Disclaimer: This story is written for the purposes of my own amusement and, hopefully, that of my readers, and no profit of any kind is being generated by it or by either of its prequels. All characters and history belong to J.K. Rowling and to whosoever she has licensed her creations at the present time. I own the plot and the odd original character, nothing else.
The music Julie Wu chose to play is from "Officium" by the Hilliard Ensemble with Jan Garbarek, the track "Parce Mihi Domine". Hear it at: www.ecmrecords.com/ecm/recordings/1525.html if you want – I assure you, it's worth it.
Sorcerors' Endgame A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher Sequel to "By the Pricking of My Thumbs"Chapter Eight: Unlocking
Oliver just couldn't believe his luck. It was 2.00am and he was in the back seat of a taxi with Julie Wu. They were both pleasantly intoxicated, more on the occasion than alcohol, laughing companionably at one another's jokes. Oliver was squiring her home, having spent the majority of the day entertaining her.
It had started rather awkwardly. After a quiet but delicious lunch, Oliver brought Julie into the International Quidditch Stadium and sat with her while the team warmed up and got into formation. He was apprehensive that she might be bored once he had to start concentrating on skills training the team, and for the very first time, he winced at the strident tone of his voice under the Sonorus charm, but his worries were groundless. Julie's face was alight with interest throughout and when Oliver, as had been feared, was obliged to replace the injured Keeper halfway through the session, she cheered loudly enough to raise the roof. Despite his blushes, he played sufficiently well to retain his dignity, but he had rarely been so rattled on a Quidditch pitch in his life.
The team were very interested to meet Oliver's companion, and the new Chaser – a blonde, blue-eyed Adonis who rejoiced in the name of Jean-Paul – went so far as to demand that she accompany them to dinner. Oliver, who had been hoping to whisk her away to another stylish restaurant, had to grit his teeth and suffer while the male members of his team regaled her with stories of their past exploits over some very average Dim Sum. Jean-Paul had contrived to seat himself next to her, relegating Oliver to the chair opposite. Oliver had just decided to risk being lynched by the Swifts fan club, not to mention his other team members, by breaking his new Chaser's jaw, when his attention was suddenly caught. Julie was laughing at Jean-Paul and shaking her head firmly.
"Non, non!" she was protesting. "Je suis désole. I am so sorry, Jean-Paul, but I really can't go with you to this little club, however wonderful the music is. I never stay up later than midnight, and besides, Oliver promised faithfully that he would take me home, and I just couldn't be responsible for him breaking his word, now could I?" She smiled lavishly at Oliver, who stared in astonishment, then grinned shakily. He felt like cheering and wiping his brow at the same time.
Shortly afterwards, they made their farewells and left the Swifts to continue without them. As they climbed into the taxi, Oliver explained that when on tour he would have to babysit the team throughout, making sure they didn't stay up too late or drink too much, getting them back to their hotel rooms and into bed alone. However, while they were on hiatus, those particular duties were not so necessary. After all, everyone has to have a little fun now and then, don't they?
"Well, don't they?" Julie asked, fluttering her eyelashes and gazing limpidly into Oliver's eyes. He swallowed awkwardly and tugged at his collar. She collapsed into peals of laughter, then leaned forward and fired some rapid Cantonese at the taxi driver. Oliver's breathing slowly returned to normal.
"Now," he began. "Are you going to explain the meaning of that little pantomime in the restaurant? I'd wager you need no more than about five hours sleep per night. After all, you have to be something of an insomniac in your profession." She gave a little secret smile.
"Jean-Paul wanted to take me to a Club he likes somewhere in Little India." She made a face. "I didn't want to tell him I know it and wouldn't be seen dead in that dive. And I particularly didn't want to tell him I wouldn't be seen dead anywhere with him." Oliver slowly let out a breath and scratched his head.
"I must say, I'm rather surprised." He admitted.
"Oh?" she raised her eyebrows. "That I wanted you to take me home, or that I didn't want to go out with Jean-Paul?"
"Both really." Oliver finished uncomfortably. Did this taxi have air conditioning? "I mean, if you listen to the other two chasers, Miriam and Wang-Mu, Jean-Paul is so hot they need extra fire extinguishers. Not that I'm implying you have the same taste in men as my team members – nor should you, you're very different from them. Totally different, in fact, it's just that … Ah, heck, I hate it when this happens." Julie was giggling helplessly. Oliver gazed at her in despair. She shook her head, composing her face into some form of normality.
"Oliver," she began gravely, although her eyes still twinkled, "Despite your obvious lack of faith in me, I know what my type is – and it's certainly not blonde, beautiful and brainless. Okay?" Oliver opened and shut his mouth soundlessly. The taxi came to a smooth halt. Julie smiled.
"We're here." She said and climbed nimbly out of the car, handing some currency to the cab driver. She made a beeline for her apartment building, glancing back at him over her shoulder.
"Come on." She grinned and started through the door. Oliver stood gaping for a split second, then leaped after her for fear she would disappear for good.
This really has to be a dream. I'm going to wake up soon, I can tell. Oliver was in a state of mild euphoria and total disbelief as he followed the girl into the elevator.
"Julie," he began awkwardly. "Are you sure about this? I mean, do you think it's a good idea for me to come up? At this time of night?"
"Don't you want some coffee – to take the edge of the alcohol?" she asked him sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes again.
"Yes, but – it's 2.00am!" he protested. "It's scarcely proper for me to be calling on you at this hour!" She stared at him in disbelief and burst out laughing.
"Proper!" she exclaimed, "Proper! Great Merlin, where have you been all your life? A monastery? You've lived in Singapore for long enough to know that we generally don't stand on ceremony." And with that, she took his hand and dragged him firmly out of the elevator and into her apartment through the front door.
Julie was still chuckling as she propelled him towards the kitchen with instructions to make coffee while she checked her Messageglobe. Absently aiming his wand at the various implements, Oliver was beginning to lose his bottle. This young woman had led a life full of variety, sophistication and nonconformity, the complete antithesis of his own sheltered, protected and very conventional upbringing. What in Merlin's name did she think she wanted from him? And how was he going to justify giving it to her, whatever it was? With a slight frown creasing his forehead, Oliver carried the two cups of coffee into the living room to find Julie, her tongue between her teeth, scratching a quill over a small piece of parchment at great speed. She aimed her wand at the Messageglobe, erasing all messages and resetting the device, then she handed the parchment to Oliver.
"I've had a communication from Arthur Weasley." She told him tersely. "It may be coincidence, but I've long since ceased to believe in such a thing. Please send your owl as soon as you can and make an appointment to firetalk Potter early tomorrow morning." Oliver read through the parchment quickly and gasped in horror. He looked back at Julie who shrugged impassively.
