Disclaimer: /sigh/ THEY. ARE. NOT. MINE. They belong to Rowling. Oooo- kay?
Chapter the Fourth
Harry panted as he carried his end of the sofa across the room and then slowly lowered it to the floor. For only one person moving, Dee sure had a lot of boxes—boxes that Harry had been helping her move and unpack.
Harry sighed and began to straighten, eager to ease his aching back. He was jerked to a stop, however, when one of his over-large shirt sleeves snapped taunt, caught on something. Harry groaned and leaned back over, trying to see just what held him captive.
"Harry?" Dee frowned at him and approached. Like Harry, she had a fine sheen of sweat on her body, but unlike Harry, she didn't look nearly as weary. "Caught again?"
"Yeah. Probably just a nail or something."
"Shift," she ordered, coming up next to him and squatting, peering underneath the couch. She frowned at something and stood back up, putting her hands underneath the couch and lifting that end. Harry gave a quick tug and his shirt came free, and he wiped the sweat off his forehead as Dee lowered the couch once more.
"One thing's for sure," she said matter-of-factly, "You need new clothes."
"Yeah, I know," Harry said self-consciously.
"Before we do anything else, we're getting you those clothes. This is the fifth time the last two hours that you've gotten stuck on something. Go shower and put on clean clothes, and then we're going shopping."
Harry blinked in astonishment. "But I haven't got any Muggle money," he protested.
"Who said you needed it?" she returned, heading toward the kitchen. "I've got enough; trust me."
"But—I can't take your money!"
"Well, now I know who I can trust it with," she said dryly.
"That's not what I mean!" Harry hurried after her, trying to get her to see his side of things. "I mean that it will feel like charity, and, well..." His voice trailed off.
"Charity?" Dee repeated, lifting her head and turning to face him from where she had started searching for something in the refrigerator. "What're you talking about?"
"You paying for my clothes."
"Oh. That's not charity, Harry," she replied patiently, going back to looking. "Believe me, this work would fly by if we didn't have to keep stopping and rescuing you. Shit, we're out of ham. And cheese. Remind me of that when we go to the grocery store."
"And milk," Harry added, frowning. He still wasn't comfortable with her paying for his things; after all, he'd only known her for about twenty-four hours. But there was something inside of him that urged him to trust her, to go along with anything she said.
"That too. Aren't you going to take your shower?"
"Yeah." Harry hesitated for a moment. "Thanks, Dee."
"Sure thing, sugar."
Dee watched him head out the kitchen, still a bit on the skinny side for a kid his age. She leaned against the counter behind her and stared thoughtfully at the doorway, and began sinking into thoughts better left un- thought. She was so deep into her thoughts that she jumped when her cell phone began ringing. Dee swore and straightened, looking around, trying to figure out just which box the tone had come from. Hissing a curse under her breath, she began shifting boxes, finally found the right one underneath and behind five others in the front room, and dug through the box until her fingers found the smooth metal. She flipped it open and lifted it to her ear, not bothering to hide the annoyance in her voice.
"What the hell d'you want?"
"Yo sweet thang!" The voice on the other end was annoyingly chipper. "Got that stuff you wanted."
"I told you to fax it to me, asshole," she growled in reply, sitting back on her heels. Above her, she heard the sound of the water beginning to run.
"Yeah, well, our's is busted. You know we ain't got nothing worth shit."
"Yeah, I know." Dee's eyes lifted to the ceiling, as though silently beseeching God for strength. "What've you got for me, then?"
"That's gonna cost you, sweet thang." He sounded incredibly smug, and Dee just couldn't resist the opportunity to blow that to smithereens.
"Is that so?" she purred in reply, staring out the window now. Her green eyes glinted. "Well, what do you say the cost of, oh, say, a year's supply of coke?"
"I want cash."
"You ain't getting cash, brother. And that coke's what you're going without if you don't cough it up." Her voice had turned deadly cold. "Got me?"
"You can't deprive me of my coke," he returned indignantly. The chipperness, thank God, was gone.
