KeiChanDoll: I'm glad you are enjoying it, and I appreciated the effort you made to review nearly every chapter (!) Don't worry, Snape will have his innings.
Dismayed: But I don't know how to spell Edinburgh! My eyes told me it was wrong, and I spell-checked it, I swear! Must have been an American spellcheck site or something. Rumour of an Alchemist spotted it and gave me the word. Embarrassing.
Keske: Sholto is not a cocaine addict, and he doesn't play the violin, but there may be certain other similarities, I guess.
LadyRunic: 'The Ransom of Red Chief'? They may be driven to it yet!
Debate: Because the goblins didn't know that the sports could speak to dragons.
Moi: As you will see, Sholto's not tiny physically, and his ego's as big as all outdoors.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: NO COWARD SOUL IS MINE
In which Petunia meets Sholto the Dragon, and discovers the perils of talking before thinking. Or meeting the dragon you're talking about, for that matter.
Petunia groaned. "I don't think I can blame this one on you, Algy," she said. "It seems to me you did tell me that; in the heat of the moment, I just didn't remember it. I hope Sholto is discreet."
Algy looked troubled, and Pompey, who had been cleaning up after the goblins, said: "Sholto isn't the slightest bit discreet. The only being in the world Sholto cares about is Sholto."
Petunia raised her brows at this bit of plain speaking, and Winky, who was shepherding Mr. Crouch out of the room so that he could, she said, take his afternoon nap, clucked in disapproval. Pompey ignored her. "I'd hoped we'd seen the last of him."
"Why, where does he live?" Petunia asked.
Sholto, it turned out, lived in the Scottish Highlands with a member of Clan McFusty. "I don't know which McFusty it happens to be right at the moment, but the clan runs a small dragon rehabilitation operation in Scotland, as well as the main Hebridian reserve," Pompey told her. "It's for Hebridians that have behaviour problems with wizards and/or Muggles, or physical ailments, and need special care. That's a polite way of saying they're barking mad, at least some of them. Mistress Cressida sent him there when he became too much for her to handle. He couldn't go to the main Hebridian reserve, partially because of his size, but mostly because of his attitude."
"He's mad?" cried Petunia, aghast.
"No, no, he's not mad," Pompey said, after considering the matter. "He's just...thrawn."
Exasperated, Petunia went off to arrange a visit to the Scottish Highlands.
There was also the ongoing problem of Rogelio. Petunia's frantic attempts to shuffle him off to Romania proved fruitless, mainly because the goblins contacted the reserve there and threatened them with an extremely expensive lawsuit for his return if they accepted him. This she learned from a deeply disappointed Charlie Weasley; they had no other Vipertooths in Romania, and the reserve staff there had greatly looked forward to acquiring one.
Petunia had hoped that she had the option of sending him back to Peru, but that avenue had roadblocks, too. They could not identify the pride he belonged to at a remove, and Charlie warned her that if they made a mistake about that, and returned him to the wrong one, the dragons in it would turn on a dragon they deemed to be an interloper and bite him to death. So that was out.
The goblins believed that they had her checkmated, and they started trolling, even offering money for Rogelio's return, though not very much, as an expression of their continuing contempt for her, or so she interpreted it. Petunia seethed. Though she didn't want Rogelio's company herself, she was damned if she'd give him back to the goblins. However, he most certainly couldn't be hidden at the Manor for any length of time – he was too big – and the Forbidden Forest was too dangerous in the long term, even for a Vipertooth. Rogelio still wasn't particularly large in dragon terms, and Petunia was willing to bet that some of the resident acromantulas outweighed him. Even life at Gringotts was better than ending up as fodder for giant spiders.
In the end, it was the McFusty who ran the clan rehabilitation reserve – his first name turned out to be Aeneas - who provided a solution. When making arrangements through the floo to make an exploratory visit to Sholto, she explained the problem to him and asked him if he knew anyone willing to take on a Peruvian Vipertooth. "I'll trade you," he said quickly. "You take Sholto back, and I'll put the Vipertooth up until you can make other arrangements."
Petunia felt that this was a remarkably generous offer, and hoped that it was merely her imagination that she heard him say under his breath: "I'd trade him for the devil himself."
"I rather think we'll have some problem persuading Rogelio, though," Petunia said later to the boys.
