Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.
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Harry Potter: Dragon Whisperer
Chapter 27 – Opening Doors
2:20pm
Thursday, 25 August 1995
12 Grimmauld Place, London, England
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"No! That will simply not do!"
Harry looked down at himself at Sirius' statement and frown. He couldn't see what was wrong. And then he compared himself to his godfather.
They were about to go to the Ministry of Magic. He knew that. Sirius had told him to dress appropriately. And Harry had. He'd put on a pair of jeans and a clean T-shirt, even attacked his hair as best as he could. As an afterthought, considering that they were going into the heart of Britain's magical world, he'd even put on his bottle-green robes that he'd worn at Hogwarts over his school uniform.
In contrast, Sirius was done up as though he was going to some stuffy high-society ball. At least, that's what it looked like to Harry. His outer robes were a deep blue that looked almost black, piped with hints of silver. On his chest, sat the crest of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, matching his House ring, something that he was wearing today but ordinarily never put on. Under his robes was an immaculate, cut-to-fit three-piece jet-black suit, off set by the links of a silver pocket watch that crossed his waist and the deep blue tie that matched his robes.
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Harry asked. "We're only going to ask about the dragons and the new Reserve."
"You've got a lot to learn and it's probably my fault that I haven't really started teaching you this stuff just yet," Sirius sighed. "Impression is everything with these people. What you look like is almost as important as who you are, especially when it comes to opening doors. And today, we need to get in without a fuss. We don't want to be dithered about; the more time we waste, the more chance there is for the dragons to go rogue."
"But … but, I'm Harry Potter," he stammered, blushing hard.
"Yes, The-Boy-Who-Lived," Sirius nodded. "And, while that might be enough to open doors, we need to make sure."
"You know I hate that name," Harry groused. "But that wasn't what I meant."
"Oh?" Sirius asked lightly.
"I'm the Speaker for Dragons," he began.
"Which, while impressive, won't mean a jot to these people," Sirius waved off.
"Not what I meant," he replied, shaking his head. "What I meant was that I can speak to dragons. They know that. This Mathilda Grimblehawk even invited me to a meeting once to get me to work for her, before they'd even made this Reserve. Won't that be enough to get in?"
"Maybe, maybe not," Sirius allowed. "It doesn't mean that we can't stack the deck. You need to dress up. Put on your best clothes and robes. Act the part, make them stop and look at you and take notice of you and what you have to say."
Harry screwed up his nose, disgusted with the idea.
"I'm not saying that you have to be a 'Dumbledore', that man may be flamboyant enough for ten wizards, with the overly bright and glittering robes that he tends to prefer, and no one can deny that he draws the eye and makes everyone look at him and listen to him, but he has no style," Sirius continued.
"Sirius is right, Cub," Remus said as he walked down the stairs. "Dressing up, making an impression is an easy first step to opening doors. Then, once you're in, you can play the card of being able to talk to dragons."
"Not to mention that we know where one of their dragons is, a fact that they probably don't," Charlie added.
Harry took both other men in. While neither was as well-dressed, as flamboyant, as Sirius, both were sharply dressed and out to impress.
"Fine," he finally grumbled. "I'll go change. Not that I've really got much in the way of 'good clothes' to wear."
"Something that we need to rectify while we're here," Sirius called after him, making him grimace with the idea.
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2:45pm
Thursday, 25 August 1995
Ministry of Magic, London, England
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As much as Harry hated to admit it, Sirius had been right.
As soon as they'd stepped from the Floo – something that Harry managed with only the tiniest of stumbles – people noticed them. Many gave them a nod or the tiniest of bows, others deftly stepped out of their way. At first, he was sure that it was simply because they looked the part, not that any of them were recognised. At first.
And then the pointing and whispers behind hands began. His ruddy scar. He'd forgotten what the blasted thing did to people in magical Britain. Worse still was the fact that the famous lightning bolt was no longer the same as when he'd left Britain.
The lightning bolt was now neatly bisected by a long vibrant blueish-purple mark, the Mark of the Dragons, the one that Memzath had given him and the one that marked him for all dragons to know and respect. Of course, these wizards and witches had no idea what it meant. All they saw was the famous lightning bolt of The-Boy-Who-Lived, even if it had been disfigured.
"Wands, please," the guard who had at first looked bored and then on the edge of his seat at their approach asked.
One by one, he took each wand, waved his own wand over it, producing a tiny piece of paper that registered the composition of their wands and handed it back. Harry wasn't entirely sure how he managed it, especially since his eyes never left Harry's scar once.
"Right, the lifts are that way," Sirius stated, indicating said direction with a pointed finger.
"Are you sure that dressing up like this was really worth it?" Harry hissed at his godfather as another wizard scuttled out of their way, his eyes glued to Harry's forehead.
"Ah, maybe not," Sirius replied. "I'd forgotten exactly how big a deal you really are around here."
Harry hmphed at him, barely managing to keep his grumbling under his breath. Being famous around dragons was one thing; this was a whole other barrel of flobberworms.
