Wheels Within Wheels
Iolanthe
Chapter Sixty-Two
Rebounds—Yes, Rebounds, Plural
Zelda Davis and Hester Carrow made the sports page of the Daily Prophet the next day, capturing three columns plus insets of their individual photos. There weren't any usable photos from the game, or the carnage set off by Zelda's collision with the snitch, but the Prophet used the pre-season publicity shots showing them in their team robes, broomsticks in hand.
Madame Pomfrey made them spend the night in the hospital wing, but they had plenty of company. Both teams insisted they be allowed to visit, the headmistress personally delivered chocolate, and Moira came to see both of them, James in tow. James proposed letting them get their rest so they could get out as soon as possible but Moira gave him a look, along with one word: "James!"
"Iolanthe," said Moira as they got to Zelda's bedside. Iolanthe was sitting in the uncomfortable straight chair that inevitably accompanies hospital beds in both the magical and mundane worlds.
Iolanthe, who was holding Zelda's hand and making all kinds of promises about recovery that she had no way of knowing she could keep, turned and replied, "Moira. And look who you've got with you."
"He listens to reason," Moira observed.
"He does?" asked Iolanthe. "And this began…"
"Hi, Zelda," said James. "Moira thought a visit from us would cheer you up."
"Do I look like I need cheering up?" asked Zelda. She sported a bandage in the middle of her forehead, a two inch square of gauze with dittany showing on the skin around the edges, and two purplish circles starting at her nose and following her orbits about halfway around her eyes.
"You look good, considering," said James, getting a fairly convincing smile in return.
"Patient care acceptable? I'll submit your complaint, if you have any."
James looked at Iolanthe, who sat there without comment or response of any kind.
"Can I bring you anything? A book, or books? If you don't get out by Monday someone will have to get your assignments," said Moira.
"Looks like we'll be out, but thanks anyway," said Zelda.
James excused himself and walked over to Hester's bed.
"How are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm going to be stiff tomorrow," said Hester.
"Can we bring you anything?"
Hester declined. She was pretty sure she'd be getting released on Sunday as well. Moira joined James as he stood talking to Hester.
"That was quite a play," she said.
"Thanks," Hester said, smiling.
"My study partner was unable to see it, but from what she has heard, she speculates it will be talked about for years," Moira whispered, leaning over the bed.
Hester got Moira's meaning and made a zipping motion across her lips.
"James?" asked Moira.
"I'm ready," James said. "We'll let them rest."
Zelda and Hester really were much better after a quiet night on the ward. They took their breakfasts in the infirmary and passed the time sitting at a table in their pajamas playing Hangman as they waited for noon, when Madame Pomfrey indicated observation would be over and they could go.
"You had it, if you'd gotten your hand up," said Hester.
"Yep," said Zelda. "S?"
There were two, and Hester filled in the blanks, then pushed the paper back to Zelda.
"Do you hate me?" Hester asked.
"Of course not," said Zelda. "You're a great seeker. You're going to get better. If we both get contracts, we'll be seeing each other a lot, for years and years, maybe. Play hard. Your hardest. Anything goes except deliberately inflicting injury."
"Okay," said Hester. "That's what I thought, too, but I didn't know how you felt."
"We're not going to be going out on the town a lot together," said Zelda. "Not while we're both playing. T?"
"Probably not," said Hester. There was one 'T.'
Madame Pomfrey did release them both at eleven, giving them time to change before leaving the infirmary for lunch. It was Sunday so they wore their Hogwarts skirts, white shirts and their house ties and sweaters. Neither had any reason to divert on the way to the Great Hall so they walked in together. Before they split off to their respective house tables they were spotted, engulfed in deafening applause and awarded a standing ovation. Even the staff table joined in.
After their conversation over the game of Hangman, Zelda and Hester both assumed they would be playing quidditch after Hogwarts. That led to a reflexive attempt to check with the other when a practice opportunity presented itself. They got invitations to the Burrow every month or two, to play pickup quidditch with Harry and the Weasleys. If Ginny was at Potter Manor there would probably be an invitation to the Carrows to bring Hester and come for lunch on the patio. This naturally included watching Harry, Ginny, Hester and Zelda turning the green into a pitch for three or four hours. When the stars aligned properly the old boys and girls would be there in sufficient numbers to field two complete teams. On those days Periwinkle and Melon would be joined by Winky, Trix and Kreacher, and the elves would mount a serious picnic buffet under a marquee on the lawn. Woodlanders would get a share of the food and beverages and sit just inside the edge of the woods, watching, eating and making outrageous bets on every kind of quidditch outcome.
