Merit and Inheritance
Chapter Thirty-eight
Return of a Matriarch
"They're really sleeping," said Harry with a little gesture toward the portraits of Lily and James. "I'm for an iced tea in the garden, how about you?"
Once settled outside, Harry and Daphne were soon lost in individual reveries beginning with taking their vows at Greengrass Manor and continuing through the return home, greeting the sacred portraits, napping in the hammock and the dinner at Al-Andalus.
"Oh, Perdition!"
Harry sat up straight in his lawn chair.
"What?"
"Nothing," Harry said.
"Harry Potter!"
"I'll take care of it," Harry said. "You have other things to keep you busy. Don't worry."
"Let me explain something, since we are right at the starting line of our lives together," Daphne said, "Then I won't have to do it over and over again. With me?"
"Of course, one hundred percent, as always," said Harry.
"Fine, here it is," Daphne continued. "When you say, 'Don't worry,' you're really telling me I've got something to worry about. Something serious."
"So that's a code, of sorts?" Harry asked. "The truth is, I don't want to make more out of this than it already is, but you asked, so here goes: I have been thinking about the other pair of shoes that I saw, sitting next to the hiking boots, in the little private room as we walked in Al-Andalus. I knew I'd seen them before somewhere. I just remembered where it was. Laurent Selwyn was wearing an identical pair at Draco and Astoria's lawn party. That's not to say two pairs of shoes is evidence Laurent Selwyn is allying with the Bergs. It is food for thought, though."
"Oh, Perdition!" said Daphne.
"Hold on, Daphne," said Harry, "Two pairs of shoes, no other indications the one pair belonged to a Berg and the other to Selwyn. We can't let our imaginations run away with us. Let's take this one step at a time."
Daphne looked at Harry with a kind of sleepy-eyed, neutral face.
"As you wish," she said, her expression unchanging, while the effect was one of pronounced skepticism.
Merlin! Harry hoped, silently, that Daphne hadn't suddenly become prescient.
He didn't have time to think about it right then, though, because a definite C-r-r-ack! from out front announced the arrival of someone, or likely more than one someone, on the front lawn.
Harry got up and walked through the house to the front door, where he looked out at the lawn via one of the sidelights.
"Pansy! Morag! Come on in," Harry said as he opened the door. "Daphne's taking a little fresh air and sunshine. Go on through."
They walked down the central hallway and were soon at the breakfast room
"Her bouquet?" Pansy asked, pointing. She saw the bouquet in the vase on the table in the breakfast room, surmised it was there for Lily and James to enjoy and got a little teary.
"Uh-huh," said Harry.
"Pansy!" said Daphne. "And Morag!"
"Daphne, I just saw your bouquet inside and that is the sweetest thing I've ever seen! I can't remember anyone doing that. I hereby commend you for your humanitarian work," said Pansy.
Morag looked on with a slightly bemused expression. Harry caught her eye. Morag smiled and Harry smiled back.
"Something to drink? Late breakfast, perhaps? Early lunch?" Harry offered.
"Not me," said Pansy, who still followed her eating and exercise program.
"Nor me, thanks, though," said Morag.
"How's it going, Newlyweds?" asked Pansy. "If we're intruding, feel free to kick us out. We brought you these. Thank-you again for inviting us to the wedding. Dawn, on Beltane! Just spectacular."
Daphne was nodding along, trying to keep up with the barrage of narrative, accepting a bunch of cut flowers and agreeing with everything Pansy said.
"Sit down, sit down," said Harry, summoning a lawn chair with an 'accio!' Daphne followed Harry's lead and summoned a second.
"Don't know if you've heard anything, or not," said Morag as she sat down. "Romilda had a baby boy last week."
"Great," said Harry. "Everything okay? Mother, baby?"
"Fine, both of them," said Morag. "She's still keeping a low profile. I would, too, if I were her. Her father fixed her up with a very weird crowd."
Harry looked at Daphne, who looked at Harry, then Pansy. When Daphne broke eye contact with Harry he looked at Pansy, too.
"Yep," said Harry. Pansy knew she shouldn't laugh, it was a serious situation, but Harry's succinct summing-up was too droll by far.
"What did she name her baby?" Daphne asked Morag. That was surely safe.
Morag looked at Pansy, who looked back and shrugged.
"She's held off recording the birth," said Morag. "It's kind of complicated. Angus goes by Livia's and checks on her once in a while. Both say, privately, there is nothing going on. Angus claims he's too old to be any good for someone her age, and besides, he never took anyone seriously after Walburga. He told me about your portrait, by the way. Thanks for letting him in on that. Romilda says she's not interested in another marriage right now. Still, she's appreciative. Anyone thinking about her welfare gets her attention. At any rate, I suspect she'd like to finesse the youngster's name to keep Vane and Berg out of the official records."
