A.N.: I'm in Plymouth now, having just moved all my junk into my house for the year, so before the madness of dissertation-year starts, I thought I'd update another chapter. This is the repercussions of the twins' words, and what you all knew was coming with the Order of the Phoenix summer.
The Eldest of the Pleiades
26
It was the first day in many weeks that she kept entirely to herself. It was the first day she stayed in her room all day; she didn't get dressed, put her hair in a slob Dutch-plait, and didn't move from her room expect to go to the bathroom. Kreacher brought her up trays of food, but perhaps Sirius had told everyone to leave her alone, because nobody knocked on her door to be allowed admittance.
With no-one asking her to do this or that, she sat, propped up against her pillows, and chose a handful of projects to work on for the day, and those only.
Her watercolours were pulled out, sitting by her desk, basking in the sunshine as she enjoyed working on concept artwork for several of her cosmetic products, working carefully out of her journal, the notes she had made during Madam Primpernelle's sessions, recipes from other potions-books on cosmetics, refining recipes she could try out later. She had finished the last of her watercolour paintings, and now a spread of piles of the finished fairytales—the stories edited by Ailith after Maia had penned them—fully illustrated, typed beautifully with the page-layouts sumptuously arranged on her magically-enhanced typewriter, each duplicate of the original paintings and manuscript bound by a single, colour-coordinated ribbon.
She worked on the concept art for several of her cosmetics—Strip Tease!, a liquid-eyeliner remover that left eyeshadow and primer in place; Brow-Zah!, her combination spool-brush and self-warming, waxy gel that dissolved unwanted hairs, 'For Instant Eyebrow-Grooming on the Go!'; Dewdrop, a silky concealer surrounded by a ring of moisturiser, the recipe incorporating low-concentration spot-healing potions, which blended to any skin-tone, 'Perfect on dark circles, blemishes and fine lines'and'Adds a Little Radiance'; Foam Party!, a softly-foaming cleansing facial-wash with subtle spot-clearing potion and moisturiser, watermelon-pink in hue, with foaming pearls, scented with lemon, peonies and aniseed; Smooth Talker, a finishing powder that blended to any skin-tone; Icing on the Cake, a matte blotting crème to combat excess shine; Dying to Try It!, the sticks of special-effects hair-dye she was working on; Nectar, a squeeze-tube of hair-gel that sparkled like diamonds in high sunshine; and her collection of twenty-eight nail lacquers, with names like 'Honey Buns', 'Party Till Dawn', 'Saucy Trollop', 'Hot Cakes', 'Up to No Good'and'Your Place or Mine?' She also came up with concepts for several baked powder blushes and bronzers, as well as liquid highlighters, a stain and the umbrella name for a mousse-to-powder blush, Poppy-Romp.
When she paused for a break, enjoying the lunch Kreacher brought her up on a tray, she gazed at the collection of unbound fairytales, and knew there was one more she had to do. Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Opal's face flashed in her mind, and with the watercolour illustrations she had done for The Midsadventures of Opie pinned to her wall, she set out a colour-palette of predominantly warm-browns, golden-fawns and terracotta, with tiny splashes of pink, forest-green and violet, and a vibrant sunflower-yellow for Goldilocks' little frock, Black-Eyed Susan flowers in the vases in the bears' house, and she used Opal as her model for the sunny little golden-haired girl who enjoyed sampling others' food.
She intended to set aside a little of her personal profits from every Goldilocks book sold to start a fund for Opal for when she was older, and penned a small dedication for the introduction, with Opal's photograph. Asking Kreacher to bring her typewriter down from the attic, she sat and typed up the edit of Goldilocks that she and Ailith had written up. Removing the dedication from the typewriter, she set the page down on the top of the pile of duplicated paintings interspersed within the manuscript, and sighed. She had finished.
The project Diane had said was so inspired, which Maia had started when she had still been at school, knowing that it was an almost impossible dream, really, and she had finished. Barely seven or eight weeks had passed since Diane had died. In that time, Maia had concerted her efforts, and done what Diane must have known she could accomplish. Tying a thin sunflower-yellow satin ribbon around Goldilocks, she set it on the dresser with every single other fairytale she had wanted to illustrate and publish. She was finished.
Almost, she thought, biting her lip and sighing as she glanced at the dresser, with each colour-coded ribbon binding the other fairytales together. Producing books to sell were no good without advertisements to promote them. Seeing how voraciously Mrs Weasley consumed Witch Weekly's every article, Maia taped a fresh sheet of watercolour-paper onto her artist's clipboard, bit her lip, and started painting again.
When she finished with her typewriter, a little over an hour later, she sighed, rubbing her hands over her face—inadvertently streaking watery purple and fuchsia paint from temple to cheek—and yawned. Now she was done.
After showering, and having put on a flimsy sundress, she piled her long hair into a thick Dutch-plait, thinking. She had needed this day to herself; she had never lived with so many people in her life; without her aunt, everything had changed. There was no going back, but when things around here were…disconcerting, upsetting…she had no place else to get back to, no normal. She was living in the headquarters for an illegal secret society; and her uncle was wanted for mass-murder.
She just needed…to do what she usually did after a long day inside. Go for a walk.
She shuffled around her room, seeking out the matching double to one of her thin-strapped sandals, and, picking up her bag, she made her way downstairs to the den; Ginny was there, playing with Crookshanks, and Sirius was the only other person in the room, grabbing several records for his next spat of music, and Maia lingered.
"Hi, poppet," Sirius said softly, leaning in to link his arm around her waist in a gentle hug, kissing her temple. "We didn't see you at dinner."
"I wasn't very hungry," Maia mumbled.
