Chapter 3: On The Mating Habits of Dragons
Malfoy Manner
The Dark Lord was an absolute terror when he was in a bad mood. So far as Lucius was concerned, it wasn't much better when he was happy. When one has a snakelike face, smiling simply isn't flattering. Disturbing, yes. Flattering, no.
"So you've managed to obtain Castelar's daughter for me, Lucius. I am pleased with you."
"Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord," Lucius said, bowing down to kiss Voldemort's robes, carefully using one hand to keep his hair from brushing the dirty floor of the dungeon torture chamber. Lucius had once asked his Master if he wouldn't prefer to converse in a proper salon, but Voldemort had simply turned that piercing red gaze on him and stated that the dungeon was fine. 'It reminds me of my childhood,' he'd said.
"Has she met young Draco yet?" Voldemort asked, with what looked almost like a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"No, my lord. She will meet him at supper tonight. I imagine my son will be able to take care of things from there."
"Good, very good. The time draws near for me to renew the bond with her. Wormtail informs me that the best time is next Thursday night."
"Wormtail?" Lucius asked distastefully, but not disrespectfully. "Are you entirely certain he is reading the charts correctly?"
"Yes, I am. He has always been quite gifted at astrology, though admittedly not at much else."
"Of course, my lord. I assure you that she will be prepared when the time comes."
"She doesn't need to be prepared," the Dark Lord said harshly. "Each of the children has turned out exactly as I intended them to. But the others have been raised to accept their fate, even if they are unaware of the nature of that fate. She has not. Her father should have raised her in such a manner, but Atreus was taken from us. This is why I want her to be the first, Lucius."
"Yes, my lord," he answered, even though a part of him wondered how Draco would react when his time came. During the weeks Lucius had been held for questioning, Draco had showed a muted yet noticeable rebelliousness. Narcissa had been terribly upset when Draco sent away the enormously expensive N.E.W.T. tutor Lucius had arranged for. It made Lucius uneasy. The boy would need to be taken in hand. With the right spin, Lucius felt he could convince Draco that his bond with the Dark Lord would be a benefit to him.
"You have spoken to her?"
"Yes, my lord."
"What are your impressions of her?"
Lucius thought for a moment before speaking. "She looks like Atreus and speaks like Reina."
"Hmm. Not a terribly appealing combination. I believe she would have been more fortunate if that were reversed."
Wouldn't we all? "Don't worry, milord. She will serve your purposes well."
Voldemort smiled again, and again it was disturbing. "Of course she will. She was created to."
Little Whinging, Surrey
Harry didn't walk back to the Dursley's; he flew. He might have even skipped a little. Lucy Wexler was the prettiest girl in the universe and she liked him and she liked kissing him and she was going to meet him tomorrow and they were going to kiss some more and maybe she'd let him touch her breasts and her breasts were the prettiest breasts in the world and the world was perfect. When he bounced into number four, Dudley was watching television and Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen. Both of them jumped when he slammed the front door. Uncle Vernon wasn't home yet.
Harry raced up the stairs to his room, bursting with the need to tell somebody about what had happened, and yet somehow not wanting to tell anybody. He liked the idea of keeping Lucy Wexler all to himself.
The front door slammed once more, signaling Uncle Vernon's arrival, and Harry went downstairs for supper. He didn't even care that none of the Dursleys even looked in his general direction during the meal. He didn't care that he got a smaller portion than even Aunt Petunia. At this point, nothing could bring him down.
Harry didn't think he'd be able to sleep that night, but he must have done so fairly quickly, because it seemed like no time at all before he heard a frantic tapping on the window by his head. Opening his eyes blearily, Harry put on his glasses and looked out the window. Outlined by the grayness of pre-dawn was Errol, the Weasley's ancient owl. He looked about ready to collapse.
Quickly, Harry let the old owl in, untying the letter from his leg. He removed Hedwig's water from her cage so that the bird could refresh himself. Hedwig allowed this, though she ruffled her feathers a bit in annoyance. Errol drank a little bit of water, then passed out.
Still a bit groggy, Harry read the letter from Ron
Harry,
So how are the Muggles treating you? After we left you at the train station, Mad-Eye went through a whole list of things that are legal to do to Muggles. He said he would send you the list if they needed to be kept in line, whatever that means.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that we'll be at that dreary place we all were last summer for a few weeks while the Burrow gets more wards put up. My parents aren't letting me visit Fred and George. I also wanted to let you know that Lucius Malfoy was released. They said he was under Imperius, but dad said Malfoy probably had one of his cronies do it after he was arrested. It'll probably be all over the papers tomorrow.
Mum and Dad said you couldn't come join us yet, but hopefully we'll be able to all meet up later this summer.
Ron
Harry sat back for a moment, processing all of this information. Well, if the Weasleys were putting more protection around the Burrow and heading off to Headquarters to hide, then they must be worried about something.
Maybe it was the fact that Lucius Malfoy had been released from prison, as if he'd done nothing, as if there hadn't been plenty of witnesses to his actions in the Department of Mysteries.
Harry felt the old familiar anger rise up in him again. Anger and powerlessness and frustration and a deep, burning desire to do something, anything, to fight…
Quickly, he shoved it down. The anger was stupid and useless and he wasn't in any position to help anybody right now.
Instead, he thought about almost touching Lucy's breasts. He thought about what it might be like to really touch them. Maybe she'd let him tomorrow…which was to say, today. Maybe she'd even let him do more…
Harry's eyes flew open. He wasn't even entirely sure what doing more involved. Sure, he knew the mechanics of the job, but he had no idea how to go about doing them.
He suddenly wished there was someone he could write to for advice on sex. Harry had watched part of a dirty film once, when the Dursleys had been out and Dudley had broken into Uncle Vernon's video collection, but somehow he had a feeling that the movie hadn't exactly portrayed things in a realistic manner, and he hadn't been able to see how it ended anyway.
Harry had to admit that he knew next to nothing about sex.
It was beginning to dawn on him that people had sex, not just theoretically, but in actuality. His parents had had sex. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had had sex. Harry shuddered at the thought. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had had sex a bunch of times. Time to move on to something else.
Harry sat up, rubbing his eyes under his glasses, suddenly very awake. You couldn't just go around having sex; the girl could get pregnant or you could catch something. Harry didn't think that Lucy had any diseases, but he couldn't be sure. She did seem a bit wild, and he had a feeling she had had sex before. It occurred to him with growing horror that he was going to need to buy condoms. Harry was going to have to walk into the chemist down the street and buy condoms.
No, he couldn't do that. There was no way he was going to ask Old Mr. Pendleton for some condoms. There was another chemist in East Whinging. If Harry left early enough, he could make it there and back by noon.
Or maybe Lucy's on birth control, Harry thought. That would solve everything, but he couldn't be sure if she was on it or not unless he asked her and he couldn't imagine asking her. A real juvenile delinquent would probably have condoms on him anyway, so he should probably go get some just in case.
But there had to be some other way. Surely wizards didn't use condoms, did they?
Trying to reign in his mind, Harry got a parchment and quill and sat down on his bed to write to Ron. Then he promptly changed his mind. Ron could wait for a response; this was urgent. He needed help, and the only people who could think of to ask were unfortunately…Fred and George. According to Ron, they'd gotten around quite a bit at Hogwarts.
Harry suddenly wished he had an older brother. An older brother who would give him advice and who wouldn't think it funny to give him a spell and tell him it would keep the girl from getting pregnant when really it would turn her into a lizard or something.
