Best Laid Plans
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or Pride and Prejudice. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Part One: The Defence Association
Chapter Four:
Leo's acceptance letter to Hogwarts is received by its recipient with an abundance of enthusiasm. He reads it out loud to his indulgent, nostalgic parents, to his envious, sulking brother, to Helena, Remus, and anyone else unfortunate enough to cross his path. Eventually, though, he gets bored of that, and instead starts a one-man crusade to convince Sirius and Emilyn that a visit to Diagon Alley - in order to purchase his school supplies - is absolutely integral to his immediate survival.
Helena - whose own letter isn't expected to arrive until some time in August - is tempted to point out that Sirius and Emilyn aren't about to put up with multiple trips to Diagon Alley for the purpose of school supplies, but she refrains. She remembers the Summer before her own First Year well enough, remembers her excitement and impatience, remembers the adults' amused tolerance, and she lets Leo be. He's annoying, but it's a momentous occasion in his 11 year old life, and Helena doesn't have the heart to take that joy away from him.
Time - and the reality of boarding school, magic or no - will do that all on its own.
"The Defence syllabus doesn't seem promising," Hermione says, her eyebrows furrowed in thought, "I've skimmed 'Defensive Magical Theory' - there's a copy in the Hogwarts library - and It leaves a lot to be desired. Slinkhard takes a very non-aggressive approach to Defence Against the Dark Arts, which is all well and good, but not when we're all about to sit our O.W.L's, never mind everything else that's going on."
"In fairness, it's probably more useful than anything Lockhart taught us," Helena reasons.
"Point," Ron concurs. Fred and George laugh, share grins, cast Helena identical, thoughtful glances.
Ginny looks up from an in-depth study of her fingernails. "It might just be the lower years who've been assigned Slinkhard."
"Which is only reasonable," Helena opines, "Unless your name is Neville Longbottom, I can't imagine many 11 or 12 year olds capable of holding their own against Voldemort or Death Eaters or whatever the hell else."
Hermione frowns. "That's the thing. I'm concerned that it won't just be the lower years."
Helena shrugs, indifferent. "An inadequate Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor is hardly anything new."
Between Quirrell, Lockhart, and her own extra-curricular projects, Helena has gotten quite adept at independent study, and she is not particularly concerned by the prospect of having to commit to another year of the same. In fact, given her own - fairly advanced for her age, if she does say so herself - efforts in the application of Combat Magic (supplemented by Sirius, Remus, and others), Helena would actually prefer it.
"That may be so," Hermione concedes, "But students need to learn how to defend themselves; Now more than ever."
"That's true, but the standard Defence curriculum isn't going to save them against Death Eaters, never mind Voldemort."
Predictably, there's a collective shutter around the table. Ron hits his knee against a table leg, swears vociferously, and offers Helena a disgruntled scowl. She rolls her eyes and pulls a silly face, Ron laughs despite himself, and Helena wonders when they'd actually developed something of an amicable rapport. Not friends - not when they've all got secrets to keep - but something adjacent, perhaps. It's almost pleasant, and it's certainly better than an entire Summer of awkward incivility.
"It's harsh," Fred opines. Ron and Helena's exchange goes ignored.
"But accurate," George concedes, reluctant.
Hermione sets her chin, her shoulders - her entire being, really - determinedly. "Then we'll just have to do something about it."
None of them are remotely enthused by the prospect. Most of them have O.W.L's or N.E.W.T's - or both, in Helena's case - to worry about, have their own interests and projects and activities to pursue, and none of them care to concern themselves with anyone else's academic plight, as well. Hermione, however, is undeterred by their collective disinterest. Rather, she produces a journal and a self-inking quill from nowhere, and sets about constructing a Defence Against the Dark Arts study plan for each year level in Hogwarts with a bewildering, single-minded intensity.
"It would be really ironic if our teacher turns out to be excellent," Helena addresses Fred and George.
"Truth that," Fred agrees, "But unfortunately, when Hermione gets an idea in her head-"
George takes up the thread, "-There's no stopping her."
Ron nods his emphatic agreement. "She's a force of nature. Completely mental."
Hermione's taken off in search of reference materials, Ginny in search of entertainment, and neither of them hear him.
It is, perhaps, for the best.
"Everyone needs a hobby, I suppose."
"If that's her hobby, then what that girl needs is a life," Fred counters.
"Definitely something to help her relax - She's wound up tighter than a-"
Helena doesn't hear the rest of George's comparison. Someone kicks him under the table, and his analogy is lost in his resultant cry of pain, in the coincidental, synchronous screech of Walburga Black's portrait, in the kerfuffle as Nymphadora Tonks, once more, trips over Grimmauld Place's (completely redundant) troll leg umbrella stand.
