Chapter Four
Emma Granger leaned up against the kitchen counter with a cup of thin soup in her hands. She had made a thick soup for Sirius to work on bringing his health up and it smelled so good that she skimmed some broth off for herself. He had been very appreciative and had almost started to slurp it down, but she quickly threatened to get a rolled-up newspaper big enough for either version of himself – Sirius or Padfoot. That had gotten him to slow down, although near the end he'd started to chuckle in between spoonfuls.
"What's so funny, Sirius?"
He looked over his shoulder to see if any younger ears were nearby, then grinned at her. His mood was still whipsawing back and forth every so often since the meeting with Madam Bones yesterday but today he was mostly doing better.
"I can't decide to warn Harry about Hermione learning about male-management from you or be quiet and be entertained by it as it happens."
She snorted at the thought. It was a bit funny.
"Don't. Forewarned is forearmed. If you mess up her… what did you call it? Male-management? If you mess up her male-management and make her have to move to Step Two, Three, or Four early, then he'll never forgive you for having to go through it."
He blinked. She could still see some of the heaviness of his mood in his eyes, but he looked honestly confused. Apparently he'd never had a chance to learn about it.
"There's a Step Two? Never mind Step Three and Four at the moment, what's Step Two?"
His inquiry was a bit pointed, and she regarded him over the rim of the still steaming cup.
"Think I'm going to tell you, Sirius?"
"Well, I was curious."
"Oh, I bet," she chuckled. "Now think about something first. I've heard you say Hermione reminds you of your friend Lily. If you'd told Harry's father about Steps One through Four before she was ready to use them, what would she have done with you?"
He blanched and almost dropped the bowl. She laughed.
"New things come out all the time, no matter the field. Imagine a Lily with twenty or so more years of knowledge bases to draw from, a mind that doesn't forget what she reads and works faster than yours ever will, and enough dirty tricks from a couple of British dentists that know a thing or two more than just pulling teeth, and you have Hermione."
The skin under the hairline was positively gleaming from the contrast it presented between pale skin and dark hair. He coughed after a moment of silence. He fiddled with the rim of the now nearly empty bowl.
"You present a couple of good points." His voice was a bit weak.
"I know," she laughed.
Things were quiet for a bit.
"Dirty tricks, huh?"
"Dirty. Messy, too," she agreed.
"Embarrassing?"
"Very. Of course."
"Makes a point?"
"Completely and utterly."
"Huh."
She took another sip of her broth as he ate the rest of his soup.
"You know, I think Harry's on his own here."
"Going to abandon him to his fate?"
"No. Noooo, I think I'll teach him what things to steer clear of."
She raised an eyebrow at him as she inwardly chuckled at the sound of the second 'no' being drawn out.
"From experience, right? Long and painful experience?"
He shuddered.
"Too right. I think I still have a scar under my right eyebrow where Lily decked me and the Potter betrothal ring carved out a chunk."
"Okay, wait a moment. First, what's this about a 'Potter betrothal ring' and second what did you do to get decked?"
"Ummmmm… second answer, I snuck up behind her and startled her while she was working on something. I didn't know it was almost that time for her and she was not feeling very happy on top of whatever she was doing wasn't working out, which was irritating her worse."
She winced.
"I can see that. I might have decked you, too. Now, Potter betrothal ring?"
He smiled. The smile was a natural smile and in that moment she saw the pain and troubles that he'd undergone in the past decade drop away. It was only for that small bit of time as she saw him remember back to the time he first saw her with it and the looks on both of their faces. Lily had been so happy and James so surprised.
"There's a ring that has been in the Potter family for centuries that every Lord Potter gives his soon-to-be Lady. Heir Potter if there's no Lord, which hasn't happened very often and only during times of very strong war and strife. I think it was the fifth or sixth Lord Potter that went to the Goblins and commissioned a ring for his betrothed. It was loaded down with several enchantments, which wasn't the usual thing back then."
"Enchantments?" Emma interrupted. "What for?" She decided to wait until later to ask about Harry being a part of wizarding nobility. It was something that he'd only made one or two quick references to and she hadn't pressed for more information.