"Right. The Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures – which is where I suspect we'll find the sub-Department for the Regulation and Monitoring of the Dragons of Great Britain – is on Level Four," Remus stated, grasping the handle and giving it a pull.
The lift didn't move as Harry had expected. Instead of going up or down, this one flew sidewards. It was all that he could do to quickly reach up and grab one of the dangling hand straps and hang on for dear life. As suddenly as it started, the lift stopped, and Harry was almost thrown from his feet. Before he could do more than rebalance himself, it plunged down and he was forced to hold on even tighter.
Finally, it stopped with a ding and the doors opened. Harry bolted from it before staring back at the gilded cage doors that were already closing.
"What the hell was that?" he asked.
"Ah, magical transportation. Hate it or love it, it's all we've got," Sirius sing-songed.
"Hate it. Definitely hate it," Harry muttered, eliciting laughter from the other three.
Together, the four of them walked the corridor, searching for the door that they wanted. There were small brass signs on each telling which sub-Department was which. Goblin Liaison. House Elves. Centaurs (that one looked dusty and there were cobwebs in the corner of the door that suggested that it hadn't been opened in a long, long time). Dwarves. Mermolk (another that looked decidedly unused).
And finally, right near the end, they found the one that they were looking for.
Charlie instantly stepped up, glanced at the brass plate, knocked twice and opened the door before he was even acknowledged.
The receptionist looked up, clearly startled by their entrance. Harry saw her eyes land on each of them in turn before darting back to Harry and then up. He sighed and bit his tongue.
"Good afternoon, Miss…," Charlie began.
"Spencer," she replied.
"Miss Spencer," Charlie nodded. "We were hoping to see Madam Grimblehawk."
The girl who Harry judged as being only a year or two out of Hogwarts, sat up a little straighter and obviously fell back on her training.
"Do you have an appointment?" she asked.
"Sadly, no," Charlie replied before quickly adding, "I know that we should have made one but unfortunately, we didn't know that we needed to see Madam Grimblehawk until we were here."
"I see," she frowned. "I am unsure if Madam Grimblehawk will be able to accommodate you on such short notice. If you'd care to make an appointment for tomorrow, perhaps?"
She picked up a quill and looked expectantly at them.
"You must excuse my colleague, my dear," Sirius said smoothly, stepping forward to grin at her while leaning on her counter. "He has atrocious manners. Perhaps it'd help if we introduced ourselves?"
The way her eyes darted to his forehead told Harry that he didn't need to be introduced. Nevertheless, Sirius went through the motions.
"My name is Lord Sirius Black. This is Dragon Handler Charles Weasley from the Romanian Dragon Reserve. My godson, Lord Harry Potter. And Remus Lupin, who holds Masteries in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Dark Creatures."
Harry only barely managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He was sure that Sirius was laying it on far too thick, especially adding in that 'Lord' title for Harry himself – while, yes, technically, he had the special ring that declared him as Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter (not to mention the other one as well), the entirety of the House consisted of … him. And it wasn't as though he'd ever set foot in the Wizengamot, although Cyrus Greengass did proxy for him in that regard.
If Miss Spencer's eyes had been huge before at the sight of his scar, Charlie's name had her eyes nearly popping out of her head.
"If you could just wait here for one minute?" she squeaked, before scurrying down the hall behind her, rapping a tattoo on the door at the end even as she looked back at them before bustling inside.
Barely a minute later and she was back, this time accompanied by a middle-aged woman who was striding purposely towards them.
"Mister Weasley, Mister Potter," Madam Grimblehawk said, zeroing in on Charlie's red hair and Harry's scar, "it is indeed a great honour to finally meet you both."
After enthusiastically shaking both of their hands, she turned to their companions.
"Lord Black, Mister Lupin, it's nice to meet you," she said, the greeting more natural for the two men.
"It's good to meet you, too," Sirius replied.
"What brings you to my office?" she asked, her eyes darting between Charlie and Harry. "By any chance would it be the letter that I sent you?"
"Perhaps we could talk somewhere more private?" Remus suggested and Harry noticed Miss Spencer hanging off of every word.
"Of course, of course," she said. "Please, join me in my office."
At her gesture, they rounded the counter and followed her down to her office.
It was a cramped little room with a desk and a pair of chairs that took up the majority of the space. The walls, not unlike the walls of Alexander's office, were covered in dragon-related material. There was huge map of Great Britain with pulsing dots on it; an even bigger map of an island that Harry recogised as Pappa Stour; and dozens of magical photos of dragons, both Common Welsh Greens and Hibernian Blacks. Against the back wall under the clearly magical window (considering that it showed a coastal scene when they were currently deep underground in the heart of London), was a small table that had what looked like the remains of some dragon shells.
As Harry and Charlie took the two offered seats, Remus pulled his wand and conjured a pair of high stools for himself and Sirius. Madam Grimblehawk waited until they were all seated, before she took her own seat behind her desk.
"What is it that has brought you here today?" she asked, sounding hopeful.
"I think, before we get into that," Charlie said slowly, "perhaps it would be best to deal with the erumpent in the room?"