"But Kreacher sent you up something?" Sirius asked, tucking a few strands of hair from her forehead. "You did eat it, didn't you?"
"A little," Maia said quietly.
"You coming down?" Sirius asked. "We thought about watching Life of Brian. And I know you like Life of Brian." Maia gave him a small, tired smile; they had taught Opal the lyrics to, among other things, 'Always Look on the Bright Side of Life'. Sirius reckoned it was Remus' personal mantra.
"I was…going to go…for a walk," she said softly.
"To Diagon Alley?" Sirius asked gently.
"The meadow," Maia mumbled, shrugging slightly. Sirius gazed at her for a moment, then nodded.
"Back before dark, alright," he said, displaying one of the moments of parental concern and responsibility that Mrs Weasley sometimes claimed Sirius was completely without. Nodding, she then made her way out of the house. She Disapparated from the bottom step, all the way to the Hobbit-hole.
It was beautiful, and tranquil, in the meadow. The wildflowers speckled the long grass like gems, the water glittering in a soft breeze as a family of swans idled past on the pretty stream. A whispery rushing noise came from the breeze tickling the trees and grass, something fragrant and sweet on the air coming over from the orchards, while the bees buzzed happily, butterflies flittering from blossom to blossom. The allotment-patches were a riot of colour and groaning with glossy vegetables; and while the rest of the world seemed parched with sun, wilting and brown, here, everything was thriving.
She suspected magic had everything to do with that; also, Neville's dedicated ministrations.
She wandered, not even thinking; her feet knew this countryside from memory, taking her by her favourite route, to visit all her favourite haunts, the bees, the pond, taking in the grasses by the stream, the swing beneath the weeping willow. Her aunt's—her property—consisted miles of countryside; meadows and pretty streams, grassy gentle hills, pretty woods that turned ochre and scarlet in the autumn, conker-trees scattered about, the perfect breeding-ground for wild mushrooms, even a few truffles if she knew where to look, carpeted by bluebells and snowdrops, violets in the summer, wild strawberries and elderflowers. The gentle sloping meadows, the streams, it was a beautiful place. There were parts of the property that she had never visited; the Big House, and the walled gardens around it, but she knew every other inch of her family's ancestral estate like the back of her hand. She had grown up here.
Sitting in the dying sun, she crossed her legs, frowning as she ate her way through a small picnic of fresh raw pea-pods and tomatoes, a handful of cherries and a plum, thinking. She kept glancing over her shoulder at the Hobbit-hole, the glinting windows and shining green round door barely visible in the distance.
It looked…alien. She'd never seen the Hobbit-hole so…impersonal. It was no longer the home, the sanctuary Maia had always loved. It had always been home. Safe. She had never looked upon this house without knowing this was the safest place in the entire world, her entire world; she had never looked at this place and felt nothing.
Until now. Her chest ached, unnameable pain lashing through her, and she panted, unable to catch her breath as she kneaded the heel of her palm against her heart. Was this what a heart-attack felt like?
She couldn't…stay here.
The person who had made it home was gone; now it was an empty cottage half-built into a beautiful gentle hill in the middle of the prettiest meadow in the countryside, but it wasn't her home anymore.
She felt…adrift. Isolated. Orphaned.
The biggest part of who she was had been taken from her; she hadn't realised that her aunt's death would so quickly cause everything else in her life to come tumbling down around her. She held on to Number Twelve as hard as she could to keep from bursting into tears; Grimmauld Place, everything inside it, everyone who lived there, all she had accomplished there and all of the projects she had been encouraged to pursue whilst living there by those whom she had met whilst staying there, had become the new centre of her universe. Her anchor.
She at least was falling in love with everything there was to connect with Number Twelve and those who lived there. She couldn't imagine having no anchor whatsoever; or being taken from it, as Harry was.
On a sudden, inexplicable desire to go and see her new friend, as much as he stroppily awaited her visits and was miserable to see her go at the end of them, she finished eating her plum, tossed aside the stone, and Apparated away.
She had been told always to drop in by Mrs Figg's if she was intending to visit Harry; security-measures, for the Order: When Maia got to Mrs Figg's Kneazle-infested house, she found the older woman in a state of disarray.
"Oh! Thank goodness!" she gasped, seeing Maia on her doorstep. Several of her part-Kneazle cats and little kittens came over to purr and rub against Maia's ankles.
"What's wrong?" Maia asked curiously, alarmed by the state she had found the old woman in.
"He's gone and buggered off!" Mrs Figg cried exasperatedly. "After I told him—I told him I'd throttle him if he dared—"
"Who?" Maia asked, reaching down to pluck a teeny kitten the colour of a lion, with the first hints of a mane, off the floor, smiling at it as it preened and stretched in her hand, purring when Maia settled it against her chest, its tiny claws digging into the fabric of her t-shirt; she stroked it, calmed by its purring. It couldn't be very old at all, probably just learned how to walk.
"Mundungus!" Mrs Figg cried. "He's gone after a load of dodgy cauldrons fallen off the back of a broom! After I told him—"
"Dung's on duty tonight?" Maia frowned, glancing up from the kitten, her favourite.
"Yes!" Mrs Figg cried. "Only, he's gone and scuppered off! When Dumbledore finds out—nobody to watch Harry—and he's off looking for trouble at the best of times, poor boy, trapped in that house with no-one his own age…"
"I'll go and find Harry," Maia said soothingly. She could just imagine Dung skiving off protection-detail to buy dodgy cauldrons; he had a sort of Only Fools and Horses Dell-Boy aura, only a lot fouler and far less comical. He was a crook, and not a very intelligent one; she'd know better than to skive off on Order business, especially knowing the kinds of magic she knew Professor Dumbledore was capable of. Apparently, according to Hermione, Professor Dumbledore was "scary" when angered.
