Chapter Fifty-Eight: Missions Accomplished
"If they continue like this, the Quidditch Cup is ours," Katie declared, spooning some potatoes onto her plate.
Connor chewed his own, but made sure to swallow before he spoke. Lately, Hermione, probably because Zacharias had played a prank on her involving it, had been casting impossibly complex hexes on anyone who talked with his mouth full. Ron had already had his mouth moved to the back of his head twice. "I don't know about that, Katie. Yes, Sam is hopeless, but the rest of the Slytherin team really isn't bad. They're just too used to depending on the Seeker, and they haven't adjusted their strategy to focus on the Chasers and the Beaters yet."
"You can't mean that, mate!" Ron exclaimed, leaning over Connor and reaching for the pork chops. "Your brother was the only player on the team worth anything."
Connor shook his head. "Like I said—"
"Then tell me how you expect Hellebore to do anything but hit the Bludger in some direction our Chasers aren't," Ron interrupted pointedly.
"Well, all right, perhaps focusing their strategy on the Beaters wouldn't help, either," Connor admitted.
Ron tore into his meat with a triumphant expression, started to say something, then caught Hermione's eye and looked down at his plate meekly.
Connor stirred his potatoes and looked around the Great Hall. He wasn't really hungry, since he'd grabbed a late lunch due to Quidditch practice, and then a nosh from the kitchens to fortify himself for studying later. Besides, lately it seemed as if he couldn't stop seeing things.
He wasn't sure if it was Harry who had taught him to see that way, or Parvati. Harry had certainly made it necessary in the first place. The brother of the Boy-Who-Lived couldn't be blind, and there were certain things Harry couldn't see, even as Connor hadn't seen certain things when it had been his turn to carry the title. But Parvati was the one who had taught him to tell at a glance who fancied someone else, and whether a couple was having an argument. Connor hadn't wanted to apply those lessons to Harry and Draco, but since Harry wasn't going to abandon Malfoy, he'd started to.
He wondered when Ron was going to notice that Lavender had a crush on him, or when Ginny would notice that Dean had a crush on her. Merlin knew why Lavender hadn't approached Ron, since Parvati was the only girl Connor felt comfortable talking to about things like that. But he'd confronted Dean, and Dean had gone all red in the face and muttered something about "respecting Ginny's grief over Zabini."
Connor had pointed out that Zabini had been a bloody traitor, and that anyway it had been almost seven months since the siege of Hogwarts and Blaise's well-deserved expulsion, so why not go and at least ask Ginny for a date? But then Dean started talking about finer feelings, and Connor found reason to be elsewhere.
His gaze went straying down the table, past Ron and Katie's argument over Quidditch and Hermione's intent writing of a letter—probably another one to the Daily Prophet, to tell them something new she'd discovered or thought of about the Grand Unified Theory—and locked on Parvati. She wasn't eating much, either, but that wasn't unusual. The way she toyed with her fork instead of sipping at her pumpkin juice or looking politely around the Great Hall was new, though.
I miss her.
Connor scowled at his plate. He kept missing Parvati, but he wasn't sure if going up and talking to her would mean that he was apologizing for being wrong. He didn't want to say he'd been wrong, because he hadn't. Parvati had seen that all her fears were groundless, that Harry had returned to Hogwarts with enough power to level the school but no intention of leveling it. She should be the one to apologize.
Does it matter who is, so long as I break this silence?
Connor chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought about that. He hadn't thought of it before; he'd just assumed that talking to Parvati would have to include an apology, whether or not he meant it. But if he just went up and talked to him? The worst she could do was ignore him and walk on. And she'd done that for months now anyway.
He made his decision, and stood up, making his way down the table. Parvati looked up quickly at the sound of the bench scraping back, then turned and stared at her food.
He stopped behind her chair. He could see the back of her neck growing red, and wondered if she was willing him not to talk to her.
"Parvati?"
Her hand tightened on her fork enough that Connor was surprised it didn't go flying out and clatter against the wall. And now everyone at the Gryffindor table was watching them, including McLaggen. Connor wanted to get somewhere away from his grin, before he went with instinct and punched him. McLaggen was a nasty piece of work. He'd been the one to suggest that they turn Harry over to Voldemort last year, and Connor and Ron had had to sit on him and explain some things very firmly before he saw the light.
