Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three
Iolanthe
Chapter Forty-Five
The Honor of the Blacks
"Can I bring you something? A drink? Something to eat?"
Iolanthe didn't answer, choosing to give Lissette Lestrange a look instead.
Two owls were flying at top speed toward the patio table. Iolanthe picked them up around two hundred yards out and wanted to watch them coming in, getting bigger and bigger the closer they got. She had no doubt they were going to perch on the backs of chairs and await the removal of the messages tied to their legs.
"Tie!" Iolanthe proclaimed as the owls settled down, nearly simultaneously. The owls looked at one another and Iolanthe couldn't help thinking they were having some kind of telepathic owl debate.
"Periwinkle?" Iolanthe called out as she reached for a little slip of parchment on the nearest owl leg.
"Miss Iolanthe, how can Periwinkle help you this morning?"
"We need something to reward these owls for delivering their messages," Iolanthe said. "Does the kitchen have any bacon, ham, sausage…?"
Periwinkle snapped her fingers and materialized a small plate with some of each, already cut up into owl-sized portions.
"Thank-you, Periwinkle," Iolanthe said, reaching out for the second message. "Perhaps two glasses of pumpkin juice now?"
Owls fed and dispatched, Iolanthe picked up a little piece of sausage and popped it in her mouth.
"You might as well help me with these," she said, inviting Lissette to join her.
The notes were addressed to Daphne but Daphne wasn't there, justifying in Iolanthe's mind the reading of her mother's correspondence since the notes could bring news of a cataclysm or other emergency requiring immediate, heroic action to keep disaster at bay.
"Granger-Weasleys here this Saturday for lunch and socializing," Iolanthe declared. She perused the two notes, one from Harry, the second from Hermione.
"Harry Potter was supposed to let Mother know, but he forgot and has had to scramble. The speediest owl he could find still finished in a tie with Hermione's," Iolanthe said, her analysis spot-on. "Well, we'll not let anyone know our suspicions. Harry does not like to have multiple witches pissed at him at the same time. Something that springs from childhood trauma, I suspect."
"Ahem?"
Iolanthe and Lissette looked toward the patio door. Daphne stepped outside followed by Tracey and Millicent.
"Oh, Mother, so good you've arrived," said Iolanthe, recovering instantly because she felt no need to recover at all. "Off to work? Well, we've just gotten the most wonderful news. Here."
She handed over the little slips of parchment. Daphne read them before passing them to Tracey, who gave them a glance before letting Millicent have a turn.
"Yes, it's St. Mungo's for me, a bit of healing, a little administration," Daphne said. "Tracey has one meeting, over lunch?"
Tracey nodded.
"Can you be good witches while we are out earning? Thank-you in advance," said Daphne, leaning down to give Iolanthe a target for a good-bye kiss.
Tracey followed Daphne to the green, where they disapparated with a 'pop-pop.'
"Breakfast, Auntie?" Iolanthe asked as Millicent pulled out a chair.
"Certainly," Millicent said, eying Periwinkle's little plate of owl treats. "But…"
Iolanthe asked for Periwinkle so everyone could order a proper breakfast, including James and Zelda, who arrived nearly together with the elf. Iolanthe took her time over breakfast, using strategic rationing of bites to open up conversational opportunities. Partly it was her inherent good humor, partly it was a compulsion to engage with James, who was in a contemplative mood, thinking about growing the herbs needed by the future co-op's apothecary and potion-maker customers. The more James' silence went on, the more Iolanthe was determined to bring him out of his reveries.
A most unsatisfactory exchange brought a question from Zelda, to which James responded, "Don't know. Perhaps the Heir…?"
He waved a hand in Iolanthe's direction, getting her to flush nearly as red as one of his greenhouse tomatoes. As soon as Iolanthe and Lissette had finished, Iolanthe had a request for Millicent.
"Auntie Millicent, do you think we could go over to the woods and see what is up?" she asked. "This Lafleur business is upsetting my summer plans. I need to visit Plum, if I can't stroll a lane now and then."
