Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three
Iolanthe
Chapter Twenty-One
Iolanthe Discovers Self-Discovery
Iolanthe Astoria turned six on the very day the runes said would be most propitious for the observance of Black Christmas. The family moved to the Black estate on November 29 to decorate the house, place a tree in the salon and another in the foyer. Harry, Daphne, Tracey, Ginny, Millicent, Draco and Astoria decamped to the estate, along with Iolanthe, Zelda, James, and Scorpius. The thirtieth began with shopping in the village and ended with elves mixing, baking, infusing pears and apples with sugary cinnamon syrup, and making every imaginable holiday cookie and candy.
Teddy and Andromeda arrived on the thirtieth. Andromeda didn't really have a job to do, but Teddy did, and the restrictions on underage wizardry made solo travel a problem.
The roasting of meat and fowl began at seven on December first, in order to have everything ready for the trenchers at noon. Black Christmas had become something of an institution.
Blacks began arriving from Britain, Ireland, and France fairly early on the first. More than a few accepted a bowl of porridge or a toasted muffin that had been prepared, should anyone arrive who hadn't paused for breakfast at home.
Tracey was in her element. She loved planning and running any kind of event, but parties were her vocation. Fleur Weasley arrived early with Victoire, so Tracey conscripted Victoire and assigned her to the tree trimming detail, as Teddy's principal assistant.
"That worked out well," Fleur observed. "Teddy's lovely trees will be shown most favorably under Victoire's exquisite decorations."
"My thoughts exactly," said Tracey. "Would you take just a little cordial, Fleur? This is the brandy I'd planned to use on the fruitcake when it's time for dessert. You probably know it…it's French! Let me know what you think!"
Fleur moved around for a bit with the stem of her little cordial glass between her thumb and forefinger, greeting and patting little heads, and found herself in a sort of human gyre near the front door. The Blacks who apparated to the estate materialized on the front lawn and proceeded up a graveled path to the covered porch that ran across the front of the house. Fleur could observe them through a window, so she began opening the door and welcoming newly-arrived Blacks to Black Christmas.
She knew some of the newcomers from previous Christmas events and picnics, but if she didn't she would introduce herself, hug the men, kiss the women and invite them in to the foyer. Tracey thought at one point of pulling Fleur away from the door and assigning her to chat up some French Blacks whose English wasn't the best and who seemed to be struggling, but she could see that Fleur was enjoying the job she'd assigned herself. In the end, she left Fleur alone and took charge of the French Blacks herself, dragging them around while she bounced from room to room, complimenting elves, kissing children, making introductions in French and English and looking at her watch to confirm everything was keeping close to her mental schedule.
Daphne had the tissue paper crown supply and was managing coronations for all the children. Iolanthe had determined that at six, she had outgrown paper crowns, and had so advised Mother in a short pull-aside conversation on the fringe of the big scrum.
Harry wandered about, looking for drinks that needed freshening, welcoming newcomers, catching up on news, and generally being a host. A group of wizards had migrated into the back yard where they stood in their winter cloaks under a dormant arbor and puffed on clay pipes. Harry went out to check on their supplies and stayed for some conversation. Ron Weasley saw Harry through a window and joined him under the arbor. The conversation turned to quidditch, which was probably inevitable. Charley Weasley walked up and joined in. Before long, Ginny materialized from somewhere, and the lads deferred immediately to the legendary Harpy.
That shut the conversation down, at least as far as recounting of past quidditch glory went, none of the male former Hogwarts players having any professional time in their individual statistics. Ginny, though, had progressed in her post-quidditch journalism career and was editing the sports page of the Daily Prophet. Word was she would be a candidate for editor when that position next needed filling.
Quidditch now out of reach, as a viable topic, the gaggle began nibbling at Ginny for insights into why the Daily Prophet came out for this or that, why the popular advice column had begun appearing on a truncated schedule (illness was diminishing the nonagenarian advice maven's capabilities, poor thing), and other queries that sounded innocuous but could produce some compelling tidbits to pass along, should Ginny become unguarded in her responses.
Ginny was smart and experienced, though, and she gave very little away. In return, she got some insight into what was on a certain broom designer's mind (taxes, especially the possibility of an increase), early speculation that the leader of one of the larger Wizengamot caucuses was about to face a challenge from a younger rival, and some other bits that might mean something, or then again, might not.
