kase519: I've done that, too, to support stories I liked.

yannamo: Glad you are enjoying it, but curious; what made you finally read it?

Padfootkicksbutt: I promise that Sirius will reappear in the story; and this is a Severitus, of course...though no one really believes it by now.

I note that everyone got the tenor of Sholto's personality very accurately; yes, he is, at least in part, the dragon version of Severus Snape.

Moi: Oh, I was really tempted by one of your suggestions. Can't do it, though.

Many thanks for all the people who reviewed, which is always much appreciated.

CHAPTER FIFTY: SOMEONE'S GOT TO BE OPPRESSED

In which Petunia and Sholto make a vow to each other to be true; and we all know how that usually turns out.

Petunia was wandering in the woods. It was dark; she could not remember where she was or how she had come to be there. The Forbidden Forest? She supposed it could be, but the trees were spaced widely instead of close together; they did not blot out the sky. The moon was three-quarters full, and shone brightly, illuminating the treetops. There was a lot of ground fog, though; it rose nearly as high as her shoulders. At times, she felt that she was swimming through it, a mental image that didn't make her smile, especially as she could not see below its surface.

Her head hurt and her hand was bleeding. She shook it, and in the moonlight could see the dark drops fly. Where was she? There was a noise behind her, and she turned to see two children, boy and girl, sitting in the lower branches of a nearby tree, staring at her.

They were unnaturally pale, and their eyes looked odd to her. They're dead, aren't they? Why are they sitting in that tree, then?

The boy, who was an adolescent, laughed. "Why do you think?" he said. "We're waiting for you." The girl, whom she judged to be about ten years old, had a bulging cheek. Petunia wondered if someone had hit her, was the cheek swollen, then? Then she became aware that the child was sucking a toffee. Cato and Cressida, then.

"That's right," the boy said. He looks not unlike Harry. Taller, though, and without glasses, and his eyes are dark.

"Where's Cicero?" Petunia asked.

The boy's calm shattered. "He's not here!" he cried. "Because I didn't keep my promise!"

"Stupid promise," Cressida said, swinging her legs. "It never does to overestimate your own abilities, Cato. I've told you that before."

"I promised him a Viking funeral," the boy said, giving her a distraught look. "With Voldemort as the first course. And I didn't keep my promise! You know what happens to those who don't keep their promises, don't you?"

"Yes," Petunia said. She knew what happened if you didn't keep an Unbreakable Vow, in any case.

"I want to see him again," Cato said, "but I won't, I can't, until the promise is kept."

"I don't care if I ever see him again," Cressida said frankly. "You'd spend all your time with him, just as you used to, and there'll be none for me."

"Shut up!" the boy hissed at her. "Just shut up! I failed him! It's not fair...it's not fair...it's not fair..." his voice receded in the distance; the ground fog had transformed itself into a river and she was being carried away by the current. She was lying on her back on a raft, or so it seemed. She could not seem to move, as much as she wanted to. The water rose higher and began to lap over the raft, eventually swamping it. Petunia realized that she was drowning, the water filling her nose and mouth and choking her...

Both sets of curtains on her four-poster were drawn closed, something rare for her, and she felt hot and stifled and breathless. She sat up and quickly drew them aside. She looked to the foot of her bed, where Algy had placed the Great Dane's dog bed she had hopefully given him for Christmas on top of the daybed, and was occupying it. His chin was on the footboard of the four-poster, and his eyes were open and staring at her. Nesta loped into sight, leaped delicately onto the bed and lay down, folding her claws over her stomach in her most ladylike manner.

"What is it, Petunia?" she asked softly.

"I was too warm," Petunia muttered, swinging her legs over so that she was perched on the edge of her bed, and wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

"You were having a nightmare," Algy corrected her. "We could certainly hear it."

Petunia had been sweating; now she felt chilled, and she shivered. "Algy," she said, "why did Cressida send Sholto to the Hebrides?" At the Manor, Sholto had ended up sleeping in the boys' room, much to his chagrin. Petunia was aware that dragons disliked sleeping by themselves, but her hospitality did not extend to inviting him into her own bedchamber; besides which, both Algy and Nesta had vetoed it in no uncertain terms. He's born to be an exile everywhere he goes, and he never seems to understand why.

Though Algy accepted her change of subject, he looked like he would rather not answer, but luckily Nesta was also curious; "Yes, why?" she asked, scratching herself with the utmost elegance. She can look completely graceful doing the most mundane things. It's an amazingly useless but profound gift.

"She would have kept both of us, I think, even though he was difficult. But he wanted her to choose between us instead," Algy said. "And he thought she should choose him. After all, he was older and bigger than me. And smarter, as he always said - constantly."

