We move, dear friends towards the official ending of Seerius Trouble, an Epilogue is being penned, well, typed, as we speak. We may or may not return to the ST Universe, certainly this will be the last time for a while that the characters therein come out to play. This chapter is a bit of a beast, so as well as Quote of the Week; you get a suitably suitable quote at every change of scene. Some of them you will know and some you won't, but rest assured, we spent all of five minutes thinking up these beauties…
With this in mind I give to you Chapter 13, and leave you with this parting gift –
"Fiction is the truth inside the lie" – Stephen King
Chapter 13 – All's Well that Ends, because if it ain't good at least it's over
It's been a hard day's night
After a tough day trying to earn a decent wage in London, Harry had come to realise something. The reason taxis charged so much was because half the people he drove around tried to leave without paying - tried being the operative word, since nobody messes with the boy-who-kicked-Voldie's-ass, even if they don't know that he did. Years with Sirius and Snape (not together, oh the humanity, not together lalala, just a turn of phrase, no reason to think they should be) had left him with the ability to intimidate pretty much anyone into coughing up.
But no one left tips.
To top things off, he kept having nightmares, where Sirius didn't come back after he had seemingly fallen through the veil in Harry's overly long and relatively dull fifth year.
He was not in the best of moods, and so collapsed, figuratively and literally into the bath. When the phone began to ring, he ignored it. There was no way he was going to get out of his nice, warm and above all, comfortable bath to answer it.
Ring ring, ring ring
Since leaving the Wizarding world, Harry hadn't exactly been outgoing. He hated lying to people, so he just didn't get too close to anyone. The only people with his number were the Amateur Dramatics Club he had joined (to help get control of his emotions), his boss, and his Landlord.
Ring ring, ring ring
He didn't want to talk to them, so he let the machine pick it up:
"Hi this is Harry, and I'm not around at the moment, so leave a message."
He waved his hand with practiced ease and putting up strong silencing charms. It was a bit of wandless magic he had cultivated for use in the taxi – because some people really had no shame. And this way, if it was urgent, he could honestly say he hadn't heard the message.
An hour later, a much more relaxed but considerably wetter Boy Wonder emerged from the bathroom. He walked over to the answer phone and decided to listen to the message. It seemed to be rather a long one, from quite how far the tape was wound on.
"Hello kid, it's Sirius."
The repressed memory of driving his Godfather and Snape to the Savoy hit him rather hard. He collapsed to the floor.
"You know, your Godfather. I just wanted to say hi, so 'hi', and if you want to catch up I'm free next weekend, or not, I mean I know you wanted to leave the whole magic thing behind butit'dbenicetoseeyouagain and catch up, and I've said that already."
There was a pause and Harry thought the message was over until he heard a sharp inhalation of breath, and the message continued.
"So, yeah, um, let me know, or don't, no pressure, and I'll see you, or not, maybe, sometime."
Harry had never heard his Godfather sound so nervous, even when explaining to Molly exactly how he had set fire to the kitchen at Grimauld Place when she had asked him to wash the dishes, and how actually, with the right combination of spells, water was flammable, and besides, he continued in a mumble that only Harry standing next to him, and Remus with his auditory prowess could hear; it was his house, so he could set fire to the kitchen if he bloody well wanted to...
"Bye Harry and, take care."
Harry was suddenly engulfed by a desire to see his godfather again, and to find out what had happened to his friends since he had left Hogwarts all those years ago. He smiled to himself, thinking that, no matter how much he or anyone else had changed, at least he could rely upon the Weasleys to be exactly how he remembered them. They were the type that stuck together through thick and thin.
Unfortunately, it appears that Sirius has once again been taking stupid potion.
"How am I supposed to talk to him," Harry mused to himself, "Since I don't know where he is?"
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A/N: And that, folks is what we authors like to call "writing yourself into a corner". It wasn't intentional, but it took a bloody long time to find a way out. That's why you should never stop writing half way through a scene, because the muse you find tomorrow may not be talking to the one you had yesterday.
Nevertheless, write a way out I did, and here it is.
Didn't think that was it did you? We're not that cruel… well, CRL is, but she isn't here.
Onwards, ever onwards…
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Not for the first time, Harry felt a stab of regret that he had given Hedwig away to Draco Malfoy in their seventh year, after the boy's own owl had taken the Dark Mark. Harry's gesture had been the cement that fixed the boys' rather odd (but entirely platonic) relationship together.
Draco and Harry became friends in their sixth year at Hogwarts when Harry was finally allowed to join the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore revealed that, since Draco had no plans to become a Death Eater (tattoos being, after all, so '97) he would be living with his closest non-evil relative until his seventeenth birthday.
It took a while for the implications of this to sink in. Well, for some members it was rather obvious (Remus and Snape immediately began to snigger) while others took a little longer to get the picture. When it finally hit Sirius, he spat out his carbonated beverage, causing the caffeine pixies to cry out in horror.
After several stunners and three pints of calming potion, he took the news rather well.
Within a week, the housemates were firm friends, and if it were possible, twice the trouble they had been individually.
All the above was rather pointless, except to fill in a few old plot holes that most people didn't expect filling, and to highlight the fact that Harry had no owls (of the avian variety. He had plenty of the qualifications).
Three hours and several hundred inept plans later, Harry was getting frantic. He was, in fact, almost having a 'total panik', but he wasn't Dutch, or in a boy band, so he wasn't quite there.
He was desperate to see his Godfather properly. Five years was he realised, five years too long. He was a fool to think he could leave his former life behind entirely, and after all they'd been through together, Sirius didn't deserved abandonment. Even if he was dating Snape. Especially if he was dating Snape.
He had justified the action to himself by suggesting that Sirius wasn't entirely alone. He was a free man, and as such could go where he pleased, and he supposed Remus would always be around for his oldest friend. Then there was Snape, but Harry didn't even want to touch that Black kettle of well-oiled-fish with a ten foot barge pole.
All this meant that the Boy-Who-Lived was feeling more and more like he was the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Abandon-The-Only-Family-He'd-Ever-Had, and safe to say very, very guilty.
After searching seven years' worth of Charms textbooks and his own memory he felt even worse. The guilt finally triggered another memory long suppressed and it hit him – the two way mirror!
He began to systematically bang his head against every wall in his flat in the fashion of a certain house elf of our acquaintance.
Why did he never remember the bloody mirrors?
A/N: thank goodness I finally did. Only took 472 words to get out of that plot-hole on the road to our story.
"DAMMIT!"
Rummaging his way through five years of stratified crud, he reached his school trunk. It was then short work (with Harry, how could it be anything else) to remove his mirror from the Weasley jumper it had long resided in.
He cleared his throat, plucked up his courage, and, remembering his first Floo fiasco, enunciated clearly
"Sirius Black"
Do you bite your thumb at me, sir?
Sometime later in the South of France…
"I beg your pardon?" came the gritted reply, each word ground out in a quiet, silky, but above all else menacing tone.
"I said," replied a second voice, daring to be patronising even in the face of such glaring danger, or perhaps totally unaware of it, but either way, in a voice that could only belong to a Gryffindor "That I've invited Harry to come and visit us. To stay for a bit. He is my godson after all, and I'd like to catch up with him."
"Without asking me?" replied Severus in a tone dangerously close to his precursor for yelling.
"Yup!" answered Sirius with a bit of a smirk. But let it not be said that Gryffindors have no common sense, for he qualified this remark, "I mean, it's not like I should have to ask you anyway. It's not like we're married or anything. Not that I want to be. Not that we could be."