Harry took it all in. Some he'd heard before, some he hadn't. In any case, he'd have to keep it on file mentally until confirmed elsewhere. He wasn't in law enforcement any longer, pulling out his pocket notebook and writing down witness names and contact information. His new field used different tools. Ginny wasn't reporting to him, although there were people on salary who were, and some of them weren't as productive as Ginny's casual conversation.
Millicent Bulstrode announced her arrival with a hand on Harry's shoulder. He looked around and saw the combative gaze assessing the assembly. She didn't see any threats, apparently, because her eyes kept their twinkle and her mouth briefly turned up at the corners.
"All," she opened.
"Professor," Harry returned.
"Harry," Millicent responded. The hand squeezed, not hard, but with some authority. "A table is prepared inside the Black family seat, and my information is the commencement of the feast awaits your presence."
The hand left Harry's shoulder, dropped down and slipped under his arm.
"Will you, kindly…" asked Millicent, inclining her head toward the door.
"Of course," Harry said, graciously accepting Millicent's guidance.
When they got to the door and went back inside, Iolanthe was waiting.
"Father," she said, just a bit of chill coming through. Millicent, on the other hand, was rewarded for completing her errand with a warm Iolanthe smile, and what appeared to Harry to be a mouthed 'thank-you.'
Harry wondered if Iolanthe had assigned Millicent to fetch him, but there wasn't time to ring those changes.
"Everyone, welcome to Black Christmas!" Harry began, and was answered with a round of cheers, applause and 'Hear-hear.'
The celebration continued through lunch, a toast to Blacks past and present, carols, distribution of little gifts for the children and students, punch, wassail and the fruitcake. Fleur had tested an adequate number of the little glasses of French brandy and pronounced it fit for pouring over a fruitcake and setting on fire.
Cleanup was a bit more complicated than it had been for the picnic, but Tracey had come up with what Harry thought was a brilliant solution for the leftover problem. As soon as traffic dropped off around the trencher, the elves began taking food back to the kitchen, where boxes awaited filling with the full range of main dishes, salads and desserts. Everyone getting ready to depart was offered a box to take home, with additional boxes happily laid on for families.
Winding up Black Christmas was surprisingly efficient, thanks to the elves. The children were bathed and pajama'd by seven-thirty. The adults who were staying overnight—Harry, Daphne, Tracey, Astoria, Draco, Millicent and Ginny—sprawled on couches and chairs, moving toward or away from the fireplace as the need to adjust their temperature changed.
The portraits whose subjects could stay awake smiled, watched, and eavesdropped. Harry, Iolanthe and Draco moved from room to room, visiting portraits, toasting Christmas and the Black family, Iolanthe with a wine glass filled with raspberry tea. The portraits were all aware it was her birthday and dispensed good wishes and blessings, to which she returned thank-you's and curtsies.
Harry often reflected on that Black Christmas, the year Iolanthe turned six, and thought that was when he began to see Iolanthe, as opposed to his little daughter. She didn't emerge gradually over the next ten years or so. She simply was from that party on. She added bits of personality and subject matter competence, to be sure. The essential Iolanthe was there, though, and the future Harry would look back to that party and see her.
Iolanthe began pestering Tracey for her thoughts on the upcoming Black Picnic shortly after the first of the year, and by June was acknowledged to be a formal apprentice to the master party planner. She worked with Tracey on the two Black events, and planned smaller functions for James, Zelda and Scorpius all on her own.
Iolanthe had more than sufficient intellectual gifts to pick up reading, writing, and basic arithmetic very quickly. The number of children in the Potters' circle led naturally to a coalescence that became a pre-school, and, eventually, a primary school. This wasn't unusual. A spectrum of primary instruction was traditional among magical families. Muggle-born witches and wizards usually arrived at Hogwarts following years in their local primary schools. Some magical families hired tutors with educational qualifications for their magical children. This was another field popular with the squib community. Squibs grew up with their magical families, so they weren't put off by the accidental child magic. Experience had shown very few muggle teachers could adjust to working with magical children, although there were a handful who thrived on the adventure-filled days.
The extended families had a wealth of subject matter expertise. Neville Longbottom developed a primary-level sequence of botany courses, businessman George Weasley loved counting, adding and subtracting. He brought everyone along, starting with simple sums and continuing to the threshold of Arithmancy. Runes were optional, but Kendra and Hermione could find a few hours a week for the children who liked working with them. Fabio was a skilled draftsman and showed everyone how to use perspective in their sketches in one short session. Harry, Millicent and Ginny argued over who would take the gaggle out for a little cross-country run.
