EVERYONE: NO, Luna is not the white witch the Baron was telling Jen about! I'm getting worried that so many of you wanted to chase that imaginary squirrel; do you really think I'd be that cruel to my favorite HP character? Her familial connection to Holda will play a minor part in year 6, but she is not going to be in danger of being murdered in her bed for being on the opposite side of the Powers' war.
Looking at the poll for which story I should work on next, there are several frontrunners, but none of them has a clear majority. Therefore, I need everyone to go and vote again so I can narrow it down from four to one. Thank you in advance.
Disclaimer: Did Dumbledore try to get a member of the Order to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts in fifth year so he could avoid the Ministry appointing someone to the post? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.
Chapter 7
Unannounced Visits
A soft pop split the silent night air, and with a twirl a dark-haired young woman appeared from thin air in the middle of the street. Jen pushed her curls out her face and smiled softly at the grimy facades that her eyes revealed. She had never seen these buildings before, but she knew them extremely well. Intimately, one could say.
Especially the old building directly in front of her. 145 Delilah Street.
Taking a deep breath of the salty sea air, she strode to the dingy door with a confidence that would normally seem out of place for a solitary girl in the bad part of town. She, however, not only had magic, which no one else in the city had, but no one with any sense who lived in this section of Avryporth for longer than a year would be foolish enough to cross her. She ran a finger under the faded script on the wood and opened the door.
"Welcome to…" a young blonde, maybe seven years old, just inside began, only to give her senior a double-take. "I'm sorry, miss, but you're not supposed to be here. This is private property—"
"Don't even waste your time, sweetie," Jen rejoined with a grin. "You're new, aren't you?"
The girl blinked rapidly at being blown off like this. "What?"
"There's a reason you don't have bouncers. No one who doesn't want to be here can come through that door." Starting down the hall, she added, "Not to mention, I don't recognize you."
"Wait!" A bell started ringing. "You're not allowed back there!"
She stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder with a glare that caused the girl to take a couple of steps back and shiver in her short, shimmery dress. "Word of wisdom, kiddo. Never tell me I can't go anywhere I damn well please in this place."
The door at the other end of the corridor creaked open, and a nine-year-old redhead slipped out. "What's going… on…" The girl shook her head a few times and whispered, "Mama?"
Jen shot her a grin. "Why, Paula, you look like you've just seen a ghost."
"Mama Jen!" The girl sprinted towards her with a bright giggle and practically threw herself into Jen's arms. "You came back!"
She rolled her eyes even as she spun the glomping girl around in a quick circle. "All I did was move out and go to school. It's not like I dropped off the face of the earth or something."
"…No one else ever comes back."
Well, it helps that I can teleport wherever and whenever I want. Despite herself, she gave her former coworker another tight hug before letting Paula reluctantly back out of the embrace. "No one else kept in touch, either, did they? How is everybody?"
"We're good for the most part. It's been… interesting to see Dicky try to figure out how to do your job, but Tommy and Crystal have gotten real good at shoplifting, so we haven't had to go without too much."
"Doesn't that idiot remember that there was a reason he kept me around as the manager?" Jen asked rhetorically. "Let me go straighten him out. He here right now?"
"Yep. Oh, just wait till I tell everyone! They're going to love hearing you're back," Paula said with a gleeful grin that widened when she looked closer at Jen's face. "You got your eyes fixed?!"
"That I did," she answered with a laugh. "Look good, don't they?" Not waiting for a response, she walked over to the open door and just took in the normal noise of Candyland Club.
Her eyelids drooped a bit as she continued deeper inside, letting her memory and her ears guide her around the skimpily dressed waitresses and the occasional startled adult. For all the wonder of being nobility and the excitement of Hogwarts, she had missed this place. This was where she had spent most of her childhood; this had been her workplace and her home, and all the dancers and servers and prostitutes were like her children.
"I can't believe it! Is that little Jen I see walking about all grown up?"
That seemed to be the signal for everyone to shift their attention from the girls cavorting on the stage to her, and the witch was quickly mobbed. Martin Samuelson, Yvonne Wallace, Bruce Arkwright, Joseph Grissom… all former clients and sexual partners of hers. She was inundated with warm greetings, warmer hugs, and not a few gropes of her posterior despite being too old for the pedophiles who patronized the club.
