Chapter 5
It's a darkened hall, lit by torches with a large round table at its center. A single man, bald, with yellowish, parchment-like skin and wearing deep red robes, sits in one of the chairs. He is sipping from a golden chalice and seems to be deep in thought.. A tall male figure, his features obscured by a gray hood, approaches cautiously from an open doorway. His voice, a sibilant whisper. "Masster..."
"Welcome, Azoth. What news?"
"All runs smoothly, Masster, except for the Isles. The disruption caused by their Dark Lord's defeat perssists."
"What about our... suppliers?"
"Avery is still active. The lord died, as well as his heir, but a younger brother took over the family and its commitments. Fawler... the family fell into the hands of a younger daughter. She's been contacted. She was not aware of our arrangement, but she appears to be willing. However, I am told she is a foolish woman, and it may be rissky to use her."
"Perhaps we should place someone next to her. A little helping hand, if needed."
"Will you find someone, Masster?"
"Yes. I'll send someone directly. No need to concern yourself further. What about Malfoy?"
"The head of the house should be executed ssoon. The heir is imprisoned for the near future. The house is in the hands of the wife. She is Black by birth and the new head of that house..."
The sitting man raises his voice in annoyance. "I know who the current Lord Black is."
"We have no clue about how much she knows and what her position would be about continuing our arrangement. She is also very clever and resourceful. Approaching her directly might be foolhardy."
"It would be best to avoid it. We will close the Malfoy account."
Azoth bow deeply. "I will disspatch a team, Masster."
"Very well." The sitting man closes his eyes and seems to nap. After a few seconds he opens his eyes again. "You may see yourself out."
Harry
The charm for conjuring colored bubbles is not taught at Hogwarts. But it should be. The incantation is just 'bibus', accompanied by a circle with the tip of the wand. Easy to cast, and it requires very little magic. However, the color, size, tensile strength, and even the durability and motion of the bubbles are all controlled by visualization and intent. So, playing with bubbles would be an excellent training exercise for young wizards and witches. It's not taught at Hogwarts, but magical parents all know the charm.
I'm sitting, crosslegged on the floor of the playroom, conjuring delicate bubbles of different colors. A laughing baby crawls around, popping the bubbles with his fingers, as he changes his hair color to match the bubbles, and an excited raven pecks at any bubbles lucky enough to escape.
It's been a couple of hours since Anais went to see Andromeda for the first time. I'm not doing very well. In another life, I'd be just brooding, or drinking myself into a stupor. Instead, I play with Teddy, and I cannot think of any other thing I'd rather be doing. After a while, Teddy's attention begins to wander so I add a twist. I conjure two bubbles at the same time, one red, one yellow. Teddy squeals and laughs harder, trotting after after one of them, while Braddock chases the other. After both bubbles have been popped, Teddy sits facing me, smiles, and makes his hair a mixture of red and yellow. He looks quite smug too.
I'm still laughing when Anais knocks softly on the open door. I search her face, looking for a clue for Andromeda's prospects. All I see is a soft smile directed at Teddy. I get up and walk to the door. Teddy complains about the interruption with a whiny vowel sound. Before he can get worked up, I turn around, twirl my wand in a wide circle and cast "bibus", pushing some magic into it. Hundreds of smaller colorful bubbles fill the room, and both Teddy and Braddock voice their delight. I call Braddock to me.
"Keep an eye on him, please."
"Caw."
I turn to Anais, seeing a broader smile. "Take a seat." I point at the living room sofa. We sit down. "So?"
She raises a hand. "You want to know about Mrs. Tonks. We'll get to that in a bit. But, first, how are you doing?"
There's kindness and a penetrating intelligence in her voice. I shrug. "I'm fine."
A touch of sharpness enters her tone. "You've killed four man less than thirty-six hours ago, including the most dangerous criminal in Europe. A hardened soldier would be placed on desk duty and therapy until cleared."
I answer in a dry tone. "I am a hardened soldier."
She flinches a bit. "A retired one. Right now you're a parent." By the looks of things, a damned good one, she thinks to herself.
I nod. "Still, you're not here for me..."
She interrupts. "No."
"What do you mean, 'no'?"
She crosses her arms under her breasts. "You called me to see Mrs. Tonks. Fleur called me to see you."
"I don't need a mind healer." A bald lie. But the need is not urgent anyways.
