Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three
Iolanthe
Chapter Forty-Four
Shoring Up
Harry exited the fireplace in the salon at Potter Manor in the middle of taking a bite out of his eggplant parmigiana on Mad Monk. Finding the salon unoccupied, he went out into the central hallway and called out, "Hullo?"
The only sounds were coming from the rear of the house, so Harry suspected he'd be able to find someone at or near the patio. He was right, but there was no sign of Daphne, nor the twins, so he reversed course for the stairs. He had come for a word with Daphne, primarily, so he would leave the social call until later. Harry nearly knocked his head on their bedroom door when he grasped the handle, pushed, and expected to walk right in. Stepping back, he gave the lock a little tap with the tip of his wand and listened to the works click.
Harry had seen Daphne transform countless times so Iolanthe and James could play with her lynx counterpart, but he wasn't prepared for the menage that greeted him. He did have the presence of mind to enter the room and quickly close and lock the door. Lying on the Isfahan carpet was not only a platinum lynx, showing bared teeth and flipping the end of her tail, but two kittens bumped up against her belly, purring, mewing and working their paws. The mother lynx clearly did not want to be disturbed, so Harry stayed near the wall and slowly made his way to a chair to wait.
It was only a few minutes later that the babies seemed to get their fill and begin to lose interest in eating. One backed away a little and waited for his brother to join him. When that didn't happen, the first satiated kitten gave his brother a very profound swat across the face, getting one back as good as he'd given. Mother Lynx shimmered a moment and stood up, shaking out her platinum hair before grabbing a towel tossed on the end of the bed for a little cleanup.
"You're probably wondering…" Daphne said, looking down and inspecting herself as she dabbed off the stray milk with her towel.
"Lots of things," Harry affirmed. Daphne stooped and picked up the kittens, then headed for the nursery.
"Want to see?" she asked, standing next to the twins' beds. Harry joined her. Once in their cradles, one lynx kitten, then the other transformed back into Evans and Davis. Daphne pulled two diapers from a pile on a nearby shelf and handed one to Harry.
"Just a minute," Daphne said as she finished diapering. She turned for the bathroom, still dabbing the towel at the droplets that didn't seem to want to stop. Harry heard the shower run, then stop, and Daphne walked back into their bedroom, drying off as she came. Harry was taken completely by surprise when Daphne pushed him back, not gently, and held him there against the wall while she took her time kissing his face. She must have gotten bored because she threw in a short exploration of his mouth. Some stray drops from the shower dampened Harry's shirt as Daphne pressed forward.
Even when she broke off, Daphne didn't let him get away but just leaned back enough for them to look each other in the eye.
"Harry Potter," she said, before kissing him again.
"I guess I should get dressed," Daphne said, like it was an idle observation, an afterthought.
"Not on my account," Harry assured her. "I like seeing you like this."
"Fresh," Daphne said as she reached for some underwear.
"When did you…" Harry began, before Daphne cut him off.
"They were just playing with the lynx, the same way Iolanthe and James did," Daphne said as she dressed. "One minute they were simply human babies crawling over me and giggling and the next thing I knew they'd transformed. It happens, I looked it up. It's rare but it is there in the literature. Then I thought of nursing them, all of us as lynxes. It's science, isn't it? Push back the frontiers. I lactate as a lynx. I definitely didn't know a witch could do that. That's what you saw. They're fascinating, until they start to bite, then I go Mother Lynx on them and they get a little coaching in manners."
"I guess that's okay, as long as they keep transforming back," Harry said. "I can't imagine being helped through old age by a couple of male lynx. As long as they don't hurt you."
"Oh, that is strictly a wizard concern," Daphne said. Harry must have gotten a bit of a sheepish look.
"Seriously," Daphne continued. "Witch, muggle, lynx…all the mothers going back ages and ages, we had to figure that out. It's you males that suddenly get concerned over a non-problem. That's something for you to ponder while your brain is idling. Now, you're home early. What is going on?"
Evans and Davis were already closing their eyes. Harry and Daphne walked down the stairs and through the house while he described his truncated lunch with Jacques Lafleur.
"He's put down a marker," Harry said, "With a nasty threat at the end and everything. I am losing hope this will resolve without violence."
"Oh, Harry," Daphne said, "Don't lose hope. Even if it's true, don't lose hope. That way lies despair."
"I know about despair," Harry said as they arrived at the patio.
Tracey wasn't back, but the older children and Millicent were strung between the patio and the woodlanders' reveling green, except for Zelda who was lazily carving figure-eights just overhead. Harry got everyone's attention with a whistle and waved to them to come to the house.
"Got some news," Harry said without any introduction. "The short version is Jacques Lafleur introduced himself to me while I was trying to eat lunch at the Leaky Cauldron about an hour ago. He made some threats. I'd call him unrepentant. Therefore, we're going to have to consider returning to Grimmauld Place. That is really a fortress. Still, I'd like to stay here, just for the fresh air and sunshine, at least until the end of the month. That means wards, day and night, and no solo rambles."
Harry looked at Iolanthe, who made a face and blew her breath out in frustration.
"That's the less-than-good-news," Harry went on. "The better news is the DMLE and the aurors are doing a great job, investigating the heck out of the Lafleurs, documenting the fraud, arresting the corrupt ones, so this might be over in a few weeks and we can all get on with enjoying the summer in Devon, shopping for school, and marveling at Evans and Davis. Questions?"
