Disclaimer: Anything recognizable ain't mine. I also want to remind people that this is an AU fic. That means 'ALTERNATE UNIVERSE.' Any deviations from canon are usually purposeful – unless it's something really stupid on my part, like saying that Draco has red hair or that Shacklebolt is Asian.
A/N: I'm still without a reliable internet connection. I have to admit that I had no idea my IPod would come in handy as something other than an MP3 player when I got it. I've had most of this chapter written for the better part of two months, but… I no longer have reliable transportation, either, and well… Real life sucks. I didn't even get to read the reviews for the last chapter until I arrived, ready to post this one. Thank you all for your attention to the fic. I write because the words won't leave me alone, but it is your input that makes me think I have a shot at being a real author someday. Sniff. You guys all rock!
Yes, yes, yes, I realize I screwed up on Penelope Clearwater in the last chapter. I'm sorry, but it had been so long since I wrote the chappie wherein I detailed the basilisk that I'd forgotten just who all I killed off. I went in and corrected it in my files and once I get some bills paid off (now that I've finally found a job) I'll re-post the chapter (not the last chapter, but the first one where I only mention her in passing – it's easier to correct a single name than to re-write the whole OWL scene, especially since I'm really happy with that scene.) Y'all can probably start looking for regular updates once again in about three or four months – you'd be amazed at the amount of bills that pile up when you've been unemployed for ten months and unable to draw unemployment.
In this chapter we will see the aftermath of Harry's confrontation with Dudley, some more of Chad and Moody, and Harry finds out why Chad and Allen hate each other.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Finding What Was Needed
Bellatrix entered the small, smoky pub. Her first assumption that all the Little Hangleton businesses were closed had proven false when she reached the edge of town and saw muted light streaming through dirty windows. There were about seven or eight people present; two couples were chatting quietly at tables and some older men were nursing pints of bitter at the bar. The bartender was turning a dial on a strange, glowing box. He looked over his shoulder at Bella, "Be with you in a tick, have a seat anywhere." Bella mentally shrugged and sat at the end of the bar directly across from the glowing box. With supreme effort of will, she managed to keep from shuddering – Blasted muggle place… How I long for the days when milord rules, then we can finally be rid of these animals.
The bartender hit the side of the box and the hazy white image flickered, "Blast it to hell! Work, damn you!" He hit it again a little harder, and the image cleared. "Finally!"
One of the old men clapped, "Good goin', Artie. Flick it to channel three, would you? The news is on in a few minutes."
The bartender, presumably Artie, shrugged. "It's on three. You need a refill yet, Milligan?"
The old man checked his glass, which was still half-full. "No, not just yet."
"Give a holler when you do," Artie grabbed a rag and wiped off the bar in front of Bella. "Now, what can I get for you, ma'am?"
Bellatrix decided a little observation of the establishment was in order. She was out of her element, and knew it. It would be best to proceed with the utmost caution. "Gillywater."
The bartender cocked his head to the side, "Gilly-what?" he asked, confused. "Sorry, lady, I don't know that one. What's your second choice?"
Bella sighed inwardly. "Mead?"
Artie nodded, "Now that, I can do." He poured her a glass of mead and sat it on a coaster advertising Guinness. Bella sipped the drink slowly, her attention seemingly focused on the television over the bar. She was actually watching the room in the large mirror behind the shelves of bottles. She was almost finished with her drink when a commercial for a fast-food chain ended and the news came on. The old men sharing the bar with her looked up, almost simultaneously. Bella wondered what was so interesting. She glanced up at the box, still not knowing what the little box was, though it seemed to be similar to a wireless set, only with pictures, too.
Bellatrix had missed the first few moments of the broadcast and so caught only the tail-end of the headlines. "In local news, a concert took a turn for the worse earlier this evening. Harry Potter, age seventeen, from Little Whinging, was attacked while leaving the concert. He was taken to Charing Cross Hospital, where his condition is listed as stable. His attacker, Dudley Dursley, is currently being held by the police, on charges of assault."
That's it! Bella tossed a galleon on the bar and ran out the door, apparating to London as her feet hit the snowy street outside. Artie looked up at the sound of the slamming door, "Lady! Hey!" He was going to protest her leaving without paying for her drink, however the mellow gleam of the gold coin on the bar captured his attention. He picked it up, realizing by its weight that it was likely solid gold.
"Whacha got there, Artie?" Milligan asked.
Artie slipped the coin into his pocket, "Just her tab. Wonder why she let outta here in such a rush?"
The old man shrugged, "That's young 'uns for ya. Always in a rush."
Harry was floating along in a painless fog. His only real complaints were that the lights were too bright, and he couldn't make his tongue work properly. Someone was talking to him. It took several minutes to make himself focus in on what was being said. He realized no one was talking to him, rather, there were several people talking about him.
"…three broken ribs and a concussion. We're going to keep him overnight for observation," was said in a voice Harry didn't recognize.
Sirius' voice growled something low that Harry couldn't catch, and Remus murmured something in soothing tones. The other voice cleared his throat. "I'm sure Harry appreciates that you've all shown up, however, he needs his rest and visiting hours are long since over. Please, go home for now. Barring the unexpected, you can take him home tomorrow, around noon."
Harry heard Jenn speak up, "Come on guys, there's no use arguing with the good doctor. Allen already took Amelia home, lets get ourselves back home."
"Jenn, one of us should stay, though." That was Remus.
"I assure you, we are more than able to look after our patient, Mr. Lupin." The doctor sounded weary, as though this argument had happened much too often. Harry could see how, what with over-protective parents and childhood accidents being so prevalent.
