A/N: Hello, all!
So if anyone is wondering, this story is currently planned to be a good bit shorter than Love and Glory. We'll see how it turns out, of course, but that's the general idea. Updating-wise, I can't give an exact estimate, but it will be somewhere around once a month.
If you have any questions, do PM me or visit my tumblr page! Also, thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far!
Disclaimer: Copyright JK Rowling (with due credit to the Electric Light Orchestra)
Chapter 2: Strange Magic
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath.
"Minister Weasley?" Her Auror turned in the car seat. His fair hair was carefully slicked back over his scalp, and she could see that he was already losing a little on top. "Is everything all right?"
"Fine, Geoffrey," she told him, forcing a smile. "Just give me a moment."
Geoffrey Alderton gave a murmur of assent and turned back in his seat, exchanging a glance with the chauffeur. Distantly, Hermione sensed his anxiety to be gone; the meeting started at half ten, and the chairperson of the IWP was not known for his patience.
But getting out of the car now, before she had sufficiently gathered herself, was out of the question. She looked the part, with her brown hair neatly swept back and her ceremonial robes, but she did not feel it. She had not felt it since she had woken up that morning feeling as though she had run a marathon in her sleep.
The party had not helped matters, of course, but Hermione knew in her heart that was not it. Ron had been such a help, taking as many of the hosting responsibilities as he could, and the children, too… Albus and Lily and Rose and Hugo - well - she frowned. Perhaps not Hugo. He had rather overdone it last night with the Firewhiskeys.
Then again, everyone was allowed a little bit of fun, she reminded herself, and for the first time, hazarded a glance out the window. The sleek black Jaguar was parked on a country lane strewn with leaves. In the distance behind them rose the rooftops and steeple of the village, and before them an abandoned hotel. Starkly ugly in its 1970s architecture, it towered over the Surrey countryside, all sharp elbows and frowns. It was here that the British branch of the International Wizarding Police was located.
Would they able to sense it, when they saw her? No. Hermione looked away rapidly. There were wrinkles on the backs of her hands that always surprised her when she saw them; she studied them now, ignoring the rustling robes of Geoffrey as he fidgeted in the front seat, the movements of the chauffeur as he fiddled with the radio station.
No one knew, Hermione Weasley reminded herself. No one but her. And she intended to keep it that way, until she had fixed the problem. In the meantime, she could still carry out her duties; it was not as though it changed everything.
Though it certainly made getting around a little harder. It was a good thing Geoffrey always insisted on their travelling in the Ministerial car. He said it was more dignified than Floo or Portkey, but Hermione knew it was of her safety that he was thinking. One couldn't know, after all, when Apparating, who might be waiting on the other side.
"Minister?" Geoffrey again. Hermione snapped back to attention. "It's half past."
"Very good." Smoothing the front of her robes, Hermione gave a brisk nod. Geoffrey slid out of the seat on her cue and came around to her side, his robes flapping in the wind. He opened her car door, and enclosed her with his arm as she stepped out.
"I'm going to put a Shield around us, Minister, as we walk to the door," he told her, his eyes scanning their surroundings for any threat.
"If you're sure it's necessary, Geoffrey," Hermione said mildly. "I can cast it if you wish." Her hand moved for the pocket of her cloak, but Geoffrey Alderton drew his own wand first. Just as she had known he would. He moved it in a circle around them, and the air rippled.
A good thing, too, that he had not called her bluff, Hermione Weasley thought to herself as they began to move towards the door of the derelict building, the wind pummelling their faces. She had left her wand behind in the car.
It was not much use to her anymore, after all.
The Longbottoms of Arnos Grove were enjoying a perfectly regular morning until they saw Daisy Abbott floating above her bed.
Well, perhaps the morning had not been perfectly regular. For one thing, Daisy would normally have been up before any of them, excepting her aunt, but Neville Longbottom descended the stairs into his kitchen to find only his daughters at the table, drinking pumpkin juice and trading stories about the night before at Grimmauld Place. The wireless was on, and he could hear the voice of a gleeful reporter on the WWN in the background.
"Did you see Rose Weasley's dress? She looked like she was at a funeral."
"I liked it. But poor Hugo…"
"I know. He was so drunk! It was adorable."
"The Daily Prophet has come under criticism from Advisor to the Minister William Corley for publishing a report submitted by a former member of the International Wizarding Police, which the Advisor claims to be 'bogus news'..."
His wife called him upstairs to her bedroom before the WWN report had even finished.
"Do you hear that?" Hannah Longbottom said, propping herself up on her pillows and frowning at him.
Standing by her bedside in his flannel pyjamas, Neville Longbottom frowned, but then he heard it. The high plink-plink floating towards them through the walls. "It's the piano."
"I can tell," Hannah said, a little impatiently. "But who's playing?"
Neville thought of his daughters, having breakfast downstairs. "It must be Daisy."
"I didn't know she was up yet." Sighing, his wife settled back on her pillows. "Can you ask her to stop? It's a little early, and my head hurts."
Neville smiled at his wife, promised her that a cup of tea was imminent, and went to oblige her wishes. He opened the door to the drawing room and stopped in the threshold, his hand on the door. The lid of the piano was up, the white notes pressed in sequence, but no one was playing. Music floated towards him, enveloping him in its grandeur, and he recognised the tune as one Daisy had played before… but the room was empty, and no one sat on the stool.
Even as he watched, the yellowed page of the book that stood on the music rack was turned by some invisible hand. The curtains around the window fluttered, and Neville backed out of the room, too disconcerted to do much more than stare. He backed right into his wife, who stood on the landing in her nightgown. "Hannah! What are you doing out of bed?"
"Why is it getting louder?" she asked, ignoring this, and her husband gave a nervous laugh.
"I think - er - my love, that we might have a ghost."
"A ghost?" repeated Alice Longbottom, appearing on the stairs with Enid at her heels. Her curly black hair was tousled over her forehead. "What's going on?"
