Wheels Within Wheels
Iolanthe
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Several Ways Forward
When Harry pitched the first Black Christmas to Daphne and Tracey no one had the slightest idea he was initiating an official start for the mid-winter holiday season for Blacks far and wide. The sequence now began with Black Christmas/Iolanthe's Birthday on or about the first of December, followed by the winter solstice, Christmas, Boxing Day, New Year's Eve and New Year's Day. Some years included a wedding on a holiday or one of the Eves. Only dawn of January 2 brought respite and the opportunity to get back to work or business.
Hogwarts Blacks returned from Black Christmas with two weeks of lessons ahead of them followed by term break. They might have been expected to become fractious had not Iolanthe kept her mind on her studies, which forced Rose to do the same for fear Iolanthe would get ahead of her, in turn keeping Scorpius from getting distracted, and so on.
Moira watched Iolanthe closely. From the moment of their talk on the evening of her first night at the Black estate, on through the Black Christmas party and the return to Hogwarts, Moira observed Iolanthe and took note. She watched how Iolanthe approached people and how she carried herself in company. She paid attention to Iolanthe's two closest associates, Rose and Scorpius, listening to their voices when they addressed Iolanthe.
Moira's exchanges with Iolanthe followed their established pattern.
"Iolanthe," Moira would say, adding a very slight bob of the head.
"Moira," Iolanthe would return.
Moira's birthday was in February. Iolanthe gave her a card. It was a very high-end card, from Seamus and Dean's stationery department. Moira appreciated Iolanthe's taste, and the succinct message she wrote on the inside flap.
"Moira," it said, "Best wishes and sincere hopes for many more. Iolanthe"
If Iolanthe showed up while James and Moira were in conversation, Moira broke off the talk and said to James, "James, look, it's Iolanthe!"
Then she would add something like, "Hullo! What's going on?"
James would get a huge smile, often giving his sister a quick hug in greeting. The first few times Iolanthe got a sort of bemused, quizzical expression on her face, but she quickly began following Moira's lead and focused on James. As long as each of them kept James in mind their truce held.
Moira hadn't yet become familiar with the rune-witches' internal communications but the rune group at Hogwarts had clearly heard of her job interview at Black Christmas. Older students began coming by when Zelda and Moira were at their usual places in the library.
The witches were unfailingly polite, always nodding and whispering, "Zelda," before touching Moira lightly on the shoulder, sometimes with a gentle squeeze to accompany, "Moira." For her part, Moira disciplined herself to take care of her other subjects before getting out her runestones. She found that if she started to cast, she'd be immersed in runes to the exclusion of everything else. She had to get better with runes, Zelda didn't, so she wouldn't be doing Zelda much good, either.
The end of the academic year is in sight after the mid-winter break. Everyone had such interesting things to work on the spring term seemed to race by. Iolanthe adjusted her schedule to accommodate more healing. Her time in the ward became a highlight of her day almost as pleasant as study time with Rose. Before long it was April, then May, and students started making plans to leave for the summer.
"It's going to be…," James started at dinner one evening, only to become stuck for a conclusion.
"Wish I had a greenhouse," said Moira.
"Really, why?" asked James.
"Maybe you'd come and see me," Moira said.
James picked up a piece of fried cod in his fingers.
"You don't need a greenhouse," James replied, "I'll come and see you. If I'm welcome. And Mum and Dad say it's okay."
He popped the fish in his mouth.
"Hmm…," said Moira.
Hugo and Iolanthe still got up and headed straight for the quidditch pitch for a little stretching and sweating before breakfast. Iolanthe liked running and pushups best. Hugo preferred running windsprints to going around and around. He had progressed through a series of forms with Ron and Harry and had developed his own regime of punching, kicking and blocking moves focused on improving his right-left balance and speed. Hugo would have been a formidable opponent for anyone in a hand-to-hand match as he neared the end of his third year.
"You've got this down," Iolanthe said one morning as they walked back to the castle for breakfast.
"Thanks," said Hugo. "The physical part was never a worry."
"What are the magical requirements?" Iolanthe asked.
"Lots of charms, believe it or not," said Hugo. "Charms have all kinds of useful applications for aurors. I bet our fathers could make our lives either miserable or much more convenient and livable if pressed."
"That's a universal, though, isn't it?" Iolanthe asked. "Wizards won't do anything that might spoil their children. It's important we learn for ourselves. What else?"
"Dueling, as you might expect," Hugo went on. "Transfiguration. Not a requirement but it gets a candidate additional points. Comes in very handy in undercover work. No one worries about that plant stand in the corner. Defense is most important. Outstanding on NEWTs is expected, perfect is preferred. Dad says he'd have never gotten past the exam in normal times."
"But he wasn't living in normal times, so that doesn't apply," said Iolanthe. She still dabbed sweat from her face as they walked up the hill. "Your father is fearless. That has to count for something. Loyal, too. I bet he is the best investigator the Wizengamot ever had. If someone had something to hide they wouldn't want Ron Weasley looking into it."