Finally the last of her old contacts had clapped her gently on the shoulder, and she could stagger to the bar. If I have to deal with that every time I disappear from this place for a year, I need to either come back more often or stay away longer. A shot glass full of spiced rum found its way into her hand, and she glanced up at the dark-skinned boy smiling at her. "Drew, I could kiss you right now."
"Sorry, Mama, but I'm on the clock," he replied with a cheery grin. "Pretty eyes, by the way. Are you back for good, or just a visit?"
"Visit. I forgot something in the office that I need, and I figured I'd top off the wards while I'm here." She frowned as she recalled the greeter sounding an alarm, something that had not been present when she left. "Have you been having trouble with people who aren't supposed to be here finding their way inside?"
Not looking up from the glass he was drying, Drew nodded. "It hasn't been many, maybe five? First one was two weeks ago. They all acted confused once they got inside, but it scared Rick something fierce. He was sure the bobbies were gonna barge in and arrest everyone."
Give it long enough, and that would have been a distinct possibility. She gulped the alcohol down and slammed the glass back on the bar's counter. "Well, we can't have that, now can we? Don't worry about a thing; I'll get it all straightened out."
"We always could count on you to get things done around here, Mama. Rick's back in your office if you want to talk to him about it."
Nodding at the news and ruffling his hair, much to his verbal complaint – though his eyes sparkled with happiness at the gesture – she drifted behind the bar and through a swinging door marked 'Employees Only'. Her old office, as well as the storeroom and the kitchens, were back this way, well away from anywhere their clients had any reason to wander. The first door had 'Manager' scrawled on the surface, and without knocking she forced it open.
"I thought I told you all to keep out!"
She kicked a filled cardboard box out of the way of the door so she could slip inside and riffled through the top drawer of the room's filing cabinet. "Sorry, I must have missed that memo."
The man started at her voice, and through her sonar she could feel him whip his head up to look at her. "No. Way. Jen?"
"You don't sound at all pleased to have me back, Richard," she drawled, slamming the drawer shut and moving to the next. "I heard you've been having some trouble with the accounts?"
"Speak of the devil and she will appear," the owner of the club murmured to himself. "There's no way you could have kept all this straight without using that mumbo jumbo of yours."
"Magic helped, but mostly it was being organized, something you most definitely are not. Well, that and I actually knew what I was doing." Flicking her wrist to roll the chair holding her old boss out of the way, she pulled open the drawers of the desk to peer underneath the papers piled inside.
"And then you left."
She stood up and stared the man in the eyes. Today was the first time she had ever actually seen Richard Hutchins, and he was even less impressive than she had imagined. She knew that he was a short man, but she was not expecting the drab, mousey brown hair or the bland blue eyes. All in all, he was not someone any random person walking down the street would spare a second glance, which she supposed was a good trait for the owner of the largest child brothel in Wales to possess.
Finally nodding at his words, she agreed, "Yes, I left. I also taught both Drew and Paula how to run the front without supervision, and I made sure I spent extra time with him so he could take over as manager should anything happen to me. That you decided to take on the responsibilities yourself is your problem."
"You mean I didn't have to do any of this?" he spluttered. "Why didn't you tell me you had it all taken care of?"
"Richard, you left this place in my hands five years ago and returned to give it a cursory examination maybe once every few months. That I already had plans in place in case I couldn't do it anymore wasn't something I felt you needed to know. Why do you think I was so open to leaving as soon as the opportunity presented itself?" Did Richard really think she would have moved out of the club the day after Sirius found her here if she weren't prepared?
He shrugged. "I thought you just wanted rid of this place, no matter who it would affect."
"Like I'd abandon my kids? Please. We both know I care more about the people here than you do." He nodded absently at that, and she let out a short laugh when she finally found the thin book she had been looking for. "There it is. I knew I left it somewhere around here."
"What is it?" he asked, leaning over to examine the dull leather cover and scowling when he could find no title.
Shrinking the book and slipping it into the pocket of her conjured cut-offs, she answered, "Nothing much, just a collection of essays on the theoretical composition and arithmantic analysis of the human soul."
"…Do I even want to know why you need that?"
