01a: Best Laid Plans and Interference
In which men can plan and no plan goes through contact with the enemy in one piece.
'-
December 1939 – Arrivals and Departures
- Paris -
The first thing that Harry noticed was the Headache after all those endless swirls of...formless things: of his hands being the wrong shape; of his head feeling as if it was distributed rather evenly over his body; of being able to see the world with his ears and...generally things Harry would rather not try to recall now. The Headache (yes, he firmly believed it deserved the capitalization) was a combination of having someone hammering his head in repeatedly with a mallet, a dog the size of a Chihuahua gnawing on his hindbrain, and someone with a jackhammer trying to split the top of his skull. That was why the moment his feet found purchase on the ground, he scrambled forward looking for something to grasp, tilt his head to the side and then emptied his stomach on the floor right away. And again. And again.
And several times more even when he was convinced there was nothing else to throw out but his intestines but the gag reflex continued anyway as his eyes watered and sweat rolled off his forehead in giant beads.
It seemed that he wasn't the only one with wishing very hard for painkillers and something to ease his stomach to let up a bit, because he could hear someone else retching not far from where he was standing. It might be two someones, but he might be imagining it the same way he'd thought he saw pink flying elephants a moment before he landed. He couldn't quite trust his senses yet. He opened his eyes anyway.
Why are Hermione and Luna so short? He grimaced, rubbing his nose with a smaller hand than he remembered. Oh, and his younger brother, James, seemed fine, the only one who wasn't half as bad as everyone else. Wait, brother? What brother?
Harry groaned internally.
This is what I mean by not believing anything I see yet...
"Oh dear. It seems that we really shouldn't have tried that experimental portkey, regardless of how fast it could take us and location hop at the same time to avoid detection." A concerned voice sounded somewhere to his left, the person helping him stagger up. It was someone who was surprisingly taller than him. It was a voice he felt he could identify easily and implicitly trusted; it was one he had heard often over many mock-up games of Quidditch.
Of course it was. That would be Dad, after all.
A different corner of his brain was about to argue that that was impossible, but couldn't for the life of him remember exactly why. He had grown up with his parents, after all; what was weird with that?
"It was EXPERIMENTAL? Charlus! You have five seconds to explain yourself before I hex you to the Channel for doing that to the children!"
Harry could feel his father cringing beside him. His mother had a wonderful pair of lungs, and any sane man would do well to accede to her wishes than break his eardrums. Another half of his brain was confused as to why he had a mother, why, I thought I was orphaned since I wasn't even one.... His father hurriedly handed a reenergizing potion to him and scourgified the floor repeatedly. He downed the potion without a word. As Harry stood up, he could vaguely see the figures of his father facing down his worried mother. He could see an almost-as-pale Luna leaning against her mother, who was trying to sit down on one of the tables too (Aunt Artemis, he mentally noted). Uncle Theophilus's three blond long braids followed every swing of his head—he was watching Harry's parents verbal interaction back and forth like one would watch a tennis match, not sure where he could cut in.
The Grangers (Uncle Benjamin, Aunt Sophia, Hermione, another part of his brain noted) were slumped on the chairs of the nearest table. It seemed that the other person who had vomited their breakfast was Hermione, as she was leaning so far against Aunt Sophia that she was almost horizontal, a hand covering her forehead.
He blinked and wiped his eyes. Luna and Hermione looked young. Hogwarts-age sort of young. Or Beauxbaton-age sort of young.
Luggages and bags were strewn all around them, and Harry felt he could drop the only bag he was wearing down, just for a while. It seemed that they were in a good restaurant, anyway—the kind that kept its tables of the finest linen, polished parquet flooring and rich leather seats by the walls.
His father ended up handing everyone the potion he had given Harry while his mother apologized to everyone else. No one was going to get to leave Paris anytime soon, he half-mused, before he wondered a second later just what he had been thinking. The maître d' that had just ghosted by seemed to have much experience with sick and miserable travellers that he simply handed the menu to Aunt Artemis without bothering her unnecessarily. He asked if there was anything that their party may have needed immediately, and immediately left with understanding when she told him that they still needed to catch a breath.
Of course Harry wasn't quite sure why he understood the French Aunt Artemis had been using.
"I'm sorry. I thought Charlus had tested the portkey beforehand." Dorea said. Here, she glared at him. Charlus seemed know enough not to say anything at this point. "Harry, do you think you'd be fine enough to go straight to England for now?"
"Well, we're already close to an international floo terminus now." Uncle Theophilus added. "It really won't take long if we go out, cross the muggle terminus into the wizarding one and find the appropriate chimney."
Wait, to England? Why are they going to England? The adults had been stewing ever since Germany invaded Poland, a memory popped up in his head. It was one where his father walking back and forth with a pipe in hand while Uncle Benjamin spread newspapers on the pool table in his father's study in their house in Rue de Morgaine. Uncle Theophilus was reading something else in Polish and translating it out loud. Uncle Benjamin kept saying that he knew Germany had no good plans for the rest of Europe from what he'd come across in his work. Harry tried to shake the headache that came with the crash of memories. Wait, what? What? What war? It doesn't seem to be Voldemort... has the Ministry of Magic been attacked? Has Hogwarts been attacked?
A different part of his brain was confused. Who's Voldemort? Why Ministry of Magic? You've been in France since you were four! You've met your friends in the British Embassy's magicals' summer party when you were five and that's why your parents knew each other pretty well. You've been going to Beauxbaton up to the second year before the parents decided on moving back! Your father seems to think Grindelwald isn't active, but he found that he couldn't disagree with Uncle Benjamin's assessment of the Germans.
A different voice echoed in his head. Sights, sounds and sense of Harry washing dishes when he was six, of running outside and avoiding a larger and vindictive cousin up a tree. Of hiding in the muggle school library because he knew his cousin hated reading and that he'd be safe there...
Harry really couldn't help himself from vomiting again (even if there was nothing to vomit but whatever little fluid was left in his stomach), on the nice maroon carpet below him, but he felt too dizzy to care much. He experienced simultaneous memories of him being around seven in two different locations with two different families. He waded through memories of him being eight and holidaying in Nice with his parents and younger brother and swimming with a friendly sea snake all his time there. Memories of him being locked in a cupboard with no friend but despair and darkness. He felt like gritting his teeth and growling, but he didn't have enough power left. It doesn't bloody make sense! Shut up everyone! His mother gently pushed him into one of the seats and gave him something else to drink from. He let his forehead fall on the table without further thought.
"Charlus, Harry's not looking so well" Her voice was calmer than it was before, but somehow infinitely more dangerous. "We're staying here until the evening at the very least, until everyone feels better."
"I... think I agree with that, Aunt Dorea," Hermione's weak and strained voice came out somewhere to his far right. Harry didn't try to think too much about it. He didn't think at all as he fell into a tired sleep. "I don't feel so well either."
"I second that." Aunt Sophia's usually stable voice wavered.