"Practically every Ancient and Noble House has protective enchantments imbued into jewelry of some kind. Rings and pendants, usually. Bracelets from time to time. Even a couple of circlets, although nowadays you won't see them worn except in very formal occasions. They guard against magic or potions that would otherwise affect the person wearing them."
"What about the 'usual thing' you mentioned?"
"Well, usually there was just one thing that the jewelry was bespelled into guarding. However, this particular Lord Potter was known for doing his own thing and working on a lot of experiments. Some worked and some didn't. He found out that he could make an alloy out of metals that you wouldn't think would work out to be compatible, but he tried it anyway since he had magic to help him out. He took his research to the Goblins and commissioned a ring for his lady love. I don't know what exactly he did to get around the Goblin ownership clause that they do, but whatever it was he ended up with a ring that fitted itself to the one that truly loved him and protected her from mind magics, some potions, and helped ease her monthlies."
Emma's eyes went wide.
"But I thought you said Harry mother was feeling the cramps when she decked you?"
"She was, but the ring didn't eliminate them. It just made them easier for her and every other Lady Potter to wear it."
"Wow. Wonder who added that requirement?"
"No idea, but it wasn't that Lord Potter's idea. He didn't have to suffer them, you see. It might have been one of the Goblin Account Managers they had at the time who had a good relationship with the family. See, the Goblins are a grumpy bunch but if they like you they'll go and do little things for you that might bring in more business for them later. The story goes that after the wedding, that new Lady Potter went to Gringotts to talk to the Account Manager who did that thing. She thanked him, gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, some kind of hot bread that he didn't share with the other Goblins at all and a crocheted coaster for his mugs."
"Wow. How did he react?"
"Well, we don't know everything for sure but we do know that he spelled that coaster that she made for him with her own hands to never get dirty or torn and kept it on his desk for the rest of his life. Goblins in that kind of job almost literally die at their posts and we think he was buried or whatever they do for funerals with that coaster. By then, she had long passed on since Goblins live longer than we magicals. Every Lady Potter after her did the same thing for him and the Account Managers after him. Some handled it better than others, but it's one of those unofficial traditions the family has."
Emma made a mental note of that fact. She would tell this story to Hermione later after shooing all the men away. They didn't need to know any feminine secrets in any case. It was against the Ancient Female Code, kept now from time immemorial.
"How did the Potter family keep from losing that ring over the centuries?"
Sirius was quiet for a moment. His eyes filled with tears.
"Sirius? Are you okay?"
He looked up at her. She could see the abject pain in his grey eyes. It was so quiet in the room that they could hear the ticking of the wall clock. His mouth opened a few times before she heard him speak softly.
"At the moment of each Lady Potter's death, the ring disappears off her finger to reappear in the Potter vaults just like the Lord Potter ring does when he dies. Only the next Lord Potter can remove them. A lot of family rings are like that. Some rings disappear when Magic determines that a family has died out completely, never to be seen again."
She looked at him as he went on a bit shakily.
"If one day, Harry decides that he's ready to give the ring to Hermione I'll go with him as his godfather to look for it in his vaults, but…" he sniffled loudly but continued, "...I'm afraid of what I'll do when I see that ring again."
"What?"
Emma suspected why.
"The last time I saw that ring, it was on the finger of one of my dearest friends and she never took it off since it didn't need cleaning thanks to those strange alloys. She had a real loveliness about her inside or out even though she had her faults just like any of us. Her eyes could have a warmth of care or fire of anger and she was the sister of my heart. The last time I saw her, the ring had already disappeared from her finger and her eyes were empty in death."
His shoulders shook a bit.
"I miss my sister and my brother so much! The rat murdered them and I didn't keep them safe! What have I done?!"
Emma slapped the empty mug down on the counter and dashed to his side as he broke down, nearly falling out of the chair. It was the first time that he let himself go and she congratulated him silently for moving ahead on the road to the healing he needed.