You know what? Shout it from the rooftops – it's true after all. Gryffindors have no common sense.
"It's still my house. What I say still goes." Severus snapped.
"I take it back. Now we sound like we're married. And how'd I end up bottoming?"
It was enough to throw even Severus, ex-spy extraordinaire off his (rather lovely) stride.
"Fine" he countered, knowing he was starting to sound worryingly like a sulky child, and cursing the fact that Sirius still had this effect on him. "But if you're inviting someone I don't like, then I'm inviting someone you don't like."
"I only had one true enemy, a childhood nemesis, and somehow I ended up living with him."
"Fine, then I'll invite Harry's childhood nemesis and then you'll both be sorry"
Sirius merely arched an eyebrow, something he'd picked up from multiple viewings of Hugo Weaving as Lord Elrond, or possibly from all that time with Severus, and waited for the new plan to unfold. This was not so much an 'I am Snape, Potions Master, Arseholier-than-thou on any day of the week, and twice as much on a Yellow Tuesday' moment as a Sulky Sevvie taking his ball home. Sirius delighted in the fact that he, for once, had the upper hand.
"I'll invite Draco. He is my godson after all." Severus mimicked.
Sirius sighed then shrugged his shoulders, and hoped he looked sufficiently defeated.
"Okay" he replied with a rather endearing pout, and walked away shaking his head; Severus was really behind the times. He wondered if the mental regression he appeared to be undergoing was catching.
And if not, why not?
I would have followed you my brother, my captain, my king
Harry had, for the first time in years, Ron realised, actually left London. This time he was not merely circling the M25, victim to his own lack of knowledge of geography and probably insufficient volume of hippocampal formation.
This time he had actually left London and was getting further and further away at an alarming speed. A speed which was almost exactly matched to that of the aeroplanes that flew out of Stanstead airport for a certain bargain airline. That is to say, not as fast as a normal plane, but still pretty fast.
It was the only reason Ron could find for the deep ache that settled in the pit of his stomach once the apoplexy had passed, given that he had just completed a nutritious meal of ice cream and chips. There was nothing else he could do but follow, like the good little sidekick he had always been, and seemed doomed to be for ever more. Unless he decided to go a bit Sith on Harry, and that was never a good idea, given the fact that Harry was still probably pretty powerful. It was a hard life being ginger, not that that had anything to do with the matter at hand, but it was still true nonetheless.
Whilst he was packing his most essential possessions into a duffle bag and making preparations in his digs (that mostly consisted of pouring the milk down the sink as the fridge was otherwise empty) in case he was away for any length of time, he felt Harry come to virtual stop. He didn't bother to call the dung factory – in fact he took perverse delight in the search party that would be probably be mounted to discover if he had got lost under a pile of unmentionables somewhere. It wasn't like it would have been the first time it had happened, though thankfully never to him.
By the time he was ready to apparate he had a pretty clear idea of where he was going, since he had felt Harry settle in one place. Ron was thankful that he would be apparating to a point nearer to sea level than 30,000ft, considering what would be a small targeting error at sea level could become rather magnified at 30,000ft as you began plummeting to the ground, having missed the aeroplane.
It was also lucky because men didn't normally appear out of thin air on aeroplanes without causing panic and uproar; or anywhere else, really. But then it's easier to not react quite so hysterically when there's a reasonable (or even slightly plausible) explanation of where they could have come from. C'est la vie et l'essence de savoir.
This is how Ron came to find himself wandering the streets of a small village some miles outside of Biarritz, in the lovely, sunny South of France. He could almost convince himself it was a holiday, but for the lack of anywhere to stay, a ridiculous amount of luggage and any clue of what exactly he was doing, or going to do. So it was more like the average package holiday than he realised.
As he wandered he knew he was going to have to find somewhere to stay soon, but considering he didn't have any money his options were starting to look a little thin. He wandered away from the densely inhabited part, mainly following the pull Harry exerted on him, but also to find somewhere a little more private to gain accommodation (or at least shelter) by the more nefarious means he had considered. Briefly he lamented the fact that he knew of no GALLOWS houses in this area of France as yet, and then mentally slapped himself upside the head. He was not so low on his luck that he'd allow himself to sink to those levels – for in his mind going into a GALLOWS had become directly linked to asking Hermione directly for help, and no-one deserved the condescension that followed that.
He had not seen her since she wandered by and provoked a gut-wrenching vision out of him, although she had invited him to her wedding. Thoughtfully, she had sent a double invitation to both Harry and Ron, knowing that one would be unlikely to come without the other. From his point of view, setting aside the worrying implications of co-dependence, Ron though it was a blatant enough prod at Harry to get his ass in gear; the wedding was in Hertfordshire, and if Harry wasn't there, then Ron wasn't going to be able to go. It seemed though, that the Boy Wonder wasn't even that bright, didn't care, or was having a particularly strong reaction to having his masculinity impugned. Hermione had addressed the invitation to Ronald Weasley and Partner, after all, as an attempt to redress all the Ron-forgetting of previous years. But in reality it was simply the fact that Harry didn't check the PO Box he had set up for all owl-related post very often, even though that's a bit less interesting.
Ron didn't know how close to Harry he dared get, but the combination of musing and his treacherous feet had virtually made the decision for him. He was currently walking up a mud track towards a very isolated pair of buildings – one nicely spruced up and the other as ramshackle as the shrieking shack had ever been. Ron's spidey-sense told him Harry was in the decent house, and so squatting in the other seemed a better option. It didn't look like anyone had lived there in ages. The backdoor wasn't even locked.
Now for wrath, now for ruin, and a red dawn
Meanwhile on the other side of the street…
A certain Harry Potter had just let himself in the front door, which was also unlocked. These houses definitely needed a community policing officer with pithy catchphrases to sort them out. That kind of behaviour just wasn't safe.
But anyway, none of this stopped Harry letting himself in the front door and making himself at home in what appeared to be the living room, after calling out to see if Sirius was around, and getting no reply. He was, in this action, which might seem rash and dangerous to any normal human being trying to alleviate his anxiety. Following the logical, if some what dubious, line of reasoning that if you are worried about your actions, simply not thinking about them will make it better, Harry gave no consideration to his stupid manoeuvres and dived in feet first. Though, when walking anywhere it's generally your feet that do get there first.
He had arrived at Biarritz airport (though to be truthful calling it an airport was more like a breech of the trade description act. He had been surprised he didn't have to help unload his own luggage) some thirty minutes earlier. After having spent quite some fruitless minutes waiting for a taxi to show up, he gave into his superior taxi-knowledge and admitted to himself that no-one was coming to save him. He was so unused to doing things in the magical way was he that he had not even given a second thought to booking himself onto an aeroplane as transportation to France and his Godfather's, even though there were a myriad of other, magical ways for him to travel.
Now though, he was faced with the idea of having to apparate to where he was going, seeing no other means to get there. It did, he supposed, make a bit of sense. This trip was a partial re-entry into the magical world, so it was only fair that a part of it should be accomplished by magic.
All very philosophical, if truth be told, and a little bit deeper than you might have expected from Harry Potter of all people. But none of this did him any good the moment Severus Snape walked in the room.
Now for a moment, put yourself in Severus's shoes. (A/N: for this you may need a prosthetic nose and copious amounts of Bryl cream.) Imagine that all your life you have harboured a deep grudge against Harry Potter, partly to do with the fact that you think he is reaping the cult of celebrity you deserve at least a part of, a pampered prince to your ignored pauper, and partly on account of his hair. So when aforementioned Potter just happens to be making himself comfy on the sacred DVD couch, after nary so much as a word to anyone who cares for him in five years, seemingly without a care in the world, hair as disgustingly messy as always, what would you do?