"Probably not." She smiled wickedly. "In fact, I can assure you that you very much do not want to know. It's… not exactly pleasant."
"Right…"
Jen smirked at his worried tone and picked her way through the paper-covered floor to the closet at the back of the room. Opening the door, she pulled a smooth, round granite stone down from where its cord hung on a nail in the doorframe. "If you decide to spend more of your time here even though you now know you don't need to manage the finances, make sure you keep an eye on this."
"What is it?" He rolled the chair closer to get a better look at it.
"This little pretty is the anchor for the wards. It's what keeps the bobbies from finding us, and it's also supposed to keep anyone who doesn't know what this place is from accidentally entering." She let her magic flow from her hands into the runes carved on the stone's surface, and the crude symbols blazed with sudden white light. I really need to make a replacement for this thing next summer. Futhark works for this, but Cissy said Ancient Runes will cover Egyptian hieroglyphs this year, and those are so much better for warding.
Several minutes passed in silence as she pushed her energy into the small rock, and finally she cut the flow and watched the shining light change to a soft glow. "That should keep till next summer. The wards are fairly weak – just misdirection and avoidance, really, not like they can throw anybody out – so it doesn't take a lot of power to maintain them, but you should probably check the stone every month or so just to be on the safe side. If the light in the runes starts to fade, it means I need to recharge them or Candyland will be defenseless."
"Let's not let that happen," he said with a shudder. "How would I get in touch with you if that happens?"
"All the kids know my post box address; just have one of them send me a letter, and I should get it in a couple of days. Don't wait too long to get me, or its reserve might go completely dry before I have a chance to come by."
He scowled. "Isn't there a phone wherever you spend your time?"
"I go to a boarding school in a renovated castle. No, they don't have phones for the students to use, and even if they did, a grown man wanting to talk to a teenage girl would raise all sorts of red flags, don't you think?" she asked in a dry voice.
"Fine," Richard harrumphed before waving a hand over the ledgers. "Can you finish the rest of this while you're here?"
She laughed at him. "Not a chance. I quit, and that means I'm not doing any more paperwork. I'm going to watch a few of the dancers, then I'm headed out. Besides, it's already two, and I have somewhere to be tomorrow morning."
"What, a brunch party with that rich godfather of yours?"
"If only it were that simple." She crossed the room and grabbed hold of the door handle. "No, I need to visit someone in jail."
The waves crashed against the shores of Azkaban Island, filling the air with noise, as Narcissa looked back at her niece. "You're sure you want to do this?"
"For the thirtieth time, yes," Jen answered sharply. She tugged the hood of her black cloak forwards to better protect her face from the surf's spray before she continued, "This will be the last time I can do it with even a modicum of anonymity. As soon as the news gets out…"
"True." A grimace finding its way onto her face as she again pondered how the family was going to weather that particular storm, she grabbed her niece's hand to prevent Jen from slipping on the wet rock that made up the short path from the weather-beaten pier to the gates of the prison proper. "I just hope this turns out well."
"Why do you say that?"
"Jen, I could barely predict what my sister would do before she was arrested. Azkaban has a way of wearing away its inhabitants' sanities, and Bella didn't exactly have much to spare. There's no way to know how she'll react to finding out about you."
"Great," remarked the younger witch, sarcasm dripping from the word. "So, are we going to tell her the truth or the same lie we're telling everyone else?"
That is a very good question, Narcissa acknowledged to herself. After some consideration, she answered, "I think we better give her the lie, just to make sure everything is consistent. Not to mention, Bella was one of the more… rabid of the Dark Lord's followers when it came to blood purity. Finding out that we are 'defiling' our House with a born halfblood, even though you now qualify as a Pureblood, would set her off. Probably," she added, mostly to herself.
"Really?" Jen hurried ahead and spun around, walking backwards are easily as she had forwards and peering at the elder witch from under her hood. "I would have thought she'd be happy that her blood was used to turn a halfblood into a 'proper witch'."
"If she wanted halfbloods to be purified somehow, you'd be right, but she didn't. She was ranting once and told me that she felt any Pureblood witch who 'rutted like an animal with Mudblood filth' should have her womb ripped out of her body and her 'unnatural spawn' strangled to death in front of her."