"Would you, my duck!" Mrs Figg sighed, relief washing over her face.
"Of course," Maia smiled sadly.
"He's probably off to the playground," Mrs Figg sighed, toeing her cats into the little hall of her house. "Usually is, this time of night."
"I'll go after him," Maia smiled comfortingly; she bent to place kitty on the ground, and it padded around uncertainly, glancing back at her almost lovingly, before dawdling back into the house.
"They're hungry," Mrs Figg said, glancing down at her cats as they mewled and pounced at each other playfully. "Best get to the shop before it shuts; I've run out of cat-food."
"I'll make sure Harry's okay," Maia said, and Mrs Figg nodded; she turned and made her way to the road, following the path through several quiet alleys to the playground Harry was so fond of haunting. Little Whinging was nicer during the night-time hours; little squares of amber greeted her instead of shrewd, nosy expressions of the Dursleys' square neighbours, who all, for some reason, despised Harry.
The Dursleys seemed to believe that whatever time their son returned home in the evenings was just the right time to be home, while if Harry stayed out later than him, he was home far too late and subject to their displeasure for having to stay up and wait for him to get home before locking the front-door. Maia couldn't blame Harry for wanting to spend as much time away from his remaining family as he could, and thanked her own stars that she enjoyed Sirius' company and was actually growing to love her uncle.
Heat lingered, despite the setting-sun; Grimmauld Place, with its large, airy rooms, charmed fans and copious amounts of refreshing drinks, took the edge off the British heat-wave while the nation prepared for the Olympics in the wake of the much-anticipated Jubilee, pushing hosepipe-bans and arranging summer musical-festivals on the Isle of Wight: but here in Little Whinging, the heat was as oppressive as the square Conservatives who lived there. Maia was very glad of the dwindling light as she followed Harry's favourite route to the vandalised playground. There was only one swing Harry's cousin and his friends hadn't managed to make unusable. Maia had been tempted on previous occasions when she'd seen children disappointed by the state of the playground to magically repair it; Sirius had told her not to, reminding her not to draw attention to the fact that she was coming to little Whinging at least once a week.
As late as it was, the playground gate was locked; surprisingly, no teenagers, drug-dealers or any other kind of troublemaker loitered at the playground; only Harry. Maia eyed the gate and used her previous gymnastics training to vault over it. She knew where Harry lurked; the sole swing. In the half-light, she could see him subtly swinging, the shape of his head distorted by the headphones Maia had made him. He was listening to the evening broadcast of Radio Rock.
If she had been in a better mood, Maia might have taken the opportunity to frighten the life out of him. But she wasn't in the mood, and she dawdled up to Harry so he could see her approaching: She was the only person besides Mrs Figg who ever spoke to Harry in Little Whinging. When she stood at the side of the swings apparatus, Harry tugged the headphones off around his neck.
"Snuffles is taking a loo-break."
"He likes to keep his audience updated on his personal-life," Maia sighed, and Harry's lips twitched. He shot her a concerned frown.
"Are you alright?"
"Oh. Yeah," Maia said lightly. She glanced at Harry, blinked, and said tearfully, "No." Then she was off, telling Harry what had happened during the day; the inventions; the twins' argument with Mrs Weasley; what Fred had said in anger, leading her to leave, to seek out the Hobbit-hole for sanctuary. She told Harry all the things that seemed stupid to tell anyone else; they didn't know. Harry did. Running out of words, she sniffed and wiped her face, a little embarrassed, but relieved she'd been able to get things off her chest.
"You don't usually visit at night," Harry observed.
"No… Snuffles is probably wondering where I went off to," Maia sighed, dusting her hands on her bare legs. Harry donned one headphone for a moment.
"No, he's arguing with Opie about something," he said. "I'd like to meet her," Harry said wistfully. "Snuffles mentions her all the time. Even lets her announce records."
"Yeah, she's his pet," Maia chuckled warmly. "She idolises him."
"It's nice to hear him laugh," Harry beamed. "His voice doesn't sound so hoarse."
"Just wait 'til you see him," Maia beamed. "You won't even recognise him." Harry sighed, glancing at Maia; she knew the question he was dying to ask. "I don't know, Harry… I didn't get any updates before I went out." Harry sighed again, shoulders drooping. A velvety night had fallen around them, stars sparkling and twinkling above in a purple sky; the sunset had been another glorious one. The scent of warm grass, mingling with the heaviness of the night without a breeze was tangible; the only sound came from the main road several streets away. The sound of voices carried on the still air; Maia frowned at the crude song being sung by one member of the approaching gang of boys, all fifteen or sixteen years old. The other boys were laughing; the familiar ticking of expensive racing-bikes only confirmed what she already suspected; Harry's cousin and his gang were approaching, making their way home.
Maia glanced at Harry, whose pent-up frustrations over being abandoned in Privet Drive for weeks had him spoiling for a fight. Glancing from Harry to the boys, Maia reached out a hand, touching his shoulder. "Harry, they're not even worth it," she said quietly.
"I'm just wondering what ten-year-old they've been beating up," Harry scowled. Maia snapped her eyes to Harry's face. Two visits ago, she had been seeking Harry out when she'd come across his cousin and a couple of thug friends beating up an eight-year-old. She'd really had a go at Dudley, terrifying his friends; when she'd told Dudley she was "Harry's friend—from school" he'd gone white as a sheet and almost wet himself; Harry had later told her about Mr Hagrid giving Dudley a tail, after she'd escorted the little boy home and explained to his mother what had happened—and who was to blame.
