A/N: This is a revisited fan fiction I started my senior year of high school, and abandoned once I lost inspiration. Now however I have edited it, and have come up with so much new content for it. I really hope you all enjoy. Please let me know what you think of the new content so far. Read, review, and enjoy :] - C.
Opening his eyes, he sighed, "Another day of being dead..."
He had to admit, it wasn't much different than his previous year locked up in Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He hadn't been able to leave or for the most part and for safety's sake, talk to anyone.
"But there are two very important distinctions from that", he thought, and he was right.
Last year, he had no idea when, if ever, he'd be free. At least now he knew he would be leaving in a few months. And, most importantly last year he didn't have to let his best friend, in many ways, his only family, his Godson, believe he was dead.
Harry sat in his lonely bedroom at Number 4 Privet Drive, twirling his wand between his fingers absentmindedly, and starring at the blank wall before him. He was thinking back to that very morning...
Waking up with a start, his forehead burning, Harry sat up in bed, breathing heavily. Sunlight was leaking into his room from his solitary window. He groped for his glasses, finding them and putting them on, he let his eyes focus. Immediately, he was relieved. He was not, as he originally thought, in the broken down shack his dream took place in. He was not about to kill an innocent muggle. His hands where his own, not Voldemort's long stark white spindly fingers clasping a gnarly bone-handled wand. "It was just a dream" he breathed, and then jumped out of bed.
"I have to write to Sirius!" he exclaimed grabbing a quill, rolled up piece of parchment, and a bottle of brown ink, "I have to tell Sirius about this dream, he'll know what it..." he trailed off, the quill in his hand now dripping ink onto Dudley's old shabby desk that the Dursleys had supplied him with. "Oh..." he gasped, "... Sirius..." he dropped the quill, splattering himself and a now irritated Hedwig with ink. Sliding down to sit on the ground next to his bed, he quietly said "Sirius.. is.. dead...". He hung his head as an overwhelming wave of grief shook him, and he let out a low, shuddering sob.
He could hardly believe he had forgotten the death of his beloved Godfather that morning. How could he forget the look in his eyes as he watched him slip though the Mysterious Veil less than a month ago? How could he forget the vacantness he had felt since then? Or the innumerable tears he had shed? Sirius was his only family, the closest to a father he could every remember having, and now, like his real father, Voldemort had killed him.
Rage filled his chest and he slammed his fist against the floorboards. He stood, walking in circles, frustrated at his current position. He wanted to cause Voldemort pain, pain like he had caused Harry and so many others. He kicked his partially empty trunk with force, it slid across the floor and slammed into his wardrobe.
"Stop that racket boy! What do you think you're doing?!" Vernon yelled from below. Normally Harry would have ignored this and tried to be quieter, but given his current mood, and hearing his patronizing uncle calling him "Boy" really set him over edge. Wand in hand, he banged his door open, walked swiftly down the hall, & took the steps two at a time. After reaching the hall, he stomped into the living room where his massive uncle was sitting on the couch, looking more like a beached whale than a human being. His uncle's face reddened at Harry's entrance and, practically, turned purple after he spotted his wand. This gave Harry a great satisfaction, he could see the fear behind Vernon's eyes.
"What, may I ask, are you doing walking around with that bloody wa- Bloody Rubbish in my house?" Vernon screamed.
"Coming to teach you a lesson, I expect," challenged Harry with a smug smile.
"Is that so?" bellowed Vernon, getting louder to cover the fear in his voice, he was sweating profusely.
"My name is Harry! Not 'Boy'! Harry bloody Potter and you damn well know it!" The words where erupting from Harry before he cold consider what he was saying, but he felt invigorated. His wand tip began to glow as he raised it level with Vernon's massive bristling mustache, and he continued to rant. "What do I have to do to make you remember it, hmm? Maybe carve it into your hand deep enough the scar never fades?" the words I must not tell lies showed clearly against Harrys skin as he gripped his wand.