This proved to be an understatement. The idea of parting from Nesta caused an explosion on his part, and only the exercise of a great deal of patience, a warning that the goblins would recapture him if he stayed at the Manor very much longer, and a promise to allow him to visit the Manor (and Nesta) at Christmas, calmed him down. Nesta herself was regretful, but rather too young yet to care very much, though she mightily enjoyed romping with another dragon closer to her own age than Algy was.
So Petunia led a party composed of Alastor Moody (to translate from the Gaelic if necessary), Hagrid (to handle Rogelio on the way there, and – hopefully - Sholto on the way back) and the boys (to provide moral support in theory, and a running commentary of snark in reality) to the Hebrides. The rehabilitation reserve was located on a long, low-lying, rather bleak-looking island, and because of Rogelio, they apparated there, instead of going by floo, no mean feat; Moody was a great help in that department. At one point a large stone building had been built there – it had been originally a World War II bomb shelter, of all things – and it had been adapted for use with dragons, though most of the resident dragons were out flying and/or hunting when they arrived. Except, as it turned out, one.
Aeneas McFusty was a man in his thirties, thin and dark, with an almost inpenetrable Scottish burr in his speech. The members of his clan who worked with dragons were called rangers, and he introduced himself as such. He was affably polite and seemed delighted to meet Rogelio, and by then the Vipertooth had recovered enough of his spirits to look about eagerly. He was not proof against the wide open spaces above the island, and the prospect of being able to fly freely with other dragons without fear of discovery. Aeneas whistled, and two large Hebridian Blacks landed in tandem beside him. At a gesture from him, they guided Rogelio into the air for an orientation tour of the area, according to Aeneas. The rest of the party then proceeded into the small house built of local stone that adjoined the larger building.
"Sholto!" called Aeneas, as they trooped inside.
"There's no need for you to shout, you yokel," a cold voice said. The shadows in the room resolved themselves into a sport dragon, a little larger than Nesta, but much thinner, with a soot-black hide, and large purple-coloured eyes. The eyes should have been beautiful, but were spoilt by the resentful expression they exhibited.
"Excuse me," Aeneas said good-humouredly. "I just wanted to tell you that you have visitors."
Petunia caught a flash of surprise from the dragon, but it disappeared just as quickly as he haughtily inspected them.
"Indeed," he said. "Just for the record, who are these people?"
"Mrs. Petunia Dursley, Auror Moody, Professor Rubeus Hagrid," Aeneas said, by way of introduction. "Lady and gentlemen, this is Sholto Mayhew."
"You may address me as Sholto, if you please," the dragon said sharply, with an air of wounded lèse-majesté. "And has someone brought their disgusting offspring on this outing?" He was now looking at the boys.
"These boys are my son and my nephew," Petunia said hurriedly, though the boys themselves seemed amused rather than offended by the adjective. "Dudley Dursley and Harry Potter."
Sholto's purple eyes narrowed: "I know the latter name," he said, without elaboration, or any further appearance of interest. "What do you want with me?"
"I – I need your help," Petunia faltered. This was resolving itself into a truly terrible idea. You talked yourself into this; now talk yourself out.
"No," said Sholto.
"Aren't you going hear me out?" Petunia asked, surprised. Stupid question. Obviously, he isn't.
He fulfilled her expectations a second later. "No," he repeated.
"Mind your damned manners, you misbegotten lizard!" roared Aeneas suddenly. Petunia was surprised to hear such volume from a man that thin. "You don't talk to a lady that way! Not on any island run by me, anyway!"
"And what are you going to do about it, you moronic nitwit?" Sholto responded, without heat. "Exile me?"
Petunia felt he had a good point. This already seemed to be the end of the world.
"I keep the full-sized dragons from sitting on you every day," said Aeneas, "and I definitely wonder why. They want to vote with their rumps. I should let them."
"Because you get a full-sized remittance for me from the Ministry, that's why," said Sholto, unmoved. "As a sport-sized dragon, I don't eat very much. And you need every penny."
Apparently, this shot hit home. Aeneas muttered angrily under his breath, and withdrew to lean against the wall, arms folded and eyes snapping. Petunia concluded that this was just a minor skirmish in a very long war.
Petunia said to the dragon: "Won't you hear me out? I want you to come south."
"That's rather vague," said Sholto. "South where?"
"Well – Mayhew Manor, where I live, first."
"Where you live?" Sholto asked, a spark of interest now ignited. "Don't the Mayhews live there anymore?"
"No; Cressida died several years ago," Petunia said.
"So she's dead then, is she?" Sholto said bitterly. "All I can say is: GOOD." And he turned his back on them and refused to speak further.