Severus snarled. I defy any of you to react better.
And it was a truly magnificent snarl at that. A sublime curling of the upper lip to reveal the yellowed teeth; the light reflected giving them the air of being sharpened to points. The rest of his face twisted in disgust, the eyes narrowing to dark slits, and in perfect accompaniment, a low rumbling sound came from deep in his throat. His hands balled themselves into fists at his sides as Harry turned, looking as innocent and disbelieving as he ever did.
Even though Severus had known of Potter's arrival, nothing had quite prepared him for this.
"Potter." He almost hissed, his voice going low and dangerous.
"Snape." Harry's voice, though, had gone flat, and he gritted out the words as if it were taking almost more control than he had to do even that. "What – are – you – doing – here."
Harry it seems had been part of the slow reader's class, and shock had thrown him back into the same pattern of broken speech. That or he had a misguided sense of melodrama.
"I live here Potter. What gives you that right? You presume too much, as always." Severus replied, the smirk audible in his voice, to match the one growing on his face.
"You live – you mean – you sneaky bastard, you conned Sirius into bringing you here – I never expected you of all people to live on charity –"
Harry's rant was cut off by Severus drawing his wand. Long years of experience had taught him it was the best, and sometimes only, way of dealing with such matters.
Harry, having not even thought to bring his wand, glowered back at Severus, seemingly daring him on. Go on, said his stare, do something and then we'll see.
It was onto this little frozen tableau that Sirius wandered.
"Sev, I was just looking at the extras on Pirates and there's a script feature – we'll finally be able to resolve the pearl/pride debate-"
He looked up.
"DAMMIT!"
A silent moment, a frozen beat.
"Would you both stop staring each other out? Severus, put down your wand. Harry, just sit down.
"Please?"
Slowly, inchingly slowly, they complied. And all three startled when the door bell rang.
Draco, being the well brought up young man that he was, had decided to announce his presence and await admittance, rather than just let himself in. Either, that or he was a vampire.
"I'm going to get that." Stated Sirius when the other two showed no inclination to move. "If you've killed each other by the time I get back, I'll just have to eat the cookie dough all on my own. So, y'know, don't, cause then I'll be sick, and that's never nice."
He walked out. They frowned.
"Sirius is making cookies?" Harry asked cautiously.
"He can't cook to save his life. He's just an idiot and loves to confuse."
Harry considered. Severus waited. Slowly Harry nodded.
"S'true."
He gave Severus his Boy-Wonder Broken Smile © - a lopsided curl of the lips, that eventually reached his eyes. Severus inclined his head.
Just a fraction mind.
Dr Livingston, I presume?
Meanwhile at the front door…
Sirius opened the front door to a relatively normally attired Draco Malfoy – that being normal by Draco's standards rather than anyone else's, so he was still wearing a pretty outlandish combination of skin-tight fabrics few others would dare to.
"Hiya, Sirius." He began, "Uncle Sev suggested I pop in. Is it a good time?"
"Well. Harry's here, so as good as it's going to get for a while."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "You left them alone?"
He paused for a beat.
"Why are you standing here and not stopping them from killing one-another? Or at least stopping them from ruining their outfits with misplaced displays of testosterone-driven aggression?"
"Well, everyone always criticises my manners."
"And you thought now would be a good time to break the habit of a lifetime?"
Sirius looked puzzled for a moment. Then turned around and moved very quickly back into the room he had just left. Draco followed; making a token effort to disentangle his wand from the intricate contraption he called a 'man bag'. Not more than a token effort, as breaking up a fight was against his personal credo for several reasons. Firstly it meant that he might have to make some physical effort, secondly there was always the risk to his person and more importantly his coiffure, and thirdly it deprived him of the opportunity to point and laugh.
Strangely though, when they arrived in the hallowed DVD room, Harry and Severus were sitting on the sofa – at opposite ends, mind – and it was Sirius that was standing. And talking, proving he had disregarded all advice given to him on the dangers of males attempting to multitask.
"What d'ya mean, that after all the years of threatening, emotional blackmail works better?"
Was the first bit of the conversation that Draco caught. He couldn't see Harry's face, but if he had been able to, he would have seen a slow grin spread across it.
"I don't think that's what he meant," here he paused, and showing a hitherto unknown diplomatic ability, looked at Severus and said "not that I presume to understand anything you say – I think potions was the case in point – but I think he meant that we were able to bond through our mutual appreciation of your somewhat idiosyncratic nature, and it's failings."
"Potter," piped up Draco, unable to resist the metaphorical laughing and pointing, even if the literal performance would be too gauche, "did you just manage to insult both of your hosts in a single sentence; albeit a somewhat long and interestingly punctuated one? And with a smile on your face?"
"Malfoy. There's no way you could have seen the smile."
"Don't need to – you're way too predictable."
"Fine – there's no way you could've seen the punctuation."
"Hmm. Good point well made."
By this time Draco had deposited his pert (and well clothed) behind on the sofa between Harry and Severus, and appeared to be making himself entirely at home. Leaving Sirius to gape down at him, he turned to Severus,
"Well here I am. I was in the area so I decided to take you up on your invite."
He smiled.
Severus looked like he was trying to bite his tongue off. There had been far too much sniping in what was supposed to be a friendly reunion, he realised. But at the same time he realised that he would actually have to bite his tongue off to keep the remarks from coming that he so desperately wanted to make.
It was a losing battle, but one it took him some time to loose. Consequently when the slights came, they resembled a shopping list for putdowns more than a witty repartee.
"Firstly – you were in the area? What area? – because I know fashion hasn't reached these parts since the late Eighties. Secondly – when you can apparate, every where's in the area! And lastly –"
He broke off realising that he couldn't remember what the 'and lastly' had been going to be. He settled for looking exasperated and glaring at Draco until he filled the void.
No-one was fooled, which made Draco all the more smug when he replied:
"Well, I like to combine visits. Saves people from getting above themselves – I am a celebrity after all. So I was just finishing up a bit of business in the area, that is the South of France, and as I said decided to pop in. Just in time, it seems, as well. I'm sure I've averted some kind of disaster."
Harry looked mildly curious. His mind was running over all the glamorous things that happened in the South of France that could need a world-famous tailor to attend in person. He didn't even try to resist.
"What business?"
"Oh," he replied, "I was just dropping of some uniforms. Hermione's opening a new GALLOWS in Marseille, and needed to kit her staff out."
"Let me get this straight," Severus cut in, unable to restrain himself, "You made a delivery of standardised red jackets to Marseille in person because Hermione Granger asked you to?"
"Well she didn't ask, but yeah. I mean, if you can't be nice to your friends, who can you be nice to?"
"The people you made into your honorary relatives?" chimed Sirius and Severus together.
"Oh, no, that would never do. Tradition, or an old charter, or something. And you've no need go saying her name like that. We've been over all that childishness for ages now."
"Really."
"Well, since she trusted me to design her wedding dress, yes, I would say so."
"She trusted you to design her wedding dress!" exploded Sirius, casting a dubious eye over Draco's apparel, and thinking back to the PVC incident(s) of the past.
"Oh yes. But I was responsible. I took it out on the bridesmaids, though, but then, doesn't everyone?"
All four men nodded in unison.
And all four heads shot up in unison as a loud crash made itself known at the rear of the house.
Fortune favours the Brave
A little while ago in a house just across the street…
Arthur let himself in the (still open) back door and deposited his brown paper bag of shopping onto the tabletop with a sigh. It had been a long day doing virtually nothing, but he had foraged and hunted himself provisions with the assistance of currency exchange and a shopping trolley. He was tired, but proud.