Hester and Zelda were both relieved when the excitement died down at Hogwarts. They were thinking like professional quidditch players and understood that fandom loved to see them put on a show, but that wasn't what made winning seasons or won championships.
Madame Pomfrey took her time with follow-up exams, using their visits for practical chats with her students, talking about signs, symptoms and delayed effects. She went over and over examination techniques, discussing the anatomy of the brain, the musculature of the back, potential for spinal involvement and related phenomena. Zelda and Hester were good sports throughout, bending, stretching and describing symptoms as requested.
As April waned and May approached, Iolanthe, Rose and Scorpius were whipsawed by wildly gyrating emotions. They were each completing another successful academic year, as they expected they would do. They were finally signing up for their seventh-year classes, the last time they would be doing that at Hogwarts. At the same time, each of them thought themselves ready for the challenges of post-Hogwarts education and felt a little letdown at the prospect of another year at the castle.
Millicent Bulstrode wasn't just the Slytherin Head of House, she was also the informal counselor for a variety of subjects for all of the Potter and Weasley students and their associates. Rose and Iolanthe caught Millicent outside on a stone bench taking some spring sunshine and asked to join her.
"We're bored," Iolanthe began.
"And what would you be doing with yourselves if you weren't here being bored?" Millicent asked.
"Studying law," said Rose. "I see myself at the big table in the law library in chambers, eating the red meat, raw."
"Fixing the broken," added Iolanthe. "Probing the mysteries of healing, adding to the collective knowledge of the profession."
Millicent looked out at the mountains and a little sliver of the lake before her.
"The normal lifespan for witches being what it is, barring catastrophe you both should get a good century of red meat and probing the mysteries," she observed. "Since you've come to see me, I'll be presumptuous and give you a little personal perspective. Before I became reacquainted with your Aunt Ginny, I was successful. Becoming a professor, the Defense professor, no less, at my age was a rare occurrence. The headmistress was pleased with my performance from the start.
"My life, though, was out of balance. It wasn't just because I lacked a partner, although I'd always held onto the hope I'd get to love someone who would love me back. It was all the things the world has to show us, things we miss if we narrow ourselves down to a single dimension. If I'd gone on the way I was I'd be completely useless by now, I have no doubt. My subject matter would have become stale to me, the wonder of teaching lost in the daily routine. I would have stopped learning. Ambition is a wonderful thing, witches, don't think it isn't. It's what drives us forward. Success is a delicious experience that has to be subordinated to not become a parody of itself, even if it's subordinated to learning to appreciate the beauty of the landscape in Scotland."
Iolanthe and Rose sat, lost in their own thoughts. Professor Bulstrode was a philosopher, it seemed. Who knew?
Rose spoke up at last.
"So we should do more of this next year?"
"Look, witches," said Millicent. "You know the positions you hold here. Regardless of house, your peers look up to you. They want to know what you think about pretty much everything, before they make up their own minds. As for the first and second years, you're unreachable. Distant, luminescent beings. Your mothers were much the same when they were here, I recall with great clarity.
"If you want to make your lives more interesting for seventh year, in addition to grinding out your usual perfect scores in all your classes, think about widening your repertoire a bit. Do you know a young witch who's obviously smart but struggling? Has a problem with social life? Can you find a way to include her in your dazzling schedule, maybe give her a little boost? Remember your mentors from study group? You might not have needed them, being who you are, but I'd wager it felt good knowing they were there. Take an interest in those pairings next year. Stay with it. Monitor them for results. If you think a change is warranted work out a gentle, positive way to make it.
"You're both going on to demanding professional studies so pay attention to rounding yourselves out while you still have the time."
Iolanthe looked around to make completely sure they were alone.
"Thanks, Auntie Millicent," she whispered, inducing Rose to do the same.
"Anytime young witches," Millicent replied.
Gryffindor had ground out a win over Ravenclaw in their second match, evening the record and setting up a best of three rubber that would also determine the winner of the Quidditch Cup. A win would in turn figure in the House Cup since the houses were all within striking distance, the race being the tightest in memory.
