Chapter 43: Kicking Back and Finding Names
Sirius threw another look at his godson and the boy's girlfriend, peacefully sleeping in 'their' bed; in a way, he knew that Harry was not a boy, much in the same way that Hermione was not a girl. Still, having held a squirming, little baby Harry just eleven years ago sometimes made that hard to accept. After the tremendous exhaustion of casting the Fidelius Charm a second time in little more than a weak, their faces were showing clear signs of the toll it had taken on them.
Based on his experience from the first time they had done this, Sirius expected them to sleep for at least a few hours more, so he decided to do one of the first of his duties as secretkeeper and bring one of their most important allies to the ship. As had been agreed upon, he quickly dressed in warm and water-proof gear before disapparating.
He reappeared in an empty side-street in the small muggle town close to Potter Castle; empty, that was, barring one other person. Waiting for him in the back-alley was Professor MacGregor, her stern face morphed into what could only be described as express displeasure.
"You're late," she observed very calmly. "I do not appreciate it…"
Silently chuckling about the years spent in the UK obviously not being able to stamp the stereotypical German out of her completely, Sirius offered her his hand, while trying his best to portray his best 'scolded scoundrel face'.
"My apologies, Professor," he greeted. "Sirius Black. I had to check on Harry and Hermione again before leaving for our appointment; the Fidelius really took a lot out of them."
MacGregor nodded curtly, though not unfriendlily, and accepted his arm. "Maria MacGregor. You may call me Maria, if we are to work together as closely as I assume. Now please, let me see what you have been able to acquire."
Without any more of a preamble, Sirius gripped her arm harder and spun into the tight embrace of apparition for the second time in as many minutes. The moment of landing was a bit hard on him, considering he had not had that much exposure to the process for around a decade and that it took quite a bit out of the human body to be transported like this. Next to him, Maria was faring far better; instead of hunched over and held up by her own hands on her knees, she stood straight-backed on the coast where Sirius had first taken Harry to show him the ship. Yet, he was aware that to his guest, there could be nothing but the windswept sea.
"The HMS Phoebe is anchored in a small bay along the southern coast of England," he told her, aware that he was still sounding rather winded due to the strain of repeated apparition. Funnily enough, while he himself was not affected at all, Sirius was able to determine the moment the charm clouding the professor's perception was lifted by the appreciative expression that snuck itself onto her face.
"We might be able to work with that…" she mused, granting Sirius a seemingly rare smile. "Do those hangar doors work?" Sirius nodded, actually increasing the intensity of the smile on Maria's face. "Good. That means we can safely store brooms and other equipment in the hanger, yet quickly bring them out should the need arise. Do we already know how the Fidelius being put onto a moving object changes the effects?"
"No," the marauder answered, honestly impressed by how quickly the experienced warrior he now realised he was dealing with had started assessing the situation. "Hermione and Harry had a few theories, though. They seem to think that whenever the ships changes position in such a way that it would make the knowledge once given by the secretkeeper invalid the secret would have to be revealed again. Also, they've already installed a crystal that serves as a target for specially enchanted portkeys; I'll need a drop of blood from you, by the way." Taking note of the stormy expression she gave him in return, Sirius added, "You can prick yourself, and even put it on the amulet yourself. It's just that all the portkeys only work for one person each, and only the one to which they are keyed by blood."
This time, Maria's look was more appreciative and actually impressed than anything else. "I can't take credit for this; it's all Harry and Hermione's work," Sirius rushed to make clear.
After all, far be it from him to take credit for anything his pup and his pup's girlfriend did, and although he heard the professor mutter something along the lines of, "I knew they were holding back, just not how much…" he paid it no mind.
"At the moment, we're filling the old ballast tanks with what Harry called ferrous phosphate to hold as much magical energy as possible. Really, the only thing I got from what he was talking about was that, because they don't need to enchant those crystals, they don't need solid crystals. Apparently, this stuff won't just dissolve in humid air. We won't be able to fill it to the brim or the ship would sink, but we should be able to fit a decent amount."
Having nodded along mostly while Sirius had been talking, Maria now took her turn to ask something. "You mentioned navigation, right? I contacted an old friend last night, who would be ready to help. What kind of equipment do you already have?"