"Nothing - nothing," Neville said quickly, and just like that, the music stopped. For a moment, the four of them stood frozen. Then a strange, snapping sound: really, it had two parts: Creak - snap. Creak - snap. Creak -
Snap. The Longbottoms turned as one to regard the stairs to the attic room, from which this sound seemed to be emanating. Creak - snap. Creak -
"Stay here," Neville told his wife and daughters. He noticed that Hannah had brought her wand with her, and drew it now as she gathered Alice and Enid closer to her. "I'm going to check on Daisy." As he ascended the stairs, he put his hand on his own wand in his pocket, and tried to control his whirling thoughts.
The door to the attic room stood fast when he tried it, and he had to force it open with his shoulder. The first thing he saw was the dormer window, which appeared to be caught in a cycle of opening and shutting. It drew towards him, letting in a burst of air, and then snapped to, so hard that the pane of glass trembled every time.
But Neville did not look long at the window, for there was something infinitely more alarming for his gaze to rest upon: his niece, suspended a few feet above her bed, her arms outstretched and the material of her nightgown hanging down beneath her. The morning sunlight filtered in the window in such a way that her shadow was cast on the slanted ceiling of the attic, vast and dark and looming. She was quivering, very slightly, and as her face turned towards the door, Neville saw her eyes, wide and terrified.
His mind flew to Dark Curses - Katie Bell and the opal necklace in his sixth year at Hogwarts - and suddenly he was Neville Longbottom of Dumbledore's Army once more. Whipping out his wand, he shouted every counter-curse he knew.
The flashes of light illuminated the attic room, but they only bounced off Daisy Abbott's floating figure, and she remained where she was. Now, however, her terror seemed to have increased, and she began to struggle in the air, kicking out against whatever force held her. Neville watched uncomprehendingly as the doors of the wardrobe in the corner of the room flew open, and a pink dress walked its way out, material fluttering. The dormer window snapped to one more time, and then the glass shattered: its shards gleaming in the sun before they fell to the floor. Daisy Abbott started screaming.
"It's no Curse!" Neville turned to see that his wife had appeared at his elbow. He had not time to be angry at her for disobeying his injunction to stay, for her very touch brought him calmness. As Hannah Longbottom held up her own wand and met his gaze, he finally understood. "It's her. She's causing it."
Neville Longbottom looked back at Daisy Abbott, and nodded slowly. Then he and his wife raised their wands and shouted together, "Finite Incantatem!"
Slowly, Daisy Abbott floated back down to rest on her bed, and the doors of the wardrobe closed once more. Then there was silence, but for the sounds of the city coming in through the broken window. The rush of traffic, the bells of the church, and the shouts of neighbours. Neville and Hannah exchanged a glance, and then stepped forward to where their niece lay.
It seemed to Rose Weasley that the people working at the Daily Prophet office never took a break from the news. Her hopes of enjoying a quiet cup of coffee were quickly dashed when she entered the canteen at midday to find it teeming with staff, all listening to the WWN. Some were floating notepads in front of them, on which quills were rapidly scrawling, while the voice of William Corley filled the room. The windows were steamed up, the air muggy and warm with the presence of so many people.
Rose attempted to weave her way around the large behind of a wizard she recognised as the senior sports correspondent, Tristan Cuffe. Since she had begun her internship with the paper back in June, she had been dealing with him a lot more than she would have liked. Now she endeavoured to avoid his eye, for she could think of nothing worse than being put on another Quidditch story...
Why was it that, just because she was fresh out of Hogwarts, they assumed Quidditch was something that interested her? She didn't know the first thing about the sport.
Huffing with impatience as Cuffe remained firmly wedged in her path, Rose caught the eye of her aunt Ginny, who stood by the door. She was smirking at her niece's predicament, and beckoned her over.
"Corley making another bigoted speech?" Rose asked in a low voice as she joined her.
The other witch shook her head, her smile fading. "Unfortunately not. That we could handle. But he's claiming bogus news on the IWP report."
"The report that claimed that he has ties to the American Magical Congress?" Rose whispered.
Ginny Potter gave a confirming nod, then pressed a finger to her lips, and the Advisor's voice filtered through to Rose's consciousness once more, each word bitten out with fervour. "The Umfraville campaign spread these lies about my link to MACUSA to hurt Minister Weasley's chances in the election. As we can see, they weren't successful, and the report issued by the International Wizarding Police has now been discredited. But I demand that whoever funded this report come forward..."
The newsreader's voice returned, there was a general movement as people began to file out of the room, talking amongst themselves. Rose turned to her aunt. "But wasn't that report published months ago?"
"During your mum's campaign, yes."
"So why is Corley only talking about it now?"
Her aunt moved to the counter as the way cleared of people and poured herself some coffee. Looking around, she said grimly, "You heard him. The report has finally been discredited, by the IWP itself. They've come out with a statement that they had nothing to do with it, and it was one of their former members who actually wrote the thing."
Rose bit her lip. She was starting to see. "But the Prophet funded that report…"
"Which puts us in a spot of trouble, yes." Ginny Potter took a sip of coffee, then heaved a sigh as a memo darted into the room. "It's going to be a madhouse here for the next while. Good thing you'll be away from it."
"Away?" Rose stared at her aunt. "What do you mean?"
Ginny Potter batted away the memo, which was poking insistently at her cheek. "Did Cuffe not tell you? We're sending you to Gringotts. The goblins are planning a strike soon, and we need someone covering it."
"Goblins? You're putting me on goblins at a time like this?"
"Well, it's better than Quidditch, isn't it? Coffee?"
Frowning, Rose took the proffered flask but did not pour herself any. "So I'll be reporting on…" she almost choked, "... gold and stuffy old vaults while the Prophet goes down?"
"Oi. Careful what you say." Ginny Potter looked around, though the canteen was now empty. The memo was now fluttering feebly on the counter. In a lower voice, "The Prophet has faced worse crises than this. We're still the number one publication in wizarding Britain, no matter how many people swear by The Quibbler." After a pause, "Oh, don't look at me like that, Rosie."
"It feels an awful lot like I'm being got rid of," Rose muttered, putting down the flask.