"Wanna bet?" Dee returned. "You regularly go to a man named, God help him, Dickie Qucson, who gives you a week's worth of coke in exchange for favors and a quarter of a thousand. The signal that you're ready to buy from him is a red scarf around your head. When you aren't buying from him, you're buying from someone else on the aptly dubbed Black Avenue. This past Sunday, in fact," she said, satisfaction thick in her voice, "you went there, dressed in a dark blue coat. First you went to Mademoiselle's, then to Barker's, then passed yourself off as a flower seller, then—"
He interrupted, telling her everything she wanted to know.
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Harry didn't expect to, but he enjoyed himself on the shopping/grocery trip. Dee had a number of CD's in her car—which was newly washed, compliments of Dudley and Co.—that she allowed Harry to choose from to listen to on the way there and back. For the first time in his life, Harry found himself picking out clothes that fit and that he liked, and Dee was patient with him, occasionally telling him which ones complimented him and which ones he didn't need. Then they browsed the shoe section, and afterwards Harry allowed her to drag him off to the optical center, where they haggled over whether or not Harry needed new glasses, and which ones. They finally got out, both satisfied, and headed over toward the nearest grocery store. Harry didn't mind that trip, either, in finally having a choice in what to eat. They ended up with what seemed like half the store, and then Harry had to run back in with a five pound bill because they had forgotten the ham and cheese anyway. Finally they were off, headed back home, with everything packed into her bottomless trunk.
"That everything, Harry?"
"Yup." He leaned his head back against the headrest, pleasure tracing its way through him.
"We'll get the books you need in Diagon's Alley when your list comes in," Dee told him.
"Yeah. You know about Hogwarts?" he asked suddenly, straightening and looking at her.
"Of course I know about Hogwarts," she replied, sounding amused and shooting at glance at him as she drove. "I'll be teaching there this year."
"Really? DADA?"
"Yup. I'll be going on the train with the rest of you students, though."
"How long will you be teaching?"
"No idea." She shrugged.
"What will you be teaching?"
Dee laughed and glanced at him again. "Trying to get a head start on everyone else?" she teased.
"Yes," Harry said promptly, grinning unabashedly, and Dee laughed again.
"I've been thinking about it, and y'all seem to be pretty well covered." She stared out the windshield thoughtfully, driving almost automatically. "I've been thinking about covering illusions, golems, psychic intrusions, demons most definitely, and maybe even a little bit of Summoning at the end if I think y'all are up to it."
"Summoning? We did that in Charms two years ago."
"I don't think that's the same Summoning I have in mind," she replied in amusement. "I was thinking more along the lines of calling up creatures from Hell."
Harry felt his heart skip a beat and then start pounding even faster.
"You'll actually let students—" he began, but got no further.
"Of course not," she snorted, "And not only because that would be incredibly stupid and irresponsible of me. Summoning requires utter and absolute concentration, sometimes for hours on end, an extensive knowledge of runes, and utter and absolute perfection, both orally and written. Or you're dead. Students and even most adults are incapable of that."
"But you've done it," Harry guessed.
"Summoning is my area of expertise," Dee replied, glancing at Harry again. She turned the corner and her new house came into view. "I am the most qualified Summoner since Roger Amnull III died in 1987."
"Do you know if Dumbledore can do it?"
Dee pulled into her driveway and parked before turning and facing Harry fully. Her face was as serious as though she were passing along the information that someone important had just died.
"Dumbledore could if the need arose," she said, "because he has in the past. However, Summoning requires not only what I have already mentioned, but an iron will and no small amount of strength. Dumbledore's getting old, Harry. The last time he Summoned, the demon he called up nearly destroyed him. He's a damn powerful wizard—but there are some damn powerful beings out there."
Silence reined in the little car for a while as Harry digested that information. In a way, Harry had been aware of it for a while, but always in the back of his mind. To hear it spoken aloud so bluntly...it was unsettling.
"Come on Harry," Dee finally said, "Help me bring these things in. We'll go for a run later today while dinner's cooking. That all right with you?"
"Yeah," Harry said, getting out the car. "That's all right with me."