She tuts and shakes her head. "Oh, no. You will agree to be my patient. You will be honest and forthcoming and you will follow my suggestions. Either you agree now, or you take this up with Fleur."
I can't avoid a smile. "I see. It's you, or fireballs."
She smiles too. "So, you've met my grandniece..."
I sigh. "There's a lot of extremely dangerous secrets floating around my head."
She puffs. "Young man! I've been a mind healer for over eighty years. I've treated unspeakables from several magical governments and the ICW. I'm used to dark, scary secrets."
I stare at her, noticing the mix of pride, smarts and heart. A combination nearly identical to one I find very compelling in another veela. I use my occlumency to tamp down my conflicting emotions. At the end, I trust my instincts about people, and they are telling me to trust her. "I'll need a secrecy oath."
"It's redundant."
Poppy and Dumbledore taught me how elastic healer's oaths can be. I use one of the issues I can remember. "Healer's oaths allow discussion with other healers, for example. Not acceptable in this case."
She assents and pulls out her wand. "I, Healer Anais Juvel Osterle, swear by my magic to keep all information obtained from the treatment of Harry Potter in confidence, unless explicitly released by the patient himself, so mote it be." A slight flash from her wand seals the oath.
"Thank you. I formally consent to treatment."
She smiles. "So, back to the beginning. How are you doing?"
I try to answer honestly. "Not too bad. I'm not really bothered by killing people who are casting deadly curses at me. One of them didn't cast anything, and that bothers me. He was a marked death eater, though." I pause to breathe and mumble. "I'm pretty sure the nightmares will be back..."
"I'll give you a dreamless sleep potion for the next couple of nights."
"That should help." I think a little, and then add. "Playing with Teddy helps a lot too."
She smiles at that. "Even for muggles, caring for the innocent, like puppies or an infant, is known to be therapeutic for stress-related disorders. The parental bond adds a lot to the effect."
"Parental bond?"
"It's a magical connection between child and parent, usually established at birth. It dissipates slowly after the child's sexual maturity. Its manifestations vary a lot, but it usually includes increased magical compatibility, making both child and caregiver particularly enjoy each others physical proximity, aversion to physical separation for more than a few hours, and also alerting the caregiver in case the child becomes afraid or stressed. It's not common knowledge, because it's so prevalent that it is just considered the unremarkable norm. But if you compare the incidence of, say, child abandonment, child abuse or post-partum depression, for example, between muggles and magicals, you will see there's definitely something important at play."
"Thank you for explaining that." I look over my shoulder to the play room. "Do you think Teddy and I might have such a bond?"
"It's possible. There are meditation exercises you can use to confirm, even enhance the bond somewhat." She breathes in and seems to center herself. "Let's talk about Mrs. Tonks."
"Yes?"
"Physically, she is fine, aside from loss of muscle tone due to lack of exercise. She should, at the very least, go for a walk a couple of times a day."
"That makes sense. I think we can manage that."
"She should also have her wand back under supervision and do a little magic, maybe once a day. Simple transfiguration would be ideal. Draining and recharging your magic a little makes it more responsive to the demands of the body and the mind."
I can't avoid snickering. "Lazy magic. I see."
"Precisely. Some occupational therapy would be good too. Art, like painting, embroidery, music... Maybe even cooking, or washing dishes."
"She's a professional brewer."
"Do you have access to a potions lab?"
"Not here. Tomorrow we're moving to an old magical house with a lab in the basement."
"That might work. Within reason."
I nod. Anais is avoiding the main issue."What's wrong with her?"
"In one word, schizophrenia."
In one word, my worst fear. I take a deep breath. "Schizophrenia."
She sees the dismay in my face and waves her hands dismissively. "The outlook for a magical is not what it is for a muggle..."
I lift my head. "No?"
"No! Of course not! Mind and magic, young man." She lifts a finger. "Magic will put back together the fractured self of the schizophrenic. Unless it is blocked."
I nod, fascinated by her enthusiasm. "Blocked." I feel like an idiot student, repeating what she is saying. "What's blocking it?"
"Ah! That is the right question. What's blocking her magic? I don't know. There are many possibilities. I need to look into her mind."
"You mean, by legillimency?"
"Yes. But her shields... they are very strong. Dangerous even. That is unusual for a dissociative disorder. I must be very cautious. Cannot use forceful probing."
"She is a Black by blood and magic. The mind arts are a big part of the family legacy."
"You mean her occlumency shields are reinforced by family magic?"
"I'm not sure. They might be."