To Harry's surprise, Sirius sided with Jenn. "Come on, Moony. Weren't you just telling me that badgering the staff was only going to result in being escorted from the hospital?"
Remus let out a humorless chuckle. "I did at that, Padfoot, didn't I?" There were some retreating footsteps and Jenn's, Sirius', and Remus' voices faded.
The doctor sighed and there was the sound of a pen scratching on a clipboard. The fog in which Harry was suspended seemed to clear a bit. Harry coughed weakly, then winced as sharp pain spiked through his chest. The doctor sat the clipboard down, "Easy there, Mr. Potter. You've a couple of broken ribs."
Harry peeled his eyes open, squinting through the glare of the lights to see a young man with sandy blonde hair and round, silver-framed glasses. "Wa… water?"
The doctor nodded and took a cup off a side-table. He held the straw to Harry's mouth. With the water, the feeling that his tongue was made of velcro disappeared. "What happened?" he asked, still squinting through the light.
The doctor sat the cup back on the table and picked up the room control, "Here. This will let you control the lights and the television, though we've disabled the bed controls on it." Harry took it and dimmed the lights so they were no longer shooting daggers through his eyes. "What do you remember of the evening, Mr. Potter?"
Harry closed his eyes, "Amelia and I went to the Pearl Jam concert… It was pretty good, I mean, we had fun, and most of the music was okay. On our way out, I stopped and bought a CD. We went outside, and I was trying to recall where I parked my truck when Dudley showed up. We traded insults for a few minutes, when he shoved Amelia, and the last thing I remember is Dudley's fist connecting with my head."
The doctor nodded, "It seems you've no problems with your memory." Harry heard the sound of scribbling on the clipboard again. "My name is Doctor Browning, Mr. Potter. From what your girlfriend said, you were knocked out by that first punch. Your attacker, Dudley, I believe is what you said his name is, didn't stop with that, though. You've got three broken ribs from where he kicked you, a concussion from that first punch, and the bones in your right forearm are both broken, though not badly. From the bruising, I assume he stepped on you."
Harry snorted, Of course that bloody whale would break bones just from standing on me. "What happened to him?"
"Your girlfriend called the police, and he was taken into custody. I assume he's still at the police station. Amelia suffered a mild sprain in her right wrist." There was the click of the clipboard being set down again, Harry squinted and watched as the doctor injected something into his I.V. tubing. "To be quite frank, Mr. Potter, you're damn lucky you got away with only those injuries I've described. There are some bruises, too, but nothing major. If he'd hit you a little harder when he took that pot-shot to your temple, your friends would be out looking for a casket for you. Likewise, if he'd kicked you from a slightly different angle, you could have ended up with some nasty internal bleeding." The doctor sighed. "You really ought to be sleeping, Mr. Potter. If you find yourself in need of anything, use the control by your left hand to ring for a nurse."
Harry hummed a response. He was already drifting away, back into the fog of painkillers. Just before he completely lost consciousness, he mumbled, "'Melia… not m' girlfriend… yet."
Bellatrix found she despised muggles more with every passing moment. Having never been to Charing Cross Hospitalbefore, she couldn't apparate there. It was also highly unlikely that the hospital was connected to the floo. Hence, she was riding in a muggle train. Her seat was between a sweaty fat man that kept staring down her dress and a young woman that was carrying a squalling baby. She'd been lucky to get a ticket at all, though. The salesman at the counter in the train station in Little Hangleton was reluctant to accept her galleons, but relented with a minor compulsion hex on Bella's part.
The trip seemed to take an eternity, when it was really only a couple of hours. When the train pulled to a stop in London, Bella gathered her skirts up and all but ran off the train. Once on the platform outside, she cornered one of the station attendants and procured directions to Charing Cross Hospital. Exiting the station, she ducked down a nearby alley and pulled an old Cleansweep Three from her pocket. She resized it and cast a disillusionment charm on herself before taking to the air.
The grey light of predawn was just beginning to lighten the sky, the low clouds promising another snowy day, when Bellatrix located the hospital. She landed near an unobtrusive side entrance and replaced the broom in her pocket. A man wearing shapeless blue trousers and a short-sleeved shirt was smoking in the shadows. He was obviously doing so hurriedly; he wasn't wearing a coat. A speaker above the door blared to life, "Paging Dr. Kittleburg, paging Dr. Kittleburg. You've a phone call on line six. Repeat, phone call for Dr. Kittleburg on line six."
"Damnit." The man flicked his half-a-cigarette into the snow covering some bushes. "Figures." He swiped a small white rectangle over a black box that had a glowing red light. There was a faint beep and the door slid open. Bella wasn't about to waste her chance and followed the man inside before the door could close.
The man, presumably Dr. Kittleburg, hurried down the corridor to the left. Bella didn't want to be found, and so headed to the right. Before long, she arrived at a four-way junction of halls. A sign on the wall said she had just emerged from 'Imaging' and if she continued forward, she'd be entering 'Administrative.' She didn't think the muggles' use of the word was different than the wizarding one and so ignored the hall. If she turned right, the sign said she would be heading towards the 'ER, Gift Shop, and Tea Room.' To the left was 'Employee Lounge and Cafeteria.' Sighing, she rubbed her disillusioned temples. How do I find what room Potter is in?
She shrugged and headed to the right. Someone has to be here, right? Hospitals never close… Not even for blasted muggles. Not for the first time since being reunited with her Lord did she find herself wishing she had taken Muggle Studies while still in Hogwarts.
