Chapter 46: Emotion Talks
The morning after they had enjoyed the spectacle that was the aurora borealis, Sirius awoke late. He, Daphne and Martin had stood or sat on the foredeck for almost two hours, intermittently looking up and talking to each other in hushed voices; no one had been willing to break the spell by daring to make a loud sound. Of course, the whole experience had been a bit marred by the pup's spell of bad memories, and Sirius could hardly blame Harry for it. No, with the idea planted in his head, the northern lights had indeed looked disturbingly like the killing curse. In the end, the only reason Sirius had not gone to look for his godson had been the girl by his side. If anyone could help Harry in this, it would be Hermione. And if that put undue burden on her, well, they seemed to have helping each other out of stuff down to a t.
Forcefully exhaling, Sirius pushed himself up and away from the comfortable bedding (he still wasn't really used to luxuries like a bed, again) and planted his two feet firmly on the ground. As magic had a way of doing, it had provided him with a more comfortable experience of living on a ship than he really had any right to expect; instead of solid steel, his floor was a warm cherry wood, and the walls at least looked like they were covered in a dark red wallpaper. Something they had not dared doing was using space-extension charms on any of the rooms on the ship, unable as they were to predict what it would do to the Gwyneth's stability in the water.
Next to the door leading onto the hall was the other piece of furniture in the room that was explicitly designed for sleeping, as well as a constant threat to his being taken seriously on board the ship; the dog bed Sirius had placed in his room served as his refuge in a way. Whenever he had a particularly nasty nightmare of his time in Azkaban, or the guilt he felt over the death of Harry's parents, Padfoot would simply curl up in the well-worn piece of fabric and weather the storm there. Just like it had under the influence of the Dementors, being in dog form somehow helped keep a few of these emotions in check.
Fancying the idea of a change in perspective, the marauder willed his body to change the way he had done so many times before, and before he knew it, the environment had changed tone. Unfortunately, the colour he had chosen for his walls really did not translate well into 'dog-vision', as Sirius called it, with the usually pleasing colour now a dirty yellow. Alas, since everything was also a bit blurry, compared to his human eyes, he had gathered dogs simply perceived the world differently. Nowhere was that more apparent than in the smells wafting through even the closed door. There was the smell of the sea, as much was a given, but there were even more, usually undiscernible to a human.
Harry and Hermione were already familiar enough for him to pick them out from all the others, and Sirius believed he could also smell Daphne. That would make the other human he could smell Martin Connor. Vowing to familiarise himself with that particular human's smell a little more, Padfoot climbed up the door with his fore legs and pushed down the lever that kept it locked. With a surprising amount of grace for an animal the size of a grim, if he did say so himself, the dog jumped away from the now unlocked door and pushed it open with his snout.
Now on the corridor, the fine nose was able to sniff out more, distinctly recognisable smells; considering one of them was waffles, and another tee, Padfoot followed the trail to the ship's mess, only to promptly run into the two legs of what smelled like Hermione.
"Oh no," she scolded, eliciting a slight whimper from the exploring dog; whether he was scared or trying to elicit sympathy, Sirius would not be inclined to share. "We said no Padfoot at the table when you ruined Fopey's delicious soup; you just get hair everywhere."
Listening to her, admittedly reasonable remarks, he inclined his head to the side, trying to give her the puppy-eye look. He could have guessed it would not work. Instead of falling to his undeniable charm, Hermione simply raised a single eyebrow, somehow managing to put a lot of meaning into a gesture that small. However, there was also the shadow of an idea flitting over her face, and with a resigned sigh, she gestured her head over to the table.
The pup, the Harry-pup that is, was sitting at the table, morosely picking at what looked like a half-eaten English breakfast (maybe Padfoot could nick the kippers), looking to be a thousand miles away. With a renewed whimper, the dog swished over to his godson, butted the boy's/man's leg with the nose and proceeded to rest his head on said leg.
"Morning Sirius," Harry greeted his godfather, sounding like he had been having everything but that. Still, and Padfoot was proud of himself for achieving this reaction, simply by his canine appearance, a small smile managed to sneak back onto that morose face. He barked a bit, hoping his godson would catch the drift. "You want the kippers, don't you?" Harry laughed, evoking the same reaction in Sirius. The whole thing became even better, when he indeed did take one of the sausages from his plate and held it in snatchable range. After another bark, the animagus did exactly that, and proceeded to race out of the room; it would not do for anyone to steal his meal, after all.