Petunia had entered from the kitchen, elbow length rubber gloves still on her skinny arms. Her mouth hung open as she took in the Scene. "Vernon..." she said quietly.
"Well, you little... I ought too... You..." Stammered Vernon.
Harry's wand tip glowed brighter, he was about to threaten Vernon again, when Petunia spoke up.
"They won't let you back.. You won't go back to school if you do anything.. You.. You'll have nothing, and we'll kick you out..." She said as calmly and forcefully as she could manage.
Harry couldn't care less about them kicking him out, but he hadn't been thinking, he wasn't of age yet, he couldn't do magic to harm Vernon. As much as it pained him, he lowered his wand. Vernon let out a whooshing breath.
"Do not call me 'boy' again," Harry said firmly. "Or I will do something about it. Hogwarts or not." Turning on his heel, he left the room and ascended the stairs back to his room.
Shutting the door quietly, he laid his wand on his desk and sat on the edge of his bed, putting his face in his hand. "What is up with me?" he mumbled to himself.
Tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap. "Whaaaa?" mumbled Harry. Tap tap tap tap tap. "Uhh, Whaaat?" he sat up and took a look around. He must have fallen asleep, he was still dressed, and wearing he glasses, he groggily looked around, searching for the source of the tapping. A large barn owl was rapping at his window, looking quite exhausted. Harry stumbled toward the window, unlatched it, and threw it open. The owl swooped in, landed on his desk, and held out its leg so Harry could remove the parchment tied to it. After being relieved of its burden, it swooped back out of the open window.
Harry stood looking a bit dazed, still more asleep than awake. He considered flopping back in bed and reading the letter later, but curiosity got the better of him. Sitting down, trying to ignore the dried ink on his desk top from this morning, he unrolled the parchment. Immediately he recognized the looping print to belong to none other than the Head Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore. For a second Harry smiled, Dumbledore had always been very kind and extremely fair to Harry: he always believed Harry, even if the situations he was found in where less than positive. But then it hit him "Why would Dumbledore be writing to me? I've hardly been away from Hogwarts for a week.." he thought. Taking a deep breath, preparing for bad news, he began to read:
Dear Harry,
I have written to inform you that I, myself, will be coming to collect you from Number 4 Privet Dr on Monday, July the 17th. Please have your trunk packed and ready, as you will not be returning to your Aunt and Uncle until next summer's break. I will be escorting you to The Burrow, and, of course, I believe we will be making a stop along the way. There are some things I would like to discuss.
I think, Harry, that you are going to really enjoy this coming school year, there are a few surprises in store for you, one of which we we'll discuss when I come and get you. I would ask you to inform your Aunt and Uncle of my arrival, and also, not to do anything you would later regret in regards to them. Enjoy your summer.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Harry couldn't help but smile. Nothing got past Dumbledore, he must have somehow known about his outburst earlier with Vernon. And he would be leaving in a matter of weeks, not the two months of torture he had been anticipating. Perhaps seeing Ron, and surely Hermione would be there too, would cheer him up. He always had a great time at the Weasley's, he felt at home in their family. He knew Mrs. Weasley looked at him as another son, and he saw her almost like a mother.
With warm thoughts of the Weasleys, Harry crawled back into bed and fell asleep. He was very glad he had not put off reading the letter.
Hogwarts' Professor Severus Snape sat in his dim study, pouring over a book of rather complex potions he was considering for his sixth year NEWT students. There was a rather urgent rap on his front door. He sighed, gently marking his page. He stood and turned, and saw the short, grubby man that had been forced into his company emerging from behind a door.
"Stay, Wormtail, I don't know who it may be." Snape said with a scowl on his face. As Wormtail reentered his room, Snape walked to the front door, and opened it slowly. He had not been expecting anyone, but seeing the people at the door, he was even more surprised. What exactly was Narcissa Malfoy doing here? And why would she bring her sister along "Ugh.. I loath Bellatrix..." he thought. Taking in the fact that Narcissa looked frazzled, and her eyes where full of fear, he decided being kind would probably be best, even though the look on Bellatrix's face made his hand twitch toward his wand.