"It was bound to happen sooner or later." She told him. "The problem with Azkaban isn't just going to go away overnight. Now this has happened, perhaps the English Ministry of Magic will get up off its backside and do something about it."
"But how?" Oliver countered. Julie shrugged again.
"That's what they're paid for." She responded, taking her coffee and sipping carefully. "Now, I don't want to talk shop. I'm officially off-duty now. Let's have some music." Oliver frowned over the parchment as Julie raised her wand.
"You know," he said, casually. "I've got temporary custody of Sirius Black's owl at present – he sent me a report on the security situation at their hotel. Perhaps I should use her to take the message." Julie considered then nodded reluctantly.
"It's possible you'll be unable to contact Potter for some time if, as I suspect, they're out and about the island." She said consideringly. "I think it's worth the risk of interception to get this information to him quickly. Okay, go ahead and send it to Black. I'm willing to bet that his owl isn't yet known around these parts." Oliver nodded, pocketing the parchment.
There was a brief silence as Julie crossed over to the sofa, sat down, kicking off her shoes and stretched languorously. She took a sip of coffee and closed her eyes as the warmth and the fragrance permeated her senses. Oliver became aware of the music she had chosen: a strange mixture of ancient and modern – male voices in a very resonant building punctuated by the sensual rasp of a tenor saxophone improvising above ancient homophony.
Before he realised, he had sunk down beside her into the soft leather and was easing the shoes from his weary feet. Her head drooped gently onto his shoulder, the brush of her hair sending a frisson of electricity through his skin. Greatly daring, he shifted his right arm, wrapping it round her shoulders and settling her head against his chest. Somehow he was unsurprised when she lifted her head to look up at him, her lips parting, inches away from his, and he was just as unruffled by his own behaviour when he lowered his mouth to kiss her. As their lips touched, Julie shifted position until she was sitting in his lap straddling him, her slight weight causing him no discomfort – at first. Breaking the kiss, she drew her mouth lightly down his throat, prompting a soft groan of pleasure as she found the delicate juncture of neck and shoulder. His hands traced the curves of her shoulderblades, the knobs of her spine, caressing gently, memorising by touch alone. Closing her heavy-lidded eyes, Julie moved back to kiss him again, slowly, opening her lips, tongue demanding entry. Oliver surrendered. All the higher functions of his brain seemed to have totally shut down leaving him operating on a purely sensual level, which is why he could only stare dumbly when Julie finally moved away, smiled and spoke to him.
"Wha – what did you say?" he managed hazily. She laughed, her arms and legs still wrapped around him.
"I said, by the feel of things, we really should take this into the bedroom." She tried a gentle experimental shimmy that left Oliver hissing, and her smiling in a smug, self-satisfied fashion. She slid gracefully off his lap and held out a hand, angling her head towards the bedroom door. Oliver had just reached out to grasp her fingers when that part of his brain which had suffered an almost terminal lack of oxygen, due to the relocation of the majority of his blood supply somewhere else entirely, suddenly made itself heard once more. He paused.
"Uh, Julie," he began hesitantly, "Where are we going?" She gave him a look that was half-affectionate, half exasperated.
"We are going," she told him with careful enunciation, "To my bedroom. To get naked and horizontal, in my bed." She added when he failed to respond.
"Why?" he asked. She stared at him as though he had spoken fluent Urdu. He shook his head impatiently.
"I mean," he continued hurriedly. "Don't you think we should wait until we know each other better before taking such a big step?" Julie continued to stare, then she let out a long breath and sat down again next to him.
"You really are living in another century, d'you know that?" She was shaking her head wonderingly. "All I'm suggesting is that we have a little good, clean fun together, okay? This isn't a proposal of marriage, for Merlin's sake!"
"No, it's actually a proposition." Oliver rejoindered, having more or less recovered the use of his logic centres. "Forgive me, Julie. You are beautiful, intelligent, sexy and interesting, and I find you incredibly attractive – you must have noticed that! But I can't and won't treat sex with you like I would a – a simple game of Quidditch! It isn't just something you do because you need to scratch an itch, it's worth more than that." Julie frowned, her generous mouth curving in a pout.
"Now let me get this right." She began slowly. "You're saying that before you'll agree to get into my bed, I've got to give you some kind of – commitment?" Oliver thought about that and nodded. Julie continued to stare then a high-pitched giggle escaped her. Oliver frowned in annoyance. Backing away, she held her hands up, palms towards him in mute apology, struggling to control her laughter. When she could finally speak again, it was to a very stony-faced Oliver who stared at her in silence.
"Okay, okay." She said. "I guess in England, that's the way things are. But face it, Oliver – how much commitment do you think you can ask from a girl in my line of work? I'm often operating undercover, sometimes posing as a subject's girlfriend or employee, putting my ass on the line (not to mention some other things!) for the sake of a mission – and before you ask, yes I have been known to use both sex and violence for the sake of law and order. Never killed anyone – yet. But it could happen any time." She took his unresponsive hand in hers and laced their fingers together.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's not simply girl-meets-boy, wedding-bells, house-two-cars, two-point-four-children and all the rest of the picture in my world. What happiness I think I can get, I have to grab with both hands."
"That may be so," replied Oliver with dignity. "But there's such a thing as timing. I don't know what kind of guys you're used to dating, but they sure as hell can't be anything like me – and if it's all the same to you, I'd really like you to respect me in the morning!" His tone was sarcastic, but it obviously jolted her. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.
"I just don't like being thought of as a – a piece of ass!" he said finally in gentle exasperation. She eyed him, the corners of her mouth twitching, and his angry expression relaxed slightly at the absurdity of the situation.
"Somehow I can't see you as just a piece of ass, Oliver." She allowed herself an amused smile. He flushed and looked away.
"Okay, okay," he muttered, "Bad metaphor, I know." Julie shook her head somewhere between impatience and laughter.
"I guess this must be a total reversal of roles for you, huh?" She said. He nodded.
"Something like that."
"I've just – never met anyone like you before." She picked up her neglected coffee and stared into the cup.
"Are you serious about the no-sex thing?" He nodded firmly. She sighed.
"So what now?" Oliver sat up, moving to sit on the edge of the sofa.
"We date." He told her. "We go places together; we learn what we have in common; we go to concerts, theatres, restaurants; we drive around together and discover new things about this beautiful, vibrant country of ours; we rediscover old things that we enjoy doing, and we find out whether they are better done together." He flushed slightly at the double entendre, but Julie either didn't notice or was too preoccupied to comment. She pursed her lips, frowning deeply, then regretfully shook her head.
"I'm sorry, Oliver, I just can't do that." She said finally, with a sigh. "Frankly, I like you a lot more than I thought I would when we first met. And you're pretty hot stuff, you know, when you relax and let your hair down a little." Oliver felt his cheeks flame.
