Coercion of Skies: A Harry Potter Fan Fiction
Chapter Three: Doubts of an Exploding Nature
A/N: Thanks SOOOOOOOO much to all my lovely reviewers! You guys are fabulous! Thanks for making my first foray into the Harry Potter fandom such a joy. Just as a warning, the Harry angst took over in this chapter; I tried to keep it on a romantic track (seeing as this is supposed to be a romance fic), but you know Harry, sometimes he just has to do what he wants. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. This chap was much harder to write than the last. Also, check at the end for individual dedications if you reviewed Chapter Two!
Harry Potter discovered that day that Pride and Prejudice was thirty banana splits long. At least, that's how many he managed to eat while watching the movie; six hours, and all he came away with was a stomachache and a vague sense of dislike for an actor named Colin Firth.
Mrs. Figg wasn't much for the finer points of suburban living, so when she allowed Harry to have ice cream and watch a movie on the television, he was slightly confused. He might have even have offered her argument if not for the serene manner with which she gently guided him to the couch, shooed away her cats, and plopped a spoon and banana-split in front of him. As she was walking back into her kitchen, she turned and gave him a peculiar half-smile. Harry, not knowing what to do, half-smiled back. Seeming satisfied, Mrs. Figg nodded and retreated back to her crossword puzzle.
Harry, at a loss, began eating. Pride and Prejudice started rolling. The day was officially booked.
He had been staying at Mrs. Figg's for little over two weeks now. The Dursleys, anxious for a vacation, were in Scotland. Frightening images of Uncle Vernon in a kilt sprang to mind. Mrs. Figg hadn't minded taking Harry, and as the weeks wore on, Harry started to realize that he didn't mind it, either. Despite the odd smell of her house and her ever-present cats, Harry found that he was growing to like her. She had a sly sense of humor that showed itself at the oddest times and, like Ron, was phenomenally talented at wizard chess.
Harry guessed that it shouldn't have come as a surprise to him that Mrs. Figg belonged to the wizarding world; no one as weird as she was could possibly be a true Muggle. Yet even after he had spent his first year at Hogwarts, he had never made the connection. It wasn't until Dumbledore had mentioned her name after the confrontation with Fudge – "Arabella Figg" – that Harry started to put two and two together. In retrospect, it made perfect sense. He was protected by some sort of magic when with the Dursleys. But for the times when the Dursleys were not with him and he wasn't in the Muggle-crowded protections of his early schools, there had to be someone, especially when he was younger, to look out for him. Someone who knew the truth of his situation, and could act accordingly should certain needs arise.
Enter Mrs. Figg, bizarre yet benign old lady with cat coterie and cabbage-smelling cottage. As Harry spooned gooey vanilla ice cream into his mouth and tried to focus on the movie, he smiled; thinking back on all those times he had been left in her care, all those times he had dreaded it and avoided it, made him realize just how blind the Muggle world made people. Mrs. Figg was a great person, despite her eccentricities, and Harry was slowly beginning to realize that she was an incredibly powerful witch, as well. Not that he couldn't hold his own, but having her nearby made him feel better, especially after what had happened at the culmination of the Triwizard Tournament.
Voldemort . . .
Harry shook his head. Best not to think about it. Best to try and be calm.
He spent the rest of Pride and Prejudice, and twenty-nine more banana splits, not thinking about it.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Turning in so soon?"
Harry looked up. Mrs. Figg's wrinkled face filled the doorway, glasses shining in the light from his lamp.
He smiled slightly, shaking his head. "Not quite. I'm . . .you know . . ." he brandished the well-used quill in his hand, "writing letters. Trying to keep up my correspondence."
Mrs. Figg nodded knowingly. "I see." Her strange eyes twinkled merrily. "See that you tell little Sirius hello for me, then." Then she was gone, trailing a herd of cats in her wake.
Harry frowned. Honestly, I wish powerful witches and wizards wouldn't flaunt their powers. It's very annoying.
