Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three
Iolanthe
Chapter Fifty-Five
The Trials of Leadership
Iolanthe made a decision during second year to ask Professor Bulstrode for a favor. When the time came to identify prefects she did not want to be considered. Iolanthe had several reasons—her prioritization of academics, the time she devoted to her exercise program outside of class, and her wish not to be seen as getting special treatment from someone who had been one of her carers from infancy.
Millicent respected Iolanthe's choice. She didn't try to convince her to change her mind, much as she would have appreciated Iolanthe's help managing Slytherin House. Rose, on the other hand, was an obvious Gryffindor prefect-in-waiting from the fall term of first year. Not only was she Hermione Granger-Weasley's daughter, she was a scholar, and a natural fit for the witches' study group. Rose went beyond mastering her own subjects with her study partner Iolanthe. When their work was done she was always ready to tutor, time permitting, anyone who was struggling.
Iolanthe and Rose were separated during a good part of the journey to Hogwarts at the start of their fifth year. Rose sat in the prefects' coach at the beginning of the trip. The Head Boy and Head Girl each had a presentation on duties for beginning of term. These started on the Hogwarts Express and continued until all the new students were theoretically tucked in for the evening at lights out.
Iolanthe conscripted Zelda as a traveling companion and made a tour of the entire train. The Slytherins had gotten to the end car in force and their overwhelming presence brought a gradual retreat of most of the other houses' students, the odd sweetheart, sibling or cousin excepted. Zelda held immunity because of the universal athlete's brotherhood and sisterhood that wiped away all other considerations except on the field. The largest clump of Slytherin quidditch players stood when the two entered the compartment, demanding that Zelda favor them with her presence. "Go, Zelda, GO!" was heard from somewhere. Iolanthe squeezed Zelda's shoulder and left her to charm her sweaty friends, then walked on down the aisle.
She recognized a few Black cousins and started her rounds with them. That led to introductions to those in the vicinity whom Iolanthe didn't know. Iolanthe worked the whole car, shaking hands, asking about summers, accepting a sweet when offered. She looked over at Zelda from time to time. At least one Slytherin quidditch player always seemed to be demonstrating some kind of flying maneuver with their hands, and Zelda looked transfixed. Iolanthe wondered if it were possible for Zelda Davis to be involved so deeply in another player's flying stories. Maybe she was just naturally polite while inside the circle.
Iolanthe picked Zelda up as she was heading out of the car.
"Want to go find Scorpius?" Iolanthe asked.
"Of course," Zelda said, standing up. The Slytherins made a point of shaking hands and wishing Zelda good luck on the pitch, except in her matches versus Slytherin.
Iolanthe and Zelda continued their greeting protocol out in the corridor
"Hullo, Hester," Iolanthe said as she and Zelda turned sideways to let a couple of witches pass. She noticed once again the Ravenclaw's green eyes.
"Iolanthe," said Hester Carrow, "Zelda. Been flying?"
"Every day," said Zelda. "Drills. Have to stay low, unfortunately. Ready for school?"
"Not really," Hester said. "I was having a good time being off."
The witches got around one another and went in separate directions. Hester Carrow looked so familiar to Iolanthe in profile. She wondered how they'd gotten through Hester's entire first and second years without becoming acquainted.
Rose did have some time available as the train was crossing northern England, so Iolanthe and Zelda managed to get their Rose fix. Scorpius joined them for a fine, wide-ranging scholarly chat that touched on a cornucopia of subjects. Everyone finished with the radiant glow that confirms one's intellect has been freshly scrubbed and buffed to Newtonian tolerances.
The Hogwarts Express began slowing down for its arrival at Hogsmeade Station and Rose popped up, ready for prefect duties. These would continue through the sorting, the beginning of term feast and the shepherding of the first years to the dorms.
When the sorting ended and dinner commenced inside the Great Hall, Zelda and Rose sat next to one another on a Gryffindor bench.
"What do you think?" Zelda asked Rose, flicking her eyes toward a pair of newly-sorted Gryffindors.
"Good crop, overall," Rose answered. "Some potential showing. What they choose to do with it is a separate matter."
"That's true," said Zelda. "Look at me."
"Oh, Zelda," Rose said. "You were born a star. Here, eat, you've got a quidditch season looming over you."
Two tables over, Iolanthe was assessing the new Slytherins just as Rose and Zelda were sizing up the Gryffindors. Scorpius sat next to Iolanthe, a sounding board for Iolanthe's observations, although one with the right to share a perspective.
"Who's that little googly-eyed witch? Ever see her before?" Iolanthe whispered. The witch wasn't really googly-eyed, but she did wear large-ish round-framed glasses that magnified her orbits.
Scorpius cleared his throat.
"Who is that lovely petite witch with the fashionable frames?" Iolanthe asked, adjusting. "Ever see her before? We probably should introduce ourselves."
"Perhaps, seeing no one seems to want anything to do with her," said Scorpius. "This is the first day of…however that goes."