"It'll be a nice challenge for you. To get out of your comfort zone." Ginny Potter raised her eyebrows. "Look, be grateful you're actually getting a story of your own. Most interns…"
"Serve coffee and scrub floors," sighed Rose. "I know."
"Exactly." Ginny Potter glanced at the twitching memo, then at last seized it up, with another sigh. "An assistant editor's work is never done." Over her shoulder as she passed Rose, "You start tomorrow."
Two wizards from the Ministry showed up on the doorstep of the Longbottoms' house in Arnos Grove at midday.
Daisy Abbott watched them through the window of her aunt's bedroom, one hand twitching back the curtain, while the other was knotted in the material of her skirt. They were dressed as Muggles, but the out-of-date chinos and plain ancient fedoras were a dead giveaway.
"There's no need to be afraid, Daisy," Neville Longbottom said. He was standing by his wife's bedside. "They're here to help."
Daisy wasn't afraid. She was terrified. The last thing she remembered from the evening before was falling through the darkness back in Knockturn Alley; she had no idea how she had ended up back in her own bed, and her panic as she woke to find herself floating in mid air, according to her aunt and uncle, had further triggered the eruption of her magic.
Of course, she had not told them about her visit to Knockturn Alley. She had kept the palm of her right hand hidden, on which that strange witch had carved on her white flesh a half-moon symbol. Some instinct told her that they should not see it. Her abilities had been dampened by the counter-spell they had cast that morning, but she could still feel the strange power tingling through her. It was a heightened sense of alertness, like what she had felt once when she had drunk an entire pot of coffee for breakfast.
And now she knew that as soon as the doorbell rang, she would have to face those Ministry wizards: steady her trembling hands, slow her hammering heart, and try not to look guilty. All of this was because of her. But Anthea had never said it would be like this - Daisy had never thought -
In short, magic was not quite what she had expected.
The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house. Daisy's nails dug into her palm, and she dropped the curtain. As the last echoes faded away, Neville called, with a hint of impatience to his tone, "Alice! Enid! Will one of you get that?"
Silence, then a scuffle of feet on the landing, and someone thumped reluctantly down the stairs. A moment later, a bright, chirruped greeting, and low male voices in response. Neville Longbottom exchanged a look with his wife, then beckoned to Daisy. "Come on. We'd better go down and say hello."
The Ministry officials looked to be around the same age as her uncle, and Daisy found herself a little relieved by the dispassion in their faces as they surveyed her downstairs in the hallway. "My name is Elmer Short," said the older wizard as he shook her uncle's hand. He spoke in a broad Yorkshire accent. "And this is my colleague Glenn Kendrick. We're from the Improper Use of Magic Office. We were notified of an unauthorised use of underage magic from an unregistered minor."
"Thank you for coming," Neville said hastily. "This is my niece, Daisy Abbott. She - "
"Is there somewhere," Short interrupted, exchanging a glance with his colleague, "we can speak to your niece in private?"
Daisy's momentary relief dissipated. She would be alone with them, no one around to help her. She could sense the wizards' prickling gazes on her now, and could barely meet their eye. They know.
"Y-yes, of course," Neville said rapidly, and then, resuming his schoolmaster manner, "You can use the sitting room. In the meantime, we'll - " he glanced at Alice, who was hovering at the bottom of the stairs, curiosity written all over her face, " - we'll make tea."
At any other time, Daisy would have laughed at the expression on her cousin's face as it dawned on her that she was the one who would have to make the tea. But right now, her palms were sweating as she pressed them into her skirt, her heart thumping so quickly that she could feel the pulse in the arteries on her neck. The Ministry officials, divested of their coats and hats, followed her into the wide sitting room.
Ordinarily a place of comfort, with its bright carpet and plush couches, it now felt unfamiliar to Daisy, and she halted uncertainly by the coffee table.
"Take a seat," the younger wizard, Kendrick, said, and with a flick of his wand rearranged the furniture so that one armchair faced two across the coffee table. Then he made a contortion of his face which was evidently meant to be a reassuring smile, and so Daisy, taking a deep breath, obeyed.
A silence, in which there was no sound but the ticking of the hallway clock, and then Short began, "Can you walk us through what happened this morning?"
Daisy breathed in deeply through her nose, and then nodded. She began by relating how she had woken up to find herself levitating above her bed, then went on to describe the effects on other objects in the house: the piano playing by itself, the furniture in her room taking on a life of its own… As she spoke, her heart pounded so loud in her ears that she could barely hear herself, and the two wizards frequently exchanged glances, often nodding to one another as though they were communicating by telepathy.
"Legilimency," she said aloud, correcting herself, and the Ministry officials turned back to stare at her.
"What was that?"
"Sorry, nothing." She felt herself blush, looking down. If they had not thought there was something off about her before, they definitely did now. After a moment, the wizard named Kendrick said musingly,
"You seem to have a reasonable knowledge of the wizarding world, despite having lived as a Squib before."
"Well, yes," Daisy said, a little surprised. She swallowed, then, wringing her hands in her lap, added, "My cousins go to Hogwarts. Alice and Enid. Sometimes I help them with their homework over the holidays."
"Help them?" Kendrick repeated, with another glance at his colleague. "But you attend a Muggle school yourself?"
"Yes," she said slowly, "but some of the knowledge translates."
There was a long silence, then the older wizard cleared his throat. "And - ahem - your parents were both magical?"
"Cyril and Adela Abbott, yes," Daisy said, and then felt a wrench within her. What would they think of her now, lying through her teeth? Lying to Ministry officials, no less?
Though, of course, she reminded herself, she had not lied yet; merely withheld the fact that she had had help from a questionable witch named Anthea who resided in Knockturn Alley. Yesterday she had been a Squib, today she had magic. That much was true.
"This isn't the first such case we had," Short remarked later, in the kitchen. They had been served tea by a glowering Alice, and were now sitting around the table: herself, the two Ministry officials, and Neville. "What is unusual, of course, is her age. It is rare for magical abilities to be suppressed so late into adolescence."