Harry's short talk was surprisingly informative, so no one asked.
"Fine, then," Harry continued, "I've still got a workday in progress so I'll be at the office if needed. Send me an owl."
Daphne and Harry walked back to the salon.
"I was serious when I said I liked the way you looked," said Harry, barely above a whisper.
"Oh?" Daphne said. "If you come home intact, perhaps I can let you see that again."
"That's what I call an incentive," Harry said as he pulled her close.
Harry had no worries about the security of his home and family, as long as everyone observed his admonition about the wards. Besides, Daphne and Millicent were more than capable of handling any frontal assaults that managed to get through the manor's defenses. He was much more concerned about an ambush situation as the Potter-Blacks and associated branches went about their everyday business, going to meetings, shopping for life's necessities, paying social calls. Granted, Daphne, Tracey, Millicent and Ginny were skilled witches, with varying degrees of experience in conflictive situations. Even fourteen-year-old Iolanthe had demonstrated coolness under pressure, using guile and skill to overcome the advantages of age and experience in her opponents.
Harry feared those wouldn't be enough if Michel Lestrange were free to run riot indefinitely. The matinee idol across the table had leapt from cool operator with a reasonable proposal to manic personality throwing out threats in the space of a few minutes. If he assessed Harry was immovable, and Harry was in his way, the ancient Fight or Flight dichotomy in every human's lizard brain would be triggered and Lestrange would look for his opportunity to force a decision. That had the potential to put everyone to whom Harry was close, as well as his department, perhaps even the aurors, at serious risk, if Lestrange believed he could compel Harry to fight him by doing damage.
Harry considered whether he might not be able to package everything up in a neat and tidy fashion by offering to meet Lestrange and work it out. He reminded himself he couldn't know the future, runes or no runes. He felt strongly the way forward was through Lestrange, not around him. Still, that was a feeling. There was no way to be sure. Lestrange could be hit by lightning and struck down dead. Such things happened.
At the end of his ruminations Harry concluded the correct path was to secure his family as best he could, continue to run his department, and let the aurors and prosecutorial service work on the legal issues swirling around the Jacques Lafleur organization.
Harry was about to step into the fireplace in the Potter Manor salon for the return trip to London when Lissette knocked on the door and stepped into the room.
"Could I…?" she asked as she stood still one step into the room.
"Of course," Harry said. He looked at Daphne who had been waiting to see him off.
"'Bye," Daphne said, giving him a peck on the cheek before turning toward the door herself.
"You don't have to go," Lissette said. "This might be helpful to you."
"Let's all have a seat, then," Harry said. Daphne got to the door and closed it before sitting down.
"I don't know a lot about the Lestrange family," Lissette began. "My parents fell out and got divorced before I started at Hogwarts. My father wasn't at home much even before that. Once he was gone, my mother didn't make an effort to keep me in contact with my grandparents, so I barely know them.
"Jacques Lafleur, or Michel Lestrange, is some degree of cousin, from the French Lestrange branch. That's all I know. I thought you should know, too. It occurred to me that I might be able to be useful if I got back in touch with the family, through my grandparents. I'm at your service, Lord Harry."
Harry looked at Daphne. He didn't know what to make of the look on Daphne's face, which was so neutral Harry thought she must have spent hours practicing before a mirror. A thought nagged at the back of his mind: "She really thinks I'm going to take her up on it."
"That's quite gallant of you, Lissette," Harry said. "I'd certainly welcome anything that comes to you in the way of news about our friend Michel. Let's not think about sending you out as some kind of undercover operative just now, though. Okay? There are a lot of pitfalls. Legal, ethical. I'm going to ask you not to reach out, for now. Is that alright with you? We need to be getting you supplied and equipped for your seventh year, and you definitely won't need the distraction from your studies."
Daphne's icy neutral face softened as she looked at Lissette.
"You're very brave, Lissette, but you're so young. We appreciate the fact that you want to help, but it wouldn't be right for us to put you in danger, no matter how slight the risk," Daphne said. She got up and opened the door to the hallway, waited for Lissette to step out and gave Harry one more mystifying look before leaving.
Harry's department had excellent contacts among the witches and wizards so it did not surprise him when he got back following his extended lunch and found a note from Pythagoras asking if he could meet with the other heads of section and give them guidance, even if he had to sanitize their version for security reasons. Harry realized that word of his encounter with Lafleur/Lestrange had gotten back and more or less forced his hand. Luckily, Harry's assistant managed to find a time suitable for everyone that afternoon. Harry convened the meeting in the most secure conference room on his floor and gave a brief account of his meeting with Jacques Lafleur.
"That was it," he said, "For today, at least. Something about Lafleur's manner caused me to think developments could come quickly, so have your individual offices ready, please. The minister and the other decision makers will be counting on us."
Harry looked at Pythagoras, who sat to his left.
The analyst nodded.
"We'll incorporate your report, of course, sir," he said. "We'll be accused of needless ambiguity, which we're used to. Not complaining, just a foreshadowing so you can be prepared."