But as he began putting things away he noticed that the spaces that he was filling were somewhat larger than they had been before. It was only then that he noticed there were pots, pans and crockery scattered around and that his son was sitting at the kitchen table eating his way through a rather substantial amount of food. As we have already noted, the Weasleys were not the most observant of families and Arthur even less than the rest of them (see missing Dark Mark for some noticeable time).
He gaped.
Ron gaped, spoon halfway to his mouth. Then he realised his mouth was still full, and his mother had instilled some standards into him. One of them was that opening your mouth when full of food ran a high risk of resulting in you losing food. He did after all have five brothers. So he shut his mouth, and swallowed.
They looked at eachother a bit longer, doing their best impressions of fish, now that both their mouths were empty.
Time seemed frozen, and for a while it was touch and go whether they actually would ever move again.
Then a scruffy-looking ball of fur streaked across the kitchen and effectively broke the spell. It was either that or the terrible yowling coming from the aforementioned ball of fur.
Arthur turned to watch it go. Ron didn't need to since he was already facing the door.
"What was that?" Ron muttered, still slightly lethargic and shocked.
"Um…Um." Replied Arthur, still struggling with the fact that his son had just appeared, and was looking quite well, and like he had avoided the misfortunes that had beset the Weasely family up to this point. Not that he was going to say it out loud, because that would just have been tempting fate, in the same vein as he would never say 'I think we've lost them'; 'I think we're safe'; or 'is that the best you can do?' because providence really does have a pathetically little amount of will power.
"My cat. That was my cat, Wiccan. I think it came with the house."
"Figures. I never really took you as a cat person."
"Well, yeah. But she's very well behaved, really. And she brings me better gifts than the average fare of dead rats and mice."
"Should we go and get her? She looked like she was running as if the very whips of some evil masters were behind her. Might not be coming back. Looks like she went to the house across the road. Do nice people live there?"
"You know, in all the time I've been here, I haven't seen hide nor hair of them. I think they're some kind of weird recluses. Y'know the type that always dress in black and all that. We should rescue her."
They ran across the street, sorry dirt track, towards the offending house. Creeping in the kitchen, through the back, they heard voices, and unashamedly eavesdropped.
"..her wedding dress!" yelled a strangely familiar voice.
"Oh yes. But I was responsible. I took it out on the bridesmaids, though, but then, doesn't everyone?" came the reply, from a smug and well cultured voice, and then a contemplative silence.
Unfortunately Ron chose this said silence to try and sit down on the one chair that wouldn't hold his weight. The resulting crash brought the other (slightly more legitimate) inhabitants of the house into the kitchen to investigate.
True Friends stab you in the front
"Ron!"
"Harry!"
"Arthur!"
"Harry!"
"Sirius!"
"Ron!"
"Severus!"
"Mr Weasely."
"Do not say it! There is absolutely no need for all of us to prove we know each other's names!" Draco, it seemed had finally snapped, having already been through this with his father once. He flounced out of the room, with a gait that spoke of some not inconsiderable practise in the art of flouncing.
"Ron – what on earth are you doing here?" asked Harry, totally ignoring the fact that the same question could be levelled at him.
"Where else would I be Harry? You remember that curse?"
"No." Chorused Sirius, Severus and Arthur.
Ron sighed. "I got hit by a Side-Kick curse, remember. Means I have to be within a certain distance, which isn't all that far, in fact about the radius of Greater London, of Harry. And some other stuff which isn't really important. But that's why I'm here.
"Why are you here, Harry?"
"I came to see Sirius. Staging a partial re-entry into the wizarding world – I decided to start here. What about you Mr Weasely?"
"Um, I live next door. We're here to retrieve my cat, but not sure if it's actually here. You two don't live here, do you?"
"Yes we do. This is my house and Sirius is my guest. Permanently." Rejoined Severus.
"Oh – I wondered why you were here. That makes sense. But – hang on, Sirius why are you living with Snape?" pondered Harry.
"It's a long story [approx 16760 words by our reckoning in fact] but Severus saved my life and I've kind of got over hating him on account of that."
"Right."
"This is great, though," announced Ron. "It's almost like a reunion. All we need is Hermione and we're nearly all together for the first time in ages."
"Only just thought of that Weasely?" sniped Draco, to mark his re-entry to the room. "And to be honest, aren't we missing a few red-heads? Not that I'm complaining."
Ron frowned. "Well," he said, "Ginny's in England with Justin, and they're looking after Fred and George, as well as Duffy, so I don't suppose they could come."
"Who's Duffy? And why is Ginny back in England with Justin?" asked Arthur, proving that his seclusion had been a success after all.
"Duffy is Dario Foe Umfraville Finch Fletchley, Ginny's son by her first marriage. Seems husband number one died in some kind of freak nutritional accident, so Justin is number two. And they are the Weasley Regents, Fred and George's guardians and executors of their fortune now that the twins have been declared insane, which wasn't that much of a surprise, really." Surmised Severus, showing once a spy, always a spy, and delighting in stripping all the humour and interest from what we had endeavoured to create thus far. We suspect he may have been an OWWOWWS affiliated member.
Sirius turned to Draco and Severus with a warning frown for both, and then asked. "Didn't you say Hermione was nearby, though?"
"Um hum." Was all Draco had to say.
"Well should we let here know that so many of us are nearby."
"Once again with the 'only just thought of that?' "
"Huh" or variation on the themes came from all parties, until with a definite 'pop' Hermione appeared in the kitchen, Derrick in tow.
Their faces, as they say, were a picture of surprise. Except for Draco, who knew much more than he was letting on but had a pretty picturesque face all the same.
Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration
Returning to the same scene after a fade interposed for dramatic purposes.
"Hermione!"
"Harry!"
"Hermione!"
"Ron!"
"Hermione!"
"Sirius!"
"STOP! You imbeciles, stop! We finally get a character whose name the rest of us don't know and you ignore him. See this is what you should be doing -
"You stranger! Name yourself with appropriate enthusiasm."
Derrick looked a little confused, and then decided on a fairly normal "Hi, I'm Derrick, Hermione's husband. Pleased to meet you."
The others busied themselves with introducing themselves and assessing the new man, mainly by poking and various traditional vocalisations. When they were bored, and Derrick was metaphorically stripped to the bone, they turned on Hermione.
"Hermione, it's wonderful to see you. It's been ages. What've you been up to?" Enthused Harry.
"Well getting married." She frowned at him, "You didn't come. And you know Ron couldn't go if you didn't, and that was mean."
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, and suddenly it was like they were back at Hogwarts.
"Other than that, not much. Travelled the world, founded a multinational company, made an obscene amount of money, got very bored, learnt retrophrenology, founded the first wizarding charity, um, came here."
"That all?" asked Harry a bit weakly.
"Well not really, but those were the highlights, yeah."
"Amazing really, Miss Granger, and you haven't changed at all." (Who else but Snape with his sarcasm in tow.)
"Actually, it's Mrs Banner."
"How on earth do you find the time to do all that?" Asked Sirius, the confirmed lazy one.
"Well, obviously, I delegate. Penelope Clearwater has been running the business for me – she's back to Clearwater now." she added somewhat apologetically. "We have a lot of correspondence to do."
She thought a moment.
"I always find her address amusing though. She lives in Romania – at Cäsuþä Cottage. Which translates as 'Cottage cottage' which is just ridiculous."
"Not Cäsuþä Cottage in Pelamar, Romania?" asked Arthur cautiously.