Zelda had been thinking about a change of position all year. She had grown physically since moving to seeker. Zelda still liked flying around looking for the snitch but seekers usually got one, or at most two attempts at snitch-capture per game. It was hard to maintain interest while hanging around waiting for the snitch to break out into the open, dodging bludgers, bird-dogging the scrum while trying not to cause the chasers problems. Thus, Zelda and the Gryffindor captain, a cousin of Harry's old captain Oliver Wood, had held several private conversations about a move. Each time they'd put off executing it because they both believed Zelda would be needed at seeker, until the week of the third Ravenclaw match.
Zelda's understudy had been progressing and was at least competent. He wasn't close to Hester's class, at least not yet, but a big part of the seeker's job was to be in the right position when the snitch was spotted, to have the best angle, to be closest and able to block one's opponent. Wood thought it was time to take the chance he'd discussed with Zelda, and Zelda agreed.
The stands were packed on Saturday. Only the most hard-core, doctrinaire disparagers of athletics and athletes among the student population took their books and study materials and plopped down ostentatiously in some visible place to demonstrate to observers that they had their priorities straight and would not be suckered into wasting valuable study hours in the stands watching quidditch. At game time, only Zelda and Wood knew what was about to happen. Wood took one of the Gryffindor chasers aside a little before game time, for a private chat in the change area.
"I hate to do this," Wood began, "Especially right now. The fact is, you won't be starting. We had to do it this way because the surprise is essential to success."
He went on to explain that Zelda's understudy would be starting, and Zelda would be moving to keeper. The regular keeper was a converted chaser and had been wanting to get out of goal all season.
"Understand?" asked Wood. "Zelda in goal gives us an edge, especially due to the fact that Ravenclaw will have focused on other things all week."
"Yeah," said the chaser. "I get the idea. I still want to play."
"Well, obviously you're first up for sub at either chaser or keeper," said Wood. "You're going to have to be ready for either. I can't imagine you won't get in the game."
No one on Ravenclaw knew of the switch until the captains exchanged rosters five minutes before the opening whistle.
"Hey," said Ravenclaw's captain, Dorcas Flyte's younger brother, Demosthenes.
"Uh-huh" said Wood.
"You can't do this!" said Flyte.
"What?" asked Madame Hooch.
"They've put some ringer in at seeker," said Flyte. "Gryffindor can't put Zelda back in goal! She's been their seeker all year!"
"What rule have they violated?" asked Madame Hooch. "To the best of my knowledge all teams are free to pick their starting lineups. You certainly are, and you picked this one. Have you ever made a substitution?"
"This is not fair, and I play this game under protest!" shouted Flyte.
"Fine," said Madame Hooch. "Be advised you do not change anything by doing so because Gryffindor have done nothing contrary to the rules. Teams are not obliged to pre-clear lineups with opponents. All they are obliged to do is start the team shown on the rosters we have just exchanged. Now, if there are no other protests, captains will bring out their teams."
Flyte told the Ravenclaws while they were still earth-bound but the fans were apprised of Zelda's return to goal only when their seeker kicked off on a substantially-larger broom wearing keeper's gloves and pads. Today, though, it was not the slightly-built athlete from first year, rather a six-foot, muscular fourth year witch zooming around the Gryffindor goals. Hester climbed well above the other Ravenclaws and sat still on her Firebolt above the Ravenclaw hoops.
"Damn," was the only thing that occurred to Hester. She was initially disappointed that she wouldn't be going head-to-head with Zelda. It was her belief that Zelda had been looking forward to the match as a potential seekers' duel for the ages. Instead, Wood and Zelda had chosen strategy over the drama of athletes going at it, may the best seeker win. In spite of her disappointment Hester found one side of her mouth was curling up in a half smile.
"Uh-huh," she thought. "We will see about that."
Hester got her head back in the game, for the most part, waited for the whistle and started looking for the snitch. She kept a little above the action, circling the field so she could look down for the flash of gold above the green background of the pitch. Ravenclaw elected to test Zelda, hard, right from the opening whistle, deploying attacks right, left and center with chasers in a variety of formations.
Zelda was a little rusty as a keeper, it was true, but she was a great flyer and in superb physical condition. She warmed up quickly and made saves with hands, feet and her broom. At two minutes into the game the Gryffindor stands were on their feet and 'GO ZELDA GO' became deafening.
Even so, the Ravenclaw keeper was no slouch and did a respectable job holding down the Gryffindor score. At one hour the consensus in the stands, had a survey been taken, would have been that the only question was whether one of the seekers would get the snitch before Gryffindor had a truly insurmountable lead. Gryffindor went ahead one hundred sixty to forty at two hours twelve minutes. Zelda bore down even harder. She seemed to be everywhere in front of Gryffindor's goals, able to be physically on one side while blocking on the opposite. That was impossible, of course, but her speed and six-foot frame cancelled out much of Ravenclaw's passing and feints.