"But," she continued. "Despite all that, and maybe because of it, I just can't suddenly become something I'm not." She sighed with the difficulty of putting the words together.
"It wouldn't be fair to you." She said finally, looking down at the floor. There was a silence. Oliver uncrossed his legs, put his empty coffee cup on the table and stood up.
"Then I'd best be on my way, hadn't I?" he said quietly. She looked up at him with a strangely sad expression.
"If you change your mind …" Oliver shook his head slowly and looked away.
"I can't suddenly become something I'm not either." He said gently, but his heart was heavy as he closed the front door behind him.
~oo0oo~
Harry walked slowly along the dimly lit pathways towards the apartment block. Shortly after completing his story, the several brandies Sirius had sunk, on top of the wine with dinner, had started to take their toll. Harry had searched his pockets, found his room key and half-carried him there, pouring him into bed in a snoring, boneless heap. At any other time, he would have found it amusing, but tonight he had far too much to think about.
Harry was stone-cold sober, much to his regret. He longed to be able to blot out the unwelcome knowledge Sirius had imparted, drive it into an alcohol-fashioned oblivion, but deep inside he knew that this was not the solution. There has to be some kind of explanation! Harry's brain screamed. He just couldn't accept that his friend and protector, his mentor and teacher, the man who had given his life for him, had in truth been as duplicitous and cowardly as – as Peter Pettigrew.
Slowly, silently opening the door of the suite, he was immediately assailed by the sweet smell of Frangipan flowers. The staff who turned down the beds each night routinely left a small offering of chocolate on each of the pillows, accompanied by one single Frangipan blossom. Ginny had discovered that, even if they were put in water, they always wilted by morning, but the fragrance while they were fresh was almost overpowering.
Harry stood by their bed gazing down at Ginny, her face serene and relaxed in sleep. He was so full of emotion that he thought his heart would burst. He wanted nothing more than to slide into bed next to her and bury himself in her sweet, soft flesh. As if divining his thoughts, she stirred, opened her eyes and smiled.
"Hello." She said, her voice husky with sleep. "You must have had a lot to talk about, you and Sirius." Harry sighed.
"You could say that." he responded wearily. She reached out to pat his arm.
"Do you want to tell me about it?" He stroked her hair lightly, shaking his head. On impulse, he picked up the flower from his own pillow and tucked it behind her ear. The sweet fragrance was intoxicating. Harry inhaled deeply and felt a sharp jolt of desire. He leaned in to kiss her gently, thoroughly, a slow, leisurely slide of his mouth as their tongues entwined, unhurried, tender.
Oh, he loved it when their coming together was like this. When it was as if they were trapped in slow-motion, their bodies sliding unhurriedly together with no quick or urgent movement. When the fires were stoked gradually, little by little until they were poised together on the precipice, teetering on the edge, holding and holding until the final, inevitable plunge.
But Harry had barely discarded his jacket when he felt a strange tingling along the back of his neck that had nothing to do with Ginny's ministrations. Trailing his lips along her shoulder up to her ear, he breathed almost soundlessly.
"We're not alone." He felt her stiffen momentarily, then reach smoothly for her wand, her sleepy languor abruptly dissipating. At the back of his mind, Harry sighed in disappointment. But he had other concerns right now. Swiftly, he burrowed in his left sleeve for his wand, then stood quickly, his back to the door. Ginny quickly shrugged on a dressing gown.
"Lumos!" she muttered, throwing the room into light. The point of her wand weaved around as she scanned the room for anything untoward.
"It's a beautiful night. I congratulate you on choosing such a paradise for your quest. I only wish we had more time to enjoy it." They both swung instantly towards the balcony, noticing for the first time that the door was slightly ajar. Harry frowned, altering his stance to defensive mode.
"Come into the room where I can see you." He ordered. A dry chuckle was heard.
"Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin, as the third little pig said to the wolf." The voice riposted. "Look, instead of arguing the toss, why don't I simply tell you that I and my twin brother gave you the Marauders Map so you could get to Hogsmeade when you were in your third year at Hogwarts. And if you really push me, I'll tell you we swiped it from Filch's "Confiscated" drawer the previous year." Ginny gasped. Harry sheathed his wand with a relieved smile.
"Fred!" he exclaimed, flinging the balcony door open. His expression changed immediately, however, on seeing the predicament of his friend and former colleague.
It was indeed Fred Weasley. From the expression of suave self-confidence on his face, one could almost have believed he was merely admiring the view, but that would have been before taking stock of the three figures he was holding at wandpoint. Harry immediately re-drew his wand to give Fred any assistance he might need, but the other man shook his head.
"Those two are muggles, cannon-fodder." He said contemptuously, gesturing to two prone figures, their tense immobility suggesting full bodybind.
"This one, however, is a different matter." He nodded towards a third figure, wide awake and glaring. Harry noticed that despite his apparent insouciance, Fred did not relax his vigilance one iota.
"He's a lackey of Lucius Malfoy." He explained calmly. "He's on file at the Ministry and, unfortunately for him, I've come across him before. He's the wizard equivalent of a mindless thug. He can inflict excruciating personal injury on any number of poor unfortunates – and has done so many times in the past – but he couldn't find his way past a locked door. Could you, Eddie, my lad?" The thug scowled menacingly, but Harry noticed his hands were held fast by a magical binding.
"His name, should you be interested – which I doubt – is Eddie Boreas." continued Fred. "He's a nasty piece of work, no one should miss him much, probably not even his employer. He swears blind that he knows nothing, and even if he did he wouldn't tell me – which, as we know, is just so much hooey. I doubt there'll be enough left to bury once we're through with you, my lad." Fred grinned amiably at the thug. At that point, the balcony door opened to admit a very impatient Ginny.
"Fred!" she exclaimed. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here? You're not part of our backup team, surely!" Fred gazed at his sister expressionlessly.
"Ginny, " he said quietly. "I suggest you go back into the bedroom for a little while. I daresay we shan't be long." The red haired girl stared around the balcony, taking in the tableau before her, then turned on her heel and left, pulling the balcony door to behind her. She heard Fred erect a Wall of Silence, then Harry turned the lock and she heard no more.
It took about fifteen minutes for the two wizards to get the information they needed. Harry sat down heavily on the bed and with a relieved sigh. Fred took out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. Ginny looked from one to the other with huge eyes.
"Where are – " she began uncertainly. "I mean, what did you do with them?" Fred pocketed his handkerchief.
"I sent the wizard to Malfoy Manor," he said indifferently. "Express post." Ginny winced involuntarily.
"The muggles are at present struggling to extricate themselves from the baggage carousel at Denpasar Arrivals." Fred straightened the collar of his shirt, his face carefully expressionless. Harry shrugged lightly: Fred had never been exactly conscientious about breaking the rules where muggles were concerned, but this was positively foolhardy. There was something fey about Fred, something reckless, as though he had come to a point of no return.