Dear Fred and George,
How has your summer been?
Harry stared at the note for a minute, trying to figure out a delicate way to describe the situation. Then he decided there wasn't one. Might as well get to the point. He crumpled up the note and started over.
Fred and George,
I'm in danger of getting laid and need some pointers. Please advise.
Harry
Harry thought for a moment before adding on:
P.S. Don't tell Ron just yet. I'll let him know as soon as Errol regains consciousness.
After reading the letter over once more, Harry added another question:
P.P.S. Purely out of curiosity, what do boys in the wizarding world use to make sure the girl doesn't get pregnant or anything?
Finally satisfied, Harry rolled up the parchment and tied it with a string from his dresser. Hedwig, sensing that a message was about to be sent, began fidgeting as he tied the letter to her leg.
"Take this to Fred and George in Diagon Alley, okay?" The owl nipped his finger happily and flew out the window.
Harry sat back down on the bed and watched Hedwig until she was out of sight, thinking, By this time tomorrow, I might be a man.
The Burrow
Predictably enough, the grand Weasley move to Headquarters the next morning was pure chaos and involved a great deal of shouting. Finally, Mrs. Weasley put her foot down.
"What is in your trunks right now at this precise moment is what you are taking with you," she ordered shrilly. "I don't care if you've forgotten to bring your own head; if either one of you makes a move towards those stairs again, I'll throw you bodily into the fireplace, so help me."
With that, she more or less frog-marched Ron into the fireplace, floating his trunk up so he could hold onto it. Looking sheepish, Ron grabbed a handful of powder and flooed out.
Seeing the look in her mother's eye, Ginny quickly leapt into the fireplace, lest she be shoved in. Holding onto her trunk with one hand and grabbing some floo powder with the other, she quickly made her escape.
Remus had apparently been expecting their arrival, because he took Ginny's trunk as soon as she arrived. Ron was already guiding his up the kitchen stairs to his room. Ginny said a quick hello to Remus and followed her brother, deciding that the best place to be right now was out of sight.
Molly arrived with a great deal of clanking, which meant that in the end, she had been unable to resist the urge to bring her own cookware.
"Merlin," she sighed. "Honestly, I thought it was bad when we were shuttling five of them off at a time to Hogwarts. There are only two of them now, and I think they feel some sort of duty to make up for the rest."
"You know, Molly, there are pots and pans here already. You didn't need to bring your own," Remus answered, sounding amused.
"I know, but I don't think they like me very much. Last time they burned the potatoes…"
That was all Ginny heard before reaching the entrance hall. She and Ron tiptoed carefully past the portrait of Mrs. Black and up the stairs, laying claim to the rooms they'd slept in last summer. Even though she didn't have anything better to do, Ginny still felt too lazy to unpack. It seemed stupid, really. She'd only just packed in the first place a few hours ago.
Instead, she walked up to Ron's room, where he, too, seemed disinclined to perform any physical activity.
"Hey, Gin," he greeted her.
"Hey, Ron," she responded, throwing herself dramatically on the second bed. "We've been here five minutes, and I'm bored already. It's no fun without anyone else around."
"Well, Charlie's coming for dinner," Ron said, yawning a bit.
"Oh, really?" Charlie had always been her favorite brother. Maybe it was because she didn't see him very often. Or maybe it was because he was the only brother who didn't still feel that the only present she could possibly want for Christmas or her birthday was yet another stuffed animal. Her room at the Burrow looked like a bloody wildlife preserve.
"Yeah. He's coming for the meeting."
"You mean the meeting we're not invited to attend?"
"Yes. Odd that we're old enough to fight Death Eaters, but not old enough to know what they're up to."
"Provided that mum and dad assume that there's no need to soundproof the door if Fred and George are in the meeting."
"Hmm," Ron answered, and both of them stared off into space, lost in their own thoughts. Ginny found herself once again thinking about Draco Malfoy. He probably knew what the Death Eaters were up to. He might even be working for them now. Arrgh, knock it off with the creepy obsession thing already, will you?
"Gin?" Ron asked suddenly.
"Yeah?" Ginny asked distractedly.
"What do you think about Harry?"
Ginny turned on her side to face him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"I mean…you know…do you still like him?"
"I like him fine. He's a stand-up guy."
"No, I mean do you still like him?"
"No, I don't."
"Why not?"
"I don't know, really. I just don't anymore." In truth, it was just too complicated to explain. In some part, Ginny felt she'd held on to her Harry Potter obsession because it had pre-dated Tom Riddle and was therefore one of the few things in her life that had retained a sort of innocence. Plus, he had saved her life, and what girl could resist the sort of feelings that went with an act like that? And yet at some point, all of that had begun to seem very silly and childish.
Being in awe of somebody was hardly a practical basis for a romantic relationship with that person, and in truth, Ginny wasn't even sure she was attracted to Harry in a physical way. She was amazed by him, she was indebted to him, and perhaps because of that, he was not a figure of sexual desire for her.
"So you like Dean, though?" Ron persisted.
"I liked Dean while it lasted. I broke up with him a couple days ago."
"You did? Merlin, that's the shortest relationship in the history of Hogwarts."
"Ron," Ginny said patiently, "just because you first heard about Dean and I on the train ride home doesn't mean the relationship began on the train ride home."
"Oh. How long were you together, then?"
"A few weeks."
"A few weeks?!" Ron sounded appalled. "How is it that you were going out with a guy in my dormitory for weeks and I didn't know about it?"
"Well, it's not as if we strolled through the halls holding hands or mooned at each other over breakfast, Ron."
"What did you do, then?"
"We…umm…we talked a lot." Ginny could feel a blush spreading up her face and quickly leapt up from the bed. "We should really get to unpacking, don't you think?"
"I'll kill him," Ron said firmly. "Sleeping in the same room as me while he's…"
"Stop it, Ron," Ginny ordered, turning around and putting her hands on her hips. "Dean didn't do anything I didn't want him to do."
"Ginny!" Ron choked out, sitting straight up from the bed, his face quickly turning the color of a ripe plum.
Ginny spoke calmly and deliberately. "Ronald Weasley, in my fifteen years on this planet, I have survived seven older brothers who have regularly knocked me down flights of stairs, locked me in trunks, transformed me into domesticated animals and occasionally attached extra limbs to my body. I have fought Death Eaters. I have slaughtered chickens and written nasty messages on the walls of Hogwarts in the service of an evil diary. I assure you that I am quite capable of handling a simple teenage boy."
Feeling rather proud of herself for reducing Ron to a sputtering pile of overprotective mush, Ginny proceeded to her room to unpack. Ron knocked on her door a bit later, but she ignored him and spent the rest of the day working on her summer homework.
When she finally went down to the kitchen for dinner, Ginny found not only Charlie, but also Mundungus Fletcher. Her mother did not look happy about this addition.
Ron was still shooting her death glances, and Ginny began to get a sinking sensation in her stomach. Ron, when provoked, had a tendency to air his grievances in front of as many people as he could find who might take his side in the argument, but he wouldn't bring it up in front of Remus and Mundungus Fletcher.
Would he?
She was beginning to feel that it would have been a much better idea to just keep her big mouth shut about Dean Thomas.
"Food smells delicious, Molly," Mundungus commented as he dug into some shepherd's pie.
Her mother sent him a smile that looked more like a grimace.
"So, dad, how have things been at work?" Charlie asked smoothly, carefully steering the conversation from anything Mundungus had stolen recently.