"I'd wish for something more solid but someone advised me to be careful when wishing, just this morning," Harry said. "I believe that is sound advice, in the present case. We don't need this kind of problem, in my view. The Lafleur organization or movement or whatever it is crossed a couple of lines into outright criminality. The main body seems to be staying in the realm of self-help group, or something of the sort. The leader's explicit threats to me notwithstanding. People have a right to their own spiritual paths, so let's be extra-careful not to give the appearance this department is tampering with that."
Murmurs of concurrence went around the table. Each of the section chiefs probably had his own perspective on how to walk that fuzzy line. Harry hoped any errors would be on the side of caution. There wasn't a need for normal adherents to suffer. Lafleur/Lestrange's conflict was with Harry Potter, not the ministry.
Harry sent an owl prior to closing up his office for the day. He locked up his working materials and logged the closure of his safe, looked around for stray parchments, circulated through his outer office, and was ready to leave when his owl returned.
"Heading to cafeteria now. H." read the return message.
Harry found Ron and Hermione at a table in the corner of the ministry cafeteria. They'd had the presence of mind to bring an extra coffee for Harry.
"Thanks for coming," Harry said. "How is everyone? I haven't seen Hugo. You'll bring him on the thirty-first, I hope?"
Ron looked at Hermione. Harry knew something passed between them, but he didn't know what it was.
"I expect so," Ron said. "He's gotten his books. He gets ready for next term, and he exercises. That's it. All to prepare for the aurors' entrance exams. That's six years off, at minimum. My long term plans were made as far as the next meal when I was his age."
"I remember," Harry said, "Hugo's mother, though had a little longer view, as best I recall."
Hermione broke off her stare at Ron to thank Harry.
"He can't help it, Harry," she said, nodding at Ron. "It's the short-term memory. He was born without one."
Ron sipped his coffee, conveying blissful unawareness.
Harry went over his lunch with Lafleur before soliciting insights from his two oldest, most trusted friends. Neither had much to add, at first. Ron's Wizengamot investigations office was mainly synopsizing the auror's reports and putting them in easily-readable condensations for the members. The Unspeakables were always more interested in consuming than they were in sharing, unless some grave threat to the community came to their attention, and Hermione typically took those straight into a closed-door briefing with Kingsley, since it would be his decision whether to move to public dissemination. This afternoon, though, Hermione took a slightly different approach.
"Harry," she began, "What is the story on Cebu?"
"What do you know about Cebu?" Harry asked.
"You did some studying there, while you were on your travels," Hermione replied. "It's in the records. Something related to judo? Was that all?"
"Hermione, I can tell when you're working your way around to something," Harry said. "Why don't you go ahead and ask what you want to know?"
"Alright, Harry, if you're going to be that way, are you using dark magic? Did you study the Dark in Cebu?" Hermione asked, a little put out with Harry for taking over the conversation. Hermione liked being in the driver's seat a little too much to completely cover her exasperation.
"Yes," Harry said. "And now you know. Are you still speaking to me, following my revelation?"
Ron had his coffee cup halfway to his lips when he froze, then slowly lowered the cup to the table.
"Harry," Ron said, "After everything…"
"Yes, after everything we went through, and my mother, and my father, and Remus, and Tonks and Sirius," Harry said. "It isn't something one undertakes lightly. You can believe me or not, as you choose. I'll just pass on a little overview, then you're free to decide.
"Dark and Light are constructs," Harry began. "I studied with Master Francisco in Cebu to put my mind back together after the war. We started with the noble discipline of Ju-Jitsu. A few months of the forms and meditation did wonders. He saw something in me and kept setting new goals, giving me more exercises and one day I had a breakthrough. Magic is magic. Dark and Light are labels. Use magic for an unworthy purpose, that's Dark, no matter how innocuous. Conversely, a witch or wizard can tap the power of what we commonly call Dark to do something good. Protect the weak. Right a wrong. Make amends for an error we have made in our treatment of others. Children don't differentiate, then they start their magical studies and the adults begin to teach them about the labels.
"I don't disagree, of course," Harry went on. "That has been the method here in Britain for a millennium, or more, and for good reason. It takes a great deal of practice to handle undiluted magic and not be destroyed as a result.
Harry looked around. It was close to time for the cafeteria to close, so the nearby tables were empty.
"Some things, like horcruxes, are inherently evil," he said. "The rending of one's own soul via the commission of murder cannot be justified, ever. The wizard who does that misuses the power. Drawing on the power available to save a life though, if that were necessary, would not have the same negative consequences, even though it would all be the same power, from the same source.
"The meditation is necessary to insulate the practitioner from the seductive effect of all that magical power running through one's skin, bones, muscles and blood," Harry said. "The susceptible mind will be turned. My own theory is that happened to our friend Riddle. He was captured by the magic. The mind wants to think it captures and tames. That is an illusion. Tom Riddle had felt the ecstasy from working magic, there in the orphanage, before he ever met Dumbledore. If he hadn't gotten magical training, he might have become another Ripper. Who knows? He never really had a chance, though, in my view. When the power takes over the unprepared wizard's body, the wizard throws his mind in, of his own volition! The wizard who thinks he can resist by force of his own will is doomed, before he begins.
"I acknowledge my weakness," Harry said. "I take refuge in the teachings handed down in my master's lineage. I work faithfully at my physical and mental exercises to stay on the path I've been shown."