"I thought after our chat Dudley would've stopped terrorising people," Maia sighed. "I suppose frightening him only encouraged him to bully kids even worse."
"I suppose."
"That's always the way," Maia sighed. "I don't care what grammar school your cousin goes to, Harry—he's a chav."
"I know," Harry said heavily. "And I'm the humiliation in the family." As the boys disappeared, Harry let out a frustrated sigh. "There you go, Sirius, I kept my nose clean. Exactly the opposite of what you'd have done…" Maia shot him a funny look, and Harry sighed, looking shameful and disgruntled. "In his letters, he keeps reminding me not to do anything stupid."
"Well, he knows who your godfather is," she smiled, winking, and Harry's face relaxed into a smile. Harry sighed, glancing after his cousin, and tucked his pocket-wireless into his jeans pocket, his headphones slung around his neck.
"I'd better get back," he sighed. "Uncle Vernon threatened to lock me in the shed if I came home after Dudley again."
"I can't understand why you don't like spending more time with your family, Harry," Maia said lightly, dusting off the seat of her skirt as she stood up. Harry gave a dry chuckle. As they leapt over the playground gate, walking up Magnolia Road, they spotted Dudley and his gang outside the entrance to an alley. Harry pulled Maia into the shadow of a fragrant lilac so they could eavesdrop.
"—squealed like a pig, didn't he!"
"Nice right hook, Big D!"
"Same time tomorrow?" came Dudley's voice.
"Round at my place; my parents are out."
"See ya, then," Dudley said.
"Bye Dud!"
"See ya, Big D!"
Big D alright, Maia thought. There were lots of D-words she could use to describe Dudley Dursley. As soon as Dudley's cronies had disappeared, Harry crept out from the lilac and stalked his cousin. Wondering whether Dung had returned—knowing they would have heard him if he had—Maia followed. She just had to get Harry to the Dursleys' front-door.
"Hey, Big D!"
"Oh. It's you."
"How long have you been 'Big D' then?" Harry asked lightly.
"Shut it!" Dudley snarled.
"Cool name," Harry grinned, falling into step beside his cousin. Harry loved goading Dudley, knowing full well Dudley was too terrified of him to react. "But you'll always be 'Ickle Diddykins' to me."
"I said shut it!"
"Don't the boys know that's what your mum calls you?"
"Shut your face!"
"You don't tell her to shut her face. What about 'popkin' and 'Dinky Diddydums'? Can I use them?" Maia bit her lip; Harry could be very funny when he wanted to be. Harry's tone turned cool. "So, who've you been beating up tonight? Mark Evans get it again?"
"He was asking for it."
"Oh yeah?"
"He cheeked me."
"Yeah? Did he say that you look like a pig that's been taught to walk? 'Coz that's not cheek, Dud, that's true!"
"Harry," Maia sighed softly, trying not to show her amusement as she gave him a remonstrative glance. They turned into a narrow alleyway, which Maia usually avoided when alone; there were no streetlamps, and the alley was considerably darker than the rest of the route back to Privet Drive. Harry shrugged; their footsteps became muffled in the dark, her sigh falling on still air. "Anyway," she caught up to the boys, frowning at Dudley, "I thought I told you not to lay a finger on any other kids."
"He's from the council-estate."
"And you belong at St Brutus' if this is the way you behave."
"At least I don't go to that freak school of yours," Dudley said scornfully, not meeting Maia's eye; she'd noticed he never did that, never looked her full in the face.
"Well, our 'freak school' as you so call it only accepts the very best that Britain has to offer. It's the Eton of the Wizarding world." Dudley flinched. "The crème-de-la-crème of our world attend Hogwarts. Right, Harry?"
"Oh yeah," Harry agreed, smirking. "Only the best."
"Well, you'd know; you are the best," Maia teased, and Harry flushed. "Gryffindor Seeker, Triwizard champion. You know, Dudley, if you weren't so busy mindlessly spewing your parents' prejudices, you might actually see what a decent boy Harry is despite his upbringing and the way you and your…friends treated him."
"Shut up, you stupid cow!" Dudley snarled, his face contorting. "You don't know what the hell you're on about!" Quick as a flash, Harry had his wand out, glaring venomously.
"Don't call her that!"
"Don't you point that thing at me!" Dudley backed into the wall.
"Harry," Maia sighed, her voice gentle, stern; she wrapped her fingers around Harry's wrist, trying to pull his wand-arm down. Harry was pointing his wand right at Dudley's heart.
"Apologise to Maia, now!"
"Harry, stop—"
"Point that thing somewhere else!"
"I said apologise to Maia! Now!"
"Point it somewhere else!"
Maia plunged her hand into her little bag; her fingertips touched her wand. She'd have to Disarm him before he could jinx his cousin. It was a good thing Hermione had mentioned they weren't on nonverbal-level magic; she had a feeling Dudley would have been crawling his way out of the alley with feelers by now.
"Apologise!"
"Get that thing away from—!" Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp: the flawless indigo sky had suddenly been wiped clean of stars, like an Etch-a-Sketch. The streetlamps at either end of the alley suddenly went out. Silence fell; Maia felt as if she had been doused in an ice-bath. She gripped her want. Total, impenetrable silent darkness closed in around them. Maia blinked very hard, very quickly.
"The stars have gone out," she said softly, opening her eyes as wide as she could as she gazed up. "…Harry?"
"It wasn't me!"
"Nor me," Maia breathed. For some reason, she was afraid to raise her voice.
"Wh-what're you d-doing?" Dudley stammered, petrified. "St-stop it!"