As dinner began drawing to a close without a scene courtesy of Ron, Ginny began to relax a bit. Maybe her brother had grown up. Maybe he had learned some restraint. She sat back and listened to Charlie talk about the new shipment of dragons they'd gotten in last week.
"They're settling into the colony nicely, which is always difficult, because dragons tend to be suspicious of new faces. It didn't help that some of the new females are in heat." Charlie chuckled, shaking his head. "We had to quarantine them before they killed somebody."
Ron's lips pressed together, and Ginny knew it was coming.
"Ron," she said warningly, hoping to head him off, hoping against hope that he wasn't about to do this in front of Mundungus, for Merlin's sake.
No such luck.
"Speaking of being in heat," he said tightly, his voice pitched much higher than usual, "your daughter has been doing…things."
"Ron, shut up," Ginny hissed. "We'll talk about it later."
"Things?" Arthur asked, innocently curious. "What sorts of things?"
"Things with boys!" Ron's voice echoed through the kitchen. The silence following this little announcement was broken only by the thud of Ginny's head hitting the table.
Several times.
"Oh, dear," Molly breathed.
Remus and Charlie both tried to pass laughter off as coughing. Ginny braced herself, knowing that she was most likely going to be dragged upstairs by her mother so that she could be subjected to a mutually embarrassing and euphemism-filled lecture on sex.
Instead, with the sort of timing Ginny didn't think existed in the real world, flames erupted in the fireplace, signaling an arrival via floo. New arrivals meant they were probably members of the Order, which meant her mother would be busy, which meant that Ginny would be saved the sex talk.
No, she'd only have to live with the horrible, prickly humiliation of having her romantic exploits (which hadn't even proceeded further than some heavy petting anyway) paraded in front of her parents and assorted members of the Order, one of whom happened to be her ex-professor.
She may have been saved by the floo arrival, but Ron had not been.
He sent her defiant glare. Ginny smiled back innocently. Ronald Weasley, Ginny decided firmly, you are a dead man.
Malfoy Manner
After Lucius locked her in, Thera sat on the bed for a while, trying to decide what to do. Since no other means of entertainment presented themselves, she decided to snoop around. It seemed like a rational thing to do in the situation, and she knew very well that her grip on rationality right now was tenuous, at best.
The bedside table nearest the window yielded a pair of pink silk panties. They looked like they might fit, but Thera couldn't tell whether they'd been worn or not, so she decided to leave them. The bedside table closest to the door contained three sickles and a book entitled Familius Malfoy. Tossing it on the bed for a further look later, Thera proceeded to the wardrobe.
The robes inside smelled musty and had probably gone out of style years ago. One set had a decidedly unflattering butterfly collar. Imagining Lucius wearing it lightened her mood considerably. Stuffed into a corner was a very disturbing array of leather straps with a codpiece attached. Thera couldn't for the life of her figure out how one would actually go about putting it on, but she liked imagining its uses nonetheless.
The bathroom was posh, with marble countertops and silver amenities. A small chamber off to the right contained a toilet – also sterling silver, for reasons that went against any concept of comfort, in Thera's mind – as well as a large tub. However, there was nothing disgusting or disturbing in the bathroom so far as she could tell. No wart cream, no herpes medication, no vibrator lurking under the sink.
Nothing.
Feeling a bit disheartened, Thera sat down on the bed and picked up Familius Malfoy. She flipped around, finding it to be a combination of a family tree and a written history of the Malfoy family. Not entirely surprising, and not entirely interesting, either. Of course, it didn't exactly have a great deal of competition in the 'interesting' department.
Thera didn't know how long she'd been killing time when she heard footsteps outside the door. Tossing the book aside, she stood up and waited for her visitor to enter. Intincts told her to hide behind the door and knock them out with the bedside lamp, but that didn't seem very wise. Assuming she managed to actually get out of the house – which was a long shot – she'd have no wand and eighteen Canadian dollars, which wasn't going to get her very far in the middle of nowhere. In Britain.
Predictably, it was Lucius, carrying a set of maroon dress robes. He was moving briskly, his white-blonde hair trailing behind him like a banner. "Dinner will commence in fifteen minutes. Be dressed and prepared," he ordered, tossing the robes onto the bed. Seeing Familius Malfoy, he paused. "Reading up on the family history?" He looked up at her, the dying candlelight illuminating his hair with gold, making it appear almost as a halo around his head. It would be a rather misplaced halo.
"My mother told me some of it, though I wasn't aware that our common ancestor was named Uranus." She pronounced it 'Your Anus.'
"It's a family name, and the name is pronounced 'Urine Us,'" Lucius said mildly.
"Oh," Thera replied, fighting to keep a straight face. "That's much better. Good, solid Roman name."
"He achieved a great many things."
"I'm sure he did. I would imagine he was quite a guy."
"Yes," Lucius replied, somehow drawing the word out to three syllables. "My son will collect you in fifteen minutes to escort you to dinner." With that, he whipped around and was gone in a silver-gold swish of hair.
Growing increasingly excited at the idea of food – and considering her surroundings, really good food – Thera quickly changed into the maroon robes. They were too long to the point where they dragged on the floor and the ends of the sleeves covered her hands.
"Oh, that's great," she muttered, cursing her shortness yet again. She didn't even have a wand to shorten them. Well, if they were going to give her robes that didn't fit, then she was at least going to enjoy the look on Lucius' face when she walked in.
A few minutes later, she heard the bolt turn in the door again. It swung open to reveal a boy about her age, who could only be the spawn of Lucius Malfoy. He was obviously his daddy's little clone, since he wore the same type of robes and had the same 'has something gone rotten in here?' look on his face. His hair – disappointingly enough – was shorter and slicked back so meticulously that he appeared to be applying for a position with the Hitler Youth.
Even so, he was beautiful in a way that should be illegal. Beautiful in a way that poets used to write odes about. Beautiful in an 'I'm not trying at all to be this gorgeous and don't you just hate me for it' sort of way.
It was actually quite sickening.
He gave her a once over, smirking a bit. "I don't know who gave you those robes, but I don't think they like you very much."
Thera stood her ground, knowing very well that she looked like a little girl who had just raided mommy's closet. "Your father gave them to me. I imagine you can draw your own conclusions."
He crossed his arms, raising one eyebrow disdainfully. Thera had never been able to do that, and the fact that he could made her hate him just a little bit more.
"Well, you can't go down there looking like that," he informed her.
"I agree completely. I was thinking perhaps I could tease my hair and wear that black leather contraption in the wardrobe."
His mouth quirked slightly. "I wouldn't recommend it. It's rather chilly in the dining room."
"Hmm. Well, if you have a pair of scissors, I'd find it immensely satisfying to perform a few alterations on this thing."
He waved a casual hand. "That's not necessary." Drawing a wand out of his robes, he said a few words. Immediately, the sleeves and the hem shortened and the robes contracted. They contracted to the point where they were skintight.
"Very funny," Thera said dryly. What meager assets she had were very obviously on display.
Smirking again, Lucius Junior waved his wand, letting the robes out a bit. "You know," he said conversationally, "most people find it useful to wear other clothes underneath their robes. You might want to try it."
Thera indicated her jeans and sweatshirt, folded on the bed.
"I see. Never mind then." His eyes suddenly fell on her sneakers and he frowned. Waving his wand once more, they became a set of black heels.
Tottering a bit at her sudden change in altitude, Thera glared at him. "Am I ready for the ball now, fairy godmother?"