Iolanthe assessed what was needed for the operation and formulated a plan. Walter Goyle was almost directly across from her. Walter Goyle really liked doing things for Iolanthe, for some reason. Iolanthe did not normally exploit this proclivity of Goyle's, but the little, formerly googly-eyed first year was missing out. Iolanthe leaned over the table and motioned to Goyle.
"Walter," she whispered, "I'm going to invite that first year to move. She's not meeting anyone. Can you slide a bit my way and I'll put her there next to you and across from Scorpius? She's so little, you won't be crowded."
Goyle was sliding before Iolanthe got the attention of the little witch. When she did, she motioned the witch to come and take the seat.
"Come on," she encouraged the witch. "We've got room. Come over here and meet some people."
The witch looked down and Iolanthe thought she was going to refuse, but she swung her leg over the bench, stood, and picked up her plate and silverware. While she made her way to the spot Iolanthe mouthed 'Thank-you,' to Goyle.
"Iolanthe," said Iolanthe, extending her hand as soon as the new witch sat down. "You're sitting next to Walter, and this is Scorpius. Welcome to Slytherin."
"You're all…" said the witch.
"Fifth-years," the three answered together.
"Do you have a…" Scorpius stopped, suddenly aware of how nosy that sounded.
"Can we get you more of the roast beef, ahhhhh…" said Iolanthe, taking over.
"Bridget," said the witch. "O'Brien. From Cork."
"Cork?" repeated Goyle. "I have cousins in Cork."
"You must be American, then? Every Irish American claims cousins in Cork. They descend every summer, looking for cousins," Bridget said.
"Just Cork?" Scorpius asked.
"What do you like to do, Bridget?" asked Iolanthe.
Bridget hadn't gotten past Scorpius' odd question.
"I guess," she said, "Where else would they look?"
"Dublin?" asked Iolanthe, Scorpius and Walter Goyle in unison.
"Dublin barely qualifies as Irish," Bridget sniffed, dismissing the very idea.
"Okay," said Iolanthe, making a mental note to do a little reading-in on Ireland to save herself further embarrassment. "What do you like to do? Magically, or generic, since either one works?"
"My gran taught me a few spells," she said, "How to fill a glass from a pitcher using my wand, sweep up and scrub the kitchen floor after meals, wash a window, boil water for tea. I can make a potion for a cold. I liked doing all of that."
"Great," said Iolanthe. "Got any hobbies?"
"Keeping my room clean," said Bridget.
"Reading?" Iolanthe asked.
"I can read," Bridget said. "After lessons, though, there isn't a lot of time."
"Do you like lessons?" asked Scorpius.
"If they don't go on too long," Bridget said.
"Spoken like a true Slytherin," said Walter, putting puzzled faces on his housemates.
James and Moira were sitting across from one another at the Hufflepuff table, in a scrum of second, third and fourth-years, all of whom seemed to be talking at once. The hyper-social 'Puffs it seemed were all bent on both describing what they had been doing and finding out what their housemates had been doing without need of separation between the two disciplines. James struggled against the dissonance that at times threatened him with a disabling dose of vertigo. Moira kept her face turned toward her plate and imagined she was sitting, drifting in her boat, a hand line over the side, going up and down on slow, perfect swells.
Moira looked up from her plate and saw James looking at her from across the table. She gave him a big smile.
"Welcome back," she said. He could barely hear her in the cacophony.
"Isn't it lovely?" he asked. He'd heard a phrase somewhere: Easy to look at. That was Moira, at least for him. James reflected on how much he had missed that smile.
"Runes?" James asked, figuring anything else wouldn't get through anyway.
"Uh-huh," said Moira. "Lots."
James held her eyes, but there wasn't any more coming.
"Good," he finally said, nodding. "Glad to hear it."
Doom was not imminent, it seemed. Surely she would have told him.
The great wave of feasting conversation gradually quieted down. Cake, ice cream and strawberry shortcake were well underway when the headmistress gave her welcoming speech and announcements. Her timing was perfect, as always, and only the most desultory eaters had to scramble to finish up before dismissal.
"This way," said Rose as she helped shepherd first years to the Gryffindor Tower common room.
"This way," said Iolanthe as she slipped her arm into Bridget's to conduct her to the conclave of Slytherins heading down to the dungeons.
"Which way?" asked James. He had a short arrival message ready to send by owl, but if Moira was headed to the dorm it could wait until morning.
"Common Room? Welcome the new students?" Moira said.
James waved his little piece of parchment.
"I can owl this in the morning," he said. "You should do one too."
"Not a lot to tell," said Moira. "Mum brought me by side-along and practically deposited me in the carriage. So I made it from Hogsmeade to the front doors."
"I'm glad you're here," said James, trying to convey assured sincerity.
One of the upper class Hufflepuffs heard the last of the exchange.
"So," he said, "This business survived the summer with you two at opposite ends of the country?"
Before James could say anything Moira took the floor.
"Not really your concern," she advised. "But, yes, it did. Go forth and spread the word, if you feel compelled."
The student turned red and disappeared into the crowd.
"Wow," said James. He looked around. "We need to talk."