"We were right." He said casually. "Lucius Malfoy sent them. Eddie, charming fellow that he is, was to put either or both of you out of action – permanently. Looks like Lucius has a real bee in his bonnet about you two, huh?"
"What are you doing here?" Ginny spoke into the silence. Fred smiled, suddenly becoming smooth and urbane once more.
"I was wandering along the pathway by your apartment block, minding my own business, when what should I see but three shadows climbing up the walls. I stopped for a closer look and realised that they were attempting, with some success I might add, to enter this apartment. Now, one or two burglars at one time is standard practice: three is overkill. I was intrigued enough to join them. Strangely, they objected to my presence and tried to throw me back from whence I came. I managed to persuade them that a different course of action would be more conducive to their continued well-being. It was at this point I realised Harry had returned. I made my presence known in order to preserve you from embarrassment, and here we are." Ginny set her lips in a firm line.
"Fred, are you in Bali officially, or is this some little jaunt of your own?" Fred raised an eyebrow.
"Such lack of faith, and in my own sister too." He smiled ironically. "Suffice it to say, I considered your backup to be rather lacking in the element of surprise, particularly since your muggle martial arts instructor has now blown his cover. I have to admit, though, it was a stroke of sheer genius to recruit him." Ginny nodded.
"So you're playing maverick again." She replied evenly. "Okay, so what were you doing outside this apartment block?" Fred shrugged lightly.
"Well, if you insist on the truth," he gave her a chagrined look. "Earlier in the day, I caught someone tailing Sirius. He didn't stay for long – frankly, I think he already knew where Sirius was staying, don't ask me how. Sirius didn't spot him – I don't think I would have done in his place. However, that got me very suspicious indeed, so I hung about the place while you all had dinner, in animal form of course, then when Ginny took off back to the apartment on her own, I followed her and staked the place out. Sure enough, a couple of hours later, bingo!"
"Fred, I'm grateful – really I am." Harry spoke for the first time. "Particularly as Ginny was on her own and vulnerable. That was down to my carelessness. But what made you come here? Does anyone know where you are?" Fred's eyes wavered and for the first time he looked uncomfortable.
"Okay," he replied. "I'll 'fess up. I'm playing a lone hand. It's been proved to me time and time again that my nose is reliable when it comes to evildoers, and no overweight paperpusher is going to ground me simply because he doesn't like the cut of my robes!" Harry burst into unexpected laughter.
"I take it you mean Tantalus Brown?" Fred nodded, steel in his eyes.
"Too right, Harry." he replied disgustedly. He sat down suddenly on the bed and laced his fingers.
"I can't explain why I decided to play hookey on this one," he told them. "Let's just say I caught a whiff of something unpleasant back at the Ministry. Taking that with an unusually urgent feeling that I should be here, I decided to go with the flow. Don't worry – you haven't got so much backup that we're going to be tripping over each other. Mouse's surveillance is first-rate – really discreet. I'll simply cover the areas he can't reach." He rose to his feet.
"I'll be on my way now and leave you two to resume, ah, from where you left off!" He gave them a wicked smile and made for the balcony.
"Fred." He stopped at Ginny's call and turned back. She floated over to him and enveloped him in a hard hug.
"Thanks." She whispered. He patted her shoulder.
"My pleasure." He responded quietly. Releasing her, he moved over to the balcony. Abruptly his body became translucent, flickered and seemed to collapse in on itself. A small brown creature turned to regard them briefly with piercingly bright eyes then it turned and flowed out of the apartment, over the balcony until it was lost in the trees.
~oo0oo~
Back in England, at Hogwarts, a House Elf unexpectedly woke up in the small hours of the morning. He lay listening to the familiar sounds of the old castle, wondering what it was that had woken him, and carefully floated a few tendrils of awareness out into his immediate surroundings to test for danger. Nothing. He frowned in puzzlement then found, to his surprise, that he had left his bed and pulled on a pair of coloured socks, all without his conscious volition. His frown deepened as he extended his awareness into his own body. Ah! He was under a Compulsion. Well, that wasn't exactly a problem. It would be uncomfortable, but all House Elves were powerful enough to resist most magic of this kind. He tested the spell – it was only of medium strength, nothing more than an annoyance really. His frown returned: who would do such a thing, and why? He began to study the crafting of the spell and his eyes widened. Curiosity began to get the better of him. Passively, he allowed the Compulsion to take control of his movements, and found himself being drawn inexorably out of the castle and into the grounds, down past the environs of the Forbidden Forest to the furthest perimeter of the Hogwarts Estate. There he waited submissively in a small copse for whatever had summoned him.
There is very little that can threaten a House Elf. They are beings of immense power, but very little imagination, and it is precisely that which draws them into a life of servitude. Dobby, for it was indeed he, was the single example of a rebel among his kind, the only exception. So when a dark figure approached the copse, Dobby felt no fear, he was merely curious as to why this person should wish to meet him.
"Don't come any closer," He said as a snapping twig betrayed the other's presence. "And don't be thinking you can get the better of Dobby." The figure froze.
"I wouldn't dream of it." It said in a low voice. "I mean you no harm. I merely come for information." Dobby thought about that.
"Dobby recognised the signature behind the casting." He said thoughtfully. "He is thinking that you could have disguised it." The dark figure nodded.
"Indeed I could," He replied. "But I thought it might make you more curious if I did not. More likely to come out here to meet me. I know enough about House Elves to realise that a Compulsion, however strong, would only work if you allowed it to." Dobby nodded.
"What is you wanting with Dobby?" he asked. The figure paused.
"I need the answers to some questions." It began. "Questions concerning the time you spent as Lucius Malfoy's servant, when you lived at Malfoy Manor." Dobby was puzzled: this was ancient history, to be mostly forgotten. He didn't like remembering anything about that period of his life, he had been foolish to take up with Lucius in the first place.
"Dobby doesn't want to remember." He returned flatly. The figure looked up. Although he couldn't see them, Dobby had the impression of very bright, intense eyes skewering him with a powerful gaze.
"Please." The dark figure choked the word out, as though it was foreign. "I know you've helped me once already. For the sake of the one who sent you, help me again now. Tell me about Aurora Malfoy." Dobby froze then sat down heavily on the grass. He had forgotten about the baby daughter.
"Dobby doesn't know much," he began in a low voice after a long pause, "But what he does know, he will try to tell you." The figure nodded.
"Thank you." It replied with dignity. There was a pause, then the House Elf looked up.
"Dobby was in the house when the baby was born." He said proudly. "Dobby remembers all the servants singing and smiling. Even the Master, Lucius, he was happy."
