."
"Not if I see you first," muttered Ron, which made Graínne cough and turn red in the face.
"That-- that --" sputtered Hermione.
"Oh, relax," said Harry. "She can’t hurt me."
"She’s very pretty," said Graínne thoughtfully, watching Cho sway back to her table.
"She’s okay." Harry glanced around at the other four. "Is everyone finished eating? Let’s go visit Hagrid. He’ll be glad to see us."
Hagrid’s hut was on the edge of the forest, a quaint wooden cabin with smoke coming from the chimney and a great boarhound on the doorstep. Hagrid was sitting on a stump, snapping beans into a huge yellow-ware bowl.
"I see ye picked up a few," he grinned as they approached.
"They finally started letting me hang out with them," answered Ginny, grinning back.
"And ye’re Rory and Morag Cameron’s girl? Ye’re the image of yer mum." He shook Graínne’s hand gently, and she bore it well. "I always liked them, and they were nice to me. Still are," he added with a wink.
"They have wonderful things to say about you. They were so pleased to hear that you were teaching Care of Magical Creatures. Said it was nice I’d have a credible teacher in that area for once." She looked over toward the boarhound, which was hurrying toward Harry happily. "Nice dog."
"Fang, yeh, he’s a good one. A coward, but a good companion."
"That’s not so, Hagrid, he fought like a lion last year when they tried to sack you in the middle of the night," Hermione pointed out.
"Yeah, well, that’s true. Well, come on in, the lot of ye. I’ll make some tea."
"You don’t have to, we just had lunch," said Hermione, but in they went, and tea they had.
Hagrid asked Graínne questions about re’em, which he’d only read about. He asked about Quidditch, about Charlie Weasley, about Hermione’s parents, about being the fifth Weasley prefect in Gryffindor House. He gave a report on Grawp, his half-brother, who was living in the forest. But when Hermione asked about the centaurs, he only shook his head.
"No change there, more’s the pity."
Graínne left a little before two, saying she had a lesson with her trainer. The others left around three to get ready for practice. Hermione decided to go to the field with them, as it was rather dull in the common room, and she had finished her homework.
"Slytherins will be there, they always are," Harry warned her.
"Oh, I don’t care about them. Would you let me down on the grass, though, so I don’t have to meet them? It’ll keep me from having to jinx someone."
"Of course. Although I wouldn’t mind you jinxing them."
Practice, except for the constant drivel from the Slytherin team in the stands, went quite well. Harry focused on teamwork, passing, helping everyone get a feel for what everyone else could do. Ron had improved dramatically in his Keeping, having worked over the summer with his brothers. Graínne kept a low profile, performing the drills flawlessly and doing only the required task as efficiently as possible. Harry didn’t try to test out her skills, not in front of the enemy. He wasn’t sure he could give her a task that would challenge her anyway.
"Maybe I should make you Seeker," he said wonderingly as they watched the rest of the team taking shots on the goals.
"I’m a lousy Seeker. I have trouble keeping my mind on the seeking. But I’ve heard you’re excellent. And your statistics are very good, too."
"I wonder if we’ll ever get to practice some strategy moves," he said after a moment, listening to the Slytherins sing "Gryffindors are losers."
"Next practice, we’ll have the place to ourselves, I bet." She saluted him saucily and went to intercept some of the shots.
They practiced a few special maneuvers that would help them avoid Bludgers, and then a light drizzle drove the spectators away. After that, Harry worked them on specific plays that were based on weaknesses in the other teams’ makeups.
"Aren’t you going to practice with the Snitch?" Katie demanded after a while.
"I can’t look for the Snitch and watch what you all are doing at the same time," he answered.
"So Katie and I will watch what’s going on while you Seek," Graínne offered lightly. "We both know what we’re looking at. Katie, you take Ginny and Ron, I’ll watch the Beaters, Harry can Seek."
"You’ve got this all worked out, have you?" Harry glared at them.
"Practice makes perfect," Graínne replied with a laugh.
The rain continued to fall, growing heavier, until it brought a premature darkness. When Harry could no longer see the goals from the middle of the pitch, he knew it was time to give up.
"H, why don’t you play?" Graínne asked when they all reached the changing rooms.
"I’m Muggle-born."
"So?" she demanded in a tone that indicated that was no excuse.
"I don’t ride very well, and the thought of playing a game while riding makes me uneasy." She looked at the robes Graínne had just hung on a peg. "Still says Spinnet."
"I’m not good stuff like sewing spells. Makes me anxious."
"I’ll fix it for you tomorrow. I’m not great at that stuff, either, but I’m getting better."
"Hey, team," said Harry, coming out of the captain’s room in his cloak, "Stick together out there. I know it’s pouring, but certain rival teams are not above ambushes. No one travels alone."
"Would they really jinx us like that?" Lynford asked in disbelief.
"Oh yes," Katie assured him. "Yes, they most certainly would."
"Chop chop," said Graínne briskly. "I want to get into dry clothes."
So they walked up to the castle together, but by now the rain was so heavy that even the most avid Slytherin had gone in. In the girls’ bathroom in the Gryffindor tower, Ginny and Katie noticed Graínne’s bruises, and had to have an explanation. Like Hermione, they seemed to think that lessons where you got so beat up weren’t all that valuable. Graínne changed the subject, got them talking about who was dating, who was available, who was going to make her a joke if she went out with him.
So they were giggly again when they descended to the common room, but Harry did not seem to mind it so much. They were all pretty girls, he decided, and good friends, worthy of all he could do to protect them. His heart filled with so much emotion, gallantry and affection, that his scar prickled and made his eyes water.
"Glad we showered," said Ron in his ear, and Harry noticed that the girls were all wearing skirts or dresses, their hair was all done up a little more than normal, and they smelled nice. He was glad, too, that he was clean and didn’t smell like a sweaty trainer anymore. Harry glanced around the group assembling. The team was all here, plus the rest of his dormitory, Lee Jordan, Joe Welles, and the Creevey brothers.
"Are we waiting for anyone else? No? Let’s go, then," he said, and shepherded them out through the portrait hole.
They picked up a few more Gryffindors as they went along, and by the time they reached the dining hall they were quite a group. Graínne had started singing a popular chorus, and everyone who knew it joined her, so they entered to a swell of music that turned many heads. Slytherins howled, as dogs will howl at sirens, but Graínne silenced them by throwing a handful of dog biscuits on their table and telling the damn dogs to shut up. Several people jumped up, but she had already swept away.
"Where’d you get the biscuits?" Ron asked, wiping his eyes. "That was brilliant!"
"They were breath mints a minute ago," she conceded.
"You’re making yourself a target, though," said Harry seriously, taking the seat opposite her at the table. "They aren’t nice."
"No, they certainly aren’t. I can’t stand Darker whelps. I’ll take them on, no worries." She perused the table. "Ah, beef at last. I wondered if cows were merely decorative in Britain."
Her confidence disturbed Harry a little. It reminded him of the memory he had seen last year, of Sirius and James, in their supremely arrogant confidence, making a fool out of Severus Snape. Snape’s revenge was completely played out: Sirius and James were both dead. Harry meant to talk to Graínne again, warn her not to do anything to provoke them.
In the meantime, all the girls seemed to sparkle that night, drawing glances from other tables as well as admiring looks from younger Gryffindors. And even though she laughed and was light and bubbly like the others, it seemed to Harry that Graínne was playing at this, that there was a deeper, more serious heart and mind there that was governing the words she spoke, weighing her own actions, guiding the others into certain paths of conversation, away from gossip and slander. It filled him with a sense of awe at the power and influence of a young woman whom they had known less than a week. He realized, too, that it wasn’t only Graínne, that Hermione had long had the same kind of influence on him and Ron, though they never acknowledged it. He did not yet realize, but only felt, that it was their purity and high moral standards that he felt at work, that by having those things they called the men and women around them to higher things.
---------------------
With most of their homework finished, they spent Saturday evening playing and talking and laughing. Joe Welles seemed to be good at organizing group games that didn’t require equipment and weren’t charades. When games waned, Graínne brought down a guitar and played for a while, and people were content to listen and have conversations, since they did not know the songs she played. It seemed that most of them had no words, anyway. Her mood had downshifted from supper, and she was quiet, withdrawn, thoughtful. She didn’t sing, only played, her fingers moving effortlessly over the strings; toward ten o’clock, as younger students drifted off to bed, the music she made had a minor melody and driving rhythm that made them think about the Wild West, somehow. Abruptly she stopped playing.
"What’s Sunday like around here?"
"Usually homework, but we’re caught up, for the most part," said Ron, looking up from the chess game he was playing with Hermione. "I’ve just got one more essay. Then it’s free time."
"What do you do with your free time?"
"Read, play games, sleep, visit Hagrid, write letters," said Hermione.
"Last year we had so much homework, we never had a free Sunday," Harry replied when she looked at him. He had been reading Quidditch Through the Ages again, strategizing. "I won’t know what to do with myself tomorrow."
"If the weather improves, we can be outside, that would be nice," said Hermione, prodding a pawn into the next square.
"Of course, I’ve got a boat load of Charms to learn in order to catch up with you guys," Graínne said, almost to herself. She sighed. "At Thunder Hall, you could go home weekends, if you lived close enough. My brother Bart lives in Bonk Pass, that’s the town near the school. I could always go to his house and stay, and he had all sorts of people visiting him all the time, it was always interesting."
"Homesick?" Ron asked sympathetically.
"A little, I guess. It’s not like I never went away to school, I’ve been going away for about six years. It’s just different there. I’d just go out and raise a little--ahem, cause some trouble, if I got antsy."
"And you don’t want to do that here?" Harry prompted.
"No. I don’t, somehow. But I seem to have some nervous energy that I need to burn off."
"Well, practice some defensive spells with me, then," said Harry, getting out of his chair. "I’m feeling sluggish and need to duel with someone."
"Duel?" She looked interested.
"Yeah, why not? Nothing painful, mind you."
"Okay." She laid aside her guitar and stood up. They cleared a space and bowed to each other.
For a while, they traded spells politely, but gradually the tempo picked up, and soon light was flying back and forth between them, they were dodging and blocking, their wands flashing like swords. Both of them were laughing and trading joke insults and making much of getting hit. Those still in the common room stopped what they were doing to watch, cheering and applauding, and then Colin and Ginny came down from the dormitories, alerted to unusual activities.
"Stop, stop!" Colin shouted.
"You can’t do this, it’s against the rules," Ginny added, still trying to tie the belt of her dressing gown. "I know you haven’t read them, but it is, and I’m allowed to give you only one warning. No dueling in the Houses. You can only duel in the dueling club meetings and under supervision."
"Rats," said Graínne. "My evening was just getting interesting."
"Sorry, mate," Ginny answered. "Go to bed, and don’t make me give lines," she pleaded.
They dropped into chairs semi-obediently, and the prefects went back to bed. Harry and Graínne grinned at each other.
"That was fun," she said, smoothing back her hair, which was trying to escape. "Do we have time to join this dueling club?"
"They don’t let you go at it like that, normally," said Hermione.
"We could do it anyway," Harry murmured, winning a black look from Hermione.
"What, me, rebel?" laughed Graínne.
"We probably don’t have time," he conceded with a sigh. "At least I don’t. And you have more to be going on with than I do, even if you aren’t on probation."
"I’m this close to probation. Well, it’s too bad. That was fun. Right now I know I ought to be worried about the amount of work ahead of me, but I’m caught up for the moment. I guess I could work on my Quidditch robes, get the right name on it." She looked as if that wasn’t very interesting.
"You could help me with my Occlumency," Harry offered.
She turned in her chair to look at him, her eyes wide. She had lost some of her cool and confident mask during the week, at least around her fellow Gryffindors, and seemed much more comfortable with herself. Now she seemed to be weighing him. "Are you fast at getting that mental room cleared up?"
"Not yet, that’s why I need help."
"I can’t help you do the clean-up, though. I can just practice with you. The next step has to do with showing a selected memory, and controlling yourself with just one."
"Let’s try that, then. I’ll probably fail miserably, but let’s try."
"Well, with that attitude," she began with a roll of her eyes.
They worked together for an hour or so, and then Harry was too sleepy to go on. He said good night, but by then it was just the four of them in the common room.
"He never gets to bed before me unless there’s something wrong," said Ron, looking worried.
"I think he’s just tired. And so am I, at long last. Good night," Graínne said to them, picking up her guitar.
Up in the dormitory, she moved around quietly, putting away her things and dressing for bed. Hermione was not long after her, slipping into her nightgown without talking.
"What’s up, H?" Graínne asked softly.
"What do you mean?"
"With you and Ron. Anything I should know about?"
"Not yet. He’s slow, when it comes to girls. But tonight was a step forward. He hasn’t ever stayed up just to be with me." Hermione settled onto the foot of Graínne’s bed. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"You and Harry."
Graínne was glad it was dark; she was blushing. "Nothing going on, there."
"You two sat and gazed at each other for an hour!"
She stifled a laugh. "We were practicing Occlumency!"
"Oh. Ron and I were so hopeful." Hermione sounded disappointed, but then she giggled. "I bet he’s much keener to study it than he was last year!"
"Willing, anyway, and don’t go putting ideas into my head. Or his, either. The last thing we need to deal with during Occlumency training is sexual tension."
Hermione retired to her own bed, and Graínne settled down for sleep, but it did not come very soon.
Harry saw the O on the top of Graínne’s Transfiguration homework. "Do you do everything well?" he growled, stuffing his A paper into his bag.
"Not at all. Not by a long shot."
"I haven’t seen you humbled yet," he pointed out.
"Are you busy right now?" she asked as they went out into the corridor behind Hermione and Ron, who were arguing about whether it was harder to Transfigure turtles or raccoons. It was the first Monday of October, and the weather was crisp but still beautiful.
"I was going to go to the library."
"Come with me. It’ll only take fifteen minutes to prove my point."
"What point?"
"That I’m not good at everything. That I get humiliated on a regular basis. Then you can go study, and be confident that I’m a big yutz sometimes, too."
He grinned at her, wondering if yutz was like nerd or dweeb, which Lyn had told him was like a prat or git. "You have such colorful language. All right, I’ll come. Where are we going?"
"Classroom 17."
"There aren’t any classes scheduled in that room."
"No, but there are private lessons scheduled there, because it isn’t used otherwise."
"Is this that trainer thing you go to, that makes you almost late for practice?"
"Right in one, Harry."
Torches lighted the room, and the windows, along the short side of the room, at the far end, were shuttered. Several large mats were arranged in the middle of the room, there were mirrors on part of one long wall, and a single straight chair by the door. As the door closed behind them, something moved at the far end of the room. Out of the shadows came a man, walking toward them.
"This would appear to be a good time for you to meet, you are not late today," he said in an accent that Harry could not place, but in a sneering, contemptuous tone he with which he was all too familiar. "First time."
Harry had never seen a man like this. His features and hair were African, but pale, yellowish white in color. He wore dark glasses that fit so close to his face, there was no glancing at his eyes from the side. He was dressed in pale grey, a flowing silk robe that came to the floor. He was of medium height, and moved with an efficient sort of grace that wasted no motion.
Graínne blushed at the implication that she was habitually late, or else she was angry that he’d said it, when it was not true, Harry could not tell which. However, she did not rise to the bait. "Mr. Jahrho, this is a friend of mine, Harry Potter. I remember that you told my parents that interested observers would be welcome, so Harry has come to watch for a little while."
If Jahrho had recognized his name, he certainly did nothing at all to show it. He pointed his face in Harry’s direction before she introduced him, and did not waver, flinch, raise his eyebrows, or smile. In fact, he made no sign that he had even heard Graínne.
Harry gave a polite nod. "I’m sorry to interrupt, sir," he said simply.
"You do not, nor will, interrupt us." It sounded very much like an order. "Sit there." He did not point or nod to the chair, but there was no doubt what he meant. He turned his face to Graínne. "Get ready," he sneered. Harry felt a prickle of anger.
She dropped her bag by the chair, pulled off her robes, her uniform skirt and sweater, revealing black leggings and a black tee shirt that fitted like a glove. Harry’s stomach flipped. He had never seen such a fit frame, man or woman, and yet, lean as she was, she definitely had curves. They seemed rather generous, in fact. With excellent balance, she stood while she removed her cowboy boots and the thick boot socks she favored, and began to stretch. She seemed rather limber, as well as fit.
"Karate today," she said to him in a low voice. She was tense, and looked worried. "I stink at karate." Without waiting for him to answer, she turned and met Jahrho in the middle of the mats. He had taken off his robe, and beneath it he wore pale grey exercise clothes, which displayed an impressive set of bulging, rippling muscles. At long last he took off his glasses, and his eyes were as pale and colorless as the rest of him. Harry felt a shock, not of real recognition, but of familiarity. There was no time to analyze and figure out why he seemed familiar, though.
They bowed briefly, never looking away from one another. Then they proceeded to try to kill each other with their bare hands. Harry knew nothing about karate, but he could see immediately that Jahrho was good at it. He was clearly restraining himself only enough to keep from breaking bones and causing concussions, but there was no doubt that the blows he landed really hurt, for she often yelled or cried out. Graínne succeeded in getting a few blows to the mark, and to her credit she made him grunt or bellow, but by and large she was blocked, and kept on the defensive.
It seemed to go on forever. When she hit the mat and failed to turn over and get up right away, Harry got to his feet, his hand reaching for his wand, and Jahrho straightened and walked away. Slowly Graínne rolled to her stomach, breathing hard, and lurched to her feet. There was a trickle of blood on her chin, coming from her mouth, and she was wet with sweat. She walked carefully toward Harry, away from Jahrho.
"All right, Harry?" she asked as she approached.
"Never mind me, are you?" he demanded, keeping his voice low.
"I told you I suck at this." She wiped her chin on her shoulder. "I have a bad habit of putting my tongue between my teeth sometimes." She bent over with a groan and rummaged in her bag for a water bottle and a towel.
"You bit your tongue? Graínne, this isn’t training, it’s a beating!"
"Harry, don’t be ridiculous--"
"I’m not--"
"Look, it’s been half an hour. You’re well into your study time, and I don’t want you to lose that. After sparring, we do drills, and it’ll be really boring and repetitious. I’ll see you at practice."
"You’re going from this to Quidditch?"
“I am at the mercy of other people’s schedules. I’ll talk with you after practice."
"Graínne, I do not like this--"
"After practice," she repeated, a pleading note creeping into her voice. Jahrho was already returning to the mat.
He nodded curtly and went out without another word. It went against everything in him to leave, and yet she clearly did not want him to stay. In the library, he was completely unable to concentrate on the conjuring spells he was supposed to be learning. As he sat there, scowling to himself, it occurred to him that he was reminded of a number of faces, not just one, by Jahrho, of Umbridge, Lucius Malfoy, MacNair, Dolohov, Bellatrix Lestrange. It was a face of cruelty, a lack of mercy and compassion, a lust for power and love for causing pain. *The world is not divided into good people and Death Eaters.*
The only thing he accomplished before Quidditch practice was writing a note to Mad-Eye Moody, which asked if he knew anything about Jahrho.
---------------
Graínne pounded into the changing rooms just as Harry came out of the captain’s room. He looked at his watch pointedly, and she said, "Sorry, Harry, it won’t happen again." She dumped her bag on a bench, hung up her cloak on a peg, and pulled out her Quidditch robes and body armor.
"Right. Ron, Lyn, would you please grab the ball crate? Katie, we’re just using one Bludger today, and that won’t be until a little later. Would you get them started with passing? All of you-- Beaters too. I’ll be there in a minute."
The team filed out onto the pitch. Harry turned and looked at her, his arms crossed.
"What?" She was forcing her feet into high-top trainers.
"I really don’t like it, Graínne."
"What, being late? I really am sorry—"
"No, that thrashing you call training. Do your parents know about it?"
"Of course they know. They hired him."
"I mean, do they know that he beats you up?"
"We were sparring, Harry--"
"Look, while I was there, you landed seven blows, out of I don’t know how many attempts. When I started keeping count, he’d already hit you plenty, and I counted seventy-two blows. And I know they hurt, because I was watching you. He was thrashing you."
"I told you I’m not good."
"You aren’t listening to me," he growled, grabbing her hands so that she would look at him. "I know what I saw. It wasn’t sparring, it wasn’t training, it was a great dirty bully taking pleasure in pasting a smaller person. I know what bullies look like, I’ve lived with two all my life."
She looked up at him, and her mask of confidence seemed to be gone. His stomach flipped again, and he felt an urge to kiss her. "I can’t -- Harry, my parents have hired him to teach me."
"Then write to them. I don’t see how he is teaching you." When she started to shake her head, he made an impatient noise. "Have they ever seen him spar like that with you?"
"No." She seemed surprised at her own answer. She drew her hands out of his and went on with her preparations.
"Do you think they’d like it if they saw it?"
"They’d probably be disappointed that I wasn’t doing better."
"I doubt that. Look, finish getting your shoes on, and get out there as soon as you can. We’ll talk after." He went out.
The heckling from the stands rose in pitch and intensity when he walked out, mounted his broom, and joined the passing. The Slytherins were in rare form. The volume went up again when Graínne came out, but shortly thereafter the lot of them hurried out of the stands and back toward the castle. Harry caught a whiff of rotten eggs on the light breeze.
"What’s got into them?" he asked, pausing to look.
"More like what’s got onto them," said Graínne with a grin.
"What did you do?" He looked alarmed.
"Just a simple chemical reaction. Sulfur smells just like rotten eggs, doesn’t it?" She zoomed off toward the goal so fast that Ron yelled in alarm.
They worked hard on strategy, on shooting, and then Harry did three rounds of catching the Snitch, all before dark. When the only sunlight was the orange stain in the west, Harry dismissed the team. He went into the captain’s room to make his notes on the practice, and dawdled there until he heard the others go out.
She had waited, after all. He had worried that she would have gone, forgetting that he wanted to talk to her, but she was sitting on the bench, having already changed clothes, her eyes closed, slumped against the wall. His heart was filled with tenderness.
"You look all in," he said quietly, dropping down next to her.
Her eyes popped open, and she smiled, but she didn’t move except to roll her head toward him where it leaned on the wall. "It’s been a long day. You look kinda wracked yourself."
"Any day with double Snape in it is too long for my tastes. Graínne, I know you have to do what your parents say, and I wouldn’t encourage you to do otherwise, but there’s nothing wrong with giving them information they may not have had before. That man takes pleasure in hurting you, and they should know that. At least ask them to come and watch."
"I -- I’ll ask, Harry, since it’s so important to you. But I know they’re too busy to take off work right now, and I know they’ll just tell me to work harder."
"Humor me, and give them the chance to say no, rather than saying it for them. I can’t stand to see you get drubbed like that, Graínne." Harry knew, though, that they would come. It occurred to him in that moment how he, who had no parents, knew what they would do, and she who had never been without, so seriously underestimated them.
She gazed at him, and then said, "You’re a very nice guy, Harry. Of course, you’d say that for anyone--" She looked away again, self-depreciating.
"I dunno as I’d say anything if it was Malfoy or Royce getting their rears kicked," he said, going for humor. He was close to telling her things he knew he shouldn’t say.
She only smiled. "Hadn’t we better get going? I need a shower before supper."
"Yeah, all right."
Night had fallen, and it was a clear, gorgeous night. "Let’s fly back," Harry said suddenly. "No one will see us, and it’ll save us the walk."
"You rebel," she laughed, and mounted her broom, balancing her bag across her back.
Together they kicked off and soared up into the air. Graínne shot back over the stands of the Quidditch stadium, laughing, and Harry tore after her. He passed her, they raced around the lake, and then from the far end of the lake they flew toward the torch lights outside the great front door, swooping low over the still surface of the water. Impulsively Harry flung out his hand to her, and she grabbed it with a heart-stopping smile. In perfect synchronization, they slowed and landed on the lawn below the steps, just outside the circle of light.
For a long moment they stood there, looking into one another’s eyes, and then she smiled again, and turned toward the steps, her hand sliding reluctantly from his. He followed her, still thinking things he had no business thinking about her or anyone else.
They walked up to Gryffindor Tower together, not talking much. Neither knew quite how to interpret what had just happened between them, and were reluctant to speak, in case their hopes must be dashed. Harry wrestled additionally with whether he had the right to have hopes at all. He knew where he was headed, that he had to kill or be killed. Graínne struggled against the hopes that had grown in her heart over the course of the afternoon, as well, wondering that she could feel so deeply about someone she had known a relatively short period, and to whom she would have to say goodbye in a year, or two at most.
"See you later," she said under the general noise level of the common room, and slipped up the stairs. She gathered her things for a shower quickly, before Hermione or Lavender or Parvati could find her and start talking. She was hungry and she smelled like a locker room, and she wanted to think.
Ginny and Katie were already in the showers, and Graínne slipped into the third stall without having to speak.
"That you, Graínne?" Ginny called.
"Yeah," came the answer, prompt.
Ginny didn’t feel the need to talk much, though, and Graínne had time to think. The problem was, she didn’t know what to think. She knew better than to believe that her feelings were a deciding factor in dating, because feelings were temporary things that were easily altered by hormones and situations. And everything she had ever read about Harry Potter, even the tabloid stuff, fed her feelings. But everything she had come to know about the real young man was, feelings aside, pretty normal, and pretty good. He had a strong will and a deep commitment to the downfall of evil. He thought constantly about others. He flew like a bird, like a hawk, even. He was more mature than any of the other boys she knew.
She wore a deep red turtleneck sweater and a pair of dark red chinos under her black robes, and she dried her hair and styled it so that it fell loose from a pair of tortoise-shell combs, in gentle waves and curls. Silver hoop earrings with small topaz lions depending from them adorned her ears.
"You look smashing," said Ginny quietly, having decked herself out in French blue. "Dressing for someone?" The bathroom was now full of chattering Gryffindor girls, getting ready for dinner.
"No, just dressing. I like going to supper looking nice, is all. Whom are you dressing for?"
She laughed. "Dean. We’re getting along quite well. We started dating the end of last year. I thought Ron would have a cow." She looked again at Graínne. "You’re sure you’re not trying to catch someone’s eye? Because you will," she added knowledgeably.
"It’s a moot point, whether I do nor not, isn’t it? With me going back to the US after school." She was a little surprised at the bitterness in her voice.
"You don’t have to, do you? Couldn’t you stay here?"
"I guess everything depends. Who knows what it will be like here in two years? And all of Britain isn’t like Hogwarts."
"True. But a lot of it is. You could stay, and then it would be very much to the point to catch someone’s eye, because he’ll need someone. He does now, if he’d only realize it."
Graínne watched Ginny head for the stairs, and wondered if she was talking about Harry, or if she Graínne only wished she was.
After supper, Harry nagged her to write to her parents, so much so that she handed him her letter to read.
"Dear Mom and Dad,
Thank you for the new quill. It is the envy of my fellow Gryffindors. The anti-blotting charm is helpful, I bet that’s why you sent it, but the House colors are nice, too.
I had a lesson with Mr. J today, and I took a friend to watch. My friend says that Mr. J wasn’t training me, he was beating me up. I promised I would tell you about it, and ask you to come and see a sparring session. I understand if you are too busy.
Write soon, I miss you a lot.
Love,
Graínne"
Harry nodded and returned it to her. "Thank you. That puts my mind more at ease. What’s your homework?"
"Charms, of course. Professor Flitwick has given me some stuff to do on my own, so I can catch up with the class. And you know what Potions is like, I want to get a start on that."
"Hurrah," he said without enthusiasm.
They all sat at the tables and worked steadily, Harry and Ron collaborating, Hermione offering advice. Graínne was Silencing a crow, having graduated from crickets and frogs. Harry finished his essay for Sinistra and sat back while Ron started on his Potions. When he was sure no one was paying any attention to him, be drew out a clean piece of parchment and began to write.
"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Cameron,
You don’t know me, but I am the friend who went with Graínne to her training session with Mr. Jahrho. She said that you had never seen them spar, and I thought you might want to know some of the details. You won’t like them, I think.
When it occurred to me to start counting, he had already knocked her down several times. I counted seventy-two times that he hit her, concentrating on her lower back, left-side ribs, and right knee. But what appalled me more was the unmistakable pleasure he seemed to get by causing her pain. I have seen a lot of evil, more than most kids our age, and he looked like a torturer while he was supposed to be just ‘sparring.’
I should also mention that he gave no instruction to her at that time at all, no encouragement, and he hit her as hard as he could without breaking bones or causing concussions. It was horrible.
I suspect that when you come to observe, he will be all sweetness and light, but he certainly was not that today. I know from seeing your pictures that you treasure Graínne greatly, and I know that you will want to protect her from harm.
Sincerely,
Harry Potter."
He sealed the scroll and tucked it in his pocket to send in the morning. Then he turned to his Potions book, to look up lemongrass.
"Oooh, I could do with this one," said Graínne, reading about the serum they were studying. "A Repelling Potion. I wonder if I could apply it just to Slytherins?"
Harry snorted. "They are repellent enough," he answered.
She gave a bark of laughter.
"Say Harry," said Dennis Creevey, pausing by the table where they were working. "Professor Ferguson is testing us on Expelliarmus tomorrow, and she only assigned it to us today. She says it’s not in the official syllabus, but she’s teaching it because it’s so useful. Everyone else in the class reckons they’re going to fail!" He grinned knowingly.
"Excellent, Dennis. You’re really good at that one," Harry grinned back.
"What was that about?" Graínne asked softly, a little smile playing around her mouth. She liked very much how kind Harry was with little Dennis. Most upperclassmen considered him a toe-rag.
"Oh, we had a secret Defense practice group last year, and Dennis was in it."
"Secret?"
"Yeah, Umbridge had banned all groups, and they had to have her permission to form up again. Since we had raised such a stink about her not teaching us to do the magic, we knew she’d never give us permission, so we met secretly. Almost got expelled."
"I guess you got caught."
"Very nearly. It took some very fancy moves on Professor Dumbledore’s part, and some of the Ministry wizards as well, who were on Dumbledore’s side, but we got off the hook. Do you know that Ravenclaw girl, Marietta Edgecomb?"
"The Sneak? I’ve seen her."
"She ratted on us. One of the Order modified her memory so she couldn’t testify, but it was a near thing. Dumbledore had to leave and Umbridge was headmistress for the rest of the year."
She sighed. "You have had such great adventures."
"It doesn’t feel all that great."
A look passed between them, and she nodded. "My best friend, back in Colorado, she and her whole family was killed by Darkers last Christmas break. She’d just got home from school, they think." She closed her eyes. "The Darkers wanted to stop her parents from adjudicating a case against Conchlin Fredegar Cooney."
"Why?"
"Because he had a death sentence hanging over him for a series of Muggle murders. He was a maniac. But he was sort of a rallying point for Darkers, they said the establishment was prejudiced against Darkers and their personal beliefs. The President said it only seemed that way because Darkers are prejudiced against the rule of law. As of yet, they haven’t caught those responsible for killing Felicity and her family." She sighed. "I miss her a lot. She had a bunch of brothers, too, and understood how it was. And I hate Darkers, and I won’t take any crap from any of them any more."
Harry nodded, not understanding why he felt so in-tune with her, but grateful for it. She could understand, to a degree.
"How’s the essay coming?" Hermione demanded, tossing a wad of parchment at them.
"Painful as usual," Graínne answered glibly, catching it in her left hand and throwing it back so fast that it hit Hermione in the forehead. Harry laughed, and Ron tried not to.
To his very great surprise, a letter came for him Tuesday morning.
"Dear Mr. Potter,
Thank you for your frank letter. I am so glad our girl has friends like you, who worry about her safety! I will be arriving in time for her Friday lesson with him, and we will arrange for me to observe unobserved. I will advise Graínne likewise. Will you be able, I hope, to attend the lesson as well?
Looking forward so much to meeting you,
Morag MacGonagal Cameron."
As he finished reading this, Graínne gave a stifled squawk. "My mom is coming!"
"Really? Is that allowed?" asked Parvati absently.
"It’s permissible for parents to visit the school," said Hermione automatically. "Malfoy was here a lot, a few years back, remember?"
"I thought that was because he was on the board of governors," Ron pointed out.
"Well, maybe, but I’m sure Mrs. Cameron will be welcome, since she’s an alumna. Friend of Dumbledore, too. Can you get out of lessons Friday to be with her?"
"I’ll have to check. Probably not, though." Graínne opened another scroll. "Wow, my brother Dave is coming, too," she said after a moment.
"Ooh, the one with the really broad shoulders?" giggled Lavender.
Harry felt an anxious weight in his stomach all week, especially when Graínne had a training session on Wednesday, late afternoon, and came in to supper favoring her right leg. In the middle of the meal, she decided to go to the hospital wing, because her knee hurt too much for her to eat. She was in the common room when they returned there, a huge supply of snack food on her study table, compliments of Dobby the house elf. Madam Pomfrey had sorted out her knee in a few minutes, and Dobby, who had been on hand helping in the infirmary, realized she was missing supper. Because she was a Gryffindor, and on the off chance she was a friend of Harry’s, he had brought food up to the common room for her.
Friday morning, as they were descending the marble stairs to breakfast, Mrs. Cameron came in the front doors with Hagrid.
It couldn’t be anyone else. She looked exactly like Graínne, except for a few lines and a little silver in the dark red curls. She was also a little shorter, if possible, and her body-type was more birdlike, where Graínne’s was vigorous and rather muscular. Graínne leaped down the stairs and almost knocked her over with a hug, her shriek of delight drawing the attention of everyone in the hall. Immediately she dragged her mother over to meet the Gryffindors, who were now reaching the bottom of the stairs.
"Everyone, this is my mom, Morag Cameron. This is Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Dean Thomas, Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, and Harry Potter."
Everyone was polite, and Morag Cameron was delighted with each of them, having to shake every hand and greet them by name. She looked clearly into Harry’s eyes and said, "At last we meet. How do you do, Mr. Potter?"
"Very well, Mrs. Cameron. I’m glad to meet you."
"Can you come sit with us, or do you have to check in with the principal?" said Graínne.
"I will sit with you, but I must greet Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall first, as a matter of courtesy. Why don’t you come along with me, and then you can show me where you sit?"
"Same place Dad sat, Mom, nothing’s changed here!" she laughed, but she went arm in arm with her mother toward the head table.
"Wasn’t her mother a Gryffindor?" Hermione asked, watching them go.
"Hm? I am in awe, Hermione, how you pick up details like that," said Ron, sincere.
"I guess she wasn’t. We can ask her, I’m sure," Harry said thoughtfully. Morag Cameron had an unnerving gaze, as if she was looking to the very bottom of the soul.
They had a good time at breakfast that morning, yet for some reason or other, most people left the table early, to get to class or retrieve something forgotten. Then Morag Cameron turned to Harry and Graínne, with an air of getting to business. "Now. I’m here to see your session with Jahrho, but I don’t want him to know it. So Harry, I’m going to ride in on your shoulder."
"Beg your pardon, ma’am?"
"She’s an Animagus," said Graínne in a low voice.
"Oh."
"What about Davie?"
"He’ll be arriving shortly, and he plans to be in the room before the appointed time, so I need to know where the class is."
"I’ll show you on my way to Charms. Do you really think this cloak and dagger stuff is necessary?" Her brown furrowed.
"If he is intentionally hurting you, there is a good chance he’ll hold back if I show myself."
"You always sound so sure!"
"I’m not, I’m guessing," she laughed suddenly. "In any case, I intend to discredit him and sue his albino hide, but I want irrefutable evidence."
"What animal do you transform into?" Harry asked quietly, over the lump in his throat.
She looked at him kindly. "A sparrow," she answered, her voice soft. "I’ll ride in on your shoulder, which should be inconspicuous enough. Don’t worry, I’ll fly before I Transform, so I won’t squash you. My son Transforms into a cat. As I recall, there are wide window ledges in the classrooms, and he will sit on one of them and watch, and probably won’t be noticed at all."
"More evidence-gathering, independent witness, things like that?" asked Graínne.
"He’s not exactly an independent witness, is he, being your brother and my son. No, David believes he’s working here under an alias. He thinks he’s finally catching up with Whitey Purcell."
Graínne snorted. "Whitey Purcell wasn’t an albino, and he died in Cuba three years ago."
"Well, David wants to see for himself. And he has really good instincts for these things. He’s caught dead men before."
"What does David do?" Harry asked.
"His specific job is to hunt down the Most Wanted list," Graínne explained briefly. "And a number of people who have disappeared and are assumed dead. Only there’s good evidence that Purcell died in Cuba, and I don’t understand why Davie thinks he’s here, and why you wouldn’t have known him when you hired him as a trainer."
"It’s getting late, you can argue with David later."
They pointed out Room 17 to her, and had to run most of the way to Charms to get there before the door closed. Sliding breathlessly into their respective seats, Graínne resolutely did not look over and back at Harry, and pretended not to notice the knowing glances around them.
---------------
Harry was very nervous, and he didn’t know why. As he came into the entry hall, a little brown bird fluttered down from the chandelier and settled on his shoulder. Only the smallest chirp near his ear told him that she had alighted. Graínne came running up, glancing at her watch. "Good, a minute early. Shall we?" She led the way into the room.
"Harry Potter makes a second visit?" said Jahrho, coming toward them from the back of the room. "Are you interested in self-defense?"
"You could say that, yeah," said Harry neutrally, and sat down. He disliked this man intensely, and wanted to lash out at him. Self control, he told himself.
Meanwhile, Graínne had stripped out of her robes and uniform and shoes, and was stretching. She proceeded just as she had the last time Harry had watched her, and Jahrho behaved similarly, although it seemed that the intensity of his attacks had increased. After fifteen minutes, she had fallen five times, and had only landed three blows. The last one must have hurt him a lot, for he was suddenly enraged, throwing her down hard on her back. The sparrow flew from his shoulder, Transforming in the air. She landed on her feet, walking forward swiftly to where Jahrho was just cracking Graínne’s ribs, and with her bare hand, she knocked him hard to the ground without even touching him.
"I’ve seen enough," she said in a voice that made Harry very glad she wasn’t angry with him. She shimmered dangerously, as if magic was emanating from her pores. He rushed to Graínne where she lay on the mat as a great Abyssinian cat leapt lightly from the sill of one of the shuttered windows. It walked toward them, shifting into a rather tall, muscular man with the dark brown hair and blue eyes of most of Graínne’s brothers. Harry knew this was David, because of the pictures that had come in the mail regularly since the start of school. David pulled a wand out in a sleek movement, and ropes shot out and wrapped around the prone form of the albino.
"You are under arrest, Whitey," he said lazily, plucking Jahrho’s wand from a hidden pocket along his thigh.
"I--I don’t know what you mean," answered Jahrho, his sneer gone. "I am Ro Jahrho--"
"We can do this with Veritaserum," David interrupted, sounding annoyed. "We both know you’re Whitey Purcell, and you assumed the identity of a man who disappeared in Honduras. My research is indicating that you are responsible for his disappearance, too. Now, I am arresting you on a whole list of charges, and my family is going to sue you separately, so even if you do manage to get out from all these accusations, you’ll be incarcerated for a very long time, just for impersonating Ro Jahrho." He kicked the prone man a little, not too brutally, but not too gently, either, and squatted down beside him. "I’m going to have you sent to Cauldridge."
"C-C-Cauldridge?"
"Yep. I hear that Eddie Frankel runs the yard there. You and he are old friends, aren’t you? I heard yesterday that he’s between girlfriends at the moment. Maybe he’ll like you."
Dumbledore came in. "Ah, I see that matters are well under control. There is conveyance outside the door, David. Will you return for supper?"
"I’d be honored, sir." He turned and knelt beside Graínne, who was telling Harry she wanted to get up, but had not been able to do it yet. Harry was watching closely to make sure she didn’t even try. "Hey, Wart," he said tenderly. "Just sit still a minute. That was a bad one."
"Davie, is that really Whitey Purcell?"
"Yep. He’s a Metamorphmagus. Not many people know that, though. Look Graín, I’m sorry, I didn’t know until a few days ago that he was here. I would never have left you in his care for a moment if I’d known, and I would have stopped him before that last kick—"
"I know that," she said simply. "Go lock the bastard up, Dave, and come back and hang out for a while. This is a really cool place."
"You got it."
Dumbledore himself magicked a stretcher and levitated her onto it, and charged Harry with seeing her safely to the hospital wing. "I’ll visit you there in a few minutes, Graínne," he promised, and swept out of the door with David and Purcell.
"Would you like to, ma’am?" Harry deferred to Mrs. Cameron.
"No indeed, I would not dream of interfering with an order from Albus Dumbledore."
So Harry moved the stretcher himself, carefully up the stairs and off to the hospital.
Madam Pomfrey gave Morag a hug, and began fussing at Graínne immediately. "Whatever you are doing to acquire these repetitive injuries, you must stop it," she grumbled.
"She has," said Morag. "In a month, she’ll be old enough that we no longer have to worry about underage magic. No more defense lessons, darling."
"Thanks, Mom. I really hoovered at it."
"No, my understanding from your last teacher is that you are quite talented at it. But never mind that just now. We’ll sort it out later."
Madam Pomfrey fixed her ribs easily, and gave her bruises some attention, as well. Harry had to go to class before she was done, though, and therefore did not see her again until supper.
Her brother returned for supper, and her mother stayed as well, and they sat at the Gryffindor table on either side of her. Morag managed somehow to land Harry on her other side, and she chatted with him pleasantly throughout the entire meal. She asked about his home, his studies, his Quidditch, and answered questions about her own home, her family, her job description. By the end of the evening, they both felt they knew one another tolerably well. She said a fond goodnight to Graínne in the entry hall, and then she turned and gave Harry a hug, too.
"Thank you," she murmured, "for your letter. I am heartened to know that you two have found each other as friends."
Chapter 8: Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, first match of the year
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
The first Quidditch match was between Gryffindor, the reigning champions, and Slytherin, the nearest competitors the year before. Malfoy had been passed by for team captain, which rankled. Instead, Snape had appointed a troll named Dudge, who was rather cunning and certainly brutal.
Using all the dirtiest tricks, Slytherin attempted to win by cheating, while Ron staunchly defended his goals (by the end of the game, both his eyes were black and his nose was dripping blood steadily), Lyn Ross and Bran Jones kept the Bludgers away pretty well, and more importantly sent them into the enemy ranks with surgical precision, and the Chasers kept the score very close-- yet always a goal or two ahead. Harry came up with the Snitch after almost an hour of desperate searching, so that the score was five hundred seventy to four hundred thirty. The crowd loved it, but every Gryffindor player had sustained injuries that required a trip to the hospital wing, and only two of the Slytherins lost any blood. Harry had elbowed Malfoy sharply in the mouth in the final chase for the Snitch, and he was pretty sure Malfoy had lost a tooth. And Dudge, while watching Harry and Malfoy fight to get to the Snitch, had flown smack into his own goal post and knocked himself out. At the end of the game, Professor Hooch gave detention to the entire Slytherin team for their numerous fouls and unsportsmanlike conduct.
Harry had his elbow fixed where he had hit Malfoy, and the long muscle in his thigh healed (injured in a collision with two opposing Chasers and a Beater), and then waited around in the ward while the rest of the team was healed. As soon as Madam Pomfrey released them, Harry sent them back to the tower. Graínne had waited until last, and by that time the scratches on her face were puffy looking, oozing and ugly.
"These look..." Madam Pomfrey’s voice trailed off. "Poison. Whatever scratched you had venomous claws."
"Millicent Bulstrode clawed me," came the ironic answer. "I’d say she was venomous."
"That’s illegal, though," said Harry hotly. "Madam, will you tell that to Professor McGonagall? I wonder if we can prove it."
"Don’t see how," said Graínne. "If she doesn’t just have nasty fingernails, she’ll have washed by now."
"It’s not just nasty nails, it’s poison," Madam Pomfrey repeated.
"Poison? What sort?" demanded Professor McGonagall, looking around the curtain. "Ah, I’ll bet that’s tentacula-based."
"That’s right," agreed Madam Pomfrey, applying essence of murtlap.
"I’ll see her off the team, at the very least." McGonagall went striding away.
“Will she be all right?" Harry asked quietly.
"Oh yes, just fine, no scar to speak of. Much longer, though, and you’d wear them the rest of your days. It always pays to get medical treatment quickly. Some poisons work very fast, and the way the world is these days, you can’t tell if an event is an accident or purposeful assassination attempt."
Harry wondered how McGonagall was going to prove the poison, and how she was going to get Snape to discipline Millicent Bulstrode. He wondered if it was worth it, too. Malfoy had threatened to kill him last year, and today he’d done everything short of pulling his wand. It occurred to Harry that he ought to be a little concerned. He was used to punching and kicking, and Malfoy wasn’t, but Malfoy was accustomed to using a wand, and that was a little harder to deal with when one was looking for a Snitch. He wondered if Malfoy would decide it was worth whatever punishment was in store in order to hurt or kill him.
And, too, it might hurt him much more to injure one of his friends. Harry put that thought carefully away, as they walked together back to the tower. That was something he didn’t need Voldemort catching on to afresh.
The victory party was already in full swing by the time they arrived, because beating Slytherin was always a joyful event. Butterbeer and loads of food were already covering the tables. The roar of conversation changed into cheers for the conquerors, in this case the captain and the top-scoring Chaser, and they were drawn into the crowd by eager hands. Harry collected the boys’ brooms, to put them safely away, and refused to allow any of the others to help, saying it would only take him a moment. He saw Graínne struggling through the crowd with three brooms in her arms, looking embarrassed and somewhat annoyed. They reached the stairs at the same time.
"All right, Graínne?" he called over the noise.
She shrugged. "This is not what I want right now," she yelled back, and went through the door and up the spiral stairs.
He wondered if she would come back down, or if she would just hide in her dormitory. He himself longed for solitude, and wondered if he could get away with not going back. However, Colin Creevey appeared almost immediately, and coaxed him back downstairs. He was peckish.
Graínne was being towed back into the common room by Lavender and Parvati, who were trying to tempt her with the promise of chocolate éclairs. Harry elbowed his way over to them, and said, "Look, girls, we’re all worn out. That was a long game, for us. Will you pick out some food for Graínne and bring it over by the fire? If she feels anything like the rest of us, all she wants to do is sit down with a bottle and a plate."
"Oh, sure, Harry, we’ll get you some too," Lavender agreed, letting Graínne go.
"Thanks, I was afraid I was going to have to clean their clocks," said Graínne wryly, letting Harry take her arm and usher her toward the fireplace.
"There you are," called Hermione, moving books and cloaks out of chairs. The rest of the team had found places in which to be comfortable, and Ron and Ginny were already near the fire. "You look tired, Graínne, are you all right? I saw that cow Bulstrode rake you with her nasty green finger nails."
"Really?" asked Harry, interested at once. "I wonder did anyone else see it."
"My sister did," said Parvati at once, handing Graínne a plate of food and a bottle of butterbeer. "She was wondering why anyone would want to paint their nails such a sick color, or any color at all, since it would just get chipped off in a Quidditch match. Not like Bulstrode has nice nails, either, she’s such a troll."
"Would she be willing to testify?" Harry asked.
Parvati shrugged. "Is it important? I’m sure she would, she hates Bulstrode."
"Because the green was poison, not nail enamel."
That was impressive. Dennis Creevey volunteered to go up and get an owl, so a note could be sent to McGonagall. Harry wrote the note himself, nibbling crisps and sipping butterbeer. When the owl and Dennis returned, the note went right off, and Harry sat back to enjoy the company of his friends. Finally fed and warmed and ensconced in squashy armchairs, even Graínne appeared more cheerful. The party roared on until supper, when everyone went down to the Great Hall to eat even more. Graínne’s thirst required something healthier than butterbeer, but she only tasted the soup before saying she was too tired and too full of éclairs. Harry managed a pork chop and a potato, but before the puddings even appeared, he pushed his plate back. He caught Graínne yawning.
"I’m going back," she declared, "I’m beat."
"I’ll walk with you," Harry offered.
No one seemed to notice.
"It’s a relief to get away from the noise," she said as they reached the landing.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Here, in here." He swept aside a tapestry to reveal a little door. She passed through it, into another stairwell. "I thought I saw Malfoy on his way out to follow us. Let’s put some distance between, shall we?"
"Lead on, I’m already lost."
Harry led, and soon they reached the seventh level and started working their way toward Gryffindor tower. "I’m betting that Malfoy will want to pay us back for getting Bulstrode in trouble. That and just breathing continually. He’s never liked me for that."
"What a waste of skin," she answered.
"You played well, today. They underestimated you, just as I hoped they would."
"I wasn’t the only player who surprised them, though. Everyone did very well. You included. It was all those stink bombs in the stands that kept them from seeing the real practices."
He grinned. "I must get your recipe."
She laughed. She really had an attractive laugh, he thought.
"Next weekend is Hogsmeade," he pointed out, his stomach clenching suddenly. His last experience with a Hogsmeade date had not ended well. He had been divided in his mind about whether he would ask her at all, and he still hadn’t made a firm decision. If this went badly, he’d just not ask, he thought.
"Yeah, Parvati and Lavender were telling me about it. They went on and on about some place called Puddifeet, I think it was. Sounded kinda sickening."
"Big date place, I guess," he answered, wondering if he should be relieved or not. "Has anyone asked you?"
"What, to Piddifeet?"
He laughed. "Okay, it’s Madam Puddifoote’s, and no, I meant out to Hogsmeade."
"Oh. Well, Malfoy did offer to meet me at the Shrieking Shack for a snog, whatever that is, but I told him to bite me."
"He actually might, you know. What does that mean, anyway?"
"Um, roughly translated, you could say it means that I’d rather be dead in a ditch, thanks. What’s a snog?"
"Making out. Kissing, or I think you call it first base?"
"Ugh," she shuddered. "I should have slapped his ferret face. Dead in a ditch doesn’t begin to describe my preferences in that area."
"Are you against making out?" He grinned at the thought of her slapping Malfoy.
"Not at all, with the proper applicant. I can’t imagine doing it at a place called the Shrieking Shack, or in a coffee shop, either, where everyone can see you. I guess I’m more modest than I thought."
Harry wanted to ask her to go with him, but the conversation seemed to have gone past that now, and he didn’t want her to think his only interest was in a snog. Perhaps it was best to let it go, he thought. "I think Ron’s going to ask Hermione to go with him to town."
"She’ll be so relieved."
"Really? Did she say?" Somehow it was easier to talk about them going.
"She’s beginning to think he’ll never ask her, which would be a shame, because she wants him to. But she thinks he won’t ask, because it would be abandoning you."
This seemed to be another opening to ask. His heart gave a glad leap, suddenly. "That’s rubbish. Maybe if you and I went together, they would feel better."
"Are you asking?" She blushed, but she smiled, too.
"Yeah, I am. Graínne, will you go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?"
“Because you want to clear the way for them to go together?”
“Because I want to go to Hogsmeade with you.”
"Sure? Yeah, okay."
They smiled at each other.
The week had dragged and galloped alternately, and now it was Saturday morning. For an entire week, Harry had not had a moment’s private conversation with Graínne, although they had walked to classes together often, eaten together often, and did their homework at the same table every night. Harry realized his palms were sweating as he descended the stairs and joined the queue for Hogsmeade. Graínne had told him at breakfast that she would meet him in line, and then had disappeared. Now he was frankly nervous, but he had been feeling a thrill in his stomach all week.
"Hi, Harry," said her voice at his shoulder, and he turned with a smile.
"Hi," he answered, conscious of relief.
"Did you think I stood you up?"
"No! Well. Okay, I was beginning to wonder."
She only grinned.
Filch looked them both over grumpily, but did not detain them. They walked out together with the rest of the students, third year and older, and down the long drive toward the village. It was overcast, but it didn’t seem like rain was imminent. Graínne gave a little skip.
"Free," she breathed. "For the whole day, away from school. I could dance!"
"Do you find it restrictive, here?" He smiled, watching her.
"No, not really. I’m a little restless, after almost two months, is all. I’m used to going home some weekends, and there just isn’t going home, here. Not that London is home, either. My parents are in a tiny little row house, no yard, only two bedrooms. I had to sleep on a futon in the upstairs hall this summer, the two weeks I was there before school started, because I lost the draw with David."
"What’s your home like, in America?"
"The last one was a log house outside of Denver. They’ve kept it; it’s just closed up. It’s okay, there, but I like Bonk Pass better, where Bart lives. It’s a wizarding village, no Muggles, sort of like Hogsmeade, if what I’ve heard is true. Bart’s got a stone house there, lots of rooms." She glanced sideways at him. "Where would you live, if you could live anywhere?"
"Here."
She waited, wondering if there was more.
"This is the first place I can ever remember feeling like home. My aunt and uncle have always made it clear that I am unwelcome, that they took me in as an act of charity, and everything about me is repulsive to them. I haven’t always had an easy time of it here, but I’ve had friends, and there are other people like me. When I came here, everything came into focus." He made an impatient movement with his shoulders. "I’m not explaining it well. You’re in a magical family, so you can’t understand what it’s like to have to hide it, to have things happen that no one could explain, even you, but you somehow knew you made happen."
"I guess not. We always knew why the weird things happened. Bruce is really good at willing magic to happen, wand or not. He’s still getting in trouble for it."
"Willing-- you mean, like one time when I was ten, before I even knew about magic, I released a snake from a cage in the zoo because my cousin was mean to me? That sort of thing?"
"Yeah, that sort of magical reaction to strong emotion. My mom is good at it too. We always ask why she bothers to carry a wand at all."
"I saw her do that, when she knocked that trainer git down. She did it with her hand."
“I’m surprise he didn’t drop dead, she was so mad. Angry, I mean. Oh, it’s very quaint, look at it!" She stopped walking to look at Hogsmeade, spread before them. "Edwardian."
"Maybe a little earlier," he agreed, understanding. "Where would you like to go?"
"Everywhere!"
So he showed her the post office, Gladrags, Dervish and Banges, Honeydukes, the Three Broomsticks, the Hog’s Head, and all the other little shops. Zonko’s was packed with students, and Harry assured her that they could come back in the afternoon, it wouldn’t be so crowded. They looked in all the shops that could possibly be interesting, and by that time it was nearly lunch, so they went to the Three Broomsticks to meet up with Ron and Hermione.
They laughed a lot over pork and apple pasties and chocolate cake and butterbeer, and then Hermione cleared her throat. "Can you two manage to stay out of trouble for an hour? Graínne and I have some shopping to do."
"And you don’t want us along?" Ron demanded, looking surprised.
"Not particularly."
"Of course it’s up to you," said Graínne casually. "My brothers always hate it when we load all that female stuff into the basket, they find it very embarrassing--"
"We’ll meet back here, say at one thirty?" Ron hastened to interrupt.
"Superb," said Hermione, smiling at him.
"What do you suppose they’re up to?" he demanded of Harry, watching the girls disappear through the crowd toward the door.
"Christmas shopping, I expect. At least that’s what I’m up to. Come on. And I had an idea of something you could give to Hermione that wouldn’t make her parents think you were trying to ruin her teeth." Harry shrugged into his cloak.
"Dunno that I brought enough money to shop--" began Ron awkwardly.
"It’s just two sickles, I’ll loan it to you if you haven’t got it. She’ll like it, you’ll see."
The girls were just going into Gladrags when they reached the street. Harry led the way up to the stationers, where Ron chose gift-boxed quills, sale-priced, for Hermione and Graínne, and Harry chose silver inkpots.
"I reckon I ought to give Hermione something else, too, that I’m not giving to Graínne," said Ron thoughtfully, looking at the bookstore across the street.
"I just hope Graínne steers her away from homework planners this year," muttered Harry.
"What’re you going to give Graínne?"
"I, er, thought about red and gold enameled combs, like she wears in her hair sometimes?"
"Oh. That’ a good idea." He seemed to wish he’d thought of it for Hermione.
"And I saw this book that Hermione would like, it’s -- do you want to look at it and decide? It’s an antique, I’m pretty sure. I didn’t see the publishing date. But it wasn’t expensive. And she loves books, see--"
"Yeah, that’s good, let’s go." He seemed relieved.
At the appointed time, they sprinted back up the street to meet the girls, and found them hurrying from the other end. Harry felt his heart swell at the sight of them, laughing, red cheeks and flying hair. Ron and Hermione split off to go back to the bookstore, and Harry led Graínne up to the Shrieking Shack, telling her its history, both legend and truth. Then they stopped in at Zonko’s and supplied themselves with some fireworks, Honeydukes for candy, and by then they were ready for a cup of coffee.
"Not Madam Puddifoote’s," said Harry firmly.
"I wouldn’t think of it," she answered with a snort, having looked in the window. "Any other shops around that actually serve it?"
"Yeah, Isadora’s says it’s a family place. We could try there."
Isadora’s Tea Shop did indeed serve coffee, and it tasted better than Madam Puddifoote’s coffee, with no annoying cherubs or snogging couples. Seated in comfortable chairs around the small tables, her clientele seemed to be made up of local people or older students whose interest in the shop ran to food and conversation rather than necking. The decor, too, was eclectic, tasteful, made up of browns and deep reds, overstuffed furniture, gleaming copper. Harry leaned back in his chair, wondering if he should try to hold her hand.
"Any shopping left to do?" she asked, leaning her elbows on the table.
"Yeah, I have to find something for Ron’s Christmas. But I was thinking of ordering something I saw in the paper yesterday, so I’m really finished. What about you?"
"I have everything taken care of, I think. There isn’t another weekend until after Christmas, right? Lavender and Parvati --I’ve had their gifts for a while, and I’m going to send them in their luggage because they are both going home right after the Winter Ball, whatever that is."
"Oh. A dance. I didn’t know there was going to be one."
"It’s on the notice board."
"When is it?"
"December twentieth. Last night of the term. Are you staying here for break?"
"I usually do. Last year I went down to London to stay with my godfather, but...." His voice trailed off, and he leaned forward suddenly and hunched over his coffee cup.
"H told me what happened. I’m sorry, it’s awful."
He shrugged, aware that if he spoke, he would cry.
"If everyone is going, do you want to go to London with me? You’d have to sleep on the futon in the hall, though, and I know that’s just not for everyone--"
"I thought you slept on the futon in the hall," he said, looking up quickly.
"Oh, yeah, I’d have to kip under the dining table, but at least I’d be the first in line for breakfast." She grinned, pink-cheeked, as he chuckled. “Actually, Dave went back to the US, so the bedroom is free.”
"That’s nice of you to offer, Graínne. The truth is, I don’t know if Dumbledore will let me out." He smiled lamely. "I’ll be quite all right here, even if everyone does go home."
"I hate to think of you stuck up here with no company."
"Well, it’s almost two months away, so don’t give it much thought. All done? Fancy a bit of a walk out into the country before we get locked up again?"
"You read my mind," she grinned, and they went out into the chilly afternoon.
They walked out toward the place where Sirius had led them up to his cave, hand in hand, not talking much. It was thrilling to hold hands again; there wasn’t much need to talk. The quiet between them didn’t feel awkward, either, as it had when he had been with Cho. The sun was descending in the west, and was hidden more than not by hurrying gray clouds. Out of sight of the village, Graínne, who had a song in her head, began humming, singing snatches of it, and dancing a little. She drew Harry along with her, showing him steps, making him laugh. He wondered if he should kiss her, but it seemed as if it would interrupt the good time they were having. And there were all those nagging doubts he was having about how emotionally tied up he should allow her to become. He was holding her hand, sometimes actually holding all of her, and it was enough for the moment.
"You’re a good dancer, Harry," she said, a little breathless.
"It must be you, I’ve never danced much at all."
"You have a natural rhythm, an understanding of how to anticipate the next move. Very good. Of course, you play Quidditch, that explains it."
"Do Quidditch players dance better than other people?"
"In general, I have found it to be so." She took his right hand and placed it on the small of her back, and took his left hand in her right. "Step toward me with your right foot." She began to guide him through the box step.
He was very distracted by the nearness of her, her face close to his.
"Graínne, I have something to tell you."
"What is it?" She stopped dancing and stood still, his arm still around her waist, her hand still in his. She gave him her full attention in a way that was rather disconcerting.
"I like you."
She smiled. "I like you too, Harry."
"That’s not all, though. It’s important that you understand why I can’t get very involved."
The smile faded. "What do you mean?"
"I mean it’s about Voldemort, of course. Everything about me is tied up with him, our wands, my scar, the Legilimency, and whether I live or die."
She waited, somber but not anxious or upset.
"Look, don’t say anything to Ron and Hermione, but last year, when we destroyed a Prophesy record that Voldemort was trying to get a hold of, they got under the impression that the prophesy was lost. But it isn’t. I heard Dumbledore’s memory of it. And I can’t tell you what it is, it would endanger you, but the point is that there’s no point in getting involved, because if I’m not killed, I’ll probably become someone you wouldn’t want to associate with. Don’t shake your head, you have no idea--"
"Harry, if you kill Voldemort, I’ll think you’re a hero, not a killer."
He gaped at her. "What makes you say that?"
"It’s just adding up all the evidence. I don’t know what the prophecy was, but with evil, it’s often kill or be killed. Everything published on Voldemort indicates that he’s out to murder you, and it doesn’t even matter why. Killing him is self-defense."
"That’s if I win the duel."
She nodded solemnly. "Yes, if. I’m an optimist, in general."
"So you see why there’s no point in getting involved--"
"Not remotely. I have no understanding of that at all."
He stared at her helplessly.
"Are you going to roll over now, Harry, and die before he can get you? Are you going to stop living now, just because there’s a chance you will later? I’ve got news for you, lad, we are all going to die. That is the nature of life." She took his face in her hands. "And it’s too late about getting involved. If you wanted to warn me off, you should have said something to me the first night, at the start of term feast, when you looked at me with those brilliant green eyes of yours."
"I don’t want to hurt you."
"Nor I you, so I’ll try not to get carried away and bite you." She wiggled her eyebrows.
"Graínne, you aren’t taking this seriously," he sighed, but she would not let go of him.
"Harry, I am taking this very seriously." The grin disappeared instantly, and she had never looked more somber. "Whatever happens with Voldemort isn’t happening right here and right now. You aren’t dead yet. So start living."
They stared at each other for a moment, and then Harry bent and kissed her. He kissed her until his own ears were ringing, his glasses knocked askew, their bags of packages fallen unheeded to the dirt road. They leaned against each other, panting slightly.
"Wow," she murmured weakly.
"Yeah," he agreed, surprise in his voice.
She straightened his glasses for him. "We probably shouldn’t spend too much time alone, if that’s how it’s going to be between us."
"Well, that’s me, a life of constant deprivation. Find one thing I like, and it’s got to be limited, if not absolutely taken away," he joked feebly.
"Oh, I just meant I’m not to be trusted alone with you. I’m still going to kiss you."
"Good. Show me."
She laughed, and did.
"Does this mean I’m your boyfriend?" he asked softly as they hurried toward the Fat Lady.
"It’d better," she answered. "I don’t kiss just any bubba."
"I’ve never had a girlfriend." He wondered what a bubba was.
"Me neither. Nor boyfriend for that matter. Don’t the portraits gossip?" she hissed, seeing several subjects turn toward them attentively.
"Yeah, we’ll talk later."
They stowed their purchases, and Harry waited in the common room a few minutes before she reappeared. She had tidied her hair, he saw, but she hadn’t changed. They hurried downstairs, for supper was already getting underway. It was October 31st.
"It’s a good thing there’s a feast, I’m starving," she said, slipping onto the end of the bench. "Oooh, look at those giant pumpkins! Do you always have them?"
"Only occasionally. Hagrid doesn’t risk an Engorgement Charm very often, as he’s not supposed to do magic," Hermione answered across the table. "You’re late; we thought you got lost."
"Nah, we took a walk, and just wandered too far to get back quickly. Mmm, my favorite." Graínne helped herself to a filet mignon.
Ron was staring at them, a question clearly on his face. Harry, beside Graínne, resolutely refused to meet his gaze, and Graínne only smiled demurely.
Hermione cleared her throat. "How did you like Hogsmeade?" she asked Graínne.
"It was extremely appealing. You do mean the village itself, don’t you? Because the experience of being set free for the day was good, too. All that drinking and wild carousing without adult supervision was just what I needed.”
“What?” squawked Hermione.
“I’m just kidding. We were very well-behaved, and stayed to the main roads and didn’t do anything bad. I’m addicted to those sugar mice. And the coffee at Isadora’s is delicious."
"What, no Madam Puddifoote’s?" Ron asked slyly.
"Only over my dead body," she returned calmly. "Did you go there?"
"No!" Horror shone from his face.
"What’s wrong with going there?" Hermione demanded, turning to him.
"I just didn’t think it was your sort of place, you know, all those frills. You’re way too fine to take into a cheap, smarmy place like that."
"Nice save," Harry muttered.
"I’m not the Keeper for nothing," Ron muttered back.
"Isn’t it cute, how they think we can’t hear them?" growled Hermione to Graínne.
After supper they retired to their common room, where the inhabitants were in still high spirits in honor of the arrival of the weekend. They played Exploding Snap for a while, and sat talking until everyone had finally gone to bed. Then they stared at one another expectantly.
"Are you two together?" Graínne finally asked, deciding blunt was the only way.
Hermione and Ron glanced at each other, and then Ron grinned foolishly and Hermione giggled. "I guess you’d call it that, yes. Are you?"
"Yes," said Harry firmly, almost defiantly.
"Then we won’t look at you while you say goodnight, if you don’t look at us while we say goodnight," said Ron.
"Excellent suggestion," said Harry heartily. He took Graínne by the hand and went over near the portrait. "Is this all right?" he asked softly, turning toward her and taking both her hands.
"It’s fine. I trust them. She can’t hear us?" She nodded toward the Fat Lady.
"No, it’s sound-proofed. You’ve never had a boyfriend?"
"No."
"I’m surprised."
"Why, do I look like a floozy?"
"What’s a floozy?"
"A loose woman."
"No! Not at all. It’s just that you’re so smart and pretty, I thought you would have had at least one. And you’re confident, too, that’s very attractive."
"And I thought that you would have had a new girlfriend every few weeks, if not sooner, as famous as you are. I guess that’s the misconception that Americans have about celebrities, that they go through companions like Kleenex."
"I wouldn’t choose to be famous, if it were up to me."
"I know. I know that now, I should say. I was just wrong."
"Me too. Are American wizards all dweebs?"
She laughed. "Some of them. A lot of them, in fact. But up until last spring, I looked pretty young. And my parents kept me very busy, so I didn’t have time for boyfriends, but it didn’t matter, because there weren’t any. No one wanted to date a girl who looked like she was still ten."
"Then I’m glad."
"What about Cho?"
"As a girlfriend? She can’t really count, can she? We never even talked about it. She kissed me once, under the mistletoe, because she was missing Cedric, and the one date we had was an incredible train wreck. I wouldn’t call her a girlfriend."
"She wouldn’t mind if you took her back," she said calmly.
"What makes you say that?"
"She does. She said so."
"To you?"
"To me."
He wondered blankly what that conversation had been like. "There’s no way I would. No way."
"None?"
"This is like torture, Graínne."
"I’m sorry, Harry," she said immediately, trying to look contrite.
"Look, I liked Cho, but once I got to know her better, I found out it was skin deep. And all the problems we had far outweighed whatever I thought about her looks. Can we not discuss her anymore, please? I’m supposed to be saying goodnight to you."
"Then get on with it, boyo."
-------------
"Harry," said Hermione one morning on the way to Charms. "Did you know Graínne’s birthday is next Friday?"
"No," he answered, horror in his voice. "Why didn’t she tell me?"
"Well, that would be rather piggish, wouldn’t it? The only thing she could do is tell me, and so I am telling you."
Harry stared at her. "What am I supposed to do, Hermione?"
"Give her a gift."
"What do you give a girl?"
"Well, when you’re a boyfriend, you give her something she’ll like. For me, I knew Ron cared when he gave me a two-volume set on the giant wars."
Harry stared at her again.
"You know Graínne pretty well by now, what does she like?"
"Er," said Harry.
She gave him a pitying look. "She just broke her watchband, so she could do with a replacement. She likes those thick boot-socks, and she only has one pair of those--"
"I’m not giving my girlfriend socks," he grumbled. Socks represented the epitome of indifference.
"Well, she likes --"
"It’s okay, I’ll figure it out. I have an idea."
"Really?"
"Yes. A necklace."
Hermione, who suddenly had a vision of a macaroni necklace she had given her mother when she was three, looked doubtful.
But Harry had something nicer than macaroni in mind. He immediately began composing a letter in his head to a friend of his in Diagon Alley. Florien Fortesque would help him get in touch with the right person. The first letter would have to go today, and he would give Florien two days to answer, but in the meantime, he would comb the advertisements in the Daily Prophet.
Because of his mental preoccupation, Harry failed to master his classwork, and got extra homework in flower-maturing.
In the meantime, Quidditch practice went on, and this time there were observers from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff as well, because of the sensational plays they had seen during the Gryffindor/Slytherin match. It always seemed that there was a polecat loose, or rotten eggs got exploded somewhere about mid-practice, or else the weather aided them in driving off the watchers about halfway through practice. Some secrets were retained, no matter how hard the other captains tried to spy.
When someone complained about sabotage, McGonagall pointed out that the only people who had the right to complain about sabotage during the Gryffindor practices were Gryffindors, and they hadn’t mentioned it. While observers were free to be in the stands, they were also present by their own choice, and if there were discomforts during the course of the practices they were watching, that was something they could choose to live with or avoid. And it seemed that the observers were able to see part of the practice in every case, so why were they complaining?
Occlumency was progressing surprisingly well. Harry began to have more control over what he allowed Graínne to see, and she was less and less able to access memories at random. As a result of the discipline, his schoolwork also improved, so that McGonagall told him he was no longer on probation in her class or in Snape’s. As his advisor, she had access to his grade averages, and his had risen significantly in the first two months of the term. She was pleased, to say the least. He would still have to work very hard to get good enough N.E.W.T.s to enter Auror training, but his chances of attaining them had increased.
"What’s your career ambition?" he asked Graínne, after his meeting with McGonagall.
"Auror."
"Really?"
She shrugged. "It’s a job I understand, at least. For the first time in my life, though, I am beginning to think teaching might be a good one, too."
"I’ve thought that, as well. What would you teach?"
"DADA."
"Dada? What’s that? Oh, Defense Against the Dark Arts. That’s what I thought, too."
“And Care of Magical Creatures, and Potions. Of course, who wouldn’t want Madam Hooch’s job? Teaching flying, refereeing Quidditch."
"Do you have teachers like that in America?"
"Oh, yeah, every school has a bunch of gym teachers. I wouldn’t want to do it in the US, though. Too many other sports that you have to teach that are just lame." She edged around a clump of third year girls giggling over a Teen Witch Weekly featuring the lead singer of the Weird Sisters. "But kicking Darker a-- I mean butt, that seems most excellent of all."
"Have you ever met Mad-Eye Moody?"
"Yeah, he came to see my folks right before term began."
"I always wonder if that’s what I’ll look like at the end of the war, or if I’ll last that long."
"Mmm. Sobering thought. But maybe you’ll fare more like my dad. He’s got some wicked scars, but mostly they don’t show, and he still has all his appendages." She flashed him a grin. "Just don’t lose your lips, Harry, I need them," she added in a whisper very close to his ear that made him heart ricochet around his ribcage.
It was Thursday, and they were going to a meeting of the Dueling Club. Hermione had invited them to give a demonstration of the rapid-fire dueling she’d seen from them the first week. Professor Flitwick was the official staff sponsor, but Harry rather suspected that there would be other teachers there tonight. It was widely known that he and Graínne were going to be giving a demonstration.
As he expected, the place was packed. The club officers were turning away visitors at the door, having allowed only ten from each House, plus the members. Graínne made a surprised noise as they were admitted, looking around. "I didn’t realize it was such a big thing."
"It isn’t, normally," said Hermione, who was secretary. "The great good luck is that Malfoy was late, and didn’t get in, and no one inside will give up their places for him. Have you planned any of it?"
"What, the duel?" Graínne glanced at Harry. "We planned not to maim or hurt each other."
“Good enough for me. We’ll call the meeting to order, take care of a few business items, and then we will feature you for a ten-minute duel. After that, if you two are still on your feet and haven’t lost too much blood, you’ll field questions for ten minutes, and the rest of the time we’ll practice Expelliarmus and counter jinxes. Any questions?"
"Do you expect us to bleed?" Harry asked, shocked.
"No, of course not. I’m just saying what they’re saying," she answered impatiently, jerking her head toward the milling crowd around the dais. "Close the doors, Justin!" she called, tapping her wristwatch.
Hagrid had volunteered to hold the doors against more non-members, and placed himself solidly against the panels. People found places to sit, and Harry and Graínne sat off in the back, away from others’ gazes. Harry held her hand under the folds of their robes, and they listened politely to the club minutes, rules, invitation to join, and schedule for the coming weeks. Finally, Hermione stood up and introduced them.
"All of you know Harry Potter, who has been famous our entire lives as the Boy Who Lived. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has long tried to get rid of Harry, leading to a dueling ability advanced for his age. Demonstrating with him this evening is Graínne Cameron, from the United States. Graínne is the daughter of Aurors, and has been learning defensive skills from an early age. Without further ado, Harry Potter and Graínne Cameron."
To rather embarrassing applause, Harry and Graínne came forward, climbed the stairs to the dais, shrugging out of their robes as they came. Harry wore jeans and a sweater, as he usually did, and Graínne wore black leggings and a black turtleneck sweater that came down past her hips, with a small Gryffindor badge on the fold-over. There was some murmuring about the lack of robes, especially when Graínne appeared in tight-fitting clothes, but she gave no indication of having noticed. They bowed to each other, paced, and whirled to face off.
It was stimulating, to say the least, the attack, counter, dodge, counterjinx. Graínne was given to very athletic dodges, flipping and cart-wheeling. Harry had a larger repertoire of spells. The speed was blinding, the cheers deafening, and they laughed and joked as they dueled. After ten minutes, neither had managed to disarm the other, Professor Flitwick rang a bell, and the duelists met in the middle, laughing, to congratulate one another. Hannah Abbott brought them tumblers of ice water, and they sat down on the edge of the dais to catch their breath and answer questions.
"Who taught you?" demanded someone.
"Well, I just had to learn. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger helped me practice, and Professor Lupin, Professor Snape, and the false Professor Moody all taught me some very important spells. I found a lot of books in the library when I was preparing for the Triwizard tasks." Harry deferred to Graínne.
"My parents, my older brothers. Some of my Defense against the Dark Arts teachers also believed in practical application over theoretical classroom work. And because my parents are Aurors, they had us kids tutored in defense outside of magic, so I had to learn karate, sword, marksmanship, and tracking."
"What’s marksmanship?" came another question.
"Shooting a Muggle weapon called a gun with accuracy and safety."
"Can you list all the spells you used up there?"
They looked at each other, grinning. "Mostly I use Jelly-legs, Expelliarmus, Bat-Bogey, Rictusempra, Furnunculus, and Protega," Graínne answered. "I haven’t had opportunity to learn as many as Harry."
"I use all those, plus Full-body Bind, Leg-locker, and whatever else seems to fit the moment. I don’t know every jinx there is, of course, and I can’t do many of the more dangerous ones at all, but for your purposes, those eight are plenty to be going on with." Harry looked around.
"Can you round it out to ten? That would be a nice number for us to work on through Easter," Justin asked hopefully.
"All right, let’s add Stupify and Conjunctivus to the list," he answered agreeably.
"I’ve heard that you can produce a Patronus," said someone else, a Slytherin second year.
Harry shrugged. "I learned the Patronus Charm because my reaction to dementors was particularly debilitating. It won’t serve you in dueling, though."
After that, the questions became much more specific, and they concentrated on describing and demonstrating the different jinxes, wand movements, and intention. They moved seamlessly into the teaching phase, where they walked around with the professors watching and offering instruction. At last Professor Flitwick had to dismiss the club, because it was past nine o’clock and no one would leave.
"That was just great," said Hermione happily. "It’s almost like D.A. meetings."
"Except we can’t teach the really important ones," Ron agreed, slipping an arm around Hermione’s shoulders as they reached the seventh level.
Graínne stifled a yawn. "I’m going to have to apply myself to catch up with you, Harry. My Full-body Bind tends to end at the neck, leaving the mouth working. They tend to say very rude things when they can still talk."
Harry kissed her forehead absently, thinking about something else.
"I wonder if Filch is going to be lying in wait for us, since the meeting ran late," Ron said, peeking around the corner. "Yep. There he is."
"I have a note from Professor Flitwick," said Hermione, scrabbling in her bag.
"All right?" Graínne asked Harry softly, looking up at him.
"Yeah, he’s pleased about something. I think there’s been another breakout at Azkaban."
"Oh dear."
Harry focused on her. She looked worried. "Well, it could be something else, too. He’s not nearly as gleeful as he was over the first one, but of course, those were Death Eaters who had gone to jail rather than recant of their association with him. This lot claimed they were under the Imperius, or that they didn’t know they were working in league with him, all sorts of rubbish, and they got off. He doesn’t like them all that much anyway, but they had the face of respectability, so he used them. Now, of course, since they were caught in the Ministry of Magic at the wrong time, trying to kill me, they’ve lost their public cover. But I imagine he’ll still find them useful, if only in numbers."
"Is your head hurting?"
"Yeah, a bit."
They argued a little with Filch and went through the portrait hole. The common room was about half full, but shortly after they all sat down together to finish homework, it emptied almost completely. Then Graínne gave Harry a backrub and scalp massage in an effort to ease the pain in his head.
"Can we trust you two alone?" Hermione yawned, packing up her books.
"Absolutely," Graínne answered. "I’m too tired to get into trouble."
"But are you awake enough to resist it?" Ron hoisted his bag to his shoulder and followed Hermione into the stairwell to say goodnight.
Harry grabbed her hands and pulled her around so that she sat in his lap. "Come here, you," he murmured, kissing her. "Thanks for the massage."
"No problem. I had fun at the Dueling Club tonight. It was like play, wasn’t it." She ran her fingers through his unruly hair, as if trying to straighten the damage caused by the massage.
"It was." He unwrapped the elastic from the end of her braid, and patiently worked her hair loose, so that he could run his fingers through it. "You ready to be seventeen?"
"No, since tomorrow’s only my sixteenth birthday."
"Really? I thought your mum said you’d be of age."
"In the US, that’s sixteen for magicals. The Treaty for Underage Use specifies that each country can set its own age, and sixteen is the baseline. Every year there’s a lobby to raise the age, they say sixteen is too young, that much of the Accidental Reversal’s caseload is made up of sixteen year olds who are wand happy, and there’s an appalling statistic about splinching, but since that’s Apparating, which is not covered in the Underage Use treaty, and this is really boring, so I’ll shut up now," she finished breathlessly, because he started kissing her neck.
"Not nervous, are you?" he asked as she trembled.
"Not- no, not nervous, exactly, but when did it get so flippin’ hot in here?" After a few more minutes, she slipped out of his lap and drew him to his feet. "Dance lesson," she insisted.
He took the hint, and allowed her to teach him how to waltz. His headache was gone at last, and around midnight they said goodnight, having become competent waltzers. Harry climbed the stairs to the dormitory, wondering to himself where he would stop if she were willing to continue. He fell asleep thinking that it was a good thing she was stopping him; he felt quite unable to control himself, and he knew he was not prepared to become more physically involved than they already were.
----------------------
Sure enough, it was in the paper the next day, that those Death Eaters who had been arrested in June had escaped the Azkaban fortress and were now at large.
Chapter 11: If Birthdays Usually Hoover, Why Am I Having A Good Day?
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
Graínne sat up on Friday morning to a chorus of "Happy Birthday" from her dorm mates and Ginny and Katie. They crowded onto her bed with her to give her gifts, scarves and pins, sugar mice, a miniature Harry Potter figure that had been popular during the early stages of the Triwizard Tournament several years back (indeed this figure looked rather young). Graínne laughed and grinned, and seemed for all the world to be enjoying herself, but she really didn’t like birthdays. They were so disappointing, especially when one had to be at school.
Harry was waiting in the common room for her, off to one side of the fireplace. He gave her a swift kiss, a white rose for her hair, and a whispered "Happy Birthday."
"Thanks. It’s beautiful, Harry."
He slipped it into the top of her braid, low on the back of her head, and asked, low-voiced, "When would you like your present?"
"You mean the rose isn’t it?"
"Nope."
She grinned. "Is it a private matter?"
"Well, no, but I’m hoping you’ll like it, and if you don’t of course we can return it and get something you do like--"
"Now I’m on tenterhooks. How about now?"
"If you insist." He brought out a small box, wrapped in white, tied with a ribbon her very favorite shade of green. He perched on the edge of the nearest table while she opened it.
Inside was a white gold chain, from which depended a small but brilliant ruby in a white gold filigree setting. She gasped, turning pale. "Oh, Harry! It’s gorgeous! But it’s so-- I mean, we -- I -- Harry Potter, what does this mean?"
He laughed. "It means you’re my girlfriend, and I want to give you something you’ll love forever, no matter what happens." He took it from her and fastened it around her neck.
To his dismay, her eyes filled with tears. She threw her arms around his neck and gave two great shuddering sobs, and then got herself under control. "I will love it forever, Harry, no matter what." Then she gave him a long kiss, right in front of the rest of the House going to breakfast.
"All right, break it up," said Ginny at last, with a grin. Colin had fled in embarrassment. "There are some rules about public displays of affection. I can’t recall them right now, having broken most of them myself. Go on to breakfast, before someone else remembers them."
Graínne wiped her eyes and gave Harry a watery smile. "Thank you, Harry. It’s the most wonderful birthday present I’ve ever had."
After that, the day seemed very sunny to Harry, even though it rained all morning and turned to snow in the evening, and the afternoon was overcast. At breakfast Graínne’s parents sent her a large box of sweets and gifts, and she shared the sweets generously. At lunch, she received some anonymous gifts from other admirers, mostly candy, and one envelope full of bubotuber pus, but no one was hurt by it. "Ferret-face might have saved it for himself," she said as she wrapped it in torn paper from one of the candy boxes. "He’s getting lots of zits these days, isn’t he?"
The afternoon was spent preparing for the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor match the next afternoon. As favorites, they had the pitch from two to four, and Ravenclaw had it from four to six, when it got dark. So the Gryffindors had time to clean up for supper, for Graínne’s birthday celebration. There was a huge birthday cake on the table for dessert, and Graínne carried another cake to the head table and served the teachers herself. Even Snape accepted a piece. There were favors at each place on the Gryffindor table as well. Back in the common room, there was loud music and butterbeer, a regular party, but no one seemed to notice that the birthday girl wasn’t there. She was having a walk around the lake with her boyfriend.
---------------
The Ravenclaw-Gryffindor match was not as long as the first match of the season, but it was better-played. The Ravenclaw side had plenty of talent, if not as much experience. Graínne scored ten of the fifteen goals, some of them spectacular, and assisted on three of the others. Ravenclaw only got ten goals through, five of them after Ron was knocked unconscious by a Bludger. He was revived enough to tend goal for the final ten minutes, which came when Harry finally spotted the Snitch and reached it three feet in front of the Ravenclaw Seeker.
Another party in the common room followed, and Harry found himself missing Fred and George. They were so fun at parties, even obnoxiously fun, and Lee Jordan was rather lost without them. Joe Welles had teamed up with him, more or less, but it wasn’t the same. Joe wasn’t as funny. Ron, with his black eye, sat shoulder to shoulder with Hermione in one chair, the two of them talking and laughing, and Graínne was in the chair beside his, teaching Ginny how to play War with a regular deck of Muggle cards. He watched, feeling removed from them all, and yet very much a part of them.
When Ginny went to teach Dean how to play, Graínne turned to him and smiled warmly. "You’re awful quiet," she murmured.
"Too much party for me. I’m ready for a quiet evening."
"Didn’t we have one of those last night?"
"And it was wonderful. But it would be tempting fate to try it again tonight. Besides there’s more snow on the ground, and we’d leave tracks."
She took his butterbeer and drank a gulp, putting it back in his hand. "Feeling okay?"
"Yeah. No worries. You want one?" He held up the bottle, indicating he’d get her one.
"No thanks. That was a great race you had with that Seeker kid. From my angle, it was close, but H says you beat him by a yard."
"A yard, yeah. And you, ten goals, three assists. We’re a cinch for the Cup, you know."
She smiled again. "I’m so glad I’m here," she said quietly.
He smiled, too. "So am I."
----------------
The weeks leading up to Christmas holidays were full of study. The teachers seemed determined to break whatever spirit was left in the upperclassmen, piling on homework until Graínne thought she might cry. She was catching up in Charms, had learned almost as many dueling hexes as Harry, and was sufficiently advanced in her Ancient Runes remediation to drop Divination at the end of the term, but the amount of homework was getting to be crushing.
"I don’t understand why you want Ancient Runes to begin with, if you’re interested in being an Auror," Ron said one snowy afternoon.
"Well, but I like Ancient Runes," she sighed.
"Oh, a nutter student, are you?" He grinned at her. "Hermione does, too. She really likes the translating stuff. Come to think of it, Divination is the only thing she hasn’t liked, in all the time we’ve been here. Are you one of them, who likes everything for the sake of study?"
"Not really, I don’t like Arithmancy, for instance, and I have to agree with her about Divination. It wasn’t that bad with Firenz, because he was more generalized, and that makes more sense to me, but the other stuff that I tried to take at Thunder Hall, that was crap. Pardon me."
"Nah, that’s not a bad word, between us academic slaves. And especially about the subject. When I think of the years we wasted.... Not that we had anything else we wanted to study," he added honestly. "It was an easy out for us."
"I told you I wasn’t an apt student," Harry said quietly, pushing his glasses back up his nose with ink-stained fingers. "Ron has been a positive influence on me."
"More like a slight counter-balance to Hermione," Ron laughed. "I’m a sluggard, I know it. She’s kept us here almost single-handedly."
"Pish posh," said Hermione without looking up.
"I love it when she talks dirty," said Ron, gazing at her fondly, and they all laughed.
However, there was little enough laughter during the homework hours, which seemed to run to midnight regularly as November spent itself and December hurried in.
One afternoon in the upper corridor, Graínne hurried around the corner toward the library and came upon a first-year Hufflepuff boy in tears, surrounded by Slytherins of varying ages. He was being shoved around, and he had already been hexed so that his nose hairs were reaching his chin and didn’t show any signs of stopping. The Hufflepuff House ghost, the Fat Friar, was hurrying off to get help, while Sir Nicholas and Moaning Myrtle kept watch. Without hesitating an instant, Graínne dropped her book bag and attacked. She had knocked down Goyle without him ever turning around, and by the time she had kicked Crabbe so hard in the stomach that he sat down, unable to draw breath, the younger Slytherins had scattered, but Bulstrode, Parkinson, Malfoy, Nott, and several others stood their ground.
They grinned maliciously when she did not go for her wand, but when she produced a Patronus from her empty hand to protect the kid, several of them backed off a step or two. A Patronus was serious magic, but to do it wandlessly was more power than most of them were prepared to contemplate. The silver unicorn deflected a curse aimed at the Hufflepuff kid, and stood its ground.
"You’re meddling where you don’t belong, Cameron," snarled Malfoy.
"Seems to me that you are meddling, Ferret boy. Twelve upperclassmen on one first year who is so timid he couldn’t be cheeky to his lunch? Sounds like your limited intellect can’t find anything with which to occupy itself. I would have expected that of your security trolls here, and even Parkinson-- she’s pretty dim, but you are reputed to be clever. Of course, reputations are often unfounded. You could have the intelligence of a soap dish. That’s where my money is, anyway." She twisted aside, neatly avoiding his hex. A smile grew on her face. "Missed me!"
Pansy Parkinson seized her by the hair and yanked in an unprecedented show of fury and courage. No matter how much self-defense you know, Graínne reflected, having your hair pulled very hard seldom fails to bring a girl to her knees. This time it did fail, as Parkinson was rather ineffective at fighting, but Graínne’s eyes watered smartly, and she yelled as she elbowed Parkinson sharply in the solar plexus. Parkinson collapsed on the floor, gasping, and Graínne turned to face the rest of the group again.
"What is going on here?"
Graínne had seen them turn the corner, and was almost beside herself with glee when Malfoy tried to hex her. It was an added bonus that they had witnessed a physical attack. A group of teachers, including Sprout, Snape, Vector, and led by Dumbledore himself, were approaching.
"She attacked Goyle and Crabbe," Malfoy yelled instantly.
"That small girl attacked them? And that girl stood up to defend them?" asked Professor Vector, in a tone that beggared belief.
"Sir, they were ganging up on Peabody,” said Graínne, addressing Professor Dumbledore. “When I came around the corner, there were at least a dozen of them, and as you can see he’s been hexed. They were shoving him around, so I shoved a little too. I’m sorry, sir, I was alone, and I didn’t want the kid to be hurt any worse while I ran to find help. And I saw that Friar Eddie had already gone for help."
"Where is your wand, Miss Cameron?" asked Professor Snape.
She drew it from her pocket. "Here, sir."
"You mean your attack did not use magic?"
"Yes, similar to Parkinson, only I didn’t pull their hair like a girl," Graínne answered sharply.
"She did wandless magic," said Malfoy hotly.
"To make the unicorn," shrilled Peabody from under his nose hair. "She didn’t use magic except to make the unicorn."
"That’s quite true, Headmaster," said Sir Nicholas, drifting closer. "Myrtle and I witnessed the entire event. This group of students came upon this young boy alone in the hall, used a Trip Jinx to keep him from running away, as well as Jelly Legs, and then cursed his nose hair. They had just started pushing him from one to the other around the circle when Miss Cameron arrived. She kicked that big one in the side of the head, and that big one in the stomach. Then she produced the Patronus charm you just saw fade away, with her hand, not her wand. Mr. Malfoy threw Densaugeo at her, but she dodged. I believe you saw that, Headmaster, as well as that girl’s attack." He pointed to Parkinson, who was staggering to her feet, still winded.
"Thank you, Sir Nicholas. Which other students used magic in the hall?"
Myrtle took great pleasure in pointing out five Slytherins.
"Professor Sinistra, will you please escort Mr. Peabody to the hospital wing? Madam Pomfrey will sort out your nose problem, Kenneth. The entire group of you will do detention with me this evening for picking on a younger student," said Dumbledore calmly. "Please report to the trophy room at seven o’clock. Misters Malfoy, Nott, and Royce, and Misses Bulstrode, Parkinson and Cameron, you will come with me now to my office."
Graínne picked up her book bag with a sinking feeling. She suddenly realized she was about to be disciplined for using magic in the hallway, just as the Slytherins were. No matter that she used hers to help protect, it was still an infringement of the rule. Malfoy smirked at her, and she made a move as if to karate-chop him, deriving great pleasure out of his frantic flinch, but she did not hit him. She smiled at Professor Snape a little grimly when he turned to glare at her.
She had to hand it to Dumbledore, though, he had style. It came to her again that possibly it was worth having the responsibility of power if one could use it so well. He managed to devise a punishment that would accommodate only five students at a time on Monday evening, so hers would be a different task. The five had to clean the Hufflepuff toilets without magic, in addition to reporting to the trophy room that evening to polish brass. Additionally, Parkinson and Graínne had to write lines with Professor Sprout on Sunday night. The Slytherins were dismissed, and then Dumbledore turned to Graínne.
"Thank you, Miss Cameron, for defending the innocent. It was very brave, but that is no real surprise, from you. As your penalty for using magic in the hallway, you will help Hagrid this evening. He is having doxie trouble in the barn thatch."
"Oh. Yes sir. Not the trophy room?" She didn't even know there was a barn at Hogwarts.
"No, that punishment is for those who abused Mr. Peabody."
"Yes sir."
"Now, if I may have a private meeting with you and Professor Snape? Thank you, professors."
The rest of the teachers filed out, and Snape and Graínne sat down in the chairs Dumbledore conjured for them. He seemed to have a penchant for comfortable, overstuffed armchairs. She appreciated it.
"Can you give a progress report on Harry Potter and Occlumency, Miss Cameron?"