He looked back at Parvati, and reminded himself that he wasn't angry right now, that he couldn't afford to be. Parvati had turned and was looking at him, really looking at him, for the first time since November.
"Yes?" she asked.
"I want to talk to you," said Connor. Her eyes widened, and he had to control his reaction; she was so pretty when she did that. Her eyes were so big and dark. "In the abandoned classroom on the Charms corridor."
"Why?" she whispered.
Connor wouldn't let her hide behind ignorance. If he took a risk by talking to her, then she was going to take the same risk. He folded his arms and frowned at her. "You know why."
Parvati looked down and spent a minute shredding her napkin. McLaggen, the obnoxious piece of shit, went on grinning. Connor could feel his own neck flushing, but he didn't move. He was Harry's brother, and that meant stubborn. And he was a Gryffindor, and that meant brave.
"All right," Parvati whispered.
Connor started, then remembered where he was, and nodded. "Good," he said, and marched away from the Great Hall, heading for the Charms corridor. He wouldn't let himself think about whether this was a good idea or not. He'd suffered in enough silence and in enough impatience. It was time to talk to Parvati and resolve this once and for all, rather than leaving it in this endless drifting space where neither of them knew what would happen next. He wanted his girlfriend back.
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Parvati came in quietly, barely stirring the air around her. Connor sat with his back to the door, in a desk, tracing one hand through the dust. He wanted to see what she would do if she thought he hadn't noticed her. He had forced the matter, but it had to be her choice to talk about this, on some level, or it would never happen—or, at least, it wouldn't happen the way Connor wanted.
Thank you, Harry, for teaching me that.
She paused. Then her footsteps shuffled nearer and nearer, until Connor could pretend he'd just noticed her. He turned around, and spent a moment or two gazing at her. Her hair was braided with a pink ribbon he'd given her for her birthday last year, and she looked at his face and then away again, as if she didn't know where to glance. She wore a perfume that Connor was fairly sure was some sort of flower, but he had never bothered to learn what sort it was; he only thought of it as "Parvati's perfume."
He stood up. She stood there. A few moments passed, until Connor realized he would have to begin.
"You're not acting very much like a Gryffindor, you know."
Parvati jumped as if stung, and then scowled at him. Well, Connor had meant the words to sting. He folded his arms and mimicked her scowl. She mimicked his arm-folding.
"I don't know what you mean by that," Parvati said, voice turning icy. "Though I would very much like to."
Connor heard the hardness in her voice, and had to fight to keep from smiling. There was the girl he loved—well, liked. Parvati stood her ground. She didn't run. She should have come to him long before this. He thought she would have, except for what coming to him would mean admitting.
"You're not acting brave," he said. "Were you that scared about being proven wrong? Harry's my brother. You should have known I wasn't going to abandon him completely. When I saw you were wrong, then I was on his side. And now you've seen that he isn't going to destroy the school."
Parvati stirred restlessly, but didn't answer him.
"Well?" Connor pushed. "The only answers I can think for your waiting this long are that you were scared or stupid, and I know you're not stupid."
"It changes everything!" Parvati suddenly flared at him, and her hands dropped to her hips. "Don't you see, Connor? If I admit Harry's right, then I have to fight beside him. I have to accept Malfoy and all the other Dark wizards and allies he's got with him. I'll have to do without house elves and order my meals from Hogsmeade like he does and perform my own cleaning charms, and I don't want to. I grew up with house elves. I like house elves. I'll have to start thinking differently about centaurs and goblins and all the other magical creatures that I've despised because it's comfortable to despise them. If he's right, then I have to change myself, and I liked the person I was."
Connor blinked. "But you don't have to change everything," he said. "Harry doesn't make people do that. You could accept that he's not evil and still be wary of Dark wizards and eat the meals the Hogwarts house elves make and—"
"I know he doesn't make people change everything," Parvati interrupted with a sigh. "That's become obvious. But I would have to change everything, Connor, because that's the kind of person I am. I can't stand hypocrisy. I don't like being wrong, either, but hypocrisy is worse. All my principles have to be in accord. It's partly because he would be my brother-in-law, but it's not just that. I was horrified when I found out Dumbledore abused Harry, because that meant I'd been condoning child abuse by following him, even though I didn't know it. So all my principles have to align and flow from the same place."