"I was a bit of a late-bloomer myself," Neville admitted eagerly, then, shrugging his shoulders. "Of course, not as late as that, and I'm not a blood relation of Daisy, but…"
"It's not unheard of," Kendrick supplied. "But then, Squibs themselves are even rarer, particularly a Squib born of two magical parents." With a glance at Short, "And recently, we've seen a spike in - er - late-bloomers, as you call it - "
"As we said, it's not unheard of," the older wizard interrupted, with something like an admonishing glance at his colleague. Daisy looked down at her right hand under the table, turned it over to see again the half-moon: the symbol she had been at pains at hide during her interrogation by the two men. She wondered how many other people like her Anthea had 'helped': how many other similar cases there had been, and why Short was hesitant to have them spoken of…
Shaking herself, she tuned back into the conversation. "We'll need to consult with our superiors," Kendrick was saying. "And the Minister will have to be notified, too, before a decision is reached."
"Yes, she will know what to do," Neville said. His eyes found Daisy, and they were anxious. "I'll bring Daisy to the Ministry myself. I'm sure Hermione can make time to meet us."
"You yourself being a professor at the school," Short said, gesturing, "I would suggest that you contact the Headmaster and the Board for their advice, too."
Daisy felt as though the room was spinning away from them. School? Hogwarts? There was some question of her going? Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Alice, who had lingered in the doorway to listen, had gone pale.
Neville Longbottom was nodding. "Yes, yes, of course."
The Ministry officials rose to their feet, getting ready to leave, but Daisy was still rooted to her seat, her eyes wide as visions of the castle flew through her head.
"We will put together a report for the Minister's consideration," Elmer Short said, with a note of finality to his voice as Neville followed them through to the hall. "In the meantime, if any other strange abilities manifest themselves, do not hesitate to contact us."
"We'll be in touch," supplied Kendrick, with a nod, and then the two wizards had swept out of the door back into Arnos Grove, with their coats and fedoras.
Through the latticed window at the top of the front door, bright sunlight filtered and framed the long hallway. Neville looked back. The criss-cross pattern of the window was shadowed above the door to the kitchen, which stood open. He could see Daisy inside, automatically gathering up the cups and saucers at the table. In this light, she looked strikingly like Hannah: her long blonde hair loose around her shoulders. But her features spoke of someone else: her pallor, her aquiline nose, and her great, gloomy eyes. Perhaps of her mother, Adela, whom he had never met.
Was Hogwarts a possibility for her?
Neville had always tried his best to get Enid and Alice to include their cousin in their games, though from the beginning she had been the clear odd one out. After all, he knew how it felt to be a lonely child. To make Daisy feel like an outsider among his family was the last thing he had ever wanted.
And yet, sometimes he wondered if it had happened anyway.
Hugo Weasley winced at the potent ray of sunlight that darted from above, bounced from a shop window and right into his eyes. It was too cruel - too cruel to his poor head, which was still throbbing from the night before. How many glasses of champagne had he drunk? How many Firewhiskeys had that serving wizard given him before he had told him it was time to stop? He didn't want to think about it.
Passing into merciful shade, Hugo reached the door of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and, after a moment's hesitation, pressed it open. The place was quiet - almost deserted, which was not surprising as it was approaching lunch hour. Hugo saw his cousin Albus stretched on his tiptoes to place a large box of Decoy Detonators on one of the shelves.
"The place is looking good as new," he said, and Albus straightened.
"Yeah," he said, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he looked around. "A few scorch-marks here and there, but otherwise fine."
"Squibs, am I right?" Hugo joked, and then, at his cousin's uncertain laugh, held out the magenta robe slung over his arm. "I - er - came to leave this back."
"Thanks." Stepping forward, Albus took it. He stood a few inches shorter than Hugo, who had shot up in height over the past year. A smile crossed his features as he met his cousin's eye. "Recovered from last night?"
Hugo closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Not half. I don't remember everything, but I…" he paused, running a hand over his short hair, "... I think I owe Scorpius Malfoy an apology."
"Really?" Albus gave a short laugh as he lifted the partition between the shop and the till, moving around. "How's that?"
"I have a vague memory of accusing him of ruining my sister's life… or something like that." Hugo rubbed his forehead, sighing.
"That does warrant an apology." Albus indicated the robe. "I'm just going to leave this in back. Do you mind watching the till for a second?"
"Er… sure." Hugo moved to take his cousin's place as he heard the creak of the shop's back door. He scanned the shop floor, then began to tap out a rhythm on the counter. He noticed there was the faintest burn mark in the wood. Had it been there before the incident with the fireworks yesterday? After all, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was the kind of shop where accidents frequently occurred. He had been sacked not for what had happened, but for the way he had handled it.
For the way he had singled Daisy Abbott out.
At the sound of the shop bell, Hugo started, and saw a middle-aged witch enter. She looked to be in a hurry, and was laden down with shopping bags. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know you're closing up for lunch soon, but I hoped you could help me with something?"
Hugo cast an uncertain glance at the back room. "Er - I'm not actually - er - sure."
From one of her many bags, the witch drew out a small, old-fashioned clock, like the one that stood on the mantelpiece back in Grimmauld Place. "I bought this from your Muggle Magic line the other day, but it isn't working."
Hugo took the mantel clock from her, turned it over and examined it. "I was assured it was a real clock, not a trick product," the lady continued.
"Yes, it is." Albus Potter had emerged from the back room, and held out his hands for the clock, which Hugo gave to him. "It runs entirely on clockwork, like a Muggle object." Examining it more closely, "There must be something stuck in the gears. We'll take it in for repairs and contact you in a few days."
Once he had taken the witch's details, she gathered up her bags once more and beamed at them both. "Thank you so much," she said warmly, chiefly addressing Albus. "You and your brother have been such a help."
"You're very welcome," Albus called as she walked away. "See you soon."
After she had left, Hugo turned to Albus, who was still examining the clock. "Brother?" he repeated, his brow creased.
"Hmm?"
"Why didn't you correct her?"
Albus looked up, the expression on his face distracted. "Oh, I - er - I didn't notice."