"What about her mother?"
"Oh, the mother was happier than Dobby had ever seen her." The Elf smiled himself in remembrance. "Dobby thought the little girl was the most beautiful baby in the world."
"Can you tell me what happened to her?" Dobby shook his head.
"All Dobby knows is that a few days before she died, the Master was very angry about something – and the Mistress was very frightened. Dobby overheard the baby's Nurse talking to one of the maids. She seemed to think something terrible was going to happen." The Elf hung his head. "Dobby doesn't know any more." The dark figure seemed to consider.
"The Nurse. Was that Nanny Knox? The same one as nursed Draco when he was small?" Dobby nodded.
"Dobby thinks so."
"Do you know where I could find her?" Dobby thought hard.
"Dobby is not sure, but he thinks she grew too old to stay at Malfoy Manor. Dobby thinks she went to live at a place where nannies go when they get too old."
"A nursing home?"
"Yes, that's where she went!"
"Do you know the name of it? Think carefully, Dobby. There are a lot of nursing homes near Malfoy Manor." Dobby was silent for a while, then he raised his head.
"Dobby thinks the name was 'Lady Catherine'. He can't remember anything else."
"Lady Catherine …" The Dark Figure seemed to think about that, then he turned back to the small figure in front of him.
"Dobby, my thanks for your assistance, both now and in the past." It said gruffly, then it reached forward a hand holding a light, rustling package.
"Must as I resent taking leaves out of Potter's book," The dark figure continued. "I expect this will suit." It thrust the package at Dobby, whirled around and disappeared into the shadows. Dobby glanced about him to make sure his visitor had genuinely departed, then went quickly back to the castle. In the privacy of one of the larders, he opened the paper package to reveal a large selection of multicoloured socks, all with the designer tag "Kangol Wizardwear". A tear dripped down the House Elf's cheek, which he hastily swiped away.
"Dobby hopes you find what you is looking for, Master," he whispered into the night. "He really does."
~oo0oo~
"Flamel's Stone!" exclaimed Harry poring over a piece of parchment. Sirius groaned, holding his head.
"Could you lower the volume just a tad?" he pleaded, wincing at the arrows of pain shooting between his temples. Harry stared at him without sympathy.
"Why on earth did you drink so much?" he demanded irritably, still scanning the message. "I virtually had drag you into your room. I should have let you sleep on the floor." Sirius raised a glass of orange juice to his parched mouth with a visibly shaking hand. Ginny joined them at the breakfast table looking remarkably fetching in a sleeveless leaf-green linen dress. She stopped to pet a grey owl perched patiently on small branch.
"Hi Daedalus." She addressed him, smiling. "Did you bring us a message?"
"He certainly did." responded Harry, jerking a thumb contemptuously at Sirius. "But bird-brain here is so hung-over that he can't read it!" The owl rustled its feathers irritably. Harry looked up.
"Oh, no offence meant, Daedalus." Sirius put down his glass with a pitiful moan and gazed forlornly at Ginny.
"Oh for goodness sake!" Her mouth twitched somewhere between amusement and irritation. "Hasn't either of you thought to do something about it?" Harry looked up, puzzled as Ginny groped in her handbag for her wand, sitting down to conceal her actions from the other breakfasters. She muttered a few words and aimed carefully at Sirius. A discreet tendril of white smoke drifted around his head, gradually forming into a ring. Slowly, it sank down over his face, past his shoulders and on down towards his feet, where it dissipated without trace into the floor. Sirius gave a heartfelt sigh of relief.
"My everlasting thanks, Ginny." He said in genuine gratitude. "I've only ever met one other person who could master that charm. I'm impressed." She gave him an old-fashioned look.
"Just don't get drunk on duty again, that's all." She told him. "I might not be so complacent next time." Sirius gave her a mock salute and pulled an imaginary forelock.
"Idiot!" she playfully punched his arm and accepted the glass of fruit juice he offered her.
"Sirius," Harry said, his expression grim. "I think you'd better read this." He passed the parchment to his Godfather and watched his face change as he absorbed its contents. He looked back at Harry and shrugged.
"I can believe all of it," He said bleakly. "And I'm not surprised." Ginny was by now scanning the message. She looked up with a puzzled expression.
"I don't fully understand – what's the significance of this?" Sirius sighed and retrieved the parchment.
"This, my dear, is a message from your father via Julie Wu via Oliver, that's why it's a little confusing. It mostly concerns a breakout from Azkaban." Ginny gasped.
"I thought that couldn't be done! You were the only one who succeeded."
"Ah, but they were using Dementors when I was there, don't forget. After the war with You-Know-Who, Dementors were outlawed as Dangerous Beasts." Sirius sighed. "You may as well know, Ginny, that the escapee was my old enemy and sometime friend Katia Valentin."
"Oh Merlin!" Ginny's hand was over her mouth. "Sirius, Harry's told me all about her – how powerful she is, how ruthless. Do you think she'll go back to Mexico?" Sirius shook his head slowly.
"She must have escaped for a purpose." He replied thoughtfully. "She didn't do it lightly, and it wasn't easy. Firstly, she engineered the symptoms of a grumbling appendix which was detected at a routine medical, and then caused it to become acute a couple of days later. The prison authorities had to use a muggle hospital to save her life. She escaped immediately post-op, with fresh sutured wounds. Security can't have been as tight as usual, I guess because she should have been unconscious for a good deal longer. The Auror investigating reckoned that she was awake throughout the op – neutralised the anaesthetic so she could give them the slip immediately after."
"An incredibly brave thing to do, considering they were cutting her open with no pain relief." added Harry. Ginny drew a hissing breath.
"But surely she'll need medical attention?" she turned to Sirius. "After an operation of that severity, surely she can't expect just to heal naturally!"
"No," agreed Sirius. "Under normal circumstances, she'd have intravenous muggle antibiotics and careful observation to ensure she didn't develop any complications. Now she has to find either a muggle set-up or a wizard healer within her current Apparating distance of the hospital, which can't be great at present."
"Do you think she had assistance?" This was Harry. Sirius shook his head.
"To escape? No. This was a really desperate gamble, and it paid off." He told them. "If she'd had any kind of assistance, I'd be willing to bet she wouldn't have weakened herself so badly. Katia despises all kinds of weakness, mental as well as physical." His voice was bitter. "Of course, it's likely she knew where to go for help after she'd got away." Ginny broke the short silence.
"Was there anything else in the message?"
"Anything else?" Sirius automatically smoothed the crumpled parchment. "Oh, yes. Julie states the accepted name of your contact here is Pan Syrinx." Harry's eyes locked with Ginny's.
"Syrinx?" He said, puzzled. "Pan Syrinx? My owl, this thing gets weirder and weirder. Why didn't he tell us?" Ginny was shaking her head.