Ravenclaw's chasers were relentless in attack and made back forty points from thirty-two shots on goal over the next hour, Gryffindor getting only ten. Another Gryffindor rally could easily put the game out of reach, though, while four-for-thirty-two was not and never would be a winning average. Hester watched the action, and the scoreboard, and knew the snitch, the Quidditch Cup, and quite possibly the House Cup, were all hers to lose.
Hester was methodical in her pursuit of the snitch. She looked down on the scrum because the snitch liked to hide among the players, then she scanned for incoming bludgers, then she crossed the field. That was when she looked for the opposing seeker, who could be a clue to the location of the snitch, depending on what they were doing. Then she did it all again.
Hester had just evaded a bludger and was transiting the pitch, when she located Gryffindor's seeker, a third year Canadian student by the name of Horatio Hudson. Hudson was lying flat against his broomstick with his legs trailing in perfect form for maximizing speed, but the snitch had a good lead. Even so, Hester didn't think she had a chance to beat Hudson to the snitch in a flat race.
The snitch must have considered its chances and come to the same conclusion. Hester looked at the snitch, Hudson, and possible trajectories and put everything on one low-probability bet: she thought the snitch likely to try at least one evasive move, to the left of its current course, and she headed for where she estimated it would be.
One second before certain disaster the entire stadium gasped. Horatio Hudson and Hester Carrow appeared to be on course for a head-on collision at full speed. Hester got to the breaking snitch just ahead of Hudson. She grabbed the snitch in her left hand and pulled up, letting Hudson pass beneath. Her maneuver to get to the snitch, however, shifted her weight well forward of her broom's balance point and she flipped over, tumbling end-over-end, losing momentum and falling toward the ground.
"Put it away, put it away!" Hester heard a voice say, so she did the only thing she could think of. She popped the snitch in her mouth, put her left hand back on her broomstick, and redistributed her weight. Her fall stabilized but she had her back to the ground, looking up at the sky. Hester allowed herself the length of one inhalation before rolling out of her fall, pointing the nose of her broom down to gain a little forward motion, then pulling it back up into a braking attitude. Once back in control, she spotted Madame Hooch nearby, slid into a braking turn and put her feet on the turf as the broom came to a halt.
Hester repeated Harry's presentation of the snitch from decades before, popping it out of her mouth before holding it up between her thumb and forefinger for everyone to see. The stadium was in chaos. Ravenclaws could not wrap their minds around their sudden change in fortune. The match had seemed to go all Gryffindor's way from the beginning. It was beginning to look like Zelda Davis in goal was the talisman that would lead Gryffindor to victory after victory, cup to cup, and unequaled trophies in the school case. Then, suddenly, it wasn't.
Gryffindor let go a collective groan, followed by a great wail someplace in the mezzo-soprano range. The Slytherin section was jubilant. Lots of bygones were allowed to be bygones, but if Slytherin couldn't win, it was that much more important that Gryffindor lose at quidditch. The Hufflepuffs contented themselves with polite clapping, exchanging sentiments along the line of, "Good game." To which the reply might be, "Uh-huh, good one."
Most of the players were on the ground by the time Madame Hooch and Hester completed their formalities. Hester walked over toward some crimson robes, expecting to exchange acknowledgements of a game well-played on both sides, only to find Demosthenes Flyte berating Zelda and Captain Wood.
"That was cheating and you know it," said sore-winner Flyte, pointing his finger over and over at Wood's chest but carefully stopping just short of contact.
"Flyte, listen, you won, go away," said Zelda. She sounded exasperated.
Flyte turned to face Zelda as Hester walked up.
"Captain Flyte, please, just go over to our side and leave these people alone," Hester said, trying to sound like the voice of calm and reason.
"I don't need any help from you!" Flyte shouted. Then he added, "All of you bastards can go…"
It was never clear if Flyte was being personal intentionally or just using a handy collective insult for the Gryffindors, but he'd crossed a line. Hester was on the verge of sending a fist at the point of Demosthenes Flyte's nose when she saw Zelda twisting to her left, obviously winding up to throw a jab someplace, and she changed direction.
