19 September 1998
Harry winced at the extreme sweetness of the tea as he waited for young Miss Sharpely to bring her grandmother to the stuffy drawing room of their home. The elderly Mrs. Sharpely was the one who reportedly saw Rabastan Lestrange apparate right at the gate of her cottage, as she sat tending to her rose garden. Her grand-daughter had owled the Department on her behalf, though she herself had seemed sceptical of the older woman's testimony, when Harry and Dawlish had arrived the previous day to question the witness.
Dawlish had pounced on this as an excuse to do his job worse than the already low Ministry standards. He hadn't bothered to introduce himself or Harry, just rudely brandishing his identification at the old lady's face. Harry had felt sorry to see her fierce trembling, though Dawlish took his objections to the rudeness as a signal for Harry taking on the mantle of 'good Auror'. Cast as the 'bad Auror', he had then grown even more abrasive and subjected the woman to a completely inappropriate (for her age and profile) stress test where he shot out each question before she had had the chance to fully answer the previous one. She had grown more agitated by the second while her grand-daughter's whimpering increased in volume. Finally, the third time Dawlish had rolled his eyes as Mrs. Sharpely muddled between Rabastan and Rodolphus, she flung a tea cup at him. A tea cup, with the same dark blue flower patterns, that Harry sat drinking from now.
The shards of the cup had left a nasty cut on the side of the senior Auror's forehead (though nothing that a swift flick of the wand wouldn't heal), and he had huffed all the way to the Three Broomsticks where they were lodging. He had made it clear that the 'attention-seeking old bitch' was lying, and though he would deign to stick around for a couple of days, he was certain that it would all come to nothing. Harry wasn't really surprised at that. Not because death-eater sightings were regarded mostly as a hoax within the Department (denial was a standard Ministry-wide response to any possibility of bad news, after all), but because Dawlish's attitude towards work since the war, was similar to that of Peeves when in the vicinity of the Bloody Baron. Both embraced the slogan of 'Safety first!'
No wonder eleven year olds had to face three-headed dogs, twelve year olds had to get petrified by a monster residing in a school, and rank teenagers were ridding the world of the most powerful (and power-hungry) wizard of all time. This couldn't continue, Harry had thought with determination. He would work hard – talk to as many old ladies as required, patrol all the Hogsmeade streets in disguise if that was necessary and capture every last death eater. Teddy should never have to encounter the people who killed his parents unless it was in Azkaban (it was another matter that Harry wasn't going to ever let Teddy within apparating distance of a dementor). So here he was, back at the Sharpely residence, seeking another audience with Mrs. Sharpely.
Harry looked up from his cup as the door of the room swung open, and the old lady from the previous day floated in, at a short distance above the floor. Her short and stocky build gave off an illusion of sturdiness, but she must be weaker than she looked if she was being levitated by her grand-daughter, a thin bespectacled woman in her mid-twenties, following right behind. She manoeuvred Mrs. Sharpely to the comfortable looking armchair by the window, and gently lowered her on it. She perched herself on the side of the same chair, and smiled sweetly at Harry, apologising for having kept him waiting.
"Why are you apologising Ingrid?" Mrs. Sharpely scolded. "The Auror Department is here to service the public, is it not? Or does defeating You-Know-Who not only give you a free pass to a job you are not qualified for, but also to terrorise invalid old women, Mr. Potter?"
Harry was surprised by her change in demeanour. While she hadn't accepted Dawlish's brutality yesterday either, she seemed far more lucid today. He ignored her barb about his lack of qualifications, having heard enough of that tripe from the senior Aurors. Especially since in spite of her harsh words, Mrs. Sharpely also seemed less prone to practice her throwing arm today, though he straightened himself nonetheless, mentally prepared to shield himself with a wandless Protego at the slightest provocation.
"No, that's alright", he said kindly to Miss Sharpely who had started to make conciliatory noises after her grand-mother's outburst, "I agree. Please accept my apologies for my partner's behaviour yesterday". He is a right incompetent prat, Harry thought disloyally. "Mrs. Sharpely, would it be okay if I asked you a few questions now? I can come back later if you are not feeling up to it."
"What do you want to ask? More questions about my failing eyesight and if all my trembling was because the big bad Aurors were going to throw me in prison for lying to them?" she sneered.
Harry tried to look contrite. "No -", he said, starting to assure her.
