Chapter 45: Wherein everyone has a lovely morning.
Summary: Yes, yes, Hermione and Viktor are finally married. But let's check in on everyone else.
Dudley watched in fascination as his cousin got up at the Queen's bidding and picked up a basket of snakes and started hissing at them. Bill and Fleur were sitting to one side of Dee and Mrs. Berhe and her family were on the other.
"You don't have to worry," Negash said quietly from a few places down. "Harry talks to snakes all the time."
"His Grace," Mrs. Berhe corrected.
"Sorry, Mum. His Grace. His Grace talks to snakes all the time. The snake around the blond lady's neck is Sauce Pot, Harry's Therapy Snake. I think she's borrowing him for the weekend."
Dudley remembered the Incident at the London Zoo, in the Reptile House, and then tried very hard to push it from his memory. After all, he'd been an utterly rotten child then and he'd bullied Harry something awful. Served him right to be trapped in a Boa's watery display. At least the Boa wasn't in there anymore.
Had rather cut that birthday trip short, however.
"A kitten, gifted from the Queen herself, I can deal with, especially if you take it back to school with you," Mrs. Berhe said so quietly Dudley almost didn't hear. "Absolutely no snakes. None. Don't even ask. Don't even think about it."
"Yes, Mummy," Elsbet and Negash chorused quietly.
"Mummy? Negash has a kitten…" Elsbet started, sadly. Dudley could see where it was going.
"Negash is twelve, and can be totally responsible for the kitten, which he is allowed to take to school with him. When you are twelve, at the end of the year, we will discuss what you can be totally responsible for."
"I'mgoingtogetapuppy!" Elsbet breathed in happiness and delight.
"Oh, I seriously doubt that," Mrs. Berhe muttered.
Dudley, trying to be surrupitous about it, was observing this little bit of parenting and yet again marveling at how different it was from his own experiences growing up. It was clear, very clear, that Mrs. Berhe loved her two children equally, but she managed to do it without spoiling one and putting down the other and Dudley… just marveled.
"Right," Harry muttered somewhat loudly, and he had Dudley's attention again. He watched as his cousin reached into the basket and with a quick movement, brought out a single, beautifully white snake, holding it just under the head, and then supporting the rest of the body with his other hand. It wasn't a very large snake. He walked out of the castle with it and Dee just looked around the table to see if anyone could explain what was going on. Was he just going to release it onto the grounds? That seemed… odd.
A few minutes later he came back with a basket and brought it back to Her Majesty at the end of the table, and then brought the other basket of snakes to her as well and had a conversation Dee couldn't hear.
Dudley was so curious, but then, he was curious about many things. What was in the egg that the person who worked at the school had given her? The one she had said was so dangerous it could kill them all? And why would people give the Queen dangerous things?
What kind of idiot gives the gift of danger? Or is that someone you are supposed to offer monarchs? As a mark of respect, or something? It felt kind of… wrong to Dudley.
He got up to get some more eggs and another small steak, and a couple of fried tomatoes besides. Damn he was hungry this morning, but that's a night of drinking for you. He really wanted a plate full of fried potatoes, but that would be some significant backwards progress on his training and eating schedule, and though he now wanted to learn French more than he wanted to make the intramural rugby team… well, he still wanted to make the team if he could. Just a bit of fun, maybe, but it was, like, a point of pride. That he could put behind him all the trappings of the old Dudley - spoiled, rotten, fat, entitled, and nothing but a bully. He wanted to try for something and if he failed… then he failed. And if he succeeded, then he had really earned it. It's the way his studies were going for him - he wasn't going to get firsts this year, but he was finally learning how to study, really, and not just coast.
He looked down at the breakfast buffet and sighed happily. Oh, protein. How he loved protein.
Dudley helped himself to the eggs and steak… and exactly one tablespoon of fried potato, just as a little taste. Without even realizing it as he went back to his seat between Bill and Mrs. Berhe, he sighed in happiness again. This was turning out to be the best and most exciting weekend he'd ever had. And the Queen threw a hell of a party, and the breakfast bar was just awesome. Steak and eggs and tomatoes for breakfast were his absolute favorite.
And this morning, he and Harry were going to hang out. The last time they did something even remotely close to that, Dementors showed up. Unlikely this time, Dee reckoned.
As he ate in a leisurely fashion, Dee chatted with Bill and Fleur and learned a little more about their home, and how Fleur was inspired by the expansion spells used on the castle.
"They make luggage like that, right?" Dudley asked.
Bill agreed, but pointed out that you had to be an expert to make sure the spells were sturdy and strong and as he said this, he gave a significant look to his significant other. She flitted his concerns away with a flutter of her fingers.