Sighing, he bent his head and returned to his letter. There had been little word from Sirius since Harry had last seen him, near the end of the school year. He supposed his godfather was running errands for Professor Dumbledore, silently initiating the defense against Voldemort. Part of Harry wished he was out there with Sirius, running by moonlight, dodging danger, actively taking part in the war that was about to begin.
But another part, the part that was little more than a fourteen-year old boy, was very much content to remain beneath the quilt and focus on nothing but his penmanship.
He was telling Sirius about a recurring dream. It seemed like every time he wrote Sirius, he was talking about some dream or another. This one wasn't particularly menacing, just peculiar. It was a dream he'd had once or twice since returning from summer vacation. He never remembered it on waking, but flashes of it would come to him unbidden during the day, when his attention was wandering or he was terrifically bored. In the dream, a particular scene played over and over; Ron and Harry's desperate search for dates to the Yule Ball. There was a point when Ron finally decided that he should just go with Hermione and Harry should go with Ginny, for the sake of expedience. That conversation had actually happened, but in the dream, as opposed to reality, Harry wound up actually going with Ginny. The details of the rest of the dream were always fuzzy. The one thing he recalled was that he felt happy at the end.
Harry wasn't sure why felt compelled to tell Sirius about it. All the same, he did.
Squinting in concentration, Harry added a few more lines to the letter, then signed his name with a flourish. Taking out his wand, he put an Anti-Smudging Charm on the parchment – a useful spell he had learned from Hermione – then folded it and got out of bed.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Mrs. Figg's owlery consisted of a small shed in the garden, connected to the house by a covered walk. Hedwig, rather than being confined to her cage in Harry's room, had elected to stay in there. Harry was surprised to learn that Mrs. Figg had several owls of various shapes and sizes that she put to various uses, and not all of them had to do with mail delivery. Hedwig was glad of the company – Harry knew she usually got very bored during the summer – and he was glad to have her occupied.
Harry entered the owlery, looking about for Hedwig. He had gone no farther than three steps when two owls that had obviously been lying in wait descended upon him. They fluttered about his head as if they enjoyed teasing him; Harry flapped his hands uselessly, trying to ward them off. It wasn't until Hedwig swooped righteously down upon them and scattered them left and right that Harry could stand up and see clearly.
One of the owls was an official courier from Hogwarts. The other was Hermes, Percy Weasley's owl. That was probably a letter from Ron, then, though why he hadn't used Pig Harry couldn't guess.
Hedwig lighted on his shoulder and cuffed him with a wing, as if to remind him that he was being rude. Grunting, Harry soothed her by stroking her beak, then stepped forward to retrieve the two owls' letters. They relinquished them, then winged away together, heading off into the dark.
Harry stared after them for a while. If he was being honest with himself, he would have realized that somewhere, deep in his heart, he was envious of the way they took to the air and flew off. He was envious, he realized, of their freedom. Of their ability to fly away.
Defeatist talk, Harry. Irresponsible talk. And yet . . . true?
He barely noticed when Hedwig took Sirius's letter without prompting and sailed off. Then, coming back to himself, he turned back to the house. Eleven pairs of owl eyes watched him go.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Mrs. Figg grimaced, knocking the ashes of a cigarette lightly into a glass tray shaped like a phoenix. She rarely smoked, but it seemed that moments of intense concentration caused her to reach for the pack. Harry found it strange that she smoked Muggle cigarettes – apparently, there were various brands of wizarding tobacco products that had much more interesting effects – but then, she was a strange person.
The old lady inhaled, coughing fitfully. Harry read the letter again, silently, to himself. He absently stroked a grey tabby that had found its way onto his lap.
A cloud of smoke enveloped the table. "Beauxbatons, huh?" Mrs. Figg said. "Been there once or twice. Don't much care for the place. Too sunny."
Harry gave her a bemused look. "Too sunny?"
She fixed him with a gimlet stare. "Too much sun is bad for the skin, Potter."
"So is smoking."
Mrs. Figg waved a hand dismissively. "Smoking's only bad for your lungs, Potter, and only then if you don't have the presence to put a Phog Philter Charm on yourself. Pretty piece of magic, that is; helped invent the spell myself, though it's not used much. Doubt many people know of it."
"I bet Hermione does," Harry said, almost without thinking.