It took a while for the implications of Morag's comment to penetrate.
"Ohh…" Harry said. "Can't fault her intent but I'd hate for Angus…"
Harry caught himself before he spoke the words. Some involuntary reflex caused him to glance at Pansy.
"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry I ever dragged you into this," said Pansy, very apologetic and wailing a little.
"You didn't drag me, or anyone," Harry said. "Romilda needed a friend when she got here and you stepped up. If anyone dragged someone it was me dragging Daphne. She didn't have anything to do with any of our shenanigans."
"Harry Potter you stop that this instant!" said Daphne. "You have no idea what you're talking about. I haven't gone anywhere I haven't wanted to go."
"Oh, okay, then," said Harry. "Sounds like we're all absolved. Romilda would like to name the young wizard for Angus, I take it."
Morag nodded, still dissecting her friends' last exchange.
"If his surname is McDougal and they stay up north, Romilda thinks there is a good chance they'll just fade into the countryside," said Morag. "Of course, if the Bergs forget about her and go on to other things, so much the better."
"If…" said Harry. "I don't know why, but their last try was so intense, with backups and everything, it wouldn't surprise me if they showed up again."
Pansy looked at Harry. No one knew it all except Harry, but Pansy knew more than the other two. She knew about the cave, Marcella, and the two minions. She knew Harry had kept Romilda and the minions in his dungeon, right inside Potter Manor, just over there, before putting portkeys on the minions. Portkeys, by the way, that Pansy Parkinson had purchased.
"What will you do? If they show up?" Pansy asked.
"Try to manage the game without resorting to the red card," answered Harry.
Harry doubted, should the Bergs show up, that he would be able to avoid violence. The Bergs just didn't seem to be constructed any other way, none of the ones that he had met. His associate shuddered at Harry's equanimity and use of a light-hearted euphemism. Pansy had witnessed Harry Potter dealing with confrontations before. She knew what he could do, and how fast he could do it. She didn't think the Bergs stood a chance.
Pansy and Morag passed a very pleasant hour chatting up Harry and Daphne before leaving the Just-Marrieds alone and going back to London. Neither one had a plan for the rest of the day, or any commitments, so they each went home, freshened up, and took a nap. They had agreed to go out for something at dinner time, deciding they'd meet at the Dragon at six-thirty.
"Nice," Pansy said to the hostess as they were seated in one of the cozy banquettes for two.
"We can see, but not necessarily be seen," Pansy confided to Morag, who thought Pansy's comment quite funny.
"Oh, I enjoy these," said Morag.
"Dinners?" asked Pansy.
"Yes, and the other outings," Morag said. "Things. We do. Have done."
Morag was running out of neutral words to describe their mutual activities.
"Um," said Pansy. "Sounds like we're dating."
Morag sat up straight and looked Pansy in the eye.
"It could appear that way," she said, adding: "If we both wanted it to."
Pansy looked back, her mind racing. Morag knew all about Pansy's past. Pansy had crammed so many bad experiences with wizards into such a short period that she seriously questioned whether she'd feel inclined to try again. Morag had studied to the exclusion of a social life then found herself in a demanding profession, then followed that with nearly three years of isolation, taking care of Livia.
"I have no practice at any of this," said Morag.
The waiter came for their order and Morag took charge.
"Two spring rolls each and a pot of tea."
"Just enough to take the edge off," Morag explained.
"I don't eat a lot," Pansy assured her.
"Bear with me," Morag said. She leaned over the table and kept her voice very, very low. "I mean, I have no practice, at intimacy, with either men or women."
Pansy leaned from her side, so she could whisper: "You're a virgin?"
Morag nodded.
The spring rolls and tea arrived. Pansy sat back and looked up and to the right, to the carved frieze at the top of the paneling.
"My mother would hold you up to me as an example," she said when the waiter had gone.
"What?" asked Morag. "Why?"
"You saved yourself for what would come later," Pansy explained.
Pansy and Morag noted the private character of their mutual revelations. The talk moved on to other topics. Morag didn't know a lot about urban real estate as she came from a very sparsely-populated part of Scotland and loved asking Pansy question after question. Pansy liked answering Morag's questions. She had learned a lot working with Harry. They hadn't ordered very much food and it wasn't long before they finished their dinner of spring rolls and tea. The Dragon had a convenient apparition point in a little courtyard. On the way Morag gave Pansy a thought about a follow-on activity.