"Hello, Narcissa... Bellatrix." Snape said in his drawling voice "To what do I own this vist?".
"Severus, please, I need to speak with you. May we come in?" Narcissa asked, pleading in her voice.
"Cissy, no, you mustn't! Come along!" Bellatrix growled behind her sister, attempting to turn her. Narcissa impatiently broke away, as if Bellatrix was simply a misbehaving child clutching at her skirts.
Snape ignored Bellatrixs remark, only responding to Narcissa, hoping her sister would catch the drift "Yes, you may." He then stepped away from the door so she could enter. Narcissa went gladly by, and as Snape began to shut the door, Bellatrix shoved through as well. He sighed as he shut the door, Snape escorted the women to his sitting room. He could only assume what Narcissa was here about, given what he has over heard the Dark Lord saying a few days previous. As they entered the sitting room he gestured to the couch, indicating the women should sit. Narcissa did immediately, not looking quiet strong enough to stand for very long at all. Bellatrix however rudely ignored his gesture and began wandering along the bookshelf at the back of the room. "Well she's always been very nosey" thought Snape.
"Shall I get us some wine, ladies?" Asked Snape, attempting to play a good host, even if he despised a complete half of his company.
"Y-yes, that would be lovely..." Said Narcissa, looking anxiously at her hands.
Snape walked to the door Wormtail had disappeared behind previously, paused, and rapped once, loudly with force against the door. A light thump could be heard from someone quickly jumping back. "Bellatrix is a little better than Wormtail I suppose... He listens to EVERYTHING." thought Snape with a smug smile, knowing he had just scared him. "Wormtail!" He called out.
Wormtail opened the door and stepped out. "Y-yes, Severus?"
"Go and get a bottle of wine from my cellar, and three glasses." Snape said in a rather bored tone
"Severus, I am not your slave, the Dark Lord merely asked me to-" Wormtail began.
"Are you not staying in my house at my inconvenience?" Snape said, pausing slightly, though not enough to allow Wormtail to answer "Wine, then, Wormtail, and once you bring it, make yourself scarce. No hanging around in the shadows listening like the rat you are."
Wormtail left the room looking affronted. Not much time passed before he had returned, Snape and his guest had remained silent, aside from Bellatrix mumbling to herself. Wormtail handed Snape the three glasses and the bottle of wine with out a word, and turned on his heal to return to his room, shutting the door with a soft bang. Snape served his guests and sat in a chair next to where Narcissa was sitting. She took a sip of her wine, and then sat it on the low coffee table before them.
"Severus, The Dark Lord wants Draco to.. He wants Draco to do it. Why would he intrust his most important task to my 16 year old son? Why have Draco do it when you are much more able?" Narcissa finally said, her voice pained, hardly holding back tears.
"He is far from pleased with Lucius at the moment, I assume it is a form of punishment for him." Snape said in a quiet voice that was almost cold. "It is quiet like him to take those who mean most to his followers" Snape thought knowingly.
"It isn't right! He's my baby! My only son! My only child! He can't do it, he's too young, and the Dark Lord knows it!" cried out Narcissa, finally succumbing to tears.
Snape sighed, he had seen this coming from the moment he heard the Dark Lord mention Draco's name. Not that he had ever been particularly close to Narcissa, but he knew she could come to him. He was about to speak when she went on.
"But Severus, you're the best for the job, he trusts you! Convince him to let you do it, please! I know you can, he trusts your input!" She had moved forward, grabbing Snape's hand with her own small, clammy hands, in the middle of her plea.