After a lengthy walk through the mazelike corridors, she eventually spotted a couple of people standing near some brightly-lit machines. One was drinking something hot from a paper cup; he was wearing an outfit nearly identical to the man who unknowingly let her in, only his was a hideous shade of dark maroon. His companion was wearing jeans and a blue sweater, munching on a chocolate bar. "I know, Keith," the man in the sweater was saying, "but I don't know if I agree with it. Susan's got to come to her senses soon, and when she does I want to be there."
The man in maroon shrugged, "Whatever, Don. I'm just saying you're wasting your time. I saw her out last night with that chap from Kent."
Blue Sweater sighed, "Hell. I didn't want to believe it when Kelly told me, but if you say so…"
"I'm your brother, Don. Would I lie to you?" Mr. Maroon glanced at his watch and scowled. "Damn. I'm running late. You ought to get yourself home, too."
Don nodded, "I know. You gonna be on time for a change?"
Keith shrugged, "Probably. We haven't been at all busy tonight. Had one woman come in in labor an hour ago and that kid from the concert and his girlfriend came in just after I got here, but no one else all night."
"See you later, then." Don in the blue sweater tossed his candy wrapper in a trash can and headed down the hall, disappearing through a set of steel doors.
Keith quaffed the last of his beverage and tossed it in the rubbish bin before hurrying down the hall, turning left just before the doors. Bella quickly cast a silencing spell on her feet and hurried after him. He led her to an area that had 'Emergency Room Admissions' printed in bold lettering over a cluttered work area. Two women, dressed almost identically to him, were sitting and playing a card game. "You're late, Keith."
Keith shrugged, "Don showed up. He's pining for Susan again."
The brunette girl laughed, "What else is new?"
The other girl scowled. "What's he see in her, I wonder?"
"Don't know and don't care. Whose turn is it to deal?"
Ignoring the card game, Bellatrix looked around the emergency room. Most of it was a carpeted waiting area with a large fish tank. The desk didn't offer up any information. She was tempted to try the computer, but she'd only ever heard of them before. She had no idea how to use one, and she doubted an Imperio would work on one. If she were closer to her Lord, she would have Imperioed the man in maroon into showing her where Potter was, but she was far enough from Little Hangleton that her mark would take a minute to link to Voldemort's. If the Ministry logged an Unforgivable, aurors would show within thirty seconds, and she wasn't about to go back to Azkaban. Not for a muggle, not for Potter, and definitely not for her Lord. She'd worked too long and hard to rejoin him to be caught so easily.
She slumped into one of the uncomfortable chairs facing the aquarium to think for a moment. If this place is anything like Saint Mungo's, I don't think they'd allow visitors at dawn. Likewise, if I asked what room Potter was in, they'd probably want to know my relationship to him. I don't think they'd react all that well if I came out and said, "I was sent to locate Potter because my Lord wishes him used in an arcane ritual to return him to his proper body." Come on, Bella, think! How to find out Potter's room… You're a Slytherin, damnit, scheming should come naturally. Bella smiled. That's it! She saw an older gentleman in a business suit and heavy coat striding up to the doors to the Emergency Room. He pressed a button, and a chime sounded from the desk. The blonde girl in maroon hurried to the desk. She flicked a switch, "Regular as clockwork, Dr. Brown."
"Just buzz me in, Leila," A disembodied voice matched the lips of the man outside.
There was a beep similar to the one preceding the opening of the door earlier. Bella rushed to the door and exited while the man in the suit came in. She barely managed to avoid bumping into him. The man paused for a moment, catching movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned his head, there was nothing there. He shook his head dismissively and walked over to the desk.
Bella hurried around the side of the building and finited the disillusionment charm. She then transfigured her clothes to match what the woman on the train had been wearing; jeans, a thick white sweater, and white-and-blue shoes that had a strange little swoop on their sides. She also cast a glamour over herself to make her appear younger. She used the mirrored glass of a window she knew was safely not one of the ones that looked out from the ER and bit her lip. She really didn't want to do the next part, but she knew she had no choice. It was either a little pain now, or a lot when she returned to her Lord, empty-handed.
The things I do for Him, she thought while muttering an obscure spell and running the tip of her wand along her cheek. A moment later she stood back and observed her handiwork. Shaking her head, she adjusted the transfiguration on her clothes to make the sweater a bit tattered. She waited approximately twenty minutes for the bruises and blood from the cut she'd inflicted on her face to add a bit of convincing detail to her choice of costume. When she felt she looked realistically beaten enough, she stepped into her chosen alter ego and headed back to the ER door.
Over the next hour-and-a-half, she learned quite a lot about muggles. Most of the knowledge, though, was something she felt she could have done without. Stitches, for example. Paperwork, for another. On the upside, though, she learned that Potter was in a room on the second floor. In fact, they offered her use of the room across from his. They had swallowed her tale of an abusive boyfriend hook, line, and sinker. She accepted gratefully, and the doctor – the same one who had unwittingly let her in earlier – had promised to get in touch with a women's shelter for her. When the hospital staff finally left her alone, she quickly banished the stitches and ended the spells on her appearance. She cast another disillusionment spell on herself and entered Potter's room.
Look at the widdle baby, all tuckered out from his ordeal. Bella sneered at the teen sleeping on the hospital bed. She knew she wouldn't be able to remove him from the hospital – it was unlikely that the boy would quietly allow himself to be kidnapped and her mark would only transport herself. She didn't mind that, though. She was after the infernal paperwork attached to a clipboard suspended from a hook in the wall near the head of Potter's bed. She quietly took down the board and flipped through the pages of medical jargon. On the last page she found what she was looking for. She memorized the address and activated her mark. Her Lord would be pleased.
It was nearing three o'clock in the afternoon. Though Harry had been released from the hospital at precisely noon, he still wasn't home. He was currently sitting with a police officer describing the events of the night before. His chest was aching abominably, as was his arm. His head, though, wasn't aching quite as much as either of the other two. "So, Mr. Potter, I think that will do it. Will you be pressing charges?"