Daphne thought highly of mental mathematics as a great time-saving tool, as well as a practical exercise for young minds. Iolanthe did not take naturally to mental mathematics, and it provided her first experience with resistance to learning. She was unable to hide it and her frustration was apparent. Her mother was both sensitive and astute, though, and de-emphasized the subject, deciding Iolanthe could take a slower route to some minimal competence.
Iolanthe and Scorpius, the original scholars, were joined by James and Zelda when they became old enough to begin joining in. Rose Granger-Weasley was close to a charter member. Those were the core of five, orbited by interesting combinations of instructors and kindred scholars.
"Father, can I ask you something?" Iolanthe said one summer morning when she was seven. Everyone was at the breakfast table. Harry had just returned following his meeting with Mercury.
"Of course," Harry said. "What do you want to know?"
"Why does Mercury come to the house every morning?"
Daphne looked over at Harry wearing her most-bemused expression.
"He brings me things to read," Harry said. That seemed satisfactory.
The next time Iolanthe took note of Mercury she had another question.
"Can Mercury bring me something to read?"
"Iolanthe, I think we can take care of getting you something to read," Harry said. "What sort of material do you want to read?"
"Can I read what you read?" asked Iolanthe.
"No, that wouldn't work," Harry said.
"Why not?" asked Iolanthe.
"It's complicated, for one thing," Harry said.
That, once again, seemed to satisfy Iolanthe.
She was smart, though, and curious. She knew how to be persistent, on an intermittent basis. She never went so far she provoked a reaction.
Besides, she was about to turn eight and was her father's darling. Eventually she established that Harry had a job, although he didn't seem to. He didn't teach at Hogwarts or go to the ministry every day, or to St. Mungo's, like the other employed adults of her acquaintance.
Much earlier than he had expected, Harry had to sit down with Iolanthe and have The Talk. Like everyone in his position, the time came for Harry to explain to a close family member why he did things that looked odd, or didn't have an explanation, and that he could only go so far in conveying what he was actually doing.
He kept it as simple as he could.
"I do have a job," Harry began.
By the end of their conversation Iolanthe understood it wouldn't do for curious people to know just exactly what job Harry had, or where he worked, although Iolanthe could acknowledge, if pressed, that he did something in an office in London.
She also learned, in a tangential discussion, that Harry was a member of the Wizengamot, and attended sessions wearing a robe. For a not-quite-eight-year-old, putting on a robe and sitting on risers with the other robed members of the Wizengamot was a much better use of Harry's time than any job.
Iolanthe's elementary geography studies were enriched by trips with Fabio and Kendra to Torshavn and Fort-de-France. While enlarging her world view with a little travel, Fabio gave her some insight into the local botany, and why they went to visit the magical growers and collectors who supplied his customers' needs.
Without realizing it, Iolanthe and Scorpius absorbed masses of material that looped back to inform their lessons. By the time they were ten, Iolanthe, Scorpius and Rose were competent in the basic skills they would need as first-years at Hogwarts. Hermione began to get a little worried about Rose's aggressive scholarship.
"It's not a competition, Sweetheart," Hermione said one Wednesday afternoon. Hermione and Rose had come to #12 for tea and conversation.
"Nnhmm," Tracey murmured in agreement, tea cup to her lips. She kept her face toward Hermione but was spraining her eyes trying to look at Daphne.
"Maybe Daphne can explain it better," said the Head Unspeakable. Her job required the greatest magical skill paired with the highest tolerance for risk-taking. Ministers of Magic relied on the Head Unspeakable to keep Magical Britain from succumbing to new bits of unknown sorcery, figuring it out and neutralizing it before it became a problem. It was the ultimate competitive scholarship assignment in Britain.
"It might be normal to want recognition for one's scholarly efforts," Daphne said, not looking at Hermione. "At the start of our serious schooling, it might be a positive reinforcer. I don't know if I can remember that far back, perhaps your mother could."
Hermione, feeling her face flush, tried to hide behind her raised her teacup.
"As we watch our young witches mature, though, Rose, I think we, as mothers, hope they'll move on and start to love learning for the understanding, and insight, it gives, to see the connections between things," Daphne went on. "To begin to feel one has gained some wisdom, as opposed to isolated facts, based on one's own hard work, is the real reward. It comes later, but it does come. Don't you think, Hermione?"