"I will make a little study of this, that is all. If I prove able, all the better. If not," she ended her statement on a shrug. "Cest la vie."
Bill admitted that there was more time, not fighting a war.
Across the table from Bill sat Mr. Jackson and the table was not so wide across that conversation couldn't comfortably flow. It was then that Mr. Jackson caught Bill's eye and asked his question.
"Now what's all this about a war? The newspapers only reference it obliquely and we've never gotten a straight picture of what on earth really happened," he said, voicing some of Dudley's own questions. "Is the wizarding world really safe for my son?"
"It is now," Bill said, with an air of finality, the sort of way that seemed to end conversation. Sort of. Not for Mr. Jackson, though.
"Yes, but what happened? I mean, I understand Hogwarts was under siege. And the students fought. Children. In a war."
Fleur answered, and she was charming as ever, Dudley thought. "It is too early, and the day is too beautiful and promising to begin it with talk of insane men and their bids for power, yes? This evening. After dinner. After the children are asleep. Then I will answer your questions."
"Can anyone come?" Dudley asked, meaning to be quiet and unobtrusive, but of course it didn't quite work out that way.
"But, yes. I will tell the story of the war, at least the story that I know, and I will answer questions as I am able. My heart was not so broken as others, my family safe always, and me, I only fought at the end, and so my scars are not so large as some. My nightmares not so deep."
"Thank you," Mr. Jackson said, subdued but not, Dudley thought, upset. It was more… respectful. Like he suddenly remembered to have tact.
Dudley could commiserate.
He continued to eat in silence and the conversation flowed around him. Negash and Tommy were having fun, if fun was the right word, juggling inquisitive magical kittens on their laps and trying to eat with some manner of decorum at the same time. Dudley was trying not to stare, but it was pretty amusing. Mrs. Berhe and Mrs. Jackson had sought out the resident animal expert of the table, Charlie 'I Wrangle Dragons' Weasley and were peppering him with questions about raising magical creatures in general and everything he knew about kneazles in particular. Dudley listened because there really wasn't too much he felt he could learn about the other half of reality he'd ignored for so long. Meanwhile, Negash had named his kitten Oxford and Tommy had named his Mariner.
The food was gone, but Dudley was still absorbing atmosphere and the teapot seemed to just refill itself when Harry was suddenly next to him. Most of the people at the table had drifted away to begin their day however they were going to, but Dudley had lingered, partly loving every minute, and partly waiting for Harry.
"One last cuppa?" Dudley offered.
"Yeah, alright," Harry said and swung his legs over the bench next to him.
Dudley poured a cup of tea for his cousin and began speaking in a low voice. "It was really good of you to invite me here, and kind of… open this world to me, especially… especially with what an arse-face I was. I'm really sorry, and I hope all this means you know it."
Harry silently nudged him with his shoulder.
Dudley continued, after a little space of quiet between them that honestly, didn't feel so bad. "Dad's a right bigoted git. And I don't want to be like him. And I love Mum, but… she's far from perfect. She doesn't really encourage Dad anymore. A bit oppositional, really." After a momentary pause he added, "I don't know."
Dudley had seen so much in the last 24 hours, and really, so much of an obvious about-face with his mother in the last week, but he still didn't have words for what was going on inside of him.
"I know this probably doesn't mean much, but if you ever need anything, if I could ever help, I'll be there. I'll do it. I owe you so much, and not just because you saved me from the Depression Monster Who Sucks Out Souls For Fun."
Harry snorted in what Dudley thought was suppressed laughter.
"Will you tell me about Aunt Lily and Uncle James?"
Dudley castigated himself silently as Harry went stock still, teacup halfway to his mouth. When he spoke, it was a fragile, far away voice he hadn't heard since they were very, very young.
"Mum was shallow. Dad was a bully. They died to protect me. Tom killed them. And then I killed Tom. Over and over again. I killed Tom so many times, you have no idea. It never got any easier, but then… it was never very difficult. Every time I killed him I think a part of me died, too. Until finally, almost dead, I killed him one last time. He won't be resurrecting himself this time. And I don't want to kill anyone any more." He stopped, took a sip of tea and then sighed out the entirety of his last statement, "God, half the time I can't even stand to eat meat."
Dudley very quietly put his tea cup down.
"Our parents were remarkably similar, then," he said, quietly addressing the bit he had some sort of context to address.