Harry placed his flattened right hand over his sternum and inclined his head.
"I ask your forgiveness if I have caused offense."
Ron looked at Hermione, who looked back. Neither said anything. Harry held his position.
"Harry…" Ron tried.
"There is nothing to forgive, Harry," Hermione said, "You can sit up now."
Harry sat up straight. The lamps in the ministry cafeteria were going out, following a centuries' old practice no one really understood. For some reason, before closing, half of the lamps went out at once, then five minutes later, half of the remainder went out, then five minutes later, and so on.
"It is very volatile magic," Harry said. "Just carrying it around in normal times takes a bit of work. Nothing a disciplined wizard can't manage, as long as one pays attention. There are vows that must be taken, before the student begins. Even if he drops out, the vows are in force. Michel Lestrange took his vows. I reminded him of his obligations at our lunch meeting today. When we parted, he did not seem amenable to taking corrective action. We can hope he reconsiders. I don't find it at all pleasant to be in the state I'm in at the moment."
No explanation was given for the state, what it was, why he was in it, or what it was doing to him.
"Look at the time," Harry said. "I hate to break us up, we don't do this nearly enough. Can we look for a convenient day to have the Granger-Weasleys out to Potter Manor for a nice lunch and some lane-strolling? You take Hugo in hand, none of that all work and no play for the young man, I insist, even if he is a Ravenclaw. Rose will probably be out there with us anyway."
"Of course, Harry," Hermione said. "You check with Daphne and I'll be sending along a proposed date."
Ron didn't look at either one of them as they walked to the exit.
Harry made his way to the seniors' apparation point, then on to the front lawn of Potter Manor. He passed the place where Lissette turned Fiona into a pig. The thought occurred to him that he might want to put something there to mark it. Perhaps a little block of stone with a bronze plaque in the shape of a pig. The more he thought of it the more he liked the idea. The transfiguration was almost certainly going to become a family legend. Maybe the children would like to be able to show the exact spot to the grandchildren when they retold the story some decades in the future.
"Hullo!" Harry called when he got to the rear of the house. No one appeared to be around the patio or the green, but he saw movement through the glass of James' greenhouse. He didn't get a response from inside in answer to his greeting, so Harry ambled on down the slope, where he found James taking a bunch of dried-out, unidentifiable stalks to a pile of compost he was forever building up.
"Dad," said James when Harry came around the corner of the building. "Got something to show you. Look at this."
James led the way into the greenhouse. When Harry got inside he stopped and stared. Row upon row of rough wooden tables marched down the center of the greenhouse, some with terra cotta pots all over a flat top, others with little risers on them, also with pots or other containers out of which grew plants of all sizes.
"What do you think?" James asked, all smiles.
"Expansion charm?" Harry asked, the only intelligent thing he could think of. Harry stepped back outside and estimated the size of the original greenhouse.
"Has to be, doesn't it?" Harry asked when he stepped back in. "How did you do it?"
"Grandmother," said James. "She came over to see Mum and the rest of us, and she was chatting me up and asked what I was going to do next down here, and I told her I wanted to add on. We ended up walking down and she suggested we make more room inside, rather than spoil my exquisitely proportioned conservatory. Her words."
"Oh, I can almost hear her," Harry said. He started to laugh.
"Merlin, she is one elegant witch," Harry added.
"A little wand work and an incantation or two, and here we are!" James said.
"And you've been re-potting or starting seedlings all afternoon?" Harry asked.
"Pretty much," James said. "You're not going to turn me in, are you? Strictly speaking…"
"It was all inside here?" Harry asked.
"Yes," said James.
"You were just using your wand, inside the wards? I am not sure that is objectionable. We can just keep it to ourselves, of course, for now," Harry said.
"Works for me," James said. "What do you think?"
"I think it is a fine use of magic, and it did save your exquisitely proportioned conservatory," Harry said. "Who else knows?"
"You, me and Grandmother," James said. "Want a fresh tomato? Here."
Harry and James walked slowly back up the hill, Harry listening to James' patter about his plants, munching on the tomato and looking at the manor Daphne and Fabio had designed so he could re-establish the Potter family seat. Potters began emerging as James and Harry walked up the hill. It was just a few weeks after Midsummer, in Devon, so the light would be good well past nine o'clock.
"Hullo, Potters!" Harry called toward the patio.
Various 'Hullo, Harry' and 'Hullo, Father' permutations came back.
"I had an idea," Harry said. "What do you think of getting some blankets out to the green and having dinner as a picnic? We might even get a faun to join us, if we're lucky."
Everyone thought that an excellent idea for a July evening. Melon and Periwinkle were both present and had plenty of blankets spread out in no time. Plates of bread and bowls of salads followed, then fish, vegetables from the Potter, Greengrass and Lupin gardens, and lemon squares. Plum apparently smelled the feast and emerged from the woods with the arrival of the fish course. Fauns aren't big meat eaters but he took a few bites, just to be polite, before getting serious about the vegetable offerings. When he finished eating Plum asked permission to fill some plates for the woodlanders who would certainly be standing just inside the tree line in vicarious attendance. Everyone took their time and no one wanted the evening to end, including Davis and Evans who exhibited impeccable behavior throughout. Full dark arrived, a very bright half moon rose in the east, and the party lingered, several lying back, staring straight up, the better to watch the stars come out.