"That's rather graphic."
"You can say that again," she muttered, noticing that Jen's expression had not changed the slightest bit during that description and inwardly nodding in approval. That description had left her feeling faint when she first heard it, but she had kept that off her face as she had been taught; it was good that Jen could already do the same. No matter how disgusting or abhorrent the situation one had to face, a Black should never reveal anything except what she wanted to reveal.
"So if we told her the truth, she'd try to kill me?" Jen prompted after several moments of quiet.
"Maybe?" Narcissa shrugged helplessly. "There's no way to know. As I said, after almost fourteen years here, she's beyond mad."
Jen hummed slightly at that and allowed the woman to pass her. The narrow black gates towering above the pair opened at their approach, and she strode into the imposing edifice with more confidence than she felt. She made her way to a small window just inside and announced, "Narcissa Malfoy to visit Bellatrix Lestrange."
"Uh-huh," the burly guard beyond the bars grunted before writing the names on a sheet of parchment. "An' 'oo you got with you?"
"What do you mean? It's just me," she said sweetly as she slipped her fingers between the bars and dropped five galleons onto the form.
"You sure? I could swear I see sommat else there." Five more golden coins fell into his grasp. "Then again, maybe it's just me eyes." He pulled a cord, and the dark metal grate to her left swung inwards. "Up the stairs, a guard'll be waiting for you at the top."
Smiling slightly at the blatant corruption that made this task far easier than it could otherwise have been, she signaled the girl to go ahead of her with a slight nudge. The two walked up the narrow stairwell, and Jen asked out of the blue, "It wasn't the Ministry that built Azkaban, was it?"
"What?"
"The magic, it's… strange." The younger witch patted the outer wall thoughtfully. "Maybe it's all the iron around us, but the magic feels almost sharp, like we're surrounded by a forest of swords. And I thought the Ministry despised dark magic, but the air's full of it."
Narcissa blinked at the strange description before pushing her surprise away. The family knew that Jen was exquisitely sensitive to magic – she said it was how she knew where she was going before her sight had been restored – but she had never explained her unique talent in any real detail. "No, it wasn't. On one of my visits here, I had an unusually talkative guard lead me to Bella's cell, and he said that the Ministry found it in the early seventeenth century. They supposedly stripped it of anything valuable and then converted it from an ancient fortress to the prison it is today."
"Did he mention who actually built it?" the girl pressed.
"No, I don't believe he did."
Ignoring Jen's muttering of 'Unfortunate', she pushed open the door at the top of the stairs. The guard inside the next hallway looked up from his copy of the Daily Prophet and irritably threw it onto the table. "You're the ones who came to see Lestrange, right?"
"That is correct."
"Course you are," he muttered. In a flat, disinterested voice, he continued, "Anyone who wants to speak with one of the prisoners must obey the following rules to the letter. Prisoners are not allowed to receive anything from visitors. Prisoners are not permitted conjugal visitation. No matter what crime the prisoner has committed, you are not allowed to jinx, hex, curse, or otherwise cast magic on them. You may not leave the side of your accompanying guard, and he is not responsible for any harm that may befall you should you do so. Do not antagonize the Dementors. Do not antagonize the guards. Violating any of these rules will see you subjected to a fine ranging from forty to a thousand galleons or staying in Azkaban yourself for a period not to exceed six months. Do you understand the rules as I have explained them?"
Narcissa barely kept her eyes from rolling. She had heard this speech many, many times over the years. "Yes, we understand."
"Good. We're headed to the top floor, which is where most of the Dementors make their nests. You get too far away from me, and I can't promise you'll make it back down here." Picking up a heavy gold amulet off the table, he draped it around his neck and unhung a large glass pot full of bluebell flames from a hook on the wall. The bored guard then opened a door behind him that revealed yet another flight of stairs. They ascended to the next floor, where they had to walk down a hallway full of cells – each filled with cold, miserable people in ragged clothes – to reach the next staircase. On and on they went, each set of steps only going far enough to lead to the next level. Finally, after the twelfth such stairwell, the wizard gave the door a solid kick to dislodge the frost rimming it and shoved the door open.