"When I was studying, I went to a club with another healer," she said. "It took me ninety minutes to realize nine-tenths of the people in the club were witches. It was fun, though, just dancing to the music and putting all that studying out of my mind. I think I'd like to take you there, if you'd like to go?"
"Morag," Pansy said, taking her friend's hand. "Of course. Know the way?"
"Let's find out," said Morag.
The club was having a disco night so there wasn't a band that needed breaks and the music went on and on. Morag paid for the two-drink minimum for both of them. Pansy loved to dance and stayed on the floor. Morag didn't have the kind of energy Pansy did but she was up for whatever Pansy wanted to do, so she stayed out on the floor too. The first time the music slowed down they got off the dance floor and staked out seats at a painfully-small table.
"I don't drink," Pansy said when Morag handed over two drink tickets.
"Pansy, I know that," Morag said. "Ginger ale, club soda—the bar doesn't care."
"Oh, right," Pansy said.
The witches drank up and watched how the witches slow danced in every conceivable style.
Some couples used the conventional joined-hands-arm-on-shoulder-or-waist configuration, some hugged and one pair had their foreheads together and arms laid over their partner's shoulders. They looked unblinking into one another's eyes and appeared to be mouthing, "Love you, love you," over and over. Pansy moved her chair to get a better view of the dance floor, putting her beside Morag. The painfully-small table actually facilitated hand-holding, as a space-saver. One hour later the witches had had their two drinks, danced some more when the tempo picked up and finally slow danced with another witch for the first time in their lives. They went to Pansy's by apparition, simply to have a destination. Standing just inside Pansy's door, Morag said she wouldn't be staying.
"Tomorrow?" asked Pansy.
"Glasgow," said Morag. "Yourself?"
"Tea room," said Pansy. "Inventory day. Very busy. All day."
"I'm back, day after tomorrow," said Morag.
"What time?" asked Pansy.
"Between four and five in the afternoon," said Morag.
"Hmm…Come straight here. What would you like for dinner?"
"Pasta?" asked Morag.
"You got it, dear," Pansy said, not really thinking.
"Here," said Morag. She slipped her arms around Pansy's waist, leaned down and kissed her girlfriend, very briefly, on her lips.
"Mmm," said Pansy, shifting her head, laying it on its side on Morag's shoulder. They stood there in a loose mutual clinch. Pansy didn't want to be the one, but someone had to. "Go. Save it. I'll be here."
Morag was off to Glasgow for two days so Pansy was free to throw herself, physically and mentally, into conducting a perfect inventory of the tea shop and adjacent magical variety boutique. Whenever she slowed down, Pansy found herself missing Morag so she worked furiously, counting, recording and double-checking to ensure accuracy.
Pansy had been enjoying her hours in the tea shop more and more. She had stumbled upon a small book on the significance of the tea ceremony and how it had grown into the focus of much of Japanese life in the nineteenth century, reaching its epitome as an art form in Kyoto. She had even taken an hour one day to visit Julius in his tea room and ask if he had ever gone to Kyoto during his sojourn in Japan.
"Day trips only," Julius said. "The trains make it so easy. I do have a half-baked plan to return whenever I have the time, and settle in Kyoto for two or three weeks of Japanese language and tea ceremony instruction."
"Do you think I could do that?" asked Pansy. "I read about the tea ceremony and I want to learn more."
"Of course," said Julius. "So you know, like everything else, there are practitioners here in London. I can get you their contact information."
Julius looked around before speaking.
"I don't know of any magical practitioners, unfortunately."
"I know how to blend," Pansy assured him.
Harry was eager to hear about Pansy's explorations when she reported to Potter and Associates. He had come across the tea ceremony somehow and had read a short article on the significance of the making and serving of the tea. Reading long treatises for content required focus and he still had residual issues in that area. Listening to Pansy, Harry decided to get more information on Kyoto and the tea ceremony and see if reading-in didn't prove therapeutic.
"Morag's in Glasgow?" Harry asked.
"Yes, back tomorrow," said Pansy.
"Has she ever said anything about that basement space?" Harry asked. "You and I are coming up blank."
"She mentioned something we talked about and then dropped," said Pansy. "Maybe we should see if we can recruit an herbalist. There could be some synergy with the tea and the annex."
The specialty bookshop and esoteric magical odds-and-ends emporium wasn't given to a succinct and descriptive name so Harry and Pansy had begun to use the shorthand of 'the annex.' Harry rocked back in his chair, dragging out the squeak, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and first finger.