Her eyes met the eyes of the Auror in the room that was keeping track of Sirius today and she mouthed, he needs to cry and let it out. The man nodded. He remembered a few times in his career that he needed to do the same thing. He'd have to include it in his daily report to Madam Bones, of course, but from everything that they knew it was a long time coming.
He scribbled a note that she could see when he silently stepped closer. I'll look into a mind healer for him, too. Madam Bones will want to know.
She puzzled for a moment, then realized that this was probably what the Wizarding world called a psychiatrist or the closest thing they had to it. Emma nodded in agreement.
=-{}-=
The bell over the door jangled as it was disturbed by the action of the door opening. A man and a woman stepped into the small space, which was dedicated to tools of all kinds. Hammers, screwdrivers, pliers, saws, chisels, and oddly, a rack full of chocolate and caramel candies. It was located close to an ancient cash register that looked like it had long since seen better days. The only nod to modernity was a credit card terminal that looked like it and the cash register had stories of a great war to trade.
"Morning! Help ya find anything?"
The voice came from an older man that had his hands full with a cardboard box. He was standing next to a shelf with slip-joint, channel-lock, and linesman's pliers and had obviously been restocking the empty spaces when the pair came in.
"Good morning, sir." A badge was flashed. "My name is Detective Inspector Kingsley Shacklebolt and this is my partner, Detective Sergeant Nymphadora Tonks. We're with the London Police."
The older man's eyebrows went up and he smiled at the detective sergeant. He seemed amused at the name.
"Good to see ya. I have a daughter named Nymphadora. She hates it, but she's getting used to it. I'll have to tell her she's not alone with the name."
The female officer was caught mid-scowl and her partner was seen laughing at her. She transferred her scowl to him before turning to the shopkeeper.
"Please give your daughter my apologies. I don't know what my parents was thinking."
"I don't either since I don't know your parents, but as for me it was the name of a favorite great-aunt," he grinned at her. "Sweet lady, but didn't put up with any foolishness. I had to wait until she passed on before I could get myself in trouble." They chuckled at the face he pulled. "What can I do for ya?"
The detective inspector turned to face him fully and the shopkeeper noted that he was a big black man that looked like he was used to keeping criminals in check. Good for him, he thought. Too many hooligans out there. His partner looks like a sweet girl that knows how to bust some bollocks without breaking a sweat.
"If you have a moment, we needed to have a work with one of your employees. We're following up on an investigation and some of the leads that came with it and she might have some information. It won't take but a few minutes and we'll be out of your hair."
The detective inspector grimaced at the turn of phrase as he realized that the shopkeeper was bald as an egg. The man chuckled at the copper's expression and waved it off.
"No worries, lad. People try hair jokes on me all the time, but you didn't intend anything there. It's fairly slow right now and I've been keeping busy, so take your time. Who do you need to talk to?"
Shacklebolt peered at a line in his notepad.
"Lacie Watson, if she's in."
"You're in luck. She's in the back, checking in merchandise. Come with me." He turned away. "Oi, Lacie! Got some visitors to talk to you!"
There was an aggrieved shout from the back room.
"Simon Barker, this is the fifth time you've interrupted me today! This better not be a joke like the last three times, or I'm going home and let you do all the work! There's a nice bottle waiting for me, too. I'll need the whole thing to deal with you!"
The detective sergeant snickered and Barker turned to look at them with an embarrassed look on his face.
"I may have understated how slow it's been today and what I've been doing to keep busy."
Amusement shone in the detective inspector's eyes.
"Sir, I've found that there's only so far I can push my wife before she gets revenge. Considering that you do have a lot of pointy and sharp things in the building…"
He trailed off with a slight grin, and the old man sighed.
"Good point. Maybe I should find a better way to occupy myself."
"Could be potentially much safer, sir."
Barker opened a door leading to an open area with large racks of merchandise neatly stacked on wooden pallets, waiting to be stocked.
"Lacie, this is Detective Inspector… Shacklebolt, you said?"
"Yes, sir, that's right. And my partner, Detective Sergeant Nymphadora Tonks."
There was a barely muffled growl from the detective sergeant, which he carefully ignored. Barker looked at the woman, who was getting up from her wooden crate seat.