She nodded carefully and waited for him to continue.
"I did receive your letter and extremely generous offer to become the Head Dragon Handler of your new Reserve," he said. "I want to thank you for it; it was a great honour but I must regretfully decline."
"I see," she replied sounding disappointed. "May I ask why?"
"As you know, I have yet to attain my Beast Mastery and even though I am close to achieving it, I know that I still have much to learn. Accepting the position here would deny me much valuable knowledge that I will need," he replied.
"I understand," she replied, nodding slowly. "If it wasn't to accept my offer, then why did you come here?"
"Are you aware that you are missing a dragon?" he asked cautiously.
She stared at him and Harry imagined her mind whirling with questions.
"One of the Common Welsh Greens that we'd brought to the Reserve somehow managed to get out. But how did you know that?" she finally asked.
"Because she turned up in Romania," Charlie smiled.
"What!" she practically screamed, half-rising from her seat. "How…? Why…?"
"Her name is Farlys," Harry said gently. "And she came looking for me."
Madam Grimblehawk's stare switched to him and Harry wondered how long one person could actually go without blinking.
"I don't understand," she finally said, shaking her head and falling back into her chair.
"Madam Grimblehawk," Harry said, "you are aware that I can talk to dragons?"
Her nod was punctuated by a snort from Sirius that Harry chose to ignore.
"The entire magical world knows you can do that," she chuckled.
"Well, the day that I found out that I could do that, Ramaranth wasn't the only dragon there," he said.
"Are you …" and her eyes were so big that they were nearly popping out of her head now, "are you saying that the Green that we lost was the same one from the TriWizard Tournament?"
"Got it in one," Sirius grinned.
"But why'd she come to you?" Madam Grimblehawk asked, sounding bewildered.
"Farlys came to find me because of what is happening here," Harry replied.
"I don't understand," she said, shaking her head.
"Apparently, nor do the dragons," Charlie said, taking over. "We understand that you've been rounding up all of the dragons in Great Britain and bringing them to your new Reserve?"
"Yes," she nodded, glancing at the big map. "I think we've already found about half of them, which is much, much faster than anticipated."
"Well, apparently, the dragons themselves haven't appreciated being removed from their homes that they've had for hundreds and hundreds of years," Charlie said. "Fortunately for everyone involved, instead of lashing out and attacking everyone – magical and muggle alike – they decided that they should ask what was going on. Thus, Farlys was sent to Harry."
"What did you tell the dragon … um, Farlys?" Madam Grimblehawk asked fearfully.
"What you first have to understand, Madam Grimblehawk, is that, while I am under contract to the Reserves that signed my contract, this," and here Harry tapped his Mark, "says that I'm something more. Speaker for Dragons. That doesn't just mean that I can talk to dragons, it also means that the dragons themselves have decided that I am worthy to Speak on their behalf. They trust me to find the facts, seek out advice if I need it but, ultimately, I am … authorised to decide for them and to tell humans what the dragons will agree to. Think of me as something of an Ambassador."
Her gaze shifted to his Mark and she stared hard at it.
"It really means all that?" she breathed.
"As strange as it sounds to you, it's even stranger to me," Harry admitted. "It's a huge responsibility and one that I take very, very seriously."
"What does that mean in practice?" she asked, her gaze dropping to lock with his.
"Right now, it means that the dragons on Papa Stour," and he saw her start at the mention of where the British Reserve was, not that he was going to tell her how he knew, "will remain where they are while I learn everything that there is about you, the Reserve and the Ministry's ultimate goal for the dragons. Eventually, though, I will have to make a decision. I'm hoping that it'll be one that works for everyone, humans and dragons alike."
Madam Grimblehawk's face had grown paler and paler the longer that he talked and by the end, Harry was afraid that she was going to faint. Somehow, though, she managed to pull herself together and face him squarely, something that Harry was extremely pleased to see, especially knowing that there would come a time when he wanted to have her nose to snout with a dragon.
"I have only ever had the best intentions for the dragons and the Reserve that I've been able to build," she stated.
"Brilliant!" Harry beamed.
"That's exactly what we want to hear," Charlie said. "I think it only fair to tell you that I'm under orders from the other Reserves to examine your Reserve as well, to see how it measures up and to report back."
Once again, Madam Grimblehawk rose to the occasion, this time by sitting straighter in her chair.
"I understand," she said. "And, while we are still extremely new, I am proud of what we are building. How would you like to begin?"
Harry and Charlie shared a look and a nod.
"Could we go to your Reserve and have a look at it?" Charlie asked.
"And meet the dragons?" Harry added.
"Of course," Madam Grimblehawk agreed, pushing herself to her feet. "If you would be kind enough to wait in the reception area, I'll organise a portkey and ward keys."
"See, Pup," Sirius whispered as they walked back up the corridor. "The right clothes got them listening to us so that we could get what we wanted all the easier."
Harry simply shook his head at his godfather. As far as he could see, what they were wearing meant nothing. It was their names and especially his Mark that won the day, giving them the opportunity to say what they'd practiced. Either way, now the real work could begin.