"We do," Moira said. "Just not tonight. If we coordinate the Owlery tomorrow sometime, do you promise not to lead me astray like last time?"
"Promise," said James.
"Good. Now it looks like the Hufflepuffs need us to make the newbies welcome, if you're up for that," Moira said.
The Slytherins had convened in the common room that stretched out beneath the lake. Millicent Bulstrode gave her talk about Salazar Slytherin and the ideals of Slytherin House. She required mutual respect among the Slytherins regardless of age, gender or blood status. That rule was non-negotiable. If anyone had complaints about anything else, she held regular office hours and she would be glad to hear their views. She did not like to hear about one Slytherin contradicting another in class discussions and had a particularly low tolerance for it when it happened in a double class with another house. Slytherin solidarity took precedence over academic dispute. If the disagreement merited, the students could come to her and she would moderate a debate before the house. Be advised she had a rule, if any two students wanted to debate the point, she would formulate the resolution and convene the house. Just before time commenced the parties would draw lots to determine which position they would support, Pro or Con, and would have to show up equally well-prepared for either.
With that, Millicent turned the young men over to their prefects and withdrew with the witches to young, dewy Walburga's portrait. Millicent told the newcomers a bit about Walburga Black, how in life she had been recognized as one of the most skilled witches in Britain, and her place in Slytherin history. Walburga's portrait still watched over the witches of Slytherin House, and in return, the witches held her in the highest esteem. Each new class was introduced when they arrived so Madame Walburga would be able to keep track of her charges.
"This is the most fun thing all year," Iolanthe advised Bridget.
There was only one other first year witch in Slytherin, a Londoner with rosy cheeks and a haircut that could have been a clone of Tracey's.
"Cordelia MacMillan, Madame," she said in a fluty voice as she dropped into a very gracious curtsy. "So honored to be introduced."
"Welcome to Slytherin House, dear," said Walburga's portrait. "I hope you enjoy being here with us. Were you studying formally before this year?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Cordelia. "Miss Annabelle's School for Young Witches, in London."
"I thought I heard a Miss Annabelle accent," Walburga said, obviously in full accord with Annabelle's results. "Elocution was so important when I was a girl and now it is most out of fashion. Have a good year."
Entry interview concluded, Cordelia curtsied once more and returned to the group.
"And we only have one more first-year witch tonight, Madame," said Millicent as she waved Bridget over.
"Bridget O'Brien, Madame," Bridget said, nearly forgetting to curtsy and doing a clumsy job of it when she remembered.
"And where do you hail from, Bridget?" asked Walburga.
"Cork, ma'am," said Bridget.
"Cork? I wonder how long it has been since we've had someone from Cork? Professor?"
"I can't remember anyone, Madame," said Millicent. "There have been both witches and wizards from Ireland but I don't remember anyone from Cork."
"Well," said Madame. "No matter. You are a Slytherin now, Miss O'Brien. We'll give you the tools to do anything you want in life, all you have to do is pick them up. Slytherin House is honored to have Cork represented. Have a good year."
"Thank-you, Madame," Bridget said before rejoining Iolanthe.
Iolanthe reached around to Bridget's shoulder and pulled her tight, then let her go with a, "Good job."
Millicent announced the end of the traditional introduction ceremony and the prefects took charge of Bridget and Cordelia.
"Thanks," said Bridget as she waved good-bye to Iolanthe.
When everyone had left, Iolanthe went to her room and got Astoria's copy of the Odyssey. She was headed to the common room for a little fireside time and stopped to say hello to Walburga.
"Kind of thin this year," the portrait observed.
"Maybe we got quality, not quantity," Iolanthe noted.
"There's no rule that says we can't have both," Walburga came back.
"True," acknowledged Iolanthe. "I didn't get a chance to meet Cordelia but Bridget appears to have some potential. First impressions, of course."
"They've all got potential, or we wouldn't get them. I'll be honest and concede that Godric's hat knows its business," said Walburga. "How is your cousin Zelda?"
"Great," said Iolanthe. "We were together on the train. I took her to our car and the quidditch team mobbed her. Our quidditch team! They even wished her good luck, except when Gryffindor is playing Slytherin."
"And your father?"
"Father isn't his old self, Madame," Iolanthe admitted. "I don't know if he ever will be. He seems fine, physically. Mother has gotten him appointments with all the specialists. No one is supposed to be up walking around after what he went through, and she thinks that might be an issue. There are no standard treatments because there have never been any patients."
Walburga liked the way Iolanthe put the Potter dilemma and stifled a laugh. Iolanthe caught the bug and didn't stifle hers, so they enjoyed it together.
"He got the red belt out of it, so he really is Master Harry now," Iolanthe went on.
"A fat lot of good a red belt will do him if his gizzard is fried," said the suddenly disputatious Walburga.
"He credits his signet with making a significant contribution to his victory over Lestrange," said Iolanthe. "He doesn't dwell, but you and the late headmaster also figure prominently, up here."
Iolanthe tapped her temple with her finger.