"How might I help you, sir?"
"We're following up on some leads in a case that you was involved in recently."
"Oh, the mugging? That was no fun at all. I'm glad my friend was there to drive them off. If it hadn't been for him, those… those…"
"Criminals?" The younger woman supplied.
"Not the word I wanted to use, but it'll do."
"Understandable, of course. I could think of a few other words – and do – but I won't say them here."
Shacklebolt shot a long-suffering look at his partner. It was clear that she had an extensive vocabulary that would probably not pass muster with the Archbishop of Canterbury. From the grimace on the shopkeeper's face, he knew a good bit of what she would possibly say.
"Anyway, sir and ma'am, I got away with his help. I don't know what he did, but when I looked back everyone in that gang was out cold on the street and he was walking back to where I was shaking like a leaf."
"What was this group after?"
"My money and every bit of jewelry I owned! I don't carry it with me, please understand, but if I'd gone back to my house with them like they wanted, I wouldn't have come back alive. I could see that."
They knew that. The area around the crime scene had magical traces of spellfire. One of those traces was a large tree that had absorbed a killing curse and was now showing the death of the tree's branches. Neither of the people working in the shop were magical, so this wasn't mentioned at all.
"He must be a real fighter," Tonks commented. "We rounded the whole group up and they had bruises all over and a few broken limbs. One almost had his arm torn off. He's going to be laid up for a while."
"Yeah, like one of those whatchacallems… 'ninjas' or whatever. But I didn't hear him say anything to them other than 'this is a really bad idea, boys' cool as a cucumber. He gave me his number and told me to call him later if I needed anything. I was pretty shook up. Those jerks looked like they'd take every advantage of a woman they could, if you know what I mean."
Shacklebolt grimaced and both of the shop employees could see the fire in the female cop's eyes.
"We really do need to talk to him about this as well. Procedure, you understand. Might we get that number?"
"Of course."
She got up and looked at the mess she was working on. Barker got another glare, to which he quickly held up his hands. Lacie Watson crossed over to a desk that looked much neater and organized than the area she was trying to put to rights and found her purse. It took her a moment to find a slip of paper, which she gave to Shacklebolt. He looked at it to jot down the number before giving it back to her.
"And what's your friend's name? Seems to be a good friend to do that for you."
"Oh, he's a sweetheart. Everyone that comes in likes him, and a couple of the ladies have their eye on him. If I didn't have my Jimmy at home, I would too. Poor guy. Doesn't stand a chance with them on the prowl. His name is Remus Lupin."
=-{}-=
The Goblins had a problem but it wasn't that big of a deal, relatively speaking. Unlike everyone else, they were collectively looking forward to the resolution. Certain wagers had to be settled.
"So Ironbeard... the Potter boy asked specifically for me, is it?"
The Potter Account Manager looked at the other goblin in the room and shivered a bit to himself. The scar threading between the bright golden eyes down to the jaw and terminating at the brawny shoulder didn't look any less nasty. Neither did the steaming concoction in the beat-up mug the rugged Goblin drank from. Ironbeard looked at his favorite arsenic-infused Earl Grey and felt like he was being judged and found wanting. He was on his fifth cup today and didn't want to try what was in the other goblin's mug without a way to discreetly pump his stomach of whatever that was.
"Yes. 'The dherlec shakhacis will be needed for House Potter' was the exact phrase he used. I don't know what he's doing yet or how it came to be that he knew about it early, but the best way to find out is to see when he gets here."
"Hrrmpphh."
There didn't seem to be anything to say to that grunt, which frankly could mean anything coming from Steelarse. Not for the first time, the Potter Account Manager thought that the other goblin's father had been very prophetic when it came to his name. Steelarse was rumored to eschew any kind of cushioning and he held the record for making Goblins of any age burst into tears with heated harangues and commentaries on various family members.
He'd been undefeated in the few duels that he'd been challenged to because of it. Every time he left the pit, he would make another comment about the defeated Goblin depending on whether he was alive or dead. Those still alive were given fairly scorching evaluations of their failings along with a strong kick in the genitals 'for luck,' he always said.