"Hmm. You have some training in the mind arts, don't you? I felt a naughty little probe at the hospital."
"Yes." No point in hiding it.
"And you're Head of house Black. If you're right, and her shields have a lot of House magic, you might be able to breeze through safely."
"But what would I do, then?"
"You, nothing. But there is a wonderful little potion. It allows me to piggyback on your awareness. You probe, I experience what you experience. I guide you where you must go, what you must do."
I shudder. "Possession?"
"Oh, no! You are in the pilot seat. You retain control. I'm the passenger... the navigator, I mean."
I get up and pace. Sounds reasonable, actually. As reasonable as things get, when magic is involved. I try to sound decisive. "All right, let's do it."
She laughs softly. "Not so fast. I need to brew the potion. A little trade secret. And I need to check your training." She lifts one eyebrow. "How good a legillimens are you?"
"My mind arts partner says I'm a sledgehammer. Lots of power, little control."
"That's good, actually. Control can be trained. Power... can't. How busy are you?"
"I'm supposed to go to the Ministry for hit-wizard training. Everyday."
"We work early in the morning, and at night. One week. Enough time to brew the potion. Then we see where we are with your control."
Sounds like a bloody hard week. But, truth be told, you can't buy professional training in the mind arts for any amount of gold. It would be worth doing even if Andromeda's health wasn't at stake. "That's fine. When do we start?"
Her smile turns predatory. "Tonight." I can't help smiling in return. Once more, unto the breach, I suppose.
Fleur
I portkey in mid-afternoon. The Mimosa is anchored in a small, shallow bay, about a thousand feet from shore. A craggy shore, white and gray rock with a few small trees, hides the island behind it. A short stretch of sandy beach can be found to one side. The water is blue and deep, the sun is high on a cloudless sky with a fresh easterly breeze moderating the afternoon heat. A nice change from chill, drippy Britain.
There is nobody in the boat, so I decide to take a self-guided tour. It's a sixty-foot yacht, old and worn. Aside from living quarters for eight, and storage for boat stuff, there is a magically enlarged and reinforced work and storage space below decks. Dozens of empty storage crates, a couple of crates closed and sealed and half a dozen pieces on display. Mostly pottery, showing signs of faint enchantments, plus a couple of decorative pieces in silver and electrum. The prize of the collection is a short, serrated metal sword with some kind of curse on it. The metal is orichalcum, and the work looks dwarven. This makes the sword over two thousand year old and a truly remarkable find. I cast a couple of diagnostic spells, with dubious results, and I'm still puzzling whether the sword's curse is directed at the user or the target when I hear a faint pop and steps from upstairs.
I walk up noisily, and find myself facing a short, skinny woman with sharp eyes, and gray bun atop her head. I approach, hands behind my back. I break the silence. "Curse-breaker Weasley."
She replies in English, with a heavy accent. "Meara. I clean and cook."
"Pleased to meet you, Meara. Can I help?"
She points a thin finger at me. "Red's woman. Veela." I nod, figuring that 'Red' is a fair way to refer to my William. "You help."
We head to the small galley. She chooses a big stock pot and sets it on the fire, half-filling it with conjured water. "Kakavia." I know the dish. A greek bouillabaisse. Rougher than the Marseillaise version, but still very nice.
She pulls a bag from her apron pocket and expands it. She looks at me with suspicion and hands me two large gray fish. Seabass, I think. "Lavraki. Clean, chop." I'm being tested on my womanly skills. I take the fish from her hands and set myself to work on the dining room table. An easy pass, in this case.
A couple of hours later, there are a few loaves of bread in the oven, a large pot of kakavia is happily simmering, and we are old friends.
I hear noises from the deck outside and walk out. There's four of them, William, two other men and a woman. The moment I see them, William and the woman are helping a man out of the water, and the other men has his back to me. They are all wearing swimsuits and serious-looking toolbelts. The first one to see me is the bloke they are helping out of the water. He looks straight at me and frowns. "Oh, I say. Hello there."
The other three turn around. William is a little taken aback by the surprise. The woman shows a flash of distaste, rapidly covered by indifference, and the other man has the usual veela-struck vacant expression.
"'Ello." I give a little curtsie.
William seems to regain his voice, and goes straight from surprised to worried. "Fleur! What are you doing here? Is everything ok?"