He sighed and shook his head a bit. "Well, your hair is atrocious and you could do with a bit of makeup, but on the whole you're far less offensive then when I found you." He held out his arm, which Thera took.
"With that kind of charm on your side, you must have the girls falling at your feet."
He simply shrugged, and they walked along for a bit in silence. Thera marveled at the Malfoy idea of a cozy home environment. It seemed to center around brooding paintings, limited light and unnecessarily long wood-paneled hallways. Thera wondered how best to get information out of this kid.
"So what's your name?" she asked, trying to sound friendly.
"Draco."
"Draco," Thera said slowly, viciously repressing a desire to find that hilarious. "How…umm…how subtle." At least it wasn't Uranus.
"What's yours?" he asked, not sounding particularly interested.
"Thera."
"Hm." There was another long silence as they turned a corner and proceeded down yet another dreadfully long corridor. Thera suddenly found it disturbing that Draco's father could tell him to go release the prisoner on the second floor and escort her to dinner without Draco thinking that this was in any way an odd request.
Focus, she ordered herself. Talk to him. See if you can find out anything.
"We're cousins, actually," she informed him. "Of a sort."
"Oh? Truly?" He sounded bored. This wasn't going well.
"Yes. So do you even know why I'm here?" She tried to make it sound as if she knew already and was just curious as to whether or not he did.
"No." Still bored.
Draco obviously wasn't terribly interested in talking, and Thera frankly had no further use for him if he didn't have any information, so they walked the rest of the way in silence.
Their destination was one of those gigantic and intimidating dining rooms with a monstrous (and ugly) oak table that could have comfortably seated the entire Royal Navy. Lucius was already seated at the head of the table. To his right sat a blonde trophy wife who watched the two of them take their seats with the slightly glazed look of someone addicted to prescription drugs.
Thera and Draco sat across from his mother, who squinted at Thera for a moment, as if trying to place her.
"She does look like Atreus," the woman said to Lucius in a surprisingly lucid voice. "Pity." Her eyes turned back to Thera once more. "Those robes are at least three years out of style, Lucius. Why didn't you give her one of my sets from last season?"
"I considered myself lucky to get her to wear witch's robes at all, considering her proclivity for Muggle clothing," Lucius answered, a hand absently stroking a section of hair that had fallen forward over his shoulder. Then he held the section in front of his face and frowned a bit, as if searching for split ends.
Thera focused her gaze on her plate, knowing at that moment that this day couldn't possibly get any weirder.
And then, predictably, it did.
Draco Malfoy put his hand on her leg.
Thera snapped her head up to look at him, but he was staring intently at his father, occasionally nodding. Blinking, Thera tried to tune into the conversation. Lucius was talking about the progress of his gardens.
"The Man-Eating Scaraptulas are coming along nicely, though. I imagine they'll be fully grown by the end of the summer."
"They'll be a nice addition," Mrs. Malfoy murmured.
"It's supposed to be a rather wet summer, though," Draco commented, inching his hand a bit farther up her thigh. "That should probably be accounted for."
"Yes, I've instructed the gardeners to monitor the watering schedule accordingly," Lucius answered.
Thera had exactly one thought bouncing around her head, and it was: Dear God in Heaven, I'm surrounded by lunatics.
"Well, I imagine we're ready for the soup," Lucius said at last. Immediately, bowls of vichyssoise appeared. Soup being a one-handed affair, Draco was able to inch his other hand a bit farther up her thigh, squeezing gently.
Surreptitiously, Thera picked up her salad fork. Taking a sip of soup to hide the movement, she jabbed it into Draco's hand.
He immediately snatched it back, scowling at her. Thera sent him a 'who, me?' glance before returning to her soup. Draco managed to keep his hands to himself for the rest of the meal.
The food, however, was well worth a bit of manhandling and a set of relatives only Edgar Allen Poe could love. It might have even been worth the whole kidnapping thing. Steak tartare, creamed spinach, and some roasted duck that practically dripped from the bones, which Thera had to restrain herself from picking up and sucking on. There was chocolate mousse for dessert, as well as an array of fruit and cheeses.
Thera marveled at the fact that evil people always seem to eat so much better than regular people.
When dinner was finished, Draco escorted her back to her room.
"What sort of name is Thera anyway?" he asked. Thera was immediately put on guard by his lack of boredom in her presence. She had not forgotten the hand on the leg incident at dinner.
"Thera was the name of the volcano that destroyed Atlantis."
"I see," he said slowly. "So your parents named you after a natural disaster?"
"Yes. And your parents named you after a reptile."
"A very powerful and magical reptile," he pointed out smugly.
"And yet, in the end, still a reptile."
"I think I liked you better when you were trying to pry information out of me," he observed.
"I didn't think you liked me much then."
"I didn't, actually. I'm just saying that I like you even less now."
Thera rolled her eyes. "As painful as that is, I imagine I'll eventually be able to pick up the pieces of my shattered ego and move on."
"I do find you attractive, though," he mused, either ignoring or entirely missing the sarcasm. "I'm not sure why."
"Hormones," Thera said shortly.
"Perhaps. I'm simply saying that I wouldn't be averse to having sex with you."
What he said wasn't really that funny, but apparently it was the last straw. Thera's tenuous grip on rationality finally slipped, and she was lost in a wave of hysterical laughter. At first, Draco didn't seem to know what to make of her. When she finally got to the point where it was hard to stand up, he simply gripped her arm harder and kept dragging her down the hall.
"Never mind," he said stiffly. "I take it back."
Thera laughed harder, fighting for breath, hanging on to him in order to keep from sinking into a heap of insanity. She imagined that straight jackets had been invented specifically for moments like these. Who knew that a complete mental breakdown could be so damn funny?
The more Thera tried to control the laughter, the more it grew out of control. She laughed until tears ran down her face and she gave herself the hiccups. Everything became hilarious. The fact that Draco apparently put on cologne to have dinner with his parents was hilarious. When they reached her room, Thera decided that her status as the most well-taken-care-of prisoner in history was hilarious.
Thera half-expected Draco to just toss her into the room, lock the door and be rid of her. Instead he wrestled her over to the bed, sat her down, gave her an understandably freaked out look and backed slowly out of the room. Thera found this more hilarious than anything else.
Thera flopped backward on the bed and just gave over. It lasted a surprisingly long time. The laughter ebbed slowly, leaving in its wake a tired numbness. Once the hiccups had become less frequent, Thera wiped her face on the back of her sleeve.
"My mother is dead," she said out loud. She tried to wrap her mind around the thought, tried to draw it in, to test it out and see what it felt like. It didn't work. Her mind was too busy worrying about being trapped in a gothic horror novel to feel or think about anything else.
She should probably get up and brush her teeth and wash her face and use the toilet. Then she should turn off the bedside lamps and maybe set a trap for the next person to come in – a chamber pot full of something nasty that would fall on their head when they opened the door or something. Thera smiled a little at the thought of what dear Cousin Lucius' gleaming locks would look like afterwards.
She planned on doing all of these things, but drowsiness overtook her before she could. And so Thera fell asleep, fully dressed and still occasionally hiccuping.
The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London
It is one thing to travel across the country into another time zone. It is quite another thing to launch oneself willy-nilly across the globe. When Vivian finished spinning and stepped shakily out of the fireplace at Grimmauld Place, she found herself facing half a dozen rather surprised people. They were eating supper.
There was a few moments' silence before a voice sounded from the far end of the table. It was Remus. Shit.
"Vivian?" he asked, grinning broadly as he rose from the table.