Harry snorted. "Yeah, I suppose they were. I mean, Dad's friends spoke well of him, but then friends often do. But the people he bullied were scarred by it, and there's no escaping that. There's no escaping that. And Mum… I don't know. I mean, they were my parents. They loved me. They died for me. I should be a whole lot more loyal than I feel right now, maybe. But for so long I'd put them on these pedestals, you know? I'd kind of, kind of… made them into saints or, or, martyrs, I guess, in my mind. But in the last few years I'd come to understand that they really weren't saints. They'd made some dreadful decisions. Hurt people for stupid, selfish reasons. And as much as I honor their heroism, in other ways… I really don't want to be like them, either."
"Mum can be shallow," Dudley admitted. "I guess it's not such a stretch to think that her sister was, too. But why did both of them marry bullies?" Dudley asked, totally perplexed, looking over at Harry, who burst out laughing and in the end just shrugged and shook his head.
Dudley was distracted as the witchiest witch he'd ever seen strode back into the Great Hall of Cair Paravel. Harry leaned in and said softly, "That's Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. She used to be the Deputy Head, under the old Headmaster, and she was head of Gryffindor House for ages. Transfiguration Mistress. Hard as nails, huge amount of integrity. She's also one of Hermione's advisors. And she looks like she might have just throttled a half-giant."
Dudley blinked. "Would whatsisface really have given something that dangerous?"
Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. "Hagrid has an altered sense of danger. Heart of gold, mind. Tiny bit thick, though. But for a giant, apparently, incredibly intelligent."
Dudley blinked again and some connections were made. "Wait. Is he that guy..."
"Who found us on the island when I turned eleven?" Harry nodded, answering his own question.
"Blimey, he was huge," Dudley pointed out.
"He's still huge," Harry confirmed.
"He did what?" A screech was heard from the magical queen's end of the table. Mostly everyone had buggered off already, but Her Majesty was still there, sitting with someone, quietly speaking about something or other. Well, quietly until just then.
"How did he get a chimera egg?!"
Dudley looked back and forth between Harry and his blood sister.
"Isn't that... kind of a Greek... mythical... thing?" he asked under his breath.
Harry made kind of a wordless moan thing. "Except for the myth, part. Exceptionally dangerous, too." He groaned a quiet expletive. "She's going to need some sort of managed zoo type thing. D'y'know she got seven out of eight types of dragons last night? Plus all kinds of other animals, magical and non, farming and otherwise. I mean, elephants, tigers, lions, monkeys, koalas, horses, deer, sheep, pigs, boar, cows, owls, and that's on top of the snakes, kneazles, wampus cats, the cerberus, the kelpie, the queztalcoatls, and a sphinx! Egypt gave her a sphinx! Can you imagine it?"
Dudley just kept blinking. "Wait, an actual sphinx?"
"I talked with Luna last night," Harry quietly confirmed, but his voice was drowned out.
"How the hell does one raise a chimera without dying in the process, Minerva?!"
Dudley and Harry both listened quietly for the answer, sharing a rather sneaky look that proclaimed despite differences, they had been raised in the same household.
The Headmistress's voice was measured and dignified and deeply Scottish in accent. "One calls in Newt Scamander. I don't care if he's in retirement. I'm older than he is by three years and I'm still working."
"D'you think he'd help?" the Queen asked, sounding very young, and Dudley was forcibly reminded that she was, in fact, his age, even if she'd been through a war and had her head screwed on a bit tighter than he had his.
"Oh, please, Yer Majesteh," said the Scottish witch who was obviously somewhere between sixty-five and four hundred years old. "The man has a soft spot for magical creatures. Just send the letter and ask for as much help as possible, and see if he can't come immediately."
Dudley looked back at Harry and whispered, "I can't even. So, circus, market tents, or the stage?"
"Festival food," Harry said, after a moment of consideration. "I'm making up for lost time. You tried the deep fried pizza? It's not half bad."
They walked out into the fresh air and blue sky and Dudley listened as Harry told him about the magic inherent in libraries, and the work he wanted to do with the Pendragon library, eventually, which the Queen promised she would hold for him, as a task.
Draco walked arm-in-arm with his mother until they stood underneath a grapefruit tree that both of them could tell - he was certain she could - was a place so many privacy spells had been cast over the centuries that even a millenia apart from those times the space remembered and went half-private just as they entered.
He quirked an eyebrow, just a single flick, as if to say, should we even bother casting the privacy spells?
His mother gave him a galling look, as if to say, I can't believe you would even ask. Of course we cast the privacy spells!
She sighed, which was the outward sign, when she chose to give one, that she had cast hers.
Draco focused with all his might on one of the two spells he could do wandlessly and wordlessly and tried desperately to not show he was concentrating so hard. But his mother knew. He hated that he had a tell. He really ought to practice it more often until he could do it more easily, but this sort of magic was anything but easy.
"How are you, darling?" his mother asked. If they had been truly alone, she might have touched his face, given him a kiss, but they were still in public, so her hands remained lightly clasped in front of her.