"So... what do you say to that, Charlus?"
"Yes, dear" Charlus said immediately. "We're staying here, and we'll order food as soon as anyone feels peckish, and we'll wait."
Harry's mother nodded to that. "Excellent. Let's just settle down, then, everyone. Don't hold back from lying down; the seats will extend themselves as needed. We're in an almost private quarter."
Harry was drifting too blissfully into sleep that he didn't really hear what his mother said after that. When he next woke up, his headache was a lot less punishing than it had been, none of his memories were arguing with each other, and he was absolutely famished. If he wasn't preserving his table manners, he would've been shovelling food straight into his mouth. His only saving grace was how it seemed that Hermione and Luna weren't that different from him in terms of appetite. Poor young James Ignatius Potter caught the attention of almost all the adults because he was the only kid among the four young witches and wizards who didn't feel like he needed to down a boar or a cow to feel better. The adults were worrying that his travelling sickness was manifesting differently compared to the three others.
Nobody knew better.
'-
- London -
It was later that evening when Charlus Potter finally escorted the Grangers to their old London home.
"I don't think I'll ever get over the motion-sickness. I don't know how you magical folks do it."
Benjamin Granger had released his friend's hand the second he landed with his knees on the floor. Before his upset stomach made itself known to him, he ran down to the kitchen of the Grangers' old apartment and threw up in the sink. He looked every inch the distressed academic now, instead of the appearance of a friendly, smiling professor with his curly, light brown hair. Little Hermione had already lain down on the couch from the wooziness she had complained about. His wife, Sophia, looked paler than a bed sheet, sitting on a chair with her eyes closed and a well-formed hand on her forehead.
"Some of us never got used to it at all either." Charlus Potter said after charming himself with a stabilization charm and drinking a bottle of Pepper-up potion, just in case. He was a little better off than the Grangers, as he was their apparator, but he knew from his own experience what being the passenger was like. He and Benjamin met each other when picking up their respective children from Beauxbatons, and had been fast friends since then. "Side-along apparation always feels worse than doing it yourself, anyway. Here, let me help with that."
The wizard went to the kitchen and murmured the same charm he had previously aimed at himself to stabilize Benjamin's sense of balance too and watched his friend stopped gripping the sink and colour returned to his white knuckles.
"What are you going to do about the house in Montmartre?" Charlus asked.
"Sell it, I guess" Benjamin said with another gulp of fresh air. "It's not as if we didn't get it by way of inheritance from Sophia's good old Uncle Gaspard in the first place."
Charlus was slightly surprised. "I thought you'd just close it."
"And who'd look after the place—house elves? I suppose we should floo-in biweekly, then?" Benjamin chuckled. Charlus had the grace to look embarrassed, but his friend only stood up with his usual relaxed attitude and waved it away as if it was nothing. "Really, it's far more practical to sell it. I would've suggested that you do the same if I didn't know that you'd be too inert in your habits to follow my suggestion."
Benjamin wasn't looking at him when he said the last sentence. He seemed to be more... pensive. Charlus didn't think about it much and only nodded.
"That's... rather true," he admitted.
Charlus and his wife had always mingled freely in Paris, because there weren't that many British nationals who'd rather be in the Continent when Grindelwald was known to be out of Britain (Dorea certainly enjoyed being away from her family's absurd pureblood socialization pressures). Their countrymen had certainly only gotten less now that Grindelwald's rumoured muggle puppet announced war. Not that I have to worry about that anymore, he thought, we're back again in England after all, aren't we?
Charlus went to the living room and cast the same stabilization spell to Sophia and Hermione. Mrs. Granger gave a thankful glance to her friend, but she still felt too weak to move around and stayed sitting where she was. Charlus was drinking a second bottle of pepper-up potion when Benjamin managed to walk into the drawing room.
"Off again, already?"
"I'm sorry that I can't stay around for long. Dorea insisted that everyone travel for Pottersborough right away and open the manor again immediately. I'm afraid I'm entirely at her disposal in that case." Charlus said. His perplexed expression told everything. Benjamin wasn't privy to Dorea's thoughts any better, but something lit Sophia's brown eyes and she nodded in understanding.
"Of course. I wouldn't want to be in London at all at these times." she said. "Her relatives are going to be dying to swarm her house the moment you arrive."
Charlus' imagination supplied him a vision of uncles, aunts, grandparents, granduncles and aunts from the extended Black and Bulstrode family, all determined to find out whether he had taken care of 'darling Dorea' well, and whether if he's still hanging on to 'his riffraff friends, his nonsensical ideas'. He could feel a major headache coming and thought that he should thank his wife when he met her. He hadn't thought of the consequences of choosing their London house and was glad not to have said anything to Dorea.
"Send our love to Dorea, Harry and James." Sophia said. As he braced himself for another trip across the Channel, Charlus smiled.
"I will."
'-
- Paris, Pottersborough -
After his father returned from apparating the Grangers, the Potter family said their goodbyes to the Lovegoods and picked up their luggages as they went to their respective chimneys in one of Paris' International Floo Terminus. Harry did not quite remember which one it was, because when one came to the open fire connections, they were built very similarly; the rows and rows of industrial-grade chimneys in the place with ceilings that were at least three storeys high. The material building each group of chimneys told enough story of the era that it was built. The middle ones were marble, the newer ones on the far ends were of more staid bricks. Some of the even older ones seemed to have been made from hewn stone. Harry and his family ended up going to one of the marble ones—it was of gleaming white stone and had finely carved details and fluted ivies on the corners. Many wizards and witches waiting for their turn. His remaining dizziness stopped him from managing to be able to observe too much, and as such he couldn't quite recall from his fuzzy and uncooperative memory whether this was the Floo Terminus in Saint Lazare or Gare de Lyon or even in d'Orsay. Not d'Orsay, probably.
"You don't look so well, Harry." His father's voice was one of concern.
"That's because I'm still not, Dad," he muttered. "Thank you very much for that wonderful portkey of yours. I'm sure Hermione and Luna aren't that much better either."
His father looked guilty for one moment, and Harry would've been ashamed of lashing out if he realized what he just said (his father had a good excuse since the new portkey was safer and harder to track, really). Yet his head still felt like a group of monkeys were using it as a percussion instrument and he couldn't think beyond that. Harry didn't let anyone support him or anything, as he still want to preserve what little shred of dignity he had. His movements were automatic since he knew his other luggages had been cared for, and thus tried to concern himself with just grabbing the Floo powder in hand. His mother sent him one more worried look before walking forward into the green flame. His father was waiting for him and his little brother was nowhere to be seen. Probably went first before Mum, he decided it was his turn. He threw the powder and walked in; trying not to think too much while he was being twisted and turned in the middle of nowhere.
An intense wave of nausea landed Harry ungracefully on the floor for the second time that day and he staggered away from the grand fireplace in the front parlour before his father landed on top of him. Regardless of how he arrived, it was a lot better than that so-called experimental portkey. But the difference was of the degrees between wanting to vomit his guts until they've all fallen out and only having bile rose to his throat, vertigo and not much else. He cursed silently.