A/N So that's the next chapter. Hope you liked it.
Chapter the Fourth
Harry panted as he carried his end of the sofa across the room and then slowly lowered it to the floor. For only one person moving, Dee sure had a lot of boxes—boxes that Harry had been helping her move and unpack.
Harry sighed and began to straighten, eager to ease his aching back. He was jerked to a stop, however, when one of his over-large shirt sleeves snapped taunt, caught on something. Harry groaned and leaned back over, trying to see just what held him captive.
"Harry?" Dee frowned at him and approached. Like Harry, she had a fine sheen of sweat on her body, but unlike Harry, she didn't look nearly as weary. "Caught again?"
"Yeah. Probably just a nail or something."
"Shift," she ordered, coming up next to him and squatting, peering underneath the couch. She frowned at something and stood back up, putting her hands underneath the couch and lifting that end. Harry gave a quick tug and his shirt came free, and he wiped the sweat off his forehead as Dee lowered the couch once more.
"One thing's for sure," she said matter-of-factly, "You need new clothes."
"Yeah, I know," Harry said self-consciously.
"Before we do anything else, we're getting you those clothes. This is the fifth time the last two hours that you've gotten stuck on something. Go shower and put on clean clothes, and then we're going shopping."
Harry blinked in astonishment. "But I haven't got any Muggle money," he protested.
"Who said you needed it?" she returned, heading toward the kitchen. "I've got enough; trust me."
"But—I can't take your money!"
"Well, now I know who I can trust it with," she said dryly.
"That's not what I mean!" Harry hurried after her, trying to get her to see his side of things. "I mean that it will feel like charity, and, well..." His voice trailed off.
"Charity?" Dee repeated, lifting her head and turning to face him from where she had started searching for something in the refrigerator. "What're you talking about?"
"You paying for my clothes."
"Oh. That's not charity, Harry," she replied patiently, going back to looking. "Believe me, this work would fly by if we didn't have to keep stopping and rescuing you. Shit, we're out of ham. And cheese. Remind me of that when we go to the grocery store."
"And milk," Harry added, frowning. He still wasn't comfortable with her paying for his things; after all, he'd only known her for about twenty-four hours. But there was something inside of him that urged him to trust her, to go along with anything she said.
"That too. Aren't you going to take your shower?"
"Yeah." Harry hesitated for a moment. "Thanks, Dee."
"Sure thing, sugar."
Dee watched him head out the kitchen, still a bit on the skinny side for a kid his age. She leaned against the counter behind her and stared thoughtfully at the doorway, and began sinking into thoughts better left un- thought. She was so deep into her thoughts that she jumped when her cell phone began ringing. Dee swore and straightened, looking around, trying to figure out just which box the tone had come from. Hissing a curse under her breath, she began shifting boxes, finally found the right one underneath and behind five others in the front room, and dug through the box until her fingers found the smooth metal. She flipped it open and lifted it to her ear, not bothering to hide the annoyance in her voice.
"What the hell d'you want?"
"Yo sweet thang!" The voice on the other end was annoyingly chipper. "Got that stuff you wanted."
"I told you to fax it to me, asshole," she growled in reply, sitting back on her heels. Above her, she heard the sound of the water beginning to run.
"Yeah, well, our's is busted. You know we ain't got nothing worth shit."
"Yeah, I know." Dee's eyes lifted to the ceiling, as though silently beseeching God for strength. "What've you got for me, then?"
"That's gonna cost you, sweet thang." He sounded incredibly smug, and Dee just couldn't resist the opportunity to blow that to smithereens.
"Is that so?" she purred in reply, staring out the window now. Her green eyes glinted. "Well, what do you say the cost of, oh, say, a year's supply of coke?"
"I want cash."
"You ain't getting cash, brother. And that coke's what you're going without if you don't cough it up." Her voice had turned deadly cold. "Got me?"
"You can't deprive me of my coke," he returned indignantly. The chipperness, thank God, was gone.