"No, they don't," said Connor, because it was the only thing he could think of to say. He hadn't thought of adopting Harry's principles that deeply himself. Maybe some day he would stop eating meals prepared by house elves. When they weren't in Hogwarts would be a good time. And he got principles of free will and treating others well from him, but that was just common sense, wasn't it? And he had accepted that Draco mattered to Harry, and he would treat Draco that way from now on. But the rest could wait, and since Harry wouldn't force anyone to change unless they advanced to the point of murder like the Ministry had, Connor saw no need to force himself to change.
"Yes, they have to." Parvati swept a hand through her heavy hair, nearly disordering the ribbon that tied it. "For me, they do, because that's just the way I am. And I've talked to Padma, and she's the same way. But she doesn't have a problem, since she's always followed Harry, so it's not much of a change for her. It's a bigger change for me."
"So you're going to start ordering food from Hogsmeade?"
Parvati nodded, looking unhappy. "Yes, but that's expensive, and our parents can't afford to keep sending me money, so I'll have to perform some cooking charms, too. And get better at conjuring food, and Transfiguring it. I'll be eating a lot of fruit for a few weeks." One of the things Professor Belluspersona had showed them how to do was Transfigure dust into apples and pears. They tasted dusty, though, and even the best in the class, Hermione, could only make them taste like slightly rotted apples and pears.
"You don't have to," said Connor.
"Yes, I do," said Parvati, her face taking on a stubborn cast. "I can't believe something and do things that contradict that."
Connor frowned at her. "So you think that I'm being a hypocrite because I believe that house elves should be free but I eat Hogwarts food?"
"I didn't know you believed house elves should be free."
"Well, I do."
"Then you're being a hypocrite because you eat Hogwarts food." Parvati paused. "Unless you're someone like Malfoy, who can believe one thing but do the opposite. I think he believes all the awful things he used to say about Muggleborns, but he at least treats them civilly now."
"I'm not a hypocrite," Connor muttered.
"So you believe one thing but do the opposite?"
"No!"
"So you are a hypocrite."
Connor glared at her. Parvati glared back. Connor tried to remind himself that this was one of the things he loved about her—well, liked a lot—that she would retort and think she was right instead of just folding in an argument the way a lot of girls would. But all he could think right now was that when people converted to Harry's principles, they seemed to pick up his arguing style, too. Parvati wouldn't have cared if Connor was like Malfoy, but he wasn't, so she expected better from him, the way Harry expected better from someone who accepted the Grand Unified Theory.
"You're stubborn," said Connor at last.
"I'm a stubborn witch who's going to apologize to Harry and get a lot better at Transfiguration," Parvati agreed calmly. Connor realized he should have talked to her before two months had passed. She'd had too much time to think about what she'd do. "And you? What are you going to do?"
"I want you to be my girlfriend again."
"We can do that," said Parvati. "But you need to think about not eating Hogwarts food, and cleaning your own bed."
"I don't know cleaning charms."
"I can teach you."
"I'm horrible with Transfiguring dust into food."
"I'll share my fruit."
"I don't—it's just convenient, Parvati, that's all."
"I'm sure Harry will help you buy food if you need to. And you have the Potter fortune, too."
Connor sighed. Both my brother and my girlfriend are determined to hound me. And when I confronted Parvati, I gave her the courage to make this change she was hesitating about, so in a way it's my fault. "We'll see."
Parvati gave him a brilliant smile and reached out to clasp his arm. "And we'll argue about it until you do see."
Being the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived is hard, Connor lamented, but then Parvati kissed him, and he could put his arms around her and kiss her back, and that was different enough from anything he'd done in months that he didn't think about the argument for a while.
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Parvati approached Harry on Saturday morning. It was technically a Saturday he was supposed to visit the monitoring board, Connor knew, but there had been some problem with the Light members of the monitoring board refusing to accept the presence of Draco and Snape at their next meeting. So Harry had written to them, and they'd written back, and he'd written again, and they hadn't settled their dispute enough to agree on a meeting date yet.