"NO-o-o-o!" Hester shouted, throwing herself at Zelda, whose fist glanced off Hester's shoulder and continued on to her cheekbone. It was almost out of momentum and Zelda had been in the midst of pulling her punch when she saw Hester moving in, but two knuckle-sized welts appeared immediately when she drew back her hand.
Zelda felt like taking another shot at Flyte but Hester had her in a bear hug and kept saying, "Nope, nope, nope, you're not going to do this. Nope."
Meanwhile Hester kept her feet moving and pushed Zelda back a few feet. Blaise came trotting up as Zelda broke into tears of rage.
"Got her," he said, putting his own bear hug on the still-struggling Zelda and lifting her feet off the ground. "Thanks. Good all around. How you doing, Baby? It's okay, it's okay, all over now, I've got you, great game today…"
Harry, Daphne and the Carrow twins arrived and surrounded Hester, forming their own cordon and moving away from the confrontation.
Demosthenes Flyte must have realized immediately what a gaffe he'd made because he started stringing words together in a somewhat nonsensical way.
"Now, I didn't mean…don't say I said…"
"We all heard you, Flyte!" shouted one of the Ravenclaw beaters, a seventh year witch from Liverpool, her white knuckles showing what a death grip she had on the club she still held. "Apologize right now or I'll knock your teeth out myself!"
Faculty started showing up, taking charge of the players by twos and threes and getting them separated and moving in the direction of their changing rooms. Professor Flitwick convened the Ravenclaws and waited for the shouting to die down. When the players didn't show any sign they intended to stop he cast a little silencing charm that did the trick. Some finger-jabbing went on but that didn't make any noise.
"Team," said the professor. "What can I say? A brilliant victory requiring stamina, unflagging determination and superb play, from everyone on a broom, and now what? I doubt if our seeker will join us before dinner, if even then, and who can blame her? Still, we have to go on. I'm going to let everyone have their say, beginning with our captain."
Professor Flitwick canceled his charm and brought Demosthenes Flyte up to face his teammates.
"I did not mean…" Flyte tried to general derision. Professor Flitwick raised his wand in warning.
"I'm sorry," Flyte tried. "I am so sorry. The professor is right. It was a great day for Ravenclaw, and I have ruined it."
Flyte wanted to continue, but he couldn't. He had a lot more that he wanted to say but it was going to have to wait for another day.
"Thank-you, Mr. Flyte," said Professor Flitwick. "Anyone else? Right. Now, let's get changed and back to Ravenclaw Tower. There won't be a victory celebration, but you all have a right to lift the Quidditch Cup."
Madame Hooch wrote up a report and submitted it to the headmistress within the hour. The headmistress talked to everyone involved and two days later she handed down her ruling. Demosthenes Flyte cost Ravenclaw the House Cup by losing fifty points for his inexcusable rudeness and unsportsmanlike conduct. Zelda had actually let her fist fly, hitting Hester. Hester had tried to make a case for letting Zelda off with an admonishment since Zelda had been provoked and Hester was torn between getting Zelda out of the area and punching Flyte herself. Professor McGonagall wasn't having it, though, and took off a pro forma five points each for Hester and Zelda's intentions to hit Flyte even if neither of them got the job done.
Hester and Zelda agreed to wait until the changing rooms were clear before getting out of their quidditch robes, then rejoined their families on a long, slow stroll back to the castle.
"You're a game-changer, Zelda," said Hester at one point. "When you're in goal? We're going to have to find a way."
"How will you do that?" asked Tracey.
"Don't know," said Hester. "Anyway, that's next year."
It was a beautiful afternoon in May and the grounds around the castle were filled with mothers and fathers with a student or two as well as large multi-family groups standing around, talking about the game. Hester and Zelda and the Potters passed through with minimal notice, a few 'Good game!' comments aside.
"Suggestions?" Harry asked as they neared the castle. Everyone slowed down, forming a shapeless clump. Iolanthe had wandered up to the tail end of the procession at some point and came up to Hester.
"Nice," she said, looking at Hester's cheek.
"I kind of like it," Hester said, touching her fingertips to the two puffy bumps. "Anyway, by the time Zelda got to me she didn't have much behind it."
Zelda looked down at the ground.
"Had that coming, I guess," she said.
At some point the group took a collective decision to head for the Three Broomsticks. Harry tried to pay but Blaise wouldn't hear of it. He wanted to pay. Everyone saved face when they agreed to split the cost of dinner.