"Because I tremble because of Parkinson's", she said, now in a matter-of-fact tone. "Do you know what that is?"
Harry nodded. One of Aunt Petunia's friends, Yvonne, who had often been called upon to babysit him, had a parent who suffered from the same disease.
"And I have bad days, though that's not the same thing as being senile. Do you know that?"
Harry nodded again. He was prepared to bend over backwards in his effort to ingratiate himself, as long as it got him some answers. Mrs. Sharpely seemed to come to the same conclusion, nodding slightly at Ingrid, who told Harry that he could now ask his questions.
"So what time were you outside yesterday?" he asked.
"Early morning. Maybe 5:30, wasn't it Ingrid?" she turned to Miss Sharpely with a questioning glance who nodded in agreement.
"And you were alone? Is that usual?"
"As you can see", Miss Sharpely spoke up, waving her wand in an irresponsible manner that her grandmother promptly chastised her about, "Nana has some trouble walking on her own. The Healer has asked us to ensure she exercises, but that's limited to a slow paced walk in the evening for an hour. But Nana likes to totter about the house when she is alone, doesn't she?" She looked fondly at her Mrs. Sharpely at that. In return, she got a frown from the older woman.
Harry smiled at the exchange. "So you were all asleep when Mrs. Sharpely woke up to attend to her flowers?"
Both women nodded at that, though Miss Sharpely also flashed a serene smile.
"And then a Mr. Lestrange apparated right in front of you, Ma'am?" He looked at Mrs. Sharpely for confirmation. As she started nodding, Harry rummaged in his pockets and took out five photographs. Since Rodolphus and Rabastan resembled each other (both due to genes and their Azkaban stints), he had made Ron owl over mug shots of Avery, Mulciber and Nott as well. The latter three had been arrested soon after the Battle of Hogwarts, so if Mrs. Sharpely identified any of the two Lestranges there would be reason to investigate further. He got up from his sofa to hand them out to her and asked her to pick out the photo of the person she had seen.
It took her under a minute to hold out a picture of Rabastan Lestrange's ugly, sneering visage, her hands trembling a little. "I saw him, Rabastan", she said confidently.
Harry nodded. Now for the tough questions. "Mrs. Sharpely, did Lestrange see you?"
"I think he did, because he disapparated right after".
"And how did he react, before disapparating? Did he say anything?" No leading questions, Robards had stressed during Auror training. So Harry couldn't come out and ask why an absconding death eater, accused of crimes like torture, rape and murder had allowed a frail old lady to remain alive after he had seen her see him.
Mrs. Sharpely seemed to have caught on however, as she shrugged. "They don't take frail old ladies seriously, do they?"
"The Death – eaters?" he enquired. "Well, but they wouldn't hesitate to kill -".
"Not the death eaters" she interrupted Harry. "Aurors. Aurors don't take old women seriously. Why would Lestrange kill if leaving me alive makes the Aurors merely suspicious while an Avada Kedavra guarantees a full-blown enquiry?"
Because an old witch's death wouldn't merit an investigation by Hit Wizards, much less the Auror Squad, Harry thought to himself. At most a low ranking constable would visit, confirm from the family that she had been keeping unwell, and the case would be closed. Still, it was not a bad theory.
"I can tell you that he apparated, was probably taken aback by my presence and disapparated just as swiftly", Mrs. Sharpely said.
Harry decided to think about this later, possibly pick Hermione's brains when they met later (technically all Auror business was classified, but he couldn't really bring himself to care), so he took his leave after asking a few more perfunctory questions. Miss Sharpely offered to show Harry out.
As they crossed the rose bushes, and reached the small wooden gate, she turned to him seemingly hesitating over something. Harry assured her that she could talk freely.
"Mr. Potter, I admit I was sceptical yesterday about whether Nana had seen a Death-Eater. I am less so today, seeing her lucid. I am just wondering what you think".
"Call me Harry", he offered, "and Miss Sharpely, I am an Auror, it is my job to investigate all complaints, regardless of whether I personally think they have merit".
"Thank you. And, Emily, please", she smiled.
"But I thought your name was Ingrid?" Harry asked, puzzled.
"Nope, plain old Emily".