"How does one go about recruiting an herbalist?" asked Harry. "Where do the herbalists hang out? Do you know if they have a guild?"
"Cold call an established shop and offer a space in an underserved neighborhood? Look for someone just starting out. Put the word out with the healers," Pansy suggested.
Harry was about to respond when someone, somewhere, interrupted their conversation.
"You should close your floo when you're discussing strategy, Harry Potter," came a voice from the fireplace. "You could give away your most valuable trade secrets."
"Daphne," Pansy and Harry said together. Neither asked. It was a statement.
"Are you coming through?" Harry asked the grate.
"Yes, just stay behind the desk, both of you," said the disembodied Daphne voice.
Harry and Pansy looked into the fireplace, anticipating Daphne's arrival but she didn't arrive. Not via the fireplace. Instead, a subdued 'pop' sounded and Daphne did a little high-step through a portal into the center of Harry's office.
"What in the world, Greengrass?" asked an astonished Pansy. She gave the impression she desperately wanted to draw her wand and assume the first defensive position.
Harry and Daphne must have both given her a look.
"Oh, forgot," Pansy said. "What in the world, Potter?"
"I know, it surprised me, too," said Daphne. "Can I speak freely? I mean in confidence? I'll tell Morag, if you think I just have to, Pansy, but we really must keep the circle of the knowing small. As small as possible. At least for now."
"I won't say anything without your permission," said Pansy.
Daphne looked at Harry. It was a formality, of course, as their magical vows forbade him doing anything willful to hurt his wife. Harry nodded anyway, since Daphne so graciously gave him a choice. Daphne looked at the fireplace and made a little throat-cutting motion with her hand, then waited while Harry cut off the floo with some wiggling of his fingertips.
"I was still sitting outside this morning, enjoying a last cup of coffee and I looked at my ring," Daphne said, holding up her right hand. "The sun must have been hitting the stone just right because I saw a little figure just above my finger. It is some kind of effect of the facets, like a prism, but the little person is a likeness of Iolanthe Peverell. She's enchanted, like the portraits. She has the power of speech, but she is very old and tires quickly. I told her I'd leave her alone and let her get back to sleep because I had to come inside and floo-call you anyway. She asked why I didn't just use the portal. I've only gone two places: a trial run to the salon at #12 Grimmauld Place and back home, then here. Even so it worked perfectly. I don't know how it works or what the limitations are."
Harry and Pansy took a moment to stare at Daphne, then looked at one another.
"Daphne, I have never, ever heard of something like that," said Pansy. "Harry?"
"Huh-uh," Harry said. "You might want to talk to a little wider circle before stepping into strange portals, though. A person could end up putting themselves in a dungeon or on the backside of the moon."
"So handy, though," said Pansy. "How do you get the portal to take you where you want to go?"
"I'm not sure," Daphne said. "It could be visualization. I've been to #12 and here. Whether it can be done without knowing the destination and being able to draw on a memory, I can't say right now. There is also distance. Hippity-hopping around England is one thing, crossing the Atlantic would be a bit more challenging."
"Did Iolanthe say anything more?" Harry asked.
"There was kind of a wild exchange of information," said Daphne. "Who was I? I told her I'd married Harry Potter. She wanted to know who you were. I told her Lord Potter. That seemed like the fastest way to get to the point. She was very pleased. I think she might have feared her ring had gotten away from the family. She was very friendly after she accepted I was your lordship's."
"Uggh!" Harry exclaimed. "That old-time nomenclature. So you didn't pick her up in a thrift store. I wonder if she wants to do anything special? Besides riding around on your finger, which is special enough, of course."
"I asked her about a portrait, if she knew of any, that is," said Daphne. "She doesn't think there are any that are active. She isn't very good with time but she said it has been ages since anyone spoke to her."
"Well, we can keep that in mind," Harry said. "There are old portraits all over the place. There are some in the Potter vault across the way there at Gringotts. What does she look like?"
"Little," said Daphne.
Pansy let loose a guffaw.
"THAT was funny!" she said.
"Okay, I have to give you that," said Harry. "Anything stick in your mind about your little magical holographic person? Round, thin, in-between? Hair color?"
"Her hair looked black. She had it pulled back and up on top of her head," said Daphne.
"How was she dressed?"
"A long, old-fashioned dress, down to her ankles," said Daphne. "I'm not good with historical clothes. I can't tell the difference between Victorian and Edwardian."
"That's okay," said Harry. "I don't know anyone who can. Not that I'm aware of."