The Dementor lurking just beyond seemed to perk up slightly before retreating a few feet. "Bloody monster," the guard said and turned back to them. "Stick close. These things are always hungry, and they're not too picky about exactly who they eat." They continued forwards, the soul-devouring fiend taking to the air and hovering above them before eventually settling back onto the ground and following just a few feet behind the trio.
Shivering from both the physical cold and the proximity of the creature, Narcissa edged closer to the pot of flames. Jen, on the other hand, chose to prove that Ravenclaw was indeed the right house for her and asked, "If the Dementors don't care who they feed on, what is keeping them from attacking us?"
"This thing," the man said, turning around and tapping the gaudy necklace. "It keeps them away from me. That's why I said to stay close by. If you wander off, you'll leave its range and get eaten." He guided them down the hall and around the corner to a cell in the far wall of the triangular prison. "Prisoner 13-1039, Bellatrix Lestrange. You have ten minutes."
"Thank you. May I cast a silencing charm?" Narcissa asked.
"No. All conversations have to be able to be overheard by the escorting guard."
"This pertains to House business."
"All conversations have to be able to be overheard," the wizard repeated.
She huffed, then felt a faint contact on her Occlumency shields, as if ghostly fingers were tickling her forehead. Turning her eyes to meet her niece's and pushing a weak Legilimency probe into the girl's mind, she heard, "I'll take care of it. He won't tell anyone a thing about what we say."
Nodding slightly, she looked away and at the wooden door concealing her sister. She was not entirely sure what Jen was planning, though she had the sneaking suspicion that it involved memory charms on the way back down the stairs. Most of the time the younger witch's talent for wandless magic did not concern her overmuch, but the idea that Jen could rewrite someone's memory on the fly without anyone noticing was disconcerting. Thank Merlin she's on our side.
Peering through the small window, she softly called, "Bella? Are you awake?"
"'Dreams, dreams away are flying, sleep to me ev'r denying'. Elphaba Selwyn, A Thousand Lonely Nights." A mass of grimy robes and unruly hair rustled and shifted, unfolding into the angular limbs of the eldest Black Sister. Narcissa barely withheld a wince; Bellatrix's body was gaunt, her cheekbones sharp like knives and her eyes sunken so deep that they could not be seen from this distance. Every time she came to Azkaban, her sister looked worse and worse. "I'm always awake, Cissy dear."
"You really should pay more attention to your health."
"Ha!" The dark witch cackled at the half-joking observation before a fit of wet, hacking coughs racked her body. Wiping her mouth on her grey sleeve, she shot Narcissa a yellowed grin. "I keep telling the guards I need a spa day, but they won't let me out. Maybe you can use your pretty words to make them change their minds."
The piebald woman grinned weakly; the quote from Bella's favorite singer and the mocking retort both indicated that they had managed to catch her on one of her better days. "I'll try, but that's not why I'm here. There's—"
"The Mark!" Bellatrix interrupted. Scurrying to the door, the woman grabbed her left sleeve and pulled it up to her elbow, exposing the inky Dark Mark branded onto her emaciated forearm. "Do you see, Cissy? It's black. That means the Master has returned!"
"It looks normal to me," she lied.
"No no no. It's black. Black. Black. Lucius's should look the same. Has he spoken with the Master? Has he begged forgiveness for abandoning Him when He needed us most?"
Narcissa glanced worriedly over her shoulder at the guard. The wizard was slumped against the wall, his eyes clouded over and focused on nothing, and Jen shot her a smirk before whispering, "Told you I'd take care of it."
"I know nothing about the Dark Lord's activities," she said to Bellatrix. "My marriage with Lucius has been damaged beyond repair. We are no longer together."
"That's too bad," the older woman remarked quietly. After a moment, her starved face brightened. "Ooh, but now you have an opportunity. You didn't take the Master's Mark last time, but now if you do, you can pull Lucius's feet out from under him and take his place as the His left hand." Bellatrix clapped her hands excitedly. "Just think, with us as His lieutenants, He would surely succeed in His goals this time!"
Unsure of exactly how to respond to that, Narcissa instead motioned for Jen to approach. "Oh, I was going to mention it before we got on that tangent, but I brought someone who desperately wanted to see you, and I remember how much you worried about her when you mentioned her to me so many years ago."