They look dead tired and a little discouraged. The man just out of the water places a friendly hand on William's shoulder. "We'll go shower and give you a little privacy." He gives me another glance and a little smirk. "Leave the introductions to dinner, all right?"
After they leave, I turn to William. "You look awful."
He gives a sad smile and slides his hand across his head. It's a cute gesture he uses when he needs a little time to think. "It's been a rough week." He lifts his head and checks me out, a little smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. "You, on the other hand..."
"I know." I push my chest forward, highlighting my breasts. "I look fantastic." There's a little bit of sarcasm mixed in with the teasing. I don't approve getting abandoned.
He unbuckles his toolbelt and places it on a side bench. "What are you doing here? Did Silverjaw drop you?"
The smug satisfaction mixed in with concern makes me want to melt his stupid face right off his bones. He's made it clear. He wants me to quit cursebreaking and make babies. He expects it of me. Him and his loathsome mother. My tone turns icy. "Non. 'e promoted me. I'm a junior curse-breaker now." And five months faster than you, cochon stupide. A dusting of feathers appears on my neck.
The look and the sound of my anger makes him take a couple of steps back, both physically and mentally. "I-I-I'm sorry, Fleur! And congratulations. Really!"
His sincerity calms me down a little. I see no fear in him. It's a brave man that faces an angry Veela without fear. I see no desire either, which saddens me a bit. I count to ten, and then speak in a calmer tone, feathers gone. "I've been given a week off after my promotion, to rest and to prepare for my new assignment. I decided to come here to share ze news in person and to get laid. But something else came up, and we need to talk."
He frowns and stares pensively at me, parsing what I've just said. After a bit, he nods. "After dinner?"
"After dinner is fine."
When I come back to the dining room, Meara is packed and ready to leave. She places a hand in my shoulder and stretches to give me a kiss in the cheek. I take her thin, coarse hand in both of mine, look into her eyes and smile. "It was good to meet you. Antio sas."
"Antio sas, Fleur." She pauses a bit before apparating away. "Remember. Anemos Inn, Patmus Island." She points a thumb shorewards. "Good food."
I set a table for five, and open a bottle of a rough greek red found in a cabinet. The table is too small for the pot of Kakavia, so people will serve themselves. I cut a few slices of bread and place them in a basket at the table.
The first to come is the young man. He stands a few feet away, a little too allure-fogged to introduce himself. I take pity on the poor boy and introduce myself. "'ello. I'm Fleur Weasley."
He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. "I-I..."
An amused voice comes from the door. "He is Markus Atrispopolou. Local talent and Meara's nephew." William's older teammate is short, thin, gray-haired and scarred. I notice two missing fingers in his left hand, which is unusual. He's a powerful wizard, not quite William's level, but close, and his air of amused competence reminds me a bit of Papa. "I am Francisco Etxeberri, Senior curse-breaker, Barcelona Gringotts, and head of this little troupe." He gives a shallow bow, formality broken with an amused grin."
I frown at him, as I reply with a deeper bow. "Fleur Weasley, Junior curse-breaker, London."
"Ah! Enchantee, madame." He guesses the source of my frown. "My grandmama was Veela too."
That explains his easy resistance to the allure. He gives me a good natured once-over."Bill is a lucky wizard."
I'm about to reply when William comes in, looking good enough to eat with his long hair loose and wet and a rough cotton white shirt. He towers over Francisco by a head. "Keep away from my wife, boss," he warns with joking menace. The witch of the team is next to him, a strong looking fireplug of a woman, looking impassive. "This is Willow Grasshopper, from the Quinault people. She's an underwater cave specialist.
I extend a hand to the witch, which she takes with obvious reluctance. I have no idea what is her problem. I think about confronting her, but politeness wins "It's good to meet you, Miss Grasshopper."
Her voice is a clear soprano, an interesting contrast with her sturdy build. "Likewise, Mrs. Weasley."
We arrange ourselves around the table, and for a minute, all you hear is the noise of cutlery on glass. Meara's nephew breaks the silence. "Hm. I never get tired of Aunt Meara's Kakavia."
William grunts. "It's just fish soup, Markus."
That, of course, annoys me. "It's excellent. Of course, Mr Weasley would have preferred it battered and swimming in fat. British barbarians!"
Francisco guffaws and slaps William's back. "I like her! And she is right on both counts. It's damn good, and dear Bill here has no taste."
I can't help needling him a bit more. "Spoiled by his mozzer's cooking. Dreadful!"