"But he wasn't bred to be her familiar, was he?" Petunia pointed out.

"No. But then he wasn't really bred to be Cato's either," Algy said. "Though Cato did take him on after the experiment with Hebridian Blacks wasn't successful. Sholto amused him, he said, and he didn't mind his manner."

"Did Sholto behave himself with Cato?" Petunia asked curiously.

"Sholto is Sholto," said Algy, with resignation. "He doesn't behave himself with anyone, ever. It's his nature. He's thrawn, you know."

"Yes, I do know; I can hardly avoid knowing, since people keep telling me it, over and over," Petunia was exasperated. At Algy's hurt look, she moderated her tone: "How did he take it when Cressida chose you?" she asked, though she could guess.

"He was surprised," Algy said. "He thought she couldn't fail to choose him; it never occurred to him that she might not."

"What made the difference?" Nesta asked with interest.

Algy said: "He sneered at her because she liked to dress up and play games. Said it was beneath her, and that she would have to stop that sort of thing and measure up to him if he became her familiar. Said he would educate her, and make her a powerful and influential witch. Like he was doing her a favour, or something, instead of the other way around." He shook his head. "Not smart. Or perhaps I should say not smart enough to see that she was already a powerful witch, even if she didn't fit his definition of one."

Petunia smiled. "I take it you had no objection to her dressing up and playing games?"

"I wouldn't say that," said Algy. "She liked to dress me up, too, and I can't say I enjoyed it very much. But it made her happy, so why not?" Why not, indeed. The two dragons had very different ideas about wooing their witch, and I'm not at all surprised that Algy won.

"Dress you up?" Nesta asked. "In what?"

"In just about anything," Algy said, sighing. "Sholto used to laugh and sneer at me for it. But I stayed, and he went."

"Did she have some jewellery?" Nesta asked hopefully.

"Oh, yes," Algy said. "It wasn't real, of course. Paste and rhinestones, mostly. The real stuff is in the vault at Gringotts. She eventually inherited all of that from her mother, but she didn't much like it, nor did she want to wear it. Too boring, she said." Just an impression, but I don't think Cressida had a high boredom threshold.

Nesta looked down complacently at her collar and necklace, in which she slept every night - to prevent theft, she said – though Petunia suspected that she simply couldn't beat to part with them even for a moment. They were certainly real, but she was not above coveting a little extra bling, should some become available.

"Can we see the jewellery?" she asked.

Algy looked questioningly at Petunia; it was her cue. She was supposed to point out that dawn was just breaking outside, and it was impractical, and unnecessary, and Nesta didn't need any more jewellery, in any case. She was supposed to be the sensible one. The one throwing cold water on everything. She missed her cue by a mile, and said, to Algy's obvious chagrin: "Very well, then, Nesta. We'll look and see."

In fact, Petunia was game for anything that meant that she didn't have to go back to sleep, and face the resumption of that terrifying nightmare. Her heart was still racing, and the thought of a distraction was attractive. To Algy she now said: "Which one was Cressida's room? This one?"

Algy shook his head. "She never moved into this room, even though it's the biggest bedroom in the house," he said. "She stayed in the bedroom she'd had as a child. She felt comfortable there, she said."

"Is it one of the sealed bedrooms?" Petunia asked him. When she had moved into the Manor, she had discovered that a few of the rooms had magical seals on them. She hadn't had much expertise with magic then, especially that type of physical magic, and hadn't been able to break them. Pompey, much to her surprise, had not been able to, either.

"Yes," Algy said. "The one at the end of the hall on the right."

Petunia drew on her robe and slippers, and with a quick lumos, led the way. In transit, she asked Algy if he knew how to remove the seal.

Algy was evasive. "I might," he said. In fact, when they arrived at the door, he did. Petunia did not recognize the words. Not English; not Latin. Perhaps Welsh, but an archaic version, I think; or Gaelic. The door creaked ajar, and Petunia pushed it open. The room was dark, the blinds and curtains drawn, and it felt unbearably close and musty. Petunia used her wand to draw back the window coverings and open the windows themselves. They made an unpleasant groaning noise as they did – it must have been the first time in many years. The resulting gush of cool air into the room was a relief.

Once she could see the room clearly, Petunia blinked at the sea of pink: it had obviously been Cressida's favorite colour. The walls, the carpet, the bed linens, the curtains: nearly everything was pink. Though Petunia remembered Cressida as a very old woman, this looked like a child's bedroom, with white-painted furniture.

"Who sealed this room, Algy?" she asked. "It wasn't Pompey; he couldn't open it."

