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Chapter 4

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Harry woke up, stumbled out of his tent, and then looked at the sky. Early morning. Way too early for Harry to wake up Aberforth at the Hogshead. Perhaps he could set out for Hogwarts? He was curious about that set of pamphlets he was promised.

He admitted that he was obsessed about the house.

He could definitely do different things with his time right now, but he found he rather wanted a secure roof over his head. Also a staircase that didn't need to be held up with magic. Nails were good enough for him, he thought.

With the tent he could live in the backyard in some comfort for years, but it wouldn't feel right. He had a house that was unlivable.

So he wouldn't be able stop thinking about it until it was fixed.

Harry had a bad track record with any problem he stumbled across, whether an alchemical stone or a hissing basilisk wandering the halls of Hogwarts or a supposed mass murderer stalking Harry or Draco Malfoy doing things that were unreasonably suspicious.

He couldn't let things go.

The house.

The damned house.

It was about all he had left that Harry associated with Sirius Black. A shard of mirror and a Firebolt broom and this house. Oh, and Kreacher.

Harry went back inside Number Twelve. He did another test of all of the spells he could think of. Not one of them worked.

Maybe the pamphlets McGonagall mentioned would help, maybe not. Or someone could produce a recommendation for a construction expert. But Harry needed to be able to better describe his problem. He couldn't just keep stumbling around saying, 'my house is broken, please help.'

Harry pulled up a damaged floorboard and then worked a bit to bring up an otherwise undamaged bit. He looked them over. Maybe he should carry it back to show to a few people, like Aberforth and Professor McGonagall. They'd be able to see things Harry might not. He looked at some of the details on the walls.

No, he needed sturdy ceilings and floors and stairs first. Restoring the other details could wait.

What else?

Should he pry apart some of the fallen stairs, take that along?

He walked over and examined everything.

He wouldn't even know where to start trying to dismantle that hulk.

Harry shifted the planks in his hands and felt something under his fingers. Then he looked at both faces of the damaged piece, didn't see anything. He ran his fingers over the plank again. There it was again. Faint. Like an engraving that had been worn down.

Great.

He'd found something suspicious inside the headquarters of one of the most paranoid dark wizarding families. What did this thing do, summon doxies to invade the house, keep folks on their toes? Or maybe it drove the inhabitants crazy. Plenty of evidence for that considering the family tree.

Harry checked out the longer, undamaged plank.

It also had something engraved in it. On the side that had faced down. Tricky. Also worrisome.

Hermione should be on her way to Australia.

She was his general problem solver, but also unavailable. Who else did Harry know?

Professor McGonagall, but Harry was going to consult her anyway. Bill Weasley, maybe. He could summon Dumbledore's ghost, but the spirit wouldn't have fingers with which to touch the engraving.

Perhaps not so helpful.

He needed a longer list of people who knew things. A much longer list.

Harry decided to go and see Bill.

He apparated…

…and found he was nowhere near Shell Cottage. Harry guessed he'd confused the destination part of the process. He checked himself over for missing elbows and earlobes.

Nothing out of place.

Harry looked around. He was somewhere between the Burrow and the Lovegood place.

"Ah, you, the Potter boy."

Harry turned. Luna's father was right there.

"I was just about to call the repair wizard. But you must have known I needed some assistance."

Oh, no.

"Mr. Lovegood, I'm not a repair wizard."

"No. You are rather young. About the right height, but too light. Yes, far too thin. I see. Clothes look shabby-correct, though. You've been sleeping in a gutter, I take it. You sure you're not a repairer's apprentice?"

"I'm sure."

"Then why have you come?"

He seemed considerably changed since Harry had met him at a wedding and then tried to get assistance from him during the war.

Perhaps Luna wasn't the only one to spend some time with Voldemort's people. Had he been sent to Azkaban?

Xenophilius Lovegood + Dementors = ?

"Oh, I see," Lovegood said.

Harry hadn't said a thing. Maybe the shadow he'd cast had allowed Lovegood to perform a Trelawney-like reading. Or the way his hair looked resembled a grim or a augurey or something. What in the world was he going to assume? What in the world was he going to say?

Harry girded himself.

"My daughter, Luna. My biggest treasure."

Nope, not even close. "Uh?"