"I'm not doing anything!" Harry protested. "And don't move!"
"Harry… Any ideas?" Maia asked, as the fine hairs on the back of her neck and her arms prickled.
"I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind! I—"
"Dudley, please be quiet," Maia said gently. She was freezing. "Harry…?" She could only remember being this cold once before in her life. "It isn't…?"
"I…I think it is," Harry breathed. "But they can't be here."
"What?" Dudley stammered fearfully. "I'll t-tell Dad! Wh-where are you?"
"Dudley, please, be quiet!" Maia implored. "Harry, please, you can't use magic! Let me handle them! Get Dudley and go."
"Can you handle them?" Harry asked. Maia sighed.
"I hope so. I've never got past a Boggart-Dementor," she admitted softly, trying to keep her eyes peeled, trembling in the freezing air. Confidence, she thought, hearing Sirius' voice coaching her. You can do it. As she heard a long, rattling breath, she felt a plunge of dread like a block of ice in her stomach. "Harry, please, you can't get into trouble—get Dudley and go home!"
"I'm not leaving if you've never faced a Dementor before!"
"What's a Dementor?" a small, scared voice asked.
"It's what's causing the dark and the cold, Dudley," Maia said patiently. "Harry, go! I wonder if this will—"
"C-cut it out! Stop d-doing it! I'll h-hit you!"
"Dudley!"
"Lumos!"
Maia heard Dudley's fist connect with the side of Harry's head, sending the thin, black-haired boy sprawling; as Maia shouted, Harry's wand clattered to the ground; Dudley blundered toward the end of the alley. "Dudley—!"
"You moron, Dudley!" Harry shouted.
"Grab your wand, it's right by your hand—I'll grab him!" Maia said, shuddering with cold. She loped after Harry's cousin. "Dudley! Stop! You're running right toward it!" There was a horrible squealing yell; Maia grabbed Dudley by the back of his leather-jacket, and he tripped over his feet changing direction. In the narrow beam of light from Maia's wand, Harry found his own; Maia felt the chill strengthen, soft screams coming in and out of focus, louder and softer, like a badly-tuned radio.
"Maia, there's more than one! Dudley, keep your mouth shut, whatever you do, keep your mouth shut!" Harry shouted. "Lumos!" Maia's stomach lurched, her mouth tasting of bile; Harry's wand had illuminated a towering, hooded figure, gliding smoothly toward them, hovering inches above the ground, no face visible, only impenetrable darkness inside its hood, sucking on the night as it glided closer.
"Dudley, keep your mouth closed," Maia whispered fearfully. She had never faced a Dementor—never even practiced on a Boggart masquerading as a Dementor. Concentrate! You can do this! Happy thoughts, Peter Pan… But a cloudiness was seeping into her mind like mist, the sounds of screaming coming louder, ebbing away…and that cold…
Beside her, Harry cried, "Expecto Patronum!" A silvery wisp appeared at the tip of his wand, and disappeared; but that glimpse of a failed Patronus gave Maia a hit of warmth and a moment of clarity; Harry couldn't do it. He shouldn't do it. Keep Harry from using magic! Sirius' voice echoed inside her head, and suddenly his face appeared in her mind's eye, howling with laughter at the twins' escapades at dinner last week, and, as Harry did the same, Maia cried, "Expecto Patronum!" Delighting in the rush of warmth, strength and amusement that flooded her body at the thought of the twins and Sirius, she watched the hippopotamus shine beside Harry's silver stag Patronus.
The stag's antlers caught the nearest Dementor where the heart should have been; Maia's hippopotamus charged headlong for the second Dementor bearing down on Dudley, lying prone on the floor. Weightless as darkness, the Dementors were flung back, whispering away into nothingness. As the stars popped back into being, Maia's knees collapsed from under her, and she hit the ground, already passed out.
She jumped, someone patting her face, crouched over her; the sound of clattering tins and whimpers accompanied a cloyingly-warm breeze. She started, blinking several times, sitting up straighter, she subconsciously gripped her wand tighter.
"They gone?" she croaked, surprised her voice was so throaty, her cheeks burning; had she caught the sun? Her head was pounding as if she'd been in the sun too long.
"Yeah, they're gone," Harry said shakily, checking both ends of the alley.
"How long was I out?" she grunted, completely disoriented.
"Few seconds. Thought I'd check you first," Harry breathed, "as you're the only other one with a wand!" Maia chuckled sluggishly. Maia reached up, wiping her face, surprised to find her cheeks wet; had she been crying? Her entire body felt weak, overheated, shaky, as if she had the flu. A sheen of cold sweat was drying all over her body, making the lining of her dress cling to her. "Amazing Patronus, by the way." Maia glanced up, clarity hitting her like a freight train.
"Oh no!" she squealed, clambering to her feet. "Harry, you weren't supposed to use magic! I was to keep you out of trouble 'til Dung got back! They'll kill me—they don't even know what's happened!" She jumped, hearing running footsteps; Harry hid his wand behind his back as Mrs Figg careened wildly into view.
"Don't put it away, idiot boy!" Mrs Figg cried. "What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!"
"What?" Harry said blankly.
"Maia, my duck—could you let 'em know?" Mrs Figg asked anxiously, wringing her hands. "Dementors in Little Whinging?! It's lucky I'd put Mr Tibbles on your tail to check for trouble! Maia!" Pulling herself together, Maia nodded; focusing as Sirius had taught her, she produced a second perfect hippopotamus Patronus, using the technique Sirius had taught her to use it to deliver messages; 'Dung left before his shift ended; two Dementors attacked me, Harry and Dudley Dursley; both had to use Patronus Charm; all safe; getting them home now.' She sent the Patronus off, streaking through the indigo sky. Harry gaped.