Now even Willow laughs, and William scowls. "Why exactly did I have to marry a French food snob?"
I put my nose in the air, and young Markus decides to get a piece of his own. "B-b-because s-she looks l-like a g-g-goddess?"
Willow slaps Markus on the back of the head, with a tiny smile and we all laugh, including William. "Well, thank you Markus. You are tres gentile. But I know for a fact William married me for my brains, not my looks. Isn't zat right, sweet'eart?"
William crosses his arms across his chest, while everyone looks at him. "There was her family fortune, too."
We all laugh again. Francisco looks at me. "A looker, witty, rich... one can forgive a few faults."
William adds. "Right. Like the ticklish temper and the fireballs."
Willow looks puzzled. "Fireballs?"
The others look at me and I explain. "I'm Veela. Fireballs are part of our magic."
She frowns. "I think I've heard of Veela. Some kind of femme-fatale?"
"A magical species, related to succubi and phoenixes. Bird in 'uman form."
"Ah!" She smiles. "I thought I sniffed something familiar when I saw you. You reminded me of Nat'chu'tic. Bird-people with a vulture form. Hard to kill and very dark."
William takes exception at that. "Veelas are not dark!" I can't avoid a smile at that, which he sees. "What?"
"It's an old silly debate, even among Veela. Succubi are dark. Phoenixes are light. We are some'ow related to both. Best guess, we are darkish-gray." I shrug. "Besides, what difference does it make?"
William stares at me with a puzzled expression, while the others nod. Willow stands up and bows. "I apologize for my rudeness, Mrs. Weasley."
"Apology accepted." I decide to change subjects. "What about zat sword? What an amazing find! Congratulations." I can see I said the wrong thing, as they all turn angry and sad.
William decides to issue an order. "Stay away from that accursed thing!"
Francisco sighs and places a placating hand on William's shoulder. "The apprentice attached to our team is in the hospital in Athens, with a good chance of losing her right arm. Because of that... object."
"What happened?"
Francisco shakes his head, sadly. "A near cave-in. She decided carry it out before risking its loss. Inexperience."
William growls. "Stupidity is more like it." He insists. "Just stay away from it, Fleur!"
I growl right back. "Do you think I'm stupide? That some'ow I deceived Master Silverjaw into promoting me? I know about cursed objects!" So far this visit has been a tense seesaw with William, and I had enough. I get up. "I'll be at ze beach. Meet me zere." I make a short bow towards the others and leave.
I set up the tent on a flat bit of sand, well above the tide line. It's a very modest one, one bedroom, a small bath and a living room, a small sofa, a table, two chairs and a very spare kitchen. I prepare tea and wait for William. He gets in, with a bothered look on his face. "Fleur, I'm sorry..."
I wave my hands and interrupt him. "Sit. Have some tea."
I sit in front of him and sip my tea. I look at his scarred, handsome face, and I can see he is tired and worried. My heart feels small and hurt. This is not going to be easy. "Look..."
I interrupt him again, with a sharp gesture. "Why did you marry me, William?"
He's taken aback by my question. A slow frown appears. We've never talked about 'our relationship'. He gathers himself to speak. "I loved you. I was in love with you."
I nod. "And 'ow do you know that? A teenage veela throws 'erself at you. Eet's 'ard to resist, isn't it? Easy to confuse things..."
"Of course I loved you. And I still do."
"Ah. I 'oped to see a leetle self-doubt. Eet's not an easy question." His face takes a stubborn look that reminds me of his mother. "You have always been good at saying the right things. I know there is a lot of truth to your words. I'm not easy to fool, but I may 'ave been a leetle naive."
"What are you saying, Fleur? Are you leaving me?"
"I'm just trying to get you to see something. To understand..."
"What?"
"I know you better now. You're a good wizard. Good heart. Brave, smart, ambitious, powerful. A little vain. A little insecure. A little thick at times. All things I can love, I have loved..."
"You're not perfect either."
I laugh, a little bitterness creeping in. "Perfect? I'm dangerous. My appearance and my magic are weapons. I know you like danger in your work. Do you want danger in your 'ome? Why did you leave, William? Why are you 'ere?"
"Eh..."
"Don't lie. I think you get tired of me. I'm too ambitious, too demanding. Even ze sex and ze prickle of my alure..." He lowers his head, a look of defeat. "You get tired, don't you?"
He looks at his feet, and I let him ponder. "Maybe." He lifts his head, and there is a little moisture in his eyes. "That doesn't mean I don't love you."