Those left dead didn't get any commentary but got the kick 'for tradition's sake.' No one wanted to mention that he was the only one with that particular tradition lest he start a new one with them.
"So is it true, Ironbeard?"
"What?"
"That the Potter boy got himself a dragon mother looking after him? A Horntail?"
"You mean besides Lily?"
"Heh. It's probably a good thing for you she's not around any more to hear you say that. She'd take a few inches off you and your wife has been heard complaining you don't have enough to spare." Steelarse had actually gotten along with Lily a lot better than James. Some of the invective the wily Goblin knew came from her.
"Don't think I'm going to forget that little dig. Probably true about being a good thing, but the House of Potter misses its Lady."
They paused for a moment in remembrance. Ironbeard went on.
"No, I don't know where you heard that strange rumor. How exactly is a dragon going to take care of an underage wizard? The things you hear around here. I'm convinced people think of some of the silliest things and just throw it out there just to see what happens."
They rolled their eyes and took a sip of their beverages.
"If anything, the Granger witch and her mother are both taking care of him. They do some odd things with him sometimes. Wizards rarely understand them since they both came from the Muggle world and that means they have activities that wizards won't do."
"That's the truth. I sneaked onto one of their roller-coasters once and hung off the back of one of those carts. Whoever said it was like the mine cart system here lied. Between the water, the sounds, the going into a dark, dimly lit tunnel and the strange things I've never seen before lining the way, I needed a drink afterwards. If it hadn't been for a sticking charm, I would have went flying off at least six times. It would be good for interrogation."
There wasn't anything said for a moment, and Ironbeard looked at the clock. The Potter group was supposed to portkey in for their meeting in a little over a half-hour.
"A Hungarian Horntail," Ironbeard mused. It still surprised him that such rumors existed. "Somebody doesn't have enough work to do."
"Amazing where this stuff comes from, isn't it? I can tell I need to crack down again but haven't been here for a few months, since I've been working on that detail overseas."
Neither mentioned what the detail was, but both knew. It wasn't spoken aloud in any detail, other than oblique references.
"Speaking of not enough work to do, Ironbeard. Did you hear about that fool Fudge?"
"I try not to. I have enough problems staying regular without making it worse."
"Told you, try some of this stuff I found in Estonia. You won't be stopped up for long."
"No thanks. The last time you told me that, I felt like I had a dragon flaming my arse for a week, my throat felt like lava and my tongue was hanging out for days on end."
"Oh, that's right. That's the time I mixed up my condiments with that find. I didn't need to make use of it, so I have still have it. Besides, it worked, didn't it? Need more?"
The innocent look on the other goblin's face didn't suit him one bit, Ironbeard thought. It hadn't helped that his wife had promised to stock up on whatever that evil stuff was for the next time he got into trouble with her. The old goblin snorted away the offer.
"I'm hurt." Steelarse didn't look the least bit wounded in any fashion. "Anyway, it seems that Fudge found himself on the wrong side of Madam Bones at the wrong time."
Ironbeard perked up. Notionally, gossip was beneath both of them because of their respective stations. They both ignored that and called it 'gathering intelligence,' which was something they did assiduously in order to perform their jobs at the highest level.
Plus, it made for good wagering with the random sucker.
"Again? This ought to be good. There's a right time to be on the wrong side of Madam Bones?"
"For purposes of our entertainment, no not really. Especially when Fudge is concerned. What a numb-tongued crotch scabbard."
"Among things, and a loose one, too. What did he do this time?"
"It turns out that Sirius Black was either under or in the process of seeking sanctuary from a family of a muggleborn witch who you could be getting very familiar with soon, and Madam Bones had been informed of certain discrepancies that was putting a good number of twists in her knickers. Fudge just happened to try to tell her how to do her job and do it for her at the same time."
"Oh, I bet that went over well. How many pieces did she leave him in and can we get any for display purposes? I could do with a side hustle."
"Unfortunately, something happened before she could. What, I don't know yet. Your next appointment might be able to shed some light on whatever it was. I do know that she was reaming him out loud enough to be heard two floors away at the Ministry."