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Harry bounded up the steps to his room in the Three Broomsticks, to fetch his gift for Hermione, who was waiting downstairs. Ginny was supposed to join them as well but she was currently sitting in her darkened dorm trying to live down a hangover. She would walk down for lunch later while Hermione and he spent some time together, first. Harry planned to use some of that time to question Hogsmeade's shopkeepers about any suspicious activity in recent days. Hermione had responded to the plan with, "Oh Harry, yes I will investigate your case with you", in a tone that she might have taken on receiving her birthday present. He was hoping for a repeat of that when he showed her the actual gift – an entire set of books on Philosophy of Defence against the Dark Arts by Pickwick Pritchard, the field's Gilderoy Lockhart. Well, without the latter's penchant for obliviation and fraud. And without the movie star looks.
When he entered the room, Dawlish was waiting, his mood clearly sour. Harry grimaced, having forgotten that they were sharing a room since the Three Broomsticks was fully booked.
"Where did you go off to?" he shot out.
"Just roaming around the village", Harry replied casually. "And I am going back again, with my friend. Will come back here for lunch".
"What do you mean 'friend'? Are you cheating on your poor ginger boyfriend who Kingsley stuck with that other idiot, to wade through paper-work?"
Harry coldly informed him that paper-work or not, his ginger-boyfriend and the other idiot were both War Heroes, not something everyone could lay claim to (staring pointedly at Dawlish) and that he was in fact going with Hermione. Dawlish enquired if that wasn't his famous muggle-born companion, a fleeting expression on his face that made Harry severely uncomfortable. He considered telling him that she was 'his poor ginger boyfriend's girlfriend' but then refrained because of the awkwardness of the sentence. Plus Dawlish was almost two decades older, so Harry was most likely misreading the leer.
His suspicions returned however, when Dawlish invited himself into walking to the market with the two of them. Hermione did not comment on this except for meaningfully widening her eyes at Harry, behind Dawlish's back, though she seized the opportunity to ask him several in-depth questions about working at the Ministry. To Harry's heightened discomfort, Dawlish answered each one conscientiously.
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The village was bustling as usual. The Death Eater sighting had got front page billing in the Daily Prophet, but according to Hermione, that had less to do with the seriousness of the case and more to do with the profile of the Auror (aurors, she corrected herself quickly as Dawlish cleared his throat) investigating it. Indeed many of the shop owners waved to Harry to slow down and chat, all of them asking after 'poor Mrs. Sharpely' and her failing health. Almost nobody asked him if he thought that the old woman was right and certainly nobody reported any recent suspicious activity.
The proprietor of Zonko's was the exception however, who sulked about the several suspicious newcomers and the 'carrot-topped unctuous bastard' at the newly opened Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes who smelled of a bad egg. Harry started to bristle, ready to defend George, but Hermione held his arm and whispered that George would be the last person to be described as unctuous (though 'bad egg' was often thrown around) and the man was certainly talking of someone else.
That someone else turned out to be a Frank White, who George introduced cheerily as the man in-charge of the new store. As it was the first Hogsmeade weekend since the shop opening, George had come down to help, while Verity managed the Diagon Alley branch for the day. Harry felt a weight in the pit of his stomach when speaking to Frank, but he was willing to concede that he had intermittently felt that way since the moment Dawlish had started acting predatory towards Hermione. Zonko's proprietor was probably just being a garden-variety jealous xenophobe. George suggested the same when Harry took him aside to ask him if he had done a background check on his employee.
"Yes Mr. Auror. His credentials are impeccable", George assured him, as he pointed out a set of WWW Gobstones, that apart from squirting liquid at the player losing a point, also did a victory jiggle for the opposing player. "Frank has worked for similar start-ups in France before this, and Germany and Italy before that. His research skills are not that great to be honest, but he is a business expert. He has already suggested useful changes to make our Owl-order system seamless. And he is a likeable bloke, you know, that is one quality that helps run a shop".
Harry nodded, a little disappointed with the product George was showing him - it was derivative, if he was being honest. He was looking forward to spending a lot of his gold on Christmas presents for Teddy this year, and hadn't made much headway on the goal. Admittedly, a toy broomstick had been sitting at the back of Harry's cupboard since June. In July, he had bought a purple coloured stuffed badger that he thought Tonks would have liked her son to have. He considered buying a stuffed lion as well, on behalf of Remus but Ron had thought that a lion wasn't cute enough for a baby, and also that it was the kind of idiotic present Lupin would have never bought. He then thought of picture-books but Ron had vociferously pooh-poohed that idea, pointing out that for Sirius Black's godson, Harry had poor taste. "Besides, I am sure Hermione will buy him all the books he will ever need. Probably lots that he will never need", he had said sagely.