"We look nothing alike." Hugo manoeuvred his way around the counter, then, frowning, put a hand to his head. "Maybe it's the hair."
"Hang on." Albus's voice stopped him as he moved away from the counter. "You said you needed to apologise to Malfoy?"
"Y-yeah." Hugo reluctantly dragged out the word, turning back. "At some point."
"You could do it now. He works in Wright's Antiques, down the street. They might be able to figure out what's wrong with this." Albus Potter held up the clock, looking at his cousin hopefully. "How about killing two birds with one stone?"
Daisy Abbott and Neville Longbottom had been waiting over an hour outside the door that bore the golden plaque Advisor to the Minister, and it showed no more signs of opening now than it had when they had first arrived.
The plush purple carpets muffled the footsteps of other witches and wizards as they went about their business, and the gleaming doors opened and closed soundlessly. It was nothing like the Atrium, which they had passed through on their way here. The grandeur, the colours, the raised voices, the sky-blue ceiling, the towering twin statues there: all had combined to overwhelm Daisy. She had wanted to see more, to see it all, but her uncle had swept them through to the elevator. She supposed he, being used to the Ministry, had forgotten that she was not.
Recognising Daisy's uncle right away, the witch at the inquiry desk on Level One had informed them that Hermione Weasley was out for the day at a conference, but that her Advisor Corley could attend them if she wished. Neville quietly cursed when he heard the name, but agreed all the same.
Now, Neville shifted in his seat, straightened his robes and glanced over at Daisy. "Come on, let's go."
She frowned. "But - "
"Whatever game Corley is at, I don't feel like playing," her uncle said, and rose to his feet.
"Not leaving already, Longbottom?"
Advancing towards them up the corridor was one of the ugliest men Daisy had ever seen. Puffed up and short-legged, he had a nose ravaged by broken blood vessels, small, darting eyes, a ridged forehead, and a shock of blond hair which she suspected to be a hairpiece, as it showed not a trace of grey. He was clad in scarlet robes, that further showed up the redness of his features.
"My granddaughter has you in Herbology, I think," the wizard said to Neville as he reached them. His voice reminded Daisy of someone. "An honour!" Glancing at the door that bore the plaque, he chuckled. "You thought I was behind there all this time, I expect."
"Not an unreasonable assumption, Advisor," Neville Longbottom said stiffly.
William Corley gave a guffaw. "Well, you won't hold it against me, will you, Longbottom? You know I'm a busy man. I'm sure you've been watching the news!"
Neville gave a tight smile as he allowed Corley to clasp his hand. As he released it, the Advisor beckoned with one hand to the door, without so much as looking at Daisy.
"What balderdash!" he laughed as the door closed behind them. The office within was large, and smelled of bourbon and cigar smoke. Corley crossed to the table that bore a decanter, gesturing to the chairs placed opposite his desk. "Imagine me having ties to MACUSA! With their No-Majs and moralising… can't stand the lot. I'd probably throw myself out of that window if I was their spy. Drink?" Ignoring Neville's shake of the head, he poured him a Firewhiskey, passing the glass into his hand and taking a seat behind his desk.
Daisy Abbott gazed at the window through which Corley had proposed pitching himself, to the left of the desk. It showed a bright, sunlit courtyard, even though they were underground; how could that be? Her uncle, following her gaze, murmured, "They're enchanted to show whatever the occupant of the office likes to see."
"Mm-yes," Corley said, summoning his own glass of Firewhiskey and glancing at the window. "One of my favourite views from Hogwarts: the North Tower courtyard. When I was Head Boy, we used to have our meetings there in good weather." It struck Daisy for the first time of whom he reminded her. Last year, an alumnus of Eton had come to address the fourth form girls at her school about the values of good education. He had spoken just like Corley: in a voice of polished mahogany, whose syllables occasionally rang with a pleasant jingle, like that of Sickle coins.
"I'm here because my niece…" Neville began, with another glance at Daisy.
"Yes, yes, I'm up to date," Corley interrupted, putting his glass down. "Couple of lads in the Improper Magic Office brought me a report." Out of nowhere, he produced a pair of spectacles that slid onto his red nose, and held up a length of parchment. "Seems to me this country's going mad. More and more of them every day." At Neville's uncomprehending silence, his eyes flicked upward to regard him over the frame of his glasses. "You know, these "late-bloomers", as they call them. Glorified Squibs, really. I think it's all nonsense. I've had magic since I was just out of the womb - as my poor mother will attest to." With a chuckle, "I was forever Apparating away from her, the first few days. I believe her nerves never recovered."
"Daisy's powers are considerable," Neville broke in, his tone icy. "Normally, I would propose educating her at home, but after witnessing a demonstration of her abilities this morning, I think the Hogwarts environment would be best suited to develop them."
Daisy stared at her uncle, hardly able to believe her ears. Corley frowned over the letter he was reading, and murmured something to himself. "Mm-yes, quite. Well, it seems to be the safest place for them."
Neville Longbottom seemed momentarily stumped by the Advisor's acquiescence. Clearing his throat, "We have a mentoring programme in place that would help Daisy and those like her to catch up on their studies." He looked at Daisy again, and the first hint of a smile played about his features at the expression of rapture on her face. "It's not ideal, but I think my niece is bright enough to manage it."
"I'd work hard," Daisy said quickly. "And I've been helping Alice and Enid with their homework for years - I know all about Charms and Transfiguration and - "
"If it were up to me, of course," William Corley cut across her, without looking up from his letter, "I'd leave them to muddle through with the Mugs. That's their world, and this is ours. But national security…" With a glance to Neville that invited him to sympathise with his predicament, "You know. With more and more of these cases appearing every day, it's safer to have them where you can keep an eye." For the first time, he looked at Daisy, whose eyes were round as saucers now, and shook his finger at her. "You're a lucky girl, you know!"