"Rose, this is why we come over to tea with Daphne," Hermione acknowledged.
Iolanthe looked at Daphne, whose turn it was to attempt to hide a blushing face behind a bone china teacup.
The Black Picnic in June of Iolanthe's eleventh year was a great success. The weather was good, Scorpius was delighted with his party, Astoria was healthy, and no one was bitten by an adder. After everyone else had departed, Harry found Iolanthe sitting by herself on the stone wall, chin propped on hand, staring at the ground.
"Get into some bad raspberry tea?" he asked. Iolanthe looked up but didn't answer.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked. "Don't say nothing. Make something up if you have to."
"Stop it, Father," Iolanthe said with a laugh. "Besides, you're not the mind reader in this family."
Harry hopped up on the stone wall beside Iolanthe.
"We're about ready to go," he said. "Your mother sent me to collect you."
Iolanthe stared across the lawn and garden, out into the fields in their June green.
"I'll be eleven in December," Iolanthe said.
"December first," Harry confirmed. "I remember it well. I held your first blanket for the midwife. She took you from your mother and gave you to me. I was crying the whole time."
Iolanthe gave him a look.
"Were not," she said.
"Was too," Harry answered. "I'm not ashamed to say it."
"I'll be eleven in December, and the following September I'll go to Hogwarts," Iolanthe said.
"True. Does anything about that worry you?" Harry asked.
"No," Iolanthe said. "This is more fun, though. I know it is. That's all."
She jumped down from the wall and waited for Harry.
Of course she was correct. On the first day of September after she turned eleven, Iolanthe took the Hogwarts Express and was sorted into Slytherin House, as everyone had expected from the day she was born. She applied herself to her studies and got good marks. She wasn't interested in athletic competition but she liked physical exercise. She discovered gymnastics, which wasn't a very popular pursuit among witches because it did not use magic at all. Iolanthe liked to feel her muscles, bones and tendons work to overcome gravity and her own limitations, so the fact that gymnastics wasn't magical was the entire point, assuming one were a young witch with her outlook.
Several Hogwarts professors had known Harry or Daphne much longer than Iolanthe had been on Earth, which meant she was always aware someone would be keeping an eye on her. Luckily, Iolanthe was not inclined to boisterousness or acting out, so she was spared the rhetorical questions, such as, "What would your mother think of that?" and "What am I supposed to tell your father?"
Besides, young Walburga Black was the first Hogwarts portrait she'd gotten to know when she arrived. The witch she'd grown up calling Auntie Millicent was her Head of House, and she brought the new Slytherin girls down from the Great Hall to the entrance to the dormitory, gave them a short talk on the significance of the portrait of the great Slytherin witch, Walburga Black, and made introductions. Any foolishness would have generated a report from Walburga the moment her mother next sat down at her desk in the study at #12 Grimmauld Place.
Nevertheless, life as a Hogwarts first year was anticlimactic following eleven years in Iolanthe Astoria's Potter-Greengrass-Weasley-Davis childhood universe. Much of recent British magical history concerned the people she lived with, upon whose laps she had sat, listening to Auntie Astoria read from The Odyssey. The best academic marks, perfect behavior, and prodigious magical power were all Iolanthe's, as was to be expected. She might have wandered off into unconstructive pursuits had the boredom gone on long enough.
Her salvation arrived in the form of Care of Magical Creatures. Snakes were literal familiars of Iolanthe's. She could at least make herself understood by any reptile or amphibian, and many freshwater fish. She wasn't as good with birds and mammals but those she saw as worthy challenges and she threw herself into learning some of their languages. As she progressed during first year, and the class took up more exotic, sensitive or difficult creatures, Iolanthe began to develop a methodology for establishing basic communications, researching diets and nutrition, common diseases, mating habits and cycles, and the psychological basis for behaviors. She took good notes, which she collected in a portfolio.
Iolanthe could not have articulated it at eleven, but she craved challenges. Care of Magical Creatures was the first subject matter she'd encountered, other than mental mathematics, that pushed back when she'd grabbed hold. Born speaking parseltongue, it was a revelation when she spoke English to her first bowtruckle, reached out a hand, and jerked back a finger bitten to the bone.