"Well, thank-you, can I pass that along?" asked Hugo.
"That was kind of just for you," said Iolanthe. "How are the marks, for your studies, I mean?"
"Adequate," answered Hugo. "Hester Carrow gave me some tips on charms that really helped."
"Are you sure she gave you real tips?" asked Iolanthe. "In Ravenclaw?"
Hugo laughed.
"Come on," he said, "You don't subscribe to those old canards about Ravenclaw sabotage, do you? Competition, sure, bragging rights. That's just the Ravenclaw idea of fun. But we want the house cup as badly as Slytherin does, and that requires cooperation."
"I thought it was something like that," said Iolanthe. "The other was just making conversation. What do you know about Hester?"
"Not a lot," Hugo admitted. "She lives with her mother. She has an aunt, her mum's twin. That's about it."
"Here we are," Hugo said as they reached the landing where Hugo would go up and Iolanthe down. "See you tomorrow."
"'Bye, Hugo," said Iolanthe.
Harry, Daphne and Tracey had spent Christmas and New Year's at Potter manor, hosting the children and drop-bys from well-wishers of all descriptions. Fabio and Kendra planned their mid-winter specifically to maximize time with the grandchildren. Kendra organized a mass trek to Davis Manor by Harry, Daphne, Draco, Tracey, Iolanthe, James, Evans, Davis, Scorpius and Zelda. The occasion was considered significant enough that Tracey brought along her favorite magical photographer to document their visit.
Madame Davis delighted in all of her great-grandchildrens' reports and the antics of Evans and Davis who went where they would, opening cabinets, picking up bric-a-brac and indulging in all manner of age-appropriate entertainment. She followed Hogwarts quidditch and wanted to know the latest on Scorpius' potion book project.
"I got through school with no knowledge of Old English," she observed. "With good marks, too. How did I miss its very existence?"
"Don't know, Great-grandmother," said Scorpius. "It's been there all along."
No one thought Scorpius' subtle display of cheek any funnier than Madame. She tipped her head back laughing, even banged the tip of her cane once or twice. Mrs. Davis followed nearly all of the conversations without assistance. Everyone agreed afterwards that she was as sharp as ever, or close. Iolanthe sent a card from one of her better stationery sets to thank Madame Davis for receiving them. She cornered James at breakfast and got a signature. Even the twins were given crayons and directed to scribble something.
Daphne owled Iolanthe regularly through the spring term. She left the twins with Harry and Tracey three different times to take the floo to Hogwarts for consultations with Madame Pomfrey. Her old mentor appreciated the attention but she understood Daphne really wanted to consult with her daughter. Iolanthe was still happy to be working in the hospital ward. By dropping one course she had doubled the time available to work, with no diminution of enthusiasm. Iolanthe still wouldn't say she was committing to a career as a healer. That wouldn't really become an issue until the end of sixth year, so she didn't feel a need to get ahead of herself.
After the winter break Harry, Daphne and Tracey left the country houses to the elves and moved to #12 Grimmauld Place. Harry liked the way London looked in winter and it was convenient to work for both Daphne and Tracey. Daphne's Wednesday afternoon at-homes were as popular as ever and Harry enjoyed waiting for Kreacher to greet visitors at the door after which Harry would conduct them down the hall to Daphne's study.
"Look who's here!" he'd say after knocking and getting Daphne's "Come in!"
In the months since he'd been damaged Harry had grown a love of theater, especially Shakespeare. He'd always felt a kinship with Shakespeare's characters. So many of them spoke of things he felt and could not articulate. The Bard put his characters onstage to give voice to Harry Potter's internal conflicts, tragic inheritance, frustration with Tomorrow, creeping in its petty pace to the last syllable of recorded time. Julius Caesar spoke directly to Harry Potter when he observed the fault is not in the stars but in ourselves.
Harry went to the theater at least weekly all through the final months of that winter. He took Daphne when she'd go with him. If not he'd impose on Tracey. If neither were available he'd sit and pout. Daphne assured him she wouldn't mind if he asked Ginny. They were all adults, after all. Harry declined, with thanks. He wasn't afraid of Daphne, or Ginny, for that matter. He did have a healthy respect for Millicent Bulstrode's strength, magical power and dueling skill. Even if both lived he didn't think either of them would want to pay for the damages.
Harry did mount something of a coup the last weekend in April, when Millicent and Ginny were both at #12, inviting the two of them to a performance of The Merchant of Venice. Harry sat on the aisle, next to Millicent, with Ginny on Millicent's right in the third seat. Millicent was familiar with the play although Harry hadn't known it when he asked the ladies out. She had always felt a resonance with Shylock's speeches.
Tears began to run down her cheeks early on, when Shylock said to Antonio, "You that did void your rheum upon my beard…" Knowing the play, Millicent had come prepared with multiple handkerchiefs and deployed them until the final curtain.