"Narcissa, he will not be pleased that I have been told. Of course, I'm sure he plans to tell me, seeing as I will be close to the.. situation. But I can't just go against him, he will question me," Snape said matter-o-factly.
"I told you, Cissy. He is not to be trusted! The Dark Lord cannot see, but I can, he is not loyal to us! He is loyal to him!"Bellatrix hissed .
Grimacing at Bellatrix's words, Snape smoothed his face and responded "We mustn't stick our nose in others' business, Bellatrix, it's rude." he said as if scolding a child. "She doesn't have a scrap of tact."
"Why, you Bloody dirty git!" yelled Bellatrix, drawing her crooked wand.
Narcissa stood so quickly, anyone watching would have been shocked, placing herself between the two, in line of the glowing wandtip, she yelled, "Enough, Bella! I trust Severus! If you care any for myself or my family, you will SHUT UP!"
Bellatrix's heavily lidded eyes widened. "If it where MY son, I would be PROUD the Dark Lord chose him! I wouldn't go behind his back! I alone am faithful!" she cried out in the same mournful, painfully passionate tone she often used.
"Be quiet, Bella." Snape said calmly, back in his chair, as he watched the sisters.
"DO NOT SPEAK TO ME AS IF I WERE A CHILD SEVERUS!" Bellatrix yelled. Narcissa did not even acknowledge her sister's yell, in a low pleading voice to Snape, bending over his chair. "Please Severus, at least help him, please, he can't do this on his own, and the Dark Lord will kill him if he fails! Please!"
"I will help Narcissa... I will try," Snape said quietly.
Bellatrix, irritated at being cut out yet again, interrupted the quiet tone of the room by loudly saying, "Well, if he really means it, he'll make the Unbreakable Vow. He can't be trusted otherwise." A small, cruel smile spread across her face.
"Unbreakable Vow... Oh... 'at all costs' he said... I suppose" thought Snape. Narcissa looked from her sister to Snape, then spoke in a small broken voice "Will you, Severus? He's my only son... "
After a pause Snape spoke in a resolute voice. "Yes. I will. Bella, come, you will make the bond."
In silence, Bellatrix crossed to the space behind but directly in between them, a look of unabashed disbelief on her face. Snape grasped Narcissa's hands and looked her in the eye, nodding to Bellatrix. Out of her wand came a serpent of fire, winding its way around the joined hands of Snape and Narcissa. Bellatrix spoke. "Do you, Severus Snape vow to assisting Draco Malfoy in the task the Dark Lord has set him?"
"I do," spoke Snape. The serpent tightened its hold. Belatrix spoke again. "And do you vow, if Draco fails in this task, to complete it yourself?"
After a pause, Snape said, "I do." Yet again, the serpent tightened again. Bellatrix spoke a third time. "And will you protect Draco's life with your own?"
"Bloody old man... " thought Snape, but he answered. "Yes, I do." And with this, the serpent gave a final squeeze and then vanished, leaving faint raised marks on Severus. "It is done," said Bellatrix with a mischievous satisfied smile.
Narcissa broke down into tears again, but this time it was relief, the exhaustion was visible throughout her thin form.
"Bellatrix, I think you should take your sister home. She needs rest, and I now have a lot more to prepare for in the coming school year," Snape said. Bellatrix helped her sister rise from the couch, and escorted her, followed by Snape, to the door. Before leaving Narcissa thanked him once more, and then they where gone with a crack.
Snape groaned, turning, and reentering his house. He returned to the sitting room, and finished his glass of wine "I'm really in a fix now.. " he thought. He then sat down at the desk he had been reading at earlier, grabbed a quill, ink, and some parchment, and began to write a letter about what had just happened. He knew he should probably tell this story in person, but the chances of his mail being intercepted where slim, and he was just so tired. After sending the letter off with his dark, large owl, he retired for the evening.