Aeneas gave Sholto a disgusted look, and motioned them into another room. "Let him sulk," he said. "He enjoys it, and I see no reason to interfere with anything that keeps him quiet for awhile."
Aeneas then proceeded to give them what would have been a rather bleak tea, had Petunia not had the foresight to bring a basket with her containing a quantity of fresh-baked scones, ham, tomatoes, fruit, milk, butter, blackberry jam, and a cake. His face lit up when he saw the contents of the basket; they rarely got that sort of fresh food on the island, he said. He managed a rather wrinkled (but clean) table cloth, dishes, cutlery and the tea itself as his contribution, and it proved an enjoyable meal in the end. Petunia took the opportunity to question him about Sholto: how long had the sport dragon been on the island?
"Longer than I have, in fact," Aeneas said. "He was here when I arrived four years ago. I suspect he was instramental in hastening the retirement of my third cousin, Eòsaph, who ran this place before me. Because of his size, he can't really be housed with the rest of the dragons, you see. They definitely don't like him, and they have plenty of reasons. He lives with me, here. He's a damnable nuisance, too."
"Isn't he some company for you?" Petunia asked, hopefully.
"No company at all would be better," Aeneas said, not mincing matters. "He resents living here, always has, and he makes my life hell in consequence."
"What does he do all day?" Harry asked curiously. Indeed, Petunia, looking around, had been wondering the same thing.
"He complains," Aeneas said. "He'll pepper that with an insult or two, just to make sure that I'm in as bad a mood as he is, should I ever commit the unutterable solecism of being cheerful. And when he's not complaining, he's reading. I am required to obtain books for him from all quarters, and giant chore it is, too, and tough on my owls – the wind currents around here are dangerous, especially in the winter. I get to read the books myself, though, so I don't mind as much as I should. He complains about that, too; he doesn't like sharing. Sometimes he complains about not having enough to read. It does vary."
Aeneas, it transpired, did not know very much about Sholto's background. His cousin Eòsaph hadn't told him much, either, other than the fact that he couldn't tolerate Sholto's company for one more moment. "That's what he said just before he left, anyway." Sholto, the ranger said, was generally secretive, and certainly not of a chatty disposition. "He likes to hear himself talk, that one, but just him. Monologues only. Conversations don't generally interest him."
Petunia discovered that this was not an exaggeration. Her renewed attempts to talk to Sholto after tea proved close to impossible. He presented his back to her, and majestically ignored her conversational gambits. But he did eventually display some curiosity: he asked her abruptly how she had come into possession of the Manor.
"I inherited it," Petunia said. "Catullus was my great-grandfather."
Sholto's purple eyes regarded her balefully over his shoulder. "Was he? The Squib? How very embarrassing for you."
"It's not embarrassing at all," Petunia said, stung. I see what Aeneas means. He's spoiling for a fight, and it seems to be pretty well continuous.
"I'm embarrassed for you, then," Sholto said. "You appear to be a Squib, too. So much for the Mayhews."
Petunia proceeded to lose her temper, something that she tried hard to control and was generally becoming rather more successful at. Not this time, however. Instead of responding verbally, she transformed into a cat. In that incarnation, she called Sholto several exceedingly rude names, which came out as loud spitting meows, and then she transformed back.
"Wizarding party tricks," sneered Sholto. "And I understood what you said, thank you! I am not a bone-headed basilisk, just for the record! If I were, you wouldn't be bothering me now."
"I think we need Hector or Titus for this job," said Dudley in an aside to Harry, but Petunia's ears caught it. Thank you for that vote of non-confidence, my child. You aren't wrong, alas. But I can't always depend on my friends to get me out of jams that my stupidity gets me into. I need to convince this extremely stubborn, cross-grained dragon to help me. I think this will take more than magic; it will take a miracle.
She reckoned without Aeneas, however; the ranger was not about to lose hia chance at a Sholto-free future. "Keep going," he whispered.
"Do you like it here?" Petunia asked, flustered; she attempted to turn the subject, and mentally kicked herself for the lameness of the question, since Sholto's obvious discontent radiated from him like an angry cloud.
"I love it," Sholto said. "I particularly like being asked cretinous questions by passing strangers."
"Sholto, I told you before, and I meant it, watch what you say!" Aeneas shouted.
"Don't you tell me how to behave, you dim-witted peasant!" Sholto hissed back.
"We're willing to take you south with us," Petunia intervened quickly, wondering as she said it whether she actually meant it. She was rapidly concluding that Sholto was a lost cause.