As Padfoot sped past the pup's girlfriend, he just managed to make out a "Good boy!" before he was gone from hearing range.
OOOOOOOO
Inside a high, rickety house in Devon, a pair of red-haired twins were being interrogated by their mother.
"Mom, we really don't feel comfortable with this," George repeated what his more outgoing brother had said earlier. "Harry is, well maybe not a friend, but we like him. Why do you want to know about him?"
Molly seemed a bit flustered at her sons' disregard for her clearly stated wish; honestly, as far as George was concerned, she should already have been used to them rebutting her wishes by now. "I don't really see, why you need to know all that stuff, either," Fred butted in again; his twin was clearly out of his comfort zone as well, both of them seldomly having such a frank discussion with anyone, let alone their mother. "Also, you're just encouraging Ginny more. Granted, she doesn't freeze up anymore, when Harry looks at her, but she's still pining just as much; Ron's not helping matters either, with his constant belligerence."
For a few moments, their mother looked thoughtful, before an interested gleam appeared in her eyes. "So, you're saying Ginny is getting along better, now?" she inquired, studiously disregarding everything else that had been said. "She's making friends now, maybe even with Harry?"
Fred just snorted in annoyance now, giving George the window to answer. "Yes, she's making friends, and no, not with Harry. Why is that important, anyway?"
"Oh, not really important," Molly rushed, none too believably. "I just thought it might be good for her, getting to know the boy, before…" Immediately, she cut herself off, with a 'Gryffindor in front of a raging Snape' look. "I meant to say, I think it would be good for her to see the boy behind the legend."
George gave a little glance to his brother, trying to discern how much he thought their mother was trying to pull the wool over their eyes, before he answered in a deliberate, measured tone that he felt very much not at home with. "Well," he began, before entering into an artistic pause. "If that's what you would like to happen, it's not working. She's still as infatuated with 'The-Boy-who-Lived' as she has been. It's as if the real Harry doesn't even exist to her, and she doesn't seem interested in getting to know the real Harry."
"Honestly," Fred weighed in, putting a well-known emphasis on the word, "I would rather expect Ginny to get to know Hermione much sooner, if she ever tried anything with Harry." That last pronunciation sent their mother's face into a deep frown. Obviously, Hermione had already come up before, probably with their little brother and his continued ranting about that troll-incident the year before. It would also explain why the view their mother had of the girl seemed none too positive.
"Ron told me about this Granger girl," she replied distastefully. "Bossy bookworm, right?" The inordinately pleased expression she wore now was utterly disconcerting to her two sons sitting in front of her. "She's muggleborn, is she not…"
His Weasley anger now stoked, Fred interjected hotly, "Yes she is; is there a problem with that?" Not waiting for an answer, he went on, "And by the way, it seems fitting that little Ronniekins would be telling you weird, made-up stuff about Hermione, because he's jealous. Just so you know, Hermione might be a bit bossy from time to time, but she's a great, very bright girl; I don't even know why 'bookworm' would be an insult, by the way. I have no idea what you're playing here, but I will have no part of it, and as long as Hermione is around it won't work." With that, he rose from his chair, stormed up the stairs and banged their door shut.
Turning his head from where he had watched his twin vanish, George looked his mother square in the face. "I don't know what you're playing at either, but from the way you're going about it, I too, don't want to be involved." In a brisk, if more measured pace, George made his way to the stairs, as well. On the first landing, he turned around once more. "What happened to you, mom?"
Finally back in their room, the twins distracted themselves with plans for their newest, most spectacular prank; alas, the peace that usually brought them both, it never came that day.
OOOOOOOO
Harry was tinkering with the unfinished magelight in his and Hermione's workshop, deep inside the ship, but his mind was not really there. Instead, his thoughts were in the last few moments of his way through the forest, remembering what he had thought, felt and, eventually, seen. Then, his remembrance would suddenly shift to his 'Dementor-gifted' memories of his parents' last stand. What linked those two experiences was that same, green light. And that consideration would bring up more memories of the same kind; there was Cedric being killed, students being murdered, lives being ended without end. Eventually, even other memories were being affected, as well. Instead of hitting Hermione with his purple flame-whip, Dolohov struck her with that same, green spell, instantly snuffing out the light in her bright, brown eyes.