"What in Merlin's name possessed me to do that? THAT?" thought Hermione Granger as she sat in the window seat of her bedroom, starring out the window, chewing on he bottom lip. "Ohh!" she huffed, throwing her arms down in frustration. She went over her memory of earlier that night for probably the seventh time.
Grabbing her bathrobe she hesitated at her dresser, finally she withdrew from the top drawer her a set of red lace bra & knickers. Stuffing these in the robe, she dodged into the bathroom across the hall. She turned the hot water on in the shower. She then faced the large mirror over the sink, looked herself squarely in the eye, and said "Calm down. And stop being stupid!" in a measuring voice. After taking a deep breath she undressed, and without glancing at her reflection, hopped in the steamy stream of water, pulling the curtain shut. She stood there for a few minutes, letting the warm water relax her muscles, and then she proceeded with her shower, being sure to shave extra carefully.
Once toweled off she stared at the small wad of scarlet lace on the counter. After a steady breath, she grabbed the knickers, sliding them up over her shapely legs onto her round bum. She then reached for the bra and slid it on. Quickly, without looking in the mirror she grabbed her bathrobe, wrapped it around her tightly, and sprinted for her room.
Standing before her full body mirror lined with photographs of her friends, she untied the robe and let it drop to the floor. With a deep breath she opened her eyes, looking up from her feet, she took in her lengthy peachy pale legs, moving up to her shapely hips and the red lace sitting below them. She almost smiled at the way the red contrasted with her skin. She slid her left hand over her left hipbone and smiled, then continued to look up past her flat but somehow soft tummy to where the red bra sat. At this, she grinned. She had, for a long period of time, been flat chested, but now her bosom was a pleasant size, and shape. Her eyes then met her reflected eyes and she sighed. True, she wasn't ugly but "my face is soooo plain!" she thought. In truth, her lips had a pleasant arch and a full look, her nose straight, her cheekbones prominent, and her eyes large and warm, though she did not see this.
Sighing once more she sat on her bed. "What am I doing?" she thought and then the dream she had the pervious nice fell back into her mind. A fire lit deep within her, and brushed the length of her skin, leaving goose bumps. Confidently, she stood, positioned a camera with a timer of 30 seconds and stood before it, striking a provocative pose. The camera flashed and 20 seconds later the photo fell out of the slot in the front of the camera. Hermione grabbed it, and wrote "To Ron" in a flowery hand in a dark crimson ink, on the back of the photo. After a second of thought she added a heart. She then stuffed the photo into an envelope and scribbled "Ronald Weasley, The Burrow" on it, and sealed it. Then, grabbing the owl she had stay behind after delivering her Daily Prophet that morning, she tied the letter to its leg. It gave her an inquisitive look. "Don't look at me like that," she told it, and it took flight, leaving Hermione alone, her cat Crookshanks staring at her as the owl had.
Sighing again Hermione opened her window, and looked around. "Oh that was such a stupid idea! Stupid!" she muttered to herself. The idea to send such a compromising photo had simply just popped into her head. And although she had hesitated, she thought it for the best. She had liked Ron for as long as she could remember, and she almost doubted he even saw her as a woman. "Hey, Hermione, you're a girl right?" he had said in their fourth year. Hmph! But otherwise he made her laugh, the way his eyebrows knitted together when he was trying to understand some new concept. The way he always defended her, though she didn't need it, made her happy. She had to try to get him to notice her somehow, didn't she? It was true, she wasn't the most girly, she spent more time on her studies than she did on her appearance, and she took pride in not being vain. But that didn't mean she didn't want to not be noticed, or maybe even called pretty. And honestly, after the Department of Mysteries, she didn't want to take a chance on waiting on him to speak up. Even with all this in mind, Hermione couldn't help but be anxious.
Closing her window, Hermione walked over and flopped onto her bed, and stared at the light coffee colored wall in front of her. "What will he say? What will he do?" she thought, then gasped out loud. "What if he sends one back!" She squeaked, stuffing a pillow over her face.