He looked at Pansy.
"Me neither," said Pansy. "I've heard toga parties are fun, though."
"I'd like to go to Gringotts and see what's in the vault," Harry said. "I'll need Daphne, though. Can you go?"
"Sure," said Daphne. "I work this evening but I'm free until three."
"Go? Stay?" Harry asked Pansy.
"I need to shop," said Pansy. "See you tomorrow?"
Harry locked up and Pansy left to run her errands.
"Do you think you're going to find a portrait? How old would it be?" Daphne asked.
"The records I've seen are a little vague, but that could be an impression based on poor attention to detail," Harry answered. "She was Ignotus Peverell's daughter, I believe, so that puts her back somewhere around eight hundred or nine hundred years."
Daphne shook her head.
"What?" asked Harry.
"I can't think of a way to make a portrait last that long," said Daphne. "Iolanthe would have been around just a century or two after the Conquest. William's contemporary images are on coins, as far as I know."
"Did you speak English with her?" Harry asked.
Daphne looked like she was stumped.
"We did speak English, but hers should have been almost incomprehensible to me, shouldn't it?"
"One would think so," said Harry.
They'd climbed the steps and entered Gringotts' great central hall. Goblins gave them little nods on the way to the teller cages along with muttered greetings of, "Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter, Lord Harry, Lady Daphne." Harry walked up to a teller and waited for him to finish working in a huge ledger.
"Sir," Harry said when he had the goblin's attention. "Mrs. Potter and I would like to visit the Potter vault."
The teller's head popped up and he looked between the two standing there across his counter.
"Of course, of course," he said. "Lord and Lady Potter, so happy to see you."
The goblin called a messenger over and spoke to him in the goblin language. The messenger hurried away and soon disappeared through a carved wooden door.
"I beg your indulgence but we have instructions, you see," said the teller. "We can get to your business just as soon as you meet with one of the officers. Just this way."
The goblin gestured toward the end of the row of teller's stations. Harry looked at Daphne, who shrugged.
"One quick stop at the vault…" Daphne muttered as they walked past the long granite counter with its embarrassment of polished brass, down to the opening at the end. Their teller met them there and conducted them onward through the great wooden door, where he turned them over to the messenger. The party continued on to the end of the hall, and a door with a plate written in goblin.
"Come in," came a voice from inside. The door opened, seemingly by itself. 'Goblin work,' Harry thought.
"Lord and Lady Potter," said Ragnak. His goblin smile appeared genuine, and warm.
Within a few minutes Harry and Daphne had received the official congratulations of the goblins on their nuptials, been advised they needed to schedule an appointment with their account manager soon, and to expect the meeting to take about three hours. Furthermore, Daphne was personally (and tastefully) commended by the director for her skillful handling of the Greengrass family's financial affairs.
Daphne thanked the director, who left unstated the details of why she was to be commended.
"Director," said Daphne, "It has been a pleasure, and the task of a dutiful daughter. My husband, of course, has been my inspiration all along and he never fails to tell me of his gratitude to yourself and Gringotts for your help and understanding."
Harry thought the director would topple over if Daphne piled it on any higher, but he needn't have worried. Bankers don't earn a lot of praise, and the wizards' bankers were goblins, so Ragnak was enjoying a rare experience: praise from the beautiful, noble Daphne Greengrass Potter.
"So gracious of you, Lady Daphne," said the director with a bow. "Now…"
At that moment the door opened and the messenger entered, carrying a silver tray upon which stood three stemmed glasses filled with a colorless liquid.
"A toast?" asked Ragnak. "A little of the goblins' best brandy."
"Forewarned," said Harry as he waited for Daphne to pick up her glass.
Ragnak's guttural chuckle affirmed Harry's observation.
"To your new lives together," Ragnak said as he raised his glass.
Harry and Daphne each took a sip, leaving a little to seal their reciprocal good wishes.
"To a long and fruitful partnership of the Potters, Blacks, Gringotts and the goblin nation," Harry said as he raised his own glass.
"Hear, hear," said Ragnak, this time extending his arm to clink his glass with Harry's, then Daphne's.
Official goblin hospitality satisfied, Ragnak took his leave and the Potters were conducted down beneath Gringotts to their vault. Harry placed his hand on the door, this time alongside Daphne's. By doing so he gave Daphne access to the family treasures. Daphne knew there were sound reasons for him to do so. They were joined by blood and magic, so there was little chance she could rob him blind and flee the country. At the same time, Daphne was now Harry's sole heir. Allowing Daphne to access the vault meant Harry trusted her with his life. Even though she knew he was making provision for her future, should worse come to worst, Daphne was deeply touched.