She blinked once, the extent of her expression of surprise. "Harry has stopped having the odd dreams from Voldemort, so he is able to empty his mind sufficiently at night. He is more skilled now at controlling what he allows to be seen, and has been able consistently to refuse my attempt to access thoughts and memories randomly. However, his weakness is that his emotions often swamp him, making him less controlled. I’ve been able to break through certain barriers whenever he’s passionate about something, so he’s still working on that. I’ve also noticed that Harry still senses Voldemort’s major mood swings, so apparently the Dark Lord is not troubling to shield all his thoughts, either. I don’t know if that’s by design, or just incidental, but Harry knew the night that the Death Eaters broke out of Azkaban two weeks ago, before it was in the paper."
"I would like you to continue teaching him, Graínne. He needs to be able to do this under fire, so to speak. Lord Voldemort is a highly skilled Legilimens, and Harry needs to be able to stand up to Professor Snape before he can be sufficiently protected against Lord Voldemort."
Graínne glanced at Snape, who was watching her coldly. "We’ll put the pressure on, then, sir. Will Professor Snape be testing Harry?"
"Eventually, yes. Whenever you deem him ready."
She nodded. "Sir, on an unrelated topic?"
"Yes, Graínne?"
"I’ve noticed that there are some developing Animagi around, and I didn’t know if you wanted to know that or not."
"Of course I’d like to know that."
"Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy, and a girl I don’t know, a seventh year. She’s also a Slytherin."
"I will alert Professor McGonagall. Any others?"
"There’s a hint of one around Hermione Granger, but she isn’t very far along on it yet."
Snape’s eyebrows flew up.
"Professor McGonagall has already informed me of Miss Granger’s ambition to become an Animagus. I believe she is working on a cat."
"Yes sir, she’s having trouble deciding what kind, I think."
"Are you going to study to be an Animagus, Miss Cameron?"
"I’ve thought about it, sir, but I don’t know if I have time right now."
"It is somewhat time-consuming. Well, the period is nearly over, you must be on your way. Thank you for your help, Miss Cameron."
Graínne got to her feet. Snape stayed in his chair, even though Dumbledore stood politely. She wondered what they would talk about after she left.
----------------------
On the way to the last class of the day, Draco Malfoy fell into step with her. "You’re going to regret you ever interfered with us," he whispered.
She stopped walking and looked at him, up and down, smiling as if she liked what she saw. She stepped closer, still smiling. "You know, Draco, I’ve always had a thing for blondes, and among the pure bloods it’s such a rare coloration. It’s a shame you’ve been so determined to pick a fight." She gazed into his eyes, standing so close he could feel the warmth of her breath. "We could have been...." She left the sentence hanging, and walked away languidly. Once around the corner, she ran to the nearest girls’ bathroom and threw up.
"What’s up?" asked Hermione as she slipped into Ancient Runes. "You look peaky."
"Working on a new strategy to humiliate Malfoy. Oh, and I have a detention tonight."
"What?"
"Yep. It’s with Hagrid, though. De-doxie-ing the barn thatch, whatever that is. Dumbledore caught me using magic in the hall. I’ll explain later."
Hermione had the whole story out of her before they reached the Gryffindor tower to drop off their books before supper. "And you think making him lust after you is going to humiliate him?"
"He’s dating Parkinson, right? She’s ready to kill me anyway, so if he makes a drooling fool out of himself over me, she’ll transfer all that negative energy onto him, saving me the trouble of killing him. It’s just so gross," she added with a shudder. "I don’t think I’ll have to do much, though, he’s pretty transparent. He started out threatening me, but if I’d touched him I think he would have tackled me. All he was thinking about was groping."
"What in the world are you talking about?" Ginny demanded, sounding shocked.
"Never mind, it’s gross and it loses something in the translation. You look pretty," Graínne said with a smile, tweaking a curl gently. "Going somewhere?"
"Dean and I are going to the library after supper."
"Watch your step, Slytherin is on a tear. Graínne got a bunch of them in trouble this afternoon." Hermione started up the next flight toward the sixth year dormitory.
"Then she better watch her own step, but thanks for the warning. Good job, G," Ginny approved, flashed them a grin and departed.
"I’m worried about you, Graínne," said Hermione frankly as they were finishing their preparations for supper. "They’re not nice."
"I cut my teeth on worse brats than those, growing up. How do I look? I want to be at my low-grade best when I tell Harry about flirting with Malfoy. I don’t want him to hear it from someone else, and get the wrong idea, that I actually like doing this."
"If that’s low-grade, there’s no hope for the rest of us," said Hermione dismally. "You look really smashing, G. I don’t think Harry’s going to like your plan very much."
"Well, at least it’ll keep Malfoy off his case, if I can make it bad enough."
"No embarrassment has ever been bad enough that he left Harry alone. I know you’ve heard about the ferret, but it’s happened time and again, and twice he’s had to be scraped off the train with a spade to be taken home at the end of the year. But all this is beside the point, G, it’s just dangerous to push them too hard."
"They haven’t been pushed hard enough, H, that’s the problem. They think they can get away with this dung, that no one notices or that everyone is too afraid to do anything about it. Harry will agree with me that something must be done about Malfoy."
"He may agree to that, but he’s not going to like your plan."
And he didn’t. She waited until after supper to bring it up, while they were walking back toward the common room via a circuitous route.
"I can’t believe you’d do something like that," said Harry. "Even to Malfoy. You’re teasing a guy without any intention of ever giving out--"
That was what he said, but it wasn't exactly what he meant. He meant that it was precious to him, her affection and her intimacy--however limited that was at this time in the relationship, and he did not like the idea of her encouraging Malfoy to think he ccould share it. He was also afraid that she would lose control of the situation, and that Malfoy would rape her.
They had a blazing row about it. Graínne stomped off to her detention with Hagrid white with fury, and Harry sat morosely, slogging through his homework until she returned. He intended to apologize, anything he had to do so that she would forgive him, even though he didn’t think he was wrong, that this was beneath her dignity. But he couldn’t stand the thought that she was angry with him.
He was therefore extremely surprised when she came in at nine thirty, came directly over to him, and burst into tears on his robe front.
"I’m sorry, Harry," she sobbed. "You’re right, I’m wrong, I won’t do it. Please forgive me for being so arrogant about it."
Refusing to notice all the people staring at them, Harry hugged her gently. "I’ll forgive you if you forgive me for losing my temper," he whispered softly.
"What’s wrong, Graínne?" demanded Colin Creevey, looking like he would have to hit someone. "Tell us who’s bothering you, we’ll paste ‘em!"
"Never mind, Col, it’s a personal matter," she sniffed, waving him off.
"What’s brought on the change of heart?" Harry asked, guiding her into a corner where they could talk less conspicuously.
"Hagrid. He was very blunt. He said it didn’t matter who was getting humiliated, that a girl who would lower herself to a stunt like that was manipulative and deceitful, and no decent boy would trust her. That it could ruin what I have with you. And that it wasn't safe." She blew her nose on her handkerchief. "Just what you tried to tell me."
"That’s the good thing about Hagrid, he makes his point." He smoothed her hair and tightened his arms around her. "Will you go to the Winter Ball with me, Graínne?"
"Yes," she said to his chest.
"Here now," he said firmly, "no more crying. It’s demoralizing." He lifted her face to his and rested his forehead against hers. "Everything’s right now, Graínne. Don’t cry."
She sniffed and laughed a little, and gave him a swift kiss. "You know what Hagrid’s detention was? I had to do my homework at his table. He’d already got rid of the doxies, and didn’t have anything for me to do. And then I had to eat a rock cake, so I guess it was penitential after all."
"How’d you have your books with you?"
"I didn’t. Ginny got them for me. She’d come back because she’d forgotten a book she needed, so she grabbed my bag for me, so I didn’t have to come in. I was still mad, and didn’t want to start yelling at you again, because I was afraid I’d cry."
He chuckled. "You cried anyway."
"Sucks, huh."
"Are you all done with your homework? Would you mind looking over my Potions essay?"
"Sure. H is too busy?"
"Dunno, didn’t ask."
They smiled at each other.
Chapter 13: It's Like The Middle of a Freaking Fairy Tale
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
Graínne shivered and put on an extra sweater. Normally cold didn’t bother her much, but she woke up cold, and she couldn’t seem to get warm. When she entered the common room, Harry’s face lit up, and then clouded with concern.
"You feeling all right?" he asked quietly as she came to meet him.
"Just cold. You look rested."
"Great night’s sleep. I think I’m ready for the next lesson."
"Good. Let’s plan to work in Room 17 after supper." She followed Hermione through the portrait hole and shouldered her book bag. Harry made to take it from her, but she shook her head with a smile.
"You’re certain you’re all right?" he asked again, softly, under Ron’s bickering with Hermione.
"Yep." She smiled briefly. "I’m sure coffee and hot food will revive me nicely. No big deal."
He looked like he didn’t believe her.
Food did not improve her condition, however. She still shivered after hot coffee, and she had no appetite. Professor McGonagall eyed her beadily, and laid a hand on her brow for a second.
"Go directly to the infirmary, Cameron," she ordered in a low voice.
"But--"
"Don’t argue, girl!" she snapped.
"Yes ma’am," Graínne grumbled. She swung herself off the bench and stood up.
"Have you been kissing Potter?" she asked, again in a low voice.
"I beg your pardon, ma’am!" She glared, with no intention of answering.
"If you are contagious, it’s important--"
"Yes ma’am, last night," Harry answered, standing up as well, and matching McGonagall’s tone. He noticed for the first time that he was taller than the Head of House now.
McGonagall looked at him closely. "Go get checked out," she ordered.
Harry grabbed another piece of bacon to eat on the way. He led the way out, and frankly didn’t notice the Slytherins staring avidly at them. He preceded Graínne up the stairs because she simply walked slowly, and finally succeeded in carrying her book bag, as she was dragging it tiredly. Mild concern bloomed into ever-increasing alarm. Through the last two halls, Harry half-carried her, and she ceased to respond to his conversation.
"Madam Pomfrey!" he shouted, panicking, the door crashing open.
She came running. "What happened?" she demanded, levitating Graínne at once to the last bed on the ward, nearest her personal quarters. It was always serious when the patient's head lolled uncontrolled like that at seven thirty a.m.
"I don’t know. She said she was cold when she came down this morning, and she’s been getting worse." He described her steady decline as the nurse poked and prodded.
The examination was quick. "Not dragon pox, not vanishing sickness...." She tapped Graínne’s chest with her wand, and after a moment the girl’s color improved. "Curious. Madam Derwent?"
The silver-ringletted Healer appeared in her empty portrait frame. "Who is ill, Poppy? Oh, is that the Cameron girl? What’s wrong?"
"Her heart, I think. Can you get St. Mungo’s to send a specialist? Healer Bickley, preferably."
"Right away." Madam Derwent disappeared.
"Madam Pomfrey?" Harry asked in a small voice.
"Yes, Potter?"
"Is she-- will she-- I-- she --"
A sudden look of understanding crossed her face. "I don’t know yet, dear. Her heart is not functioning properly, but I can’t see any physiological reason. I have sent for a Healer -- you heard. I tend to think she was hexed, somehow. I don’t think it’s a contagious disease, so you’re probably quite safe, but until I’m sure, why don’t you stay here?"
He looked so relieved that she smiled. "Pull up a chair, Harry. It will be at least fifteen minutes before someone can get here, if not more."
"Can she hear me?"
"I don’t know. Probably. Call me if there’s any change."
He sat down and took Graínne’s hand. Madam Pomfrey busied herself out of earshot.
"Graín," he said softly, absently stroking her hand. "I-- I’m not good at emotions, so be patient with me. I know you’ve been disappointed in me, that you keep expecting me to open up, and I know you worry that I only go out with you because of the -- physical stuff, but that’s not true." He took a deep breath, making sure his mental room was very tidy, that his emotions were under control. "I’ve been concerned that my feelings for you would somehow expose you to danger.” He laid her limp hand against his cheek, so that the tears he could not stop flowed down onto it. “The truth, Graínne, is that I love you so much it scares me, that somehow he’d know, and use you against me, which isn’t the point, the point is what he would do to you in the process, and that’s what scares me. I’m sorry I haven’t said it to you before now."
"Not disappointed."
The words were faint but unmistakable. "You should be," he replied, his throat thick with tears.
"Love you, Harry."
"Please don’t leave me," he whispered.
There was a long moment of quiet.
"Won’t," she promised.
---------------
The specialist, Healer Attlerod Bickley, diagnosed a curse. He prescribed the cure. Ridiculously enough, it was a kiss from her first love. Madam Pomfrey looked expectantly at Harry.
"I’ll try, but I don’t know-- I mean, she might have had a crush on someone in the US--"
"Just try," encouraged Bickley.
Harry bent and kissed her cold lips, and after a long moment, she kissed him back. When he looked at her, she was frowning at him, the color returning to her face in a flood.
"I told you I never had a boyfriend--" she began in a rather offended tone.
"I never said that, I just didn’t know if you’d ever liked anyone else--"
"I liked plenty of people, but I love you."
He grinned foolishly. "I love you too."
Bickley ordered her to rest overnight, and she had to take a potion every hour for most of that time. He examined Harry carefully.
"How did she get hexed?" he asked.
"I don’t know," said Harry. "Don’t you know?"
"No enemies?"
He snorted. "Are you kidding? Do you know who I am, who she is?"
"No, actually. Oh, I see the scar, you’re Harry Potter!"
"Her parents are-- never mind. Forget it. Yes, she has enemies."
"Well, there you are. This is a rather obscure type of curse, similar in many ways to voodoo-- you’ve heard of that? It’s a one-time thing, not like the doll Muggles talk about, which is supposed to represent the body of the victim, and the witch doctor pokes pins into it. This curse is performed using the hair or nail trimmings or skin cells of the victim. But generally, the curse has to be re-enacted in the event of intervention. Who has access to stuff like hair and nails?"
Harry thought. Anyone in Gryffindor, of course, but none of them would do such a thing. He thought about Millicent Bulstrode, when she raked Graínne with her poisonous nails, and Pansy Parkinson, pulling her hair the other night. "You want names?"
He shrugged. "Could it happen again?"
"Of course it could," said Dumbledore from behind the curtain. "Thank you, Healer Bickley, for your prompt response to our need. I will notify the proper people."
Bickley swept back the curtain. "Of course, Professor. Glad I could serve."
"Professor Hagrid will escort you down to Hogsmeade," said Dumbledore smoothly. "He is waiting in the hall."
When Bickley departed, the headmaster looked at Harry’s middle. "Hello, Harry. Can you give me those names now?"
Harry named names.
"Anyone else?"
"Not to my knowledge, sir."
"And you, Graínne?" he asked, turning to her. "Can you add to the list?"
"Some time ago, Luna Lovegood picked a loose hair off the shoulder of my cloak. I guess anyone else could have done that, too."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Well. I will take care of the matter. I would encourage you both to be more careful. Harry, here is your excuse for your absence from Potions," he added, handing him a sealed scroll.
As Dumbledore bustled out, Harry moved back to Graínne’s side. "Rest," he said softly, giving her another kiss. "I’ll see you later."
"Be careful," was her answer.
He walked in late to Potions, almost two thirds through the double period, which made it impossible to make the day’s assignment. Snape, eyes glittering maliciously, took the scroll form him, and began to read. It was impossible to tell what he thought about it, though. Apparently there was more there than the few lines it took to excuse Harry’s absence.
"See me after, Potter," he said softly, and grins broke out among the Slytherins.
As soon as the last student had exited (Harry had reassured Hermione and Ron that Graínne was going to be all right), Snape closed the door. Harry immediately put an Imperturbable Charm on it.
"How dare you assume authority--" began Snape.
"Excuse me, sir, but these listening devices are all over the school," Harry interrupted, pulling out an Extendable Ear from his pocket and displaying it. "And while the makers don’t like to sell to Slytherins, they have no reasonable excuse to refuse their gold. I know almost every sixth year Gryffindor has one. But if you’d rather that your business was overheard--" He made to lift the charm.
"I have given you no permission to do so," Snape spat. "Leave it. If what you say is true, the Headmaster would appreciate your high-handed assumption of authority." He took the Extendable Ear from Harry’s hand and examined it. "You realize I must confiscate this?"
Harry scowled in turn, shielding his thoughts. He had two more. The only thought he allowed to come through was Cheap bastard. It isn’t that pricey, buy your own.
"The Headmaster has explained Miss Cameron’s condition to me, and the likelihood that there will be a similar attempt on your life. Of course, you know by experience, it is possible for students to escape even the most vigilant Heads of House, if they are so determined.
"You must make up the lesson you missed today, as it is an extremely important potion. Unfortunately for me, I must either give up this evening, so that you can continue with the rest of the class, or give up three evenings over the course of a week. Report to this classroom at seven o’clock tonight."
Harry’s dismay was real.
"Believe me, it’s no treat for me, either."
"Yes sir." He said the title automatically, without rancor or sarcasm. Snape lifted his eyebrows. "May I ask a question, sir?"
"You may."
"I was just curious, is all. I wondered if the Death Eaters would order their children to attempt a possibly deadly curse on another student, or if someone has taken matters into his own hands because it would please his dad."
Snape eyed him blandly, but Harry sensed surprise. "You are beginning to show the rudiments of logic, Potter," he said grudgingly. "I have no answer. A Death Eater may have been ordered to so order his child, or it may well be a child’s ambition. Slytherins are ambitious."
Harry nodded. He turned to leave.
"How are you progressing in your Occlumency?"
He froze, and then turned slowly. "My teacher says I am improving. I have not had dreams or visions for two months." He took a deep breath. "Please excuse me now, sir, or I’ll be late to Charms." He made good his escape.
------------
Graínne was just getting propped up for supper when he came in, having gulped his own food down in record time. She smiled tiredly at him. "Hi," she said softly, as he took her hands.
"Hi. How are you?"
"You’d think after sleeping all day, I’d be fine. I’m still a little tired, but Madam Pomfrey says I’ll be up in the morning."
"Will you help her with her food, Harry? I want to attend to my own supper, then." Madam Pomfrey drew the curtains around the bed and moved off to her station by the door.
Harry kissed her hello, which turned her smile into a grin. Then he settled down to feeding her soup and rolls, chatting pleasantly about their friends in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. She ate some of the ice cream, asked him to finish it for her, and lifted her own teacup to her mouth.
"So. Any news from the fourth House?"
"Not much, no." He put aside the tray. "Snape said he would be on the alert, but I know how easy it is to avoid the teachers. Didn’t we brew Polyjuice Potion in our second year?"
"Wow," she said, eyebrows raised. "H?"
"Oh yeah," he conceded. "Actually I don’t do badly when Snape isn’t trying to get my dad back by humiliating me. Passed my O.W.L. well enough to get into the N.E.W.T. class, anyway. But yeah, it’s Hermione does all the complicated stuff."
"I heard she did a Protean charm last year."
"Yeah? Who told you that?"
"Terry Boot was reading up on it in the library. He seemed to hate it that she had done one ahead of him." She shrugged. "Dumbledore hasn’t said anything yet?"
"He wouldn’t, would he. No more contact than necessary. But everyone was present in Magical Creatures, after lunch, so he hadn’t made any moves up to then."
"Wonder what he’s going to do." She stretched and smiled again. "What are you doing tonight, homework?"
"Later, yeah. But I missed Potions, and I have to make it up. So I’m due there at seven."
"I’m so sorry," she groaned.
He shrugged. "I’m glad he’s giving me a chance to make it up, rather than giving me a zero."
"I wish he wouldn’t needle you so."
"Me too. But after last June, I’m -- It’s not all that important anymore. All the things that used to count so much just don’t anymore." He shrugged again. "I’m not fussed."
"So you don’t think he’ll get to you?" She looked doubtful.
"Don’t know. Let’s talk about something else, please. Are you free for Hogsmeade in two months?" He waggled his eyebrows to make her laugh.
She did, but asked, "Do you think we’ll be allowed to go?"
Harry looked surprised. "I don’t know! I didn’t think of that."
"Well, if we are, I’m free. Did you want to go together?"
"Yes, if you do. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s anywhere I’ll want to go alone, anymore."
"I’m betting the loo is top of the list."
Harry laughed for the first time that day.
In the Potions classroom, Professor Snape was grouchy, but Harry was oddly imperturbable. He listened to the very short directions (read the board). He ignored the insults and sneers. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the idea that it would annoy Snape much more than anything else he could do. He concentrated on his potion, his measurements, his timer. At the end of an hour and a half, his potion was the perfect shade of transparent blue-green.
"Your potion will be sufficiently matured for the next step on Wednesday, and you will be able to carry on with the rest of the class; therefore you will not need to come again in the evening. Potter, I urge you, do no come late again."
"I’ll do my best, Professor." He resisted the temptation to tell Snape to keep his House members from poisoning any more of his friends.
The answer was so mild that Snape seemed surprised. "How is Miss Cameron?"
"She’s expected to be up again tomorrow."
"She will need to make up this potion as well, but I seem to recall seeing it on her transcripts, so perhaps it will not be too difficult. She has the aptitude to be a great potioner, but she seems to lack the desire."
Harry really did not want to discuss Graínne’s future with Snape, but he was struck by how weird it felt to hear Snape praising someone in Gryffindor. With great self-control, he put it aside. "Has Professor Dumbledore had any success in finding the perpetrator?"
"The headmaster has not shared that information with me."
"Oh. Me neither."
"You are excused, Potter."
"Yes sir." Harry departed.
It was still before curfew. Harry put aside the temptation to visit the hospital wing again and returned resolutely to the Gryffindor tower, to start his homework. It was going to be a long night of it, and around midnight he would be glad he had started early.
Ron and Hermione were at their usual table, working on the Transfiguration homework. Harry dropped into his chair and pulled out his book.
"How’s Snape?" Ron asked absently.
"Greasy and bad-tempered," Harry replied shortly.
"Was it bad? I didn’t expect you until ten," said Hermione.
"Nah, it wasn’t bad. I guess it’s not as fun insulting me without an audience."
"We went to see Graínne after you went to your make-up," said Ron, rubbing his eyes. "She seems pretty happy for a girl who almost died."
"Don’t we all," said Hermione.
The boys grinned.
"What he’s hinting at so obtusely, Harry, is what’s going on between you two?"
"What do you mean?"
"Come on, mate, we know you’re going out. Are you getting serious?"
He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Are you?"
"Quite," said Hermione definitely, but she was not distracted. "I thought she was planning to leave after school."
"We haven’t made any plans yet. Except to go to the Ball and to Hogsmeade."
They gazed at him expectantly.
"Look, it’s not something I’m ready to hash out yet. We’ve barely talked about it."
"Gotcha, mate," said Ron, and returned to his work.
---------------
Graínne appeared in class just as Professor Flitwick was going to close the door. Madam Pomfrey had wanted to keep her one more day, but Graínne had objected so strenuously, she had finally relented— almost too late. "Sorry, sir," she said breathlessly, slipping in behind Lavender and Parvati. She flashed a smile at Harry and Hermione. Ron was searching for his misplaced quill at that moment, and therefore got his own greeting a moment later.
"Blimey," he whispered, but only Harry heard him. Harry grinned to himself. Graínne’s smiles were brilliant.
As soon as they were set to practice their charm for the day, Hermione gave Graínne’s hand a squeeze. "You look well," she said, pleased.
"I feel a lot better. Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape agreed it was a curse, not poison. They were surprisingly kind to me-- that is, surprising for Snape."
"I’m surprised he came at all," said Ron darkly.
"Dumbledore sent him; he made it clear he would never have come on his own," she answered with a shrug.
"He says you could be a great potioner, if you wanted to. He’s never said that about anyone before, that I ever heard," said Harry. “Not even one from his own House.”
She shook her head. "Don’t want to," she grinned. She waved her wand at the water goblet she was supposed to be charming, but nothing happened. "I guess I need to go over the directions again. Isn’t it supposed to be dancing the hula?"
After class, Graínne gave Harry a swift kiss, which went unnoticed in the bustle of packing up and departing. "How was Potions last night?"
"Not that bad." He smiled down at her. "I’m glad you’re back. Even one day was lonely."
"It was for me, too."
It seemed very natural to walk along hand in hand through the halls. They seemed to be wandering through the day in a blaze of joy, and no trouble seemed to touch them. The Winter Ball was in three more days, and the term would be over after that, and the long holiday separation would follow, but Graínne refused to discuss it. She didn’t want anything to burst the bubble of bliss that was filling her insides, nor did she want the smile to fade from Harry’s face.
An owl came at breakfast the next morning with a letter for her. She read the letter and then held it out for Harry to read. His mouth full of scrambled eggs, he took it wordlessly and scanned it while he chewed and swallowed.
Dearest Daughter,
Dad and I are being sent unexpectedly to Hogsmeade next week. The headmaster has graciously asked us to stay at the school. I know you crave a change of scene during the holidays, but perhaps you can make do with visitors instead?
Love,
Mother.
"You’re staying," he breathed, looking at her, struggling between blazing joy and the knowledge that she wanted to get out of the castle. "I’m sorry, love--"
"No, this is good news! I didn’t want to leave." She smiled her radiant smile at him. "And they’ll be here in the castle!"
"Great, chaperones," he said with a groan, and she laughed, as he intended.
The remaining time before the Winter Ball rushed past, and it seemed to Harry only a few moments between getting up from the breakfast table on Friday morning and steaming his dress robes in preparation for the ball at seven thirty that night. Because the Ball was during the term, it was open to all students, even first through third years. Harry wondered how the student body would be managed, since it was a social event, but as soon as he and Graínne descended the marble stairs followed closely by Ron and Hermione, it became evident that there were plenty of adults to supervise. What looked like the entire board of governors of the school and their spouses were there, as well as several members of the Ministry, and a number of parents.
However, Harry did not devote much attention to this. Graínne was wearing the epitome of American formalwear, a tailored satin sheath dress that ended mid-thigh, and a flowing silk California-style robe with long sleeves. The dress was navy blue, her tights exactly the same shade, and her robe was midnight with a gentle snowfall. Her hair was loose, only the front fringe drawn back in a clip, but the curls had been tamed into gentle waves. She wore high heels like she wore them everyday. The necklace he’d given her for her birthday was at her throat. Harry had never seen such grace and beauty, and neither had many other boys in the room, who stopped to stare.
All the Gryffindor girls sparkled that night, it seemed to Cho Chang. She watched Harry dance and laugh with Graínne, with Hermione (resplendent in royal blue), with Ginny (shell pink), Lavender (in lavender, of course), Parvati (hot pink)-- all of them looking their best. She saw that he never danced with any girl outside his house, that he never let Graínne go for more than one song, and that when he did happen to look at her, Cho, it was accidental, and he was polite and friendly, but neither interested or embarrassed. Roger Davies was rather put out with her, but decided in the long run he’d rather have a distracted Cho in his arms than no Cho at all.
Malfoy made several attempts to disrupt their evening. First he tried to spill punch on them, but Graínne repelled it with her open hand right into the middle of his dove-gray dress robes, soaking him thoroughly. He tried insulting Harry, who merely said, "Geez, I wish you would get some new material, Malfoy, that joke is nearly as old as your mother." He tried to cut in on Dean while he was dancing with Graínne, but she trod so heavily on his foot with her high heel that he never got to open his mouth, and Pansy Parkinson had to take him to the hospital wing to see if his toe was broken.
"Let’s get some fresh air," Graínne whispered to Harry under the roar of a vastly popular heavy metal song.
Immediately he guided her out through the entry into a garden created for the evening of benches, hedges, roses, fountains, flowery bowers, and spring-like temperature. They took a bench that was out of the way of the main traffic, under a blooming weeping cherry tree that drooped its branches over them to create a bit of privacy.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked, wondering how he, plain, myopic Harry Potter, had managed to win the most beautiful girl in the school.
"Well, it’s a dance, and if you weren’t here, I’d probably go to bed. As it is, I’m enjoying myself immensely. And you?"
"I’ve never liked even the idea of a dance, but I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Well, okay, one or two things. Have I mentioned that you look even more beautiful than usual?"
"Several times. Harry honey, are you going to waste this quiet, private moment in conversation?"
"I don’t think you’ll let me do that. But I didn’t want you to think that kissing you is the only thing I like about being alone with you." He put an arm around her.
"Be at peace, I don’t think that at all."
"I’m wondering, too, how such a gorgeous lady could find me remotely interesting--"
"Harry honey, stop talking before I kiss your teeth."
"Yes love."
There was no telling how long they might have gone on necking, because they were interrupted before they showed any signs of slowing down by the sound of a raid in the bower next door. "Weasley, Thomas, get back inside at once!" snarled Snape.
Instantly, Graínne led the way through the maze of potted plants behind and around their bench, and out into the path behind them, Harry leaping after her. Then, quite decorously, they walked hand in hand to the intersecting path, where Snape came striding up.
"If you two have quite finished swapping saliva, return indoors at once."
"Oh good, we haven’t finished," said Graínne brightly, turning to put her arms around Harry, who was choking back a laugh.
"I think Professor Snape really meant that we’re to go, finished or not," he said swiftly.
"Oh," said Graínne, sounding disappointed.
"I can still give detentions, Cameron," warned Snape.
"Yes sir," she smiled. "You know, Professor, even though I had Ms. Keller-Glass for Potions at Thunder Hall, I never fully appreciated the subtlety of the art as a whole until I started studying with you. Good evening, sir." She gave him a smile so dazzling that the bitter fury left his face and was replaced by astonishment, and he was speechless as they hurried back inside.
"That was close," Harry laughed, pulling her into his arms in the middle of the dance floor.
"I’m very annoyed at the interruption," she answered softly in his ear, her hands moving caressingly on his shoulders. "I was having such a good time."
Harry felt goose bumps all over. "Me too," he answered. "Poor Ginny and Dean," he added, shying away from those goose bumps.
"They must be mortified. It’s very much Snape’s gig, though, isn’t it-- beating the bushes and preventing anything that might bring joy and pleasure to someone else. Of course, it might have been worse." She seemed suddenly to lose track of the rhythm of the music.
"How?"
"It could have been my dad. Look." She pointed toward the doorway.
At first he couldn’t see anyone who might have been her father. Then he spotted a tall man who was so like her brother David that Harry thought at first it was David. In the low light, it was hard to see the silver in his dark hair. However, there beside him was Mrs. Cameron, in traditional dress robes of golden velvet.
"They’re early," Graínne said, and she didn’t sound too pleased.
"Are we going to ignore them, or go say hello?"
She sighed, and turned back to him with a smile. "We’re going to be very good, and say hello." Somehow she telegraphed a sense of frustration to him, as if their evening was over. He smiled back at her reassuringly, took her hand, and led her through the crowd.
They were standing by the door speaking to Dumbledore, who seemed to disappear just before Harry and Graínne reached them. They were looking around with interest, waving at Ministry members they recognized, but clearly searching. Graínne pulled herself even with Harry, and they arrived almost at the doorway when the elder Camerons spotted them.
Rory swept Graínne up in a delighted hug, and Morag gave Harry a much more restrained one.
"What a squash! Isn’t the music a bit loud?" Morag shouted at Graínne.
"Mother," she groaned. "Dad, this is Harry Potter. Harry, my father, Rory Cameron."
"Pleased to meet you, sir," said Harry, shaking the hand Rory held out.
"Likewise, young man. Are you dating my daughter?"
"Dad!" Graínne hissed, appalled.
"Yes sir," said Harry, looking him in the eye. "Since October, sir." He shielded his mental room carefully, fully aware that the Camerons were all Legilimenses.
"And you didn’t ask?"
"Yes sir, I did ask. She said yes."
Morag burst out laughing. "Enough, Rory! Harry, will you dance with me?"
"Yes ma’am, I’d be delighted." He offered his arm, and guided her out into the crowd.
Graínne laid her hand in her father’s and followed him out. "Dad, I’m telling you, don’t you dare give him a hard time!"
"Child, it is my right to examine any young man interested in my only daughter. And it is generally true that a prize too easily won is not valued fully."
"Dad, Harry has lost everyone he’s ever loved except Ron and Hermione, his peers. If you scare him off, I’ll never come home."
"That’s blackmail!" growled Rory. "It’s beneath you."
"Well, never is a long time," she admitted, "but I won’t want to. I love him, Dad."
"What do you know about love?" he demanded, scoffing.
"Enough to know this is real. It’s not a silly crush, it’s not gushy feelings that wear out after a while, and it isn’t a hormonal response to the best-looking male around, because he’s not. What he is, though, is selfless. He’s set against Voldemort from birth, and is willing to die to get rid of him--"
"I know his story, perhaps better than you do," Rory interrupted.
"But I know him better than you do."
He frowned at her. "I don’t want you to get hurt, lass."
"Then kill me now, Dad, because life is full of hurt."
The frown became a scowl. "It’s not a joking matter, Graínne Kennis--"
"I’m not joking. Harry’s not going to hurt me. He’s scared witless to love anyone, to show care even for his friends, and I had to almost die for him to admit that he loves me. My whole life, you and Mother have taught me how to make choices. Harry is my choice."
"Be that as it may, it is still my right to examine him."
"Do so at your own peril." She walked away from him, through the wide doors into the entrance hall, her head up, back stiff.
Morag appeared at his elbow. "She told you off?"
"Threatened me," he said, nodding.
"She’s reaching that age. Most parents have the shocks of puberty spread out over six or eight years. Lucky Camerons, we get them in two. Well, she’s not sleeping with him."
"How do you know?" He was horrified at the suggestion. It had never occurred to him.
"Don’t scowl and raise your voice like that to me," she said firmly. "And how can you ask me that question? He’s not hiding anything more intimate than French-kissing her ten minutes ago."
He continued to frown.
"Stars and garters, Rory! Isn’t that Snively?"
"Who? Oh look, Morag, it’s that kid Severus Snape."
"Severus. I thought it was Snively."
"No, sweet, I think that’s a cartoon. I suppose we should say hello, although only as alumni, not as Order members. He’s top secret. If I’m not mistaken, that kid next to him is a Darker brat, Malfoy’s kid. Put on your game face, dear. Well well well, isn’t your name Snape? I thought it looked familiar in Graínne’s letters, didn’t you, Morag?"
"Aye, Rory, but I couldn’t remember where I knew it from. You were a few years behind us in school, weren’t you? And a different House as well, if I recall." Morag held out her hand to him.
Snape took it and bowed over it. "Yes, Madam Cameron, you are gracious to remember. Mr. Cameron," he added, shaking Rory’s hand.
"Of course we knew of your fame as a Master of your discipline, but I'm afraid we didn't connect it to our own school days. I’m so glad Graínne has such a good Potions teacher, Professor," said Rory warmly. "You are renowned for turning out researchers, from what I hear."
"Only ten or so," said Snape modestly. "Your daughter has potential to be a skilled Potioner. I rather think she lacks that ambition, though."
"Don’t they all?" Rory agreed. "Young people today, eh Professor? Don’t let us keep you from the party, now! Morag, may I have this dance?"
Graínne was pacing the entrance hall stormily. Harry leaned against the wall, watching her, his hands in his pockets.
"Of all the nerve!" she said again.
"He’s just watching out for you," Harry said soothingly. "Don’t let it ruin your evening."
"Ha! As if he could!"
"Yeah, you look like you’re having fun," he answered sarcastically.
She stopped in her tracks. "Wha-- you are such a dog," she laughed suddenly. She went to him and hugged him. "I love you, Harry," she murmured in his ear.
"I love you too, Graínne."
"I guess we ought to go back into the dance, huh."
"If you want to."
"Doesn’t matter to me. I guess, though, we can’t disappear to the gardens again, since Snape is probably heading back out. And there’s my mother, looking for us."
"She’s really nice, your mum." He guided her back into the Great Hall at an angle, so that they avoided Morag.
"Was she nice to you?"
"Very." He took her in his arms for a waltz. Most of the students went to sit this one out, but the adults came out to the dance floor immediately. Harry could waltz quite well, now. Better than any of the other boys who had dared. Even Snape was dancing, leading Professor Ferguson masterfully. Dumbledore was dancing with Morag, and Rory was dancing with Madam Bones.
"She’s a cousin of Dad’s, Professor Ferguson," Graínne confided. "And my mom is a McGonagall, so she’s related to Auntie Minerva."
"I didn’t know that."
"Dumbledore wants it kept quiet. People always assume you get good grades if your relatives are the teachers. What did Hermione decide about going home tomorrow?"
"Don’t know. I was going to ask you."
"Are they even here? I haven’t seen them for an hour."
"Maybe they’re taking advantage of the lack of adult supervision."
"Which makes us great big gits, right?"
"Think of it as a noble sacrifice, so that our fellow students can fornicate in peace." He grinned at her laughter. "You’re really much safer here. I am mightily tempted to take you somewhere secret and--"
"Stop, I have no moral fiber with which to resist you."
He smiled. "You have plenty. Can we talk, love?"
"Sure. It’s just talk you want, right?"
"For the moment, yeah."
The common room was deserted. She seemed surprised, but sat down agreeably where he put her, in the most comfortable chair by the fire. She kicked off her shoes automatically. Harry pulled another chair around to face her, and settled himself to rub her feet.
"I thought this would be private enough for talking, but not so private that we’d get into trouble," he began. "That’s just the thing, though. For the first time I’m interested in the next step."
She nodded. "You mean what comes after holding hands and kissing."
"Right. And I’ve got to tell you, in case Voldemort becomes aware of these feelings I have for you and tries to mess it up, that I’m absolutely not going to sleep with you unless we get married. That is my right mind, in case you ever face me in some other mood." He kept his eyes on the feet he was massaging, very much afraid he had just ended their relationship. "I suppose you’ll send me away now."
"How could I? It would kill me. Harry, beloved, look at me, darling."
Slowly he raised his eyes. Smiling, she waved a finger and created a give-and-take of images and feelings. He felt ashamed of his fears, astonished at the purity of the love he had for her, and she for him. He understood that she shared his conviction about sex, and that she believed each could be strong when the other was weak. He was unaware of the passage of time, but finally he heard, as if from a great distance, Hermione’s voice.
"Graínne, your parents are outside. Graínne?"
She was blinking rapidly, putting her bare feet on the floor. She dropped a kiss on Harry’s cheek as she rose and went out.
"Were you practicing Occlumency?" Hermione asked, sitting down next to Ron.
"Er, no, Legilimency. I think."
Her eyebrows flew up. "Wow."
"Wow what?" asked Ron.
"Well, Occlumency is N.E.W.T. level in difficulty, even though it’s not often taught. And Legilimency isn’t even required by Auror training. It’s more difficult."
Harry looked around, but she was already gone. "Should I go out--"
"Don’t think so, mate," said Ron. "They didn’t ask for you. Say, her dad is ferocious-looking."
"He is," Harry agreed. "Especially when you’re dating his only daughter."
"Wow, I never thought of that! Is your dad going to shred me when we meet again?" he asked Hermione, looking a little afraid.
"What? Oh, no," said Hermione, laughing at the thought. "He likes you, I think. Even if he doesn’t, he’s very polite and conventional, he’d never raise a fuss unless you beat me or something."
Ron frowned, perplexed by such a foreign thought. It had never crossed his mind to hit a girl. He had never even struck Ginny, and she could be a right little pain.
"Did you enjoy the dance?" Harry asked, looking from one to the other. "We never saw you, after the first half hour."
"Well, we were making up," said Hermione, blushing.
"What’s that? Making out?" demanded Graínne, perching on the arm of Harry’s chair.
"No," laughed Hermione.
"Right," said Ron at the same time.
"The advantage of fighting so often is getting to make up," Harry said to Graínne, his heart beating faster at her nearness.
"The only advantage," said Hermione.
"It’s a pretty good one," said Ron seriously. "You’d probably never let me kiss you at all if we didn’t make up--"
"That’s completely untrue, Ron!" she answered hotly.
"Here we go again," muttered Harry.
Graínne lobbed a handful of red and gold confetti at them. Harry wondered where she got it. "He said probably, H. If you want to change his misconception, prove him wrong."
Hermione harrumphed. "Well, not with everyone watching," she muttered.
"Allow us to give you some privacy, then." Harry stood up and took Graínne by the hand to the other side of the room, where they slipped behind the window drapes. It was cold and rather dusty, but no one could see them. "I should have brought down my dad’s cloak, then we could have a private goodnight," he said quietly, putting his hands on her waist.
"Another time," she answered, sliding her hands up his arms to his shoulders. "We’ve just had a very intimate moment, and too much privacy could lead to the very situation we’ve agreed to avoid."
"Your parents all right?"
"Yeah, they were just saying good night. I’m sorry about my dad--"
"Forget it, love. I’m glad he protects you."
"I had a wonderful time tonight."
He grinned. "Me too. The best time I’ve ever had. I hate to say good night."
"Take your time," she whispered.
Rory was just taking the turkey out of the oven to rest when there was a knock on the outer door. Morag sailed over to admit the teenagers, three of whom looked awkward and nervous.
"Come in, come in! Harry, dear! Hermione, Ron, how lovely to see you again! Graínne, darling, isn’t that dress a little short?"
"Hi Mom, I’m fine, how are you?" Graínne snapped, slinging her cloak onto the hall tree. She took cloaks from her friends. The weather had turned bitter, and the hallways of the castle were icy.
The guest flat had a parlor, a kitchen, a lovely bedroom and bathroom. It was comfortably furnished for entertaining, and very charming. The Camerons seemed right at home.
"Hallo," Rory called, stripping off his oven mitts as he entered. He gave Graínne a kiss on the cheek and shook everyone else’s hand. "You look lovely, lassie. Come in, then! Ron, will you find some music for dinner? Ladies, if you will arrange the table, and if Harry will help me in the kitchen, we’ll be ready to eat in no time."
Harry followed Mr. Cameron out to the kitchen, his stomach full of dread. However, Mr. Cameron did not appear interested in cross-examination, but in how well Harry was able to arrange food on platters (at which Harry excelled because he had been trained by Petunia Dursley). He was amiable and pleasant. Harry liked him very much, now that he wasn’t so forbidding and scary.
The dinner was a success. It was Christmas Eve, and the Camerons expected to be busy the following day, so they were having their party now. This suited Graínne, who wanted to spend the day with her friends. After the meal, they played parlor games and sang carols, and Mr. and Mrs. Cameron sent them back to Gryffindor tower a little after ten.
They stayed up playing Exploding Snap, and then Hermione cleared her throat.
"I want to announce that I’m studying to be an Animagus," she said importantly.
"I really think the long-haired tiger-stripe suits you best," Graínne answered.
Ron and Harry missed the significance of this comment, but Hermione didn’t. "How do you know?" she demanded, astonished.
"It’s a long story. Tell us, why have you decided to?"
She looked a little put out. "It’s a very handy thing to be able to do, isn’t it. And if we become Aurors together, think how helpful it would be."
"You’ve always been good at Transfiguration," Ron agreed. "Is it hard?"
"Not as hard as you might think. I think we could all do it. And I think we could manage to have it down by the end of the year."
"What would you turn into, Harry?" Ron asked, the idea starting to gel.
He shrugged. "I don’t know. Haven’t thought about it. What about you?"
"Well, for it to be really useful as an Auror, it would have to be a common sort of animal, wouldn’t it, like a dog or a cat."
"My mom turns into a sparrow," Graínne told him. "That’s useful for spying, but not for strength. She can’t even carry a parchment when she’s transfigured."
"Sirius and Dad turned into big animals, so they could control Lupin," said Harry thoughtfully, and for the first time, the thought didn’t choke him.
"Dogs are very useful in the country, but in the city where there are leash laws, it’s a bit harder," Hermione agreed. "I chose a cat because they can go about alone in either place."
"I’d be a ginger tabby, except I’d probably end up a Persian, too. I’d rather be sleek than shaggy. I’ve been considering a mouse and pigeon as well." Graínne stretched her legs out across Harry’s. "Cat seems the likeliest, though."
"I was thinking dog," Ron argued.
"What, are you calling me a dog?" she demanded, joking.
"No!" He looked horrified, then realized she was joking. "I meant for me."
"Maybe I should work on a stag, like my dad," said Harry. "I can’t see it as handy, though, since I don’t have a werewolf friend to protect. A dog would be more useful, career wise."
"Or a hawk," said Graínne, watching him. "Something that eats snakes, maybe. Isn’t there a raptor that eats snakes?"
"Eagle, isn’t it?" he answered casually.
"I really don’t remember. It would be cool, thought, wouldn’t it, if we all became Animagi? Like the Marauders." She looked around at them expectantly.
"Half of them are dead, and one is a traitor," said Harry, a little tightly.
"But that’s not us," Ron answered. "None of us is a little snot-rag like Wormtail."
"But we could very well end up like Sirius and James," Hermione pointed out.
"Wasn’t this your idea?" Ron demanded.
"I’m just saying," she answered. "It’s good to talk about all the angles, because then no one is surprised if the worst comes. I don’t know what we’ll be facing before the end of Voldemort, but it would be good to be prepared."
"Would we register, or be secret?" Harry asked, more to get her talking again than for real information. He’d been thinking about it already, despite what he said to Ron. The fact was, he had no idea what animal he really wanted to be.
"Maybe secret at first," said Ron, almost as reluctant to comply with the rules as he was to get in trouble for failure to comply.
"Won’t work," said Graínne flatly.
"How come?"
"Because one of the things Dumbledore has asked me to do here is report secret Animagi."
"How do you do that?" Ron asked, interestedly.
"I can see them."
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.
"Well, like you’ve been trying on different kinds of cats, figuring out which one feels the most natural. I know you wanted to be the Siamese, but it was too hard to maintain. When an Animagus is in human form, I can see aspects of the animal into which they transfigure. My mother has these cute little brown wings. I was six before I realized that not everyone’s mother had wings. And when they are animals, I can tell they’re not real animals. I can even tell who they are. Like that story you told me about Crookshanks, H, being able to tell Scabbers wasn’t a real rat. McGonagall does a nice tabby. There are a few Slytherins who are working on animals. Malfoy is trying to become a dragon, the fool, but I think he’s going to have to settle for a worm."
Ron gave a snort of laughter.
"But how do you see them?" Hermione demanded.
"I’m a Discerner. I was born that way."
"So if we become Animagi, you’d have to report us?" Ron asked.
"Um, yeah. Eventually."
Harry laughed suddenly. "Eventually? After what, getting caught?"
"There are only three known Discerners alive right now," Graínne answered, grinning at his laughter. "One in China, one in Africa, and me. The Chinese wench is a Darker witch who sells her services to the highest bidder. She’s pretty lean, though. Most legally questionable people are interested in hiring Animagi, not detecting them. The African guy is getting pretty old, but he’s doing the best. He works for his country, but he also works for other countries, and travels a lot. And I’m underage, so I’ve only worked for the MRA so far. I’m on call here, but no one’s thought to look at Animagi yet. I don’t think there are many who are active with the Death Eaters. It’s kind of a bigger commitment than most illicit Animagi are willing to make, becoming a Death Eater."
"So you could see Wormtail, even if he was a rat?" Harry clarified.
"Yeah. I’d be freaked about the rat to begin with, but if he had a human face, that would definitely get my attention." She shrugged. "But getting back to the original question, which was do we want to study it, I’m voting yes."
"I’m game," said Ron.
"Yeah, okay," said Harry after a moment. "If I can. Dad and Sirius were brilliant, and they had to help Wormtail a lot. I reckon if Hermione and Graínne help me, I can manage it eventually."
Ron laughed. "Same here, mate."
----------------
Graínne sat up and looked at the pile of presents at her feet. "Dag," she said blankly.
"What did you expect?" asked Hermione, shrugging into her dressing gown.
"A Christmas tree. That’s how we do it at home."
"This is how we do it here. The house elves deliver the presents. Oh look, Mum’s sent me a new book!"
Graínne began unwrapping. Her parents had sent new clothes, a new family photograph, a book of defensive spells, earrings. Her brothers had sent candy and toys. Hermione had given her three pairs of the thick boot socks she loved. Ron’s fancy quills and Harry’s silver inkpots came wrapped together, and the enameled hair combs from Harry she had saved for last. They got dressed and met up with Ginny, and hurried over to the boys’ dormitories, where they found the boys eating Every Flavor Beans and throwing a toy Quaffle back and forth between their beds. They weren’t dressed yet, and scrambled for dressing gowns when the girls appeared.
Harry greeted her with a grin, and kissed her warmly. "Thanks," he said quietly, referring to the wizard music player and collection of recordings she’d given him.
"You didn’t open this one," she said, bringing one out from her robes.
He chuckled. It was a picture of them together in their Quidditch robes, arms around each other, smiling happily at each other and at Harry. It was framed in red with a golden Gryffindor Lion in the lower left corner.
"This is great," he said, deeply pleased. "It’ll be good to have it this summer."
"I thought about doing a portrait, but I thought maybe your hoggish cousin wouldn’t believe I was really your girlfriend if you weren’t in the picture."
"I probably wouldn’t show it to him, anyway."
"You never can tell. Besides, I like the idea of us together." She settled herself cross-legged on the end of his bed. "What’s Christmas breakfast like here?"
"Have we ever been to one?" Harry asked, looking around at the others.
"Yeah, a few. It tends to be cereal," Ron answered, trying to wrestle his new Chudley Cannons tee shirt away from Hermione. Ginny was a great hindrance. "Because dinner and tea are so big."
"Well, I’m starving. Hurry up. Ladies, let the boy get dressed. We’ll meet you downstairs," she added, flashing a smile at Harry.
They came down in their new Weasley sweaters, Ron with a nice chocolate brown for once, rather than the usual maroon, and Harry a black one with little red stripes at collar and cuffs. Ginny’s was a deep, rich golden yellow. Hermione had one this year for the first time, a lovely blue heather. Graínne claimed to be envious, but she looked pretty in her dark red turtleneck sweater from her brother David.
"As soon as Mum gets to know you, you’ll be getting mince pies and Easter eggs and sweaters," Ron told her.
"I never got one before," Hermione pointed out. "A sweater, I mean. You have to be family to get a sweater, G, don’t let him fool you. I had to go out with Ron to get one. I wonder if that veelah girl, what’s her name? Fleur Delacour. I wonder if she gets one."
"Nah, I don’t think so. Mum doesn’t like her much. And frankly, Bill’s only serious about her when she’s in the room," said Ginny.
"There’s not many of us here," said Graínne, looking around the Great Hall. The tables had only been set at the top third, nearest the dais where the head table was placed.
"Only hard-core students stay over breaks," Harry said with a shrug. "And those who would rather not go home."
Breakfast was cheery, if short and simple. Afterwards they went out and had a snowball fight on the grounds, and built a snow family, and slid on the ice around the edge of the lake. Then everyone had to change clothes because they were soaked, and it was time for dinner.
Christmas dinner was a fabulous affair, with crackers full of wonderful prizes, and every sort of mouth-watering traditional food, as well as the personal favorites of everyone present. Since there were only two dozen people still in the school, Dumbledore had arranged one long table for everyone, students and teachers alike. Harry made sure he was at the opposite end of the table from Snape, but he tried not to sit too close to Dumbledore, either.
In the middle of the meal, Graínne left her seat and went over by Snape. Harry couldn’t see what she was up to, and definitely couldn’t hear, but a loud bang indicated that she had pulled a wizarding cracker with him, followed shortly by a second, and he was astonished to see Snape give a grunt of a laugh, looking surprised at himself afterwards.
A few moments later she was back in her seat.
"What was that about?" he asked quietly.
"Well, I had a feeling I needed to go pull that particular cracker with Snape. And it was filled with sugar mice, a dozen of them, which made him laugh for some reason. He said he didn’t like sweets much, but those were his favorite when he was a kid, and he hadn’t had them for years."
"I wonder what made him laugh about it."
"Don’t know. It’s weird to have something in common with him, though. I’m glad I went down there. He hadn’t been asked to pull a cracker with anyone. He pulled the one from his plate with me, and it turned out to be silver earrings, look." She showed him a pair of pretty wire hoops with tiny silver unicorns depending from them. "He said he hadn’t worn an earring in years, so I had better take those, unicorns weren’t his thing. They are very much mine. So I gave him all the sugar mice."
"What is it about you, that you can be nice, even to berks like Snape?"
"Well, I don’t know about that," she contradicted. "He might be a berk, but he’s not exactly the enemy, is he. Here, try this filet mignon, it’s the best thing on the table."
"Snape wore an earring?"
"Weird, huh. Maybe you should get a pierced ear," she teased, holding up the hoop to his left ear. "You’d look pretty rad."
"Is that a good thing?"
"I don’t know. I’d probably have to beat the girls off you with a stick."
"My uncle would kick me out of the house. He thinks it’s nancy."
"My dad would give you a bad time about it, too. My older brothers still hide theirs around him. Only Willie and Davie still wear them, Bart says he’s outgrown it, and Charlie never got his done. Says it’s dumb. But coming from Charlie, that’s not saying much. He has no concept." She shook herself. "How’d we get on this subject? Charlie gives me the creeps."
He wondered why her brother gave her the creeps, but it never came up again. Harry was grateful not to be reminded of the previous Christmas, one of the last times he had seen Sirius, the only time he had ever seen him very happy. And Mr. Weasley had been attacked by the snake, and Harry had thought he’d been possessed by Voldemort. This year was completely different.
That afternoon, they began reading up on Animagi. The Christmas Tea was a welcome distraction, because by then they were all feeling like the task was a little beyond their reach.
"I’ve been thinking," said Harry as they walked along toward the Great Hall. "Professor Lupin said it took those guys the better part of three years to learn this stuff. And he said Sirius and Dad were the cleverest students in the school, and it still took that long. I don’t see how any of us is going to get this down, except Hermione."
"I object," said Graínne mildly. "Look, anyone who can do a Protean Charm is a cinch for Animagus, yes, but the Patronus Charm is stiff magic, too, and you can do a Patronus at will, now. Lots of grown wizards never learn Patronus, or Apparation, either. And they started younger."
"Erg, that makes me the Wormtail of the group," said Ron with a groan. "Graínne Apparates, Hermione can do anything, Harry can make a Patronus."
"Nonsense, you made a Patronus last year in the D.A.," said Hermione dismissively.
"Oh, I’d forgotten that. But wasn’t there some doubt that any of us could do it under pressure? So doesn’t that mean we can’t really do it?"
"No, not at all. If you can perform the spell at all, you can perform the spell. But this is our chance, guys," Graínne said urgently. "It might be hard to get it done by the end of the year, but next year is out of the question with N.E.W.T.s. This is the only time we have."
"What about McGonagall? She already knows I’m working on it," said Hermione, dropping her voice low as they entered the Hall.
"Okay, so maybe we can’t do it secretly after all, but we also don’t have to make a big production out of it. I’m sure with Dumbledore’s influence, the Ministry of Magic can keep it quiet."
"Well, we can try," said Harry, forcing himself to look positive.
Because they were older than the first four had been when they began studying to be Animagi, they had made definite progress by the end of Christmas break. Professor McGonagall agreed to oversee their work, and she agreed not to speak about it to anyone but Dumbledore. The process had the most marked influence upon Ron, though. Always indifferent to school work, he suddenly began to work harder and sharpen his skills across the board. In his own mind, he was still the Wormtail of the group, and he was determined that no one else should think of that unfavorable comparison.
Harry chose to be a shaggy, wolf-like dog, it seemed to suit him the best. Ron decided on a cross between two purebreds, Irish setter and Doberman. Hermione had already settled on the long-haired tabby, and Graínne ended on Ragdoll Persian.
"It’s this awful hair," she complained, still admiring the image of a sleek black cat she had wanted to become. "I can’t manage a shorthair, I know I can’t."
"You’ll be gorgeous," Harry soothed. "But why a Ragdoll?"
“Well, I wanted to be a mixed breed, you know. Purebred cats on the loose tend to attract more attention than mixed breeds. But I can’t, because I’m not."
"Oh."
"But at least a Ragdoll doesn’t have that terrible turned-up nose. And it’s not conspicuously purebred. You have to be a real cat freak to know them when you see them."
Harry kissed her nose, interrupting her train of thought.
Life in the castle settled into a comfortable rhythm again. Quidditch practice, homework, extra lessons with Transfiguration, the usual round of classes, and creative dating filled their hours. The Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match was next, and it wasn’t until the third week of February. Harry was feeling confident about keeping the Quidditch Cup, but at the same time he felt quite anxious about keeping it. What if they lost it somehow? And he was confident about Graínne: she adored him, her eyes lit up only for him, but she was so beautiful and smart and funny and talented-- but what if she noticed that he wasn’t good-looking, intelligent, amusing, skillful? Especially when there were other boys all over the school who were at least a few of those things together.
Graínne’s parents finished their business in the second week of January, and had another dinner party to say goodbye. Rory had been wounded slightly, and was not doing the cooking at this gathering, and he was in a much more somber mood. He questioned Harry rather sensitively on the event of Priori Incantatem that he had experienced against Voldemort. He was particularly interested in the smoky versions of Voldemort’s victims.
"That’s rather amazing," he said quietly, almost to himself. "And the last figures to appear were as corporeal as the first? Statistically, one would expect such a phenomenon to diminish over time. It must be subject to different laws other than time."
"What I find amazing is that they interacted with the two people present, as if they were living things instead of shadows." Morag brought cups of tea to them where they were sitting in the little parlor of the apartment. "Harry, if you don’t want to talk about this--"
"It’s all right, but thanks, Mrs. Cameron." He was much more capable of talking about the night Cedric died than he was talking about the night Sirius died. That would have been a train wreck.
"Anyway," said Graínne, changing the subject, well aware of the train-wreck potential, "Are there plans for Easter? Do I have to come to London, and if I do, can Harry come with me?"
"Well, actually, we’ve been assigned to a different housing unit, and we’ll be moving during spring break," said Morag calmly. "If you could stay up here, or maybe go visiting to the Weasleys, it would be better for us." She glanced furtively at her daughter, expecting a strong reaction.
"Great. Is it a better place?" Graínne seemed completely satisfied with this arrangement.
"It’s larger," said Rory, noncommittally.
"Well, that’s a plus. Any Muggles around?"
"Many Muggles, not many wizarding families. We don’t know that much about it at the moment, but we’ll pick you up off the train at the end of the summer term, and you’ll see it firsthand." Morag poured more tea for Hermione. She was fully aware that Graínne was happy to stay for only one reason: Harry Potter was staying. "I hope you’ll all come to see us," she added.
"I’d love to, Mrs. Cameron, but they don’t let me out for much during the summer." Harry was almost surprised at the bitterness in his voice.
"Well, perhaps Albus will make an exception for us," said Rory, almost absently.
Graínne nodded happily. "After all, Harry, three Aurors in the house, you’ll be as safe as can be expected."
"Not as safe as in the home of his mother’s people," Rory contradicted, more attentive this time. "You know that a large percentage of the casualties of the last war--and indeed the present war-- have been Aurors. We represent a special target for the Death Eaters, trophies, if you don’t mind the metaphor. We’ll ask Dumbledore, but don’t get your hopes up too far."
"Who is the third Auror?" Ron asked curiously.
"William is an Auror," answered Morag. "Don’t know that he’ll be in the house much, but he’ll likely be there sometimes. That, by the way, is very secret. William is on leave of absence from the MRA, and is working directly for the Order of the Phoenix, not for the Ministry. We are trying to keep his identity a secret."
"Is it working?" Graínne asked, a hint of worry around her eyes.
"He has not been connected to us, as far as we can tell. He is living here under an assumed name, you understand." Morag was very serious. "He’ll only be with us occasionally, unless the situation changes somehow."
"I wish it was all over," said Graínne suddenly, not looking at anyone. Then, as if ashamed of herself, she shrugged and straightened. "Well, we can’t hide our heads, can we? More pie, Ron?"
---------------
Schoolwork and Quidditch and the Animagi practice kept everyone too busy to get into much trouble. Dates consisted of going to the library or sitting together at meals or walking to class together. It was sometimes all the time together that they could manage. Harry pointed out that this was helping to keep them from progressing much in the way of physical intimacy, and Ron said that wasn’t what he was looking for help with, thanks. They were on their way to the boys’ baths after Quidditch practice one evening early in February.
"Would you sleep together?" Harry asked, surprised.
"Well, I don’t really think so," Ron conceded. "The thought’s crossed my mind— pretty regularly, in fact, but it doesn’t seem right, just now. I keep seeing us married before we sleep together, you know? And I hear rumors, you do too, about certain girls, and I don’t want her talked about like that. And I sure don’t want her to think I’m one of those guys who would."
Harry followed this oblique conversation remarkably well. "Yeah. I just don’t want to complicate anything until I’m ready to get married. If I live that long, I want to be -- I sound like a prat, even to myself -- I want to be pure, if that makes any sense."
"What do you mean, if you live that long? Didn’t Trelawney say you were going to be Minister of Magic and have twelve kids?"
Harry had to laugh. "And we’ve always said she’s a right old fraud. She’s only had two real predictions in her life. But all the same, it’s like you said, I don’t want people talking about her like that, nor me, for that matter. I’d much rather I go on being rather asexual in the papers."
Now Ron laughed. "I’m betting you’re in the top ten of Witch Weekly’s smile contest, in the spring, or whenever they do that stuff. Gladys Gudgeon will be writing you, next."
Harry laughed again, but it worried him a little. He didn’t want any more attention. He just wanted to be a normal person.
The fact that Ron was thinking of Hermione in terms of marriage wasn’t nearly so alarming as the realization that he was already thinking that way of Graínne. He had no hint from her that she was thinking along those lines, she never spoke of what might happen after school ended, of going back to the United States, and only spoke of career in the vaguest terms. He wondered if he should find out what her plans were, her dreams, because for the life of him he couldn’t imagine a future without her. If she wasn’t thinking along those lines, it would be good for him to start squelching those hopes now.
This depressing line of thought hung onto him for almost a week.
"Harry," she said in a tone of voice that he recognized instantly as preceding something important and personal. "Can we talk?"
"Sure." Alarm was rising in his stomach.
They were walking toward Care of Magical Creatures. Most people were hurrying through a cold wind that threatened snow, but he and Graínne stepped aside from the main body of students, out of earshot.
"What’s going on with you?"
"What do you mean?" He wasn’t aware that anything was going on.
"I am sensing this overarching sadness and impending loss from you."
"I have lost a lot of people--"
"But that’s not what I’m sensing. This is new. And it has to do with me."
"Oh." He blushed, looked around, and then met her eyes again. "I just -- Graín, it’s hard for me not to think about the future, and I’m trying to cope with that by just planning on our relationship ending after school is over."
Her expression became a blend of conflicting emotions. "You want to break up?" she said low, pain becoming foremost on her face.
"No! No, not at all, not ever! That’s the point! I don’t see any possibility ahead of me that you aren’t in, except that you never talk about it, and I just sort of assumed that you were planning to leave after school, and that would be the end."
Annoyance was superseding pain. "Never assume, Harry," she growled. "Why didn’t you just ask me? Why would you make such an assumption unless it was what you were hoping?"
"Because I don’t make assumptions on hope, I make them -- I make them based on the worst-case scenario," he answered hotly.
"And quit assuming that I’m going to just pack up and go at the end of school, because what kind of cold-hearted bitch would I be to do that?" Annoyance was more pronounced than ever. "Why would I invest so much time, not to mention emotion, if I was planning on just leaving?"
"I have no idea what you’re planning, Graínne, and you’ve just told me not to assume." This was the closest they had come to having a row for a long time.
"So just ask! I don’t expect you to read my mind, Harry, but I do expect you to speak to me."
"Fine! Are you leaving or not?"
"Not. But I can only stay here tentatively. I don’t know how employable I’ll be--"
"Never mind that, I’m talking about us."
"That’s not my call alone, Harry." Annoyance was suddenly gone, but she was very somber.
"What?"
"There’s only two choices for us, after school. We break up or we get married. And the guy proposes marriage, not the girl. There’s no shacking up for me, and you should know that after I get married, it’s murder before divorce."
"That’s not funny."
"It’s not meant to be funny. I marry for life, and I don’t sleep with my boyfriend. And I’m not issuing an ultimatum or proposing marriage or anything like that. But I am saying that those are the only two outcomes that I am going to have in this relationship. And when we’re done with school, we can explore those options and see which one is right."
"Right now, could you explore the option of getting to class?" Ron said clearly, and laughed when they both startled in surprise. "Hagrid asked me to come see what was keeping you."
"Oh geez!" gasped Graínne, looking around to see the whole class watching them from the paddock fence by Hagrid’s hut. "I forgot about class completely."
"I gathered that. I was glad he didn’t send Malfoy or someone. You two were going on almost loud enough to be heard on an Extendable."
Harry felt a little sick. "Sorry, Graínne."
"Sorry, Harry."
They hurried on to class, and ignored the knowing glances from the others. When it came time to pair up for class work, Harry turned to Ron, and Graínne turned to Hermione.
"I can’t concentrate if I’m paired up with him," she explained.
"Oh. We thought you were fighting."
"Well, it was a little rough there for a minute, but I don’t think it’s going to amount to anything."
While Ron was collecting the moke specimen for their study, Harry, who was at the table just behind her, put a hand on her shoulder and a kiss on her cheek. "I know we were supposed to practice Occlumency tonight, but I think it would be good if we talked, first," he said softly.
"I agree," she answered, smiling up at him.
Hermione held back her giggle until Harry had returned to his workstation with Ron.
----------------------
Their conversation was far from comfortable. At the end of it, though, they had reached an understanding. Talk of the future was unproductive, in the main. They were too young to be making life-long decisions. They would be content with the present. However, as with their decisions about physical intimacy, tests came immediately, and only by reminding themselves and one another to be content and communicative were they able to avoid big misunderstandings.
The Hogsmeade weekend came, and Valentine’s Day was the next day. Harry and Graínne wandered the streets and shops with Ron and Hermione, and it was quite romantic enough for them all without having to resort to Madam Puddifoote’s cupids. Isadora’s was more comfortable, and had better food anyway. Harry was amazed at how comfortable it was to walk along, his arm around her shoulder, her arm around his waist, or holding hands. She was bright and funny, and she fit in with the rest of them so perfectly, it was hard to remember a time when she wasn’t there.
By the next Quidditch match, against Hufflepuff, there was a rumor that several professional clubs were scouting the Gryffindor team. This made Ron extremely nervous, and so the point-spread on the win was not what it could have been. Hufflepuff had a good side this year, but Gryffindor was so very much stronger. There was going to have to be a playoff game with Slytherin, and that would be brutal, but it wasn’t until the end of May.
Oliver Wood had come to visit, and congratulated Harry roundly. He was very interested in Graínne, it was evident, but she barely remembered who he was by the end of supper. Oliver hinted that he would like to visit Graínne again, or that he could get her tickets to the Puddlemere United game next Saturday, if she could get permission to go, but she said she couldn’t possibly get free, and her boyfriend wouldn’t like it much if he came to see her.
"Oh." He gave her a charming, puppy-look. "Even as just friends?"
"Oliver," she said in a frank tone, "You don’t want to be just friends. And I don’t want to lose him. So the answer is no. Have a nice trip back." She turned and walked into the team room.
"I don’t see how I’m ever going to manage this," groaned Ron, having just failed to transfigure himself into a Doberman-Irish Setter mix.
"But you can," said Graínne positively. "I can see it in you, Ron. You just don’t think it’s in you, but it is. You’re a very long, lanky, man-eating looking dog with medium-length red hair and a plumy tail and a terrifying snarl. The Discerner doesn’t lie."
Professor McGonagall kept her mouth shut. This made her very nervous, a student’s first attempt, because it could go so badly wrong. She was relieved that Ron’s first attempt had resulted in nothing worse than just a flickering into form and back out. No half-Transfiguration, that was good.
"You were definitely a dog," said Harry.
"You just didn’t hold it. You can do it, Ron," said Hermione firmly.
Ron looked back at Graínne. "And you can see it in me?"
"Yes."
He heaved a great sigh. "All right," he said, her statement reassuring him more than any other thing. "Let’s have another go."
This time he managed it for fifteen seconds. To Hermione’s ecstatic shrieks and Graínne’s standing back flip, he collapsed into laughter, rolling on the floor. Harry came over to shake his hand, and got pulled down and wrestled a bit.
"All right," said McGonagall sternly.
"Yes ma’am," said Ron, wiping his eyes and grinning like a fool. Harry retrieved his glasses and put them on again, grinning a little himself.
"There are rules that you must obey. None of you are to Transfigure without supervision until you are passed by the official committee from the Ministry."
"What constitutes supervision, Professor?" Graínne asked, always keen to clarify the boundaries. It wasn’t that she was so keen to obey the rules, but that she needed to understand exactly where they were weak and could be stretched.
"Obviously a teacher may supervise you, except for Hagrid, who lacks the ability to assist you if you should fail to transfigure completely in either direction. Mr. Filch is also not an appropriate supervisor, but I doubt you would ask him to help you, nor would he agree. Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, of course, but I don’t think they will return here for a visit before the end of the summer term. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are also qualified, and likewise they will not be visiting, to my knowledge."
"So the point is to practice with someone who could turn you back."
"Yes, Cameron, that is the point."
"Thank you, ma’am."
"When might we expect the committee from the Ministry to give us their approval?" Hermione asked, pulling Ron up off the floor.
"When I believe you can transfigure and hold your transfiguration at will for as long as you need to, I will contact the committee."
"How long would that be, ma’am?" Ron asked.
"Longer than fifteen seconds, Weasley. Let us practice again. On my mark, you will transfigure yourselves. You will stay seated, and not go sniffing around the room or chasing one another. You will hold your transfiguration for two minutes. Questions? All right. Begin."
It was rather boring, sitting there, but controlling the animal instinct was part of the process. Harry stayed where he was, but he had a good sniff all the same. He had never known that scent could carry so much information. He mastered the desire to get up and sniff Graínne, because there was just something very attractive about the way she smelled. He wanted to sniff the others, too, but that was less urgent. Somewhere nearby was someone who needed a bath. In the kitchen, they were preparing supper. There would be beef on the table, Graínne would be happy about that.
"Back to your original states," said McGonagall, and they all stood up and stretched.
"I have a terrible craving to wash my face," said Graínne wryly.
"You’ll get used to it," said McGonagall, with the slightest hint of a smile. "That’s all the practice you or I can stand today. I don’t want you to get too tired on the first round. Meet here tomorrow before breakfast for another trial, and get a good night’s sleep tonight."
"Yes ma’am." Graínne flashed a grin at the professor. "Thanks."
"Yes, thank you, Professor, for all your help. I know you promised me you’d help me just to irritate Umbridge, but I appreciate it all the same." Harry shouldered his bag.
"I may have said it to irritate her, Potter, but I meant it. Go on, now, I have essays to read." She shooed them out and closed the door behind them.
"I need chocolate," said Graínne seriously.
"Let’s go down to the kitchen, then. I don’t have any stock left, do you?" said Hermione.
"Stock?" Ron asked.
"Girls usually keep some chocolate around," Graínne told him. "Where is the kitchen? That’s one place I haven’t been yet."
"Oh, it’s rather fun, except for Winky," said Harry. "It’s the house elves’ domain, but Winky got sacked a couple years ago by her previous family, and she’s trying to drink herself into oblivion."
"Why doesn’t she get a new family?"
Ron turned around and looked at her. "Yeah, why? She was deeply attached to the Chrouches, which is mysterious enough, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t work somewhere else. I bet my mum would spare a tea towel for her, if she’d come and help at the Burrow."
"You’d keep a slave?" demanded Hermione.
"No, we’d give her what she wanted as an act of mercy. Hermione, she’s trying to drink herself to death. How happy is she in her freedom?" Ron slipped his arm around her waist. "I know you think it’s enslavement, that she’s just ignorant of freedom, but it’s been three years, she knows it."
"Getting a house elf is a big responsibility," said Graínne reflectively.
"Well, I’ll write Mum and see what she thinks, and we can ask Winky if she’d be willing to take on a very old family which isn’t well-to-do but has lots of work for her. But Hermione, do me a favor just this once, don’t mention freedom and elf rights and clothes, will you?"
She started to sputter, but Harry held up his hand.
"They find it insulting," he said simply. "They won’t clean Gryffindor tower anymore because of all the clothes you’ve left around. They all know that they can leave Hogwarts any time they want, all they have to do is speak to Dumbledore about it, but none of them wants to. They love it here."
"They won’t-- then who cleans Gryffindor tower?"
"Dobby does it alone."
She looked horrified. By then they had arrived at the fruit, and Ron was tickling the pear.
"Harry Potter, sir!" A multi-colored streak crossed the room and leapt on Harry.
"Hello, Dobby! How’ve you been?"
"Very well, thank you sir. Good afternoon, Mister and Misses! How can we serve you today?"
"The ladies here are in need of chocolate, Dobby, and we’ve all been working very hard this afternoon and could do with a snack."
A tea tray was already on its way toward them. Other elves brought a table and chairs, and though they were elf-sized, they were not uncomfortable. Hot tea and cream and sugar and chocolate bars and éclairs and other biscuits were laid out for them. Hermione drank her tea and ate her snack in silent thoughtfulness, and when the others had finished, she cleared her throat.
"I wish to apologize to all of you," she said clearly. "I was trying to do what I thought was right, but I don’t think I understood what was for your best interest. I’m very sorry I tried to free you against your wills, and I won’t be leaving any more clothes around the tower."
There was a moment of silence. "Thank you, Miss," said an elf near her.
"Can I ask you something, er--" Harry leaned toward an elf close to the table.
"Jammy, sir."
"Jammy. I don’t know much about house elves, and we were wondering if it were possible for one to be-- er-- reassigned."
The little elf looked frightened.
"Not you! I didn’t mean that at all! I was thinking about Winky, actually. What if another family wanted her, now that everyone in her old family is gone?"
"Someone wants Winky?" Jammy looked like she didn’t believe this.
"Well, we were hoping to help her get back into a better state. I hate the thought of her being so unhappy, and it wasn’t her fault. But we don’t really know what’s possible, you see. I mean, none of us has ever had elves, and we wouldn’t want to offend her further by asking her, if it just isn’t done."
Jammy nodded thoughtfully. "I don’t know if it has ever been done, Harry Potter sir. Maybe Florrie knows. Maybe we could try it even if it hasn’t been done, sir, because we’s got to do something about Winky." Jammy bowed to him and hurried away to where some other house elves had returned to supper preparations.
Shortly, an old lady of an elf came over to them and bowed. "I is Florrie, Mr. Potter sir. I is the oldest elf here."
"How do you do, Florrie?" Harry shook hands with her.
"Fine, thank you sir. You is asking if Winky could come to another family?"
"That’s the gist of it, yes. Could she, which is quite apart from would. I was just wondering if she felt needed, maybe she could be useful again, but if it just isn’t possible, there’s no need to bring it up. I know she feels deep dishonor in being freed, and she didn’t deserve to get clothes, so we were thinking if she could go to another family, maybe...."
Florrie nodded. "She could go, Mr. Potter sir, if she would. I do not know if she would choose to go, however. She must be handled carefully, if she was to choose it."
Harry nodded, too. "She has to think it’s her own idea, and that she’s doing them a favor, that sort of thing?"
"She has to see that they need her. That there is no stain on her, in their eyes, that they don’t know about her former master’s reason for dismissal, or that it doesn’t matter."
"I see. Maybe I can lay a few foundation stones to build on, today. Is she awake?"
"She is, and she has not been drinking for long, so she can still hear you."
"By the fire? Good. Wait here," he said to the others.
He walked over to the vast fireplace, and bent to warm his hands. "Hi, Winky."
She looked at him, and then frowned in recognition. "You."
"Yeah, me. Haven’t graduated quite yet. You getting along all right here?"
"Why do you care?"
He shrugged. "Just asking. Seems a shame for you to be here if you don’t want to be, is all, when there are so many families out there in need of assistance."
"What kind of assistance?"
"Oh, I know a lady, she’s got a lot of kids, and most of them are grown up enough, but it’s still a lot of work making meals and keeping the house and garden, and mending all those socks. She can’t do things just like she wants them because it’s just so much work to do it for seven kids and a husband, you know? And if I know a person like that who needs help, I’m betting there’s a lot of people around who could use help."
"You saying I should go live with another family?"
Harry shrugged. "I’m not saying anything, Winky. Me, I have to live with Muggles, so I can’t offer, but I would if I could. I think it would be great to have you around to help me. And it wouldn’t matter what happened before, because I know it wasn’t your fault."
"You saying my master was bad?" she demanded hotly.
"No. He did what he thought he had to do. But I also know you were doing what you had to do. Some people I know, like Malfoys, for instance, wouldn’t ever let you forget what happened, would always threaten you with dismissal, but I know other people who would be so glad to have your help that they would never even think about what happened before."
"Who’s them people?"
"Oh, plenty of folks. Dumbledore, you know, he’s never thought twice about it. And the Weasley family, they’re a very old and honorable family, and the Camerons, and the Longbottoms--"
"Longbottoms already got an elf," sniffed Winky.
"Oh do they? I didn’t know. What about Lovegoods? Mr. Lovegood is a widower, and has to raise Luna by himself. The Tonkses. But I think of all those, Mrs. Weasley is in the biggest need. She’s that lady I first told you about. Seven kids, Winky, and even though they’re almost all grown, six of them are boys, and you know what slobs boys are."
She frowned at him, but it was thoughtful, not angry. "Boys is needy, for sure."
"Well. It’s nice seeing you again, Winky."
"Harry Potter sir?"
"Yes?" He turned back to look at her.
"Does she know about me? Mrs. Weasley?"
Harry thought carefully. "I’m pretty sure she heard the story at the time, Winky."
"And she would still consider taking me?"
"I could ask her. If you want."
She hesitated a long moment. "Ask, but I’m not saying I’ll go," she said finally, ending defiantly.
"No, of course not. Only if everyone agrees, including you."
"Yes. Only if."
Harry headed for the door. They thanked the elves for the snack, and Graínne took another chocolate bar for the road. When the door closed behind them, they looked at each other.
"We couldn’t hear everything you said," Hermione began.
"Well, she went much quicker than I expected. She was more open to the idea of taking a new family than I thought she would be. It may not come to anything, she may prefer to stay and wallow in misery, but she was definitely interested in a family of mostly boys, and a lady who needed help. So I’ll write your mum, Ron, and see if she’s willing to consider it."
"Oh, Mum will jump at the chance, but we’ll have to gag Percy, now that I think about it. Remember what he said about Chrouch being right to sack a servant who wasn’t loyal to him?"
"Percy was in denial, and was not in possession of all the facts," Harry said grimly. He was still angry with Percy’s self-serving behavior and the cold and callused way he’d treated his parents.
"There are none so blind as those who will not see,” said Hermione bitterly.
“And I have to wonder if Winky can kick her habit. Mum won’t like that," Ron added.
"We’d have to make it plain that she couldn’t drink anymore," Hermione agreed.
"If I know anything about house elves," said Graínne thoughtfully, "she’ll get sober and stay sober if it means she has a second chance. The thrill of working is a bigger rush than any alcohol. I’m willing to bet she starts now, that she’s had her last drink."
"I hope so," sighed Hermione. "I need to stop in the library before supper. Any takers?"
"I’ll go with you. I should be up for a look at that book Snape put on reserve." Ron looked non-plussed at the idea of perusing a book on magical minerals of Antarctica. They headed off in the direction of the library, and Harry pulled back a tapestry for one of his short-cuts.
"Hm," said Graínne in the darkness after the door closed behind them. "One might think you had something else in mind than returning to the common room."
"Well, I certainly wouldn’t object," he chuckled, "but I didn’t plan it."
"Serendipitous."
"Whatever that means. Be quiet, now, or I’ll have to kiss your teeth."
They had been carrying on for four or five minutes when a noise from the other end of the secret passageway startled Graínne. "What was that noise?" she demanded in a whisper.
"My pulse, I think," Harry murmured against her neck.
"No, someone’s coming."
"What? Oh, right. Back the way we came, I guess. It’s likely Filch. Lumos." He found their school bags on the floor and led the way back to the door. Once out in the hall again, Harry straightened the neck of her robes, and she brushed a cobweb from his shoulder. "You smell wonderful, Graínne, are you wearing scent?" he whispered to her as they walked along.
"No, not today. I wonder... did you ever noticed smells like this before you started transfiguring?"
He thought, trying to remember if he’d ever smelled a scent in this way. "I don’t think so."
"Well, it’s just an idea, but I think since your transfiguration experiences, you have a keener sense of smell, and what you are smelling is -- um -- my cycle."
His brow wrinkled, perplexed. "That wouldn’t be a good smell, though, would it?"
"Not the end of the cycle, the middle of it. In general, with mammals, when the female ovulates, becomes fertile, she gives off pheromones to attract males. I always crave chocolate when I’m ovulating. And I’m hornier than usual, too."
"Are girls usually horny?"
"Yes, but not like boys. Not comparatively." She blushed.
"That would explain what just happened back there, as far as you being, er, insistent? And now I can tell. So I can tell when any girl is, well, aroused, by the smell?"
"I don’t know. Maybe. But maybe you just have to know the girl well. I don’t know how it works in great detail, I just know the generalities."
Harry wondered how he could be so at ease talking about this with her. "Well, it’s more than I know. I guess it’s a good thing someone started down that hallway."
"I wasn’t happy at the moment, but I guess you’re right." She smiled at him shyly. "We’d better change the subject, or I’ll be sneaking up to your room in the middle of the night."
"I may never sleep again," he said with a grin. "Okay. Will you help me write to Mrs. Weasley? I want to be sure she understands the entire situation."
"Yeah, okay, but wouldn’t Ron be better?"
"Ron doesn’t write well."
"Oh. Well. Sure. I have that Ancient Runes translation, still, but that’s the only thing I have different than you for homework. H finished hers already, the brat."
At that moment, Crabbe and Goyle came around the corner. They were alone in the corridor, just the four of them, and then Malfoy stepped out as well.
"Look," he sneered. "Potty and his Mudblood bitch."
Graínne made a show of looking around. "He’s gone nuts, Harry. I don’t see who he’s talking to, do you? Maybe he should be sent to St. Mungo’s."
Harry wanted to shush her. Something was really wrong, here. He put his hand into his robes, taking hold of his wand. "Defense," he murmured.
"Way ahead of you." She stepped away from him, and did not trouble to hide the drawing of her wand. She twirled it like a baton in her left hand, carelessly, at ease. "Maybe it’s Imperius, Harry," she went on. "Maybe he’s made such a mess of his job here that he has to be under the Imperius to get it right."
Malfoy snarled, "Shut it, bitch."
"Oooh, I’m so impressed by the little boy’s dirty mouth, aren’t you? Even your slang is second- rate, Malfoy. Everything about you is running second, isn’t it?"
"Shut your Mudblood yap!"
She actually laughed. "If I were of diverse parentage, I’d be deeply offended by that. No doubt that’s what you were aiming for. And as a matter of fact, it’s considered really rude to use foul words in mixed company. But what can anyone expect of someone whose gene pool is so shallow he has to have a charm put on him once a week to uncross his eyes?"
Malfoy turned pink.
"It’s hard being your own cousin, isn’t it. I know how it works, Draco. First cousins get married because there just isn’t a wide assortment of purebloods left. Not around here, anyway. We have at least ten times the number in the States, but of course very few people care about that crap."
She had been edging to her left, and at just that time, Goyle reached out and grabbed her left wrist, twisted, and brought her arm sharply up behind. Graínne, whose adrenaline had been pumping since the second they’d turned the corner, bent double, leapt straight upward, in the direction he was pulling her arm, and kicked back, catching him in the groin with the heel of her boot. She shot a Stunner at Malfoy, but Crabbe had clubbed her in the head with a meaty fist, and she missed her target. He lost his grip on her a moment later, and she despite the stars she was seeing, she sent him staggering with a hard right-handed roundhouse to the temple.
"Hogtie!" She pointed her wand, and both her victims were bound up with ropes in a flash. Turning, she saw that Harry was down, and Malfoy was starting to run.
When she came to herself, she was sitting on Malfoy’s chest, beating his face black and blue. Running footsteps alerted her, and Ferguson hauled her off. Dumbledore was kneeling beside Harry, and Graínne was still intent on murdering Malfoy with her bare hands. She was grimly satisfied that his nose streamed blood, and he had lost two teeth, and there were scrapes and bruises all over him face.
"Stop, or I’ll be forced to use Full Body Bind," Ferguson growled in her ear.
Graínne stopped, but she did not remove her glare from Malfoy. "Murderous, jumped-up, cross-eyed, inbred, impotent, cowardly son of a bitch," she said, and spat.
Malfoy raised his wand, his face contorted with fury, but Hagrid grabbed his wrist and squeezed until it fell to the floor.
"I’ll need his wand," said Dumbledore. "Bind him, and get those two as well, and take them to Mr. Filch’s office. Professor Ferguson, Hagrid, you are to stand guard on them, and do not let them out of your sight, even if they wet their pants. Friar, would you please inform Professor Snape that I need his Veritaserum in Mr. Filch’s office right away, but please do not mention the names of the suspects to anyone." He levitated Harry onto a conjured stretcher. "What I need is a witness, Graínne. Did you hear what Draco said?"
She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down. She had heard it, it was there in the confusion of sounds, of Goyle groaning and retching, of Crabbe grunting, her own shouts of rage and effort as she countered their attacks. Harry shouted "Protego!" just a split second after Malfoy shouted "Avada Kedavra!" Her eyes popped back open and she dove toward Harry, unmoving, white, so neat and tidy on the stretcher. "NOOOOOOO!" she shrieked, and Malfoy laughed.
"He said Avada Kedavra," she said clearly, touching Harry’s face. She wheeled on Malfoy, now bound hand and foot in manacles. "Azkaban," she hissed.
He laughed again. "No Dementors."
"Then you won’t get out, will you," she replied. "You’ll die in there, because there are men running the prison now who aren’t in Voldemort’s power. And you think your chicken-ass daddy has enough weight with Voldemort to get you sprung? No, he knows Lucius is a bootlick turncoat worm, who hides behind the biggest bully he can find. And you know what, Draco? They like little boys in prison, because they’re a lot like girls."
The smile was long gone from Draco’s pointed white face.
"That’s enough," said Dumbledore softly. "Go on, Professor Ferguson. I will be there soon." He watched them amble out of sight, slowly because of the chains that Ferguson had used. Then he turned to Graínne, who was crumbling to the ground. "Harry is not dead."
"What?"
"Not dead. His counterjinx deflected the worst of the curse. Or perhaps it wasn't performed properly. He’s gravely injured, as Hermione was last year, and his recovery will not be easy." He began to hurry, waving the stretcher along in front of him, toward the infirmary. "You will also need your arm mended, I think."
"What?" She tried to look at her hands, but her left arm did not function properly. "I guess he dislocated my shoulder when he tried to pin my arm back." She was hurrying along beside Harry’s stretcher, and couldn’t care less about her shoulder.
"I will need an account of what happened."
"Of course. Professor, how did he live, if Malfoy did Avada Kedavra?"
"I can only suppose that one or two things happened, Graínne. One, that Draco’s mastery of the curse is not yet perfected. And two, that Harry deflected it somehow."
"He used Protego, but that would not have been strong enough to withstand... unless Malfoy... okay, I get it. And he’s going to be all right?"
"I can’t answer that, Graínne. Madam Pomfrey has sorted out this sort of thing before, but it depends on much."
Madam Pomfrey looked pale and furious. She tried to send Graínne away, but Graínne refused to go, and she refused medical treatment until Harry had been attended. Dumbledore had to intervene.
"Harry is stable for the moment. Allow Madam to treat your shoulder, so that you can give your testimony, so I can go to Filch’s office and oversee the Veritaserum, and Draco can go where he belongs."
"Fine. I don’t need my shoulder fixed to tell you what you need to know." She watched him balance a powder-blue quill on a sheet of parchment.
"This is the testimony of the eyewitness in the attack on Harry Potter, March the twenty-ninth. Your name?" asked Dumbledore as the quill skated along the parchment.
"Graínne Aine Kennis Cameron."
"Your home?"
"I was born in Bonk Pass, Colorado, US. Currently my parents live in London, and I am living at Hogwarts."
"Your House?"
"Gryffindor."
"Please state in your own words what happened."
"Harry Potter and I were walking back to our common room together from a visit to the kitchen, where we talked with the house elves. In the third floor corridor between the main stairs and the West Tower, in the isolated section past the statue of the one-eyed witch, we were confronted by three boys from Slytherin, Draco Malfoy, Gregory Goyle, and I don’t know Crabbe’s first name."
"Vincent Crabbe?"
"I guess. He’s the only Crabbe in the school. They came around the corner from the west branch of that corridor, and Malfoy said some really foul things, called me a Mudblood, things like that. I insulted Malfoy, told him he’s inbred. I moved to the left, and Harry moved to the right, and then Goyle grabbed my wand arm and twisted it behind me. I’ve been taught how to deal with things like that, so I kicked him in the groin. I used a Stunner at Malfoy, but Crabbe punched me and the spell went wide. I heard Malfoy shout Avada Kedavra, and Harry used Protego to deflect. I punched Crabbe in the head with a right hook, and tied them both up with ropes. When I turned around, Harry was on the ground and Malfoy was running. Then I-- lost my head a little, I guess I jumped on Malfoy, because when I knew it, I was sitting on him beating him in the face. Professor Ferguson pulled me off him, and with her were Professors Hagrid and Sinistra, and you, Professor Dumbledore."
"Thank you, Miss Cameron."
The quill made an official-looking seal on the end of the document, and Dumbledore rolled it up and put it inside his robes. "Now listen to me carefully," he said in a low voice. "Stay here."
"Yes sir."
"It’s important, Graínne. You will be most useful here." He laid his hand on her head a moment, like a benediction. "Nothing outside this room can be changed by your presence, and your role in this tangle is with Harry, right now. Do you understand?"
"No, but I’ll stay here, no matter what."
"Then you understand all I have said." He strode from the room.
"Now, child, Harry is at a place where he has to rest a few moments," said Madam Pomfrey kindly. "Let me see your shoulder."
"I don’t want you to heal the bruises, Madam," said Graínne, now fully aware of the pain of her dislocated shoulder. "I want to bear witness to what those monsters did."
She only nodded. A few prods with her wand, and Graínne’s shoulder was back in the right place, and the pain had diminished, but she was sore, and had to wear a sling for a few days.
"Now, remember when you were here for your heart, and he talked to you? You sit by him and talk to him a while, and I’ll work on his insides."
Graínne sat down beside Harry’s bed and took his right hand in hers. "Beloved," she murmured, suddenly tired. "I beat that git black and blue. I broke his nose. When I saw you lying on the floor, I just...lost it, and I think I beat him up pretty badly. I hope I did. Madam stopped my knuckles bleeding, and she set my shoulder, but I made her leave the bruises. I want people to see them. Now you’ve got to get better, honey. I promised I wouldn’t leave you, now you promise."
His limp hand stirred. That was all, but it was more than she had expected.
"I love you," she whispered. "I’ve never been so happy as I am with you. There is no future for me without you, Harry." She lifted his hand and laid her cheek against the back of it, so that her tears flowed down onto it. She had no memory of his tears on her hand; she only did it because it seemed right. "I will always be here for you. We were meant to love each other."
At long last, Madam Pomfrey announced that he was resting, and that she should eat some supper. "I’m going to keep you here tonight, Graínne, so you can rest from your injury, and so you can be near him. Daresay neither of you is going to recover without the other, for the most part. Besides, Dumbledore wants you kept in here, apart from the rest of the school, at least until he knows something more."
Some house elves served food, and Dobby himself cut up her roast beef for her. "Miss Cameron, is Harry Potter going to be all right?"
"Madam Pomfrey says so," said Graínne, keeping her face calm.
He seemed greatly relieved. "His talk with Winky has finally helped her. She has not drunk any butterbeer all afternoon. She has washed her clothes and herself."
"Winky. I have to write that letter!"
"Letter, Miss? Can Dobby help somehow?"
"I don’t know what you can do, or me either, for that matter, I’m left-handed, and I can’t write at the moment. I wish I’d talked more to Harry about what he was going to say."
Dobby’s ears drooped.
"Can you get me some writing materials, then? I’ll have to do it right-handed."
"I will bring them right away!" Dobby announced, ears up again.
Graínne ate the food on her tray without tasting it. She was not surprised that her owl, Aramis, and Harry’s owl Hedwig appeared at the window by Madam Pomfrey’s desk. They went to roost on the footboards of their respective owners’ beds, and when Dobby had returned with parchment, ink and quill, she sent a note to Ron and Hermione.