"Did anyone get any footage of that?"
"Just ten or twelve minutes of a loud echo. The wizard we have in place was too scared to get much closer. Listen."
Steelarse put a small disc on the desk and tapped it with his finger. Immediately, they could hear the dulcet tones of Madam Bones ripping long bloody strips from Fudge. The two Goblins could tell that all work in the vicinity of the recording device had stopped and everyone was listening without saying anything or possibly breathing.
"I can't decide if this is more entertaining than watching that young Granger witch punch Pureblood snots or watching my wife mow through impudent young Goblins too full of themselves."
"Considering that your wife is much older, Derila has more experience. You should mention that to her."
Ironbeard stared at his old friend incredulously.
"You want me to sleep on the couch for the next two weeks again for mentioning her age, don't you?"
"I can't help if it's funny. Now you know why I didn't get married."
"Yeah, so you can get me in all the trouble."
They sat back to watch. Notes were taken on some of the things Madam Bones was heard to say.
"I'm going to remember that. 'I hope your mother runs out from under the porch and bites you the next time you go home.' What's a porch?"
"I'm not sure. Do we have Cornelius Fudge's ancestry reports on file?"
"I think so."
They listened for the next few minutes until they heard a chime announcing the next appointment.
"You called Madam Bones for this appointment, right?"
"I did."
"Don't let her hear that recording. You might find out what it's like to be in Fudge's place."
"Good idea. Plus, I don't want to give Derila any ideas on how to get more descriptive when I get in trouble."
"Don't worry about that, you giving her any ideas I mean. I already sent her a copy of that recording with my compliments."
"WHAT?"
=-{}-=
At the Granger home, the two aurors left on security detail watched the group disappear with the portkey. Harry Potter, the three Grangers, Sirius Black, and two Aurors had been gripping the parchment when it activated. They waited for the noise of the disappearance to die down before speaking.
"Simon, did you notice that owl landing on young Harry's shoulder right before they went?"
"I did. That bird is scary smart."
"I didn't think owls bothered with portkey travel or even enjoyed it."
"I guess it doesn't bother her. Familiar magic link must have something to do with it."
"He's pretty strong on that scale, though. If she got even a tiny fraction of that, it's a wonder she doesn't carry her own wand."
"With talons like that? Are you kidding? She doesn't need a wand to make you have a bad day. All she has to do is rip your arse up one side and down the other."
"You're telling me. I was outside not too long ago and was watching her hunt. There was a big brown dog barking at her, messing up what she was doing. She just looked at him. That should have been a clue right there."
"What happened?"
"That dog lunged at her and she took off. Dog started off the other way, thinking he did whatever he was intending to do and didn't see or hear her turning around and coming back at speed. Snowy owls fly pretty much silently, you know?"
"Yeah."
"There's some noise, but still. Even with canine hearing, he didn't hear her until she ripped those talons up his back, from tail to neck. He took off screaming bloody murder."
"I would too, if I was that dog."
"You would do it now. Don't lie."
"Nope, not gonna lie. What happened next?"
"Well, it wasn't really that bad, just surface scratches but he knew he'd been tagged a good one. Once he was gone, she waited for the mouse she'd seen to come back out and wham! One mouse, served up for a nice meal."
They looked at each other. A moment passed before they started laughing.
"And she doesn't put up with any shite from the Potter kid either. Between her and the Granger girl, he's got smooth sailing as long as he listens and says…"
"Yes, dear!" They chorused together.
"Mama Granger thinks it's funny, too."
"Papa Granger does too, but it's taking him a bit to get used to his baby girl having a boyfriend."
"Well, yeah. Men with daughters live in fear that they're going to meet someone like you at that age."
Simon grimaced. He had two daughters and knew exactly what that felt like.
"Anyway, what do you think is going to happen at the bank?"
"I think they're going to get some 'special reinforcements' posted here."
They looked at each other in hopeful agreement.
Author's Note:
If any of this looks familiar, go take a look at my Author's Note at the end of Chapter 12 of Like Tenfold Shields. It was a bit of a frustrating experience.