The last was clearly a dismissal, or at least, her uncle took it as such. Blindly, Daisy followed Neville out of the office, and turned to stare at him as soon as they were in the corridor. "Does this mean - "
"Don't get your hopes up," her uncle said, looking down at her. There was a kind understanding in his eyes that was almost unbearable. "We still have to hear from the Headmaster, and the Board." As they began to walk, he added, more lightly, "But if I understood Corley correctly, the Ministry will put up no opposition to your going to school. It's in their interests."
In dazed bliss, Daisy Abbott barely registered the journey in the elevator, the memos that floated around their heads like bright-feathered birds or the stream of witches and wizards rushing through the golden grilles. The only thing that stood out to her memory was seeing the two statues again as they passed through the Atrium. Carved in gleaming white stone, on the right stood a cloaked figure holding a wand: clearly a wizard. On his left stood a recognisably human shape, whose appearance kept changing. In the time that it took Daisy and Neville to reach the visitor's exit, it changed from a knight brandishing a sword to a gentleman in a wig holding a book, and then again to a soldier in combats, cocking a gun over his shoulder.
On the Underground home, Neville set about writing another letter, and in her uncle's silence, Daisy Abbott found herself recalling the way Corley had spoken about Squibs and Muggles. She gazed out at her own face, floating in that reflected world that stood between the warm, bright train and the dark tunnel outside. She thought she understood the sculpture in the Atrium now.
Wizards and witches had magic. Their wands would always be their weapons. But Muggles… their greatest weapon was that they were always evolving; their tools were always shifting to better equip them for the age in which they lived.
And what if there were others like her, as she had thought? Others whom Anthea had helped? What happened when the one weapon of witches and wizards was taken away from them, too?
It was no wonder that people like Corley were frightened at the prospect.
"I'll need to take it in for a day or so," Scorpius Malfoy said when Hugo showed him the mantel clock.
It was quiet in the Metal-Charmer's shop; indeed, quietness seemed to be the natural state of Wright and Son. Located where it was at the edge of Diagon Alley, just near enough the Knockturn Alley businesses to give it that scent of ill repute, Hugo supposed it wasn't surprising. The shop was small and smelled of old wood. To the left and right were cabinets which displayed an assortment of Muggle and wizarding antiques: items ranging from parchment weights and gramophones to old Sneakoscopes and broomsticks that had not seen the light of day for many years. Slim, elegant oil lamps were placed on top of the cabinets, and an old stick telephone occupied its own place on a display table.
Malfoy was currently leaned on the counter in his shirtsleeves, his wand held at the ready as he bent over the clock. He did not look at Hugo as he spoke. "I'll get Mr. Wright to have a look, too, too. There might be some kind of charm on it."
"Thank you. That is - er - Al will be grateful." Hugo cleared his throat, then shuffled his feet on the floor, turning his head to look at the old Nimbus 1000 encased behind the counter. Slowly, Scorpius Malfoy looked up.
"Was there something else?"
Hugo forced himself to meet Malfoy's cold, grey-eyed gaze. "Yes." He coughed again. "Er… I said some things to you, at the party last night."
The smallest smirk curved Scorpius Malfoy's mouth, but he said nothing.
"Some things I didn't mean," Hugo went on, leaning a hand on the counter and looking around the shop a little desperately.
"Oh, I think you meant every word."
A flare of anger rose up in Hugo, and he quenched it with an effort, swallowing. But that smirking face of Malfoy's was so bloody irritating… how could Rose stand to look at it every day? "I wanted to apologise," he said at last. "I'd had a bit to drink, and I wasn't thinking straight."
There was a pause, during which Scorpius Malfoy resumed his examination of the clock. "It's your sister you should be apologising to, not me," he said at last, quietly. "I'm aware of what you and your parents think of me. So the things you said… came as no great surprise." He met Hugo's eye again. "But you didn't exactly pull your punches with Rose, either."
"Rub it in, Malfoy, why don't you?"
"You know I'm right. She took good care of you last night. The least you can do is tell her you're sorry."
Hugo clamped his lips together at the patronising note in Malfoy's tone, but said nothing. Instead, he thought, turned the words over in his mind for a moment.
"She's been trying her best," Scorpius Malfoy went on, bending down and rummaging in one of the drawers behind the counter, "not to burn bridges. The reunion was important to her."
"Really?" Hugo's brow furrowed.
Straightening, Scorpius threw an apron over his arm and made for the back room. "Why else do you think I went? Tell Albus to drop in to the shop tomorrow to pick this up." Over his shoulder, "No charge."
"Thank you," Hugo Weasley said, but his voice was lost as the door shut behind Malfoy. Hands in his pockets, he turned and ambled out of the shop.
Rose Weasley had not gotten much work done that day. Not that anyone would have noticed, for even on quiet days, the staff in The Prophet were barely aware of her existence. She had not seen her aunt since midday, and assumed she was shut up in her office. As evening drew in, rather than filtering out like normal, the editors and reporters stayed at their desks, occasionally murmuring to one another or leaning over each another's shoulders as they worked.
The wall on one side of the office was translucent, and flickered with the images that periodically changed according to the headlines. Right now, it showed William Corley's scowling face, with the letters beneath reading: Corley cries bogus news.
"I reckon you can go now, Weasley," said one of the researchers as she was passing Rose's cubicle. A hatchet-faced witch, she had evidently just returned from her break, as the scent of smoke drifted with her. "Unless you want to be here all night." Jerking her head back towards the door through which she had emerged, "There's someone downstairs waiting for you."
A smile crossed Rose's face, and thanking the witch, she hastily began to gather up her things. It must be Scorpius, she thought as she hurried towards the exit, shrugging on her jacket. With a guilty glance back at the silent, industrious office, she closed the door and tripped down the narrow stairs. So he had decided to surprise her after work. She sped up, her heels clacking on the last steps, emerged out on the street and stopped.
"Oh. It's you."
The sun was setting over Diagon Alley. There was a faint rainfall, which made a soft, tinkling sound everywhere.
Hugo Weasley turned to face her fully, where he stood on the street. He wore a dark blazer over his navy T-shirt, and had his hands in the pockets of his jeans. His brown eyes were solemn as they met hers. She started walking. "Rosie…"
"Stop following me," she said over her shoulder. "I don't want to see you right now."