She had prepared herself for this. Vivian had spent every moment of the past year knowing very well that she would be coming face-to-face with Remus Lupin in the very near future and that she would be forced to produce more than terse, businesslike replies. She had worked out countless cold-shoulder brush-offs and cheerfully casual greetings. Characteristically, once she actually found herself in the moment, she just stood there and gaped like an idiot. It wasn't until he had swept her up in an annoyingly brotherly hug that she regained her wits.
"Remus," she greeted him, the practiced chill in her voice ruined by the fact that her feet were not touching the ground and her face was buried in his chest.
Finally, he put her down and held her out at arm's length. Vivian found herself shocked by how the years had changed him. His hair was almost completely gray and his face looked haggard and tired.
But his hands were the same, and so were his eyes. Remus had never been able to hide his emotions, and she could see the heat in those gray eyes as he looked at her. For what it was worth, he still wanted her. It was not necessarily heartwarming, but at least it was an ego boost.
"You look unbelievable," he said. Their eyes locked for the briefest moment before she dropped her gaze. Tell him he's an asshole! Tell him you're available! Stop it! She refused to turn back into the silly, giggling teenaged airhead who had fallen for this schmuck.
So she smiled in a half-hearted sort of way, said "Thank you" politely and turned to see who else was in the room.
In the history of snubs, she figured it landed somewhere in the vicinity of 'lame,' though it did manage to knock him off kilter for a moment. There was an uncomfortable silence before Molly and Arthur Weasley stepped forward, looking healthy and chubby and middle-aged, as well they should.
She hugged them both, viciously pushing down a surge of jealousy at two people with such a happy marriage and a passel of red-headed children who were promptly lined up for introductions. It was shocking to come face to face with entirely grown individuals that one remembered quite clearly as toddlers. Charlie had grown out of his gawky stage, Ron looked disturbingly like Arthur as a young man and Ginny had just been an infant the last Vivian remembered.
It made her feel really, really old.
Fortunately, the feeling didn't last very long, as she was nearly bowled over by Mundungus Fletcher.
"Viv, honey!" he practically squealed. "Still got those spellbooks I found you?"
She assured him that she did, once again reminding herself that their origins were none of her business and that one shouldn't ask too many questions about free spellbooks. Mundungus seemed like the last person to greet, and yet everyone still seemed to be standing there, looking at the fireplace expectantly.
With a dawning sense of horror, Vivian realized that they were waiting for David. Oh, dear, I really should have told Dumbledore about that, she thought, wincing.
"Umm, I'm the only one arriving," she said, smiling wanly.
There was a long and exquisitely painful pause as everyone in the room stared at her in incomprehension.
"Oh, I see," Molly finally said, in that understanding tone that told Vivian that Molly would see too it that David's name was not spoken by any member of her family. Of course, the rest of the Order is going to be expecting David, too, aren't they? Oh, what a nightmare. Vivian felt that at the moment, the best way to deal with this uncomfortable situation was to put to use her tried and true method for dissolving uncomfortable situations: fleeing as if her arse were on fire.
"Why don't you show me to my room?" she asked Remus brightly, taking his arm and trying to drag him out of the room without appearing as if she were actually trying to drag him out of the room.
Once they reached the front hallway, Vivian abruptly let go of his arm, realizing that she actually had no idea where she was going. Shaking his head, he motioned her up the stairs and she followed him until they reached the end of the third floor hallway.
"This one's yours," he said, opening the door.
"Oh," Vivian said, taken aback. "It's…it's lovely." It was actually ugly and dark and utterly dreadful. Even the paintings looked depressed.
"Sirius' mother did have a way with decorating, didn't she?" Remus asked, smiling.
"Oddly enough, I think a great many aspects of Sirius' personality suddenly make sense to me now," Vivian said, taking her shrunken belongings out of her pockets and tossing them on the bed.
"Yes, I suppose," Remus replied, shoving his hands into his pockets and suddenly looking adorable and uncertain and exactly the way he had when she'd first met him. Vivian blinked and called it a trick of the light. "He hated this place."
Her eyes turned to study him as she answered. "I suppose anybody in their right mind would, wouldn't they?"
He just nodded and looked at the floor.
"I'm so sorry, Remus," she said softly. It seemed like a stupid thing to say, but then all of the wise and understanding and profound things she'd had to say on the subject had been used up years and years ago, when he'd lost his three best friends in one day. Frankly, even then, they'd sounded trite. "How are you?"
"Oh, you know me," he said bracingly, running a hand through his hair. "I'll be fine. I'm just sorry you won't be able to give him the big, dramatic apology I know you were planning."
Vivian sniffed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Please, from the moment I told you Sirius was innocent, you've been falling all over yourself with contrition. You sent him those awful cookies at Christmas…"
"My cookies were awful?" Vivian asked faintly.
"Yes, they were, but that's not the point. The point is that you feel all guilty for his arrest by ex-Auror association or whatever your justification is for feeling guilty, and I simply feel the need to assure you that he bore you no ill will," Remus said firmly.
"Really?"
"Well," he qualified, "he bore you no ill will about the arrest and being sent to Azkaban without a trial. He did, however, still bear a grudge about you ratting him out to McGonagall for trying to sneak into the Ravenclaw common room."
"Oh, yes, I remember that. He was trying to meet with Merlania Grossenpfeffer. Boy, was she a floozie. Why did Sirius always date floozies?"
"Because they put out," Remus answered, as if this should have been obvious.
She laughed hoarsely. "Here, I have an idea. I'll apologize to you instead."
Remus looked surprised. "To me? For what?"
She stepped forward a few feet. "Just pretend to be Sirius for a moment, okay?"
He gave her his patented 'I'm only doing this to humor you' look before taking a deep breath and slapping a sarcastic and brooding expression on his face that was so much like Sirius, she started giggling.
"If that's your apology, it stinks."
"I'm sorry," she choked out. "It's just that you look just like him…" Vivian pressed her lips together and made herself sober up.
"Sirius," she began.
"Yes?" he answered, sounding convincingly rude. Vivian fought back another round of giggles.
"When you were brought in, you were laughing like a madman. You wouldn't even answer any questions, and we all…" Well, they'd all thought he gone 'round the bend, actually. Vivian coughed. "We all jumped to a lot of conclusions, and we shouldn't have."
Remus eyed her warily, then nodded. It was getting a lot easier to imagine him as Sirius. She started to fidget a little under his gaze.
"We were all just doing what we were trained to do and we thought everything would be sorted out at the trial. We didn't know they'd put you away without a trial. You didn't behave like an innocent man, but I should have at least made sure that you were treated fairly. You deserved that much, and I didn't give it to you. None of us did…" She faltered a bit.
"Go on," Remus said softly.
"I'm sorry," she said, gulping.
"I forgive you," he said, and Vivian smiled at him. Remus chuckled and stepped forward to draw her into a hug.
"Do you feel any better?"
She nodded.
"You know, he forgave me, too. We even hugged, in a manly sort of way."
Vivian laughed and squeezed him tighter.
Remus stepped back suddenly, looking embarrassed. "Sorry, I know I probably shouldn't…" he stopped mid-sentence. "Speaking of David, I believe the question of the hour is: where is he?"
Vivian groaned. She was certainly not up to recounting the whole ugly breakup with David right now. "He's not coming. He doesn't even know I'm here."
"He doesn't? What did you tell him you were doing?"
"I didn't tell him anything."
He continued to look confused.