The unseemly end of the season-deciding quidditch match dampened some of the highest of the high spirits for a few days, but there were exams to take and travel arrangements to solidify, so year's-end normalcy returned fairly quickly.
The Potters hosted an end-of-term or beginning of summer dinner at #12 Grimmauld Place for Blaise, Tracey and Zelda, Draco and Scorpius, the Granger-Weasleys, and the Carrows. Kreacher was in his element, resplendent in his toga, bringing course after course, aglow in the steady stream of compliments.
Someone suggested the garden was just the place for dessert. The students were the first to make a move so all the parents ceded the garden to them.
"Welp," said Iolanthe when everyone was settled, "Here we all are."
"Morgana bless us, every one," added Rose.
Dessert was fresh strawberries with cream, plus choice of beverage. The adults were getting along quite well, a pleasant development. Perhaps that was to be expected, given they'd had three decades to meditate on the consequences of mindless violence. Even with the general good feelings the evening had to come to an end.
Blaise left first, accompanied by Zelda. They had scheduled a short visit to Nice, for a quidditch match, but Blaise had a plan to take Zelda to see some of the abundant art nearby. Zelda was a competent assistant to Tracey and was probably destined to play at least a few seasons of professional quidditch, so Blaise assumed responsibility for Zelda's cultural explorations.
Much of the fun left with Zelda, in Hester's opinion, so she returned to the dining room and pled fatigue, departing for Surrey with Flora and Hestia. The Malfoys and Granger-Weasleys lasted just a few minutes more.
"All done?" asked Daphne as she stepped down onto the garden pavers.
"Sure," said Iolanthe.
"Pretty much," added James, not looking at his mother because he was mentally uprooting the dead stalks and planning the rebirth of the beds in the townhouse garden.
Kreacher had the garden cleaned up and ready for an al fresco breakfast the next morning. Harry and Daphne got there first, each with a twin to tend, when Iolanthe arrived.
"Going to work, Mother?" Iolanthe asked.
"An hour or two, at most," said Daphne. "I have to get back to see that my beautiful children get their summer break off to a good start, don't I? Do you have anything you want to do today?"
"I'll go with you and sit in the cafeteria, if that's okay," said Iolanthe. "I might run into someone to talk shop with."
"You're formally on track for your seventh year studies, NEWTs and your mastery, now," said Daphne, "So I'll be happy to take you to my floor, if you're interested in mental maladies."
"It wouldn't hurt me to see how mental maladies works," said Iolanthe.
"Wouldn't that be redundant?" said a voice from inside. James stepped down through the door to the second drawing room. "Witches? Wizards? Mental maladies?"
James felt the need to underline his main point.
"What do you have planned?" asked Iolanthe, making a point of her own by ignoring James' impertinence.
"Tracey has to go to St. Magnus to confer, sometime in the next week," James said. "I'm invited, if we're free."
"Confer?" said at least two voices.
"Moira and her knitters," said James. "She's supposed to have some good ones lined up. All they need is yarn and some orders. Tracey will handle relations with magical vendors and the knitters will deliver product. Tracey has shops ready to give Isle of St. Magnus sweaters a go. Not just Diagon Alley, either."
"Impressive," Iolanthe admitted. "Moira and Tracey are going to be sweater tycoons, then?"
"To start," said James.
Everyone waited for James to continue, but he had other things on his mind.
"Anyone else hungry? I've been dreaming about breakfast for the last three weeks," James said.
"Don't they serve breakfast at Hogwarts anymore, dear?" asked Daphne.
"Of a sort, one could say," replied James. "Just not in this garden. From our kitchen. With all the Kreacher touches. Kreacher?"
"Master James!" Kreacher sounded very enthusiastic as he materialized at James' elbow. "Breakfast? Kreacher can prepare eggs, any style, pancakes with the woodlanders' private reserve maple syrup, fried potatoes, fresh fruit with the Albanian yogurt Mr. Draco brings in, several kinds of cheese…"
"The fresh fruit with yogurt, a toasted muffin with crème fraiche, and orange juice," said James. "A pot of tea to go with it, please."
"Of course, Master James," said Kreacher before disapparating with a little 'pop.'
"Ummmm…" James said as he took his first bite of a pineapple chunk with yogurt. "This is what I've been missing."
"James Greengrass Potter, magical London sophisticate, and gourmet," Iolanthe observed. "Who knew?"
James looked at Iolanthe and gave her a wink.
"To start?" Iolanthe asked. "Expand, please."