An idea struck her to write a friend to consult them on what to do, and have it sent in the morning, but then, realizing Ron and Harry where her only close friends, she sat back and silently cursed herself for not being buddy-buddy with any of the girls in Gryffindor tower. It would be mortifying to write Harry about this. With a gasp she realized Ron would probably tell Harry. Blushing so deeply she could feel the heat coming off of her face, she finally clicked off her light and got into bed to sleep.
She couldn't believe she would be leaving soon, for an entirely different life. She wasn't sure how to feel. Olive had always been adventurous, but she loved her life the way it was. It had forever just been her and her parents in their big homey, magically enhanced tent, moving from place to place. She realized she didn't have the most common upbringing, even for a witch, but her parents' professions called for them to move around a lot, and they had enough down time to be able to school Olive at home and take her on their journeys. She'd never been to a "real" school, she'd learned to read at the table with her mother, she'd learned math on her father's knee, she brewed her first potion at the work bench her mother had had as long as she could recall.
She wasn't sheltered in the least, her parents had always encouraged her to interact with others, and they had regular colleagues that they hired out most of the time who had a son, Benjamin, her age. For periods of time he would stay with them, he was her best friend. But still the concept of finally going to Hogwarts, which she had heard much about from her mother, was somewhat daunting. It was a comfort that Benjamin would be coming as well, and her parents had insisted it really was necessary with the current "state" of things. Whispers of Voldemort returning had been floating around for awhile but as of a few months again it was no longer deniable that he was back, and the Forests weren't comfortable sitting idly by. "You'll be much safer at Hogwarts than with us, Honey, but we wont be far".
As she contemplated she watched her father getting ready for a process she had witnessed many a time in her 16 years. On the table in front of him sat a two and a half foot by six inch hunk of a previously selected wood, this time it was a nice solid oak she noted. Next to this sat the specialized blade his trade called for, a 3" tear drop shaped goblin-made carving blade with a crescent cut out on one side, imbued with dragon blood and Akhn Serum. This blade was key, without it one could never hope to craft a decent wand. The elements of the blade allowed it to ready the wood for the processes it would soon endure.
She knew the process as well as she knew her own father. Wand making had been a constant part of her life.
He sat himself on a well worn stool, and with a practiced wave of his wand he spoke the incantation she had heard thousands of times.
"Et veniet usque ad senem, vita nova, ne in canales communicationis patefacio" in his rumbling voice and he was lost to the wood.
This phrase she knew allowed him to have a certain level of communication with the wood, through its life's energy it would speak to him, showing him what it wanted to become, and soon he would begin carving it. But first a second incantation was murmured to open the wood up further to its potential. " Aperi canem" would be the last thing he said out loud with any conviction for 3 hours at least and 10 at most. Here or there he would mutter something, but nothing meant for anyone but the wood or himself.
She loved the concentrated look on his face, it was as much a part of what home meant to her as her own bed was. His eyebrows creased, and his olive green eyes, identical to hers, sparkled with a mixture of curiosity and mischief, much like the eyes of a child.
While he worked his wood, her mother would be preparing the next stage for the wand she knew, and so she turned her head to watch one more time, committing it all to memory, not sure when she might see her mother at work again. The petite woman stood before her work bench humming a familiar tune Olive associated with work, her soft hair pushed back off her shoulders. Before her was her cauldron heating slowly, and the line of familiar potion ingredients, a dark flask of dragon blood, a squat jar of pale blue Will of Wisp dust, a tall jar of delicate Niffler femurs (collected from naturally deceased Nifflers, of course), a hazy container full of dragon testicles (collected form stillborn dragons), and a small flask of sparkling Thestral saliva. Her mother was at her happiest brewing potions, a feeling Olive shared wholeheartedly, how ever she had never made this particular potion. She knew every step, and every ingredient, but it took a very powerful witch to brew, and she wasn't yet at that level.