"I don't see why not," Millicent replied. "Isn't it inside the wards?"
"I think so," Iolanthe said, shooting a questioning look at James.
"I think so, too," James said. "But you can always occupy yourself turning compost, don't forget."
Iolanthe picked up her bag and headed for the woods, Lissette following just a half-step behind.
Plum wasn't readily available, it seemed, woods or no woods. Iolanthe picked out a fallen tree and took a seat, Lissette taking a spot a few feet down the trunk.
"Miss Iolanthe," Lissette said.
"Iolanthe," Iolanthe corrected her.
"Are you sure?"
Iolanthe stopped turning the pages in her journal where she had been searching for a blank page to do some sketching.
"Lissette, of course I'm sure," Iolanthe answered. "Where did you get that, anyway? We're both Slytherin witches and you are senior to me. You're a seventh year. I'm supposed to pay obeisance to you. No one but the elves calls me Miss."
"I think, technically, I'm your retainer," Lissette said, just barely arguing. "I have to show some respect."
Iolanthe was already tired of the conversation, so she tried to cut it short with a kick-the-can promise.
"Fine, we'll work on it," she said.
"Can you tell me about the Heir?" Lissette asked.
"Lissette…what?" Iolanthe managed although she had nearly run out of words as well as patience.
"Mr. James called you the Heir?" Lissette said, making it a question. "Can you tell me what he meant?"
Iolanthe burst out laughing.
"Has that been bothering you?" she asked. "James! Arrgh!"
"First of all," she began, "Potters and Greengrasses don't sit around thinking about who is going to inherit what, or talking about it, for that matter. There is one exception. We were at Greengrass Manor with Mother and Grandmother one day and somehow the medieval origins of the estate came up and Grandmother explained how it is entailed, the rule being the estate passes to the eldest child of the lord, when he passes on. Mother was older than Auntie Astoria, and I'm Mother's eldest, so if we all do everything in the correct order, eventually…"
"You'll be…" Lissette continued.
"The Heir," confirmed Iolanthe. "Of course, I would much prefer Grandfather and Mother live to be four hundred-ninety-nine and spare me all the trouble. James Greengrass, however, delights in springing that on me. Just when I think he has forgotten about it, out it comes and he keeps a straight face while he does it. I'd throttle him but throttling would be much too kind. Anything else you want explore?"
Iolanthe was referring to the complex sociology of Harry and Daphne's household, which was peculiar without question, even by magical standards, but Lissette took her literally.
"The mill stream?" she asked, the hope apparent in her voice.
"I suppose," Iolanthe replied, not really thinking about what she'd just said. Iolanthe thought of The Mill as an extension of Potter Manor. It was true it was outside the wards but there were no other habitations nearby and it was surrounded by Potter land.
"Stay there," Iolanthe said, getting up. She crossed the little space to the next large tree and sat down, leaning back against the trunk. Iolanthe propped her journal on a knee and began a sketch of Lissette. The first sketch depicted a young woman with long black hair, wearing a skirt and blouse, sitting on a log. Iolanthe watched Lissette and stopped sketching when she looked like she was tiring.
"Want to move?" asked Iolanthe.
"Yes, please," said Lissette. She stood and stepped out of her sandals before shaking out her skirt, which she gathered and held tight in one hand while she knelt, then sat down on the floor of the woods. Lissette leaned on her right hand while she pulled her legs up and let a little of her weight transfer.
"This feels good," she said.
"You've got bowtruckles," Iolanthe said. "Just so you know, they like to braid hair."
"That's fine," Lissette said.
Iolanthe worked fast so she wouldn't overtax her model, but Lissette continued to insist she was comfortable in her seated position. Iolanthe got the outlines of Lissette and the fallen tree trunk in place and started in on detail. She finished one sketch in the new position and asked if Lissette needed to move.