And so, Maria MacGregor's extensive tour of the still to be renamed ship began.
OOOOOOOO
The end of the holiday break was coming closer and closer over everything there was for Harry, Hermione, Daphne and Sirius to do; the two Hogwarts attendees had already instructed the two who were set to remain on most of what was to do that included enchanting. Additionally, MacGregor had introduced them to a grizzled old veteran named Martin Connor only days after being asked for help in recruiting a helmsman and navigator. Yet, one important thing still remained to be addressed.
"We have to find a name for this ship," Sirius demanded for at least the tenth time; however, the only thing he achieved by this was to tick off Hermione, who had by then really heard enough of that particular demand. In a way, Harry agreed with them both, although it could really not be said that Sirius' proposals for different names had in any way, shape or form been dignified enough for what this vessel was going to be used for.
So, while they indeed had the former Captain of HMS Sioux as their new helmsman, they were still lacking a name for their ship.as their new
Therefore, on the last Saturday of the holidays and only two days before the Hogwarts Express was scheduled to depart, they had gathered in the sparsely furnished mess to finally decide on a name appropriate both for the gravity of their situation and the fact that it was being applied to a warship. This consideration had, unfortunately, already been the reason for the rejection of both James and Lily as unsuitable. However, looking at Hermione as he was now, Harry could clearly see her incredible mind was digging for some good idea she already had the first stages of.
"How about Gwyneth?" she proposed, and the silence that followed seemed to be a good sign for that particular name. Yet, something was niggling at the back of Harry's mind that there was more to this name than met the eye, more than just an old welsh name. Still, it was only when he saw that MacGregor's eyes had grown suspiciously wet that he remembered: Gwyneth had been the name of the professor's daughter, cruelly taken from her before she even really had a chance to live life to the fullest. If he had not been on board with the name before, he certainly was after that particular realisation.
"Second it," he agreed, giving his professor a warm look and his girlfriend an appreciative nod. "All for it?" Obviously sensing that mood in the room had shifted in a major way, even Sirius agreed to the proposed name.
After MacGregor had excused herself to 'powder her nose', James turned to Harry and Hermione with an inquisitive look. "So, tell me," he began, "what can you tell me about the equipment you've installed on the Gwyneth?"
"We've put in a modified altimeter for brooms, a tachometer, compass enchanted with a four-point-spell, an astronavigation suite that sadly only works at night, sea charts and a sextant…" Hermione listed everything they had either installed or procured. "Did I forget anything?" Harry shook his head while Connor nodded, somehow managing to look both contemplative and appreciative.
"Does that work for you, Captain Connor?" Harry inquired, eliciting a genial smile on the grizzled face of the man he had addressed.
"Oh please, Harry, there's no need to be so formal; we'll be seeing a lot of each other, I suspect. It's just Martin, and I was only a Commander when I retired," he replied, giving them an almost wistful look. "Regrettably, command of a destroyer doesn't get you bumped up all the way to Captain. It sounds like you have everything we would need for some solid navigating; have you already tried out how fast she will go?"
It being Hermione's turn to answer this one, she simply shrugged apologetically before replying, "We don't really know; we gather at the very least the 27 knots she could make under non-magical propulsion, but I would gather she can do more now. Sirius is not exactly proficient with ships, so he could not really put her through her paces."
Looking at the contemplative veteran, Harry wondered what exactly the man had expected from their partnership; contrary to MacGregor, he had not hesitated to agree to any kind of secret-keeping measure Hermione and Harry had deemed necessary, nor had he blinked when he had first seen Daphne, who after all was a supposedly kidnapped member of the pureblood elite. Secretly, Harry was wondering if the both agreeable and excitable man had just been missing the feeling of a warship while taking tourists on fishing trips. The boyish grin that appeared on his face only served to strengthen that interpretation.
"Then I'll have to test her limits; that's even better," the Commander observed eagerly.
OOOOOOOO
A pensive expression graced Harry's face as he silently watched the wet English countryside shoot by behind the window of the Hogwarts Express. Around him, Hermione and his group of friends were swapping holiday stories; admittedly, the ones he and Hermione could share were sparse, considering most of the others had been deemed 'classified'. Since the investigation into Daphne's disappearance was far from over, telling anyone about her fate seemed too much of a liability to take. Granted, if it was only a risk for him and Hermione, they would have gladly taken that risk to give their friends peace of mind. Unfortunately, it was also Daphne's continued freedom that hung in the balance if she were found, not to mention the hell this could bring down on Sirius. No, for the moment the whole thing would have to remain as secret as it was and could be.