"A young wizard usually brings flowers when he calls on a young witch," the older Lovegood said. "Not a bouquet of wood. I guess I'm behind the fashions."

Harry shook his head. "Well, it's not a bouquet. It's actually something I need examined…" The more he tried to explain, the worse it got. Between Harry being caught short and Xenophilius being a bit more crazy than usual.

"So you're not here to see Luna?"

"No."

"Well, she didn't mention you were coming so I was confused for a moment."

For an eternity, maybe. "I'd be glad to see her, but I was actually trying to head to Bill Weasley's."

"Nothing wrong with being lost. Now, Bill, nice boy. Good with runes."

"I know."

"Plays at curse breaking. He'd be better off sticking with runes. Curse breakers have a way of losing their heads — or at least their necks."

"I understand it's dangerous."

"Well, the traps, yes. A bit. A lot of them get old, get weak. Worn from the centuries, but still a little dangerous. It's the employers you really have to watch for. Someone who wants to rob a tomb but can't do it himself — that's not a person you should ever trust."

That didn't sound quite right.

"I thought he worked for the goblins…"

Maybe Bill really shouldn't trust a pack of goblins. Harry knew considerably more about them now. He wouldn't trust them.

"They're facilitators. Matchmakers."

"No. I'm sure Bill said he worked for them."

"Well, he may actually believe that. But it isn't true."

Uh, oh, was this going to be something like Cornelius Fudge eating goblin pies or something? The late Scrimgeour as a vampire or a werewolf or a werelion?

"If wizards are involved in financing a dig, the goblins just round up some wizards and witches and set them loose."

"Oh." That almost made sense.

"They take a large chunk of the fee, say it's a goblin nation project, but that's just a convenient lie. Someone still has to hand over the gold eventually."

The tricky little green guys said Bill worked for them, and paid Bill, but considered him as something else. The goblin equivalent of cannon fodder.

"So when goblins do things?" Harry asked.

If goblins were doing a dig for themselves, would they have wizards along at all?

"If goblins do things… The gold to pay for it is goblin gold and everyone involved is a goblin. They'll help wizards hire mercenaries or protect wizard gold for a fee, but they don't associate with wizards. Ever. No goblin teachers for wizard students. No goblins working next to wizards in the pit of a dig."

Well, maybe not ever. It sounded like shady folks, Harry included, were included in one of their honorary societies. But that might be another little trick of their society. Keep the dangerous wizards close, but keep the really dangerous ones even closer. Had Harry been inducted into a society so that the goblins could keep a watchful eye on him?

Probably yes.

Harry was stupid for not wondering earlier.

He guessed he was just grateful to have his head still attached to his neck.

"You write a lot of articles about that?" Harry asked. "What happens to cursebreakers?"

Among other things Harry didn't know.

"Folks tell me things. But I don't usually write them up. Not that interesting to our readership. Or so they tell me." Xenophilius couldn't stop looking at the boards Harry had with him. "I'm good with runes, too. I write all our rune puzzles."

Xenophilius snatched away the planks.

"I'll examine these. I'm sure I can tell you why you're bothering to carry them around. You, don't just stand around. Go help Luna with the press. It's in a dreadful condition."

"I'm not a repair wizard."

"And I'm not allowed to use explosive spells. Still do from time to time. Off you go."

"I really don't know the first thing."

"Close enough. I'm not much of a publisher. Learned on the job. It's good to make mistakes, feels better than wandering around your land in the buff. In, in, you go. Fix my press otherwise we might miss our deadline."

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Luna was inside the strange, tall building she called home.

"So Daddy didn't call a repairer." She sounded disappointed. "Why did you give him two boards? Are you paying him to be our repairer? You're very confusing, Harry."

He hadn't seen Luna for, what, a week. Maybe two. He'd forgotten how wonderfully confusing her mind could be.

"He seems to think I came to help you repair the press."

"You're awfully scrawny, but fine. You can hold the spanner."

"You know how to repair the press?" Harry asked.

"Well, of course I do. You think my daddy can?"

"Well."

"Oh, he's hopeless with equipment."

"So, let's repair it."