He swallowed back a wry smile. "Well, thank you, Mother. Luna and I have decided to marry, but we'll delay the announcement until after the festival. We don't intend to steal Hermione's thunder."
Her eyes widened and she reached for his hands, which she held in both of hers, squeezing them affectionately. "Oh! I'm so pleased for you, Draco. Truly, I don't think you'll ever regret this decision, not once. Now, have you decided upon any details?"
They talked briefly on the things he and Luna had considered on and off for the last week. Luna was planning the honeymoon, though she wanted to start in his vineyards and the Chateau in France. They wanted a small wedding, in Hermione's standing stones, if she would allow it. They hoped for a wedding just after her graduation.
They stood quietly for a moment.
"May I speak of it with her? With Luna, I mean?"
"Yes, of course. She knows I was going to find a moment to tell you. But how are you doing, Mother? This is a much larger do than I realized, and from what I can tell, it's all you."
"Oh, pish," Narcissa said, preening slightly and squeezing his hands one last time before resuming her polite stance. "Augusta has done her part, and frankly I'd rather deal with the merchants, artists, and construction personnel. She can have the Ministry. Bunch of little toads. Self-righteous, self-defeating, amoral-moralizing little toads."
Draco's brows went up without his permission. He'd never actually heard such a forthright opinion from his mother.
"I'm so glad you have no interest in politics, my dear. Leave it to Hermione. She'll eat them alive and serve them right."
Draco continued to observe the rare and beautiful creature that was his mother, unbound.
"Now. A little owl told me you may have found a new vineyard manager for Burgundy?"
They spoke for a short while, but Draco didn't keep her long. He knew she'd be needed shortly, if she wasn't already and that her time was at a premium during the festival. When they left and went their separate ways, Draco was tempted to go get a book from the library and find a quiet spot tucked away, but he was hailed by Professor Berhe and Mr. Jackson - bit of an odd pair, that, but it seemed obvious that their wives had hit it off and their children were off playing somewhere - and he was called on for his opinion on expandable tents versus expandable luggage. Draco cheerfully joined the men and had not failed to notice how easily conversation flowed.
Draco had a fleeting consideration of the following question: is this what having real friends is like?
Right. Right.
Hermione was ready. She'd written a personal note to a man who'd written one of her text books, politely begging his immediate assistance, at least immediately as of tomorrow. The lanyard was around her neck. She had her wand and belt bag and extra layers in her bag, along with a bottle of water. The RayBans were pushed up on her head. Trouble and Dangerous were snoozing next to Crookshanks by the fire in the Master bedroom, but Morning and Midnight were zooming about the room, careening into furniture and pouncing on each other. Gallant, Three-Headed Puppy of Legend, was happily in the care of her father-in-law this morning while Viktor practiced with his team.
It took ten minutes to get the wampus kittens actually attached to their leads and at one point Hermione had to just sit them firmly on the bed, stare into their eyes and lecture them about being good kitties.
"I must put you on your leashes because we're going out and there are many, many people about. If you go too far away, someone might pick you up and steal you off, and then how will you grow up and protect me? You shant. And we'll all be very sad that you're gone. So you must go on the lead and stay on the lead. And no tying me up in knots, either."
They seemed more docile after that. Slightly.
Hermione looped her Gryffindor scarf around her neck, took the leashes firmly in hand and went downstairs to the Salon she had promised to meet Elizabeth in before they headed out for a lovely walk that would end up at the Royal Pavilion at the back of the crowd waiting for the theatre production to begin.
In fact, they met on the stairs.
"Good morning, Elizabeth!" Hermione chirped from a few stairs above and hurried down to catch up with her feudal lady.
"Ah! Hermione." The old woman reached out a hand to catch one of Hermione's, squeezed it briefly and then let go. After a moment and three steps down, she spoke again. "Now. How are you really doing?"
"Um, honestly? Tiny bit overwhelmed. Still. Mm, little paranoid about going out in the crowds, but I wouldn't miss Stewart's production or Viktor's game for anything, and I'm awfully glad to have time with you. I feel like I know you so well, but we rarely speak." Hermione swallowed a giggle. "And how are you doing? No adverse effects from magical phenomena?"
The Queen waved her concern away. "No, let's discuss you. There will be things that press on you, and some of them will require utterly immediate attention. Of course you must attend to those, and delegate wherever it is reasonable to do so. But you must allow yourself a bit of time - and by that I mean at least several days together - where the better part of each day allows you to do… whatever it is that brings you peace. Potter about in the garden. Swim in the sea. Organize your books. But not work, and not reading, unless it's utterly ridiculous novels you're reading. Those are quite alright. But nothing edifying, or which in any way resembles work. Agreed?"