Daphne reached the end of her endurance, though, and reluctantly declared it time for Evans and Davis to go inside. Harry picked up one in each arm and headed back to the house with Daphne.
The twins were asleep by the time they got upstairs.
"Good job, Harry," Daphne said. "You either have the touch, or you got very lucky."
"I got lucky when you came along, Healer Daphne," Harry said. "That's the only explanation I've found. I'm not far behind the lads."
"Oh," Daphne said as she looked toward their bedroom, "I was hoping you'd take your time with me tonight. Unless you're desperate to get to sleep, of course."
The following morning found Harry out on the patio when the sun was still quite low, enjoying his first cup of coffee and reliving the previous day's picnic on the green. Tracey, Daphne and the Daily Prophet arrived more or less simultaneously. Harry got a look at the front page and handed the paper off to Daphne.
"Here we go," he said.
Two stories seemed to be competing to set the narrative. One headlined the recent arrests of Lafleur adherents for corruption in the manipulation of ministry contracts to benefit the Lafleur organization. The second was not quite a puff piece, but it was close to it. Lafleur had credentials, Lafleur was a savvy businessman, Lafleur had helped thousands of witches and wizards with his seminars and voluntary social welfare efforts.
"If all publicity is good publicity," Daphne said, handing the paper on to Tracey, "Jacques Lafleur just hit a jackpot."
Publicity was something with which Tracey was familiar, and she didn't just read the two pieces, she devoured them.
"All other considerations aside, Lafleur has quite the public relations shop," Tracey admitted.
"Maybe you can glean some tips from them for me," Harry said.
"Don't worry about it, Harry," said Daphne. "The industry is always doing this. Someone with good speaking skills appears on the scene, they do a little self-help routine, they're all the rage for a few years and they fade away. Another one takes their place."
"Industry?" Harry asked. He didn't know there was a Lafleur industry.
"Motivation, self-help, magical potential, positive magic, whatever you call it, it's all the same," Daphne said. "It amounts to an industry. It's a big business. It works for a lot of people. Mental maladies professionals bump up against the same population. Lives don't work out, people seek help, some find relief in a Jacques Lafleur seminar. Some of them need real the help of real healers. Problems arise when the leaders cultivate blind obedience."
"Okay," Harry said, "Lafleur is running a racket. It's a sweet little racket and he doesn't want it to end. As long as he isn't stealing public money or letting his subordinates exploit underage boys and girls, he's free to operate. So what is he doing pushing back against the ministry? Why come looking for me? I'm not an auror or a prosecutor. I don't understand it."
"That's a good question," Tracey observed. She drained her coffee mug and looked around for Melon, with whom Tracey shared a private magical wireless connection. Melon appeared with a little 'pop' and a fresh mug, took Tracey's empty and 'popped' out of existence, all under ten seconds. Tracey took a sip of her coffee.
"My guess would be he expects to be engaged in some criminal activities, like the funds diversion, as a standard practice. He has contempt for the kinds of laws that try to control corruption. He isn't corrupt in his own mind, so he doesn't think those are legitimate," Tracey said. "He never grasped right or wrong as factors to consider when he is contemplating taking an action. He's using public relations techniques to manipulate his followers and influence public opinion. You are onto him and he fears your implacable opposition."
Harry and Daphne sat, staring at Tracey, then slowly shifted to looking at each other.
"That's pretty profound…" Harry began.
"For a party girl?" Tracey came back.
"Not at all," Harry said. "For anyone. Besides, I don't think you're a party girl, and I never have. Even when you run around changing your silk pajamas three times a day. That's just…colorful, and fun to have in my household."
Tracey looked at Daphne, who rolled her eyes but managed to hold her tongue.
"So, I want to hear your analysis of where he's going with this," Harry said. "How does this develop? Based on your business experience, not the parties."
"People who do public relations, external relations, event planning, whatever your preferred terminology, we get this all the time. The clients who wouldn't think of cheating anywhere else want us to work for free, settle for lesser amounts after the work is delivered, clean up their dirty money, you name it," Tracey said. "Sure, I'll plan a party for anyone. It's a professional service like law or architecture, only the client is paying for my expertise in putting them in touch with their target audience, getting the audience in the door, and putting the audience in the mood to hear the client's pitch. I don't feel a compulsion to help the client engage in unethical behavior. Nor, for the record, will I have sex in exchange for a signed contract, as if that were here or there."
"Merlin, Tracey!" Harry nearly exploded. "You're asked to do that? That's completely unacceptable. I won't have it."
Tracey and Daphne started to laugh at Harry's naïve, red-faced reaction.
"Welcome to Witch World, Harry!" Daphne said. "But you had asked Tracey something?"
"Where it ends?" Tracey said. "When Jacques Lafleur makes a mistake. When he gets too big for his britches, gets corrected, doesn't take it well and over-reacts. That's the trajectory. Pure speculation at this point, of course."
"Actually, that's a very informed guess, based on recent history," Daphne said. "There are parallels in the magical and muggle worlds. I'm sure you both remember. Group suicides, charismatic religious and political leaders going down in flames. You brought one of them down yourself, Harry, as I recall."