Magic and theater are closely related. London's faithful, and knowledgeable, magical theater supporters went regularly. If a London witch or wizard knew which theaters to attend, they could step through a curtained portal directly to a very discreet apparation point, thus saving the bother of enchanting muggles to get a cab after the theater got out. Harry, Millicent and Ginny went straight from 'House Lights' to the front steps of #12, arriving just as Kreacher was opening the door.
"Lord Harry, Madam Millicent and Madam Ginny, how was the play?" Kreacher asked, bowing them in.
"Wonderful, Kreacher, thank-you for asking," said Millicent, still dabbing at her eyes.
Kreacher was taking their coats as Daphne stepped out of her study.
"What's wrong?" Daphne asked when she saw Millicent was in distress.
"Nothing, I always do this," Millicent said.
"How about some tea, Kreacher?" asked Harry as he began to shepherd the witches. "We'll be in the second drawing room."
"It's kind of silly," Millicent said when everyone had settled down with a cup of tea. "I wasn't understood or respected by the Bulstrodes. Or liked, to be truthful. Some things were said and done to me when I was younger. No one asked if I wanted to be different. I didn't choose to be, but I knew what I liked by the time I started Hogwarts. I knew what I didn't like, too. No offense, Harry."
"None taken," Harry assured her.
"I see now the whole lot were incapable of accepting what they couldn't understand. Mother tried but the best she could be was neutral, and that really was no help at all. I found my own way, eventually, but there were some very lonely years in there."
Tracey had come back while the party was at the theater and had joined them for tea.
"Millicent," she said, a little weepy, "If I ever did anything to you, even inadvertently, I apologize and ask, no, I beg your forgiveness."
"Me too, Millicent," said Daphne. "I've felt some of that."
She looked down at her lap.
"That thing there was said to be frozen shut. I'm told there was a message in a boys'…"
All five of them started to laugh, loudly, because the carved message about Daphne's frozen thing was a Hogwarts legend, an enchanted phantom inscription on a bathroom partition that only appeared for a hopeful suitor who had been sent packing by the Arctic Queen. Harry had heard the tale, but never saw any such carving, nor had anyone else, as far as he knew. He suspected the Ravenclaws had invented the whole story as an elaborate hoax to get the other houses running around looking for it.
"Millicent, I'm not making light of your experience," Daphne said.
"I know," Millicent said. "That had to hurt terribly. I knew I should say something supportive at the time but I was obsessed with my own situation. I actually feel much better now that we've all had a good laugh. What fools these mortals be, and so on. Anyway, ever since the very first time I saw Merchant of Venice I've felt such a kinship with Shylock. I cry every time I go now. We're all humans, dammit, before anything else."
"Hear, hear," said Harry.
"Oh, Millicent, you're such a jewel," said Ginny. Her eyes looked like they were getting a bit sparkly. Millicent looked back, basking in such sweet words from the love of her life.
Harry thought it might be time for him to check on the twins.
"I'll go see the lads," he said. "Doubt if I'll be down again, so good-night. See everyone at breakfast."
Daphne wasn't far behind and Harry was still reading when she slid into bed beside him.
"I didn't realize it was so hard for Millicent at school," Harry said. "She wasn't in that many of my classes, certainly wasn't in my social group, such as it was. Merlin, that kind of stuff breaks my heart. Anyone hurting young people like that really gets me furious. I suppose you hear about it all the time, in your job."
"Not as much as people think," Daphne said. "There is a lot of childhood and young adult trauma, for sure, but people cope. Forgiving our tormentors is very important. That's how we move on from our pain and start taking charge of our own lives. Sometimes it can take some time to get to that point, but once the subject can do it the weight lifts and they feel good, just like that. My patients are about half post-injury, some from emotional damage but more from curses, hexes, and so on, and the other half are magicals who have done something terrible in their minds and can't live with themselves. They convince themselves they're bad beyond redemption and quite literally drive themselves crazy."
"And on that note…" Harry said, then, "Nox."
Harry tugged on Daphne's arm and she rolled toward him. He found her right hand and rubbed his thumb on her Black signet.
"Something?" she asked.
"Oh, just wondering what life would be like now if…"
"If, what?" Daphne asked. "We can't foresee the future and we can't rewrite what is done. My job, if you really want to know, consists largely of helping susceptible people grasp that truth."
"So, if not for you, I'd be dead," Harry said.
"Not necessarily," Daphne said, and a bit firmly, too, Harry thought. "You might be Head Auror, and lonely. Or in a mismatched relationship. Or single and accepting of it. Or disappointed with magic and spending your time at your precious Chelsea matches."
"Blue is the color…," Harry sang.
"There's a friendly coming up in New York, against Cosmos. We could meet up with Uncle Larry someplace," he babbled to increasing spousal annoyance.
"We were talking about something I thought was semi-serious," Daphne noted.
"I know, sorry," Harry said. "It was a weak attempt to get my mind off our conversation downstairs. When I meet another Cinderella there's always some resonance."