"Right, it's the next floor up. Although some parts may have flown up to the floor above that. It's also possible we may have to dredge the stream. A window was open when the 'accident' happened. Between you and me, I think Daddy just likes to see an explosion now and then. Like those Weasley twins. Oh, I suppose not anymore…. I didn't know both of them well. They were rather large when I was much smaller. Seemed dangerous then. I'm sure I hid behind my mother, when she was alive, or maybe a tree if Mrs. Weasley brought them to visit. I wonder if I should bake the family a pie. With custard."

Luna was very different outside of school. Still gauzy, but more confident in familiar surroundings. As they got to work Harry's head began to scream in pain. He loved Luna, he really did, but if logic existed in one tiny corner of a witch's mind, then Luna preferred to reside and function in the very furthest corner.

The illogic zone.

Luna set to work on the press. Harry literally held the spanner and watched her while she gathered up the parts one by one and magicked everything back together again.

"What do we need the spanner for?" Harry asked.

"Tradition. Just keep holding it. You're getting a good education."

Harry gritted his teeth and smiled. Oh, boy.

Cross magical repairman off the list. Most boring job ever.

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An hour or two later, Luna ran a few test sheets through the printer. They came out fine. They hadn't had to dredge the stream for missing bits and bobs.

"You definitely have a future career as a repairman, if you want it. You held the spanner very well."

"You did all the work," Harry said.

"You were supervising. Of course, I think you would do better as a teacher. I never learned spells quite so well as when you taught them."

"Thank you."

"Well, let's go get your boards back from daddy. He might try to burn them or something."

"In the summer?"

"When he gets an idea in his head, you can never tell what he's going to do."

Like other members of the Lovegood family.

Luna returned Harry to her father who was sitting in a chair in front of their odd house. "I'm going to bake a pie."

"There are raspberries in the cellar. First of the season, early this year."

"Yum. Raspberries and cream in a pie."

"Be good, Luna."

"Always."

That was what family was. Someone telling you to be good. Harry certainly hadn't had that with his relatives.

"She do a good job fixing the press?"

"I guess so. She ran off some test sheets. They were fine."

"A chip right off the old block, my treasure."

Harry didn't want to talk about magical repair any more.

"You discover anything about those boards?" Harry asked Xenophilius.

"Yes. I think so. These came from a house didn't they? Fairly old, a dark family."

Right, right, and right.

"How did you know?"

"You know, before we talk about your boards, I think I owe you, and your absent friends, an apology."

Mr. Lovegood had almost gotten Harry, Ron, and Hermione captured by Death Eaters.

"Please, it's all in the past."

"No, Harry, I'm sorry for what I did. I guess I don't stand up to extortion very well."

The Voldemort-regime had kidnapped Luna, his only child, to ensure he toed the line. Harry was more than wary of the odd wizard, but he also understood.

"I did have a chance to work over your planks. Interesting."

"Good."

Then silence.

Mr. Lovegood didn't go on to discuss what he found interesting. Although he did stand up and start rubbing the boards, lost in his own thoughts. Harry was surprised the wizard didn't start swaying or dancing to music only he could hear.

"Mr. Lovegood? The planks?"

"Oh, yes. You felt the runes in them."

"I felt engravings. I didn't know for certain they were runes."

"Oh, yes. A very controlling, dominating set of runes."

"Can I do anything with them? Or am I going to have to tear the house down just to have some peace?"

"Tear it down? No, no."

"Alright."

Harry felt a little better. Then he realized Lovegood wasn't saying anything. It was so quiet, Harry could hear the stream making little noises.

Lovegood didn't make it easy to have a conversation with him.

All this silence.

"What do I have to do then?" Harry ventured.

"The house doesn't know you, Harry. You'll have to introduce yourself."

Oh, boy.

There was probably something wrapped in that statement, but Harry didn't know where to start.

"How?"

"Hmm. Good question."

Xenophilius looked at the planks a bit longer.

"Which house, which family is this from?" the older wizard asked.

"The house of Black."

"Toujours pur."

"Right."

"Well, hmm. I'd suggest you get these boards back to their mates."

"Okay. Then what?"

"Oh. Right. I thought it was obvious."

"Nope, sorry."

"Blood, Mr. Potter. Blood."

"What?"

"A little blood on the runes, put them back in place, and then it may or may not let you modify things, repair things."

"I don't understand."

"It was built to be sturdy, stubborn, long-lasting, resistant to change. You have to convince it."