"I want something for Teddy", Harry confided in George. "Something nice and thoughtful", he added, unhelpfully.
George smirked and shook his head. "Thoughtful isn't an adjective for an inanimate object, you prat. This is what comes off spending too much time with the Ronald Weasleys and Dawlishes of the world without the brightest witch on hand, to balance things out". Harry remained non-committal as George continued, "But I have been working on something you might like, Teddy is still too young for it though. Tell you what, you go in," he said, pointing at the velvet curtain at the back of the store, "and I will go fetch Hermione. I can test it on you both".
Harry slipped past the curtain to what seemed like a laboratory similar to what the Wheezes' had in Diagon, though smaller, and much tidier. There were no signs of ongoing research or broken, discarded toys that he remembered from his visits there. There was one long work-bench, mostly empty and a large cupboard in one corner.
"Bare, isn't it?" Harry heard Hermione's voice and turned around, nodding in agreement. "Dawlish has attached himself to George, to ask a lot of detailed questions about Frank's antecedents. Really he is quite thorough Harry; I was there when he was questioning Frank. You and Ron made me believe that he wasn't particularly sharp".
"Experience can cover up for lack of sense", Harry replied wisely. "Though Frank does seem a bit smarmy".
Hermione smiled lightly. "Don't be ridiculous Harry. He is the just the right amount of nice. You have to be, to sell anything. Besides, George likes him".
"And Tom Riddle could turn on the charm when he wanted to. But," he went on as Hermione looked ready to argue, "But, I realise that the world isn't split into good people and Dark Lords, Hermione".
Hermione flashed him an almost doting smile at that bit of maturity so Harry decided to annoy her by recounting last Wednesday when he had spotted Draco Malfoy coming out of Gringotts and tailed him around the place, to his heart's content. No, Malfoy hadn't ventured neared Knockturn Alley, he hadn't even looked furtive or anything, but it was still suspicious for him to be out and about on a school-night. Especially when Ginny was only willing to sneak out to Hogsmeade occasionally while Hermione refused to sneak out at all. Harry's story was interrupted with George finally entering, while looking over his shoulder to loudly abuse ugly good-for-nothing busybodies in generic terms.
"Hermione", he ground out, "Can you please cast privacy charms on the curtain so that we may not be interrupted by self-important Ministry slaves?" He shot Harry a dirty look at that, quite unfairly, Harry thought.
Hermione did as asked while George used his wand to unlock the cupboard, and summon a glass box from the top shelf.
"I am still fine-tuning this, but it should be ready by Christmas. Also keep this a secret etcetra etcetra", he said curtly, as the box landed noiselessly on the work-table. "Want a drink while I give you a demo?"
Hermione and Harry both declined as there was no Butterbeer on offer – only Firewhisky and elf-made wine. They exchanged a look as George poured himself a large helping of the latter. Hermione started to say something but Harry pulled her to the work-table to look at the glass box which contained three large egg shaped containers. They looked to be made of porcelain and had tiny silver patterns all over.
"I have been researching a little on old magic", George said, the first gulp of wine visibly improving his mood, "spells often fall into disuse when they don't do anything of utility or if someone comes up with a simpler incantation. I have found that these are also great starting points for jokes, since they can be fun, flashy little spells that can be tweaked a little for great results". Hermione nodded.
"Okay, so I need you to repeat this incantation after me. Expecto anima alterum."
Hermione sighed and looked at Harry who shot her a questioning look. She shook her head and they both chanted the incantation together.
"Right", George said, "the wand movement is the same as when you cast a Patronus. But you have to think of your worst memory – when you were at your unhappiest, and say the incantation while concentrating on it".
"So it's the anti-Patronus?" Harry asked.
"You will see", George answered, opening the lid of the glass box, and taking two of the eggs out. He placed the first one on the table and asked which of them wanted to go first. Hermione volunteered by raising her hand, while repeating the incantation under her breath. Harry wondered whether she was thinking of Malfoy Manor and Bellatrix.
"It won't be tough for the two of you, but I am trying to simplify it for children. I think I can make toy wands that can be tethered to work for this one spell", George told Harry as Hermione brandished her wand, practising the Patronus movement. "Point at the egg", he directed Hermione.