After she added the ingredients and set it to a low simmer, Olive's mother tenderly lifted the core that would soon bond with the forming wand wood. Today they were working with a new core they had recently been experimenting with, a single delicate hair won from the head of a sphinx. It shimmered slightly as she murmured to it in an almost loving manner; her parents truly loved their work.
To the Forests, each wand they made was almost like another child, and each advancement they made in the study of Wandlore was a magnificent achievement to the magical world. Olive tended to agree with the latter, she herself had a definite fascination with wands.
A few hours later, her father dispelled his communicative state with his now fully carved wand.
"This one's going to be a beauty, Emma. Such a lovely piece of wood it was to work with," he said in his deep voice.
"I rather hope the core bonds well with it." her mother replied in her chipper tone.
Together they stood before her cauldron, he holding his wand, she holding her core, and together they placed the two in the Draught of Migration so that core and wood could bond and become one. From what they had told Olive the process was beautiful, but it took the maker to be able to see what was happening within the potion, to her it simply looked like any other bubbling potion, slightly lilac in coloration. What she had seen however was the mild glow that occurred at the lip of the cauldron when core and wand finally merged together, forming a fledgling wand. Every wand was different, therefore every wand took its own time completing the process. Some cores and woods were more automatically compatible, taking only a few short hours. Others were more complex taking five or six.
While this process took place, Mrs. Forest would begin, in a second and small cauldron of Goblin-made gold, preparing the Potum Solidos, which served to cement the bond of the wand and heighten its semi-sentient state. The complexity of this potion was very interesting to Olive. Its 5 ingredients, all extremely powerful magical items, were lined up next to the cauldron. A bottle of pearly Phoenix tears, an aged jug half full of milky yellow basilisk venom, a vial of sparkling sphinx saliva, a pot of ashy purple vampire dust, and a bottle of teal mermaid tears. Each ingredient was used extremely sparingly, and if not in the perfect proportion, the potion would become volatile. From another jar, Mrs. Forest would produce an ever burning Chimaera flame with which she would heat this mixture once the wand was ready to enter it. Each of the elements required in this final draft were extremely difficult to come by, and therefore extremely valuable. Olive was told each wand markers' final potion would vary. Her parents had taken years to perfect Potum Solidos, and thought it to be the perfect compilation of elements.
Once the wand was set in Potum Solidos, it would soak in it until completely finished, which never took much time at all. Once it reached its finished state, there would be some magical display, which would vary from potion to potion. Today, there was a sudden haze of sweetly scented pink smoke wafting from the cauldron.
"Ah, Indy its ready," Emma said to her husband as she extracted the wand from the cauldron. Olive and her father walked over to have a look at it together.
With his arm around his daughter's shoulder he said, "A beautiful specimen for a last night in our portable home for many a year. I can't wait to see who this one chooses."
From behind his half moon spectacles, Dumbledore looked up from his desk for the first time in an hour or so, out the window into the night sky. "What is happening out there, it feels different than before... heavier.." Sighing he pushed this thought from his head.
Musing on what other forces may or may not be at work could wait just a moment, currently he had to finish up sorting through the applications to attend Hogwarts the following semester so that letters could be written and sent out promptly. With Tom's appearance at the Department of Mysteries, and the news coverage of it, many students whose parents had previously chosen to teach them themselves abroad or at home had decided to send them to Hogwarts. A good percentage of their numbers had parents who also sought to join the rebellion and help the fight. For this Dumbledore was reasonably happy. And he'd be more than welcome to accept as many as he could to his school. However, he must make certain each potential pupil was up to the level of their peers, especially those hoping to enroll in NEWT subjects.
In the past there had never been many students above first year joining the school for the first time, so their was the question of which houses they'd be placed in as well. "Mm... they'll just have to be sorted with the first years I suppose...".
In the end only one of the students must be told now. Even in the circumstances, Hogwarts couldn't accept a student younger than 11. Perhaps he could arrange something else for the boy..