Harry shrugged, and immediately wished he hadn't. "I don't know. I wanted to talk it over with my guardians… my lawyer, too."
If the officer was surprised that Harry, at seventeen, already had his own lawyer, he didn't show it. "Let us know within the next two days, Mr. Potter. I'll let you know, though, that even if you don't decide to press charges, I'm rather sure your foster-parents will. Mrs. Kellerman looked fit to spit nails when I spoke with her last night."
Harry grinned. "I can just imagine… Why the next two days, sir?"
The officer sighed, "We can only hold him for a total of seventy-two hours without charges. After that, we can hold him until trial, provided, of course, that he doesn't make bail."
"I'm sure Aunt Marge would be happy to bail him out," Harry scoffed.
"Don't be too sure of that, Mr. Potter. She was called this morning, and… Well, shall I say she was less than pleased with the whole situation?"
Harry blinked in surprise. "Huh… May wonders never cease? I wonder if maybe Vernon and Petunia going to prison somehow managed to change her view of me?"
"It's possible," the officer nodded, "stranger things have happened."
Harry snickered as much as his chest would allow, "Tell me about it."
"In any case, Mr. Potter, we have your statement, and you can go whenever you're ready."
"Thanks, sir. I'll be in touch."
The officer helped Harry to his feet and opened the door for him. "Here's my card. Trying to go through the station switchboard is rather like navigating a maze in the dark during a blizzard – no telling where you'd end up."
"Thanks again, sir. I'll call you either later today or sometime tomorrow to let you know my decision."
Harry slowly walked out to where Jenn and Sirius were waiting. Allen and Remus were at the shop for the day; even though it normally closed early on Saturdays, there had been a late-night accident with one of their regular customers. Allen wanted to make sure the man's car was done in record time.
"So… How'd it go?" Jenn asked.
"Come on, let's talk in the car. Did anyone get Viridian last night?" Harry replied.
Sirius nodded, "Yeah. When Amelia called, we piled into the car and headed off to see you, dropping Allen off at the car park on our way by. He followed us in it, and then ran Amelia home when she finished having her wrist checked out."
Once in Jenn's car, Harry handed her the card that the officer had handed him. "He said to call either today or tomorrow if we decide to press charges." Jenn immediately reached for her mobile and started dialing the number. "Hold up, Jenn."
"What?" Harry could tell she really wanted to head back into the station and track down where they'd stashed Dudley and beat the crap out of him.
"Don't you think we ought to talk with Andie first? I mean…"
Jenn sat her phone back in her purse and retrieved her car keys. "That's not a half-bad idea, Harry. Right now, all we'd be able to do is get that little prig for assault. I'm sure Andie would be able to do something to make it more severe… attempted murder, maybe…"
"I don't know if we ought to go that far, Jenn." Harry replied.
Sirius chuckled. Jenn's head whipped around to level a glare at the wizard. "Just what is so bloody funny?"
Sirius shook his head, still grinning. "I suppose I can see now why the Hat put Harry in Hufflepuff." Harry groaned and was sorely tempted to hit or hex his godfather.
"At the very least, I'm sure that Andie would be able to get him tried as an adult… Hell, there's more than enough evidence floating around out there to support a history of violent behavior; she found that much out back when we were working to get you emancipated." Jenn started the car and headed out of the parking area.
Sirius turned in the passenger seat to look at Harry. "What do you say about heading to Saint Mungo's to get properly patched up?"
Harry shrugged, then winced as his wrapped ribs moved in a manner in which they probably shouldn't have. "That might be a good idea."
"'Properly patched up?'" Jenn asked, turning onto the street behind a large dump truck.
Sirius nodded, "The healers at the wizarding hospital can mend broken bones in a matter of moments, though he might have to suffer the bruises for a couple of days."
"Bruises I can handle," Harry muttered, "it's these ribs I'm not so sure about."
"What of when this goes to trial?" Jenn asked. "Wouldn't it be more than a little suspicious if Harry shows up to testify and isn't at all injured?"
"There is that… but, there are reasons magic exists, you know," Sirius' tendency to talk with his hands was showing itself as he gestured and managed to hit the back of his hand against the window. "Ow. Anyway," he shook his hand and continued, though he made sure not to hit the window again, "a simple illusion can mimic whatever state muggles would expect Harry to be in. Either that, or we can magically reproduce the appropriate level of injury… though I wouldn't want to do that one. It'd be painful at best. I suppose it all comes down to how good an actor Harry is."
"Don't most trials take a while, anyway?" Harry pointed out. "The thing with the Dursleys wasn't normal in how fast it went… but Andie is good at her job," he snickered. "She'd have to be, what with how much we pay her." They'd read in the paper just the previous week about how Vernon was found guilty of embezzlement from Grunnings, and how Petunia had been found guilty of bribery – they were both in prison, beginning their sentences, less time already served, of course.
"Point taken," Jennifer replied. "So… Just where is Saint Mungo's?"
Sirius took a look out the windows to get his bearings. "Make a left up at the next intersection."
Following Sirius' instructions, they shortly arrived at the wizarding hospital. Jenn was more than a little amused to find that it was hidden in an old department store. "I guess that answers that question," she murmured to herself after following Sirius and Harry into the reception area.
"What question?" Harry asked.
"Why this place has been closed for as long as I've been shopping in London. I used to drive past this place twice a day, back when I was working downtown, before I went freelance, and had been sort of looking forward to it's grand re-opening."