"The sweaters are the first items in what we hope will be a line of Isle of St. Magnus brand products," James said. "Moira and Tracey raised the idea of a co-op with the knitters. That ought to work just fine, but it's presently Moira and three more, two women and one man. The witches have houses and children, some gardening, but time to knit. The wizard still fishes, although he is getting along in years and doesn't think he'll fit the fishing lifestyle forever, so he'd like to transition to something a little less demanding. Four knitters with other responsibilities won't produce enough to establish a brand for the island. BUT, it's a start, with the possibility of expanding to some of the magical plants and shellfish Grandfather has been buying for years and years, plus some unique food products the islanders make, all under the Isle of St. Magnus Co-operative label. Ultimately they may be able to develop some carefully-managed tourism catering to magical types looking for the restorative powers of quiet, sea air and a glass of Isle of St. Magnus Gooseberry Juice at breakfast."
"Whose genes?" Iolanthe demanded, looking between Harry and Daphne.
"Genes?" said Tracey, who was standing in the doorway. She was dressed in a crimson silk pajama set with matching mules and nails.
"Gryffindor?" asked Harry, obviously pleased.
"Yes, in tribute to my daughter, whom I already miss and who was robbed of certain victory yesterday, through no fault of her own," said Tracey.
"Yes, that's quidditch, of course," Harry said. He left off the part about his daughter being the robber. Zelda and Hester had seemed fine with the outcome, perhaps due to bonding over their shared desire to punch Demosthenes Flyte silly.
"James was telling us about your new venture," said Iolanthe as Tracey took a seat at the table. "The St. Magnus co-operative."
"Not mine, exactly," Tracey said. "James is too modest. James, Teddy and Moira are the brains and the visionaries. I'm more of an agent."
"And our mentor," said James, eliciting a slight blush from Tracey. Daphne thought that might be a first.
"Maybe, a little," Tracey conceded. "What's this about genes?"
"Oh, I want to know where James got all his expansive business knowledge," said Iolanthe. "I don't have any, and, to be as kind as possible, neither do they."
She indicated her parents with a toss of her head. Daphne got a bemused look and Harry just nodded.
"True," he finally acknowledged.
"Grandfather," said James, just a bit of exasperation showing. "He has thought all of this through. He bought from individual collectors. There never was enough volume to make it useful for someone to organize a profit-making enterprise around the magical herbs and shellfish, but a co-op to handle the marketing and administration makes sense. Same with the knitting. The islanders do all sorts of things that originate in life skills for an unplottable rock. In turn, you have all these unique island artifacts that could be in snapped up by witches and wizards in the outside world if someone would take the trouble to find a way to reach those markets."
"Well done, then, James," said Harry. "You know how to listen to, and learn from, the people around you. Only the smartest people master that, often too late in life for it to make a difference. When do you plan to go?"
"Not settled, just yet," said Tracey. "Waiting to hear from St. Magnus."
A faint "Hullo?" came from inside.
"Could be Moira," said James as he got up.
A minute or two later a 'whoosh' came from inside, followed shortly by James' return.
"Wasn't Moira," he said, stepping into the garden.
"Hullo, all," said Lissette Lestrange as she followed James out from the drawing room.
"Lissette!" Iolanthe nearly screamed, jumping out of her chair. She opened up her arms just as Lissette did the same.
"You're back, you're back, you're back!" Iolanthe said into Lissette's neck. "Whoo! How have you been? Sit down and have some breakfast and tell us all about everything."
"It's been great," Lissette said as she pulled up a chair. "Lots of work. I've rotated through the specialties. I've qualified for my mastery and will receive my diploma at the next convocation of the Guild. Cousin Caroline wants me closer to l'Anse, so I'm taking up a position in a hospital down the coast a little way. I can stay with her and commute."
"Well, that is something, Lissette," said Daphne.
"I'll say," Tracey said, seconding. "And look at you! Fit! Glowing!"
"That's Iolanthe's work," said Lissette. "All those rambles. I started doing something every day, even if it was twenty minutes of walking at a fast pace."
"So, where's your stuff? Are you staying?" Iolanthe asked.
"One little bag for an overnight, just inside," Lissette said. "I'll be back and forth for a few weeks. Administration, the diploma, some shopping, then back to the Riviera full time."
Iolanthe would have liked to have Lissette close by while she was at liberty for the summer, but this was better than nothing.