"I had help," Harry said, attempting a little deflection. "That other stuff, though, Tracey, I…"
"It's nothing you do, Harry," Tracey said, "Just because there are wizards about who don't exhibit the characteristics of the well-bred magical. Besides, I'm convinced a few gentlemen improved their manners right away when someone mentioned I belong to the Grandee Lord Harry Potter-Black."
Harry leaned back in his chair and put both hands over his face.
"Not again," he said, nearly a whisper. "Besides, Blaise is a much bigger bad-ass than me. Why don't they stay clear of you because of him?"
"Well, I don't know if Blaise is a bigger bad-ass than you, although he's big and bad enough," Tracey said. "He doesn't get credit for beating the crap out of Gellert Grindelwald, though, does he? He didn't take the Elder Wand away from the Dark Lord, either, did he?"
Daphne thought Tracey's patronizing treatment of the oblivious Harry just about the funniest thing going on Earth at that moment.
"Okay, back to being serious, then," Harry tried again. "Lafleur hit on a way to dazzle fairly significant numbers of witches and wizards, then he got caught doing some corruption with public money, and at least a few of his close associates flunked self-discipline and are now locked up. But why the press campaign? He had two well-placed assets in the ministry, why compromise them with clumsiness? Then there is that foolishness in the Leaky Cauldron. Merlin. I have no idea what that was about.
"He knew of my studies with Master Francisco, that was obvious," Harry said. "It follows he would have known he is under interdict for breaking his vows. I could have challenged him right there, grabbed him by the collar and apparated here to the green or the Black estate or Torshavn and obliged him to defend himself. He gambled that I wouldn't. What is his angle?"
A voice came from the doorway, "Father? It's Mercury. He took the floo to your study."
Harry turned to see Iolanthe standing just inside the house, Lissette right behind her.
"Booklists?" Harry asked as he passed the young witches. "Do we have them here? Are they ready to send to Flourish and Blotts? Let me do a little reading and we'll synchronize our Things To Do lists."
Mercury's reading was interesting but not particularly revealing. Nothing appeared to need immediate action to correct a mortal peril threatening British Wizardry, nor was there any movement in the subject areas Harry's department had been monitoring. Aside from the individuals already arrested or being investigated the Lafleur movement was quiet. Harry cleared everything else out and bade his mind tell him what was not being reported, as he had not identified anything on his first reading.
"Mercury, water, coffee, tea before your journey?" Harry said without looking up from the file.
"Nothing today, sir," Mercury said.
Before long, Harry held out the file, and Mercury took it.
"Have a pleasant day, sir."
With that, Mercury stepped into the fireplace, dropped his powder and disappeared with the green flames.
Harry was approaching the door when Iolanthe and Lissette stepped inside the study.
"May we?" Iolanthe asked. Harry gave the only answer he ever gave to Iolanthe's requests.
"Of course, come in, sit down," Harry said. "Something to eat or drink?"
Iolanthe and Lissette sat on the green leather settee. Both shook their heads.
"Go ahead," Iolanthe said. Lissette looked like she expected Iolanthe to handle the speaker's duties, but she drew in her breath and began at Iolanthe's nod.
"Lord Harry," Lissette began, "They want to force you out of the ministry. I heard you talking about seeing Lafleur, and how he spoke to you. That is what it's about."
"That is my working theory," Harry said, "But I'm having trouble figuring out why? You wouldn't have any ideas about that, by chance?"
"I think it is because you are a strong supporter of Kingsley Shacklebolt and they want to force him out and put someone in who will do what Lafleur wants," Lissette said. "They probably believe you have to be gone before they can get to the minister. I think they could become dangerous, so please be careful."
"Thank-you, Lissette, we'll all be careful, right?" Harry directed the last to Iolanthe.
"Right?" Harry asked again.
"Yes, of course, Father," Iolanthe confirmed.
"Now, if you're feeling threatened here," Harry began, returning to Lissette, "We can arrange for you to stay someplace safe and distant from us until you all return to Hogwarts in September. We have options available and we won't think any less of you if you'd like to do that."
"NO!" said Lissette, suddenly appearing agitated. "I feel safe here. Like I'm part of your family. I never had that before."
To Harry, it looked like Lissette was about to break down, so he despatched Iolanthe with a, "Could you ask your mother to join us? Tracey, too, if she's still on the premises." Iolanthe returned to the study with Daphne and Tracey less than a minute later.
"Lissette just told us she likes it here. She is beginning to feel like one of the family," Harry said. "I offered her the chance to go, if she wanted to wait this out somewhere else. She refused."
He turned back to Lissette.
"You are part of the family, under Iolanthe's protection, as long as you're here with us," Harry said. "You might have come to us in an unconventional manner, but you are legally part of Iolanthe's household, which is a dependency of the Potter-Black clan of which I am the head. You don't have any Potter or Black ancestry, by any chance? That simplifies things."
"Not that I know of," said Lissette.
"Are you contracted or bound by any agreements?" Harry asked. "By which I mean promised in marriage, or pledged as security for anything? Family debts, or one of those perpetual alliances between families, for example?"
"No," said Lissette.
Harry turned to the portrait of Phineas Nigellas Black, the one Daphne had liberated from the wall opposite the door to the Slytherin witches' dormitory, to which Harry had given a home in his Potter Manor study.