"We…well, we're divorced. Just came through a few months ago. It's a long boring story, and it's really not worth getting into it right now."
Remus sat down on the bed, looking shocked. "Divorced? What happened? I thought you guys…I mean…it wasn't about this, was it? About coming back and rejoining the Order?" he asked in a horrified voice.
"It had nothing to do with any of that. It all just wasn't working out. Let's go back downstairs and get ready for the meeting."
Remus nodded, rising from the bed. "But you'll tell me later, right?" he asked, chucking her under the chin.
Vivian sighed heavily. "Yes, I'll tell you later."
By the time they reached the kitchen, the children had been sent upstairs and the adults were preparing for a meeting of the Order. Vivian whipped up a quick salad and ate it as she bustled around after Molly, trying to be useful.
"I'm sorry to hurry you along," the older woman apologized, "but you have no idea how hard it is to get everyone together at the same time. We have to take what we can get."
"It's alright," Vivian assured her between bites.
"That's all you're eating?" Molly asked sharply, making Vivian feel like a scolded child. "A salad?"
Vivian shrugged. "I've been in California for fourteen years. All anyone eats there is salad."
"You're too skinny," Molly returned, shaking her head and sitting at the table. Vivian looked down at herself and secretly disagreed. The moment was shattered by a loud crash from upstairs, followed by horrible and unearthly shrieking.
Molly put her head in her hands, Vivian covered her ears and Charlie stood up quickly from the table. "That'll be Tonks, then," he muttered, jogging out of the room.
"Dare I ask what the hell that is?" Vivian finally managed to shout above the din.
"Portrait of Sirius' mum in the front hallway," Mundungus bellowed in response. "Darn old woman bewitched it to screech at everybody."
"Well take it down, then!"
"We can't get it off the wall!" Molly shouted in response. The old woman finally shut up and everybody visibly relaxed. "She put some sort of permanent sticking charm on it."
Vivian thought quickly. "You're sure it's a charm?"
"Severus said it wasn't a potion, but we can't move the thing," Remus explained.
"You can't move it at all, or you can move it a little bit and then it jumps right back into place?" Vivian asked thoughtfully.
"We can't move it at all," Remus replied, beginning to see where this was going.
"And you can't remove the portrait from the frame, right?"
"No, we can't."
Vivian was tapping her fingers on the table. "Have you tried to cut the portrait?"
"Out of the frame? Of course we have," Molly answered.
"No, I mean have you tried to slice up the portrait, get it wet, deface it or anything?"
Molly, Mundungus, Arthur and Remus all looked at each other and shrugged.
"Sirius tried to cut it once…" Remus began.
"And it attacked him," Vivian finished, then continued, "Not like a portrait, but like an actual person, right? Spitting at him and the like?"
Remus nodded and there was a moment of silence as Vivian stared off into space, muttering. Then the first wave of the Order of the Phoenix burst into the kitchen.
"'Lo all," Tonks greeted them cheerfully, her hair – for the moment – long and straight and an oddly calming sky blue. Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape and Kingsley Shacklebolt entered behind her, followed by a lightly panting Charlie Weasley. "Sorry about the upset in the hallway."
Five people immediately shushed her.
At that moment, Vivian picked up the fork she'd been using to eat her salad and conjured up a glass of water as she strode purposefully out of the room, her wand clenched in her teeth. The new arrivals watched her leave, exchanging puzzled glances.
"Was that Vivian Wellbourne?" Professor McGonagall asked the room in general.
"She's Vivian Lynes now, Minerva," Molly reminded her. "Or at least, I think she is."
McGonagall blinked at her. "I'm sorry?"
"She married David Lynes. Ravenclaw, too, if I remember," Arthur chimed in. "He does some sort of Muggle-Wizard currency exchange business."
"Only he didn't come with her, and mother's forbidden us to say anything about it to her," Charlie supplied helpfully.
"Oh, I see," McGonagall answered, pursing her lips.
"Well, why did she just walk out of here with a fork and a glass of water?" Tonks asked.
Remus grinned. "I think she's going to try and remove Mrs. Black from the wall."
Everyone in the room looked at him in horror. The shrieking renewed from the front hallway and there was a general rush for the door. Molly Weasley muttered angrily about trying to raise children in such an environment.
Due to the geography of the kitchen and the narrowness of the stairs, Tonks was at the head of the group moving toward the front hallway, followed immediately by Severus Snape. When the shrieking was abruptly cut off, she stopped.
Seven people immediately plowed into her in a tangle of arms and legs. The force of the collision was enough to change the color of Tonks' hair to purple with white polka-dots. Snape frantically tried to steady himself by grabbing onto Tonks' robes, but a loud and heavy-sounding thud sent her shooting forward again, wand at the ready.
Unfortunately enough for the rest of the people on the stairs, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
Everyone behind Tonks began falling backward. Snape, and all the others behind him tumbled down the stairs in what would have been an injurious pileup had Arthur Weasley not quickly summoned up a cushioning charm.
Instead, fingers poked eyes, knees collided with chins and McGonagall let out a stream of curses that would have made Molly Weasley gasp had Mundungus Fletcher not been sitting atop her.
"That child is a menace!" McGonagall cried, bun askew, rubbing the top of her head where it had come into violent contact with Remus' shinbone.
This declaration was followed by Tonks whooping from the front hallway. "Cor, she's done it! The old woman is no more!"
Snape pulled his robes from over his head and cringed instinctively, waiting for the epithets to begin again. Instead, there was silence.
"I don't believe it," he breathed, thoroughly impressed for exactly the third time in his life.
Mundungus sighed happily. "I don't know what she did to put a stopper in that old bag, but I could kiss her for it."
The group made a slow, painful extrication from each other before starting back up the stairs warily. In the front hallway, they found the silent portrait of Mrs. Black lying on the floor and Tonks staring in awe at Vivian, who was cradling her left hand.
"The evil old thing bit me," she growled, shaking the offended hand at them. The Order of the Phoenix simply stared at the fallen portrait in astonishment, rubbing various sore areas of their bodies.
That was how the rest of the Order found them when they walked in.
"Ah," Dumbledore said as he walked in, followed by a whole host of Order members, including Dedalus Diggle, two more redheads that had to be the Weasley twins, and Vivian's old partner, Mad Eye Moody. "I see someone has managed to outsmart Mrs. Black." He ambled into the corridor as everyone's attention snapped toward him; many mouths were still open in shock. "I must say it will be nice to be able to make noise in the front hallway without having my beard insulted."
Vivian, still gritting her teeth about being foolish enough to let her hand stray into the path of a mad painting, simply squinted at him before turning to the blue-haired young woman next to her.
"So you're Tonks, I take it?" she asked.
"Guilty as charged," the girl grinned. "Your hand actually doesn't look too bad. Let Molly have a look and I think you'll be alright."
Vivian smiled at her before moving off to greet the new arrivals.
"Professor Dumbledore, it's wonderful to see you again," she said, shaking his hand warmly.
"I cannot thank you enough for taking the Defense Against the Dark Arts position," he replied, his blue eyes sparkling. "We were not unduly impressed with the Ministry's selection last year."
"Yes, The Grand Inquisitor."
"Oddly enough" Dumbledore mused, "I have yet to meet a student who is terribly upset about her departure."
Vivian turned and shook Moody's hand next.
"I heard a half-crazed Death Eater locked you up in your own trunk for nine months, Mad Eye," she accused him, shaking her head. "Don't tell me you went to a head doctor and fixed that good old paranoia of yours."