"What's going on?" Ron frowns, perplexed and concerned, "There can't be another meeting already, surely?"
The Order of the Phoenix's last meeting had only been a couple of days ago, and Sirius' assumption had been proven true. It had been called in order for Professor Snape to share the details of his most recent meeting with Voldemort, or his Death Eaters, or both. Helena doesn't know the specifics, of course - loose lips sink ships, and all that - but Sirius had lamented how much of a waste of time it was, and his thoughts don't exactly inspire confidence in the only (active) resistance against Voldemort.
In any case, it's likely that Dora has dropped by to check in, or just to visit with the friends and family who've taken up semi-permanent residence in Grimmauld Place, but it's also just as likely that Dora has information to share. She's a Junior Auror, and although that means she's fairly low on the totem pole as far as the Auror Corps is concerned, she also has eyes and ears, and an incredible ability to blend into her environment that can only be partially attributed to her skills as a Metamorphmagus.
"It's lunchtime," Fred reasons, "She's probably here for some free food."
"Shall we go find out?" George suggests.
Ron, who isn't about to pass up an opportunity for food, agrees with alacrity. Helena follows suit - and follows them to the kitchen - because she's curious, but also just inclined to greet her (second) cousin. There's a fair bit of an age difference between them, but they'd grown up together, had bonded over their taste in non-magical music and duelling and a shared hatred for Bellatrix Lestrange, but Hogwarts and the Auror Academy and just life have taken their toll, and Helena's hardly seen the older woman in years. She'd hoped the Summer would rectify things in that regard, but Dora is as busy as she's ever been - if not more so - and Helena isn't about to put her own life - and projects - on hold to wait around for her.
"Wotcher," Dora greets them. She has her hair coloured an eye-searing shade of green, somehow phosphorescent in the dim light of the basement kitchen, and ahead of her, Fred, George, and Ron pause to blink away the stars in their eyes. Leo, meanwhile, sulks as Dora is diverted from his umpteenth recitation of the contents of his Hogwarts letter, and consoles himself by way of the buffet lunch Kreacher has provided.
"Hi, Dora," Helena replies. She drops into the seat beside the auror, helps herself to the platter of sandwiches in the middle of the weathered dining table, and queries, "Did you actually colour your eyebrows and eyelashes, too?"
"Of course," Dora replies, "I have to be consistent now, don't I?"
"Is that written in the Auror Academy Survival Guide?"
"Yeah," Tonks confirms, tongue firmly in cheek, "Right under the rule of constant vigilance."
"Ah, yes, I've grown quite familiar with that one."
Between her classes taught by Barty Crouch Junior - who'd impersonated Professor Moody the school year prior - and her Magical Combat training courtesy of Sirius, Remus, and Emilyn, Helena's fairly certain she's had nightmares starring that particular refrain. Even then, her nightmares wouldn't hold a candle to those of the Auror Academy graduates of the last decade or two.
In light of that, Helena ought to count her blessings.
Dora offers Helena a commiserating grimace, but beyond a brief discussion regarding Helena's progress in her training, they don't dwell on the subject. Rather, they - and Leo and Fred and George and Ron - spend the meal in conversation about the prospects for that year's British and Irish Quidditch Cup, and it's a pleasant enough way to pass the time. Dora eventually has to return to work though, and as such, the diversion doesn't last.
"You'll have to show me what you can do before you head back to school," Dora addresses Helena. She dons a smart, lightweight coat, scrutinises herself in the hallway mirror, and artfully ignores Walburga Black's caterwauling, "I'm so busy though, it's hard to find time to sleep, never mind anything else. Is Sunday morning all right? Before you head to St Mungo's."
Helena grins, excited. "You're on."
They hammer out the details quickly - time and place and such - before Dora hightails it out of the townhouse, and Helena returns to the basement kitchen, to an argument between Ginny and Mrs Weasley, to Carina on the verge of a meltdown, to Leo and Nix in a strop, to a tired, long-suffering Emilyn in the midst of her unhappy children, and Helena sighs to herself.
Without any plans to visit friends in the interim, with only her Summer lessons, extra-curricular projects, and visits to her local leisure centre to keep her occupied,Sunday can't arrive soon enough.
-!- -#-
Author's Note: I need to change the way I approach fanfic. It used to be an escape - a (very poor) coping mechanism, if you will - but my circumstances have changed. I'm a great deal happier - not to mention busier - and I simply don't have the same amount of time and energy for reading and writing as I did even a few months ago. Bear with me as I adjust. -t.