"Headmaster, are you awake?" Harry asked.
"I am now," Phineas Nigellas answered, making it sound like he was doing so under protest.
"The young lady with the Honorable Miss Iolanthe Astoria is another fine Slytherin witch, whose family, to their shame, did not appreciate her qualities of scholarship and loyalty, nor her demonstrated skills as a witch. You've had the chance to observe her for some weeks now, as has Madame Walburga, and of course all the distinguished Blacks at the estate," Harry said. "The Potters are distressed by her ambiguous status and I'm inclined to exercise my prerogatives and offer Miss Lissette Lestrange association with the clan with all the obligations and privileges thereunto pertaining. Speak now or forever hold your peace."
The late headmaster disappeared from his portrait almost instantly. Harry turned back to Lissette.
"The obligations aren't onerous," he began. "No taxes, for example. We fund the Black scholars' kit for school, and you can use the Black owls. You seem to be a fighter so that shouldn't be a problem, but we do expect everyone to do their part, if we end up in a battle. There haven't been any feuds with another clan recently…"
"Lord Harry," said the figure in Phineas Nigellas' portrait. Harry looked up to see the late headmaster was back, along with a frame full of Blacks from ages past.
"Lord Harry, the consensus is this Slytherin witch would seem to be a perfect fit for the Blacks, once she's had a little time to accustom herself to the demands of the position, and the assembled encourage you to declare her our familiar immediately."
Murmurs of assent sounded from the portrait, where the heads behind Phineas Nigellas nodded in affirmation.
"Very well," Harry said. He looked at Daphne, who gave him a wink and a very subtle thumbs-up. He motioned to Lissette to move closer, took each of her hands in one of his and clasped them all together.
"Miss Lissette Lestrange, you are a free witch of Britain who has attained her majority. We are offering you association with the noble houses of Potter and Black and the protection of our forces. As long as you voluntarily remain under our authority you will be obliged to accept our guidance if offered and to defend your lord's person and his estates as if they were your own. Do you accept?"
"Yes," said Lissette, barely above a whisper.
"Congratulations," Harry said. "Go forth one of us."
Iolanthe, Daphne and Tracey surrounded the weeping Lissette and led her from the study. Harry waved his wand and closed the door. He was about to return his attention to analysis of the Lafleur situation, which was now becoming the only thing he was able to think about, when Phineas Nigellas cleared his throat.
"Sir?" said Harry as he spun his chair to look at the portrait.
"If I may be so bold, milord," began the headmaster in his strange mix of courtly and crotchety, "Where are your rings?"
"Rings?" Harry asked. He had on the platinum wedding band Daphne had slipped on his finger when they were married. That was usually the extent of his jewelry, if one didn't count his watch.
"Your signet rings," the headmaster replied. "You're the head of two noble families. Your people look to you for guidance. You manage your responsibilities, without question you merit the highest honor and respect, but your signet rings are symbolic of your position. Besides, I can't speak for the Potters, but the Blacks found the Lord's signet ring to be a handy repository for things like authenticating spells and access charms."
"Headmaster," Harry began, sighing just a little. "Here is the Potter signet."
Opening one of his desk drawers, Harry removed a little velvet-covered box and removed a gold ring, a perfect fit for the little finger of his left hand.
"The Black signet is in the Black vault at Gringotts," Harry sighed. "Forgive me, Headmaster, but considering some of our cousins, and their propensity for mayhem, I have always feared the possibility the Black ring bore a curse. Or, possibly, curses. The ring went with me on my first visit to the estate, and was very useful when I had to pass a ward or unlock a lock. I was careful to treat it with respect and return it to the vault, where I hold it in trust for the family."
"Caution, a very underrated virtue, of course," Phineas Nigellas said. "A few of us, even a partisan like me must admit, took things a little too far at times. On the other hand, Lord Harry, there are challenges looming. The most formidable challenges, even on this side we sense your concerns. You can't know in advance every kind of help you will need. You have a heart worthy of Godric Gryffindor. You can master that ring."
"Thank-you, Headmaster," said Harry. "I value your perspective and your expression of confidence. I honestly had not thought in those terms prior to this moment."
Harry's time for homely pleasures had run out. He resolved again to find a successor and retire to the management of his lands and enterprises and the raising of his family, but it was not going to happen that very day. Harry found Daphne on the patio with Iolanthe, Lissette and Millicent.
"Time to be off," he said. "I'll be in touch."
He glanced at Iolanthe, she giving him in return a very fake smile to indicate she knew her instructions, and would comply. Harry returned to his study, Daphne in tow.
He pulled Daphne into a long embrace while they stood in front of the fireplace.
"Be careful," Harry said, punctuating the admonition with a brief increase in hugging intensity. Harry caught the scent of Daphne's herb-infused soap on the little puff of air that his hugging pressed up from the space between her breasts.
"YOU be careful," Daphne said. "You've got people depending on you."
"Well, so do you," Harry returned. "A whole ward full, and a staff that supports them. We also have to coordinate To-Do lists. I already advised the young witches."
"So many competing priorities, Harry Potter," Daphne said. "Stay alive. Buy quills."
Harry felt a sudden need to go on record.