"I know," Hugo said as he caught up with her. "I know you don't. But last night, at the party…"
"Don't say you didn't mean what you said," Rose bit out, "just because you were drunk. Because I know you did."
"I did," Hugo said quietly, and for a moment there was no sound but for the click of Rose's heels on the cobbles, until she stopped in her tracks, twisting around to regard him.
"What?"
"I didn't mean to pick on Malfoy like that." Her brother lowered his eyes to the ground. "But I do wish you'd been around more, this past year." His words hung on the air for a moment, and Rose was silent. He swallowed, then, "Everything's been so… messed-up."
"How could I stay?" Rose demanded. "When Mum and Dad can't stand the sight of him?"
"You haven't given them a chance," Hugo said rapidly, looking up at her again. "They want to do better. I know they do."
"Hugo, they're never going to be OK with it." Rose met her brother's eye squarely. "With me and Scorpius."
"But they don't have to be." As his sister stared at him, Hugo heaved a breath. "What I mean is... you're more important. What you want, who you're with, it doesn't matter so much, as long as you're just - around. With us."
"But I can't - "
"We miss you," Hugo broke in, with a note of finality to his voice. "Dad acts like he's mad at you for not going for Healing, but I know he's just worried. And Mum… with her new job, she barely has time to see anyone, but when she's at home, all she talks about is you."
"Hugo - "
"I miss you," Hugo said fiercely, and, as Rose blinked at him, shrugged his shoulders. "You were always so much better at this stuff than me. Handling people, and telling them everything's going to be OK, and… when Mum and Dad get to talking about you, I don't know what to say. I'm useless at it." With something like a laugh, he looked around, at the passerby on the street. The light of day was dimming around them. "It feels like, last year, we didn't just lose James. It feels like we lost you, too."
A pause. The tinkle of the rain, footsteps on the cobbles, the slam of a shop door, and Rose drew a shuddering breath. Hugo looked back at her, and saw that her eyes were full of tears. "Oh, no, Rosie, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry - "
"You haven't lost me," she squeaked. She raised a hand to wipe her eye, then dropped it again, shaking her head as her lip trembled. "How - how could you say that? I…"
"Hey. Hey. Come here." Hugo stepped forward and drew her in for a hug.
"How could you say - "
"Because I'm an idiot, that's why," Hugo said, his voice muffled in her shoulder. "An idiot. But you knew that already, didn't you?"
Rose made a sound like a laugh, and he felt her shake her head.
"I told you, I'm useless at this stuff." Hugo tightened his arms around his sister.
"I'm the idiot here," Rose said after a moment, when her voice was a little steadier.
"Yes, well, we knew that, too." Smiling, Hugo drew back, and flicked Rose on the forehead. "The idiot who we all miss."
They started walking, slowly. The stalls were closing up for the day, chairs piled onto tables in the cafés and curtains drawn across the window displays of the bookshops. Through a great bank of cloud, the fading golden sunlight poured, as though someone had opened a window in the western sky.
"I didn't realise things were so bad," Rose said as they were passing Flourish and Blotts. "With Mum and Dad."
"Well, her new job doesn't help matters." Hugo sighed. "And Dad has transferred his Healer ambitions to me."
"No," Rose said, grinning incredulously as she looked at him. "He hasn't."
"Oh, he has." Hugo shuddered. "It's been hell."
"Well, I'll try to help out more." A silence, then, "You know I can't come back with you, right?"
Hugo glanced across at Rose, then shook his head. "I know."
"If I'm choosing, then it's still going to be Scorpius."
They were approaching the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron now. "I know," Hugo said again, quietly. "But you don't have to choose. That's what I've been telling you."
A beam of sunlight played across his sister's face, and her eyes were still glittering with unshed tears as they met his. "We always have to choose, Hugo." As she opened the door, "You mightn't believe me now. But when you meet someone, you'll understand."
"I guess I'll just have to take your word for it," Hugo Weasley said, and with a last glance around Diagon Alley, followed his sister inside.
There was a letter waiting on Daisy Abbott's bed when she got home from the Ministry.
She moved to pick it up, and heard a footstep behind her. Looking around, she saw Alice Longbottom standing in the threshold of the attic room. "That arrived for you when you were gone," her cousin said, nodding to the envelope in Daisy's hand.
"Thank you," Daisy said uncertainly. She turned her back to Alice as she opened it, drawing out the single piece of parchment on which was written…
"Who's it from?" Her cousin had pressed forward and now stood behind her. Alarmed, Daisy turned rapidly, and a hairbrush flew off her dresser, landing on the floor between them.
Alice Longbottom tutted, folding her arms over her middle. "You're never going to get along in Hogwarts if you don't learn to control that."
Daisy took a step backwards, tucking the envelope behind her back and staring at her cousin.
"So?" Alice pressed. "Who was it from?"
"A friend from school," Daisy murmured.
"You're lying," her cousin said, and Daisy's eyes flew up to her. "Why are you lying, Daisy? It arrived by owl. How would your Muggle friends know how to send letters by owl?"
Daisy's tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. In vain she tried to speak, her eyes wide as she stared at her cousin. Alice Longbottom tilted her head. "Something's not right here. Mummy and Daddy were so sure your magic was just suppressed all these years, but I think there's something else going on here. Something fishy."
"I - " Daisy managed to get out. The words were there, but she could not make a sound. Frustrated, she threw up her hands, and the letter fluttered out of her pocket. Smiling widely now, Alice plucked it out of the air and read the piece of parchment.
"Moribund. Who's Moribund, Daisy?" She was still smiling.
"I - I don't - "
"I know what you did," Alice Longbottom hissed, and morphed into William Corley. "Mm-yes, child, I know what you did. The whole Ministry knows."
The room darkened around them, and Daisy Abbott shook her head, panicked. "No, it's not possible, I didn't do anything wrong…"
"Daisy. Daisy!"