"So, Harry," he was broken out of his reverie by Tracey, sitting opposite of him and seeming to be missing a piece without her dark-haired friend next to her. "Any special plans, now that school is back on? You and Hermione certainly don't have to spend too much time with actual schoolwork. Any interesting projects lined up?"
Mentally noting to be more careful around Tracey who was sometimes too perceptive for her own good, Harry answered, "Some small things, yeah. Why do you ask?" However, before she could even reply, he had read the explanation from her face: Tracey was gearing up for a lonely time without Daphne there to keep her company.
"Just… curious," the girl replied shiftily, eliciting a sympathetic smile from Harry. "I was thinking we could maybe work on homework together, and I could help you with some of these projects."
Seeing someone he liked very much like this was like a sting to Harry's heart, and obviously Hermione did not feet that much differently. Therefore, despite any security concerns this might raise, she immediately responded, "Of course, Tracey; you can hang out with us right until curfew, if that's what you want. Merlin knows I understand wanting to be away from any stray shots in Malfoy and Weasley's ongoing feud over who's the laziest, most entitled wizard in Slytherin."
Surprised as he was at Hermione's joke, or rather the kind of joke, Harry could immediately see improvement in Tracey's mood and appreciatively squeezed his girlfriend's hand. Being able to hold her hand in public was a definite pro to being found out. Their confidence bolstered by Tracey being included, the rest of their group soon invited themselves to what had suddenly turned from quiet time for two into a study group. Seeing the questioning look his girlfriend gave him, Harry simply shrugged, resigned as he was to this new development. It seemed they would have to commence their more secretive activities at some other times.
However, eventually and despite his misgivings about their social engagements cutting into their time, Harry could not have been happier at seeing the dejected expression on Tracey's face be replaced by the smile of a very happy young witch.
And so, with only the minor infraction of the trolley lady delivering their admittedly unhealthy afternoon snack, the group of friends happily whiled away the time until the train reached the picturesque village that was Hogsmeade.
OOOOOOOO
The din of hundreds of human voices filled the air, as Hermione, her friends and her boyfriend measuredly paced their steps to the august Great Hall of Hogwarts School. After everything that had happened over the course of the last few weeks, these voices acutely reminded the young woman of something important that one could all too easily forget: These happily chattering voices belonged to children at the youngest and young adults at the oldest, all of whose lives heavily depended on her and Harry. Sure, there were others who would definitely play a part, maybe even a big one; yet, the basic fact that it had been Harry who had returned in time, only to bring her back along with him, told her they were the lynchpin. Now, had their part already been played? Or was the most important yet to come?
Too many questions and no real, reliable answers had always bothered Hermione, even in situations where the stakes were low. Well, with the fate of the world possibly lying on their shoulders, the stakes were far from low. Of course, being the self-diagnosed over-thinker that she was, the young woman had also been worrying about the 'after'. She had no question about her and Harry's commitment to each other, something that honestly surprised her. Still, she had been dealing with the shadow of the 'Dark Lord' hanging over her almost as long as Harry, around nine years. In a morbid way, it had given her a sense of direction, urgency, sense.
What if that sense falling away was something either she or Harry would be unable to bear?
Almost as if sensing her morose thoughts, Harry shoulder-butted her, gave a wicked smile and strode in long steps (as long as his legs could manage, anyway) to the middle of the Gryffindor table where they would usually sit themselves down on occasions when sitting with one's own house was mandatory.
Now that she was no longer dwelling on disturbing, if completely reasonable and wise ruminations on the future, Hermione had the opportunity to take in the Great Hall for a moment. Suddenly, an uneasy feeling she had been having since even before Harry had stirred her became much more understandable: There, at the head table, the throne-like chair on which the headmaster would normally be seated was completely empty. Instead of the old liar, there was his deputy, stepping behind the lectern. Her intimidating glare let the entirety of the school quiet down almost as quickly as Dumbledore's more playful aura would have.