"I'm not sure," Algy said, fidgeting the way he always did when agitated. Which means you sealed it, I rather think. I didn't know that dragons could do any magic. This is proving to be a thorough education.

She didn't pursue this question further, as Nesta was busy nosing about in the cupboards, drawers, and finally, in the clothes press. Algy was visibly upset by this, and even Petunia began to feel that they were prying. She was about to intervene when Nesta gave a cry of joy.

She emerged from a tallboy holding an irridescent rhinestone necklace, of the sort that had been popular years ago; Petunia's mother had had one, she recalled, in brown and gold, and she and Lily had taken turns trying it on with its matching brooch and earrings when they were small. They had considered it the very height of elegance then, but looking at a similar example now, Petunia thought it merely looked very loud, and very fake. Such considerations obviously did not bother Nesta, as she happily looped it around her neck. Combined with the jewellery she was already wearing, she made a considerable impression.

"Very...bright!" said Petunia.

"Leave that alone!" cried Algy.

"Why?" Nesta asked him. "Don't you like it?"

"It doesn't belong to you, you miserable pack-rat!"

Since Algy usually indulged Nesta as much as everyone else did, and in fact, more, this sharp comment was uncharacteristic indeed, and signaled to Petunia that he was very much upset. She gently removed the necklace from Nesta's throat, and moved to put it away.

Nesta was not used to disapproval, and as a result, she produced large crystal tears, and delicate sobs; she wept as elegantly as she did everything else, hiding her snout in her claws, though Petunia noted that one large golden eye was open to determine their reaction to her distress. Algy ignored her. Petunia, though, put her arm around the hatchling dragon and said: "Nesta, you must understand: these items once belonged to someone Algy was very fond of. He's offended when you play with them like toys."

"I'm not playing!" cried Nesta. Probably not; bling is a serious business in her book. Pity the goblins treated her so shabbily; they might have gotten along in the long run better than either of them could have expected.

Petunia did search the room for a diary, but a gift like that was probably too much to expect. In any event, they found nothing of that nature, though she did confiscate a portfolio of sketches, apparently done by Cressida, to study later. However, at that point they discovered that the room's large closets were full of sparkly costumes, in various sizes, which made Nesta gasp in delight.

Algy, though, was adamant: "You are not wearing those!" he said sternly to Nesta. She pouted, but like Petunia, sensed that Algy was at the end of his patience, and was no longer to be trifled with. She reluctantly turned away from the costumes; and though she sighed when Algy closed the closet doors, she said nothing further.

After breakfast, Petunia consulted Mr. Crouch about the Unbreakable Vow, and also about the proposed contract with the goblins. She wanted a proper magical contract in the latter instance; as annoying as Sholto was, she was not about to give the goblins an opportunity to abuse him; they would be only too likely to take it, especially after they had sampled his personality. Indeed, Petunia warned him that he would have to moderate his speech and general attitude while at Gringotts.

Sholto stared at her as if she were speaking a language from outer space. "Moderate my language?" he exclaimed. "Are you seriously expecting me to kow-tow to a bunch of bloody goblins? Because if you are, you can forget about me doing any such thing."

"No," Petunia said, "I'm expecting you to behave like you have a job to do, and do properly. That may mean, perhaps, that you don't wantonly insult everyone who crosses your path, and use a little guile occasionally. I intend to honour my end of the Vow, but you had better honour yours as well."

"Are you suggesting that I can't outwit them? Me?"

"Well," said Petunia brutally, "you couldn't outwit Algy, could you?"

Sholto drew himself to his full height, and looked down at her, eyes glittering. He was blowing smoke rings, which Petunia knew from experience with Algy was a danger signal. "That miserable little Welsh reptile," he hissed, "did not outwit me!"

"I suppose you could be correct," she said. "It's quite possible that you outwitted yourself. For someone as intelligent as you're always telling everyone you are, Sholto, that does seem to happen to you quite frequently."

Sholto was literally trembling with rage: "That's not true!"

Petunia shook her head: "I will say this: before I met you, everyone didn't tell me how smart you were; but how thrawn you were. And once I met you, I knew why: that one characteristic does tend to overwhelm the other."

Sholto's chin went up, and he said sarcastically, "Is this just Insult-Sholto Day, or is there a point to this conversation?"

"There's a point, alright," Petunia said. "You are going to Gringotts with two missions in mind – the horcruxes – yes, I know you know what those are – and the dragons. It's extremely important to the welfare of the wizarding world if you succeed, and in addition, you will get something you want very much. So I'll be blunt: don't bugger it up. You know what I mean."

"Do I?" he said, gritting his teeth.