Then there was Sirius.
And Tonks.
And suddenly, Harry was back on the grounds of Hogwarts; all around him was the debris from the battle, littering the courtyards where either spells or giants had thrown it. The smell of blood and fire was on the air like a heavy fog.
No, that was wrong… Sure there had been smoke, but no smell of blood, at least not that strong. There were other inconsistencies, too; the sky was all wrong, more of an autumn grey than anything else and some of the bodies lying around did not belong.
What was Dobby even doing…
"Harry," someone shook his shoulder, repeatedly and energetically. "Harry, wake up! You're just dreaming."
With an almighty shudder, he jolted up from the uncomfortable position in which he now found himself, lying hunched over his workshop table as he was. In front of him, a worried look on her face, stood Daphne, her dark hair a bit tousled for some reason.
"Sirius sent me down to check up on you," she said, keeping a concerned vigil over his state. "Hermione's looking for you on the upper decks, I volunteered to look here. What was that?"
Trying to calm himself, Harry drew a large breath of air, an action which had no chance of escaping Daphne's scrutiny. "What was that dream about, Harry?" she inquired, keeping her voice tactfully calm, although she could not help a bit of morbid curiosity seeping in. "Oh, don't kid yourself," the girl admonished, "How I knew you were dreaming? You kept muttering stuff in your sleep, and, oh yeah, you practically jumped to the ceiling when I woke you up."
Another breath followed the one Harry had already taken. "Let's just say I dreamed of some things from that last timeline I have no intention of reliving," he answered, trying his level best to make his tone add an implied 'Leave it be!' to the whole thing . However, he was also aware that Daphne was a sharp one, as Hermione had said, and had rightly been sorted into her house; she certainly had the guile and the perceptiveness needed to succeed.
"I will drop it, if that's what you want," she offered, almost letting Harry think he had been left off the hook, "But you know who won't let this go… Either you talk to me, or you let Hermione out-stubborn you into talking later."
With a resigned sigh, Harry began retelling the dream his friend had awoken him from; as the story progressed, he found himself talking about the whole thing more freely, mentioning how things had actually happened and not only how it had all played out in his dream. With each sentence, Daphne's face was visibly growing more and more ponderous and contemplative until, at the end of the story as far as Harry was willing to tell it, she was staring into an unfathomable distance.
"Hey, are you still with me?" he asked the still unwaveringly staring girl. "Daphne, you there?"
She shook herself a bit and turned her head to look him square in the face again. "Yeah, I was listening," she replied, still sounding far away. "I just… You and Hermione have been through a lot, but you're still good people. You never had to help me, or Neville for that matter. Many would probably have just left the country after being given the chance to rethink those decisions. So, whatever you're banging yourself up about, don't; there are people who have lost hope for far less, and you've earned a little leeway." With that, she turned around and headed for the door. However, having already crossed the threshold with one leg, Daphne turned around once more.
"I'll tell everyone I found and talked to you, but that you need some time alone," she said in parting. "If you want company, I'm sure you'll find someone willing to indulge you for a while."
And with a small, yet wicked smile, she was out of sight.
OOOOOOOO
That same evening, Harry and Hermione were cuddled up in their bed again, enjoying their shared warmth.
"Come on, I know you want to ask," Harry said, the declaration coming out a bit more gruffly than he had intended. "Just ask, or we'll never get to sleep."
As if a dam had been broken, Hermione started talking. "Are you feeling better now? I really should have seen this coming, what with the northern lights and all. What did you tell Daphne? Because she just came up, gave me a hug and told me you wanted to be alone for a bit…" here, she was interrupted by her boyfriend, who had foreseen having a problem with appropriately following her many questions and statements, should he let things run their course. She looked up abashedly, and nodded for him to begin, but not before she could finish with, "And don't give me any of that 'I'm fine' stuff. No one believes it."
In preparation, Harry drew a long breath (he seemed to be doing that a lot, these days) and laid out what he had told Daphne, prompting an astonished look on Hermione's face. "And yes, I am feeling better, by the way," he finished gently, while smoothing out the hair falling into her face.
Still visibly stunned, the girl lying in bed with him did not react for a while. When she finally did, it was with profound astonishment. "You didn't even tell Sirius about some of that stuff; I wouldn't even know about it, had I not been there for the most of it." Harry was not completely sure where what he did next came from, but some instinct was telling him that he was not the only person in need of reassurance in that moment.