Hermione sighed a very large, very audible sigh. "Yes, ma'am," she responded in a totally defeated tone.
Elizabeth chuckled and patted her on the arm as they walked toward the Salon.
"You must learn how to relax or you shant live properly to two hundred and then where would we be?" she asked and Hermione laughed as they walked through the door to the Salon assigned for the Windsor's use.
"Good morning," Charles called from across the room, looking up from a book. "I say, this is fascinating stuff! Mother, have you read this?" he held up the book vaguely, and though the title wasn't visible, the front cover design wasn't anything Hermione remembered sending.
"No, what is it?" Elizabeth asked.
"Oh, Merlin! An annotated history of exclamations, euphemisms, and aphorisms in Wizarding Britain from 1512 to 1973."
"Oh, that does sound interesting. Good morning, Pembrooke, Mr. Longbottom."
"I thought we might stroll through the circus, and then make our leisurely way to the theatre, and come back for a late lunch after the show, if that suits?" Hermione asked Elizabeth.
The non-magical folk put on their coats and Hermione looped her scarf once more around her neck in preparation for venturing out, though the weather was relatively mild. She shoved down the anxiety she felt and took several calming breaths before leading the way. She wondered, as she did so, if she was nervous about the crowds, nervous about going out into public with, essentially, kittens and expecting them to behave themselves, or if she was nervous about spending time with Elizabeth.
She had been looking forward to it.
The old monarch was wonderfully funny and understated in her letters and it was easy to forget, sometimes, who she was and the fact that she was as old as Granmere. Harder to forget when walking beside her.
"Have you been comfortable so far? I know the accommodations are… odd," Hermione said quietly as they walked to one side of Concordia.
"The suite is perfectly delightful, and you mustn't begin fretting about such things now, my dear. Now, I must be honest. I am quite looking forward to the quidditch match. I think I will probably enjoy it thoroughly, and if Bulgaria or Britain makes it to the World Cup this year I would like you to secure me some tickets."
Hermione grinned. "Absolutely. You know it's not my cup of tea, but watching Viktor fly is both exhilarating and terrifying. And if either team is in the World Cup, I don't see how I can avoid going. I'd be happy to invite people who will actually enjoy every bit of it. It's held at the end of August, if you weren't aware. It's really a two week long festival, I think. I can alert you if either team makes it to the semi-finals. You'd be at Balmoral then, wouldn't you?"
"Oh yes, but Charles and I could make our excuses for a day or three, I think. Charles," she said, turning slightly to speak to him as he trailed behind with Neville and Ms. Pembrooke. "Shouldn't you like to see Britain or Bulgaria in the Quidditch World Cup next year?"
"Oh, of course! I'm sure that would be delightful."
"There you have it," the old monarch said with an amusing sense of finality. "We shall just have to cross our fingers that both teams do well. Now tell me about this trunk project you mentioned in passing."
Hermione smiled and described her progress on the boutique hotel, the conundrum of no space for elves, and the possibility of getting a pre-made tent, but then reserving the expansion work for herself.
"I see, yes. The trunk goes in the tent, which serves as banqueting hall, kitchens, and service areas for the elves, and then downstairs through the trunk are the private rooms and lounges. So you could, in fact, travel in state without the cumbersome nature of travelling in state."
"Exactly!" Hermione exclaimed, and then their conversation was derailed as they paused to watch acrobats tumble about in improbable ways. Eventually they strolled on and conversation picked up again.
"You mustn't avoid the opportunity to accept the hospitality of others, however, especially when you are in a different country or culture. First, it would be a terrible rudeness to do so, but second, I wouldn't wish you to give up an opportunity to enjoy the small and beautiful things each place has to offer. It helps us to understand them just a little bit better."
"I hate to be a burden, though," Hermione said quietly.
"There are times for such considerations, and you are kind to think of it first. On a state visit, allow your hosts to provide for you. On a personal visit, negotiate to your heart's content. Provisioning a monarch's retinue can be draining on coffers, but I doubt you will ever use it to punish."
Hermione was suddenly pulled between two warring thoughts: Tom Riddle staying at Malfoy Manor, and King Lear's daughters negotiating his retinue smaller and smaller. She'd never fully and clearly realized that Tom would have stayed with the Malfoys to punish them, on top of everything else. But it certainly had been a punishment, if she understood the subtleties of what Draco and Narcissa had said now and then.
"...or would you?" Elizabeth asked after a long while had passed in thoughtful silence.