We’re both alive. Keep your heads down. Don’t listen to rumors. -- G.
Then she took a fresh sheet of parchment and looked for a while at Harry, who was asleep. After a while, she began to write.
The next morning, Harry opened his eyes. They lingered on Graínne’s face before closing again, and she worried all morning that there was no recognition in them. Madam Pomfrey insisted that it was a good sign that he had opened them and looked at her, and she should stop worrying.
"I’m pathetic, I know," she growled.
"Not at all, dear. Eat your fruit, now."
Aramis returned at lunch with a note.
G,
We have been told to keep to crowds and stay in the tower between classes. No one will tell us what happened.
H & R
She pondered a while, wondering what she could write, what Dumbledore would want her to say. She had not had any news of what happened with Malfoy and his goons. At last she wrote,
H & R,
We were attacked in the corridor. What are people saying about the Ferret?
G.
Then she started to write to Dumbledore, but before she could decide what she wanted to ask him, he came into the ward.
"Ah, there is half of the team," he said, sounding pleased. "Not better yet?" His eyes lingered on her sling, and his smile faded into concern.
"I’m still sore, but it’s better, yes sir." She gazed up at him unsmiling.
"I’m glad to hear it’s better. Come with me, let’s have a look at Harry." He parted the curtain between the beds, and conjured a squashy armchair for Graínne and a second for himself.
"He’s been asleep since this morning. At least, I think he’s asleep. He opened his eyes during breakfast, but they’ve been closed ever since." She blinked back tears.
"Madam Pomfrey assures me that he will recover fully."
"Why doesn’t she assure me of that?"
"Because you are not his relative or his headmaster."
The tears fell silently.
"Draco Malfoy has been removed to Azkaban, where he is now in a solitary confinement cell. His mother has been denied visitation. As his father is on the lam, I think they call it, I should be very surprised if he attempts to visit. The family lawyer has made plenty of noise, but the Wizengamot is standing firm. The minor son of a known Death Eater attempted an Unforgivable Curse on another minor; he will be held without bond until his trial." He gazed at her steadily. "Do you want to bring assault charges against Crabbe and Goyle?"
"Absolutely."
"Very well. Your parents will be here this afternoon. Until the outcome of that trial, the two boys are suspended from school." He watched her still more closely. "You are very angry."
"I couldn’t stop them, Professor. We did everything we were supposed to do, we set up an excellent defense, and it didn’t work." She turned angry eyes to him. "He’s supposed to be safe here."
"He is much safer here than anywhere else," said Dumbledore with a sigh.
"How many more attacks does he have to suffer before you admit this isn’t a safe place? And what was the point of me learning all that defense strategy and non-magical response, and even Defense Against the Dark Arts, if it didn’t work?"
"It did work." His contradiction was powerful in its simplicity. "Harry is alive, and so are you. It worked quite well. Graínne, please understand, Draco Malfoy was not acting on behalf of the Death Eaters. He was not ordered to kill Harry. He tried to do it on his own. He admitted under truth serum that he hates Harry and wanted him dead, and he did not act to please Voldemort. He did say he thought his father would be impressed. And he mentioned that since you’ve seen Harry, you haven’t looked at anyone else."
The full import of this struck her speechless. "Like I’d go out with him after watching him kill my boyfriend," she snorted after a minute. "What a brainless idiot."
"Until we are positive that there are no others with orders or ambitions, we are keeping it very quiet that you were attacked. We have asked Ron and Hermione to stay in crowds and out of the hallways. The story in Gryffindor tower is that Harry has dragon pox."
"And me?"
"You will have to have them too, of course. But it means hanging around here even after you are healed. I have not noticed that you handle inactivity very well."
She gave a bark of unamused laughter. "I will do what I must do."
"Spoken like a true Cameron. I’ll come again and see Harry when he’s awake."
"Yes sir."
If he noticed the dejected tone of her voice, he did not say so. He did, however, press her shoulder (the right one) kindly as he left. Graínne laid her head down on the mattress and wept quietly. She had never felt so hopeless and useless.
After a few moments, she realized a hand was stroking her head gently. She sat up immediately, taking his groping hand in hers. "Harry?" she whispered.
"It’s going to be all right, Graínne," he said quietly. "Don’t cry, love."
"I won’t," she sobbed.
"Hush," he whispered, drawing her closer. "Are you hurt badly?"
"No, beloved, Madam Pomfrey fixed me up pretty quick. And I wasn’t much hurt to begin with. But Goyle will never have children, and any capacity Crabbe had to think is now completely lost. Malfoy’s been sent to Azkaban."
A tiny smile curved his mouth. "Good. Keep him out of the way."
"Don’t tire yourself--"
"I won’t. Can you stand to kiss this skinny English chap?"
"I live for it."
"Here, now," said Madam Pomfrey a minute or two later. "Not too much of that, it’s too tiring. Graínne, you need to start stretching that shoulder a bit. Harry, you’re awake, good. And you’re feeling up to kissing?"
"Just her, ma’am."
"Good, then you’ll be able to take your medicine the easy way. Graínne, you go through that door on the left, you’ll find the hydrotherapy room. Take a long hot bath, and follow the instructions on the board in there. By the time you’re finished with all of it, I reckon it will be lunch."
"Yes ma’am."
Harry held on to her hand. "Shoulder?"
"Goyle dislocated my left shoulder. I guess that’s what you were watching, and why Malfoy sneaked up on you."
"I don’t remember. I was worried about you, though."
"Nothing to worry about now." She gave him another kiss and went off obediently to the hydrotherapy room.
"She’ll get well?" Harry demanded breathlessly as Madam Pomfrey moved his bed to a sitting position.
"Of course, dear. She’s well already, if she would let me treat the pain. She’s been so upset about you, she’s needed to suffer a little herself. I know it sounds cruel, dear, but she’d have been out of her mind by now, if she hadn’t felt the hurt of her wounds. The pain gives her permission to be here with you, rather than out fighting Dark wizards."
"Is there fighting?"
"Not today. But she’d be looking for one if she didn’t have a reason to stay here. Don’t worry about it right now, Harry, just take your potions and get some more sleep. I daresay you’ll be hungry, come lunchtime."
"Very worried." It was effort to speak, now, and too hard to deal with the out-of-focus world, so he kept his eyes closed. He wondered where his glasses were.
"No need. Your enemies are far away."
"Voldemort is very happy."
This was too startling to answer. "Take your medicine, dear."
---------------
Rory and Morag Cameron made a flying visit to Hogwarts that afternoon, their strides so purposeful and their faces so grim that all parted before them in silence. They had timed their arrival perfectly, and most of the school was in class, but Argus Filch decided to attend to something in the dungeons rather than meet them, and the Care of Magical Creatures class that had been meeting on the front lawn was too cowed to ask Hagrid any questions.
They heard Poppy Pomfrey’s report, telling Graínne shortly please to be quiet and not interrupt. Harry was sleeping, and did not waken the whole time they were there. When they had heard about her injuries and prognosis, and Madam Pomfrey had gone back to her work, they turned to Graínne.
"Och, my wee lassie!" sighed Morag, taking her into her mothering arms and weeping.
"It’s not that bad, Mom." Nonetheless, Graínne clung to her mother.
"It’s bad enough," Rory rumbled, looking like a thunderstorm. "I need to know the details, lass, Dumbledore didn’t write much."
She told them the story without adornment or emphasis. She repeated all the insults that had been traded. She described every action performed by herself or Goyle or Crabbe. "Madam Pomfrey took photos of the bruises as evidence. Because of what’s been said to the rest of the school, I can’t wear them like I wanted. I’ve been wondering, though, if it wouldn’t just cause more trouble for the Order to pursue legal action against them. It would tie you all up in court time and make your faces famous and all that."
"You leave that to us. We can manage to sue a Darker jackass or two without getting our photos published. We have retained a lawyer."
"Charlie? But he’ll be connected right to you, Dad!"
"Not Charlie, although he volunteered immediately to come over and, how did he say it, Morag? ‘Sue their sorry cans right into the slammer.’ No, he agrees with us for that very reason, his name will automatically point to us. We have engaged a most excellent woman to represent us. And we will not appear anywhere at all. You shouldn’t have to, either, with those photos to testify."
Graínne nodded, subsiding. She was a little surprised at what Charlie had said, he didn’t usually have much family feeling, especially for her. If they could keep from appearing in court, they might be able to avoid drawing any more attention to the event or to the Camerons’ presence in Britain. An Auror’s job was a lot easier if one’s face wasn’t in the paper connected to a sensational case.
"One more thing before we go, darlin’ lass," said Rory gently, the grimness of a defending father disappearing and only the father part remaining. "We’ve never been prouder of you."
She blinked.
"We’ve not made your life easy, we know, and here we’re paid back in both senses, one that your training told, you managed to keep the both of you alive to fight another day. You are so splendid! And at the same time, we are paid back for the hardness of your childhood, the constant training and fear. We’ve suffered horrible pain knowing you were hurt, that our association with the Darkers has injured our only daughter and her friend."
She thought about that. "Dad, it wasn’t your association. It was mine. Even if you weren’t Aurors, I’d have been there with Harry anyway."
"That’s probably true." Rory had an argument, but he decided to drop it. He hoped that even if he had been a simple bus driver, his children would hate the Dark Arts just as fervently. However, there was no changing the past, in general.
They didn’t stay long after that, couldn’t stay, but promised to manage the action against Crabbe and Goyle, and warned her to speak about it as little as possible. They both kissed her, and Morag kissed Harry’s sleeping brow, and they were gone.
The next day, Harry progressed to sitting up. Hagrid sent candy to them both, and Dumbledore sent a note to Graínne asking her to let him know when Harry was strong enough to shield his thoughts sufficiently to stand a visit. Ron and Hermione came in the late afternoon under the Invisibility Cloak.
"I was wondering when you’d get around to it," said Harry, raising his bed to the sitting position. "Hermione, I don’t know how you stood this."
"It was pretty difficult," she admitted, not realizing yet that Harry was wounded like she had been the summer before. "Hello, G, I hate that you’re here! I really miss you in the dormitory!" She hugged them both in turn. "Now, what happened?"
"Malfoy attacked Harry," said Graínne baldly.
"And Crabbe and Goyle attacked Graínne," Harry added. "They came off the worse."
"I dunno, I didn’t dislocate his --" She gestured vaguely, “you know.”
"You may have, you don’t know," he laughed. "She kicked Goyle," he said to Ron and Hermione.
Ron groaned, but Hermione looked confused. Ron whispered something to her, and she said, "Ohhhhh, I see," and nodded approvingly.
"What are they saying in the bathrooms?" Graínne asked, looking from one to the other.
"Don’t look at me, I don’t talk in the loo," Ron disavowed.
"Do too," Harry laughed, and Ron grinned.
"They’re saying something about you two having dragon pox, and there’s a lot of crude jokes, of course, but no one seems to have missed those three," said Hermione.
"Slytherins must be keeping quiet about it. No one will miss them until the next match, either, I’m thinking. Malfoy’s been Seeker three years now, hasn’t he?" Graínne looked at Harry.
"This is his fifth," Harry corrected. "Not that it’s helped them. We’ll be out by then. Quarantine on dragon pox is four days, so we’re halfway there. I wonder what Madam Pomfrey’s going to do about spots, though. It’s like chicken pox, isn’t it?"
"Not quite," answered Hermione. "You’ll not have any spots left, since you were treated. No one will realize you haven’t had them."
"So what did happen to Malfoy?" Ron insisted.
"Oh. It’s a secret, so don’t say anything, even to each other. He’s in Azkaban." Harry offered around Chocolate Frogs.
Hermione gasped, and Ron’s eyes widened.
"Crabbe and Goyle are suspended until their hearing, at which time they will probably be expelled," Graínne added. "They’re only up on assault charges."
"But why Azkaban?" Ron hissed.
"He must have tried to kill you," said Hermione to Harry, though answering Ron’s question.
Harry only nodded.
"We think two things happened, based on Harry’s survival and the limited extent of his injury," said Graínne seriously. "One, Harry used Protego, which deflected some of the curse. Two, we think Malfoy just didn’t get off a good curse. He did it wrong."
"I can see I’m going to have to read up on theory," said Hermione. "Was he under orders?"
"Dumbledore says no, he was acting on his own."
"Then why are we restricted?" Ron asked reasonably.
"Dumbledore thinks that if someone is under orders, they might take advantage of the reduced numbers to do hits on you, or try to control Harry, draw him out into an unprotected place. Since there aren’t four of us going around everywhere together, it’s a much more manageable target. I’m guessing when we get out of here, we’ll be able to roam more freely. At least I hope so."
"Not that our workload is going to allow much roaming," said Hermione with a sigh.
They didn’t stay much longer, wanting to be back in the tower to stow the Invisibility Cloak before people started going to supper, so that they could go in a group. Hermione hugged them both again, and then Ron did too, testimony of how frightened he had been and how much he missed them.
Harry and Graínne were given a judicious application of false spots, in case someone saw them despite the curtains around their beds. It was good thing, too, because Theodore Nott came in during supper, complaining of a headache. He actually pulled open Graínne’s curtain, while Madam Pomfrey was getting the dose, and got hit with Furnunculus for his trouble, but he saw her sitting in bed reading, covered with spots, and no sling in sight, so Dumbledore’s rumor was helped along.
"What’s this? I thought you said headache!" chided Madam Pomfrey.
"I have, but this has come on sudden, could it be the start of dragon pox?"
She glared at him. "Have you been poking around in my contagious ward, disturbing my patients? Serves you right if you do get them, nosy. No, this isn’t the start, but you look out for it, now that you’ve exposed yourself to it."
Harry had a coughing fit to cover his own laughter as Nott went out, very worried. Madam Pomfrey shook a finger at Graínne, but she didn’t say a word as she went back to her desk.
"Do you think you can control your mind enough to meet with Dumbledore?" Graínne asked, opening the curtain between their beds.
"I think so," he said with a frown. "Now would be a good time anyway, when I’m not an emotional wreck."
"I’ll send him a note. Can I borrow Hedwig?"
"Help yourself. Fancy a game of chess afterward, while we’re waiting?"
She grinned. "I think chess is a safer activity for you than what just occurred to me. Safer for me, too. Maybe you should write the note, your handwriting is bound to be more legible."
"He won’t come if it’s from me."
"That’s ridiculous. Oh, all right! I’ll do it."
It took her ten minutes. By then her chess pieces, which Harry had assembled on the board, were chanting, "Graín-ne! Graín-ne!" Her set was very non-traditional, a combination of figures from history and popular culture (the white figures were Elvis Presley, Queen Elizabeth I, Bishop Fulton Sheen and Archbishop Thomas á Becket, two unnamed Knights Templar, and the Cinderella Castle from Disneyworld and Neuschwanstein Castle in Germany; her pawns were all figures of hobbits from the recent Lord of the Ring movies, each one different; and the black set had all different figures from these, including Bishop Desmond Tutu and Queen Latifa, and Moria orks for pawns, and the Two Towers for castles). Harry particularly liked when one of the castles took an enemy piece, because arms and legs sprouted out of the building, and it looked so comical that he never failed to laugh.
So it was that Dumbledore found them laughing over the chessboard, just as their suppers were arriving. "Ah, I have timed my visit very well," he smiled, accepting a tray from a house elf. He settled on Graínne’s bed with the tray over his lap, and looked over at them, Graínne sitting cross-legged at the foot of Harry’s bed with a tray, and Harry in a patient’s position. "Everyone feeling better this evening?"
"Yes sir," they answered in unison.
"Let us enjoy this wonderful supper before we lose our appetites, then."
They tucked into the delicate food, chatting about inconsequential things, Dumbledore managing the small talk in his usual adroit and pleasant manner. When the last bit of Harry’s crumble was gone, and Graínne pushed aside her empty chocolate cake plate, the house elves came and took the trays away, and Dumbledore sighed in a satisfied sort of way.
"Well. You have one more full day and night in here, and then it will be back to the tower. Harry, you will still have to take a number of potions regularly to complete your recovery, and Madam Pomfrey will instruct you on the doses. Since Ron and Hermione have visited, you know what’s being said. I have not released information about the missing Slytherins. I have it from certain... insiders, let’s call them, that no one seems to know where they’ve gone, and all are reluctant to ask Professor Snape about it. I believe Miss Parkinson may be the weakest link, but until she screws up her nerve and asks, it is difficult to ascertain who knows what."
"What will you tell the students? Because it’s going to come out." Graínne gazed at him.
"Yes, it will. I will tell the truth. Therefore, because Malfoy attempted an Unforgivable Curse on another student, he is in Azkaban, awaiting trial. Because Crabbe and Goyle attacked another student, they are under suspension pending trial. I will make the announcement at the end of term feast before Easter holidays. If rumors begin to fly, I will make it before then. Now, Harry, I need you to remember. Was there any hint, from your scar, perhaps, that Lord Voldemort was aware?"
Harry frowned thoughtfully. "I don’t think so, sir. When they first came round the corner, I knew something was wrong, but it wasn’t from my scar. Voldemort became aware when I was brought up here and regained a degree of consciousness, but not beforehand. It was definitely after."
"That is promising. Is there any hint now that he is aware of what is going on here?"
"No sir. I had a sense that he was very happy, yesterday morning, but that faded. I guess my failure to die was disappointing to him, but not strongly so."
"I can imagine. Now, Harry, listen very closely." Dumbledore fixed his gaze unwaveringly on Harry’s hands. "Do not under any circumstances go questing to find out what he is thinking."
"I never considered that a possibility, sir. I didn’t want him to find out any more about what we’re doing, about what’s important to me."
"Very good. I’m glad you realize your vulnerability during such a quest. That will be the weapon he seeks, as you well know. You must continue as you have done."
"Yes sir."
"Professor?" Graínne looked up. "Is it a hindrance that Harry and I are together? Is that a danger to him?"
"Graínne, what are you saying?" Harry demanded in disbelief.
"Calmly, Harry. She is saying she has your best interest at heart. And the answer is complex, Graínne. At this time, it’s too late to do anything about it, if it is a hindrance. But I don’t believe it is. I think you have been very good for Harry, even apart from Occlumency. You have certainly given him a great deal of hope, and that is saying much."
She stole a look at him, and found him frowning, troubled, worried, but not angry. "I would not add to your burden if I can help it," she said quietly.
"Oh, I know that, love." His eyes said what he could not put into words, that he would do anything to protect her, to never endanger her in the first place.
"But you must continue to keep the end in mind, both of you. There will come a time, if I know anything about Lord Voldemort, that he will twist whatever he can to make you confused about your task. He has tried false visions to great effect; he will try them again. He may try something else, next, something we have no way to filter except through a reliance on facts. Graínne, your being together with Harry does give him hope, but the more important you become to Harry, the more important you become to Voldemort."
Harry looked horrified, but Graínne nodded. "That’s what I thought."
"So you must be as careful as Harry, not only of him, but of yourself. It will not take Voldemort long to find out who you are and what you mean to Harry, if he does not know already. We live in a place where his spies, willing and accidental, are everywhere. The three who have been removed were not the only eyes and ears Voldemort has here."
He didn’t stay long after that. Harry and Graínne went back to their chess game, but it had lost its power to amuse.
"It would almost be nice to sit and watch television," said Harry with a sigh. "Mind-numbing and distracting."
She smiled gently. "What is it you want to talk about?"
"I’m not sure I want to talk about anything, really. I feel rather talked out. But Graín, it’s just what I was afraid of back in October, when we first started going out. I don’t want you to become a target for Voldemort. And I can’t tell you how I appreciate that you don’t flinch every time I say it."
She giggled. "Oh, Harry." She became serious at once. "I know you didn’t want entanglements for this very reason. But I stand by what I said then, you can’t stop living, either. I will do everything I can to make sure that he doesn’t use me against you in any way. But we have to promise each other that the fall of Voldemort is more important than my life."
It took him a while to be able to answer. "I don’t know if I can promise that. Your life is more important to me than my own."
"It can’t be, honey."
"I can’t change that, though, and I don’t want to. I love you. You are positively the best thing that has ever happened to me."
She gazed at him, smiling faintly. "Then I guess it’s up to me to be sure you aren’t drawn into a trap on my account."
"I don’t know how you could do that."
"Me neither, but I’ll just have to keep my eyes open."
The hall door opened, and purposeful footsteps rang through the ward as Graínne scrambled back into her own bed. Harry looked tired, she thought, eyeing him as Professor McGonagall called out a greeting to Madam Pomfrey. She parted the curtains around Graínne’s bed, and stepped through.
"Good evening, Miss Cameron, Mr. Potter. I thought you might be a little bored, so I have brought your books. We don’t want you falling behind and doing poorly on N.E.W.Ts because of a little case of dragon pox."
Harry opened his mouth to object, saw something he never thought he’d see, and closed it again. McGonagall winked!
"Miss Granger has kindly written down all your homework assignments, and your professors understand that you have been ill, and it will take you a week or two to catch up your work. But I suggest that you bend your mental energies in that direction this evening, and start catching up now." She smiled not unkindly at them. "You are both looking better, I must say."
"Professor?" Graínne asked softly. "How is Professor Snape? Is he very angry?"
"Professor Snape does not often display any other sentiment, Cameron," was the quiet answer. "Officially, he is disgusted that a member of his House should behave so dishonorably, and I suspect, perform so poorly."
She nodded.
"I would be very surprised, though, if he said anything to either of you, one way or the other. Good evening," she added, and swept out.
Harry was already looking through his bag. "Looks like everything’s here," he said glumly.
Graínne laughed suddenly, and bounced into bed beside him, causing him to wince. "Scootch over, honey. Things are getting back to normal."
"This can hardly be called normal," he murmured, sliding his arms around her and planting kisses along her jaw and down her neck. "Me and you in bed in our pajamas? Although I’d like it to be normal."
"Me too, but -- we-- I -- oh," she said faintly, and after that she couldn’t talk for a minute. "We should really get started on our homework," she said eventually, softly, without conviction.
"We should," he agreed, and kissed her again.
Madam Pomfrey came into the ward singing, and Graínne bolted to the foot of Harry’s bed, where she began pulling out notebooks and texts from her bag. Harry smothered laughter, opening his Transfiguration book to read up on the similarities between the transfiguration of primates and of humans.
They worked until ten, when Madam Pomfrey insisted they go to sleep. Graínne gave him a chaste good night kiss without otherwise touching him, which made them both laugh, and she drew the curtains between the beds. Tired, Harry went right to sleep, but Graínne lay awake, ordering her thoughts, distracted by monkeys and bezels and tap-dancing candlesticks and Harry’s deep and even breathing and the memory of his embraces and caresses. She had drifted into a light sleep, with all these thoughts still playing in her head, when she was brought awake instantly by a whimper.
By the luminous face of her watch, she had been asleep almost two hours. It was a little after midnight. The whimper came again, and Harry moved restlessly. "No, don’t, let someone else--" he said in a frightened, pleading voice.
Quickly, she slid out of bed. The room was chilly, and there was no sound from Madam Pomfrey’s quarters yet. Drawing the curtain aside, she saw Harry roll away from her, still muttering. Instinctively, she sat down on the edge of his mattress and rubbed his shoulder gently, murmuring soothingly to him. He seemed to relax a little, but he was still troubled and restive. Every time she let go of his shoulder, he would begin to fidget again. So with a shrug, she slid in behind him, wrapped her arm around his waist, and waited for him to settle into a deeper sleep.
She didn’t count on falling asleep herself.
It was the grey hour before dawn when she awoke. Her right arm was asleep under her, and she was overly warm. Otherwise, she was shockingly contented. Harry had shifted in his sleep and now slept with his arms around her, his breath in her hair. Graínne allowed herself to enjoy it for a few moments, but then she stirred and tried to slip away.
"Oh, don’t go yet," he murmured, but he did not tighten his arms.
"I wish I didn’t have to, but it could be trouble, otherwise. You’re pretty comfortable, for a skinny English chap." She rolled onto her back, his left arm still around her shoulder, and worked her right one out so circulation could return to it.
"Did I have a nightmare?" he asked, not moving.
"I guess so. You were muttering and restless. I got cold sitting there, so I just got under the covers for a minute, but I guess I fell asleep."
"I don’t remember the dream, but I remember waking up." He rolled over to face her. "About an hour ago, I guess. You’re pretty comfortable, too, as it turns out. But I fell asleep again."
"I’d better go back to my own bed, before Madam Pomfrey catches me out."
"I guess so." He kissed her softly, and then not so softly. Graínne forgot about having morning breath, and he didn’t seem to notice.
When Madam Pomfrey came out of her quarters for the morning, moving quietly so as not to disturb her supposedly sleeping patients, Graínne had just settled herself in her cold bed for the last hour before they would have to wake up. Harry winked at her and then closed his eyes, feigning sleep, and she grinned back. Rolling quietly onto her stomach so that her face was hidden between the pillows, Graínne deepened her breathing and lay very still, forcing herself to relax. Sure enough, the nurse looked in on them first thing, and seemed pleased that they slept.
"I don’t know if I can stand one more night," Graínne told him over breakfast, calmly and frankly. "It’s very tempting, being able to just climb in bed with you."
"I’m not sure you need to worry about it much," Harry told her, turning red. "I’m still in a bit of pain, and rolling over on my left side like that was difficult. I don’t think I’d be able to do my share, if it came to it."
"Oh. Well. I hope I didn’t hurt you," she added as an afterthought.
"No, not at all. And don’t get me wrong, I want to, but I’m trying not to think about it much."
"Me too."
They worked on their homework for several hours, had naps, ate lunch with Hagrid, worked on more homework, had physical therapy, more homework, supper, and more homework. By nightfall they were both ready to return to everyday life in the castle. Notes and cards came from friends, and Cho Chang sent a get-well card and a bunch of daffodils to Harry. He looked uncertainly at Graínne, who shrugged and grinned.
"She keeps hoping, doesn’t she?"
"In vain," he answered gallantly.
"You smooth talker. So where did we get dragon pox?"
"From the fan mail," he said after a moment, referring to the letters Harry got regularly from the readers of The Quibbler, a magazine to which he’d given an interview the year before. "It’s about the only way we could get it that couldn’t be traced. And you got it from me, obviously."
"Or from said fan mail, since you let me read the really choice ones. If I got it from you, I’d just be coming down with it, instead of having the same schedule as you."
"I’m no good at subterfuge," he admitted with a grin. "I miss all those little details."
"You just don’t have a devious mind."
That night Harry slept soundly, and Graínne conscientiously stayed in her own bed. In the morning, they would return to school life, although Harry would not be able to do more than oversee Quidditch practice for a few more weeks. It would be all he could do to get through his regular day, even with the four potions he still had to take at various intervals. Graínne would help get him through, as would Hermione and Ron, but she worried that he was not really strong enough to return.
Early in the morning, just as the sun was coming up, Harry slipped under her covers and fitted himself against her back. "Morning, love."
"Mmm. Morning, honey." She stretched and then relaxed against him. "Whoa! Methinks you got a lot better during the night!" She shifted around to face him.
"I guess I did. But I figured it would be a couple of years at the very least before I could wake you up, and I didn’t want to miss the chance. You are so charming in the morning."
"You haven’t got your glasses on yet, have you, sweetie?"
"Are you ready to face the day?"
"No, but when has that ever stopped me?"
He kissed her a few times, and then went off to the bathroom. Graínne stretched again and marveled that he loved her, he desired her, and he didn’t even see pretty Cho Chang when she walked down the hall.
An owl came during breakfast, bearing a reply from Mrs. Weasley.
Dear Graínne,
Ron and Hermione and Ginny have been mentioning you in their letters, and I feel as if I know you. Thank you for befriending Ginny, especially, she is very fond of you.
I am very sorry to hear about your illness. I hope you get better very quickly.
Professor Dumbledore wrote to us the very next day about Winky, and assured us that if we wanted her and she was agreeable, he would gladly release her to service. He said that her unhappiness has been weighing on him, and yet he did not know of a likely solution.
Arthur and I have talked about it a great deal, which explains why it has taken me so long to answer your letter. We agree that we could use the help around here, that a house elf would be a wonderful asset to the family. We also agree that she must be willing to come and will try to be happy here, because having a mourning or angry elf is worse than none at all. I’m sure you’ve heard about Kreacher, the house elf for the Black family.
So we think it would be best, and Dumbledore agrees, if we come up and meet her. He is taking care of arranging the meeting with her, but I didn’t want you to think I had just ignored your letter. Quite the contrary! Thank you and thanks to Harry as well, for thinking of us, and allowing us to be part of this act of mercy.
I am looking forward to meeting you soon,
Molly Weasley.
Graínne handed it to Harry to read, and glanced up at the head table to see if Dumbledore was there. He was reading mail of his own while eating his porridge, and did not look her way.
"You remembered!" Harry said wonderingly, looking up from the letter.
"I did. Dobby was on hand, or I might have forgotten. And as I thought, it occurred to me that I had better tell Dumbledore what we were proposing as well. Since he’s her boss, he has a right to say one way or the other."
"You’re right, of course. That would have been a blunder on my part."
"Just an oversight. What day is it?" she asked, looking across the table at Ginny.
"Wednesday, sad to say," came the wry answer. "Mum says hi, Harry."
"Hi," he answered with a grin. "I should write my own letters, she’s been so kind to me."
"Yes you should," Ginny shot back, and grinned in return. "You well over your dragon pox?"
"They wouldn’t have let us out if we weren’t," he answered, taking a new interest in his toast.
"Charms in the morning," said Graínne, looking at her homework schedule. "Doesn't that sound much nicer than it probably will be? Did we practice the Sticking charm yesterday?"
"Yes, remember there was peeling wallpaper in Madam Pomfrey’s study that she had us repair?" Harry nudged her gently. "Eat your breakfast and quit worrying."
"I’m not-- okay, I am." She put her books aside and paid attention to her food.
Charms wasn’t too bad, but History of Magic was extremely dull, and Potions was tense. There were black looks from all the Slytherins, which made Harry realize they all knew what had happened, or at least that Malfoy was gone, whether temporarily or permanently, and Harry had put him out, however indirectly. All the Gryffindors were on the lookout for trouble, though, and no one was able to cause mischief. Snape ignored Harry completely, but he was almost civil to Graínne. Harry wondered if it had to do with the silver unicorn earrings that she was wearing.
By the time they headed to supper, Harry was almost too tired to eat. He had been taking his potions on schedule, but he was still tired and sore, and looking forward to getting to bed. "I don’t think I can do homework tonight," he muttered to Graínne.
"You look whipped," she agreed. "Go straight to bed after supper, honey. You can catch up tomorrow, when you’re more rested. And don’t neglect your Occlumency."
"Yeah, okay," he agreed readily. He had neglected it several times since his injury, and had dreamed odd, insistent dreams about an old house he’d seen somewhere before.
"Oh, Harry," said Cho, coming up to him, "I’m so glad to see you’re better!"
"Thanks," he answered, glancing around at her. He felt very awkward, as she was completely ignoring Graínne. "And thanks for the card," he added.
"I was so worried about you, I know dragon pox can leave such horrible scars if they aren’t diagnosed right away," she went on.
Harry was wondering if he should stand up, but he was just too tired, and he didn’t want her to think he wanted a more private conversation with her. She seemed to want a more private one with him, frowning a little at the others, who had stopped eating and were watching her politely and listening avidly.
"We were lucky, then," said Harry, not knowing what else to say.
"Yes we were," she agreed, but she could not miss Graínne rolling her eyes at that answer no matter how hard she ignored her.
"Have you had dragon pox before, Cho?" Graínne asked, and though she had just rolled her eyes outrageously, she was very polite of tone and expression now.
"No, never," Cho answered, unable to ignore so direct an approach.
"Oh." Graínne looked faintly confused. "I thought you said we. My mistake."
"Well, Harry," said Cho, struggling with her composure, "I’ll see you around."
"Yeah, see you," Harry agreed.
"Bye, Cho," said Ron amiably.
"No one laughs," Graínne warned in a fierce whisper as Cho walked away.
"Why are you being so nice? She’s after your boyfriend!" Ginny hissed.
"Yeah, well, she lost hers, through no fault of her own. And I trust my boyfriend."
Ron whistled. "You’re being a lot more tolerant than I could be. Not that I’d likely lose my boyfriend to Cho," he added drolly.
At that, they did all laugh, and since Cho had returned to her table by then, she was none the wiser.
---------------
Their long absence landed both of them on academic probation in Potions and Transfiguration again. Training for Quidditch was so tiring, Harry asked Katie to run practice once a week, and he just sat his broom and watched, for the most part. Graínne pulled an all-nighter, as she called it, the first weekend following their return to the tower, but she refused to allow Harry to do so. She caught up on her homework and then she and Hermione helped Harry with his, correcting his essays and outlining his research for him. They helped him catch up on his charms and spells, as well, but only time in the Potions dungeon could catch up the class work there, and both he and Graínne had to make several two-hour evenings there.
Snape refused to discuss anything except Potions, during those times, and was silent otherwise. This helped Harry brew his potions more accurately, although sometimes he found his thoughts straying to red curls and green eyes. When they turned in their final sample, Snape dismissed them with the words, "When I grade these, if they are acceptable, you will be off probation. Try not to miss any more classes. I have better things to do with my evenings than... this."
"We’ll try, Professor," said Graínne sincerely, before Harry could snap back. "Some things are just beyond our control, aren’t they?" And she led the way out.
"He was remarkably mild about that," said Harry in the hallway. "Even though he acted as if it was our fault Malfoy attacked us."
"I think," she said, "though it’s Malfoy’s fault, he considers it our fault that we are still breathing."
"Only me. You he likes."
"No way, he doesn’t like anyone."
"Okay, he hates you less. I wonder why."
"Me too. You know what, I could really use some ice cream."
"I wonder if they have any in the kitchen."
Graínne checked her watch. "You don’t have your Cloak, do you?"
"No, why?"
"It’ll likely be past curfew, unless we get a cone to go."
"I’m not that fussed about it. What’s your favorite flavor? Let me guess, chocolate."
"Probably, yes, but tonight I am in the mood for mocha chip."
The kitchens were rather quiet, but Dobby zoomed toward them as soon as the door opened. "Harry Potter sir! Miss Cameron! Good evening!"
"Hi, Dobby, how are you?" Harry patted the elf’s back, accepting the hug Dobby always had to give. Today Dobby had one for Graínne, too.
"Very well indeed, sir! Are you needing an evening snack to sustain you through homework, perhaps? We were very worried to hear of your injuries, and so glad you are better!"
"Thank you. It’s good to be alive. Can we get some ice cream, Dobby?"
"What flavors would you like?" His ears trembled in excitement.
"Do you have mocha chip for Graínne? And peanut butter chocolate chip for me?"
"Yes, of course! In a dish or a cone?"
"Cone, please," said Graínne promptly.
"Me too, please," Harry grinned, and instantly elves hurried off.
"Harry Potter sir!" squeaked another voice, one that Harry had not heard except in tears for several years now. Winky wasn’t crying or drunk now. Her clothes were clean and mended, and her eyes were clear and she was smiling.
"Not Winky!" Harry exclaimed, dropping to his knees to look at her. Graínne squatted on her heels, looking at the elf with interest.
"Yes sir, it is. Good evening, Graínne Cameron miss."
"Good evening, Winky." Graínne shook her hand pleasantly, which made Winky giggle.
"I wished to come and thank you, sir and miss, for taking time to help me. I was wishing to die for a long time, but Dobby wouldn’t let me. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wrote a letter to me, asking if we could meet, saying Professor Dumbledore would arrange it if I is wanting to. So I is going to meet them next week, and maybe if we like each other, I is going with them."
"That would be great, Winky. I hope you like them. I think you could be very happy at the Burrow. I’m sure you would be a big help there."
She smiled again. "We will see. I is not getting my hopes up too high, but I had to get them up some, you see, or I wouldn’t be fit to meet. It is all very strange," she added, her voice dropping low, "to the others. This is not happening before, here. No one has ever wanted to leave. The thing about me though, is I never wanted to come. Now I is getting better, the other elves is more like friends to me. It won’t be so easy to go, but my family has always served one family, not one school. So thank you for helping me, Miss Cameron, Mr. Potter. You is real friends to elves."
"Here is your ice cream!" said Jammy, bringing two-scoop cones of the specified flavors.
"Come back and visit us any time," Florrie added, bowing.
They made their good-byes and headed back to the common room, hurrying a little so they wouldn’t be harassed by Filch, but not going by the most direct route. It was pleasant just to walk together, eating their ice cream and speaking in low voices. Easter break was upon them, and the summer term would begin. The last precious months together were upon them, and then two months of separation. Graínne didn’t refuse to discuss it, as she had the Christmas holiday, but it was definitely a damper on her mood.
"We’ll have to trade addresses," said Harry. "My aunt and uncle don’t like it when I use the phone, but I’m sure I could call occasionally, if it isn’t long-distance."
"I don’t know if we have a phone, yet. Don’t even know the address. I’m glad they’re moving, though. The next door neighbor loved cooked cabbage."
"Urgh."
"Exactly. But wherever it is, we’ll arrange somehow to visit. I can have one of my brothers bring me to see you, maybe. Or you could come to us, if Dumbledore says it’s okay."
Harry didn’t hold out much hope for this, or that his relatives would let her see him if she came to visit, but he didn’t say so. He didn’t want to depress her, or himself.
They had enough homework to keep them busy, and there was the Quidditch match with Slytherin, the playoff, Graínne called it, for which they had to prepare. With three members of the team gone, Slytherin had to retrain, and it was hard to book the pitch because Snape was always insisting on giving his team precedence. McGonagall had to intervene in order for Gryffindor to get one practice a week, and since this was the last game, Harry pulled out all the stops. He stopped trying to have secret strategies, and instead showcased the skills of his team in such a way that they were rather intimidating. He also kept the elements of practice varied enough so that any real weakness was not readily apparent. Linus Royce was the new Seeker for Slytherin, and there was no available Quidditch information on him. He had come from South Africa, and team statistics for the school were not published. The new Beaters were not quite as big and a little more skilled than Crabbe and Goyle, but they didn’t have game experience, and Harry thought they looked nervous.
He made a point to go watch Royce, particularly, and he and Graínne went under the Invisibility Cloak, so that they could see a true practice.
"He’s not bad," she murmured.
"Not at all," Harry agreed, his stomach clenching. "At last we have a contender. We need to have a team meeting, I think. We’ll have some strategic secrets after all. I wish I was stronger."
"We still have three weeks, you’ll be better."
"Hermione was three months taking that last potion."
"You weren’t as badly hurt as she was. Malfoy didn’t do it right." She gave his hand a squeeze. "Don’t worry, Harry, we have until May thirtieth. You’ll be strong."
The Friday that began Easter holidays was characterized by pouring rain, and Harry was glad he had not booked the pitch until Saturday morning. He was very tired, and just wanted to get some extra sleep. He stumbled through the day barely aware that his friends were shielding him from teachers and Slytherins on every side. After the last class, Graínne took matters in hand.
"Come on, honey, time for a check-up."
"What check-up? Did I miss studying for a quiz?"
"No, Madam Pomfrey wants a look at you."
"I didn’t realize she’d asked."
"She hasn’t yet, but she will. Come on, I’m walking you up."
Ron and Hermione took their book-bags back to the common room, and Graínne bullied Harry up to the hospital wing. Upon entering, Madam Pomfrey frowned at him. "What have you been doing, Potter? Taking your potions on time?"
"Yes ma’am."
She examined him briefly. "No you aren’t. You’re taking your rebuilding decoction too often. You’ll be better a little quicker, but you’ll feel worse longer. No more of the periwinkle-colored one until tomorrow evening, do you hear?"
"No more blue."
"No, periwinkle. Graínne, nag him, and tell his roommates, so that he doesn’t forget and take it anyway. Look, Harry, this is blue, this is periwinkle. See?" She held up the two bottles of potions to show the differing colors.
"Oh. I must have got mixed up."
"Well, concentrate, or I’ll have to have you come up here for your doses, and that’s still five times a day. Here, drink this, it’ll liven you up enough to get through dinner." She handed him a glass of clear, steaming liquid. "Then I want you to get to bed, as soon as you’re done with the meal."
"Yes ma’am," he said again, and drank down the liquid. Suddenly he sat up straighter, and steam came out of his ears and nose for a moment.
"Feeling better? Yes, unfortunately it won’t last that long. And don’t screw up again, Harry. I have better things to do than see any student five times a day."
He smiled. "Sorry, Madam Pomfrey." He got to his feet gingerly and looked at Graínne. "Ready for supper?"
Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys were at supper. They greeted Harry with hugs and handshakes, and he introduced them to Graínne.
"We know your parents, of course," said Mr. Weasley, shaking her hand. "Lovely people! And you will be staying all summer and next year too? Wonderful! You should come and visit us at the Burrow when Harry and Hermione come!"
"I’m glad to see your arm is all better," Mrs. Weasley whispered as she hugged her. "You look just like your mum, but I’m sure you hear that all the time! Will you come to meet Winky with us after supper, the two of you? It was your idea, after all, and Dumbledore thinks she’d be more comfortable if you were there."
"Sure, we can come," said Harry.
"But we can’t stay long," Graínne added more quietly. "You know what Madam Pomfrey told you," she reminded Harry.
"Oh, yeah. I screwed up my potions and now I have to go to bed early. But I’m sure I can manage this one meeting." He grinned wryly at Mrs. Weasley.
"You’d better be careful," she warned.
After supper, they went to meet in a side room with Dumbledore, to wait for the elves to finish their work in the kitchen. Harry sat quietly, his right arm across the back of Graínne’s chair, toying with a loose curl. He felt very relaxed and content, only a little tired, sitting here with some of his favorite people. Easter break had begun, and other than Quidditch practice, his life was in good order.
Dobby, Florrie, and Jammy came with Winky, representing the household of Hogwarts and the Freed Elves (no one knew whether there were more than two, and the elves didn't like to talk about it). The introductions were pretty formal, in Harry’s opinion, with Dumbledore presiding. Full names were given for the humans, and several generations of lineage were given for the house elves. After being introduced, Harry and Graínne sat quietly without playing any part except to observe.
Dumbledore was very candid about the fact that Winky had been dismissed, and that she had been very troubled since, but she was willing to try a new place, if it was agreeable to everyone. He also explained that one of the sons of the family had been Mr. Crouch’s assistant at the Ministry, and was to be in the home upon occasion, although he did not live at home any longer. He stated that the family in question was very old indeed, although it was not wealthy, and could be counted upon to exist for years to come, given the large number of sons. Winky seemed pleased with the idea of a long line of Weasleys stretching into the future.
"My suggestion is this, that the two parties agree upon a set trial period in which to work out the conditions of service," said Dumbledore at last. "Mr. Weasley, what would be one condition upon which you would insist without exception?"
Mr. Weasley was obviously prepared for this. "That upon no account would Winky daughter of Neekie drink to excess. I don’t mind an occasional glass of whatever is being served with dinner, but I insist upon no benders."
Winky, who had not had a drop of butterbeer since Harry had first proposed the idea, nodded calmly. "No benders, sir," she assured him.
"Winky daughter of Neekie, what is one condition upon which you would insist?"
"That my dismissal from my former family would not be mentioned to me in connection to the service I am rendering to the Weasley family. For example, if I fail to perform satisfactorily, that no one would say to me, ‘I see why you was given clothes.’"
The Weasleys nodded, but Harry thought they would do well to inform Percy of that condition.
"I do like to see clean garments, Winky, so you would be given several tea towels, or whatever it is you would feel most comfortable in, so that you would be able to wash and mend your own things when you have a chance. I always feel sorry for a house elf who is so neglected." Mrs. Weasley looked kind and serious.
"Thank you, ma’am, I appreciate being able to look presentable, should I have to be seen."
"At this point, I would like to excuse Mr. Potter and Miss Cameron, who should return to their common room," said Dumbledore smoothly, smiling at them.
"We’ll come up and say good night," Mrs. Weasley whispered.
They slipped out quietly, and made their way back to the tower. The common room was a riot of end-of-term party, but by then the Pepper-Upper potion had run out, and Harry was exhausted again. Over by the stairs, he said good night to Graínne.
"Don’t forget to clear your mind," she said softly, straightening the collar of his robes.
"Yes ma’am," he grinned.
"I just want you to be careful, honey."
"I know. I will. Don’t stay up too late yourself, mind."
"It won’t be any fun without you." Gold and scarlet stars from a Weasley Wildfire rocket bounced around between them, and they both grinned. "Okay, it won’t be as much fun without you. But I won’t stay up too late, I’m tired too."
He kissed her lingeringly. "Have I mentioned lately that I love you?"
"Not for the last several hours. I love you too. Go to bed, now."
"You could come tuck me in," he grinned.
"No, I could not," she laughed. "The Weasleys are going to come up after their meeting, and it would not do to be searched for. Goodnight, honey."
The weather relented for the greater part of Easter holiday, which Graínne persisted in calling spring break. They finished most of their homework during the first two days, which were rainy, and when the sun at long last came out, the students came out of the castle with joy and clear consciences. Quidditch practice was the only thing on their schedule, since the entire Gryffindor team stayed, and most of the Slytherin team members went home. Harry was finally strong enough to do some Seeking, and having seen Royce play, he felt he needed to sharpen his skills. He even had his glasses checked by Madam Pomfrey, so that he could be sure his vision was as sharp as it could be.
But Quidditch wasn’t the only thing on his mind. He was preparing for the examination by the committee from the Ministry of Magic, which Professor McGonagall had set for the Friday of the holiday week. She agreed to meet with them twice a day, a most gracious concession, for it was her holiday, too. So morning and night they practiced their transfigurations into animals, and grew adept at keeping in figure in the midst of trying circumstances. Fang the boarhound had his face slapped by the two cats, since he took liberties with them, and Crookshanks endured sniffing and growls from the two dogs, sensing that they were really two friends and not dogs at all. Crookshanks was gifted that way.
A letter came to Harry and Graínne on Thursday morning at breakfast from Mrs. Weasley.
"Dear Children,
I thought you might like to know that these first few days with Winky have been very nice indeed. She seems happy, and is very pleased to serve, to tackle all those jobs we’ve put off because we’re too busy with everything. I haven’t been all caught up on mending since before I had more than one baby! We are thrilled with her, and I think she likes us too.
See you at the station,
love, Molly Weasley."
"Well, that’s good," said Harry with a sigh of relief. "Of course, Percy hasn’t come home yet."
"The tick," said Ron automatically.
"Do you think Percy can make a big difference?" asked Graínne.
"Well, you don’t know him," said Ron. "He’s really ambitious, and pretty smart. And other people’s feelings are not important at all to him."
"It’s a long story, I’ll tell you later," said Hermione with a grimace. "Yes, there’s a story behind this, he’s behaved very badly, and it isn’t all based only on his personality."
"Although it could be," said Ron, "the tick."
Professor McGonagall approached the table. "Your practice will be outside by Hagrid’s hut this morning," she informed them in a low voice as they looked up at her. "I’ll be expecting you at nine o’clock."
"Yes ma’am. Hey Professor, this is going to be kept quiet, isn’t it?" Graínne asked.
"Of course, Cameron. What use is it to the Ministry if your registration is on the front page?"
"But it will be a matter of public record," Hermione pointed out. "Anyone who wants to find out, can."
"But unless you’re in the habit of checking the registry in case someone’s been added to it, which is pretty lame, considering there have only been seven in the last hundred years or so in Britain," Graínne began, not needing to complete the sentence.
"Exactly. The Committee is made up of personal friends of mine or Dumbledore’s. They have assured us that they will not publish the information, and they will take care of the paperwork themselves instead of entrusting it to secretaries. Finish your breakfasts, now, it’s hungry work." She gave then a ghost of a smile, because others around the room could be watching them, and swept away.
Graínne applied herself to her hash brown casserole and eggs over easy. "Any more coffee in that pot?" she asked.
Harry poured for her, and pushed away his mostly empty plate. "Only a year and a term left, mates," he pointed out.
"Yeah, and then it’s three more years of training." Ron saluted Harry with a spoon. "Cheers."
"Of course we don’t have to become Aurors," said Hermione in a low voice.
"And we may not be able to," Ron answered. "Well of course you will, you’re brilliant. But I don’t think they’ll let you help me like you have all these years." He seemed rather depressed.
"Hey," growled Graínne, tossing a piece of toast at him like a square Frisbee. "None of that. We’ll all help each other, we’re a team. And you are brilliant, too."
"Oooh, are you having a food fight?" Ginny demanded, sitting down with them. "I could yell at you for that."
"Nah, I’m just passing the toast. What’s up, Firetop?" Graínne grinned at her.
She laughed. "Not much. I’m bored witless."
"We’ll have to smack that Dean Thomas around for going home on break. Homework all done?" Graínne asked solicitously.
"No, but that hardly counts, does it? What’s the use of a holiday if it has to be all homework?"
"We’re going to visit Hagrid later, but we have an appointment with Professor McGonagall before then. Why don’t you come down to his hut about ten fifteen? We should be there about then." Graínne stirred cream into her coffee, making it all seem very casual.
"Ten fifteen. Okay, yeah. I’ll write a letter to Charlie, I owe him one."
"Ask him how Norbert is," Harry prompted with a grin.
"That’s the dragon, right? And that was your first year? I’m amazed that you all survived six years, almost. Well, since I know you won’t tell me about your appointment, I’ll make scarce until ten-ish, and meet you down there." She smiled understandingly and headed out.
"I swear I feel like a heel, ditching her." Graínne scowled at her plate, and drank most of her coffee in a few long gulps. It was no longer terribly hot.
"Yeah, me too," said Ron.
"Ginny’s a right one, why don’t we let her come down and watch?" Hermione asked.
Harry looked at them. "It’s not like we can’t trust her," he agreed.
"I’ll go catch her. Meet you down at Hagrid’s." Graínne left the table and sprinted into the hall. "Hey, G!"
Ginny had reached the top of the stairs, and turned around, losing the dejected air immediately. She thought an awful lot of Ron’s friends, especially Graínne, and didn’t want any of them to think she was pathetic. "Hey, G. What’s up?"
Graínne reached her side so that she didn’t announce her business to the whole school. "Why don’t you come with us now? It’s a big secret thing, but we trust you, you’ve proved yourself over and over. And you’ll probably find out anyway. I don’t think Professor McGonagall will mind."
"What’s up?"
"Well, you’ll see. I’m a little leery of speaking it out loud, in case there are listening ears. Are you in?"
"Sure, I’ve got nothing else." She tried to be indifferent, but really she seemed very pleased that Graínne had come after her. "Where?"
"Just come."
They went out into the bright morning and down the lawn to Hagrid’s. No students were out yet, and Hagrid was out in his garden patch, spading in last year’s growth.
"Hello, Ginny, Graínne. Out for a bit of air?" he greeted them, leaning on his spade.
"Actually, we’re meeting Professor McGonagall here in a little while," said Graínne, climbing up to sit on the fence rail. "Getting your lettuce patch ready?"
He grinned. "No use for lettuces, they just draw them pesky rabbits. Nah, this’ll be for pumpkins. Can’t have too much pumpkin around."
"How’s Grawp?"
"Well, he finally shook that infection he had from them ruddy centaurs, but it’s left his face scarred pretty bad. He’s not very happy about them, truth be told. Dumbledore negotiated a shared territory agreement, but Grawpy’s not all that bright, when it comes down to it, and he’s been known to stray out of bounds." Hagrid looked a little concerned and resigned at the same time.
"Are you sure it’s that he’s not very bright? Seems like he’s bright enough if he’s annoying the centaurs on purpose, because they’ve caused him such trouble." Graínne seemed attentive to the conversation, but she was fully aware that Harry and the others were coming down the lawn.
"It’s the centaurs’ fault, if they weren’t so proud and unreasonable, so set on bein’ uncooperative, there wouldn’t be no fightin’ in the forest. We’d be jest fine."
"They don’t even have that much to complain about," Ginny agreed. "It’s not like they’ve ever been enslaved or killed off to the brink of extinction, or anything like that." She was watching Graínne, who had climbed up to stand on the top rail and was now walking along it carelessly.
"Well, they have a just cause in their own mind, anyway. And here’s the rest of ye. Ye’re lookin’ quite well, there, Harry. Hermione, Ron, I’ve heard your names in one breath so often, I’m startin’ to think there might be somethin’ to it," he teased gently, just to see Hermione blush.
"Graínne," said Harry warningly.
"What?" She didn’t look around.
"You’re making me nervous," he answered.
She grinned, and did a careful handstand on the post, lost her balance, and somehow landed on her feet, although not gracefully. "Out of practice," she panted, shaking her hands out. "No self-defense masters to beat the snot out of me every week."
"And it’s a good thing," he grumbled. "Just don’t get hurt before the Slytherin match, please."
"Yes sir. You just want me for my Quidditch."
He opened his mouth to object, realized she was kidding, and grinned at her.
"Hallo, Professor! What brings you down here this mornin’?" asked Hagrid as McGonagall joined them.
"A special project," she answered with a smile for him. "We’ll be wanting to use the clearing behind your house, out of sight of the castle, Hagrid. Can you give a shout if anyone approaches? It’s a private matter."
"O’course, Professor."
"Miss Weasley--"
"We’d like her to stay, Professor," said Graínne quickly. "Ginny’s one of us, and she’ll find out anyway, at home."
She looked like she didn’t really like it, but she said no more.
The practice had to do with hunting up some items that McGonagall had hidden along the fringes of the forest. Ginny gasped at their Transfiguration, and then it was all rather dull for her, because the hunting took almost an hour. Harry had to dig up some things, but it was Ron who sniffed them out. Hermione and Graínne both had to climb trees and consult with birds, enlist Fang to help them carry a sack, and to bring back a handkerchief out of a patch of catnip. The boys had tasks, as well, besides tracking and digging. After an hour, McGonagall called a halt. Graínne was glad, she was a little dizzy from the catnip.
"This evening you’ll have a longer assignment," she informed them.
"It’s like she’s training you for a job," said Ginny thoughtfully, as they walked back up toward the castle. "Like it isn’t just about your Transfiguration, but your ability to perform certain tasks."
"I wonder." Graínne watched where she was walking. She wished for the time when she could walk along holding hands with Harry out in public, without worrying who might see and tell their dad, who in turn would tell Voldemort. They held hands in the corridors sometimes, but not a lot. Since the Slytherin attack, they had been more careful about showing affection to one another where people in other Houses could see.
"We can ask her," said Hermione. "She wouldn’t hedge about something like that. In her eyes, we’re still children. I can’t imagine she’d willingly train us for a task without asking us if we’d do it and informing us fully before we could answer." She looked vaguely troubled, though.
"Dumbledore wouldn’t do that either," said Ron confidently.
Harry frowned to himself. Hadn’t Dumbledore kept a huge secret from him for fifteen years? But he said he wanted me to be happy, to have some normal time like other kids, he reasoned. But he kept it from you just the same, said a nasty little voice in his head. What else are they keeping from you, just to make you happy?
It seemed unreasonable, however, that after last summer’s revelation, that Dumbledore would keep other things from Harry. He had seriously impaired Harry’s trust then, and wouldn’t likely do more damage to it through more secrecy.
That evening, Professor McGonagall gave them each a list of things she wanted them to do while transfigured. Each was different. Graínne looked at each item. At the end, she was to team up with Ron and have him carry a sack while she kept lookout. There would be various obstacles along the way, of course, and as the cat, she would have to scout ahead and figure out how they were going to negotiate them. Sometimes she would have to meet up with Hermione, and share information. Only once was she paired with Harry, where she would have to give him data that would affect his tasks. She was a little disappointed, but she did need more practice with Ron and Hermione. She didn’t always understand them, and they often had trouble understanding her as well, whereas with Harry, there was never a problem.
"Professor," said Hermione after they had successfully completed the assignment. They had, in fact, completed the assignment so well that McGonagall actually applauded and even smiled. "May I ask you something?"
"What is it, Miss Granger?"
"Are you training us for something?"
Harry watched closely. Ron and Graínne both turned and looked.
McGonagall’s nostrils flared slightly. "I wondered if you would get round to that conclusion. As a matter of fact, Professor Dumbledore has asked me to see how well you can perform. But specific training, no. We are only testing your abilities."
"In case we need to perform some service later?" asked Ron hopefully.
"In the battle against You-Know-Who, Mr. Weasley, no possibility should be overlooked. Since you are still students, it is improbable that you will be called to serve."
"Yeah, right," said Harry softly.
"Indeed. Get a good night’s sleep, all of you. Your examinations will begin at nine o’clock. Report to the Great Hall for breakfast as usual, and I will inform you of where to go from there."
"Thanks, Professor." Graínne gave a sort of salute as they turned to go.
"All the thanks I require is that you perform adequately at your inspection tomorrow."
"We’ll do our best," Ron assured her.
McGonagall led the way back. They made their way around the outskirts of the forest from the place where the first task had been set during the Triwizard Tournament, taking advantage of the darkness (that had fallen before they ever reported for their task) to walk with arms around each other. Ron and Hermione walked ahead a little, murmuring to each other.
"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" Graínne asked softly.
"Not really. I can do this. Are you?"
"No. It feels really natural."
"It doesn’t to me, but I’m getting better." He dropped a kiss on her forehead. It was right by his mouth. "I’m more nervous about being this close to the Forbidden Forest at night."
"No full moon, so the werewolves won’t be out."
"I think they are just a rumor left over from Lupin’s days. I don’t think there are any left in there."
"Well, the world didn’t think there were Acromantula this far north, either. In fact, they still don’t. I’m surprised Hagrid hasn’t taken his classes in to see them."
"Can’t risk it. Everyone but Hagrid is considered to be fresh meat by the spiders."
She shuddered. "Let’s hurry up, then. That’s given me the willies."
"They’re several miles from here. But there are sufficient threats to our safety even without giant spiders and werewolves."
"How many times have you been in there?"
"At least five times. Maybe more. I’d have to think about it."
"What’s it like?"
"It’s like a forest. With a lot of eyes watching you that you can’t see."
"I don’t think I’d like it."
"It’s not pleasant, no. Can we talk about something else?"
"Sure. Are you going to get a job this summer?"
"Probably not. No protection on the job site. What about you?"
"No work visa."
"Oh. I didn’t realize you would need one. Did you come by Muggle air?"
"No, I was able to use a series of Apparate points. But I can’t use magic here until next November, and I don’t officially exist to the Muggles, so there’s nowhere to work. Unless Ron’s brothers want to employ me in the joke shop, but I wouldn’t be able to do much there, they run on magic, I’m betting. I’m not sure this is more cheerful than the forest."
"You try, this time."
"Okay. I love you."
"Oh, that’s a good one." He stopped walking to kiss her.
---------------
"Well," said Ron, "that was the easiest examination I’ve ever sat."
"It was rather personal," frowned Hermione. "I almost expected them to take my temperature. I’m afraid they took points off when I growled."
"Hermione, there are no points!" Ron uttered in disbelief.
"Well, I know that, Ron, I was trying to make a joke."
"Oh." He looked rather confused.
"I thought it would take longer," said Harry.
"That’s because of the paces McGonagall has been putting us through. The committee doesn’t really care if we can do things while we’re animals, they just want to see what we look like and take measurements," said Hermione.
"Is it taking longer for Graínne than it took for us?"
"I was just thinking that myself," said Ron, looking back at the door of the classroom where the examinations had taken place. They had gone in singly, and Graínne had gone last, but they had had plenty of time to measure.
"I hope nothing went wrong," Harry worried.
"It can’t have, she’s rock-solid in her Transfiguration," Hermione replied.
As if in answer, the door opened and the whole committee came out. They were smiling and laughing, and Graínne was looking embarrassed.
"Thank you, Miss Cameron, that was quite entertaining!" said Madam Dunleigh. "Let us know if you see any unregistered Animagi, we’ll get right on the case!"
"Yes ma’am," Graínne assured her, waving.
"What happened?" Hermione whispered as the committee disappeared in the direction of McGonagall’s office.
"Oh, nothing much. After they measured me and took down my markings, they asked me to tell them what each of their animals are."
Ron looked interested. "What are they?"
"Two owls, a cat, Madam Dunleigh is a pony, and the old guy is a kangaroo, of all things."
"No way," Ron breathed, stunned.
"Really. It’s hysterical. He said he used to box when he was younger."
"We were worried you splinched yourself or something," said Harry.
She laughed. "You can’t Apparate in Hogwarts."
"You know what I mean."
"I know. No worries. We all passed with flying colors."
"I wonder what we’ll be asked to do first," said Hermione.
In the long and distinguished history of Quidditch at Hogwarts, there had never been a match as vicious and violent as the Gryffindor-Slytherin match of May thirtieth.
After receiving an anonymous tip, Madam Hooch made the Slytherin team turn out for a weapons shakedown. She found that the entire collection of guards and body armor of the Slytherin team was not the standard protective leather pads, but leather-coated steel with barbs and spikes, brass knuckles, and a few clubs secreted about the person of each player. Dumbledore, who had come to the match, was very stern, and each member of the team lost forty House points. That put Slytherin well out of the running for House cup. It was only because the Quidditch points were exactly tied that Madam Hooch allowed the match to go on at all. The start was delayed half an hour while alternate leather guards were brought out and checked thoroughly, and there was much booing and catcalling.
Harry and the Gryffindors sat in their dressing room, chafing at the delay.
"It’s quite a tactic," said Graínne harshly.
"Yeah, it wrong-foots us, making us wait around, until we lose our edge," Ginny agreed.
"We can’t let that happen," said Harry with determination. "If anything, we have to become cold-blooded and grim, and not let it rattle us. They have resorted to this low behavior because they haven’t got a chance in hell against us in a fair fight."
It was exactly right, as a pep talk. Hot anger distilled into cold fury, calculating determination. The entire team knew it would hurt the Slytherins much more to lose in a fair game, with no one cheating and no one retaliating, than if there was an all-out brawl and they were beaten bloody. Therefore, in their own temper, they set out to hurt them in the worst way possible. They were so fell-looking, they were terrifying in their appearance, and more than one member of the Slytherin side swallowed nervously as they finally faced each other across the center field line.
Quidditch played hard, fairly or otherwise, can be a brutal game. Not a single player escaped without injury of some sort. However, every cheap trick was countered by flawless playing and sportsmanship; there was no mercy, no quarter given. Broken noses abounded on both teams, but no Slytherin escaped it. The captain demanded that the Gryffindor armor be checked, but there was no illegal metal plate. This delay didn’t help, either. Gryffindor shut out Slytherin, two hundred forty to nothing.
The hospital wing was like triage after a battle, the wounded sitting around waiting for medical attention. Six teachers stood by to keep a fight from breaking out. No Gryffindor spoke to a Slytherin, although Slytherins said all sorts of foul things to them. The Gryffindor team simply ignored the Slytherins utterly and talked to one another. The message was plain: You are nothing to us.
Madam Pomfrey went through and graded them by severity of injury, and treated them all in order. Hermione sat next to Ron, holding his hand, unable to decide whom to worry about more. Graínne had a broken nose and what appeared to be a shattered cheekbone on the left side, from a Bludger bat. She was a little disoriented. Harry’s left collarbone was broken, along with a profusely bleeding split lip and a possible broken rib. Ron’s nose wouldn’t stop bleeding, and he had a concussion. Ginny had a broken wrist and was bleeding from a gash on her scalp, Lyn and Bran were both limping and holding their ribs, and Katie had two black eyes. And Slytherin was slightly worse off.
But Harry held the Quidditch Cup in his right hand, and he made sure it was never blocked from the Slytherins’ view. He passed it around to the rest of the team to hold, to have their photos taken, even with injuries, and generally made much of it, and of his valiant team. The Slytherins glowered harder and eventually fell silent. When the last Slytherin was treated, the entire Gryffindor squad was still waiting, for Katie hadn’t been patched up yet. Three of the teachers went out to make sure the losing team had gone, and weren’t waiting in the corridors. The other three waited to walk the Gryffindors back.
Professor McGonagall thanked them profusely and repeatedly. She went along to the common room with them, where a party was gearing up, and after they had showed the Cup to the entire House, she took it away to her office. She somehow overlooked the cases of butterbeer on one of the center tables, her reward to them for having the Cup in her study for another year. The party then roared into action. Music blasted from somewhere, Graínne cast aside her robes and did a handstand on top a stack of cases of butterbeer in low-rise jeans and a skimpy tank-top, which inspired cheers from all the boys present, and someone set off Weasley rockets in House colors. Harry found himself an armchair off to the side, with a plate of food and a bottle of butterbeer. Graínne, who liked her beer cold, had her own little ice chest positioned beside her chair, accepted a plate of food from Dennis Creevey, and turned smiling to Harry. "I love Quidditch, but it’s always such a relief when the season is over, too. Especially with the Cup safely in our possession."
"I know what you mean. I’m feeling rather relieved myself. You were spectacular as usual."
"And you. That first Snitch chase, I thought it was all over."
"If Royce’d had a better broom, he would have got it. I only beat him on speed, not skill; he’s much better than I like to think. I guess South African brooms just aren’t as fast."
"You beat him in lots of ways," she said low, and leaned over to kiss him warmly.
"Eat your crisps," Hermione warned them, pulling an armchair around.
"What she means is, you’re drawing attention to yourselves," said Ron, pulling one beside Hermione. "And if I’m not getting any, I don’t see why you should," he added, nudging Harry with his trainer, and Harry finally stopped kissing Graínne and grinned at them unrepentantly.
"Why aren’t you getting any?" Graínne demanded, looking from one to the other. "Fighting?"
"No, I just don’t like people staring," said Hermione calmly, slipping one of her two éclairs onto Ron’s plate.
The rehash of the game was the project of hours. Lyn and his new girlfriend, Parvati, along with Bran and a gaggle of third year girls, were doing a play-by-play near the fire. Katie was the object of attention in a knot of seventh years, both boys and girls, Ginny was being treated royally by Dean and a lot of others. Harry was content to let them go on. The year was over, Quidditch wise. He no longer faced the possibility of losing the Cup to Slytherin. Next year, of course, loomed vaguely in his consciousness, but only vaguely. At the moment, he had a beautiful girl feeding him crisps, good friends all around, no enemies in sight.
Chapter 23: End of Term, Sex vs. Love, Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
The fifth years were frantic over O.W.L.s. Ginny turned overnight into a cross, sleepless, muttering shrew, and Dean gave her all his notes and plenty of space. Sixth years, however, had no time to be sympathetic. They were being pushed as relentlessly as if their N.E.W.T.s were this month, instead of a year from now.
"Bugger me," sighed Ron, finishing a homework assignment for Potions that measured two feet in length. "Hermione, love, you’ve got dirt, just there," he touched the side of his own nose, adding a smear of ink to the three already decorating various parts of his face.
"You too," she said tiredly, leaning over the table with her handkerchief to clean the newest smudge off. "Before it dries."
"Here, mine’s reprehensible," he said, taking it from her to clean her face.
"Family fluid works wonders," said Graínne absently, searching through 1001 Magical Plants for more information for her essay.
"What’s ‘family fluid’?" Harry asked, for Ron and Hermione weren’t paying much attention.
"Saliva. Oh, we’re not family, are we." She looked up as three pairs of eyes turned to stare at her in amazement. "Well, what’s a little spit between friends? You two swap spit all the time."
"That makes it sound so unappealing," giggled Hermione, taking her hankie away from Ron before he could spit on it.
"Speaking of it, though, I could use a study break, Hermione, d’you fancy a walk?"
"It’s past curfew," Harry pointed out, not looking up from his book this time.
"Ya know, one thing I’ve noticed about living in the best House in the school is that it’s very far away from the front door," said Graínne in a tone bordering on complaint. "It’s really hard to sneak out of here."
"I imagine that’s on purpose. The House closest to the front door is the one least likely to sneak around at night," Hermione agreed. "Can we borrow your cloak, Harry?"
"Um, I was actually planning to use it," he answered, looking up and blushing. Graínne grinned and blushed.
"Really? Where were you going?" Ron demanded.
"None of your business. But I suppose if we walked really close together--"
"Which we are inclined to do anyway," said Graínne.
"We could all get under it. Of course, you could always transfigure; conversely, McGonagall knows your markings, and she’s liable to be suspicious about dogs in the castle, so that’s no good." Harry looked from one to the other, and then shook his head. "On the other hand, by the time we actually finish our homework, we’ll have this room to ourselves."
"There goes my study break," groaned Ron.
"Buck up, Ron," said Graínne, pulling out a supply of chocolate. "Can you make do with some junk food? I ran out of crisps, though."
"It isn’t the same as a kiss from sweet Hermione, nor a dozen," he answered dramatically, but he helped himself to a Chocolate Frog.
"Sounds Shakespearean, that," Harry noted, trying to get back to his homework.
"He meant it to," said Hermione, breaking off a leg from Ron’s Frog and dropping a swift kiss on his cheek. "He wasn’t a wizard, was he? No, he wouldn’t be so well known to Muggles if he was."
"Not even a Squib," Graínne agreed. "His use of magic as a tool in his plots is on much too small a scale. There’s the witches in MacBeth, brewing their potions and talking about portents, but that’s only a passing reference."
"Harry, what in the world are they talking about?" Ron demanded, looking helpless.
"Beats me," answered Harry. "Lend me your ruler, mate, maybe this is long enough now."
"How much Shakespeare do you have to study in Britain?" Graínne asked, standing up to stretch. She hadn’t worn her robes all evening, just Muggle jeans and a tee shirt, and Harry stopped his work to watch with appreciation. She threw a paper wad at him.
"Way too much," Ron answered. "At least it’s not as bad as Muggles have it," he added.
"He means Muggles have to read more of it than wizard kids," Hermione corrected. "Some us liked studying it."
"I always felt like I should enjoy it, that I was really low-brow if I didn’t," Graínne admitted.
"Did you actually like it, though?" Ron asked.
"Some of it, yeah. But sometimes I thought he spent a lot of words needlessly. And other times I thought he could have made his meaning plainer."
"It was the poet in him," Harry said, having discovered his homework assignment was long enough. "Glad we don’t have to study literature here."
"It’s only because we read so much of it while studying the other subjects. Wizards haven’t decided that all old writing is ignorant-- I mean, some of it obviously is, in light of new discoveries, but they don’t reinvent the wheel every fifty years or so like Muggles. Some of the novels I’ve read, though, are really outdated." Hermione decided she needed her own Chocolate Frog to fortify her for the Transfiguration homework. "Graínne, you always have chocolate, you always eat it, and yet you never get fat and you never get cavities." She sounded grumpy.
"I brush twice a day, and I work really hard on the fat part," Graínne answered glumly. "I’m doing five miles in the morning, want to come?"
"What do you mean, doing five miles?" asked Ron suspiciously.
"Running."
They stared at her.
"Why?" Ron demanded.
"So I don’t get fat. And I tend to get a little hyperactive if I don’t run. It helps me concentrate my attention on my work. Increases my stamina overall, so I’m a better Quidditch player, my reflexes are fast, things like that."
"Five miles would kill me," Ron admitted.
"But it wouldn’t hurt any of us as Aurors to be more physically fit," Harry said thoughtfully, trying to conquer the temptation to focus his imagination on Graínne’s fit body and increased stamina.
"But it’s no fun!" Ron argued.
"There’s no way I could run five miles," Hermione declared.
"You wouldn’t be able to run five at first," Graínne answered. "You don’t have to run any, in fact. It’s just something I do, that I’ve done for years."
"What if we start slow, just a mile," Harry coaxed.
"Half," Graínne suggested warningly.
"Okay, half a mile. We walk ten times that in the course of a day, surely we could jog half a mile?" He looked at Ron and Hermione. "It’ll make us stronger."
"I’ve heard that whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but I sometimes wish," said Ron darkly. "Where would we do this?"
"It’s half a mile around the greenhouses," said Graínne, getting out her Transfiguration notes.
"All of them? Is that all? I would have thought it was more. Okay, we can jog that, I guess. It seems really far. How do you jog over great distances? Is there a method, or do you just start running?" Ron asked, now curious.
Graínne gave them a few pointers. "And you have to stretch, that’s the most important part."
"Oh yes, so you don’t get muscle cramps, I remember hearing about that in physical education class." Hermione still looked as if this was a weird and disgusting experiment.
"Before and after. I’ll start you off, so you don’t overdo, if you’re really serious about this." Graínne looked from one to the other. "We meet here at six thirty."
"Blimey!" Ron gasped.
"Better finish my homework, then," said Hermione with a groan.
Harry was right. After their homework was finished, the room was empty. Harry and Graínne retreated under the Invisibility Cloak and went out into the hallway outside the portrait hole. The hallway was chilly, despite the warm June temperatures, and while they could be overheard, they could not be seen. Most of the portraits were asleep anyway, but the Fat Lady promised to warn them if Filch approached. By midnight, when Graínne’s watch beeped twice, she was very glad they hadn’t gone in search of a secret and private place, and that there wasn’t a couch in the hall, as neither one of them seemed able to exhibit self-restraint. They returned to the now-empty common room, and only parted because she resolutely took herself up the spiral stairs, and he could not follow.
Hermione was still up, but only just. She sat up as Graínne came in.
"I was starting to worry about you," she whispered. "Did you go outside?"
"Just into the hall."
"Whew! I thought you might have got caught. Do you still have everything you left with?"
Graínne laughed. "Yes, Mother, I didn’t give it up. I told you I’m saving it for marriage. Besides, who wants to rush through the process? And all the portraits listening to every breath, and every minute, worrying about whether Filch is going to turn the corner--ugh."
Hermione stifled her giggles. "Glad to hear you haven’t done anything rash."
"You can get a rash?" Graínne demanded in mock horror.
"Shh!"
Lavender grunted in her sleep.
"What about you, did you keep everything?" Graínne perched on Hermione’s bed.
"Oh yes. I think Ron wants to sleep together, but he doesn’t want to mention it. I’m perfectly content to wait until we’re married, if it ever gets to that, and I don’t want to catch fire, so to speak. It’s going to be an interesting summer."
"Do you think you will get married?"
"Maybe." She grinned. "We’re still awfully young, of course, but his parents met here, and married almost immediately, and so did your parents. Of course, sex is the wrong reason to get married, it’s all about love, isn’t it."
"That’s what they tell us, anyway. I think it’s about friendship and common purpose and companionship. Maybe even more so than about love. If marriages were arranged for thousands of years, love was a byproduct, or maybe a bonus, but not the reason."
This was counter to everything Hermione had ever considered about marriage. She started to object, but Parvati sat up abruptly in bed and said loudly, "Whuzzat?"
"Just philosophy, dear, go back to sleep," said Graínne soothingly. "Let’s talk about it tomorrow," she whispered to Hermione, giving her a quick hug. "I’ve got to get some sleep if we’re jogging in the morning."
"Oh, yeah," said Hermione with a hint of a groan in her voice.
---------------
The morning jog was difficult, but they had taken hold of the idea of exercise, and so they stuck with it. Every other morning, rain or otherwise, they rose before dawn and jogged. The next week, exam week, they graduated to jogging around the lake. Always, after their jog together, Harry, Ron and Hermione stopped and stretched out, and Graínne took off running around the castle. She had a mile-long route, she had explained, and had to do five laps. It seemed that she could run the remainder of her five miles in roughly the same time it took them to do their three-quarter mile.
The discussion of marriage went on over a week, and became so intensely interesting to Hermione that she forgot to stop in front of the boys. She accused Graínne of having a low opinion of romance and a utilitarian view of sacred vows.
"Just practical, as far as romance goes, and if I view sacred vows as anything other than sacred, may lightning strike me. This is the crux of the matter, H: romance as an end is a shortsighted, easily reached goal that is impossible to maintain. It’s all about feelings, and feelings are little wisps of stuff that change with every passing thought and breeze and surge of hormones. It’s simple to be mushy, to bring flowers and candy and light a candle, but you can’t live that way. Love is much too important a thing to be reduced to a mere feeling. Love is a thing you choose to do, something you base your life and actions upon."
"Love is an action? But isn’t that sex?"
"No, sex is sex, love is caring more about another person’s rights and well-being than you care about your own. For example, Ron doesn’t care about reading, except as a practical way of getting through school, but because you think it’s so important, he gives you books as gifts, he spends time reading with you when he’d rather be playing chess or Quidditch, he lets you read when he’d rather be necking, all because he loves you and wants your happiness over his own."
"I do?" asked Ron blankly. "I mean not the love part, of course, but I didn’t realize--"
"And likewise, you give him choice bits of food, play chess with him, look over his homework, watch his Quidditch practice, you give him books about the things he likes, save your Chocolate Frog cards for him, all because you want him to be happy more than you want your own way."
She had to think about it, but the more she thought about it, the more logical it seemed. If marriage was based on wanting the other person to be cared for and happy and content, and if both members were focused on the other person, how could it fail? Then it wasn’t about a feeling that might change. It was about a promise that was made, and a promise could be kept, even when a feeling had passed. They were queued up outside Charms when she had organized her thoughts and finally gave voice to them.
"And that’s the point you were trying to make the other night?"
"Yes," said Graínne, nodding emphatically.
"Then I concede. Marriage should not be based on feelings, but on a choice to live together in the sacred bonds of the vows and care about one another selflessly."
"Isn’t marriage based on love?" Ron asked blankly.
“Yes, but not what our culture refers to as love. Not the mushy romantic feelings or lust that passes for love," said Hermione firmly.
"We’re talking about the acts of self-sacrifice and commitment that are real love, the choosing of someone else’s preferences because you care more for him than for your own preferences. The choice to stay together because you promised, even when it’s easier to separate," Graínne added.
Harry’s hand squeezed hers gently. Suddenly he remembered the many months Sirius had lived off rats and scavenged garbage in order to be closer to Harry in case of emergency.
"That’s what makes a successful marriage possible between two people who have never met before," Hermione went on. "But you have to agree and be committed to the same beliefs and principles about marriage for it to work, I can see that."
Professor Flitwick ushered them into his classroom at that point, saving Harry and Ron from having to say anything. Harry wondered what he would say. He had a lot of mushy romantic feelings, but was Graínne the woman he wanted to see every day for the rest of his life? A voice in his head answered a quick and easy yes, but he didn’t take it too seriously yet. They had a whole year of school before they could begin to consider the question of marriage, and it could be longer.
---------------
Fortunately for everyone, exam week came to a close without much incident. The boys and Graínne had grades almost as good as Hermione’s, and everyone was comfortably in line for N.E.W.T.s in a year’s time. Snape, with McGonagall breathing down his neck, actually gave Harry an E, and Hermione and Graínne were the only Gryffindors to get Os. The last week of the term was blazing sunshine and hot weather, and the only thing on the schedule was mealtime.
Conscientiously, Harry and Graínne stayed out of secret passages and private places, and behaved themselves circumspectly. Ron and Hermione were a little more daring, sneaking out after curfew to wander the grounds at night. Since the Cups were already won (Quidditch Cup to Gryffindor and House Cup to Ravenclaw), there were no major discipline fears, although two dogs did get into the girls’ dorms just to see if they could. They did it during the day, so that if the alarms went off, it wouldn’t be so noticeable. However, the alarms did not go off until Ron Transfigured in the sixth year dorm to give Hermione a kiss. Harry Transfigured and dove for the stairs before anyone saw him as a dog, and he and Ron came sliding out into the common room before anyone was the wiser. Ginny had to give them a telling-off, but it was merely form.
"Well, it’s no use if we have to stay dogs all the time," Ron grumbled privately.
"It’s no use anyway," Hermione answered. "Nothing is going to happen there."
"Lavender and Parvati are always there when we are, and Ginny is in our room as much as her own. We simply have no privacy," Graínne added. "And I bet that’s by design. I’m certainly not to be trusted."
Ron looked at Harry. "Lucky," he said in an envious tone.
"Not really. She may not be trustworthy, but she’s very careful to make sure it’s not left in my hands to decide." Harry made a show of looking disappointed.
"That’s because you are not to be trusted, either," she told him flatly, making them laugh.
----------------
The Hogwarts Express was puffing aggressively when Graínne finished bribing a couple of third years to leave a choice compartment. (She had to bargain them down from a Galleon each to eight Sickles, enough to get a snack from the cart.) "You were too nice to the toe-rags," Ron informed her, giving her the first choice of seats. They had been her Sickles.
"I just don’t know when I’ll be needing the good will of those toe-rags in the future, Ronald," she answered blithely, chinning herself on the luggage rack. She dropped into a seat and waggled a finger at Harry. "Sit right here next to me, little darlin’" she drawled.
"How did she get fire whiskey?" said Ginny blandly, as she moved Crookshanks out of the window corner seat and flopped down in his place.
"Where’s Dean?" asked Hermione, sitting down next to her.
"Don’t know, don’t care. D’you mind if I play fifth wheel?"
"Not at all, dear. I’m sorry about Dean, though."
"Well, he had only one major flaw."
"What was that?" Graínne asked interestedly.
"He was a ruddy chauvinist."
"You have those here?"
"Yeah, all over the place."
"Chess?" Harry asked quietly. He’d had a hard week, being the anniversary, and had had nightmares, the first in many months. They were all about Sirius.
"Sure." She settled down immediately, matching his tone.
Many people stopped in to visit, former D.A. members, other Quidditch teams, classmates, and fellow Gryffindors. Harry nodded to people, smiled distractedly, and tried not to think about the black hole that yawned before him, eight weeks of solitary confinement. He always missed his friends, but he would miss Graínne more. And he ached anew over the loss of Sirius, as one does on the anniversary. Ron and Hermione shielded Harry from having to talk much, and Graínne pretended to be sassy and cute to ward off too much attention. He was grateful.
Toward evening, Ginny took a walk down the train, and Ron put an arm around Hermione and spoke in a very low voice to her, under the rumble of the train. Harry drew Graínne into his arms. She lay back across his lap, nestled her head on his shoulder, and slipped her arms around his middle.
"I can’t bear to think about saying goodbye," he murmured.
"Me neither. And I won’t say goodbye, anyway. We can spend all of August at the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley says, and Mom says she’s going to try to get you out on your birthday to our house. Wherever that is. You’ll be legal."
"Yeah. Dumbledore mentioned that to me."
"Is someone going to teach you to Apparate?"
"I hope so. I don’t know who that would be, though."
"Harry?"
"Yes, Graín."
"I love you, Harry."
"I love you too, Graín." He kissed her, long and tenderly. "Will you marry me someday?"
"Probably," she grinned, "more than likely."
She wept at the station. She promised to send him an owl every day. Once they had passed through to Kings Cross, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him lingeringly, in full view of his relatives, and Tonks had to hurry her off to find her parents. Lupin and Moody made sure they didn’t spend too much time saying goodbye, because there were a lot of Dark wizard families around, and it was too dangerous to draw attention.
"Who was that girl?" Uncle Vernon demanded suspiciously. "That’s not the same one’s been with you the last few years."
As if on cue, Hermione came up and hugged him fondly, kissed his cheek, and made way for Mrs. Weasley. Ron pumped his hand, and then a whole lot of other wizards did as well, and at last Harry was free to go. He pushed his own cart, hardly looking at his relatives.
"I said, who was that girl?"
"She doesn’t concern you at all," said Harry shortly.
"You have a girlfriend?" Dudley demanded.
Harry did not respond.
"She’s not going to be hanging around the house--" began Aunt Petunia.
"No, she’s not," Harry agreed sharply. "I wouldn’t subject her to it."
"Problems here?" asked Moody, pushing back his bowler hat to stare at the Dursleys.
"N-n-no," stuttered Uncle Vernon.
"Good." Moody clapped Harry on the shoulder and melted into the crowd.
Harry mowed the lawn without being asked. He got it out of the way early, while it was still cool. As he was putting away the machine in the shed, he heard splashing next door, the sound of someone swimming laps in a pool. As he swept the clippings from the front walk, he noticed that the house next door had changed a great deal since last summer.
Its stark white stucco had been painted a soft, pale grey, and the shutters from black to dark grey. The lawn had given way, for the most part, to flower beds, country garden style. They were well kept and charming, a riot of color and scent and bees. It softened the sharp angles of the house nicely. A mid-sized sedan stood in the drive (silver grey, unobtrusive), and a little black sport car was at the curb. The curtains at the ground-floor windows were rich lace, the real thing, and several cats gathered on the porch. The front garden fence had been changed from a fake wrought iron Victorian look-alike to a dry stone wall. A wooden stockade fence surrounded the back garden, eight feet high. A little sparrow stood on the front wall, looking around alertly, and Harry wondered if it was Morag Cameron, spying on him.
"I guess Mr. and Mrs. Whittleton moved from next door?" he asked his aunt politely, when he had finished the yard work. "It looks different over there."
"Very," she answered grumpily. She wanted to complain about it, more than she wanted to ignore Harry at the moment. "They’ve retired to Florida and have let the house."
"Oh. Have you met the new people?"
"Yes. Transferred from the North, Scots, I think, dead common. Ruined the lawn with their silly vintage flowers, and that garden wall is so back-country! That filthy swimming pool of theirs will drive all our insurance rates up and our property values down."
"Are there many of them?" Harry asked, to see how long he could keep her going and still get valuable information out of her.
"A couple with grown children, I believe. I don’t remember."
It wasn’t unusual for his aunt to refuse to look at him, but he had the distinct feeling that she was prevaricating at the moment. It was unusual for her to fail to recall details about the neighbors, including any gossip she happened to overhear. And if she hadn’t been annoyed about the new neighbors, she wouldn’t have answered him at all.
Harry cleared his throat. "Mrs. Figg asked if I’d cut her lawn this summer. She’s got her own machine. I thought I would."
"Let her hire someone--"
"She is. Me. It’s only a pound a week, but I don’t think she can afford more, and she hasn't much lawn. I thought I could start saving for my own place, after school is done."
"Or you could pay board," she argued, greed coming into her face.
"I could, I guess you could make change."
His answer was so mild, it occurred to her that this might not be cheek, but stupidity.
"Oh, never mind. What could you get for eight pounds?"
"A train ticket? It’s a start, anyway."
"You should demand more."
"I don’t think she can afford the pound," Harry pointed out.
"That’s hardly my problem, is it?"
Harry gazed into her glaring eyes, controlling his temper. "I hope, Aunt Petunia, that when you are a lonely widow on a pension, you’ll never have cause to regret your attitude."
She flushed with anger. "How dare you--"
"You should see the bird in the pool next door," bellowed Dudley, barreling into the kitchen to get a snack. "What a bod! I’m going to ask her to the cinema."
"She’ll be too old for you, Diddy, and besides, they’re common," said Petunia in a panic, distracted from Harry’s implications.
"With a bod like that, doesn’t matter if she’s common or royal. And so what if she’s a little older?" He sat down at the table, fortifying himself with a ham sandwich and a pile of crisps.
"You’ll spoil your lunch, Diddy--"
"Nah, Mum, this won’t spoil nothin’."
"What’s her name?" Harry asked idly, because Dudley was looking at him expectantly.
"No idea, and even if I had, it’d be none of your damn business."
"I’m going to Mrs. Figg’s, then." With a shrug, Harry went toward the front door.
"Diddy-kins, I wish you wouldn’t have anything to do with those people next door, I tell you they aren’t good enough--"
"Oh, shut it," said Dudley rudely.
Harry hoped the girl next door heard. Unless she was so bad she deserved him, she couldn’t help but be repulsed. He closed the front door quietly behind him and set off.
One of the cats next door got up and met him at the end of the drive. It was a large, sleek Abyssinian. Something in Harry’s memory stirred, but he couldn’t place it. He bent down and held out his hand, and the cat rubbed a cheek on his fingertips.
"Watch out for the Dursleys," he said quietly. "They don’t like cats."
The cat sat down and gazed at him, and meowed lazily.
"Yeah, well, you’ve been warned. See you around." He went on.
Mrs. Figg had a lovely lunch waiting for him. "Hello dear," she said warmly. "You look all tired and hot already. Eat your lunch, the lawn will wait."
"Thanks, Mrs. Figg. The Muggles might give me a hard time about this arrangement."
"Well, we’ll get around them somehow. How was school?"
"It was good. Almost got killed again, but that’s not unusual. Met a girl."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. How was the year in Little Whinging?"
"Just the same as always, dear."
When he had finished her yard work, Harry returned to number four Privet Drive. He wondered vaguely as he passed number six how Dudley had gotten on with the girl. Much more interesting was the problem of what he was going to do for the rest of the week, until time to mow lawns came around again.
It was only a little too early to hope for mail. Ron and Hermione wouldn’t have had time to get anything to him before tomorrow, and Graínne, though probably a little closer, would likely be on the same timetable. But he was hopeful. She would have received his letter this morning, but maybe she had written to him last night without waiting.
He took a quick shower and put on clean clothes. A glance out the bathroom window as he opened the curtains to air the room showed the back yards, and he had a clear view of the now-empty pool next door, still and serene in the afternoon sunlight. It was surprisingly large, and yet there was still plenty of grass and trees and flowers along the fences. Dudley was nowhere in sight. He finished cleaning the bathroom and went to his bedroom.
Hedwig was on top of his wardrobe, already returned from delivering the mail. Aramis was standing on his desk, holding an envelope in his beak.
"Hello, Aramis! I didn’t expect to see you for a few days yet." He took the envelope. Aramis hooted and joined Hedwig on the wardrobe.
"Beloved,
Hedwig brought your letter during the night, apparently, and left it with Aramis. That was quick! I would have written last night, but Mom and Dad took me out to supper, and then there was some kind of meeting, so I had to wait around in some creepy house with a shrieking portrait, and it ran late. I didn’t have anything to write with, or I would have spent the time to some profit, writing to you.
Mom tells me my little brothers are coming in a few weeks for a few weeks. Oh joy.
I was awakened this morning to the sound of a lawn mower. My parents have landed in a place that doesn’t seem too bad, so far, house-wise. There is plenty of room, and there’s even a pool in the back yard. I think Dad did an Enlargement Charm on the yard to get the pool in. I love to swim, but I know he put it in for his back, not for my hyperactivity. There is a phone, but I haven’t asked about the number yet. Apparently it’s a Muggle neighborhood (hence the lawnmower), and Dad’s renting from Muggle owners, so we can’t make too many weird changes, and we can’t do too many weird things outside.
I got to sleep in a little late this morning, which was nice, except-- I would trade every ‘lie-in,’ as Mom calls them, for the rest of my life if it meant I could be with you. It has been less than twelve hours since we kissed on the platform, and I feel like I’m withdrawing from serious drugs! It is physical pain.
So, where in England are you? I’m in Surry, in a dinky town called Little Whinging. What a great name! (said the girl from Bonk Pass!)
love,
Graínne."
Harry went back to the bathroom and looked out the window again. An Enlargement Charm would account for the pool and garden. He went back downstairs and out the front door, across the drive, between the flowerbeds of number six, up on the porch with the cats, and rang the bell.
The door opened after a few moments. She was wearing green camouflage shorts and a mint-green tank top, she was barefoot; she had a mop in her hand. Her expression went from faint irritation to shock to ecstasy in a few seconds. The mop clattered to the hall floor as she tackled him.
"Small world," he said when he could speak, which wasn’t immediately.
Morag Cameron was laughing. "Surprise!" she said from the landing above. "Hello, Harry, won’t you come in? Graínne, the neighbors can see."
"Hello, Mrs. Cameron. So I’m your new assignment?" he asked, as Graínne dragged him inside.
"Yes and no. We’ve been assigned to you by the Order, not the Ministry. We still have to work regular hours for them. But William has been assigned to you about thirty hours a week, which is a big relief to the rest of the Order who have regular jobs. He and Mad-Eye and Remus will be on duty most of the time, and the rest of us will fill in as our schedules allow." She came downstairs and pried Graínne off gently so she could give him a hug and a kiss.
"William?"
The Abyssinian cat, which had greeted him that morning, was in the hall, and now transfigured into a man who looked rather like David. "Hi, Harry, I’m Will Cameron."
"You have the same transfiguration as David?" he asked, shaking hands.
"Well, we’re twins," he answered with a grin. "Fraternal, not identical."
"Nice to meet you."
"How could you keep this from me?" Graínne demanded, turning to her mother.
"You never asked. Besides, it was need-to-know. How did you guess, Harry?"
