The Uninvited Guests
A/N: For those of you who used to visit the Old Sugar Quill (which I highly recommend, because it's one of the best HP fanfic sites out there, even if it is now defunct), you may recognize the shameless – shameless – cribbing in this chapter from 'Merry And Bright,' the third part in the 'Interwoven' series – which is the best HP fanfiction I have ever read. In fact, let's not call it cribbing so much as an homage. A shameless homage.
Now go and look up that fic. You'll be glad you did.
And I would be amiss to mention my homage to another fanfiction, and neglect to say that this entire work is a borrowing of the Harry Potter universe from JKR. Tip of the hat to her!
Scurry nudged open the door, letting in a sliver of light to the darkened room.
"Master Linus?" she squeaked. "Dinner's ready."
The figure on the bed stirred. "Mrgl. Thanks, Scurry. I'll be down in a minute."
A few minutes later, Linus came down to dinner. He met Calliope and Mark as they were coming out of the library.
"Are you feeling any better?" Calliope asked.
"A little. That nap really helped. I can think much more clearly now."
"Good. Mark and I were… well, we were trying to come up with ideas for what to do next."
"What did you come up with?"
"Well…"
"I'm seriously thinking about going to Ireland, if staying here is out of the question…" Mark insisted.
"It is out of the question," Linus answered, quickly combing his hair with his fingers.
"Well, then, Ireland is the safest choice. I can go there and plead political asylum."
"Obviously the next step for me is to go the court and provide my own testimony," Calliope put in, "but I don't know whether it would be better for me to go alone, or if you two came with me…"
"We can't come with you," Linus shook his head once and re-adjusted his glasses. "Mark sets foot in the Ministry and they'll cart him to Azkaban."
"But I don't want to go alone…"
"What about that Obliviator that helped us get away?" Mark pointed out. "Amy Twist or something like that?"
"Amy Tweak. Good idea. Get in touch with her and she'll know where you should go… it'd be good to have her on your side. I wonder if I could come with Calliope…"
"I don't want Mark to be left alone – in Hollywyck or in Ireland." They had entered the dining room. The chairs pulled themselves out for the three of them. Mark whistled softly in appreciation.
"Hollywyck's safe. Hollywyck is one of the safest places for him to stay. You, too." Linus sighed as he sat down.
"Are you sure that nap helped?" Calliope asked. "You still sound very tired."
"How can you tell?"
"You're not supporting your own logic," she pointed out.
"I don't have to cross-reference everything I say."
"What's for dinner, by the way…" Mark started, but he trailed off as a tureen appeared out of nowhere on the table, emanating a delicious, heavy smell.
Calliope gave a small, surprised laugh. "Bœuf bourguignon – of course! The traditional welcome-home dinner."
Linus served himself first. "Scurry's a real good egg."
"That's true," Calliope agreed.
"I rather miss having a house-elf, to tell the truth."
"You could have her stay with you in London," Calliope pointed out.
"But I really don't need a house-elf – I think it'd be a waste of her talents."
"But she misses having people around. Hollywyck can't get that dirty if she comes over to cook for you on evenings or something."
"Er…"
As one, Linus and Calliope turned to look at Mark. He quailed a bit, but continued, "Why not ask Scurry herself what she would like?"
There was a pause, then Calliope acknowledged, "Oh, Mark, you don't know what house-elves are like."
"That's a good idea, really…" Linus said between spoonfuls of soup.
"But house-elves usually put the wills of their masters above that of their own."
Mark frowned. "Do you own her or something?"
"No, it's not that. She's bound to the house, to the Ollivander family. Well… We did inherit her from Mum, she does belong to us…"
"Yes, we own her," Linus said simply.
"What is she, a slave?"
"No, she's not a slave at all." Calliope insisted.
"But you own her, she's not supposed to oppose you, she apparently serves your every whim…"
"But she's a house-elf, she's not human," Linus explained. "The purpose of a house-elf is to serve a family. They don't have a purpose in life unless they're serving a family. Scurry's whole family, down the maternal line, has served the Ollivanders. Before Scurry it was Scamper and before Scamper it was Skedaddle…"
"But Mark," his sister interrupted, "the point is, Scurry is happy to serve us. If we were to set her free, she'd be miserable. She loves us, and we love her. She's like a member of the family."
"That's what slave owners said too," Mark pointed out dryly.
"But Scurry –" Calliope made a frustrated noise. "If you saw her you'd understand. She's a magical creature – her needs aren't the same as human needs. That's part of why she refuses to show herself to you."