"Do you think of yourself as Cinderella? I'd have thought Hamlet, you prince. Conflicted over a familial obligation you neither wanted nor were equipped to accomplish, but you stayed with it and found a way."
The streetlamp from across the street made a deep shadow over Daphne's pillow so she was only a silhouette to Harry.
"That would make you Ophelia?" he asked, worried.
"Ha!" said Daphne. "Fat chance. The truth is I've migrated over time. I was Juliet, when I was around her age, but Romeo refused to appear beneath my balcony, the stuck-up little…Then I might have become Lady MacBeth for a time. Looking back, I can see myself ready for a calculated, mercenary match, strictly business, as long as he and I both understood that was what it was. No bower for him, of course."
"Of course," said Harry. "Perfectly understandable. Tough luck, MacBeth. No bower for you."
"Then I caught up to Julius and bewitched him in my bower and for years I was Calpurnia, fearing the worst every time he went out the door, that he wouldn't be coming back. Calpurnia's husband was good at war and politics and he was lucky. Some people can't tolerate that combination."
"Daphne, you're serious," Harry said as he pulled her close. The humor was gone from his tone. She meant it. He had done that to her. "Oh, it's all my fault. I should have learned magical tailoring or something. What can I do…"
Daphne sprang onto her knees and grabbed the tee shirt Harry was wearing on top. She pulled the fabric into two bunches in her doubled fists, the shirt tight across his back, her amber eyes burning into his green ones as she looked down at him.
"Potter," she said, her voice a forceful whisper with too much feline hiss for Harry's comfort. "I am Caesar's wife, not some tailor's dummy. Don't you ever think you have to commiserate with me. If I fear the time may come…well, how many times does your average rustic witch get to lay down with the emperor? A night with you is sufficient to balance a lifetime of silly girlish worries."
Harry completely lost the thread in his wife's reasoning. He sensed Lady Potter-Black was sick and tired of verbal communication and was signaling him to switch. He grabbed her wrists and pushed them back toward her. She didn't let go, putting a huge rip in his shirt. He freed her hands, threw the blankets back and rolled over so he could get to his knees and pull the shredded thing over his head, but it wasn't him who finished ripping, pulled the rag free and threw it to the far corner of the room. Harry and Daphne were now kneeling in the center of their bed, breathing slow, deep, controlled breaths, staring into one another's eyes.
"Is that thing still frozen?" Harry asked.
"If it is, Your Imperial Majesty will just have to thaw it out," Daphne said, her nostrils flaring with each breath. "You know how that's done. Get to work. You can take as long as you need. I'm in no hurry."
The physical part left them panting and when Harry opened some distance between them, the sheen on their skin was suddenly cool. Harry pulled the sheet up against the chill and they enjoyed a long cooling-down with hugs and little kisses and thumbs gently stroking cheeks and foreheads just touching.
"Beowulf," Harry said, barely more than whispering. "The plays talk to all of us but I didn't think I was a character from Shakespeare. I had to do my time as Cinderella, sure, but in time I started to identify with Beowulf. Even before we went questing and I caught up with him that last time. What year do we read Beowulf-third? That's when I got Beowulf in my head and he's never left. I had come to rid a country of a monster. That's what I did. Although, I didn't have to fight his mother, so it's not a perfect match."
"Merlin, Harry, just the image of you in your chain mail and gauntlets…" Daphne whispered right next to his ear, her free leg trying to stretch over him one more time.
"Stop, we'll never get to sleep," Harry said, keeping the laughter under control so he didn't wake the twins.
The Hogwarts Express brought the students back from Scotland on the afternoon of the next day, the last Friday in May. Harry and Tracey had meet and greet duties, Daphne was tied up at St. Mungo's and Fabio and Kendra came to London to stay at #12 Grimmauld Place with the twins. Some aurors were assigned to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters for the arrival so Harry got to shake hands with some former colleagues and catch up on births, deaths, retirements and a little light office gossip.
"Homesick?" Tracey asked when the aurors left and they waited for the train to arrive.
"Mixed feelings," Harry said. "I miss that part. The camaraderie. The shared purpose. Taking risks and responsibility for each other. I miss being their voice at Kingsley's conference table. All the rest of it, good riddance. I don't get anywhere near that level of frustration from you and the children."
"That's really sweet, Harry," Tracey said. "You've never said that before. It makes me happy to hear you say that."
"Well, it's true," said Harry. "I had no idea we would end up with this tribe or that it would be this much fun. We've even got the shared purpose of raising the children. If this isn't a conventional family in all ways, well, whose is? They get raised by people who love them and would sacrifice anything for them. There's nothing I could do with my life that's more important."
The steam whistle sounded and the excitement level on the platform approached the unbearable. Tracey slid her hand under Harry's arm and linked up. Zelda was the first to arrive, sprinting across the platform. She successfully avoided collisions with several parties before leaping into Tracey's arms.