"Too good of you," said Sholto. "Don't trouble on my account."
Aeneas motioned them outside, and Petunia led the way, feeling utterly depressed at the way the whole day was progressing. But the dragon ranger was upbeat and determined: "Leave him to me. I guarantee that he'll leave with you, and voluntarily."
Petunia was doubtful, and Moody snorted. But then sky darkened, and they looked upwards. Rogelio, and his two escort dragons were coming in for a landing in the yard. The Vipertooth looked happy and excited; the contrast with Sholto was painful. He burst into a spate of dragon speech, for which, alas, Petunia thought, they had no translator.
Well, perhaps she was wrong about that; she heard a choking noise, and turned around to see Sholto framed in the cottage doorway, looking – could it be? – aghast.
"Who is that?" he cried, staring at Rogelio.
"Oh," said Aeneas, "there you are, Sholto. Come and meet your new roommate, Rogelio. He's a Peruvian Vipertooth."
"I know what he is, muttonhead! What I want to know is, what is he doing here?"
"He needs a place to stay, and Aeneas very kindly agreed to house him here," Petunia said.
"I'm sure the two of you'll get along just like winking," Aeneas said, with a reassuring air, and trying hard not to break into a nasty grin.
"Oh, are you?" said Sholto, bitterly. "Well, you can disabuse yourself of that notion right now! He's not staying here!"
"He is, though," said Aeneas. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and Petunia had the distinct impression that he was repaying many a past insult from Sholto in one crowning moment. "And you'd better adjust your attitude, my friend, or he'll live up to his name."
Rogelio chose this moment to give Sholto a wide, toothy, utterly lethal-looking grin. Sholto looked appalled.
So when Petunia, the boys, and the rest of the party left the rehabilitation reserve later that day, heading south, Sholto the Dragon and a very large bag of books went with them. Aeneas waved them goodbye, beaming with joy, Rogelio beside him. A fair exchange: one poisonous dragon for another, though I have to say it's a different kind of poison for each dragon. At least the switch made someone – in this case, Aeneas - happy. Sholto was a different story.
They arrived on the Manor doorstep just as the sun was setting. Petunia was exhausted, but hid her relief when Moody and Hagrid, perhaps sensing this, told her that they would be leaving immediately in order to catch the dinner service at the Castle. She thanked them for their help, and shepherded the rest of the party inside. The boys ordinarily would have gone back to the school, but as Harry put it, they were not yet sure Petunia wouldn't require some further help.
They meant with Sholto, of course, who peered around the Great Hall suspiciously. All looked quiet. "I see you've renovated," he said grudgingly. "Not before time, either."
Nesta's head came around the door frame of the library; she'd obviously been attracted by their voices. "Oh!" she said, in her melodious voice. "You're home from the Highlands! Good! Did you get Rogelio settled alright?"
"Yes, he'd settled down quite nicely by the time we left," Petunia said. "and it's a very remote place, safe from our friends the goblins. Nesta, I want to introduce you to Sholto. He was used to live here some years ago."
Nesta came forward, and gave Sholto her patented 'pheromone attack' to the considerable amusement of the boys. "Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," she said, ducking her head and looking up at him through the flutter of her long lashes. Sholto just stared at her and said nothing.
Nesta was unused to rudeness; she was even less used to a lack of response. "What's wrong with him?" she said sotto voce to Petunia. "Is he a half-wit? Or perhaps he's been neutered, then?"
"I most certainly am not a half-wit!" Sholto ground out, glaring at her. "Nor have I been neutered!"
"Well, you're very rude, then," said Nesta serenely. "I believe there's a book in the library on proper etiquette in the library. I'll ask Mr. Crouch to get it for you."
"I do not need a book on etiquette!" cried Sholto.
"I must disagree with you, Sholto, such a book is most certainly needed," Nesta felt she was firm ground, and therefore she was insistent. "Don't take it to heart, it won't take too long for you to learn all about it, and I can help you if you have trouble reading. Or Mr. Crouch can,"Nesta said in a sweetly encouraging tone that rendered Sholto speechless. Petunia had the feeling that it was a state he rarely experienced involuntarily.
Mr. Crouch followed Nesta into the room; she'd evidently been having a reading lesson in the library.
"Who is this, then?" he said, taking in the glowering Sholto and giving Petunia a disapproving look. Oh dear; I've left him out of the information loop yet again, haven't I? This is going to be tricky.
"This is Sholto, Mr. Crouch," she said quickly. "He was bred by my family and has been returned to us just today."