"Yes. Why?"
"Because that's where Charlie lives."
And this time it's safe to say all their jaws dropped. That girl, it seemed, had an unhealthy amount of Weasely-love going on.
And because, so far they had discovered everything else that was going on with their family, good and bad, excepting the two eldest brothers, both Arthur and Ron were adamant that they would have to get Charlie on the Floo and find out, just what was going on.
They phrased it thus:
"Get that boy on the floo, so that we can find out just what he'd doing living with his AWOL half-brother's ex wife."
Of course, Hermione ever helpful, piped up: "His AWOL half-brother's pregnant ex-wife, I think you'll find."
The got him on the floo forthwith.
Once more into the breech, dear friends, once more
A pinch of Floo powder later, a harassed looking redheaded head appeared in the fire.
"Hello?" he answered cautiously.
"Charleton."
"Dad"
"Charlie"
"Ron"
"Mr Weasley"
"Professor Snape?"
"Charlie"
"Harry!"
"STOP IT! Stop it all of you. Right now!"
A chorus of 'sorry Draco' resounded. Charlie didn't join in, since he didn't know why the proceeding dialogue had so vexed the young Malfoy.
"So what's going on?"
"We were rather hoping you could explain that to us, Charleton Heston Weasley. More specifically what on Earth you're doing living with your AWOL half-brother's pregnant ex-wife."
"She's not pregnant."
Here Hermione cut in "I'm rather sure she is - last time I saw her she could barely lift her own weight. Unless she had some serious parasitic infection of the alimentary tract…unlikely…I don't see what else could have caused it."
"I'm not denying she was pregnant, just that she isn't anymore. The sprogs dropped a week ago now."
"Sprogs plural?"
"Four of them – from Penny, did you expect anything else?"
He beamed in a manner that was slightly too paternal for Arthur's tastes, and this prompted him to hone in on the issue at hand with all the tact and subtlety of a Gryffindor.
"Charlie, why are you living with your brother's wife?"
"Ok, firstly, that piece of decomposing dragon dung is my half-brother, and only technically; secondly Penny divorced the git, just as she should; and thirdly, my intentions are entirely honourable, Penny is like the sister I never had. Well, the dark haired sister I never had. She's a Weasley in spirit, if not by law."
This explanation seemed to placate the wizards in France, and their expressions mellowed.
"Mind if I come through? Penny's parents are here and they're scary. Gimme dragons anytime."
"An accurate assessment Mr Weasley, the Clearwaters were always rather, shall we say, domineering. Do come in." permitted Severus – he had warded the floo, but never bothered to lock his doors. Figures.
Since the kitchen was quickly becoming crowded, Severus shooed everyone into the lounge and conjured some extra chairs, making sure they looked comfy while actually being hard as boards. He might have a house full of Gryffindors, but he was damned if they were going to be comfortable in his presence.
"So Charlie, what exactly did Percy do this time?"
Charlie began to explain, as best as he could, skipping over the bits everyone knew, and concentrating on the events after Percy's true parentage had been revealed. When he got to Penny's methods of staying calm he had to explain that Penny had memorised a book of some kind, but she hadn't been any more specific, some sort of House tradition he thought. The Slytherins sniggered, both remembering the forward to that book.
Since you and I, dear reader, know exactly what happened on the fateful day that Penny finally decided enough was enough, assume that Charlie told the truth, as well as he was able, and that a curious guarded expression appeared on the face of one Draco Lucio Malfoy around the time that the sale of their furniture was mentioned.
He began to put a cunning plan into place.
"Two questions Charlie, the desk wasn't mahogany with gilt edging was it?"
"Yeah"
"Secondly, I know you aren't the proud father or anything, but you don't have a photo of them I could borrow do you?"
Charlie confirmed that he did indeed have a photo, but was rather disinclined to acquiesce to his request since it was the only photo he had of the little nippers.
"May I be forced to wear sackcloth if I don't bring it back in one piece! Please?" He smiled a charming smile, and Charlie relented.
"Sure," replied Charlie, "the names are on the back."
Draco stepped into the Floo.
Back to the group in the living room, a lengthy amount of chin-wagging later…
"So, that's the entire redheaded league accounted for save one. Tell me Mr Weasley, what happened to your eldest son?"
"I'm not entirely sure. Ron?"
"Dunno."
"Charlie?"
"He's still in Egypt somewhere, looking for the tomb of the Once and Future Queen last I heard. I got a letter from him when he was in Luxor, but I haven't heard from him since." At this he became almost wistful. "He's so lucky – imagine getting paid to work with the stuff of legends." From the guy who handles dragons for a living.
A tapping at the window alerted them to an owl begging to be let in, looking almost as exhausted as Errol used to. It gave up on flying halfway across the room and staggered towards Charlie, dropping the letter in his lap and collapsing there. Sirius, resident soft touch, hurried to deal with it.
"Speak of the devil! It's from Bill. Ahem" he read aloud:
"Greetings Brother Mine,
Couldn't do me a favour could you? I'm getting married tomorrow, to a wonderful girl named 'Pip', and I need you to fetch a contingent from home. I'm not asking for miracles, no need to fetch Ginny or the twins, but if you could gather some of the old crowd I'd really appreciate it.
I leave who to invite to your discretion, as long as it doesn't include The Git (though Pen's welcome of course)."
Charlie continued "and the rest is just where to apparate, and when, nothing special."
The group paused to assimilate this new information.
"So," said Charlie in a cheerful manner "who fancies a trip to Egypt?"
"Why are we going to Egypt?" asked Draco, strolling out of the fireplace with a grace Harry could only dream of.
"To celebrate the marriage of course!" replied an overexcited Sirius
"How did you guys find out so fast? Uncle Sev, you promised me that you didn't have those spies in the Ministry anymore."
Severus had the grace to look abashed, then suddenly he realised What On Earth Draco was talking about.
"You're MARRIED? When, who? And how come I wasn't invited?"
"As to when, about five minutes ago, as to the rest, let's just say I took the Slytherin way of getting back into Father's good books. You weren't invited because I was practically tied to the chair by her parents after I proposed in case I didn't come back."
"Of course! An obvious solution to the problem Draco. Most commendable."
Draco grinned, from Severus this was high praise indeed.
"So, Draco, feel like explaining to the rest of us who you married and what's going on?"
"Ah, Sirius, my dear Gryffindor, it's simple. I married Penny. It's a win-win situation. We get along well enough, will always have a willing shopping partner, there's no need for any further child bearing and Father's happy. All in all, a good day's work, for me and the missus."
"Does that make her a Clearwater, a Malfoy, a Clearwater-Malfoy or heaven forbid a FitzMalfoy-Malfoy?" asked the ever practical Hermione.
"I don't know." Replied Draco, "I guess that's up to her."
Don't argue with madmen or negotiate with terrorists.
A little while earlier in the conversation we have just recounted…
A close observer to Draco's face would have noticed the distinct appearance of cogs turning in his brain, while they made themselves comfortable in the living room.
Percy disappeared.
And a desk appeared.
Suddenly, a proverbial penny came into play.
Which was sold to an antiques dealer. Who specialised in magical house clearances.
Possibly the same antiques dealer who had cleared Malfoy Manor.
The penny began to teeter -
And Lucius' retrieval of furniture had included a desk. A distinctly red and gold desk. Which Lucius seemed rather more protective of than a carved hulk of wood truly merited.
- and dropped.
Percy was the desk. The desk was Percy. They were one and the same.
He fired up the floo, unobserved by the crowd around Charlie. Clearly he pronounced "Lucius Malfoy." The aforementioned head popped up, then focused on his caller and frowned.