Getting a negative reply, she began again, saving the hair to the last so she could draw it in as a braid with the bowtruckles' signature twigs as accents.
"Done," Iolanthe said, stepping over and giving Lissette a hand up. She held out the journal.
"Merlin, you are really good!" Lissette said. "I wish I'd been sitting in the mill stream, though."
"Really?" Iolanthe asked.
"Sure," Lissette answered. "Then whenever I looked at the drawing I'd see me in my favorite place."
"Let's go," Iolanthe said. "I can't believe anyone would cause trouble over there, not after Fudge and Nott got shown the exit."
Iolanthe set a medium pace and the two witches were soon in the dooryard in front of The Mill.
"Let's sit down and see if the fairies are feeling sociable," she said, picking a spot on the bench beside the door. It wasn't long before the tiny lights were coming to the bench from the trees, shrubs and the flowers that grew in the sunny places.
"Hullo to the fairies," said Iolanthe. "How are the fairies today?"
"The fairies are well, Iolanthe and…sprite," said the voice.
"Her name is Lissette," said Iolanthe. "I thought you knew her."
"The fairies know Lissette, the sprite," said the fairies' collective voice. "Hullo Lissette."
"Hullo, fairies," said Lissette.
"Lissette will be visiting the stream," Iolanthe said. "If the fairies see no objection."
The ball of lights buzzed and buzzed. All of the fairies, except those making crowns for the witches, seemed to have migrated to the ball.
"The stream enjoys the visit from the sprite Lissette," said the ball.
Iolanthe sat still on the bench, mulling over the cryptic fairy comment. Deciding there were no warning signals embedded in the pleasantry, she stood and pulled the strap of her satchel over her shoulder.
"The fairies can join us at the bridge," Iolanthe suggested.
"The fairies are at The Mill," said the voice as the ball of lights began to disperse.
"We wish the fairies well," Iolanthe said, neither expecting nor receiving a response.
The stone bridge was an arch and did not have to span a great distance so Fabio had designed it so that most of the weight was distributed to footings well back from the stream bank. Nevertheless, he had to allow for shifting water levels and some erosion, so some substantial stones were used to protect the bank under the bridge.
Lissette dropped her skirt, blouse and sandals on the grass and walked down to the little sand bar, then out into the current. The pool was a bit deeper than it had been, undoubtedly the result of recent water action. Lissette made her way to the largest flat rock under the far bridge footing and got out of the rest of her clothes. She found the deepest spot in the pool and lay down, her hands moving just enough to hold her place. Iolanthe took out her journal and turned to a blank page.
Lissette let the current take her downstream to the bridge, little by little, black hair unfurling ahead of her, then stepped up onto the flat rock. She pulled her braid around to her front and squeezed it out before closing her eyes and lying back on the rock to take a little sun. Iolanthe kept sketching. Human artists, witches or not, seldom got a live water sprite to model for them. Iolanthe watched Lissette stand up, assumed she'd gotten dry enough to start getting dressed, and was surprised to see her leave her clothes behind and follow the stream under the bridge.
"Iolanthe, want to see something?" said Lissette's voice, coming out from under the bridge as a mellow baritone.
"What?" asked Iolanthe, standing up and walking down the bank.
"It's…I don't know," said Lissette, "Just come look."
Iolanthe looked at the bank. She didn't see any way to get to Lissette without wading so she took off her own sandals and pulled up the legs of her jeans.
"What?" she repeated, standing in the current peering into the shadow.
"Lumos," said Lissette, pointing her wand at something. The light seemed to get sucked into a void.
Iolanthe had to see it for herself and splashed over to Lissette. When she got there she could see an opening at roughly the center of the bridge, an arch in the rough stone leading back into the far bank. The stone work didn't stop under the abutments at the corners, continuing instead well along the banks beneath the bridge. The work looked almost accidental, or natural, the stones not set in any regular way, nor cemented in the joints between them. They were clearly stable, though, by appearances.
"I smell magic," Iolanthe said, almost whispering.