"It's a house."

"Right. Whose family members attended Hogwarts which has its own set of quirks. I'd bet knuts that they had someone — a family member, probably, the smart, crazy one of their generation — attempt to reproduce the idiosyncrasies of Hogwarts for themselves. I'm surprised they didn't build it out of stone. If they have a house somewhere out of stone, I'd be damned careful, young man."

"Right."

This was getting worse and worse and worse. Harry was of half a mind to just knock the pile down. Sell the freehold and pocket the pounds.

Harry got the planks from Xenophilius and thanked the man.

"What are you going to do next?" Lovegood asked.

"I don't know."

"Can I quote you, Mr. Potter?"

"What?"

"That line. I don't know. You're becoming famous for saying it."

"Right. I wish I wouldn't become more famous for being an ignoramus."

"Well, you should hear what folks say about me."

Harry had. He wouldn't lust after such a reputation. No way, no how. Harry thought that Xenophilius was really becoming quite lucid.

He gave the older wizard a considering look. Like, I know what you're supposed to be, but what are you really.

"I'm not addled, not today, at least. I'm just known for being goofy."

"You play it up," Harry said.

"In public I do. It's more fun than you could imagine. You should hear some of the things people tell to a man they think is crazy. It's where many of my best stories come from."

"Urk."

Harry hoped Luna didn't play games like that. But there wasn't exactly a simple question one could ask to find out.

"Don't be angry."

"I'm not." He was.

"Well, now that you know, I can do one thing. I said I was sorry before. When you thought I was bonkers, so I'll tell you now, when I'm sane, that I really am sorry. For what I did. I thought I was protecting my daughter. Of course, there is no protecting someone from that kind of evil. Even when you do evil yourself."

"I forgave you before. I'll do it again. Although I don't like the dimwit act."

"A wizard has to have his fun. You'll find something you like, I'm sure. In fact, I guarantee it."

A touch of the seer in him. Or more crock flowing from his mouth.

"You know, professions and hobbies. You're not that far away from finding something. Trust me, I know."

Harry didn't know. He didn't want to know, at least not from this wizard's mouth.

Crazy lived there and had for a long, long time.

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Harry had fled the Lovegood home, conducted his business with the stern-again McGonagall, and walked back to Hogsmeade. His stomach suggested it was time to stop and pay the thrice-daily toll. This one called lunch.

He clutched his planks hard against his shoulder. McGonagall hadn't known anything about the runes supposed engraved into his planks of wood. The Runes teacher, who Harry hadn't had much to do with, was away for part of the summer, so no answers there.

Harry was considering what crazy-not-so-crazy Lovegood had said. Give over some blood to appease his cranky house. Say hello. Talk to it in soothing tones. Wax it by hand. Put up new wallpaper.

Craziness.

He also had come away from Hogwarts with a bale of pamphlets. On every possible topic and career. Three touched on aspects on home maintenance. He planned to read them over lunch.

Maybe he'd stop at the Three Broomsticks. He knew he wasn't going to dare eating at the Hogshead.

He walked inside and waved at Rosmerta behind the bar. She waved him to a table of his choice. It was busy, but not Hogsmeade Weekend busy. Harry looked around. His eyes darted around then room.

He looked at one table, glanced at the next, and then he went back. What. He found his appetite gone. Zap-poof-gone.

At the table that had caught Harry attention was one wizard and three muggles. The most muggle muggles that ever muggled. Harry, unfortunately, knew them well.

Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley.

His last living relatives.

None of them touched their drinks, especially the one that fuzzed and burped.

"Boy, we've been waiting on you for a year," Vernon said.

What an affectionate greeting.

Harry turned on his heel, considered apparating, and decided his luck wasn't that strong today. He zipped through the door and barely heard a parting bellow.

Harry twisted and turned in the small village. He didn't care to get caught by Petunia or Dudley. Vernon moved so slowly there was little chance there. They'd also had a wizard with them. Right, Dedalus Diggle, commonly thought the dumbest of the members of the Order of the Phoenix.

Mundungus Fletcher had also been a member.

A sterling gallery of wizard-kind.

Harry turned and ran down an alley. He'd never seen some of the buildings down here. Blocks of flats, interesting. He might take one if he did end up tearing down Number Twelve. He thought of this as a tables-turned version of Harry Hunting. He was not so bad at avoiding irritants, well, Dursley-borne irritants.