Mrs. Figg gave him a long, hard look. "I'll just bet she does, Potter. I'll just bet she does."
Harry looked at Mrs. Figg for a moment, then returned his attention to the letter, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. He wasn't sure what they were talking about, but it seemed to him that it didn't have anything to do with Hermione or Beauxbatons. Clearing his throat, he read one part of the letter out loud. " 'Professor Lupin has requested that you attend him as his assistant during these sessions, to help him with his seminars and provide him with what service he may need during his stay at Beauxbatons.'" Harry scratched his head in confusion. "I don't understand. Doesn't Madame Maxime know Professor Lupin is a werewolf?"
"I doubt it," Mrs. Figg replied, using her wand to light another cigarette. "Even if she did, it wouldn't matter. She's not running this show; she and Hagrid are still with the giants, from what I understand. No, Professor Dumbledore has actively taken charge of this summer camp, despite its being located at Beauxbatons, and of course," she said this with a snort, "he can handle Lupin's situation."
"What? You don't think he can?"
Mrs. Figg shrugged. "I make it a point never to underestimate Albus Dumbledore. All the same, he let the man get out of control at Hogwarts; who's to say the same thing won't happen at Beauxbatons?"
Harry fell silent at this, not sure how to respond. Mrs. Figg watched him for a moment, then cackled slightly. "Come on, Potter, lighten up. I'm just an old lady running her gob; don't pay too much attention to me. I'm sure Professor Lupin will be fine. Dumbledore values the man's ability to teach over the potential threat he represents to children."
"That's just it, though, isn't it?" Harry said. "Dumbledore's willing to take the chance that something will happen because he needs Professor Lupin's expertise." His eyes met Mrs. Figg's, and for a moment the emerald green flashed cold and steely. Almost like a snake. "If he's willing to take that risk, then there must be something pretty important about this summer camp. Something I certainly don't know about."
"If its answers you're looking for, Potter, then you better sniff another tree. I'm certainly not privy to all the details of Albus's machinations. Even if I was, you think I'd share them with you?"
"I think you'd warn me if I was headed into something dangerous."
Mrs. Figg stopped at that. An unreadable expression masked her face.
"You've been heading into something dangerous your entire life, Harry," she said, leaning forward, her voice suddenly soft and almost motherly. "One week in France isn't going to change that. And it's not going to make it go away."
Harry listened to her footfalls ascend the stairs, the muted pitter-patter of cat paws pounding rhythmically behind her. There was still smoke hanging over the table; Harry waved his hand, trying to disperse it, then gave up when the smoke started shaping itself into monkeys that clambered down his arm.
Guess those cigarettes weren't so normal after all.
Sitting there at the table, Harry wondered why he was feeling so strange. Maybe it was the sense of displacement; he had never been truly away from Hogwarts or the Dursleys, except for his extended visits at the Burrow. There, at least, he had Ron. Here, he had an old woman charged with his protection that seemed to enjoy pointing out the things about his life that he was starting to most resent. Always in danger, always threatened, always on the run from the rogue Bludger that wouldn't leave him alone. For eleven years of his life, he had been bored. For the past four years, the excitement had never stopped.
Harry sometimes wondered if he would ever have a normal. If there would ever be an in-between.
The thought of the Bludger brought Quidditch to mind. And with Quidditch, Cho. Beautiful, smart, and particularly unattainable, especially now that Cedric was dead. Harry hated himself for thinking it, but Cedric dead was a worse obstacle for him than Cedric alive. His memory hung over Cho like a shroud; there were times when Harry wondered what had existed between them. For the most part, though, he was content to be ignorant on that score.
In the smoky half-light of Mrs. Figg's kitchen, Harry lit up a cigarette. Even the girls in his life went to the extremes: Cho with her tragedy, Hermione with her intelligence, Ginny with her shyness . . .
Ginny?
Harry coughed brutally – wizard tobacco was a little too intense for him – and held up the second letter, the unopened one. It wasn't from Ron; it was from Ginny. Her name was messily scrawled on the envelope, obviously done in haste. He frowned, hoping that nothing was wrong, and started to open the letter.