"Yes," she went on, "When you made him a Black warlord you put cement in his spine. Mother's as well. She accepted her Black signet from Master Harry and the experience was transformative, she tells me. Lady Daphne has taken me with her to pay calls on our Black cousins. She blesses the witches and children and kisses every baby she comes across. She's owling little bunches of herbs to the sisters as gifts on the Old Holidays. She's a phenomenon."
Walburga seemed to swell up inside her frame, two-dimensional or not.
"THAT sounds like a true Lady Black, dear," she said.
"Don't I know it," replied Iolanthe. "I'll consider myself lucky if I'm mentioned in the same breath as her, not that I deserve it."
"SHUSH!" ordered Walburga, turning up the heat. "Of course you deserve it. You haven't even finished school, think what you'll be when you've had a little seasoning. You're a Black, and a Slytherin through and through."
"Madame," said Iolanthe, "There's a reason I love our chats. With your permission…"
Iolanthe curtsied and walked to the common room with Homer.
Rose and Iolanthe had been working their way through their fifth-year textbooks for several weeks before they actually arrived at Hogwarts. They knew their study time would be more constricted than ever. Rose would be doing prefect duties, taking turns on corridor patrol, attending meetings and so on. Iolanthe had study group, monitoring all her Black cousins, her exercise program and two competing interests: Healing and magical creatures.
Iolanthe knew the time was coming when she would have to make a decision about narrowing the scope of her studies to focus on one principal field. Much as she loved her animal friends, she also felt drawn to healing. She was aware she was probably mirroring Daphne, who had influenced her more than any other single human being. Did that matter? For as long as Iolanthe could remember, Daphne had been coming home from work aglow with the pride and satisfaction she got from spending time with a broken witch or wizard and treating them for whatever mental malady was tormenting them, seeing them stabilize, then the beginnings of progress, until, Merlin willing, they walked out the door and back to the family, whole once more.
Daphne and the young Iolanthe had spent many hours together, doing chores, cleaning up, one sitting on a wooden stool while the other was in the tub, just talking about all the magical phenomena that could accidentally or intentionally cause a witch or wizard harm. Once she learned of Harry's close call in Knockturn Alley, Iolanthe returned to the subject again and again, whenever a new question about the injury or its treatment occurred to her. She'd seen his scars every time they'd gone swimming, even talked to Harry about it. It had taken years to work her mind around the idea that her father, who she imagined was an alloy of iron, magic and muscle, had been so vulnerable. Eventually, Ralph Mann, Healer Merlin and Daphne Greengrass Potter had all taken on miracle worker status in young Iolanthe's mind, since the curse that had gotten to her powerful father would have killed a lesser man, and even Harry had needed extraordinary luck and magic to recover.
Iolanthe, at fifteen, was definitely feeling the pull. When she was on the pitch in the morning going through her workout routine she used one part of her mind to count, pushups, sprints or laps around, and another part to meditate on healing. Did she have a vocation? It was time to make an appointment with Madame Pomfrey.
On the day after their arrival for fall term, the Hufflepuff third years had a free period just before lunch. Normally, when an entire year of a house was free, the Head would schedule a house meeting or come up with something to keep the group from reaching critical mass. Idle minds, et cetera. Divine Providence found some way to leave Moira and James at liberty for one period on their first day of classes, and James knew it was not good to look too closely at the magic, lest it go away. The empty Owlery was truly bonus magic.
"First things first," James said, stopping in front of one of the Black owls. "Take this to Mum and Dad?"
The owl gave an answering hoot. James imagined it was saying, "Sure, why not?"
"Are you a regular with any of these folks?" James asked Moira.
"No," she said, "Any of the school owls will do."
James looked around.
"I don't see a school owl," he said, "Here."
He held out his hand.
"Know the way to St. Magnus?" he asked one of the Black owls, holding up Moira's parchment roll. That owl also hooted in the affirmative.
"How many owls do you have?" Moira asked.
"None," James replied. "They're Black owls. When Dad inherited his title. Let's see. I'll start over. Dad inherited a title. He didn't want it because it came to him when his godfather, the only real family he had left, was killed in a fight with some Death Eaters. Some land came with it, and it makes a little money, so Dad, as a memorial to his godfather, uses it for the benefit of all the Blacks. He had an owl that he really loved, but it was killed, too, so he wanted to make sure the Blacks, which you could call his unintentional family, could always write home. That's the reason for the Black owls."
"Huh," said Moira. "Two years at Hogwarts and I never heard of that."
"I guess we learn something every day," said James. "Now. I heard something I want to pass on. It is working for some people we know, so I believe we can make it work for us.
"I like you. I have a feeling you like me. I don't mind if you say it or don't say it, so don't feel pressured. The point is we don't go any further and get ourselves distracted. We don't have to talk about it all the time or get ahead of ourselves while we need to stay focused. If either of us changes their mind we promise to have the courtesy to say so and not let the other find out by accident."
"Oh, James," Moira said, as she all but jumped to grab him. "Of course I like you. Do you think we can we put the other things off for at least another year or two?"