"It's very lonely when you're away."
"I know. You could have taken a lover."
I get a little angry. "Do you think eet's easy?" The only one that temps me is the wizard I would not, and I fear I could not seduce. "You should 'ave taken a mistress. A sweet girl with broad 'ips and cotton between ze ears to give you a few strapping Weasley sons. And keep you 'appy and comfortable in that cold 'orrible island!."
He stiffens. "I couldn't. It's not right."
"I wouldn't mind." I smile slowly. "But Molly would, right?"
Now he gets mad. "Leave my mother out of this!"
I know that was a mistake. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought her up."
He shrugs. "It's ok."
I breath deep and move for the kill. "I told you. I was coming here to tell you about my promotion, to fight with you and 'ave some wonderful make-up sex. But something else came up."
"What?"
I fish the bank parchment out of my bag and hand it to him. Like me, he is a professional, and spots it immediately. His shoulders sag. Fleur Isabelle Delacour. Not Weasley, Delacour. "So, it dissipated."
"Eet did."
"We can just do it again, and sign a marriage contract in France."
"You're missing ze point."
"What point?"
"You know eet. A magical vow is like any wand enchantment. Without a runic or blood anchor, eet is sustained by continuing intent." We had a marriage contract to sign that night. But we were not in a hurry to use a blood quill. Then the fuckers attacked and the contract disappeared in the confusion. And the war started.
"So you say we don't want to stay married."
"Not me. Magic."
I let him mull it. Ten minutes, fifteen. After that, he talks. "Continuing intent is a harsh standard to sustain in any marriage. Marriages require constant work. That's why we use anchors, so a moment's difficulty doesn't just cancel it."
"Running away when things get 'ard is not working on eet."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"What do you want, William?"
"I'm not ready to just let us go. I love you too much."
"I am not sure. I fear zis 'as been a mistake from ze start. Eet's not zat I don't love you, but I think we rushed things too much. Eet was ze stress, ze war..." And now I know. From my side, at least in part, it was to escape my veela side, and a skinny wizard-child with the world on his shoulders, deep hooks on my magic and no sign of any interest in me.
William, bless his sweet heart, is not one to give up easily. "Please, Fleur. I beg you. Give us another chance. Don't just toss everything away because of my weakness..."
"It should be easier. Staying with your wife shouldn't demand strength."
"Please, Fleur! I'll stop traveling. Give us just a few months."
I stop and think. What's a few months? My heart is heavy, but I'm not sure I want to face the rest of my life without William. I look into his eyes and smile a bit. He smiles in return. "All right. A few months. Boyfriend and girlfriend again. Zen we see."
"Thank you."
I get up and shed my clothing, heading for the bed. "Come and show me your thanks..."
No foreplay. I arch my back when he enters me. The pleasure is overwhelming. Veela need sex. Our magic demands it. A bone-deep hunger that just increases. After, lying on his strong arms, well-fucked, once quickly and then again slowly, I know it. There's something left. A part of my hunger William can no longer satisfy. I cry a little in the dark before oblivion takes me.
Harry
I open my eyes to a white ceiling. A dull pain on my leg and a sharper one on my side. I look around and grab my glasses from the night stand. Last thing I remember is a duel on variable terrain, one against four. I had one down, and I was just about ready to overwhelm the shield of a second. Then a bunch of transfigured rats and a stunner from an unexpected direction. A mediwitch with hard eyes is standing next to my bed, reading a piece of parchment.
"How long?"
"Just a couple of hours. Cracked fibula, cutter on the side, mild concussion. You're all set, Mr. Potter."
Outside the room, Connie Hammer, head of DMLE and Algernon Croaker, head of the Dep of Mysteries are looking at the training report.
Connie asks. "What's the upshot?"
"Well... On the plus side, deep, deep reserves, incredibly fast reflexes, excellent situational awareness and fast, creative tactical thinking. He would pack quite a wallop too, if his wand wasn't poorly matched. He's beginning to use mind magic and wandless casting in combat. A little too dependent on strong emotion to power his spells. His casting speed and accuracy can stand improvement, as could his physical conditioning. He is uneducated. Spell mix is primary and his skills with battle transfiguration, both offensive and defensive, are primitive. He's a very dangerous fighter, but not overwhelmingly so. Right now, there's maybe four or five Ministry employees that could handle him one-on-one, if warned of his weaknesses and strengths. With training..."