"Is there a meeting tonight?" she asked, glancing at Mrs Figg. "Will they all see it?"
"I should expect so," Mrs Figg said anxiously.
"Good. Hopefully Madam Bones can run interference," Maia sighed.
"The trouble this is going to cause!" Mrs Figg moaned. "Thank Merlin that you were here, Maia. I've never so much as Transfigured a teabag."
"I don't know that I did much good," Maia mumbled. "Harry used magic."
"Hang on—this bloke Mundungus, he's been following me?" Harry gawked. "It was him! He Disapparated from outside my house!"
"Yes, yes, yes! Luckily, Maia popped over to mine; I got her over to you sharpish in case anything—and just look what's happened? What's Dumbledore going to say?"
"Luckily, I think Dung will be on the receiving end of Professor Dumbledore's displeasure," Maia said. "Come on, we'd better get you home," she added to Harry.
"You!" Mrs Figg shrieked at Dudley, still lying on the ground. "Get your fat bottom off the ground! Quick!"
"He doesn't look very good," Maia said softly, glancing down at Dudley, who was a nasty shade of green.
"You know Dumbledore?" Harry gazed at Mrs Figg.
"Of course I know Dumbledore! Who doesn't know Dumbledore? Get up! You useless lump, get up!"
"Here," Harry said, and Maia helped him as he bent and hefted Dudley's burly frame off the ground. Dudley could not or would not move of his own accord, trembling and ashen-faced, mouth clamped shut. Together, they managed to stagger toward the end of the alley, entering Wisteria Walk.
"Nox," Maia murmured, and her wand stopped giving forth light. Harry did the same.
"Keep your wands out!" Mrs Figg advised. "Never mind the Statute of Secrecy now! Talk about the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery! What's that at the end of the street…? Oh…it's just Mr Prentiss."
"Why didn't you tell me you're a witch?" Harry asked. "All those times I came round your house, why didn't you say anything?"
"I'm a Squib, Harry. And anyway, I had my orders from Dumbledore. I was to keep an eye on you, but not say a word. You were too young," Mrs Figg sighed, wringing her hands. "I'm sorry I gave you such a miserable time of it, Harry. But the Dursleys would never have let you come over if they'd thought you enjoyed it. It wasn't easy, you know."
Mundungus didn't appear: Mrs Figg was beside herself, but Maia wondered if one of the Order had caught up with Dung already to inflict punishment for dereliction of duty. Maia hoped it was Mad-Eye.
"I hope Dumbledore murders him," Mrs Figg muttered furiously.
"Mrs Figg, you should go home," Maia said calmly, though she felt anything but. Her senses were vibrating with an unnatural intensity, her knees shaking, her spine feeling like it was about to snap under Dudley's considerable weight. "I've got things from here; you should get back in case you get more instructions."
"If you're sure," Mrs Figg said, glancing around uncertainly. "Thank you, my duck! What a palaver!"
"Hang on—" Harry blurted, but Mrs Figg had already disappeared. Harry glanced at Maia, frowning. "So Dumbledore's been having me followed?"
"Just to make sure nothing happens," Maia said, with an ironic scoff. "Of course you'd be attacked when Dung was supposed to be watching you!" She readjusted her grip on Dudley.
"You could've told me I was being followed," Harry said indignantly. Maia shrugged.
"What would you have done about it?" she asked. "Harry, these are people who care about you, and your safety—this is your house, isn't it? They all look the same…"
"Yeah, this is us," Harry grunted. They laboured up the front-path, grunting and trembling under Dudley's considerable weight. Maia grunted, kicking out to catch the doorbell with her foot, and a tall, thin shadow approached behind the illuminated glass of the front-door.
"Diddy! About time, too, I was getting quite…quite… Diddy? What's the matter?" Mrs Dursley asked; as one, Maia and Harry ducked away from Dudley. He swayed and vomited all over the doormat.
"Oh, that's nasty!" Maia shuddered, feeling her own stomach flip in response.
"Diddy! Diddy? What's the matter with you? Vernon?! Vernon!" Harry's enormous uncle came charging out of the living-room, helping his wife negotiate their son over the threshold without stepping in the pool of sick. While the Dursleys fussed over their son, Maia glanced at Harry, then grabbed his arm and forced him into the little hall: Maia shut the door, careful of the sick, and as the Dursleys ushered green, clammy-looking Dudley into an armchair, Harry set foot on the bottommost stair.
"BOY!" Maia jumped; Harry gave a sigh.
"I'll put the kettle on," she said in an undertone; as Harry made his way resignedly into the living-room, Maia flicked her wand at the doormat, which cleaned itself, and made her way to Mrs Dursley's unnaturally clean kitchen. While keeping an ear out on the argument between Mr Dursley and Harry, straining for signs of anything else unnatural around the house, Maia put the kettle on, searching the scrupulously organised cupboards for chocolate. She prepared five cups of tea, found not even a crumb to suggest that chocolate or biscuits had ever been housed in the kitchen. Her little bag bounced against her hip, and she remembered her last visit to Diagon Alley, with the twins and Opal in the sweet-shop, all as bad as each other.
She'd bought a bar of chocolate intended for Sirius, but, with one distraction or the other, she might not have actually given it to him.
She must have shocked Mr Dursley, walking into the living-room with several cups of tea, because he stopped bellowing at Harry long enough to goggle at her. "Who the ruddy hell are you?"