"Oh, Zelda," said Tracey, "I won't be able to stand up to that much longer. You've grown some more! We'll have to go shopping."
"Oh, darn," laughed Zelda.
"I know," Tracey said, "Running around with my beautiful athlete daughter, shopping, eating lunch, seeing and being seen…"
"Dad?" said Zelda. She must have thought she was leaving Harry out because she immediately backtracked, saying, "Hi, Harry! Nice to see you!"
"Nice to see you, Zelda," Harry's said. "Ready for summer?"
"Yep," Zelda said, then turned her attention back to Tracey.
"Dad?" she repeated.
"Dinner tonight at Morgan's okay with you? He's doing something with your grandmother right now," answered Tracey.
Zelda made a face. Madame Zabini did not like the story of Blaise' Tobago liaison with Tracey. She never warmed to Tracey, nor had she melted the slightest when Zelda was born and charmed everyone else she met, even some of the Davis's. Very little had changed in the interim, and Zelda felt no affection for the woman who appeared to have willed herself to feel none for her.
"Her loss, remember?" Tracey asked.
"Of course, the old…," Zelda began.
"The wonderful old witch," Tracey advised. "Eccentric. Not everyone's cup of tea."
"Live, and let live," Zelda sighed, agreeing at last.
Iolanthe walked up, Rose, Scorpius, Hugo and James in her wake. Draco arrived to retrieve Scorpius, greeted everyone and departed.
"Made it!" exclaimed Ron Weasley as he semi-trotted up to the group.
"Could you cut it a little finer, next time?" asked Rose as she threw her arms around her father.
"I can work on it, sure," said Ron. "Welcome back. Welcome back, Hugo. How was spring term?"
Multiple voices started describing spring term as the group turned for the apparation point.
Later in the evening, luggage and laundry managed, stories told and stomachs filled, Iolanthe sat in the little townhouse garden with Harry and Daphne. Evans and Davis chased one another around and around with a quartet of toy dragons, attacking and counter-attacking. James had excused himself to write a first-person narrative of the Hogwarts Express' journey from Hogsmeade to London.
"Summer plans?" Daphne asked Iolanthe.
"I was going to ask you," said Iolanthe. "I'd like to work, at least a little. One would think just being in the right environment would guarantee learning something."
"That's very true," Daphne said. "Excellent observation. Did you want me to put out the word?"
"Could you?" asked Iolanthe. "If there is something worthwhile?"
"Always something worthwhile, if we look," Daphne said. "Would you consider the ministry? Magical health department? You might push parchment but healers have to know their regulations and standard procedures."
"Can't hurt to ask," Harry said. "That's how we find out. I heard."
"Yes," said Iolanthe. "I think I'd take anything in a related field."
"We'll do it, then," said Harry. "So you're sticking with healing."
"I believe so," Iolanthe said.
"You'll be a wonderful healer," Daphne said.
"Thanks, Mother," said Iolanthe.
Moira and Daphne had kept up a regular correspondence since the previous August and Daphne's visit to the Isle of St. Magnus. Every month or six weeks Moira would send a short note, generally bread and butter but leavened with the occasional hard news item. Daphne saved them all in a little chest with a closure that became virtually un-openable when she cast a simple charm. Her favorites had a sentence or two about knitting.
Daphne looked for an opportunity to send James to accompany Fabio on a buying trip to St. Magnus. That way he would get a chance to see Moira, she would get a chance to see him, and Moira could open the subject of sweaters. Daphne had no doubt Moira would have James' sweater complete by late summer, according to their deal from one year before. She had been thinking about how to keep herself informed about James' attitude toward Moira's plans and the symbolism of her offering without becoming a nosey mother getting overly involved in her child's private affairs.
Daphne had been going around and around since her talk with Moira, never getting anywhere. She hit upon the solution shortly after everyone returned from Hogwarts. They were sitting on the floor of the salon with Evans and Davis when Daphne threw it all in Harry's lap.
"If I ask you something, can you keep it to yourself?" Daphne said.
Harry couldn't see them, but he heard numerous man-traps in the question. He proceeded, but with caution.
"Of course," he said, putting on his most confident smile.
"Your son, James Greengrass, has a friend," Daphne began. "A special friend. A girl."
"Moira," Harry affirmed.
"Very impressive," Daphne nodded. "In Moira's part of the world, the Isles, there is a custom. A young woman will knit a sweater, the kind they wear to go out to fish. Each family has a pattern. If a young woman's sweetheart accepts a sweater in her family's pattern, he is acknowledging he is her intended. With me so far?"
"The young woman proposes and the sweater is the engagement ring?" Harry asked, quite certain he had some crucial detail wrong.
"Exactly!" Daphne said. "So astute. Moira has been knitting. A sweater. For James."
Harry thought that over.
"They're a little young," he said.