What is it with me and magical transportation, really?
Harry was sorely tempted to insist to his parents that the next time they went to Paris, he'd prefer the airplane. He definitely would not care for all of his mother's worries that muggle contraptions aren't safe, or how they don't know how to get him on one or any other trivial inconveniences. He knew more of the muggle-world than they do. They could all apparate ahead of him for all he cared. Harry didn't realize that he was lucky he felt so sick he didn't even try to sort out the different voices in his head.
Harry felt a little better to see his father leaning against a wall, looking not too well himself. His hat had fallen since he arrived and his hair was sticking up the same way Harry's did every morning (Harry idly wondered where his own cap was. His mother probably had secured that). Father and son reluctantly trudged out. His father had lifted his wand before Harry could throw up on the foyer and cast a quick charm.
"Rennervesco Equilibrio!"
Harry stood a little straighter. His stomach suddenly calm and he remembered enough to mumble a relieved 'thank you' to his father. Hmm, that does feel better...
"Don't worry Harry. You just have the Potters' aversion to getting transported. It gets better once you learn to apparate." His father said, casting the same charm over himself.
"You don't look that much better yourself, Dad." Harry muttered. Now that he wasn't half-dead from queasiness, he could see how unhealthy the colour on his father's cheeks was. His father was mostly fine in all the other aspects, though. As such, he was trying to ignore the strange rushing, happy feeling inside him that seems to oddly want to proclaim to the world that he had a living father. I have parents! It yelled. I have a little brother! I'll kill the next Dark Lord that tries to get them! It really didn't make much sense. Why would he want to go head to head with Grindelwald? What did Grindelwald have against his family, anyway? It was all probably the travelling sickness, though he wasn't sure how it was supposed to affect his sanity. Most people have called you crazy at one point or another anyway; one would've thought you'd be used to it, another voice commented.
There it is again, he mused, more amused than anything at the thought of how unusual it is to have a voice in his head that actually thinks he's crazy. Maybe that actually meant he was saner than most people? Wait, that didn't make sense...
"Your mother keeps telling me to practice apparating more than one person. I keep trying to avoid that." Charlus Potter muttered, and Harry gave him the slightest smiles.
"Your father would do well to realize that your mother is often right than not."
Harry and his father looked up—Harry with curiosity and Charlus with a sheepish smile. Harry had been feeling bad that he hadn't paid attention to his surroundings. Now that he did, he noticed the spacious entrance hall and the double stairs curving up to their left and right. The lower half of the walls was panelled in rich dark wood. The banisters were made of the same smooth material and it matched the deep maroon of the carpet on the stairs with its rich yellow weaving of plants and flowers. The upstairs curtains seem to be dark green, though, but it matched the red carpet the way leaves and flowers complemented each other.
"Welcome back to Pottersborough, Harry," his mother said with a smile, before giving orders to the house elves (Minky and Morry, he thought) to take their luggage and prepare for tea as well as one very long instruction about dinner.
One part of his brain seems confounded enough to simply stare in disbelief while a different part was whooping in joy.
"Home." Harry managed to breathe out in disbelief as he looked around. Yes, that was what this place was. Home.
He kept thinking that maybe all of this is a dream he would wake up from, something too good to be true for that (freak, weirdo, no-good-kid-of-drunk-parents) orphan Harry. That he would live in a large but miserable house in London that was filled with Dark Arts memorabilia. A different part of his brain stared at the memory in confusion, as he recognized it as Uncle Pollux's London house, but really, it wasn't that dreary the last time around... Harry squashed any further thought to stop his brain from arguing with itself again and decided to just run up the stairs and slide down the banisters on impulse. It felt like a very familiar activity. It felt like...
"I'm home!" He yelled.
"Harry!" His mother glared at him. He would've taken her more seriously if it wasn't for the smile she failed to suppress.
His father grinned, carelesly throwing his Twilfit and Tattling cap in the direction of the hat and coat stand. His wife gave him a look for that. He didn't see it because his attention was all for his son.
"Yes, yes you are. Come on; let me race you to the second floor."
"Charlus! You're just egging him on!"
"That's the exact purpose, dear."
"Charlus!"
'-
- Unknown and Unspecified Place and Time -
Hermione shook her head and tried to clear the fog there. She couldn't quite remember what she had been doing. Hadn't she been working on some experiment at work? Making good use of her Level 5 Unspeakable Clearance to get her hands on unresearched magical artefacts? She was doing it all for a certain purpose, but Hermione couldn't quite remember what. Well, she mused, best that I go out of bed first and start my day than dawdle for too long.
She threw her legs over the side of her bed, but realized that she wasn't in bed. She was sitting on her desk in her office in the Department of Mystery. Her cauldron was exactly where she had left it, her cabinets and bookshelves where she remembered, though everything little blurred around the edges. The other aspect maybe how she was certain her office hadn't been this large before and wasn't built in the open Roman style complete with columns and arches. Five metres away from her, a calming pool started and continued a little farther under an open sky. She could spy second floor balconies around it. It was as if her office was placed in one corner of a large Roman bath house.
This... this isn't office, is it?
Her memory was surprisingly fuzzy and not being very helpful right now. It made her feel marginally better to see Harry sitting on the water's edge with a stylus and a wax tablet. Somehow the fact that he was wearing a purple-lined toga didn't faze her in the least—it was not as if her attire was much different, and she felt entirely at ease with it to even notice. Hermione thought she could see splashes in the pool and saw a blonde head surfacing and disappearing from time to time. Luna?
She guessed correctly as the Ravenclaw witch was soon swimming to the edge.
Hello, Hermione. We've been waiting for you.
That was a surprise. She didn't remember keeping any appointment. She was sure she would've remembered it if she had to meet someone at the baths instead of the forums. You have?
That's what they said, Harry added. You were the one whose intention laid the groundwork for the wand movements. You were the one who chose the right ingredients to complement your purpose in making the potion in your project. So our presence is tied to yours and that's why we have to wait.
Who are they?
Both of her friends were spared from answering as Hermione could see two figures walking down to her. One was a man with a curly head of hair, and the other one was a woman with a bouquet of flowers in her hand of various colours. Hermione noticed that all of them were poppies, though.
Greetings again, Travellers, especially to you, Hermione Granger. We are here to assure you that you have travelled well and you have no need to worry about it.
Luna pulled herself out of the pool, and Hermione began to see snatches of memories in the water; of her learning to ride the bicycle by the Seine; of meeting Harry and Luna and feeling glad that there were people she could speak English with; of her family beaming with excitement when she received her Beauxbaton letter. She could see Harry playing with his younger brother, and Harry receiving his first broom. She could see Luna standing in the acropolis with her parents as Aunt Artemis showed her which stone to press to open a series of stairs leading down into the cliffs—Luna had shown her the memories later, after the holiday.
