The Sanity Pact
Harry had lied—though only a little—about the structure of the house. The bathroom was not the only remaining room, nice as it was. No, the house had a basement level. In it was a thoroughly stocked wine cellar with zones of different temperatures that put the serum storage facilities at my alma mater to shame. I gawked at the bottles, not aware enough of fine wine to know why I ought to be impressed, but impressed all the same.
I followed my feet to another, smaller room. A locked door led out through its other side, and only a few bits of quidditch equipment and broom repair materials sat on shelves against the walls. The entire place looked a little dusty and out of use. I heard Byron join me from the wine cellar, where he'd been poking his muzzle into and out of the chilled areas. He crossed the room and smelled intently at the crack under the locked door.
"Come on, pup," I urged, patting my hand to my leg. "You can't go in there." I turned back toward the stairs, suddenly eager to rejoin Harry. Byron had flattened himself on the floor and pressed his nose to the crack beneath the door. "Byron," I called sharply. "Up you get. Come on." I clapped my hands. His ears turned toward me, but he stayed still.
I walked over to him with an annoyed sigh, determined to wrestle him up the stairs. My skin pricked unpleasantly when I neared the door. I shook my head to dispel my sudden discomfort with the place. "Come on now, Byron." I said, grabbing his collar firmly and yanking him away from the door. When I touched him a shock ran up my arm. I winced, starting to worry. As I dragged the protesting Byron from the room I couldn't help looking over my shoulder at the door, wondering what on earth could require such strong locks.
I came upstairs, secure in my intention to ask Harry what on earth he was hiding in his basement. Yes, I meant to do that. But he was wearing an apron. An apron with ruffles. I turned to shut the door to the basement, tensing to contain my laughter.
"Did you find any doxies?" He teased, turning to his pantry and back again. As he turned toward the stove, I got a better look at the apron.
"Kiss the cook?" I blurted, reading the flashy script embroidered on the apron top.
"Tonks gave it to me." He said, pinning me with a no-nonsense look.
"It's fetching," I teased, losing control of a small giggle at the end.
"The sauce splatters." Harry explained, gesturing toward a simmering pot with his wooden spoon.
"Doesn't make it any less fetching," I laughed. He rolled his eyes and made a longsuffering face just like Hermione's. I clapped my hand over my face. "Sorry," I muttered through my fingers.
"You aren't." He said, the corners of his mouth curling upward. He turned back to the stove to do something that looked purposeful and related to cooking. Yes, I think it's fair to say I wouldn't know how to prepare a meal if it didn't involve sandwiches of some kind. I guess that'll just be an unpleasant surprise for him later. I turned toward the table, meaning to sit, but Byron's reflection caught my eye in the glass.
He'd pressed himself against the door to the basement, his nose jammed tight against the jamb. He whined a little, and sniffed deeply. I patted the side of my leg to call him. "Byron, leave it," I cajoled.
"What's he doing?" Harry said, not looking away from the stove.
"He started sniffing at a door in the basement; I think he just wants to go back down there." I said dismissively, walking toward Byron with the intent of distracting him.
"Yeah?" Harry asked, cutting the fires on the stove and setting down his spoon. "What door?" He turned to face me as he wiped his hands dry on the edge of his apron.
"The locked one. Just through the little room with the quidditch stuff in it." I noted, distracted by my attempt to wrestle my huge dog away from the door.
"Locked door?" Harry asked with a note of confusion in his voice. I looked up toward him, releasing Byron's neck.
"With the locking charms on it," I clarified, "through the wine cellar."
"Show me?" Harry still sounded a little mystified. I put my hands on my hips and regarded him steadily.
"Harry. Please don't. This kind of thing freaks me out." He shook his head, looking a little confused.
"Just show me," he said calmly, untying the silly apron. "I'm sure it's nothing. I haven't spent much time down there."
"You didn't lock it?" My voice broke into a squeak.
"I didn't lock anything down there. But some of the rooms existed before I owned the house." Harry said calmly. He shoved at his hair, which fell insistently back to his forehead. I wrapped my arms around myself. Come on, here, Anna. Don't be a wimp in front of the savior of the wizarding world. For crying out loud.
"Let me put Byron in another room first?" I took a corner of my lower lip into my mouth. "I don't want him getting in to anything." Harry nodded. I grabbed at Byron's collar again and manhandled him until he chose to follow me into the next room. I set up a repelling charm in the doorway and refused to look back as he threw himself against it, barking worriedly.
"Let's go." Harry said calmly, opening the door to the basement and starting down the stairs. His manner wasn't reassuring as it might have been; he had his wand out.
"Behind you," I muttered, gulping. Yeah right. Right behind you and ready to flee, I grumbled to myself. I could just imagine what Severus would say about this. We reached the landing, where I gestured toward the wine cellar. Harry continued to lead.
"Through here?" He asked, gesturing toward the back wall. I nodded, becoming stiff with apprehension. Was now a good time to tell him I even got spooked about doxies? I shut my eyes for a moment and inhaled sharply.
"Past here," I said, squaring my shoulders and marching through the break in the wall that led to the little room. Harry walked just in front of me, his wand still at the ready.