Sirius chuckled as he led them up to the welcome witch, whose eyes widened perceptibly upon seeing the ex-con with the elusively famous Harry Potter in tow. "Good afternoon, sir," the thirty-something brunette smiled toothily at Sirius. "How may I assist you?"
Sirius grinned charmingly at her and read her name tag, "Hi, Arria. My godson seems to have had a minor run-in with a rampaging erumpent juvenile – also known as his cousin, Dudley. He's been treated at a muggle hospital, but would like to have the broken bones fixed properly."
Arria giggled a little at Sirius' joke, "Go on down the hall to Artifact Accidents, Mr. Black. Though you might consider a run-in with a muggle to be a creature-induced injury – and from the article in this week's Witch Weekly, I'd agree with you – non-magical injuries are best addressed by the quidditch-injury specialists." She rifled through some paperwork on her desk and handed over a sheaf of parchment. "You'll need to fill this out, too. Just give it to the healer when you, or rather, your godson, sees him."
Sirius took the paperwork and grinned again, "Thanks, Arria. Oh, by-the-by, just what is in this week's Witch Weekly?"
She handed him the magazine, "Go ahead and keep that one, Mr. Black. I've got another waiting at home. Subscription, you know."
"Thanks again, Arria." Sirius took the magazine and tapped it on the counter before turning to Jenn and Harry. He handed Jenn the pile of paperwork and the three of them eventually found the Artifact Accidents ward. Sirius was snickering over the magazine while Jenn puzzled out the paperwork. When his godfather was done with the article, he handed it to Harry. Harry was hard-pressed to keep from laughing at it; his chest still hurt too much to do more than breathe.
The Boy-Who-Lived: Where is he now?
By Rita Skeeter – Special Correspondent
Everyone remembers that fateful Halloween eve when Harry Potter banished You-Know-Who forever at the tender age of one, but where is he now?
After receiving word of several appearances of the Boy-Who-Lived in Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, this reporter has the answers.
Harry Potter, now age seventeen, currently lives with a muggle couple in Little Winging, Surrey. In a stunning move, he did not attend Hogwarts as the entirety of the wizarding world had presumed, instead he attends a muggle school by the name of Stonewall. Rumor also has it that he is working for a muggle auto-service (a shop where muggle vehicles are repaired.) He has also been reported as being seen in the company of both Sirius Black (see Witch Weekly, Vol. MMMVXII, 'The Extraordinary Case of Sirius Black' for more information,) and Remus Lupin – the very same Remus Lupin who is logged with the Ministry as a werewolf and taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from the fall of 1991 until the end of the spring term of 1992.
One wonders why the Boy-Who-Lived is aligning himself with a known Dark creature and a man who spent the last sixteen years in Azkaban, though when one takes a closer look at the muggle family who raised him, these questions become clear. Harry Potter had been left in the care of his mother's sister, Petunia Dursley, and her family. Sources state that the Dursleys are currently serving prison terms for charges including bribery of muggle officials…
The article went on to describe, in exaggerated detail, some of the events of the last couple of months, paying a ridiculous amount of attention to Harry's apparent lack of judgment in selecting his friends, as well as speculating on whether or not he was dating 'plain, but intelligent, muggleborn Hermione Granger.' It also detailed more about his relatives than Harry would have thought that a wizarding reporter would have been able to discover… In all honesty, he was a little worried about the reporter's ability to find out about him – and, presumably, anyone else. Though the dry facts of the article were accurate, it was steeped in rumor, hearsay, and gossip. The entire thing made Harry out to be some sort of rogue who had no respect for wizarding culture, who also had a worrisome penchant for befriending supposedly 'Dark' wizards – Sirius and Remus being her case in point.
Harry rolled his eyes at the whole thing and tucked the magazine into his pocket. "I think I'll be writing to Miss Skeeter. She really needs to learn to get her facts straight; either that, or not gossip quite so much."
"I'll say," Sirius replied, scowling momentarily. "I'm not forty!"
"So she rounded up, so what? What's another two or three years? I'm more worried about all that 'Dark' nonsense and the fact that she seems to be surprisingly well-informed," Harry replied, sliding onto a hard, wooden chair between a man with tentacles for hair and Jenn, who was still reading over the parchment she'd been handed.
"Pen?" she asked, holding her hand out. "I think I've figured out most of what they're asking for on this damn thing… What was the magazine?"
"Tell you later," Sirius handed her a never-out quill.
It took roughly twenty minutes to fill out the forms with Harry's help, and another hour or so for a healer to see them. Finally, though, the last of the bone-deep aches faded and Harry was given a salve for the bruises even as he cheerfully incinerated the plaster cast that had been on his arm. "If I ever have to wear another of those damn things, it'll be too soon."
"You have done well, Bella," Voldemort hissed. "And have you contacted the Crouch elf?"
Bellatrix nodded, "Yes, milord. She was most happy to see me. Barty shall be able to join us in only a couple of days. He said he needed time to ensure no one would know of his presence outside of Azkaban. I presume he meant Mr. Crouch, the elder?"
A smile was a frightening thing to see on the Dark Lord's face, even under the best of circumstances, which this, technically, was. It still made goosebumps creep out on Bellatrix's arms.
"So… Basically, what we've got here is a whole lot of nothing." Chad sighed disgustedly and lit another cigarette.
"No, not quite true," Moody disagreed. "We know quite a bit. It's just trying to figure out what's happening next that seems to be the issue here."
"No shit, Sherlock. How'd you figure that one out?"
"There's no reason to get shirty with me, sonny." Moody pointed his wand at the muggle profiler.
Chad shook his head. "I'll pretend you didn't just call me the same thing my grandfather used to when I was six. Let's go over the salient points again, eh?"