She didn't become angry. She simply noted the phenomenon, theorized the bowtruckle was startled, and set about finding a sequence of words and actions that would be received without causing alarm. Her accommodation of the bowtruckle was a success and she developed her approach to new species based on that experience.
Gymnastics, that most difficult athletic activity, for muggles and magicals both, paired up nicely with Iolanthe's self-discovery of her own adaptation of the scientific method. The physical conditioning enabled miles of cross-country rambling at Potter Manor during school breaks, carrying a canvas satchel holding her field notebook and lunch. Uncounted hours in the stacks gave her a steadily-increasing knowledge of basic science that she applied in her observations of the natural world. Boring as it was, as she had predicted so accurately, Iolanthe's first Hogwarts year was a success.
Iolanthe and Scorpius took the end-of-term Hogwarts Express back to London, were met by their families and proceeded to #12 Grimmauld Place for a celebratory dinner. Kreacher laid the food and beverages out on a table in the second drawing room and everyone took care to load plates with the full range of Kreacher's early-summer selections.
The venue for dinner was the townhouse garden. The single patio table with its chairs was not expandable enough to accommodate everyone, so the overflow balanced plates on knees while sitting on the first level of the brick enclosures of the garden beds. The June twilight came on and Harry lit the sconces for a little more visibility. Conversation went on very late. No one thought the returnees should be pestered about getting to bed. Besides, all the adults wanted a near day-by-day recounting of their first Hogwarts year.
Harry and Daphne gave Scorpius an early birthday gift, a portfolio with a pocket for parchment, three sleeves for quills, and a magical ink bottle that collapsed when the portfolio was closed. The cover was a living beech tree, obviously given some kind of magical treatment to grow in the shape of a book, fresh and pliable. Fabio knew of those oddities, and informed Scorpius if he ever tired of watering it and trimming the little branches that kept trying to grow, he could plant the cover in the ground and a proper beech tree would emerge the next growing season.
Astoria learned of the portfolio and couldn't abide the thought of Scorpius getting a gift while Iolanthe didn't, so she brought her a copy of The Odyssey.
"Happy summer reading, Sweetie," Astoria said as she handed the leather-bound Fitzgerald translation over.
Iolanthe had formulated a plan for constructive use of her summer weeks well before the academic year's end. When she was at #12 Grimmauld Place, she rose and ate a light breakfast, then went to Harry's dojo to work out. She usually had James and Zelda as training partners, although they reserved the right to leave early.
After lunch she curled up with The Odyssey or the Newt Scamander book and read for an hour. If Daphne or Harry were in the house she might pester someone to take her to Hyde Park for a little run.
When Iolanthe was at Potter Manor, Greengrass Manor or the Black estate, she would indulge in a little more substantial breakfast before packing her satchel and taking off on a field trip. She had known Plum forever, of course, but that summer of her thirteenth year was her first chance to do independent field work with magical creatures.
Iolanthe walked and talked with Plum for hours. Plum was an acknowledged fountain of information about woodland society. Iolanthe became very methodical about her investigations and records. As the summer went on, Iolanthe expanded her range, asking and getting permission to walk to the Mill to talk to the fairies and observe the wildlife that wandered through. She particularly liked sitting on the bench by the door, writing up her field notes or reading Homer with the crown of fairies whirling around her head.
Zelda and James wouldn't be old enough for Hogwarts for another year, so in September, Iolanthe and Scorpius returned to school with Rose Granger-Weasley on the Hogwarts Express. Shortly after the commencement of their second year, Iolanthe and Rose got an invitation.
"We'd like to talk to you about something," said an upper-class witch to Iolanthe after lunch one day. "It takes a little time to explain. Can you come out to the courtyard after dinner?"
"I guess so," Iolanthe said. "Should I bring anything?"
"Just yourself," said the girl before walking off.
Normally, Rose would have heard about the invitation immediately, but they were in different houses and their schedules kept them apart for the remainder of the school day. Some of the mystery went away when Iolanthe found herself leaving the Great Hall after dinner, walking beside Rose on the way to the courtyard.
"I wonder," Iolanthe said, leaving it there.
"We're about to find out," Rose replied.
Both had heard from their mothers about the self-perpetuating group of witches that accessed the section behind Madame Pince's desk, functioning as study partners and support group. They found a small group of second-years in the courtyard, getting chatted up by some of the older girls.