She also remembered she was a Hogwarts student who had never been in Beauxbaton. She remembered that Luna was in the year below her and Harry, not with them.
Those things never happened, Hermione said. Her head was oddly non-painful with two sets of memories. She suspected it might have something to do with how she wasn't exactly awake now. I grew up in England.
Did she? Wait, why did she even have to doubt herself about this?
The man shook his head. That is you, and this is also you. You need to stop making these useless distinctions of separating the memories. They're all real and true.
We've just gone back to England from France, Harry said in confusion.
The woman nodded. Yes, your families had just done that. It is the best point for entry. You would be moving to a new country and it would give you time to get you used to this life.
My new life, Hermione said in a daze. But why can't I remember being in Hogwarts, fighting against Voldemort and working as an Unspeakable all this time? Why have I only remembered it now? Harry, did you remember anything awake? How about you, Luna?
Harry shook his head, his gaze lost in some unseen middle distance.
The woman shook her head. She was giving each of them a bundle of poppies and they absentmindedly accepted her gifts.
No, not your new life. Your life. It has always been yours or you will not be able to travel and enter here at all. This is why we have to lock most of your other memories away and only let them surface as necessity calls. For you will tear your life unnecessarily over it and over things you call 'fated' and 'not'. She stared at the three of them, her gaze solemn. The man beside her spoke up (Are they siblings? Hermione mused).
Forget what you wizards think you know about travelling through my realm. It is only true under minuscule travels. What ruling governs the microcosm is not necessarily the same as the macrocosm.
But we need our memories! Hermione insisted.
You will have them, when you stop looking in your current life as you had in your old. You will not be able to read all of your old mind before you can conquer your outdated preconceptions. It is not I who will stop you but your own self. The woman replied with surprising vigour and vehemence. Because those memories you are so desperate to hold has always been, and will always be with you in your unconscious.
We will remember anything we want once we accept the reality? Luna was the one who asked the question this time. Hermione noticed that her hair was braided in interesting ways, though perhaps still more experimental compared to how the well-to-do of Athens kept theirs.
What is it that you call the reality? Hermione asked.
This life is not a reflection of your other. It is not a mere extension, the man said. You can only make changes while living, not meddling, and you can't live if you're tied so much by your pasts.
That's not very helpful or clear, you know, Harry glanced between their two strange hosts with an annoyed look. If anyone knew anything about unhelpful hints and prophecies, it had to be Harry.
Don't try to change the present based on what you know of people in the future! People can still change. Colour spread on his cheeks as he said that. His air, the tension on his frame suggested that he would like to shake any one of them by the shoulders and he was holding himself back. Perhaps there were words he dearly wanted to say and can't. There was something odd about his black eyes. Perhaps it was because Hermione could see stars in it. Perhaps it was because she had only noticed that it was completely black with no whites in it. She wondered why she wasn't any more surprised about it—as if it was completely expected. As if she couldn't imagine him seeing everything that he saw now, in every now and even the ones that aren't hers, without it.
Change it, because you believe that is the best path you can walk on. That is the only way to live a life, to not make an even worse mess of your meddling!
Who are you? Hermione asked. The woman smiled, warmer than she had before. Hermione could taste truth in the air along with a scent of honeysuckle and warm lazy summers by the golden sands of the Mediterranean.
Mnemosyne.
'-
''-
01b: The Gathering Storm
'-
January 1940
- Wapping, St. Catchpole – A Party of Three for Tea -
It was just a day after they've arrived in England, but really, they've been missing each other's company already. When Artemis Lovegood sent the invitations to her friends, it was no surprise that the answer was prompt. The circular blue drawing room of the Lovegoods' Tower was soon hosting three women and a set of fine china whose enamelled clouds entirely failed to sit still. The tables were simple and white, as to not distract from the main feature of the room. The windows were interspersed with Grecian columns, but other than that they provided a full panoramic view outside.
The women having tea complemented each other in a most interesting way. Dorea Potter held her thick black hair up in a sophisticated style, eyes as dark as night and no less secretive while her smile had a raw force to it like the witches of old. Where Dorea was dark, Artemis Lovegood was as light and ethereal as witches came, with feathery blonde hair held up in what seemed to be a careless knot and yet had survived the whole day without needing to be redone. Sophia Granger was balanced between their extremes; her smile was as warm and inviting as her hazel eyes. The tight curls of her brown hair in a practical bun reminded Dorea of Demeter than anything else; sensible and grounded, she was an earthly beauty.
"I've received an owl that says Hogwarts can't accept children mid-year. I thought, 'why not?' Michaelmas would've ended now and the next term wouldn't have started yet. That was how it was in Cambridge." Sophia complained. She was stirring her tea rather viciously, but somehow still managing not to spill even a drop. Dorea was the first to reply before Artemis said anything—and Artemis had always been the good listener when the other two had one complaint after another about anything.
"Because they can't be bothered to help new students up to speed." Dorea said, clearly passionate about the issue. "Oh, I know your daughter would be able to keep up nonetheless. The children only needed a list of reading material. They're smart, and as long as we can help with any question they have, they'll master it in no time when the teacher is knowledgeable and compelling. Dippet is simply not used to acknowledging that people outside the school may have bright ideas too."
"He's just too old fashioned. He was already at Hogwarts when my grandparents were there." Artemis added softly, trying to temper her friends' annoyance. Her friends had never seen the blonde witch to be discomposed in any situation.
"So let's prove him wrong." Dorea said her gaze burned with a fire they were very familiar with; one that always made Charlus stare at her in a most dazed expression. "My family had always had a long tradition of teaching the children many things before they went to Hogwarts, and still do even after that. There are times when Hogwarts just simply happen to not have the best teacher for a certain subject. I volunteer to teach our children enough to last them to their fourth year."
The other two women glanced at each other before Artemis smiled and Sophia chuckled.
"There are three of us, you know. We could all teach our children. I'm sure neither you nor I would like to teach Divination or Runes." The ever-sensible Sophia said to the dark-haired witch. Dorea had always been ready to go up in arms first against anything standing in her way, and somehow asking for help never occurred to her. "Even if I'm only free on Saturday and Sundays, I'm sure we could manage something."
"You have to admit that were she a witch, she'd be a far better Arithmancer than you would. I'd love to ask her to teach Luna the mechanics, even if she wouldn't be able to do the application and all the required wandwork." Artemis said, to which Sophia took a sip out of her cup to hide the blush on her cheeks.
Dorea had never envied the way Sophia had always been proud of her work in the Foreign Office, or how Artemis enjoyed being a dedicated correspondence to Le Magicien du Monde—she couldn't quite imagine herself in their shoes, as she had never seen any of her relatives live anything other than a life centred at home. Yet when Artemis (always the one with the craziest ideas) started talking about Arithmancy to Sophia to compare notes with how the muggles do it, she was surprised to see Sophia soaking everything like a sponge and even managing to guess specializations that Artemis had yet to explain, just by extrapolating from the ones she had heard of already. If Dorea Potter nee Black was ever insecure (not that she ever would as a Black heiress), and had to choose one thing she would be envious of, it would be of Sophia's mind.