"Oh yes, you would know. Because whatever else we might be, you're still my best friend," he stated firmly. "In that moment, when I started talking it just… it came out. Talking to Daphne was just easy, and talking about it with someone who is not you, who was not there, really helped put things into perspective"
He would have liked to tell Hermione more about their discussion, but somehow, Harry had the feeling Daphne had also revealed something important to him, something which he should not share. "I would really like to tell you, but I'm not sure how comfortable Daphne would be with it," he summarised his thoughts diplomatically; to a weird mix of surprise and relief, Hermione just nodded.
"That's okay, I'm glad you're feeling better," she replied, contentedly nestling her head deeper into his chest, right where the training MacGregor had them doing was starting to increase the amount of muscles she actually could nestle into. "Just so you know: I have every intention of making sure we have a future to look forward to this time around…"
With the last of her words already slurred, Hermione was soon silently snoring away on Harry's chest, who was looking down at her with a happy little smile. Yes, a future to look forward to would be great, although he doubted there would ever come a day where their need for and sense of justice would let them stop wanting to change the present.
And with that little smile still on his lips, Harry followed his girlfriend into sleep.
OOOOOOOO
The morning of Harry and Hermione's last day with Sirius and Daphne dawned brightly, or rather as brightly as dawn got under a perpetually cloudy sky. They awoke only minutes from each other, neither really knowing who had been first, and started dressing almost immediately. The last day of their break, well that was something to be used appropriately. Therefore, while Hermione was still futilely trying to tame her hair (she really should have known better, Harry mused), he went to awake/torture his godfather from his alcohol-ridden sleep.
However, to Harry's consternation and disappointment, the marauder was not to be found, in either of his two beds. Now properly intrigued, especially with the knowledge that, after a bender, Sirius would never leave bed early, he made his way to the mess. When he found no one there, as well, he was actually starting to get worried. Sure, the old dog might just have been shacking up with a woman for the night, as he was wont to do, but something rubbed Harry the wrong way. That was the moment when Hermione joined his lonely vigil next to the table.
"No chance getting this stuff under control," she grumbled, only half in jest. Knowing how much her bushy hair irked her sometimes, Harry was happy she was even half-joking, all things considered. "Where is everyone? Didn't you wake Sirius? And Martin?"
That was when it hit him; where indeed was Martin? Because, even when he and Sirius had been out the last time, the man had already been sitting on the bed in the hotel when they had found the two. Apparently, sleeping in did not come easy to the grizzled veteran of the seas.
"Morning you two," the bright voice of Daphne greeted them from the doorway, making both of them turn around in greeting, as well. "Where is everyone?" she repeated the same question Hermione had already asked before.
"I guess in some dingy hotel room again," the still very much bushy haired witch groaned. "You did put that tracking charm on Sirius, right?"
Harry just nodded in acknowledgement, before giving a huge sigh and drawing one of his wands. "It's only a directional charm, unfortunately. I did not have time to set up anything more elaborate. We'll have to follow the trail."
Lost as he was in his thoughts, he did not notice the witch creeping ever closer, before she poked him a bit; obviously, Hermione was in a playful mood this day. Not the most usual thing, if he was being honest. "Sightseeing," she proclaimed. "Daphne, we'll look for Sirius and call you when we find him, alright?"
The addressed witch nodded rather glumly, obviously either bummed she could not help in the search, or worried about Sirius; probably both, Harry decided. To not leave their friend hanging in limbo for too long, the young couple hastily gobbled down a few bites of breakfast, then got suited up for 'Mission: Runaway Marauder'.
OOOOOOOO
The sound of two apparitions filled an almost empty parking lot near Reykjavik's harbour; the two figures that appeared with that sound immediately worked to establish a perimeter with the practiced ease someone their age should not have. Satisfied that no one had seen them, Harry put his wand back into the holster he wore on the left arm, his peripheral view showing Hermione was doing the same. The low-powered 'notice-me-not' ward they had placed over their apparition point should they have need to quickly jump to Reykjavik was still in effect, even though its power was palpably diminished, and would not hold much longer.
The pull of the directional tracking charm Sirius had been 'offered' went to the southeast, away from the shoreline and into downtown Reykjavik. Always following that very same pull, they passed the Hallgrimskirkja, the university hospital and a good number of hotels, apartments and guest houses. After more than an hour, a good deal of anxiety and with seriously miffed feet, they arrived in front of yet another hospital.