"She wrote to me. She talked about a lawn mower, that was me, and a pool, Enlargement Charm, plus how quick the letters went back and forth. And she said Little Whinging."
"Everything but an address," Mrs. Cameron said in a chiding tone, tweaking a curl as Graínne looked sheepish. "Want some tea, Harry?"
"Always hungry, Mrs. Cameron. Can I help?"
"Not today, dear, it’s all ready. I was expecting you any time. Graínne, mind your manners."
"Please come in, Harry," said Graínne with a grin, and gestured toward the parlor.
Harry suspected there was an Enlargement Charm indoors, too. Every room was spacious, and there seemed to be more of them. The parlor was a comfortable room done all in cool greens with dashes of cream and rose, squashy armchairs and sofas, nothing fussy, but all of it elegant and comfortable at the same time. Will brought out a large pitcher of iced tea, and Mrs. Cameron carried a large tray of snacks, everything from traditional cakes to crisps and dip.
"I’m a salt man, myself," Will explained, helping himself to some crisps.
"It’s wonderful, thank you," Harry answered, accepting a tall glass of iced tea.
"So you’ve been busy this morning," said Mrs. Cameron conversationally. "How is Arabella?"
"Fine. I hate to take her money, but if I don’t, the Muggles won’t let me go help her."
"She’d pay you more, but they’d be suspicious if she did. Don’t worry, Harry, she can well afford ten times what she’s paying you. She only poses as a poor pensioner so that no one will look very closely at her."
Harry wondered why he never thought to ask Mrs. Figg more questions, and decided it might seem rude to her. He didn’t want to offend her.
"Would you like to be our pool boy? You could come over every day," Mrs. Cameron went on.
"I’d like that, but I don’t know the first thing about a pool--"
"Oh, you wouldn’t actually do anything to the pool, it’s all taken care of by magic, but they don’t know that. For all they know, pools take a lot of work."
"They can see the pool from the upstairs. If I wasn’t actually working--"
"They won’t be able to see anything except you cleaning and checking chemicals and working on the filter. We offer to pay you fifteen pounds a week, that’s on the low end of the going rate, so they can’t complain. Even if they demand all of it for rent or something, it will get you out of the house a lot."
"Won’t it be rather dull for you, though?"
"Not remotely. You’ll keep Graínne cheerful, she tends to pout when she doesn’t have things her way--"
"Mother!"
"And you can have Ron and Hermione to visit, and swim all you like. Unfortunately, I can’t have you biking and hiking a lot, it’s not safe yet, but we’ll make do."
"H is coming down to spend the first week of August. The last two weeks are still up in the air. Professor Dumbledore won’t give us any information concerning you," Graínne said, stirring her glass a little. "We ought to smuggle Ron down same time."
"What do you mean, up in the air?" Harry asked.
"There’s got to be a trip to London, of course," said Mrs. Cameron.
"Wouldn’t that be a day-trip?"
"Likely you won’t need to go at all," said Will calmly. "Molly can buy your stuff just the same as you can, without drawing the attention of a lot of Darkers. But we do have to get you to the train. Hey, that’ll be Remus." He got up at the sound of a distant jingle.
Mrs. Cameron looked a little tense, suddenly, groping for her wand.
"Relax, Mom, it’s a password thing, and Willie changes it every day. There’d be all kinds of alarms going off if it was an enemy. Hey Tonks, hey Remus!"
Harry got up and hugged Tonks and shook hands with Remus Lupin.
"You look well," said the latter, low-voiced.
"I’ve been having a good day," Harry answered.
"Well, I’m on duty this evening. Nymphadora, take care not to be seen as yourself in Will’s company," he warned.
"I swear, if you call me that again--"
"Just don’t make me," he cut her off.
"When have I ever screwed up on disguise?" She morphed herself into a punk rocker with straight long black hair, heavy black and white make-up, and black leathers. "You can still tell it’s me, right?" she asked Will.
"Just don’t keep changing," Will laughed. "Neither one of us will be ourselves, Remus. We’ll be back when the clubs close."
"Bye! See you later, Harry," said Tonks, preceding Will into the hall toward the front door.
Lupin was shaking his head. "Will shouldn’t be out all day and all night."’
"Tonks will take care of him," said Graínne with confidence. "And Willie’s tough."
"Tea, Remus?"
"No thanks, Morag, I’m on duty. By the way, Harry’s cousin was watching your yard with binoculars when we came in."
"Oh, yeah. Dud saw you swimming this morning, apparently," he told Graínne. "He’s going to ask you to the cinema."
"Oh to be a Metamorphmagus," she growled. "We’ll just put that meeting off as long as we can."
"Indeed," said Mrs. Cameron with distaste.
"Want to go swimming?" Graínne asked Harry as Remus donned an Invisibility Cloak and went out into the back yard.
"Er," said Harry, reluctant to reveal that he didn’t swim well, and more than reluctant to reveal how skinny and pale he was. "Might make it difficult at home if Dud sees me swimming with the ‘bird’ he wants to meet."
"He called me a bird?"
"Oh, he won’t see anything," Mrs. Cameron assured him. "I charmed it at lunchtime to look like an empty pool. Tomorrow I’ll charm it to look like an empty pool with Harry Potter cleaning it."
"Oh. But I don’t have a suit."
"You can use Will’s. It was washed, wasn’t it, Mom?"
"Yes dear, I’ll get it."
"Finish your tea, I’ll get it." She rose and went upstairs.
"I don’t swim very well," Harry whispered urgently to Mrs. Cameron.
"Don’t worry. Do you swim a little? That will be enough. Graínne swims like a fish. Just tell her. She doesn’t expect everyone to know how, she won’t be shocked."
"Will’s suit won’t fit me."
"I’ll shrink it a bit, then."
Harry, red in the face, played his last card. "I’m skinny and I have knobby knees."
Having eight sons, Morag understood this completely, and wasn’t even surprised by the admission. "Then it’s time to build you up a bit with good food and exercise. She doesn’t care about that, Harry. Do you think she hasn’t noticed you’re not a rugger?"
"She likes ruggers?"
"No, dear, she likes you."
Mrs. Cameron shrank a pair of black trunks and showed Harry to the lavatory, where he could change and get a towel. Graínne had changed while she was upstairs hunting the trunks, and was wearing a blue swimsuit and a pair of faded cut-offs. She had a towel around her neck, and her hair was tightly braided. By the time Harry had changed clothes, she was out in the back yard.
"Go on out, dear, I’m just getting my knitting."
"Oh, you’ll be there too?" Harry wondered how many witnesses to his humiliation there were actually going to be.
"This once, yes."
He stepped through the back door. The heat was heavy, compared to the cool interior. Graínne had left her towel and shorts on a chair on the patio, and was standing at the far end of the pool, waiting. When he came out, she waved and dove in headfirst.
"Good job, Harry," muttered Lupin from off to his left. "She’s gorgeous and brilliant."
"Yeah," Harry muttered back, "don’t know what she sees in me."
"Whatever it is, she loves you. Go swim, she’s waiting."
Those words, she’s waiting, caused a little thrill in his stomach. The words she loves you caused a much larger thrill. He left his towel and glasses on the table and walked gingerly into the pool using the wide shallow steps in the nearest corner. The water was the perfect temperature, not too cold, but cool enough to be refreshing.
Graínne surfaced beside him and stood up. "I’m betting you haven’t done much swimming, considering it costs money in this part of the country, and Mom says your people won’t spend anything on you."
"That’s the size of it, yeah."
"Can you float? Dog-paddle? Okay, see the red tile on each side? That’s the drop off point. It goes from about four feet down to a little over twelve, and it’s a steep drop. This is a noodle." She dragged over a long foam cylinder, five feet long and three inches in diameter, bright orange. "It will keep you above water, just put it under your arms, or sit on it like a swing. When I learned to swim, my teacher had me keep a noodle under my arms until I had enough confidence to trust myself. Here, try sitting on it." She broke off laughing. Harry was tall enough to sit on the bottom of the pool without wetting his hair. "We’re too shallow, here. Come on."
Swim lessons diffused his self-consciousness, over the next few days. He wasn’t bad at it, he found. His aunt and uncle didn’t like that Harry spent about six hours or more there every day, and Dudley howled, but he was not prevented, because he was paying them six of his fifteen pounds. By the end of the week, Harry had made great progress, and was starting to swim laps with Graínne. He couldn’t swim as many or as fast, but he felt much more confident in his ability to stay alive in the water, and was greatly encouraged by his improvement.
They didn’t have much time alone, which was a good thing: Graínne still had a fabulous body, despite the fact that her rigorous training in self-defense was over. And although she had a high-necked racing suit, it wasn’t exactly muffling. The fact that a member of the Order was always in the yard under an Invisibility Cloak kept them from getting too physical, and often one of her family was swimming with them. Rory, whose body was laced with scars, swam to ease a bad back. Under his stern glare, Harry hardly looked at Graínne. Will, and occasionally David, swam for fun. Morag swam to keep an eye on them, if Mundungus Fletcher was on duty. She didn’t trust him, and she didn’t trust Graínne and Harry alone.
Instead of tanning, Graínne turned a pleasant pale golden color, but Harry turned quite brown. There was always food after swimming, and usually before, and so Harry began to fill out with some muscle. Graínne had to watch what she ate for the first time in her life, because she couldn’t run or bike, and swimming was not quite enough exercise.
There were a few rainy days, during which they sat at the Camerons’ kitchen table doing the homework they’d been assigned for the holidays. The Camerons had a nice library, which enabled Harry to go for extra credit for the first time.
At the end of the second week, Graínne began showing signs of extreme restlessness. She swam her laps fast, she paced, she snapped at Will, at David who was visiting, and she came very close to talking back to her mother. She was more demonstrative toward Harry, as well, kissing, holding hands, even in front of her parents. He could not smell that elusive, attractive scent on her, so he was sure this new aggression was not fertility. But he didn’t know how to behave.
On Saturday morning, Will let him in the front door, clapped him on the shoulder, and went out without a word. Harry could hear raised voices in the kitchen.
"Hello?" he called, walking into the hallway.
"Come in, Harry, how are you, dear?" said Mrs. Cameron kindly, giving him a little hug and drawing him in. "We were just having a discussion which will affect you, I think."
Graínne was sitting at the counter with her arms crossed, shoulders hunched, looking grumpier than he had ever seen her. "Hi," she said, smiling, her grumpiness lifting briefly.
"What’s going on?" He sat down beside her and addressed Mrs. Cameron, who put a plate of waffles before him.
She deferred to Graínne.
"I’m bored," she said apologetically. "Not by you, I swear if you weren’t here I’d be out of my mind or in jail or both. In the US we hear about how incredible Britain is, and now I’m living here and I can’t leave the yard."
"And you know why," said Mrs. Cameron flatly.
"Why is she trapped here?" Harry asked reasonably.
"Because Lord Voldemort knows who she is and how important she is to you." She turned again to Graínne. "You’re an adrenaline junkie."
She objected loudly and wordlessly.
"Graínne, I am not about to allow you to throw away your life and endanger civilization as we know it by giving in to your chemical dependence on adrenaline."
"I am not addicted to--"
"Regardless, you must live under certain restrictions. Period."
"But it’s not living!"
"It beats the alternative!"
"It’s like a cage, Mom, how am I supposed to exist here?"
"By not expecting a thrill a minute! You are supposed to be relaxing, not rushing toward destruction on a Thor 2000!"
"I can’t relax! When I relax, my mind wanders!"
Mrs. Cameron looked blank.
"She means we start thinking about sleeping together," said Harry gently.
Stunned, Mrs. Cameron looked from one to the other. "Oh. So you do need occupation. I thought you were just -- well. Obviously that changed the priority of the problem." She turned out another set of waffles from the waffle iron, frowning to herself. "I need to confer with the others, children. I can’t promise anything, but I will do what I can. I’m sure no one has considered this angle. In the meantime, Harry, you’re to begin reading up on Apparating, and Graínne, I need you to arrange all the downstairs vases with fresh flowers."
Graínne groaned. "If I apologize for my temper, do I have to arrange flowers?"
"Yes. It is not punishment."
"Not to you."
"Be careful, child, it’s about to become punishment. Now. The little boys are arriving tonight. If you think you feel like a caged animal, wait until they find out there’s nowhere to play Quidditch."
Harry grinned, but Graínne shuddered. "Can’t I go stay with Aunt Minerva?"
"No, you may not. Go. Flowers. Harry, finish your breakfast. I’ve laid out your book on the table in the study. Rory, breakfast!" she called to the ceiling.
Graínne was tempted to pout, but she squared her shoulders and got off the stool. "Thank you for hearing my complaint, Mom." She kissed her mother on the cheek and went out the back door to cut flowers.
"I believe you’re a good influence on her," said Mrs. Cameron, stunned.
"No need. She loves you." He dumped his empty plate into the sink, kissed Mrs. Cameron’s other cheek, and went to the study.
The assignment was not completely without perks, as Harry found out. The study was secluded, and the floor of the hallway by that door squeaked dreadfully, and there were many vases to be arranged there. After about forty-five minutes of reading, he looked up to see Graínne coming in with a large tub of cut flowers, a bucket of water, a roll of newspaper, and a plastic bin bag. She spread out the papers on the table, emptied all the vases of their dead flowers, dumped the old water out the window, and began to arrange the largest with surprising skill, considering her reluctance.
"You learned this when?" he asked, holding up the book.
"A few years ago, I guess. It wasn’t easy. I had a couple of teachers who were relentless. I splinched myself twice, that wasn’t nice. Failed my test the first time." She tucked in a spray of pink blossoms. "That was embarrassing and a little dangerous. Landed in a guy’s tub. Fortunately he wasn’t in it yet. Unfortunately he was about to get in. Fortunately he was pretty dim, and unfortunately he thought he was attractive. Bart cleaned his clock. I think my dad wanted to kill him."
"A Muggle?" He was laughing.
"Oh yeah." She shook her head. "Mom had to yell at me for two days."
"Your mom is really nice, she wouldn’t--"
"Oh, believe me, she would." She set the vase on its little side table and came over to where he sat on the couch. She leaned over and kissed him warmly. "One down, a hundred to go."
"Are you going to kiss me every time you finish a vase?" he asked hopefully.
"That would definitely inspire me to work quick," she laughed. "I think Mom would say something if I ran in here every time I finished a vase, but there are five vases and a wall pocket in this room alone!"
Harry didn’t know what a wall pocket was, but he meant to have a dozen in his home, because by the time she finished it, she was extremely amorous.
"Are you okay?" he hissed after they had rolled off the couch.
"Quiet," she answered, and made it impossible for him to speak.
A mere two minutes later, Mrs. Cameron called from the kitchen, "Graínne?"
"Yes, Mom?" She leapt to her feet and dragged Harry up off the floor, shoving him back onto the couch. She was back at the table in two steps, and when her mother appeared in the door she was busily cleaning up the debris.
"Aren’t you finished? Ah, just clearing up. Those are lovely. Now let Harry read, child." She went back out.
"Yes ma’am." She flicked her gaze toward Harry, who was watching her over the top of his large book with ardent attention.
At that point, one of the cats -- not an Animagus cat -- came in and sat down on the other end of the couch.
"Damn," she breathed.
"What?"
"That’s Circe, Mom’s special cat. She’s spying on us." She gathered up her things, gave Harry a lingering but otherwise chaste kiss, and went to finish her work.
After he had calmed down, Harry found the study of Apparation quite interesting. He was very surprised to be called to lunch. Graínne plopped down into her chair looking more frustrated than ever, so he kept his enthusiasm to himself.
"Want to swim after?" he asked solicitously.
"Sure." Short and sharp.
"Why don’t you teach Harry some sword?" Will suggested. He looked in need of sleep.
"I hoover at the sword."
"No, that’s not what Mr. Anderas said. You are letting that nasty imposter skew your perception." Mrs. Cameron put down a large platter of sandwiches. "The Spanish master should know whether you are good or not, and he said you are."
"I’d like that," Harry said simply, seeing that she was unsure of herself.
She gazed at him searchingly. "You would?"
"Sure. Even if you hoover, as you call it, you’re going to know more than me, so you can at least practice teaching."
She smiled half-heartedly. "Okay."
So after lunch, Harry had his first sword lesson.
"Is this different from fencing? Because we did that at school once when I was little."
"Yes, it’s not exactly like fencing. For one thing, a sword is a lot heavier than an epee. My favorite is this one," she said, opening a locked wardrobe. She took out a long, slender blade, shaped more like a knife than a sword. With it in her hand, she looked suddenly strong and courageous, invincible, and not exactly happy, but no longer as if she was depressed. She looked ferocious, stern, incredibly beautiful. "It’s a fanged scimitar, but the arc of the blade is very slight compared to most traditional scimitars. The problem with it as a fighting sword is that it doesn’t have a cross guard—a lot of scimitars do, just not this one, and not much around the pommel to stop a blade from sliding right into your hand. It’s a good sword if you’re going to make sure you don’t have to block a blow at a bad angle."
"How do you do that?"
"You kill your enemy before he can swing a blade at you."
He looked at her, surprised, but she didn’t seem to notice that she’d said anything odd.
"We’ll teach you how to use a two-edged, traditional blade." She lifted out a sword that glittered in the electric lights of the basement and handed it to him. It was simple-looking, but somehow elegant, a black-leather pommel and a graceful arc to the cross guard. A huge and gorgeous ruby was set in the butt end of the hilt. He took it with a sense of awe, and his heart leapt up.
"Are you going to teach me with this?" he asked, swinging it a little. It felt alive, and he felt suddenly stronger.
"No, you might hurt me." She smiled suddenly, as if she had not been in a funk all day. "How does it feel?" she asked in a low voice, understanding how he looked.
"Good." It felt like a massive understatement, but he had no other words at all.
"It looks good. Now put it back." She did not try to take it, and stood well back from him.
He grinned, and placed it carefully back into the cupboard.
Graínne opened a chest, having locked the closet carefully, and pulled out wooden replicas. She showed him about holding a sword, one hand, two hands, a hand and a half, explaining the reasons one would use each grip. She showed him how to stretch, and then they started working on "drills and skills" as she called them. When Will came down to call them to supper, Harry was surprised that they had been working that long.
"He’s a natural," Will reported at the table. Tonks was there, too, as a guest. "He moves like he’s been handling it for years."
"Really?" Rory looked appraisingly at Harry. "Ever use one before?"
"Once."
"When was that?"
"I had to kill a basilisk my second year at Hogwarts."
"He used Godric Gryffindor’s," Graínne added.
"Ooh, that’s a good one," said Morag enthusiastically. "I’ve always wanted to try it."
"You should have seen him with the King-maker," she said to her parents. "Looked like it grew right out of his hand."
"What in the world are you talking about?" asked Tonks.
"Swords," Will told her.
“Oh. I’ve never had to do with swords."
"I’ll teach you a little, some time," he promised her with a smile that Harry recognized. Will liked Tonks a lot.
"If he’s really good, he should practice every day," Rory declared.
"Would you like to?" Graínne asked him gently, trying to hide her own eagerness.
"I would. It’s... fun isn’t the right word. Exhilarating, maybe."
"He’ll need some variety in trainers," said Morag thoughtfully. "Let’s have Bart give him a few lessons while he’s here, and Will can practice with him, of course, Will’s more cunning than Bart."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked curiously.
"She means Bart is excruciatingly fair, and I play a little dirty," Will grinned.
Graínne was nodding.
"Morag, what time are the boys arriving?" asked a disembodied voice from the back door. It was Kingsley Shacklebolt, Harry could tell by the voice.
"Eight thirty, Kingsley. Do you want some supper?"
"No, thank you, I ate earlier. I want to get everyone in place by eight fifteen, if that’s all right with you. I don’t like to rush your meal."
"Oh, is it that late? Eat up, everyone, we can clear up after they get here."
"How many are coming?" Harry asked under the clatter of forks and the passing of more food.
"Everyone, even Bart’s kids. That’s, um, seven, eight, twelve."
"What does Kingsley mean, have everyone in place?"
"He means members of the Order, so that if the Portkey got into enemy hands, they can deal with it right away."
Harry considered this with increasing horror. This family was growing so dear to him, and they were in constant danger.
"Hey, Mom, I ran into Stevie Grieg at lunch," said Will suddenly. "You’re making enemies over here as fast as you make ‘em at home, huh."
"Four time loser," Morag answered shortly.
"What’s this?" Graínne demanded.
"Oh, she busted this German bucket-head for smuggling in erklings. He’s breathing death- threats, saying that the Camerons are ruining his import business." Will scraped up the last of his mashed potatoes. "I fed him to immigration, by the way. He’s not here legally, either."
"If the fool would import legal things, he’d do well enough," Tonks pointed out.
"Yeah, but some people just never get a foot on the right track, they always have to run parallel to it, on the wrong side of the rules," Will answered, lifting his coffee cup.
"So is it really a death threat, Willie?" Graínne persisted.
"Yeah, but I wouldn’t worry about Stevie. I don’t think he can muster a potent curse. He’s pretty lame, magically."
Harry began to understand suddenly that the Order’s caution wasn’t completely because of him. "Does this happen a lot?"
"It does if you do your job correctly," said Rory with a wry grin. "You were careful about immigration, Will?"
"Sure, Dad, I’m always careful."
"What does that mean?" Harry asked Graínne quietly, as the other conversation continued.
"That Will took precautions that this Grieg guy couldn’t find out who narked on him." She saw he still didn’t understand. "He can’t trace it back to Will, the person who told on him."
"Oh. Could he?"
"If immigration knew who Will was, it’s possible that they could let his name slip to the illegal immigrant. But Will is never himself when he deals with official agencies."
"What do you mean?"
"He’s a Metamorphmagus."
"And an Animagus?"
"Well, yeah. Not fair, is it?" She grinned. "I’ve been jealous my whole life. Of course, David wishes he had my gift, it would make his work so easy. I wonder what the statistics would be on their children, if they got married?" she added very quietly, looking across the table at Tonks and Will, who were laughing together about some joke Rory was telling.
The same thought had occurred to Harry. And he wondered if their interest in one another was about being Metamorphmagi, at least in part.
Almost as soon as supper was cleared away, ten wizards Apparated almost at the same time, right into the kitchen. Morag looked beside herself.
"There’s too many! There’s not going to be room for the arrival!"
"It’s a big Portkey," Kingsley pointed out reasonably. "It could bring a lot of enemies in at one time. If we’re outnumbered, we can’t keep you safe."
"Harry ought to go home," said Professor McGonagall.
"But I want to see the family," Harry objected.
"Any enemies that come with this particular Portkey won’t be interested in Harry," Rory answered. "But perhaps you should retreat to another part of the house. Graínne, you and Harry go out into the hall by the front door. If anything happens, go next door as fast as you can. Remus, you cover their retreat."
He nodded, positioning himself in the doorway.
The kitchen was finally arranged so that there was room in the middle for the arrival. Harry and Graínne peered over Lupin’s shoulders, and he frowned at them but didn’t say anything. At eight twenty-nine, all wands were out except Harry’s, and Graínne didn’t carry hers. One moment they were all waiting tensely, with no idea how strange they looked, standing on countertops and crouching among houseplants. The next moment, there was a loud pop, and a two-by-four dropped noisily to the ground, and six young boys, two little girls, three men and a woman all tumbled into a heap.
"At ease," ordered Rory, and Remus moved aside as Graínne darted forward. She began hauling people up off the floor and hugging indiscriminately.
Most of the Order members slipped away during the pandemonium of reunion, and Remus looked at Harry. "Want me to walk you over?"
"No, she’d likely kill me if I left without saying anything."
"Well, that’s true. I’m on duty, so whistle when you come out and I’ll make sure I’ve got you covered." He gripped Harry’s shoulder a moment, and made his way through the crowd to the back door.
"Hi, Harry," said David, coming over to shake his hand. "You’re looking well."
"Hi, David. How’s work?"
"Another day older and deeper in debt, as they sing. And your vacation?"
"Much more interesting than usual."
"Let me introduce you around, since that sister of mine seems to have forgotten her manners. This is Charlie, my older brother. Charlie, this is Harry Potter. Charlie’s a lawyer."
"Pleased to meet you," said Harry politely. Of Graínne’s eight brothers, this was the one who didn’t look like anyone else in the family. He had dark blond hair, thick and straight, well-cut, and his eyes were grey and clear. He smiled pleasantly and shook hands.
"Nice to meet you, Harry," he said. "I’ve read a little about you, of course. Your quiet vacation is over, by the way, since the arrival of the Huns." He indicated the younger children.
"This lady is Kate," said David, steering him over to the mother of some of the children. She had dark brown eyes and light brown hair, and she was distracted by her children. "She is married to Bart, which makes her a saint. Kate, this is Harry Potter."
"Oh, hello," she said, focusing immediately. "Are you staying here too?"
"Next door. Pleased to meet you."
"Graínne’s mentioned you in her letters, and she said very nice things, too."
Harry grinned. "She exaggerates, of course."
Kate laughed. She was pretty and jolly, a little taller than average, lean and sturdy. "Harry, these are my girls, Minnie and Maggie, girls, mind your manners, this is Mr. Harry Potter."
The girls curtsied and offered their hands to be shaken. Maggie, the older one, was about six, and Minnie was four. They had Kate’s brown eyes, and Maggie had the red curls, while Minnie had white-blond hair, straight as a stick. They had charming, gap-toothed smiles.
"And the youngest of those hoods wrestling my father in law are Lazlo and Alonzo. The two blondes. Laz is the older of the two."
"Here’s Bart, hey, Bart, this is Harry Potter." David caught the sleeve of the oldest brother, who wheeled and grinned, seizing Harry’s hand.
"How do you do, Harry? I’m glad to meet you. Graínne’s written about you, and of course we’ve read about you over the years. Sorry about all the noise, it’s quite a zoo when we all go anywhere. Have you met Kate? Oh, I see."
"Harry," called Graínne, who had two boys around the neck, one under each arm. "I want you to meet two of my brothers, Jamie and John. Play nice, boys."
"Gedoff," they grumbled, twisting, but she held them fast. "Oh, we promise," said one at last.
"I’m John," said the other, as soon as she released him. "I’m the younger."
Harry shook hands.
"I’m James," said the other, offering his hand as well. He was identical to John in every detail.
"Thanks, Dave, for taking care of him," Graínne was saying. "Harry, this is Fergus, and this is Bruce. Boys, Harry Potter."
"Oh wow," said Bruce in a hushed voice. "Really?"
"Really," Harry chuckled.
"We thought she was lying," said Fergus, quickly over his awe. He appeared to be fourteen or so, a little older than Bruce, only a little taller. The twins seemed to be almost the same age as Graínne. "Do you really know the Weasleys of Weasley Wizard Wheezes?"
"Personally," Harry assured him. "If we can get up to London, I’ll introduce you."
“Oh wow," said Bruce again. "Mom, can I transfer to Hogwarts?"
Graínne and Harry looked at each other and laughed.
"I’d better get home," Harry said to her quietly, under the chaos.
"Do you have to?"
"I’ll get locked out if I don’t come in by nine."
"They won’t give you a key? That’s terrible!"
"It’s the way it is. Come say goodnight to me?"
"Don’t I always?" She went with him to the back door and slipped out into the falling darkness. "Remus? We’re going to say goodnight," she said quietly, as they made their way to the place in the fence where Harry always climbed over.
"You’re clear," answered Remus quietly, from the other side of the pool.
Harry took her in his arms. "I had a great day."
"Me too. It ended better than it started, anyway. You’ll come over tomorrow morning?"
"Are you sure you want me? Don’t you want time with your family?”
“By tomorrow morning I’ll be desperate for something to keep me from having to stand under their constant deluge of teasing, since they’ve had to go without it for ten months. Besides, there’s a sword lesson to look forward to, as well. Please come. Will you? Please? Please please?”
“Yeah, okay. It’d be hard to keep me away." He kissed her softly. "I love you, Graínne."
"I love you too," she whispered, and kissed him more firmly. "I hate to let you go."
"You can’t let me go. I won’t let you. Good night." A final kiss, and then he hoisted himself up over the fence and dropped down into the Dursleys’ back yard.
Around eleven, the neighbors came out to complain about the noise, for the younger boys had come out into the back yard to play. Because of the differences in time zones, they were still on early evening. Rory herded them back inside, apologizing profusely. Harry watched this from the bathroom window as he brushed his teeth, and went to bed smiling to himself, much to Dudley’s annoyance.
Graínne’s little brothers were active, to say the least. They were splashing in the pool by eight thirty the next morning, despite the time differences. Harry thought perhaps he shouldn’t go over, but he had promised Graínne, so he finished his letters to Ron and Hermione, sent Hedwig off, and slipped out the front door. As he came out onto the porch, however, he noticed several people just standing around across the street. He hesitated, hand still on the doorknob.
"Don’t let go of the knob, just go back in," said an urgent whisper near him. He could not quite tell whose voice it was. He thought it might be McGonagall. "Go back inside."
Immediately, Harry turned the knob and opened the door. One of the people made an exclamation of frustration. Glancing back, Harry saw an elderly woman flicker, as if her picture were being replaced on a television screen, into Bellatrix Lestrange, and then back again. He closed the door, but he was filled with a mixture of rage and fear. Sirius’ murderer had come right to him, and he was trapped in the house, without any way of getting at her.
"Harry, would you please come into the kitchen?"
Harry whirled, as surprised to hear someone speak civilly in this house as he was to see Rory Cameron standing in the kitchen door.
"What’s going on?"
"Well, that’s what we wanted to talk about."
The Dursleys were sitting at the table, fury and terror taking turns on their faces. Dudley just looked petrified.
"I have explained that your relatives are in danger here, and by no means may leave the house. Particularly your aunt and your cousin. Your uncle is in danger, in that he could be made to let them in by the Imperius Curse. At the moment, Morag and Albus are getting reinforcements from the Ministry, and we hope to be able to capture or drive them off by sheer numbers in a short time."
"Are those all Death Eaters?"
"Yes, there are only four out there, unless they have more Invisibility Cloaks than we thought they had. We’re not sure which ones they are, they’ve disguised themselves."
"The old lady is Bellatrix Lestrange."
"You’re sure?"
"Yes. She lost her disguise for a moment when I didn’t leave the house."
"Ah. I’m sorry, all of you, you’ll have to stay indoors today. And perhaps it would be best to stay away from the windows. While Harry is immune to certain curses because he is in this house, you all are not, and could be killed. I’m afraid calling the police, Mr. Dursley, would only result in their needless deaths."
"You’re one of them, aren’t you?" hissed Aunt Petunia. "You’ve been posing all this time as a regular person--"
"Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear," said Mr. Cameron gently. "I was placed here in this neighborhood to protect you as much as Harry. Had we not been here keeping watch, you would have been killed bringing in the eggs this morning."
Her eyes widened in comprehension and fear at last.
"How long do you reckon this will go on, sir?" Harry asked quietly.
"No telling, really. It would be nice if we could capture them, and reduce the ranks. The thing is, there are plenty of Darkers organizing to do mischief without even joining the Death Eaters, and that’s keeping the Ministry busy. They aren’t taking their orders from the top, but they’re not outside the plan. So it’s not easy to scrape up eight Aurors, because they’ve been busy arresting Muggle- baiters." He looked at the Dursleys and seemed to have some pity. "You are perfectly safe inside, if you follow the precautions I’ve given you. There’s no need to worry."
"Easy for you to say," growled Uncle Vernon.
"No, not really. I’ve lived my entire adult life under threat of death and dismemberment, such that you cannot imagine, and my children as well, just for being my children. Well, my wife is as roundly hated in the criminal community as I am, I suppose. They are in as great a danger from her enemies as they are from mine. So you see, I am not a stranger to your predicament. Just stay inside, away from the windows, just as if there was a tornado warning."
"We don’t have many tornados in England," Dudley pointed out.
"Oh, that’s true, I hadn’t remembered that. Lived in the States too long, I expect." He looked around the kitchen, with an air of taking pleasure in his surroundings. "You’ve really got a lovely place here, Mr. Dursley, quite comfortable. Drills a big business?"
"Quite."
"Of course, the comfort of home is due mostly to Mrs. Dursley, I’ll wager. A beautifully appointed home, madam. Your sense of color and design is spot-on. May I sit down? I don’t like to leave you until we know what’s going to be happening outside."
"Of course," said Aunt Petunia with threadbare politeness. "Tea?"
"If it’s made, otherwise don’t trouble." He settled into the fourth chair.
"I was going to make some for breakfast." She got up.
"I’ll help you, Aunt Petunia," said Harry, getting out the frying pan. "Eggs, Mr. Cameron?"
"None for me, thank you, I’ve already broken fast. Young sir, Harry tells me you box. What division were you last year?"
Dudley looked terrified at having been addressed, but the chance to discuss boxing with someone who apparently knew something about it was too good to miss. Soon the three at the table were immersed in a lively discussion of pugilism, while Harry fried bacon and scrambled eggs to go with the tea and toast Aunt Petunia was making. Her hands were shaking. Driven by what, he didn’t know, but he reached out and gave her hand a little squeeze.
"They’ll keep you safe if you do what they say. They’ve kept me alive for six years."
"Do we have to live the rest of our lives this way?"
"No. No, there will be an end. And it will be soon."
Harry didn’t say what he suspected, that when he turned seventeen at the end of the month, the deep magic that protected him through his mother’s blood would be over, and this would no longer be a safe place for him to stay. Dumbledore hadn’t said anything to him, but it only stood to reason, given the information he’d divulged at the end of his fifth year. When he turned seventeen, he would be legal age, and he’d be a sitting duck.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, er, Voldemort is after me, and he won’t stop until one of us is dead. Even though this house is protected by something he can’t undo, he’s starting to look specifically for the times when I’m not in this house."
"And he’s-- powerful? But how can you kill him?"
"I don’t know yet." This had been what troubled Harry the most, even more than the fact that he had to kill him at all. Not only was it an ugly thing, it seemed like an impossible thing.
"But it’s possible?"
"If I’m strong enough and fast enough, it’s possible."
She nodded, not looking at him. "You’re like your mother, a bit," she said after a moment. "You look mostly like him, but she was never one to shrink from duty." She turned away to put the teapot on the table, leaving Harry blinking by the stove.
It was a strange day. Graínne called on the telephone, but it was odd talking that way, not being able to see one another, to be out of reach. Harry was surprised at how he had come to depend on the sight of her. He sat on the couch in the lounge reading the Apparition manual, listening for the unmistakable crack that accompanied Apparating and Disapparating, but it didn’t come. Then, as he was washing the lunch dishes, a large Abyssinian cat leapt onto the kitchen window from outside followed by a Ragdoll Persian. They leapt nimbly to the floor.
Aunt Petunia shrieked, but they had transfigured before she could grab a broom and clobber them. David and Graínne both straightened up and looked around.
"Hi, Harry. Sorry to just barge in," said David, looking apologetically at the Dursleys.
Dudley seemed to think that was a cool trick, turning into an animal. He looked far more interested than frightened. And it didn’t hurt any that the bird from next door was in his own kitchen. She was even prettier close-up, and her legs were excellent. He didn’t even care that she was a witch.
"David, Graínne, this is my aunt, Petunia Dursley, my uncle, Vernon, and my cousin Dudley. These are two of Mr. Cameron’s children. Graínne and I go to school together."
"How do you do," said David politely.
"Hi," said Graínne brightly. "I remember seeing you at the station. Hi, Dudley. Harry says you have a Play Station 2?"
"Yeah," said Dudley, looking surprised. "I didn’t think you lot cared about stuff like that."
“Oh, some of us do. Mrs. Dursley, what a beautiful kitchen! And is that your green house, or is Mr. Dursley the gardener?" She looked from one to the other, smiling her heart-stopping smile.
"We both use the green house," said Mr. Dursley, thawing a little. Graínne was dressed modestly and neatly in a pleated skirt (a little short, but not outrageously so) and blouse and sandals, not the cut-offs and tank tops she’d been wearing at home, nor the low-rise, heavily patched jeans she’d worn at the station with the short tee shirt, and not wizard robes, either, thankfully. Her charm and beauty were working on the Dursleys, just as Harry had known it would.
Mr. Cameron came in from the lounge, where he had been watching the street. "Ah, there you are, David. Graínne, what are you doing here?" He frowned at her.
"Just visiting, Dad. And getting away from the little boys. Mom said I could," she added.
"If there’s a fine, you’ll pay it," he answered, sounding weary as only the parent of several teenagers could.
"Dad, Mom sent me to tell you that she’s rounded up eight Aurors and they’ll be arriving by flue between six and six fifteen, next door," David informed him.
"Excellent. Dave, stand watch, I’m going home for a few minutes. Maybe twenty. Graínne?"
"Can she stay, Mr. Cameron?" Harry asked quickly.
"I don’t want to trouble your relatives, Harry--"
"No trouble," said Dudley unexpectedly.
Rory Cameron looked at him measuringly, then at Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, who looked doubtful, but did not deny their son. He then turned a look on Graínne, and made the smallest gesture with his wand. They nodded at one another, and Rory nodded at Harry.
"You may stay for a while, Graínne. I’ll be back, half an hour at most." He Disapparated.
"Such an abrupt way to leave," said Uncle Vernon in disgust.
"But it’s efficient," said David cheerfully, but the cheeriness fell flat. "I’ll just take up my post," he added sheepishly, and went into the lounge.
"Can I see your game system?" Graínne asked Dudley.
"Sure," said Dudley, with what Harry supposed was a smile. It looked more like a leer.
Harry followed them up the stairs, for he had heard her think as clear as speech, don’t you dare leave me alone with this animal. For half an hour they watched Dudley blow up aliens and zombies, munching the American chocolate that Graínne had brought over, and then suddenly Dudley fell asleep, and toppled over backward onto his bed. Harry shut off the game and the television, and looked around at her. She was in his arms in a second.
"He won’t wake up, will he?" he asked against her neck.
"Eventually," she answered breathlessly. "Sleeping Draught. Maybe an hour."
"Want to see my room?"
"More than I can ever say, but David would tell my dad, and I really don’t want that. Besides, in your room I might get tired of standing, and then uncomfortably warm, and then I dare not think about what might happen. It’ll just keep me awake at night."
"It already keeps me awake," he admitted.
They had ten minutes of privacy before a crack sounded in the lounge, and they startled apart, straightening their clothes and smoothing their hair. Then she glanced in at Harry’s room, just as if he was giving her a tour, and they came down the stairs together to the lounge.
"That’s a pretty interesting system," she was saying. "And they program all those different pictures and choices? Sounds like a lot of work."
"Judging from the cost of them, it must take a lot of work," he agreed.
Rory looked at them, and then behind them. He frowned at Graínne. "Where’s that boy?"
"He fell asleep," she answered innocently.
"That happens sometimes with those games, Mr. Cameron. Has to do with the optic nerves and overstimulation." Harry nodded with assurance. He had read it in the newspaper. Of course the paper had only mentioned fatigue, not a full-fledged nap.
"You didn’t do anything to him?" he asked Graínne doubtfully.
"Not a thing," she answered, with such a ring of truth that Harry glanced at her. "Are we making the Dursleys uncomfortable?"
"Yes," said Harry, before Mr. Cameron could answer. "They’re always uncomfortable when I’m here. Having more wizards in the house is torture."
"Can we sneak Harry over to our house?"
"Absolutely not," said Mr. Cameron in a tone that didn’t allow contradiction. "You can go study in Harry’s room. And leave the door open," he added, catching a stray expression on her face.
"Oh Daddy," she laughed, and kissed him on the cheek. "Didn’t I promise?"
Harry picked up his book from the coffee table. "What did you promise?" he asked, curious.
"Abstinence," she answered promptly.
"Oh. So did I, sir. She’s safe as far as I’m concerned."
Rory was clearly uncomfortable with this conversation. "Good. What will you be studying, Graínne Kennis?"
"Charms. I’m shaky on some of the early variations. They use different texts than Thunder Hall, and I thought I’d read through the first-year book."
He nodded. "All right."
She followed Harry up the stairs and into his room. The room was what she called "boy- messy," but not dirty, with books all over, laundry piled in a basket waiting to be put away, dust on the shelves, wardrobe door hanging open. She looked around self-consciously and then smiled at him. "Thumb-wrestle you for the desk?"
"What in the world is thumb-wrestling?"
They thumb-wrestled for a few minutes, and Harry won because his hands were bigger. They did not get around to studying immediately. Thumb-wrestling led to other sorts of wrestling.
"Aren’t you wearing that scent again?" he muttered as she reluctantly removed his hand from the buttons of her blouse. "It’s very attractive."
"Graínne?" called Rory from the foot of the stairs.
"Yes, Dad?" she called back, getting out of Harry’s lap in a hurry and pulling his first year Charms book off the shelf.
"It’s awfully quiet up there."
"Well, yeah, it’s pretty distracting to read aloud when a person is studying." She went out onto the landing and looked down at him, the picture of offended innocence.
"Where are you sitting to study?"
"The desk." She had been sitting on the desk chair, indirectly. Harry had been sitting on the desk chair, and she had been sitting in his lap. "I think we’ll take turns, though."
"Just stay off the bed."
"We are staying off the bed," she answered huffily, and went back into Harry’s room.
"I guess we’d better study," he said with a sigh.
"I guess so. Having studied all year, I’d rather continue with our previously interrupted activities, but that might lead to abstinence conflicts." She took the pillow off his bed and sat down against the wall under the window.
Still they did not study. They talked about Apparating, about working for the government, about music, Muggles, driving cars, Quidditch, Dark wizards, and why they could see thestrals.
"So what about you?" he asked, having explained about Cedric and very briefly about Sirius. She had heard both stories before, but not so much about Cedric.
"Oh, me. Well, there have actually been three. The last baby Mom had was another girl, Mairi Inez, and she was very ill when she was born, and died in Mom’s arms, and we all saw it. It’s been, oh, eleven years now. And when I was ten, my last year at Bolen Gardens, the local primary school, there was an attempted kidnapping, and I, um, broke the guy’s neck."
"You did?"
She nodded, looking old, suddenly. "I got home-schooled the rest of that year, and not just for security reasons. I was a mess. I did what I was supposed to do, and I kept Bruce safe, and I killed a man. I still have nightmares."
"I can imagine."
"And then, last year before I came to Hogwarts, Dave had to kill an Animagus."
"And you were there?"
"I had located him, so I was there, yeah. He was a murderer, twice convicted, who escaped from guards on his way to a trial for a whole string of murders. He wasn’t coming quietly, of course, and it’s good for me that he wasn’t trained in the Unforgivable Curses, because he had me where I couldn’t dodge. He was a real whack job. Mad."
"Dave did Avada Kedavra?"
She nodded. "The only time he ever has. He had a trial about using it instead of Cruciatus, but the fact was Dave had used Crucio, three times, and the guy still kept trying to kill me."
"So it was ruled, what, self-defense?"
"More or less. It was accepted as proper force, since it was the last resort. Especially given the fact that a minor’s life was in danger, and the only Discerner in the West, the MRA really likes that they have one and they want to keep me, and the guy was suspected of a long string of murders of teenagers, both boys and girls, besides his two convictions."
"If he killed all those people but couldn’t do the Deadly Curse, how—"
"Um, he preferred Muggle methods, mostly, but he was an Animagus, and his Transformation was a grizzly bear. He was trying to tear my throat out."
Harry shuddered.
She sighed. "Aren’t we cheerful."
"I knew there was something else about you, the moment I saw you at Sorting last year." He came and sat down next to her on the floor. "I mean, I thought you were pretty, everyone could see you were pretty, but I wasn’t really interested in pretty girls just then. I didn’t know quite what it was. I could see you were strong, that you have a good heart, that you were more grown-up than your years."
"Like there was something that resounded between us," she agreed, not surprised. "Not shared experience, but similar experience."
"Right."
They gazed at each other. "Maybe that’s what made me fall for you so fast," he added, not mushily, but with a truthfulness that could not be mistaken.
"Yeah," she agreed. "I’ve always been really skeptical of the attentions of boys, because early on I wasn’t good-looking or particularly girlish, and then later because I got boo-- I mean a figure. But there was something else about you, and there was the fact that you obviously were trying to ignore your feelings and concentrate on reality. The fact that you were more worried about what would happen to me in the course of a relationship spoke volumes."
"I was obvious?" He smiled wryly.
"I’m a Legilimens, remember."
"Do you do that to everyone?"
"No," she grinned suddenly. "No, I try to respect people’s privacy." She became serious almost at once. "But I didn’t have to test your sincerity. The truth was right out there, on your face, and Legilimency just echoed it. I didn’t check your brain until you told me I could."
He nodded. "I knew that," he said softly. "I could tell you hadn’t done."
"You were just so wounded. It didn’t matter how much I wanted you to like me, I couldn’t hurt you like that."
“I guess I’m still pretty wounded, Graínne. I can’t tell you how sick I was of being me."
She only nodded.
"And there you were, with an air of being sick of being yourself, maybe, or maybe it was that you knew everything and it didn’t matter, you still thought I was okay."
"Both on the mark," she allowed.
"So it’s been good, being with you," he finished.
"Healing," she agreed. "I was pretty low when I got to Hogwarts. Mom was desperate to get me in, and I think they only took me because Dad asked Dumbledore to, as a special favor. They had already been transferred here, and originally the plan was for us to stay at Thunder Hall and finish, just visit during breaks, and only if things weren’t dangerous here. But after last summer, all they could think of was to get me out of the States for a while, even if it was out of the frying pan and into the fire. I was starting to ask questions like, does death follow certain people around? Then they found out that my nickname at school has been Killer for a few years, and the papers had started calling me that, too, and they were really worried that I would commit suicide or something."
"Would you have?"
"Probably not. I was off balance, though, and the thought of going back to Thunder Hall when it had been in the news all summer about David’s trial and me almost killed, it was more than I could stomach. Hard as it is to go somewhere new and be a stranger and not know the traditions and the etiquette, it was easier than going back to Thunder Hall. And there you were, so serious and so... charming, and you just offered me friendship that first night, and it wasn’t about what I looked like, it was about who I was."
At that point, there was a series of cracks and bangs, shrieking and shouting from outside, and they got to their knees under the window to peek out over the sill. It only took a few moments, and then four undisguised Death Eaters were whisked away into a van, and most of the Aurors were modifying memories up and down the street.
Rory Cameron looked up at their window about ten minutes later. "You can go over, now. I’ve modified the Dursleys’ memories so that they won’t recall the details, only that they decided to have a restful day at home, and that they met the neighbor’s daughter. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley like you, Graínne, but Dudley doesn’t care one way or the other."
"Thanks, Dad." She looked at Harry. "Want to go swimming?"
"Sword first, maybe?" he asked hopefully, and she laughed.
"Here’s a latchkey," said Uncle Vernon at breakfast the next morning. "I’ll expect you in by the end of the late news, otherwise the deadbolt goes on and you’re on your own until morning."
"Yes sir," said Harry, surprised. He wondered who was responsible for this.
"The neighbors seem all right," he said absently. "And they don’t seem to mind you."
"No, they don’t."
"Bunch of children visiting them, I see."
"Yes, the oldest son’s family, and all the little brothers. They’re at school in the US most of the time, I understand."
He grunted. "Must be crowded over there."
"The basement is finished, there’s two bedrooms and a big lounge down there." He didn’t mention the third story, because Muggles couldn’t see it. “More work for me, though. The more people who swim in the pool, the more often it has to be cleaned.” He was safe saying this because none of the Dursleys knew the least bit about pool maintenance.
"Humph."
Harry went out into the back yard and through the gate in the wooden stockade fence that separated the yards. Mr. Cameron had added the gate the day before, and had modified their memories to include it. (It certainly made it easy for Harry to go to his job, they reasoned, and other neighbors didn’t have to watch Harry climbing over the fence like a burglar.) It was only a little after seven, but already it was hot.
Graínne was sitting on the patio in shorts and a halter-top, drinking juice and reading the Daily Prophet. She looked up as the gate opened, and came to meet him with a smile. She looked sleepy. "Hi," she said quietly, giving him a kiss. "We have to swim first, the boys are having a lie in."
"In a minute," he answered, and kissed her more thoroughly. The bare skin of her back was very smooth.
"I’m watching you," said Tonks unexpectedly from close at hand.
"You aren’t supposed to be watching us, you’re supposed to be watching for enemies," Graínne told her flatly, while Harry kissed her shoulder.
"I expect I’d better watch you, too," came the sharp retort. "I’m afraid of your mum if I don’t."
"We’re not about to do anything bad out here in the yard," Graínne reasoned.
"Never mind," said Harry, who was red in the face. This had gone on far too long, and he was very embarrassed by this time. "I’ll go change, shall I?"
"See what you did?" Graínne growled, and followed Harry inside.
Morag Cameron was pulling out a thing she called breakfast casserole, with all the eggs and bread and sausage baked together. "Have a piece before you swim, it’s at its best right now, and later who knows what will be left. Those boys are like a plague of locusts."
"Not for me, Mom, I can barely fit my jeans. Go ahead, Harry, I’ll run up and change clothes." She headed for the stairs.
"Just a little one, Mrs. Cameron," Harry said, sitting down at the counter, but she had already lifted out a goodly chunk onto a plate.
She poured coffee to go with it, and a glass of orange juice. "I know they don’t feed you very well over there."
"They gave me a key this morning," he offered, almost as if trying to prove they weren’t that bad. "This is wonderful, Mrs. C. Is it hard to make?"
"No, you just have to do it the night before, that’s the hard part. I don’t always think ahead that way. A key? You’ve not had one before? Well, that’s odd."
"I thought so, too."
"I wonder. Eat up, lad. Nothing from them about yesterday?"
"Only that you have a load of people visiting you, and you seem nice enough. That’s not what they said when I first got back from school."
She grinned, pouring herself a cup. "I know, they thought we were dead common. I had their measure right off, too."
"Mrs. Cameron, can I ask you a personal question?"
"Of course, dear."
"When did Mr. Cameron ask you to marry him?"
"Well, he asked the first time when we were about fifteen, I suppose. The date was typically awkward, and we both thought it was rather disastrous. At the end he blurted out this marriage proposal, despite our ages, to show me how serious he was about me. Then we didn’t go out or hardly speak to each other for two years. But we started dating our last year at Hogwarts, and we eloped during spring break. We had a big wedding reception in September, and then we packed up and ran off to the US right away." She looked shrewdly at him. "It’s not fair, asking her mother questions like that."
He grinned. "I guess not."
"The world was a different place back then, Harry," she added. "We came from a generation that married early and forever, no matter what the history books tell us about the seventies. Despite what was happening in the first war, Rory and I both felt going to the US was the right thing, and part of it was raising a family away from the war. Now we’ve brought our whole family right into it, and who knows what will happen." She sighed. "All I mean, Harry, is that you seem very young, to me. But the truth of the matter is, you aren’t any younger than we were when we started thinking about it."
"Dumbledore thinks I have enough responsibility to be going on with, and that I shouldn’t be thinking about marriage."
"I tend to agree with him, but I also know that love and youth and attraction can only wait so long. At some point, you must take steps in one direction, for instance marriage, so that you can stop thinking so much about it and step in the other direction, that is, solving the problem of Voldemort. And I have always believed that sleeping together before you marry only complicates matters, it doesn’t simplify them; it doesn’t take the pressure off, it only introduces a lack of trust between you."
"We both believe that, too, Mrs. Cameron. We talked about it at length. Is Mr. Cameron going to turn me down when I ask him for her next summer?"
"Oh, I don’t think so. Can you wait that long?"
"We have committed to waiting that long. And really, our lives are arranged so we don’t have much of a choice. We just don’t have time alone where we could get into trouble."
The basement door opened, and Minnie emerged in her nightdress, her hair tumbled and her eyes sleepy. "Grandma, good morning," she said, as if stating a fact instead of making a greeting.
Morag scooped her up for a cuddle. "Good morning, princess."
"Hi, Harry," said Minnie shyly, laying her head on Morag’s shoulder.
"Hi, Minnie." He got up and put his dishes in the sink, and gave Morag a kiss on the cheek. He gave Minnie one, too, and she smiled. "I’d better get ready, she doesn’t like to wait at this hour."
"When does she like it?"
Graínne entered just then. "I resemble those remarks," she growled, kissing Minnie on the cheek and playfully trying to take her out of Grandma’s arms. Minnie hung on, and Morag made a show of protecting her from insurgence.
Harry retreated to the bathroom to change into his trunks. They were his now, Will had come up with another pair long ago. He also had a drawer in the vanity into which he could put his clothes while swimming. He draped his towel around his neck and went out, feeling the familiar self-consciousness of one whose hot-weather wardrobe did not include shorts.
It was nice to have a calm, normal-feeling day, after the one that had preceded it. Harry would not have traded the previous day for one like today, though, and forego all the confidences they had shared. He swam his laps at a steady pace, forgetting to keep count, thinking about what they had talked about, what had led him in his life up to this moment, abysmal failures and all the things that had made him stronger. Finally he reached a side and was too tired and winded to do the flip turn Graínne had taught him, and grabbed on to catch his breath.
She was sitting on the side of the pool, watching him. He couldn’t exactly see her expression. "Anything wrong?" he asked lightly, hoping he hadn’t done something horrible.
"I was going to ask you that. You just finished your second mile."
"What?"
"Eighty-eight laps a mile, I finished my mile and a half, and you shamed me into keeping on. But I had to quit at three-quarters, I was afraid I’d drown. That was the end of lap one-seventy-two for you, because I kept count."
"You swim faster than I do, Graínne, it couldn’t be that many."
"Not today. Today I kept your pace. Probably what helped me squeeze out that last quarter." She slipped back into the pool and moved close enough for him to see her face, which was admiring. "Good work. Food and steady training are doing their jobs on you."
"All the credit goes to you," he answered, feeling a little breathless at her nearness.
"Oh no, not at all. I didn’t make you run along side me, and I haven’t made you swim laps. If you had suggested it, I would have been just as happy to play, not work."
"This is play for you, love. If you aren’t accomplishing your purpose or occupied with becoming better at something, you aren’t content."
She shook her head. "I’m losing my drive, I think. Finding contentedness elsewhere."
"Where?"
"With you."
Despite the fact that Remus was nearby, Harry leaned to kiss her. However, before he had done any more than touch her lips with his, the back door burst open, and with wild whoops, the twins came sprinting out and leaped into the pool. More sedately came Kate with her children, although Laz and Lon jumped in with flatteringly similar vigor. Bruce and Fergus were having an argument about something, and would have carried on indefinitely, except that Bart and Charlie each picked up one and flung them into the deep end with much ceremony.
After half an hour of play, Harry was hungry and feeling like all his bones had turned to mush. He spotted Graínne climbing out, and followed her to the patio, where Morag had just brought out a fruit bowl, vegetable tray, and big bowls of chips and pretzels. David brought out big pitchers of lemonade and cups, and then he went and joined the party in the pool. Harry and Graínne flopped down in chairs and filled plates with snacks and ate hungrily.
"I think I need a nap," she groaned, leaning back. "If Bart can do drills with you, I may just try to catch one. You wore me out this morning."
"There’s a change," he grinned. "I’m always trying to catch up to you."
"I think you’re surpassing me. Which is probably good. So, big plans for your birthday?"
He snorted. "None. That day isn’t any different, at my house."
"Then we’ll party here. What do you want?"
"What do you mean?"
"As a present, honey, do keep up with the conversation."
"Um, I have no deep longings for anything in particular-- materially, that is." He blushed.
She laughed. "Not going there," she chuckled, coloring. "Well, I’ll think of something. I don’t have your best friend here to give me ideas, so I’ll have to really think."
"You are my best friend," he said suddenly, growing serious. "Ron may have known me longer, but he doesn’t know me better."
She gazed back at him, and nodded.
Morag opened the back door and beckoned to them. "All done?" she asked as they obligingly came inside.
"I could still eat a steak," said Graínne with a grin, "but otherwise I’m fed. What’s up, Mum?"
"Oh, Tonks is getting ready to trade with Remus, and it’s distracting to have all those people out in the yard and still have to watch you two. If you’re indoors, they only have to watch the yard. The cellar is ready whenever you want to practice, and Will has agreed to give a lesson." She offered a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies.
Graínne took the smallest one with a sigh, and nibbled it while Harry took three. "Sometimes I think it might be worth it to be fat."
"You’re too thin," Morag answered.
"Nah, I can’t be thin if I weigh one-thirty at my height. I know, muscle weighs more than fat, but it shakes less, and if I stop working the muscles, they turn to fat. Ergo, I have to have less to metabolize."
"You’re obsessing about this."
"And if I don’t, it’s all new clothes."
Morag rolled her eyes. "You are very good at rationalizing your behavior."
"Just transfer all your mothering onto Harry, Mom, he needs beefing up."
Without answering, she took the plate of cookies outside.
"Although," Graínne went on more quietly, running a hand up Harry’s arm and across his chest, "Harry is getting to be quite respectable."
"Geroff," he laughed, his mouth full of cookie. He pulled her close. "Tickles."
"Oh?" She tried to tickle some more, but he caught her wrists and held them behind her back.
"You didn’t try very hard," he murmured, having swallowed.
"No," she agreed.
He kissed her tenderly, and then released her. "I’d better get dressed."
The week passed similarly, morning swims, playing with the children, sword in the afternoon with the older brothers. Graínne was better than Charlie, showed signs of being better than David, and could trick Bart, even if she couldn’t beat him. And Harry found the whole discipline so suited to him that he soon surpassed Charlie and was drawing close to Graínne in skill.
On Friday morning, before dawn, Harry dreamed of Graínne, which was not unusual. The unusual part was being kissed awake by the real thing, snuggling up against him under the blanket.
"How did you get in?" he demanded, when he was awake enough to realize this was outrageous and dangerous in more ways than one.
"Happy birthday," she whispered, grinning. "Cats are extremely agile creatures."
"But--"
"Willie boosted me up onto the greenhouse roof, and I came in through the bathroom window. No one else knows I’m here. Which is really dangerous, I guess, for someone sworn to abstinence, who happens to be on fire--"
"I’m not strong like this, love, I can’t withstand this temptation--"
"I don’t think I can, either, so I’m leaving right away, just kiss me once more--"
He kissed her until his ears were ringing, discovering in the process that she was wearing her plaid flannel pants and a tank top, and that was about it. Breathless, she rolled out of bed and transformed into a cat, running out through the cat flap without a backward glance. There was no point in trying to sleep, after that.
He went over about seven thirty, and Will greeted him quietly and invisibly.
"She didn’t stay long," he noted, and Harry blushed.
"We’re waiting," Harry answered.
"For what?" It was a rhetorical question, and Harry didn’t feel like explaining.
Inside, Morag was making pancakes again, and Graínne was frying bacon. Rory came down on his way to work, wolfing down his breakfast, kissing the ladies, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Big dinner tonight, Harry, I’ll call your uncle today while he’s at the office and clear it with him, get you permission to stay late. Ta," he said, going out the front door.
Graínne sat down at the counter to eat her breakfast.
"Mrs. C, I thought you worked for the Ministry, too," Harry said as she slid five more pancakes onto his plate.
"I do. I work from here, though. Conference by Floo Powder, Apparate occasionally. Muggles call it telecommuting, but of course we don’t use the telephone, so we don’t call it anything. More pancakes, Graínne?"
"No, I’m good, Mom. You know, Mom, I really need to go out for a run, can’t I just --"
"Absolutely not."
Graínne subsided. "It’s just that my mind is starting to wander again."
"Then you shouldn’t have gone over there this morning, should you."
There was silence except for the frying of the skillets on the stove. Harry felt as though his stomach, which had been feeling comfortably full, had shrunk to the size of a two-year old’s.
Morag tossed a letter onto the counter. "They thought there was something wrong with their detecting, that David had somehow registered as underage. That’s how I passed it off. I told Mafalda that there were so many protective spells around these two houses, they might have disturbed the Underage Magic detections, which have, after all, been in place a very long time without changing, and don’t even monitor things like house elves who are sent to bear messages, after all. Lucky for you she accepted that as a reasonable explanation. Your father would have kittens, Graínne, how could you do something so foolhardy?"
Graínne hung her head. Harry hung his.
"There’s no excuse. I’m sorry. I was arrogant and willful."
"I’m sorry, Mrs. C."
"You had nothing to do with it," she told him firmly. "I have not told your father," she went on to Graínne, "and I’m in two minds as to whether I will. Here’s the thing, though, Graínne: If you were seen by Dark wizards going in or coming out, you’ve compromised security, and all they have to do is find an Animagus who can sneak in. Which they happen to have."
"But what about the sacrifice magic?"
"That ends today," said Harry hollowly.
"At the hour of your birth," Morag agreed. "Dumbledore will be here soon, mercy, in four minutes, and he will instruct us how to proceed. Finish your breakfast."
"I’ve eaten all I can," said Graínne dully, as Harry managed another forkful, though it nearly gagged him.
"I don’t doubt it." Morag started another round of cakes in her frying pan. "I am forced to do something, Graínne, for your blatant disobedience. You will Muggle-clean the third floor and put the guest room in order, this morning, now, instead of swimming with Harry."
"Who’s coming to stay?"
"It’s in case Dumbledore stays. Go on. Harry, you spend an hour reading your Apparation manual, and then David will be free to swim with you. That will give your stomach time to settle."
"What about Professor Dumbledore?"
"I’m sure he will call you in if he needs to speak with you."
"Oh." To Harry, that meant he wouldn’t be called.
He was greatly surprised, however, when Dumbledore asked to see him immediately.
"Go over, pack everything you own, and be thorough. You have until three twenty-seven, I believe, although no one is sure how precise this magic requires us to be. Someone will be over shortly to explain things to your relatives."
"Yes sir."
"How are you coming on Apparating?"
"I -- you mean am I ready to take the test? I-- think so, sir."
"We’ll go over that when you bring your things back."
Clearly dismissed, Harry went out the back door. Tonks was waiting. "You look down," she noted sympathetically.
"Underage Magic sent a letter to Mrs. Cameron. Graínne got into trouble for coming over this morning."
"Oh." This was from Will, who was under the Invisibility Cloak. He sounded guilty. "I’ll go take some of the heat for her as soon as my shift is over. I could have stopped her."
"I tried to take some blame, but Mrs. C. wouldn’t let me. Now Dumbledore’s sending me to pack my things. I wonder where they’ll send me."
"Me too," said Tonks, although she said it as if she already knew. "I’ll help you."
"My aunt will never let you in--"
"But she’ll let Graínne in," said Tonks, and screwing up her face, she morphed into an exact replica of Graínne.
Harry smiled faintly. "An enviable gift, Tonks. Well, let’s go. Dumbledore says I’m to get everything, and I don’t know how I am going to get it into my trunk."
"Tonks, ask my mom if Harry can borrow another trunk. We have a bunch of them." Will’s voice came from a different place in the yard than it had last time.
Tonks went inside to borrow, and Harry waited outside by the gate. "Any sign of the bad guys?" he asked Will idly.
"There have been a few odd pedestrians who aren’t from around here, yeah."
"Do you know what he’s planning? Dumbledore, I mean."
"Not precisely. That’s the point, though, the fewer people who know, the better. Hey, don’t take it so hard about G. She knows the risks."
"It’s not that, I understand about reasonable risk, getting caught, all that. It’s disappointing your mum, and Dumbledore, for that matter."
"Oh, yeah, the guilt. Mom’s good at guilt. The good thing, though, is that no matter how angry she is, she still loves you. And you’re like son number ten, now, boyo. You’re one of us."
"That makes it all the worse, you know."
There was no swimming that morning. Harry went over and began to pack, and Tonks actually came in as herself, a second trunk in tow. Dumbledore had insisted that there be no prevaricating with the Dursleys. Harry had most of his current school things packed in his own trunk by the time she came up, and was able to fit everything else into the second trunk without Tonks’ well-intentioned but ineffectual help. The room looked bare, and he wondered at his lack of sentiment. Of course, the time he had spent here wasn’t happy, and it had never felt like home.
When he and Tonks came downstairs with the trunks, they went into the kitchen, where Mrs. Cameron was talking with the Dursleys.
"Tonks, run next door and tell Albus plan A." Mrs. Cameron only glanced at them.
"Yes ma’am." Tonks promptly went out the back door, taking one of the trunks with her.
"Who is Albus?" demanded Uncle Vernon, having turned puce early on, he was now verging on purple. "What is plan A?"
"Albus is a friend of ours, and plan A is the method by which we are extracting Harry from the house and protecting you," Morag explained with a patient air.
“Mrs. Cameron, am I of age?" Harry asked.
Mrs. Cameron looked appraisingly at him. "Yes, by the laws of the Ministry of Magic, you are."
Aunt Petunia raised her head sharply.
"The magic that Dumbledore used sixteen years ago is a bit different, though," she went on. "We believe it is more precisely tuned to the hour of birth, so we have until about three thirty."
"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, we’ve met before, but to refresh your memory, I am Albus Dumbledore," said Dumbledore, coming through the back door. "Good morning young Dudley. I understand there is some question about what we’ve asked you to do." He looked from one to the other.
"Why should we vacate the premises for the day, when we might have other plans?" demanded Uncle Vernon, glaring at Dumbledore.
"It’s quite simple, sir. We’d prefer you were out for the day because we expect that Dark wizards will blow the house up this afternoon."
Aunt Petunia gave a shriek, and Uncle Vernon started roaring.
"It will all be sorted out, of course," Dumbledore said, when they had stopped yelling. "All will be repaired before your return, if it happens at all. It may not. I warn you most seriously, though, that you cannot hope to survive if Lord Voldemort comes here himself. He will not hesitate to kill you, and unfortunately many of his followers are like him in this respect."
"Why should they come at all?"
"Because they are hoping to kill Harry."
"What’s so important about him?"
“It is a long and complex story, but suffice it to say, Harry alive is important to us, and Harry dead is important to Voldemort. And if Harry is dead, there will be no hope for you and Muggles like you to carry on with life as you know it. You will be hunted down, as a species, and destroyed."
“Codswallop," said Vernon distinctly.
“Have I ever lied to you?” Dumbledore asked simply. "Lock the place up as you will, the Order will not bother it except as needed to repair damage, but the Death Eaters will kill you if they find you here, and they will not be stopped by locks. And I suggest you get away before noon if you can, and stay away until tomorrow, if at all possible. Take an overnight at the beach."
"I can’t be running off from work every time he’s got some ruddy lunatic after him--"
"The ruddy lunatic is very much after you, too, if he can get you. After his anger is spent a bit, you’ll be safe enough, but if he finds you today, he will kill you."
"I won’t be run out of my own house!" roared Uncle Vernon.
"Then you and your family will be carried out in body bags," said Dumbledore with finality.
"Vernon," said Aunt Petunia, and there was steel in her voice. "I have always wanted to go to Dover with Dudley, see the white cliffs, wade in the sea."
Dudley and Vernon goggled at her. Petunia had always said there was nothing at Dover.
"I understand there are some very nice inns there," said Dumbledore politely.
"Why not Weston-super-Mare?" demanded Dudley. "The bathing’s warmer than at Dover."
"That will do nicely, then." Petunia nodded firmly.
"When you return, Harry will be gone," said Dumbledore.
The three of them froze, staring at Harry in surprise.
"Where are you going?" demanded Petunia.
"It’s best if you don’t know," Harry said gently, although he had no idea where he was going. "When it’s safe, I’ll send a note round, so we don’t happen across one another and have a shock."
"Oh. That’s decent of you," said Vernon, surprised.
"In fact, he’s going now."
"Now?" asked Harry in surprise.
"Yes."
"Oh. Well, goodbye, then," he said, sticking out his hand to his uncle. "Thank you."
Vernon shook his hand in a dazed sort of way.
Dudley blinked twice, shook the hand offered him, opened his mouth to speak, and then was unable to.
Harry bent and kissed Aunt Petunia on the cheek. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I know it wasn’t easy."
Suddenly she was blinking back tears. "I will look for that note," she said hoarsely, and went to pack for their trip.
Harry looked at Dumbledore. "Over to number six?"
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I will be right behind you."
"Locomotor trunk," said Harry, and his trunk levitated and he conducted it out the back door.
"Drag it through the yard, Harry, there’s the Secrecy Act," said Mrs. Cameron, coming out with him. "You all right?"
"Hm? Yes ma’am."
"I know they weren’t much of a family, but it’s all you’ve known--"
"Yes ma’am, but it’s not that hard. Harder to go without knowing where I’m going."
"You’ll know soon. I understand that, barring a major event here, you will be taking your Apparation test, if you think you can manage it, and then you’ll be off to wherever you’re being sent, until school opens."
"It’s hard to know if I can do it without trying, ma’am."
"I know, that’s why the test is so carefully monitored."
The house next door was strangely quiet, but Harry wasn’t paying close attention. "Mrs. Cameron, nothing happened this morning."
"You mean you and Graínne didn’t have sex? I know, but thank you for saying so. However, her discipline isn’t about that. She did more than just disobey me, and she knows it. She endangered the lives of many people. It doesn’t appear to have caused any real problems, which is merciful, but I want her to be very clear about how it might turn out if something like this happens again. As an employee of the MRA or the Ministry of Magic, she will have to subjugate her desires and emotions, and not be ruled by them. Indeed, she is already under constraint. If she were on active duty, she’d be in prison for her breach."
"Prison?"
"The orders from the Ministry are to avoid drawing attention to the house, to guard but not enter unless to intervene in a Dark wizard-perpetrated attack. As Order members, Rory and David and I have come in, but not as Ministry members. We are cutting it rather fine, legally, in saying that Graínne is not assigned to the case and she is not on active duty for the Ministry. Cornelius Fudge could railroad her into Azkaban if he wanted to, if it came to his attention. And the day is young. Mafalda may yet report it to him."
"I’m really sorry."
"Did you tell her to come over?"
"Never once," he answered hastily.
"Then it is not your responsibility, so don’t apologize." They went into the kitchen and she closed the door behind him. "Harry, none of this has been your choice, to be orphaned, to be a wizard, to be the arch enemy of Voldemort, and you didn’t do anything to deserve it. How you respond, then, to what has been given you, is critical. And so far you have responded magnificently. I am as proud of you as I am any of my own children. Graínne’s advent into your life at this point is causing a little distraction, which worries me, but again, it was unforeseen and not a matter of choice. Dumbledore would have preferred that you discover girls later, and that you become serious about one much later. But none of us is willing to deny you the right to love, the joy of a relationship. We will only continue to encourage you to exercise wisdom, caution, discretion."
He nodded. "Yes ma’am."
"Now. Go into the parlor and read your book, and when Dumbledore comes in we’ll talk about getting you to your Apparation exam."
Harry’s stomach clenched. He was worried about it. He wondered if splinching hurt. Numbly he headed for the parlor, never wondering why he wasn’t sent to the study instead.
The room seemed packed with people, who all shouted "surprise" as soon as he rounded the doorframe. Harry, startled, had whipped out his wand to stun, but Will grabbed his wrist alertly and pointed his arm up.
"Happy birthday," he grinned, under the roar of good wishes.
Graínne came and gave him a kiss on the cheek and tried to draw him into the crowd. Hagrid was most obvious, taking up the loveseat as if it was an armchair. He shook Harry’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. Hermione also gave him a kiss, Ron shook his hand, Neville waved from an inconspicuous corner, Ginny and the twins were all waving butterbeer bottles at him, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came to shake hands and hug him respectively. Lupin clapped him on the back, Tonks gave him a kiss, McGonagall and Moody beamed at him from the couch, Bill waved cheerfully, and Mundungus Fletcher and Mrs. Figg toasted him with their glasses. Lynford Ross and Bran Davies were there was well, bearing a note from Katie Bell wishing him a happy, with regrets that she could not be there. Dobby and Winky were there as well, waving at him cheerfully from their places at the punch bowl. Graínne’s family filled in the rest of the room.
Someone started singing Happy Birthday, and Dumbledore appeared behind him and escorted him into the room. "Many happy returns of the day, Harry," he murmured.
"Cheers," Harry muttered back, wondering if he would live to see another.
There were gifts, too, and food, a huge cake, drink of all sorts, and the party began to take shape. Mercifully, Morag Cameron did not make him open all the gifts in front of everyone, but she did make a bit of a ceremony about the long narrow box from Rory and herself.
"As you all know, this is Harry’s coming-of-age party, and though he’s still in school, he is legally an adult. In many ways, Harry’s older than his years, and in recognition of that, Rory and I have given him a gift that symbolizes the passage to majority."
Harry lifted the lid of the box. It was a heavy thing, for its size, which was almost as long as a broomstick. Inside was a leather case, long and straight, like a violin case, except it was the wrong shape. Lifting it out, he undid the clasps, opened the lid, and gasped.
It was the King Maker.
"But I can’t take this," he gulped, looking up anxiously. "It’s too--"
"It’s yours." Rory spoke with finality. "This is a sword of ancient lineage, and it has been in our family for, oh, twenty years, I guess, but it has never belonged to any of us as it does to you. Harry, when you took that sword in your hand, we realized for whom it was intended when it came to us."
Harry lifted it from the case and held it up. Ginny dropped her bottle of butterbeer, and Ron and Hermione both muttered, "Blimey," at the same time.
“Do you see? It belongs to him." Morag nodded firmly. "Happy birthday, dear lad," she added, kissing him on the cheek.
He laid it in the case and with Kate’s help, arranged the case on the mantle, so everyone could see it. After that, people brought their gifts to him much more quietly, and Mrs. Cameron kept the party hopping so that there were lots of times when Harry could have an inconspicuous moment with his friends. Hermione gave him a book, of course, Hogwarts, a History, and Ron gave him a book on Puddlemere United. Hagrid gave him a leather book satchel, which was fine-looking enough to carry to Auror school, as Tonks testified, eyeing it enviously (she had given him a model Thor to go with his model Firebolt). Dobby had given him socks, of course, and had finally caught onto the fact that humans wore matching ones (although he claimed he didn’t understand why they would want to). All Graínne’s older brothers had each given him a Galleon. Kate and her children had put together a huge box of sweets. The Weasley twins had given him a supply of rockets, and the Cameron twins (who were following Fred and George around like puppies) had banded together with Bruce and Fergus to get him a Thunder Hall West Tower sweatshirt. All the Camerons had been or were presently in West Tower.
By about three o’clock, most people had made their goodbyes, except for the people who were living there or working there. Dumbledore created a Portkey out of a disposable aluminum tray that had held sliced meats for sandwiches. It would take all non-Order partygoers out of the house to a secret location, where they would be joined later.
"What time can we expect you?" Harry asked seriously.
"I don’t know, Harry," he answered, just as serious.
"How long do we wait before we get worried?" he asked, lower.
"You may become anxious around midnight. If no one has got word to you by that time, you may be worried. Kate should contact Fudge by Floo Powder, not you or the other young people. The Floo network is watched."
"Our things have already been sent on, in case we can’t return here," said Graínne quietly, slipping in beside Harry. "Got your sword?"
"Oh." He hurried over to the mantle, strapped the case shut, put all his presents inside his new bag, and started back toward the group around the tray. All the children, and Kate. His friends from school had gone back to their homes half an hour ago. All the children. Harry looked at Graínne and Hermione, at Ron, and then at Dumbledore. "I should stay here."
"You are not ready." When Harry’s shoulders slumped, he added, "This is not the time. The time will come before you realize, but it is not today."
He nodded. Of course he was right.
The tray dropped to the floor with a shivery clatter, and they all picked themselves up and looked around. The room was not uncomfortable, but it was not as pretty and cheerful as the one they had left. There was a closed-up smell, but not unpleasantly strong. It was not, Harry noted with relief, number twelve Grimmauld Place.
"Where are we?" asked Minnie in a small voice.
"Cornwall," said Kate blandly. "We’re by the sea. We have permission to go down to the beach and swim if we want, but we’re not to stray off the property. That’s easy to see because it’s fenced and hedged. This place is not unplottable, but it is protected by several repelling spells, and we are not invulnerable, only hidden."
Despite this warning, they spent a happy half hour exploring the place, which was a nice-sized house with several screened porches overlooking the beach to the west. It was rather like a rented cottage, furnished with old things and leftover bits from other houses, mismatched and dated, but not comfortless. There was a pile of trunks in the corner of the living room, and several cartons that contained, Ron discovered, things like Floo powder and food.
Kate came back into the living room with the youngest children. She looked automatically to Graínne and Harry and Ron and Hermione. "I’m going down to the beach with the kids. Can two of you come to help me watch them, make sure no one gets washed away?"
"I’d love to go swimming," said Hermione hopefully, looking up at Ron.
Ron shrugged. "Yeah, okay."
"I’ll go too," said Ginny, and automatically, Jamie and John volunteered to go as well, for now they had noticed Ginny, and she fascinated them.
"Well," said Kate quietly, with a frown at Graínne, "your mother asked me to make sure you stay out of the horizontal orientation. Can I trust you?"
"Yes," grumbled Graínne, as if insulted. "No one seems to believe I intend to keep my promises."
Kate shrugged. "Just passing along the directions. Let us know if you hear something."
"Right."
When everyone had finally changed into bathing suits and had run down to the beach, Harry and Graínne looked at each other.
"I haven’t given you your present yet," she said suddenly.
"Oh."
She grinned, suddenly. "Didn’t you expect something?"
"Well, I’m not used to it, see. I guess I didn’t."
"After the beautiful gift you gave me for my birthday? How could I pass up the opportunity to find something lavish and exquisite?"
"Oh, you know you don’t have to--"
"It is my nature to give gifts," she interrupted. "I really wanted to get you a gold earring, but I was afraid you didn’t want to get a pierced ear, and it’s not like I think they’re so cool or something. I couldn’t give you a ring, that would be weird, and people would talk. So that brought it down to a necklace or a bracelet." She handed him a small box, wrapped in red paper with gold lions.
They sat down on the living room couch together. He opened it fast, more to get it over with, since she seemed embarrassed, wondering what would be lavish and exquisite and appropriate for a boy. Inside was a thick, white gold chain that looked like a cord, instead of a linked chain. There was no ornament on it, just the chain itself, but on the clasp in the most miniscule letters was engraved, To Harry, love Graínne. It was indeed a thing of beauty, extravagant, masculine. He took it out of the box, and it moved through his fingers as if alive, supple and smooth. She took it from him and fastened it around his neck.
"I wanted something that was short enough and not too short," she said self-consciously, dropping it inside the open collar of his rugby shirt. "Short enough to stay out of the way, but not too short, in case you grow some more."
He got up to look in the mirror over the mantle. "Graínne, it’s great," he breathed finally.
"I’m glad you think so. It’s not that I admire jewelry on men, but I wanted to give you something that no one else would give you. You occupy a place in my life that no one else will ever occupy, and I give you this as a symbol of the fact. It’s sort of a promise that there’s a future."
He turned from the mirror and crossed to where she was standing by the couch. "I will wear it all the time," he said solemnly. He took her hands and kissed her lightly. "Thank you, Graínne. It’s the best birthday gift I’ve ever had."
At that, she laughed. "You’re just saying that because I said it."
"No," he contradicted, still serious. "What could be better than a promise from someone who never breaks her word that there will be a future for us?" He rested his forehead against hers. "Graínne, love, I am going to ask you to marry me sometime. Count on it."
She smiled a little foolishly. "I am, already."
"Good." He kissed her tenderly. "I love you."
"I love you too."
"Now. Let’s go down to the beach, because Voldemort is really tense, and I need distraction."
----------------
They had an early supper, hamburgers and fried potatoes and lemonade, and after that the pacing began. Graínne, notorious for her pacing, was not the one who began. She was feeling pleasantly tired from the exertions on the beach and in the ocean, and only noticed when she looked around for Harry to trade a look over something Jamie and John were doing in order to impress Ginny, that Harry was not sitting beside her, but was pacing the length of the porch. She stepped out to be with him. A glorious sunset stained his skin pink as he turned to face her with an apologetic smile.
"I just expected word by now," he said with a shrug.
"Me too. We distracted ourselves so well, I forgot to be anxious. Should we practice Apparating, to beguile the time?"
"We can’t-- can we?"
"Sure. Kate can sort you out, if you splinch, she’s more than qualified. That’s where Bart met her."
"Bart met her by splinching himself?"
"No, Accidental Magic Reversal office." She laughed. "Bart’s perfect, he never splinched, but Willie and Davie did, and so did I. Charlie may have, they never told me."
"But how am I to practice?"
"Well, you’ve read all the theory. Just try. Practice going from the front door to the landing or something like that."
"And I’m not going to get in trouble?"
"No, it’s not against the law for you to practice those short distances after you’re of age, as long as someone is with you who can help you. Kate?" Graínne hauled open the door and went back into the living room. "Can you watch Harry practice Apparating?"
Ron and Hermione looked around, interested. "Oh, yes, you’re allowed to do that now, aren’t you!" Hermione looked faintly envious.
"Have a go, mate," said Ron, looking more than faintly envious.
"Okay, don’t go far," said Kate, looking apprehensive. "Concentrate," she added.
Harry found himself on the landing, and the echo of the second crack was resounding into the upper hall. He seemed to be all in one piece. Hermione, Ginny and Graínne cheered, and Ron bellowed, "Good show!" The twins looked interested, and the younger children hollered just to make more noise.
"Is that where you meant to land?" Kate asked, noting the surprise on his face.
"Oh yes, I’m just shocked that it worked," he answered with a laugh.
He practiced for fifteen minutes or so, choosing different places around the house, finally Apparating out to the beach and back. When he returned, he dodged a Stunner from Moody.
"Very good, Harry," said Rory, preventing Moody from firing another round. "Ready for your test? I can arrange for it tomorrow if you like, since today is spent."
"I think I am, sir. What happened?"
"We’ll let you know in a little while. Right now, my grandchildren need to come kiss me goodnight, and take themselves upstairs and get into bed. My sons, excluding Bart, are to take the Portkey back home, where their mother will take charge of them."
"Then there wasn’t a battle?" asked Graínne quietly, but Rory ignored her.
"You mean we’re staying here, Grandpa?" demanded Lazlo hopefully.
"You are," said Rory with a grin.
The children began whooping. Fergus and Bruce looked decidedly disappointed.
"Don’t worry, we’ll bring you out here later in the week. The kids need time with their parents, and your mother and I need time with you," he informed them quietly, which brightened them up a little. He flashed a smile at Harry, and then organized the Portkey. They went off while Graínne was saying goodbye to Harry, and she whirled around, astonished.
"You mean I’m going with Harry?"
"Yeah," said Moody, "you’re a right popular little lady at the moment."
Hermione waited until Kate had taken her children upstairs. "Professor, where are we to go?"
Dumbledore smiled kindly at her. "We have a place prepared for you. If you will wait a little longer, all will be explained to you."
"Disillusionment time," said Bart cheerfully, and whacked Graínne on the head with his wand. She complained that he didn’t need to hit so hard, he did that on purpose. Harry, who knew what it felt like, was fascinated to see how it looked when it happened to someone else. Ginny wriggled a little and then exclaimed over her hands.
"Blimey," said Ron, watching.
When they were all camouflaged, Dumbledore created another Portkey, this one out of an empty crisps bag. "Alastor will take care of your trunks, but please gather your hand luggage."
"What happened in Privet Drive?" Harry asked, in a tone that would not be put off any longer.
"There was a fight, no worse than usual. Proctor Early didn’t come along peacefully, and Dawlish was slightly wounded. Your relatives will be pleased to find nothing wrong with their house when they return. As for Lord Voldemort, he was not present, and I suspect that from the small numbers who did show up, he didn’t expect you to be there. Those who were sent were not the important members of the inner circle."
"So it was no big deal after all?"
"I don’t mean that at all. They broke into Number Four with murderous intent. They attacked at Number Six, where Proctor was killed and Dawlish was wounded, and where six others were arrested. Had your relatives been at home, they’d be dead. Had you all been there, the attacks would have been much worse, and you could be in the hands of the enemy tonight."
"So we’re going back to headquarters?" asked Hermione.
"No, we have another place set up, now. Bartholomew, you’re all right here? Alastor, you will bring the trunks? Good. Let’s go, then. Three, two one."
The hook grabbed Harry behind his navel, and everything became a blur.
Harry landed in a heap with the others, and only Dumbledore managed to stay on his feet. They were in a dark, overgrown garden, and there appeared to be ruins near the wall by the lane. Harry got to his feet and pulled Graínne and Ginny up from the ground, but his eyes were on the ruins. There was something about this place, it was vaguely familiar....
It couldn’t be memory, he told himself, looking around. If he had been here at all, it was not amid ruins. He would have remembered ruins. Dumbledore bent and whispered in his ear, "Memorize this, Harry. Harry Potter lives at Godric’s Hollow, Lancashire."
Harry said it over to himself, staring at the ruins. Amid the broken foundations, a large house began squeezing outward and upward. It was made of stone, and the downstairs windows shone with warm yellow light. Harry began walking toward it, as Dumbledore whispered to the others.
He opened the door and went into the entrance hall. It was curiously bare, although it did have a row of pegs, and a summer-weight cloak hung on one of them, faded green. As the others came in and looked around, Harry turned to Dumbledore and waited while he closed and locked the door. He continued to wait while each was restored to their natural state from Disillusionment.
"Welcome home, Harry," said Dumbledore at last, turning to him.
"You mean welcome to another secret prison?" Harry’s voice was hard and bitter.
The others froze, shocked.
"No," he answered slowly. "If you wish it, I will remove the Fidelius Charm."
"Perhaps the Professor has an explanation?" asked Graínne, a note of pleading in her voice. "Where are we, and what do you mean, Harry lives here?"
"This is Godric’s Hollow, where Harry was born. It is the property owned by the Potters when they were killed. Naturally it passed to Harry, where a new house was built upon reaching his majority, a place for him to live if he wished to leave his relatives. It is not meant as a prison at all. Quite the contrary, it is a retreat to which you may come when threatened. James and Lily arranged all this soon after you were born, Harry, in case something happened to them or to the house."
"But he knows where it is," Harry pointed out sharply.
"No, he knows where the town is, and where the house used to stand where James and Lily lived, but he does not know about this one. That Charm was undone. This one is new. And since I will never tell him where you are, you are quite safe here."
"So if You-Know-Who was to show up and walk by, he couldn’t see it?" Ginny asked, peering out the sidelight beside the door.
"Precisely."
"How can Harry live here? He’s never lived by himself," Hermione pointed out.
"He’ll need help, of course, at first, but Harry’s a very responsible young man. He’s shouldered much of the burden of keeping a house already, and been trained by an exacting task master."
"But why are they here? I’m glad they are, but why haven’t they been sent to their own homes?"
"In Graínne’s case, she is in nearly as much danger as you, and it was here or headquarters. Even from seeing only this room, I’m sure you can tell that this is much more congenial than Grimmauld Place. We presumed you’d like to visit longer with your friends, as well, since they have only been around today." Dumbledore gestured to the house behind Harry. "Would you like to look around?"
"Why weren’t we sent here this afternoon?"
"It wasn’t finished yet. The house could only get started when you reached your majority, and then I had to perform the Fidelius Charm on it after it was finished."
"It was built by magic?"
"And a few wizards in the construction business, whose memories have all been modified."
Harry was feeling belligerent, still, but it was occurring to him how comforting it was to have a home to go to that Dursleys weren’t in, to have a place to live after school, a place that could be made to reflect his ideas of comfort and homeliness, a place where his enemy could not find him. He gave a little nod and turned and went through the hall door.
It opened into a wide passage, in which there were five more doors, two on each side and one at the end, and a set of stairs going up on the right hand side of the passage. The four side doors were open, and lights were lit in each room beyond. The fifth door was straight ahead, and he reckoned it would lead outside into the back garden. Harry peered around the corner into the first one on the left, where there was a sitting room that might be nice with a few more sticks of furniture. There was a cheerful fire on the hearth, a sofa and chair, a writing desk with a straight chair to go with it, a low table for tea, and not much else, not even a rug. But it was inviting, somehow.
The room on the right was a formal dining room, although it too was barely furnished. It had a long table and some chairs, a passage to the kitchen, a dresser to hold some dishes and cloths, and that was all. The furniture was nice-looking, if sparse. The table was set, though there was no tablecloth, dinner for ten, it seemed. There was a door in the far left corner, near the outside wall, which Harry assumed was a cupboard or a pass-through to the kitchen. They could smell hints of a lovely tea in the making. His friends were now making noises of approval as they discovered the amenities.
The back room on the left hand was a study, with many bookshelves, all empty. There was a big, old-fashioned library table in the center, a comfortable armchair and hassock by the western window, a cheerful fire in the grate, a locking roll-top desk in the corner, and a lot more room for furniture. Harry imagined a squashy sofa before the fireplace.
The room across the hall was the kitchen.
It was the best furnished of the rooms they had seen so far, with a long table, several chairs, a dish dresser, a big stove, plenty of storage, lots of counter space, a large cheerful fireplace, and a sofa and several rocking chairs around the fire. Here they were greeted by Mrs. Weasley, Winky, and Dobby, who had been preparing a late lunch.
"Harry Potter sir!" squealed Dobby, streaking across the room to hug him. Mrs. Weasley hugged Ginny, Ron and Hermione first, then Harry and Graínne. Winky waved at them shyly.
"We thought we’d come make it comfortable," said Mrs. Weasley. "Unlike headquarters, there’s a bit of property to go with the house, and you can get outside some. If you don’t mind, Harry, I’ll be chaperoning, along with Morag Cameron occasionally, when she’s available."
"I don’t mind," he said automatically. It seemed good to have someone to guide him through what was becoming more and more bewildering with every step.
"Good," said Ginny practically. "None of us would be allowed to stay if you did."
"We’ve brought the remains of your birthday feast up to stock the larder, and filled in the gaps a bit, since you’ll be entertaining a large house party for the next four weeks. Ooh, that’ll be Mad-Eye and Remus with the luggage. You can each grab a trunk and see the upstairs."
"Sounds like work to me," muttered Ron to Harry, who smiled distractedly.
They had rung a nice-sounding doorbell, and come straight in, propelling a large pile of trunks before them. The luggage landed with much clunking on the hall floor while Moody locked up again and Remus Lupin greeted them. Mad-Eye looked around at Harry and smiled grimly. "Well, lad?"
"Sir?"
"Will it do?"
"It seems very nice," he said guardedly.
Moody looked at Dumbledore questioningly.
"We have many things to discuss," was all Dumbledore said. "If you will all take your things upstairs, Mrs. Weasley has arranged your rooms. You’ll be able to tell where you belong, I’m sure."
Harry, who still had his sword case in hand and his new satchel on his shoulder, took out his wand and levitated all the trunks, guiding them through the door. He conducted them up the stairs into the upper hall, where he set them down against a bare stretch of wall. Seeing a chandelier above, he muttered "Lumos," at it, and it lit up with warm yellow light. Five doors opened off this hall, too, although the fifth was behind him instead of in front of him, the bathroom. Another, smaller set of stairs went off to the next level straight ahead of them, starting on the left side of the corridor and bending outward toward the back garden at a landing. He went through the nearest door and lit the light, but it already had a suitcase on its bed, a wide bed for two, and a bathroom of its own.
"Mum and Dad," said Ron, spying the case.
Next door was a room with bunk beds and another single bed. It had a couple of straight chairs and a long, low dresser with a large mirror on it. "This will be our room," said Hermione, coming in and peering into the cupboard.
"How’d you know?" Ron asked, looking around.
"Three beds, three girls. Two boys. Deductive reasoning."
"Cheers," said Ron, going out to find the boys’ room while Harry gallantly brought the girls’ trunks in for them.
The room directly across was empty of everything, an echoing space without even a rug. The room across from Mrs. Weasley had two single beds, a tall dresser, and a mirror on the wall by the door. Harry brought their trunks in and looked around. As he was thinking about whether he’d keep this room as his own indefinitely, there was a tapping on the window, and Hedwig lit on the sill, peering in.
He hurried to open the window for her, petting her fondly. "I was wondering where you’d gone, and if you’d find us. Everything’s okay?"
She hooted softly, walking up his arm to his shoulder and perching there close by his ear.
"This is a bit of all right," said Ron, looking around.
"It’s great, but what am I ever going to do with it?"
"Get married and have kids, I guess," said Ron seriously.