Dorea didn't even have to think about it when her smile lit up her eyes. Between the three of them, and even the boys at times, their children would be fine.
"That sounds like an excellent idea."
'-
- London – The Grangers -
It was three days after they've arrived in London. Hermione remembered that the dining table had been a family heirloom that her grandmother (and mother, after Grand'Mere died) had always been proud about. The surface was made of one solid block of hard wood and because of that it always needed at least three grown men to move it around due to its weight. She remembered her mother showing her a picture of four-year-old Hermione playing house under it with a blanket thrown over the table to turn it into a makeshift tent. She felt safe then.
Of course back then it was in broad daylight instead of the middle of the night. Back then, the glimpses of the world beyond the curtains of her window was not lit up in a varied wash of oranges and red over torn skies. One explosion after another brightened the skyline and smoke rose up in the air. Back then, her parents weren't sitting at her sides and holding on to her as if they were all trying hard to not drown. She could feel her father's tension and her mother's occasional shiver and it all felt so wrong. Her parents weren't supposed to feel this vulnerable, this afraid. There's no dark mark in the sky, a faint voice in her head murmured strangely, though not entirely unfamiliar. Though I suppose in every age there is its own evil.
"It'll be alright." her father had said, "We're still at the edge of London."
But her father wasn't even looking at her when he said this. He was staring out too, at the unknown hell that had somehow unfolded beyond their ken in the city that was supposed to be their home.
"Of course it will be alright, Ben."
The sentence hung between them like an uninvited guest in a family funeral. Her father gave her mother a thin smile and Hermione wished she could say something. She couldn't. Another explosion caught their attention, rattling the glasses, and the words stuck on her throat like unshelled chestnut.
'-
It was strange to wake up under the table in the morning with her parents. The silence was good—the sound of the air raid siren was getting on her nerves enough. This hadn't been as fun as she thought it would be all those years ago. A corner of her child's mind felt the world was no longer fun and games once the adults think it was a good idea to hide too. The Granger part of her head simply admonished her for worrying unnecessarily, and assured her that if their parents are not safe, she will certainly read enough books to find out how to fix it. Hermione Granger firmly believed that she could fix everything, given the right books and tools. Give me a large enough lever and I can move the world, Hermione thought. Thinking about that at least stopped her mind from going back to visions of fires and hell. She half-wondered why she seemed to have so many memories of things burning up and flames of various colour and heat in her mind, but Hermione chalked it up to the strength of her imagination.
Her father stretched while her mother covered a yawn.
"I don't know about you, but I'm getting her to Artemis and Theo's place." her mother had said. Her father was halfway to nodding before he stopped himself and turned to her.
"What do you think, Hermione? Do you mind staying in Luna's place until school starts? We can still visit every weekend."
Hermione didn't want to have to face what they'd seen every night, but she didn't want to leave her parents alone to face that either. She couldn't say no, because she had no reason to and it would only sound silly to her parents. But she really, really didn't want to lose them. Not again and definitely not in another war, that odd voice said again in her head. We have to do something before they start acting all heroic and sacrificing.
"What about you?" Hermione said as she looked back and forth between her parents. "You're not safe here either, are you? I don't want to leave without thinking over this first."
"Come on, let's have breakfast first." Her mother said, not answering her questions. A pit of dread gaped in Hermione's stomach as she wondered if she'd see her parents again.
"You're leaving too, aren't you? Don't tell me you both plan on staying here?"
Both of her parents gave her no answer, and the silence stretched like a shroud between them. For once, she wished she was hearing the siren again instead.
'-
- Wapping, St. Catchpole – Of Moves -
"Is everyone alright?"
Theophilus Lovegood's concerned voice was the first one heard as the Grangers exited the living room floo—his glasses had drooped down his nose so far that it was a miracle that it hadn't fallen off yet. Both Benjamin and Sophia gave him a tired smile and a general nod, hopefully all-encompassing and without a need for other explanation at all. Neither had enough mental fortitude to go to the details, and the walk to the nearest floo station was depressing enough as it is. Since they had yet to install a floo connection in their current house, there was little to choice but to go out and brave the view of newly destroyed buildings, the dazed people not quite comprehending what had happened to their homes while they were sheltering away, and the worse part were the hysterical sounds of those with dead loved ones. Neither Grangers spoke much to each other on the journey, but they hurried their footsteps all the same, as they each called out the address to Lovegood Tower.
Hermione had arrived with almost as much luggage as she had when she came from France, though the fact that both of them were magical helped a lot. Theophilus had helped them settle down. On his table were various newspapers, some in French and others in Dutch and German. Artemis looked up from the article she was writing, her blonde hair charmingly mussed.
"Sophia and I won't be here for long. We're here to ask, you know... if you could shelter Hermione for a while? I don't think I'd feel comfortable having her in London when our house could've burned down any time. You know the jerries are bombarding the city, right?"
"Bombarding the city? I can't even imagine..." Sophia had never seen Theo that pale—and the blond wizard was already chalky most of the time. Artemis's patient tones could be heard as she commented about how her husband really should start reading the British newspapers before the European ones now. A moment later, he seemed determined instead. He asked them to please make themselves comfortable and walked out of the room. Luna followed him when he returned not long after that, along with a floating tea service. Luna sat down while Artemis and Theo laid out tea on the table.
"What is this news of fires that I've heard so far?" Artemis asked. Her husband answered that.
"It's just... London. Here, perhaps you need to see the papers. I didn't know it was going to be this bad either."
Artemis only needed to glance twice or thrice at the newspaper he handed to realize she didn't really want to know the details. She had seen what she wanted to know and it was already enough to distress her that morning.
"Wouldn't you both stay here as well? I don't like the idea that you'd be risking your life and limb when you could be quite safe here. They don't send those flying death-traps that far out here where we're only visibly green fields."
"But we really need to—"
"—work. In Buckinghamshire", Benjamin finished, stopping any flow of detail his wife might say. Her eyes lingered his way, but she noticed what he was doing and closed her mouth. He chose his next words carefully. "You out of all people have an idea of what I do, Theo. I can't leave that. I have to—"
"Oh for goodness' sake, there's the floo." Artemis insisted. "You could go to the closest floo destination to your offices every morning. You could go anywhere around London—I'm sure I could show you the map of the floo chimneys for London and you could choose which one is more convenient. It's nearly instantaneous that I'm sure you'd never be running late. It's not as if you need magic to be able to use them. I'm sure I have rings that can help you get past some of the basic muggle-confounding charms to reach them. Then again, we don't have your eclectics—"
"Electronics." Hermione said. The reply was absentminded, and Sophia only noticed how her daughter seems distracted.
"— in our home, not even a radio, so you might be very bored..."