"You didn't have to do that today," Daphne said, when they'd gotten inside and out of their escort's hearing.
"I know," Harry said.
"Lots of people wait for a bit," said Daphne. "I've heard of witches who never got in their husband's family vault."
"I know," said Harry once again. "I know why, too. On the other hand, I don't have anyone besides you, so if you want to take me out and be the Merry Widow Potter, you could do that whether I let you in or not. Couldn't you?"
"True," said Daphne, "Still, you're due a little gesture of appreciation."
Harry paused, thinking Daphne meant he was about to receive a kiss.
"Later," Daphne assured him.
"Okay, portraits," Harry said.
"We can look, it won't hurt anything," said Daphne. "I doubt, though, that a portrait would survive."
"Oh?"
"Sure," said Daphne. "Think of the history it would have lived through. Henry the Second and Eleanor, Richard, John, the Yorks and Lancasters, the Tudors, religious wars and the lootings and burnings, Cromwell, the Restoration…"
"Oh, got it," Harry said. "Not to mention the recent unpleasantness."
"Yes, Harry, the recent unpleasantness," Daphne conceded.
"Recommendations, then?" asked Harry.
"Think of something that lasts," said Daphne. "A cameo."
"Ahhh…" Harry said, getting the idea. "Sculpture. A mosaic. An engraver's plate. A wood block."
"Brilliant," said Daphne. "I hadn't gone past the cameo. Want to look?"
Harry moved a few feet and stood in front of the peculiar steel door once more.
"As good a place as any to start," he said and led Daphne inside.
There was no annotation on the chart for the smaller boxes that said "Cameos." Harry spotted 'Brooches' though, keyed to box XI and had it open in no time.
"Darn," Harry said when they'd sorted through the brooches, some of which were spectacular, without finding anything that could have been a likeness of Iolanthe.
"That would have been much too easy, though, wouldn't it?" said Daphne. "Some temporary elation, perhaps, but nothing legendary. Nothing for the Potter grimoire."
"Grimoires," said Harry. "Sometimes I wish I'd never heard of a grimoire. What if the wizarding community hadn't developed the ability to enchant portraits at the time Iolanthe and her husband lived? Does anyone know when the technique was discovered?"
"Good question, Harry," said a thoughtful Daphne. "That might be something to ask of our Unspeakable friend. I wouldn't know where to begin to look."
"Probably in a grimoire," muttered Harry.
"I heard that," said Daphne. "It probably is recorded in a grimoire, as a matter of fact, at least one, the problem is they aren't indexed and families guard the information carefully because it could be useful to an enemy."
"This sounds pretty innocuous," Harry said. "Everyone has enchanted portraits."
"Everyone has enchanted portraits now," said Daphne. "What about when wizards first discovered how to do it? That must have made someone feel very powerful. Let's say you had an enemy and you made him the gift of a portrait as a peace gesture. What if the portrait were enchanted and able to travel between your house and the enemy's?"
"And the enemy didn't know about enchanted portraits because the giver was the only one who knew there actually was such a thing?" Harry followed on. "That is a truly devious thought. Oh, Lady Daphne! I'm so glad we found one another and fell in love! I would certainly find it most inconvenient to have you for an enemy."
They looked around inside the interior vault but nothing jumped out as a strong probability so Harry closed the door and they began looking through the paintings arranged on a rack in the main room. The portraits were interesting but only two, at most, met the age criteria. Daphne did not recognize either of the subjects as looking at all like the Iolanthe who lived in her ring.
Harry and Daphne both started to think they were on a fool's errand.
"When did she marry your ancestor?" Daphne asked.
"Twelve-hundreds or thirteen-hundreds, something like that," said Harry.
"I don't know, Harry," Daphne began.
As Daphne spoke Harry turned for the door, stopping when he noticed something on one of the shelves, nearly hidden behind some undistinguished silver pieces. He moved a candlestick and pushed a tankard to the side, then picked up a small bust of a woman. Harry couldn't tell what the material was in the dim light. The bust appeared to have been white at one time but the original hue wasn't really discernible under the centuries-worth of dust and soot.
Harry decided to rescue the woman and picked her up. He thought of putting her in the patch pocket of his jacket but decided to carry her instead. She looked like she was hundreds of years old, so she ought to be handled accordingly.
"That was fun," Daphne said. She took Harry's hand as they walked down Gringotts' stone steps.