"You do. Don't flap your yap so constantly; everytime you do, you give them information, and for nothing. The goblins need to trust you, too; at least somewhat; or perhaps I should say they need not to suspect you. Restrain your sarcasm. Keep your temper. Act like you might be useful. Keep your eyes open, and listen to every conversation that you possibly can. Show us all that you can be more intelligent than bloody-minded, for once in your life."

"Why the hell should I?" Sholto said.

"Because, Sholto, doing it the other way around has gotten you nothing and nowhere." I should know, though me lecturing him on this subject is ironic; don't I allow the goblins to enrage me fairly regularly? I do. And isn't sarcasm one of my very worst bad habits? It is. "And the boys are urging me to send you back to Aeneas and Rogelio's tender mercies, and substitute Algy for you in this venture."

"Him!" sneered Sholto. "All he's good for is to prance about in silly costumes!"

"Well, then, prove to me that I've made the right choice for once," Petunia said. I'm betting that his jealousy of Algy is greater than his contrariness, and I'd better be right about it. I don't think Algy's tough enough for the job; I tell myself that instead of what I fear is the real reason, which is that I really can't bear to see him hurt.

The Vow came first, Mr. Crouch acting as Bonder. Petunia vowed to provide Sholto with a suitable home of which he approved. Very smart, Petunia, offering that to a dragon who has made a career, albeit an unsuccessful one, of never approving of anything.

Sholto, in turn, vowed to look for the horcruxes, free the dragons if possible, and behave himself. And of the three, the last is undoubtedly the most difficult; but none of those promises are as impossible as the one I made.

Petunia then replicated the missing horcruxes with magic in order to show Sholto what he was looking for. She told him about the probable location of the Cup, and its status, at which he merely nodded.

The goblins arrived at the Manor for the forging of the magical contract shortly thereafter. The same five who had attended the last time returned: Bothgar, Otrygg, the two tough-looking younger goblins, and of course, Bothgar, who appeared as about as enthusiastic about the whole idea as Sholto did.

Mr. Crouch's assistance proved invaluable in the drafting and the execution of the contract. Even Bothgar seemed impressed by his expertise. The infusion of magic into the agreement would make it difficult – in fact, impossible – to break without the knowledge of the parties to it. It did not involve luring a dragon with jewellery, but essentially hiring him to translate for the Bank. The goblins agreed to provide suitably for Sholto, in terms of room and board, pay him a decent wage, allow him to report to Petunia on his treatment, and not to harm or threaten him in any way. They were also strictly forbidden to restrain his fire-breathing capabilities, as they had with Nesta. The initial term was for six months. Mr. Crouch, politely but firmly, instructed the goblins that the consequences of breaching the contract would be decided by the Wizengamot.

The goblins nodded rather abstractedly. They were too busy starring at Sholto to pay much attention. Very uncharacteristically, he had said nothing up to now, so Petunia was not surprised when Otrygg asked sharply: "Can he talk?"

"Certainly I can talk," Sholto said, bristling. "Several languages, all fluently!"

"We only need you to speak English and dragon," Arngrim said shortly.

Sholto opened his mouth to be insulting – Petunia could tell by the gleam in his eye – and then he abruptly shut it without saying anything.

"You will be highly satisfied with Sholto," she hurried to intervene before the dragon's unusual self-control was taxed much further. "He is a Hebridian Black, and was bred by my grandfather and uncle. You should find him very co-operative." She gave Sholto a look as she spoke. He smirked but managed, by some massive effort, to say nothing.

Bothgar seemed sceptical, but schooled his expression into benignity. Petunia wondered if he needed metaphoric cattle prods to do it effectively. "Sport dragons require familiars," she told him. "That means he will spend a lot of time with you. You will have to earn his trust."

Sholto began to look reluctantly intrigued by this notion. Bothgar merely looked reluctant. "Well, then, perhaps we should get started," he said, rather faintly.

"Just a minute," Petunia said. She handed Bothgar a sheath of papers. "Care and feeding instructions. Please read them carefully. Mistreat him and I'll know about it."

Bothgar stared at the papers in his hands, looking faintly nauseous. Sholto, to Petunia's surprise, looked amused, and out of the corner of his mouth muttered: "And you'd second it."

Petunia glared at him. "Sholto," she said sharply, "is very disciplined, aren't you, Sholto?"

"Very," agreed Sholto coolly.

"I just know that you will be highly pleased with his services," Petunia said. "If you want to renew the contract after the six months has expired, we can negotiate." The goblins looked dubious, and Sholto looked mutinous.

Petunia kicked him surreptitiously; his face went blank.

And in the last glimpse she had of Sholto that day, he was hectoring the goblins to be careful with his books.