Harry laughed suddenly. He was only just seventeen, it seemed ludicrous to be a householder when he hadn’t finished school yet. "I’m going upstairs. Here you are, Hedwig," he added, putting her cage on top of the dresser where she could perch. "I’ll leave the window open for you to go hunt, if you like." And with that, he went out into the hall.
Curiosity about the upper level brought the girls out, as well, and the five of them explored the dormered rooms, six of them, each with a single window. The bath was at the top of the stairs, and three empty rooms on each side, and a seventh empty room opposite the bath. It had an unfinished feel to it, as if it had been made for another time. The views from the windows were likely very nice, but all was dark outside.
In the distance below, they heard the doorbell ring again. They all went to find out who had come.
"Goodness," said Mr. Weasley as they came thundering down the stairs. "Some things never change. Hello, children, are you all settled?"
"Distributed, anyway," said Ginny cheerfully, hugging him.
"Tea’s ready," called Mrs. Weasley.
They sat down in the dining room, although Harry thought he would have liked to eat in the kitchen better. Mrs. Weasley pressed him into the chair at the head of the table, where he rather thought Dumbledore would sit. Dumbledore, however, sat at his right hand. Food was passed, but Harry did not eat. He had grown serious again.
"Do you have any questions?" Dumbledore asked gently.
"Who’s paying for all this?"
"It’s all paid. A provision of your parents’ wills, made at the time of your birth, which was during the first war against Voldemort. It was paid long ago."
"How in the world am I going to afford to run a house? I haven’t got a job, I’m going to have three more years of school if I get accepted--" He stopped, unable to find adequate words.
"Welcome to adulthood," said Remus with a little smile. "No one’s trying to force you into anything, Harry. This is the place your parents prepared for you. If you don’t want it, sell it."
Mrs. Weasley looked as though she wanted to say something, and bit her lip.
"You should get a good price for it," said Moody gruffly, sniffing a sausage. "It’s an historic piece of land, and the house is a fine one, built just like they built ‘em a hundred years ago."
"What do you mean, historic?" asked Graínne.
"The Potter family is an old one, and descended from even older lines," said Dumbledore calmly. "Dilys Derwent was one of your progenitors, Harry, as well as a host of other famous people."
"Legend has it that Godric’s Hollow is where Gryffindor himself came from," said Lupin with a different sort of smile. "Hence the name. James always said that there wasn’t any proof, of course, from that long ago, but he couldn’t find any evidence to the contrary, either. And the very first documentation of ownership of the property puts it squarely in the hands of your proven ancestors."
"You mean Harry might be descended from Godric Gryffindor?" asked Hermione in awe.
"So might you," Harry pointed out. "There’s no way to know."
"Indeed," said Dumbledore, "none at all. There is sufficient honor, however, in the documented family line to make the property quite valuable, should you decide to sell it. As it is, there is no outstanding debt to pay, and unlike Muggles, you have no property taxes. My suggestion to you is that you wait to decide the matter until some of the questions surrounding your future are answered."
"The house can be closed while you attend school, however much longer that may be," said Mr. Weasley, "or you may ask someone to stay here and keep the place for you."
"I’ll wait to decide about it," said Harry after a moment, and the adults around the table relaxed.
"It’s loads better than headquarters," said Ron thoughtfully. "And we can go outside?"
"Yes, there are grounds, which are also protected by the Charm," said Dumbledore with a smile. "About forty acres."
"Wow," said Hermione softly.
"You could have horses," Graínne added, and then laughed at herself. "I am such a kid!"
They all laughed with her, and suddenly Harry felt a little better. This was not going to be so bad after all, and he could see that eventually it would be very good. A home of his own.
They discovered a screened porch on the west side of the house, opening through French windows off the parlor, shaded on one side by vines. The garden beyond was unruly but smelled sweet with flowers. Harry and Graínne went out to walk there later, when Mrs. Weasley was beginning to hint that it was time for bed. They found a small summerhouse there, smelling of new wood but with roses vining up its pillars as if they had always grown there. The benches lacked cushion, which was probably a good thing, but Harry was content to talk anyway.
"What do you think?" she asked him bluntly.
"I hardly know what to think," he admitted, looking around at the darkened garden. "It’s peaceful here, have you noticed?"
"Yes, I have. What do you think of the house?"
"It’s more than I ever imagined having."
She smiled, he could tell, even in the dark. "I wonder where in England we are."
"Me too. Lancashire is a big county. We’ll have to ask. What do you think?"
"I think it’s great, Harry."
"Could you live here, eventually?"
"Eventually, I could live anywhere, if you were there."
He smiled, and a knot of the anxiety in his stomach untied itself. "I feel the same way," he murmured, and settled back to kiss her thoroughly. It had been a most delightful birthday, all told.
Harry could not practice Apparating, because Dumbledore had charmed the property to prevent people from dropping in suddenly. However, he reviewed his notes on the subject, and then traveled by Portkey to headquarters the next morning with Mr. Weasley, where they took the Underground to the Ministry of Magic. There Harry met with a Mr. Banks, who administered the written portion of the exam. Harry was in a room with five other young people, none of whom he’d ever seen before. Hermione explained later that they were probably from a different school, one of the "public" schools in the Midlands for the wizarding community. Out of nerves, they didn’t look at one another, and so none of them noticed that they were being tested with the famous Harry Potter, which Harry considered to be the best thing that happened to him all morning.
After the written test, examiners took them out, and Harry’s introduced herself as Mrs. Aberswaite. She was about thirty, he guessed, had shiny, straight brown hair and hazel eyes, and she was a little plump, but not unpleasantly so. She seemed to understand that Harry didn’t want a big deal made about who he was, and she only shook his hand politely. Then she set him a series of tests beginning simply with Apparating across the room, to Apparating at a precise point of latitude and longitude, which was a damp heath near Epsom, where it had been raining, so Harry got his feet wet. However, he passed his test, and received a certificate giving him permission to Apparate at will.
He had found out that Godric’s Hollow was in the upper part of Lancashire County, and Dumbledore had given him a latitude and longitude point to which he could Apparate just outside the garden on the road. Today, though, he took the Portkey back from headquarters, and was in time for lunch in the pleasant kitchen.
Winky had gone home to the Burrow, but Dobby was still there, thrilled to be serving in the house of Harry Potter. He had Dumbledore’s permission to remain the rest of the summer there. Mrs. Weasley fussed over his wet feet, and Dobby brought clean socks and a pair of slippers. The day wasn’t chilly, but there was no sense in taking chances, she said.
Investigation of the property followed lunch, and Ron discovered a nice-sized pond to swim in. There was a delightful old barn, long empty, but looking as though horses would not be impossible. Harry thought that it would be pleasant to see Graínne’s eyes light up like they had the night before, someday in the future when he put a couple of horses in the barn. There were woods, not as dense as the Forbidden Forest, meadows, and several little wild places of sheer rock and tangled growth that made them feel like true explorers. As a favor to Ginny, they refrained from a lot of what Graínne called PDA, "public displays of affection." As the sun began to sink in the west, they returned to the house and explored the overgrown garden, where Hermione identified many plants used for potions.
That evening Harry mounted the King Maker over the fireplace in the study, and arranged all the books he owned that weren’t packed for school. Mrs. Weasley had brought the twins’ old brooms up from the Burrow, so plans were made to play a little Quidditch the next day, and even Hermione agreed to participate. Harry and Graínne practiced a little with wooden swords, but the day outdoors had made them tired, and everyone was content to go to bed after supper.
The next day, about teatime, Remus landed Buckbeak in the back garden, where he promptly began to dig in one of the old flowerbeds, which was all weed and grass. Remus tried to stop him, but Mrs. Weasley intervened.
"Oh, let him, Remus, it’ll save us having to turn it and cultivate later. There’s nothing he can hurt there. The really historic beds are on the west and in the front."
Harry felt an odd choking sensation at the sight of the hippogriff. There was nowhere else for him to be. Buckbeak was his responsibility now, a potent reminder of the loss of Sirius Black.
---------------
At the end of the following week, Graínne returned to London to spend some time with her brothers, but she left most of her things in Godric’s Hollow. Hermione returned to her parents’ house on the Knight Bus, promising to come back for the last week of the holidays. Lupin came to dinner the day after the full moon, looking tired and ill, and Harry asked him to stay in Godric’s Hollow, to rest and recuperate, and to live in the house after Harry went back to school.
"I-- I guess I could," he said thoughtfully, rather touched. "There’s a competent Potioner not far from here, but I guess it would depend on how much she charges."
"There’s a housing allowance that my parents set up, and it includes wages for a housekeeper, which I would like to pay to you for managing the place in my absence," Harry went on. "There’s even enough to hire Dobby, if he’s willing to leave Hogwarts, but I want to talk to Professor Dumbledore about that before I mention it. So will you stay?"
"I’ll think about it."
"At least stay the night, get some real rest."
"That I will do, and thank you."
Harry consulted Mrs. Weasley afterward, in the privacy of the kitchen. "Did it sound like charity? I don’t want it to seem like that, I really do want someone to live here when I’m not."
"What about this," suggested Mrs. Weasley quietly. "What about you withdraw the housekeeper’s wage from the offer, but go to the Potioner and arrange payment for all his potions for the time you’re at school."
"That would work, I suppose."
"If you do it anonymously, he can’t argue with you about it. And whether he likes it or not, Remus needs a little charity."
"Not charity, just a chance to work," Harry said thoughtfully. "He’s been very good to me, I’d like for him to have work."
Some members of the Order of the Phoenix showed up regularly, both on guard duty and to rest and relax. Harry rather enjoyed giving hospitality to all these friends, who risked their lives for his sake, and indeed, for all magicals. Besides, it gave him something to do besides miss Graínne, which he did very much.
He and Ron finished their summer work on the big table in the study, where a crate of books from Dumbledore arrived the first week of August, books that had been salvaged from the wreckage of the house after Harry had been taken to Surrey. Some were water-stained, some had singed edges or torn covers, but most were in remarkably good shape. They only filled one section of shelves, but it was a start, and they offered a variety of references for their work. Remus said they represented only a tiny fraction of James and Lily’s collection of books, which had overflowed the shelves, but given the extent of the destruction that had occurred when Voldemort lost his power, he was surprised that so many of them had survived.
None of them were of a personal nature, though, no references to the Potter family tree, no journals, no photo albums. Harry found himself sometimes wandering from room to room, looking for something that wasn’t there. He began to realize this place was full of familiarity, but simply lacked the material. He half expected to round the corner into the kitchen and see Lily standing at the stove, or to see James sitting in the armchair in the study. He confided this to Lupin one stormy Wednesday night about the middle of August.
"I know what you mean," he nodded. "In layout, it’s exactly like the house that was here before, so I keep seeing them, or expecting to. And some of the furniture is the same. That table in the kitchen, the chair in the study, maybe others. Those are what I remember. Is it bothersome to you? You can get other things--"
"No, I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t losing my mind," Harry answered. "I like the things just fine, all the more because they belonged to them. But it still feels a little bare to me."
"You’ll have to live in it a while for it to take proper shape."
It was hard to acquire furnishings when one couldn’t go out and see what was available. Harry had vague ideas about street markets and antique stores and tag sales, which was absolutely the last thing the Dursleys would have considered, but he rather liked the thought. However, there was no way to go to those things; he was too famous, and one couldn’t always tell Dark wizards just by looking. Some of the Slytherins looked quite normal. He spoke with Mrs. Weasley about what was needed.
"Well, dear, it would be nice to have another sofa and a few more comfortable chairs, and I imagine eventually you’ll want to outfit a few rooms on the second floor, and to fit out the first floor bedrooms a little more fully. If you like, I can see what’s in Diagon Alley, get an idea of prices, when I go down to get the books."
"That would be great, thanks. Rugs, too, Mrs. Weasley, there’re only two in the whole house."
Later that week, Lupin joined Harry for a walk and had a serious talk with him.
"I can’t accept your offer to live here, Harry. I’m not -- it wouldn’t be right."
"Are you afraid I’m offering you charity?" Harry took a page from Graínne’s book and spoke bluntly, but not unkindly.
"Well, I’m not a charity case," he answered wryly.
"I’m not thinking of you as one. But I am thinking that I would like someone to stay here. My field of applicants is necessarily limited. You were a dear friend to my dad and my godfather, and my mum for that matter, and you have been a faithful friend to me as well. What if you just stay here and eat here in exchange for keeping the place open and free of doxies, and making sure Dobby doesn’t go round the bend like Kreacher? Just the ten months that I’m at school. Longer, if you like, I’ve got three more years of school if I’m lucky."
"Is Dobby staying?"
"Yeah, I hired him away from Dumbledore. Look, Professor--"
"It’s Remus," he corrected gently. They were about the same height now. "I haven’t been your professor for a long time."
"Remus, then," said Harry, nodding seriously. "You were closer to my parents than anyone alive. It would really help me to know you were here, it would make it more like home."
He sighed. "It’s not at all nice, having a werewolf in the house, Harry. If I don’t get my potion, I get violent."
"We’ll have to make sure you do, then. We’ll outfit one of the second floor bedrooms for you to lock yourself in, just in case. Please, Remus."
"All right."
"Excellent."
Harry had already found out about the potioner on a list from St. Mungo’s, a woman name of Zanni Price, located in the nearest village, Dorling. He had sent her a message asking if she made that particular potion, at what cost, and if she would supply a great good friend of his every month, arrangements to be made upon her agreement. Her reply, in flowing script, was worded so that he pictured her to be a very sweet old lady, naming what Mrs. Weasley said was a very good price for that potion, and agreeing to make it every month for his friend, just let her know where to have it sent.
"He’ll have to go pick it up," said Mrs. Weasley.
"Of course. I’ll write back and send payment for a year, that should do. I’ll ask her to reserve it for him, give his name, tell her he’ll come for it if she doesn’t mind."
"She doesn’t seem the sort who would mind, does she," said Mrs. Weasley, looking at the delicate handwriting. "Well thought, Harry. Then, when Remus contacts her, she’ll just say she’s already got his order, it’s all paid for, and all he has to do is pick it up."
The last week of the holidays approached, and Hermione rejoined them at Godric’s Hollow on Friday the week before. Graínne’s letters, which came every day, stated that she was allowed to return some time on Sunday, after her parents moved. Her brothers were being sent back to the United States the same day, apparently, to prepare for their year at Thunder Hall. Harry was looking forward to her arrival, in more ways than one: Ron was improving with the sword, but he wasn’t a natural, and he didn’t have the same desire to learn. (The desire did increase when his mother pointed out that his shoulders were bulking up a great deal and his chest was expanding to the point that he needed new clothes.)
However, Saturday night Aramis showed up with a hasty note.
Beloved,
I’m being dispatched to a village to sort out a suspected illegal Animagus problem. I don’t know how long it will take, but the good news is I’ve been given carte blanche to Apparate, so as soon as I’m done, I can get to you almost immediately. I hope it doesn’t take long--I could be there Saturday night, maybe Sunday morning early, which is about twelve hours sooner than I thought I could. Cheers!
love,
Graínne
Harry, who had lost much of his optimism over the last few years, didn’t hold out much hope that she would be able to finish her assignment quickly. He dragged around Saturday night, depressed, and considered having a lie in on Sunday morning. He ignored the call to breakfast, and buried his head in the pillow when footsteps sounded on the stairs and in the hall.
The door burst open.
"Do you mind? I’m trying to sleep," he growled.
"Yes I mind," Graínne bellowed, leaping onto the bed in a rather painful way. "A fine howdy-do for a gal who’s been gone for almost three weeks, but maybe you didn’t miss me--"
It took Harry that long to get untangled from his pillow and sheets and to get his arms around her and his mouth on hers. They were both laughing and crying a little, talking at the same time, understanding one another completely. Before things could get too serious, Remus banged on the ceiling of the study with a broom handle, and Graínne left him to get dressed.
He thought he might have broken the record for getting showered and dressed in the shortest possible time. When he came into the kitchen, people were sitting around the table eating and talking and laughing, and Graínne was getting the last of the bacon out of the pan at the stove. He went directly to her and kissed her again, lightly this time, and then turned to sit down to breakfast.
"That was scary," said Fred, who was visiting, along with George. The shop was closed on Sunday mornings, and they would have to leave around lunchtime to go to work. "Looked just like Mum and Dad, didn’t it."
"Very like," said Ginny blandly.
"Hush, now, don’t tease," said Mrs. Weasley.
"Tell us the story, now, Graínne," prompted Remus.
"Oh. Well," she answered, coming to sit down beside Harry, "There’s this little village very near here, Dorling, and they’ve been having theft problems. They mine some precious stones there, and they’ve lost a number of really good ones lately. And the stones show up later in London, all polished and cut. The population there is about half-and-half, and the local magistrate happens to be a Muggle married to a witch, so he started wondering if it was a magic problem, since some really mean wizarding folks have moved into the village recently. It started to occur to the witch, a lady named Kezia Smith, that maybe it was an Animagus. So she got in touch with Madam Dunleigh, who immediately popped her head into the fire and got hold of me in Surrey. Which was good, because most of the stuff had been taken to the new digs, just one more load to go up this morning. So she got special permission for me to Apparate up there, and I had to go with this guy named Garreton, his hair’s about as long as mine. He’s not a bad guy, though, a little Boy-Scoutie--"
"What does that mean?" demanded Ron, and his was not the only confused face.
"By-the-book, don’t deviate from procedure, that sort of thing. Anyway, we weren’t in the village twenty minutes before I spotted four Animagi, all rodents, like squirrels and chipmunks. All relatives, as it turns out, all from the Netherlands. So Garreton has the whole family come in, and all the locals were helping round them up, because they kept conveniently forgetting Aunty Ernestina and cousin Bert. So they were all in this conference room at the police station, and I was looking at them through a one-way mirror, and I told Garreton he needed help. There were seventeen people there, and only three of them weren’t Animagi. So we had every Auror on duty, plus twelve more wizards and witches from Law Enforcement all Apparate into the room, so it was a one-to-one ratio. It was still a mess, but we got them all. There were a lot of werewolves around there, too, but that’s a different matter. All told, it was the biggest Animagus bust in the history of the Ministry, maybe even of Discerners. Took most of the night to file the charges, though. I got a bonus, and I got to Apparate down the road, get here early, so I am well compensated for the lack of sleep."
"That is so cool," said George, gazing at her with admiration. The twins had both been instantly attracted to Graínne, and were still bitterly disappointed that she was so devoted to Harry.
"Fourteen Animagi," said Hermione, impressed. "And they were stealing the jewels?"
"Initially we brought them in to question them about their activities, since none of them were really old enough to be a registered Animagus, with an eye toward the jewels, yes," said Graínne, pouring herself a bowl of cereal. "And once we had their wands away from them, they all clammed right up, so we had to use truth serum, and they sang like birds. Not only jewels but pick-pocketing, breaking and entering, even a spot of bank robbery, although that didn’t amount to much, they stayed away from goblins as much as they could and only hit the Muggle bank once. They were careful enough to keep their activity against Muggles down to a minimum, until they got onto the jewels. Then they got greedy."
"Well done, Graínne," said Mr. Weasley, beaming. "And you’re on holiday until the first?"
"Yes, and my brothers have all gone home, except Will, and boy did Jamie and John try hard to get Mom to let them transfer to Hogwarts," she added, glancing at Ginny, who laughed.
"Never a moment’s peace would I have had if she’d let them," she grinned. "I’ll have to send your mum a thank you note."
"So you’ll be wanting a nap after breakfast," said Mrs. Weasley.
"Oh, no ma’am, I’m way too stimulated to sleep for a while. Maybe after lunch. I’m thinking a swim would be good this morning, it’s supposed to be very hot."
"You can swim here?" Fred and George asked together.
"It’s a pond," Harry answered.
"Still, that would be great. Can we join you?" asked Fred.
"The more the merrier," said Ginny, and the others readily agreed.
So after breakfast they tramped down to the pond and spent the morning bathing. Lupin came down just before noon to call them back, and Graínne, who was treading water in the middle with Hermione and Ginny, watched him walking through the tall grass toward them.
"He’s good-looking, even if he is going grey," she said thoughtfully.
"And smart, and sensitive," Ginny added by way of agreement. "It’s sad he’s a werewolf. Tonks said even if some woman did fall in love with him, he’s set himself against entanglements, some noble notion about saving her from a terrible life."
There was nothing to say to that.
Remus Lupin walked steadily up the road, looking at addresses on lampposts, and finally found the one he sought. A blackened sign swung on the gate, for all the world looking as if weather had worn the lettering off, or perhaps it had been painted out after the death of a previous business. As he gazed at it, though, it revealed itself to him, Z. Price, Potioner since 1980. There was a Ministry of Magic seal on the sign as well, a certified maker of medicines for healers and the general public. He pushed open the gate and went up the walk, a flagstone path between well-ordered beds of all kinds of plants.
The door opened under his hand, before he could knock. Inside was a long low room, lined with shelves, filled with bottles. A table held several open cartons, and a woman stood there, packing bottles in excelsior. She looked around as he entered. "Good morning," she said in a low voice. "You are Remus Lupin."
"I see I am expected," he smiled, for she was smiling as well.
She had clear blue eyes and dark blond hair, which she wore drawn back in a clip from her oval face and falling loose down her back, and she was wearing inconspicuous blue robes that were nonetheless an excellent color for her. Her smile made her very pretty.
"You wouldn’t remember me, but I remember you. You were Gryffindor’s prefect. I was in Hufflepuff."
He stared at her, now. "What’s your name?"
"Zanni Price. Back then I went by Zanibella, but I dropped it when my mother died, and went with the nickname my da always used. " She offered her hand and they shook. "I was a quiet little plodder, with no important friends, but we all sighed over you and James and Sirius. You were the handsomest, smartest boys in the school, and we all had crushes on you." She blushed suddenly, laughing at herself. "That sounds so silly, now, at our age."
"James and Sirius were the smartest and handsomest," Remus agreed, passing lightly over her inclusion of him in the group. "They were very good friends to me."
"I read about Sirius last year, and of course everyone knows about James. I’m so sorry." Her mobile face became serious and sincere at once.
He gazed at her, faintly surprised. "Thank you, you’re very kind. I’m remembering you, now. We had Potions with your class for several years running, didn’t we?"
"Yes, actually, up until O.W.L.s. Then the three of you dropped out."
"Four. Don't forget Peter."
"I don’t recall Peter--oh, how could I forget! Peter Pettigrew. That was the person Sirius was supposed to have killed. And Peter killed all those Muggles instead?"
"And betrayed James and his wife and son to Volde--" He stopped, expecting her to wince, but she did not.
"He was responsible for that? I’ve never heard that before."
"No, no one asked Sirius any questions, Peter arranged it very carefully to look as if Sirius betrayed the Potters and killed the Muggles and Peter. So we’ve all thought that Sirius was a Death Eater all these years. He spent twelve years in Azkaban."
She shook her head sadly. "What a waste. I remember that he was very clever, brilliant, even. Then he escaped, but never had justice."
Remus nodded. "No. Well. I’m here to arrange for Wolfsbane Potion."
"I have the order for you, all you have to do is pick it up. I offered to deliver it, but I was told I couldn’t."
He smiled without humor, distracted from the fact that she had his order when he had never put one in. "No address," he said lightly. "One of the hazards of the condition. I’m assuming it’s about seven Sickles a bottle--"
"It’s been paid already."
"Excuse me?"
"Your order. I have you down for twelve months, paid in full.”
“Really. Who paid it?” His expression became very careful and still.
“I’m not really sure. It came in gold, no name. I was glad to get it, too, I’ve been trying to further my research on the side-effects of the use of dragon’s blood in healing potions, and it’s rather draining on the bank account, all things dragon being so expensive, so I was thrilled to get another Wolfsbane customer, it’s very steady work." She blushed again, fully aware that he was fully aware that she was babbling because she was nervous. He seemed annoyed that it had been arranged.
"Really? There are more?" Remus, distracted from the issue of payment, gently ignored the babbling and the blush, but he did not forget it, ever. It warmed him in an unexpected way. His annoyance fell away before her charm. He suspected that Harry had arranged it, but he let it go. She was much more interesting than his pride.
She nodded. "There was an attack on townsfolk twenty years ago or so, a werewolf strayed into a meeting hall, bit two dozen people. Some died right there, but since then I’ve had a thriving practice. Wolfsbane was just discovered as we were finishing school, as I’m sure you recall, in fact it was the potion for my N.E.W.T., and I got the top grade in the class, so it was a good potion to open my business with, and the need was so great. So we have a village very tolerant of werewolves, where the name of Delores Umbridge is considered foul language."
"You don’t have to be a werewolf to hate the name," said Remus thoughtfully. This village was a bare two miles from Godric’s Hollow. People wouldn’t hate me here. He brushed the thought aside.
"No, I have it from my niece that she’s roundly hated by a whole generation of Hogwarts students as well. But she’s been fired from the Ministry, I understand. When she confessed to sending Dementors after the Potter boy in Surrey, she was sacked immediately."
Remus was thinking he could have stood there chatting all day, but church bells started ringing somewhere in the village. She glanced outside automatically. "Come and have lunch with me," she said, going to lock the door. "I don’t see many from Hogwarts, there were only two other girls close to my age in the village at that time who were witches, and they’ve both moved away. You’ll save me from a lonely bowl of soup eaten over the sink."
He laughed, thinking how often he’d done just that. "All right, then, I’ll stay. I hope it isn’t putting you out."
"Not at all. I love having company, but there isn’t much to be had. Some of my contemporaries think it’s uncomfortable to socialize where they do so much business, and others I’d rather not know well. A big lot of foreign wizards were arrested the other day, turns out they were Animagi who were stealing the raw gems from Billy Mahoney’s company, and a lot of other stuff besides. Generally it’s pretty quiet and lonely here. If it weren’t for the werewolves, I might have moved, too, but they’d have to go all the way to York to find a Potioner who’ll do Wolfsbane." As she talked, she led the way through a glass-windowed door that had a curtain over it, through a dark hall past several open doors leading into rooms of bubbling and simmering cauldrons, and into a cheerful kitchen. Stairs went up from the corner of the room.
"Let me help," said Remus, washing his hands.
She smiled that charming smile again. "All right. You start the tea and mind the soup while I make the scones."
"You’re going to a lot of trouble--"
"Not at all. It’s not a meal without scones, in my family. I always make scones." And to prove it, she put together her scone and popped it into the oven to bake without so much as a glance at a recipe. They chatted companionably the entire time, about what they’d been doing over the last twenty years, and they found each other very interesting indeed. They shared the meal at the kitchen table, and sat and talked most of the hour, then washed up together.
"I don’t know when I’ve had a better lunch," said Remus, trying to take his leave, conscious that he was keeping her from her shop.
"I had a wonderful time," Zanni answered, and there was no doubting her sincerity. It was like saying good night at the end of a date. "I’ll expect you around the same time next cycle? If you come at five, I can close the shop and we can have tea together, and talk longer."
He smiled, he couldn’t help it, but a warning bell began to go off. "Zanni, you do understand this potion is for me," he said quietly, growing serious, as he took the sack with two bottles in it.
"Yes of course, Remus, I’m not thick."
"I just want to be clear. Having a werewolf for a friend is not easy."
"No friend is easy to bear all the time. Some just have more challenging aspects than others." She laid her hand on his. "Please come again."
He wanted to kiss her, he could see she wanted him to, but he refrained, gave her hand a squeeze, and nodded. The bell on the door jangled, and in came a little imp of a boy. "Afternoon, Miss Price. Mum sent me to get her doses."
"Right, Dennis. Now I’m counting that as a promise," she said to Remus as she moved to get a pair of bottles down from a shelf behind the counter.
"So it was," he grinned, and went out.
---------------
The Hogwarts letters came, and Mrs. Weasley went down to London to get their books and other new things. Hermione had been made Head Girl, and Harry had been tapped for Head Boy. It was not a responsibility he particularly wanted, but Hermione was thrilled. Ron was frankly relieved. "I was so afraid I’d have to," he sighed.
Ginny, who had been working on funding for new Quidditch robes, had finally raised enough for the sharpest-looking scarlet and gold robes to be had, designed by Quality Quidditch Supply’s designer especially for Gryffindor. She had worked with Graínne to get a special price from the Valhalla Broom Company, who agreed to supply brooms to Gryffindor at a greatly reduced price in exchange for publicity without compensation. Ginny went to London with her mother to pick up the new uniforms that morning, but the brooms would be sent directly to Hogwarts.
When they arrived back that evening, they had Fred and George with them, along with Mr. Weasley, hauling in carpets.
"I looked everything over, Harry, and I got these for you to see. We can send them back if you don’t like them, of course, but they were on offer, and the price was very good."
"And no one can bargain like Molly," said Mr. Weasley, going to hang up his cloak.
They carried them into the sitting room to unwrap. One was forest green with cream and salmon figures, a swirly Persian design that was nearly the same colors as Morag Cameron’s parlor furnishings. It went nicely with the sofa and curtains in the sitting room. The second was a lovely greenish blue, for the dining room, Molly said, and the third was dark red and gold, for the study. The price was indeed very good, and Harry agreed they were all just right. Graínne gave her nod as well, and she and Hermione dragged the dining room carpet across the hall while the twins laid the living room carpet and Ron and Harry took the red carpet down the hall to the study.
"I also looked at furniture," said Mrs. Weasley as they all went in to the supper Graínne and Lupin had made, "but there’s such a wide variety of styles, I didn’t know if you wanted brand new, antique, French, Danish, or a mixture, or what. And of course each varies in price, too. I thought it might be better for you to choose your own furniture."
Harry gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, you’ve done wonderfully. You had them charge my account?"
"Just as you instructed."
"What are the new books this year? Oh good, a decent Defense text," said Hermione, peering into the shopping bag that Ginny had dropped on the sofa.
"Hermione, love, I’m starving, come to the table," Ron pleaded.
"Oh, Remus, it’s so lovely to come to supper on the table and not have done anything to get it there," Mrs. Weasley sighed.
"I can only take credit for the magic, Molly; the recipes and planning were all Graínne’s."
"How do the new uniforms look, Ginny?" Graínne asked, preventing praise for the meal.
"Oh so sharp," Ginny gushed, having to swallow quickly. She jumped up and opened a box, and shook out a brilliant scarlet robe, gold stripes set in a sunrise pattern on the chest to make the shoulders look huge, but overall a sleeker design that would catch less wind, cause less drag. A golden lion on the back posed above the split for the broom, and the name on the back of the shoulders absolutely glowed in gold,
"Wow," said George admiringly. "Good job, Ginny!"
"We’ve never had numbers before," Harry said, taking the robe from her and examining it. "How did you decide?"
"I had them use the traditional numbering system, Seeker is one, Keeper is two, Beaters are three and four in alphabetical order, so it’s Davies and Ross, then Chasers in alphabetical order, of course we don’t have a third Chaser yet, so we may have to change the numbers if the new one doesn’t start with a B. The new whites are aerodynamic as well, and they threw in new armor at no cost. The designer was a Gryffindor in school, fifteen years ago, and she was so happy to do it all."
"Any ideas on a new Chaser?" Graínne asked, looking at Harry.
"Not yet."
"Graínne, I need this recipe," said Mrs. Weasley, raising her spoon to indicate the stew.
There was no more distraction from the meal, and Graínne blushed over the compliments. It was really good, more to the point, and they weren’t the encouraging sort of compliments that really are to make you try harder next time. They were sincere. The meal was jolly, but it had the feel of a last party before people went their separate ways, and indeed, there wasn’t opportunity to have everyone together again before school began.
----------------------
"It doesn’t make sense to go all the way to London to come all the way back, when we’re halfway there already," said Hermione, packing her trunk.
"Security-wise it’s a toss-up," agreed Graínne, folding robes. "Darkers know where he’ll be, and on the other hand, there’ll be all those regular wizards around who are definitely against Voldemort. They could decide to defend one of their own, or Darkers could use them as hostages or human shields in order to get Harry to give himself up."
"Does the fact that it’s a toss-up mean maybe they won’t try anything at all?" asked Ginny hopefully.
"’Fraid not," said Moody from the doorway, ignoring Hermione’s muffled shriek as she whisked her underclothes off the bed and into her trunk. "We certainly can’t plan on it, anyway. Death Eaters don’t commonly miss a chance when they’re handed one."
"So why don’t we just go from here?" Harry asked from the other side of the hall.
"Who said you’re not?" Moody’s magical eye whirled around to look at Harry, while his real eye gazed at Graínne.
"My dad," said Ron, looking over Harry’s shoulder. "Said we were going to London to get the train, just like always."
"When did he say that?"
"Yesterday," Ron admitted.
"Well, plans are always changing," said Moody cryptically, and stumped off downstairs.
They all looked at one another. Ginny nudged past Graínne and headed for the stairs. "I’m going to ask Mum."
"She’s so practical," said Graínne admiringly.
"Mum might not know," Ron pointed out, but he didn’t sound convinced of it himself. "How would we get there if we didn’t go by train?"
"We could go by broom," Harry said slowly, "that’s how I got from Little Whinging to London two years ago. But that took forever, it felt like, and there were nine people flying guard. I can’t see that they’d do that again, it’s a lot farther to Hogwarts, and it was before the dementors had left Azkaban. And we don’t have thestrals, and hippogriffs are too slow."
"There’s the Knight Bus, but like you said, we used that before it was out that Voldemort was back," said Ron.
"If we went by Floo, we’d have our location pin-pointed, even if we went down to Dorling and borrowed a fire there," said Graínne.
"That leaves Portkeys," said Hermione. "Which they would have to do without authorization, because not everyone in the Ministry has been cleared by the Order, which means there’s probably more than one spy, and having one in the Portkey office would be right handy."
"Isn’t she pretty when she deduces?" said Ron whimsically.
Graínne and Harry burst out laughing, and Hermione gave Ron a little shove, but she was grinning.
Ginny came stomping back upstairs. "She wouldn’t tell me," she grumbled. "Like it was a secret. Who would I tell?"
"Us," said Ron reasonably, winning a glare.
"Me, more to the point," said Harry. "Haven’t you noticed that they don’t tell me things in advance, in case I get my brain picked by Voldemort?"
Ginny gazed at him as if seeing him for the first time. "Does that still happen?"
"It hasn’t for a while, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he couldn’t, if he really wanted to."
"My bet is on a Portkey," said Graínne imperturbably. "It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission. When has Dumbledore ever been fussed about asking permission of Fudge?"
"Actually, Dumbledore is very respectful of Fudge’s authority, where it doesn’t interfere with the greater good," said Remus, who was standing at the foot of the upper stairs. He had been resting from his trials during the full moon, which ended three days ago.
"Goodness! Harry, you have to have some squeaky floorboards around here," she gasped, leaning against the doorframe dramatically.
Remus smiled. "Might not be a bad idea, at that," he agreed, "if it would keep people from sneaking out of their rooms at night."
Hermione blushed crimson. "We just had some ice cream," she blurted, and everyone except Ron stared at her in surprise. Ron turned purple and hissed, "Hermione!" Ginny and Graínne collapsed against each other in laughter, and Harry laughed, but he was already looking at Graínne questioningly.
"Getting back to Dumbledore," said Remus lightly, "by the way, he’s been given permission to use Portkeys to transport Harry and any others he feels need protection. It is no longer a matter of flouting the authority of the Ministry."
"Are Portkeys detectable?" Ginny asked, wiping her eyes.
"No, research in that area has been unsuccessful. That’s why we couldn’t find Harry three years ago when he disappeared from the maze. And I understand the research isn’t promising, either. Which in this case is good for us."
"So it will be a Portkey?" asked Harry.
"We haven’t actually been told yet," he answered, still lightly. "Almost time for supper." And he went on down to the kitchen.
Graínne saw Harry’s speculative look at Ron and Hermione, and she crossed her arms over her ribs and stared from one to the other of them. "You little sneaks."
"Nothing happened," Hermione maintained, blushing furiously. "We just met downstairs for ice cream."
"Do you know this place has locks and alarms on the doors to prevent us from getting out?" demanded Ron in tones of outrage, hoping to divert attention. Hermione hissed, "Ron!" and Ginny was off again, having just got her giggling under control. Graínne and Harry were grinning behind their hands.
"Well, I just thought that summerhouse would be sort of, well, romantic," he explained.
"It is," Harry agreed, "but you’re right, we’re locked in. And somehow I don’t think it’s because of Voldemort."
"They don’t trust us," snorted Graínne, ironic. "I think it was my mom’s suggestion."
"And with just cause, apparently," snorted Ginny, which made the rest of them laugh.
"Some of it could be because of Voldemort," said Hermione reasonably. "If something were to happen, like when he lured Harry down to the Department of Mysteries, the locks just assure the Order that we don’t go off without their knowledge again."
Graínne saw Harry’s face go stiff. "On a wild goose chase, you mean," he said sharply.
"No, I don’t mean that. It was a terrible cost, but the result was that people saw Voldemort, and he couldn’t accomplish all he had planned before coming out, he couldn’t sneak around anymore. People stopped thinking of you and Dumbledore as liars and started getting ready for war."
"We do have a reputation for flouting the rules and getting in over our heads," said Graínne gently. "At least I do. Don’t know about you all."
Ron snorted, and Harry smiled wryly. "All right," he said. "Finish packing and let’s get outside for a while. Before we get locked up again."
He and Graínne burned off some excess energy with practice swords, wearing old Quidditch body armor, and she had to resort to what he called dirty tricks in order to keep from losing her blade.
"Just because you can’t run on top of a wall, you call it a dirty trick," she wheezed, crouching on top of the grape arbor, out of his reach.
"Come down here and fight like a man," he laughed.
"Oh, you seriously don’t want that," she answered, and sprang directly at him, knocking his practice sword out of his hand and bowling him over into a flowerbed that Buckbeak had cultivated. She pinned his shoulders to the ground and said, "One-two-three, I win!"
"You can’t change sports like that, it isn’t fair," he laughed, simply rolling over and pinning her in turn. "Now you really are playing dirty."
"You’re just saying that because we’re covered with dirt," she whispered, drawing his head down to kiss him.
The bell on the back porch began to ring. "Supper," Ginny yelled.
Harry hauled her up out of the dirt and brushed her off, and then she returned the favor. They washed at the spigot and splashed their faces, and then each other a little, and went laughing into the meal as Ron and Hermione meandered in from the summerhouse.
"Hallo, children," said Mr. Weasley, coming in from the front hall. "Look who followed me from work," he added, and stepped aside.
"Mom, Dad!" Graínne flung her arms around each of them. "Are you staying?"
"We’ll be seeing you to school tomorrow, along with Arthur and Molly," Rory answered, and gave Harry a one-armed hug as he shook hands with Ron and kissed Hermione’s hand. "You all look healthy and happy, like you’ve been getting exercise! And rolling about in the garden, as well," he added, brushing at his daughter’s shoulder.
"Just finished sparring," Harry reported, getting a hug from Mrs. Cameron. "Supper’s just ready, according to Ginny. Come sit down."
Supper was served in the kitchen, by far the favorite place to dine. The dining room, despite its new rug, still seemed bare. "Needs pictures," said Graínne to her mother as they paused on their way.
"Oh, I would have thought you’d taken care of that by now," said Morag to Harry. She and Rory had been chaperones on their days off, but they had not been up in over a week.
"Can’t get out to the shops," he answered with shrug. "Besides, I’m going to be gone for ten months, there’s no point in hurrying."
"And Crookshanks thinks he’s the room’s chief decoration," said Ginny, nodding at the cat sprawled asleep in the center of the table.
"He’s been obnoxious about tables lately," Hermione agreed, starting toward him.
"Oh, leave him, he’s not hurting anything," said Harry, and they passed through to the kitchen.
After supper, Harry drew Graínne out for a last walk, and Mr. Weasley teased them by promising to leave the light on, and was chagrined to find that Ron and Hermione had already slipped past and were gone into the gathering darkness.
"They’ll be in the summer house," Harry murmured to her. "Up for a bit of a walk?"
"Of course." She slipped her hand into his, and they headed out toward the meadows. They walked in silence for a while, getting out of sight of the house, and finally reached the pond.
Harry seated her on the log they’d been using for a bench, and sat down beside her, struck again by her beauty. She wore silk robes this evening, a dusty grey-green that was ridiculously flattering to her. She didn’t often wear robes, preferring Muggle clothes instead, jeans and tee shirts and shorts, but she looked like a queen in robes. He looked out at the water, the track of moonlight on its still surface. "Three days past full, the moon. Remus seemed to enjoy collecting his potion."
"I met the Potioner in Dorling. We had to buy more Veritaserum from her. She’s rather pretty, I think, typical English beauty, and unmarried. The deputy constable, or whatever they’re called here, was posturing for her, but she just rolled her eyes. He’s a wizard, but he’s just a kid, and she must be Remus’ age. He should ask her out. She seems really nice."
"He’ll never ask anyone out, I’m betting."
"It’s a shame."
Harry nodded. After a few moments of listening to the crickets chirping, he changed the subject. "When we first got here, a month ago now, I was angry."
"I know."
He flashed a smile at her. "Of course you do. D’you know why?"
"Yet another decision made without even asking your opinion."
"Exactly," he chuckled. "You know me so well."
"I’ve made a study out of you."
"The truth is I’ve come to love this place, to love what it can be. I’m almost afraid to, but everywhere I look, I see us at home here. You and me, Graínne."
She looked up at him and smiled slightly. "It’s wonderful here," she agreed. "But like I said before, Harry, wherever you are, I am home. I’m glad you like it. Being here will be easy."
"I’m going to have to put a pool in, though, this pond is entirely too far from the house."
She laughed. "I can envision it on the east side of the house, the gardens there are in the worst shape, and Dumbledore said they were only flowers, not the historic herb beds that Madam Derwent put in. And I favor realistic paintings and landscapes and things, just so you know--"
"Graínne," he said, turning toward her and straddling the log.
"Yes, Harry," she answered, laughter in her voice.
"Hush up now," he whispered, and kissed her. He didn’t notice when she turned to straddle the log too, draping her thighs over his, but he knew precisely when she slid her hands under his shirt, and how many buttons there were between the neck of her robes and her waist. However, there were mosquitoes beside the pond, so not that much skin got bared, and the log turned out to be uncomfortable, so they didn’t stay there long.
They wandered back up toward the house, skirting the gazebo in case it was still occupied, and spent some time in the porch swing on the side porch. Then the Camerons came out to sit for a while, and instead of withdrawing, Graínne and Harry stayed. Then Ron and Hermione drifted in from the summerhouse, and the Weasleys came out for a little while. It was peaceful and sweet, being with these parents, who were fully cognizant that they were sitting with future in-laws, and liked the choices their children had made.
Eventually yawns drove them to bed, and the last day of the summer holiday ended.
It was a big rush in the morning. A pair of silver mid-sized cars stood on the road outside the gate. The luggage was loaded in, and then the Camerons got into one with Hermione and Graínne, Tonks, Sturgis, and Bill Weasley, and the Weasleys got into the other with Harry and Ron, Ginny, Moody, Emmaline Vance, and Remus. Enlargement spells made the interiors quite comfortable.
It would take most of the day to drive, even though they were half way there. The train could go more directly and faster, but Moody’s route was designed to reveal would-be followers. Harry doubted there would be— who would expect them to drive? He hated being split up from Graínne, and Ron complained, too, but all of the Order members were firm: It was simply safer this way, it was too dangerous to have Harry and Graínne in the same vehicle.
They stopped to have tea at a busy place north of Inverness, and Rory got snacks for both cars, as well. At last Moody yielded to Harry’s pleas, and Hermione and Harry switched places. It was the last busy place on the route. After this, the next stop would be Hogsmeade.
"I wonder how it is on the train," sighed Hermione. As Head Girl, her first real assignment was to brief the prefects, and she could not be there. Dumbledore had assured her that there would be adequate preparation for the prefects, that she was to travel with Harry and do exactly as Moody instructed. Harry, who did not really want to be Head Boy, was happy to be in the car, rather than the train, and said so.
"How can you say that? It’s such an honor, and it looks so good on your resume."
"It’s a pain in the neck, as far as I can tell, always having to nark on other students, having to attend extra meetings, having to boss people around in the case of an emergency, and face it, Hermione, we are the emergencies most of the time," Harry answered coolly, spreading butter on his scone. He had already told Graínne it wasn’t as good as her fresh-made scones.
"Well, but--"
"I’ll do my job, and I’ll be a good boy, because Dumbledore has asked me to, and because I don’t want to ruin it for you, for that matter, but I don’t have to like it," he interrupted, still calm, but with something in his tone that warned her he wouldn’t be calm much longer.
Because of all the precautions that Moody took, they arrived in Hogsmeade without any trouble. They were slightly ahead of the train, which allowed them to load their luggage onto the platform and get settled into one of the coaches as the train pulled in. The escort was spending the night at the Three Broomsticks, but they said their goodbyes at the station and were gone before the train arrived. Moody and Remus called upon Dumbledore briefly, and then they too were gone. Harry wondered how the residents would treat the advent of automobiles in Hogsmeade, and whether the students or the Death Eaters would hear about it.
"You came back, did you," sneered Pansy Parkinson in the entry hall, and Harry turned around to see her and Graínne circling each other like dogs preparing to fight.
"I was thinking that of you," Graínne answered, with just as big a sneer.
"Good evening, ladies," said Professor Ferguson, with an exaggerated emphasis on the last word. "Move along, this isn’t a good place to linger, with all these students coming in."
Graínne bowed, not taking her eyes off Pansy. "After you," she said sweetly.
"Humph," said Pansy, sweeping off toward the Great Hall.
"Bitch," she added distinctly, and when Parkinson whirled around, Graínne was engaged in conversation with Ginny, as if she had not said a word out loud.
"Her family is fascinated with the Dark Arts, Dad says," murmured Ron, "but too cowardly to join up with anyone or disobey the law too greatly."
"She’d be a great daughter-in-law to Lucius and Narcissa," said Harry thoughtfully.
"Ah, Potter, there you are," said Professor McGonagall. "Hello, Graínne," she added with an absentminded smile. "Good trip?"
"Yes, auntie," said Graínne quietly, with a grin.
"Good. Potter, Madam Hooch gave me another copy of last-year’s flying grades, and I thought you might like a look at the Gryffindors, see how they might stack up. There are no transfers this year, and tryouts for our House are scheduled for Wednesday evening."
"Thanks, Professor. Hey, Ginny Weasley got us new robes and brooms."
"She sent me a letter," said McGonagall with a rare smile. "I look forward to seeing them. I’ll make a trip up to the common room tonight, you can show me the robes."
"Right," he grinned, and she hurried away.
"Have I ever told you," Graínne said softly, "just what your smile does to me?"
He turned and looked at her, and caught a hint of scent that was tantalizing. "You haven’t, and I don’t think this is the place to tell me, either."
She laughed. "Right you are. Hermione told me about the rule that students caught fornicating will be suspended. It would be really bad for the Head Boy to get suspended." They continued into the Great Hall with the flood of students, all anxious for supper.
"Fornicating. Funny, I never used that word in my life until I met you."
"Likewise, I’m sure," she laughed. "Where I come from, it’s a very old fashioned word for a subject which has become common as dirt."
"I prefer to think of it as -- never mind, this isn’t the time or place. Looks like everyone is back, for a change," he added, looking toward the head table.
"Aunt Agatha kept her head down very well," Graínne agreed quietly. It still wasn’t known that she was related to two of the teachers. "Let’s look at the broom scores, while we’re waiting."
Harry unfolded the parchment McGonagall had given him. "They are a year old, of course, so there’s been some improvement. I hope. I told Archer and Rickover to practice, they looked promising. And if Joe Welles worked over the summer to improve, he could be our man." He glanced up the table, but didn’t see Welles. "Is everyone here?"
"Not yet. Well, maybe." She looked toward the entrance hall, which was now empty. "Hey, Lyn, do you know if Joe came back this year?" she called up the table.
Lynford Ross looked around from where he and Parvati were murmuring to each other. "Huh? Oh, I had an owl from him a few weeks ago, he’s gone back to Northern WW. His dad got transferred back to Wisconsin."
"That limits the field," sighed Harry.
"There’ll be someone." She nudged him and nodded at the line of first years coming in. "They’re so little."
"We were so little once."
"Nah, I was born old. Had to be, to survive my brothers."
"Your older brothers are all quite decent."
"They are now, but they were monsters like every other boy. I bet you were monstrous too."
"Only to Dudley."
She grinned. "Well, that hardly counts. It was self-defense."
He leaned close to speak softly to her. "Have I ever told you just what your smile does to me?"
"You can show me later," she chuckled.
Later, however, Head Boy and Girl had to meet with the teachers, and Graínne and Ron played no less than five games of chess while waiting for them. Chess was not Graínne’s favorite, and although she could play well when she wanted to, she did not want to play chess at the moment. Ron won all five games easily. "You’re not concentrating," he grumbled as he moved to checkmate again.
"No, I’m sorry. This is too slow for me. Practice sword?"
"I can’t, G, I’m beat," he answered with a yawn and a stretch. "If I hadn’t promised Hermione I’d wait up for her to say goodnight, I’d go to bed now."
"I know, me too. I don’t wait well. And I actually finished all the summer work. Who do you think the new Chaser will be?"
"Have to have a look at them to tell, I can’t remember. Who do you fancy?"
"Well, Archer has the best score, if she practiced, and she’s still pretty young, so it will give the team life after we go. But we won’t know until Tuesday night’s riding grades come out how anyone’s improved. So all this speculation is pointless," she added, dejected. "I’m going to write a letter."
"Okay. Wake me when they come in," he answered, leaning back and closing his eyes.
It was nearly midnight when they came in, looking tired.
"What happened?" Graínne demanded, nudging Ron.
"Nothing, we just had a lot of things to go over because we couldn’t be on the train." Harry put his arms around her and slumped tiredly. "I’m sorry, love, I didn’t know it would be this long."
"Forget it. Just kiss me good night, we’ve got the rest of our lives."
He kissed her, and murmured, "I love you, Graínne," and dragged himself up the stairs.
Graínne dragged herself to bed as well, wondering whether she really disbelieved omens.
----------------
The year did not get off to an auspicious start. Snape reprimanded Graínne for being out of uniform (she had worn a black silk robe over her regular school uniform clothes that looked in every aspect like a regular uniform robe, except it was silk), Ron yelled at Ginny for flirting with a Slytherin sixth year, and several third-year students lost a total of a hundred fifty points for being out of the tower in the middle of the night Tuesday. Harry wasn’t too fussed about it, recalling a time when he and Hermione and Neville had done similarly, but Hermione, who also remembered that, chastised the students rather severely. Hagrid had them studying jarveys, which were highly insulting to the students.
Tryouts for Quidditch were abysmal. None of the twelve Gryffindors who showed up on Wednesday afternoon were of the same quality as the rest of the team, but third-year Gwyneth Archer performed less badly than the rest. At thirteen she was already five-foot seven, and she had more nerve and flew faster than others who had better brooms. She did not shrink from a collision with Lynford when he tried to block her shot.
"She may not have seen it," said Harry to Graínne, who was watching with him.
"Maybe. But she’s not crying, either. She took it, whether she was surprised or not. The question remains, can she be trained?"
"Let’s have them learn that Sloth Roll, see who’s teachable," Harry suggested. "Can you instruct them, or do you want me to?"
"Sure, I’ll go. You can watch."
While Graínne organized the candidates, the others gathered with Harry to watch them learn.
"Dahlgren is all talk after all," said Bran, of a fourth-year who had been bragging. "He’s got a decent broom, but he hasn’t a clue what to do with it."
"And heaven forbid that Maude Cheney should do more than carry the Quaffle while she rides at a pace that would make my grandmother impatient," said Ginny in disgust. "The world will end if she has to throw the ruddy thing."
"I see we all had our favorites," said Harry wryly, never taking his eyes off the group down on the pitch. "Wasn’t Colin going to try out?"
"Academic probation," said Ginny. "I think he only said that to make me happy, as if it would. Hmm, will you look at that."
"Yeah," said Ron thoughtfully. "Archer did it. Oops, there goes Rickover, I’ll bet he has to go to the hospital."
"Nah, he’s up again. Just embarrassed. What do you think? Archer?" Harry asked the others.
"She’s the only talent out there," Lyn agreed, a trifle grim. " And I use the term loosely. We gotta take what’s offered. Of course, with Ginny and Graínne, will she ever touch the Quaffle?"
"Are you calling me a ball-hog?" demanded Ginny, but she was grinning. Lyn grinned back.
Harry blew his whistle and flew down to the ground, where everyone joined him. "Thank you," he said to the twelve candidates. "This was a great turn out for just one spot. I want you all to keep training, because next year four of us will be gone, and one never knows what’s in store. We’ve lost players mid-year more often than I care to recall. The new Chaser will be Gwyneth Archer."
After the other candidates had left the field, Harry scheduled a practice for early Saturday afternoon.
"We’ll use our old robes for practice, remember; Gwyneth, Katie Bell’s old robes go to you. It will be full armor, no holds barred. It’s a secret that we’ve got new robes, by the way. I know looks can’t make up for skill, but we have skill, and I’m not above using our looks to cow Slytherin if I can. Ginny, when are the other things coming?"
"30 September, according to their letter. Plenty of time to get used to them before the match."
"Great. New brooms, mates. They are team brooms, not personal brooms, and we’ll have to get used to them, they’re Thors from America. We’ll have to pose for publicity shots, it’s part of the deal for getting them so cheap, because they’re the official World Cup broom as of last week. So don’t go getting into barroom brawls, and don’t get a weird new haircut or a hickey from your sweetheart or anything like that--" Harry waited for the laughter and cat-calls to stop, smiling benevolently. "And if the robes are secret, the brooms are top secret, so not a word, not even home to your mum. It’ll leak fast enough. I think there’s going to be a presentation ceremony."
Graínne waited for him as he locked up the captain’s room and picked up his Firebolt.
"Are these brooms the same model as yours?" Harry asked, taking her free hand.
"Nope. Newest model. They go faster, if you can tolerate the Gs; slightly better turning. Different color," she added with a snort.
"Works for us, doesn’t it," he smiled, for the new Thors were scarlet. "I didn’t get a chance to ask, but you would have picked Archer, wouldn’t you?"
"Yeah, she’s the best of the lot. She’s no Sweeps prize, yet, but she’ll learn. My ambition is to teach her how to steal passes. She’s got a long reach."
"Good, I depend on you for it. Going running in the morning?"
"I am going to run as far as I can, but I don’t think I’m up to five miles anymore. Haven’t run all summer. I guess I could swim in the lake, but it’s pretty cold."
"I’ll run with you. Hermione said she jogged at home, and Ron said he wants to start again."
"What, no Ginny?"
"I’m betting, love, that you could get the whole team out to jog, and they’d do it. Maybe I should let you be team captain, take some of the load off me."
"No way. Ron or no one."
"Not you?"
"Nah. I’ll follow a good leader, but I don’t have that ambition." She looked toward the brilliant purple and orange sky to the west and sighed. "Pretty."
Harry looked, and nodded as he stopped walking, and she turned to face him. "Graínne, I’m looking at this year ahead of us, with N.E.W.T.s and Quidditch and Head Boy and whatever Voldemort decides to do, and I just want you to know, more than any of that stuff, I love you and would rather be just your boyfriend. So if I fail to leave enough time for us, would you remind me?"
"Gently, right? Not shrewishly?" She smiled up at him. "Harry, we live lives not of our own choosing at the moment. Me, I’d like to quit school and make babies and keep house. But I’d see much less of you than I’ve seen this week. At least I get to sit with you in class, play Quidditch with you, study with you. Granted there isn’t as much snogging as there was last week--"
"That’s what I mean."
"Honey, look," she said gently. "That’s great, really great, and it’ll be even better, but what we have isn’t about sex and making out. That’s just frou-frou. It’s about better or worse, rich or poor, good days and bad, sickness and health. So let me know if it’s all about getting to grab my boobs, because if that’s all it is, I know this Hufflepuff girl who’s got a great rack, and you should go chase her."
"It isn’t about that for me," he growled, offended. "I’d love you, I’d choose you, even if I never touched you."
"Then we understand one another admirably."
"Then why do I feel like we’re rowing?"
"Because I just told you that the most important way you show your love for me isn’t the most important to me. And them’s fightin’ words."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Only this, honey," she said, taking a step closer. "Stop worrying that we can’t roll around together as much as we have all summer. Keep picking fights and apologizing and telling me you’re sorry you can’t spend as much time rolling around with me as we have all summer. Keep talking to me. And understand that there’s only a couple things that would drive me away."
"Only a couple?" He smiled wryly. "That gives me a lot of latitude."
"Well, I love you a lot." She was very serious, although she seemed glad that he wasn’t frowning at her anymore.
"What would those things be? Just so I don’t overstep the bounds." He slipped his arm around her, pulling her even closer.
"Well, telling me to leave would be one, and the other would be cheating on me."
He chuckled, but she did not respond in kind. "Who would I cheat on you with? There isn’t anyone who comes close to you."
"Strange things happen all the time."
"That’s a strange thing that will never happen. Is a rack the same thing as boobs?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Oh. I thought so. Can I kiss you now, can we make up?"
"I think that would be a good idea."
Chapter 34: Stress, Brooms, Robes, and a Jerk
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
“No, no, no," Harry called, zooming in on the Chasers, "you’re letting them draw too far away from you," he yelled to Gwyneth.
"We need a rest," said Ginny firmly, as Gwyneth’s face went wooden and she fought back tears.
"A rest? We only have four weeks to prepare for the first Slytherin match, and--"
"Harry, mate," said Ron, "sometimes the best way to fix a problem is to retreat for a while. Chase the Snitch, clear your head. And hey, if you catch it early, you don’t have to worry about whether they can do the correct formation or not."
"We’ll work on it, just give us a chance to talk it over," Graínne added. She had a worried expression on her face as she gazed at him.
"Fine," growled Harry, "Ron, go release the Snitch. I’ll mind my own business."
Graínne bit her tongue, drawing the other two Chasers off. "Don’t take it personally, Gwyn. He’s never been a Chaser. Okay, simple exercise. Keep your eyes on the center goal. Tell me when you can see my hand." Drawing up beside the girl, she extended her fist into what should have been peripheral vision. "Can you see it?"
"Er, there it is, yeah, I can see it."
"Okay. Keep looking at the goal." She moved away ten feet or so, and Ginny moved in the other direction. "Can you still see us without looking at us?"
"Er, yeah, I can tell you’re there, but I can’t tell what you’re doing."
"We’re flying in tandem with you, that’s all. And I can see you without having to look in your direction, I can stay on the goal without compromising my route. Switch positions with me."
Gwyneth obliged, forgetting Harry’s harsh tone and setting herself to learn. Graínne was a patient teacher, and had innovative ways of thinking about things.
"We need to be able to do this no matter which position we’re each in, no matter who has the Quaffle. And eventually we’ll pass it around. Okay, fly toward the goals, Ginny, set the speed."
Ginny flew forward at about forty miles an hour, and Gwyneth adjusted her own speed. Graínne then switched Ginny to center, and they flew toward the other goal. For the next half hour they practiced until they could do it at top speed in any position, and could pass the Quaffle back and forth a bit. By then, Harry had caught the Snitch and calmed down a bit.
He apologized during the meeting in the team room afterward. He made sure he complimented every team member about something, offered criticisms constructively without personal attacks, and tried to repair the destruction he’d done on team spirit. Then he went into the captain’s room to make his notes, and when he came back out, only Graínne was sitting there, waiting for him. She smiled in a distracted sort of way.
"All right?" he asked softly, watching her stand slowly.
"Just tired. You?"
"Fine."
"You were pretty tense."
He glanced at her, wondering how to deal with the coming conversation. He was tense, overworked, and he’d had a troubling episode in the middle of the night, a stress-induced dream concerning his parents and Sirius on the other side of the veil in the Death Room. "I don’t know how to keep up with everything, love. I’m thinking I should ask Dumbledore to appoint a new Head Boy."
"He won’t." She looked up at him as they walked along the path toward the castle. "I asked Hermione what the regulations were, you have to be dead or disgraced."
"Neither of those appeals, somehow."
She didn’t laugh, as he expected. "The discipline you’ve learned for Occlumency and Legilimency can be applied to other things, Harry. You’re allowing the feelings of frustration and inundation in some areas to leak over into others. You have a ton of homework, so you’re kicking the Chasers."
"But she wasn’t--"
"She wasn’t understanding what you were talking about. Once she did, she performed admirably. You’re used to having skilled players who know about team, she’s never played on a team before, she doesn’t understand working together. She has to be taught." She shook her head. "And it isn’t about Gwyneth at all, it’s about shutting the door to that particular cupboard so that the Quidditch cupboard doesn’t get all cluttered up with the Potions homework."
He sighed. "I hate being wrong."
"Welcome to the human condition."
He took her hand and smiled, and led her down by the lake. It was cold and damp, the wind was sharp over the water, but they were alone. "I see you almost all the time, why do I feel like I miss you and never see you?"
"We are at the mercy of others." She slipped her arms around him under his cloak and buried her face in his sweaty jersey, inhaling deeply. "I love how you smell, even when you stink."
He burst out laughing. "You are so romantic," he chuckled, brushing back an escaped curl from her face and kissing her. "I love how you smell, too. How about Puddles and Fluffy go out on the town tonight?"
"Town? Hogsmeade?" Her eyes kindled with daring.
"No, if we transfigured there, we’d get caught. I just thought a walk, maybe."
She began picking her way along the shore of the lake, leading him by the hand. "Thinking you’ll get lucky?" she teased.
He pulled her around almost sharply. "Much as I’d like to make love to you, here and now or anywhere, I am not going to try to seduce you."
"Then why should I come?" she laughed, but he didn’t laugh. "I know, Harry, I was only joking. I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot."
"It’s all I think about, it’s hard to joke."
"Surely it’s not all you think about?"
"Okay, sometimes I think about food." This time he laughed with her.
---------------
"Potter, Weasley, Cameron, Ross," said McGonagall when the bell rang at the end of Transfiguration.
They stopped at the desk, along with Hermione and Parvati, whom McGonagall frowned at but did not address.
"The representatives from the Valhalla Broom Company will be arriving at five o’clock. They want to make the presentation to the team in front of the school, according to the letter, and to have team photographs taken somewhere picturesque. They would like you in full uniform with your hair combed. They have been screened by the Ministry, and there will be an Auror for every member of their group as escort. This is a rather historic occasion. Gryffindor has not had team brooms before, and only private donors have presented brooms to other teams. Please look your best. I have already informed the others."
"Yes ma’am," said Harry. "Perhaps they’d like to have the Quidditch Cup in the picture?"
"Good thought, Potter. They mentioned something about trophies, I had thought to have the pictures taken in the Trophy Room, that’s easily blocked off from the general population. The Quidditch Cup is definitely more to the point. Wear your old uniforms to supper, please, I don’t want the new ones seen by the whole school. Harry, meet me in the entry hall at five sharp, wear your uniform, be ready to meet and greet. Off you go."
They went out into the hall and looked at each other.
"Five, that only leaves us --" Graínne checked her wrist watch, "Twenty minutes. Since there’s about ten miles of corridor to travel, we’d better get moving."
"Think they’ll let us watch the photos?" Parvati asked as they started hurrying toward the stairs.
"Maybe," said Lyn. "They’re not going to like the old uniforms for pictures, though. Maybe we should bring the new ones to the Trophy Room afterwards."
Hermione, Parvati, and Lavender packed the new robes up and went along to carry them safely, calling themselves the Wardrobe Department.
"That’s not so far off," said Harry glumly. "This is going to be quite a production. I hate all this publicity crap, and if it weren’t for getting the best brooms on the planet for next to nothing, I would stand them all up."
"Want me to go down with you, mate?" asked Ron, "sort of a lieutenant?"
"Yeah," said Harry suddenly. "You should be Quidditch Captain anyway, you or Graínne, both of you come with me."
So the three of them came down the great marble stairs at precisely five o’clock, just as the big oak doors swung open and Professor McGonagall came in with eight others, seven boxes and numerous cases and satchels among them. Harry got a nod from Kingsley Shacklebolt, whom he had officially met at the Ministry of Magic. He winked at Tonks and got a grin in return. Graínne waved at all Aurors, who had been at Dorling with her. One of the strangers conjured a table with a white cloth that hung to the floor, and the boxes were stacked neatly, after being shuffled into some sort of order. In the meantime, McGonagall brought one man, the best-dressed and the oldest of the lot, over to the foot of the stairs.
"Mr. Middleton, this is Harry Potter, our team captain, and two of our star players, Ronald Weasley and Graínne Cameron."
Mr. Middleton was of medium height, but he had presence. His shoulders were broad, his features tanned and leonine, his sandy hair exquisitely styled. He had twinkly blue eyes and a hearty handshake. He was wearing a grey business suit and an American style robe, and on his feet were shiny grey cowboy boots. Harry thought he was about forty-five, maybe near fifty, but not over.
"Pleased to meet you, Harry, Ron, Graínne. Were you on the committee that worked with our people to get the brooms?"
"Yes sir," she said calmly, firmly. "Committee is a stretch, though, Miss Weasley was in charge of raising the funds, I just made the suggestion and helped her find out whom to contact."
"And she is another team member? I look forward to meeting her. Professor, we would like to make the presentation before the entire school. And we’d love to be introduced to the other Heads of House. Would it be possible to address the student body and the faculty at supper?"
"That is the only place you’ll likely find them all together," said Professor McGonagall dryly.
"Great, just great. Where would that be?"
"In the Great Hall, just through those doors. But they won’t be assembled until five thirty. Would you like to take some photographs?"
"Oh, there won’t be enough time before then to get all the shots we want. Ben, Tansy, get the table and the brooms moved in there, front and center. Maybe we could get some quotes from Harry and his lieutenants here about Thor brooms?"
"I’m the only one who has ever actually ridden one," said Graínne, because Ron and Harry both turned to her. She glanced apprehensively at one of the others, a young woman who was taking notes.
"Quotes?" echoed McGonagall, intervening. "The agreement, Mr. Middleton, was for publicity photos. No one said anything about interviews."
"Well, no, but is it really a problem?" he asked reasonably, modulating his voice confidentially.
"It has been in the past," said Harry bluntly.
"And there are laws, in the States, about misquoting someone," added Graínne coldly. The woman’s pen stopped scratching. "Especially in the MRA. The contract, which I understand you signed as the representative of Valhalla Broom Company, was for six Quidditch brooms of the latest model and one racing broom of the latest model at a reduced rate per broom plus specified photos of the team and individuals. There was never a request for interviews."
"I see," said Middleton, his tone growing chill. "I had so hoped you would be reasonable," he added as he turned to Graínne, presenting her with a slip of paper.
"What’s this? she asked.
"A bill."
"We already paid! I have the receipt." She stared up into his eyes, suddenly fierce. As Harry looked at her, she seemed to grow, shimmer with power, as she shifted her feet slightly, as if for attack.
"Do you really believe we’d sell you those brooms at that price without additional compensation of some sort?" he snapped. "With the name Harry Potter alone I could sell a thousand brooms, and with his voice, five thousand! That would make up for the loss on these, and for having to come out to this backwater--"
"According to the terms of the contract," said a composed voice from the door, "the only compensations were the reduced price, which has already been paid, and photographs of team members receiving their brooms, along with no more than four photos of each team member riding his or her broom, and an agreed-upon team photo, which of course you are free to use in your advertising."
Harry turned to see Charlie Cameron coming in, his dark suit a bit better than Middleton’s, his blond hair cut even more immaculately, his traveling cloak impeccable. Graínne grinned, relieved.
"So in answer to your question, sir, you’d better. I have a notarized copy of the contract here, if you would like to review the terms," he added lightly, patting his brief case as he came in. "I’m sorry we’re late, there was a hurricane in the mid-Atlantic that made travel difficult. I’m Charles Stuart Cameron of Fitch, Brewer and Nelson, legal representative for the Gryffindor team. As I mentioned, I have a notarized copy of the contract, dated August 5 of this year. Was there a later one made without our notice?"
"No," said Middleton through clenched teeth. "We assumed it was not a legal matter."
"Ah, but when one is dealing with a person as famous as Harry Potter, and a legal contract of any kind is made, one cannot assume otherwise. Surely a businessman of your experience would understand such a situation. I’m afraid, unless Mr. Potter agrees to give you a quote, for which he would need to be compensated, you’ll have to settle for the pictures."
From behind Charlie there appeared a woman in her late twenties, wearing a tailored business suit of electric blue broadcloth and a black silk robe hanging from her shoulders, a fur traveling cloak over one arm. She had dark hair drawn back severely, an oval face that was currently very hard and furious-looking, and in her free hand she held a wand so tightly that her knuckles were white. Middleton’s eyes went to her and he blanched.
"Ms. Savich!" he cried, recovering enough to greet her. "What a -- surprise!"
"Indeed," said the woman, gazing at him. "Life is full of surprises. I had a chance to get away for a few days, and decided to accompany Mr. Cameron over and visit some old friends. I’m so glad I came, but it looks like it’s going to be billable hours." She handed her cloak to Ron.
"Oh, I’m sure none of this will require your attention," he hastened to assure her. "It’s a simple matter of delivery, taking a few photos, that kind of stuff."
"Indeed," she said again, plucking the invoice out of Graínne’s hand and reading it. "This is a bill for an additional two hundred Galleons per broom, marked as charges outstanding." She looked up at Middleton with raised eyebrows. Harry thought of a younger McGonagall.
"That must be a mistake."
"Indeed."
Harry found himself thinking about Snape, suddenly.
"You will apologize to our clients for the mistake of threatening them and attempting to extort additional gold from them." She took a step closer to him, her wand still clenched in her hand. "Now."
He looked like he had swallowed something extremely nasty. "I’m sor-sorry," he choked, and apparently could not go on.
The hallway was beginning to fill with students on their way to the Great Hall for supper, and most of them were staring in unbridled curiosity at the Gryffindor team and a group of strangers. Ms. Savich looked at Professor McGonagall and held out her hand. "I am Sarit Savich, Vice President of Valhalla Broom Company. You must be Professor McGonagall. I’m so sorry for the confusion."
"Not at all," said McGonagall graciously.
"Looks like we’re staying over; it’s already getting dark, there’s no way we can get the riding shots tonight," said another member of the crew, who received for his trouble a glare from Middleton. The crew had been looking around with interest, and none of them looked sorry to be delayed here.
"Tomorrow works for us," said Ron affably.
Graínne coughed and turned away.
"Of course, you can get the presentation photographs this evening, during the meal, and any team photos you would like in the Trophy Room afterwards, and return tomorrow afternoon to take the rest of the photos." McGonagall smiled sweetly. "You’ll dine with us, I hope?" McGonagall transferred all of her attention onto Sarit Savich, and Middleton looked rather panicky. He scowled at Charlie, but got himself under control as he turned to McGonagall again, still trying to maintain control of the situation.
"Thank you, you’re too kind. Is there a hotel where we might get rooms?"
"I recommend the Three Broomsticks, as the Hog’s Head doesn’t have a launderer in house, and their sheets can be dodgy, or so I’ve heard." She turned again to Ms. Savich. "Won’t you come right in? You can get your equipment organized and your people deployed."
Middleton turned with them and walked smack into Hagrid, and sat down abruptly on the floor.
"What’s all this?" Hagrid demanded, hauling Middleton up off the floor by one arm. "All right there? Didn’t hurt yourself, did ye?"
"I’m all right," said Middleton, his well-modulated voice pitched a bit higher than it had been. He looked flustered and a little rumpled, having dangled by his arm in Hagrid’s grip.
"New brooms, Hagrid," said Ron cheerfully. Harry couldn't trust himself to speak without laughing.
"Is that right? And they’re makin’ a presentation? Excellent. Sure you’re all right?" he asked Middleton kindly, who nodded in answer.
"This way, Mr. Middleton," said McGonagall, and guided the visitors into the Great Hall.
"Nice place," said one of the strangers, a young man about twenty-five. Dawlish lingered nearby, trying to be inconspicuous. "My school wasn’t anything like this."
"Which one?" Graínne asked, looking at him.
"Thunder Hall. Looks like a cracker box compared to this."
"I went to Thunder Hall," she said immediately. "Did you know Bart Cameron?"
"Oh yeah, West Tower Beater. He was excellent. You know him?"
"My brother." She waved at Harry and Ron, who nodded and went into the dining hall ahead of them, and she paused to speak to the American.
"What are you doing here?" he exclaimed, shaking her hand. "It’s an honor to meet a Cameron. I didn’t know there were any girls."
"Just me. I’m Graínne. Who are you?"
"Oh, sorry. Matt Mills."
"You were a Beater for South Tower, weren’t you?"
"Yeah, good memory. That was a long time ago."
"We breathe and eat Quidditch at our house, and have done since before I was born. What’s the scoop on this Mr. Middleton?" she asked, dropping her voice confidentially. "Would he really try to screw us for fourteen hundred Galleons?"
"He’d try to screw his mother for it if he thought she had it," he muttered. "Jerks like him are going to give Valhalla Broom a bad name in the international market, no matter how good the brooms are. Upper management doesn’t know the half of what he does. If you hadn’t stood up to him, he might have pocketed the difference, and the company wouldn’t have been any wiser."
"I guess it’s a good thing Ms. Savich showed up, then. Nice to meet you, Matt." She waved at him as she went over to the Gryffindor table.
"Did you find out anything?" Ron asked, as she slid in between him and Harry.
"He was a Beater for another House at Thunder Hall, we had to talk Quidditch. Sarit Savich is an old family friend, that’s why I suggested we go to them in the first place. I had an in. Apparently she didn’t know how this jackass--pardon me--"
"Truth’s truth," said Ron philosophically.
"--treats the clients. But she getting it now, I guess." She looked up toward the head table, where a second table had been added to the end and additional chairs were being brought. The vice president had her eye on Mr. Middleton, and neither of them looked happy. "I wonder why she hasn’t sent him home."
"He’d skip, wouldn’t he," said Harry. "The moment he’s out of her sight, he’d run. And who knows what he would steal or hide before she could get back."
"Why, Harry, dear, you’ve been around me too long, you’re starting to think deviously," Graínne said in fond surprise.
The presentation went off in the middle of the meal, and was properly and painfully intrusive. Each member of the team was handed a spanking new Thor 2030, the latest Quidditch model, except Harry, who received a Thor 3000, the new racing model. The handles were finished in a transparent scarlet over the highly grained wood, and the twigs of the brushes were the best birch. They were awesome brooms, and if the applause at the end of the presentation was weak, it was because all the other Houses were envious.
"Would you like to speak a few words, Harry?" invited Mr. Middleton, even though Ms. Savich had made the presentations. She was not elaborate at all, only straightforward and formal. Harry had been relieved that she handled it, and she had limited her remarks to Gryffindor’s Quidditch record and the qualities of the new brooms. Middleton would have been much more painful.
"No," answered Harry, horrified.
He tried the rest of the team, but they all refused. He was in an ill humor as they moved up to the Trophy Room for the team photos, but his entire crew was now ignoring him, taking all their orders and directions from the vice president. Hermione, Lavender, and Parvati helped the team suit up, steaming out creases and applying combs wherever possible. The photographer, a lanky man named Tim Stamp, took over, positioned them in various ways, with McGonagall and without, succeeding in drawing laughter from them at the right moment, while Middleton sulked and Sarit Savich chatted with Charlie and the Wardrobe Department.
Stamp even posed them astride, hovering, out on the marble stairs. As it was well after supper, there were no witnesses to the new uniforms.
"I don’t like pictures of me on a broom," Graínne said clearly as he towed Lynford and Ron into place. "Makes my butt look big."
"Let me see!" Harry craned his neck to see while everyone else laughed.
"I promise no one will notice your butt," said Tim Stamp with a grin.
"What’s the point, then?" Harry demanded, getting another laugh.
"And I better not read about it, either," she called to the woman below, who grinned.
"Not from me," she answered.
"Okay, we’ll come back tomorrow," said Tim Stamp, finishing up his last shot. "What time?"
"Er," said Harry.
"I have checked the schedule for the pitch, and it is free from three to four," said McGonagall. "I will reserve it for that hour in our name."
"I have Potions then," said Bran.
"And I have Magical Creatures," Ginny piped up.
"We have Charms," said Hermione.
"You also have excuses, if you’re on the team. Sorry, ladies, you’ll have to remain in class. All right, off to the common room, I know you all have homework."
Harry went to Ms. Savich and offered his hand while Graínne gave Charlie a hug. "Thank you," he said simply, shaking the hand that she automatically put out. "Your generosity will serve the team for years to come."
"It was a pleasure, Mr. Potter. Of course for Graínne I’d buy the brooms myself and bring them over, but I’m glad the company decided to become partners in education. And I’m sorry about Middleton. This was a deal I did not want to sour on so many different levels."
"Think nothing of it. The world is full of people like him. I’m just glad you came."
Graínne came over and got a hug. "How are ya, Cousin Sarit?"
"Good, Squirt. Nice place ya got here. Any messages to your folks? Going down tomorrow."
"I’ll have a letter ready, if you don’t mind carrying one, thanks. And thanks for showing up here. Was it you brought Charlie?"
"We’ve been having complaints from former clients, and I happened to hit on Middleton first, for a spot-check. I’ll keep checking around, but I’m betting we can trace all the complaints to him. I asked Charlie to come, since he had handled the contract in the States for you-all, and I’m glad I did."
"Well done and over," said Graínne softly, joining Harry at the foot of the stairs.
He automatically dropped an arm over her shoulder, and smiled at her. "I’m quite relieved. Have I told you today that I am madly in love with you and I want to marry you and have more kids than we can count and --"
She laughed. "Me too," she answered.
"Oh for goodness’ sake!" cried Zanni Price as the front door of the shop blew open with a bang. She thought it was the storm that blew it open. "Oh!" she added, when a figure in a streaming cloak stepped through and leaned on the door to close it. "Are you all right? What a day to be out! I was just going to close up, I’m glad for your sake that I didn’t."
"Me too," said Remus Lupin with a grin, pushing back his hood. "I thought I left plenty of time to get here, but it was harder going than I thought."
"Remus!" Her voice rang with gladness.
"Hello, Zanni." He took the hands she offered, forgetting himself as she smiled up at him.
He had given her name to Tonks and Moody, and they had turned up nothing bad and plenty of pleasant things on her. She had no family ties to Death Eaters or Dark wizards, and no other ties to them either, no romantic liaisons or known associations, none of her old friends from school; she was gifted in research, and had discovered two medicinal potions, had made several discoveries about dragon’s blood that often got her name mentioned with Dumbledore’s, and had made the bulk of her business the care of werewolves, both magical and Muggle. An only child, daughter of a Muggle-born father (Ravenclaw) and a fourth generation witch (Hufflepuff), she had stayed in the village where she was born, even though St. Mungo’s pleaded with her regularly to come and do research in their laboratories. She was the only certified Potioner for miles. But he’d already known that.
"I was getting worried about you!" She stretched up and gave him a kiss on his wet cheek, which seemed to surprise them both. "You should start taking your potion immediately," she went on as if nothing unusual had happened. She glanced at her wristwatch and moved to lock the door. "It’s after five, now, I can lock up in good conscience. I’m so glad you came, this stormy weather has been bad for business and worse for company. After my Wolfsbane deliveries were finished two days ago, I’ve not seen a soul except Dennis, to get his mother’s potion."
"Still taking it? What’s she got?"
"She’s a werewolf, too, but she’s very private, and doesn’t like deliveries, she’d rather pick up. Come in, take off your wet cloak and come sit by the fire! You’ll catch a cold in this weather, if you’re not careful." She turned off the shop lights and led the way back to the comfortable kitchen, where she settled him with a cup of tea and a pair of dry socks, his feet on the hearth, his boots and socks steaming in the heat. After his tea, she made him take a dose of his potion, all the while cooking a lovely meal and talking back and forth as if they were old friends.
"I’ve been saving this roast, hoping you’d come, and I knew if you didn’t come this evening, you weren’t going to, so I put it in earlier. I’m so glad you did come."
"I have been trying to get here all week, but there’ve been many distractions, complications, all sorts of things. I finally had to put my foot down, and people still had the nerve to tell me I have twenty- four hours before the full moon, why did I have to refuse the extra shift?"
"They simply don’t understand, do they," she sympathized, waving her wand at the sink, where potatoes skinned themselves and a knife cut them up to be boiled while she went on to wash lettuce and dry it by hand.
"I wish you’d let me help," he said, watching her.
"You can help wash up, but for now you get warm and dry. Except for those socks, I haven’t a thing in the house that would do for you to change into, so there you sit."
He smiled wryly, picturing himself in a long white flannel nightgown like Red Riding Hood’s wolf. "I feel lazy if I just sit here."
"Be lazy. You have a very difficult week ahead of you, and you’ve just walked a very hard walk. You did walk, didn’t you? No car?"
"No car. Never learned to drive."
"I did." She laughed at his expression. "I thought it would help me with the Muggles who had to have the potion, you see. Some of them are quite a distance from here. So I have a van. I’ll drive you back, later, so you don’t get soaked again."
"I can’t let you."
"Of course you can."
"No, I really can’t."
"Well, then I’ll drive near it, and you won’t have to walk as far. Oh, Remus, just let me do something for you, will it kill you?"
"You’re doing plenty for me," he pointed out reasonably. "You’ve lent me these wonderful socks, you’re feeding me supper, you’re making my potion, which I could not begin to manage, you’re treating me like a normal human being."
"That’s because you are. Or as normal as anyone else. And those other things are as much for me as they are for you. I won’t take no for an answer, so there." She turned her back on him to tend to the potatoes, now cooking in a pot on the stove.
"I really can’t have you drive me home, Zanni. I can’t begin to tell you how to get there."
"You don’t have to tell me how to get there, if it’s some big secret. I’ll just take you to the cross-roads nearest--" she tried again, turning back to him.
"No." He said it so calmly and sternly that she relented with a slump of her shoulders.
"Then I’ll worry."
"No need."
"I will anyway. I’m always worrying where there’s no need."
He laughed suddenly. "I bet you are," he agreed.
She blushed, but she smiled at his laugh. "Tell me what it’s like to teach at Hogwarts. My niece was only a first-year, but she thought you were an excellent teacher."
"You’ve discussed me with your niece?"
"Not recently, no. She always tells me who her favorite teachers are, though. She comes to stay the first week of August, so I’ve not seen her since I’ve seen you. What’s wrong?" She grew serious at the sight of his face, sensing trouble.
He sighed. "This isn’t a good idea. I shouldn’t have come here."
"What is it, Remus?" she insisted gently, crossing to where he sat. She laid her hand on his shoulder, pulling a chair from the table up beside the rocker. "Don’t say that. Of course you should be here. I’ve been looking forward to this for a whole month."
"Have you talked about it with anyone?"
"No, not a soul. I don’t have anyone I’d say things like that to."
"And your grocer, when you got your roast, you didn’t tell him you were having company?"
"No, I always buy a roast, once a month. I cook it up and then make stew and sandwiches the rest of the week. What’s wrong?" Her fingers squeezed unconsciously, her eyes insisted.
"It’s just that I need to remain somewhat anonymous to the neighbors."
“That’s no answer," she persisted. "Why do you need to? It isn’t the werewolf thing, no one would think twice about it around here. What else is it?"
"I can’t tell you, Zanni." He became aware that he had taken her hand again, or that she had taken his, and he could hardly bear to look into those blue eyes, but he certainly could not look away.
"Are you married?" she demanded suddenly.
"No, never. I would never doom someone to such a life."
She made an impatient noise. "Living with someone? What is it, Remus, why can’t you be seen here, why can’t people know I know you?"
"Think about it. Who were my friends at school?"
"James, Sirius, Peter."
He gazed at her while she thought. She was reasoning it out, he could see.
"Voldemort is after you?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes. If he could get me, he’d like to have me."
"You’re working against him. Oh, Remus." She seemed to deflate with relief, her forehead dropping to his shoulder. "Is that all. Goodness, I thought-- never mind what I thought, you aren’t that sort, just as I thought you weren’t. What can I do to help?" She lifted her face again and smiled at him. "I should think I could do something."
Remus could barely breathe, much less think. "Er, I-- I’ll try to find out."
"All right." She got up and went to the stove again, leaving him with his head spinning.
Remus drank the rest of his potion and sat shuddering at the taste, but his mind was working again. He had been asked to see if she was a potential Order member, but he was loath to think of her there, laying down her life. Now she was asking what she could do. He was going to have to have Moody come and meet her. Graínne would be a good one, too, she was a Legilimens, and she had good sense about people even when she wasn’t picking their mental pockets. Had Graínne met her?
"Zanni, back in August, when all those Animagi were arrested, what was that about?"
"Gems. Billy Mahoney owns a digging operation for stones, principally rubies and sapphires. This family came in from the continent, I think Eddie said they were from the Netherlands. First just a few men, brothers or cousins or something, came and rented a house, and then within a month there were about fifteen, all related one way or another, three brothers in their fifties and a bunch of others. They lived here, oh two years, before things started going missing at an alarming rate. Eddie’s wife Kezia is a witch, and she suggested that it could be Animagi, so she sent an owl off to the Ministry, to see if any had gone bad or something. Everyone suspected the foreigners, just because they’re foreign, you know, but Eddie couldn’t get them at anything."
"Who is Eddie?"
"Eddie Smith. Constable. He’s a Muggle, but he’s in, he’s married in, so he understands. And he was all for calling in Magical Law Enforcement, because he wasn’t making any progress. Well, I’d never heard of one, but the Ministry sent in a Discerner, and she spotted fourteen Animagi, all in this one family."
"Discerner. They can see Animagi in either form?"
"Apparently. Have you ever heard of such a thing? I see you have."
"James and Sirius and Peter were all Animagi, and they were all unregistered. We had never heard of them, either, but they were in no danger, because they’re very rare, Discerners."
"This one was barely more than a child. Sweet girl. American, by her accent. We talked a long while, through the night. Uncommon name, it was Scottish, I think. Yes, Graínne Cameron."
"Really? Why were you there?"
"Veritaserum. The Law Enforcement wizards don’t carry it, it’s Class A in restriction, and there were only five Aurors and this girl. And she couldn’t do any regular magic because she’s still underage, but she did disarm several and they allowed her to Apparate, go figure. But between the lot of them, seventeen officers and Aurors, and a Discerner, they only had two small vials of serum, only enough to do about eight. So they needed some from me. They were fortunate I had some, I don’t usually make extra, and I had shipped a fresh batch to Lancaster the week before, that’s the seat of Law Enforcement for the county, of course, and they keep three Aurors there. I’m not allowed to sell it to anyone but Aurors or Healers or Dumbledore, I can’t even sell it to Fudge, but I had an extra bottle, so I just kept it. The one called Garreton took it, paid the London rate, too, which is higher than it costs out here." She came over and bent to feel his pant leg, and dumped another log on the fire. "I may get to finish my research on dragon’s blood and blood pressure after all."
"I thought St. Mungo’s would finance some of that sort of thing."
"Oh, they probably would, but who wants to live in London? St. Mungo’s is great, don’t get me wrong, but they want to control the research they fund, they only give you so much and no more, and you’re supposed to find out why seven percent of patients who are given potions with dragon’s blood in them end up with partial or total blindness due to high blood pressure, no matter what disease or injury they were originally treated for, all for the measly four thousand Galleons they give you to fund your study. Well, the dragon’s blood ends up half of that, even at wholesale researcher prices, and then you have to pay study subjects and lab technicians and genetic researchers and the rent and the grocer, and I can’t be bothered. I fund my own research, and if it takes ten years, it does."
He was gazing at her admiringly.
"It’s esoteric and academic, I know," she added with a wry smile, "but it’s the sort of thing my brain dwells on."
"Why weren’t you in Ravenclaw?"
She laughed. "Because the Sorting Hat put me in Hufflepuff, of course!"
Remus laughed, too. "I think it’s good that you don’t let them bully you just because they’re a big name with lots of gold."
"Oh, they don’t have nearly enough gold to cover decently all the research they’re doing. That’s what’s frustrating. Other things have priority, of course, there are side-effects to lots of different things that have a much higher percentage and are more debilitating as well, and blindness is bad enough, but the percentage is relatively small, you see, so my piece of St. Mungo’s research gold-pie would be small, too. I’m going to write Dumbledore, though, to see if he can shed some light on this. He understands dragon blood so well, maybe he’ll have time to give me some ideas."
"That’s a good plan."
She flashed a smile at him. "Here I am, talking shop, and you can’t possibly be interested."
"I am, though. If I’d had a Potions teacher like you, I might have done better."
"Flatterer. So tell me what you’re doing now."
"I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you."
"Ah, secret agent stuff," she laughed. "No, really."
"Right now I’m house-sitting. Not much money in it, but I eat regularly. I’m also taking care of the family pet."
"Light work for a man your age."
"It is what’s available."
"I know," she sighed. "The bloody Werewolf Code. It’s disregarded in Dorling, but you don’t live here, apparently."
"Apparently," he agreed.
"You were a Hogwarts professor, did you like that?"
"By far the best work I’ve had, ever. In a perfect world, I think I’d like that best. Auror would be pretty good, too."
"Oh, I’d like that, it’s the ultimate cool career, isn’t it? Much better than stuffy Ministry jobs. But I’d always be afraid I would make a mistake."
"You aren’t afraid of making a mistake with your Potions," he pointed out.
"They’re fussy, some of them, but if I do it wrong, I just pour it out, and no one gets hurt."
He nodded. "Working against Voldemort, people get hurt, Zanni."
She put the roast on the platter and turned to gaze at him. "Yes, but not everyone is on the front line, right?"
"You can’t count on not being on the front line, though. Last time, half the killings that happened were never reported, and those who were working against Voldemort weren’t doing the bulk of the killing. In fact, it rarely happened that they were able to get a Death Eater at all, brought to justice or just dead. It wasn’t until Harry Potter survived that there were any significant inroads made on the Death Eaters at all. People like Lily Potter thought they’d serve by making sandwiches and passing on information to those who could do the battling, and she died just like so many others."
"I can’t imagine Lily Evans just standing by with a plate of sandwiches when there was real work to do." She turned to mash the potatoes. "Lily was too strong to stand by."
He watched her shoulders as she mashed violently, and realized she was shaking too much to be just mashing potatoes. Hesitatingly he crossed to her, gently took the masher out of her hands. Her face was screwed up tight, desperately trying not to cry. "Zanni," he breathed, putting his arms around her. She buried her face against his neck, her arms sliding right around him. She fit there, and they both knew it, but she was busy crying at the moment, sixteen years of unshed tears for her friend.
"There was never anybody I could talk to about it," she said after a while, absently drying his neck with the sleeve of her robe. "I didn’t know they’d moved to Godric’s Hollow, no one did, and they’d been underground for months beforehand, so I had lost touch with her. No one else around here knew her, knew that I was friends with her, they were all busy setting off rockets, no one seemed to care the price that had been paid."
"I know," he answered.
She raised her wet eyes to look at him. "Of course you do," she said softly. "You, who lost all three of your friends in one day." She touched his face with the fingers of her right hand, just as if he was an ordinary person, her left arm still around his ribs, the tenderest expression on her face. She sighed and smiled a little. "Supper."
"Yes," he agreed, releasing her instantly, but her arms were reluctant. She turned to finish the mashing, and he leaned back against the counter beside her, watching. He couldn’t speak any more than he had, for no one had ever understood what that day had meant to him.
"There’s a bottle of wine in that lower cupboard, will you open it?" she asked quietly, nodding at the cupboard behind him.
"Of course. The merlot?"
"Yes, that’s it." She smiled as he tapped it with his wand and removed the cork perfectly. "Do you know, I can’t do that? I’m probably the only witch in the world who can’t. I always shred the cork, so I just use a Muggle corkscrew."
"Lots of witches can’t. Wizards, too, for that matter. I have several friends who only drink wine when they have me to supper, because they can’t do it. One of my few talents."
"You have lots of talents. The fact that you have friends testifies to that. Here, sit here, it’s all ready." She smiled at him as he pulled out the other chair and seated her first.
It was a pleasant supper, good food well prepared, and a tenderness and intimacy between them that would have been marred by anything more physical than a shared hug. They talked about many things, and the wine lightened the atmosphere so that they could laugh together. It was after nine when they finished the washing up, and Remus checked his boots on the hearth.