"He didn't tell us anything, Harry." Her expression was puzzled. "Nothing at all. Except to find out his name. What sort of name is that anyhow? It's scarcely a name as we know it." She stood up quickly, draining the last of her juice.
"I need to firetalk Hermione urgently." She told the two men. "I'll meet you for coffee in about an hour." Grabbing her handbag, she took off at a fast pace in the direction of their apartment before either of her companions could comment.
~oo0oo~
Sirius and Harry were still discussing the implications of Katia's escape from Azkaban when Ginny came bursting in on them in a state of high excitement.
"Hermione and I have been doing a little research into Balinese naming." She explained breathlessly. "We've discovered something really curious. No one here has a real 'name' as we understand names to be. For us, our name is something permanent, concrete, unchanging. It is a kind of sign, a place marker, something that identifies us, holds us solid, keeps us prisoner, if you like. The Balinese are named according to their relationships with each other, and they are addressed differently depending on who is speaking to them."
"Well, that's the same in our society, surely." protested Sirius. "After all, none of you Weasley kids have never called your dad "Arthur" – and if you'd ever dared to call your mother "Molly", I'm not sure you'd have survived the experience!" Ginny was nodding impatiently.
"Yes, Sirius, I was coming to that." she continued. "The difference here is that as children are born and families expand, everybody's names undergo a kind of metamorphosis. For example, there are four general names for children – Wayan, Made, Nyoman and Ketut. These are given to the first, second, third and fourth children respectively."
"What happens to the fifth?" queried Harry, not entirely without humour. Ginny gave him a hard look.
"The fifth is called Wayan. Yes, and the sixth Made – can we please be serious? Okay, apart from those general names, they are also given personal names, for example, Bima (male) or Arjuna (female). Now here is where it starts getting interesting. The parents then become known as "father of Bima" or "mother of Arjuna", depending on the context."
"So once they've had children, people give up their personal names? That sounds a bit extreme." Harry was puzzled. Ginny was shaking her head.
"No, no, no!" she told him. "When they are being addressed with regard to their own parents, their personal names are used. It's rather like changing hats according to the roles you play in life. You know, whether you're Harry Potter the expert in ancient magical artefacts, Harry Potter the world-famous vanquisher of You-Know-Who, or Harry Potter the – oh, I don't know – the partner of Ginny Weasley. Only the Balinese actually have a system of naming which is flexible enough to cope with all of these roles."
"Hmmm!" Harry tapped his bottom lip with his index finger, deep in thought. Ginny continued.
"The prefixes they use are Men, Kak and Pan. Men means "mother of", Kak means "grandfather of" and Pan means "father of" – but an alternative word – " She paused for emphasis. "Is Guru." The two men looked at her quizzically.
"So you can see where this is leading." Sirius stared uncomprehendingly. He glanced at Harry only to receive a shrug.
"How about you tell us anyway." He replied after a pause. Ginny looked from one to the other and gave a sigh of exasperation.
"You never pay attention, do you?" she said crossly. "Well, for that you can wait!" And no amount of teasing or cajoling would make her say another word until they had departed for their second rendez-vous with the elusive Guru.
~oo0oo~
Their meeting place was another temple, but this one was a good deal more modern than Besakih and, to their immense surprise, a religious ceremony was about to begin. Carefully, respectfully, they took their seats as unobtrusively near the back of the building as they could manage and waited.
Harry quickly became aware that the ceremony consisted largely of a sacred dance performed by local artists to the musical accompaniment of a much larger Gamelan orchestra than they had yet experienced. The dance was called the Barong and Kris, a well-loved and famous ritual concerning the endless struggle between good and evil, performed very frequently throughout the island. The dancers were colourfully dressed in red, black and white, together with decorations in gold and silver. The Barong and the Rangda, the two mythical protagonists, were represented by masks of incredible beauty and complexity, which seemed in no way to interfere with the agility and skill of the dancers beneath them.
The effect was almost hypnotic from the very beginning and Harry watched with great interest, discreetly leafing through his muggle tourist guide to find out more. From it, he learned that theatre and dance are an integral part of Balinese culture, and inextricably linked with the Balinese religion. 'The commercial dance performances for tourists,' the guide continued, 'do not, of course, have the same kind of religious significance as a dance performed at a genuine temple festival. For example, if performed in the context of a religious ceremony, the Barong Dance is ritual theatre with a genuine exorcistic background.' Slowly, Harry looked around him. So this was a genuine religious ceremony, huh? What were they doing here? He glanced to his left and saw that Ginny was gripping the seat of her chair so hard her knuckles were white. He raised a hand to reassure her, but was suddenly drawn back into the music and the movement, overwhelmed by the ebb and flow of the magical undercurrents. What is happening to me? His conscious mind asked. He remembered nothing more.
Harry was unaware that the ceremony had finished until the people around him started to move out of the temple. He blinked owlishly through his spectacles, looked around and turned to Sirius who was rubbing his eyes in a bemused fashion.
"What the hell happened here?" he demanded, staring fiercely at Harry. The younger man shrugged and turned to Ginny, laying a gentle hand on her arm. She gave him a quick tight smile, but he could feel through the thin fabric of her jacket that she was trembling.
Then a genial face was greeting them and ushering them from their seats, out of the overcharged atmosphere of the temple and into a rambling garden, which was, to all intents and purposes, part of the temple complex. Ginny sat down on a stone bench, shaking with reaction. Harry and Sirius stood trying to rationalise something of what they had just experienced. Guru simply smiled his serene smile and waited while they gathered themselves together.
"Whoa!" Sirius drew a hand through his hair. "I feel like I was hit by a Reductor curse. What was that?"
"I apologise if you are – somewhat shaken by your experience." Guru began politely.
"You're not sorry." A voice trembling with suppressed anger interrupted him. Ginny rose from the bench and approached the priest, her angry eyes flashing.
"You're not sorry at all. You did this purposely to us." She drew a shaking breath. "Do you realise what you could have done to us? How much damage you could have caused? To subject us to this without warning was not only unfair, it could have been fatal!"
"Ginny!" exclaimed Harry in great surprise, laying a calming hand on her arm. "What in Merlin's name are you talking about?" Impatiently, she shook him off and advanced on the old priest.
"Well?" she demanded implacably. Amazingly, Guru dropped his gaze.
"You are right, of course." He responded quietly. "But tell me – how did you know what was happening to you?" Ginny smiled ironically.
"I had a long firetalk with a friend earlier today," she began, including Harry and Sirius in her explanations. "It was the latest of a number of discussions concerning Balinese customs. Hermione, who is the best person I know at research, dug up a lot of background data before we came here. I was basically picking her brains. As a side issue, she told me about the Barong and Kris dance, and its ability to drive out evil from an assembled company if performed in a religious context."