"They are," Daphne agreed. "On the other hand, I learned a lot from my visit to St. Magnus last summer. Moira goes fishing with her father and uncles. Has been for a year or two. She's not a day tripper. She does the work right alongside. She has her own boat, although I think it is more for her to take out and fish or sail for pleasure. You know she's a rune-witch, don't you?"
"I knew she did runes. I saw her with Hermione and Kendra at Christmas," Harry said.
"Mother and Hermione have no doubt Moira is Hermione's successor," said Daphne. "She'll need to study and learn with them for a few years, but the runes say she is the one. Apparently she did very well when they were receiving the Black rune-witches."
"So she's capable of knowing her own mind, you're saying," Harry observed. "What about James?"
"James and Teddy could displace Father's domestic suppliers right now," Daphne said. "The quality and quantity of their herbs is sufficient. Father has been encouraging more diversification to keep the market in balance. That Potter vault you had cleaned out for James is receiving regular deposits. Of course, he doesn't have any expenses, thanks to his father, but he could probably live independently if he needed to."
"Where do I come in?" Harry asked.
"Could you just see, without being too obvious, if you could find out how James feels about Moira knitting him a sweater?" Daphne asked. "Not just the sweater, but the commitment? What it means? They're effectively engaged if he takes it. She'll be heartbroken if he refuses."
"Oh, take him to lunch, then," Harry declared. "Sure. To get what you want to know I'll have to refer to the essential information you just gave me. Is that okay?"
Harry and James agreed on a day to go to lunch and Harry made sure they had a table with a good view reserved at Morgan le Fay's. Madame Ba greeted them at her station near the fireplace.
"Mr. Potter and Mr. Potter!" she gushed. "What a day we're having. Your table is all ready. All of the lunch specials are superb today, but I would rate the grilled salmon just a half step above the others. The salad is graced with a warm goat cheese that is otherworldly, the red meat is a beef kabob on a bed of perfect brown rice, and the fowl is a cold pheasant plate with tomato, lettuce and cold sliced beets on the side. Go ahead and make it a sandwich with the little loaf of house-made bread if you wish, everyone else is."
Madame Ba pulled out James' chair and wished them bon appetit.
Harry looked around and noticed that Madame Ba had left a buffer of one empty table on three sides, the fourth being their window on London. He wondered if it was an accident. He decided to get to the crucial matters as soon as the waiter took their orders and left.
"What do you hear from St. Magnus?" Harry asked. James smiled.
"Everything's going well," he said. "Weather favorable so they're out fishing a lot. When they're not out they can tend to things ashore, maintenance and so on. Mum says Grandfather is willing to take me on his next trip. She and Mrs. Turley seem to get on well."
"I think they do," Harry said. He had ordered the salad with goat cheese. When it arrived he picked up the cruet of olive oil and applied a generous dose.
"Moira, it seems, has been knitting," Harry said as he broke off the end of a baguette. "Not socks. A sweater."
"Okay," said James, pushing the chunks of beef from the skewer onto the brown rice. "She likes to work."
Harry didn't detect any sign that James was aware of additional data embedded in the news a young woman from the Isles was spending her time knitting.
"She's knitting a sweater she'd like to give you, if you're willing to accept it," Harry said. "I don't know if you knew that?"
"Whoa!" said James. He sat, looking across at Harry.
"Is that true?" he asked. "How did you find out? If it's okay for me to ask."
"Witches, James," Harry said, adding a little shrug and a small smile of his own. "Don't try to figure them out. Appreciate them for everything they do and are, but…"
"She can knit me a sweater?" James asked. "I had no idea. I knew she could knit, just not something that advanced. How about that?"
"The thing is, James, there's something you need to know," Harry went on. "There is a tradition in the Isles, at least in Moira's part, that families follow distinct patterns in their sweater-knitting. Moira is knitting you a sweater for a Turley of St. Magnus. She plans to give it to you, and if you accept it, you will be saying you are her intended. It's a step along the way to engagement and marriage. If you refuse, of course, you reject the young woman's offer, and the two of you…"
"Pffft…" said James, his face suddenly blank.
"Yes, pffft…" said Harry. "At least that is how I understand it. Your mother and I are of one mind on something. We don't want to see anyone hurt. At the same time, we don't want you to think that we are pushing you one way or the other. You have to know your own mind, whichever path you choose. If you don't feel ready to accept Moira's sweater, and all that goes with it, your mother believes she can ask Moira to wait a little longer, and Moira will have to decide, ahh, whether…"
"Whether that means 'Pffft…'" said James, summing up.
James took a bite of rice with a little chunk of beef kabob and sat looking out at London, chewing slowly.
"I learned your business has gotten a little bigger than I knew," said Harry. "You and Teddy are doing well by Fabio, I've heard."
"Um-hmm," said James. "He's doing well by us. We're very fortunate. He has been taking everything we can grow. He's got us looking into some of the more difficult magical plants, which have higher profit margins, of course.