"I thought I made it clear." He enunciated in precise tones, "that I had absolutely no wish to see any bastard son of mine again." Well, he had begun calmly enough, even if he had degenerated into crudity by the end.
"Yes you did, but I have something of importance to tell you. To do with the family succession – and no, I'm not pregnant. Besides, I'm the legitimate son."
"Very well."
Draco turned a minute and spoke to Charlie.
"Two questions Charlie, the desk wasn't mahogany with gilt edging was it?" – "Yeah"
"Secondly, I know you aren't the proud father, or anything, but you don't have a photo of them I could borrow do you?"
Charlie paused for a while, then Draco added "May I be forced to wear sackcloth if I don't bring it back in one piece! Please?"
"Sure," replied Charlie, "the names are on the back."
Draco nodded, then stepped into the flames of the fireplace and in a flash of floo powder was gone.
And reappeared in Lucius' study.
"Well?" Demanded Lucius, stepping back from the fire place. His imperious demeanour was ruined by the fact that as he turned to stride away he hit an invisible obstacle, and fell onto the floor.
An invisible obstacle exactly where his desk had been.
Any doubt Draco had had disappeared at this moment. He settled into the role of annoyingly omniscient with worrying ease.
"Well you did say you never wanted to see any bastard son of yours again."
"Huh?"
"That desk is Percy FitzMalfoy. I've just been told a very interesting tale that explains all – would you care to hear it?"
Lucius just nodded.
Which Draco took as his cue to relate the break-up of Percy and Penelope's marriage and subsequent Book of Cunning-inspired metamorphoses that had taken place, along with how exactly the desk could have come into Lucius' hands. He played his trump card of the desk disappearing when Lucius commanded that he never wanted to see any bastard son of his again.
And even by this point he could tell that he had Lucius convinced. So he ploughed on into the matter of Penelope's pregnancy and the fact that four little legitimate FitzMalfoys had just been born, and in triumph brandished the photo at his father.
Slowly, Lucius took the picture and examined it. Two of the children were certainly Malfoys – of that there could be no doubt. The platinum blond hair was evident even at this young age – the boy with blue eyes and the girl with brown eyes, very much like her mother's, not that we are suggesting she stole them in any way shape or form.
The other two were of less interest, one girl being clearly of Weasely stock with strawberry blond curls and blue eyes, though cute nonetheless, and the other boy having black hair and brown eyes. It was clear at even this age that he would be a trouble maker.
There was an identical gleam in both of their eyes that signified a plan.
"What are they called?"
"Apparently the names are on the back." Replied Draco.
Lucius turned over the photo and looked at the names. "The eldest is called Faustus Primus. And even better he has the classic Malfoy looks. His blond sister is Ophelia Secundus and that little devilish one is Marcus Tertius. The baby girl of the lot is Lucy Quartus. It's such a pity they aren't true heirs."
"Yes." Sighed Draco. "It'd certainly save me the bother of having some."
"It'd be easy enough to make them true heirs. A quick civil ceremony, and Bob's your uncle, Fanny's your aunt."
"But father! I'm gay!"
"I said marry the girl not sleep with her. Besides, you'd have to marry some girl at some point to have legitimate children of your own. This is less…well…you know."
Draco seemed to think it over for a while. Then he nodded. It seemed father and son had resolved their arguments over mutual self interest. All that remained was for Draco to propose.
I never hated a man enough to give him his diamonds back
Meanwhile in Romania…
Both the elder Clearwaters were sitting in the sunroom with their daughter. The quads were thankfully all asleep and they were using their time to say some things that needed to be said, now that the Other Man had disappeared.
"But darling -" began her mother.
"And we don't want you to think that we criticising, but we need to say this -" continued her father.
"We find it most disturbing that you're a single mother-"
"Even if you were married when they were conceived-"
"And we know it's not your fault that that no good wastrel disappeared-"
"But still, you should make some effort to improve your situation-"
"We know you're financially independent-"
"But there's a lot to be said for the respectability of independent wealth and a husband when teamed together."
Fortunately, Penelope was spared more nagging by the appearance of one Draco Malfoy, who proceeded to seat himself as if a complete stranger appearing out of thin air was the most normal thing in the world. As we have already observed, his version of normal was slightly skewed.
"Draco Malfoy?" All three asked in unison.
"Last time I checked, 'twas still my name."
"Um, why are you here?" Asked Penelope, but with a worrying idea as to the answer.
"I have a proposition for you, my dear.
"I need a wife and offspring. You have no husband and Malfoy offspring. I'm a gay guy and sex with a woman just seems…messy. It's a match made in heaven."
"Was that a…" she struggled for the word, "proposal?"
"Yes."
"Amazing. I thought no-one could be less romantic than Percy."
"Well, look at it this way. Nothing would change. Except I would insist on designing and tailoring all your clothes and the children's, of course, if our names were to be linked. I like girlie movies, understand the importance of chocolate, and am wonderful to shop with. Your children would become wizarding nobility, with a chance to revive all that was good about the Malfoy name, in this new world that has been forged for us."
Remarkably, during that little speech he had managed to keep his face straight and look appropriately earnest.
"Did you practise that?"
"A bit. Did I rush it? It felt rushed."
"Nah, it was fine."
"See!" Yelled both her parents. "You're already agreeing. You'll be fine. Do it now."
"But-" stuttered both of the quasi-betrothed.
"But nothing. You're here, we'll witness, and you don't really need a minister for a civil wizard ceremony. All recorded in the ministry by one of those magic quills when the appropriate words are spoken."
"And you'd happen to know them of by heart, wouldn't you." Penny asked her mother resignedly.
"Don't be silly dear. I have them written down."
Five minutes later they were married, and Draco returned to France.
Denial ain't just a river in Egypt
The day dawned bright and early, surprisingly enough at dawn. In this land that time forgot, if you looked closely you could see the sun being rolled across the sky by a scarab of rather epic proportions. Of course, in order to see this awesome arthropod you would have to be staring at a giant ball of flaming gas, which is never a good thing.
(A/N: yes, it has taken over 2 years of anatomy and physiology to work that out)
Eyeballing the sun for large amounts of time tends to leave you with an inability to look at anything else ever again. So don't, but rest assured the dung beetle was there.
Since the re-emergence of Egypt's most beloved Queen, the old traditions and superstitions had begun to re-emerge. Magic crackled in the air as creatures not seen outside of myth and legend once more walked the streets. There was a distinct shift in energy from the subtle tang of Wizardry back to the raw power of Pharonic magic.
The streets were filled with rejoicing, for Neferpipi had returned to them, and was to wed. Her champion was the one who had broken the curse that had kept her imprisoned for over three thousand years. It was said that he was favoured by the god Ra, for his hair was as flames, and yet he was not consumed. The redhead inspired stares wherever he went, for there were none of his colouring in the land…for the next ten minutes at least.
It was into these scenes of celebration that our favourite ex-Potions Master, house guests and associated hangers on apparated, as requested by the invitation Bill had sent. They were met by a full honour guard in ceremonial uniform, and escorted in the direction of the Palace. By this point, Sirius had noticed something out of the ordinary, even by wizarding standards, was going on, that is to say, it was pretty obvious. Each of the visitors was tense and ready for action, years of warfare making even the most Gryffindor of Gryffindors overly paranoid. There was some reassurance, the Slytherins thought to themselves, in their company.