"We won't mind." Hermione said out loud, surprising the adults who had forgotten that she and Luna were still waiting while the adults fret. She used her sweetest voice and her best smile. "You have a lot of books and there's a wonderful meadow a little ways away from here. Luna said that she'd seen many fishes in them. I'm sure it wouldn't take so long for us to pack things up since we haven't really unpacked completely—don't you think so Mum, Dad?"
"We have spare bedrooms." Luna added. "There are five unused right now. All of them have bookshelves."
Benjamin and Sophia could only stare at each other in surprise, and realized that their daughter had them right where she wanted.
'-
- Wapping, St. Catchpole – Of Information Passed on by Benjamin Granger -
Theophilus Lovegood was standing one valley away from the Lovegood Tower, in robes that were deepest azure with yellow stars of various sizes scattered on it. It was rather difficult to determine whether his clothes were so outdated in style (not much farther than middle ages), or whether he was so visionary he had pre-empted the psychedelic 1970s in essence and colour. It may have something to do with how he picked it up from the rejected, already harmless item in the 'time accidents' sub-division of the Unspeakables. Around his neck hung an omnicular.
He had been standing there in the last ten minutes, completely comfortable with warming charms permanently placed on his clothing. His long hair that he kept in three braids sometimes scattered about in the wind. Anyone else might be tempted to cast another 'Tempus' charm and see what time it was already, but he simply stood there and stared at the sky and the larger clumps of trees farther away (calling them 'forest' was a bit pushing it) as if it had been his purpose all this time. He was humming disjointed tunes from a smattering of eras, and the loud 'pop' beside him as well as the newly arriving wizard did nothing to stop his humming. He stopped tapping his wand to his thigh, though.
"That took you some time, Charlus."
The smartly dressed wizard beside him only tugged on his cravat slightly at that, unconsciously smoothing his already dapper appearance the way he only did when something occupied his mind. "Well, I had to make excuses first. You were asking me to leave straight away when I'm in the middle of an ongoing game. It would be rather unfair if I left while my cards had been favourable so far."
Theo raised an eyebrow at that. "What, you actually deign to lose a game after that? I'd sooner believe that you emptied everyone else's pockets instead."
Charlus laughed. "No, no. I wasn't that cruel. I know exactly how much they have left after playing with them all this time. Still, I needed a smoother exit and not give the impression of an emergency. It also took some time to locate the omniculars you insist me on bringing."
Theo nodded, and humour seemed to have left his face. His blue eyes did not look open.
"Your discretion is still commendable, I see."
He didn't look exactly disturbed; his expression was more akin to caution. The dark-haired wizard next to him noticed it, though. "So what brought this on? You mentioned something urgent based on what Benjamin told you, but nothing more substantial."
"It's something that crossed my mind ever since he told me about the bombings muggle London has been under. I started reading the muggle papers after that."
"Right, but what concern is that of us?"
Theo snorted. "How many times have you asked me to be your lookout in Hogwarts?"
"Often enough, whenever I wish to outprank my housemates. They didn't even think I'd have other eyes and ears outside Gryffindor."
"And you trust the intelligence I could give you, right?"
"Well, more like I trust the interesting applications of charms that you can come up with."
Usually, Theo would smile softly, in that unassuming way he always did (and not in the bragging way that Charlus would in the same position). This time, his face barely changed. If it was even possible, he spoke quieter.
"Then I hope you could trust what I'm about to show you."
Theophilus said nothing further as he walked forward slightly, wand in hand. Charlus followed him out of curiosity. Theo waved his disillusionment charm over the area away, and a scraggly and battered looking cottage was suddenly visible on the field of grass.
"You've suddenly decided to expand your tower to something more house-shaped?" Charlus asked.
The blond wizard shook his head at that and rubbed his thin beard. "No. It's a house that's been on the market for years in St. Catchpole until it fell into disrepair. I bought it at fire sale prices and had it moved here. I thought it would be more fitting to use a real house for this experiment."
Theo seemed to be considering something, and he threw a couple of pebbles towards it. He enlargened the pebbles and transfigured them into rough imitations of the cottage. Where once one there was one rather ugly cottage, now there were five of them clustered together. He seemed dissatisfied and added six more to cluster outside the first group.
"You see the eleven cottages, right?" Theo asked, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. Charlus didn't quite see the point yet, but he nodded.
"Yes? You know, the transfiguration isn't going to hold for long, for something that size." And rather a waste of energy, to change something that would revert back soon enough, he thought.
Theo shrugged. "It doesn't need to last more than ten minutes. Now, I'm going to release the stasis charm I placed on a certain object that reached my hands with Benjamin's help. It's inside the first house. I will add a simple heating charm to it, with your dear wife's modifications."
Now that intrigued Charlus. "Dorea's modifications?"
"The main difference is, I can continue channelling energy into it after the first casting and continue to increase the target temperature. Artemis showed me how to do it, but let's not go into the details for now. After this I'm going to send the second set of objects in and overheat that too. Let's just call it Package Two for now." Theo said with a quick wave of his hand. He was still staring at the cottages with a distracted look, and only years of acquaintance told Charlus that he was vaguely concerned about something. "You understood all that, and that I didn't do anything else to the environment or the object?"
"Right, this object is in the middle house, you will release it from stasis and you will overheat it. You send the next objects in, and you overheat that too. Is that all? You're just playing an open-air oven in the field? Should I get some loaf to bake?"
"Hardly," Theo replied, but he didn't react to Charlus' joking tone as he lost himself in thought for a while or two. His continued wordless waiting wound up worrying his friend, but Theo had picked the conversation again before Charlus had time to say anything else.
"Your understanding is perfectly acceptable, Charlus. Now, let's get back up the hill and, watch. I've done this before, but I would like to be able to do it again with you to see it."
After seeing his friend apparate away already, Charlus followed suit, even as he was glancing back at the construction in the middle of the valley. With a pop, he reappeared next to Theo. Now, the two wizards were back on top of the hill, just outside Lovegood tower. The cottages looked like playthings from here instead of man-sized dwellings.
"Can you conjure a sound bubble around us? Don't block out everything, just one that would block anything comparable to a banshee's wail or a siren's song outside." Theo said. If Charlus found his friend's request as strange, it didn't stop him from doing it still, his curiosity increasing even more.
Theo raised a hand, his flexible birch wand in his left hand, cutting through the air as he first cast a simple finite. He continued his wand movements without even a moment's pause into what started as a basic heating charm and ended as something else and held his hand's position then. The Lovegood wizard had the patience and focus that had always been good for fine-tuning things from a distance. Charlus could feel the faintest flicker of energy his friend was channeling, but it was small enough and he noticed it no more after another moment. Theo was staring at the cottages with an intensity that was disproportionate if it was only to ensure the spell went off without a hitch.
Then Theo stopped and picked up his omnicular; Charlus did more or less the same thing.