The attic room and William Corley's face dissolved away, and Daisy Abbott lifted her head from the kitchen table. Her blonde hair was stuck to her cheek. A Hinkypunks number was playing distantly on the wireless, and her uncle stood at the window, unfastening an envelope from the claws of the house owl. It was dark outside, and the kettle was whistling.
"Daisy, there's been a letter." Her cousin Enid sat across the table from her.
Daisy blinked, bleary-eyed, as her head began to clear. She remembered arriving home with Neville; he had retreated to his office to send some owls, they had had dinner, and then… "I must have fallen asleep." Her eyes alighted on the bowls, stacked at the corner of the sink.
"You don't say," Alice said, rising from the table as the kettle clicked off. "We've been waiting here the past hour. You kept saying some weird name in your sleep…"
"Moribund," Enid pronounced, and then Neville stepped to the table, the envelope in his hand.
"This is Professor Broadmoor's response," he told Daisy, who stared up at him. "He's consulted with the Board, and I think they've reached a decision. Will I read it now?"
Sick with anticipation, Daisy nodded her head, and her uncle, who looked just as pale and worried as she felt, opened the letter. His eyes scanned the print, and Daisy's hand clenched into a fist beneath the table. Then, Neville Longbottom's expression cleared.
"He says it's unprecedented, but they'll allow you to attend this year, on condition that you pass your Christmas exams."
The kitchen dissolved around Daisy once more, until the only solid thing that remained was her uncle, who kept reading, words drifting in and out of Daisy's consciousness. "... you'll have to attend at O.W.L level… be Sorted with the first-year students when you arrive… they'll assign you a mentor…"
A hand on her arm, and Daisy snapped back to reality. Alice stood beside her, her dark eyes looking into her cousin's as though she, indeed, knew everything. But then she smiled. "Congratulations, Daisy."
Enid was squealing and clapping her hands, and her uncle folded up the letter once more, beaming from ear to ear. "It'll be a lot of hard work, of course, Daisy, but I'm sure you can manage it."
"Am I… dreaming?" Daisy Abbott said in a low voice, and the others laughed.
"You're awake," Neville Longbottom said, putting an arm around his niece's shoulders. The kitchen formed once more around them, at another blink of Daisy's eye. "And you're going to Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts," Daisy Abbott repeated dumbly. Her eyes gazed past her cousins, past the window of the kitchen, to the dark outside that enveloped the house of Arnos Grove; she imagined the city, bustling around them, and hundreds of miles north, a castle whose lights glittered in water, waiting for her.
Hogwarts.
"Good work today," said George Weasley to his nephew, through a mouthful of nails. He stood on top of a ladder, his magenta robes hiked up above his ankles to reveal his black trousers, tilting dangerously towards the glass frame which he was hammering into the wall.
"You're sure you don't want me to stay and spot you?" Albus said doubtfully, looking up and adjusting his glasses. He was dressed in his ordinary clothes, his leather satchel slung over one shoulder.
"No, thanks," said Uncle George, and brought his hammer down with a crash. After a moment, he looked down at his nephew and smiled, a little sheepishly. "I prefer to do this kind of thing by hand. More precision, you know."
Albus didn't know, but he nodded anyway. "Right. Well, good evening."
"Give your mum and dad my best," his uncle called as he left the shop.
"My uncle is cracked," Albus muttered as he stepped outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He looked up at the model wizard tipping his top hat, and shook his head. "My entire family is cracked."
"Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, you know."
Albus turned and saw Scorpius Malfoy approaching, his cloak swirling around him. "Malfoy."
"Potter," Scorpius replied in the same tone as he reached him. "Care to join me for a drink?"
Albus's brow creased, and he checked his watch to hide his confusion. "Er, I should be getting home…"
"It's not for the pleasure of your company, Potter," Scorpius said impatiently. "I've got something to show you. Come on."
They procured a table in the quietest corner of the Leaky Cauldron, and once their drinks had been served, Scorpius Malfoy cast a surreptitious glance around, reached into his pocket and drew out a length of parchment. It looked old and creased, and he flattened with his hand as he placed it carefully on the table.
"What's that?" Albus said curiously, tilting his head. "Looks like a map."
"It is." Scorpius's grey eyes darted up to his. "Can you tell what it's of?"
"Hmm." Shifting his chair so that he could get a better look, Albus peered down at the map. After a moment, "Looks like… the Forbidden Forest."
"My thoughts exactly, Potter." Scorpius pointed towards the centre of the map. "See there?"
But Albus looked up at Scorpius instead. "Do you mind me asking, Malfoy, where you got this?"
"It was inside the clock Weasley left in to my shop."
"The clock?" Albus stared at the other wizard, bewildered.
"I opened it up," Scorpius said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It was hollow inside. No gears. Only this piece of parchment, folded up."
"What," Albus Potter murmured.
"We can speculate about who put it there later. But right now, this is important. Look." Scorpius pointed again, and Albus followed the direction to see what had been drawn in the centre of the forest.
"It's just a circle, Malfoy. I don't see what's so important about that."
Scorpius flattened the errant corner of the map, and Albus noticed for the first time the familiar symbol, the one his father had shown him before: a triangle, and contained within it a vertical line and a circle, drawn to the same scale as the one in the centre of the forest.
Suddenly, the noises of the tavern around them seemed to float away. "The Deathly Hallows," Albus breathed, and looking across, he saw that the excitement in Scorpius Malfoy's eyes matched his own. Holding out his hand, he counted off his fingers, keeping his voice low. "My father has the Cloak, he restored the Elder Wand to Albus Dumbledore's tomb, but the Stone…" His voice broke on the last word, and he looked down at the map.
"Lost in the Forbidden Forest," he heard Scorpius Malfoy say. "Until now. Because evidently, someone knows where to find it."
A/N: Hope you guys liked it! Back to Hogwarts in the next chapter, woooo.
Songs: "Strange Magic" - Electric Light Orchestra
"Where Does That Leave Me?" - Rupert Gregson-Williams, The Crown soundtrack
"Cave of Mind" - Joe Hisaishi, Howl's Moving Castle soundtrack
Clair de Lune, L.32 - Claude Debussy