"I love you," he said, raising his hand to the back of Daphne's head, pressing his cheek against hers. "None of this would have happened without you. Thank you for having the room in your heart for me. For all of us."
"It's not that difficult, Harry," Daphne assured him as she hugged him back.
Harry did manage to actually leave the house that morning, taking the floo to the ministry, exiting to the street, and walking to the coffee shop on the way to his own building. The Head Unspeakable looked out through the plate glass, watching pedestrians as she stood at the shelf mounted on the wall, a paper cup in hand, a second on the shelf. Harry walked in the coffee shop door and Hermione pushed the second cup in his direction.
"Sweet!" Harry said. "How'd you know?"
He understood he wouldn't get an answer, even as he asked.
"We had a long talk at home," Hermione said. Like Kingsley, she had a talent for conveying tons of information without actually coming out with it.
"And yet, here you are with a cup of coffee ready for me," Harry teased.
"We don't really have a choice, not that we would choose anything different," Hermione said in a surprisingly personal comment.
"I always count on that," Harry said. "It didn't take long for me to learn. Not that I'd ever abuse it, at least not consciously."
"And that is the secret of our success, Harry," Hermione said. "Do what you think you have to do.
"Now, suppose the Granger-Weasleys take you up on your offer of hospitality this coming Saturday?"
"That works, as far as I know," Harry said. "Let's each resolve to send Daphne an owl or a patronus or some other communication, and one of us will be sure to remember. Lunch, then an afternoon of country pleasures and diversions?"
"I suppose," Hermione said. "What else is there to do in Devon?"
Hermione looked at the clock over the coffee shop counter.
"Mysteries," she said, "Always more mysteries."
Harry understood Hermione felt the office calling to her.
"Thanks for the coffee," Harry said, raising his cup as they stepped over to the street door. "And everything else."
Hermione had already returned to her customary Head Unspeakable inscrutability, but she did give Harry just the slightest flicker of her eyebrows before turning and walking back toward the ministry. Harry went in the opposite direction, diverting his eyes from the business fronts, reaching out and finding the handle on the door that led inside to his office.
After exchanging greetings with Jubal and everyone else between the front door and his desk, Harry looked for anything new on his desktop that might require a response. Seeing nothing, he stepped outside and spoke to his assistant.
"Anything?" he asked.
"Not until eleven," the assistant said, looking at the planner. "Principals' meeting."
"I'll be taking a few minutes, then," Harry said. "Gringotts."
Harry took the floo from his office to Gringotts One. The goblins weren't that busy due to the hour, and Harry was soon standing before a Black vault deep beneath the bank. One might have thought just being there would have triggered immobilizing memories, in such close proximity to the ground where he, Ron and Hermione had nearly been captured by Gringotts own security force before escaping on a stolen dragon, leaving chaos and destruction in their wake. Instead, he felt a small, private smile asserting itself, and resolved to keep the memory to himself.
The ring was in its velvet drawstring bag right where Harry had left it. He started to put the ring, bag and all in his pocket, changing his mind when he felt it through the fabric and recalled Phineas Nigellas' words: "You can master that ring." Opening the bag, he removed the ring and put it on the third finger of his right hand. He raised his head and looked around the vault, which was one of a number of Black vaults on that level, some of which held only a nominal treasure or two. Blacks had run through the serious pieces and bags of galleons years before, the ancient, near-mythical generations' surplus squandered by their successors' affinity for feuds and losing causes. There was probably some arcane reason the vaults remained Black, but Harry had never known what that was.
The contents might have been spare, compared to past glories, but for the most part they were old. Harry saw visual echoes of the Viking and Anglo-Saxon hoards he had seen in the British Museum. He stood in the midst of his treasure, wearing signs of his offices and breathing the air of the vault in through his nose. Phineas Nigellas was right. He felt Black flowing through him, perhaps intensified by the bits of family present in the articles around him. Did traces of the spirits of long-dead Black heroes and heroines cling to the pieces they had handled and used? Could the property be infused with a bit of them?
Harry decided to close up and make one more stop before returning to the surface.
"I'll be at the Potters', he informed his goblin escort, "I know the way. Just bring the cart."
"Of course, Lord Harry," said the goblin, bowing.
Harry walked along, reading name plates or trying to remember the coats of arms that identified some vaults. He was in the central nervous system of British magic, a millennium of magical treasure and families, fruits of well-negotiated marriages, successful business ventures, loot taken from the defeated in exchange for sparing a life. It was all kept deep under London in the care of goblins, and Harry strode through it by right, the head of two families himself. Harry arrived at the Potter vaults, picked out a door at random, and touched it with his signet.
The door swung open. He didn't bother with lumos. It would have been redundant for the Potter hoard had plenty of lamps of all descriptions that sensed the lord's presence and lit themselves for his convenience.
"We will be in battle soon," Harry thought. "I am glad I got to see all of you again."
Harry felt the same thing he had felt with the Black hoard, a tingling of his skin that made him think the shades of his ancestors were surrounding him, wishing him well. He stepped out and closed the door with his left hand, then stood listening as the door locked and sealed itself until the next time it pleased Lord Harry to visit.
The goblin outside had the little carriage ready to return.
"Back to the lobby, please," Harry said as he stepped aboard. The cart began to move along the rails.