If one must be frog-marched towards the supreme ruler of all Egypt, whose magic was unlike your own, and under heavily armed guard, you could do a lot worse than to have a world class potions master, the Malfoy heir, the head of the Moste Anciente and Noble House of Black and the Boy-Who-Lived (all of whom were rich, powerful and notorious).
One careful reassessment of the situation later and the three Weasleys were added to the list. They were being treated with respect bordering on reverence by the guards, which allowed the more observant members of the party to breathe a sigh of relief.
To say that most of the party were shocked when they arrived at the Palace would be like suggesting that Johnny Depp is a bit good looking; that is to say the understatement of the century. The ornate pillars and flourishes all carefully and diligently painted could only be described as, well, palatial. This was as well really, since they were.
As they approached, a figure clothed in white and adorned in more gold than Mr T appeared as a god of old, flanked as he was with statues of Amun-Ra guarding the entrance to the Palace. On closer inspection they realised that the figure was not a member of any conventionally recognised pantheon, rather the eldest of the Weasley children.
They slowed then, as a herald proclaimed:
"All hail he who is beloved of Ra, chosen of Neferpipi, liberator of Egypt and breaker of curses"
Bill flushed slightly as Snape rolled his eyes and shared a smirk with Draco. The (mostly) clueless Gryffindors were looking incredibly puzzled, except for Charlie who was laughing hysterically, clutching onto a petrified guard for support.
Since everyone else seemed to be incapable of response, it fell to Snape to say something
"Mr Weasley"
"Professor"
"Bill"
"Draco"
"Now I'm doing it! Love the outfit by the way."
"Thanks."
"I would never have put a Weasley in white, but you wear it well. And I imagine the gold is like second nature to you, being an ex-Gryff. Very regal, timeless. Masculine, yet stylish."
During this critical appraisal of Bill's new wardrobe, a slightly calmer Charlie had quietly explained to the assembled wizards (and solitary witch, since Penelope hadn't wanted to leave the quads) exactly what was going on. Bill's love of Egypt and the large age gap between the second and third Weasley children mean that Charlie had, by diffusion, osmosis and quite possibly secondary active transport, also been infected by this passion. As such, Charlie knew all about the Once and Future Queen.
"Brother Mine" he grinned
"Don't start Charleton. Seriously don't. See why I didn't tell you now?"
No man is rich enough to buy back his past
Let us take you on what the movies call a Flashback
It was the spring of 1981 and in the Weasley household something very special was happening. That almost the same thing had happened several times before made this time no less special, for unto them a child was born. The reason this time was especially special was that this baby was a girl. And lo, she was named Regina Molly, and, having ten fingers and ten toes, the baby was seen to be good.
This baby shifted the dynamics of the Weasley family. As if the twins weren't enough for any mother to cope with full time, Molly now had two babies to care for, as well as five older youngsters. It stood to reason, therefore, that as soon as Hogwarts holidays began, that the eldest Weasley boys learned how to look after their siblings while their mother took a breather.
Percy was easy to entertain. Give him a copy of Hogwarts: A History and the boy would be quiet for hours; the twins loved a chance to play rough with Charlie, who even at this age knew how to handle dangerous magical creatures with the minimum of collateral damage; and, were it not an entirely girly thing to do, all the boys, and Bill especially doted on the youngest of the Weasleys.
While Bill loved Ron, as a dutiful brother should, Ginny would always be special to him. He and Charlie understood each other better than their younger siblings; it had been just the two of them for so long that Percy had come as a bit of a shock, but by the time Ginny was born, they were no longer quite so put out by their mother's attention being taken away, and the tiny infant was captivating to her biggest brother.
This particular day, an exhausted Molly had fallen asleep in an armchair by the fire with Ron in her arms, Percy was quietly reading somewhere in the garden, and Charlie was making a valiant attempt at settling the twins down for the night. This left Bill with Ginny who for once wasn't cooperating either. Bill spoke soothing, quiet words to his little sister
"Hush now my little Queen, hush"
A quiet snigger alerted him to the presence of Charlie, lounging in the doorway. Bill flushed slightly and set the now sleeping infant in her crib.
"So, if Ginny's the Queen, what does that make you? Prince Consort?" asked Charlie with innocent wide eyes. One glance at his brother's stony face told him everything he needed to know as he ran, ran away for the first time in his life.
For the next several years, any mention of a musical event left Charlie giggling and Bill's face the colour of his hair. (A/N: concert/consort - it's a bad pun that I'm told was a bit too obscure)
If you ever have kids and one of them, when he's eight years old accidentally sets fire to the living room rug, go easy on him
Simply because we're back in the Present day
The wedding was, as one would expect, rather extravagant, and terribly exclusive. The Queen's influence even extended as far as getting a heavily chained Molly released to attend the service.
A long night of (superior orange) revelling later, the English wizards (and witch) along with the Royal Couple sat on the roof terrace of the Palace, sipping coffee and watching the sun rise but being careful once more not to stare at the flaming ball of gas.
"Guys," began the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Have-Zero-Alcohol-Tolerance, "I'm going to have to head off soon. I, erm, think I left the gas on."
"Really Harry, you're in no condition to apparate anywhere, let alone into the Muggle World, and honestly, you can check from here." Hermione let fly a rapid string of almost incomprehensible Latin and a piece of parchment fell to the ground.
"Harry, this report says you don't have any gas piped into your house."
"I meant the oven."
"You don't have one of those either."
"Oh, alright, I'll own up – I'm going to see my girlfriend."
To say the Boy-Who-Lived was put out when everyone on the roof began to laugh would be somewhat of an understatement. No where near the Johnny-Depp-good-looking understatement level, but an understatement nonetheless.
Finally seeing an opportunity he could take advantage of, Harry huffed and shouted "Fine then! Don't believe me! You only hang out with me because of my stupid scar anyway!"
He apparated soundlessly away.
Being offended is a natural consequence of leaving the house
"I think Harry's regressed to fifth year again" said Hermione sadly, "just give him some space and he'll be acting like his old self before you know it."
Ron began to whimper, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Since the light was better this time the fit of ague took him, Hermione could now confirm that Ron did indeed shake when a vision took him over. In fact, he shook so much he was in danger of falling off the end of the terrace, but several well placed Wingardium Leviosas caught him in the nick of time.
It fell to Hermione to explain to several concerned Weasleys exactly what was going on, something which made her feel very smug, and also slightly teary-eyed – she hardly ever got the opportunity to lord it over people anymore.
When Ron finally uncurled himself, like a giant ginger hedgehog, possibly of some distant relation to Sonic, he was pale, even for one of British descent. When the Egyptian nobility had earlier commented on the hue of the British contingent's skin, asking if they were sickly or just hung-over, Draco had replied:
"Don't blame it on sunshine,
Don't blame it on moonlight,
Don't blame it on good times… it's probably hereditary."
This pallor though, could be no-one's natural skin tone. The poor boy almost glowed, and the Egyptians had to turn away, since they were not used to such glaringly white epidermis.
It would be fair to say that Ron had experienced quite a shock. He was so incapacitated by what he had just seen that he could only snivel. Ever ready with a solution, Hermione suggested Ron put the vision in a pensive, then they could all take a look, and they wouldn't have to waste valuable time waiting for Ron to collect himself and repair his faculties, if indeed such a project could be undertaken successfully.
This task was appointed to you…and if you do not do it, no-one can
In the pensive…
The room they found themselves in was obviously a bedroom. It was obvious because of the enormous four-poster which took up a goodly proportion of the space. Lying asleep in bed was a woman, who those of a poetic wont might describe as having skin as smooth as alabaster. Unto this scene of serenity entered Harry, looking wilder than they had ever seen him, emerald eyes portraying some dark sorrow and deep betrayal.