"It was," Harry agreed. "We didn't accomplish what we started out to do, but it was an interesting—what?—hour, ninety minutes. Did you see anything you wanted to go back and pull out for closer inspection?"
"Of course, all of it!" Daphne laughed. "Would we, or anyone else have a use for it? That's another question entirely, isn't it? I saw you pick out something. What caught your eye?"
Harry held up the little female figure.
"Down there in the vault, in the lamplight, I thought I'd get her out and clean her up," Harry said. "Out here in the sunshine she seems to have a bit of patina. It would be a shame to scrub all those lessons learned from her beautiful exterior."
"Hmm…not poetry, yet, but I do hear the rhythm trying to break out," Daphne said.
Harry held her hand as they strolled across Diagon Alley.
"That was a compliment," Daphne advised him.
"Oh, thank-you, of course it was," Harry agreed.
They arrived back at the entrance to the lane and the offices of Harry Potter and Associates. Harry opened the door.
"Time for tea?"
"No, it's time to go home, get ready and get to work," Daphne said. "No self-indulgence tonight. Kreacher will be instructed, of course."
Harry held Daphne's hand and pulled her with him, into the foyer of his office. His free hand held the statuette and wasn't really free but he wrapped it around Daphne's waist and stepped close, putting his forehead on hers.
"Whatever you want, you get, Lady Potter, if it is in my power to get it for you," Harry said, just before his lips touched hers.
"Mmm-MMM," said Daphne as the short, sweet good-bye kiss evolved and grew into its adult form of a proper, take-your-time snog.
"I love you," Harry whispered into Daphne's ear.
"I love you," said Daphne, "And I owe you a treat, don't I? The Manor, tonight? Midnight?"
"Of course," said Harry. He raised Daphne's right hand to his lips.
Daphne stepped back outside into the lane, looked both ways and disapparated.
Once he found himself alone in his office, Harry looked in vain for the next piece of business to which he could attend. His bills were all paid, he had no real estate transactions in the works and he couldn't think of anything he wanted to get done, to which he could devote the next three or four hours. His idle mind wondered what would be involved in acquiring some sheep for his green. Harry's eyes landed on the bust, which he had put down in the middle of his desk blotter. The material from which the woman was carved appeared to be stone.
Harry picked up the bust and turned it around in his fingers, looking at it from all angles.
"What are you?" he asked. He was alone in the office so Harry wasn't the least bit embarrassed to be speaking to the little statuette.
"Alabaster," said a voice. The head swiveled to look at Harry.
Harry put the bust down on the blotter, facing himself.
"Beg pardon," Harry said. "You're enchanted. I'm very sorry but I wasn't aware. I apologize for any slight I may have made."
"I took no offense," said the statuette. "Where am I?"
"Oh, sorry, once again," said Harry. "This is my office. I'm Harry Potter. You were in the Potter vault beneath Gringotts bank, on Diagon Alley in London."
"Ohh…that is interesting," said the alabaster figure. "How long have I been in there?"
"That isn't…well, I don't know how to tell, really, because I don't know when you were put in, who decided to put you away, or where to find a record with the information," Harry said. "Are you someone's likeness? Were you carved from life or did the artist take the liberty?"
The little bust laughed out loud.
"My husband traveled to Europe, looking for trading opportunities. He found an artist in a market somewhere and brought him back. The fellow showed a few pieces in our village market and soon had a year's worth of work lined up. He did so well he had me sit. I'm carved after the sketches he did before he left Godric's Hollow."
"Excuse me, Godric's Hollow? You aren't a Potter, by chance? You were in the Potter Vault. That's where I found you."
"Yes," said the bust. "This bust is a likeness of me. My name was Iolanthe Peverell. My husband was Hardwin Potter. I was passed down for several generations then someone dropped me in a bag of some kind and everything went black. After that all I saw was some lamps lighting up and things being moved around in a kind of warehouse or storeroom. Now and then some voices. Who are you?"
"Harry Potter," said Harry. "My parents were James and Lily. James' father was Fleamont. This is my office."
"Oh," said the bust. "I don't think I got as far as those Potters before I was put away. Who is king now?"
"We have a queen, ah…what do I call you? Grandmother? Great-grandmother?"
"Are you sure you're my descendant?" asked the bust.
"I'm the Heir of Ignotus Peverell. According to the goblins and their blood tests it is by descent. There may be others but none have disputed my claim, so as far as I know, I am it. I can't speak for your uncles' descendants. Too much time has passed. People emigrated in huge numbers. Who knows?"
"Oh, young Harry, what year is this?" asked the bust.
"Twenty-nineteen," said Harry. The bust stared at him.