Parvati marched straight up to the Slytherin table while Harry and Draco were eating breakfast and arguing about something. Knowing them, Connor thought, it could be anything from the monitoring board to Quidditch. Draco saw her first, and he hissed and drew his wand, leaning on Harry in a way Connor found funny. It practically screamed Mine! about Harry, and if anyone else in the school did still fancy Harry and want to date him, Connor thought they would know they'd lost their chance, just from looking at Draco.
Plenty of other eyes were watching the Slytherin table now. Parvati cleared her throat in what was almost silence. There were still a few conversations going on at the far side of the Gryffindor table, and one at the Hufflepuff table centered on Zacharias Smith, but Parvati's voice was loud and defiant enough to override them.
"I wanted to congratulate you, Harry," she said.
Connor could see his bother's eyes narrowing. He would be expecting an insult of some sort. Draco looped his wand in a lazy flick that Connor recognized as the opening move of a Severing Curse, and Harry's hand gripped his wrist and forced it up at the last moment, so he couldn't complete the spell. Connor didn't like the fact that both moves were practiced. Is Draco always that wand-happy?
"For what?" Harry asked, politely enough.
"Because you've changed my mind." Parvati cocked her head at him. "You were right, and I was wrong. You're right about house elves needing to be freed, if the only reason they think well of us is that we've enchanted them to think that way. And you're right about centaurs and goblins. They've been free for months, but they haven't attacked us. And the Ministry should never have legalized werewolf killing." She hesitated, and Connor could almost smell her gathering her courage. "And the Light owes you a debt, because we followed a man who treated you so badly, and for so long," she said, forcing herself through the words. "So I agree with you now, and I'm going to start Transfiguring my food."
Harry looked utterly gobsmacked. Connor treasured the expression. It wasn't often he got to see that on his brother's face.
Before he could say anything—not that Connor knew how he could do anything but accept the apology—there was a movement at the Ravenclaw table. Terry Boot stood up and moved away from the bench so that he was standing at Parvati's level, though still a distance from her. "And I wanted to say that she's right," said Terry. "I don't know if I can start eating food that house elves haven't prepared yet, but I'm using cleaning charms on my bed and my clothes already, Harry. And you're right. It doesn't take long. There's no reason that we should have to depend on house elves when we have our own magic." He coughed and looked around, as though he didn't know why the entire Great Hall was watching him, then gave Harry a stiff nod and sat down again.
Someone moved at the Hufflepuff table. Susan Bones stood up and bit her lip as Connor watched. She was flushing to the roots of her blonde hair, and since she had very clear skin, it was immediately noticeable.
"Um," she said. "Um. My aunt was wrong, Harry. I thought you should know. And I'm learning cleaning charms so I can take care of my bedroom." She paused. "Um. That's all." She sat down again with the look of someone spared execution.
Connor turned around to watch Harry's face. He looked as if he had suddenly seen three phoenixes fly through the room. He took his hand from Draco's wrist, using his shoulder, from the looks of it, to block some other spell, and leaned across the table to clasp Parvati's arm.
"Thank you," he said, using a subtle charm on his voice that made it seem to sound in the ears of every person in the Great Hall. "I know how much it cost you to admit that. Change is never easy, and a change so fundamental to the way we live especially isn't." He looked straight into Parvati's face. "I don't know if I'll be able to make you understand how much I appreciate this."
Parvati smiled in a way that would have made Connor jealous if he hadn't known that Harry was only interested in Draco, and Parvati was only interested in him, and Draco would have drawn and quartered anyone else who touched Harry with romantic intent, anyway. "Your eyes say it pretty well," she said, and squeezed Harry's hand. "Thank you. It took me forever to make up my mind, but Connor gave me the courage to do it yesterday." She turned her head and fixed her eyes proudly on Connor.
And then everyone in the Great Hall was looking at him. Luckily, Connor had four years of practice in dealing with that. He nodded back to all their looks, and ignored the frankly disbelieving expressions, like the one that came from Hermione.
What? He hoped his manner conveyed that silent message. I give people the courage to declare their minds all the time.
Inwardly, of course, he was beaming, and he let the beam flood his face when Parvati walked away from the Slytherin table and gave him a kiss, and then Ron clapped him on the back hard enough to stagger him, and some of the people in the Great Hall actually started applauding. Headmistress McGonagall joined in, too, her eyes more than proud.