"What 'salient points'? We have salient points? I thought you just said we had a 'whole lot of nothing."
"Can the sarcasm, Moody. Point one: We know Riddle is currently having an 'Out of Body Experience.'"
Moody snorted, "That's one way of putting it."
"Point two is conjecture, but seems to make sense: In order for Harry to fulfill that prophesy and off the bastard, he'll need to have a body. Right?"
"Precisely."
"We've also covered that there are several ways for him to go about this. He could try to possess someone –"
"Correction. He tried that already… Dumbledore notes, page sixteen, third paragraph."
Chad nodded, "Yeah, I was about to say that, but you interrupted me. He could possess someone – again – but he wouldn't have access to his own magic if he did so. It strikes me that he won't be trying that again anytime soon, he's too sure of his own magical ability to be content with being a parasite."
"Agreed. There was the Philosopher's Stone, but that was destroyed, and if old Tommy-boy had the Elixir of Life, he wouldn't be having his current corporeality issues."
"Right," Chad flicked accumulated ash of the tip of his cigarette into an over-full ashtray that was sitting on Moody's kitchen table. The kitchen, itself, was surprisingly bright and cheerful when compared with its retired-auror owner; white and cream walls, with pale yellow cupboards and a black-and-white checkerboard tile counter. "You mentioned something about unicorns?"
Moody nodded, "Aye, seems that when Riddle was possessing the unfortunate Quirrell, he was also drinking unicorn blood."
"Just what does that do, again? Forgive the faulty memory, but we've been through so much magic-crap lately that it's all trying to blend together."
"Unicorn blood keeps the drinker from death, no matter how severe the wound."
"Even as a non-corporeal parasitical spirit?"
Moody nodded again. "I would presume so."
"Hmm…" Chad slumped back in his chair and finished his cigarette. "Didn't it say in that journal of Harry's that Riddle has a pet snake?"
"Yes… I see…" Moody stood up and began to pace, thinking out loud. "If it was a runespoor, or even a cross, or possibly an ashwinder… No, not an ashwinder… Maybe an Albanian reticulated viperboa? Probable… Mixed with residual unicorn blood… Perhaps a touch of Draught of Living Death? Likely… I need to floo Snape. Potions never was my forte."
"Huh? What was all that?"
Moody grinned, the expression somewhat out-of-place on his craggy face. "Over the last few days, sonny, you've been asking all those questions about how certain magics interact. This is along those lines. Most magics, as I've told you numerous times, don't mix well. There are exceptions, but it usually takes a helluva lot of arithmancy to suss the right combinations out. The main exception to this general rule is in potions-brewing. No matter what it is, if it's magical and added to a potion, it'll have an affect on the outcome. Most times it's a rather impressive explosion, though you do get the odd cloud of noxious fumes or an acid that will eat through anything. It's been a while since NEWT potions, but we just happen to know a Potions Master."
Chad smiled vaguely, "Still don't quite get it, but I'll trust you on this one."
Harry gratefully fell onto his bed and sighed. It had been a very long day. If I ever see another hospital again, I don't know what I'll do… Nasty places… Smell like bleach and sickness no matter what they spray in the air to try to cover it. Harry groaned as he heard his mobile start to ring. He glanced at the caller-id and saw that it was Amelia.
"'Lo?"
"Harry?"
"The one and only."
"How are you?" There was a smacking noise, and Harry could practically see Amelia smacking herself. "Sorry. Dumb question. I know you probably feel like shite after what your cousin did. You're sure that bloody monster is related to you?"
Harry snorted, "I've always thought that my aunt and uncle found him under a rock."
"It wouldn't surprise me any. It's good to hear that a night in hospital hasn't affected your sense of humor."
"Sorry about your wrist."
"Don't worry about it," Amelia laughed a little, though its tone was distinctly lacking in amusement. "It's that ruddy Dudley's fault. He shoved me. I was just silly enough to try blocking my fall with my wrist. Hurt rather bad at the time, but it only aches a bit now. When I picked myself up, I called the police. If you're not going to press charges against him, I am. He's a menace."
Harry snickered, "You don't know the half of it, Amelia. And don't worry about me not pressing charges. I plan to, I just need to talk with my solicitor first. I have a feeling Andie's going to try to get him for attempted murder when she hears the story. This isn't the first time he's lashed out at me. Ever since we were little, he's been bullying his way through my life. The difference this time is that he doesn't have his mommy and daddy there to bribe the people he beat up into staying quiet."
"Really? What happened to them?" Amelia sounded ravenously curious.
"Oh, his dad – my uncle Vernon – is currently serving fifteen to twenty years for embezzlement at his old job, and Aunt Petunia is doing a two to four year stretch for bribery."
"Wow. Nice family," the comment was heavily laced with sarcasm. "So… Who had Dudley been staying with?"
"His aunt Marge – Vernon's sister. From what the officer at the police station told me, she wasn't at all happy about Dudley's arrest."
"I can just imagine…"
There was a couple of minutes of silence. Harry suddenly realized that his lack of a cast – not to mention the healed ribs – was going to be a little hard to explain to Amelia.
Amelia coughed a little. "Well… I did call to find out how you were…?"
Harry shrugged, then thought, I have really got to stop doing that… This is a phone, not the floo. "I'm alright. Had a concussion, but the doctor said I should be fine."
"I thought I had heard the nurses in the ER say something about broken bones?"
"Well…" Harry thought quickly. "They thought so, but the X-Ray was clear. Just bruised, not broken. They said I'll probably be really sore for a couple of days."
"Oh." There was another period of uncomfortable silence. "Other than the obvious, I did have fun last night. Thanks for going with me."