"I'd watch it if I were you," Moody grunted, his magical eye still studying the portrait of Mrs. Black as if it were going to come after him with a knife. "I've got stories about Little Miss Rookie Auror that would have that Institute of yours checking their records to make sure they had the right person."
"I've missed you," she said fondly.
His non-magical eye winked at her. "I've missed you, too. After all, it's not every day a fully trained Auror misses a mission because she got flustered and left her wand in the loo…"
Vivian slapped him on the arm playfully as the group began moving downstairs.
"Why don't you go first, Tonks?" she heard McGonagall say loudly from the front of the group before murmuring to Dumbledore, "Wait until she reaches the bottom. Trust me on this."
Once the entire group had seated themselves at the large table in the kitchen and Molly had fussed a bit over Vivian's hand, Dumbledore called the meeting to order.
"As you have noticed, we have another member to welcome back into our ranks," he announced, gesturing at Vivian. "She has returned to us after many years at the Institute for Ancient and Irrelevant Spells, Curses and Hexes in order to work with the Order and possibly survive more than one year as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts."
"The odds are at fifty-to-one right now," Mundungus Fletcher whispered to her, winking.
"She is also," Dumbledore continued, looking over his half-moon glasses at Mundungus, "a two-time North American Dueling Champion." Both twins gazed wide-eyed across the table at her. One of them gulped. "It is my hope that she will be able to impart some of her dueling skills to the students at Hogwarts."
"Another Dueling Club is certainly what we need with the war on," McGonagall agreed. "With that and Harry's extra training…"
"Extra training?" Vivian hadn't heard anything about Harry getting extra training. A glance around the table showed that nobody else seemed surprised.
"Yes," Dumbledore answered, his blue eyes twinkling. "Just tonight, the governors of Hogwarts have approved one of the world's foremost experts in the subject to train Harry in combat."
"One of the world's foremost mercenaries, more like," Molly shot back bitterly.
"Mercenaries?" When had all of this occurred?
"The negotiations just began a few weeks ago," Dedalus informed her. "The Cardinal himself offered up one of his teams to help out the cause." It was obvious by his tone that this development was distasteful to him.
Vivian was floored. The Cardinal was known to have unlimited resources at his disposal, the most talented bodyguards, assassins, trackers and thieves in the world lined up to offer their services to him, which he in turn offered to his clients…at a price. It was a price only a select few could pay. Calling The Cardinal's employees mercenaries was like calling The Great Depression a spot of bad money-management.
It simply didn't seem to fit that a man as profit-driven as The Cardinal would offer up his services for free.
"What did he ask for in return?" Vivian inquired tentatively.
"Nothing," Dumbledore answered, smiling. "Apparently he feels a special desire to contribute to the fight against Voldemort." His eyes twinkled again, and Vivian knew immediately that this was nowhere near the whole story.
"At least he says he only wants to contribute to the fight," Arthur pointed out.
Kingsley Shacklebolt chimed in. "Dumbledore is the one who spoke with him. If he says The Cardinal is on the level, and The Cardinal operates the way I think he does, then we should thank our lucky stars that he's on our side in all of this."
"Yes, Kingsley, but at what price?" Arthur countered, a concerned look on his face.
"The Cardinal has assured me himself that he is performing this service pro bono," Dumbledore answered, with the same secretive smile. "He has come to the conclusion that Voldemort does not suit his purposes."
Snape finally spoke up. "In any case, there are other issues to be discussed and time is short," he sneered. Vivian had never particularly cared for Severus Snape, though she'd also been disgusted by the way Remus' friends had bullied him in school. He may be a tiresome git, but even tiresome gits didn't deserve to have their undergarments displayed to the entire student body.
"Yes, Severus?" McGonagall asked patiently.
"The Dark Lord has a new plaything. She's Atreus Castelar's daughter."
Everyone winced a bit at the name. Atreus Castelar had been one of the more notorious Death Eaters during the first war. Death Eaters were well known for killing people, but Atreus had taken it much farther than that. As an Auror, Vivian had come across quite a few of his little masterpieces, and her stomach turned over just thinking about it.
"He had a daughter? I didn't know that," Mundungus commented.
"Very few did. She was only a few months old when Atreus was killed, and it was only a few months later that Reina turned fugitive. The girl's been on the run with her mother ever since. Her mother, incidentally, is now quite dead. Muggle-style, no less."
"That girl's the same age as Ginny, then," Molly breathed. "What could he possibly want with her?" A great deal of motherly worry entered her voice and general sort of murmuring arose around the table.
"I don't know," Severus answered. "But I have a few ideas."
"Such as?" Dumbledore prompted him.
"Well, the Dark Lord always did have a fondness for Atreus. It's possible that he ordered the girl brought back for entirely sentimental reasons. Perhaps he believes she'll be loyal to him."
"So she's just going to conveniently forget about You-Know-Who killing her mum Muggle-style?" one of the twins asked, appalled.
"What does that mean, anyway – Muggle-style?" asked the other twin.
"It means they stabbed her to death," Snape answered flatly.
A general shudder went the length of the table. Even Dumbledore looked a bit pale.
"Or maybe," Arthur asked excitedly, "they used one of those guns they're always going on about. You know, to fill her full of lead."
"Death Eaters," Snape said coldly, "don't use guns."
This was getting entirely too gory. "What other reasons could there be for bringing her back?" Vivian asked, more to push the bloody corpse images out of her head than any other reason.
Snape shot her an unreadable look. "I don't have much information yet. In fact, all I have are impressions, but…it seems as though the Dark Lord has been growing rather interested in the next generation of Death Eaters of late."
"But that's understandable, isn't it?" Charlie Weasley asked. "He'd obviously want to acquire new recruits."
Severus shook his head. "Not interested in gaining new recruits, interested in cultivating a relationship with the children of his most loyal Death Eaters. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and now the Castelar girl. Something is in the works, I just don't know what it is."
"Then we have to get her out of there," Molly said firmly.
"Out of Malfoy Manor?" Severus sneered. "That's impossible."
"But she's just a child, and they're holding her prisoner, for Merlin's sake," Molly argued.
"Is it at all feasible?" Vivian asked Severus.
He at least had the decency to look pained. "No," he answered. "There are too many protections and she's too well guarded, and even aside from all of that…" He seemed to shift uncomfortably in his seat.
"What?" Remus asked.
Snape didn't respond right away. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. "They found her in Vancouver. From what I know of the organization, it should be patently impossible to locate someone halfway across the world, hiding among Muggles. Even the Dark Lord's reach doesn't extend that far."
"A locator charm?" Tonks asked.
"I don't know. I just have the distinct impression that even if we managed to obtain the girl, he would come after her with everything he has. I mean, if he's put out this much effort just to get her in the first place…"
"Bloody hell," one of the twins said, wide-eyed.
"Fred!" Molly scolded him, thankfully allowing Vivian to tell them apart.
"Severus," Dumbledore said suddenly. He had been quietly observing the discussion for some time. "There is nothing we can do in the short term, am I right?"
Snape nodded.
"Then we will have to continue to investigate the matter and see what can be done, though in the long term, I would like to find a way to either rescue her or have her sent to us," Dumbledore concluded.
"You mean have her sent to Hogwarts?" Snape asked, looking amused.
"If necessary. Regardless of her situation and who her parents were, this is a child we are talking about, and it is our responsibility to protect her if we can," Dumbledore answered mildly.