"Oh! Sorry. Thinking about Tom. He did that, I think." Hermione corralled her kittens away from the small furry creatures in cages. She wasn't sure what they were meant to be, but she had no intention of finding out. The wampus kittens were entirely too interested.
"Oh, Tom. What that I could have throttled him for you myself, my dear. Or had MI5 do it."
Hermione smiled. It was tight and rueful.
Elizabeth patted her arm as they turned left through the lanes made up by the circus tents. "Now, now. What is past is past. And we shall see to it that such people do not go so far, again. We may be a small island in a cold sea, but we have influence far and wide, and I'm sure you shall as well."
A small island in a cold sea.
The thought rang in her head as they continued on.
Luna was taking a tea break. Which also meant a pee break. It would only be seven minutes, depending on the lines at the portaloos. Two hours ago she'd already taken a tea-and-editing break for thirty minutes, and after the portaloo she'd do another thirty minutes of editing and frantic rewriting. It wasn't for the interviews, which would be coming out later - it was for tomorrow's edition of the Daily Quibble, which would have some of the amazing articles she'd written from interviews she'd done at the VIP reception on the night of the coronation. There was a regrettable lag time, as they simply didn't have enough staff yet, but Luna was also quite certain that she had the inside scoop on the situation in China, to say nothing of the Commonwealth response. The in depth articles would wait for the Quibbler to come out next Saturday.
Luna returned from the surprisingly delightful experience of using the 'Gotta Go! Portalavs' to find that Draco's houself had already brought her a cup of tea and two ginger biscuits. And there was a small flower blossom on the saucer, just next to the biscuits.
Cup and saucer in hand, Luna strolled idly for another three minutes, walking through the crowds of people while she sipped her tea and nibbled on her biscuits. She loved being with people. Among them, but a bit apart, she could observe. Normally people were a mix, really. Auras in all states. Embeddiments blocking clear communication. Karma directing interactions.
Today, still, everyone was so present. Auras remained remarkably clear. Very few embeddiments. Karma not really weighing in. And so many people still glowed, their inner light allowed to shine, undimmed.
Tea finished, biscuits gone, Luna walked back to the Quibbler Kiosk and Interview Booth. She put the empty cup and saucer on a back table for Shimmy to retrieve later and with both hands very carefully tucked the flower behind her ear and secured it with an extra pin into one of her braids.
Next up was one of the scheduled interviews, this one with the Matriarch of the House of Shafiq. Luna had tried, where at all possible, to secure interviews with each of the present matriarchs or patriarchs of the Great Houses, and she'd written to them all in advance of the festival in order to schedule them. There were some basic questions to each one of them, but they weren't important in content. They were really to allow Luna to get a chance to see what sort of person they were. How much they lied to other people, how much they lied to themselves. That sort of thing. The rest of the interview would be spontaneous, and depend largely on the deeper responses to the first proforma questions.
She wondered what Madam Shafiq would be like during her interview, and if that might be different from how she would be a month from now.
Luna smiled when the stately woman approached, and it was a genuine smile. All of Luna's were.
Draco was in the steam room, laughing.
Had you asked Draco last year, if he could ever imagine lounging shirtless with muggles in Hermione Granger's ancestral steam room, laughing about arcane business practices and learning a boatload about the successful management of employees and colleagues, he might well have cursed first and asked questions later.
Mr. Siegfried Jackson, as it turned out, was a small business owner, small being fewer than fifty employees. Draco wasn't entirely clear on just exactly what his company produced, but it was something in support of the non-magical medicinal potions industry, which was apparently quite large. But they had some useful patents, a mechanism which Draco understood quite thoroughly now, and they licensed out what volume they couldn't handle in-house.
Fascinating stuff.
And Dr. Solomon Berhe wasn't just a tenured professor at Oxford, he was also a department head, which meant he dealt with the bizarre politics of academia, of which he was quite happy to share the dramatic details.
It was better than theatre, honestly.
Which reminded him, he didn't want to lose track of time.
But then Draco was remembering the brief sojourn to the market tent area to take another good look at the tents and trunks and various smaller bits of luggage and their attendant price tags.
"Honestly, gentlemen," Mr. Jackson had said after they'd taken a few steps away. "I'm very interested, very interested indeed, but if I buy a vacation home, however portable, without Elsie's input, she'll throttle me in my sleep and I wouldn't blame her."
"Then we'd best retreat from the field, my friend. One must always have a healthy respect for one's wife," Professor Berhe said, clapping his hand on Mr. Jackson's shoulder. "Has anyone considered trying out the Roman Bath? I must admit I am very interested in this."