"I… What?" Jen, hood now down, took her place in front of the small window, but Narcissa could still hear Bellatrix mutter, "Wow, you look nothing like Lucius."
Jen laughed the comment away. "I would be extremely surprised if I did look like Uncle Lucius."
"Uncle? Oh. You must be Andromeda's brat, then." The younger witch drew her head back sharply to keep the bony hands that forced their way through the bars from wrapping around her throat. "Aw, come back. Your auntie Bellatrix just wants to give you a great big hug."
"Bella!"
Seeming unperturbed by the attack, Jen glanced at Narcissa and cocked her head. "I wondered why Aunt Andi had nothing good to say about her, but now it all makes perfect sense if this is how she would have treated Dora."
Bellatrix's hands slipped back into the cell, and the confused witch asked, "Uncle Lucius and Aunt Andi? Who are you, girl?"
"Don't you recognize her, Bella?" Narcissa asked. She did feel bad about lying to her sister, but this was necessary. If she were sane, she'd understand why we're doing this, she told herself once more. "This is Jennifer. Your daughter."
"My… daughter? What are you talking about, Cissy? I don't have a kid."
She laughed uncomfortably. "Of course you do. You're the one who told me about her; you said you hid her away and told me where I could find her. Don't you remember? It was almost ten years ago, and you were worried that she would never learn who she was. You said I could find her in—"
"No, no, no, no, no. I don't have a daughter. I don't have any children. It's impossible!"
"Bella, it's true." She pulled Jen to the door again so Bella could see her face. "I mean, look at her, for Merlin's sake. She looks just like you did when you were fifteen. Who else could her mother be?"
"It can't be. No, Rodolphus, I don't know what she's talking about! I told you I didn't want any brats to take care of! Well, that's why I didn't make an issue of you seeing Goyle's wife behind my back, wasn't it?!"
A quick peek inside showed Narcissa that Bellatrix's attention was no longer focused on them; instead, she was arguing with the empty air to the left of the door and getting more and more upset. "It looks like this is as good a reception as we will receive, Jen. Come al— Ah!"
She chastised herself immediately for the brief shriek that had slipped through her control, but what else could she have done when Bellatrix rushed the door with those crazed eyes? The incarcerated witch ignored her, however, and instead addressed the youngest of the three Blacks. "You! Daughter!"
"Yes, Mother?" Jen purred in response, a dark grin decorating her lips.
"If you really are my daughter, I have a task for you, one only you can complete." Bellatrix pressed her left forearm against the bars so Jen could better see the Dark Mark. "Go to your uncle and have him take you before the Dark Lord. I cannot return to His side, but you can. Take my place beside Him, take His Mark and serve Him faithfully. Let Him know that I am trapped here but ache to be in His presence once more. Remind Him that some of us are still loyal to Him, loyal in ways no one else is."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mother. Our Head of House has forbidden us to have any contact with your master. Sirius even made him an outright enemy of the House," the girl replied.
"That Muggle-loving blood traitor?! No! The House of Black cannot be led by him! You're lying!" Bellatrix glared at Jen with wide eyes, teeth bared in a vicious snarl as she screeched, "This is all one of your plots, isn't it, Narcissa?! You want to take my place at the Master's side! You want to control Him for your bastard husband! I won't allow it! I'll kill you! I'll kill you all!" The insane witch ran away from the door and began scrabbling at the back wall of her cell. "Don't listen to her, Master! It's all a trick! Only I'm loyal, always loyal! Always Yours!"
Jen peeked into the tiny stone room again. "Huh. We didn't push her off the cliff of sanity so much as drop kicked her off it."
"That we did."
The underage witch looked over at her soft tone. "Auntie? What's wrong?"
"When we were younger, Bella always knew when Andi or I did something we weren't supposed to, and she could tell when we were lying almost before we opened our mouths. But now?" Narcissa waved her hands weakly at the filthy wooden door. "Now she can't even tell what's real and what isn't. And I put her in this state. I hurt my sister like this."
Futilely trying to come up with something to say to that, Jen opened her mouth several times before shaking her head and stepping closer to wrap her arms around the elder witch. "I'm sorry that we had to do this, that I asked you to do it. Was there something else we could have done instead?"