"Hogwarts?" Vivian asked faintly, trying to imagine teaching a student who had never been properly schooled, and yet had been held captive by Death Eaters. "But if she comes to Hogwarts, then what, exactly, are we supposed to do with this girl?"
"Teach her, I'd imagine." McGonagall's tone was dry.
"Teach her?" Snape sneered. "I doubt the girl's ever set foot in a classroom. In fact, I'll lay down odds with Mundungus that the only thing the girl knows are illegal curses her mother taught her. If you think she's going to excel at Herbology, you'd be wrong."
"Illegal curses!" Arthur Weasley chimed in. "You want to bring a child raised like that into Hogwarts?"
"She's a child, Arthur," Molly reminded him.
"I don't think she needs to be protected," he muttered in response. "It sounds to me like the students are going to need protection from her."
"So in other words," Vivian said slowly and with dawning horror, "aside from trying to teach classes with a war raging outside the school walls and preparing one of our sixth year students for the battle to decide the fate of the wizarding world, we're also going to have to contend with a trio of thugs-for-hire who claim to be working for us out of the goodness of their hearts and might possibly be teaching a girl raised by a fugitive Death Eater?"
Dumbledore smiled beatifically. "Just another year at Hogwarts."
The Cardinal's Castle
Location Unknown
After Amina and Gautham had met with Dumbledore, the three of them were instructed by Bertha the Breasty to hold tight while Dumbledore ran their plans by the governors of Hogwarts.
They were all uncomfortable speculating on the life and times of The Cardinal while actually underneath his roof, so instead they were embroiled in a cutthroat card game they had made up entitled Three-Person Strip Bridge when Bertha knocked again later that evening.
"Just a second," Amina called as she and Fox began putting their clothes back on. Gautham, however, remained seated, clad only in his boxers and his right sock.
"Aren't you going to get dressed?" Fox asked.
Gautham waved his hand. "I think it's time for a new strategy with the secretarial pool."
"Alright then," Fox said, rolling her eyes. "Come in," she called toward the door.
It opened to admit The Cardinal himself.
Many years later, the mere memory of this event would have the ability to send both Amina and Fox into paroxysms of laughter. At the moment, however, both simply stared up at the ceiling and tried to keep a straight face while The Cardinal raised an imperious eyebrow and Gautham sheepishly pulled on his pants.
"I do not concern myself with the personal habits of my teams," The Cardinal said, apparently to himself. He cleared his throat before speaking again. "The governors have approved your presence at Hogwarts. Dumbledore would like you to report immediately. Or," he qualified, watching Gautham try to surreptitiously locate his shirt, "as immediately as possible."
"Yes, sir," the three mumbled in unison.
"I'll just…wait for you in the hallway," The Cardinal replied, marching out of the room and slamming the door shut.
"Shit, shit!" Gautham cried, panicking. "Where's my shirt?" He got on his knees and peered underneath the chair he'd been sitting in.
"Oh!" Amina said suddenly, looking down at herself. "I think I'm wearing it."
"Well, give it back, would you?"
Knowing that even Gautham had his limits, Amina obediently pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it to him.
Since they hadn't been in the castle that long, it only took them a few minutes to pack up. Gautham hid between his two female companions as they proceeded out into the hallway, following The Cardinal down to his office, where he quickly created a portkey out of a broken quill.
"One minute until it activates. It will take you directly to Dumbledore's office," he informed them, handing the quill over and counting them down on his watch.
Dumbledore was awaiting them with a welcoming smile when they arrived in his office. This time, the power hit Fox with the force of a tidal wave and she swayed a bit before getting her bearings back. Trying to get herself to relax, Fox looked around the office. It was filled with interesting little gadgets that her fingers itched to mess around with. She refrained.
"Sorry it took me so long to collect you," he apologized. "I had a few matters to take care of." They all nodded in acceptance.
"The governors were quite pleased with your diagnostics of the situation," he continued pleasantly, escorting them down a spiral staircase and into a rather dark, forbidding hallway.
"So they'll agree to shift the wards so that we can use some of our detection devices?" Gautham asked.
"And they agreed with my idea of mixing aspects of superspatial and subspatial cloaking spells?" Amina asked simultaneously.
Dumbledore simply chuckled. "They seemed rather loathe to admit it, but you three are the experts, and you've managed to pinpoint weaknesses in our defenses that none of us would have ever imagined."
"Goody," Gautham said, rubbing his hands together in operationalist glee.
"Believe me, sir, when we're done with this place, the only person who would be able to break into it would be…well…us, actually." Amina added.
"So when do we start?" Fox finally managed to break into the conversation.
"As eager as you all are, I think it can wait until the morning," Dumbledore answered. "I just wanted to show you to your rooms tonight." They continued walking down the hall for a while in anticipatory silence.
Suddenly, the voice spoke to Fox. It sounded different, though – distant and crackling, like an untuned radio. Fox initially thought it was because she was near Dumbledore, but she discarded that thought almost immediately. The last time she'd been near him, she'd heard both of their voices, not a bastardization of her own. And then Fox realized that Harry Potter had walked these halls. Her power was being disrupted by her own power residing in another person who had been here not that long ago.
Fox tried to focus on the voice, to draw it out, but it was difficult, and she only got bits and pieces.
The heir's throne…he made her…he will claim…once before, he infiltrated…again…As quickly as it came, it faded out again. Fox didn't pay attention the rest of the way to their chambers, instead mulling over what she'd heard, and what it might mean. She thought about bouncing it off of Dumbledore, but decided to wait until tomorrow. The voice had been insistent, but Fox couldn't tell what exactly it had been insistent about.
Finally, they came to a stop in front of a painting of an overweight mermaid sitting on a rock. Men bobbed around her feet, gazing up at her worshipfully, occasionally shoving one another under the water or trying to climb up the rock only to be slapped coquettishly by the mermaid's tail.
"Funestus Liber," Dumbledore muttered. The mermaid giggled girlishly and swung open to reveal a velvet-carpeted oak-paneled hallway with tasteful wall sconces. It was quite a departure from the gloomy stone corridors they'd left behind.
They went through a wild maze of carpeted hallways until they finally turned right into a sort of cul-de-sac of three doors. Their names were engraved on plaques outside each of them.
"Our own rooms," Amina sighed happily. "I knew this was going to be a good job."
Apparently Fox had been forgiven for getting them sent to Hogwarts.
"Well, I will say goodnight to you here and let you settle in a bit. I'll be by to collect you in the morning for breakfast. I know Hogwarts can be a bit tricky for newcomers," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling in the limited light as he turned to go.
"Our own rooms," Amina repeated, leaning against her door and sighing.
"I am going to get so much action," Gautham commented, running his fingers over the nameplate next to his door.
"With what, twelve-year-olds?" Amina asked, yawning a bit.
"Ugh, no," Gautham said disgustedly. "I'm talking about professors."
"Yes, well, forgive me for not waiting with baited breath for that to happen," Amina answered, rolling her eyes.
"Do not," Gautham said fiendishly, holding up one finger, "underestimate me." With that, he turned abruptly and – humming Hot For Teacher under his breath – dramatically swung open his door and slammed it shut.
"Remind me to laugh my ass off in the morning at Gautham being caught in his skivvies by The Cardinal," Amina said, yawning.
I'm not sure I'm going to continue posting with fanfiction.net because I get confused by the computery things and they lose all my neato formatting, which I didn't realize until this chapter. I may repost these to make them look a little better, but if you're impatient, there's a larger majority of the story posted on schnoogle.com.