"Hey!" exclaimed Harry suddenly. "I was reading about that in my guidebook just as the dance started!" Guru nodded gravely. Ginny turned back to him.
"You didn't believe us." She said flatly. "You doubted the validity of our claims. You knew the potent effect such a ceremony has on magical beings, yet you led us into it knowing that the slightest speck of bad faith would short-circuit our brains. How could you risk doing that? And for what?" Guru swallowed then raised his eyes to hers.
"I am guilty of everything you say," he told her humbly. "And I have nothing to say in my own defence, except that by trusting you, I risk something so important that my own life is worthless by comparison. You have to understand that I couldn't afford to take any chances?" Ginny stared back at him with dislike, then gradually her harsh expression softened into something more thoughtful.
"Perhaps." She replied, nodding slowly. Harry frowned.
"Would someone mind filling me in on this – please?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'll second that." Sirius was looking equally puzzled. Ginny gave a small smile and turned back to the priest.
"I found out your name." She told him in conversational tones. He bowed but said nothing.
"Pan Syrinx," She stated calmly. "Although Guru Syrinx would mean the same thing. Tell me – is Syrinx your son, or your daughter?"
Harry was impressed. Ginny's prowess as a sorceress had always been a source of admiration for him, and latterly he was beginning to trust in her abilities to protect herself against physical dangers, but he had never appreciated her deductive reasoning powers until now. Not even Hermione could have worked through that conundrum with such single-minded determination, and produced a result that not only made sense, it was the only possible answer.
Guru's final defences had been breached. He gave them a smile, gentle and unforced, and took Ginny's small hands in his.
"You are correct in every detail. Syrinx is no magical artefact, but my dearly beloved daughter." He told her.
He himself was a native Balinese, he continued, but his wife, the mother of Syrinx, was European – educated at Hogwarts, no less. She came to Bali for a holiday and never returned home. She was much younger than her husband, but they loved each other dearly until, tragically, she died giving birth to Syrinx. Her powers had been considerable and Guru believed that her daughter had inherited them.
"I can put this off no longer." He said, a touch of iron entering into his voice. "I will take you to meet my daughter in the morning." He looked up at Harry with bright, bright eyes.
"I know why you have come in search of my daughter, and I know how she can help you," he said, "But you bring pursuit and danger with you. We have only a little time before the powers of Darkness come to this island, and when they come they will wreak havoc in their wake. I tremble for my people." He sagged wearily then looked back at Harry.
"I will meet you at your hotel early." He told them. "Be prepared to take a little trip. And you, the one who has the mark of the hound upon him." Sirius raised his head in surprise to meet the eyes of the old priest.
"Be sure to come with us." He told him. "I sense danger approaching for you too." The priest whirled around quickly and was gone.
~oo0oo~
Oliver opened sleep-encrusted eyes to behold the serene, beautiful face of Julie Wu smiling down at him.
"Sheesh!" he sat up abruptly in shock, then relaxed as he realised that she was standing fully-clothed by his bedside. He groaned and glanced at the clock – three-thirty.
"Don't you ever knock?" he complained, throwing himself back into the pillows, covering his eyes with his forearm. Her smile grew wider.
"Surely you're not worried about my presence in your bedroom, Oliver?" she teased. "You can't think that I could possibly threaten your virtue!" Oliver grunted, still trying to shake off sleep.
"Julie," he began patiently. "I haven't recovered from the last time we saw the small hours of the morning together. I'm seriously short of sleep – and it's not for the right reasons!" Maintaining the smile, she sat on the side of his bed.
"That is, of course, your decision." She replied lightly. "Your lack of sleep could be for exactly the right reasons – if you wanted." Squinting, Oliver focussed on her face.
"Are you usually this unsubtle," he demanded irritably. "Or is it just me who brings out your bad side?" She narrowed her eyes.
"It's not often that I have to make the running at all." She replied waspishly. Oliver looked away, realising that he had got to her. That's an achievement in itself, his brain told him, but instead of swaggering, he merely swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes. Yawning prodigiously, he stumbled out of the room in search of parchment and ink, oblivious of how low his pyjama bottoms were riding on his hips. Julie, however, did notice, and cursed herself for a fool. She sighed: what was it about Oliver that troubled her so? She was still pondering that one when he returned, now more decently clad in a dressing gown, and carrying not only writing materials but his owl, Frost, who was none too pleased at having been disturbed. Julie turned her mind to business.
"There are two pieces of news which may interest Harry Potter." She began. "The first is that the former executioner of dangerous beasts, Macnair, has been seen on several occasions fraternising with Lucius Malfoy. This is not a happy situation, particularly as they have taken no precautions against being recognised together." Oliver scribbled quickly on the parchment, pausing every now and then to replenish the ink.
"Also," Julie continued. "Peter Pettigrew has been receiving treatment at a French Wizarding Hospital. Aurors were too late to catch him, but it appears that he is suffering from Wildfire burns." A wicked little smile hovered around her lips. Oliver met her gaze as he added a full stop and laid down his quill.
"Harry was responsible for that, I take it. Good." He folded up the parchment and tied it neatly to Frost's leg, taking him over to the balcony to begin his journey. Closing the window and drawing the drapes, Oliver yawned again, still desperate to catch up on his sleep.
"I could stay." Julie suggested diffidently. Oliver stared, then shook his head, smiling.
"Even if it were the right thing to do, which it isn't," he replied gently. "I'm far too tired to be of any use to you." Julie looked away.
"I meant just to sleep." She said without meeting his eyes. "You know, just to be together. For – company." Oliver paused mid-yawn in perplexity. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn that what he could see on her face was – embarrassment. Don't mess this one up! his brain pleaded with him as he tried to work out what to say in reply.
"Julie, much as I'd love you to stay with me, I just couldn't trust myself." He began gently. "The situation most likely is that I wouldn't be able to resist making love to you but, due to my current state of total fatigue, I'd probably make a complete hash of it. Trust me, it would end in tears for both of us." She stared back unsmiling then nodded once. Oliver scratched his head.
"Perhaps we could meet up for dinner again – maybe tomorrow?" he ventured, uncertain as to her response. Her eyes flickered and her mouth turned up ever so slightly at the corners.
"Dinner." she mused. "Yes, I'd like that." Then she gave him a real smile.
"My turn to choose." She told him. "I'll meet you at the Stadium after practice tomorrow. And wear a tie!" She took a deep breath and Apparated neatly out of his apartment.
~oo0oo~
The Matron of the Lady Catherine de Bourgh Nursing Home for Retired Witches was much taken with the personable young man who had respectfully requested an interview. He was smartly dressed in a suit with well-polished shoes and neatly trimmed blonde hair. His very blue eyes were piercingly cold in his handsome, affable face.