"I don't think we have much of a choice," said James. "It would probably be best to finish at least third year before, you know…"
He actually giggled.
"We have a lot of work ahead of us if we want to go out on our own and earn our way and we'll be able to concentrate if we decide together this is fine for now. If you're agreeable?"
"Done," said Moira. She let him go and stepped back a good three feet, making her just another student come to the Owlery to send a message.
They kept their voices down as they descended the steps because the stone staircases and corridors were notorious for conveying voices in conversation. Even so, they stuck to innocuous topics.
"Where is your boat?"
"Out of the water," said Moira. "Bottom up, getting scraped, patched and re-tarred. When that is done they'll put a big piece of oiled canvas over it until just before I get home in June. Who takes care of your greenhouse when you're away?"
"There is a group of outdoor elves that started working for Grandfather Fabio, then expanded when Teddy's business got bigger than he could handle alone, then again for me," said James. "They'll keep up with the fresh fruit and veg as long as this crop lasts. Around December everything will be finished and they'll take the dead plants to the compost. I'll start the new sets at Easter break. The herbs are different. Rosemary is a shrub. All they have to do is water it."
"No one has a greenhouse on St. Magnus," Moira said. "I wonder why?"
"Good question," said James. "We need fresh food. Do you get a lot of hail? Anything that would make greenhouses impractical? There have to be charms for that."
"I'll look into it," Moira said. "Could be an opportunity."
"Good thinking," said James. "Lunch? I'll buy."
"Will you? But what will you expect in return?" Moira asked. "I'll pay my own way, thank-you."
"I respect your independence," James said.
Hogwarts settled into its fall term rhythm. Zelda became the Gryffindor seeker, the position on which she'd always set her sights. She was a great success but was missed in goal. Several other students, all good flyers, were given their chance but none had the goal-killing instinct of Zelda Davis. On the positive side, everyone including Zelda admitted the Gryffindor matches were much more exciting without every opponent facing shutout ignominy from the opening whistle.
James and Zelda still celebrated the first two birthdays of the fall term. Iolanthe exercised her usual creativity in selecting birthday gifts. At breakfast on James' birthday, Iolanthe made her way to the Hufflepuff table with a box tied up with black and yellow ribbon. James and Moira were in their usual places in the middle.
"Moira," Iolanthe said in greeting.
"Iolanthe," Moira replied.
They studied one another's faces for a few beats.
"For James," Iolanthe said as she gave her package a little shake. A muffled clanking sounded.
"So I see," said Moira. Neither one wanted to look away first.
"James, I think Iolanthe has something for you," Moira said, breaking the impasse.
"Happy birthday, James," Iolanthe said, depositing the package on James' plate before putting him in a hammerlock and making him submit to a kiss to the top of his head.
"Thank-you," James said, reaching around Iolanthe's waist and pulling her tight. He reached for the package as they disentangled.
"Merlin!" James exclaimed as he folded back the box's flaps. Inside was a set of three gardening tools, a large trowel, a short-handled hoe and a three-tined fork. The handles were hefty, man-sized oaken items with 'JGP' burned into the wood. The tools were steel, one piece, and polished to the point they could have been mistaken for platinum. They had been hand-forged, the dimples from the hammer blows still showing where the steel had been heated and drawn out on the anvil. The raw steel had a very thin coating of oil to protect it from rust.
James took out the fork and handed it across the table to Moira, who took it and turned it over, looking at it from every angle. She held the handle while testing the mounting to see if there was any give or wobble. There wasn't.
"If you don't lose them you'll never have to buy another," Moira said to James. "I doubt you can wear them out."
"Where?" Moira asked, turning to Iolanthe.
"Me, the woodlanders and a goblin," Iolanthe replied. Moira nodded, but didn't go further.
James looked at the staff table to see if Professor Longbottom was at breakfast. Neville noticed and raised his hands in a 'What?' gesture. James held up the trowel. Neville smiled and got up from his seat.
"What do we have?" he asked as he arrived.
"Hullo, Professor Longbottom," said James, Iolanthe and Moira together.
"A little birthday gift from Iolanthe," James said as he handed over the trowel.
"Merlin, I guess so," said Neville. "Feel that balance. Initials burned right into the wood. No problem identifying your tools if they walk away. I'd lock them up anyway."
Neville turned to Iolanthe. "Did you design these?" he asked.
Iolanthe nodded Yes.
"Happy birthday, James," Neville said. "And well done, Iolanthe. You might want to start your own line of gardening supplies."
"Every magical gardener would have to have a set, I imagine," said Iolanthe as a little speculation crept into her voice. The outlandish nature of Iolanthe's surmise caught up with everyone. Even Moira smiled.
Iolanthe's gift to Zelda was also an original. She had drawn up a fanciful dragon with a snitch clutched in a forehand. Anthony Goldstein's goblin contacts had worked from the drawing to create a substantial sterling silver pin for Zelda to wear on a dress or blazer lapel. Zelda was ecstatic, as usual.
"It's us, isn't it?" she gushed as she clutched Iolanthe.
"I don't know," said Iolanthe, "Why do you say that?"