When the kitchen fireplace exploded, Harry was flung backwards, the letter still clenched in his fist. The chair disappeared from beneath him as he hit the wall with a resounding thud, then crashed to the floor. China plates shattered to the tile all around him. Gasping for breath, Harry shoved the letter in his pocket and reached for his wand. He dimly heard himself shouting for Mrs. Figg as he tried to think of a spell that would clear away the smog of smoke and Floo powder obscuring his vision.
Mrs. Figg arrived on the scene in an instant, cats mewling in an angry herd at her feet. A grim expression on her face, she shouted something unintelligible, and the thick vapors in the kitchen roiled and vanished into her wand.
When Harry could clearly see, he didn't attack. He gaped, and dropped his wand.
The figure before them was covered in soot and Floo powder. Her clothes were torn, and her elbow was bleeding something fierce. Yet despite her bedraggled state, there was no mistaking her graceful carriage, her confident stance, or the shimmering white of her silken hair.
"Hello, Harry," Fleur Delacour said. "Eet eez nice to see you again."
End of Chapter
Next Time: A dinner party at the Grangers on the eve of the departure for Beauxbatons: who will reveal their feelings to whom?
Extended Author's Notes: Once again, I'd like to take this section to specifically thank those who were kind enough to give me feedback on the previous chapter!
Lou: The different context was what truly got this story idea going. All we've seen of these characters' relationships happens at either Hogwarts or, in a more limited form, at the Burrow. But with a totally different setting and a strange group of people surrounding them, it these relationships might get the shove they need to become what we all want them to. Thanks for reading!
CurlsofGold: Much of the next chapter will be told from Ron's viewpoint; his reaction to Ginny's "bet" will most likely be referred to there. As for blushing faces . . .well, I can't promise you, but it's a safe bet that before long, SOMEONE will be turning red . . .
Lesa: Thanks for your input! My big concern is that I'm doing too much "building" and not enough "plot." But I'm a big fan of framed stories (plus that's what's been beaten into me by my professors), so I hope all this background doesn't turn many people off.
Iolo: Wow! I'm SO glad you liked! My biggest concern, actually, was the characterization. Your remarks put my fears to rest. As for more chapters, well . . .if people keep reviewing so wonderfully, you can be sure I'll continue, if only to please the masses . . .mwa ha ha . . .
Ronslilangel: Me? Write as well as J.K.? Wow . . .I'm officially on an ego trip now.
Rinabina: Hee hee hee . . . .now I know all I have to do to keep you reading is put Ron up there in the forefront of the story. I'm glad you think I'm writing him well . . .he's actually my favorite to write for!
Nightshadow: 'bops sister' Get thee hence and return to GW World! Thou hast no place here! Mwa ha ha . . .and no, I haven't written any more YGO, this is FAR more entertaining.
Tears from the Moon: Lol, yeah. Hermione as a student and Ron and Harry as assistants is kind of a humorous reversal, and it was completely unplanned. When I was writing that chapter, that little detail kind of came out of nowhere. I'm glad it did though; it sets the stage for some interesting conflict. Thanks for reading!
Angel St. James: Of COURSE Ginny has courage . . .it's just buried way down deep where you can't see it.
Jade Stellar: We are officially forming the FBA (Fluffy Build-up Association). Our goal: to give fluff everywhere more substance! Is this a hopeless mission? Probably. Will we persevere anyway? Well . . .
Hermione Starise: You're welcome for the review! And it continually surprises me that what draws people to this story is the originality; I would have thought someone would have done a 'summer camp' story before. Anywho, thanks for reading!
Soapbox for a generation: Mon ami! 'cringes away from rhino roar' Yes, well. If it's any consolation to you, THIS chapter had to be HEAVILY edited. Granted, it was also written at three in the morning, but you know how that goes. I'm glad you found the story again . . .your reviews bring me much joy! P.S. I'm at University of Central Florida, not Florida University. Confusing distinction? You bet. Important distinction? I'd say so. Go Knights! www.ucf.edu
Thanks again to all! Next chapter in a few days, me promises! TTFN!