"We shouldn't have done it at all. I thought she would listen, or at least be able to recognize how similar you two look." Her gut wrenched painfully as she admitted, "And I guess it just seemed wrong to hide it from her any longer. Even if you're adopted, she at least deserved to see you, even if only once. Now I just wish we hadn't come here."
"We don't have to stay any longer if you want to leave." At her nod, Jen pulled away and snapped her fingers. The guard staggered to his feet and shook his head rapidly. "Sir? I'm sorry to wake you, but we're ready to go."
"Oh! Right, yes. Follow me." He slung the strap of the flame-pot over his shoulder and started back down the hall, clearing his throat nervously once they were again in the stairwell. "Er, ladies? Any chance you can maybe keep this just between the three of us? The warden won't be happy with me if he finds out I was sleeping on the job, but it's just… The hours here are murder, and with the Dementors flying around all the time, it's not like we can really get any rest on our off hours, and—"
"It's fine," Narcissa cut in. "What I needed to discuss with her was personal, anyway, so it works out for the best for all of us. You have no need to fear us saying anything."
"Thank you, ma'am. That takes a load off my mind."
She nodded and leaned closer to her niece to whisper, "Jen, this is the first time I've said it, but some of the things you can do are downright eerie."
"I know," the girl answered cheerfully as she pulled her hood back up. "I just hope her being my mother doesn't put me at a higher risk of going nuts myself when I get older."
"Merlin, I hope not, too." She shuddered. Her power with Bella's sadism and insanity? That's a recipe for disaster.
James took a fortifying breath before he scooped up a handful of Floo powder and flung the silvery dust into the hearth. Kneeling, he stuck his head into the emerald flames. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster's Office!"
Innumerable and unique fireplace screens, each representing a home connected to the national Floo Network, whirled about his field of vision for several long seconds before the one he was waiting for slid open to show him the office in question. "Ah, James, this is a pleasant surprise," Dumbledore said as he set his quill down on the desk. "Has something come up?"
He grimaced. "Yes, Professor, you could say that. Do you mind if I come through?"
"Not at all, my boy."
Pulling his head back, he stepped through the fire as if it were a doorway and into the cluttered room. "Sorry for barging in on you like this, sir, but, er… I kind of need your help."
"Oh?" the elderly wizard asked, waving his wand and clearing scrolls of parchment out of the seat in front of his desk. "What kind of help do you mean?"
"Well, with our house gone, we're having to stay with Augusta, and while I appreciate her generosity," he added hastily, "we Potters have never exactly been good at accepting charity. It turns out I'm no different in that respect. Not to mention, Lily and I would like to go ahead and buy a new house so we can feel like we have a real home again, because as nice as the Longbottoms' guest rooms are, they aren't ours."
Dumbledore nodded patiently. "A fine sentiment, James. You feel that being in a home of your own will be one step closer to normality, yes?"
"Yes, that's it exactly," he agreed. "But, well, this is where things become a little embarrassing…"
"You have nothing to fear, my boy. I'm not here to judge you."
"We have money in our vault, enough to mostly refurbish a house, but it's not enough to do that and buy one. We talked to one of the Gringotts loan officers, and they're willing to lend us the money, but the interest rate is absurd. 35 percent annually over a forty year period! I mean, that's highway robbery right there!" James shook his head. "Unfortunately, the goblins are the only ones willing to loan us the money at all. The other lenders we asked turned us down as soon as they heard that neither Lily or I currently have a job and that we don't have any other property we can put up as collateral." He laughed bitterly. "They said we were too big a risk for them to take on. Just because we need a little money to help us get back on our feet!"
"That is sad to hear, truly it is, but I'm not sure how I can help you." Dumbledore gave him a weak smile. "It isn't as if I'm rolling in gold myself. My salaries as Chief Warlock and representative to the ICW are more a symbolic gesture than anything; it is generally expected that someone in those positions would be nobility and therefore have sufficient money to lean on already. My finances are little better than those of my staff."
"Oh, I wasn't asking you for a loan," James said, backtracking as fast as possible. He knew that Dumbledore belonged to a common House, but he never thought that the Leader of the Light would have money troubles like an ordinary wizard! "But I know you know people. Is there any chance you could put us in touch with someone who would be willing to hear us out?"