Ah, he couldn't let it go, there was something changing out there, something more than Voldemort simply gaining power. The balance of active magic had changed, something new was stirring.
He could speak to Severus and see if he'd noted any changes, but he doubted much would come from that. No he needed another plan... Sirius. He would help now, he was a free man, a smart man, a motivated man. But what would he have him look for? No, you couldn't have someone search for a feeling. He needed to gather more information.
Perhaps he could speak with some of the people he had known sometime ago who had been abroad that would be returning soon with their kids. There were always one or two mysterious rumors floating around, and one of them might hold some truth, you never know. A brilliant man would know never to dismiss something without further proof and analysis.
Ah, he was exhausted, it was enjoyable for him to seek out new information and imperative to him to stop more evil from bubbling up in the world, however he was no longer as young as he once had been and pondering so many avenues of information added up. He'd have to call it a night and continue his work tomorrow.
Ron Weasley was sprawled out across his bed, face down, snoring loudly, and twitching slightly. An irritated looking owl landed on the window seal outside of his room, the sun rising behind it. It tapped its beak loudly against the glass window pane, continuing for several minutes before Ron finally stirred.
"What tha' bloody hell..." groaned Ron as he came to. Locating the source of the taping, he opened his window and untied the letter from the owls leg quickly, wanting to get it out of his room before his little owl Pig got excited. Flopping back down onto the bed he ripped open the envelope. Right away he saw "To Ron" in Hermione's handwriting with a heart next to his name. "Whats this all about?" he mumbled, blushing. He flipped over what he thought was parchment to see an extremely sexy woman in skimpy red lingerie. His mouth fell open. Eventually he got past the body to see familiar brown eyes and pink lips giving him a saucy smile from the photograph. "It's Hermione!" he thought, finally making the connection. "BLOODY HELL!" he yelled,jumping slightly and knocking some junk off his night stand, the photo slipping from his hands. He quickly patted his sheets looking for it.
Outside of his tiny room, Mrs. Weasley was passing and paused. "Everything okay, Ron dear?" she called from outside the door?
Ron's heart stopped, his mom! "Yeah, just fine I - uh - stepped on a quill.." he said in a gruff voice.
"Oh... Why are you up so early dear?" Mrs. Wesley asked in a concerned voice.
"Dunno... Pig woke me up," Ron said, grasping for a reason, true an owl had woken him up, but it hadn't been pig who woke him up.
"Alright, I'll have breakfast ready in 15 minutes." Mrs. Wesley said before bustling down the stairs. Ron let out a deep breath and looked down at the photographed Hermione, she was now looking down a bit awkwardly, but still holding the sexy pose. "Bloody hell," Ron whispered to himself, not able to take his eyes from the photo. He'd always been attracted to Hermione, but he never noticed how down right sexy she had become. He stood, trying to ignore the throbbing bulge in his pants that had appeared the moment he had taken in the woman in the photo was Hermione, he needed to focus on how to respond, not getting 'distracted'.
He sighed, prying his eyes from the photo, he awkwardly walked to his desk and wrote "Dear Hermione" on a piece of parchment then he sighed again, what to say! Abandoning this, he grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment and wrote "Harry," at the top, then paused again. "God, she'd kill me, wouldn't she? Oh well.. Harry won't tell..." he thought, and then finished his letter:
Harry,
Hermione sent me, well, a picture, of her... and blimey, Harry, she's starkers! Or, well in her knickers, but still! There is no note, just my name on the back of the photo and a heart. How in Merlin's name do I respond to this! Help, please!
Ron
He then rolled it up, secured it, woke Pig up roughly and told him, "Get this to Harry soon, wait for his response and bring it back straight away!" Pig chirped and flew out the still open window.
Ron was just about to walk back over and look at the photo again, but his mother's voice drifted up calling "Breakfast!". He took a deep breath and left his room.