"Two thousand nineteen," Harry tried. The lady shook her head.
"The last king I heard discussed was Richard III," said the bust.
"Oh, my, that explains a lot," said Harry. "I'm not the one to talk to, not much of a historian, you see, but the short version is you're four or five royal families behind. After Richard there were Tudors, then Stuarts, a Revolution and a Restoration then King George III lost the American colonies, then, at some point, Queen Victoria and Edward VII, who had wonderful taste in clothes, then some more Georges and now we have Queen Elizabeth II. That isn't the whole story, not at all, but it will give you some idea as to why the date sounds so strange to you."
"I wonder what year I was put away?" mused the statuette. "Not that it matters that much. It's been centuries, certainly."
"I know someone who can help," said Harry. "An old professor of mine from Hogwarts."
"You studied?" asked the bust as she brightened up. "Is Hogwarts one of the colleges at Oxford? Cambridge? Paris? To think I have an educated man in my family! Are you a priest?"
"No, Grandmother," Harry said, "It is independent. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For magical children. It is where I did my first formal study of magic."
"There is a school for witches? Out in the open? Why have you not all been sent to the stake?"
"A lot has changed since your time," Harry said. "The magical world, witches, wizards, goblins, elves, and all the magical creatures stay out of sight. We don't mix very much with the non-magical world. It's easier for everyone that way."
"I have a lot to learn," sighed Iolanthe's bust. "Unless you're going to put me away again. If you are, please say so and save me the trouble."
"I think we can find a place for you, Madam," said Harry. "I don't have a lot more to do today so why don't we get you home so you can watch the comings and goings? In a few weeks you'll be surprised at how much you've learned."
Harry got a hand towel from the shelf in his bathroom and laid it flat on his desk.
"Okay, I have to do this to protect you while we travel," Harry said. "Just a wrap. In the pocket…"
Harry dropped Iolanthe into the big pocket of his robe. Moments later they stood on the green before Potter Manor and Harry got the carving out.
"Daylight!" he warned before he unwrapped her completely. "What do you think?"
Harry held up the statuette and turned around in a full circle.
"This is yours?" asked Iolanthe.
"Just myself and my wife at present," said Harry. "We have one elf. He is actually part of the house in London but we go back and forth. If we don't give him work no one else will and he gets a little testy."
"Who lives in the house in Godric's Hollow?" Iolanthe asked.
Harry felt the gloom descend as an actual physical sensation. No matter how many times it happened he never got used to it.
"I have to tell you sometime so I might as well do it now," said Harry as they walked in through the big front door.
"We had a Dark wizard a few years back, and he and his gang attacked anyone who wasn't part of their crowd. It didn't matter if they were a threat or not. My parents were in a group that fought back. They, James and Lily, learned he was going to make an attempt to kill me, because of a prophecy that could have meant I could bring him down. I was only a year old. He got to my parents and killed them as they tried to protect me. My mum used some very old magic and willingly died to put her protection over me. He missed that little detail and cast a killing curse."
"He didn't! He cast the curse at a baby?"
"Toddler," said Harry. "I was fifteen months, to be exact. Because of what my mum, Lily, did, the curse rebounded and would have killed him, had he not made horcruxes. Anyway, the whole brouhaha destroyed much of the house. It's there in Godric's Hollow today, left just the way it was as a memorial to my parents. They're kind of revered among the magicals, for their magic and fighting spirit."
"There's more, isn't there?" asked the bust.
"Yes," said Harry.
"And?"
"Another time, when I'm feeling better," Harry said.
Within the hour Iolanthe's bust had toured the salon, met the portraits, forgotten nearly all of the names, and taken up residence in the glass-fronted cabinet in the dining room.
"I'm not putting you away again," Harry said, "Just putting you in a safe place. Whenever you're awake you can watch the comings and goings. You'll get caught up with current events by osmosis. It won't even feel like work. We'll move you around, too. There is something different in every room."
Iolanthe remained silent and Harry suspected she had dropped off long before the end of his speech.
Daphne wasn't lying when she told Harry she would be using Kreacher's good offices to help him avoid self-indulgence. Harry's dinner was a salad, although a very good one, two slices from a baguette, a fruit and cheese plate and coffee. Harry smiled throughout dinner, feeling Daphne's presence in the meal.
Harry liked to read in an overstuffed chair that sat between a window and the fireplace in the salon. He did fine when he read Shakespeare aloud, but if he read silently, he usually fell asleep somewhere in Act II. The wards worked very well in such cases, sounding loudly and keeping him from getting surprised.