Harry chuckled, happy for the change of topic, "Not a problem. Anytime."
"So… You want to go for dinner or something next Friday? My treat."
"Sounds like fun," Harry replied. "But it doesn't seem fair, you paying and all. The concert – I know the tickets were a present from your family – but it was still all you… Tell you what, you pick the place, any place, and I'll pay."
Harry could practically hear the catlike smirk, "I'll hold you to that, Harry."
"So, later then?"
"Yeah. Hope you're back to normal soon."
"You, too."
"Bye." Harry hung up the phone and stared at it a little incredulously. Is she barking mad? Last night was fun… right up until Dudley showed. The rest of the evening was an unmitigated disaster, and she still wants to go out with me again?
His phone suddenly rang again and Harry nearly dropped it in surprise. "Hello?"
"Hi, this is Arthur."
"Oh, hey. I didn't know you had a phone."
"I don't… I stopped to use the public one in Ottery St. Catchpole. I can't talk long, I only had a couple of the muggle coins this thing uses…"
"What did you need?"
"What are you doing tonight?"
"Not much… At least, nothing that I know of. Why?"
"Can you meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at around six? I'll be bringing Fred and George, if so."
Harry brightened, "Sure. Just let me tell Jenn, and I can be there earlier, if you want. Did you want me to bring along Sirius?"
"Not a bad idea," Arthur replied.
A voice interrupted them and requested more coins to continue the call, over which Harry hoped Arthur could hear him say, "I'll see you there!" before the call was disconnected.
Harry quickly changed into some clean clothes, mentally making a note to do as Jenn had suggested – Was that only last night? – and buy some more at the earliest opportunity. I need a new fan brush anyway, and I'm out of burnt sienna, and almost out of yellow ochre… My layout pencil is getting rather nubby, too… And I need three more canvass-boards for class… Toothpaste… Wonder if Professor Snape will want me to stock any of the supplies for our lessons? I know we're running low on some things, but he never mentioned anything. Hmm… Still musing on the miscellaneous things he was in need of, he pocketed his mobile and set Remus' pendant and bracelet on his desk to return to him when he got back from meeting with Arthur. He strapped on his wand-holster, idly ruing the fact that he'd left it behind the night before. Lesson learned, he thought. I don't think I'm going to go anywhere without it, ever again. If I'd had it last night, I wouldn't have spent the night in hospital, and Dudley would have a whole different set of problems. He grinned a little maliciously at the thought of hexing his cousin. Hmm… Wonder how that guy at Saint Mungo's ended up with tentacles for hair? Naw… Wouldn't work on Dudders…
He pulled on his coat – it was on the long side, reaching to just above his knees, and made of shiny black leather with big buttons and had some sort of fuzzy material that wasn't quite fur for the collar – and headed back down the stairs.
"Going somewhere?" Jenn asked when Harry poked his head into the kitchen.
Harry nodded, "Yeah. Arthur just called, wants me to meet him at the Leaky Cauldron."
"Alright. You going to be back in time for dinner?"
"Probably not. I'll eat there, okay?"
"No problem," Jenn replied. "Oh, while you're out, would you stop by the grocer? We're out of milk."
"Sure. See you when I get back," Harry smiled at Jenn, then turned his attention to Sirius. "You coming?"
Sirius blinked, "What?"
Harry chuckled, "It's a business meeting. Prospective employees. Did you want to come, too?"
Sirius looked torn, "But Jenn's making chicken a la king…"
"You can always eat when you get back."
Sighing, Sirius stood and pulled his own coat back on – his was likewise leather, but more of a motorcycle enthusiast's style than the one Harry was wearing. "Is your life always this hectic?"
Harry shrugged, "Must be, because this seems normal to me, excepting the stay in hospital, of course."
"Merlin…" Sirius muttered. "No wonder Jenn and Remus are always joking about how you never sit still."
"I do too sit still."
"When?" Sirius asked, opening the back door.
"I do sleep, you know," Harry replied, indignantly. "It's not that I can't be still, because I can. It's more that I usually don't want to. There's a lot more interesting things to be doing than sitting."
"Right," Sirius was skeptical. As the two of them crossed the yard to the garage, where Viridian was parked, Sirius changed the subject. "So, who are the potential employees we're meeting with? Friends of Arthur?"
"No, his sons, Fred and George." Harry reached in his pocket for his keys and suddenly realized that they weren't in his pocket. "Damn…"
"What is it now?"
"Don't have my keys. Allen must still have them."
"Don't worry about it. We can apparate there and back." Sirius placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and suddenly the two of them were standing outside the pub.
"When will I be learning how to do that on my own?" Harry asked.
Sirius shrugged, "No idea, Pup. You'll have to ask Remus." He opened the door to the Leaky Cauldron and led them to a secluded corner table. "Evening, Tom," he nodded to the bartender.
"Evening, Sirius. The usual?"
"Sounds good to me, and a butterbeer. Thanks."
"Just be a mo'," Tom sat down the glass he had been polishing and turned to take care of one of the customers sitting at the bar before retrieving Sirius' and Harry's drinks. The pub was not as busy as Harry would have expected, but then again, it was Sunday. While waiting for Arthur and his sons to arrive, Harry and Sirius chatted about trivialities.
"Hello, Harry. Sirius," Arthur's voice interrupted Sirius' description of the time that James had broken his collarbone and left arm during a quidditch match in their sixth year.
"Good evening, Arthur," Sirius replied, looking up at the man. He was bracketed by a pair of identical twin boys.
"Hey," Harry grinned and sat his mug of butterbeer down. "These are Fred and George, I presume?"