Connor grinned, and kissed Parvati back, and waited until they were done before he went away to fly, because flying was the only way he knew how to deal with joy this extreme.
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Dart and roll and dip and turn, and the turn whipped him around so fast that Connor felt as if the blood were sloshing in his head. He pulled up, laughing.
He wondered that Harry didn't fall from the Firebolt he rode, since he didn't use it that often. Connor, of course, rode the one Harry'd got him for Christmas all the time, when Ron wasn't taking turns on it, and he knew how to master it. By now, he knew almost everything about it, including how to stay on when it turned upside-down because he gave it the wrong command.
The wooden broom and Snitch that Mark had sent him, which he'd enchanted to dart around like the golden Snitch, drifted past him. They were slower than the real thing, but they gave him training in catching things that were almost invisible, since they didn't shine. Connor put out his hand and caught them both at once, laughing again. He had a fast broom under him, he had the Pitch to himself to practice, why shouldn't he be happy?
A yank centered behind his navel, so hard that Connor gasped. His first thought was that he was falling from the Firebolt, or that someone had hexed the broom to tip him off. Then he recognized the colors dancing all around him, and he realized he was in the middle of a Portkeying.
But I checked the broom and the Snitch for Portkey spells—
But not for time-delayed Portkey spells, or ones that only activate when two objects are put together.
He was cursing when the colors spun him out in an unfamiliar place, and he let go of the wooden broom and Snitch as soon as he could. He turned his head quickly to take in his surroundings, clamping his legs on the Firebolt. From now on, no opening unfamiliar gifts in the post, he told himself sternly.
He hovered above an enormous garden, which made him think of Indigena Yaxley, which made him tense up enough to cause the Firebolt to swerve to one side. But none of the plants reached for him and tried to devour him, so that was reassuring. The garden was mostly snow and rock, anyway, with the black stones arranged to thrust above the snowbanks in what Connor supposed was some sort of artistic pattern. He didn't know; he'd never been interested in gardening, and the estates at Lux Aeterna were under the care of the brownies.
There was one clear patch in a corner of the garden, he saw. An enormous bush grew there, obviously protected by warming charms from the winter, and white blossoms nodded on it. Other flowers grew in a circle around it; Connor could see their colors from here. He bit his lip and tried to remember what he could about plants like that from Herbology. The big bush was hawthorn, wasn't it?
"Welcome, Connor."
He whipped the Firebolt in a circle. A man had just rounded a stone wall that Connor assumed backed up on a house, though the wall tingled with wards that rendered the building itself invisible. He had a large grin, and dark eyes, and dark hair, and Connor hadn't seen him often, but the first time was by the lake in Hogwarts the night he found out he wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived after all, and that was hard to forget.
"Rosier," he said, and hoped that his voice didn't shake. A Gryffindor was supposed to be brave. He was too busy concentrating on the other man's wand hand to notice if his voice did shake.
The Death Eater laughed, and undid his left sleeve, tilting his arm so that Connor could see the Dark Mark. "Really," he said. "I would have thought you would be warier of someone writing to you with the name of Mark."
And Connor felt like a fool, but at least he was only a fool. He wasn't a crazy bastard.
"You're a crazy bastard," he told Rosier.
Rosier didn't appear to appreciate hearing this, for all that it was true. He turned his left arm so that Connor could no longer see the Mark—and that was fine, he didn't want to look at it, it was all ugly, and made uglier by the red pattern around it, as though it were infected—and drew his wand.
Connor put one hand on his own wand, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stand up to most of the curses Rosier threw. He'd used a Severing Curse on Hermione in the Midsummer battle, and Hermione was magically stronger than Connor was. So Connor should only meet Rosier spell for spell if he absolutely had to.
A deep buzzing rode his ears. He wasn't sure if he was afraid or not. Trembling raced through his muscles, but that could be from the adrenaline that was crashing into his veins. He could feel it coming, and it made him remember that this man had been there when Harry's hand was cut off. Connor wasn't sure he could fight him, but he wasn't sure if he could depend on rescue, either, so he would have to try.
And if he'd wanted an easy kill, Rosier really shouldn't have transported him aboard his Firebolt.
Rosier cast a curse that bloomed in racing tongues of blue flame. Before it was halfway to him, Connor was safely away, spinning his broom around in a circle that was usually used to chase an unwilling Snitch. The flames sprouted past him and then died uselessly in midair.