Distracted apparition was not a very useful thing. He needed about a minute to clear his mind and then he'd get himself out of this family-infested hell hole.

Harry slowed and then walked out of the alley. Into another alley. Like how Diagon Alley gave way into Knockturn. Strange spot, shadowy even though it was plenty sunny.

Must be some form of magic, kept everything in the shadows. Not so good for the curious.

Harry kept his eyes down, didn't look around, and tried to blend in. There were shops back here. More interesting ones than he'd known about in Hogsmeade. No frilly doilies and tea shops. Kind of like the Three Broomsticks versus the Hogshead. Both existed in one village, but they wouldn't be confused for one another.

This spot of roughness lasted maybe two blocks. Tiny.

Harry aimed for what he thought was the exit when he heard breaking glass above his head.

Then he felt the plink-plink of glass landing in his hair and on his clothing.

When he looked up, he saw a wizard in dark robes dangling out. It took his some time to recognize that the wizard was screaming.

Harry scrambled out of the way. If the rotund wizard fell… Harry didn't want to break his fall with his own body.

Eventually two sets of hands grabbed onto the wizard and dragged him back into the room. At least one wizard was really yelling now.

"Hey," Harry yelled.

Dumb.

He got a stunner sent his way as recompense. The planks he had on his shoulder absorbed the magic. Harry then thought to duck.

The cut-up wizard tried to throw himself out the window again.

The hood that had been fixed over his head came off in the struggle.

The man might not be wearing a garish bowler or be sending Hagrid to Azkaban or accepting a donation from Lucius Malfoy, but Harry recognized him anyway.

The former Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

He was thinner, less assured. Okay, he was terrified.

"Help me. Please. Potter, help me."

Harry had to help. Even a piece of excrement like him.

Harry cast several stunners. He connected with one of the attackers. Or kidnappers.

Spells rained back at him.

His stupid planks from the House of Black protected him from the spells he didn't dodge.

Eventually Fudge was stunned or, at least, silenced.

It was seconds. Fractions of seconds, maybe. It felt like hours.

The spells let up against Harry.

"No, not him. Ignore him. We're gone."

Everyone in the broken apartment disappeared. Fudge along with the two or three people who had come for him. Portkey. Harry knew them well.

The street, which had had some traffic on it, was now deserted, save for Harry. Totally cleared out.

What a brave wizarding world.

Cowards. That was a bit harsh. Folks-who-minded-their-business.

Still, if Harry were in trouble, he'd have hoped for better.

Hoped and not received.

Harry looked around and realized he was still primed for a fight. He felt a bit ridiculous. He put his wand away into a holster he'd bought off a Ravenclaw fifth year. Her family made them. Good stuff.

He thought back on the fight. He wished he'd gone for something stronger than a stunner.

He wondered what to do. Find a floo and call it in. Send a letter. Oh, by the way, the former Minister of Magic got himself stolen in Hogsmeade… Harry realized he could just send off a Patronus to Kingsley Shacklebolt. Better take it to the top right away.

Harry pulled his wand and sent the message. He realized he'd have to stay put and explain what he'd seen. The neatnik in him wanted to sweep up the glass or something. But it was evidence so he left it, tried not to look at it.

Tried not to think of what had just happened.

Harry couldn't say he approved of kidnapping. But, for Fudge, he might just bend his moral touchstones. No, even Fudge deserved help.

Half-hearted, inept help. But help.

Harry waited badly.

He was twitchy about standing here. He kept expecting someone to throw a spell his way or come up and ask for an interview.

What actually happened was worse. Dedalus Diggle caught up to Harry.

"What happened here?"

Yeah, the dumbest wizard in the Order of the Phoenix. Diggle looked around, stepped on the crinkling-crackling glass, and came toward Harry. As if there hadn't been a minor battle on this street a few minutes earlier.

"Your aunt and uncle wanted to talk to you. Apparently there was some damage to their home. They wondered if you could help. They didn't trust me to perform the magic. Maybe you could."

Why wouldn't Harry ever learn? Just walking down a street was enough to get him into trouble.

X-X

A/N: Uh oh, a plot emerges. Poor Harry.

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