"What?"
"In a year, and with a proper wand, he would beat the top four wands in the ministry working together. And magical maturity is a few years away. After that, who knows? Stronger and more dangerous than Moody, for sure."
"All right. Potential dark lord, then." Croaker nods. "Can we trust him?"
"My staff believes he is a force for good, but a bit of a loose canon. Almost no society loyalty but plenty of personal attachments. Actually, putting him in touch with Her Majesty was a brilliant idea. It appears they rather like one another."
"That was her idea. She approached the Minister and asked for a meeting."
"All right, what's our recommendation?"
"I'd say, train him, and keep observing. I'll sleep better at night with him around."
"I concur."
"Write it down. I'll brief Kingsley."
+O+O+O+O+O+
I look at the crystal skull and I feel it is mocking me. A powerful artifact. Frozen impressions of a thousand minds. Push too hard and the bloody thing kicks you out. Push too little, you go nowhere. Each mind has a secret, and the exercise is to find the mind and the secret. Pry the secret open. I'm looking for a dark wooden box with a silver feather inlay on top. The secret is what is inside. I breathe in deeply, center myself and cast. "Legillimens"
I hold my mental picture of the box firmly in my minds as I feel the currents inside the skull. It's a million voices, and I'm searching the one that matches mine. I'm seeking, looking for the faint tug that shows the way. Each mind, a leaf in a giant tree. I open myself, letting go of my shields. A little tug here, another there. False tugs, other boxes, other feathers. I wander aimlessly, a seeker high above the playing field, following the game with half a mind while looking for a small glint of gold... Images, faces, snippets of songs. Half an hour, getting tired. An echo. It seems true. I follow, my awareness crossing through different mind-impressions. The right one draws near. A room, faces, always faces. And shapes. Breasts, bums, eyes... hands. A chest of drawers. Getting close. My mental picture seems to quiver with the proximity. Open the first drawer. No, the second one. There! At the bottom. Yes! Found it. Open the box...
Damn. A kick like a mule, straight to my frontal lobes. Pushed out, a splitting head ache. A minute of disorientation. I look at Anais with a growl of frustration.
"So?" She asks.
"Got a little rushed right at the end. It kicked me out."
"Ah. Not a glimpse? A suggestion?"
I bring back the my mental image of the very last fraction of a second. I frown and concentrate. Hesitantly. "I-It's empty?" I turn to Anais, tentative guess turning to certainty. "It was empty!"
A happy grin in her face. "Well done, Harry! Very well done indeed."
I massage my forehead. "Again?"
"Not tonight." She gives me a little flask with a light blue liquid. "Mild sleep and pain potion."
+O+O+O+O+O+
I wake up with movement and noise next to me. A warm, soft, small something, whimpering, trying to dig himself deeper between my arm and my side. I roll on my side and pick him up, hugging him to my chest. The whimpering becomes soft crying and I summon my glasses. Then a disgusting smell hits my nose. "Well, apparently someone needs a change."
Winky pops up next to me. "I can change him, Master Harry."
I shake my head. "I'll change him, sweety." I'm still too sleepy and her ears turn red. What can I say? She is a sweety. "Why was he in my bed?"
"Mistress Anaisse told me to place the little Master beside you after the last bottle. She said you wouldn't mind."
"It's fine, Winky. Just this time, all right?" The books say babies are supposed to sleep in their own bed. Of course, Anais trumps books, so I'd ask her later.
"Yes, Master."
"Can you prepare him a bottle?"
"Yes, Master." She bows and pops out.
I try to focus a bit, since things are arranged a little different now that we moved to Grimmauld Place. Teddy's nursery is across the hallway, a suite with two rooms and a large washroom. That's where I go, because by the feel of things, I have a little disaster in my hands.
And so it is. Stuff up his back, almost to his neck. I clean him up muggle style, using my wand just at the end, to disappear the resulting mess. A quick bath. A bit of fun, now that he's awake and ready to splash. Full moon is still a week away, so cranky Teddy is nowhere to be seen.
I sit on his nursing chair and hum, while he eats. Somehow, next I'm awakening on my bed again. I must have fallen asleep, and the elves sent me back to bed. I'm feeling rested, which suddenly worries me. I hunt for my wand and cast tempus. Eight twenty. No mind arts, and forty minutes to get to the Department of Mysteries. I'm gonna have to run. I jump out of bed. Once again, here we go.