"Still damp," he said, looking around at her. "Not that it matters, they’ll just get wet again on the way. I should go, and let you--"
"Sit up half the night in miserable loneliness? Won’t you stay for a while, Remus? Play a game of chess, or just talk to me some more." Zanni drew near and laid a hand on his arm. "Maybe it will stop raining soon."
"It would be very irresponsible of me to stay."
"How so?"
"Because I want very much to take you in my arms and kiss you, and that is the very last thing I should allow to happen."
She began to smile, taking one hand and putting it on her waist. "Why do you say that?"
"Because I am a werewolf."
"Only one night a month. You are a man the rest of the time." She placed his other hand on her waist, and stepped closer.
"Zanni, it’s no life for you--"
"Remus, it’s all my life. My work is about werewolves, my research-- that seven percent I was talking about are werewolves, that’s why St. Mungo’s isn’t fully funding me on my own terms. So don’t tell me I don’t know how it is, how hard it is, that I’m just not getting it. There isn’t anyone else who gets it like I do." She had her arms around his shoulders now, and was looking him in the eye. "And it isn’t even about the werewolf thing, for me. It’s about you."
"The guilt would kill me."
She searched his eyes. At last she nodded, but she didn’t step away. She laid her head on his shoulder and rested in his arms, and Remus held her close, almost desperately, for such contact had always been denied him. He gloried in her softness, her pliant embrace, the very scent of her, even as he told himself over and over that he would not allow her to destroy her life this way. "Some time," she murmured, raising her head to lay her cheek against his, "you must believe me when I say there is no crime, and therefore no guilt."
He made himself let go of her. "I cannot believe that," he answered gently. "And I cannot bear the idea that someday you will look with fear at me, wondering if I’d had enough potion and if you can make it to the door in time."
"I will never be afraid of you, Remus."
"It is easy to say," he told her. “There’s also the fact that werewolves mate for life, and there just isn’t room to make a mistake, to have regrets. It’s not like we could leave one another if it didn’t work out.” He shook his head. "I must go. Thank you for a lovely evening." He went to the fire, yanked his boots on, and grabbed up his cloak, which was mostly dry. Now that he was moving again, he felt he had to move fast, or his resolve would fail.
"Please come, after the full moon," she said, catching his arm. "Please. I’ll worry that you got home safely, and whether you’re eating, Remus, please--"
"I will, I’ll come Sunday. I have no duties that day, I’ll come, I promise."
She nodded, suddenly unable to speak.
"Is there a back door?"
Another nod, and she swept aside a heavy curtain over an old-fashioned split door. She unlocked both halves and turned to him again. "Sunday."
"Yes, Sunday." He went out into the storm.
Chapter 36: A very short chapter on Harry and Grainne
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
Harry shivered violently as he tried to gather up his bath kit and robe. A sudden cloudburst had come up at the end of practice, and they were all drenched and freezing. It was Friday night, and he had a date with Graínne after supper. A hot shower restored him to normal, and he dressed in clean (and new, purchased by owl post from his birthday gold) clothes, a clean set of school robes, newly cleaned glasses, and his first pair of boots (black leather, not dragon skin; he didn’t want to spend that much in case he hated them). He had only ever worn Dudley’s old trainers before. Ron had taken similar pains with his appearance, as had Lynford and Bran (who was seeing a fourth-year named Amabel). As seventh-years, Harry, Ron, and Lyn cut a swath, whether they liked it or not, and they felt the need to pay more attention to their appearance. Bran, fully aware that he was included in their group only because he was a good Beater, dressed better than he would have normally in order to safeguard his inclusion. Besides, Amabel was into looks.
They gathered by the fire to wait for the girls to come down, still feeling the falling temperature. Lyn and Parvati were still together, although they had rowed several times already. Ron and Hermione had an easiness about their companionship these days, which made them a lot more comfortable to be around, and made Harry suspect that the degree of their intimacy had increased. Graínne, when questioned, voiced similar suspicions, but had nothing to go on; Hermione had not confided, if they had slept together.
"I’m not sure I’d tell her, either, if the situation was reversed," Graínne admitted.
As for Harry and Graínne, there was a faith and assurance between them. However, when he was out of her presence, he worried about sustaining her interest. It disappeared as soon as she came back, and she always did. The sun rose and set and Graínne’s eyes told him she loved him.
Her eyes went immediately to him as she strode out of the stairwell, leading a group of fifth and sixth years as well as all the sevenths, and her gaze was approving. He took in her plaid dress (Cameron, she’d informed him) which came mid-thigh and fitted like a glove, black turtleneck, black tights, black loafers, a school robe (unbuttoned), her neat plait, the ruby necklace he’d given her catching the light. All the seventh-years in the school had taken to dressing for supper and wearing open robes, as there was nothing in the regulations to prevent them, but no one had done it until Graínne Cameron had started it the year before. Smiling, she crossed to where he stood by the fire, twitching aside a fold of his robe to look at his clothes.
"New? Very sharp! Much better than usual. These actually fit you. I don’t really care how you’re dressed most of the time, for the record," she added, sneaking in a brief hug.
"I’m glad you like it," was all he said, blushing furiously.
"What are we up to, after supper?" she asked quietly.
"I was going to take you outside, but I’m not going back out in that rain. I thought of another place, but I’ll surprise you."
"Okay." She grinned up at him.
They went up to the Room of Requirement directly after supper, ducking under the Invisibility Cloak halfway there. Harry concentrated on the room as it had been during DA meetings, so when he opened the door, it was to a long, well lit room with shelves of books, a pile of cushions and a table of Dark Detectors. He was surprised, however, that there was now a sofa and a pair of wooden swords.
Graínne was properly impressed, and enjoyed looking everything over. Then she tossed him a sword. "Let’s spar," she suggested, picking up the other. "We haven’t done that in a few weeks."
"Been too busy," he agreed, taking off his robe.
She dropped hers on the sofa and stretched her arms and shoulders, and the bowed to him. She wasn’t in top form, but neither was he. She smacked him a few times and not very skillfully, either, before he got a good whack in on her thigh.
"Oy! Graín, I’m so sorry!" he gasped, immediately dropping his sword and going to her.
She was laughing, even though she was holding her leg, and at the same time she was trying to reprimand him. "Never let your guard down, Harry, if I was an enemy you’d be headless!"
"But you’re not an enemy, you’re the love of my life," he insisted, scooping her up and setting her on the couch.
"But this is practice, not--"
"It’s a date, love, and here I am smacking you with a stick--"
She laughed. "Not that I like that sort of thing," she giggled, and he chuckled suddenly.
"You never know till you try," he said dryly, sliding his hands over her thighs to her waist. "Are we done practicing, love?"
"Oh, I think so, at least with the sword."
Zanni Price had never been one to mope, but the storm that lasted over the next four days suited her mood perfectly. It was cold and wet and unrelenting. She tended her potions and waited on a few customers (Pepper-Upper was a popular potion at this time of year), and started early on an upcoming order of lesion medications that were rather meticulous, because she was desperate to concentrate on something other than whether Remus Lupin had made it home on Tuesday night, if he had had enough potion to render his transformation harmless, if he would remember to come back on Sunday, if he would want to.
When she had received the first letter in August, a masculine, youthful hand, she had thought nothing of it at all; she produced more Wolfsbane Potion than any other Potioner in the United Kingdom. Adding one more werewolf to her list was no problem. When the second letter had come, stating that a man named Remus Lupin would come to pick up the order every month, and she was not to allow him to pay a Knut for it, her heart started pounding the same way it had over twenty years before, whenever he walked past her in the hall. Girls sighed over James, who was clever and handsome, over Sirius, who was just as clever and handsomer still, but Zanni always preferred Remus, who was handsome, if a little peaky, and was quieter and humbler than the other two. The fact that he was a werewolf made sense of a few mysteries, and she was sorry for his suffering, but not dismayed or put off.
And when he walked in, gray and tattered and yet still as handsome and friendly as he had been then, Zanni felt like she was fifteen again. He had a way of hearing what one was saying, understanding the intent, of making you feel as if you were the only one in the world. The fierce attraction she had always had to him had not lessened over the years, and knowing him more intimately only increased it.
She understood that he did not want to become more than friends, that he was gallantly trying to protect her from danger or from being mated for life to the wrong partner, and yet she saw so clearly his need to be loved, and the great love he had to give. She felt it in his arms as he embraced her, saw it in his eyes, heard it in his voice.
Somehow, too, she knew it was for her, that it came not from a life starved of contact, but something that was born when he agreed to sit down to lunch with her in August. It was not that he was so hungry for a woman, but that knowing her had called forth a response from him that he had told himself all his life he must never give.
She understood it so keenly because it was thus with her. He was her other half, what would make her complete and content.
And so when Sunday dawned clear and bright, if chilly and windy, she stirred her lacewings into several cauldrons and made her notes and started her breakfast, hoping for a knock at either door. Having gone out the back, would he come that way the next time? This would be a social call, not business, but he had never come to the back door, and might not think to do so today. He might not come until tea, even, and what would she do all day?
The bells sounded for church, and she sat at the table with the Sunday Prophet and tea going cold, and tried to absorb herself in the crossword puzzle. She hated crossword puzzles, though, and every five-letter word space seemed to invite her to write REMUS in it. The wind gusted against the house, somewhere a shutter banged loose, and she glanced up after a few moments to see if it was her house or next door’s. The sound somehow wasn’t quite right.
He was watching her through the glass of the half door, smiling tenderly, her socks in his hands. She realized as she tore the door open that he had Apparated into the garden, that was the sound she’d heard. She flung herself into his arms before he could even come in, and burst into tears.
"Zanni, darling, what’s wrong?" he whispered, half carrying her into the kitchen and kicking the door shut behind. He held her tightly, for she required it, but he was inclined anyway. This was right, it wasn’t his imagination or desperate longing.
"I’m sorry," she sobbed, "I’m silly to cry, at my age, I just-- I’ve always -- I’ve never --"
"Hush," he murmured, smoothing her loose hair, rocking her a little. "There’s no need to cry, I’m here now and I have all day."
She forced herself to calm down. He had called her darling! Of course it might have been reflex, but he had smiled so sweetly through the glass.... "Are you well? Did you get enough of your potion? Are you hurt at all?"
"Not at all, I’m fine." His face told her he knew she wasn’t crying about that, but he did not insist on hearing. He was happy to be here with her, happy that she was glad to see him.
"Have you had breakfast?"
"Yes, thanks. There’s an elf where I’m staying, so I’m well looked-after there. Have you finished yours?" he asked solicitously, his arms still around her waist.
"Oh yes, I was just sitting there wondering how I was going to get through the day. I keep the shop closed on Sunday, and not one single potion I’m making right now has anything required of me all day. And I didn’t know if you’d--" She broke off, looking into his eyes.
"If I’d want to come back, or remember to."
She nodded. "I didn’t know. I was so ruddy clingy, I thought you might not want to."
He threw back his head and laughed. "Zanni, you are a gem of a woman!"
"Remus, dear, don’t flirt with me like that, if you’re going to fend me off." She frowned.
"All right, I won’t flirt with you if I intend to fend you off," he agreed with a grin. Still he held her, though loosely, so that she could leave his arms whenever she chose. "So you have no plans for the day? Can you stand for me to be around?"
"Oh, Remus!" She beamed.
"Frankly, Zanni, it was what you call being ‘ruddy clingy’ that made me think of you every sane moment I’ve had. I thought I’d better come over here early and thrash it out with you, or I’d never have the courage to come over at all."
"Thrash?"
"When I left," he began, and he actually blushed, "I was under the impression that if I had given in to my deepest desires for the moment, you would have been receptive?"
"What tipped you off, Remus, was it me making you put your arms around me?" she demanded wryly, humor shining in her eyes.
He grinned. "It must have been that," he agreed. "Then I thought perhaps we had better talk about some things, because I was also under the impression that you have differing opinions about what it’s like to live with a werewolf."
"I should know what it’s like, Remus, my parents boarded four of them for years."
He blinked. "But boarders are different from friends, or husbands, if it comes to that, so bear with me in this discussion. Regret can have no place between us, because there can never be divorce. I don’t ever want you to be sorry."
"Nor I you." But she was grinning.
"How could I be sorry? I’m definitely getting the better deal."
"You don’t know what you’ve got yet, sir. You may not be able to stand me when you get to know me, after all."
"I know you."
They smiled at each other. Suddenly she gave a great start. "Goodness! Come in, take your cloak off, let me get you a cup of tea!"
He let her fuss over him a little, understanding that she needed to do it, but eventually he caught her by the hand. "Is this the best place to sit and talk?"
"My sitting room is more comfortable, probably. Come on." She led the way upstairs.
Remus watched his teacup on the stairs, keeping his eyes conscientiously to himself. At the top, the hall opened up the width of the house, matching the kitchen below it for space, and there was a cozy sofa and several squashy armchairs and tables and lamps and a fireplace. They set their teacups down on the center table, and both sat down on the sofa, half turning to face each other.
"This is a nice space," he said, looking around. "Your tastes don’t run to portraits, I see," he added, looking at the painting opposite the head of the stairs, a landscape.
"No, they talk too much. Where shall we begin?"
He smiled. "I don’t know how I could have failed to notice you at school, you’re so lovely."
"We didn’t travel in the same groups, and there were lots of prettier girls than me."
"I can’t remember a one. I couldn’t have been honest with you, then. Only Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, James, Sirius, and Peter knew I was a werewolf."
"I confess that probably would have been off-putting, back then."
"But it isn’t now."
"No. As I said, over the last twenty-five years, since my parents started taking care of them, I’ve learned a lot, overcome the prejudice of ignorance. Back then I knew about them, was sympathetic, but I wouldn’t have wanted one for a boyfriend. Now I see werewolves as men and women with a debilitating poison, for which there is as yet no antidote."
"I appreciate your view, more than I can ever tell you, but you must consider the stigma of associating with one, as well--"
"I have been associating with werewolves for twenty-five years, Remus," she reminded him. "Here there is no stigma. Dorling is a place where the secret is protected. No one outside the circle would ever find out from us. It is accepted, there just isn’t any choice. The prejudice is non-existent here because no one can afford to be prejudiced against them. Only three families escaped the attacks, and mine was one of them, but my parents also gave their lives over to working with werewolves. Da was a Healer, and ran a clinic especially for werewolves. Mum was a gifted carpenter, actually, and built safe-rooms for the werewolves to stay in during the full moon. The point is, everyone’s family here is or was affected. There’s no Werewolf Code here because everyone would have to go on the dole."
"But aren’t they registered?"
"They were registered years ago, yes, but who looks at records like that? And what can they do? The Code allows employers to refuse employment to werewolves on the grounds that they are dangerous, but it doesn’t forbid them from employing werewolves of their own free will. And the Code is a law of the Ministry of Magic, and there are at least as many Muggles around, who have no such law in their books, so it doesn’t matter."
"What about the Secrecy laws?"
"There’s secrecy. No Muggle here knows anything about magic. They know that some of us use herbs and astronomy to make an elixir that renders the poisoning more bearable, and that’s all they know. Except for Eddie, and a few like him, who are married to magicals."
He sighed, gazing at her. "Why don’t they tell you about Dorling in the hospital?"
She shrugged. "Maybe they don’t know. In fact, I’m sure they don’t. Only someone who set out to study werewolves would become aware of Dorling."
"Which could happen."
"Yes, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it? Ultimately, my friends who are thus afflicted are more important than the opinions of strangers in London who have never met us."
He sat gazing at her, a strange sort of smile on his face. Then he sort of shook himself, and the smile disappeared. "Zanni, I’m not like James or Sirius, you know."
"Well, thank goodness for that."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, I know they were popular, but they were so terrible to people they didn’t like, and so arrogant about being popular and good looking and smart. The conceit more than overbalanced the looks. You were always different from them. You weren’t flamboyant, and you weren’t egotistical at all. I always preferred you because of it, and I always liked your looks better anyway."
He blinked.
"I still do. I still think you’re very handsome. When you walked into my shop that day, my stomach flipped right over like it did every time I passed you in the hall at school. That’s why I blurted out all that stuff about you and James and Sirius, I was just so surprised that you were just as attractive as you ever were."
He stared at her blankly. Then he shook himself a little and cleared his throat. "There are other things that you don’t know about me, important matters, Zanni. I hope you don’t mind, I’ve invited someone to come and meet you."
"Who?"
"A friend. I really can’t explain anything about it. He’s going to turn up around one this afternoon, that was the soonest he could get away."
"Oh Lord, you are gay after all," she gasped suddenly.
"No! No, I’m not, not at all." He shuddered. "No, this isn’t about that at all. You asked if you could do something, and this is to see if you can."
"You mean against Voldemort?"
"Yes."
"Oh. You really are a secret agent, then. I thought it was a joke."
He didn’t answer, but rather changed the subject delicately. "How much do you know about the time before Harry Potter?"
"Well, we didn’t have much going on here, of course, there were a few Dark wizard families, but there really wasn’t much of interest to attract attention, not until Godric’s Hollow became so famous. The werewolves were courted, I think, but nothing came of it--too many Muggles, for one thing, and for the other, they were outsiders who came. So we never saw much or heard much."
"There was an organized resistance, back then, but it was highly secretive. Even now I’m not permitted to speak of it. Difference was, back then the Death Eaters knew exactly who the resistance members were, and the resistance had only a vague idea who the Death Eaters were. I mean, it was easy to believe Sirius Black was one, because his brother Regulus had been one, and Sirius came from a family of the Darkest purebloods ever. There was a traitor, it was obvious, and when the Potters were killed and Sirius was framed for it, no one looked any further."
"And now?"
"Now is different. Thanks to Harry Potter, the resistance was called back to their posts within an hour of Voldemort’s return. By the way, why don’t you flinch like the rest of the world when you hear the name?"
"Oh, I’ve always believed in calling things by their right names. Comes of having a Healer for a father, I guess, we never used euphemisms for anything." She shrugged. "The name can’t hurt you, can it? And it’s not like he can hear it if you say it out loud."
"Such was my reasoning as well, but it isn’t the common practice. I just wondered."
"I’m sensing that you really can’t say too much right now about this resistance thing, so are there any other things about you that I should know?"
He nodded, and settled down to the task of telling her about his family, his associations, and letting her tell of hers as well. The morning passed away, and they were interrupted by a hard knock on the back door.
"I forgot! I need to tell you about Alastor Moody, the man I’ve asked to come and meet you. He’s a retired Auror, and he’s very scarred, has a wooden leg and a prosthetic eye, and his appearance is alarming at first, but he’s sharp, and he’s a good man." Remus said all these things as they hurried down the stairs to the back door.
Even having warned her, she was startled to look through the window of the half door and see that incredible electric blue eye whirling around. The scarred nose was off-putting as well. She glanced at Remus and pulled open the door. "Hello," she said politely, stepping back. "Won’t you come in?"
"Thanks. Afternoon, Lupin," he added, stumping in.
"Hello, Mad-Eye. We lost track of the time, I hope you weren’t waiting long."
"Came right to the back garden, figured the front would be empty on Sunday."
"Good. Alastor Moody, this is Zanni Price."
She offered her hand, and he shook it gently, each muttering "howdoyoudo?"
"We are just about to have lunch, Mr. Moody, won’t you join us?"
"Thanks, I’ve already eaten. Don’t mind me, though, I’ll just be social." He let Remus take his cloak and sat down on a chair. "Stopped in at the other place, Remus, but there wasn’t anyone around except the elf. It insisted on giving me lunch. It seemed lonely."
"There won’t be anyone there until Christmas, if then. The elf will have to buck up."
"Well, Miss Price, what’s he told you about so far?"
"Mostly about being a werewolf, but he’s mentioned a resistance to Voldemort."
Moody raised an eyebrow at Lupin. "Plowed right in, did you?"
"No, you said yourself there was nothing on her anywhere that indicated a need for extreme discretion. She doesn’t know anything that the general public doesn’t know. Wasn’t I asked to find out if she was a candidate?"
"A candidate for what?" Zanni asked, faintly alarmed.
"Membership," said Moody with a frown. "She’s associated with werewolves, Remus--"
"You are associated with werewolves, Moody! The only werewolves who are evil are those who choose to practice the Dark Arts, as you well know. Being a werewolf doesn’t make you a bad person," said Remus tiredly. "I thought we agreed on this. Are you still prejudiced?"
"No, of course not," said Moody quickly, and they argued for ten minutes about it.
After sitting down to soup and sandwiches, Moody asked Zanni some blunt questions, and gathered much more information from her answers than she thought she was giving, even though she had nothing to hide. The interview lasted most of the afternoon, and around teatime Moody got down to brass tacks.
"It’s a serious oath, young lady, not something you can walk away from if you get cold feet. ‘Course, we don’t deal with cold feet the way the enemy does."
"I don’t commonly get cold feet," she said calmly. "I lost a dear friend to him, and I will do all I can to ensure that no one else loses friends, loved ones, children. I don’t know what I can do, yet, but I have no family ties to consider anymore, since my da died two years back, and so I’m willing to try to do whatever is needed."
He gazed at her for a long moment. "Well, I reckon you ought to be met, then."
"What does that mean?"
"Means ye passed stage one, lass. Remus here will be our contact, when we’re ready to get to know you better. Any objections to Legilimency?"
"Er," she said, trying to remember what that was.
"The examination of memories and feelings from one’s mind," said Remus softly.
"Oh. Well, that could be rather embarrassing, I suppose, but I have nothing to hide. Is it painful?"
"Sometimes," muttered Remus, and then looked at her when she jerked her head in his direction. "Only when you resist it."
"Oh." She looked troubled.
"Don’t worry, lass," said Moody, and his tone was comforting. "If you’ve really nothing to hide, it won’t hurt you at all. Well, I’ll be seeing you," he said, getting to his feet and stumping out the back door.
Zanni watched him out into the garden, and closed the door and turned around to look at Remus. She looked dazed.
"So you’ve met our benchmark," he said, smiling. "Mad-Eye put more Death Eaters in Azkaban than all the other Aurors combined. His name is spoken with as much dislike and terror by them as Voldemort is by the rest of us. He likes you."
"How can you tell?"
He laughed. "He didn’t try to hex you."
"Oh, Remus, are they all like him?"
"Not at all. Mad-Eye is definitely one of a kind. No, for the most part, they’re all normal." He crossed to where she was standing and shyly took her hand. "Want me to take you to the pub for tea?"
"No. I mean, yes, let’s go to the pub, but later, not now. I’m not hungry yet, are you? You look tired, dear, stretch out on the couch up in the sitting room, and take a rest. Let me check my fires and make my notes, and I’ll come up after a while and change, and we can go." She ran her fingers through his longish hair and smiled up at him.
It was testimony to how tired he really was that he agreed to this. It seemed he had just lay his head on the cushion when she was murmuring his name quietly. It was fully dark, and the only light was from the kitchen below and the fireplace beside them. She was smiling tenderly at him, kneeling on the floor beside the couch, her left arm resting lightly on his chest, her right hand on his shoulder. It was so natural to slide his arms around her, and she moved closer as he did.
"How long have I slept?" he asked, still groggy.
"An hour and a half. I knew you needed it."
"You must be starving." He started to gather himself to sit up, but she pressed down.
"Not at all. There’s no hurry, dear. Unless you’re hungry."
"No, I don’t think so." He closed his eyes and then opened them again, a smile growing on his face. "It was very pleasant, waking up just now."
She drew even closer. "I’m glad."
"Zanni, darling, you’re irresistible, do you know?"
"You’re flirting, Remus dear."
"Yes, I know." He kissed her softly, tenderly.
Graínne was already drinking her third cup of coffee by the time the owls came in for post. The three miles she and Harry had run together before breakfast had not blown away the cobwebs, but the coffee was beginning to work.
"Fan mail," Harry snorted as ten owls all vied for his attention. He collected the stack, gave Hedwig a bit of kipper after taking her letter from Mrs. Weasley, and glanced at Graínne’s collection, three owls, and Aramis had four letters in tied up in a packet.
"What’s Gladys got to say today?" asked Ron, mildly interested. He caught the lavender envelope that Harry tossed to him, ripped it open, and scanned it. "Yep. Still insisting she’d not too old to have your children."
"She does not say that," contested Hermione, leaning to see.
"Jamie, Fergus, Dave, Mom, Charlie, hello, what’s this?" She opened a square manila envelope and pulled out two pieces of cardboard, between which was sandwiched four wizard photographs. Two were group shots that had been rejected, apparently, too many were goofing off. The other two were of Harry and Graínne together, as they had been leaving the hall, his arm draped around her, their faces close together. "Wow," she said softly.
"These are really good," said Harry taking one of them. "Is there a note?"
"Yes, and here are the negatives of us." She unfolded the note.
Miss Cameron,
I thought you might like these, especially since they were taken without permission. I have kept one print for my personal portfolio, but I surrender the negatives to you. Thank you,
Tim Stamp
"Wow," she said again. "He could have made a lot of money from the tabloids with these shots. I wonder if these are the only ones he took."
"The way you were breathing legal threats, I doubt he dares to sell them. Which one do you want?" Harry looked at the other in her hand.
"Doesn’t matter, they’re both good. Do you have a preference?"
"This one, I guess. You’re right, they’re both great."
She flashed a smile at him. "Wonder why he took them."
"If he has an eye for composition and beauty," said Ginny, looking over their shoulders, "he took them just because they made good images."
"I wonder if we can get prints from one of these," said Graínne, looking back at the group shots. "Of course, it’s probably his job on the line, if it ever comes up again, he could be fired for giving us copies of these."
"I reckon he knows the dangers."
It was Monday morning, the first of October, and the N.E.W.T. classes were already about to kill them all. Besides the mountains of ever-increasingly difficult homework, there was Quidditch practice, for the Slytherin team was a real threat to the Cup this year. They booked the pitch so often that the other Heads of House had come to McGonagall who had to pull rank on Snape, and guidelines were issued to Madam Hooch, who was put in charge of the scheduling. And for Harry and Hermione, there were extra duties to the student body and the faculty, although Harry maintained is was all show, and there was really nothing he could do to bring about any constructive change. Hermione said it wasn’t about making changes, it was about maintaining the traditions of the school, and they always ended the discussion by calling one another names like rebellious and stodgy.
Ginny had started dating the very popular Terry Boot, and the Ravenclaw girls promptly showed that they were all very catty. Graínne caused "little accidents" regularly in the halls that only Harry ever seemed to witness, resulting in those Ravenclaw girls’ recurrent appearance in ink spots or water-soaked robes to become increasingly amusing to the rest of the school.
"You’re going to get caught," Harry muttered to her this particular morning when two Ravenclaw girls burst into nasty laughter right behind Ginny, who blushed but did not look around. Both girls slipped in a previously undetected puddle of water and went purlers, their oatmeal landing in their hair and all over their robes, all before he finished speaking.
"Maybe. If they’d quit being so hateful to my friend, I wouldn’t have a reason to do it."
"Ginny doesn’t really need your defense."
"No, she’s too nice to do it herself. It’s not her battle, it’s mine."
He shook his head, but he was smiling. "I guess it’s why you’re a Gryffindor."
"Gotta love the fight," she agreed.
"It’s probably my job as Head Boy to tell you to cut it out."
"Probably," she answered with a grin. "Go on, do your duty."
"Cut it out, before one of them gets hurt."
She nodded.
"Does that mean you’ll stop?"
"I won’t hurt anyone. Oh all right, yes, I’ll stop hexing them."
"I don’t want you to get into trouble."
"I know."
"Are you angry with me?"
She looked surprised. "No, not at all."
It was a day; that was the best they could say about it afterwards. The rain had finally stopped on Saturday night, and Harry and Graínne had spent Sunday outside, even though it was chilly. Monday was filled with turning in homework, getting more, listening to lectures, making potions, arguing with Madam Hooch about the pitch schedule.
After supper, as they were working their way through Ferguson’s assignment, Graínne yawned and stretched. "I could do with those books from the Room of Requirement," she muttered to Harry.
He turned his gaze on her. "There were books there?"
Her laughter turned heads.
------------------------------
"She’s very clean, cleaner than most of us, in fact," said Kingsley Shacklebolt, looking around the circle of faces. "The only information on file with the Ministry is about charitable acts, her certification as a Potioner, birth certificate, N.E.W.T.s scores, things like that. Nothing shady at all, unless you count the fact that she serves the largest community of werewolves in the United Kingdom. And as Remus has reminded us, that’s nothing evil in itself. Mundungus assures us that she is not at all connected with his particular segment of society, either, no dealings with thieves or lawbreakers, and she has no associations with radical politics."
"What about sending a Legilimens to see her?" demanded Moody.
"We’ve only got Dumbledore and Snape, and either of them is likely to put her on her guard if she’s hiding something," pointed out Emmeline Vance. "She’ll know Snape from school, won’t she, if she was same year as Remus?" She didn’t need to say that Snape would put her on edge even if she had never met him before; it was understood.
"No, we’ve got Rory and Morag and Will and David--all the Camerons are Legilimenses," contradicted Sturgis Podmore. Because he had been under the Imperius, he was subjected to Legilimency often, so he had cause to know.
"There’s a thought," said Moody, brightening. "Send a Cameron up there, let them interview her, take a peek in her mind, she’ll never have met them before."
"No good sending Morag," Emmaline pointed out, "she and Graínne could be sisters, and Remus says Graínne made a good impression on her."
"David’s in the States this week. And Rory isn’t traveling for a few more days yet," said Kingsley, frowning. Rory had been injured in a fight with then-suspected Death Eater Callard Flint (which confirmed their suspicions), and was recovering at home. "That leaves Will."
"Well, let’s ask him," said Sturgis, nodding at Will, who was sitting at the table gazing in a dazed sort of way at Elphias Doge, who was giving a report. "Oy, Will!"
He seemed to be glad to get out of listening to Doge talk about staking out the Malfoy manor. He unfolded his long frame from his chair and ambled over. "Whassup?" he asked easily.
"How would you like a field trip?" asked Kingsley.
Chapter 39: Legilimency in Dorling and the Committee
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
For a small village, three large pubs seemed a lot. But then, Will reflected, he came from a country where everyone drove, and small communities were made up of people who traveled to bigger communities for their entertainment. Will had carefully chosen his appearance, for he would not be able to change between--one stranger in a town this size was remarkable, and three strangers all asking the same questions would be front-page news. He decided that he needed to appear about forty-five, engaged in fairly rough labor (sturdy, worn clothes none too clean), accustomed to hoisting a few every day but not too many. He didn’t want to be a drunk. He had perfected a very good working-class Midlands accent. And he would be looking for Strengthening Solution.
The problem was no one had any information on which pub the wizarding community favored, and their names and appearances did nothing to let him know. In fact, either the magicals stayed off the street entirely, or they blended so well with the Muggles that it was difficult to tell the difference.
First he tried the one with no name, just a big wooden sign shaped like a tankard. It was a family place, evidently, a cooler of bottled soft drinks and a rack of sweets near the door, and several school children were queued up to make their purchases on their way home, as the hour was about three thirty. A cheerful woman in her fifties with apple cheeks and faded blond hair in a bun waited on them, asking after their parents, each in turn. Will decided this was a Muggle bar, and he wasn’t going to find what he was after. He had a half-pint of the house brew, which was quite good, mentioned that he was looking to find an old friend of the family, Kenneth Price, and was told that the good doctor had passed on, but his daughter lived in Rose Lane.
"She the sort that tolerates folks comin’ to reminisce, or is her husband goin’ to run me off?"
The barkeeper, a man to match the woman, a little stout, a little faded, very cheerful, gave him a grin. "She’s a good sort, lad, and no husband. Can’t see why, she’s pretty and sweet. She don’t come to pub much, only to watch the football finals sometimes. Hard worker, does herbs and tonics for all sorts of folks. Don’t know how she makes a living at it, but she does. She’ll be glad to talk over her da with you, she never has a bad word for anyone."
"That right? A real Samaritan?"
"Well, yeah, I reckon you’d call it that, though she’s not more than a church member. Minds her own business but helps in times of trouble, that sort of thing."
"Thanks," he said, leaving English currency, rounded up nicely. He went out to look around.
There was a bed and breakfast, which was a little more meddlesome than he wanted (not to mention lacy), and besides it looked Muggle. At another place, an old, unreadable sign (after he gazed at it a second) told him that rooms could be had, disabilities not a problem. Remus had told him this meant you could get a room even if you were a werewolf, and they had safe cells for the full moon. Will wondered, though, if he went in, would they think he was a werewolf too? He looked a little further, but there seemed to be no other places to spend the night. He decided to try another pub, hoping for a wizarding establishment, where he could ask after a room.
The second pub in the main road was called the Hammer and Tongs. Over the door was a peeling sign, readable only to magicals, Serving Muggles and Wizards since 1951. He pushed open the door and went in.
The barkeeper looked about a hundred, reminding him vaguely of Tom at the Leaky Cauldron. He was polishing glasses, and looked up, almost surprised. Not many men dressed like him would be around at this time of day, he knew; they were all at work. "Good day to ye," said the barman, still polishing. "What’s yer preference?"
Will leaned closer. "Butterbeer?"
"Aye? Not by yer clothes."
"No, but I’m in a Muggle village, so I dress like the rest of the world."
He nodded. "Maybe ye’ll like to step into the Cat and Badger after supper, for atmosphere, ye know. That’s where most of us go, but some of us has to do with Muggles, so we come here for that. I serve both kinds. Where ye from?"
"Manchester. Got a sliver to nosh? I stopped in that other place to find my bearings, had to drink half a pint, and their stuff’s a bit strong on an empty gut."
"Got mutton stew and good new bread, that do?"
"Excellent." He looked around. "Never been to a place what did both sides, do you take both kinds of coin?"
"Got to, don’t I? Can’t force folks like us to convert their currency, the banks have a high rate of exchange, ye know. They don’t do nuthin’ but what it pays ‘em well."
"Do they fleece you regular?" Will asked with some humor.
"Regular. Not dishonest, but they know what they can get away with, what it would cost me to take my custom to London, and charge me to the inch of it." He put a bottle that looked for all the world like the local beer on the counter and a plate of stew and another of bread. "Five Sickles, lad."
Will delved into his left-hand pocket for wizard money. "Okay, Cat and Badger for comp’ny, where’s to stay? Don’t tell me that lacy Dove Cote Inn," he warned.
The barkeeper laughed. "Nah, lad, not for the likes o’ us. Ye can get a room here, I’ll not cheat ye, or over Brook Lane there’s a place. Don’t look like it’s called anything, but they have rooms. My niece runs that place, and she’s a good innkeeper, but it can get noisy there over the full moon, if ye know what I mean."
"Ye don’t say." He showed faint surprise, but not shock or revulsion. "I don’t reckon I’ll be here that long, just a bit of holiday between jobs. If ye have a room, I’ll stay here the night."
The bell on the door jangled, and in came a lad about seven. "Grandpa, Da asked if you’d send a bowl of stew to him, he’s too busy to come in."
"I was expectin’ that, Sammy. When he didn’t come in at noon, I knew it was a big day. Here, I got it ready for him." He handed over a basket. "Take care, don’t bang it or tip it."
"I won’t, Grandpa," he answered with utmost disdain, the door swinging.
"See you don’t." He watched him out the door, grinning. "My youngest grandson."
"A likely looking lad," Will agreed readily, but disinterestedly. "Got no kids, meself."
"Oh parenthood ain’t for everyone, I always say that. I run this place for my retirement, ye see, but back then I went door-to-door for a cauldron company. Well, there ain’t no pension for that, but my wife and me had eight kids and four of ‘em still live in this village, so we don’t hurt for lack of retirement. And this place does better ‘n I’d like it to, sometimes," he laughed. "But my wife, she was the parent. I brought home the gold, she brought up the children. If I’d had to stay closer to home more often, I likely woulda lost my mind."
Will chuckled. "I’m from a patch of nine, meself. Takes the patience of Job to manage it, as far as I can see. Mum was a saint, o’course, and Da was strong and fearless." He sighed. "Well. Say, got a Potioner round here? I’m after a draught, to get ready for my next job."
"Got the only good certified Potioner this side of York. Rose Lane, can’t miss it. All orderly garden, front and back, although not much growing right now. No numbers, round here. Sign on the gate says Z. Price, that’s our Zanni. She closes at five, if you want to step over today."
"Oy, I’d better get on, then."
"I’ll save ye a room, not that there’s a rush today, ye can sign for it when ye come back."
"Thanks." He left an extra Sickle on the counter by his plate. "Which way?"
"Rose Lane is straight across, there, see the post? Her place is up a few, on the right."
Will knew exactly where he was going, but he wanted the timing to be right. Remus would be there at four forty-five, and he wanted to walk in at five til. It was nearly time.
He could hear voices inside as he went to the door, and one of the voices was coming closer. To his dismay, the church bells began to ring the hour. His watch must be slow! Hastily he pushed open the door, and the woman who was coming to lock it leapt lightly back.
"Sorry! I didn’t know it was this late! Can you sell me Strengthening Solution?"
"Why yes, I carry that. Come in."
Remus was watching him, standing close to the inner door. "Good afternoon," he said politely.
"Wotcher, Remus," Will answered, in a perfect imitation of Tonks. The woman turned to stare at him in surprise, but Remus laughed.
"I didn’t know you could modulate your voice without changing the outside to go with it."
"It’s a gift," said Will modestly. "How do you do, Miss Price, I am here to interview you under Legilimency, if it’s convenient for you."
She shook the hand he offered, looking rather dazed. "What does he mean, changing the outside?"
"Just my method of disguise. Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?"
"Oh! Of course!" She moved back to lock the door.
"Shall I stay?" Remus asked low.
"Absolutely. It’s easier for both of us if she’s comfortable," was all he said. He didn’t add that Legilimency sometimes brought out a defensive reaction if one was under the Imperius, and it was often good to have witnesses, if not back-up.
"Would you really like a bottle of Strengthening Solution, Mr.----"
"You can call me Wally, and yes, I’ll have to have something to show the barkeeper to account for my absence."
She selected a bottle from the shelf and wrapped it. "Sixteen Sickles twelve Knuts, please."
"This is getting to be an expensive trip," Will grinned, counting out silver and bronze. "Lucky I’m on an expense account. Well, at least I’ll be strong."
"Would you like some tea, Wally?"
"No thanks, I had an early one. Who is the gentleman runs the Hammer and Tongs?"
"Oh, Dom Ledger. You’re staying there? He keeps clean rooms, they have decent food— Marian’s a really great cook."
"The stew was really great, that’s for sure. Now, Remus, you just go on and make tea, and I’ll sit here with Miss Price and have a look at her mind."
They sat down in the chairs by the kitchen fire, and Remus put the kettle on and cut the bread and sliced the ham and stirred up a lovely pudding that would be ready in an hour, all while Will had his peek. Zanni was compliant, relaxed, several times she blushed, once she winced, but on the whole she sat with a faint smile on her face.
Her mind was remarkably well-ordered, Will found, despite the fact that she had emotions for everything. That wasn’t abnormal; women tended to organize more by emotions than men. Her chief emotion that seemed to be connected to her work was satisfaction, and there was compassion for her clients, a sense of camaraderie with her neighbors, and a strangely passionate affection for Remus, considering how short a time they’d known each other. He saw no trace of a pattern of thinking about Dark magic. He encountered a profound woe stemming vaguely from Voldemort, of whom she had no accurate mental image, pain at the loss of young friends from the first war, faces that were familiar to him, and a determination to do what was right, to help where she could. Overall, there were no hidden things, no uneasiness over lies, and no unaccountable, disconnected compulsions.
At last he sat back and rubbed his temples. "Your candidness does you credit, Miss Price."
"Oh, call me Zanni, everyone does."
"Zanni. I’m not the one who makes the decisions, so I can’t say yea or nay to membership right here and now," he went on, smiling at her a little absently. "Have you known Remus long?"
"Oh, I knew who he was in school, of course, everyone did. He was in the really cool set. I wasn’t in the same crowd, but he says he remembers me from Potions. Our Houses had that class together through O.W.L.s, and then he dropped out."
"So you knew Severus Snape?"
"Er, yeah. Slytherin, hooknose, bad hair. My niece told me he’s teaching at Hogwarts. She’s gifted in Potions herself, or she’d drop it after next year, she doesn’t like him much. None of us did. He was so unfriendly, back in school, and apparently he’s not changed as a teacher."
"Your niece is at Hogwarts?"
"Yes, my brother’s girl. He has two boys, as well, younger than Jane. They live in Leeds. I believe Eustace will go next year, and then Freddie will be the year after that."
"So your niece is a third year? What house?" Remus asked casually.
"Ravenclaw." She looked around at him. "I’ll bet you’re starving."
"Not at all. Here, man, won’t you stay for a cuppa?"
"Nah, man, I’m sloshing whenever I blink. Had to drink two half-pints in order to get the lay of the land, on my way here. Nice of you to offer when you’re a guest in the house, too," he kidded, getting to his feet. "May I use your bathroom, Zanni?"
"Of course, right in here." She led the way to the first potion workroom on the left. When she came back into the kitchen, she raised her eyebrows at Remus. "Well?"
"Well what?" he laughed, "I didn’t see anything."
She came right over to him and put her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Hello, love, how are you today?"
"Getting better," he murmured, and forgot all about everything else for a few minutes, until they heard the water in the pipes. When Will came back into the kitchen, Zanni was peeking in the oven at his pudding, and Remus was pouring boiling water into a china teapot. "Sure you won’t stay, lad, have a bit of my pudding? It’s a specialty. Your mum’s, actually."
"I thought that smelled familiar. Been taking lessons from her?”
“No, I learned it from your sister.”
“Aye, she’s a good cook. No, I’ve got to watch my weight; my lady friend doesn’t like flab. Much as I love that particular delicacy, I’m sure I’ll have to eat like a dock-worker over at Mr. Ledger’s."
Remus was laughing. "Wait til I tell her you called her your lady friend."
"Please don’t, I’ll never hear the end of it. It goes with the accent, doesn’t it," he added, and suddenly became very American in voice. "If I talk like this, I can’t even say the words. She’d kill me if she knew I called her that. She’s still commitment-shy. Which is weird, because she’s older than me, and aren’t girls usually hounding us poor boys about commitment?"
Zanni burst out laughing. "I suppose that’s normal, yes. Poor boys, tied down to a life of square meals and clean socks and regular sex."
Remus turned bright red, and Will howled with laughter. "Aye me, what are we thinking, when it’s put so delicately!" he roared, reverting to his first accent. "Maybe if I put it to her that way she’d be willing to settle down. Maybe, that is, if I was the one doing the laundry and squaring the meals. Well, friends, unless you come down to the pub tonight, when next we meet you won’t know me until I give you the sign. Zanni, it was such a pleasure to meet you. Coming down to the pub later?"
"Maybe, I usually go to the Cat and Badger, though, not Hammer and Tongs."
"Cat and Badger, that’s where I’m going, upon the recommendation of the landlord. Maybe I’ll see you there. Remus, don’t stay out too late. A man your age," he teased, and grabbing his bottle of potion he ducked out the back door as Remus took a threatening step toward him.
"Rotten boy," Remus called after him, and closed the door loudly.
"Surely he’s older than we are," said Zanni, still laughing.
"Surely not. He’s twenty-one or two, I think. And she is older than he, I hadn’t remembered that. They’re a match, sure enough. I wonder what’s holding her up. She needs for her mum to stop doing her laundry."
"Do I know this person?"
"Nah, you’ve never met. Well, maybe, if she came for that Animagus round-up. I don’t remember if she did or not. She’s an Auror. But she’s good at disguises, so you might have met her and never recognize her again. You’ll like her, though, if you do get to meet her. Let’s eat, I’m getting rather hungry now."
It was a simple little tea, a simple washing up, and then they went to the sitting room. Everyone commonly went to the pub at nine or so, which gave them plenty of time, as Remus thought, to get into trouble. He had been trying to avoid the issue of sex, but it was getting more difficult. Last time he had been here, she had been quite amorous and somewhat disappointed that he had refused to bare any skin, his or hers.
"Zan, darling, I think we need to talk."
"Why does that always make a girl uneasy?" she asked lightly, sitting down so that she faced him, not touching. It was a delicate attention, he thought, to give him room to speak without distracting him with touch.
"Oh, because it indicates a serious subject upon which we may disagree. Makes a boy uneasy too, as it turns out. Ahem. I need to state for the record that I’m madly in love with you."
She smiled. "I’m madly in love with you too, Remus. For the record."
"Good. And also for the record, I’m desperately attracted to you as well."
"Likewise."
"So you’re probably wondering why I didn’t spend the night last time I was here."
"It had crossed my mind to wonder, yes. I wasn’t sure I had made it clear that you were welcome, but short of ordering you into the bedroom, I couldn’t think how to make it plainer."
He laughed, as she had meant for him to, and took her hands. "Darling, I want you to understand, it isn’t because I’m not sure, I have never been surer of anything. But I have made a commitment to the resistance, and I can’t jeopardize that for anything, not even you. If I make a mistake, there won’t be a world in which we could live safely."
Zanni considered, getting serious very quickly. "So they have to give you permission?"
"In a way, yes. Think about it, though, there are many lives at stake, and not just the resistance fighters. This is the very edge of the sword, for everyone in Britain, and ultimately Europe, maybe even the world. If Voldemort wins, we all die, whether we fought actively or not. I need their permission because they are objective, and I am not. I love you, I want you, and I cannot trust myself to make a good decision if it means giving you up."
"And what does this have to do with sex?"
"Maybe nothing. But how can it hurt us to wait a little while longer?"
"How can it hurt us to go ahead?"
"I don’t know about you, but it would kill me if I had to give you up, after making love."
She blinked. "Would you really give me up, if they told you to?"
"If it endangered the lives of my fellows, what choice would I have? Would you care for me if my choice meant the death of others? Could you live with that? I couldn’t! Zanni, as you so deftly pointed out, I lost three best friends in one day, and other dear friends as well, for Lily was my friend too, and Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Frank and Alice, McKinnons, Benjy Fenwick, Ed Bones, Caradoc Dearborn, Dorcas Meadowes. Those aren’t the whole list, not at all. My elder brother was killed by Death Eaters, my father had a heart attack and died upon hearing the news, and my mother committed suicide not long after that. Now Sirius is dead, and dozens more are putting their lives in the hands of the recruiters. If we make just one mistake, take in one traitor, then we all die, and not just we in the organization, Zanni, but we as a people. Death Eaters call us Mudbloods, and we’ll all be hunted down for sport. And Muggles, too. Death Eaters believe whole-heartedly that Muggles don’t deserve to breathe."
She was staring at him, and at last she dropped her gaze, slumped a little, gave in. "Remus, of course you’re right, I’m just selfish. Of course waiting won’t hurt. I just wish it weren’t so painful."
Unexpectedly, he chuckled. "It’s difficult, I know, darling, but it won’t be forever."
She wiped her eyes surreptitiously, at which Remus’s heart gave him quite a wrench. "All right. Let’s go to pub early, so I’m not tempted beyond my strength."
So they went down to the Cat and Badger on the main road, whose shabby front belied a thriving business. Despite the early hour, there seemed to be a crowd. Dom Ledger waved his glass at them, and Will disguised as Wally was beside him at the bar. At a table in the corner there were several hooded and cloaked persons. A group of women in their thirties sat at a front table complaining about how their children were always trying to sneak a wand and do magic, and several couples dotted the room. The barmaid waved a dishtowel at them as they came in.
"Oy, Zanni Price, who’s yer han’some friend?" she demanded, loudly enough to turn heads.
"Do shut up, Wilma," Zanni shot back good-naturedly. When they drew closer to the bar, she said, "Wilma Clabough, Regis Filbin." He had asked her not to use his real name.
"Glad to meet ye," said Wilma, eyeing him appreciatively. She lowered her voice and added, "Bar’s just hoppin’ wi’ outsiders tonight, Zan, besides your chappy here, we got the lad at the bar over yonder with Dom, and the four in the corner. Jess waited on ‘em, says they’re from the South, she thinks. Wonder if we’re gonna get another invitation?"
"Will you let me know right away if you do?" Zanni asked softly, trying to look casual. She succeeded so well that only Remus was aware of the shiver that went through her.
"Sure, ‘s bound to affect yer business, innit? What’ll ye have, Regis my boy?" This she added louder, and batted her eyes outrageously at him.
"What’s the house tap like?"
"Pisswater, this time, didn’t come off good at all. Lads still drink it cause we got a good reputation, but I ain’t drinkin’ this batch, it don’t taste as good as the last."
"A ringing endorsement," said Zanni dryly. "Make it two, and don’t skimp, he can have my lot that I haven’t been coming in to get lately." She glanced at Remus, but returned her eyes right back to the barmaid. "She always talks down the homebrew, it’s so good she has to save it for the locals."
"Ah. Well, then, I’m glad I didn’t come in by myself. Probably be stuck drinking a lousy pisswater national brand."
At that, Wilma laughed heartily. "Yer a good ‘un, Regis. Ye should move up here. Then I’d make enough for you too. Wherever yer from, can’t be as good as Dorling."
"I admit it has its attractions," said Remus, glancing at Zanni.
Wilma laughed. "I been after her for years, lad, but she’s not that sort. Maybe ye’ll have better luck ‘n me."
"Don’t let her kid you, she’s very happily married to Fred, the chap who gave her the beautiful Jess as a daughter, and she’s not that kind at all either. Wilma, that one came into my shop right at closing for a potion, but I’ve not seen the others. They didn’t say much?"
"Just ordered their drinks, that’s all. They talk real low, can’t hear much."
"See, love, never bring your private business in here, Wilma will have it all over town," Zanni said to Remus. "We don’t need a newspaper in Dorling, we have her. Cheers, Wil. Come on, let’s sit near the strangers and see if we can hear them," she added with a wicked grin at the barmaid.
"Easy, love," muttered Remus as they carried their glasses to a table by the back wall, not too close to the hooded group. "Don’t get in over your head. I’m not a complete stranger to the Death Eaters, you know."
"Should we leave?"
"That would attract much more attention."
Will in his current form came over to speak a word, leaving Dom at the bar. "Evenin’, Miss Price. I didn’t catch yer name, mate," he added to Remus, who stood up.
"Filbin." He offered his hand, they shook briefly.
"Like the American celebrity, hey? Glad to meet ye. Thanks again, Ms. Price, for staying open a moment." He lowered his voice. "You are to be out by eight thirty, contact will be made between here and her house." He smiled charmingly at Zanni, and Remus pretended to grow serious.
"Who’s the dodgy lot in the corner?" he asked softly.
"The committee, of course."
"What, they’re--" began Zanni.
Remus laid his hand on her shoulder casually. "Calmly, they’re not showing themselves because they’re not sure of everyone here. Any hitches, lad?"
"None, and don’t call me lad." He began circling Remus a little.
"Sorry, I can’t remember what we said your name was." Remus circled willingly.
"Wally, Like William Wallace."
"Oh, that makes perfect sense. Scottish war-lord barbarian rebel leader, suits you perfectly."
"Well, you know, great names for great men. You were named after a founding father."
"Yeah, but don’t they call it Rome? Remus was killed by his brother, Romulus. Flirt with her some more, won’t you? I’ve always wanted to have a bar room brawl."
Will grinned. "Now, that would be a tragedy, and get us both in trouble with the others for bringing too much attention to ourselves. Besides, I’d kick your narrow a-- ‘scuse me, Miss Price," he tipped her a wink, and turned back to Remus. "Didn’t my sister tell you I fight dirty?"
"That wasn’t me she told. And what makes you think I’m a gentleman? Well, I like your mother, so I’ll let you go this time. I’d hate to burden her with tragedy at this point." With a shrug of dismissal, Remus sat down again.
He gave a bark of laughter. "Funny, mate," he said loudly, retreating to the bar.
"What in the world was that all about?"
"Male posturing. We go through that almost every time we meet, in some form. It’s ritualistic. He’s very ritualized. He says it keeps him sharp on the job. He’s young, as I said."
"You always argue about women when you meet?"
"No, it varies from place to place. Just happened to be you, today. I might have actually hit him, this time. Never argued with him about a woman before, I rather liked it."
She gazed at him, her cheeks rosy, her eyes sparkling. "I think I did, too."
Remus took a deep breath to steady himself. "Our boy’s a bit of an adventure junkie. I’ve heard several in that family accused of it, and right at this moment, I can see the attraction. He’s very careful of others, however. As many risks as he takes, he never risks where others are concerned."
"So tell me about those over there in the corner."
"Can’t. Don’t know who they are."
"Who are they likely to be?"
"No telling. And guessing could reveal people who aren’t here. No one knows everyone in the organization except the head."
"And we have to stay until eight thirty? We can’t leave early? This is starting to make me rather nervous, suddenly."
"No, love. Just calm down and talk to me and smile at me, and try to pretend they aren’t there. This is homebrew?" He tasted it gingerly.
"Yes, Fred’s talented, and Wilma’s no slouch. They never tell which of them made the current batch, and I think Jess is trying her hand now, too."
"Fabulous," he pronounced, turning to give Wilma a thumbs up. She grinned back at him, and curtsied jauntily.
"It’s almost a meal in itself," Zanni said thoughtfully. "I don’t think I’ve ever made it all the way through a pint, so I always get a half. I think a pint would lay me out flat."
"If we didn’t have a meeting looming, I’d tell you to drink up." He grinned at her.
"Now, darling, you don’t need to get me drunk to have your way with me."
He laughed.
At eight fifteen, the group in the corner went out. Ten minutes later, Remus paid his tab and helped Zanni on with her cloak, flinging his own on as he went out the door. Will had disappeared earlier. Wilma and Jess put their heads together and wondered. Wilma’s older brother was the werewolf in the family, and Fred’s father as well; they were leading members of the community in general, and had expected the strangers to come forward with an invitation to join the Dark Lord. Wilma had been very young the first time, it had been only a few years after the werewolf attack, and the community was extremely protective against outsiders. The agents of the Dark Lord had been roundly repulsed, even though they had been very subtle at the beginning. When Clarence Stickney stood up and denounced them for what they were, they had tried to strike him down, but the wizards defended him, even though he was a Muggle, and the Death Eaters had fled for their lives.
But the evening was still pretty young. Dom was gathering the werewolves and those wizards involved with them to the Hammer and Tongs at ten, and she would be there. If these were Death Eaters, all the witches and wizards would be needed, to make sure no one ended up on the wrong end of an Unforgivable Curse.
Chapter 40: Dreams and a Gathering of Wolves
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
Harry sat up abruptly, stifling an exclamation. The dream was already half gone. Moonlight streamed in between the hangings and the bedpost, and stars sparkled in the clear black sky. He carefully searched the elusive shreds of the dream, wondering why it was so startling. A dog, a limp cat hanging from its jaws. He couldn’t remember more than that with any clarity.
There was a slight variance in the sounds of the room. Harry, who commonly left his drapes open near the posts, so he could see the rest of the room, saw movement. Ron’s curtains moved slightly at the end of the bed. A cat slipped out and hurried toward the door. It was too dark to see the markings, but no one in this dormitory had a cat as a pet, and Crookshanks didn’t come up here anymore. It hadn’t been big enough for Crookshanks anyway. Could it have been anyone else but Hermione? He doubted it somehow, only slightly more than he doubted her willingness to take such a risk.
Ron was snoring genuinely, which was a little confusing. Harry wondered if she had come in here without Ron’s knowledge. He’d gone to bed much earlier than Ron, and had fallen asleep before anyone else had come to bed. Graínne had been grumpy with PMS, and though she was sweet to him as they said goodnight, and apologetic for her mood, she too had gone to bed early.
He lay back in the feather pillows and watched the angle of the moonlight change, and suddenly he was blinking awake, it was dawn, and he was supposed to meet Graínne to run. Quickly he dressed in sweats and a heavy coat, mittens, and running shoes, and ran lightly down the spiral stairs to the common room.
She was just emerging from her stairwell, looking sleepy and unwilling. "Hi," she whispered, going over to him and hugging him. "Have you been waiting long?"
"Just got here. Why don’t we skip it today, love, you look all in."
"No, I’ll wake up. I just woke up in the middle of the night, had trouble getting back to sleep. I’ll be fine if I can catch a nap this weekend."
They stretched and set off, jogging through the corridors and out through the main doors. Then three times around the castle and once around the lake, and then back to the tower at a walk, to stretch again and shower. By then it would be time for breakfast.
"Had a weird thing happen last night," Harry told her as they were turning the corner of the North tower. "Had a dream about a dog carrying a limp cat, like he’d attacked it, you know? And when I woke up, I saw a cat leaving Ron’s bed."
Graínne stopped dead. "What?" she demanded.
"Run, you’ll be sorry if you don’t," he prompted, for she had heard him perfectly.
"You didn’t dream it?"
"No, I was definitely awake. And he was definitely asleep."
"How do you know?"
"I’ve lain awake enough nights listening to the four of them, I’d know their individual snores in a hurricane. Is it possible? That she was there, I mean."
"Sure it’s possible. We’ve even discussed the best way to do it, when to go in, when to get out. Your room doesn’t have alarms on it like ours. But I didn’t think she’d ever do it."
"Would you?"
"No."
He waited. She would explain, he knew, her answer was stark, and she would have a reason.
"We agreed to wait, I committed to waiting long before I met you, and the only way I’d go to your bed at night is if we married secretly, because I don’t think I could go there and just sleep. As for a secret marriage, frankly, that’s not going to happen. You don’t need to be carrying that secret around when you face Voldemort next time." She frowned to herself as they jogged on. "But it doesn’t mean they’re having sex, just because she was there."
"No, it doesn’t mean that. I didn’t hear-- wouldn’t I have heard?"
"You don’t have to moan and groan, it can be done quietly," she answered wryly. "How else could I have walked in on my parents, when I thought they were asleep?"
"Eww."
"You aren’t kidding. But it stands to reason that you would have heard something, anyway, if you can distinguish between their personal snores and if they’re faking sleep."
"I heard her leaving."
"Yeah, that’s what I mean. Cats are pretty quiet. So. Do we pretend we know nothing?"
"That would be by far the most comfortable thing to do." He glanced at her, smiling crookedly. "I doubt that’s what we’ll do, though."
She chuckled suddenly. "The question really is, will it harm them for us to mind our own business? And if it’s a done deed, it’s all moot anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"There’s no changing history. Short of breaking up, there’s no way to stop them from sleeping together again. You can’t undo the intimacy, you can’t get back the innocence, and you aren’t happy with the deprivation. Even deciding to abstain from here on won’t ensure that it won’t happen again."
"How do you know this stuff?"
"My mother was seriously into bonding with me. After four boys, she was desperate for a girl, and when she had four more boys and I started hitting puberty, she was frantic for someone who understood estrogen-driven behavior and intuitive thinking. We had to talk about all kinds of stuff. I hated it at the time, I couldn’t see the relevance. I didn’t think I’d ever look like a girl, much less have a boyfriend, and it all seemed to remind me of what I’d always secretly thought, that they had nine sons, not eight. And at the same time I sort of liked it, kind of like a secret between us that no one else in the family could enter into. But one thing it did accomplish was it made it easy to talk about, and it settled issues in my mind before I had to deal with them in my loins. It’s a lot easier to say no to a flare-up of passion in the night when you’ve realistically confronted the risks in the cold light of day. And we’ve both done that, to some degree, so it’s easier for us to say no."
"And what are we going to say to them?"
"Nothing, yet. Let’s wait and see. Nothing to them together, at least. If it comes up, we might inquire privately."
"What will you say to her?"
"That an unplanned pregnancy will ruin everything she’s worked for these last seven years."
Harry considered. It would ruin Ron, too, he thought. "And if they get caught, they’re out. As Head Girl, Hermione knows that. She’s risking expulsion."
"Oh, I forgot about that. That’s a good argument for myself in the middle of the night, too, we would get kicked out, and I’d have to face Morag, which is worse than any Howler."
"You have to argue with yourself in the middle of the night?"
She laughed. "Oh yeah." She picked up the pace to end the discussion.
------------------
"Your first task," said Dumbledore, when initiation had been completed, "is to help us win over the werewolves to our side. You have a rapport with this particular community that we cannot hope to duplicate. Remus, while he is one of them, is also an outsider. The Aurors who were here in August determined that there are no Dark Wizards in the area anymore, now that the Animagi have been deported, but we need to convince the werewolves that their lot will be considerably worse under Voldemort than it is now, if he doesn’t outright kill them all."
"Just wizards, or are you interested in Muggles, too?" asked Zanni calmly.
"That would be breach of secrecy," pointed out Amelia Bones. "I can’t countenance that."
"Then it will have to be just the wizards. Listen to my proposal, though, Amelia," said Will. "There is a meeting of the werewolf community going on at the Hammer and Tongs as we speak. It is a mixed community, so it’s a mixed meeting. My proposal is that we crash the meeting, invite them to join forces against Voldemort, and then modify memories on the Muggles."
She frowned at him. She liked Will enormously, but she often told him he was disrespectful, typically American in his abruptness and hurry, and that he was dangerous. "It’s a stretch of the law, Will. Isn’t there any other way?"
"Probably not," said Zanni. "They are there now, deciding to fend off outsiders, just as they did last time, and it won’t matter at the end of this hour whether you’re from Voldemort or heaven itself. You are outsiders, and therefore you are automatically not to be trusted. You have to intervene before they reach that consensus."
"Then we have to go, don’t we," Amelia sighed, and stood up. The others followed.
"Keep to the shadows until I get them to open the door," said Zanni softly, and casting back her hood she knocked firmly on the door.
Dom whisked back the curtain, ready to deny entrance, but when he saw Zanni he looked surprised. "Zanni, child, what are you doing here?" he asked, opening the door.
"There’s a meeting, isn’t there," she said breathlessly.
"Who told ye?"
"It only stands to reason. I saw the strangers in the pub, I know what you are probably thinking. And I have something to say."
"Well, come away in, then, it can’t hurt. No one’s making much headway in uniting us one way or another. The Statute of Secrecy’s a pain in the arse, Zanni, pardon me."
"It is. And I’m going to breach it big, Dom. Hello," she said to the group, sitting around tables drinking and munching crisps. "All right, everyone?"
There were murmurs and nods by way of greeting. Thirty-five people had come to the meeting, she saw at a glance, that was every werewolf in town but Remus, plus interested parties like Wilma. In the twenty-five years since the attack, six werewolves had died, and four new ones had moved to town. She turned and pointed her wand at the door, and in came Remus, followed by Will, and the four strangers, all casting back their hoods.
"What have ye done, Zanni Price?" demanded Dom, drawing his wand.
"I’ve taken sides against You-Know-Who, Dom," she answered. "Werewolves of Dorling, allow me to present some people who are likely to become very important to you in the near future. Remus Lupin, Madam Amelia Bones, Professor Albus Dumbledore, Wally --"(Will was still undercover, and Zanni did not know how to introduce him otherwise) "Sturgis, and Tonks."
"What’er ye doin’ bringin’ in strangers here, Zanni?" demanded Wilma, standing up in her outrage. "We trusted you!"
"I have not yet proven unworthy of that trust. In fact, this act is yet another proof that I am loyal first and foremost to this community. When have I ever done anything that was not for your good, with your best interest at heart? Have I not made potion faithfully for you all these years, when I could be a research Potioner in London? I stayed here because of you all, because I care more for you than money and companionship. If I wasn’t here, you’d all have to go to York to get your potion, and you know it.
"A war has begun, dear friends, not of your making or choosing, but you may not avoid it. You are going to be asked to join one side or the other, because of the blood condition you suffer. It is a life and death struggle, and as happened in this very room twenty years ago, you were asked to join it. At that time, we all feared outsiders for the damage they could do to our already wounded loved ones, and we banded together, magical and Muggle, and put them out. We have a history, therefore, of sticking together to protect our very lives." She glanced at Dumbledore, who gestured for her to continue. "Those who came last time were called Death Eaters, evil wizards and witches who serve a wizard so powerful and evil that regular folk can’t stand to hear his name spoken aloud. He is called the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who, all sorts of things, but his name is Voldemort. He was banished for a time, but he’s back now. He’s going to want you, for the death and mayhem you’re capable of dealing, one day a month. Frankly, the other twenty-eight days of the lunar month he’ll have no use for you, and will likely lock you up somewhere, if he doesn’t out-right kill you. You see, he has nothing but contempt for non-magicals, he hates those whose parentage is mixed, and he wants to wipe us all out. Us, I say, because there’s not one so-called pureblood in the whole village."
"And who are this lot?" asked a man at the bar, gesturing to her companions.
"We are members of the resistance against Voldemort. I am a werewolf, like you," said Remus calmly. "Zanni and I went to school together, although I didn’t know her then. I came here in August to buy Wolfsbane Potion from her without any idea that there was a large group of similarly afflicted people. But I’ve since heard that our enemy knows of you, and he will not leave you alone."
"And the rest?" the man persisted.
"I’m a jack of all trades," said Will carelessly. "I do the odd jobs for the resistance, as my abilities allow."
"I’m an Auror with the Ministry of Magic in London," volunteered Tonks, who was appearing this evening as a round-cheeked brunette who could be related to Hestia Jones.
"Hold, what’s an Auror?" demanded another man.
"A specialized law enforcer, a bit like 007," said Will, who had always been more immersed in Muggle culture than the average British wizard.
"Permission to use deadly force and all that?" asked the man, interested in spite of himself.
"Something like that," said Tonks, looking askance at Will.
"I’m an exterminator," said Sturgis. "Pest control."
"What, like termites?"
"Chizpurfles, bundimunds, horklumps, doxies, pixies, stuff like that."
"What the hell," said the man in surprise.
"They are magical creatures, for the most part invisible to the average human," he added kindly. "Mostly you blame the problems on mold or fungi or fleas or termites."
"And you expect us to believe that?" asked the man.
"Hank, you came here later. Most of us been in this village our whole lives, and we know there’s them that are different from us," said Clarence Stickney calmly. "Maybe it’s being a werewolf, but be honest, don’t you know deep down that there is magic? How else could a simple concoction of herbs and stuff keep us from changing? How else could we change in the first place? We may not be able to do it, but we still feel it."
"And you?" persisted the first man, eyeing Madam Bones.
"I am Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
Several people around the room shifted to see her better.
"And I am Albus Dumbledore," said Dumbledore simply, but when he spoke, people around the room seemed to relax. Of course, most of the wizarding community had been to Hogwarts and knew him by sight, but his voice seemed to soothe the Muggles. "I see many familiar faces."
"What is it you do, sir?" asked the persistent man.
“I am the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, member of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, et cetera. I have come here tonight to find out what you as a community need from those of us in government."
"Fair laws," said Wilma instantly. "Sir," she added, for Dumbledore had always awed her.
"Indeed, I am in agreement with you, Mrs. Clabough. Certain restrictive laws on the books need to be removed as soon as possible."
"I will do all that is in my power as a legislator to see to it," said Amelia firmly. "Until recently, I was unaware of the extent to which the Werewolf Code restricts honest people from basic human rights. My thanks to Mr. Lupin for helping me understand the need."
"What is it you want from us?" asked the skeptical Hank, and all eyes turned from their beer and their crisps to Dumbledore.
"I want you to understand the situation. Remember Godric’s Hollow?"
There were murmurs. Godric’s Hollow was less than two miles away, and not one person in the room was ignorant of the event there, except that the Muggles thought it was a terrorist bomb.
"It could happen in each house in this village. And in every village and town and city in this nation. Voldemort is responsible for hundreds of deaths. He seeks one in particular, the death of one specific person will set him free to kill everyone he feels unworthy. No one in this village will be safe. Even pure-bloods, those whose ancestry can be traced back hundreds of years through witches and wizards exclusively, those whom he prizes above all, have died at his hand, and you need to know that if the resistance fails, there will be no check against him, nothing to stop him at all."
"So we understand that," said Adrian Lightfoot, the youngest person there. "What else?" He looked at Dumbledore with a mixture of wariness and daring. He wanted to act, but he wanted to be asked for the help he could offer. Because he had been bitten as a child, Adrian’s parents had not sought to put him in school, but had taught him at home. He had a very sharp mind and a powerful wand, a practical nature, and a dream of doing something important.
"I have something else I want to say," said Clarence, getting to his feet.
"When them blighters came here last time, I could see the death in their eyes. They spoke of how bad we’re treated, how we’re repressed, but that didn’t ring true, here. Sure, there’s fear of werewolves, and I know there’s laws about employing them in that other community, but none of us ever suffered that repression here, and there wasn’t no need to feel angry about the treatment we had. It was easy to chuck ‘em out then, and that’s what we did. Now, I understand that it’s gotten worse for you lot in the other community over the last few years, with them new laws against ye, but I urge you to stand for what is right. Just because you’re being treated bad don’t make it right act bad."
"Easy for you to say," said Angus MacAffrey, "you haven’t got laws that keep you out of jobs that pay enough to keep your family fed. I haven’t seen my children in a month," he said, turning to Dumbledore and Madam Bones, "because I can’t hold a job long enough to make enough to feed and clothe them. They live with my sister and her husband, and I only get to see my wife every other week, because she’s off working on a cruise ship to Portugal and back, trying to make enough money for us to live in the house my family’s owned for a hundred years, which I can’t keep warm in the winter. And forget sending them to Hogwarts when the time comes!"
No one spoke or moved. Angus indeed had a worse lot than the rest of them, but the story was no different, they knew, for werewolves everywhere. Angus had been a Ministry Wizard despite his condition, until Delores Umbridge sponsored the Werewolf Code, whereupon he was sacked. Now he was the municipal gardener for the village, a position they had created to help him, but they could barely afford to fund. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful, but he was keenly aware that he had worked over fifteen years in a career, for which he had talent and gifts, and he had been tossed out like trash. The pathos of his tone made everyone else keenly aware, too.
Amelia looked stricken. "It will be different, sir, I swear it," she said quietly.
"It remains, Angus, no matter what happens in the law, that what Clarence says is true," said Devon Lamb, a striking brunette. She was the reclusive mother of Dennis. "Bad treatment does not justify bad behavior. We have proven, over the years, that there are more important things than fairness. It is not fair that we suffer this blight, and it is not fair that our burden is made heavier by laws and social stigmas. But we have trusted in justice instead of fairness, and made our village a place where we can have it. For us to abandon justice because we are treated unfairly is to abdicate all that we have worked toward all these years. It is a choice between good and evil, friends, simply that. Do we not bear enough evil in our very veins? Must we choose to abet it in other forms? How can we consider becoming that which we have despised, before the eyes of our sons and daughters?"
There was silence in the room. Angus looked a little chastened, but he nodded to her.
"Right," said Adrian, who was a man of action, after all. "We’ve always done stuff together for the sake of all, so I say we vote now."
"Vote on what?" demanded a Muggle, a man about thirty-five. "What is it you want us to do?"
"It is more to the point what they don’t want us to do," said Wilma, calm now. "They don’t want us to join up with You-Know-Who."
"For the non-magical community, that is exactly our request, that you resist the temptation to join up," said Remus. "Further, we ask that you report anyone who approaches you about joining a secret group or going off your medication, or offering you powers, that sort of thing."
"Right, I can do that. To whom do we report?" he asked.
"Any volunteers?" Dumbledore asked into the following silence.
"Me," said Adrian after a moment. "I’m always here, aren’t I. Just tell me what to do."
"We will meet with you immediately after we adjourn," Dumbledore answered, nodding his approval to Adrian, who grew an inch or two.
"Then let’s put it to a vote," said Dom. "All in favor of reporting any Dark activity to the resistance, say aye."
A hearty chorus of ayes sounded.
"All opposed?"
There was silence.
"There you have it, Professor, the werewolves of Dorling will not go over to the Dark Side," said Dom with a little bow to Dumbledore, who bowed in return.
"Everyone clear on what to do?" demanded Wilma, looking around. There were nods. "Great. Now, Madam Bones of Magical Law Enforcement, we got this dirty great rip in the Statute of Secrecy, what do we do about it?"
"Technically, the rip was unavoidable, but we will repair it to some extent. Will the non-magicals please step over here, in groups of four or less?" She waved the Muggles over to the short side of the L-shaped bar, where she, Tonks, Will, and Sturgis modified their memories and sent them home.
"I knew you lot was dodgy when you walked into my pub," said Wilma to Dumbledore, her eyes twinkling as she shook his hand. "Never thought I’d see you again, sir."
"One might always hope," he answered with his own twinkle. "My dear Wilma, it is good to see you again. How are Frederick and Jessica?"
"Dandy, sir. What I want to know now, though, is what else is there to do?"
"Vigilance, of course, is the top priority. Report any strangers with suspicious behavior to Zanni or this young man--"
"Adrian Lightfoot, sir."
"Ah. I have been wondering about you. As for rendering further assistance, Wilma, keep your head down until contacted. Above all, do not go looking for trouble."
"How do we know it’s you who’s contacting us?" She grinned, for finding trouble to get into had been her main problem at school.
"We’ll need a watchword, I suppose," said Dumbledore. "Any suggestions?"
Devon Lamb stepped forward. "Armada."
"Why that?" asked Adrian, not disrespectfully.
"England became a great naval power by defeating the Spanish Armada, and they used smaller, faster boats to do it."
Dumbledore smiled at her. "I think it will do admirably."
"I don’t want you to go, I want you to stay," she whispered.
"One more night, my love," he answered, gladly holding her. "Tomorrow we’ll be married in London, we’ll have a nice lunch, we’ll come back here. You need your sleep, it’s been a long day."
It took more than twenty minutes to say goodnight. Remus Apparated back to Godric’s Hollow, or rather the clump of bushes across the road from the front gate, and carefully looked around the road. He waited ten minutes until suddenly Moody was standing in the road.
"All clear," he said quietly. "Where you been? Dumbledore left half an hour ago."
"Making arrangements."
Together they went inside.
"What arrangements?"
"Zanni was initiated. We’re getting married tomorrow."
"Blimey! That was quick, lad!"
"It hasn’t felt quick," grumbled Remus, looking at the four owls on the kitchen table. "What’s all this?"
"Been gettin’ mail, you have. Dumbledore told me about the meeting in Dorling. Him it was brought the owls in. It was clear? No Dark wizards around?"
"None. Tonks and Will are very thorough." Remus collected notes from Harry, Molly Weasley, Mundungus Fletcher, and an official looking envelope addressed to him in dark blue ink. He put it aside, thinking it was probably from the Werewolf Registration Committee, they were always on about something, trying to check up on whether he’d been missing his potion.
"That’s true. Can I kip here tonight? I had a double shift, and I’m done in."
"Hm? Absolutely. Want something to eat before you go up? Just take the front right bedroom when you go. Closer to the loo. Harry says hi," he added, having scanned Harry’s note. He turned to Mundungus’ laboriously written note. "Dung is asking if there’s a need for camping tents, he’s come across a load of them. Stole a load, probably."
"Fencing it, more likely. Dung’s gettin’ a little long in the tooth to be doing heavy lifting." Mad-Eye sniffed at the half of a chocolate cake that Dobby had left out for them.
Remus turned at last to the envelope with dark blue ink and tore it open. Taking out two folded sheets, he scanned the cover letter carelessly, but then started over. Moody glanced at him, then looked more closely.
"Bad news? You’ve gone all white," he asked gently as Remus plopped into a chair and looked up blankly.
"No, just unexpected," said the younger man slowly. Then he went on very briskly, "Mad-Eye, I’ve got to go to London. I’ll be back as soon as I can."
"What’s all this? Remus, you know the rules, you tell people where you’re going."
"I’m going to London. I’ve come into an inheritance, and I need to make some arrangements. I hope I’ll be back in two hours."
"Man, it’s already past midnight!"
"Gringott’s is always open, isn’t it," he noted dryly. "And the Leaky Cauldron, too, for that matter. Will you come to my wedding tomorrow? It would be a great honor to me. And any other Order members you can scrape up. Not Snape, though, but then he wouldn’t be available. Note, note, note--" He scrabbled around in a drawer for parchment, quill and ink. "Dobby!"
"Yes, Mr. Lupin sir?" The house elf materialized almost instantly.
"I need to write a note, and I need my wallet from my trunk, and then if you could make me a sandwich I’d really appreciate it."
"Right away," said the elf happily, finding the ink for him.
Darling,
Would you like the wedding at your house? Or maybe the church? Something’s come up, and I’ll need an extra couple of hours in the morning. I’ve asked Alastor Moody to come, and any of the others he can bring on such short notice, I hope that’s all right. Unless you don’t want it at your home, let’s plan on assembling there at one o’clock. We’ll still lunch in London, I promise.
love,
R.
He looked around. Hedwig was still waiting, apparently sensing need. "Could you carry a few letters around for me, Hedwig?"
She ruffled her feathers importantly.
"Thank you." He went on to write a note to Harry, one to Molly and Arthur, and one to Dumbledore. "You are a treasure," he told her sincerely, as she hopped onto his wrist. He carried her to the window and gave her a heave into the cold air outside. "Right. Mad-Eye, still up? I thought you’d gone to bed."
"Are you mad? Remus, you hardly know this woman!" Mad-Eye had waited until he’d finished his correspondence before jumping on him.
"I know her very well. You know yourself what sort of person she is, you’ve talked to her, you’ve read all the available records, and you agreed she was a candidate for the Order."
"But that’s different than marriage! Mundungus is an Order member in mediocre standing, but I wouldn’t recommend him as a husband to anyone I liked!"
Remus laughed. "But his files don’t read like hers, admit it. She is intelligent and compassionate and gorgeous, and every moment I’m away from her is wasted. I’ve got to go to London now, but I’ll be back for you to argue with later." He grabbed the sandwich Dobby had brought and headed outside again.
Moody shook his head. "Mad, absolutely barking."
---------------
"I don’t believe it," said Harry softly.
"What?" Graínne leaned into his shoulder to read. She gasped.
"Today, in five hours. I just don’t believe it."
"Wha’s today?" demanded Ron, his mouth full of cereal.
"Remus is getting married," said Graínne quietly.
Hermione dropped her spoon. "What?"
"The Potioner in Dorling. I told you she was really nice. Today, at one."
"How could he do this to us?" she sighed. "Why didn’t they wait until we could come, too?"
"Potter, the headmaster wishes to see you at once in his office," said McGonagall quietly.
"Professor," began Harry, holding up the note, not to get out of going to Dumbledore but to inform her of this outrageous development.
"Now, Potter," she barked, and Harry hurried.
"Rats," said Graínne, watching him go. "What’s he done now? We’ve been with him everywhere, so he can’t have done anything too bad."
"And it isn’t Head stuff, because I’d be going too," said Hermione thoughtfully.
He caught up with them in the hall outside the first class. "Okay, this is the plan," he murmured to them where they huddled behind a statue. "After lunch, we’re to go to Dumbledore’s office no later than twelve thirty. We’ll take a Portkey to Godric’s Hollow, and we’ll go by car to Dorling, where we’ll attend the wedding. We are allowed to stay long enough for cake, but then we’ve got to get back. Any questions?"
"Here I am in common school robes," grumbled Graínne. "What about Ginny?"
"She’s coming too."
"Excellent," said Hermione, satisfied. "But isn’t this all rather sudden?"
"Apparently they’ve known each other since August, but she’s the same age as him, and they were at Hogwarts together. Dumbledore seems really pleased."
"How could he just up and decide to marry some woman we’ve never met, and us not have any hint about it?" demanded Ron.
"I met her, she’s really nice." Graínne leaned out into the traffic in the hall to see if the queue was moving into the room yet.
"I wonder if she knows about his condition," mused Hermione.
Graínne turned a sharp gaze on her. "She’s a Potioner. They met because Remus went to buy Wolfsbane Potion from her. I think she might know."
"Oh. Of course." Hermione blushed.
"There’s Flitwick, let’s go," said Ron, leading the way.
"H," said Graínne, as the boys went ahead.
"What?"
"Is everything all right?"
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I said, is anything wrong?"
"Everything’s just fine," she answered, sounding faintly exasperated.
"Good. I just wondered." She smiled, feeling lame.
Hermione tried a change of subject, hoping to normalize. "Tomorrow’s your birthday, do you have any idea what Harry’s giving you?"
"None, he won’t say. He won’t even hint. He says I’ll like it, but he seems worried about it somehow." She glanced at the door, where he was waiting, watching them, and she smiled. "Doesn’t matter what it is."
"No, I suppose not. He won’t tell me, either, and Ron won’t talk about it. I’m not sure he knows, but he might. He keeps telling me it’s none of our business." She smiled. "I suppose we’ll all just have to wait and see."
Charms never seemed to go slowly, but the four of them were watching the clock much more closely than their potato peelers. Professor Flitwick clicked his tongue when he got to Ron, the last in the row. "All right, what’s going on?" he demanded softly.
"Sir?" Harry asked, startled.
"All four of you have botched potato peeling. Hermione and Graínne never fail to learn their charms, and you two usually do well with practice, now what’s going on?"
Graínne blushed, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry, sir, we just got news that a dear friend of ours is getting married very suddenly, and we’re all distracted. We’ll get right to work."
"See that you do."
"Who’s getting married?" demanded Lavender, leaning over her table from behind them.
"Er, a friend of my parents," said Harry evasively. "Ooh, look, Ron, you got it!"
Ron looked, surprised, but the point was to get Lavender out of the conversation, and it worked. Hermione turned to Lavender and whispered a comment about Graínne’s brother Charlie, on whom Lavender had a huge crush, and they commenced to giggling.
At lunch, they bolted their food and hurried to stow their books before their appointment. Graínne managed to scrub her teeth and change into her cowboy boots and a pair of black dress trousers as well.
"No fair," said Hermione.
"Let’s just hope I don’t get caught on the way to Dumbledore’s office for being out of uniform," Graínne answered grimly. "Oh, the trials of being a slave to fashion. Come on, we’re going to have to run."
Ginny was just hurrying up from the Great Hall. She had given her books to a girl in her dormitory, and was smoothing her hair and fastening on her cloak as she arrived at the gargoyle. Professor McGonagall came around the corner.
"There you are. Self-flossing string mints."
The gargoyle leapt aside, and she waved them in. "Give them my best wishes," she said quietly. "I wish I could be there, but I am on duty. Tell them I’ll see them soon."
"We will, Professor," Graínne assured her.
Dumbledore was just entering the round office from another door. "Ready?" he asked, looking at them all. "Take hold." He held out a battered biscuit tin. "Three, two, one."
With a jerk, they all whirled around and around, and landed in a heap on the floor of the study of Godric’s Hollow, all but Dumbledore, who peered down at them mildly.
"All right? Well, then, shall we go?"
"Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby tackled him from the door.
"Hello, Dobby!"
"You will be coming back here after the wedding, I knows you is late." He began ushering them toward the front door, then ran ahead to open it. "The car is here, Headmaster."
"Excellent, Dobby." Dumbledore went out into the weak sunlight. "Ah, perfect."
A large black touring car stood in the lane, as if abandoned. It was old, but shining and sparkling as if newly made. Ron whistled. "These are really rare, sir, especially in this condition."
"I’m glad you approve, Ron. Everyone in."
Dumbledore himself drove them the two miles to Dorling. Harry and the others watched out the windows with interest, having never been there, but Graínne and Dumbledore talked about the feasibility of teaching literature and gym at Hogwarts as they did in the United States.
There was an ancient stone church in the town of Dorling, and had they been interested in architecture, any of the residents would have proudly told how it predated Edward I. They were able to park near the door, as well, since there wasn’t much need to drive within the village. Inside there were no seats left, and Dumbledore stationed them on the back wall where they could see nicely.
Moments later, the priest emerged from the door in the rear corner, followed by Remus and the real Will Cameron. Somewhere in the room, a single voice began to sing in Latin, a clear soprano that filled the room, and Graínne tore her eyes away from Remus, who was wearing a new set of dress robes (deep black), to search for the singer. It turned out to be a little boy. Graínne knew the reputation of English boy sopranos, but she had not had opportunity to hear one before. She was suitably impressed.
Somewhat abruptly, the door through which they just come opened again, and this time a woman in blue robes came in, carrying a small bouquet of flowers. She walked calmly up the aisle and stepped to the left, and turned to face the door.
Graínne recognized the bride, but her companions had never seen her. Zanni Price was accompanied by an old man (Dom Ledger), who looked very self-conscious but pleased nonetheless. She wore a traditional gown, except that the train fell from the shoulders instead of the waist. Someone in the back row sniffed sentimentally, and whispered to her companion, "Her mother’s gown, innit sweet? I remember Lucy in it, every bit as lovely."
Harry, who was behind Graínne, slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, so that she leaned against him as he leaned against the wall. She sighed, content, and they watched the simple ceremony joining Zanibella Sorcha Price to Remus John Lupin for all time. Afterward, everyone was invited to a private reception at the Hammer and Tongs.
"This is great," said Graínne, looking around the pub. "If bars at home were like this, who’d need a living room?"
Ginny grinned. "This is a nice one, but they aren’t all this nice."
"Come, we are guests of honor despite our having to stand in church, so we have a right to step forward now," murmured Dumbledore, and he ushered them into the reception line almost as soon as it began. He was first, greeting the lady in blue, and moving on to Will as Graínne stepped up.
"I remember you," said the woman quietly, but she was grinning a warm welcome. "I’m Wilma Clabough. You were the one that spotted the Animagi."
Graínne grinned back. "I’ve never been famous before. Graínne Cameron."
"You belong to him?" She jerked her head at the best man, to her right.
"Not at all, we just have the same parents. Is he being a pain?"
"He’s a right pain," she agreed, laughing.
"He’s true to form, then." She stepped on and punched him in the arm lightly. He made a show of rubbing it as if it hurt, and then scooped her up for a hug.
"Hi, Squirt. Didn’t expect to see you here."
"Didn’t expect to be here. Did you know anything?"
"He asked me last night if I’d stand up with him."
"Who gave him the clothes?" she whispered.
"Don’t know, and I don’t have the nerve to ask. I do know he went to London in the middle of the night, and that he went again this morning. Moody said he got unexpected news last night."
"Oh. Well. Cheers." She grinned, and was passed along to Remus.
"Hello, Graínne," he said, beaming warmly at her.
She gave him a hug, fighting back tears. She suddenly recalled that day during the summer, watching him walk down through the field toward the pond, how handsome and appealing he had been then, and how sad it had seemed that he was alone. "Why didn’t you tell us?"
"Nothing to tell until last night, and then there wasn’t time. Here, don’t," he admonished gently, whipping out a handkerchief.
"I have my own," she answered, but she wiped her eyes on the heel of her hand. "I’m just so happy for you, is all, I always thought you were so wonderful, and I’m glad you found someone else who thinks so too."
He laughed, but his eyes brightened suspiciously.
"But why the hurry?"
"Would you wait a minute longer than you had to?" he asked seriously.
At that, she chuckled, and moved along to the bride.
"Graínne, dear, I’m so glad you could come! Remus just sent a note to Professor Dumbledore this morning, and we weren’t sure it was even received. You look gorgeous as usual!"
"Usual! You’ve only seen me once! I am so happy for you," she added, hugging Zanni. "Remus is the best man! Except for my boyfriend, of course. Are you going to stay here?"
"Absolutely. I have my work, of course. And Remus is considering opening a primary school for wizarding families. Everyone in this area has to send their children to boarding school in Yorkshire. He fits in quite well with the community, which has a proportionally large number of werewolves. And he can help me keep an eye out for enemies."
"Oh! Have you joined up?" she whispered.
"Last night. But of course it’s a big secret, how do you know?"
Graínne was aware that Harry had finished talking to Remus. "This is how I know. Zanni, let me introduce my boyfriend, Harry Potter."
"Ohhhh," said Zanni in comprehension. "I haven’t seen you since you were about six months old. Your mother and I were friends."
"Oh." He shook the hand she offered, surprised. "Best wishes, by the way. Remus is the best. I’m looking forward to getting better acquainted. Dumbledore says I can have you come to my house at New Year’s, I’m going to have a party, I think, so keep that evening free."
Graínne looked surprised.
"Gladly! And Graínne’s such a sweet girl, when she’s not kicking, hitting, and punching," she added slyly, hoping to make them laugh.
"I agree," Harry grinned, as Graínne harrumphed, and said she resembled that remark. "We hope to be having this same party in our honor within the year," Harry added.
At that Graínne grinned a little foolishly, letting him draw her to his side.
Cake was cut and served, and the five of them ate their pieces and chatted with other people in the room. Adrian Lightfoot was extremely interested in Graínne, and since he was rather good- looking, Harry felt a little uncomfortable. However, Graínne introduced him to Ginny, who was flatteringly attentive to him, and Ginny was a very pretty girl now, too, so Adrian switched his allegiance readily. Ron harrumphed protectively, but was completely ignored, and had to be consoled by Hermione. And then Dumbledore was hustling them back out to the car. They hurried back to Godric’s Hollow, where Dumbledore produced a Time Turner, took them backward an hour, and landed them back in his office via Portkey, about fifteen minutes after they had originally left it.
"You have a few minutes to change your clothes, Graínne, and pick up your books, and then it’s off to your afternoon classes," he said firmly.
"Thanks, Professor, for letting us go," said Harry. "I would have hated to miss it."
"He would have hated that as well."
As they were hurrying to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione voiced what Graínne had wondered about. "How did he afford new clothes?"
"Yeah, I wondered about that," said Ron.
"All he told me was that Sirius’ estate had been settled, but I didn’t think about it at the time. He must have inherited." Harry looked a bit wooden.
"What, the whole estate?" Hermione asked.
"He didn’t say he got anything, only that it had happened. I’m assuming he got some gold from it, as Sirius had no near relatives that he liked except Tonks and her family. He could leave his friends gifts in whatever amount he wanted." He tried to speak calmly, rationally, coolly, but Graínne’s hand was beginning to throb from his grip on it, and she could feel him shaking.
"They make a lovely couple," she said, trying to change the subject. "She said Remus is thinking of opening a school there. And she said there’s a large community of werewolves there, I wonder why that is."
"He told me about it, before we left for school," said Harry, and gradually the tension ebbed from him as he explained about Dorling. By the time Graínne had changed and returned to the common room, they were talking about Astronomy lab that night.
They hurried on into their afternoon schedule, but Graínne’s thoughts strayed again and again to the fact that Sirius, Harry’s godfather and the only adult to whom he had ever felt close, had been dead well over a year, the estate was only just getting settled, and Harry hadn’t been notified. Why would Sirius, who had loved Harry better than his own life, not recognized him in his will? And how was Harry thinking about that very question?
Chapter 42: Of Wedding Nights, Birthdays, and Mildewed Cows
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
"Now," said Zanni sternly, as the door of their room at the Leaky Cauldron was closed and locked behind them. "What in the world is going on? Where did you get the money for this?"
"I came into an inheritance." Remus hung his new cloak, a modest dark grey with hood and inner pockets, on the peg, and her dark blue one beside it.
She gazed at him, waiting.
"There was a letter waiting when I got back last night, after I left you, from a lawyer. It seems that since Sirius’ high-profile death, his family’s lawyer has been trying to sort out what should happen to the Black estate. Sirius was the last living member of direct descent. His parents’ wills stipulated that under no circumstances were Narcissa, Bellatrix and Andromeda to inherit--"
"Who are they?"
"Sorry, they’re cousins. Suffice it to say his cousins had been written out long ago, and could never inherit. So the lawyer had to go all the way back to a will Sirius made when Harry was born. He’d been very touched when he was named godfather, guardian, and so on, and took the responsibility of getting things down on paper legally. After all, people were dying all around us, we knew there was a traitor close to James and Lily, and none of us knew for sure who it was. So, because his mother was still alive and he had no way of knowing how long she would live and how much she would spend, he laid his will out in percentages. I got this from the lawyer last night, who was none too happy at having to come down to his office at midnight and talk to me. I told him he should get better owls.
"Anyway, Sirius left percentages to James and Lily, Harry, and me, an endowment to Hogwarts, a healthy bequest to St. Mungo’s, no pun intended, some to Andromeda and Ted, his cousin and her husband, and their daughter Nymphadora Tonks."
"Tonks? That Auror?”
“The one and only.”
“So you really did come into an inheritance."
"I really did."
"And James and Lily’s percentage goes to Harry, naturally."