"Hullo, witches," called out a witch Iolanthe recognized as a seventh-year. She was a Carrow, and a Slytherin. Iolanthe had observed her all first year, keeping her distance. She'd heard about Carrows. This evening, Ms. Carrow didn't seem all that dangerous.
"We like to study," said Ms. Carrow. "It looks like you all like to study, at least some subjects. We'd like to show you a resource that has been useful to us, and we think you'd like to use. Come with us."
With that, the second years found themselves commingled with the older witches. No one was pushy, but as they walked together, the second years each made the acquaintance of at least two witches from more senior classes and houses other than their own. The group walk ended in a library work room filled with presses, stock of all kinds, ink, various gauges of waxed cord, and glue.
"Some of you may be aware we have a section of the library where some of the serious witches get together to study," Carrow went on. "Traditionally, the witches in the group observe the first years and look for candidates with academic promise. At the start of second year there is a short meeting to invite the candidates to join. It's not mandatory and no one will treat you any differently if you decline. All we try to do is give you a place to do your work where you'll find witches with a similar approach.
"As of now, you are all welcome to come back to the section behind Madame Pince's desk, access the books in the stacks, and make use of the peace and quiet," Ms. Carrow concluded.
That was that. It wasn't a club or library guild. There were no expectations that the witches would spend any arbitrary number of hours in the stacks. There weren't any badges or secret handshakes. In theory, it was just a bunch of witches using the section crammed with books of interest to witches. Young wizards weren't even informally banned, although appearances were very rare.
Rose and Iolanthe walked to the owlery arm in arm, getting a few looks, from students who didn't know them, for their Gryffindor and Slytherin ties and crests. Each wrote a note to her mother with the news, dispatching it by Black owl. Daphne and Hermione each wrote back saying she was very pleased, although neither thought it a surprise at all.
Scorpius loved studying. If he knew the information, he liked going over it again, just to enjoy the process. He figured out where Rose and Iolanthe were going, and forced them, by tireless wheedling, to tell him why. He considered asking about joining, then thought better of it, and he embarked on his own esoteric quest to educate himself on the life, times, and accomplishments of Merlin.
Scorpius requested permission to visit the restricted section. He scrupulously followed the rules, never dabbling in fiendish curse research, and not long after the start of second year he'd been granted a permanent pass. No one thought Merlin research held any particular dangers, for Scorpius or those around him.
"Why do you want a pass for the restricted section, Mr. Malfoy?" Millicent Bulstrode had asked.
"I am interested in Merlin," Scorpius answered. "He was the greatest wizard of his age, and a Slytherin. I've read the standard biography from the open stacks, and Mallory, of course, although Mallory is said to have taken some liberties."
"And you believe there will be other resources in the restricted section?" asked Millicent as a follow-up.
"The card catalog says there is a bound manuscript from the early twelve hundreds, so of course it is kept under more secure conditions," Scorpius explained.
That conversation tickled Professor Bulstrode's house pride and resulted in Scorpius' first pass granting him access to the restricted section. The daily requests for a pass went on for about a week until the professor took a piece of note parchment and attached it to the pass.
"Madame Pince," the note said. "Could Mr. Malfoy have indefinite access as long as his Merlin project is ongoing? It would save all three of us a lot of time."
Scorpius took his pass, with its note, to Madame Pince. At first she looked at him with a little skepticism. Was he sure he was limiting himself to his self-assigned Merlin project? He wasn't finding his way to any sort of forbidden or adults-only magic, was he?
"No, Madame Pince," Scorpius said, his mind firmly fixed on projecting complete sincerity. "The manuscript is very hard to read. Some days I can finish a page, some days less. There is so much Latin, then there are passages in some pretty arcane English mixed with Danish…"
Madame Pince began to warm up. Young Malfoy was speaking her professional language.
"Very good, Mr. Malfoy," she said. "What are you using to translate?"
"Well, I'm trying to add to my Latin as I go, to save time later on," Scorpius said. "There is a lot of insight into the eleven and twelve-hundreds in there, if one is patient. The stories were said to have been collected by a monk, Glott, from a monastery on an island in the Humber. Then some of the brothers took his parchments, copied out a proper manuscript and bound it all. That is what we have in the library. It's the only one in existence."