"Yes," Arthur replied. "I suppose I'm rather a bad parent for admitting this, but you'll have to ask them which is which – I never was able to keep them straight." The twins exchanged a grin and snickered.
"Pleased to meet you both. Go on and have a seat," Harry indicated the empty chairs around the table.
After introductions were made all around and dinner and drinks ordered, Harry outlined the purpose of Black Kettle Enterprises to the nineteen year-old redheads; that is, he described the public purpose of melding muggle technology and magic. Harry didn't know either of them well enough to tell them about the company's more private goal of merging the wizarding and muggle worlds. Before Harry had finished the description of his goals, he could tell that Arthur was spot-on in recommending his sons as employees. Their eyes lit up as Harry continued and identical mischievous grins appeared on identical faces. Harry reflected that that particular expression was rather frightening… He could see how the twins had earned their notoriety as pranksters, he could practically see the ideas bubbling up in their brains.
By the end of the evening, the employee count for BKE had grown to five. Nigel was still thinking about whether or not he wanted in, and had promised Harry that he'd have his answer in another week or two, at the most.
When Harry returned home, he walked into the middle of a rip-roaring argument between Chad and Allen. "You bloody bastard! You're doing this on purpose!"
Chad rolled his eyes and sarcastically replied, "Yeah, I am! I'm doing this deliberately just to piss you off!"
"It wouldn't surprise me any, you always did like irritating me!" Allen shouted from his place near the kitchen door. Chad was standing near the staircase. Harry was grateful that they were only in the entry hall and not anywhere near projectiles; if they had been, he was sure that someone would have been hurt by now. Even though it had been a couple of weeks since Chad's arrival, this was the first major argument he'd seen between the two men – the altercation at the hotel didn't count, as almost everyone there was fighting with someone that day.
"Guys?" Harry tried to get their attention.
"Oh, come off it, you moron! I'm not doing this just to irritate you! Contrary to your opinion, my life doesn't revolve around making you miserable!" Harry could see flecks of spittle flying from Chad's mouth.
"Could have fooled me!" Harry noticed that magenta really wasn't Allen's color, especially since it was his skin that was that particular shade.
"Guys?"
"Not that that's oh-so-hard to do!" Chad's posture reminded Harry of the video he'd seen in a science class several years earlier about the behavior of cats. He was certain that if Chad had fur, he'd be puffed up like a startled kitten.
"Oh, so now I'm stupid, am I?" Allen's voice was growing louder – something that Harry hadn't known was possible.
"GUYS!"
"No, I didn't say that! There you go again, taking what I say completely out of context! I didn't call you stupid! I called you gullible… Maybe a bit obtuse. Not stupid."
Before Allen could shout a reply, Harry pulled out his wand and fired a noise like a gunshot from it. It had two effects: It got them both to shut up, and Harry found out that Chad really had superb reflexes as he stared down the barrel of the profiler's pistol. "Um… Guys?"
Chad took a deep breath and put the gun back in it's holster under his jacket. "Harry?"
Harry nodded. "Um… Can I ask what this was all about?"
Allen shook his head and stalked up the stairs. Chad replied, "Same ol', same ol'. Hell, after nearly thirty years, you'd think he'd learn to forgive and forget."
There was the distant noise of a slamming door. "Pardon?" Harry asked.
"Oh… That's how long we've known each other. How long we've been at each other's throats."
Harry shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the coat tree by the door. "And just what, exactly, started all this? I mean, there has to be a reason. People don't just meet and decide they hate one another."
Chad sighed, "I suppose it was technically my fault… In 1967, when we were all still in Boston, he and Jenny started dating. I was going to college at the time and lived off-campus. But my car – this horrid old beater from the '40's – broke down. Jenny begged and pleaded with Allen to let me use his car to get to class – it was finals week. Anyway, on the last day of finals week, I was parked at a stop sign when this big delivery van cut around the corner too close. They were going way too fast, too, and the corner wasn't exactly one that was easily seen around – there was a bunch of tall bushes in the way. It hit the car and completely totaled it. Probably wouldn't have been quite so bad if the van hadn't pushed the car and knocked a fire hydrant over. What the van didn't crush, the hydrant did, and the high-pressure water did the rest."
Harry grimaced. "What kind of car was it?"
"That, Harry, is why Allen's been holding this grudge for so long. It was a 1966 Corvette ragtop. He'd bought it new, or so he says."
Harry winced, "Ouch. But what about you?"
Chad shrugged, "He won't believe me that it was an accident. Never has, probably never will."
Shaking his head at the situation, Harry headed upstairs to make sure he'd finished his homework for the next day.
A/N2: Okay… And another chappie bites the dust.
I'm a little insecure about Amelia even being in the story… What do y'all think of her? Personally, I'm not that fond of her… Oh, well. I'm not Harry, and he's the one who has to be happy. Not me. Oh, and someone asked if I'd described what she looked like, can't remember who, though, and also can't be buggered to look, but I did, back when she and Harry first met in the auto shop. I think it was in the last chapter…
I feel like I should apologize for the lack of seeing what happened with Vernon and Petunia Dursley, but I didn't think their trials were all that necessary to the story. The charges against them were such that Harry didn't need to be there, and I'm really bad at writing them and not coming across as having stolen the phrasing from someone else – I mean, there's only so many combinations of 'Vernon turned a weird color' and 'Petunia screeched' that can be written before it becomes stock, and I really don't care for stock writing – that's why I don't read Harlequin or the like.
And I hope I fulfilled everyone's questions about why Chad and Allen hate each other. It took me a long time to find out it was all because of a ruddy car. Eventually, when I figure out where to put it, you'll hear Allen's side of the story, but I figured Chad's would do for now.
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