"Pupils," she greeted in that tone that could somehow project both kindness and incredible authority. "After what I hope was a refreshing holiday break and an invigorating time with all of your families, I am pleased to welcome you back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It might feel unusual to receive announcements before the meal on the first day after the winter breaks; however, circumstances have forced this on us."
Some snickering came out of the direction of who Hermione assumed had to be the Weasley twins; as much as she sometimes disagreed with those two, who were sometimes dangerously skirting the line to outright bullying with their pranks, she could understand their amusement in that matter. The idea of anyone forcing Minerva McGonagall to do anything was almost laughable. It also made the idea of her being completely under Dumbledore's sway during everything that had been done to Harry hard to believe.
After another glance had quieted the Weasley twins, McGonagall continued. "As you can see, Professor Dumbledore is currently absent due to a notice we have received over the break. Professor MacGregor, if you please."
Giving a nod in acknowledgement, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher rose from her chair and stared down the captively listening pupils. "It is with regret that I inform you all, that my tenure as a teacher in this noble institution will come to an end by conclusion of this term. While I would have loved the ability to further work with each and every one of you, I have been offered a position I simply could not refuse. I have been assured that everything I have instituted, including the voluntary defence club, will be continued," the stern woman informed the stunned students of her decision. Sure, the older ones had been used to defence teachers leaving by the end of year, but Hermione could very well remember that it somehow always turned out to be a shock anyway.
Her announcement concluded, Maria sat back down, and McGonagall bowed shortly in respect. "Thank you, Professor. It has been an honour working with you," she commented friendlily, yet with that slight undertone that told everyone who knew the fierce deputy headmistress well enough, how much she really did respect her colleague. "Now, as you can see, Professor Dumbledore chose to leave the school to go and find a witch or wizard capable of filling the enormous shoes left behind by the professor. Therefore, I am assuming interim headship of the school, while Professor MacGregor will be assuming interim headship of house Gryffindor to avoid any conflicts of interests. Classes start tomorrow morning according to your timetables. That will be all."
Shortly pondering the weirdness of a notice like this without any of Dumbledore's eccentricities to 'spice it up', so to speak, Hermione watched the people around her fill up their plates with often almost humorous amounts of food. Hermione, having always despised the somewhat disgusting eating habits of her schoolmates, simply waited for the first frenzy to die out; she would even be able to take her time and carefully pick what exactly she wanted.
Not to mention the fact that it gave her the time to think about something else: Why had Dumbledore left the school? Because in all honesty, even when he wanted to give the search for a new teacher his all, his abilities should have allowed him to do exactly the same from the warm confines of his office.
"What are you up to, old man?" Hermione mused, just before she was nudged in the side by her very own, black-haired, time-travelling boyfriend.
"Don't you want to eat?"
OOOOOOOO
"No, no!" Sirius insisted on his standpoint repeatedly, and in a way that felt entirely unfamiliar. "I will teach you whatever you want, in due course, but that one will have to wait."
The pouty look appearing on Daphne's face was almost enough to melt down Sirius' resistance. However, on this particular issue, he would be adamant.
"Why not?" the teen argued loudly, gently reminding Sirius of himself at around her age.
"Because apparition is difficult, and very dangerous when done incorrectly," he explained. "There's a reason not even the Marauders tried learning it. Not before sixth year, that is."
The look on Daphne's face was one Sirius interpreted as reluctant acceptance. She had been told numerous stories of the infamous Marauders and their school-time exploits, enough to know that they had seldomly held back. The fact that they had in this case seemed to at least give her pause.
"I'll cut you a deal," Sirius offered the teenager, hoping that what he had in mind would be enough of a distraction to let Daphne deal with her friends starting classes that very same morning. "We'll finish breakfast, then I'll take us to the Gwyneth. Martin will be there later this day, so we can test how the Fidelius works with the moving ship. We can work on the deck or in the hangar until then. Or we could continue fitting out the ship with all the stuff it still needs."
The young, black-haired woman Sirius was beginning to regard more and more fondly (definitely a weird feeling, especially if the person receiving it was not a Potter or a Marauder) returned to her English breakfast at least somewhat mollified. The last Black, who was sitting opposite her at the table in their little cave hideout, patted himself on the shoulder internally while contentedly munching on his toast covered in a thick layer of marmalade.