Scorpius sealed his first deal with that story about Glott, although he didn't know it at the time. Madame Pince was a scholar with an affinity for the old, the neglected and arcane. Her library reflected that. Even in a school, like Hogwarts, where one would expect a kindred spirit or two, the Madame Pinces of the world are often achingly lonely. When the young Malfoy showed up researching Merlin, and demonstrated he shared her compulsion to enter into a neglected field, learn new skills in order to understand his own discoveries, and embark on a scholarly relationship with a long-dead monk from a long-disappeared abbey, Madame Pince was smitten. True, she was intellectually smitten, but the young Malfoy got his pass, and Madame Pince's blessing.
What the witches and wizards on the faculty had forgotten, it seemed, was how wild the first millennium had been. Druids, warrior queens and woad-dyed mountain tribesmen set the tone. A simple witch or wizard was barely worth noting. Arthur Pendragon himself was the result of an adulterous coupling carried out by means of a transfiguration. His half-sister, Morgan, was the stuff of such legend she was still a kind of patron saint to the wildest modern witches. If he were so inclined, Scorpius could have teased a lifetime's worth of fiendish magic out of Glott's tales.
That wasn't his purpose, though. Scorpius wasn't yet smitten himself, but he was on his way. His distant Black cousin Rose Granger-Weasley would be the smiter. Scorpius might have sensed it, although it would be many months before he could admit it to himself, and more before he could speak of it to another human being.
Iolanthe and Rose had been using the stacks behind Madame Pince's desk for a week when Iolanthe raised the subject of their good luck.
Organizing her books and preparing to leave, Iolanthe said, "This has been fun."
Rose put her books together and stood. "I agree. How did we live without this last year?" she asked.
"I don't know," Iolanthe said. "Were you bored last year?"
"I made up my mind to stay interested," Rose answered, "But I was bored. I worked and worked, but the harder I worked outside of class, the more turgid the lessons became. Does that make sense?"
Iolanthe thought it over.
"We're very lucky, Rose," Iolanthe said. "Our mothers have brains. Serious, witch brains. They got us ready for Hogwarts. Not to take anything away from our fathers, you understand."
"I know what you mean," Rose said. "Mum isn't an educator, but she always had one more step all ready for me when I mastered something. 'Have you looked into X?' she'd say. I'd go on to X and it built on what we'd been doing, and then there was Y after that and then Z. She understands me. Harry and Ronald would destroy entire civilizations for us, though, if that were what we needed. Can't take that away from them."
"Oh, no," Iolanthe agreed. "They might not have been in a study group, but they are definitely adequate. Just who you want watching your back."
They arrived at the point where they would part, Iolanthe to head for the dungeons, Rose to Gryffindor Tower. They somehow hugged despite the two piles of books and kissed each other on the cheek.
"Tomorrow," they said together.
A second year Slytherin boy caught the exchange.
"Did you just kiss a Gryffindor?" he asked, his tone conveying serious disapproval.
Iolanthe gave him a stare with the blue-gray eyes she'd gotten from Daphne. She thought of snakes.
"Shut up, Goyle," she said, showing Goyle a great mass of writhing reptiles where her platinum hair should have been. Goyle stiffened and fell backwards.
Iolanthe Astoria hummed to herself as she descended the stairs to the dungeons. Her work was done and all her parchments prepared and put in order for tomorrow's classes. She thought she'd pull out The Odyssey, summon Winky, and see if a small pot of raspberry tea might be possible.
"POTTER!" Walburga shouted as soon as Iolanthe approached the door to the girls' dormitory.
"Madame Walburga," Iolanthe offered, along with a curtsy. "I sense you have something on your mind, something you'd like to tell me about."
Walburga melted before Iolanthe's show of respectful deference, as Iolanthe expected she would.
"My dear, you are so much like your grandmother," said the young Walburga, "So skilled at such a young age, and all those perfect Davis manners Kendra taught you, but you must remember the Potter side of you can be a little volatile. Can I ask you nicely to think before you curse your housemates? Just until you all graduate and attain your majorities?"
"The hat decided to turn a Potter into a Slytherin witch. What did everyone expect? Is Goyle getting up?" Iolanthe asked out of genuine curiosity.
"Yes, he's up," Walburga said. "He doesn't seem to remember anything, either. Was there a confundus in among those snakes?"
Iolanthe giggled.
"I worked that out over the summer," she said. "Now that I know it works, I'll be very careful with it. Thank you for your wise counsel. Good-night, Madame Walburga."