The ever-punctilious Mr. Crouch bowed politely to Sholto, who, somewhat to Petunia's surprise, bowed back, equally politely if silently. But he said: "There seems to be rather a lot of dragons in this establishment, Mrs. Dursely; and it's not what I indented for, it's not, indeed."
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Crouch," Petunia said, "but you needn't worry about Sholto; he's in transit, and won't be staying here with us too long."
Mr. Crouch seemed relieved by this disclosure, but once he ambled out, Sholto turned to her with accusing eyes, and said: "So I'm in transit, am I? Where am I going, then?"
"Gringotts Bank, in London," said Petunia. "I promised them a sport dragon."
She expected an explosion of wrath, but it didn't happen. "I suppose there's a reason?" Sholto asked, after considering this. "Money?"
"There is a reason, but it's not that. They have eleven – well, ten now, I suppose – dragons guarding their vaults. They treat them shamefully, by the way. Most of them have been kidnapped from the reserve in Romania, or their countries of origin, and kept in London illegally."
"The Vipertooth?" Sholto observed.
Stupid he's not. "Yes, he was one of them." She proceeded to explain that the goblins had discovered that sport dragons could communicate with ordinary dragons, and the ever-escalating results of that discovery.
Sholto was horrified, though not by his confreres' enslavement. "You want me to be a familiar to a common goblin?" he cried.
"Bothgar's very intelligent, and there's nothing common about that; it won't be easy to fool him," Petunia warned him. "You need to watch your step. I would concentrate on the goblins' weaknesses, which are greed and more greed."
"Thank you for that profound insight," sniffed Sholto. "So tell me, specifically, if you please, what you expect me to do, and why."
"Two things," Petunia said. "I'm looking for something, or some things, at the Bank, and I don't want the goblins to know about it. I don't trust them if there's a profit to be made. That's the first thing. The second one is, I want you to get those dragons out of there, or help them get themselves out."
"What things?" Sholto asked sharply, ignoring the question of the emancipation of his fellow dragons.
"Horcruxes," Petunia said bluntly, curious as to his reaction.
Sholto's eyes flickered, just briefly, but it told Petunia something important. He knows.
He refused, however, to say where the information had come from. "I was told that you were Cato Mayhew's familiar," Petunia said next, watching him closely.
Sholyo was on his guard now, though. "I won't discuss the subject further," said he, and changed the subject. "What I do want to know is: if I perform all these amazing feats of derring-do, what do I get in return?"
"You get to help save the wizarding world from Voldemort," said Petunia.
"I don't give a damn for that, nor do I care about the dragons at Gringotts," said Sholto with great frankness. "If they were foolish enough to let themselves be enslaved by a bunch of goblins, then the fools deserve their fate. Tell me why I should do this for you. You'd better come up with a good answer while you're about it."
"I'll find you a suitable new home that you approve and a wizard or witch to be a familiar to, also that you approve, if that's what you want," Petunia said.
" Suitable! Don't make me laugh! You'll shuffle me back to the Hedrides in no time flat," Sholto gave her a disgusted look. "Without thanks, and with speed. That's been my fate in the past, why should it be any different this time?"
"I promise you that I won't do that," Petunia answered.
"Prove it, then," Sholto said, giving her a triumphant look. "Swear an Unbreakable Vow."
Petunia did not know what an Unbreakable Vow was, but the boys were not so similarly ignorant. "Don't do that, Tante!" Harry exclaimed. "Mum!" cried Dudley, "Do you know what happens when one of those vows are broken?"
"Well," said Petunia, trying to make a joke of it. "I'm not going to break it, so I should be safe enough, shouldn't I?"
"But what if you can't help it?" Harry pointed out. "The spell will kill you!"
Petunia looked at Sholto: "Are you expecting me to fufill your expectations?" she asked. "Because I doubt you would ever be satisfied with anything I offered you, and if I can't comply with the Vow, the consequences are dreadful."
"That's not my problem," Sholto said. He looked inordinately pleased with himself, and his amethyst eyes glittered with malice. "You are expecting me to risk my life, but you won't return the favour. How fair is that?" He does have a point. Just because he is not likeable doesn't mean he's wrong.
"Don't do it, Tante!" Harry cried. "We can breed another sport dragon for Gringotts, can't we, and send this git back to where we got him?"
It's too late in the day, Harry. We must do this soon. We must. Time is running out. I feel it.
She looked at Sholto and said: "I agree."