"Yes," Draco said. "I've been in a few times. It's quite relaxing." He checked his watch. "I must be at the theatre at ten, but there's time yet, if you're up for it." He was hedging his bets, still, but it seemed… easier, somehow. Like it wouldn't be life or death if everyone voted him down. Of course, these were just normal people and it wasn't death and destruction on the line. But it did seem like there was something on the line, even if Draco wasn't quite savvy enough to figure out what it was.
Mother would have known, and as he thought about that he mentally cursed his own inadequacies. Father probably would have known, and that just twisted the knife.
Luna would know.
Draco had smiled, then, for no discernable outer reason, but a great peace had descended and he could just enjoy himself again.
Elsie and Negalla were shopping, accompanied by Negalla's little girl, Elsbet, who was still young enough to enjoy being wherever her mother was, patiently doing whatever her mother was doing. For the most part.
They had already spoken in veiled and extremely polite terms of the absolute fervor that had occurred with their respective husbands once they had retired the night before, and how they had both been quite relieved after all to have a private room away from their collective children.
They had already exchanged addresses and had been delighted to discover that they lived quite near one another after all - Negalla lived in Oxford, and Elsie just in Reading. It was just twenty minutes by train.
"Now, what do you think of the owls?" Elsie asked. "I'm not at all interested in getting Tommy one. I think a magical cat will push his own limits of responsibility. But for us. For the family. I feel like… oh, I don't know. Like I just want more control over this situation. And not all of these merchants have normal addresses and none of them have a telephone, have you noticed?"
Negalla sighed. "No, I quite know what you mean. Magic is so useful in some ways, but the culture," and here she lowered her voice to the barest whisper, "is so archaic in others." Another sigh. "It's very independent, you know? Much of the social infrastructure that is so helpful for travel and communication, it just doesn't exist," she said, her voice still quite soft. "No, I think getting an owl is totally inevitable, just in order to keep up." She sighed a third time. "Birds. I never really liked birds."
"I like birds, Mummy," Elsbet chimed in as the conversation lulled.
"Oh?" Negalla asked, looking down at her daughter.
"I'll take care of it," she assured her mother with complete confidence.
"Hm," her mother said in the tone of one who was not convinced. "You realize this is not your pet? This is a service animal that will belong to your father and I for the family's convenience. But… I suppose if you do take care of it very well, that would help convince your father and I that you are capable of having your own pet when you turn twelve, at the end of the year."
"I can do it, Mummy, I can."
"Hm," Negalla said, seeming to consider things. Elsie kept her smirk inside. She did like to see good parenting in action. "Of course, if you forget about the owl and I have to take care of it instead… Then it will be very, very hard to convince your father that you should have your own pet when you are twelve, at the end of the year."
Elsbet looked worried. "Will you help me, at first, Mummy?"
"Of course I will. And we will learn how to take care of the service owl together."
They steered toward the queue for the animals, which was long, but moving rather steadily. Most people, Elsie noticed, were coming away with bird cages. They must have been doing quite a business here at the festival. Elsie privately wondered how many of the sales were to muggles and squibs who might not often have convenient access to the various wizarding quarters.
There was a large sign stuck just under the main logo of the animal shop that advertised 'We Take GBP!' which was a bit of a relief not to have to stand in several different lines just to make a purchase. All the talk in the line around them was of the small owl, slightly more expensive during the festival due to the surge in demand, but still quite a good bargain for not having to motor into London in order to purchase one special.
"What do you think, a small owl?" Elsie asked quietly to her companion who had finished sorting out the responsibility question with her daughter.
Another sigh from the poor woman and Elsie hid a smile. "No. In for a penny, in for a pound, that's the saying, yes? We might want it to carry packages. We may as well get one of the large ones. I wonder if they have any books about this. Care guides, you know?"
It sounded like a splendid idea. More books, not fewer, was Elsie's new motto.
"Well, I think a mid-size owl is probably the right idea. But I think one of those stands, you know? Not a cage. For a larger owl that would have to be a very large cage."
"But how will you carry it back home?" Negalla asked.
"I won't. It can fly on its own. If necessary, I'll give it some mail to deliver and I'll put my own address on it, and then all I have to carry on the train is the stand. As it is I'll have to figure out how to get the thing in a taxi. I suppose it will fit easily enough, it will just be a squeeze with all four of us."
"Yes, yes, I think that's the right idea."
And so the Berhes and the Jacksons picked out what were, actually, sister owls that had been hatchlings together. Elsie named the family owl Jill. Negalla named the family owl Guguti, which was Amharic for owl. After some very useful spells were performed on their behalf, they sent their owls off to hunt, put the stands over their shoulders and headed off to peruse the book kiosks, starting with the one that accepted GBP to see just how many books they would need to purchase this time.