The meal done with, and before either of them were able to make any move towards cleaning their dishes, Fips appeared, whisked away the used plates and cutlery, gave Sirius a jaunty salute and disappeared again. Barely five minutes later (Daphne sure was fast, if she wanted to) they vanished with the weird feeling of a portkey grabbing them behind the navel.
OOOOOOOO
"Someone is on the floo," Xavier heard his wife's just about respectful voice sound from her dressing room, adjacent to the bedroom they used to share. Giving the lonely guest bedroom he had recently been relegated to a distasteful look, the Greengrass patriarch slowly made his way down to the entrance hall where the main fireplace was located. It had been a good idea to locate the floo there, because it meant that not everyone would start showing up in his study. Still, in taking calls the location had its disadvantages.
What awaited him in the fire was admittedly surprising: Framed by the lowly glowing embers of the dying flames, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore's aged, wrinkled face was sitting in the fireplace.
"Lord Greengrass," the kindly old man greeted, his tone immediately putting Xavier on edge. There was a certain quality to Dumbledore's voice that he did not trust. "Would you kindly agree for me to step through? I have need to talk to you about your daughter, Daphne."
Now, even though Xavier did not trust the old man as far as he could throw a fully grown mountain troll (he ascribed to the maxim of 'the grander the façade, the more rotten the core'), the chance for any news about his daughter was incredibly hard to pass off. If even a fraction of what Dumbledore had to say could be verified by more 'reliable' sources, he might even have a real chance of finding the wayward girl. Therefore, with little regard for safety precautions he was sure the headmaster would be able to negate anyway, should the man wish to do so, Xavier bade him through.
After taking an almost inordinate amount of getting situated at the lounge table during which he was smiling his most annoying of smiles, Dumbledore finally looked the Greengrass patriarch square in the face with those twinkling blue eyes that seemed to burn down a person's souls; mentally thanking his parents for his rather intense training on Legilimency, Xavier addressed the headmaster head on.
"Professor, you were saying you had reason to believe you knew something about my daughter?" he asked, keeping things as polite as he could in that moment. "Please, excuse my brusque manner, but I'm sure you can understand the enormous pressure I am under."
Another few moments had passed, before the aged wizard gave an almost imperceptible nod. "I do," he replied ambiguously. "Yet, as much as it pains me to do this, Xavier," the addressee bristled at the uninvited familiarity, "this information is not something that can be given freely. Nothing untoward, I assure you, but I will expect something in return; the occasional morsel of information. And we could begin right here, right now, with you telling me what exactly you know of your daughter's friends."
This was something that admittedly surprised Xavier; money, sure, political support, absolutely. But knowledge about the friends of a girl who had barely reached her teens. It was puzzling, to say the least. Or at least it was, until one took into account who belonged into Daphne's circle of friends. Maybe the relations between the boy-who-lived and the Vanquisher of Grindelwald were indeed as bad as it seemed. Again bristling, this time at being forced to reveal such valuable intelligence, even if it was impossible to actually tell Dumbledore about the contract between the Potter boy and Greengrass Elixirs, Xavier nevertheless saw no other possibility than to comply with the request.
However, there was one more thing he wanted to be asked beforehand. "Why exactly do you want to know about Daphne's friends?"
That annoying, hard edge back to his face, the headmaster answered with a counter-question. "Do you really think your daughter came up with running away all by herself?"
In that moment, everything suddenly started to make sense; Daphne had never really run away, not of her own free choice. No, she had been reared well; she had just been affected by malicious outside forces that wanted to tear his family to the curb.
"Not with me," Xavier grumbled quietly, before starting to fill the headmaster in on everything he could without invoking the penalty clauses he was sure that dam mudblood had put into their contracts just to mess with him.
OOOOOOOO
AN: Hi all,
While before, I've gone to some lengths to not deviate from any real history, I deliberately did so in this instance. There was, as far as my research tells me, never a ship named HMS Sioux. However, since I wanted to proclaim someone as the former captain of a ship, I did not intend to step on the toes of the persons who have actually held that position. Therefore, I made up a new ship for the Brits to add it to their Tribal class of destroyers. Truly amazing, the things a writer can do.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter, leave a review and enjoy your day,
alexandertheII