The type of building, as well as the fact that the charm's pull was definitely getting extremely strong, as well as directed into this building, served as a strong reason for Harry to get somewhat frustrated. Next to him, without even waiting for confirmation that this was indeed the place they were looking for because of course it was, Hermione had already pulled out her mirror and was sneakily calling Daphne on it.
"In the hospital?" he could hear the worried voice of his friend all the way to where he was standing. "Don't move, I'm coming over. Can you make it so no one will notice an elf dropping me off? Thanks…"
And with that, the mirror was silent again, while Hermione's reminder of, "Don't forget to take the potion!" remained unheard. Having noticed her hurried expression, Harry quickly cast the necessary wards, and he had indeed barely finished, when one of the elves dropped off Daphne.
Giving neither Harry nor Hermione the time to protest, or say anything at all, she went for the entrance. What awaited them inside was what they expected of a hospital, really; or at least, it was what Harry and Hermione expected of a hospital. Because, if there was on thing that was immediately discernible, it was Daphne's feeling of not feeling at home here, at all. The smell of disinfectant, the weird sense of dress everyone must have been seeming to have, at least to someone who was not aware of the concept.
Yes, if you were only used to St. Mungo's and the Hogwarts Infirmary, a muggle ER probably was a somewhat daunting thing. On the other hand, witches and wizards, as far as Harry knew, had no problem with diseases spreading among their patients. With what Hermione had said, or rather had tried to say, earlier now all but forgotten, she stepped up to calm their clearly distraught friend, while Harry made for what looked like a counter.
"Excuse me," he greeted the woman sitting behind the desk, trying an endearing smile. "I'm looking for my godfather, Sirius Black." The nurse looked at him discerningly, almost as if trying to gauge whether he indeed was looking for Sirius Black, and not out to cause trouble in her domain. In a way, she reminded Harry of Madam Pomfrey.
Obviously happy about what she had seen, the woman grumbled a bit, before she turned to a big filing… thing, where she started pulling out files. "There we have you… Black," she finally declared, that hint of annoyance back in her voice. Back at the table she continued, "Mr. Black was brought here after an altercation and with clear signs of alcohol-consumption. We're keeping him on watch, but if nothing untoward happens, he'll be free to go before lunch. Room 103."
Considering their conversation clearly at its close given her tone of finality, Harry gathered up Hermione and Daphne and together, they made their way to Room 103, where the infamous Sirius Black was supposedly staying. However, what they found in that very room was neither infamous, nor was it in any way, shape or form famous. Instead, it was just a tad pitiful. Harry's godfather was indeed there, propped up on a hospital cushion (meaning that it looked neither new, nor comfortable), and he looked like he had had a rather bad night.
His eyes were halfway closed, or at least the one that was not swollen, was; over the other eye, an astonishing haematoma had formed, about the size of a fist, and in an angry black. At the startled cry of "Sirius!" emanating from Daphne, the man shuddered visibly, although whether that was due to being found out or a hangover, Harry was not completely certain.
That was also the moment the other person in that room chose to announce themselves; Martin Connor was sitting on an uncomfortable looking chair in one of the room's corners. "What happened?" Hermione inquired, her tone indicating everyone in the room had been asked and that there would be no escaping without an answer.
Still, it was indeed Martin who eventually did. "Well, let's say wizards and physical altercations don't mix well," giving the man lying in the bed a dubious look, he continued. "Well, hitting on the girlfriend of a burly Iceland native while being unable to do the one thing you rely on to defend yourself is one thing to make sure you can try out the local hospital culture."
Meanwhile, the one being discussed had started complaining about what he had endured at the hands of 'these crazy muggle healers', who had apparently tried to check him for brain injury by pointing a flashlight into his eyes. It was only when they returned to the ship for lunch, where Hermione immediately went around trying to convince the elves that helping Sirius was not on anyone's agenda, because he 'had to learn his lesson', that they noticed their mistake. Their incredibly stupid, dumb mistake; because Daphne had never taken the potion intended to mask her magical signature whenever she went out from under the Fidelius.
OOOOOOOO
AN: Hi all,
Enjoy the new chapter, leave a review, the usual. Yawn.
Greetings to all of you, all over the world,
alexandertheII