Dudley had never watched Shakespeare and stayed awake for the endeavor, but a new friend at Uni had changed his mind in general about the usefulness and relevance of the Bard, and so he wasn't totally opposed to going with his cousin to this one, particularly because it was supposed to be a comedy, and Jean Luc Picard would be in it.
Obviously not as the captain of a starship, but still.
Star Trek and Star Wars were the sorts of stories his father did approve of because they involved drills. Really, technology, rather than magic, and usually not as a part of the storyline, but he always made a point of identifying where and when a drill would be useful in any given scene.
Other fathers, Dudley discovered rather late in life, did not do this. Some fathers, Dudley had discovered after a little digging with friends at Smeltings, actually just let you watch a film for the first time without intense commentary. About drills.
Harry stopped to get a gigantic bag of kettle corn - Lord, it really was non-stop eating this weekend, and what the hell, but it was a special occasion, right? - and when the strolling seller tried to give it to him for free, Harry pressed payment on him and explained that he was really paying for the next customer.
As Harry continued to explain the plot of the comedy, Dudley realized it really could be set in space, but it probably wouldn't be, not staged here in the heart of the magical world. But in his own mind, it was Jean Luc Picard, head of the Space Station Whereveritwas who was playing the 'Duke'. (But really, the Captain.)
Apparently there were twins, separated in tragedy, each going by the same name, and now they were in the same place, therefore hijinks would ensue. The separation eventually would resolve. Parents reunited. Ends happily ever after.
"You think happily ever after really happens?" Dudley asked quietly as they made their way to the blue and green striped pavilion at the back of the lawn seating area. It was a tent sort of thing, and Harry had assured him they had seats reserved for them there.
"God, I hope so," Harry murmured back and it was that same, small voice, a far cry from how he'd largely been today.
There weren't huge amounts of people around them just now, but who knew what it would be like in the reserved seating area?
Dudley slowed his pace and tugged on Harry's sleeve to do the same, just before he stopped entirely.
"Hey," he said softly, holding his cousin's steady green gaze. "I know it's been… impossibly bad. And I get the idea that what you went through might have broken other people. And maybe it broke you, a little bit. But now's the time when you get to regroup. Figure some things out. Maybe heal. Live on your terms. And you've all these people around you now, this whole big family with your sister and your wife. And I think, in time, you'll be able to do what I'm doing now, and what I think maybe a lot of people come to, you know? When it comes to the past, take the good, leave the bad, and keep walking forward."
That last bit was on signs all around his dorm, but Harry didn't need to know that.
"And maybe that will take you a bit more work than it would take an idiot like me, but you'll be better off for it, I think."
Harry was nodding slightly, and he grinned a little. "I don't know, you don't sound like an idiot now," he pointed out gamely. He took a deep breath and seemed to come back to himself. "Right. Let's have happily ever afters, then."
Ginny was being introduced to Harry's cousin. The cousin who made his life a hell, along with his aunt and uncle, for eleven years. Arguably longer.
She'd been silent when he'd talked about it before. Silent, confomforting, supportive. She hadn't expressed any of the incandescent rage she felt, worrying that it might be too much for Harry, that he might stop talking about it. But last night? They opened the belated wedding present from Cousin Dudley and Aunt Petunia and Ginny could barely restrain the overwhelming urge to smash all the crystal against the stone walls, grind it into small pieces, box it back up, send it back, preferably in the middle of the day by owl, and follow it up with a series of howlers. She didn't follow through with her very compelling fantasy but she did tell Harry. She had to. He'd noticed how upset she was.
"Don't you get it, Harry? They hurt you! They were the ones who were supposed to take care of you and anyone with a modicum of human decency would have done a better job. They treated you like a hated house elf. I hate them.
"I hate them, Harry, for what they've done to you."
And Harry grinned.
"Why are you smiling?!" she had screamed.
"Because you love me," he said quietly.
And then the anger receded, like an ebb tide flowing back in waves. He had held her then, kissed her, murmured how much he loved her, and Sweet Nemue, they had proceeded to make love over and over again that night, the topic of his upbringing tabled for the evening.
And now she was faced with her less-loved fourteenth cousin, Dudley Dunstan Dursley, and if this idiot could play nice, so could she. For now.
A momentary flash of memory came upon her, Luna's voice. Oh, no. They're already cursed...entirely mundane, but most curses are...a curse of perspective...they see everything through fear...Harry had it too, at first.
Well. Harry was cursed. Hermione was cursed. Dudley was cursed. Harry and Hermione had managed to get over it and get on with life, and maybe this idiot could, too.
"Very nice to meet you," she said, politely shaking his hand and lying through her teeth as she smiled.
He would have to prove himself, but she was willing to give him time to do it.