"I honestly don't know. I can ask around, certainly, but you know that the topic of gold turns even the kindest people into knut-pinching misers." The two men sat in silence before Dumbledore murmured to himself, "Although…"
"What is it?"
The elderly wizard's reply was slow and uncertain. "This wouldn't be an immediate solution to your problem, necessarily, but it could help. Do you remember the issue we had with professors for the Defense Against the Dark Arts class when you were a student here?"
He laughed. "Oh, Merlin, yes. We never had the same one two years in a row. Danny's said that you still have that problem."
"Yes, we do, but things are even worse now. So many people know about the… string of misfortune those professors have that it's become hard to find anyone willing to take the post." With a huff that caused his long beard to shake, Dumbledore flicked a sheet of parchment irritably. "Unfortunately, the Ministry has decided in their infinite wisdom that it's time they step in and muck everything up further. They've given me an ultimatum: unless I can procure a professor by the twentieth, they will appoint someone for me."
"What? Why?"
Dumbledore frowned. "Ostensibly it's so the students can be assured a professor who knows what he's doing rather than risk someone found at the last minute who can't teach the students anything – and as Gilderoy Lockhart proved, that is a valid concern – but I doubt it's the real reason. Cornelius has not forgotten the discussion he and I had earlier this summer, and I fear he's decided that he needs to keep a closer eye on me. He will probably choose one of his toadies if he gets his way on this."
"That would be bad for the students, sure, but I'm not sure what you want me to do about it." The House of Potter was a Noble House, and they had a seat on the Wizengamot, but that didn't mean he could casually tell the Minister what to do. Even if he decided to lower himself to Malfoys' level, something no self-respecting wizard would do, he didn't pockets deep enough for bribery.
"Don't you see, James?" Dumbledore said, breaking him from his thoughts. "I need someone to fill the position for this year, and you said the lenders wouldn't help you because you don't have a source of income. If you take on the Defense post, both our problems will be solved!"
He shook his head immediately. "You forget that I know what happens to the people who take the job. There's what, a thirty percent mortality rate? If I did that, I wouldn't have to worry about the curse killing me; Lily would do it herself."
"There has yet to be a single death for anyone who teaches the class after signing a contract stating that it would be their sole year here." The old wizard spread his hands. "I'm not asking for an answer right now, but won't you at least consider it? You and Lily would both have access to the staff quarters provided so you could spend longer looking for a house and not imposing further on Augusta's generosity, you would be closer to Danny in this dark time, and…" Dumbledore shot him a knowing smile. "Let's not forget that your daughter would be in your class, too. An entire year of opportunities to speak with her without anyone dragging her away, and then there's the fact that she's a Ravenclaw. If it's in pursuit of knowledge, she may very well seek you out on her own accord."
That is a tempting offer. It would solve all our immediate problems, and get me closer to Jenny? Trying not to show how interested he now was, a difficult task for him as a proud Gryffindor, he deflected, "You realize I'd need to think about it, and even then I can't say for sure that I'll say yes, right?"
"I understand, and I'll certainly be continuing my search, but there are few people I'd trust with this duty more than you. I really do think this would be best for both of us," the headmaster added with a serene air.
"All right, then. I'll give it some thought. Thank you for your time," James said as he stood from the chair. At Dumbledore's nod he threw some Floo powder from a pot on the mantle into the fireplace, and only when he was safely back in the Longbottoms' guest wing did he let his smile out. The offer he had just received really was a good one, better than he could expect for being a tutor, he knew. It was the death rate and the logistics that worried him, not to mention the headache he was sure to get from cracking through the icy shell Malfoy had wrapped around Jenny.
Still, I could manage. After all, I'm her father; despite the lies that woman has told her, what kind of child wouldn't want to know more about her real family? And a whole year to convince her to come home? Once she realizes I'm not as bad as Malfoy has said I am, she'll probably be open to coming home by the time the Christmas holidays roll around!
Really, how hard could it be?
The more I write, the more I find myself using similar background details in this story and Faery Heroes. Thing is, I don't know if I'm basing them in the same general universe or if my muse is just too lazy to come up with new solutions for problems she's already solved.
Silently Watches out.