"Got your wand?" asked Lissette.
Iolanthe drew her wand and held it out. Lissette freshened up her own charm as Iolanthe said "Lumos."
Something Iolanthe wanted to see more clearly disappeared completely in the light from the wands.
"Nox," said Iolanthe. "You, too."
When their wands went dark and their eyes adjusted, Iolanthe started to pick out faint blue-white lights inside the grotto.
"See them?" she asked.
"Yes," said Lissette. "Some kind of glow worm, I guess."
"We're out of time, but we have to go in," Iolanthe said. "We'll keep it short today and explore properly when everything has calmed down."
Five minutes later they were standing on the bank in the sunshine. Lissette finished buttoning her blouse and gave Iolanthe a smile.
"Ready."
The witches started back to the track that would take them to Potter Manor.
"Our best to the fairies," said Iolanthe as they passed the millstone. There were a few fairies about, but not enough, apparently, to get together and make their collective voice.
It was several minutes before either of the witches felt like spoiling their recent experience with talk. Finally, Iolanthe spoke up.
"I didn't know you could sing like that," Iolanthe said as they walked along.
"I don't sing like that," Lissette said, sounding a little puzzled.
"Well, all I can say is inside there, you sang beautifully," Iolanthe said. "Seriously."
"Thank-you," Lissette said before going silent.
"Mother used to tell me, when I was a little witch, not to look too closely or the magic would go away," Iolanthe said. "However that cave got there, it wasn't the stream that made it. We aren't going to share that with anyone. If they're meant to find it, they'll find it, just like you did. Maybe you are a sprite."
Iolanthe and Rose kept several owls busy transporting suggestions for consideration back and forth in preparation for a country Saturday in July. The proposals for activities were entirely meritless and redundant, of course, Iolanthe and Rose needing nothing more than each other's company to construct a memorable summer afternoon. They did enjoy the process, though, which was the whole point of the exercise.
"So?" Rose said when they crunched down the gravel path to visit James in his exquisitely-proportioned conservatory.
"Following the news closely, for the most part," Iolanthe said. "Father's still a bit off his feed, naturally. Fudge and Fiona coming here was jarring. We can't even ramble properly."
"Well, I must say, Iolanthe Astoria, the legend was burnished the day you transported your prisoners by dragon," Rose said.
"Here we are," said Iolanthe when they reached the greenhouse. "Now, hold that thought until you're properly interrogated."
"Hey," said James when Iolanthe, Rose and Lissette walked in.
"James, what…?" asked Rose. She looked at the interior, walked out and surveyed the exterior, then stepped back inside.
"Grandmother, and her wand," James said. "What do you think?"
"It's genius," Rose said. "How big is it?"
"I'm not sure," James said. "Whenever I've put another shelf together there has been enough room for it. I don't want to sound greedy, but…it's possible it goes on forever."
"Incredible," Rose said.
"So, James," said Iolanthe, "We were advised it is time to wash up and be participants in a very civilized magical luncheon. Can you be bothered?"
"I can fit it in," James allowed.
Lunch was predictably tedious, for the most part. The food was exceptional, the weather perfect and the adults were themselves. The next generation listened and smiled when cued. Once in awhile something interesting came up, but the adults intentionally edited their conversations to keep Jacques Lafleur and his conspiracy away from the young people. After all, they did not need to be exposed to the crime and danger—those could induce nightmares.
An owl arrived with a small package for Iolanthe. Everyone stopped eating and stared as she gave the owl a substantial piece of fish for his efforts, then put the package down next to her plate.
"What?" Iolanthe asked the assembly.
"Oh, we thought you'd open it and show us what it is," Harry said. "Of course, if you don't want to…"
"Iolanthe," Daphne said, "It is perfectly alright if you want to wait to open your package in private."
Rose, who knew what Iolanthe had been expecting, covered her mouth with her hand and studied the fruit bowl in front of her plate.