"Wanna bet?" Dee returned. "You regularly go to a man named, God help him, Dickie Qucson, who gives you a week's worth of coke in exchange for favors and a quarter of a thousand. The signal that you're ready to buy from him is a red scarf around your head. When you aren't buying from him, you're buying from someone else on the aptly dubbed Black Avenue. This past Sunday, in fact," she said, satisfaction thick in her voice, "you went there, dressed in a dark blue coat. First you went to Mademoiselle's, then to Barker's, then passed yourself off as a flower seller, then—"
He interrupted, telling her everything she wanted to know.
------------------------------------------------------
Harry didn't expect to, but he enjoyed himself on the shopping/grocery trip. Dee had a number of CD's in her car—which was newly washed, compliments of Dudley and Co.—that she allowed Harry to choose from to listen to on the way there and back. For the first time in his life, Harry found himself picking out clothes that fit and that he liked, and Dee was patient with him, occasionally telling him which ones complimented him and which ones he didn't need. Then they browsed the shoe section, and afterwards Harry allowed her to drag him off to the optical center, where they haggled over whether or not Harry needed new glasses, and which ones. They finally got out, both satisfied, and headed over toward the nearest grocery store. Harry didn't mind that trip, either, in finally having a choice in what to eat. They ended up with what seemed like half the store, and then Harry had to run back in with a five pound bill because they had forgotten the ham and cheese anyway. Finally they were off, headed back home, with everything packed into her bottomless trunk.
"That everything, Harry?"
"Yup." He leaned his head back against the headrest, pleasure tracing its way through him.
"We'll get the books you need in Diagon's Alley when your list comes in," Dee told him.
"Yeah. You know about Hogwarts?" he asked suddenly, straightening and looking at her.
"Of course I know about Hogwarts," she replied, sounding amused and shooting at glance at him as she drove. "I'll be teaching there this year."
"Really? DADA?"
"Yup. I'll be going on the train with the rest of you students, though."
"How long will you be teaching?"
"No idea." She shrugged.
"What will you be teaching?"
Dee laughed and glanced at him again. "Trying to get a head start on everyone else?" she teased.
"Yes," Harry said promptly, grinning unabashedly, and Dee laughed again.
"I've been thinking about it, and y'all seem to be pretty well covered." She stared out the windshield thoughtfully, driving almost automatically. "I've been thinking about covering illusions, golems, psychic intrusions, demons most definitely, and maybe even a little bit of Summoning at the end if I think y'all are up to it."
"Summoning? We did that in Charms two years ago."
"I don't think that's the same Summoning I have in mind," she replied in amusement. "I was thinking more along the lines of calling up creatures from Hell."
Harry felt his heart skip a beat and then start pounding even faster.
"You'll actually let students—" he began, but got no further.
"Of course not," she snorted, "And not only because that would be incredibly stupid and irresponsible of me. Summoning requires utter and absolute concentration, sometimes for hours on end, an extensive knowledge of runes, and utter and absolute perfection, both orally and written. Or you're dead. Students and even most adults are incapable of that."
"But you've done it," Harry guessed.
"Summoning is my area of expertise," Dee replied, glancing at Harry again. She turned the corner and her new house came into view. "I am the most qualified Summoner since Roger Amnull III died in 1987."
"Do you know if Dumbledore can do it?"
Dee pulled into her driveway and parked before turning and facing Harry fully. Her face was as serious as though she were passing along the information that someone important had just died.
"Dumbledore could if the need arose," she said, "because he has in the past. However, Summoning requires not only what I have already mentioned, but an iron will and no small amount of strength. Dumbledore's getting old, Harry. The last time he Summoned, the demon he called up nearly destroyed him. He's a damn powerful wizard—but there are some damn powerful beings out there."
Silence reined in the little car for a while as Harry digested that information. In a way, Harry had been aware of it for a while, but always in the back of his mind. To hear it spoken aloud so bluntly...it was unsettling.
"Come on Harry," Dee finally said, "Help me bring these things in. We'll go for a run later today while dinner's cooking. That all right with you?"
"Yeah," Harry said, getting out the car. "That's all right with me."
A/N So that's the next chapter. Hope you liked it.