"Yes, we do have a Miss Ivy Knox resident with us. She has been living here for quite some years since she retired. She used to be a nanny to one of the oldest wizarding families, you know." The young man nodded.
"I'm making enquiries on behalf of a friend of mine." He explained, smiling reassuringly. "He is trying to trace a lost relative, and I believe that Miss Knox may have information that can assist him. I agreed to carry out this commission for him since I was already visiting this part of the country."
"A very kind gesture." replied Matron, smiling warmly in approval. "It seems to be rather out of fashion amongst young people these days to take trouble on others' behalf. Lamentably, we have very few young visitors here." The man smiled easily.
"It is neither welcome nor pleasant for any of us to regard the future in its plain unvarnished form." He said in a faintly pontificating tone. "Generally, the young don't wish to be reminded that they are not immortal." Matron smiled again, pointedly raising her eyebrows at her companion's obvious youth. He gave a faint shrug.
"My friend is – a very close one." He said by way of explanation. The woman nodded understandingly, then her expression became serious.
"I must ask that you treat Miss Knox with the utmost gentleness." She told him. "I am happy to let you see her, but you must realize that she is very confused. Oh, she's not violent or anything – a sweeter soul you never met! – but she spends most of her time sleeping, and when she does wake she hardly knows people from one moment to the next." She leaned forward conspiratorially.
"Between you and me, I don't think she's long for this world." The woman's broad, practical face was touched with something like regret. "But still, she's happy in herself, poor dear." The young man shifted in his chair with slight impatience.
"Is it possible for me to see her now?" Matron blinked, suddenly brought back to the present. She nodded quickly.
"Yes, I expect so. All our residents have finished breakfast. Miss Knox will no doubt be in the lounge." She indicated a large ledger open on her desk.
"If you would just sign the Visitors' Book?" The young man took the proffered quill and signed briskly with a flourish. Matron turned the book round and smiled.
"Thank you Mr. … Torrence. I'll take you to see Miss Knox now."
The young man found himself in what was obviously a sitting room. It was light and bright, the spring sunshine pouring in through large patio door from what looked like a very pleasant garden. Armchairs were grouped around sturdy coffee tables which held jugs of diluted pumpkin juice together with clean tumblers. Racks of "Witch Weekly", "Spellcraft" and other wizard periodicals were scattered around the room, along with current issues of the "Daily Prophet". A Messageglobe stood discreetly in one corner, but its surface was dark.
The room seemed almost empty. The young man glanced around until he caught sight of a grey head over the back of an armchair positioned as close to the huge windows as was possible. Quietly, he moved towards the figure, drawing a chair closer and sitting down as he reached her. Matron leaned towards her.
"Miss Knox." She called quietly. "Miss Knox, you have a guest. A Mr. Torrence." She turned back to the young man.
"She probably won't remember you," she told him. "But it's nice for her to have a visitor. Are you alright?" She noticed a very odd expression on the stranger's face.
"She was my nurse," he replied in a low voice without looking up. "When I was – very small." Matron had seen this before. She knew genuine grief and distress when she saw it, and she also knew when her attendance was superfluous. She melted away with surprising delicacy for a woman of her bulk and considerable presence.
The young man gazed at the figure in the chair. She seemed so small, so shrivelled and wrinkled. So unlike the tall, strong figure who had been the mainstay of his difficult childhood. She was dozing, pleasantly unaware of anything around her. He hated to disturb that sense of ease: Merlin knew, it was probably all she had left out of life. Nevertheless, his errand was urgent. He reached forward to take her thin, wasted hand in his own.
"Miss Knox." He whispered. "Miss Knox!" There was no response.
"Nanny Ivy?" He tried. At the long-forgotten name, now strange on the young man's lips, the old witch stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open, her mouth trembled and she stared uncomprehendingly at the face before her.
"Nanny Ivy." He said again, this time with genuine affection. The old woman frowned.
"Don't – know you." She managed in a cracked, worn voice. The young man smiled.
"Perhaps you don't recognise me." he said gently. "Don't worry – memories come, and memories go. Nanny Ivy, I need you to remember some things for me, if you can." She shook her head slowly.
"Can't remember anything these days. Don't even recall whether I've had my tea." She laughed, a dry cackle, then peered curiously at the face before her. The young man squeezed her hand.
"I want you to think back, Nanny, to the time when you were at Malfoy Manor." The faded eyes widened slightly, then she went back to gazing out of the window. The young man waited so long he thought he'd lost her, but after a while she began to speak again, haltingly and in broken sentences, but nevertheless lucid.
"Malfoy Manor. Now there was an unhappy place!" Too right! Thought the young man bitterly. Any happiness there was caught and strangled before it could breed!
"Only stayed because of the children. Well, because of the boy really. Couldn't bear him to come back from that school to find nobody wanted him home." The young man stiffened. This was new. Not that he hadn't been aware of the animosity his father had felt towards him, but he'd assumed it was personal. Apparently not.
"The Master didn't like him there – too many secrets, too many listening ears at that school. Wanted to send him to Durmstrang – hah!" The old witch broke off into another bout of cackling. "If he'd done that, the whole world would have known what he was up to." The young man bent gently over her.
"You said 'children', Nanny Ivy." He began. "What about the other one? The girl?"
"The girl?" Ivy Knox's face was surprised. "Ah, I haven't thought about that poor little mite in years. Such a tragedy when she … never really knew how or why. The mistress was heartbroken, never recovered. Such a pretty little thing, blue eyes, golden hair – not a scrap of magic about her, though, not a scrap!" The young man froze, his cold blue eyes wide with shock.
"No magic?" he breathed. "Nanny Ivy, what do you mean 'not a scrap of magic'?" But the old witch was staring intently into his face.
"I know you!" she whispered hoarsely. "The boy – the little boy! But you went to school!" The young man smiled.
"I did indeed, Nanny, but I grew up, and now I've come home!" He took her hand in his once again, stroking it gently. His mind was racing: she had seen through the glamour he had cast over himself for protection. That could mean only one thing – this lady was close to death. He must have happened on that period of lucidity that sometimes occurs just prior to the final moment. He watched as the light of intelligence died out of her eyes and she settled back into her armchair, exhausted by the exchange. He debated whether or not to call the Matron, and decided against it. Let her go peacefully and with dignity, let the medics practise their skills on someone who wanted to continue living. Ivy Knox had a date with destiny. The young man folded her limp hands in her lap and pressed a gentle kiss on the thin, wasted cheek.
When Matron came to take her into lunch, she was not entirely surprised at the lack of response. Although Ivy Knox would never be warm again, Matron unthinkingly gathered the curtains blowing in the breeze and closed the patio doors against the draught.
~oo0oo~