"Fine," Iolanthe conceded, pointing her wand at the package. The brown paper opened up and lay flat on the table, revealing a box about four inches by six. Iolanthe removed the cover and laid it aside.
"Oooooo…" said the entire table, except for Ron Weasley.
"What is it?" the table followed up, this time including Ron.
"It's a brooch," Iolanthe said. "It's a copy of a Viking brooch from the British Museum. I found a picture post card and sent it to Anthony Goldstein. I asked him a huge favor, just an estimate of what the goblins he works with would charge to copy it in silver. It looks like he sent me a sample. Wow."
"Anthony and the goblins are always outdoing expectations," Harry said. "What do you do with it?"
"It's a fastener," Iolanthe said. "Pull something through the circle and push the little dagger down through it."
"Brilliant," Hermione said, "Very historical."
"Thank-you," Iolanthe said, pleased the premier magical scholar of the previous generation, except for Iolanthe's mother, handed her a compliment.
Lunch was followed by a walk, the purpose of which, it was explained, with superb circularity, was to walk off lunch. Evans and Davis were stuffed into slings that Harry and Ron wore, soft blankets pulled up and draped over their faces to keep the sun out of their eyes. The route wasn't planned, other than combining stretches of several lanes that totaled someplace between three and four miles.
Iolanthe, Rose and Lissette walked together, a little behind Ron, Hermione, Harry, Daphne and the twins.
"How's the knitting?" Iolanthe asked. Rose knew what she meant.
"Getting more ambitious," Rose said. "Grandma Molly thinks it is time for a sweater. You know how popular those are."
Rose was keeping her voice down, lest Ron and Hermione hear. Molly's sweaters had once been Ron's least-favorite apparel item, but he had warmed to them as the years went on.
"In some cultures…" Iolanthe began.
"None of that," Rose said. "I mean it. We don't have time right now. If you think it would be misunderstood, or misinterpreted, I'll stop knitting."
Rose thought over her remark.
"No, I probably wouldn't," she admitted. "I just wouldn't be able to give it to him. For another year. Or two."
"Rose," Iolanthe said, then stopped.
"Uh-huh?"
"Oh, you have a heart of gold," Iolanthe said, "You have the biggest heart ever, and it is pure gold."
"Well, that's nice," Rose said. "That is really nice. No wonder we get along so well."
Iolanthe strolled along, and while she was strolling she remembered something she'd been waiting to ask.
"What did you hear about the prisoners?" she demanded. Something in her voice told Rose she might as well confess, without delay.
"The gossip, don't ask how it got out, is kind of all over London," Rose said, "Well, among a certain set."
Rose was having a hard time containing her glee, that was more than clear.
"I neither confirm nor deny, of course," Rose said.
"Of course," said Iolanthe.
"I haven't said anything about the pig, either," Rose continued. "Not even to them."
She did a quick motion with her chin toward Ron and Hermione.
"That's okay," Lissette said, "But thanks anyway."
"That was extraordinary witchcraft, by the way," said Rose.
"Thank-you," Lissette whispered.
Like all good things, the walk came to an end. The Granger-Weasleys retrieved Hugo from James' conservatory, got Rose away from Iolanthe and Lissette, and apparated back to London. Tracey and Zelda returned from lunch at Morgan Le Fay's. Zelda saw the silver brooch in its box on the patio table and wanted to know everything there was to know about it.
When things settled a bit and Daphne had the twins asleep upstairs, she pulled Harry into the library/gallery and closed the door.
"You're wearing your signets," she said. "I thought you feared Lord Black's ring was cursed."
"I did," Harry said. "Phineas Nigellas convinced me to get it out and put it on. He was very kind. He convinced me I can master this ring. His words, slightly paraphrased."
"I'm going to see Tracey," Daphne said. "Don't move."
Daphne left and returned almost immediately.
"This won't take long," she said, leading Harry to the fireplace.
"Grimmauld Place," Daphne said, dropping her floo powder.