"Expecto anima alterum", Hermione chanted stiffly, looking unnaturally pale, and Harry turned his head to see the impact of the spell on the egg.
The egg cracked open and a wispy, silvery vapour, much like a non-corporeal Patronus wafted out. Within a couple of seconds the vapour started taking a definite shape, Hermione gasping as a tiny stag materialised, strutting slowly towards the edge of the table. Harry thought it looked like a miniature version of his Patronus.
"George, this is brill – but…", Hermione looked delighted and confused at the same time. She stopped talking when George pointed to the egg again as another shape began to form from the vapour – this time, a cheerful Jack Russel terrier, that started to gallop enthusiastically in circles, around the bored looking stag. Hermione and Harry both laughed at the dog's antics.
"So these are miniatures of Ron's and my patronus…" Harry wondered out aloud. "What does it mean? You see the patronus of your best friends?"
"Well technically anima alterum means soul-mate", Hermione said.
"Ten points to Gryffindor!" George remarked, smiling widely, looking very close to his old self, as he gazed at the terrier which was currently licking the stag's hind leg, and wagging its tail hard. The stag looked ready to kick the dog. "I am not sure if it will always show the Patronus, given it's not very common for wizards and witches to know how to conjure one. My research said that it will be a representation of the soul-mate. The three of us just happen to be DA, and you are the first people to try it out, apart from me."
"And why the egg?" Hermione asked.
Harry marvelled at her academic curiosity. Her first question had to do with the mechanics of the spell, and not why she apparently had two soul-mates.
George rolled his eyes. "Verity thought they looked pretty. The container is redundant. It's what's inside that's important".
"And what's inside?" she asked.
"Trade secret", George winked. Hermione's expression reminded Harry of the time Dudley was made to diet, and given carrots to munch on as dessert, instead of chocolate pudding. George ignored her and signalled at Harry to try his egg out.
Harry had an embarrassment of riches when it came to unhappy moments. He wondered which one to focus on – the time that he walked to Forbidden Forest during the Battle, as the Order tended to the fallen in the Great Hall; the moment that Snape trained his wand on Dumbledore; and, with a start, the instant that Sirius fell through the Veil. Harry choked out the incantation and made the requisite wand movement as he thought of his grief in that moment in the Ministry, the railing at Dumbledore in his office, seeking out Nearly Headless Nick to know if Sirius could stay back...
"Look Harry", he heard Hermione say, and he looked up to see a plump silvery hare jump out of his egg. Harry unthinkingly reached his hand out, and the hare leaped onto the back of his palm. Though he felt no physical sensation as the hare climbed up his arm, reached his shoulder and nuzzled his neck, a feeling of safety and well-being enveloped Harry at that moment. Hermione and George both chorused out an "awwww", though only one of them was earnest.
"But it's a hare", Harry wondered out aloud, "not you know, a horse, Ginny's patronus".
"Soul-mate doesn't necessarily have romantic implications Harry", Hermione explained "otherwise mine wouldn't have shown both yours and Ron's patronuses. It isn't even mutual or exclusive as you can see", she pointed to the three animals. "It's just someone whose soul complements yours. Thought I suspect the spell is far more cut and dry. I think it works by recalling the one person whose presence can uplift you from a bad mood, and who you think of or thought of in your worst moment?" she ended a little unsurely, turning to look at George for confirmation.
George nodded, and took another swig from his glass. "More or less. Or you know, just think of them as pwetty animals that make you sooooo happy", he said mockingly. Harry chuckled at that though Hermione continued to look serious.
"Why don't you try, George?" she ventured.
"I invented it, I already have. And this is the last egg left and the potion inside is rather expensive, so I don't want to waste mine for just for a show. I should make some more and get people from a different set – that is those who don't know how to conjure a patronus to try it out. Maybe Frank can help", he said; levitating the remaining egg in the glass box, back into the cupboard. "I should get back to the front", he said shortly, and left the laboratory.
Harry looked at Hermione, who looked far too melancholic for someone who was faced with the sight of a grown man being cuddled by the apparition of a hare. "Should we head out?" he asked.
She nodded. "Harry, I forgot earlier, I think we should call Luna for lunch".
Harry strained his neck to look at the hare on his shoulder, cast a finite and agreed.