Breakfast was followed by Daphne, Lissette and Iolanthe going to St. Mungo's together. Daphne introduced Lissette and Iolanthe to everyone, healers, patients and staff. Lissette collected a pocketful of business cards from the healers, along with an offer with each card to consult whenever Lissette felt the need.
Tracey and James did travel to St. Magnus for a few hours, returning with Moira after promising Agnes they'd bring her back the following day. Moira got her own room in a corner of the third floor, although Iolanthe wondered to herself how long the Potters would need to observe such proprieties.
Daphne did not have a lot to do at St. Mungo's that morning. In fact, she probably spent more time escorting and introducing her young colleagues than anything else. The medical Potters were back at #12 shortly after eleven. Lissette was quite bubbly after spending the morning in the company of such a distinguished healer as Daphne.
"Thank-you, Daphne," she said. "I feel like a healer."
They'd just gotten home and Daphne had suggested a cup of tea in her study.
"You are a healer," Daphne said. "It shows. You've worked very hard to get where you are, and you have empathy in abundance. I'd go to you if I needed a healer."
Walburga couldn't contain herself.
"Slytherin witches!" she muttered, beaming down at the trio.
"Yes, Madame Walburga, and Blacks to boot," said Iolanthe.
When they'd finished their tea Daphne went looking for Harry and the twins, who had better be around someplace since she hadn't approved any outings in advance.
"Could we…?" Iolanthe asked as she climbed the stairs with Lissette.
"Sure," Lissette said, following Iolanthe into her room.
"I missed you," Iolanthe said.
"I missed you, too," answered Lissette. "You've been spending time with your drawings of me, I'm guessing. I thought you might."
Iolanthe looked a little sheepish.
"Ah, it's that obvious?" she said, followed by a long sigh. "Might as well get right to it, then. I have been wondering…if you felt anything. Like feelings. Those kinds of feelings? Anything different?"
"No, I'm free of all that, and I think I always will be," said Lissette. "While I was studying I spent a lot of time in the library, in some specialized sections, reading and reading, and in my opinion I believe it just goes along with my magical peculiarity as a sprite. I'm sorry, Iolanthe. I know what to do, if you want me that way. Just so you understand, I can't give back what you want to give me. That isn't what is inside me. It's just not there."
Iolanthe looked at Lissette, then she sighed and looked down at the floor.
"I suppose I knew that," said Iolanthe. "I had to ask."
"I'm thrilled that you did," said Lissette. "I didn't think you'd want to try bonding with a dish cloth so I felt safe offering. I'd rather be your friend, professional colleague and companion forever than half of a dysfunctional couple. If you'd like to try that?"
"Of course, you're completely right," said Iolanthe. "I think I always knew. You were honest from the start. The way you look, though…"
Lissette laughed out loud.
"That's a sprite crush," she said. "Nymphs, sprites, sirens…I'm not that good-looking, and I'm realistic enough to accept it. For better or worse, I'm an oddity. Maybe there's someone besides me who's piqued your interest?"
"Oh, well, occasionally, there will be a little flutter," Iolanthe said, blushing. "None of that thunder and lightning one reads about."
"So far," added Lissette. "Daphne was alone for a long time, wasn't she? Living at home, focusing on her professional development, helping your grandfather with his business, being a devoted daughter and sister, then…thunder and lightning!"
"True," said Iolanthe.
"Not everyone can be as lucky as Rose and Scorpius," said Lissette.
"James and Moira seem to have," answered Iolanthe.
"Perhaps," said Lissette. "Perhaps you and I have to follow the Daphne model. Learn our trade. Become proficient at healing our people. We both have a gift. You know we do."
Iolanthe sat on her bed, staring straight ahead, at nothing in particular.
"All I have to do is pick them up," Iolanthe muttered.
"Say that again?" said Lissette.
"Something Madame Walburga told one of the young Slytherin witches, right after she'd been sorted," Iolanthe said. "We will give you the tools to do whatever you want in life, all you have to do is pick them up."
"And she was right, wasn't she?" asked Lissette. "Slytherin House has been there for me at one or two critical moments. Besides Slytherin, you got so lucky with your parents. I'm thinking specifically of Daphne. You can have tea with Lady Black in her study whenever you want. I'd think it over very carefully before I walked away from that."
"You're right, once again," said Iolanthe, standing up. "Let's get your bag to your room and go model some Slytherin leadership. Need to clean up? We can't dither. There are Hufflepuffs about who will need guidance."