"Where now?" He asked, his head swiveling to take in the walls of the room.
"We're looking right at it," I said, confused.
"I thought it was a door," he muttered.
"It is, Harry." I walked to his side, pointing at it. "It's right there." I looked back at him. He looked at me, slightly shaking his head.
"I don't see a door."
"You have to," I frowned. "It's…" I started to reach toward it, but recoiled thinking of the odd shock I received last time.
"What is it?" Harry peered at me. I looked back at him, as though he could see it if I stared at him long enough.
"I touched it before, and it shocked me." I mumbled. Oh, stop being such a girl, Anna.
"Shocked you?" Harry looked a little worried. A twinge of remorse went through me.
"I'm sure it's nothing. When I pulled Byron away from it I felt tingling up my arm as I pulled him, and it felt like a shock when it hit my shoulder." I explained, switching to my healer voice in an attempt to stay calm.
"It's something, then." Harry insisted, walking toward the wall.
"What're you doing?" I blurted.
"I think it's concealed; I might be able to feel it." He mumbled, intently feeling the wall. His wand was still pointed toward the stones. I stood back, my hands clutching uselessly at the seams of my pants. "There it is." Harry muttered. He turned to me. "There—is that the edge when you see it?"
"The left edge, yes," I confirmed. Harry's wand pushed through a series of motions I couldn't quite track. A powerful light enclosed the span of the wall where the door had been cut through. When it faded, Harry backed up a small step.
"I'd never seen that before." He muttered to himself.
"What are you going to do?" I worried.
"Break in, eventually." He said quietly.
"Harry!" I squawked. "You don't know what's in there." He turned to me, grinning sort of like Sirius.
"That's what makes it interesting," he said, backing up one more step. "You might not want to watch." He noted to me, still smiling in a slightly alarming way.
"No," I countered, "I'm staying." I stepped behind him again, preparing to wait a while. If he needed patching up after this, I wasn't going to stand by and hope he could manage the apparation to St. Mungo's. No way.
Harry quickly lost me in the set of spells he hurled at the door. Hermione had mentioned the brief time Harry'd spent training with another one of the Weasleys—an older brother—who was a curse breaker. I had a feeling curse breaking often looked like this, but as I watched I wasn't sure I ever wanted to find out. In my mind something truly unpleasant was behind that door, something that had to be hidden from a prospective buyer of a lovely house in the woods. I bit at my lip again.
The door glowed red, then orange, then yellow. Harry stepped back to me, then pulled me along as he stepped back some more. The heat from the door rolled forward in a wave along the floor and rising. The door suddenly darkened to blue, and then to green. At last it went black, and the heat stopped. Harry walked toward it, a determined look on his face. I fished my wand out of my sleeve and held it ready. He opened the door.
I barely had time to register a shadowy and dusty basement room beyond the door before what I knew to be a boggart flew out. I knew that's what it was. I knew! But my stomach still clenched and my eyes still watered. I watched it form the shape of my father's body, just as I'd found it, bleeding from the mouth and nose. I felt the sound leave my mouth, I didn't truly hear it. But I was shouting the right spell, and forming it, and ending the vision. I backed up, breathing hard, until I felt the wall behind me.
I didn't realize I'd closed my eyes until I felt Harry's hands on my shoulders, running down my arms and back up. I blinked at him, staring. He'd shut the door. He didn't speak until we were back in the warm kitchen, sitting at the table, each with a glass of wine.
"You're all right?" He asked, his eyes boring into mine. I was ashamed, and dipped my head.
"Yes, of course," I muttered quickly. "It was just a boggart."
"I saw what it was." He said. I took a slow sip of my wine. Harry mirrored me. I took a careful breath. I thought. I'd never told him about my family, besides Jack and Max and Lana.
"It was my father." Harry blinked once, and looked directly at me. "That's my boggart. It's my father's body." I flicked my eyes to the wall, then back to my wine glass. "I might as well tell you now," I muttered. I looked up at him. "My dad killed himself just after he married his second wife. He took a fatal dose of a sleeping drug he knew he was allergic to. It was ruled an accident, but we knew."
"You knew." Harry said quietly.
"I found him." I admitted. I stared fixedly at my wine glass, suddenly afraid of what he'd say.
"Is that why you didn't want to open the door?" Harry asked, gently.
"No," I chuckled lightly. "I didn't think of anything that sensible."
"Monsters, then?" Harry asked lightly, his hand resting gently on mine.
"Who knows?" I said, finally looking up at him.
"Maybe we can train Byron to hunt boggarts for you," Harry said, a slight smile coming to his lips. His fingers traced the back of my hand as it rested on the table. At the sound of his name Byron lunged at the barrier keeping him out of the kitchen, an impatient whine exploding from his muzzle. His nails tapped on the floor as I crossed the room to dispel the barrier. By the time I returned to the table Harry had summoned his prepared dinner for us, with a refill of wine.
He didn't want to make me face it. He didn't want to make me get over it. I didn't either. He just wanted to get on with life. I wanted to do that too. The moment was over by the time I had these thoughts, but I found I wanted to tell him: I'm game. I'll try it if you will.