"Maia," she answered simply, handing Mrs Dursley a cup of tea. "Harry, I couldn't find any chocolate…"
"No, you won't," Harry said, eyeing his vast cousin. She handed Harry a cup of tea; Mr Dursley, looking dumbfounded, accepted a fine bone-china cup as she placed one on the little table beside Dudley's armchair.
"Well, I think I have a bit in here," she said tiredly, planting herself on the pristine carpet, resting her teacup on the fireplace, long legs splayed out, and Mrs Dursley's eyes popped as Maia plunged her arm into the little bag. She started pulling things out; several books; the nasty essay on poisons for Professor Snape; a pocket-Sneakoscope; Andromeda's miniature chess-set; a collection of bottles, tubes, pots and vials; the catalogue from the paper-mill and printer; lengths of ribbon; a stink-pellet; Opal's sceptre; a sleeping-bag; her coin-purse; a copper-kettle; a vial of sunburst beads; a handful of Gobstones; a runaway lip-gloss; a spindly piece of silver apparatus that measured potion temperature; a handful of loose photographs; several letters; a Daily Prophet; and, finally, still wrapped in thin brown paper, a small bar of chocolate.
"I really should clear this out," she said softly, scooping everything but the chocolate back into her bag. Keeping an eye on the window, she sat with her back to the wall, watching the door, just in case. She took a gulp of tea, revivified by it, and snapped the bar of chocolate into thirds, making the Dursleys jump. "Eat it all," she said, offering Dudley a piece; Mrs Dursley cowered away from her, arms tightening around her son.
"What are you trying to do to Duddy?"
"Give him some chocolate," Maia said patiently, trying not to roll her eyes. She gave Mrs Dursley a stern, no-nonsense look. "If you want him to feel better, you'll let him eat it. Dudley," she said kindly, "Here's some chocolate. Eat it all up, you'll feel much better." Blindly, Dudley brought the proffered piece of chocolate to his lips; his mother watched fearfully, her eyes widening as Dudley's colour suddenly returned.
"Diddy? Diddy, are you alright?" Mrs Dursley asked, panicky, her hands fluttering.
"Feel better?" Maia asked, as Dudley's pale eyes, suddenly focused, gazed at her. He nodded, his huge body relaxing. Maia snapped the last piece of chocolate into thirds again; Mr and Mrs Dursley rejected her in turn, recoiling from her. She popped a bit of chocolate into her mouth, realising…her body relaxed, stopped trembling. She glanced at Harry.
"No word yet from anyone?" she asked. Harry shook his head. As if on cue, making Mrs Dursley slosh tea all over the arm of the chair, Harry choked on his bit of chocolate and Mr Dursley yelled with shock as a silvery Patronus darted through the solid pane of glass at the window; a werewolf.
Remus' voice sounded from the werewolf's mouth: "Amelia's sorting everything out, she'll be there soon to question you; Harry, stay in the house; don't use magic again! Maia, turn Harry's wireless on." The werewolf Patronus dissipated into nothingness, leaving the living-room rather dim in its absence, and Harry turned to goggle at Maia.
"That was Professor Lupin's voice!" he said, stunned.
"Your wireless, Harry," she said, and Harry dug into his pocket, producing his little wireless. Taking out the little plug for his charmed headphones, he fiddled with the On/Off switch and Sirius' voice suddenly echoed in the silent living-room: "—sorry to interrupt the record, but news has just come in from a confidential source that two underage wizards were, at twenty-past nine this evening, attacked by two Dementors. If ever there was a reason for removing Dementors from control of the prison, and ending the wizards' alliance with them, I'm sure the unprovoked and unsanctioned attack on two underage wizards in the middle of Surrey is the greatest. Not least because one of the victims is none other than Harry Potter. Word from Maia Black, the second victim, is that both herself, Mr Potter and his Muggle cousin Dudley Dursley are unharmed, but word from a Ministry insider is that the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery was breached by Miss Black and Mr Potter whilst saving their own lives.
"The two apparently used the incredibly difficult Patronus Charm, a shield to stave off the effects of the Dementors; having used it in front of Mr Dursley, the Statute of Secrecy states the two should be punished, but thankfully there is sanction in the Reasonable Restriction for the use of magic in front of a Muggle in life-threatening situations.
"To all who disagreed with Ministry plans to remove Dementors from Azkaban under the administration of Minister for Magic Godfrey de Lusignan—"
"That's my grandfather!" Maia blurted.
"—I hope you re-evaluate your stance on legislation being pushed through this Ministry's cabinet. It could have been your son or daughter. We are very lucky that Miss Black and Mr Potter knew the Patronus Charm.
"Or I'd be reporting on one of the greatest tragedies of our age."
Sirius clicked on a Kinks song, 'Waterloo Sunset', and over the music, he said, "So, a shout-out to everyone at home, keep constant vigilance. If there are more Dementors going after our nation's most beloved heroes, who's next? Remember, chocolate is a marvellous remedy for brushes with Dark magic; after this record I'll read out Dr Clabbert's submission to the first edition of The Talon, on how to effectively conjure a Patronus and thus, deflect the attack of a Dementor." 'Waterloo Sunset' came into focus, and Harry glanced at Maia, eyes wide.
"He's reading it over the wireless?"
"One of the others must've given him The Talon," Maia said, biting her lip. "Everyone in England will know about this by the morning."
"I'm surprised the Ministry hasn't contacted me—after that official warning I got for Dobby levitating that pudding three years ago," Harry said. "They said another infraction and I'd be expelled."
"That was a misunderstanding," Maia said. "Sirius is right; this was a life-threatening situation. There's definitely something in Clause C of the Reasonable Restriction about us using magic in front of Dudley if all our lives are in jeopardy." Mr and Mrs Dursley were staring dazedly at Maia and Harry as if they had been temporarily lobotomised.