"The snitch is me, for quidditch, and the dragon, of course…"
"OH!" said Iolanthe as she caught on at last. "I'm the dragon. For Gorr, I take it?"
"Very good," said Zelda. "I have to wear it. Where?"
"I wouldn't put it on the robe, it could get caught on something and fall off and you wouldn't even know it," said Iolanthe.
"Here," said Rose. She reached for Zelda's Gryffindor necktie, ran the pin through the silk and fastened the clasp. Then she touched the dragon with her wand.
"A little sticking charm and…"
"Tie clasp," said Iolanthe.
"If you don't have to take the tie off for anything today, dueling or whatever, leave it alone. Otherwise you can loosen the knot and just pull it over your head," Rose concluded.
Iolanthe picked a day to give herself a deadline for asking for an appointment with Madame Pomfrey, otherwise she suspected she would procrastinate in order to put off her decision.
"Come in, Miss Potter, sit down," Madame Pomfrey said when Iolanthe arrived at her office. "Tea? How is your mother? When you write you must remind her she owes me a visit, at her convenience of course. Everything fine with you? No complaints?"
"No, Madame Pomfrey," said Iolanthe. "I came for some counseling. I've always been interested in healing, which was probably inevitable for Daphne Potter's daughter, and I realize I have to make a decision."
"Iolanthe, how nice of you to consider our profession," Madame Pomfrey said. "I'm thrilled when any young witch or wizard with your gifts thinks of healing. What can I do to encourage you to dig a little deeper? I sense you're at the speculative stage."
"Exactly," said Iolanthe. "The question is do I want to do it or not? I'm starting fifth year so how do I find the answer?"
"You come in and work with me," said Madame Pomfrey. "We start with simple things like wand work around the ward, keeping everything clean, tidy and organized, learning the uses of all the standard potions, helping me at the patients' bedsides. Theory is reading and tutorials with me. You get credit by examination as in any other class."
"Oh," said Iolanthe. "How do I sign up?"
"You just did, if you want to start," Madame Pomfrey assured her. "It's early enough in the term, and I only have two other students. Do you have room in your schedule?"
Iolanthe did not really have room in her schedule but she thought she could squeeze in one period daily with Madame Pomfrey and she'd use her organizing prowess to manage the reading outside class. The additional course required conferences with Professors Bulstrode and McGonagall, both of whom advised her they would be consulting regularly with Madame Pomfrey and would not hesitate to pull her out until next term if she showed signs of having taken on more than she could handle.
"I hear you're starting another class," Hugo said the next morning as they were warming up on the quidditch pitch.
"Word travels fast around here," said Iolanthe. "I'll adjust. It will work."
"Healing's useful," Hugo said, "Unlike, for example, runes."
"Hey, I can think of some toes you're stepping on there, future auror," said Iolanthe, "You know whose, too. I must confess, though, I'll leave runes to Grandmother and Moira."
"Oh, dragon scat. We really are going to get her, aren't we?" Iolanthe was caught completely off guard by the thought, which had struck with such certainty. To get her disciplined mind back she dropped into a starting position and took off across the grass on her first wind sprint of the morning.
Something told her it was already a done deal. Right under her nose! She had not seen that coming. Odd. Iolanthe had had great success controlling everything going on inside her orbit for fifteen years, including dragons and adders. Who did that little banshee think she was, flying in from her barnacle-encrusted rock to bedazzle Iolanthe's brother? Who did she think she was dealing with?
Iolanthe was subject to those kinds of unproductive musings for as long as it took to get herself into a good sweat, then she hit a plateau where clear thinking dominated. What if Moira made James happy? Was it even relevant that something about her rubbed Iolanthe the wrong way? Did every female in close proximity have to be a perfect fit for her as Rose was? Iolanthe didn't want to spoil something so agreeable for James, did she? Iolanthe resolved to make her peace with Moira and the whole situation.
Two things occurred to her when she reached her conclusion. She had no idea how to go about keeping her resolution to make peace. Nor did she know if Moira had any interest in making peace with her.
For their part, Moira and James felt a great sense of relief once they had come to their understanding. Secure in the knowledge their feelings were reciprocal and they had a common goal, both were free to do all their mutual business over three meals a day and get on with their educations outside of meal time. James spent about half of each day in the greenhouses, either in a formal herbology class, working independently or as an assistant to Professor Longbottom or Professor Emeritus Sprout. Moira thrived in all of her practical classes—herbology, runes and potions. History and Theory of Magic were her personal bedevilments.
She was born to fish, with a natural attraction to hard physical work and tangible results regardless of the area of effort. Moira and Zelda were alike in that regard. Both were oriented toward action and not inclined to reflection. Moira raised the issue at their first study session of the term.
"We aren't natural historians," Moira began.
"I know," said Zelda. "What do you think we should do?"
"Find a way to make it fun?" Moira tried.
"I don't know about that," Zelda said, "I can't fly a history book."
"Do you like drills? We could each identify the main points of each lesson and do Q and A," Moira said.