He spoke softly, his words were pained "I would not kill your spirit unprepared, heaven forbid! I would not kill thy soul!"
She stirred, and replied, "Talk you of killing?"
"Ay, I do."
"Then heaven have mercy on me!"
"Amen, with all my heart!"
"If you say so, I hope you will not kill me."
Here the scene flashed forward as though some time had passed, and her voice spoke out:
"And you have mercy too! I never did offend you in my life; never loved Cassio."
The scene flashed forward once again:
"Kill me tomorrow, let me live tonight... But half an hour!"
"Being done, there is no pause… it is too late."
With this Harry stifled the beauty in the bed, and she lay motionless
I specialise in murders of quiet, domestic interest
They left the pensive with heavy hearts, all thoughts of frivolity forgotten. . He had killed her in a fit of jealousy. They had a homicidal Boy-Who-Lived on the loose, and even combined, it was uncertain if they could stop him from committing this murder, or catch him if it had already been done. They vowed to each other, then and there, that one way or the other, Harry would not be going to Azkaban.
The Gryffindors were forcibly restrained from apparating straight into Harry's living room by the Slytherins, who demanded that there at least be a token attempt at subtlety before metaphorically hitting Harry with a 16 ton weight, and, depending how unhinged the Boy-Who-Lived was, possibly doing so in a literal sense too.
The plan was simple yet effective – find Harry, restrain Harry, teach Harry the error of his ways and release him back into the wild, in much the same way one would treat an injured animal.
Have you thought up some clever plan Doctor?
Yes Jamie, I believe I have.
What are you going to do?
Bung a rock at it.
Parts one and two of the plan went off without a hitch. Part three was proving to be a little more difficult, since Harry kept denying he had any nefarious intent. When he demanded to know what they were doing, it was all Hermione could do not to burst into tears; this might be the last time she ever got to explain a fairly simple concept in an overly verbose manner to one of her greatest friends. Since this would be the third time in three chapters that Ron's delicate condition has been explained, just take it as read that Hermione didn't miss out any particularly important details, and Harry went through the same denial, amusement and resignation stages as all the others had.
He refused to believe the vision until; bound hand and foot he was dragged into the pensive. When he re-emerged, the relief was clearly visible on his face. He once again resolved to begin a campaign to register seers, or failing that, teach all wizards some basic Muggle Studies. Unfortunately he realised, several of his captors were Muggleborn, so that wouldn't work. He amended his plan, as soon as he was free he was going to write an angry letter to the Prime Minister about the state of learning in the country, and sign it Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Get-Lynched-By-His-Best-Friends-And-Snape-(Who-Looked-Entirely-Too-Pleased-With-The-Situation)-Because-None-Of-Them-Were-Properly-Educated.
"Hermione," he began tiredly, silently realising that it had begun, and there was nothing they could do to stop it, he had a back-up who was moving ever closer to finishing the task he had been appointed to. While he wished Will well, a little part of him grumbled that someone else got to live out his dreams.
"'In following him, I follow but myself;
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But seeming so, for my peculiar end:
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.'
"Sound familiar? It should! Remember Shakespeare, tormentor of schoolchildren everywhere? It's a play! I was acting!"
The group breathed a collective "Oh!" of realisation, and all at once began to apologise profusely to Harry for ever doubting him, whilst gently chastising him for not telling the truth in the beginning. This would have gone down better, if they had not later read on BBCi that Harry's understudy had subsequently been offered a part in the sequel to Pirates of the Caribbean as Jack Sparrow's cabin boy. He had been discovered by a certain casting director who had finally, he thought, caught up with his mysterious taxi-driving street magician. When it had become clear that the understudy would be performing, the director had curbed his urge to simply walk out, the seats were comfy enough, and he was inherently polite. As such, he resolved to wait until the interval, and the rest, as they say is history.
When all except Snape had weaselled their way back into Harry's good books, since he had never been in them and in his grumpiness was not even making a token attempt at reconciliation, a thought occurred to him, a niggling suspicion, but being the brave and noble Gryffindor he was, the thought was filed away in his brain under "too paranoid for own good".
'Snape couldn't possibly have known… I mean, he doesn't know anything about Muggles, and certainly not Muggle entertainment…Right?'
Sitting smugly in the opposite corner of the room, Severus Snape could almost see the cogs turning in Potter's head, and followed the train of thoughts to its rather obvious destination. An elegantly arched eyebrow was the only response he deigned to give, but this was enough to convince Harry's subconscious at least, that Snape was still petty and vindictive enough to do such a thing, whether it was true in this case or not. That, of course, was his objective, and made the entire debacle worthwhile for at least one of the parties involved.
There are three kinds of lies; lies, damned lies, and statistics
They once again retired to the beautiful roof terrace, this time erecting wards to prevent Ron from falling off, and Sneak-o-scopes to prevent any further lies leading to embarrassing situations spewing forth from the mouth of a certain Harry James Potter.
"You know," Sirius sighed in contentment, "I think while this, misunderstandings aside," and here he glanced pointedly at Harry, "has been one of the best holidays of my life, I can't help but feel something is missing, something important."
"Whatever do you mean?" Neferpipi replied curiously, "You are well fed and watered, in the best of health and surrounded by friends under a beautiful night sky. Even the stars themselves sparkle brightly, greeting the full moon as it crosses the sky."
Harry considered the moon.
"Sirius?" he ventured, hoping to avoid another 'now do you see why lies are a bad thing? Consider it an object lesson' lecture,
"Where's Remus?"
"DAMMIT!"
THE END
REFERENCES:
OotP (fairly obviously)
Our very own Wiccan Pussy Kat
Monty Python and the Meaning of Life
"total panik" is a CITA thing – jonge jonge!
The 'volume of hippocampal formation' is from a study done on London taxi drivers, which showed they had an above average HF volume. It is believed the hippocampus is where we store 'scene memory' i.e. the kind of memory that helps us remember the layout of things.
Star Wars
Descartes and his wonderful view on philosophy – if it doesn't make sense, then it wasn't really there or it didn't really happen like that, and you're only confused because you perceived it wrong. So any explanation that can be given is more likely to be the truth than what you actually saw.
Spiderman
Derrick Banner – if you say it right, kind of like Eric Bana, the coolest actor in Troy and the only hero in that film
Lord of the Rings
"Blame it on the Boogie" –Jackson 5
Sonic the Hedgehog
POTC
Ocean's Eleven
BBCi is the internet news service branch of the British Broadcasting Company – Good Ol' Aunty
Othello is still, as far as we know, a play by William Shakespeare. And yes, we know Othello was a Moor – call it post modern casting, or possibly just a plot device… the excerpt is from Act 1 Scene 1, Iago talking to Roderigo. The dialogue from the vision is also from Othello, but edited to make it less obviously Shakespeare… Act V scene II
The subsection quotes are from, in order:
The Beatles
Abraham, Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet
Boromir, The Fellowship of the Ring
Theodin, TheTwoTowers
Dr Stanley
John Dryden
Oscar Wilde
Albert Einstein
Charge of the light Brigade, Tennyson
Jewel of the Nile, by Anna (witchfics.org)
Zar Zar Gabor
Mark Twain
Oscar Wilde
Marty McFly, Back to the Future
Fran Lebowitz
Lady Galadriel, Return of the King
Agatha Christie
Doctor Who
Bejamin Disreli
There is an epilogue. And, if there is enough interest, a little expose on where Remus has been. I say enough interest, because we haven't figured that out yet, and if you don't care, I'm not sure we do.
CRL/H