"Okay," James said, getting back to the subject of sweaters, "If Moira wants to give me a Turley sweater, I'll take it. We've had an agreement to focus on studies and not get all gushy and stupid-acting like some of the others, but I think I can wear a sweater safely. We'll talk. It will work."
"James, this has gone better than I thought possible," Harry said. "How's the kabob?"
"Everything's great," James said. "What do you think of Moira, now that you've seen her a few times?"
"She seems a good fit," Harry said. "This is kind of an eclectic group."
"Merlin, I guess so," James said. "We don't have a fisherman yet."
"At least our lives aren't boring," said Harry. "I've never understood how anyone can live like that. Then, rather than doing something, they complain about it."
"Me neither," said James. Both of them shrugged.
Moira wasn't available for Black Picnic as she had gone fishing with her father again. James would have liked to see her, but he knew how independent she was and how she liked having her share of the money when her father sold the catch. His main worry was that she'd be hurt, or worse, by something unpredictable when the boat was underway, but he had no idea what that might be. She was a witch out fishing with wizards. She didn't even need a broom to fly, should it come to that.
Fabio did make a trip to St. Magnus in mid-July. When the time came he took not only James but Daphne, Harry and Kendra as well. Agnes Turley imposed on her husband to delay going out to fish so that he could be around to meet James and family.
Mr. Turley had a first name, but he didn't like it. When Agnes introduced him to the Potters and Greengrass's she called him 'Mr. Turley.'
Mr. Turley offered his hand with, "Turley. Very pleased to meet everyone. Welcome to St. Magnus."
"Just Turley, then?" asked Harry.
"If you don't mind, Mr. Potter," said Turley.
"Harry," said Harry. "Everyone else does. Very glad to meet you, Turley."
Agnes had lunch ready so the families sat down outside under a great sailcloth awning and shared platters of fish, fried, steamed and grilled. The Turleys were keenly interested in Daphne's specialty, assuring her St. Magnus could keep her busy if she wanted to move.
Post-lunch entertainment was a walking tour of the Turley's end of St. Magnus. Fabio broke away with Kendra for a visit to an apothecary that was a good customer. Moira waited until Turley released her, but it sounded like the Turley family had worked out a visit for James to Moira's boat, just as she'd shown Daphne. The Potters and Turleys took their time getting back up the hill to the Turley home. Agnes went inside and shortly they were back to the shady spot under the awning, looking out at the sunny slope, breathing sea air and putting away strong coffee.
"This is perfect, Turley," said Harry. "Of course, it is July."
"True, Harry," Turley said. "Agnes and I have started talking about a winter break. St. Magnus in winter requires real commitment."
James and Moira came uphill and rejoined the party. It wasn't long and Moira motioned to the door with her eyes and got up. Agnes followed.
"We talked," Moira said when they'd gotten away from the others. "He understands. Can I check the size? I've never been able to see where I'm at."
Agnes considered her fourteen year-old fishing, banshee daughter for a long time. When she did break it off Agnes opened her arms and hugged Moira to her, rocking left and right a few times.
"Of course, let me get him," she said. "Spare your father seeing it? He'd certainly break down."
Moira went for the bag that held her yarn, needles and the nearly-finished sweater and Agnes opened the door and motioned for James to come in. Moira and Agnes positioned James and held the sweater up against his shoulder blades, then to his chest, talking all the while as if he weren't even there. After a very few minutes they'd laid out the path to finishing the sweater and James was dismissed. He went back outside and sat down. Turley looked him over, a half-smile showing.
"And you're building a business, we hear?" said Turley.
"Yes, sir," said James. "We're growers. Fruit and veg for ourselves and herbs for market. Grandfather has picky customers. We wouldn't have gotten the quality up so soon without his help. Teddy has been working with him for years, then he brought me in."
"Teddy?" Turley asked.
"My, uh, god-brother, if there is such a thing," James said as he glanced at Harry. "I've never actually known what we'd be called."
"Don't look at me," Harry said. "I don't know either."
"Teddy is my god-son," Harry explained. "He was orphaned as a baby and his widowed grandmother raised him for the most part, but we saw each other nearly every week, until he went to Hogwarts. Just another facet of the Potters."
Agnes had joined them while Harry was talking.
"Such a wonderful family," she said. "We want to meet you all, don't we, Turley?"
"What? Oh, yes!" Turley said, making a graceful recovery. "Heard so much about everyone, ever since, Moira and James…"
He broke off, deciding it might be better to do a clumsy edit than bring up the earlier misadventure.
Fabio and Kendra returned and it was time for the delegation to go. Turley stuck his right hand out to James and rested his left on James' shoulder. He didn't crush James' hand, but he did give the shoulder a good squeeze. He looked James in the eye.
"Very glad to meet you, James," he said. "We'll see you again, and soon, I hope."
"Glad to meet you, sir," said James. "I'd like that very much."
Iolanthe wasted no time cornering Daphne upon the return of the delegation from the trip to St. Magnus. She started with a frank confession that she knew something was up and would not be able to rest until she knew what it was.