"Did the late headmaster have any particular reason for encouraging you to don the tokens of your rank and office?" Daphne asked as they exited the fireplace in her study.
"He did, as a matter of fact," Harry said. "I am the head of two noble houses, my people need to see me exerting leadership, and, somewhat mysteriously, Phineas Nigellas said challenges lie ahead and I can't know what kind of help I will need. He also, notably, did not say the Black signet is not cursed, just that I can master it."
Daphne looked at Walburga, Harry following her gaze. Walburga's eyes were wide open. Daphne pulled out a drawer in the top section of her desk and removed a smaller version of Harry's ring.
"The Blacks make similar provision for your lady, Lord Black," Daphne said, handing over the ring. "Madame so informed me when I first came in here as Mrs. Potter. She felt strongly I should claim this ring, my titles and rights. I told her it would be presumptuous of me to get out ahead of my lord. According to the ancient and sacred ways of our people I am your property. If it is my lord's pleasure to claim me."
Daphne looked down as she held her right hand out to Harry. Sizing up the ring, and Daphne's hand, Harry slid the ring onto her little finger. Of course it was a perfect fit. Daphne felt the ring seat against her hand and gasped as she drew in her first breath as Lady Black. Her lungs filled with the air of the family seat, and she felt the power of a thousand years of ferocious Black magic racing with her blood to every cell in her body. Heart thumping, she looked at her lord, her eyes flashing as the amber tried to break through the blue-gray ice. Harry held her gaze while he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her ring.
"We are two souls, with one fate," Daphne declared, lips pulled back, her teeth bared. "My wand, my heart and my body are yours. Promise you will use me when the time comes."
"Daphne, I…"
"I will not bear the shame of losing you to an enemy while I live, Harry Potter, so PROMISE ME!"
"I promise I will use you, when the time comes," Harry said, "Merlin preserve us both."
"Much better, my lord," said Daphne.
"Kreacher!" Harry called, and the elf appeared. "Two firewhiskies, neat."
Harry kept staring straight ahead, Daphne's blue-gray irises suddenly deep caves leading back, back through time and space to the unknowable beginning, and perhaps beyond that.
Kreacher disapparated and returned almost immediately, a silver tray and two generous portions of firewhiskey in hand. Harry took them both from the tray handing one to Daphne.
"Thank-you," he said.
"Lord Harry, Lady Daphne," Kreacher said, bowing himself out the door.
"Shall we drink to 'Two Souls, One Fate' since it seems to be the connective tissue of our lives?" Harry said.
"Nothing could give me more pleasure and fulfillment right now, my lord," Daphne said, her voice soft, like down. They linked their right arms and threw down the whiskey. Harry looked at Daphne, and Daphne looked at him. They were essentially the same height so neither looked up nor down. The moment stretched on, and on, arms still linked as if they possessed independent wills. They did break away, just, and fell into a clinch, complete with a long, long kiss.
"We could have planned this better," Harry murmured, his lips next to Daphne's ear. "I'm desperate to escort you upstairs."
"We'll be back," Daphne said. "Meanwhile you may return me to Devon, and when you get upstairs you will take Lady Potter."
Harry turned so that both he and Daphne faced Walburga's portrait.
"Madame, we have a French usurper, a breaker of oaths on our island, and he is a nuisance to magical Britain. When we face him we will fight for Merlin, and the honor of the Blacks!" Harry said, getting a bit wound up.
"Hurrah!" shouted Walburga. "Finally! A Black warlord worthy of the name. No quarter, Harry Potter, none asked, none given. A nod to your beautiful consort as well. There is fire inside there."
"As I well know, Madame," Harry said. "The cool exterior is just that, but for her discipline as a Slytherin I would be scorched for standing this close."
"You'd best be off, then, and tend those little Blacks of yours," Walburga said, as she turned to speak to Daphne. "Best to Kendra, dear. We are all with you, from beginning to end, do you remember?"
"I do, Madame," Daphne said. "I do. Every day of my life."