Rosier used a lightning curse. One couldn't outrun a lightning curse, as Moody had taught them in those thirteen frantic days before Midsummer, but one could fool an enemy into putting it where one wasn't. Connor dodged to the left, and so Rosier cast the curse to the left, but by then Connor was blasting away to the right.
He wondered if he should race away across the landscape, in turn. But he had no clue where he was, no clue if there were other Death Eaters around, and no idea if perhaps Rosier could take the wooden broom and Snitch and use them to get inside Hogwarts's wards. If he did, then it would be Connor's fault. And there were the people who might be in the house, too. Maybe Rosier had killed them all, but maybe not.
And the thought lingered in Connor's mind that if he could kill or wound Rosier, then he wouldn't be able to hurt Harry in the future.
One thing, at least, he had to do. So while Rosier incanted a long and complicated pain curse, Connor swept in low to the ground. Rosier paused to watch him, and laughed, as if he were wondering if Connor would crash his broom and saw him the trouble.
Connor was looking, though. He found the wooden broom and Snitch lying in the snow, and he flicked his wand, thinking, Incendio! A moment later, they were charred ashes, and Rosier wasn't going anywhere using them.
Rosier didn't like that. He snarled, and some cutting curse caught Connor across the back. He yelled, and rose straight up into the air, cursing between his teeth at the pain. It hurt like fire, it hurt like hell, it hurt like a hit by a razor-tipped Bludger right across his muscles and flesh—
It made him really angry.
Professor Snape had told him once that when he was angrier, or thinking about defending Harry, his magic got stronger. He turned around and aimed his wand in Rosier's general direction. The spell he wanted to cast didn't need to be aimed directly at Rosier.
"Calefacto!"
The ground around Rosier heated, the snow rising in a cloud of steam. A moment later, Rosier gave a faint yelp. He might find the pain pleasant, from what Harry had told Connor, but at least the steam blocked his vision and gave Connor a moment to circle and think about what spell would take the crazy bastard out.
Not a spell.
Connor debated for a single fierce moment about whether or not this was right, but he had even less time to think about it than he'd had in the Midsummer battle. As the steam dissipated, he leaned over his broom and caught Rosier's eye. Rosier had his head upturned, and was laughing, and quoting some poet. Connor made himself not pay attention to that. Instead, he swung his will like a whip, sending home a lash of compulsion directly into Rosier's brain.
Drop your wand.
Rosier's hand opened, and his wand tumbled to the dirt. At the same time, his thoughts began to writhe in Connor's hold, fighting him. Connor grimaced. The feel of his mind was unpleasant, pulpy. The only time he'd felt something more disgusting was when he'd briefly tried to compel Voldemort in Sirius's body to let him go, when that madman had captured him in third year and tried to use him against Harry. That had been dark and stinking corruption, and this wasn't much better. It was very hard to compel someone insane.
And what he should do with the compulsion…
Connor swallowed. He knew what he should probably do, especially since Rosier hadn't just hurt Harry. He'd hurt Hermione so badly she had to spend months in bed, and before that he'd caught her last winter and done something she still wouldn't talk about. So Connor should make sure he couldn't cause any more trouble.
His morals fought against it, though. Could he look into Rosier's eyes and send the silent command Die, and really mean it?
He'd never tried. He'd just controlled people's bodies and changed their thoughts.
Rosier very nearly fought free from him; his mind made a flapping fish look dry. Connor took a deep breath, and started to turn his Firebolt back to where he could clearly see Rosier's face.
"Enjoying yourself, Evan?"
The instant shock of hatred that flooded Rosier's mind made Connor lose his grip. He cursed and spun higher, clutching his wand as he watched a woman stride from around the wall and towards Rosier. She was smiling, he thought, but she looked so strange that it was hard to be sure.
This was Indigena Yaxley. Connor knew it by the green tendrils in her hair and the way two thorns trailed behind her like obedient puppies. And, from this angle, the shadows in her skin were so prominent that she looked like a walking bush. He shuddered and flew higher.
Rosier was snarling at Yaxley, the kind of low sound Connor thought a rabid werewolf would make. Yaxley didn't seem at all bothered by it. She halted a few feet away from Rosier and gazed at him. Connor couldn't see if she was looking at one specific place on his body, or something he carried.