"Mother," she began, "I can't accept that the Potters were overcome by a sudden interest in the magical commodities trade, Grandfather notwithstanding."
"Iolanthe," Daphne answered, "You have known your entire life that I traveled with Father on business, throughout my school years. Why, the only thing that could have kept me from apprenticing with him so I could take over when the time came was healing. You know how compelling healing becomes, I believe? Even today I think fondly of our trips to Torshavn and Montreal and I sometimes think a career change might be invigorating."
"Perhaps you could volunteer for a follow-up visit to St. Magnus, and I could be your apprentice," Iolanthe said. "You know, just keep your hand in, so your information is current."
"And you could enlist your grandfather as your co-conspirator!" exclaimed Daphne.
"Win-win-win, all around," Iolanthe said, confirming, she hoped, her victory over the forces of excessive propriety.
"No," said Daphne. "Talk to James. It is his place to release or withhold information on his private life."
"Mother, he's fourteen," Iolanthe replied, "I'm still practically changing his nappies."
"You did a fine job as his surrogate mother, Iolanthe," Daphne began. "Considering you're only twenty-one months apart that is quite an accomplishment. You're the best big sister in this family since me, which is high praise."
"The highest," agreed Iolanthe, nodding encouragement. The conversation was headed in the right direction, and Iolanthe was intent on keeping it so.
"But, no," Daphne concluded. "James. He's your man."
"Your record is unblemished so far, Mother," said Iolanthe. "May it stay so, with Merlin's help."
Daphne smiled and returned to reading an interesting journal article on sleeplessness in adolescent witches.
Iolanthe knew James would be at Potter Manor, probably in his exquisite conservatory or in the beds nearby, so she took the floo to the Manor and went in search of her brother. He had information that Iolanthe needed and to which she was entitled.
"James Greengrass Potter!" she shouted as she crossed the patio.
James was outside with some outdoor elves, turning over soil in a bed they'd just relieved of a nice crop of beets. He'd seen Iolanthe at the door to the patio and didn't see any reason to exert himself answering her. It did appear she was on her way to him.
"James," she said as she walked up.
"Iolanthe," James returned in greeting.
"Will you tell me voluntarily what happened on St. Magnus or shall I begin to wheedle?" she asked.
"The most entertaining way would be for me to keep my mouth shut and enjoy your performance," James said. "I'm sure it would be a classic."
Iolanthe stood still, face neutral, staring into James' eyes.
"But, since you gave me the courtesy of a choice," James went on, "That should be rewarded."
James called for a break and asked one of the elves to bring water for everyone, then led the way to a bench that sat in some shade near the greenhouse.
"Moira and I like each other," James began. "I told her, and she told me. We agreed we would not get all sugary and put on a show like some of our schoolmates. Not my style, nor hers, really. I also submitted, and she agreed, we have to finish our educations before we can start thinking about…"
James stopped talking and looked down toward the Dart. Iolanthe waited, forcing herself to be patient.
"Before we can start thinking about a life together," James went on. "Moira started knitting a sweater for me, last year. Mrs. Turley informed Mum that she was using the pattern of the Turleys of St. Magnus. When a young woman from the Isles gives her male friend a sweater with her family's pattern, she's kind of, you could say, proposing. If he takes the sweater, he accepts. Agnes – that's Mrs. Turley – explained it all to Mum, who talked to Moira last year and asked her to wait. She waited. Moira told me all about it while we were there. I told her to finish the sweater."
Iolanthe looked at her little brother. She had a hard time taking in what she'd just been told. After all, she was still practically changing the little fella, figuratively speaking. And that Moira! Flying into Potter Manor, IN DEVON, FROM SCOTLAND, turning James' head so she could hijack him just when he was really becoming interesting!
Iolanthe sighed.
"I was afraid it was something like that," she said. "I so hoped I could delay your domestication for a few more years."
"That's nice," James said, "But why? This is what I like to spend my time doing. Teddy and I have a great opportunity, growing for Grandfather. We're going ahead with our co-op. Moira has her own money from fishing. I don't know if she wants to keep doing it much longer or if she'd rather do this or something completely different. It doesn't matter, because we can work it out. We've shown we won't starve."
Iolanthe sat back. James' last comment hit home. He was right. They wouldn't starve. At the age of fourteen, both James and Moira had not only done very well in their magical academic careers, they'd found vocations they could pursue for decades.
"James," Iolanthe began, then stopped.
"James," she said, trying again, "That is just the most remarkable…"
"And you and Moira…"
"Talked it over," said James. "She's very practical. Works for me."
Iolanthe put her arms around James' neck and hugged.
"Of all things," said Iolanthe, "I never…"
"I know," James said, "It wasn't anything either one of us set out to do. We just found each other."
"At least it sounds like the Potters will eat well," Iolanthe concluded.
"Food will be available at the best possible rate, consistent with the market," said James.