Theo's attention was very much explained when the cottages exploded in a loud explosion as roofs were blown away and walls knocked down. He could see a fireball rising up from where the centre cottage had been, and the cottage itself was nowhere to be seen. It was simply...gone, not flattened, because there were no remnants that could give a clue of anything ever being there. Charlus blinked. He didn't have time to think about how that had happened when he saw an invisible force rippling the grass outward and fast. The sound bubble's muffling ability activated around them soon enough, but it didn't last when the airborne shockwave hit them and he stepped back in surprise. Theo did the same and had the same wide-eyed expression that he did; it felt as if a djinn had beaten a house-sized drum within their close proximity and their chest thrummed with it. Within one second of that, a rumble passed the ground under their feet; that unbalanced him a little, as if the same djinn had dropped that drum nearby and shook the earth in a small quake.
Charlus and Theophilus was still staring at each other in disbelief when Theo looked up and groaned.
"Shields up, Charlus! Use your maximum physical shield!" Theo himself cast it not long after that.
Charlus followed by reflex, but couldn't resist asking even as he raised his head to see whatever it is that Theo had seen. "What's wrong?"
Theo didn't even bothered to answer that as smaller debris from the houses rained on them, making audible knocking sounds overhead. Larger house fragments turned parts of their transparent shield reddish, a sign that it was straining. Theo sighed as he picked up the second package on the ground and apparated farther, even closer to his house, and Charlus followed.
"Right. Time for the next one. Benjamin said to aim rather loosely because the purpose isn't to place it at the exact place of the first one. He said it would be a waste of effort, and I hadn't understood what he meant by it then," Theo sounded a little rueful as he gazed to the practically nonexistant first house. Charlus had to agree there.
He heard two pops from his side in close succession; it would seem that Theo had apparated his other package in and went back. His friend raised his left hand again and started the movements to the modified heating charm he had seen him use earlier. Stray blades of grass continue to drift down from the sky on them; it seemed that not everything that was blown away had fallen down yet. He conjured a thin but wide shield, just enough to keep the dust and smaller debris still settling from coating them.
Charlus lifted his omnicular, and turned his attention back to the ruins. He could see the metallic cylinder that his friend had dropped in at one of the cottages to the right of the first one; it glowed red as the heating charm continued. As it glowed brighter, pieces of the metal melted away, dropping to the torn planks on the floor and hitting wooden support beams. Small sparks became large ones, coaxing fire into life. Small burns crackled to life at different points and joined together in their merry destructive dance. Large tongues of flames blossomed, and the targeted cottage was soon engulfed in the mini inferno. He could clearly see the cottages consumed now by the growing conflagration that kept expanding, and he was sure that in the precious moments needeed to call for help the fire would have taken down a cluster of building or an entire block of them. The instant destruction experienced by the first cottage was still on his mind. The grass beyond the building cluster was scorched. If there had been anyone inside any of them when the explosion happened, Charlus wasn't sure if they could've survived, even if they'd apparated directly to St. Mungo's emergency ward.
Charlus stopped fiddling with his cuffs completely, watching instead in silence as fire tore the buildings down. Even if he knew these inadequate hovels weren't really anyone's home, and that they would disappear within another five minutes, the way they went up in flames so quickly gave him pause. It was just...inconceivable. The two men stood side-by-side in silence for a while. Charlus was still surprised while Theo was unreadable—his lips did not form his usual smile but a tight line.
Theo finally spoke up again, his voice oddly neutral. Behind it, there was the vaguest sense of... pain? Defeat?
"No ward is going to withstand that force, Charlus." Theo said first. He held himself back for another moment, steadying his thoughts.
"I asked Artemis to prop the first cottage with a series of basic wards that people usually put in their houses in the cities; anti-theft, anti-intrusion, heck, she even added anti-beast and the minor form of anti-looting that one could expect to see on all stores in Diagon Alley at the very least. You saw what good that does them."
Charlus was still staring at a bedroom of one of the peripheral cottages that had been torn down. He could see very well that it had a burning crib. It may have something to do with a half-burnt stuffed toy beside it. It was a morose looking bear just like one that James had.
"Charlus?" Theo called, waving his hand in front of his friend's omnicular. "Charlus?"
"What? I'm fine."
Theo did not seem like he believed it at all, but he said nothing. Instead, he simply waited for Charlus to finish staring. His colour had yet to return to what it was before the destruction took him by surprise.
"What... what is that, Theo?"
Theo took a deep breath again. "That is what the muggles call a bomb, Charlus. That's what they're dropping from the skies, and believe me, a notice-me-not charm isn't going to help anyone who happened to be living in a targeted city. They drop them indiscriminately. If they're actually aiming at locations that just happen to be next to some wizarding establishment, you can bet that the fire and blast wouldn't discriminate at all once it's set off. It has no intelligence that magic can fool, it simply destroys."
"We've got to warn everyone. Nobody had been expecting the muggles to be capable of anything of this magnitude." Charlus muttered. He had begun to pace, and Theo was watching him carefully, as if wondering is his friend was about to do something rash or stupid.
"I think we need to tell your father about this." Theo said.
"What?"
Theo tilted his head to one side—an unconscious habit his daughter seemed to have picked up from him too. "Geoffrey Potter, Director of the DMLE? This is an issue that needs to be addressed rapidly. We need to cut through the bureaucracy and aim for the relevant leaders. Otherwise, the news would reach them much too late; certainly far later than is prudent. Your father would surely be able to reach the ear of the Minister in time."
"But that's not enough!"
"I agree with you there." Theo nodded, staying calm and ignoring Charlus' surprised expression. "We've got to get everyone to follow Coventry and Birmingham's methods quickly even before the Ministry decides on any action. Any time lost could possibly mean lives lost. This is even more pertinent for a wizarding section as large as Diagon and Knockturn."
"What?"
This time, it was more than mild exasperation that crossed Theophilus' face as he threw his hands and marched back towards Charlus. He did not raise his voice, but some of his inflections became pointed. "Oh for the love of—does no one really notice what's going on outside London? Don't tell me you've only been reading the Prophet?"
"I did read of the fires there, and the admirable actions of the firemen that prevented further loss of lives."
Theo's brows furrowed. "That may indeed be true, but did you not notice what caused them? It's these attacks on the muggles cities!"
"Accidental damage, they say—"
"Accidental on Merlin's arse," Theo pronounced each words clearly and with prejudice, staring his friend down. Charlus had unconsciously took a step back and raised his hands in a peace-keeping gesture.
He had never really seen the usually placid Ravenclaw this furious as Theo clenched and unclenched both of his fists. "It's what I've been talking about. This is the level of damage that Benjamin had pointed out and why he told me how I can get some of these bombs! We cannot ward against them, Charlus. To sit still is to be sitting ducks in hunting season! I can't believe nobody has been paying attention to the letters of recommended action that both cities have been sending to the Ministry. The enclaves in the other cities will have to go underground, Charlus."
"Underground? Like one story or two?"