Sirius' voice filtered over the ending chords of 'Waterloo Sunset', "A brief note before I read Dr Clabbert's instructions on conjuring a Patronus. Maia, Harry, get home now! And Harry, if you're listening, Madam Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, is on her way to question you about the attack. I'd drag a brush through your hair." Maia turned to stare at Harry.
"This is serious. Madam Bones is coming here," she said, wide-eyed.
"Hold on just one moment!" Mr Dursley roared, making everyone jump. "Your lot have a Ministry? A Ministry of Magic! This explains everything—no wonder the country's going to the dogs!"
"Witches and wizards have their own affairs to sort out, Mr Dursley," Maia said calmly, her voice very cool. "They hardly have the time to get involved with such paltry matters as death taxes, student-loans and Olympic transport." Mr Dursley flushed a nasty shade of magenta at her tone, but perhaps the wand in her hand or the sharp ring of the doorbell prevented him from replying with something very nasty. "I'll get it!" She grabbed the back of Harry's t-shirt to stop him diving for the hall.
Not only square-jawed, monocle-wearing Madam Bones waited on the doorstep; Ailith, still dressed in her work robes, had accompanied her.
"Maia! Good! Still here; I'll interview you here as well, it'll save time!" Madam Bones boomed.
"Ailith?" As Maia gestured Madam Bones inside, Ailith stepped over the threshold and eyed Maia's face thoroughly, looking concerned.
"We got your Patronus in the middle of a meeting," she said, wrapping a slender arm around Maia's shoulders for a hug. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm alright now," Maia said tiredly. "We've all had chocolate."
"Sirius was so angry," Ailith said softly, eyes widening slightly. "We had to stop him leaving Headquarters to go and murder Mundungus."
"He hasn't been back yet," Maia frowned, leading Ailith into the living-room, where Mr Dursley was being remonstrated by the forbidding Madam Bones. "But—I meant, what are you doing here?"
"Professor Dumbledore's given me special permission to interview you, and Harry, if he doesn't mind," Ailith said. "We've missed the run for the Evening Prophet but this'll be front-page above-the-fold news tomorrow morning." Ailith sighed gently, still gazing concernedly into Maia's face. "Are you sure you're alright? You're very pale."
"I'm fine," Maia assured her, with a soft smile. She went and put the kettle on again, and brought a cup of tea for Madam Bones, frowning sternly at Harry as he explained what he'd been doing at the playground, talking with Maia and listening to Radio Rockon the pocket-wireless Maia had made him—Ailith smiled and winked as she included the details in her notes, accepting her tea with a mouthed "Thank you" so as not to interrupt.
Madam Bones was incredibly thorough with her questioning; on the spot, Maia made up that she'd reached Surrey via the train network and the local bus-service, which was met with silent approval by Madam Bones, who knew Maia could Apparate but didn't want to have to put it on official Ministry records that she had been illegal Apparating underage to Little Whinging. After Harry and Maia both gave their accounts of what happened, Madam Bones ordered a gaping Mrs Dursley and a purple-faced Mr Dursley out of the room when they'd made a flap about her questioning Dudley. In a room, alone, surrounded by a wizard and three witches—one of them incredible intimidating—seemed to be Dudley Dursley's worst nightmare, but with subtle nudges from serene Ailith, he answered Madam Bones' questions, giving his Muggle perspective on what happened, reinforcing Harry's and Maia's claims of Dementors with his recollections of sensory deprivation, memories he wouldn't talk about, the gripping, hopeless cold…the feeling he'd never be happy again.
When Madam Bones had finished her interviews, she rolled up several long scrolls on which a quill had been transcribing their testimonies, and made her departure. She dropped her professional, intimidating demeanour to say, "I'm very glad you're all unharmed." She made her exit, to meet a team of wizards who were trying to find evidence of the Dementors in the alley—apparently, all magic and, thus, magical creatures, left a residue, so they could substantiate Harry's and Maia's claims—before going to interview Mrs Figg. They were left alone with Ailith, who had taken notes throughout the entire interview process, and now asked questions of her own. She spoke to Harry, and Dudley, and finally Maia; when she had ten scrolls full of notes, she tucked them in her stunning Hermés 'Kelly' bag (which Mrs Dursley had clocked immediately and spent the better part of twenty minutes gazing at enviously) and bid the boys goodbye, slipping Harry a sealed envelope, "from Sirius". She glanced at Maia and sighed. "I told him I'd bring you home, so I'll drop you off in London before I go and talk to Mrs Figg and the boys from Madam Bones' department."
"Er…alright," Maia said, glancing at Harry.
"Don't worry," Ailith said softly. "You'll see each other very soon. Dudley? Thank you for answering my questions." Dudley blinked dazedly; Maia glanced uncertainly at Harry again.
"Will you be alright?" she asked. "Your aunt and uncle…"
"Nothing I can't handle," Harry said, smiling grimly; Maia followed Ailith out of Number Four, closing the front-door as she saw Harry tearing into Sirius' letter, running upstairs. At the end of the garden-path, Ailith offered her arm; they Disapparated, reappearing in Grimmauld Square.
They had to walk only a few paces before the flowerpot-strewn porch-steps of Number Twelve appeared, the barbecue tucked amongst tall agapanthus, a climbing rose, ranunculus and rosemary.
No sooner had Maia knocked on the door than she was being hauled over the threshold in a chokehold.
A.N.: Thoughts? I wrote Mrs Figg as I would my nanny, who calls all of her grandchildren "my duck", although at 81 she's considerably older than Mrs Figg!