"Yes. He’s one rich boy. He doesn’t know it yet. The lawyer has to work out something with the Potter lawyer, who has been in France for the last six months. What it comes out to, roughly, is about four million in gold per bequest. I thought we might take a holiday, just a week, since we have to get back for the full moon."
She looked stunned. "That much? That’s enormous!"
"It is. We can start that school we dreamed about." He crossed the room to her and put his arms around her. "So this morning, after seeing the lawyer last night, I came down and got some clothes, because you deserved to marry a decent looking chap, not some refugee from the rag bag, and I made arrangements to visit the south of France for a few days, and after running around making arrangements for the church and the vicar and the food, I smell like a sweaty shoe. So I’m going to go take a shower and shave, and if you’d like, we’ll get supper somewhere."
"All right," she said faintly, trying to take in all the details he had just spilled out.
He went into the bathroom and closed the door, and soon she heard water running. Snapping out of her stunned hiatus, she slipped quickly into the silk kimono Wilma had given her, applied a little perfume, arranged her hair, and went into the bathroom, where the shower had stopped running and the basin was now being employed. Remus was leaning over it, looking in the mirror, shaving painstakingly. He was wearing a pair of dark corduroy trousers, but he was barefoot and shirtless. He looked around as she came in, and smiled self-consciously.
"Mind if I share your sink to brush my teeth?" she asked, pulling the door closed against drafts.
“Not at all."
She brushed long enough for him to finish his shave, and then she turned to him. His build had always been whip-thin, like spring steel she thought, but he had had regular meals for three or four months, so he no longer looked starved; his torso and arms were covered with fine white scars, as were most werewolves his age. Before the discovery of Wolfsbane Potion, werewolves in seclusion bit and scratched themselves. She had seen such scars before, had expected them, and indeed didn’t even notice them, but he seemed a little embarrassed as she ran her hands lightly over his ribs and chest.
"I ought to have told you about the scars."
"Hm? Oh, I don’t care about that. I didn’t notice them, especially." She continued her caresses. "Are you really hungry?"
He swallowed convulsively as she moved closer still, the kimono falling open. "N-no, I’m not really. I guess you aren’t either."
"Not for food," she murmured against his neck, fumbling with the waistband of his trousers.
"Hm. I’m feeling a little light-headed, darling, perhaps I should lie down." His arms seemed to be working again, and the little silk robe seemed to be all she was wearing, and she was barely wearing that. He kissed her and caressed her with growing passion, and scooped her up suddenly. They laughed because he had to put her down again to open the bathroom door, but then he carried her to the wide featherbed, where they made unhurried, profound, passionate love to one another, as only two halves mated together can possibly do.
---------------
Mail came at breakfast as usual, and no fewer than ten owls came for Graínne. All had birthday cards, and most had gifts as well. She found it embarrassing, but her friends seemed to enjoy it as much as if they were getting the stuff themselves, and so she smiled and laughed and joked. She knew Harry had got several owls as well, and wondered, but there was so much attention focused on her, she could not ask him privately. He had been distracted all morning, through their run and now through breakfast, and he had not so much as kissed her for her birthday. This was definitely worse than all the unwanted attention she was enduring.
However, when she showed him a framed photo from Bart that had been taken on Harry’s birthday, the afternoon they were at the beach in Cornwall, he smiled. In the photo, he and Graínne were stretched in the sand on their bellies, side by side, and each had a blond girl and a blond boy sitting on their backs, peering over their shoulders. Kate had knelt in front of them for a close-up of all those sun-kissed faces together, and to record Harry at play, since that was a rather sensational sight, for the most part. Now he laid his hand on Graínne’s thigh surreptitiously as he admired the photo, and her eyes widened in surprise.
"That was fun," he said, and smiled a real smile at her. "I never had such a good birthday. Your birthday present has been finally been delivered, by the way, only just now, but I’m not going to give it to you until tonight."
She smiled back at him. Having him happier was a pretty good gift.
Graínne struggled through the rest of day, which was recognized by all Gryffindors as almost a holiday -- the top-scoring Chaser in the last fifty years turns legal age only once, after all-– trying to be gracious to the well-wishers, avoiding Slytherin’s malicious mischief, wishing it was possible to just stay in bed once in a while. Harry had given her chocolate, a silver ankle bracelet, a Weird Sisters concert T shirt, a bottle of ink that automatically took a high-contrast color to the paper on which is was applied, a set of colored parchment rolls (including black), sugar mice, and a penny whistle. After the penny whistle, the music of which she had been admiring, she told him to cut it out.
"I can’t, love. I’ve been collecting things for a whole year."
"I feel like it’s too much, hon."
"What, I can’t give gifts? Believe me, it’s not bankrupting me. Well, the Weird Sisters shirt was expensive, but all the rest of this stuff is just little." He was laughing, because concert T-shirts were often given away, and never cost more than two Sickles. The chocolate cost much more.
"I-- it’s--" She blinked at him, exasperated, happy, loving, feeling unworthy.
"I know." He gave her a quick hug, for they were in the library, and PDA was frowned upon everywhere, but most especially here. "Actually, it’s purely selfish on my part. You have to understand, darling, I’ve never had someone to lavish my love upon, nor money to do it. You’re going to have to bear up for my sake, okay?" He was dismayed that her eyes were filled with tears. "Oh, don’t!"
"I love you so much."
"I know. And I love you, Graínne." He kissed her softly and unhurriedly.
The squeak of Madam Pince’s shoes sounded in the next aisle, and they withdrew from one another, except her knee was against his.
At supper she served birthday cake to the head table again, while the whole of Gryffindor House enjoyed an identical one, a huge chocolate confection with butter cream frosting. Pansy Parkinson made snide remarks, but everyone ignored her, which was much more insulting than anything else they could have done. Although it was Thursday, she still managed to import party food and butterbeer to the common room afterwards, and then she and Harry slipped away to the Room of Requirement.
"I saw you got some mail this morning, is everything all right?" she asked as they settled down on the little sofa. They hadn’t talked very deeply for almost a week, and she couldn’t just make out without having some connection emotionally. Besides, she was curious, and he was ready to talk.
"Yeah, great. I, um, heard from the Black family lawyer. Is that what you’re asking about?"
She shrugged. "It occurred to me that you might reasonably have wondered if Sirius left anything to you. I don’t mean money, I know you don’t care about that, but remembrance-wise."
"I did. It nagged me all day yesterday, in fact. Of course, he was on the run, he wasn’t in contact with his lawyer, since he was supposed to be in jail, but it seemed like something might have been arranged, assuming he had left something to Remus. So the letter came today. Apparently the lawyer’s owls are not the most dependable. It went to Godric’s Hollow first, and Moody sent it on with a note."
"And what did the Black family lawyer say?" she prompted, not caring about owls.
"He said that the most recent document Sirius had made was over sixteen years old. When I was a baby, he had, as his responsibility as my godfather, made a will. The lawyer said it was very elaborate in its contingencies. Of course he didn’t go into detail about anyone else, but the short story is that quite a load of Galleons has been deposited into a trust account for me, and I don’t even think I’m the primary beneficiary. That’s probably Tonks. There are a few things from Grimmauld Place that are coming to me, though not many, because the house has gone to someone else. Besides, he hated that place, and there isn’t much I want from it. But in addition, Sirius’ personal effects are being shipped here, to me. I didn’t know he had any, but apparently when he was put in prison, his parents went and had all his things from his flat put into storage— papers, furniture, clothing, his motorcycle, everything." He toyed absently with the end of her braid. "I thought he’d given his motorcycle to Hagrid the day my mum and dad were killed, that’s what I heard, but it was in the list of personal effects."
"You could ask Hagrid, he’d tell you."
"Right. He would. I wonder if he’d like it back, now that we know Sirius wasn’t the traitor."
“You may want it yourself."
"What would I use a motor bike for?"
“Visit Hogwarts after we graduate? Ride down to Dorling to see Remus and Zanni?"
He grinned at her suddenly. "Dumbledore was right, Graínne. You do give me hope."
"What did I say?"
"Talking about after. Making it seem real to me. Ever ridden a motorcycle?"
"Never. But I’m a bright girl."
"You are. The brightest thing in my sky, for certain." He gave her a little kiss. "Well, that wasn’t all I got in the mail. I did tell you your gift has been delivered, right?" He pulled an envelope out of his robe pocket and held it out to her.
She took it, looked at him, and lifted the flap.
Inside was a series of photos. "More pictures," she said, distractedly.
The first was a picture of a tall clock, a handsome cherry case, intricate and delicate carvings, its pendulum wagging back and forth solemnly. It was in the center hall of Godric’s Hollow, and had a big red bow and a white sign on it. The next picture was a close-up of the sign, which read, "To Graínne, all my love, Harry." The last photo was of the face, which had no numbers, and two hands, one that said Harry, one that said Graínne, and both were pointing to the words At school. She gasped.
She had heard long ago about the wonderful clock in the Weasley kitchen, of course, although she had never seen it. "Oh, Harry! And it’s at the house! But where did you get it?"
"I asked Mrs. Weasley about it. She’d been given hers as a wedding gift. She told me the name of the clockmaker who had signed the inside of it, and lo and behold, the firm still makes clocks. All kinds, but they don’t often make this kind anymore. Most people, I was told, are afraid the marriage will break up, and then who wants a clock that tells you where your ex is and how many kids he has with his new wife? They were glad to make one for me. The charm on it adds a new hand automatically whenever the family grows."
More tears in her eyes, Graínne threw her arms around his neck and kissed him repeatedly. "I don’t know how you’re ever going to top this present, Potter," she whispered.
"I’m glad you like it. You’re not disappointed it’s not a ring?"
"How could I be disappointed? It’s as good as a ring! And besides, if I had a ring tonight, it would definitely encourage me to believe that a ring and a promise was enough, and I’d seduce you right here."
"Rats," he joked, grinning. "You know, watching the wedding yesterday, our own wedding started taking shape in my mind. I was worried about the clock, because I hadn’t gotten confirmation of delivery, and it was getting really late, and I was thinking I should have got an engagement ring after all, or earrings to match your necklace, or something really good. And then I could see us standing up there in front of a group of people who loved us, promising to be us forever. I want a wedding, Graín, not a fifteen- minute appointment with the magistrate."
"I want a wedding, too."
"With music."
"Absolutely."
"And a big reception."
"All right by me."
"With music."
"And dancing."
"And a honeymoon somewhere warm, where you have to wear a bikini."
She roared with laughter.
"And even if it’s not all those things, I’ll be happy just to be your husband at the end of it."
"That would be the pertinent part," she grinned, and turned so her legs were across his lap. Carefully she removed his glasses, and gestured with her wand at the lights, which lowered to a pleasant, intimate dimness. "Now, here we are in this private place, unlikely to be disturbed, I’m deeply, madly, passionately in love with you, and it’s my birthday. A demonstration of your love and devotion would be appreciated."
"Well, let me get right to it," he agreed, leaning her back against the arm of the sofa and kissing her tenderly.
---------------
Hermione was pacing in the common room with her Arithmancy notes in her hand, ostensibly studying. Ron had fallen asleep with his Potions notes on his chest. Harry and Graínne emerged from under the Invisibility Cloak after they had verified that everyone else had gone from the common room. It wasn’t that late, but it was almost midnight.
"There you are! I’ve been worried for an hour!"
"No worries," said Graínne simply, her eyes straying to Harry as he went over to nudge Ron awake. Next moment her nose wrinkled, and she looked around the room. "Man, this place reeks."
"McGonagall came up and yelled at us," said Ron sleepily, sitting up. "It was pretty wild in here. She didn’t give any detentions, though. And she didn’t even ask where the Heads were."
"Lucky break," said Hermione shortly. "I had to hide behind a curtain."
"I’m beat, and we have Potions first thing. Hermione, love, come say good night to me in the stairwell, away from prying eyes." Ron grinned at Harry and Graínne, who were already melting together. "Of course, they can’t see us, so why should we bother to leave?"
"Stay if you want, just don’t be so noisy," said Harry without looking away from Graínne’s eyes. He kissed her slowly and tenderly, and said, "Good night, love," softly, and went upstairs, Ron following, yawning.
Hermione looked over at Graínne. "Did you do anything you shouldn’t have?"
Graínne laughed. "Do you mean, did we have sex? No."
"How is it you can go to the Room of Requirement on a date with a man you want, and not have sex?" She came closer, and both of them sat down in chairs.
"We discussed this a long time ago, H, the decision was made a long time ago. We are very careful about what we do in private. He may have got farther tonight than he ever has, but we’re still a long way from sex. Making love right now will seriously screw up our lives."
Hermione sighed. "I keep telling myself that. And it isn’t that he’s pushing— he’s not. He’s very much committed to waiting, and so am I. I just wake up sometimes and want him, and even though I know I wouldn’t be able to say no, I have to be with him. I’ve gone up to his room three times, G."
"You have?" She showed surprise. H expected her to be surprised by the confession, and Graínne let her think that, but what surprised her was that she’d gone more than once.
"He doesn’t even know. I didn’t wake him up. I wanted to, but I was afraid. Four room mates." She spoke grimly, bleakly. "If he was alone, it’s possible I’d be there every night, despite the fact that if I was caught I’d be expelled, I’d be ruining my life, my parents would be so disappointed, his parents would hate me for ruining his life, and I know all this and I keep telling myself all this, and I keep wanting." She buried her face in her hands and wept quietly.
"Oh, Hermione," said Graínne gently, and going over she knelt and put her arms around her friend. "Honey, this isn’t anything new."
"How can you stand it and I can’t?"
Graínne had always known that the root of most of Hermione’s disappointments over her failures was pride— not that she failed, but that someone else succeeded where she had failed. She had concluded that it was okay for H to be humbled; it made her a more compassionate friend. "I haven’t known and loved as long as you have. You have five years of history with him before I ever showed up. You’ve already been through all the getting acquainted that I’m still going through."
"What can I do? Sleeping together is out." She mopped her eyes, already done with her cry.
"You need something to divert your time and energy into. Do you have something you could do? I know you hate running, but regular strenuous exercise helps you sleep better at night, so you won’t be tempted to sneak up there and do something you can’t undo. Also toward that end, limit yourself on coffee and tea— don’t drink it after three. And a special project, like your elf-rights issue, for instance, occupies the mind. What about some Head Girl project, like an Inter-House pajama party or something? Logistically, we’d have to do it by year, wouldn’t we, but we could ask sixth years to be monitors and leaders for the younger girls, to plan and run activities for them and keep things from getting rough."
Hermione, who had never had friends close enough to invite her to a pajama party, looked vaguely interested. "I suppose that would give me something to do besides study and think about sex. Would you help with something like that, G, or would you think it was stupid?"
"I’d help you. Even if I thought it was dumb. And since it’s my idea, I’m not convinced of its stupidity yet."
She chuckled. "Let’s pitch it to McGonagall, see what she thinks. Now, what sort of exercise is going to help me get to sleep tonight?"
Graínne, who was exhausted, showed no flicker of her dismay. "Sit-ups, push-ups, all those isometric things that are supposed to build specific muscle groups. Ever done them?"
"Not since grammar school. And I don’t know if I’ve ever done push-ups."
"The object is to work the muscles without necessarily getting your heart rate up. Aerobics at this hour, you won’t crash until breakfast, but then it’ll be irreversible. Want me to hold your ankles?"
"Okay."
It didn’t take too long. Already tired, a few sets each of sit-ups and push-ups were enough to burn off Hermione’s frustration-related energy. Then they crept up to the dorm, because Potions was the first thing, and they had to be sharp.
---------------
"How in the world would that be safe?" asked Professor McGonagall, looking over the top of her square-rimmed glasses at them. "Can you imagine Graínne and Pansy Parkinson at a pajama party? They’d murder each other in cold blood!"
"Oh no, Professor, I’d just kill her in self-defense,” said Graínne seriously. "It’d be an open and shut case. And no contest, either."
"See what I mean?" McGonagall looked at Hermione. "We have a hard enough time getting you to sit in classes together and walk through the same halls without cursing one another into oblivion. Need I remind you of what happened when you dueled with Millicent Bulstrode?"
"You dueled Horned Toad Bulstrode?" Graínne asked Hermione, impressed.
"There was very little dueling, as I heard it, more fisticuffs," said McGonagall severely.
"Way to go, Hermione!" Graínne slapped her on the back.
Hermione winced. Graínne could hit rather hard. "Well, we sort of thought that the older Slytherin girls would think it was stupid, and wouldn’t come," she confessed, thinking it was time to get back on the subject. “That would prevent a lot of problems.”
"But they’d let the younger girls come without poisoning their minds toward the event?" challenged McGonagall, a rhetorical question.
Hermione sighed, ready to admit defeat.
"I can sanction individual House pajama parties for the girls. But I think all the Houses together would be asking for trouble."
“But that’s not any different than what we already have, living in the same dormitories," Hermione answered. “There’s no point in having it if it’s just like always.”
"What if we compromise?" asked Graínne. "What if we just have two Houses get together? Slytherin hates us, and it’s mutual, but they get along with Ravenclaw okay, so we hold a party for them together, and Gryffindor parties with Hufflepuff, and no one dies. We get the prefects to do publicity for their own Houses, especially in Slytherin, and keep Gryffindor’s name out of it as much as possible. Of course, it isn’t our event, it’s an inter-House thing."
"Just two Houses” pondered Professor McGonagall. “That might work."
Hermione sat up hopefully. "I can organize committees within each house, maybe sixth years, who don’t have O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s to worry about, and have them work toward a hundred percent participation. I think we’d have to split the age groups, though, don’t you think, Professor?"
"Hm. Yes, I think so," she agreed, thinking of the sheer numbers, and then the huge difference between first years and seventh years. "How do you want to divide it?"
"First through third and fourth through seventh. There’s a huge shift in maturity between third and fourth years. I think if we bundled the fourths in with the younger girls, they’d resent it."
"Good, yes. A more manageable number of girls, additionally. Well, get your plans written up and let me see them as soon as you have something to discuss. I will mention it to the other teachers, and get some volunteers from them as well, for chaperoning. Good thought, Hermione, I knew you’d be a ground-breaking Head Girl."
All the way to Charms, Hermione beamed and chattered and planned. Graínne had to shush her around Pansy Parkinson, who tried to eavesdrop on them. Graínne whispered, "Parkinson, you’re a great dirty bitch cow and you smell like mildew. See what happens when you eavesdrop?" Pansy jerked upright, and whipped out her wand, but Professor Ferguson reached over her shoulder and grasped her wrist in a vice-like fist.
"I wouldn’t," she said simply, as Hermione and Graínne hurried on toward their classroom.
"That was sweet," sighed Graínne with satisfaction.
Ron turned around to greet them from the queue outside Flitwick’s door, looking interested. "What was, G? Oy, Harry!" he called, waving to Harry, who had seen the girls ahead of him in the hall and was hurrying toward them.
"Oh, Professor Ferguson caught Parkinson with her wand drawn, getting ready to jinx her," said Hermione, trying to sound as if she hadn’t gotten as much pleasure out of it as Graínne had.
"Why’d she try?" Harry asked, a little breathless. He’d just caught some fifth years stuffing a first year in Filch’s broom cupboard, so he’d had to yell at them, dock them points, and report to their Head of House.
"Because I said she was a fat cow and she shouldn’t eavesdrop on other people’s conversations." Graínne smiled up at him, glad to see him.
"You called her a great dirty bitch cow that smelled of mildew," Hermione corrected.
"Oooh, good one," said Ron appreciatively. "I wonder if I can work that in somehow when Bulstrode oozes by?"
"Be careful about her, she can really clean your clock," Graínne warned seriously. "I bet she’s more than half troll."
"You know, I’ve always thought so," said Harry conversationally.
Hermione giggled. "Maybe it’s a good thing I couldn’t get a hair off her when we did that stunt," she said. "What if I’d turned into a troll?"
Ron looked appalled, which made them all laugh harder.
On Saturday morning at breakfast, Harry received a note from Professor Dumbledore, asking him to please report to a certain storeroom off the ground floor corridor, as numerous large crates had arrived in his name, and they needed to talk about it. So after breakfast, Harry hurried away, wondering what he was going to have to do, or if he could just have it shipped to Godric’s Hollow, and deal with it later. He decided to go alone, and no one fussed much, because everyone had a ton of homework, but Graínne said she would come down after she finished her History of Magic essay.
Numerous was a kind word. Harry thought there might be forty crates of various sizes. Some of them were obviously furniture, for the crates conformed roughly to the shape of the contents-- so the sofa was shaped like a wooden sofa, the motorcycle crate bumped out to accommodate the handlebars, and so on. It was somewhat comical, but the humor was drowned by sheer numbers, for Harry. There were just so many of them!
Dumbledore was waiting for him. "It seemed best to allow the delivery to go forward, rather than explain to Julius Amundsen, who is connected to many Dark Wizards, that it had to be delivered to a deserted lane in the middle of Lancashire, which is a famous address after all, where there was nothing for him to see. It might arouse suspicions. Given that his parents were antagonistic toward Sirius, I think it would be wise to open the crates and inspect them. There might be some ugly surprises, and I don’t want them inside your house if we can avoid it. Might I ask Mr. Filch to help us?"
"Sure, if he doesn’t mind," said Harry, surprised.
As it happened, Sirius’ parents seemed in haste to get the job done, and had not hexed anything or laid any traps. Although they had not been particularly gentle (the water glasses were in shards), there seemed to be no malicious destruction, only careless packing in some cases. The tea set had escaped damage, for instance, and strangely it was a set for twenty-four. There was a trunk full of clothes, four trunks of books, lamps and side tables and rugs, a trunk of what appeared to be old school things (awards, a trophy, old school robes, Gryffindor rosettes and scarves, several packets of letters and stacks of notes from seven years of classes), cooking equipment, and a large crate of some very nice paintings. And in one crate was a stack of photo albums. Graínne arrived when they were about half done opening things, and she helped with the others, so it went a little faster.
Harry rather thought he would like to look over the albums when he had nothing pressing, like N.E.W.T.s or the death of Voldemort, on his mind. He thought it very likely that there weren’t many of Sirius, which he wanted to see very much, and that probably there were many of his parents, which would be a pang of a different sort. Together they closed the crates back up, for Dumbledore was satisfied that there were no hidden dangers.
"What do we do with ‘em?" demanded Filch.
"Leave it to me, Argus. I will see that they are transported to their destination. Thank you for all your help," he added sincerely.
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Filch," said Harry and Graínne together with sincerity, which surprised the caretaker, who stumped out.
"What do we do?" Harry asked, turning to Dumbledore.
"With your permission, I will take care of the matter. I will leave the unpacking to you, of course, but there is no reason for you to neglect your studies at this time to deal with this. Have you a preference where they are stowed in your house?" Dumbledore asked gently.
"Not really. I suppose up on the second floor. Mad-Eye’s on the first floor, as I recall. It’s really nice of him to stay there and take care of Buckbeak," he added. "I guess he doesn’t have pets of his own at home."
"No, Alastor is alone in the world. House-sitting for you gives him additional purpose in life, not that he hasn’t a grand one, working against Lord Voldemort. But sometimes the progress is very slow, and it’s good to have a day-to-day project."
"Thanks, Professor, for arranging this."
"Not at all." Dumbledore was very solemn. He felt keenly the responsibility of this particular situation. If he had handled several things differently, Sirius would still be alive.
---------------
Professor,
I have been talking about Christmas holidays with my friends, and was wondering if I would be allowed to travel with them to my house? The Camerons and the Weasleys have agreed to chaperone the holidays there, taking turns when they aren’t visiting their other children. But it was suggested that I consult you first, before plans are set.
Harry
I concur, that would be perfectly all right.
A. D.
Harry showed the reply to his friends. Christmas was two weeks away, still, but plans had to be arranged in advance, in order to coordinate the older Weasleys at the Burrow and the Camerons traveling to the United States. Owls were out of the question, but they were allowed to use the McGonagall’s fireplace to talk to the parents. It would be nice to be somewhere that wasn’t school and wasn’t the Dursleys and wasn’t Grimmauld Place.
The idea of it being home had crept into his subconscious, especially since the delivery of Graínne’s clock, but he still shied from calling it that. Deep down, he was afraid that if he called it that, Voldemort would find it and destroy it. And deep down, Harry really wanted to have a life there, with Graínne and children and horses and friends and holidays and traditions and meaningful life work.
"I’ll go ask Auntie if I can use her fireplace right quick," said Graínne quietly, swinging off the bench. "Plan A?"
"Yeah, that was the one with Weasleys first week and Camerons second? That’s the one."
"I’ll come too, see if I can catch Mum at home," said Ron, grabbing another doughnut.
Harry looked across the table at Hermione as they departed. "I wish you could come, Hermione, we’ll miss you, especially Ron."
"Oh, I need to be with my parents, that’s all there is to it. I’ll come for the second half of the holiday, though. Watch for me when the Camerons come."
"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley will be sorry to miss you."
"Me too, but I see them more than my own parents at this point. I need to go home."
"I know. We’ll just miss you."
"What’s going to happen when you and G get married, and then I’ll be left alone holidays?" She said it lightly, half-joking, but she was also somewhat serious.
"Well, first of all, you’ll be married to Ron, so you won’t be alone, and secondly, aren’t you all coming to our house for holidays?"
"Ron isn’t talking about getting married."
"Really? He is to me. Maybe he’s afraid you’ll say no."
"How can he think I’d say no?" she flared.
"You contradict him on everything, Hermione. For the most part, he’s content to let you be right, but it can be emasculating in the long run." He watched her struggle, his expression kind. "I know you don’t mean to make him feel like that. But he thinks you’ll probably ask him, when it comes down to it."
"What should I do?" There were tears in her eyes. Impatiently she wiped them away.
"Ask his opinion first. He might actually have one, on some things. And he was raised wizard, he knows stuff we don’t, despite all our reading. Practice on everything. Even little stuff, like should we go to class by the secret passage route or by the main stairs? Just act like he’s a man in charge, Hermione, and pretty soon he will be. It’ll make all the difference."
"Has he told you this?"
"Not in so many words. I don’t think it’s occurred to him specifically. But he has said he’s not sure how you would respond to a proposal."
"And you let him believe I wouldn’t say yes?"
"Don’t make this my fault."
She wilted. "I know. I’m bossy, he told me so before we were ever friends. I’ve always been controlling. But I didn’t think he’d ever kiss me, Harry, I had to kiss him."
"Well, he liked that. All lads like to think they’re irresistible. I tried to tell Graínne we had to keep our relationship platonic, I wanted to protect her from hurt, in case I don’t win in the end, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. And that’s damn attractive. But especially in the little things, she lets me lead. She asks what I want to study first, which direction we should jog, how long we have for practice, and she doesn’t tell me how to play or coach Quidditch, even though she’s a better player than I am. Frankly, Hermione, you’re smarter than all the rest of us, and we all know that. You’re smart enough to know when to let him be in charge. You know he’s not a bumbling idiot, he’s not going to screw anything up if you let go of it."
She couldn’t answer. The time drew near to go to class, and they heaved their book bags up and trudged toward Potions. Ron and Graínne were soon with them, having run to catch up.
"We’re all set," said Ron, taking Hermione’s hand as they walked.
"Great. How’s your folks?" Harry slipped an arm around Graínne’s shoulders.
"Good. They say hi. Dad had some sort of late thing, he was half asleep."
"And yours?" he asked, more quietly, turning to Graínne.
"Love, what’s wrong?" Ron murmured, turning at once to Hermione. "You’ve been crying."
"Ron, I’m sorry I’ve been so bossy and controlling. Will you forgive me?"
He was dumbfounded. "I don’t know that you need to apologize for anything, Hermione. Here, don’t!" He stopped walking and drew her aside into the shadows of a suit of armor, and let her weep on his chest. "Darling, don’t cry! I love you."
She got herself under control. "I love you too. I’m sorry, I just-- I’m sorry."
"Love, it’s all right." He offered her his clean handkerchief, and she smiled.
"What’s going on," whispered Graínne to Harry. They had reached the queue for Potions and saw the other two draw aside.
"Just establishing who’s in charge, I think," Harry murmured back.
She flashed him a sudden grin. They had not talked about it specifically, but she understood. "She’s worried because Ron hasn’t talked about marriage, and we’ve been assuming they were already registered somewhere."
He looked blank.
"You know, you put your names down in a big store so your friends know what to get for you and what you’ve already got?"
"Oh. People do that?"
She laughed.
----------------
"I’ve never ridden the Hogwarts Express at Christmas," said Harry at breakfast.
"You won’t today, either," said a hoarse voice nearby.
"Remus!" Graínne leapt up and hugged him fondly. "You old married man! Look at you! A decent living and marriage both agree with you! You look splendid!"
Harry shook his hand warmly, and Ron and Hermione came around the table to greet him similarly. "What’s this about not taking the train?" Harry asked low.
"Well, you’re not. I’m to drive you to York, where Hermione will take a Muggle train home, yes, we’ve already arranged it with your parents, and then I’ll drive the rest of you to Lancashire."
"Oh, I was hoping to have the whole day with them," sighed Hermione.
"Driving, that will take the whole day," Remus assured her. "You won’t get to your home until midnight. Now, Mrs. Weasley asked me to ask if you know someone named Lynford Ross."
"He’s our Beater," said Harry blankly.
"He’s Ginny’s new boyfriend, apparently, and since he’s foreign, he’s got nowhere to go for the holiday. Dumbledore has okayed it for him to come to your house, if it’s all right with you."
"What about secrets and things?"
"His memory will be modified afterward."
"Is this safe?" demanded Graínne.
"You tell me, you know him and I don’t."
"He’s a good guy," she said slowly, thoughtfully. "I know he was checked through the MRA before he was allowed to transfer. Dad checked all the US transfers, and only a few of those who were Sorted into Slytherin had any ties to Darkers, and not even all of them. The Rosses are squeaky clean. They aren’t purebloods, but they’re branches of some very old trees, known for courage and honor. As long as he knows not to divulge his specific whereabouts to anyone, I don’t see why he can’t come. He’ll be with us the whole time, right?" She shrugged. "None of us hates him, right?"
"No, but wasn’t he dating Parvati?" asked Ron, frowning.
"Not for a while now. They broke up around Halloween. Remember, to annoy each other, they went to Hogsmeade as dates with other people? Who did Lyn go with?" Hermione tried to remember. They had had a blow-by-blow up in the dormitory of the break-up, which Parvati initiated, because she was hoping to get asked out by Terry Boot, who had been thrown over by Ginny the week before. Ginny had gone to Hogsmeade with a gaggle of girls, which had suited the girls fine, because Ginny was a boy-magnet. And Terry did ask Parvati to Hogsmeade.
"He went with Susan Bones. It was a disaster for both of them, but they’re still friends. So how long has Ginny been seeing Lyn?" Harry asked.
"About two weeks," said Graínne, who had been the only one Ginny had confided in about Lyn. She would have said something to Hermione too, except that Hermione had been very busy lately getting plans laid for the first set of pajama parties, the first weekend back from holidays.
"Well, let’s have him, then," said Harry. "I’ll go ask him, shall I? Are we all ready to leave?"
"Yes, trunks are already down at the station. They’ve been marked, though, so they won’t be loaded onto the train." Remus glanced over at the head table. "I need to go greet a few teachers, as it would be rude of me to ignore them. I’ll meet you in the entry hall."
Lyn was sitting next to Ginny toward the front of the table, looking a little depressed.
"Hey, we just heard you’ve nowhere to go. Come with us," said Harry, bending down so he could speak quietly. "It isn’t much of a place, but it’s not school, and Ginny will be there."
"Oh, Harry!" Ginny threw her arms around him briefly. "Will you, Lyn?"
"In a New York minute! Can you give me a few to get my bag packed?"
"Sure. We’re not going on the train, but that’s a secret. Don’t say anything to anyone, just grab your stuff and go. We’ll wait for you in the entry hall."
"Right." Lyn hurried out.
"Thank you," Ginny breathed. "He’d be lonely here, you know. The whole team is going home, and he still feels a little outside of everything else."
"No problem. He’ll have to have his memory modified afterwards, you know. But as long as he doesn’t tell his parents by Floo where he is, since the Floo Network is watched, we should be all right. Do you think it will bother him at all, that the Order is coming in and out, and we’re always talking about Voldemort?"
"Well, no, I don’t think so. Apparently they have their own legendary wizards in the States, and he understands about fighting the Dark, but he’s not afraid of it. At least, not that I’ve noticed in our previous conversations. Dumbledore is okay with this?"
"Yeah. And I don’t know why we never thought of it, except we aren’t supposed to bring in any more than need be."
"Oh, there’s Remus. Is he taking us?"
"Shh! Yes. Look at Snape."
Snape had just caught sight of Remus, and looked as if something horrible and smelly was crawling across the floor. He nodded shortly to Remus’ wave, but did not go to greet him, nor did Remus step away from his conversation with Professor Flitwick to speak to the Potions teacher. After a few minutes, shaking hands with the other teachers, Remus turned and headed toward the entrance hall, through which the last of the train-bound students were hurrying to get to the thestral coaches. Lyn and his trunk came flying down the stairs at a high speed, and both skidded to a halt by the great oak doors. Dumbledore came out of the Great Hall and waved Lyn over, spoke seriously and privately with him for a few moments, and then clapped him on the shoulder.
"Let’s grab that last coach," Remus suggested, so they squeezed in. "I’m Remus Lupin," he said to Lyn, holding out his hand.
"Lynford Ross, pleased to meet you, sir," said Lyn clearly. "Friend of Harry’s?"
"Yes, exactly. His parents were dear friends of mine."
The coach took them to the station, where a perfectly normal looking grey car waited on the village side of the station. They piled out of the coach and put Lyn’s trunk in the boot, but they had to wait for the train to leave in order to get the rest of the trunks.
"Any last-minute shopping?" Remus suggested, for there was still ten minutes.
"Ooh," said Hermione, and looked pointedly at Ginny and Graínne. "Come with me!"
Harry watched them hurry away. He glanced at the other two, and said pointedly, "A Christmas house party, lads, and we have limited owl service. If you need something and you’re short, you can pay me back later."
"Right, let’s go," said Ron, and they headed for the shops. Remus’ laughter echoed after them.
It was more like half an hour, and Remus had to go looking for them. The girls were giggling to themselves, and the boys seemed to have some in-joke as well, but they came willingly. The car, modest on the outside, was very spacious indeed. At the last moment, just as Remus was turning to get into the driver’s seat, a woman Apparated with a crack right onto the platform next to the car park.
"Got room for one more?" she asked, as he held out his arms and she jumped down into them.
"You nearly missed us," he said after he kissed her.
"Oh, that would have been sad but not terrible. I just would have gone home again. But the prospect of spending the day without you was unpleasant, so I closed the shop and came looking. Can I run into Honeydukes and get some chocolate?"
"I got you four pounds already, it’s right on the seat there."
"Oooh, gold label. You do love me."
"Oh, hello, Zanni!" Graínne cried, rolling down the window to see what was keeping Remus. "Coming for a ride with us?"
She laughed. "I am indeed. We’d better get going, or we’ll miss Hermione’s connection."
"I’m tempted to miss it on purpose," grumbled Hermione.
However, it was fun to travel together. They could have the seats arranged along the walls so they could face one another, which was handy for games and singing and conversation (Graínne always seemed to sing when she was in the car), and they also lined up in a row like a bus, which was convenient for snogging, at the simple wave of a wand. By the time they stopped for lunch, everyone was starving, and they took the wizarding restaurant by storm. Remus and Harry treated lunch, splitting the check between them evenly, for Remus insisted this was as much his party as it was Harry’s. They made good time, afterwards, which isn’t a problem in a magical car, had a hefty tea overlooking Loch Lomond, and then on to York.
They reached the station where Hermione would catch the train home with just ten minutes to spare. Remus took her trunk and checked it, while the young people said goodbye. Ron walked her onto her platform and said goodbye there, and didn’t mention afterwards what was said, but he seemed very happy and very depressed at the same time.
There had been snow in the north, but the further south they came, the browner the world grew. As they bent west to get to Godric’s Hollow, rain began to pelt the windows.
"I wonder if we’ll have any snow at all," sighed Ron.
"Some, I think," assured Zanni from the front seat. "We almost always have snow on Christmas Day, even if it melts during the night."
He sighed again. Hermione wasn’t coming until the twenty-seventh.
By the time they’d reached Godric’s Hollow, they were famished again, and it was nine thirty or so. Moody was there at the door, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came from the kitchen to meet them after they’d hung up their cloaks. Moody and Remus and Arthur levitated the trunks upstairs while the rest admired the clock (the two hands had zoomed from Traveling to Home as they had come in). Graínne wept and kissed Harry, and they all went into the kitchen.
Dobby flew to hug Harry, and then Graínne, whom he considered to be his mistress solely because of the clock. A kettle of soup was bubbling on the range, bread was just out of the oven, and a pudding cooled on the counter. When everyone had arrived, the meal was served, and the babble of voices quieted.
"So this is your place now?" Lyn asked, when the hollows had been filled and people could talk again. "It’s great! An excellent house for parties!"
"Spoken like a true bachelor," approved Moody, which made everyone laugh.
"We’ll be having a party on New Year’s Eve, and I have no idea how many people are coming." Harry glanced at Mrs. Weasley, who shrugged.
"As far as I know," said Remus, who caught the look, "everyone who knows about the place is coming. That’s all Order members, except you students."
"And we’d be Order members if you’d let us," said Ron.
"Your day is coming too soon for my tastes," said Mrs. Weasley.
"And not soon enough for mine," said Ginny. "By the time you let me join, it’ll all be over."
"I sincerely hope so," said her mother.
"What does the Order do?" Lyn asked.
"We could tell you, but we’d have to kill you," said Zanni lightly.
"It is a resistance movement against Voldemort," said Harry. "That’s about all we know."
"And more than you should," said Mrs. Weasley, and Ron and Ginny mouthed the words along with her, to everyone else’s amusement.
"We only got here a little before you did," said Mr. Weasley, changing the subject, "and we haven’t done a thing to decorate. Perhaps that should be the order of the day, tomorrow, being the day before Christmas Eve?"
"Any pines on the property?" Harry asked, wondering if he would cut one down if there was.
"No, lad, wrong climate," said Zanni. "We have to import all our pines. But there should be plenty of holly and mistletoe and ivy that you can gather up for garland, and if you’ll allow, Remus and I will bring the tree around tea time."
"Sure," said Harry with a shrug. "I wonder what we’ll do for ornaments."
"Nothing will be lacking, I assure you," said Moody gruffly.
After the supper, Harry had a private word with Dobby.
"Where are those crates that were sent down?"
"Ah, sir, I is storing them up on the second floor, east rooms."
"Great. I’d like to open a few tonight, if you’d be so kind as to bring a pry bar up there."
"Will you be needing to carry anything down?"
"Maybe. Probably the sofa. Maybe some other things."
"As you wish, sir."
"Do we have enough room in the house for everyone to sleep?"
"Yes sir, there is plenty room, and plenty beds."
"Great." He started up the stairs, leaving the others in the kitchen.
"Hey!" Graínne whispered sharply, looking up at him.
"Hey. I’m going to the store rooms, want to come?"
"I will go with you anywhere," she answered, running lightly up. "What’s up?"
"I thought I’d uncrate the furniture, so there are a few more places for people to sit. It’s going to be hard to find a quiet place here."
"Nah, most of these people are used to living in large herds," she laughed. "Lyn has twelve in his family. May be hard for you to find a quiet place," she added.
"Maybe that’s what I mean. But I also meant hard for us to have some privacy."
"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "That’s not so funny."
Besides a sofa, Harry unpacked end tables and lamps and the tea set and a wing chair, a rocker, and a number of straight chairs. There was a double-size bed frame but no mattress, a battered dresser, six small rugs, and a writing desk, as well.
"That’s enough to be going on with," said Harry at last, surveying the lot. "We’ll spread it around tomorrow, but these rugs we should take down tonight. The floors are cold, as I recall."
"All right," said Graínne, looking up at him expectantly.
"It sounds like we’ll be pretty busy tomorrow."
She strolled over to the sofa and sat down and smiled at him. Then she patted the cushion next to her. "C’mere."
As if waking up suddenly, Harry startled, then hurried over and sat down. After a second, he put his arm around her. "So. Come up here much?"
"I will if you’re here."
"Oooh, good answer."
Christmas at Godric’s Hollow seemed to need form. As they gathered holly and ivy and searched the property for mistletoe, the young people talked about holiday traditions they liked, what they considered to be important. As Graínne put it, the things without which it would not seem like Christmas. When they returned for lunch, with their piles of greens, no one had yet seen any mistletoe.
"Try out the north west corner of the property," said Moody knowingly. "There are some oaks out there. One of ‘em’s bound to have some. Remember, you just take some, not all. If you don’t leave enough, there won’t be any next year."
Sure enough, the oaks had a bountiful supply, so much so that Ron said, "I bet we could sell this," and Harry told him to go ahead, keeping a handful himself. So they returned to the house, and Ron and Ginny went to a larger town, all Muggle, past Dorling, to which Moody drove them, as he had some business in the market. They sold the mistletoe, every sprig, split the money between them, and then purchased a few more elaborate Christmas presents for some of their friends who were just going to be getting token Chocolate Frogs otherwise.
Meanwhile, the rest of them bent their efforts on decorating the house. The furniture Harry and Graínne had unpacked the night before had been spread around, and the cache of paintings had been brought down as well. Harry and Graínne decided where they should be hung, and the greens they had collected were twined and wired and draped and otherwise distributed artistically throughout the downstairs and in some of the upstairs rooms. The mistletoe was placed strategically in the parlor, the kitchen, dining room, study, in the hall by the front door, and in the halls of the upper floors.
Around teatime, Remus and Zanni brought in a gorgeous tree, not too big, but perfectly shaped. They stood it in the parlor in a tree stand, and Zanni draped a white skirt artistically around the base. There were no decorations yet, but Harry suggested that they could go to that Muggle town, or maybe they could find some in Dorling the next day. Still, tea was put off because Moody and the two Weasleys weren’t back yet, and Lyn was getting a little forlorn. Mrs. Weasley engaged him in helping her make a cake for the tea, and Graínne agreed to make stovies, leaving Harry to some precious time alone in the study. He had brought down the crate of photo albums and stood them on one of the shelves in the study. Now he sat down in the wingback chair with the one that looked the oldest, and cautiously opened the cover.
The first picture was a Gryffindor dormitory room, where four boys were unpacking their trunks, pausing to wave cheerfully. Two he did not know, but one might have been an eleven-year old Remus, light brown hair, whip-thin body, light eyes, gaunt cheeks. The other was unmistakably James Potter, black unruly hair, glasses, skinny. The thing that made him look unlike Harry was the grin, confident, friendly, even cocky. James had known what to expect at Hogwarts, because he had been from a wizarding family. Harry had been totally unsure, of school and everything else.
The next picture was of the lake, with the giant squid surfacing to push a little rowboat out of the middle and back toward the shore. The boat had two girls in it, who were laughing. He didn’t recognize either of them. On the facing page, a snapshot of Hagrid’s hut, smoke coming from the chimney, a big Irish wolfhound lolling on the step. It was rather artistic, but there were no people in it. Not even peeking from the windows.
The pictures in this album were of the boys in their first year, and gradually Wormtail was included, but Harry noticed that Wormtail was from a different House. He thought it must be Hufflepuff, but there were never any House colors in the photos. Peter definitely wasn’t in the first picture, with James and Remus, and presumably Sirius behind the camera. He remembered what Hagrid had said about the Houses, there never was a wizard went bad but he wasn’t in Slytherin. But Hagrid had said that before they’d known Peter went bad. And then he realized that Sirius had not been in Slytherin, but it was assumed he had gone bad, and so Hagrid’s axiom couldn’t be true.
Hagrid. Where would he be, Christmas Day? At the school? Harry let the album close, and then got up and returned it to the shelf, and went to the kitchen.
Ron and Ginny were just back, red-nosed and sipping hot tea, and Moody was stumping in from the parlor. Harry kissed Graínne’s floured cheek and washed his hands at the sink, listening to Ginny’s account of the market in Parham, of how the Muggles had flocked to them and paid outrageous sums for their sprigs because they were fresh, how the goblin in the branch bank at Dorling had knocked half a Knut off the exchange rate to his own advantage, and they’d gone to the Hammer and Tongs to get a London rate from Dom Ledger, leaving the goblin cold. Ron was finishing a note to Hermione, which he sent by Pig right away, and then the tea was ready, and everyone came in to eat.
Graínne’s stovies were quite good, and she had also made scones, which were quite good, too. There was much laughter and silliness around the table, and then everyone went into the parlor to decorate the tree, for Moody’s errand in Parham was for trimmings. Mostly there were red balls and gold foil garland, with a few rather whimsical German glass figures and a few wizarding figures as well. Harry added a wire hook to his Hungarian Horntail figure and his two miniature brooms, and added them as well. Graínne had a few miniatures that she wired for the tree, and of course candles had to be wired on, and it all took the rest of the evening.
After her third trip upstairs to the bathroom, Zanni whispered to Graínne, who came out in to the hallway, "You need a loo downstairs," with a little laugh.
"I think so, too. I wonder if we could convert this to a water closet?" She opened the closet under the stairs, where an orderly assortment of cleaning tools lined the wall and was otherwise an echoing space. It was very small. "Have to do an Enlargement Charm on it."
"Doable, though," Zanni nodded, looking around. "My mother loved projects like this."
"Jamie and Johnnie are our carpenters, but they’re at school. We’ll have to hire someone. I’ll ask Harry what he thinks about this space. Surely we could find another place for these things."
Zanni was smiling at her fondly. "That sounded so... housewifely," she whispered, and the two of them laughed. The laugh drew Remus out into the hall, and Graínne went to find a place to work next to Harry, thinking about why Zanni Lupin might need to go to the bathroom so often.
----------------
Christmas morning in a household was different from boarding school. Stockings had been hung, and were now lumpy with candy and little gifts, and all around the tree were parcels of various sizes and colors. Mrs. Weasley in her purple quilted dressing gown went up and down the halls, calling people to breakfast, which was in the parlor, because who could resist it? She had set the low, square coffee table with coffee and tea and an assortment of buns and biscuits. Moody settled in an armchair, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley took the couch, and several straight chairs were set about as well. The young people took turns handing out gifts, not especially waiting to see the recipients open them, but also pausing occasionally to eat or to open a gift themselves, or to watch someone else. It was a lovely time. When everything was over, and the empty dishes had been taken back to the kitchen, and everyone had gone to get dressed or to play with their things, Harry and Graínne still sat on the couch, looking at the tree and talking quietly.
"Our first Christmas in our house," Harry murmured to her, making her get very still for a moment. "I think of this as our house."
"I’m glad to hear that," she answered softly.
"Did you notice I haven’t given you much of a gift?"
"The earrings are incredible, Harry, I wouldn’t have called them not much." They were sizable diamonds, oval-cut, white gold settings. She was wearing them now, and they were at odds with her ratty old red cotton sweater and faded jeans with the knee out and her sleep-hassled braid.
"They just seem sort of incomplete to me, don’t you think so?" He brought out another small box, a black-velvet jewelry box, tied with a white satin ribbon.
She looked into his eyes a long moment, and then took the box from his hand. "It shows a lot of self-restraint on your part, waiting this long," she chuckled.
"I wasn’t sure how it would be received. Or maybe I just wanted the reception to myself."
She slid the ribbon off, popped open the box, and smiled. "Oh, Harry."
He took out the ring, which matched the earrings perfectly, and slipped it on her finger. "Will you marry me?"
"Yes." She kissed him tenderly, her eyes wet. "I love you. It’s beautiful."
"I love you."
"Should we go tell them?" She sounded somewhat reluctant.
"Let’s not, and see if anyone notices."
At that she smiled, and stretched to kiss him again.
---------------
"You know where I’d like to get married?" she asked him that afternoon as they sat before the fire in the study, on the sofa that had been Sirius’. Harry was stretched out with his feet over the arm and his head in her lap, almost dozing.
"Where."
"Here."
He opened his eyes. "What, in this room?" He sounded incredulous.
"In the summer house, maybe. Out in the garden, or next to the pond. That would accommodate the large crowd I expect to have to invite," she answered, her fingers idly combing his hair. "We wouldn’t be able to get married without a crowd."
"No, we wouldn’t." His eyes closed again.
"Is it a silly idea?"
"Not at all. I rather like it. There’s the Great Hall, too, I thought about asking Dumbledore if we could get married there."
She giggled. "That would be sensational, wouldn’t it."
"All the important things that have happened to me are centered there. Seems a little strange to leave it for the most important thing."
"Would you rather?"
"No strong feelings yet. I like the idea of getting married here, as well. Will your mum be disappointed that we didn’t go to your home?"
"Oh, I don’t know. As long as they’ve lived there, she still thinks of Scotland as home. I don’t have any close girlfriends there I’d want, and all the family outside the immediates are over here anyway. And there’s nowhere there I particularly want, either."
"I’d like to visit sometime."
"I expect we will. Sometime."
"What if you never go back?" he asked suddenly, sitting up and looking at her.
She looked back at him, seriously considering the question. "I told you how I jumped at the chance to come to Hogwarts, didn’t I? I’ve never really articulated how easy it was to come here. There were some adjustments, sure, like having to stay at school except for holidays and the odd Saturday. But mostly being here was just right in a way I have never experienced before. I don’t think of anyplace in particular as home, there, except Bonk Pass, but only in a general sort of way. When I came around the bend and saw the castle, I knew I was in the right place in the world, and when you said you loved me, it all came into focus. I am home. It won’t matter if I never go back. I’m here."
"Here you are," sighed Ron, coming in before Harry could say anything. "D’you mind if I hang out here? Mum’s driving me crazy, and Lyn and Ginny are billing and cooing in the parlor."
"’Course not. We were just talking." Harry waved his hand at the wingback chair, and it drew closer to the fire.
"How’d you do that?" Ron asked blankly.
"Hm? No idea. Ours is not to reason why." Harry put his feet on the hassock and leaned a little on Graínne, who grunted theatrically. "Did you send Hermione’s present home with her?"
"I gave her that one thing we talked about before, sent it home with her. The real present I’m saving for when she gets here."
"Big secret?" asked Graínne lightly. Ron was the only one who had noticed her ring, and he had looked for it, knowing Harry planned to give it to her. He had given her a private hug and kiss on the cheek along with best wishes.
"Yep. I know Mum and Dad will have a cow."
"A ring, huh," said Graínne lightly.
"How’d you know?" he demanded, disappointed.
"Are you kidding? You said way too much. A simple yes would have left me in doubt." She nudged Harry, who was laughing. "Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to anyone."
"I know, I can trust you, but I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted her to let people notice."
"Okay, I’ll pretend for her sake." She flung a little velvet pillow at him, and he threw it back. "Sorry it’s such a drag here, Ron. You should have gone with her."
"I suggested it, but she said no, that this would be her last Christmas with them, and they deserved one with just her, since they’ve had so many without her. She hated to say it, I think. She said she’d take me home in the summer, spend a couple weeks with them."
"Has she got any idea you intend to ask her?" Harry inquired.
"I think she hopes I will, but thinks maybe it’s too soon to hope."
Graínne nodded. "I’d say that’s a good summation."
"And you’re sure she’ll say yes?"
"Yes."
"Yes to what?" demanded Mrs. Weasley suspiciously, coming into the room.
"Merlin’s beard, Mum!" Ron startled dramatically. "Were you eavesdropping?"
"No, or I wouldn’t have had to ask."
"Yes to a week at the Burrow, after school is over," said Graínne creatively.
"Oh, that would be lovely. We did miss you all last summer. It would be nice to have a real holiday, too, maybe Hungary." She sighed. "I wanted to let you all know tea will be at six, and I think we’ll have company."
"Who’s coming?" Harry sat up straighter.
"Hagrid, if he remembers, David, Will and Tonks, Remus and Zanni."
“Oh good, I have presents for them," said Graínne, pleased.
"Look, it’s snowing," said Ron in surprise.
Soon they were all bundled up and outside in the back garden, throwing snowballs and building little snowmen along the paths. Lynford was particularly funny about it, coming from the south where snow was almost unheard of; he played extremely hard at everything. He wanted to sled down the slope to the pond, but Graínne pointed out that it was not yet frozen, and they had no sleds.
"I read about poor kids in the north who sledded with cardboard boxes," he contradicted.
"In the north, where they had a foot of powder," she shot back. "I’ve ridden a cardboard box down a hill before; it’s a hoot until the box falls apart."
"Oh, I bet that’s the best time, it’d be like that skeleton event they do in the Olympics."
"The what?" Ron demanded, looking around.
"It’s this little tiny frame of a sled, and they go absurdly fast on it, and if you fall off you die, or if you drag a finger it’s gone, and if you relax your head, it’s bouncing on the ice. It’s suicide. My little brothers are begging to try it." Graínne shook her head. "Talk about an adrenaline junkie, Lyn!" But she was laughing, and Harry suspicioned she would really like trying it.
"Regardless, there’s not enough snow to sled," said Ginny regretfully.
"Maybe we can do it when we get back up to school," said Ron, interested in the skeleton.
When the sun was going down, they finally went in to get cleaned up for tea. No one had commented on Graínne’s ring yet, and she expected that tea would do it. She wished, though, that Hermione was there. And her parents. Was it right not to tell them?
Voices down in the hall announced the arrival of the guests, and the young people thundered down the stairs. Kissing her cheek, Zanni squeezed Graínne’s hand and whispered, "Is this a secret?"
"Sort of. We’re waiting until we tell Mom and Dad before we announce it."
"I’ll keep my mouth shut, then. We have a secret of our own."
Graínne gasped. "Are you --"
Zanni nodded. "Shhh!"
Graínne slipped her arms around Remus and kissed him on the cheek. "Congratulations," she whispered, grinning.
"And best wishes to you," he whispered back, grinning as well. "You’re not announcing yet?"
"Not yet. If no one asks, we’ll announce when my parents get here, and Hermione."
"Good plan."
Will swept her into his arms for a hug and a kiss, looking rather contented himself. Tonks hugged her as well, calm and relaxed, her hair plain black and straight, shoulder length, very normal looking. There was a togetherness between them that was more pronounced than ever.
Hagrid beamed down at her. "All righ’ there, Graínne? Ye look beautiful, lass. Here’s Harry, hello, mate. Ron, Ginny, and Lyn! Where’s Hermione?"
"Home with her parents," said Ron glumly.
"She’ll be here Sunday," said Mrs. Weasley, ushering them into the parlor. "Come and sit and warm up, and we’ll have tea in the dining room in a bit. Graínne dear, will you come and mix up some scones? You’re so handy at it."
"Coming," said Graínne with a smile.
"May I come too?" murmured Zanni to Mrs. Weasley.
"Of course, Zanni. You’ll not work, though, it’s all done except the scones and the tea."
There was no avoiding the sharp eyes of those women, though. Molly saw the ring, grabbed her hand and stared at it, then at Graínne. Her eyes filled with tears, but she threw her arms around the girl and hugged her. "Oh my dear! He’s like one of my own sons, you know!"
Graínne laughed. "We know," she answered. "But please don’t say anything until after my parents know. It won’t surprise them, but I don’t want them to get their feelings hurt."
"You’d best speak to them by Floo tonight, then, or they will."
Graínne glanced at the kitchen clock. "I’d better do that now, it’s still morning there." She ran to get Harry, so they could both speak.
"So much for scones," sighed Molly, looking at Zanni, and then they both laughed.
"My scones are quite credible, let me make them," said Zanni, taking over the measured ingredients that Graínne had abandoned.
Meanwhile, Graínne tried Bart’s house. She couldn’t recall ever having heard where her parents were staying during this flying visit to the States, whether they’d stay in the Denver house that had been closed up for almost two years now, or if they’d just stay with Bart.
"Look, it’s Auntie Graínne and Uncle Harry!" shrieked Maggie, and there was suddenly a flurry of legs and then a sea of faces.
"Hello, lass!" cried Rory, and added, "Harry, lad! How well you both look!"
"Hello dears, Happy Christmas!" said Morag.
"Happy Christmas, Mom, Dad, and the rest of you. Snowing, there?"
"Not at the moment," said John seriously, "but there’s two feet of powder. We’re going skiing tomorrow, incidentally."
"We had about two inches, today, nothing by comparison, but ours was wet, so we had a good fight. Everyone well?"
"Quite well," said Rory.
"Minnie ate too much candy," said Kate, at which Minnie cried out in embarrassed objection.
"Are Will and Dave there?" asked Fergus eagerly.
"Here," said Will, sticking his head in next to Harry’s. David inserted his on the other side of Graínne. "Merry merry, everyone. Mom, Dad, everyone, I have an announcement." He budged over a little more, and Tonks put her head into the fire. "Dora and I got married last night."
Morag sat down abruptly on the floor, and chaos erupted. There was a shriek behind them in the kitchen, as well, which brought people running from the parlor. Graínne glanced at Harry, who shrugged. "It’ll take the shock out of ours," he whispered.
"Oh my dear boy! Oh, my dear Tonks!" wept Morag.
"Congratulations, lad," said Rory gruffly.
After everyone had said the normal things, Graínne cleared her throat. "Well, the reason I called is because I have an announcement as well. Harry and I are engaged."
The chaos was just about the same, except this time it was Rory who wept. The younger boys were especially thrilled, saying things like "We get to keep Harry Potter! Can you imagine what our Quidditch games are going to be like now?"
By the time they had said goodbye, tea was ready and on the table in the dining room. It was a merry tea indeed, and afterwards, there were games in the parlor, and David rode Graínne out to the telephone box in Dorling on the back of the motorcycle so she could call Hermione. Hermione wept and laughed and was happy for them, but she didn’t prolong the conversation; she told her she she’d see her Sunday.
"You seem so young," said David as she came back to the motorcycle.
"Just a few years younger than you."
"Yeah, and you don’t see me engaged."
"Your twin got married."
"Yeah. I’m having a little trouble with that, too. I think he and Tonks are both too young. But I guess it’s better than them living together, which was the option they were considering. Are you going to live together?"
"No. I’ve never seen a case where that led to an abiding trust and commitment."
He gazed at her. "You just aged before my very eyes."
She laughed.
As had been inevitable from the evening of the Yule Ball in the fourth year, Hermione received an engagement ring from Ron on the night of her arrival a few days later; however, the formal announcement of both engagements was at the New Year’s Eve party. It was a loud party, for all it was not huge. The members of the Order who were not out on assignment came, even those Harry had never met, about twenty-five people in all. Even Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall were there for the midnight hour, though they came late and left shortly after.
Although the Camerons had been chaperoning the young people, Rory had reported to work at the Ministry every morning, and Morag was often gone in the mornings as well. On those days, either Moody or Remus was present, but the couples were very well behaved, when it came down to it. For one thing, Ginny and Lynford weren’t quite far enough in their relationship to be dangerous, and for another, both Hermione and Graínne were at the end of their cycles, and weren’t quite as on-fire as the rest of the month. Additionally, the homework they had was crushing.
Late one afternoon, when Graínne had fallen asleep on her Potions book, and the others had gone for a walk, Harry took down another photo album. The four boys in this one were about sixteen, looking handsome and dashing and a little less arrogant than they had the previous year. Harry wondered what in the lives of James Potter and Sirius Black had reduced their cockiness. This was the year that Sirius had run away from home; perhaps that experience had sobered them up a little. But was it enough to curb that extortionate ego?
There were more photos of Sirius than Harry had thought there would be, and judging from the absent member of the quartet, it was Peter who was taking more of the pictures. Included in all the albums had been pictures from other sources, taken in other places, of Sirius and of people in his family, tucked randomly into the pages. There had been a color photo portrait of two dark haired little boys, on the back of which was written Regulus and Sirius, Winter 1970. They were beautiful children, black-haired, black-eyed, about six and seven years old, against a background of white velvet. It had been stuck in with the second album. Another showed the two boys, older, perhaps ten and eleven, with their parents. Sirius showed signs even then of not wanting to be associated with the haughty beauty and the sinister man, and in this particular photo by a pyramid in Egypt, he didn’t like his brother very much, either. In this album that he was looking through today, he’d found about six loose pictures, of James and Sirius in what had to be the first Godric’s Hollow, with people who had to be James’ parents, Harry’s grandparents.
Harry had to wonder what they had been like. They smiled cheerfully and waved at the camera, served endless tea, hugged and kissed the boys, with faces he had never seen before— yet looked at every day. Unlike Harry, who was mostly like James and slightly like Lily, James was such a complete blend of the two people that it was impossible to tell which of them had given him his nose, or whom he looked more like.
In one of the trunks in the attic, Harry knew there were notebooks and letters, several stacks of them. They might contain journals, or perhaps the letters explained what was going on, but Harry hadn’t the heart to look at them now. It was hard enough to see the young faces of those he had loved, or would have loved, given the chance; and to see them beside the one who had caused their deaths was torment. His disgust and revulsion for Wormtail grew.
"Harry?"
He startled. "Graínne, love," he answered, a suggestion of relief in his tone. The pounding of his heart in his ears had masked the sound of her stirring from sleep.
"Honey, you shouldn’t dwell on those right now." She rose from her place before the fire and came to where he sat in the wingback chair. "You always land right back on their deaths, instead of focusing on what their lives were like."
"Yeah. Sirius’ life really sucked, for the most part."
"Yeah." She sat down on the arm and looked at the page, Sirius and James with the Quidditch Cup and the rest of the team, filthy and exhausted and unutterably happy. On the next page, Sirius with Mr. and Mrs. Potter, were all laughing and waving. "Do you think he would have traded either of these moments away just to be out of Azkaban? Sirius had a hard life, it’s true, born to a family he could not love, whose ways he could not accept, but he had people who loved him. Just as you, Harry, grew up in a place where you were not loved or accepted, but you found a place where you could be. What happened was wrong, but this," she put a finger on the Quidditch picture, "this was good."
"So few of them."
"We only see what he kept. It wasn’t a constant stream of images, it was only what he had from a time when someone happened to take a picture. As in our own lives. We have tons more good times than anyone ever photographs."
He nodded. "I know, I just wanted to wallow a little."
"Okay. But don’t dwell on it. This boy," she said, pointing to Peter, "was a little sycophant twerp, but he wasn’t a Judas until later."
"It’s impossible to see him as anything else."
"Through the lens of hind-sight, yes. It’s always perfectly clear in retrospect. But consider, Harry, that maybe Peter as Scabbers never planned to go back to Voldemort. He thought Voldemort was gone forever. He was only hiding out, and he was planning on hiding out forever. Long-range schemes weren’t his thing, he was a creature of the moment. I’m betting that his conversion into Death Eater was a whim, not a long-contemplated and carefully plotted act. Peter strikes me as a weakling who said yes to the easiest thing rather than wait through the hard times for a more noble opportunity."
"If I have another opportunity, I’ll kill him."
"His doom is sealed. His death will be from inside his chosen circle. You will not have to lift a finger to kill him."
He stared up at her, but she didn’t look at him. She was looking at Peter in the picture. There was a suggestion of distaste, but no pity in her expression.
"You told me you prevented Sirius and Remus from killing him because your dad would not have wanted them to become murderers." Now she turned her eyes to his. "How much more so, Harry, would your father wish you to remain undefiled as long as possible?"
"Is it just that you don’t want me to kill him?"
"Harry, I hope that you never burden your conscience with the death of another, ever. It’s the most horrible thing, and you are never who you were beforehand—it can’t ever be undone. I know you will do what is right, even if it is hard, whether that is killing or refraining from it. But I really believe someone else will kill Peter." She sighed. "It’s just an impression."
"I hope so. Much as I want justice, revenge, still I don’t relish the thought. But I have this feeling I need to steel myself for it."
"Maybe you do. If not him, then someone else."
He put the photo album aside and pulled her into his lap. Having her understand cheered him up somewhat. "Have a nice nap?" he asked, seeking for her neck above the collar of her robes.
"I did, actually. Oh, my." Involuntarily she closed her eyes, her fingers tangling in his hair. It was a few moments before she spoke again, and when she did, she sounded breathless. "You didn’t shave this morning."
"Sorry." He knew by the smell of her that she wasn’t especially amorous, but he needed to hold her, to be drawn away from his brooding thoughts of those dead or betraying faces, and she responded with enthusiasm that was not artificial. And she did not seem sorry about his bristly face.
And then there was the sound of the back door opening, and the footsteps of their companions. In a moment, Graínne was standing by the fire, fastening the neck of her robe over a red patch on her neck and shoulder, and Harry was trying to compose himself. As their friends were coming into the room behind him, Graínne crossed to him and adjusted his turtleneck over the angry red mark on his neck. "Sorry about that," she whispered with a grin.
"Did you finally wake up?" Hermione asked with a smile, as Graínne picked up the photo album and returned it to the shelf. "Of course, Potions would put anyone to sleep."
"I object," said Zanni, who was visiting. Remus was official chaperone this afternoon, looking better than he had on New Year’s Eve, which was just after the full moon. He saw the photo albums, and glanced at Harry.
"You didn’t have Snape as a teacher, though," said Ron darkly.
"No, he was a classmate."
"Ooh, I wish you’d come and teach us Potions," said Ginny.
"Unfortunately, that post isn’t open," said Remus lightly, his eyes straying again to the shelf of albums. "I wondered where these went," he added to Harry. "May I?"
"Of course," Harry answered readily. "You can even have my chair. I’m getting a drink. Looking through old things is thirsty work."
Remus had taken several volumes off the shelf and was sitting down on the couch. The others clustered around him, but Harry went across the hall to the kitchen.
Dobby was making hot chocolate. "Good for friends coming in from the cold," he said happily. "Does Harry Potter sir want a cup?"
"More in the mood for a glass of water, Dobby. How are you doing? You okay here?"
"Oh yes, sir! I cannot imagine a better place to be serving. I is looking forward to when Harry Potter sir and Miss Graínne are home from school and here to take care of all the time."
Harry nodded. "Looking forward to that myself, Dobby."
--------------
On the last day of their holiday, Harry and Graínne walked through the house together, making plans. There were things needed everywhere. It still felt like a bachelor flat--enough to sit comfortably, not enough storage, nothing seemed to go with anything else. A temporary place. It was easy to see after a few minutes that their tastes were similar, but hers were more defined, and she had a better idea of what was needed, rather than a vague feeling that something was. So Harry told her to watch the Daily Prophet ads, and if her family would help with the acquisitions, to get what was needed.
"To facilitate that, and to prevent anyone who might be interested from finding out it’s for Harry Potter, or having things sent here, I’ll transfer some gold into your name, so that you can act immediately, and it won’t be in my name."
She looked awkward.
"Look, Graínne, it’s either our house or it isn’t, and if it isn’t yours, I don’t want it. If you buy it or I do, it still has to be bought. I’m not giving you gold because you don’t have it, I am giving you gold because it’s ours. Everything that’s mine is yours."
She nodded, but promised herself to be very careful with it. Even now, she did not know the size of Harry’s inheritance, for it had not come up again, and neither had thought (or dared) to bring it up. They were standing in the master suite. In the bedroom there was a cheap wardrobe of pressboard that had seen better days, and the double bed was only the metal frame part that held the mattresses off the floor without head or footboard. A long, low dresser with a mismatched mirror, along with a straight chair completed the furnishings. None of it was very attractive. The bath, however, had potential. It was all white marble with an occasional cobalt tile here and there to add color. It had a great large tub and an excellent shower and two sinks, but the walls were bare, and there were only a few ragged towels on a shelf in the cupboard. It could be luxurious, it was luxurious, but it was also empty.
Except for the rooms on the second floor where Sirius’ things had been stored, every other room had been fitted for sleeping. Moody was there often as an overnight guest, and David was staying tonight and helping drive back to school in the morning along with Rory and Morag. Graínne was thinking she wanted a study up on the second floor, where she could write and play music and think. It had always been her dream to have her own study rather than just a desk in her bedroom, which was always the smallest one because she was the only girl.
"I had thought we’d share the one downstairs," said Harry tentatively, trying to mask his disappointment. He had had visions of the two of them together there, reading and writing.
"Well, we probably will, but there will be times when you want to be alone, or I do. Granted they might not come for several decades, but--"
He grinned suddenly, pulling her close for a kiss. "Okay, you’re probably right. And the fact is, I’ll probably want my own private study, because that one just isn’t very private. But I like it."
"Me too. The kitchen’s great, for a family sitting room, but I can see us reading the Sunday papers and writing letters in the study, can’t you?"
"Yeah. We’ll write our memoirs in our private studies."
She laughed happily. "Exactly."
----------------
They spent the next day driving back to Hogwarts, and made such good time that they arrived before the train, and Rory drove the car up to the front doors.
Professor McGonagall came out to meet them. She waited until they’d said goodbye to the Camerons. "Hurry your things up to the Tower," she instructed the students, a faint smile suggesting she was glad they’d arrived safely. "By the time you finish, the train should have arrived, and the students should be coming in. To those who stayed, it will seem that you have come back with the rest, and to those on the train, it will look as if you stayed."
"Is it very irregular that we came by car?" asked Graínne.
"Very," said Hermione, levitating her trunk and Crookshanks’ basket. She had let him out as soon as they arrived. "One might say frowned upon, even, but there’s no rule about it that I ever read."
"And since she’s read everything available, you can be pretty sure there’s no rule," said Ron dryly. He flashed a smile at her when she turned a frown upon him, and added, "I love you, Hermione."
The frown disappeared into a giggle.
"I don’t miss the train, even if I do have to carry my own bags," Harry said as he guided his floating trunk around a corner. "Such as it is."
McGonagall had called the timing very well. The hall was thronging with students, and no one noticed them coming down the stairs. They slipped into the Great Hall with the rest, ignoring the Slytherins, looking forward to the feast. Heads were turning toward them, and greetings were called out. Graínne felt rather as if they ruled the Hall, Head Boy and Girl, the most popular Quidditch team. People wanted to be known by them. It was power, and she felt the responsibility of it.
Harry and Hermione had to talk to Dumbledore before the feast began, so they went to the head table to meet with him. It was very quick. They joined the rest of the House at the table long before the students had finished assembling. Harry only smiled at Graínne, taking his seat beside her and giving her knee a squeeze, and Hermione whispered something to Ron, and then Dumbledore was opening the feast.
"Look at Parkinson," Ginny whispered to Graínne.
Graínne glanced across the Slytherin table until she found her quarry. Pansy Parkinson was flashing an engagement ring around. She looked extremely smug.
"Is Malfoy out?" Graínne asked Ginny, keeping her voice very low.
"Haven’t heard. McGonagall might know."
"I’ll see her after. I’d rather Harry heard it from friends."
"Might not be Malfoy’s ring," Ginny pointed out reasonably.
"Might not. Ravenclaw’s right next to them, maybe Parvati can find out from Padma." Graínne got up from her seat to go and whisper in Parvati’s ear, further up the table.
Parvati’s greeting had been a little cool, having found out that Lyn spent Christmas in their group, but Graínne pretended she didn’t notice, treating Parvati with the same warm friendship she had always done, before and after Lynford. She agreed to ask her sister after the feast if she had heard anything about Parkinson’s ring. Graínne slipped back to her seat, glancing toward her aunt at the head table. She happened to catch her eye, signaled a question for after, and got a nod.
"What’s going on?" Harry asked low, choosing the tenderest-looking filet mignon for her.
"Just gathering information. Parkinslut is engaged, it seems." She transferred a white quarter of roasted chicken to his plate in turn.
"Oh?" He didn’t even glance at Pansy. "Think it’s Malfoy?"
"Trying to find out. Won’t know until after the feast, when I can talk to people without looking interested. Can’t imagine he’d get out so quickly."
"Or that she’d take him after he’d been in prison."
"Oh, she might think it’s cool. She’s twisted. But if he is out and isn’t supposed to be, she wouldn’t be flashing his ring around. So maybe she’s bagged a different git."
He snorted. "Can we practice sword in the mornings?" he asked, dismissing Parkinslut.
She was chewing, and took a moment to consider. "Instead of running? Sure. With all this snow and ice, running is dangerous. And we need to improve ourselves in that area anyway. Every day or four days a week?"
"Er, four days for two weeks, then every day?"
"Suits me." She grinned at him. "Looking forward to it. We might want to consider varying it with running after a while. All the miles of corridor, we ought to be able to vary our path every time we run, and not repeat much."
After the feast, Graínne made her way to Professor McGonagall’s side and waited until she had finished speaking to the prefects. When they had disbursed, she said low, "Auntie, is Malfoy out of prison?"
"Which one?" asked Professor McGonagall dryly. "Lucius, yes, Draco, no, not to my knowledge. And since we pressed the charges against him, I rather think we’d be notified if he was out. Especially given his murderous bent."
"Just wondering. Parkinson is flashing a ring, and she’s always been thick as thieves with him."
"I see. I’ll make certain about Malfoy."
"I’ve got Parvati checking with her sister, as well. Ravenclaw’s sure to overhear, given their close proximity to Slytherin’s table. I’ll let you know what I find out."
"Likewise."
They parted, and Graínne made her way out into the entry hall and up the stairs, toward the group of Gryffindors who were waiting at the top for her. Parvati hurried up after her.
"Oy, Graínne, wait." She reached her on the stair. "Not Draco, but Marcus Flint."
"Who’s that?" They linked arms and walked up together, speaking softly.
"Quidditch captain a couple years back. I think he graduated before you came. A real nasty one, if you ask me. Flunked out one year, had to repeat. Supposed to have loads of gold, that’s what she seems to care about."
"She’ll get over that pretty quick. Oh, wait, we’re talking about Parkinslut."
Parvati gave a humorless snort. "They deserve each other."
Harry was watching them come up, and offered his arm to Graínne. "What news?"
"The great dirty bitch cow is engaged to someone named Marcus Flint."
"Urgh. He’s part troll. So much for faithfulness to her first lover."
"I wonder if her ring will curtail her other activities. Even Slytherin girls call her a mattress."
He gave her a wry smile. "Never heard that one. Can’t say what the boys call her."
"Once a ho’, always a ho’, I guess."
"Can we talk about something else?"
She smiled. "I love you."
"You are a brilliant conversationalist, have I ever mentioned that before?" The smile turned into a grin. He returned it, but grew more serious immediately. “Professor Dumbledore wants to speak with me privately before bed. I’ll need to go directly to his office.”
“Okay. I’ll wait up for you.” She gave him a kiss, and he watched her go with the rest of the Gryffindors toward the tower. With a sigh, he turned toward the Headmaster’s office on the third floor.
Dumbledore was waiting for him, and so was Professor Snape. Harry schooled his face and shored up his Occlumency walls, tidied his room, and nodded politely. “Good evening, sirs.”
“Please sit down, Harry,” said Dumbledore pleasantly. “How was your holiday?”
“Very nice, sir, thank you. And yours?”
“Busy, as I expected. I hear congratulations are in order?”
“Thank you, sir.” Harry had half-expected a reprimand for betrothing himself; would this not be distracting? He caught the tightened lips of Professor Snape’s expression, and knew that if Snape had been on the other side of the desk instead of Dumbledore, Harry would be receiving a dressing-down of rare ferocity.
“Have you set a date?”
“Yes sir, August twentieth. We hope you and Professor Snape and the other professors will be able to attend.”
“I shall do everything in my power to attend, as I am certain Professor Snape and the others will.” He did not give Snape a chance to accept or refuse the invitation, but turned to the reasons he had asked the young man to come. “Morag and Rory Cameron have been keeping us posted on your progress with the sword, and Graínne assures me that you are reaching a level of competence that will soon require a master teacher.”
“She’s still much better than I,” Harry answered hastily.
“Be that as it may, she has not attained her mastery yet, and has limited ability to teach you beyond that which she has already done. William Cameron doubts his ability to do more for you at this point than help you learn to think more divergently. He will be giving you a few lessons this month, when he has free time. After that, you will take up lessons with Professor Snape.”
Nothing could have prepared him for this announcement. After a moment of struggling to keep his mouth from hanging open in amazement, he cleared his throat. “Sir?”
“Professor Snape comes from a very old family, and was trained in his youth in bladed weapons. He attained his mastery at the age of nineteen, and has kept himself sharp, so to speak, ever since. There is no better sword master in all of Britain.”
“Except possibly Lucius Malfoy,” Snape corrected softly.
“Let us hope that Harry does not need to face Mr. Malfoy with a blade, then.” Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling. “Graínne also asserts that you have mastered Occlumency.”
“I—I believe so, sir. I haven’t had the dreams or visions, and I am able to block out his emotions more often than not. I also blocked Morag and Rory Cameron successfully for the past week.”
“It is important that you are able to defend yourself at any moment, even without warning,” said Dumbledore, his eyes having twinkled at the mention of the Camerons and then becoming serious again. “I believe it would be useful to you to take up your Occlumency tuition with Professor Snape again, so that you have some experience with someone less inclined to be gentle.”
Harry snorted— he couldn’t help it. Snape’s eyes narrowed, but he did not speak. “Of course, sir, I will do it if you think I should, and if the professor is willing.”
“He has agreed to it. Please arrange your schedules accordingly. I understand that your regular physical training regimen is rather strict, but I feel sure that Graínne will accommodate the change.”
“Perhaps Miss Cameron would like to continue her sword lessons as well?” Snape said suddenly. Dumbledore’s eyes darted sharply to Snape’s face, but he did not move or speak otherwise. Snape was looking at the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, snoozing in his frame.
“Are you offering, sir? Shall I tell her you will take her as a student?”
Snape turned his gaze to Harry. “If everyone is agreeable, I would not object to continuing her training. She will be quite valuable to the war effort when fully trained, both magically and martially,” he answered after a moment. His obsidian eyes revealed nothing.
Harry was tempted to try to see what emotions lay behind the eyes, but he knew beyond doubt that Snape would retaliate cruelly, and Dumbledore would not be impressed. “I will relay the message, sir.”
--------------
Rings seemed to have been popular Christmas gifts that year. Hannah Abbott was engaged to Justin Finch-Fletchley, no less than four Ravenclaw girls had rings from boys who had graduated the year or two previous, and word came through Parvati that Cho Chang was engaged to a Japanese wizard who had immigrated to London and was twenty-eight years old. Graínne didn’t mention that to Harry, thinking he wouldn’t care, hoping he wouldn’t, and not wanting to trouble him --or herself-- if he did care. They were both better off not knowing.
It was good to have the rings passed out and off their minds, for the seventh years now faced N.E.W.T.s in earnest. Harry seriously considered using his Invisibility Cloak to stay in the library to continue studying. However, his experience the first year was memorable enough to damp down his enthusiasm. He suspected only the books in the restricted section screamed, but he didn’t want to risk it again. It was long enough ago that his year was the only ones who could have been responsible. Additionally, more than one of the professors knew he owned a Cloak.
Hermione was in her element, but Harry and Ron knew from experience that she would be in a horrible temper during important exams. Regular exams were nothing, she waltzed through those without the lift of an eyebrow, but these which tended to define careers were of her utmost concern. Graínne tended to be more annoyed by homework than exams, apparently, but they hadn’t known her during O.W.L.s, so there was nothing to which they could compare her behavior. She seemed much more snappish than ordinary. In their dormitory, Harry hoped aloud that it wouldn’t get any worse.
"Oh, that’s nothing, she’s a little cranky. Remember when Hermione bit your head off about her runes translations two years ago?"
"Yeah, but when is Graínne ever cranky? Not very often. She almost never raises her voice. We’ve only had one serious row since she’s been here. She’s like her mum, a look can just about kill."
"Or make you wish you were dead," said Seamus Finnigan glumly. He had caught a little of Graínne’s wrath in the past. He had always had an infatuation with Graínne, so to bother her was awful.
Snape had taken to testing Harry’s Occlumency anywhere, any time. The only place he felt truly safe was in the Gryffindor tower, but even there he had to shield from Voldemort. He might be accosted in the corridors, in the classroom, at meals, during Quidditch matches. As expected, Snape was as rough as ever. However, Harry had had training and practice, and Snape was increasingly unable to penetrate his defenses. Whenever he did manage to access Harry’s mind, he was quickly repulsed again.
No matter how crushing the work, though, Graínne and Hermione were combing the classifieds in the Wednesday and Sunday papers for the materials with which to set up their homes next summer. Harry and Ron sometimes joined them on Sundays, not because they cared, but because they were wanted. During the week, Graínne often got a photo in the mail if there was something she was really interested in purchasing for the house, and these she showed Harry. A gorgeous roll-top desk was purchased this way from a witch in Dorchester, and the parlor furniture came from an estate sale in Kent. Morag Cameron wrote that rumors were now circulating that she and Rory were moving back to Britain permanently, and they were acquiring fine furniture for their newly purchased mansion in Perth. "Of course I’ll never again live in any big city if I can avoid it," she added.
Chapter 46: Moonlit Meeting/The Talk from the Nurse
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
In February, a bedraggled cat begged some milk and a warm corner to dry its paws in the Hog’s Head. The owner wasn’t especially fond of cats, but this was a pretty one, and it was bitterly cold and icy outside, so he let it sit behind the stove. It sat there for an hour, bathing its cold wet paws, and then it drank a saucer of milk, and then it wound around the legs of the patrons for a while, and at the end of the evening, it slipped out with Wiley O’Roark and his friend. They didn’t seem to notice that it tagged along with them through the frozen streets of the village, nor did they notice that it stood in the fence row while they met with hooded and cloaked figures out in the country under the waxing moon.
Now Wiley O’Roark was a figure rather comparable to Mundungus Fletcher, a thief, a purveyor of stolen goods, but he had a Dark bent, and he was used by the Death Eaters and the Dark wizards around them to gather information. His friend was a stranger in town, and had set up the meeting between the thief and the hooded and cloaked figures. Wiley gave the information he had, and some gold changed hands, and Wiley went back to the village. The friend of Wiley exchanged a few more words, and then the hooded figures Disapparated. The cat came out into the road then, and wound around the friend’s ankles.
"What’s this? Ah, I see you, Tabby." He reached down to stroke the cat’s lovely thick fur, to scratch under its chin and behind its ears. Abruptly, the cat shied away into the fencerow again, and the stranger heard a step behind him in the road. Looking around and seeing no one, the stranger decided to Disapparate himself, and was gone the next moment.
The cat, meanwhile, slipped through one of the narrow openings that every cat in the castle knew, and crept through the silent halls to the great gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster’s office. There it sat down to wait, for it had an appointment, and it was slightly early. Mrs. Norris, the caretaker’s dust-grey cat, came past and hissed at the bushy Persian, but did not otherwise interact. The cat hissed back, but kept washing its paws. Before long, the gargoyle came to life and moved aside, and the wall split open. The cat entered, stepped onto the stairs, and was brought to the door at the top.
There at last, with no one watching, the cat transformed into human shape again, and Graínne rubbed her face with the back of her hand before she could stop herself. Straightening her cloak and robes, she knocked.
"Come in," said Dumbledore clearly. "Ah, Graínne. It must have gone well." He stood up as she entered, smiling his twinkling smile at her.
"Well enough, sir. I wasn’t caught, and Will gave me a note to bring back," she said, handing it to him, "but someone must have suspected something, because one of them doubled back. I was seen in the pub, but no one noticed me leave, and no one saw me following them. I kept to the shadows, and when they went outside the village, I stayed in the fencerows. Everything smaller than a dog uses those trails, and only the animals know about them, though I didn’t see any other animals on them tonight. And they’re nice and clear, so you don’t make noise, and you can hear everything and see most things."
"What did you hear?" He motioned for her to sit, and offered her hot cocoa.
"In the pub, Wiley mostly talked about his current venture, which seems to be scamming recently widowed witches, getting them to sell off their valuables to pay phony gambling debts accrued by their deceased husbands. I’d like very much to make a full report to Magical Law Enforcement on Mr. Wiley O’Roark.” She wrapped her cold hands around the hot mug gratefully. “But he had already made the contact before I got there, and they were just waiting around for the right time. He was very careful not to mention the business he had there that night, and Will didn’t lead him into it."
"How did you know Will?"
"I can see his Animagus in him, of course, but also his smell."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I see. That wouldn’t change with his appearance?"
"It doesn’t have to change. He can keep his normal smell, if he needs to. He and Dave are an awesome team, because Dave knows him so well. Dave can always tell it’s Willie, no matter what, and he’s not a Discerner. I’m not that good, since I’m not a twin, but since I became an Animagus, I can tell him by his scent if he keeps his regular one. He agreed to keep his scent tonight so that I would be able to tell him without a doubt. There are other Abyssinian cat Animagi in the world."
He nodded. "Please continue."
"So they went out about five minutes til eleven, walked past the third pasture, and halfway past the fourth they met three hooded figures. They never put back their hoods, but I could see they had masks on as well, so it wouldn’t have mattered. Death Eaters. Wiley told them that Flamel’s supply of Elixir was gone, either moved or consumed, and since the Stone was gone too, there wasn’t making any more. The research records that Flamel had kept were gone, too, and no one seemed to know where they were. He said Hogwarts was the likeliest place to find them, if they hadn’t been destroyed, but he couldn’t get in without all sorts of alarms going off, so they’d have to get an insider to do the job. Professor, what alarms was he talking about?"
"Wiley is one of the persons our doors will recognize. The doors are charmed to alert us whenever certain people come through them."
"Oh. Well, the Death Eaters didn’t say much, but one of them made a remark to Will about his loyalty, that when he proved conclusively his loyalty to the Dark Lord, he would be richly rewarded. I thought he sounded a little familiar, but I couldn’t place the voice. It was a very cultured accent. I kept thinking I should know it, but I couldn’t tell from where." She gazed at Dumbledore, who was gazing at his folded hands on his scarlet blotter. "Sir, did he mean that Will’s been asked to join?"
“He did."
"I thought so." She frowned to herself. "Will’s always loved the thrill of the hunt, sir, but I won’t swear to his hatred of the Dark Arts."
Dumbledore gazed at her thoughtfully. "I trust William," he said after a moment.
"Good," she answered, relieved.
"What is your opinion of him as an Occlumens?"
This question took her by surprise. "Well, I haven’t been around him as much since coming here, but based on what he was like before I left the US, I’d have to say he’s not as good as Dad," she said, thinking. "I’ve beaten him two or three times, too. Maybe he’s improved, if he’s been practicing. That was mostly his problem before: that he didn’t practice much. None of us are in the same class as Mom, either."
"Morag is talented. Have you anything else to report? Did you see the person who returned?"
"I got back into the fence row without being seen, and Will Disapparated, and then someone came back, but he had an Invisibility Cloak, so I couldn’t see quite who it was, just the shadow he cast in the moonlight. If there’s something else about a person, I can still see them through an Invisibility Cloak—my personal quirk on the Discerner ability.”
“Something else?” he repeated, to clarify.
“Like an Animagus, or werewolf, or some other kind of condition. I’m not consistent on Metamorphmagi, though—I can tell Tonks, but not Will, go figure. I could see through Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, even before he became an Animagus. I think it has to do with the connection through the scar, that’s his otherness.”
“I see. That’s a handy quirk to have. And how many came back to spy on Will?”
“Just one. I’d know the smell, I think. It was peculiar."
"Any idea what made it so?"
"Dead mice." She wrinkled her forehead in a frown. "Sorry, that just came to me. I was drawn to it as a cat but it was otherwise abhorrent. Like dead mice. I remember the Magical Creatures class at Thunder Hall smelled that way, because the teacher kept several kinds of snakes, and he fed them dead mice. There are other creatures that eat them, too, I guess."
"Yes, there are. Please think back, and tell me, of the three Death Eaters, did only one speak, or did all three of them talk?"
"One said nothing at all. One did most of the talking with Wiley, which wasn’t much, just a few short questions. Not enough for me to get a sense of his accent, and he could have been putting on his voice, it was very gruff. The third was the one who spoke to Will. I think the one who didn’t speak was the one who smelled like mice."
"Thank you, Graínne, you’ve done exceptionally well. On another topic, sword lessons?”
Her eyes lit up. “Sir, I despise Professor Snape. He’s arrogant and emotionally poisonous, and it seems the only joy in life for him is driving Harry to swearing. But he’s the most brilliant swordsman I’ve ever seen. He’s driving us both much farther than we ever thought we could go.”
“I’m glad to hear it has been time well-spent. He has given glowing—for him, that is—reports of you both, as well. It seems that Harry has a gift for this, and that you do, as well. Knowing what we know about Harry’s wand and Lord Voldemort’s, it is appropriate that Harry be trained in as many alternate methods of attack and defense as possible.” He sighed, looking tired. “Your presence and training with him has been invaluable to his moral, and for that I thank you. Now, go to bed. You should not have any problems getting back to the tower."
Graínne said good night and went back down the revolving stairs. She wondered idly what happened on the stairs if someone was coming up while someone else was coming down. Did they stop revolving altogether, or did the inner half go up while the outer half went down? She wondered, as she made for the tower by the fastest route, if Harry was still up, and if she was awake enough to finish her Goblin translation, or if she should just go to bed.
Harry had fallen asleep in his chair. Everyone else had gone to bed, the lamps were almost all out, and the fire was low. The room was a little chilly. She dropped her cloak into the chair beside him and bent low, kissing him without otherwise touching him. After a moment he kissed her back, soft and sweet, and then he pulled her into his lap. His mouth was tender, his arms strong, and his hands seemed to be a little curious. Graínne caught his wrist, laughing, but she did not push his hand away.
"How did it go?" he asked quietly, pulling her closer.
"Like clockwork. Someone came back to check on Will, though, so they’re either really cautious, or they’re hoping to catch him in a lie." She nestled in his arms, her head on his shoulder. He smelled of wood smoke from the fire, a little sweat, peppermints, stew from supper that Seamus had dripped on him accidentally, a faint hint of aftershave from this morning, and an underlying scent that was only his, that reminded her slightly of sage and cedar, and maybe ginger.
"You weren’t seen at the meeting?"
"Almost was. I had gone out into the road to meet Will, because he had a note for Dumbledore, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t see me. It wasn’t light enough to see markings, anyway. And size would be questionable, as well. How did it go here?"
"Non-eventful. This here is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me all night. Of course, we could have had a full-fledged Death-Eater invasion here, and this would still be the most interesting thing." He grinned as she giggled. "I’m not spending enough time with you, love. Maybe we ought to take a leaf from your parents’ book and elope next weekend."
"I can’t think of anything worse than enforced celibacy after the legal constraints are gone. If we’re always sneaking off somewhere to do the nasty, we won’t be studying for N.E.W.T.s, and we won’t get into Auror school, and I could get pregnant--"
"Do the nasty?" he laughed.
"Don’t you call it shagging, over here?"
"Only if you’re very crude."
She smiled. "Beloved, much as I would like to make love right here and now--"
"Hush up, you are talking too much right here and now, we aren’t married, we aren’t getting married until this summer, but I can still kiss you and a few other things."
"Then let’s settle for that."
----------------
"The fact is, Miss Cameron, there are no magical methods of birth control." Madam Pomfrey’s mouth was all pursed up. She didn’t like having this discussion with students— not because she found it embarrassing, but because she believed that students thinking about birth control were also thinking about sex, and therefore they were not thinking about their lessons. But the engaged seventh year girls had been talking about it, and no one seemed to know anything, and those who were interested in putting off conception for a few years had decided to come and talk to Madam Pomfrey as a group. Even the Slytherin girls had heard about the meeting and joined them, though they had nothing polite to say to any of the other girls.
"So what’s a witch to do?" Graínne demanded, waving her arms comically, which made the medical witch soften up a little. The girls all giggled.
“Those who have further ambitions than marriage resort to Muggle methods. There are spells that will render the man or the woman permanently sterile, but there are no magical methods of temporary sterility." She went on to a very candid discussion of birth control.
It was not the short discussion Graínne and Hermione had envisioned when they planned it. An hour and a half later, the group emerged from the hospital wing, thoughtfully silent. They split up to return to their Houses, because it was now near curfew, and all of them had a sense of being no closer to the answers they had sought than when they went in.
"Where’ve you two been?" Ron demanded, raking his homework into a smaller pile to make room at the table for them.
"Hospital wing," said Hermione absently. "I can always go home at Easter and get an appointment with my mother’s doctor, G, and you can come with me, but what are the others to do?"
"Learn to use a telephone? How much does it cost, anyway?"