"We have to try something," Zelda said, "Start somewhere. Might as well be drills."
By the first of October the Hogwarts Potters and their associates were well-settled-in to their fall term schedules. Iolanthe didn't find working a few hours a week in the hospital ward to be a burden. Far from it. Madame Pomfrey started everyone out at the bottom, her theory being they wouldn't need an explanation for certain things later on if they'd seen how it all fit from the beginning. Iolanthe was giving some time without any further burden on her intellectual capacities.
James and Moira didn't need to see one another all the time because they had worked out their understanding of where they stood. Their deal meant they were free to pursue classes and activities whether in one another's company or not, because they'd sit down to a meal together soon and catch up.
Rose kept a close eye on Iolanthe. When Iolanthe stumbled the previous year, it was her first experience with a set of challenges that combined to slow her usual stately progress. Iolanthe hadn't liked the feeling that there was any conceivable circumstance that could impede her. Rose watched carefully because she feared Iolanthe might have set herself up for a repeat when she added her Healer studies to her schedule. Rose thought at the time that Iolanthe ought to drop one subject and come back to it later if she thought it truly critical.
Iolanthe's plan was to get through fall term with her full schedule then adjust for spring term, if she wanted to stay in the Healer curriculum. Iolanthe was quite open and honest with Rose.
"You will get me through this," she said. "You're critical to my plan for eventual mastery. I'm all over the place but you have perfect instincts for finding the critical ideas in all the dross. Just don't let me put pressure on you or hold you responsible for my success."
"Of course not," Rose said, "How such an idea even came to be formed is beyond me."
"I knew you'd understand," said Iolanthe.
Cordelia and Bridget didn't take up much of Iolanthe's time, other than being available at dinner, should they wish to sit nearby. They did, a surprising number of times. Iolanthe thought they'd prefer sitting with second or third-years, due to being closer in age. Those cohorts were quite happy keeping to themselves, though, so the two first-year witches often landed with Iolanthe and Scorpius. Walter Goyle wasn't exactly a regular, but he did make appearances.
"How's the roast beef?" Iolanthe asked Goyle one evening.
Goyle worked his wad of meat to one side and said "Good" out the other.
"Want some?" Goyle added, reaching for the platter.
Most forms of meat repelled Iolanthe, who had made friends with so many kinds of animals that consuming flesh felt like cannibalism.
"I couldn't do it justice," Iolanthe told him, trying to enhance her feeble excuse with a passable tone of regret.
"Perhaps these Slytherins here?" Iolanthe went on, looking at Bridget and Cordelia.
"I don't eat a lot of meat," Cordelia said in her perfect, fluty tones.
"Thank-you," said Bridget, reaching for the serving fork.
Goyle held the platter steady while Bridget helped herself to two good-sized slices of prime beef.
Iolanthe watched Bridget carefully from that moment forward. Bridget's size and her comments about things she liked to do were a bit off, or so Iolanthe suspected. Whose pastime is cleaning their room? If you like your spaces clean and tidy that's one thing. Iolanthe was all in favor. At the same time, Iolanthe liked other things, like observing dragons, getting to know the wildlife in and around Potter Manor, documenting the activities of water sprites.
"Not constructive, Potter," she told herself. "Don't get distracted."
Iolanthe and Rose walked and talked their way out of the castle one crisp October day and encountered Bridget on a stone bench with her charms book and wand.
"What's up, Bridget?" Iolanthe asked. "Do you know Rose?"
"Trying to charm this match," Bridget said, "No, I'm Bridget O'Brien."
Rose took Bridget's hand and said, "Rose Granger-Weasley. Delighted."
Bridget's eyes widened a little when Rose introduced herself. Her round-framed glasses made it look like they widened a lot. Rose didn't mention it. Bridget didn't look like she could help it.
"What's the charm?" Rose asked, appraising Bridget's wand as she spoke. "Match to darning needle? Match lit without striking? Levitate the match?"
"Darning needle," said Bridget.
"Let's see your wand," Rose said. She held Bridget's wand in her two hands, turning it over, looking at it from every angle. She wrapped the wand in a fold of her robe and gave it a little rub, took it out and inspected it, put it back and rubbed it again.
"What's going on, fella?" Rose asked when she'd gotten the wand buffed to her satisfaction. "Don't feel the magic? Well, you'll get there. Miss Bridget is patient. Give yourself time."
"Okay, say the enchantment out loud," Rose directed.
"Incendio Trans…" was as far as Bridget got before looking down at her textbook.
"Incendio Transmutis," said Rose. "Repeat."
"Incendio Transmutis," Bridget said.
"Once more?" said Rose, reaching down and closing Bridget's book.
"Incendio Transmutis," Bridget repeated.
"You need a darning needle but all you have is a match. It's important that you transform the match into the needle. You can't fail. You need to get to darning. You take a deep breath, see the needle in front of you and speak the enchantment…Incendio Transmutis," Rose said as she gave the tip of Bridget's wand a little bobble over the match, which instantly changed into a darning needle.
"Very good," Rose said to the borrowed wand. "Help her out, for me? Please?"