"No. Like the shallowest goblin vault level of underground. You can find no wizard dwelling in Coventry that is less than ten metres below the earth." Theo said, his anger evaporating quickly as only concern and perhaps sorrow was left once more. His voice was soft now.
"I'm not taking any risks about this. We could easily place magical windows that lead to the surface, and paint the ceiling to show the actual skies, create channels to ensure that the place is well ventilated and the air stays fresh—it wouldn't be too bad, really. Not if you've seen what some of the crude underground hideouts that the muggles had made. Entrance would be limited to floo and maybe some sort of goblin rail network, because we can't risk the possibility that someone may apparate into the surrounding earth."
Charlus winced at the thought, but he could see that it was probably going to happen to one or two young wizards or witches who had only just received their apparation license with yet enough practice.
"So we need a plan, then." Charlus finally said. "My father, yes, but I'm thinking more in terms of a small private party to disseminate the knowledge faster and to more influential people."
Theophilus nodded. "That sounds like a good idea."
"And while we do that, we will talk to the heads of the merchant guilds of Diagon Alley and tell them what other cities have been doing and in detail. We would probably need to come into contact with the Goblin Nation through Gringotts."
"And I'm beginning to think we need another wizarding newspaper out there, something that isn't the rag that the Prophet is." Theophilus mused. "People wouldn't have been so placid if they knew the kind of danger that's out there."
"They might panic unnecessarily instead, you know." Charlus pointed out—he had rarely trusted the masses to do the right thing. He'd always thought that the only thing you could rely from them was to form a mob. It was probably a side-effect of growing up as a scion of a Noble and Ancient House. Theo gave him a sceptical look.
"And how is doing nothing while these fire instruments of destruction are dropped over their heads a better course of action?"
Charlus sighed. "No, it's not better at all. Yes, I can see what you mean, but still... I think we need to be able to forward all these knowledge to the government first and tell them we'd publish it within a day or two. At least some people wouldn't stupidly try to deny everything, and it would get the planners in there an excuse to start doing something. Yes, I think another newspaper is a good idea."
The blond wizard looked more determined now. "See?"
Charlus only shrugged. "As long as you keep your unseen creatures out of it and the conspiracy theories, I'm sure it would do fine."
Theophilus' expression channelled his conviction. Charlus, was doing his best to keep his face neutral.
"The creatures are not unseen. They are merely unspottable all this time. There is still the possibility that Grindelwald is the Heir of Slytherin."
Charlus only raised a sceptical eyebrow at his friend, one that clearly said 'Did you even listen to what you're saying?' Theo sighed and rubbed his forehead.
"Fine. I admit that the public may not be prepared for certain leaps of faith, Charlus."
"As I am a good friend of yours, I will refrain from saying anything but this for now; stick to the news you can confirm at least twice, Theo, and you'd do well indeed."
'-
- London – The Private Lessons -
It was Harry's family's London address, but the house hadn't been opened at all. He had only gone here to pick Hermione and Luna up when they flooed in, and inform them each of how to reach Pottersborough's floo connection. White sheets covered most of the furniture, and the house elves were so bored they had pleaded and begged him to allow them to make him breakfast, or some snack at the very least. They were threatening to rewrite history with the existence of two more additional teatimes during the day if he didn't comply, and Harry knew when it was appropriate to lose graciously before other magical household in London received those extra teatimes as well.
Hermione and Luna had arrived together from Lovegood Tower. His muggleborn friend was still not used to house-elves, even after going to Beauxbaton, but after Harry pointed out some time before that they would die if they didn't bond themselves to a stronger magic user (wizard or witches, most of the time), she was a lot less reactionary to their presence. She'd contented herself with learning more about them and criticizing their abuse and insistence for more humane treatment. For now.
"The address is 'Potter Manor'" Harry told them. He hadn't even gotten any floo powder out as he was still enjoying the Welsh rarebit that Mimsy had made for her young master and his friends. Luna commented that floo address was so staid as to be uninteresting. Harry said that while his Dad would love to change it to 'Charlus' Haven on Earth' or something as tacky his mother had told him to stop being silly or else. Harry was still curious about the else.
"I still can't believe your mother is going to teach us, Harry!" Harry winced. In her excitement, Hermione had squealed at a frequency Harry was certain should not have been audible to his ears.
"Frankly, I don't know why you're so excited." Harry muttered and rubbed his ears.
"Because she's one of England's best female duellists." Luna replied. "My mother said she held the record for the highest NEWTS Charms score in Hogwarts in a hundred years. Mum also thinks she's one of the best duellist in England, period. She said she could name the wizards that still have a chance of beating Aunt Dorea in a fight on the fingers of one hand."
Hermione muttered something about sexist standards before her good mood bubbled up again and she continued. "If we're going to learn from her, we'd be more than ready to take on Hogwarts. You don't know how lucky we are, Harry. There's no such thing as too much preparation."
Harry felt a twinge of something at the back of his head, the vaguest sense of déjà vu he could not name. Where had he heard that before? Why did he seem to remember practising duelling with his friends? From before, a different voice that somehow still sounded like his replied.
Then he remembered his bag. The one he had on his back when he was on that awful trip through Dad's portkey. It looked vaguely similar to his bag from before. That couldn't be right... could it? Now he was curious. Wait, where did it end up in? Was it in my room?
As he followed them into the fireplace with floo powder in hand, a vague picture of him talking to snakes while Hermione was watching continued to unfold in his mind. It felt true enough that he didn't even bother convincing himself he was delusional. His mind merely marked those memories as 'other memories' and left it at that'. And he decided that he would certainly look for his bag once the day was done.
Thus the days of the three young witches and wizards spent in England started. Weeks and months from now, they will spend many of their days shuffling between the Potter and Lovegood estates for their pre-Hogwarts lessons. In the meantime, the dark cloud that their parents had observed over Europe before continued to grow into a gathering storm.
'-
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'-
Author's Note: Sorry for the setback experienced by Harry, Hermione and Luna. The reason would get around soon.
If Dorea and Charlus Potter sounds familiar to you, why, they're canon characters. They're clearly labelled on a branch of the Black family tree. On that count, I will also say that I did not follow the ages set there for the older generation. Just consider this as a warning before you mention it. This is because I noticed that Pollux had his first child when he was 13, if not 12. I don't know how old his wife was, but that is still a tad too creepy for my taste (I'm not sure if JK. Rowling realized it when she wrote the dates down). Dorea would've borne a child at around the impossible age of 7. So in the interest of reducing the creep factor, I'm pushing their ages up. If it meant that I have to push back the birthdates of several generations, well, so be it.
On that note, I cut out one or two scenes I'm not sure I wanted to include here because I didn't want to focus too much on the parents when they're practically new characters. I just hope I didn't confuse anyone too much like I did my good beta, Seablue Eyes. Thanks to my good friend l_clausewitz on lj, without which the bomb scene would be rather inaccurate. I didn't get back him again, so anything rather off still in there is all mine.
Comments, as always, are appreciated.