"No idea. You mean the medicine, don’t you? And there’s fees for the office visit, as well. And it’s not like you can go get three years’ worth, you have to go every year for an examination. Usually they only give you three months of pills at a time, and you have to call back for a refill."
“You know, I bet we could get rich off this. Talk about niche marketing—selling Muggle meds to witches—”
"What are you talking about?" Ron demanded, louder this time.
"Hush, Ron, darling," said Hermione, surprised.
"Female stuff," said Graínne with a grim smile, as if she hoped to embarrass him.
"What did Madam Pomfrey have to say?" Harry asked curiously. Graínne had been frank with him about going to see the medical witch.
"That there’s nothing temporary in our pharmacology or charms catalogue, that we have to resort to Muggle methods or have babies or never have babies."
"Oh, birth control. Why didn’t you say so?" Ron wiped his pen and started sorting the note cards for his History essay research into order for copying. He’d become a lot less easily embarrassed over the last year.
"Did she talk about counting the days of your cycle?" Ginny asked curiously. "Because I wouldn’t recommend that. Mum says that’s what they did, and see how many times she got pregnant."
"Here I just thought that they kept at it until they achieved perfection," said Graínne with a grin, and Ron snorted while Ginny giggled. "She did talk about it, and said just as serious as you please that women who use that method of birth control are called mothers, sooner or later. It must be the method my parents used."
"So you’re going to a Muggle doctor?" Harry asked. He had been half-hopeful and half-dreading the results of Graínne’s conversation with Madam Pomfrey. If she was able to procure contraceptives, they could elope. At least, possibly.
"Well, I guess we better talk about it. There are two options I’m willing to consider, but the more effective one has side effects, so you get to help decide. There are several other options I didn’t like the sound of, over the long term, but you might be interested in them. But let’s talk about it tomorrow. None of them are available tonight, and if I don’t reel off four feet of History, I’m going to ruin my grade average." She pulled out a roll of parchment and looked for her pen.
"It’s only two feet due, Graínne, you don’t need four," Ron pointed out.
"I got an extension on the last installment. I owe him two feet already."
"No one has ever gotten a deferment on Binns’ homework," said Ginny, awed.
"Nonsense. He says he used to do it all the time before he died." Graínne grinned. "You just have to know what questions to ask, Ginny-o. But now it’s going to bite me in the butt, because I haven’t written a word of it yet. Bloody stupid Dark wizards and witches of the nineteenth century—"
"Don’t leave it till later, you big second-rater!" said Ron suddenly, in a singsong voice, distracting Harry from Graínne’s spurt of cursing. She didn’t curse often, anymore, and it was therefore more effective. Harry and Ginny burst out laughing at Ron, and Hermione looked slightly embarrassed, but Graínne gaped at him as if he’d slapped her.
"What the hell?" she demanded, astonished.
"Sorry," laughed Ron. "It just reminded me of one of my darling’s gifts to me and Harry in the past. She gave us these homework planners that said charming little phrases like that every time you opened them."
"Apparently we had developed cloth ears to her encouragements, so she got us a gadget to take up nagging where she left off," said Harry fondly.
"I was trying to get you to take your O.W.L.s seriously," she explained, only slightly put out at their amusement.
"We will be using real hand-and-a-half swords for drills from now on," said Snape coldly the following Saturday. "Your moves are improving, but you need the weight of a blade to build up more musculature and stamina." He turned away. “You are both dismissed.”
"I’m afraid to use a real blade on you," Harry mused, as they left the training room that had been set aside for them. He was able to mark her almost every day now. Snape had them spar while he barked instructions and critiques at them.
"Not in sparring," she pointed out. "Heck, I’m afraid of you, too! He said for the drills only. You know, it might be good for us to use the Room of Requirement as a weight room, build up some muscle that way. He hasn’t mentioned it, but at home my brothers and I did that."
"I rather like the Room of Requirement as a date room."
She laughed. "Well, I do too, but I also don’t see how we can get access to weight machines any other way. And think how it will speed up matters with Snape, if we bulk up a little. Then we can focus on technique."
"Want to go up there now?"
"Sure, that’s a good idea."
"You’ll have to do the imagining, I think, since I’m not sure what you want."
"Never seen a weight room?" she asked, shifting the black case that held her sword and practice blades to her left hand so he could take her right. It wasn’t the fanged scimitar she had showed him before, but a rather plain hand-and-a-half, red leather pommel wrapped in copper wire.
"Well, on television a long time ago."
"I know just the machines I want."
The hallway beside the Room of Requirement happened to be empty just then. Harry let her walk back and forth three times, concentrating hard, and the door appeared, this time dark cherry with brass handle. Graínne’s wood tended to be cherry, he noticed. Inside, there were two identical universal weight machines, along with specialized machines that simulated chin-ups, two rowing machines, and hand weights of varying sizes. Harry looked around doubtfully.
"Okay, first we learn the circuit, then we work out," she said, as if sensing his hesitancy.
At first, the novelty of the machines added interest and variety to their workout routine, but Harry soon got over that. However, it was not as intellectually challenging as actual dueling and swordplay, and he liked that they could talk while they worked out. They often quizzed each other for tests during that time. And Harry liked the fact that his arms and chest were getting stronger, his stomach flatter, and the endurance he was building through running (when weather permitted) was improving. Graínne seemed to like the changes in his body, as well.
"All right," growled Ron one evening as they were getting ready for bed. "Whatever you’ve done to yourself, I want it too."
"It isn’t pretty," Harry laughed. "You have to start running again, as well as working out on weights. But the biggest component is time. It takes a lot of time."
"One thing we don’t have, as seventh years. Is that where you go in the mornings?"
"Sometimes morning, sometimes evening. We’ve been working out with weights in the Room of Requirement three days a week. We run whenever we can, and we’re working on sword skills with Snape as well. But Graínne says if you just run and do weights, you’ll get your body in pretty good shape."
"I hate the running, but these weights sound interesting. The weather’s still pretty foul, and you run in it?"
"Not always outside, and sometimes we don’t run. Sometimes we just run stairs."
"What do you mean?"
"We jog in the corridors. Filch doesn’t like it, but McGonagall said it was okay as long as it was very early, before breakfast, before there were students around. And running stairs is just what it sounds like. We run up and down the West Tower stairs, ground floor to the top and back. It usually takes us all of our time to do it up and down and then up to seventh. It’s wicked hard."
"Sounds wonderful." Ron sounded glum. "On the other hand, it’s making a difference in you. I wouldn’t mind making a difference in me. Ask G if she minds that I come with you, will you?"
"Sure. We’re running halls tomorrow morning, I know she won’t mind that. Come with us."
So Ron began joining them. Because of the extra physical exertion, they were unable to stay up late studying, so they had to be more disciplined with their time between classes and on weekends. A single game of wizard chess became joyful playtime. There was no lingering after Quidditch practice, and the Gryffindor team tended to go for quick wins over big point-spreads, so that Saturday afternoons weren’t totally lost.
The discipline leaked from them into other lives, and Ginny, Gwyneth, Bran, Colin, Neville, and many others improved in their studies, their personal appearances, and their conduct in the halls. Professor McGonagall exclaimed that she had never had such a sharp N.E.W.T.s class. Harry and Ron were consistently pulling off "Outstandings" in Potions, which were graded blindly, so that Snape did not know to whom any of the samples belonged. There was no way to mark the sample vials, either, Dumbledore had made sure, except with the secret number assigned to each student, and since the students did not know their own numbers, Slytherins could not tell Snape. Harry wasn’t sure how it worked, except that he received his homework back through Professor McGonagall, and that the system was unbiased, which put Snape in a foul mood. Some of the Slytherins he had always favored weren’t doing quite as well as they had been. He was reduced to harassing Harry and the others in class, which was proving harder and harder. The new discipline was enabling them to endure much without getting flustered or angry, and both Graínne and Harry knew that in their private lessons, they had earned the professor’s grudging respect.
The Quidditch was well in hand, although Slytherin had put together a strong side, a real challenge for the first time in years. However, there was just no stopping the Gryffindor machine. Professional scouts attended every match that season, and were constantly making overtures to all of them, even Ron, who professed to be the worst player on the team. Lyn was thinking seriously about going professional after school, before he started work in banking. Ginny shrugged, saying she’d consider it later, that she had no use for such invitations at this point, but next year was another matter. Harry and Graínne smiled and were charming but that was all. They had outgrown their desire to play professional Quidditch, but they often referred to it when studying was especially irksome. It was just nice to know that they could if they wanted to.
The N.E.W.T.s work they had to do became increasingly burdensome, though. Hermione had once again taken on a slightly insane look, to go with her insane workload. Graínne was very glad she had not chosen banking or healing as a career path, because the marks required for Auror were heavy enough. To deal with stress, she was taking longer runs in the morning, and as the weather started to warm up, she took to swimming in the lake in the late afternoons, as her schedule allowed. The water was still bitterly cold, but she endured doggedly, for she craved the variety in routine and the vigorous exercise. Harry tended to do push-ups and chin ups at odd moments in the course of studying lessons and researching more and more jinxes and hexes for self-defense and the discomfort of his enemies.
“Wouldn’t it be nice,” said Graínne one evening over the Defense Against the Dark Arts text they were reading for class the next morning, “if all we had to worry about was how Puddlemere United was faring in their match against Ballymoor Wildfire?”
“Nice, maybe, but unrealistic,” said Hermione absently.
“Well, no, not really,” Ron objected. “If the world was safe, we could be that way. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that we could live like that some time in the future.”
She blinked at him, surprised. “Why, Ron, darling, that’s a lovely bit of probability. Have you been studying statistics in your spare time?”
“No need to be sarcastic,” he grumbled.
“I’m not at all. It’s quite true, what you said. I am in awe. What makes you say so in the first place, Graínne? It’s not like you to wonder what if.”
Harry looked up curiously, to see how she would look as she answered.
“Oh, everything just seems onerous today. I’m sitting here wishing that the things I like best in the world were also the most pressing and important. Getting married is right up there, of course, but I’m suffering from the tyranny of the urgent, studying for these freaking exams, practicing for Snape. I can’t even make the plans we desperately need to make for food and clothes and invitations— because we have to study our defensive spells. It’s just a drag, that’s all.”
“We’ve been working very hard,” said Lynford thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair and gazing out the dark window. “It’s burn-out.”
“And there’s no sympathy to be had out there,” Graínne added, waving her hand toward the rest of the castle in general, “because people are telling me I shouldn’t be trying to plan a wedding and get good N.E.W.T. scores.”
“You could ask your mum to do some of it,” Harry pointed out. He screwed his eyes shut, fully expecting to be yelled at. She had been adamant about keeping her parents out of the wedding planning, not wanting to have a load of clichéd, engineered “events” that had no real meaning to her. Harry had pointed out in the past that there was no real evidence that Morag would insist on clichés and meaningless traditions, but at that time, Graínne had not wanted to listen. He wondered now if she had thought better of the idea—having her mother help her, that is.
“I don’t know if she would help, she’s one of the ones who told me it’s my own fault.”
“Well, it ain’t just you, is what I’m saying,” Lyn asserted. “We are all pressed. And I ain’t even planning a wedding.”
“But you could ask your mum, she’ll understand the stress and besides she’s dying to help,” Hermione persisted. “I’ve asked my mum and Ron’s both for help finding out things and making reservations and all that. And you are your mother’s only daughter. She’ll never get a chance to do another wedding, most likely. You should ask her.”
“I didn’t think of that,” said Graínne, rubbing her right eye with a knuckle. “Bet she’ll yell at me for not asking sooner.”
“If she does, it will just be form,” Harry predicted. He knew from Will that Morag was practically tearing her hair out over this very issue, but he had been sworn to secrecy. Morag was dying to be asked, and she had loads of things she wanted to do. “She’ll help you, even if she has to yell at you first. You know she will,” he added, encouragingly.
“Well, I’ll send her a note tomorrow, asking. Can’t hurt to ask, can it?”
“That’s all I’m saying,” Hermione agreed.
Mom,
I have a big favor to ask. Please don’t feel compelled to say you will, because I know you’re busy, too. It’s just that I’m overwhelmed with school, and I need help planning the wedding and getting things done. Would you be willing to take over some of the work there? I would be very grateful, and besides that I would treasure the memory all the more because of what you’d done.
And I understand completely if you can’t.
Love,
Graínne
Harry nodded over the note, but his mouth quirked. “Just the right amount of hopefulness and desire not to be a burden.”
“Is it pathetic?”
He laughed. “No, love. It’s good. She’ll love it.”
And she did. She wrote back immediately with extensive ideas and offers of assistance. The result was that Graínne became less frenzied, which helped everyone else who had to be in contact with her. There were some rough times when Morag forgot to ask, but simply told Graínne and Harry what she had done, and some of it was annoying and had to be undone, but for the most part, it was good to have help.
At Easter, Ron and Hermione went to her home for the holiday. They were the only seventh years to leave, and they did not stay gone the whole break, but came back Thursday morning to get on with studying. Ron said afterward that it was a good time for her parents, whom he had only met a few times. They felt much more kindly disposed toward him, after having a good long visit in which to get acquainted. Harry and Graínne worked hard, but they played hard, too, racing on brooms and climbing trees and sneaking out to Edinburgh one night and getting Harry’s ear pierced.
It was by far the most rebellious thing they had done, leaving the immediate area without permission. Harry’s tiny white gold stud was almost invisible, and he made sure his hair covered it in McGonagall’s class. No one else would give him a hard time, but she would notice, he was sure, and she would not let it go. Better, they agreed, that she should not have the opportunity to start. Graínne found that she liked it much more than she thought she would, but thought perhaps it was so attractive because it was part of the whole experience, sneaking out together, being free from watchful eyes. It inspired her to greater passion, which was not necessarily something she needed help with. Staying out of private rooms became much more challenging. In the end, it was only fear of pregnancy that kept them from giving in, not any great dedication to abstinence.
Chapter 48: April and May, Another Quidditch Cup
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
April was chilly and damp, and May was fitful as well. Madam Malkin came one blustery Saturday and fitted eight wedding gowns and sixteen bridesmaid robes. Graínne negotiated for a Charles II bedroom suite but failed to get it; in the end, the previous owner sold it to a relative despite Graínne’s higher bid. She was getting a little worried about the master suite. Hermione and Ron had their names down for a flat in London starting August 1, and testimony to her efficiency, Hermione had all the furnishing arranged. She even had contingency plans for things like dishes if the wedding gifts did not provide enough materials. Graínne refused to consider the possibility for herself, fully aware that true, deep, mad panic would set in if she did.
The reality of the war began to creep closer. The newspaper was publishing disappearances and murders now, and even Muggle news carried stories of deaths from unknown causes, theorizing about some new biological terrorism that had no apparent application pattern or detectable source. By the end of May, Ginny quietly pointed out, twelve Hogwarts students had lost relatives. Two Order members and two Aurors had fallen, as well. Even the Ministry had clumsily begun to fortify itself: all the Aurors from the last class had been hired, no matter whether they were any good or not. Tonks said it was almost as bad as not hiring anyone.
Graínne dreaded opening the paper in the morning, dreaded the approach of unfamiliar owls. Every owl might bring the official letter, beginning with the hateful words, “We deeply regret to inform you that your (fill in the blank) has died in the conflict against He Who Must Not Be Named—” She knew her parents and Will were in the thick of it, and now David had taken leave from his job with the MRA and was somewhere in England, working for the Order. Even back in the States, her younger brothers were under ever tightening security, and strangers were hanging around Bonk Pass. Charlie moved there to help Bart protect the boys. Kate was sending Laz and Lon to karate class. The nieces had been taken out of dance classes, which were hard to secure.
People she knew from the MRA started cropping up in conversations and letters from her parents, innocuously, of course, since letters could be intercepted, and she even saw Graham Marley, head of the Magical Central Intelligence Agency, leaving the Entrance Hall with Dumbledore after a meeting. Political allies in other nations were beginning to make their offers of support, unofficially as well as at the Ministry. The papers covered the visits of heads of state from France, Germany, Italy, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Egypt, and many other countries, as well as the US. The weekend that the Wizard President was in London, Dumbledore was away from the school. Much as the Ministry liked to make a show of being in control, no one at Hogwarts really doubted that anyone but Albus Dumbledore was in control of the British resistance.
Despite the growing closeness he shared with Graínne, Harry was keeping a secret. He saw and understood the worried frown every morning as the owls came in with the post, and it hurt him to keep anything from her, but he would not willingly add to her worry. He risked keeping the secret, developing his Occlumency skills to the degree that he could keep it without her knowing that he was keeping anything back—a false bottom in a desk drawer in his mental room. Legilimency between them was becoming effortless; they often shared thoughts without a wand or even a wave of the hand. If they were near enough to one another, aware of one another, they could almost converse in words; emotions and mental images were even easier to pass. This made secrets difficult.
Ron and Hermione didn’t know, of course, nor many of the members of the Order, either, that Harry had been inducted into the Order on the night that Graínne and Hermione spent with the Grangers in March. Blood vows were made, loyalty and honor to the death, the downfall of Voldemort. It had become necessary to bring Harry into the Order, so that plans could be made and training accomplished for the final duel, the end of the war or the beginning of hell. Having attained mastery of Occlumency, Harry was finally ready to participate in the war.
------------------
The Quidditch Cup was won, stood on the center table in the common room, and the party going on around it was wild. Loud music, butterbeer, stout, a spiked punch, and more junk food than any previous party, dancing, laughter— it was different than any other party she had seen here. There was a release that was palpable, even though it was only May, and end of year exams still loomed. Graínne pointed this out to Harry as they sat together in one chair in the corner, watching.
“They sense it,” he answered, his eyes roving over the room. He noticed that very few seventh-years were present—only himself and Graínne. He suspected that the others were all out fornicating somewhere. It was his duty as Head Boy to go break it up, but he hadn’t the heart to bring trouble on Ron and Hermione, Dean, Seamus— even Neville was absent. “The war is started, and they’ll be called to fight, they’ll lose people. This is the tail end of the good times for them, and who knows how long it will last? There might not be any more parties after we leave here.”
A year ago she would have chided him sarcastically for being so freaking cheerful, but the truth of his words was undeniable. She felt it too, this impending end time. Bitterness was coming, horrors untold. She could not fault her housemates for throwing inhibitions to the wind during these last days of light, sensing the darkness that was coming.
“I can’t help but notice that you and I are not out there dancing and drinking and partying like tomorrow is the end.”
He smiled a little, turning his green eyes to hers. “Well, it isn’t. Not tomorrow. There’s still at least a month before we leave this shelter. After NEWTs, that’s when we’ll pretend we don’t see the gathering storm, and we’ll challenge our vows of abstinence and sobriety and good behavior in case tomorrow brings the worst.” He sighed, kissed her forehead, because tears sprang into her eyes. “Do you want to drink and dance and party tonight, love? Because we can do that. It would do us both good.”
“I want to laugh, and pretend that we don’t know it’s coming. I don’t have to act like tomorrow is bringing the worst, but I want to act on the fact that it isn’t. Tomorrow is only the last Sunday in May. But we won the Cup again, which makes us famous, we’re in line for the House Cup if no one loses massive points, and while we know something wicked this way comes, we really don’t have to behave like it’s coming tomorrow.”
His smile this time was more genuine, freer. “You’re right. We’re seventeen, we have the luxury of not worrying about the end. So let’s start with some dancing, shall we?”
For most of the rest of the evening, they had a genuinely good time. They danced wildly, ate fattening foods, drank (albeit moderately), flirted with one another. When he felt her tongue trace his jaw and flick his earlobe during a slow dance, he whispered that he would get his Cloak and they would find somewhere quieter for a while. He had toyed with the notion of taking her upstairs, but he thought having her in his bed with a silencing charm on the drapes might be more temptation than he could withstand.
He ran up the stairs two and three at a time, and slipped into the dormitory quietly, suspecting that there was at least one bed already occupied. He was a little surprised that his was the only one that wasn’t closed off by curtains and silencing charms and imperturbable spells, but only a little. He’d known Ron and Hermione probably wouldn’t be able to last any longer, but he did wonder which girls were in the other beds. He was enormously relieved that he hadn’t brought Graínne up here, though. He couldn't imagine handing her such disrespect as to bring her into a room full of shaking bedsteads for whatever reason. Getting his Cloak and the Map from his trunk, he slipped back out and hurried downstairs to where she was waiting in the stairwell.
“It’s too crowded in the common room for us to be able to get out while under the cloak, so we’re just going to have to brazen it out,” he said, stuffing it inside his robes.
“Right. They’d all be surprised if we didn’t go off alone, wouldn’t they,” she pointed out.
“I guess. I brought the Map, too, so we can tell who’s around.”
“Where will we go?”
He unfolded the Map, touched it, reciting, and looked at the empty rooms. “I was thinking the Room of Requirement, but it’s already occupied.”
“Eww,” said Graínne. “Parkinslut and Nott. And Zabini?” She made a gagging noise.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to have a date in there again,” he agreed. “Here. It’s nearby, secluded, defensible, and has a great view.” He pointed to the Astronomy observation deck.
“Have you ever been there outside of class?”
“Once, long time ago.” He smirked at her questioning look. “No, I wasn’t with a girl. Well, actually, Hermione was there, we took Norbert up to meet Charlie Weasley’s friends, to go to Romania. But that hardly counts as having gone up there. I told you, Graínne, I’m virgin territory. Except for kissing Cho a few times, everything else has been with you.”
“Just like to annoy you, that’s all. You sure about going out?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“I just don’t want you to get into trouble.”
“We aren’t going to get in trouble. It isn’t like you to waffle on opportunities to bend the rules, love. Everything all right?”
“I just don’t want to get you in trouble, that’s all.”
“What are they going to do, expel us?
“They could take enough House points that we’d lose the Cup.”
“If they caught us.”
She seemed to decide. “Okay, what’s the corridor like?”
“Empty… looks good leading up to it, as well. Let’s go.” He wiped the Map, and she tucked it inside her robes. Hand in hand, they made their way across the common room, more challenging than it sounded because of the dancing and other activities, and went out through the portrait hole.
It wasn’t difficult to reach the Astronomy Tower. Graínne looked up. “Oooh, a shooting star! Harry, it’s a meteor shower! Come look!”
Harry dropped the Cloak on one of the benches as he joined her. “Wow,” he breathed, look at the dozens of streaks of lights.
Pushing two of the wide wooden benches together, they lay back and watched the show, snuggled to one another, the Cloak thrown over the top for its scanty warmth as the night grew chill.
As the meteor shower began to wane, he turned to her and jacked himself up on his elbow. “I love you,” he said quietly.
She refocused on him and smiled slowly. “I know.”
“Don’t be good for my sake, if it is against your nature.”
“I would not shame you, or bring trouble on you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Even if caught out of bounds in the middle of the night with the Head Boy?”
“Even then. Lucky lad.”
She smiled, touching his cheek with two fingers. He had been bruised there earlier, an elbow to the face, but Madam Pomfrey had fixed it. It was a rough game, after all; an elbow check was legal. “Lucky me.”
He caressed her chin, and bent his head to kiss her, his hand sliding down in a leisurely glide to her neck, then almost cautiously downward. Usually they refrained from such behavior, because it was difficult to control, and after a while, it wouldn’t be enough, and the next step would have to be taken. But this was a night of celebration, after all, perhaps the last playtime any of them would have before NEWTs. Harry shied mentally from the sure knowledge that there would be no playtime after NEWTs for him. If he thought about it, she would know. She would sense it in him. So he caressed her gently, tentatively, and lost himself in her responses. She turned toward him, burrowing her chilled hands under his shirt, over his hardened torso, excusing the act as trying to stay warm. Her hands were less tentative than his, and her left thigh eased over his hip as they moved closer together. He deepened the kiss, tenderly rolling onto his back, pulling her along so that she lay against him. Her right hand cradled his head, tangled in his hair, her left hand moving down his chest and stomach to the waistband of his jeans, then back up. In minutes, they were both overly warm, and Harry cast the Cloak back behind him— only just in time.
The door banged open, laughter exploded onto the tower deck, and they sat up in shock to see a rather inebriated sixth year Ravenclaw couple stagger out from the stairs. Harry got up and did the Head Boy routine while Graínne rolled the Cloak up and hid it with the Map, in an inner pocket of her robes, which meant shrugging into them quickly. Shooing the couple before them, Harry and Graínne retreated in order, breathless and giggling, thankful that it had been only a couple of drunken undergrads and not someone important who would remember. By the time they headed back to their own tower, they even believed that the Head Boy had found them out of bounds, not vice versa.
And by that time, they were both too tired to hide it, and returned to their common room, which was much quieter than when they had left. Harry was reluctant to retire, though, not knowing whether those extra people had gone, and not wanting to confront Hermione in Ron’s bed. Graínne brought her guitar down, and he learned a few chords from her, liking the closeness, the sound of her voice, the touch of her hands on his. When they were finally alone, he kissed her thoroughly, and they said goodnight at last, content with their evening of celebration.
Chapter 49: N.E.W.T.s and the Last Day of Sanctuary
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
[View Online] [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]
The topic of N.E.W.T.s was all anyone seemed to be able to talk or think about, after the Quidditch Cup. Of course undergrads were relatively oblivious, but they were also relatively sympathetic. Seventh years were given permission to use the library after regular hours, were given opportunity to join study groups and were assigned places in which to meet. Unsurprisingly, these groups ran along House lines, and the Gryffindors opted to meet together in a conference room near the tower. There were five NEWTs that all of them were taking: Defense Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, History of Magic, Charms, and, Astronomy. Most of the time, they all studied together, but for subjects like Arithmancy, Divination, Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies and Potions, they separated, either taking turns in the study room or using the boys’ dormitory room.
Professor Snape was unsympathetic to their study schedule, so group sessions involving Graínne and Harry had to be planned around sword lessons. They had both improved dramatically under his training, and were now wearing charmed protective gear and sparring with real blades—with Snape himself. One evening in early June Graínne disarmed him three times, and he declared her at mastery, that she had learned everything he could teach her. Harry redoubled his efforts, and was rewarded with a grudging admission the next week that Snape had taught him all he could.
“Does that mean I’m a sword master?” Harry asked swiftly.
“No, Potter,” Snape snarled, “it means I have taught you all you are capable of absorbing. There is a distinct difference.”
Graínne smothered a grin behind her hand, and since Snape had his back to her, only Harry saw it. There was a decidedly wicked twinkle in his eyes as he sheathed his blade. “I didn’t think you were really that good,” he sighed.
Of course Snape was incensed, and told Harry he would see him the following evening.
“Sorry, sir, we have our Potions study group tomorrow evening. I can fit you in after lunch.”
Snape glared ferally. It was his only free period tomorrow. “It will have to be then, I suppose. Don’t be late!” He turned and stomped out.
Graínne waited a full ten seconds after the door closed before she gave a wild hoot of laughter. “Did I just hear you manipulate Snape? Did I?”
“I’m sure I’ll pay for my insolence tomorrow,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Or any time he has a chance before then.”
“You just be all pleasant and compliant, then, so he can’t hurt you. I’ll come along, too.”
The door opened, and in came Dumbledore. They greeted him with smiles.
“Professor Snape informed me that you were available,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I wanted to see where you stand as far as dueling goes. I saw your exhibition last year, and was quite impressed, but I’d like to create more combat-like conditions. Are you game?”
“Sure,” said Harry with a shrug. “Whom will we be dueling?”
“Me,” he answered, mischievous.
“Two against one, or one at a time?” Graínne asked, not at all intimidated. She pushed Harry’s chin upward, so that his mouth closed.
“One on one,” said Dumbledore. “You cannot depend on being together at the crucial moment.”
“Still, it wouldn’t hurt to get a little practice in there, either,” she pointed out reasonably. “And having two against one of us would be very helpful, even though neither of us could hex the other with wicked evil intent. Still, it would give us experience with more than one adversary.”
“Quite true, Graínne, but let us save that experience for another day.”
Though initially buoyant at the thought of having Graínne as a combat partner, Harry suddenly realized he would rather she not be there at all, when it came to the last battle. He knew that his fear of her injury, capture, or death would impair his ability to fight at optimum levels. However, he did not speak these thoughts. “Whom would you like to go first, sir?”
“Graínne has had a less strenuous work out this evening, let’s put her to the test, shall we?”
Graínne had already removed her sword belt and protective armor, and grinned nervously. “And the goal is?” she asked.
“Don’t kill me and try not to get tied up.”
“I can’t do an AK or a death curse series on an ally,” she said reasonably.
“Have you ever done an Unforgivable?” Dumbledore asked, surprised.
“Had to do it on a rabid re’em, once. Only time I’ve ever done it, though I’ve been trained in theory. I can also perform all the defensible or reversible death hexes. I got trained in those when I learned Apparition. But I’ve never tried to kill someone magically.”
“Perhaps animated manikins would be useful for these exercises. Be that as it may, the goal of this examination is for you to avoid being disarmed and bound, and if possible, to disarm and bind me. Are you ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be, sir.”
Harry thought it was like ballet, watching the two of them duel. Dumbledore made everything look effortless, though he was not as athletic as Graínne. He was very creative, as well, mobilizing furniture and pieces of exercise equipment to deflect many of her hexes. This was combat, he thought, rather than exhibition. This was what he had done with Voldemort two years ago in the lobby of the Ministry. Graínne moved like water, smoothly, naturally, even running and tumbling, shooting powerful hexes and curses that would have found their marks without the constant shields—found them even though she was moving when she delivered them. She never seemed to grow tired, either, though he could see she was sweating and breathing hard. Every move had as much strength and energy as the last. She maneuvered Dumbledore back into the corner a bit, but since he was still fresh as a daisy, it didn’t help much. However, she began to summon things from around the room, chairs and desks, and enlarging them, building a wall to shoot from behind, in an effort to take him by surprise.
Dumbledore chuckled. “Very good, Graínne. That’s an excellent method.”
He said this right before she caught him with a Jellylegs. Surprised, he collapsed, and Graínne shot the ropes at him. With a squawk, she leaped over the back of a chair and rushed to his side, arriving about the same time as Harry.
“Oh, sir! I’m so sorry!” She waved away the ropes with her hand.
Dumbledore laughed heartily. “Don’t be! You passed the test! That is exactly what you are supposed to be trying to do. If you can’t out-muscle them, you must out-smart them. I suspect that if you focused your magic enough, it would be powerful enough to break shields, but that requires more experience and practice than you are likely to get before the next confrontation.”
“You mean try to harness wild magic?” Graínne asked, helping him to his feet again.
“I would not suggest you attempt such a thing at your age. However, it is possible, with strict concentration, to access more power for familiar spells. I believe there is an excellent book on the subject in Miss Granger’s possession, called More Magic Per Point. As you are preparing for NEWTs, now might not be an opportune time to study the phenomenon, but perhaps after?”
“Perhaps,” Graínne agreed. “Harry’s turn.”
Harry scowled at her. “Nice, Graínne,” he grumbled. “I was hoping he’d forgotten.”
Dumbledore and Graínne both laughed.
In the duel that followed, Harry lasted a lot longer than he had thought he would, but Dumbledore was too… venerable, he decided, to try the underhanded tricks that he knew he was capable of using. This was his reflection as he lay petrified and bound on the floor by the window.
“You didn’t try,” said Dumbledore, sounding disappointed, although his eyes were twinkling. He dissolved the magical ropes, which were silken. Dumbledore was classy, after all.
“As my beautiful fiancée mentioned, it’s difficult to try against an ally.” He got to his feet with a groan. “I don’t think you were trying very hard, either.”
“I tried as hard as I needed to,” came the serene answer. “Think of me as an enemy, Harry, or at least as the manipulative, controlling old bastard you thought me two years ago.”
“Oh, now, sir, that’s forgiven and forgotten. At least forgiven, since I understand everything much better now.”
“Remember how angry you were at the time,” Dumbledore prompted gently. The twinkle was gone, and he arranged his expression to sternness. “Ready, Mr. Potter?”
“Er—”
The wonderful, casual smoothness of motion that had characterized every magical movement Harry had ever seen the headmaster make was suddenly gone. Swift and terrible, he brought his wand up and pointed for a curse, and Harry twisted aside and rolled behind one of Graínne’s enlarged chairs. Using his momentum, he regained his feet and fired off a series of powerful hexes, responding instinctively to the threat. The third shattered the magical shield—Harry saw it fragment in shards of light. The fourth, Stupify, knocked Dumbledore flat on his back.
“Damn,” said Graínne solemnly, standing up from her protected position behind an overturned table. She hurried to revive the headmaster, Harry reaching him about the same time.
He sat up promptly, with something between a laugh and a groan. “That,” he chuckled, “is what I meant. Nicely done, Harry my lad.”
“Are you hurt, sir?”
“Not much,” he admitted, letting the younger man help him to his feet. “However, I believe I will dismiss you for the evening. At my age, it’s best to stop while I still have a choice in the matter.”
Graínne snorted and clapped a hand over her mouth, winning a grin from Dumbledore. “That’s what my dad always says when he wrestles the twins,” she explained, blushing at the embarrassing noise she had just made. She blushed harder when she realized that was why Dumbledore had said it. Harry was chuckling and smiling fondly at her. “Does that mean we’re finished for now?” she asked, elbowing him.
“It does. Good night, dear ones. Go back to your tower before curfew, please.”
“Yes sir,” Harry answered, and the two of them packed up and shrank the gear they had been using. As the door closed behind the headmaster, Harry slanted a look at Graínne. “Tired?”
“Oh heck no,” she chuckled. “Invigorating exercises, bitter wit from Snippy, and watching you and Dumbledore hex each other—no, darling, I am rather wound up.”
“Really.” He pocketed his gear bag. “What will it take to unwind you?”
She grinned at him. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“How about,” he began thoughtfully, drawing her into his arms, “we nick something to drink from the kitchen and head over to the Room of Requirement for a little moonlit boating?”
“Can you do that? The boating, I mean.”
“I think so. I’m willing to give it a shot.”
“Will we be able to get to the tower before curfew?”
He glanced at his watch. “If we don’t dawdle here. We can always do the ‘Head Boy caught student out of bounds’ routine, if we get caught in the halls.”
She snorted. “Everyone knows we’re together, no one would fall for that.”
“Then we’ll have to depend upon stealth and superior knowledge to avoid it.”
“Let’s see, I have stealth and you know all the shortcuts and secret passages. This might just work.”
“Hey, I have stealth, too!”
“All right,” she answered, in a tone that said “if you insist” more than anything else.
“Brat,” he flung, tickling her ribs.
“Prat,” she answered, twisting away and sweeping his legs out from under him. Immediately she threw herself on top of him and went for his ticklish spots, his neck, his knees, his ribs.
They never made it to the Room of Requirement, as it was more fun to roll around on the mat tickling and wrestling and laughing, and finally a bit of snogging, which was what they had both wanted in the first place.
-------------------------
The weekend before exams, the common rooms were almost silent. All study rooms were occupied almost around the clock. Those with kitchen connections arranged to have food sent to their study rooms, along with coffee and tea and caffeine-laced soda pop (for the American-born foreign exchange students still among the student body). Graínne lived on Diet Coke and pizza and Oreos and M&Ms, varying the routine at breakfast with hot coffee and syrup-drenched french toast and chocolate-chocolate chip muffins. For the last two months, their professors had done little in class except teach for the NEWTs, and the time was upon them. All the sugar and caffeine was a last-ditch attempt to rev the engines, which were extremely fatigued.
Graínne was a little alarmed at her own complacency. She felt confident in her knowledge, that she had done everything she could to prepare, that except in History (where she sometimes confused the names of the Centaurs’ Council of 1921, for example), she had learned all she could. She thought she should feel a little more anxious about the coming exams, first being Ancient Runes, followed in the afternoon by History of Magic. Tuesday she would have Transfiguration, with the practical in the afternoon. On Wednesday, she had all her language exams in the morning, Astronomy in the afternoon, and the practical at midnight. Thursday they had off, and Friday was Potions, the following Monday was Defense Against the Dark Arts, Tuesday was Charms, and so on. There was nothing alarming in the schedule for her, so she helped others by quizzing them.
To say that the exams passed completely without incident would be incorrect. The incidences, however, were not terribly serious. Several people had exams hysterics, and Lavender took to weeping whenever asked to conjure a chair out of air. Seamus had a nervous tick he could not seem to stop, and Ron’s hair looked as messy and unkempt as Harry’s. Hermione muttered to herself constantly, and no one had the guts to ask her to speak louder. Graínne, to break the tension, painted an enchanted mural on an old sheet as a distraction, working on it whenever she needed a study break. It was a view of the lake, placid and peaceful, although during times of tension, the giant squid would boil up out of the water and sink all the little rowboats full of students that it could find. Sometimes sharks would attack instead, and sometimes the Spanish Armada would sweep in and attack the castle, only to be repelled by Weasley fireworks. It was quite a painting.
“Going to hang that in our house?” Harry asked her Sunday afternoon. He came up behind her as she worked on it, filling in details like birds and water lilies, frogs on the verge.
She grinned at him. “Bit large, I think. Maybe in the hall, past the clock. But more likely upstairs, on the second floor, where no one has to look at it.”
“Maybe in the study, where I can see it all the time,” he answered, sliding his arms around her and nuzzling her neck.
“I don’t think I’d enjoy looking at it all the time, actually.” She closed her eyes. “I’ll give you a million years to stop what you’re doing.”
“Hmm,” he answered, licking the curve of her ear, listening to her hum contentedly. “Then we’ll hang it behind your back, so I can look at it and you, and you don’t have to see it.”
“Break it up,” snapped Hermione testily.
“Sod off,” Graínne answered mildly, although it brought gasps from younger students. Hermione made a very rude American gesture in return, and Graínne returned it with both hands, and they both laughed, which was a big relief to their fiancés. There had been some fear that this could turn ugly fast. Neither of the young ladies was exactly stable, emotionally, during exams.
Ancient Runes involved the two girls in the morning, and the rest of the Gryffindors studied for History of Magic. At lunch Harry and Ron found their fiancées calmly eating lunch and discussing the translation they’d been given at the end of the test. Harry could not help but remember Hermione’s Ancient Runes OWL, and he could tell by the look on Ron’s face that he was recalling that time as well. This was completely different.
“Graínne, I believe you’re a good influence on us,” said Ron, giving Hermione a kiss on the cheek as he sat down. “Sitting here discussing exams like civilized people. Marvelous. What’s this?”
“White chili,” Graínne answered, looking at him with mild surprise. “Instead of beef, it’s chicken, and white beans instead of red, and less tomato. It’s one of my favorites—my mom makes the best, but this is pretty good. You guys ready for History?”
“Eh, reckon I’ll pass. I know the important parts, anyway.” Ron helped himself to a large bowl of the chili and several chunks of cornbread. “Mmm, smells good. The Dark Wizard stuff has been loads more interesting than the giant wars or the goblin rebellions ever were.”
“Hear, hear,” muttered Harry, flashing a grin at Graínne as her hand dropped to his thigh for a squeeze. “You did all right?” He leaned into her shoulder a bit.
“Yeah, I think so. Hermione’s brilliant at it, and without her help early on, I’d never have been able to do the ablative case shi—I mean dung. I’m sure I passed, anyway. The translation made sense, everything lined up right. Did you study hard?”
“Hardly studied,” said Ron, winking at Graínne.
Harry looked sheepish under her surprised gaze. “I had a headache,” he said quietly. “Been building since last night. It’s rarely a good sign. But we’ve studied so much, I’m not too worried about it. As long as I don’t go into full-scale trance or something, I should pass. And Ron’s right, the stuff we’ve had this year has been loads more interesting than everything up to O.W.L.s.”
“Do you still have it?”
“What?”
“The headache. Do you still have it?”
“Oh. A bit, yeah.”
She gazed at him, frowning gently.
“I’ll be fine, love. Don’t worry about it.”
And he was. Their exams, while nastily exhausting, passed with relative calm. As far as Graínne could tell, if his headache continued or grew worse, he hid it well. He never mentioned visions, if he was having them, and she never found any residual traces of them in their “sharing.” She knew he was an Occlumens rivaling Snape, and that she would have to look really hard and purposefully for such traces, but as yet, no suspicion prompted her to think he might be hiding something. All their minds were full of study and work and practice and getting through the most important exams of their school careers. Graínne simply assumed that Harry’s mind was full of the same things, without any other complications—an assumption based on the core belief that he would not hide anything from her.
----------------------
It was Friday night. Exams were over, and everyone was eating and drinking—either celebrating the end of another school year, or trying to drown the memory of abysmal performances on tests, or pretending not to have heard the news this morning that Auror Gil Smith-Plonkett had gone missing and was presumed dead. Someone—probably Seamus (since they were Irish label)— had obtained six bottles of fire whiskey, and the seventh years were in a sharing mood. The prefects had got the younger children off to bed around midnight, when the real party started to roar. Harry nursed a single shot all night, though no one noticed. Graínne stuck to beer, though she was abstemious as well. Ron got thoroughly pissed, and Hermione was less than cold-sober, despite the injunction from the Heads of House to watch over the younger students. Loud music and energetic dancing accompanied the junk food and immoderate drinking. Harry moved through the crowded common room, having made his tours with Hermione of the other common rooms (their duty as Head Students) early enough to allow the real parties to go on. He chatted with everyone, friendly, upbeat, full of jokes and smiles.
Watching him from the edge of the hearth, Graínne began to have suspicions. He was too happy. This was near the anniversary of Sirius’ death, a time of deep sadness, and it was the very tail end of his sanctuary years at Hogwarts. The graduation ceremony and the Leaving Feast would be in exactly one week, and from what she had read and heard, this was the time when Voldemort had made his moves in the past. Harry should be worried, anxious, buried under blinding headaches, or at the very least, sad.
“He’s hiding something,” she murmured to the bottle she raised to her lips. No one heard her.
Now that her exams were over and she was reasonably secure in the results, Graínne had begun to realize that Harry had arrived at the last days, and he wasn’t showing the strain. She remembered their conversation the night of the Quidditch Cup, and knew that this smiling, charming, friendly, happy Harry was a false front. The questions remaining were, in her mind, what he was hiding, and what she was going to do about it.
He looked over at her, just then, and seeing that she was alone, he started toward her. The smile he gave to her was genuine, she could see, and she returned it freely. “Hey Cameron,” he called to her across the room, drawing the eyes of others.
“Hey Potter,” she called back.
“Will you marry me?”
“Well,” she drawled, and let it hang for a long moment, during which laughter and catcalls were actually louder than the music. “Sure,” she laughed, bringing cheers from their housemates.
He reached her by then, and wrapped his arms around her and kissed her happily. “You’ve made me the happiest wizard in the world,” he murmured, holding her close.
“Not yet I haven’t. I’ve only agreed to.”
“Right now, a promise is about as good as the real thing. Want to dance?”
“I’d love to. I was wondering if you were ever going to ask me.”
“Can’t waste all those lessons you gave me. Besides, if we’re dancing, I get to hold you and grope you and it’s perfectly acceptable.”
“Pervert.” She let him lead her into the unfurnished space in the middle of the room, crowded with dancers, and melted into him. Despite the fast tempo, they treated it like a slow song, swaying in half-time and holding each other. She wanted to get him talking, so she could figure out what he was hiding, what he was planning—moment by moment she grew more certain that he was planning something. But Harry seemed content to dance, to kiss, and to not talk.
“So school is over,” she said finally, trying to start up a conversation. “Tomorrow is the end of the world.”
He drew back and gazed at her, frowning. “Could be.” He met her gaze without prevarication. “Remembering that talk we had after the Quidditch Cup?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”
“It would be a lie to say that I hadn’t thought about it.”
Graínne looked into his eyes, waiting.
“The world probably won’t end tomorrow,” he said, slightly exasperated.
“Do you know something?”
“No.”
It was not too quick an answer, but it was too final. He was keeping something back. “The day after tomorrow?” she tried, hoping he’d take it humorously.
He gave a snort of laughter. “Graínne my love, tonight we drink and dance and pretend tomorrow is the end. It won’t be, I think, but it might be. I don’t know when the end is coming, nor how it will turn out. It could be very good. Let’s spend this evening hoping that.”
“That’s a nice way of telling me you don’t want to talk about it. Sort of nice.”
“That isn’t what I mean at all.”
She sighed. “Then we’ll pretend.” She pulled his head down and kissed him passionately, more out of annoyance than passion; however, the passion caught up with her through his enthusiastic response, and she managed to forget for the time being that he was keeping a secret.
Graínne woke up screaming.
Since it was just after four, this inspired screaming among her roommates, who had all been enjoying pleasant dreams or dreamless drunken stupors. Hermione had only been in her own bed an hour, but Lavender and Parvati had been staggering drunk at midnight and passed out by one, and Graínne had levitated them to their beds herself.
“Wha—” shouted Parvati, brandishing her wand wrong-end out.
Lavender bolted for the loo with a groan, her hangover expressing itself in reverse peristalsis.
“G, what is it? A nightmare?” demanded Hermione, grabbing her dressing gown.
Graínne had jumped nimbly to her feet in the middle of her bed. “Harry!” she gasped, leaping to the door in a single bound and wrenching it open.
“Graínne! You aren’t dressed!” Hermione ran after her, robe in hand.
Graínne sprinted barefoot down the seven circular flights of stairs and then up the seven flights to the top floor of the boys’ dormitories, ignoring or not hearing Hermione’s whispered calls for her to stop, to wait, she was wearing only a tank top and thong panties for goodness’ sake! After all, Graínne called thongs “butt floss” for a reason!
The door of the seventh year boys’ dorm burst open before Graínne reached it, and she ran full tilt to Harry’s bed, stunners flying past her, and she swept back the curtains as he pointed his wand. He whipped it away and stared at her.
“Damn, Cameron! Are you trying to get killed?” Seamus yelled, who had fired three times at the moving target without coming close.
“Damn, Cameron, nice pajamas,” said Dean, leering.
“Oh dear,” said Neville, looking away.
“Blimey,” said Ron, covering his eyes. “Not an image I needed burned into my brain.”
Hermione panted in, and threw her robe around Graínne, who was still goggling at Harry. Hermione’s pajamas were satin, but the shorts and blouse covered much more skin than Graínne’s current attire.
“You’re—” Graínne stared wild-eyed at Harry.
“What is it, love?” he asked softly, resisting the urge to make a joke about not having eloped yet. He swung his legs over the edge of his mattress, keeping the covers over his lap.
Tentatively, she stretched her fingers out and touched his shoulder. “You’re all right.”
“Yes, love,” he answered, taking her hand and drawing her to sit beside him. He didn’t want to stand up in nothing but his boxers with Hermione there. The sight of Graínne in her current attire was, after all, rather arousing. “Bad dream?”
“It wasn’t a dream.” She buried her face in his neck, reveling in his comforting arms.
“Shh,” he soothed. “It was a dream, love. As you can see, I’m perfectly all right.” He looked up at Hermione, who was wrapped up in Ron’s arms. “Why don’t we go down to the common room and let everyone go back to sleep?”
Graínne wiped her face with her hands and got to her feet. Harry grabbed his dressing gown and shrugged into it while Hermione kissed Ron and went downstairs. Ron patted G on the shoulder and dropped a kiss on the top of her head as she stumbled past him.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered to them all.
“S’alright, Graínne,” said Seamus, already burrowed in his blankets.
“Yeah, we can hardly go a week without someone waking us in the middle of the night,” Neville agreed, relieved that she was covered again.
At the bottom of the stairs, Graínne and Hermione looked at each other.
“I’m sorry, she said again.
“No reason to be,” said Hermione, and gave her a hug. “We’ve all had nightmares, we’ll have them again before it’s all over. Have your talk and try to get some sleep.” She patted Harry’s arm and went back up the girls’ stairs.
“Let’s go sit,” Harry offered, his hand going to the small of her back to guide her. They sat together in the same armchair. “Tell me about it.”
“It was night.” There was no hesitation in telling him. No matter what he was keeping from her, she would not respond in kind, but would speak everything, and harbor no secrets. “A Portkey took me to a yard, a big garden, and I saw you go into the house. It was a really big house, like a mansion or a manor. I had to fight, and I couldn’t follow you because the enemies just kept coming. And then the house fell on you, and I couldn’t find you—you wouldn’t answer me—you were gone—” She broke down into sobs.
“It was real enough that you didn’t believe it was a dream?” he asked gently, not doubting her or trying to show her the error of her belief, but prompting for more information. If she’d had a vision—
“No, it was a dream, I see that now. At least I think so. Fighting felt like I was swimming in solid Jell-O, you know? and all the faces of the enemies were Parkinslut and Dragondinky.”
He snorted. “Never heard that one before.”
“All the girls call him that— dinky is a euphemism. It isn’t what I usually say, but I’ve embarrassed you enough this evening.” She considered what she had said. “Well, not all the girls call him that; everyone knows who I mean when I call him that.”
“It could be taken as a compliment, though. Dragons are quite large creatures—”
“With teeny tiny reproductive organs.”
Harry laughed, and she gave a small chuckle. “Is that the voice of an eye witness?”
“With dragons, yes, with Malfoy, no. Eww. No, I saw a pair mating at the preserve in Montana in fifth year. And it wasn’t pretty.” She curled her legs across his lap and snuggled into his side, shivering a little.
“Cold?” He drew her into his lap.
“No.”
He ran his hand along her thigh toward her hip. “Your skin feels chilled,” he whispered.
“Really? It feels on fire right now. It must have been the fourteen flights of stairs I sprinted in my drillies,” she answered breathlessly, turning her face to his chest, the act of which moved the lapel of his robe back.
“I wish I’d seen that,” he gasped as she began to trail her tongue along his collarbone. He squeezed her bottom and she bit his shoulder lightly, eliciting a groan from him. “Everyone got a good look but me.”
“Ah, but you are excluded from the ‘look but don’t touch’ clause,” she told him, and nipped again at the same spot on his shoulder, marking him.
“I so appreciate that,” he murmured huskily, tracing the elastic of the thong from her waist back down to where it disappeared between her thighs. “But I do like to look as well.”
Having completed the hickey to her satisfaction, she slipped from his lap and stood up, dropping Hermione’s robe to the floor. She struck a modeling pose to make him laugh, then turned and walked away from him a few steps, swaying with great exaggeration. She threw a hip out and smacked it, fluttering her eyelashes outrageously, and turned to find him walking toward her, the laughter fading from his face. It was replaced by an intense, smoldering look.
“You are beautiful,” he murmured in a low voice that rendered her speechless. He lifted her chin to kiss her. They melted together, surrendering to the hunger for a time, to a degree. In the silence and darkness of the common room they shared every intimacy except the final one, and as the eastern windows began to show charcoal instead of black, he sent her back to her own bed to sleep.
--------------
When she awoke a few hours later, she showered and dressed for a leisurely day of rest and recovery from the strain of NEWTs and parties. As she reached the common room, Ron came thundering down the stairs from the boys’ dorm.
“Oh. There you are,” he said blankly. He seemed surprised that she was there.
“Morning. Sorry about last night. Is Harry awake yet?” Sometimes her own obtuseness amazed her, when she got back up to speed. It didn’t often surface, but just then, she couldn’t have been more clueless.
“G—Harry’s gone.” He held out an envelope to her, a parchment envelope addressed to her in green ink, in his handwriting.
“What do you mean?” she whispered, taking it. She did not want to know what he meant, she did not want to hear the next words, she did not want this envelope, she did not want to be awake right now. She did not want to start this road today, now—she never wanted to start this road. Panic threatened to swallow her whole.
“He’s not up there. According to the Map, he’s not on the grounds anywhere. His sword is gone, his Cloak, the gun, the daggers—”
Like the door of the dormitory last night, the envelope in her hands burst open, and with shaking fingers she drew out the letter inside.
My love, my heart, my very soul,
The time to strike is now. Forgive me for not speaking to you, for resorting to this ghost of communication, but I could not face your resolution, I could not go knowing you would not let me go alone, and could not take you into such danger. You have made it very clear that as you will live at my side, so you would also die at my side. Believe me, it is the same for me. I cannot risk you. Were you to fall in battle beside me, my own life would be extinguished. Instead, I go with the hope of ‘ever after,’ where I mean to live very happily with you very soon.
Your Harry.
“Damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn,” Graínne chanted as she sprinted back up the stairs, slipping past other girls who were descending. She stripped out of the fashionable loungewear, which was only moderately functional in a fight, as she went.
“What is it?” Hermione gasped, as there was no break in the litany and Graínne burst into their room practically nude again by that time, in a hurry again, her face again like fury.
“He’s gone,” came the terse reply. Black cargo pants, black tee shirt, long black leather duster— her work clothes, she called them. As soon as she was redressed, she began pulling other things out of her trunk: sword and scabbard, dagger, throwing knives, a hefty handgun with more ammunition than Hermione thought possible, a collection of potion vials. She shrank all the weapons and hid them in her many pants pockets, shoved a supply of chocolate into an inner coat pocket, and braided her hair tightly.
“How are we going to find him?” Hermione asked.
Graínne glanced around in surprise and saw her zipping up her blue hoodie. “We?”
Hermione sighed. “One thing Harry has never understood is that he isn’t alone. Don’t play dumb.” She was also busily stowing a set of vials in various pockets.
“I think his point was to minimize collateral damage. He can’t be expected to surrender himself as ransom for his friends if said friends are safely at home. At least that’s the version I’m choosing to believe at this time.”
“I know we aren’t as highly trained as you two, but we aren’t useless.”
Graínne snorted, no trace of amusement anywhere in her being. “I’m so fricking useful to him, that’s why I’m standing here with you.” She shook her head, reining in her emotions. “Can you AK?”
“No, but we’re very good at Stunning, binding, and delivering to justice. And we know some lethal combinations, even if we’ve never used them all together. And we’ve got damn good Patroni as well.”
After a moment of intense frowning, Graínne nodded. “You realize that survival chances are non-existent?”
“Of course. Why do you think I eloped to Hogsmeade? I didn’t want to die a virgin, or a whore, for that matter.”
“Damn,” said Graínne after a long intake of breath.
“Don’t worry, it was a civil ceremony, and it was a secret. We’re still having a big wedding this summer, you’re still my maid of honor—”
“No, honey, I’m not upset that you did it or worried about my status as a member of the wedding party. I’m breathless at the fact that it never occurred to us. I’m still a virgin!”
“Well, fight extra hard today and live to shag another day.”
Ron thought it was peculiar and inappropriate that Graínne was laughing hysterically and his Hermione was grinning as they came into the common room.
Dumbledore, Snape, and Lupin came striding up the corridor toward the Fat Lady as the group emerged—all the seventh years and Ginny Weasley. None of them would consent to being left behind in the common room, even if it was only to serve by taking some chore here at the school so that others could go and help. Graínne had rolled her eyes, and insisted that they just go, no matter who came along.
“Where is Harry?” Remus demanded, glancing over all of them, but his eyes avoiding Graínne’s.
“We were hoping you could tell us,” she answered baldly, her tone unfriendly and unyielding. All the others had deferred to her. She crossed her arms and gave an excellent Snape-like scowl at all three of them, not just Remus, who had the grace to blush. Her gaze came to rest on Dumbledore. “We were hoping you could tell us something, anything. At long last. I mean, you’ve been keeping things from us for years now.”
The three men exchanged looks. Dumbledore heaved a sigh. “You seem to believe that we know where he is. Well. Neville, Dean, Lavender, and Parvati, you will remain here at the school as Deputy Head Students, in place of Harry and Hermione. You will report to Professor McGonagall and help her keep order here. If necessary, you will help the teachers protect the other students from attack. I warn you, it may come to that, and I depend upon you. The rest of you, please come with me.”
They went directly to Dumbledore’s office. Seamus and Lyn had never been in it before, and looked around with awe, but the atmosphere was solemn.
Graínne crossed her arms over her chest again, refusing the offer to sit in one of the many chairs Dumbledore conjured. “Where is he, sir?” she asked.
“The reason we asked you that question is because we do not know,” Snape hissed.
She rolled her eyes elaborately, causing Snape to grind his teeth. “Where might he be?” she growled. “You must have some idea. He had to have some idea of where to go, and he didn’t get it from one of us. So he had to get it from you, from the Order. He didn’t get it out of his head, out of Voldemort, because he would have said something, I would have known.”
Again there was an exchange of looks between the three. The teens exchanged their own looks, but Graínne never looked away from Dumbledore, her eyes hard as stone.
“There are three possibilities, actually. Our intelligence indicates that Lord Voldemort will be in one of three places this weekend,” said Dumbledore, surrendering information with an ease that made Graínne highly suspicious. Especially when Snape’s face went carefully still, and Remus kept his eyes on documents on the desk. She had no way of knowing what the nature of their reactions was, no way of knowing that Dumbledore had decided to take them all on as members in full standing regardless of their ages, and the other two refused to view them as anything other than children; they showed no objection because they clung stubbornly to the teachers’ concept of presenting a united front to rebellious children. “There is the Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, which, I believe will be the scene of our first encounter. There is also the Gwynedd Stronghold, which has been established over the last two years, where much of the army of Dark creatures are gathering, and Riddle House in Little Hangleton.”
There was silence in the room for a moment.
“Stronghold,” Graínne echoed, passing over the Malfoy Manor and the Riddle House for the moment. A stronghold seemed a much likelier place for a battle, but the building in her dream had not been a stronghold as she understood the concept. “Like a castle?” She had to choose her battles in this room, and decided not to deal with what she took for deceit at the moment. The opportunity to get some kind of information out of them was too good to pass up. If Dumbledore was telling the truth, perhaps she could get to Harry before Voldemort did.
“Yes, very like. High in the mountains, heavily fortified, not as pleasant a castle as Hogwarts, much plainer and more forbidding.” He conjured a little revolving model of it on his desk, and the teens all leaned forward to see. The surrounding topography indicated that the stronghold was built into the top of a cliff, and except for the road leading to it and a small outcropping of rough shale to the right of the front gate, the cliff fell away just outside the walls on all sides.
“I see—forbidding, definitely a stronghold,” murmured Ginny.
“Bit creepy,” said Hermione.
“Access is a problem, isn’t it?” noted Seamus, sounding interested.
“Chose a good spot to defend, they have,” Ron answered.
“Nothing like that at home,” muttered Lyn to Graínne.
“Well, there is, but you haven’t seen it, and I only know about it because of my parents. It’s very remote and heavily protected, like Hogwarts. Private school called Cuttersoll Academy. Heavy tuition in the Dark Arts. That’s where most of the Darkers in the States graduate. Needless to say, they don’t do mass advertising. It looks a lot like this, really, same physical situation, same overall feel.” She watched the castle revolve on its remote and barren mountaintop. “However, this is not where Harry is going,” said Graínne in a flat voice that brooked no disagreement.
Snape glared at her. “And your source of information, Miss Cameron?”
She turned her dark green eyes to him and blinked twice. “Vision and instinct. Last night I had a prescient vision of a large house. It also involved Parkinson and Malfoy—are they around, today?”
He opened his mouth, scowling, and then closed it again, frowning to himself. Malfoy, of course was in prison. He wasn’t sure he’d seen Parkinson since the end of exams.
“I didn’t know you were a Seer,” said Lyn.
“You’re a Seer?” demanded Seamus.
“Of course she’s not,” snapped Hermione.
“I thought you had no use for Divination,” added Ron.
“You certainly talk about it like it’s so much shite—” said Ginny.
“Will you all please shut the hell up!” shouted Snape, his hands balled up into fists as if ready to strike them. His glare was threatening. The others subsided, wide-eyed. Remus was staring at Graínne, fear in his amber eyes.
“Tell me about this vision,” Dumbledore ordered quietly, “and please explain why you did not mention it sooner.”
Graínne looked at the three men thoughtfully. She understood then that Harry was not supposed to go off alone, that this was very dangerous, and the teachers were extremely worried. He had hidden his plans from them, too. She’d been thinking that they had sent him, and were trying to keep the rest of the kids out of it. While the Order had given him information, had made cautious plans, he had used the information his own way. The Order was caught out of the loop, too. Clever Harry, almost Sorted to Slytherin indeed, she thought. Sneaky dog. She wondered what other plans he was going to put over on them all.
She put it aside carefully, her face betraying nothing. “I’m not a Seer, I have no use for Divination, but neither has anything to do with prescient dreams. The reason I never mentioned it before is because I thought it was just a nightmare. I dreamed of a large house, surrounded by an ugly yard. It was night, and I really couldn’t tell much more than that, but it wasn’t the stronghold you just showed us. Can you show me the other places?”
“Yes, I think that would be wise.” He waved his wand, and Malfoy Manor began revolving slowly on his desktop. “Malfoy Manor. Is this the place?”
“No, I don’t think so…” She dropped to her knees and squinted at it, as if trying to match it up to her memory. The Manor was enormous, a dark stone building, rather gothic in appearance, with manicured lawns and sinister-looking boxwood maze and dark evergreens. She noted its situation in its property, how there was no access to the house except through the front gate, and even that was firmly guarded by huge iron gates. However, it was not the house from her dream. “Try the other place.”
With a wave of his wand, the model changed to a different manor house, not as old as Malfoy, not as well kept. Not kept at all for several years, it seemed to the young people.
“Slow it down,” she murmured, watching with eyes wide. She squatted halfway on her heels, adjusting her eyes for the correct point of view, near the desktop. Seeing it from a specific angle, she closed her eyes and dropped her forehead to the polished wooden surface with a soft clunk. “That’s it.”
“What happened in the dream?” Remus whispered.
“It was a battle. Harry went into the house, through the rear door, and I couldn’t follow him because the enemies kept coming. I was trying to hold them off, to give him time to do what he had to do, but I was also afraid to let him go alone. I don’t know how long it took, but the house collapsed. All of it. Not one stone left standing on another.”
“Perhaps, Headmaster,” said Snape quietly, “if she were to put it into your Pensieve, we could all look at it?”
“Will you agree to that, Graínne?” Dumbledore asked. He thought she probably knew how to do this, but it had never come up in conversation, and the training was not usually included at Hogwarts, despite it being fairly simple to perform.
“Sure. We use a Pensieve at home, sometimes.” She shrugged, and no one knew what it cost her. It was not the sharing of information that was painful to her; the part she hated was reliving the terror. There were not many dreams that brought her screaming out of a sound sleep anymore. When the stone basin was brought out, she closed her eyes and touched her wand to her temple. After a moment, she added the pale, wispy, clinging thread of memory to the swirling contents, and then prodded it. Graínne clenched her fists as she watched, her face under iron control not to betray the panic the dream incited in her heart—yet again! This image could not communicate the fear and terror of the original dream, the deep dread that the image represented, but she felt them as if for the first time. The others only vaguely gathered the horror connected to the image. She knew Snape watched her closely, and that Remus was more aware of her than of the image, but aside from her clenched fists, the slight dilation of her pupils and the pounding pulse in her throat, there was nothing to see. Of course, Remus could smell her fear. She could practically smell it herself.
The dream repeated itself for all of them to see, then slowly sank into the bowl. There was silence in the room as Graínne took her wand and retrieved the memory and replaced it in her head. Even the little whirling instruments on the spindly tables were quiet. Ginny sniffed.
With a nod, Dumbledore signaled to Snape to take away the Pensieve. Another wave of the wand, and the headmaster produced the final three-dimensional model again. “This is the Riddle House in Little Hangleton. It is the ancestral home of Lord Voldemort, where his Muggle father and grandparents lived. And died,” Dumbledore added sadly. “It is located in the village where Cedric Diggory was murdered, and where Voldemort was returned to the flesh— though those things happened down in the village graveyard, not at the house. We’ve been watching it since those events took place, but there hasn’t been any activity there.”
“That you’ve seen,” Graínne corrected acidly.
“We do have Aurors in the Order,” said Remus defensively.
“Aurors are not necessarily sensitives. I come from a long line of Aurors, Remus, and a family of them, and I know that they make mistakes and get fooled just like the rest of us, even if it isn’t as often. Have you been there, have you sniffed around for clues?”
“No,” he admitted reluctantly. Werewolves had much keener senses than humans or even dogs, and were often employed in other nations as trackers. While their abilities were well known in Britain, prejudice prevented them from being used to anyone’s advantage. Though Remus had often tracked Death Eaters by scent for the Order in the long-ago past, before the first war ended, he had not been to Little Hangleton.
“Then how can you be sure there’s been no activity there? Total concealment is possible for the patient, and Voldemort has demonstrated patience out the whazoo.”
“What’s a whazoo?” asked Seamus quietly, looking at Lynford, who rolled his eyes and signaled Not now! with the wave of a hand. Snape scowled, but it was more because he wanted to know the answer to the question.
“Where is this place? I’ll go check it out.” Graínne kept looking at the slowly revolving model, her voice extremely casual. Too casual.
“The hell you will,” said Lyn and Ron at the same time, voicing what everyone else in the room was trying to form into words. There was a flurry of movement and a wave of muttered agreement.
“It would be extremely unwise to just burst into any one of these places,” said Dumbledore soothingly. “There are fifty Death Eaters in the inner circle now, by last count, and they know the Apparation spots concealed in each of the properties. There are many more who are less intimate with Tom, but no less devoted to the cause. The Death Eaters are rather more organized that we could wish. Unfortunately, even with Severus’ help, were we to pop in and start hexing everything in site, we’d be instantly discovered and therefore useless to Harry, not to mention overwhelmed, and captured or killed. And the losses to our side would be greater than we could bear.”
Graínne smirked. They seemed reluctant to risk any loss at all, so it did not surprise her greatly that he was so cautious over this. But she would challenge him anyway, having reached the limit of her compliance for the time being. “I said I’d go check it out, I didn’t say I would go and blast everything that moved. I can be stealthy, as you well know.”
“There is no need for you to go in alone, because those places are already watched.”
“So why did you have us come up here if you aren’t going to let us do anything?” she demanded, her face flushing. She was losing control of her temper. “We are running out of time, standing around here doing nothing!”
“We are not going to do nothing,” Remus objected.
“Indeed not,” Dumbledore agreed. “We will set out at once for Malfoy Manor.”
“Why not go to the Riddle House, if that’s where Graínne’s dream showed Harry?” asked Ron reasonably.
“There’s not going to be anything happening there,” Graínne argued. “It isn’t night.”
“Your vision was set at night, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing going on there right now,” sneered the Potions professor, just to argue. Indeed, he had no other point, only to argue. He felt some wicked compulsion to push her temper until she exploded.
“Besides, Graínne’s vision only showed Harry. You-know-who might not have been there. It could quite well be that she saw a trap for him, and if we can prevent him from going there, it may save his life,” said Hermione, frowning at Professor Snape in a warning. None of them had really seen Graínne pushed beyond her self-control, and Hermione did not want to witness it without a hundred enemies around on which the wrath might fall more comfortably.
“It might be helpful for us to set up in advance, if we can,” Ginny pointed out.
“But we still don’t know where Harry is,” said Ron, a note of desperation in his voice. “If he doesn’t survive until evening, it won’t matter how much we do to get set up.”
“But if G had a vision,” said Seamus uncertainly.
“Having a vision doesn’t mean that it’s guaranteed to happen,” said Graínne impatiently. “Time is such a complicated matter, especially when you add a bunch of people, each with individual free will — the variables are nearly incalculable.”
“This from a girl who refused to take Arithmancy,” murmured Hermione, blinking in surprise.
She hmphed at her friend. “There’s no point in ruining my grade average with a guaranteed failure in a subject of which I understand only one aspect. What I saw could happen, probably will happen, but there are also a million things that could change the outcome. It is likely, actually, that much depends on preparing. But the only thing I can think of to keep Harry out of that building for absolute certain is to find him and tie him up and transport him somewhere far away. And that could blow his only chance at success.”
“I believe that Harry has gone ahead now because this is the optimal time for attack,” said Dumbledore. “This is the time when Voldemort is most vulnerable, and least able to resist attack. If Harry were to wait longer, he would have to defend himself.”
“The best defense being a good offense,” Lyn nodded.
“He shouldn’t have to do this alone,” said Ron quietly.
“Right. And he won’t,” agreed Remus.
“He won’t IF we can find him,” Ginny corrected.
“Better bring us up to speed on the plans, then,” said Graínne, her tone and expression grim. “Why Malfoy Manor instead of the Riddle House?”
“Our intelligence indicates that there will be a meeting of the Death Eaters there in preparation for an attack on a certain meeting. The heads of the Muggle British armed forces are gathering for a regularly scheduled conference with other heads of state. While security will be heavy, it will be Muggle, leaving the delegates open to magical attack.” Dumbledore changed the model on his desk into that of a tall office building of no particular distinction.
“The idea is to destroy the Muggle leadership of defense, so that citizens will be unprotected,” Remus explained, ever the teacher.
“Not a bad plan,” said Ron, thinking of tactics. “What is the Order’s response?” He glanced at Dumbledore for explanations.
“Aurors are making the area Apparate-proof as we speak. However, that limits the Order as well, should Death Eaters get through somehow. An elite guard of international Aurors is being deployed for the entire conference, which takes the pressure off us. Graínne ‘s parents have helped us enormously with contacts in the US and Magic Interpol. I’ve met the Aurors; they’re the top of the field from all over the world. Mad Eye would be one if he hadn’t retired.”
“In the meantime,” said Snape, “the Order concentrates on Malfoy Manor and gathers up as many Death Eaters as possible.”
“What if you get caught?” Ginny asked, looking up at him.
“The Order knows me.” He gazed back at her, black eyes emotionless.
“It’ll blow your cover, though, if they get caught and you don’t,” Seamus pointed out.
“I hope we are capable of pulling off such a simple deception,” snarled the Potions Master, losing patience. “It certainly won’t be the first time we’ve done it.”
“Keep going,” said Graínne to Dumbledore. “Tell us everything.”
-----------------
The briefing ended with no doubt in anyone’s mind that Graínne thought Dumbledore was a manipulative piece of toilet tissue (not her exact wording) with a God-complex, and Remus was “a spineless jellyfish” for allowing Harry to be a tool, and for not insisting that useful people be informed just because they were young and not officially members of the Order. And to Snape she said she thought he was “a vindictive, prejudiced, mean-spirited wanker,” but at least he was honest and up-front. Dumbledore was speechless for a moment, and Remus looked like he might weep, and Snape’s nostrils flared dangerously with the blackest scowl imaginable, while all the students looked steadily at the floor, expecting that the end of their lives was upon them in the next thirty seconds. Into the stillness of the circular office, Graínne leaned on her hands across the beautiful desk and put her face right into the headmaster’s.
“We’ll help you with your little plans, because you haven’t given us time and information to do otherwise, but you are wasting our talents in this affair. When your Aurors and your Order members faint from fatigue, just remember that we can do much more than you think we can, and you’ve weakened yourself by not playing our cards sooner.”
“Your arrogance is rivaled only by—” began Snape.
“Yours? Then we are in perfect agreement. For once. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”
“Graínne, we will be Portkeying out in seven minutes—” said Dumbledore.
“Portkey them out,” she snarled. “I’ll meet you.” With a crack like a gunshot—for effect, they all knew, for Graínne had taken top honors for silent Apparation in Transfiguration—she was gone.
“How’d she do that?” Hermione demanded. “You can’t Disapparate in Hogwarts!”
“She didn’t Disapparate,” said Dumbledore thoughtfully. “She Displaced. The sound effect is an additional item, it’s usually a soundless process. It’s very complex, a type of magic commonly used by house elves, and relatively unknown by wizards. I didn’t know she could do it.”
“Likely she didn’t either, she just did it because she was angry,” said Ginny wisely.
Snape rolled his eyes. Interesting though this may be, it was peripheral to the real problem. “Never mind that! She’s a rogue, Albus; I told you it was dangerous not to bring her into the plan at the beginning. Now she’s an angry rogue, therefore dangerous.”
“Damn right,” Ron snorted, mild in comparison to Snape’s fury.
It was an effective contrast. The three men turned and looked at him with varying expressions, from mild surprise to scowls.
“You don’t know much about women, do you, sirs?” said Ginny, shaking her head at their obvious stupidity. The others took up the chastisement of their professors, emboldened by the declaration of Graínne’s rogue status and her evident ferocity.
“There’s a Muggle expression,” said Hermione, “a quote from William Congreve, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’”
“You’ve offered her the gravest disrespect possible,” said Lyn, “given her training, background, power, and her place in Harry’s life.”
“You’ll be lucky to walk straight when this is all over,” Seamus added. “She’ll kick your—”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “That’s beside the point. However, of all of us to insult, you might have picked one whose hands weren’t licensed weapons.”
“If insults were offered, it was unintentional,” Dumbledore answered, dignified.
“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll make her feel better,” said Hermione sarcastically. “Back on task, Headmaster, is there a reason to check the other place?”
“There are Order members who are observing the Gwynedd stronghold and the Riddle House. If Tom shows up in either place, we will be notified, and will move accordingly. The primary objective of this operation is to reduce the strength of the enemy. As for the final confrontation, Professor Snape agrees with Graínne that this is where Tom will choose to confront Harry. It is a significant place several times over; what better place, to his thinking, for the end of his enemy?”
“How will we be notified?” Ginny asked.
“Ah, that is a pertinent question.” He passed out little oval pocket mirrors, framed in variously colored plastic. Seamus traded Ginny a pink one for her green one, and Hermione and Ron took extras for Graínne and Harry. “Speak the name of the person you wish to address, or if you wish to speak to all, simply say ‘all.’”
“Time in forty seconds,” grumbled Snape, returning his pocket watch to its place.
“Everyone, take hold,” said Dumbledore, holding out a common shovel. They all reached out fingers to touch it, even Snape and Remus, and disappeared from the office.
A restless Persian cat was pacing up and down the verge when the group arrived on a narrow lane outside a small village and picked themselves up off the ground. Several of them gasped as it changed into Graínne. She offered no greeting, but immediately launched into her report.
“This area is relatively secure—at least it’s free of humans. It would be a good staging area. The birds are moving. They don’t like it here, but they’re still migrating, so they stop and rest a few minutes,” she reported, terse and grim. “There are a few mice around, by the smell, and a dog was through here a minute ago, but it wasn’t Harry or an Animagus.”
“What do you mean, the dog wasn’t Harry?” demanded Seamus.
“Harry transfigures into a dog,” Ron murmured.
“Oh.” Seamus frowned, understanding the words but not the meaning. “Transfigures what?”
“He’s an Animagus, you git,” breathed Ginny. Lyn smothered a chuckle with his hand.
“You’ve already ascertained that there are no other humans around?” Snape growled.
“Yes, no humans on the grounds of this house. There are or were people inside, but I’m a cat, not a dog, and I can’t tell how many of the individual scents are older than two days. There are humans outside within an eighth of a mile, but these grounds are empty at the moment.”
“Muggle or wizard?” Remus asked, looking around toward the back of the property. His nose already told him there were several people inside the building. Maybe three individual scents.
“I didn’t go over to find out. I don’t see auras very well. Harry would know.”
“They’re Muggle,” said Harry quietly. He shrugged out of his Invisibility Cloak behind them. He staggered back a few steps under the impact of his fiancée, but commendably did not fall on his arse, as most people present fully expected. Their kiss was brief, but the embrace went on for a while as they communicated through their form of Legilimens. His arms were hidden beneath her long coat, one holding her firmly to his chest, but the other hand was cupped on her bottom, pulling her hips into his.
You look edible, Graínne love.
She snorted. That’s not going to distract me. I oughta bitch-slap you!
Harry chuckled in his mind, but it was short. What does that mean? Never mind! It has been the hardest week, love, and I don’t mean the tests. I could not make myself ask you to come with me into danger, not knowing what I would find.
So you made me worry, and follow you.
I’m so sorry. It seemed like the least offensive thing. I’m sorry.
Me too. I’m sorry I forced you to it. Sorry I acted like some helpless female: if I whined and looked scared enough, you’d stay and take care of me and let someone else go in your place.
I’d do that if I could, my love.
I know. And I can never ask you to do less than your duty, beloved. I will do all I can to help you, and I will quit acting like a baby, starting about two hours ago. Now. Shall we go kick some Darker ass?
Their companions watched this, most without understanding that they were doing something other than pressing their foreheads together and breathing each other’s breath. Dumbledore and Snape understood, though, and Hermione had an idea that they were communicating. Snape, for his part, was annoyed at how shocked (and vaguely jealous) he felt that these two children—for he could not think of them as adults yet—had developed a new form of an ancient magic. Perhaps it was exclusive to their bond, but perhaps it could be taught. His mind filed that away for future consideration; if indeed the three of them survived the last battle, he intended to interview them about it.
“Let’s,” Harry said aloud, with a small smile. Regretfully he let her slide out of his arms, turning his attention to the others. “All right. There are a few Muggles around as neighbors, ironically, and there are four other wizarding houses in the area—within about five miles, I guess, but they are all deserted. I’m not familiar with where the purebloods dwell, so I couldn’t guess—”
“One of the houses is mine,” said Snape dismissively. “The others belong to Nott, Crabb and Goyle.”
“Right. That’s logical. Anyway. The property here is Apparate-proof, except for a select group. I have a theory, though, that if the spell has been expanded to include fifty people, it could actually be weak enough to break. That could give us a chance to get Aurors in more quickly at the right time.”
“That is correct, essentially. The wards on the grounds will be weakened, but the house protection will not,” said Snape. “Magical houses protect themselves, and you would be recognized as an enemy. Aurors will not be able to Apparate into the building. Only Malfoys may do so.”
“Good to know. Well, let’s set the trap, then,” Harry answered, and Graínne wondered: he had assumed command of the group, and neither Dumbledore nor Snape had even blinked.
------
Harry had been part of this plan for a long while, it turned out, which did little to mollify Graínne’s simmering fury. However, it meant that time was not spent bringing him up to date, and they could implement the strategy immediately. Concealing themselves near the front gates, with Aurors and the rest of the teens scheduled to be hidden around the edges of the wards, the four ate sandwiches while they waited. The basic idea was, once the Inner Circle had arrived (Snape would give the signal), for the four to be seen alone at the gate. Dumbledore expected this to be an enticement for the gathered Death Eaters to leave the building, where Aurors could capture them.
Graínne and Harry lay under the protection of a thick hedge of rose-of-sharon which ran on the outside of the tall iron fence that fronted the Manor, she on her stomach waiting and watching, he on his back with his eyes closed. Ron and Hermione were off somewhere, and promised to join them soon. Graínne and Harry were located about ten feet from the gate, where they could see everything, and once they emerged, would be seen by all and sundry.
“Did you know that Ron and Hermione eloped to Hogsmeade and have been married for a whole month?” Graínne asked idly, watching the windows of the manor.
“Er,” said Harry warily. He recognized that wrath barely contained was surging below the surface of her calm façade, and while he knew it was not directed at him, he didn’t want to turn it that way. He sighed in resignation. “I did, love.”
“I actually wish I’d given in,” she answered, a little sadly.
“Your reasons for not doing so were very good. It would have been difficult to concentrate on what we’ve needed to do if we had been looking for ways to get horizontal. We really needed to focus on the training. And besides, their distraction has resulted in Hermione’s losing her place as top scorer. She’s still undoubtedly brilliant, but it seems that a certain transfer student has passed her in points.”
“That’s shite—where did you hear that? NEWT scores aren’t known yet.”
“Not NEWTs, love, but classroom and test points. It’s the overall averages that you bested her in. She might still have better NEWTs, but you’re valedictorian. McGonagall told me yesterday.”
“Huh. I wonder how she’ll take it. She hates it when I do better than she does. Of course, I’m sure she hauled ass on NEWTs, so maybe that will be enough for her.”
“Maybe.” He was relieved that meltdown had been avoided, and that he had dodged the bullet on the elopement issue as well. He didn’t really want to think about that.
Graínne was quiet for a few moments, looking at the house again. Nearby, she could hear Dumbledore’s voice speaking softly to an arriving Auror. “These people really have a thing for using us as tools,” she murmured, shifting off her elbows so that she was flat down, turning her head toward him.
“They’re trying to do what’s right for everyone.”
“I know. And probably it’s nothing I wouldn’t do myself, but somehow your involvement changes things for me.”
He turned his head and looked back at her. “If I do it of my own will, am I a tool?”
“If you were manipulated into choosing it, are you not?”
“I don’t see manipulation as an issue in this matter. Regardless of whom Voldemort marked all those years ago, the board was set then for this last strategy. If it is all just a chess game between Tom and Albus, well, it’s been a magnificent one. Do you allow your queen to flinch from the risky move, love? No, you stay in command of the pieces, and she goes where you say.”
“God help me if I ever believe that you are simply a piece of the game, beloved.”
“And God help me if I ever act like it. Unlike the queen, I have chosen this. It’s my fight, now. Tom made sure of that when he started killing off my loved ones.” He rolled onto his side toward her, propped his head up on his hand, and she mimicked his posture, close but not touching. “Will you forgive me for keeping it from you?”
“I have. I did last night.”
“You knew then?”
“I knew something. Not what, but that, if you get me.”
“Not what I was keeping, but that I was keeping something.” He touched her face with his free hand. “Most horrible experience of my life. Made me sick.”
“I thought you were off your feed because of exams.”
He shook his head. “Because I was lying.”
“No, beloved, you would have told me if I had asked.”
“Probably. Maybe.” He looked miserable that he couldn’t agree with her flat out about that.
Graínne chuckled. “No one is to know what if. That’s what they say in Narnia.”
He nodded. The mention of the children’s tales of Narnia was vaguely comforting. “I’d like to think I would have, anyway.”
“Me too. And since it never came up, it’s a moot point.” She kissed the end of his nose and smiled that devastating, electrifying smile, until he answered it with one of his own.
“Did they swear you into the Order?” he asked, gracelessly changing subjects.
“Oh hell no, that would be too much of a commitment, wouldn’t it?” She rolled onto her back, sarcasm dripping from her words. “Women and children should stay out of it, it’s a man’s war. And they can’t even decide which one I am, woman or child.”
“Or foreigner, or emotionally unstable fiancée,” he added reasonably.
“Ron’s not your fiancé, and they are treating him the same way.”
“He’s not the tool.”
“And yet they’re using him to draw the enemy out. They are being total jackasses and employing double standards and talking out both sides of their mouths—” Her voice was rising.
He covered hers with his, tenderly and gently. “You will find a way to kick all their arses, my love, I feel certain. Albus, at the right time, will let you do what you can.”
“I wish I had your confidence in that.”
“He will not restrain you. He could not.”
Just then, Ron and Hermione crept under the hedge with them. “Oy, budge up, mate,” grunted Ron, nudging Harry.
“Plenty of room for us all, Ron, you don’t have to trample me. What’s the time?”
“Half twelve,” said Hermione. “Snape’s just been summoned.”
“Is he going?”
“At the last possible minute, yes. We’re going to use a version of Diffindo, the Wedge Curse, designed to crack and shatter rather than just cut, on the gates to break the wards. It will take repeated application, Dumbledore assures me, which is fine, because we want them to notice us. At the same time, the Aurors are going to be working on breaking the wards on the grounds from discreet locations around the perimeter.”
“We know all this, love,” said Ron patiently.
“I have to review, I’m nervous as a cat.”
While they bickered, Graínne surreptitiously slid her hand down Harry’s back and gave his buttocks a firm squeeze. When he whipped his head in her direction, she smiled lazily. “Don’t forget whose you are, and who is expecting you home later.”
“Don’t you forget it, either,” he answered, leering at her breasts, but in no position to do more than look. “You, Graínne Cameron, are mine.”
“And you, Harry Potter, are mine.”
He kissed her and rolled over on top of her, and only stopped when Ron said, “There’s the first one. By size, I’d say it was MacNair. He’s a tall son of a bitch.”
They watched as over forty Death Eaters Apparated onto the grounds by the front door. Somewhere behind them, Snape murmured, “Begin, minnows,” and they scrambled to their feet as he Disapparated and appeared almost instantly near the house.
“What’s he mean, minnows?” Ron hissed.
“Bait,” said Graínne calmly. “Didn’t you ever go fishing, Ron?”
“Sodding no,” he answered, offended.
Harry chuckled. “I’d offer to take you, but come to think of it, I never have been, either.”
Graínne rolled her eyes. “After we finish up here, we’ll go deep-sea fishing with my dad. Nothing like it at all. And no minnows to put on the hook.”
“Nor worms?” said Hermione hopefully.
“No worms at all.” The light of battle was on her face, and she grinned wildly at them. “Ready? A one-ee-an-a-two-ee!”
It was something akin to fierce joy: the laughter at Graínne’s maniacal grin and ridiculous counting, the four of them making plans for after, the power flowing through them. Wild magic, harnessed by strained focus and hard concentration? No, Harry thought, it is allowed to flow through unity of thought and purity of intent. The four of them, their laughter still in their mouths, threw such powerful Wedge curses that the wards glowed a dusty grey all over and shattered, the gate was utterly destroyed, and a good deal of the fences and hedges turned to dust.
It could reasonably have been mostly due to the Aurors, who were working on the shields. But Hermione suspected that they were staring at the foursome in astonishment because it hadn’t been mostly the Aurors’ efforts. They seemed to be enormously surprised.
“Hot damn!” Graínne crowed.
“Here they come,” said Harry, rather loudly. He was hoping to redirect the attention of the gaping Aurors to the task at hand without giving away their hidden positions.
Almost gleefully, Graínne leapt into the fray. She had Petrified four of the emerging Death Eaters before a flash of scarlet Diffindo caught her across her upper arm. If she had not twisted, Harry realized, she would have died. Even then, she was not willing to leave. A little cutting on the arm wasn’t going to keep her from toppling as many enemies as she could point a wand at.
Remus was furious. It was his job to gather up all the teens and get them to safety. He actually Accioed Graínne to get her back with the others, and though she carried a lot of muscle weight, she was small enough (and he was furious enough) to be retrieved by the Summoning charm. Harry would have found it funny if it weren’t for the spirals of blood running down her arm and wrist. Remus used a Portkey to take them to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, where he patched up Graínne’s arm and Ron’s black eye (sustained during a wandless confrontation with a Death Eater who was laying hands on Hermione). He sent the others out, telling them to wait upstairs in the lounge. While he worked on their injuries, he gave the four of them an earful, though it was aimed at Graínne.
“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO STAY OUT OF IT!” he yelled.
“Geez, Remus, you don’t have to yell, I’m right here,” she said mildly, acting surprised.
“I’M ANGRY!”
“I see that. I’m sorry.” Her voice was still mild, but Harry saw her clench her left fist. She was bristling. He wondered when she would explode.
“You are too valuable to risk in skirmishes, when little is at stake except reducing the ranks!” He lowered his voice slightly, but he was still livid.
“I get it. I’m sorry. I just saw an opportunity, and even you have to admit I did well.”
Remus did have to admit that, but he wasn’t going to do it to her face. All four of them had acquitted themselves with excellence. He assuaged his conscience by not denying their success, even if he didn’t acknowledge it. But she seemed flippant about it, and that annoyed him. “This is exactly why Dumbledore didn’t want you involved—”
Suddenly the worm turned. Both fists were doubled, and there was a faint, invisible but nonetheless perceptible wave of magical power that went out from her, like a shock wave. “The reason Dumbledore didn’t want us involved is because he thinks we are incapable. And this,” she snapped, gesturing at her arm, “is here because I am so capable, I kept it from being here!” She jabbed a finger between her breasts. “Anyone else on that field would have died, except maybe Snape and Harry. Don’t you dare defend the cowardly refusal to allow us to participate! This is our war, too. He is my fiancé, and it is our future I am defending! You are trying to rob us of our service, of our honor!”
“We are trying to keep you from getting killed!” Remus wasn’t one to be intimidated easily. He grasped his Gryffindor courage tighter, when he really wanted to back down a bit. Graínne was ferocious when provoked, and she’d been sorely provoked all day. He only stood his ground now because he thought it would be bad for her attitude to win this fight. In principle, he tended to agree with her. Furthermore, he knew that purity of heart went further against the powers of Darkness than anything else, and these young people were pure in their intention, in their love for one another and for the Order, and for the innocent people who would otherwise die. But he could not pat her on the head and tell her “good job” when she might have died for her disobedience to orders.
“Even if you are killed yourself? What is it that you say to Zanni and your unborn babies when you leave to come to the battle that makes it okay to go? What good does it do us to live under the guilt that all those we loved died in our place, when we could have helped and maybe prevented some of it? You can’t know what will happen, Remus! You can’t assume that because I’m seventeen, my black belt and my Os in NEWTs and my sword mastery are just decorative! I can whip your ass physically and magically, and I’m not bragging vainly—damn it, Remus!” She knuckled her eyes suddenly, taking a moment to control her tears. “Why the hell do you have to make this so emotional?”
Remus was breathing heavily as if he had run a long way. “That’s a low blow, Graínne, bringing up Zanni and the babies.”
“Lower than telling me I can’t fight? Explain to me what the difference is, Remus,” she whispered, holding out her hands, palms up in supplication, though not surrender. “I’m here for the sake of my unborn babies, too, however far off in the future they are. How old were you when you started fighting, anyway?”
He sighed. “Seventeen.”
“Did Dumbledore tell you that you couldn’t?”
“Of course not. Those were different circumstances, Graínne. We didn’t know who the traitor was, there were over a hundred Death Eaters, and they all knew who we were.”
“I’m not stupid, Remus. It’s only different because you fear one of us getting hurt. You are taking away our right to live life by denying us the right to fight for it. The Death Eaters know our names, just like they knew yours. If you deny us the chance to fight beside Harry, who knows what you could be robbing him of?”
He was saved from answering by the arrival of several Order members, including Snape. He strode directly to Graínne and leaned down so that as he spoke she could feel his breath on her face. “That was the most asinine, flagrantly rebellious, breathtakingly foolish, spectacularly—”
“Successful?” Graínne supplied when words failed him. “Devastatingly powerful? Wonderfully simple in execution and delightfully succinct in its results?”
He growled wordlessly at her. She growled right back, which startled him and made Ron and Harry chuckle.
Snape glanced quickly around the room. Everyone was staring at them, it seemed, although Dumbledore was only gazing mildly, and Tonks fell to studying her nails casually as soon as he looked around. Ginny had her hand over her mouth, and Lyn looked unsurprised. Seamus was agog that someone had the nerve to actually growl at Snape. Snape straightened up and turned away.
“I wanted to ascertain the extent of your injuries,” Dumbledore said to the four. “As you seem to be quite all right, I’ll just go along to the Ministry to answer any questions that might arise concerning the capture of seventeen Death Eaters. Please wait here for now, until I can return. Good work, children, although your disregard for the plan raises some concerns. We’ll talk about those later.”
The Headmaster departed, and everyone else in the room left as well, leaving the teenagers alone.
“We are so SOL,” said Graínne with a sigh.
“What does that mean?” asked Ron curiously.
“Shit out of luck,” said Harry. “But I don’t see it that way, love. He’s bound to understand now that we can do more than he thought at first.”
“Yes, but that won’t help us dodge the consequences of our actions today,” said Hermione, her sigh like Graínne’s. “If you thought it was bad dealing with Remus, Dumbledore’s disappointment is going to be worse than capture and torture.”
No one argued with this, as they all considered it likely to be true.
-----------
In the end, it wasn’t too bad. Dumbledore's disappointment was hard to face, but his penalties were lighter than they expected. They were sentenced to remain at Grimmauld Place for the remainder of the day, but Tonks murmured that this was hardly punishment because the Hogwarts gates were surrounded rather heavily by Death Eaters, and there wasn’t getting into the school except through Portkey, as all floos had been disabled. They had planned to keep the kids at Grimmauld Place anyway. Graínne pointed out that they also had to cook and clean Muggle style as part of their discipline, but Harry argued that it wasn’t so bad, since she and Hermione and Harry between them had made a sumptuous supper and all they really had to do after was the washing up. Ron was the only unskilled one, when it came to Muggle life, and he was learning fast.
They spent the afternoon talking and relaxing, and Harry and Graínne sparred a little with their swords—not much more than drills, but a little freestyle. Snape came in to observe this, and left without comment. Their supper preparations were somewhat complex, so they spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening in the kitchen, producing a culinary masterpiece that even Molly Weasley exclaimed over. Snape, who never ate at Grimmauld Place, stayed to supper and had seconds on the prime rib and spinach soufflé, and no one pa