She handed the wand back.
"Now I have a needle," said Bridget.
"Try changing it back," Rose said.
"Uh…" said Bridget.
"Learn everything with its reversing spell or charm," said Rose. "It saves a whole lot of frustration. Plus, if a spell goes seriously off the rails you might not have time to look up its reversing partner. Use 'ferre originalis.' Even if it's wrong you won't blow anything up."
"Ferre originalis," said Bridget, pointing the wand and giving it a gentle shake. The match was back.
"Good," said Rose, "Now Incendio Transmutis."
Four or five transmutations later everyone agreed Bridget had the match-to-darning needle process down, along with a useful counter spell. Iolanthe picked up the textbook.
"Want to walk? Just down to the lake and back," Iolanthe said. "Stretch our legs, get some air."
"Okay," Bridget said as she slipped the wand into the little wand pocket inside her robe.
"That was some real progress, Bridget," said Iolanthe as they walked. "What do you think was holding you back?"
"I couldn't put the charm and the wand motion together," Bridget said.
"Could be," said Iolanthe. "You caught on to the advantage of memorization first, then giving it a try with the wand? Looking back at the book while you're trying to charm or enchant puts an unnecessary obstacle in your way."
"You're so far ahead of me," Bridget said. "I thought it would all be like pouring water."
"It is," Rose observed, "but you've mastered pouring water. Working that over and over won't do anything for your skills as a witch but get you lots of glasses of water. Glasses of water you probably don't need, if I may so observe. So, you learn to turn a match into a darning needle, and back again. Then you can do that over and over as needed but you don't learn anything new from the fortieth or fiftieth repetition. Time to learn something new."
"Um-hmmm…" Iolanthe said, "Learn something new, repeat. Learn something new, repeat. Witch Life!"
"Why I get up in the morning," said Rose. "In addition to sending a couple of people an owl each."
"But you'd get up in the morning even if they weren't there," Iolanthe said, kind of insistently.
"Well, I should hope so," said Rose.
"Bridget, tell us about Cork," Iolanthe said. "I've never been to Cork. Have you been, Rose?"
"Never," said Rose, "But I'd like to go."
"Why?" Bridget asked.
"I've never been there," Rose said, "It sounds charming, I'd like to see what the witches are doing, and I might learn something."
Bridget stared at her.
"It's not very pleasant for witches," Bridget said, but she didn't pursue it.
"Did Madame Bulstrode mention the giant squid in her chat the other night?" Iolanthe asked. "I've forgotten if she did."
"I don't remember a giant squid," said Bridget.
"Well, our lake has lots of unusual characteristics," said Iolanthe. "Among them is it is home to a fresh water giant squid. That's not supposed to be a thing, but Hogwarts has determined that it is."
Bridget stood on the shore, looking out over the lake.
"How do you know all of this stuff?" Bridget asked.
"We started right where you are now," said Rose. "Not entirely blank slates, and neither are you, and we set out to learn."
"Which we did," Rose and Iolanthe said in unison.
The talk went on as they stood tossing rocks into the lake. Iolanthe and Rose got enough from Bridget to start filling in some biographical notes. After dinner, Rose walked up next to Iolanthe as everyone was leaving the Great Hall.
"What do you think?" Iolanthe asked when they'd gotten to a reasonably private spot.
"About?" Rose asked.
"Bridget," said Iolanthe.
"Hard to say," said Rose. "She was having a hard time with that transmutation but it was a common beginner's error. Whomever it was who taught her those water-pouring and cleaning spells had probably used verbal instruction and repetition, and when Bridget tried to shift over to a spellbook she forgot how she'd mastered the spell before trying the wand. We walked her back a step and she started again and was successful."
"You walked her back a step," Iolanthe said, "And you got her started again."
"I didn't want to sound vain," Rose said. "Even though I am."
"So you practiced on me," said Iolanthe. "Keep working at it, you'll get there.
"Bridget hasn't had our sorts of advantages," Iolanthe said. "Cordelia has, though. Some of them, at least. She's a product of Miss Annabelle's. I suspect her parents left no stone unturned. She was poached in magical ambition."
Rose started to laugh, passed through the uncontrollable phase, and finally regained her self-control.
"Poached in magical ambition? Where do I go to get some of your fresh insights?"
"I was serious," Iolanthe said. "Bridget told us she was raised by her grandmother because her parents like to travel. It sounds like if they've got provisions for a week they're off to Angkor Wat or something like it and Bridget stays home with Gran. The MacMillans put Cordelia in Miss Annabelle's. I bet they've got a mate for her already penciled-in in the MacMillan stud book."
"Bridget's gran takes in magical boarders?" asked Rose.
"Uh-huh. In Cork," said Iolanthe. "I'll keep an eye on her. We might have to bring her into the fold."
"She's still a first year," said Rose. "We have to find a balance. She needs to learn those first year lessons."
"We'll proceed with caution," Iolanthe agreed, "But we won't let her fend for herself. Not totally."
"We can do that," said Rose, wondering how they would fit yet another project into their list.