"Having bad dreams, Evan?" she all but whispered.
Rosier screamed, snatching up his wand, and the next minute Yaxley burst into flames. Well, she tried, at least. Her leaves writhed and danced, and then the fire went out. Yaxley shook her head as she drew her wand.
"Really, Evan, you must learn to control yourself," she murmured. "Fire is such a pedestrian weapon. I had thought my thorns taught you more refined methods of pain." She looked up at Connor and waved a hand at him. "Hello!" she called. "Sorry for this, but we did have to perform a test, and you were made the subject a long time ago. I would have been here sooner, but—"
Someone else came around the stone wall. Connor blinked, and fought the urge to rub his eyes. Mrs. Parkinson? What is she doing here? Well, I suppose it could be her house…
He'd met Hawthorn several times now, most recently at Christmas, and she'd always impressed him as a kind and thoughtful person, even though she was Dark. He did not know what to make of the expression on her face now, as she gazed at Indigena Yaxley. Yaxley watched her back as if she had all the time in the world.
Hawthorn and Rosier cast curses both at once, though Hawthorn's was red and Rosier's was black. Both hit Yaxley and bounced, the tight shield of plants beneath her skin doing the work, Connor supposed. He flew in a tight little circle, trying to decide what he should do. Curses were flying now, incredibly fast, and he knew he wasn't good enough to go and help. And he wasn't sure if he ought to attack Yaxley or Rosier, either. He didn't know who was more dangerous.
Then Rosier turned away from Yaxley and lifted his wand to the sky. Connor braced himself as a red zigzag flew out. This was a Hunting Curse, and it would follow him wherever he went on the broom. Rosier had probably only waited to use it because Hunting Curses didn't cause much pain, and he wanted to play.
"Evan, honestly," said Yaxley, like someone annoyed by the actions of a small child, and pointed her wand at the Hunting Curse. It dissipated. She closed her eyes in the next moment, bowing her head and laying her wand across her left arm. Connor had to admit to a reluctant admiration, that she could simply stand there and ignore all the magic that Hawthorn was firing, and the other woman's enraged, hate-filled screams.
The next moment, Rosier howled as if stung by bees, and then Apparated out. Yaxley glanced up at Connor and waved again.
"We'll see each other. I look forward to the meeting," she said, with a smile, and Apparated herself. And then Connor was hovering over Hawthorn Parkinson's garden with melted snow beneath him and the sizzle of curses fading around him, and the cut across his shoulders stinging like hell.
Hawthorn lowered her wand only slowly. She was looking at the hawthorn bush with the flowers around it, Connor saw. Her face was blank, but slowly filling with emotions he didn't want to see.
And he needed help.
"Um, Mrs. Parkinson?"
Hawthorn shook her head sharply and glanced up. A moment later, the frightening expression was gone, and she gave a sad little smile.
"This is not the way I would have chosen to bring you to my home, Mr. Potter," she murmured. "But, nevertheless, welcome to the Garden. If you'll come down, I'll heal your wounds, and Apparate you back to Hogwarts."
Connor nodded, and told himself his wariness was of no account. Hawthorn had been a Death Eater. That didn't mean she still was. He took the Firebolt down slowly, as the cut hurt more and more, and plowed a trail in the snow as he landed.
Hawthorn didn't appear to notice. She was looking at the hawthorn bush again.
Then she shook her head and turned to Connor, her mouth thinning. "I don't know how they got through my wards," she said. "But I will learn. And I will find and kill Indigena Yaxley."
Connor shivered, and not from the cold.
The next moment, Hawthorn was the kind woman he had met at Christmas again, circling behind him to exclaim softly over his wound, and mix scolding for staying in the battle with praise for how well he had done. Connor relaxed. He was used to mothers.
He did wonder why Rosier had wanted him here in the first place, and what Indigena Yaxley had come for. But, well—
Rosier is a crazy bastard. And Yaxley is the Thorn Bitch. Do either of them really need a reason for whatever insanity they planned? They were both mad enough to become Death Eaters.
He was much more interested in the cessation of pain from his cut, and then what he would say to Harry—well, try to say—to avoid a scolding when he returned home.