Linus lifted his soup bowl and drank the broth. Putting the bowl down he said, "Mmm. Delicious. But, the point is, what are we going to do about the trial and trying to get a re-trial? I still maintain that Hollywyck would be the safest place for Mark."
"I could stay here alone, if I had to," Mark agreed.
Calliope commented. "Linus, your name was mentioned on the radio too. You're not immune to the law; you're an accomplice. You can't walk into the Ministry either. I admit you're in less danger than Mark is, but…"
"Is that Scurry?" Mark interrupted suddenly.
Calliope and Linus followed his gaze to the kitchen doorway. Scurry was standing there, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes wide.
"Master Linus – Miss Calliope, Master, Miss, Hollywyck is surrounded."
"What?" Calliope stood up at once. Slowly, Linus followed. "Who's out there?"
"Not who," Scurry shook her head. "Not people."
"Not Death Eaters then…" Calliope breathed.
"Are you sure they're aren't people, Scurry?" Linus asked.
"They aren't. We knows it. We've never felt this before. They terrify us. We can't repel them… Please, please see what the trouble is."
At once Linus was out of the dining room and heading towards the kitchen door, Calliope following.
"Lumos!"
"Lumos!"
Linus and Calliope lifted their wands on the lawn of Hollywyck in unison. He scanned the grounds, the holly fence, the grass – but she gave a strangled little gasp.
"What?" he asked.
"Look up," she said quietly. He looked.
"No way in hell," he said in a perfectly loud voice.
Floating above the hedge, circling in the air above them were three vast, cloaked forms with no apparent tangibility past their skeletal hands and their weighted hoods. Dementors.
"No way in hell," Linus repeated, his breath a fog. "Not in Hollywyck. Not on my watch."
Calliope clutched her wand and tried to think of a happy memory – a moment with Mark in Boston, maybe, or when she had been at Hollywyck with her family, or with Dora at Hogwarts – she needed to pick one.
Suddenly the Dementor nearest to them took a long, rattling breath. Calliope felt its effects at once and started to hunch over without even realizing it. Another Dementor drew a breath, and another. Calliope heard, in her mind's ear, her own cries and screams, and she heard shouts…
She heard Linus say "Expecto Patronum." He didn't say it with a special exclamation, but coolly, calmly, without the slightest trace of fear. She felt the air grow warmer. She looked up. An unassuming little bird of silver and white darted to and fro between the Ollivanders and the Dementors.
Calliope realized she'd been leaning almost all of her weight on Linus, who was still standing steady. She got back to her own feet, saying, by way of an apology, "Of course. A nightingale. Like Philomel… Latin for…"
"I know. Callie, can you cast any sort of Patronus?"
"A cloud…"
'Okay. That should be enough to defend yourself if you run."
"Run?"
"Just run quickly around to the back of the house to see if there are any more Dementors. I'll drive these ones off."
"But Linus –"
"I'm doing fine," he pointed out.
Calliope shut her mouth, nodded, and then ran.
As she passed the kitchen door, Mark stepped out of it. He saw her running past, her wand lit. He looked around for any threat, but didn't see anything. He felt, however, the unseasonable chill.
He stepped onto the path carefully. He hesitated, watching Calliope run away. Suddenly, a thought struck him – or not a thought so much as a feeling of dread, of loss, of powerlessness. 'Go after her,' it said, 'Don't let her go, don't lose her…'
So he started onto the grass, following the bobbing trail of Calliope's wand. He could barely make out her figure as she rounded the corner and vanished from sight, taking her light with her.
Calliope turned the corner and raised her wand higher, looking to the skies, but saw only a silhouette against the stars swoop over her, drawing its exhausting breath. She ducked automatically – but after a minute she felt the cold dissipate slightly. She looked up and then all around for the Dementor, but it had left that side of the house completely.
Mark stopped running. He couldn't see Calliope anymore. The starlight seemed to dim. He felt another chill at his heart. 'What's even the point?' it asked. 'It's not like she'll ever see you as anything more than … a Muggle. A stupid, weak, inferior Muggle…' He leaned one hand on the brick wall of Hollywyck. He didn't even notice the fog cast by his breath. He leaned his back against the wall and shut his eyes. He remembered, more clearly than ever before, the laughs and jeers of the Sycorax guards, as they hexed him one way, then another, harmless, terrifying things. Later a guard had drawn his wand and Mark had flinched, and all the guards had howled. He felt the clink of the enchanted manacle around his ankle, the derisive "boy," the applause that greeted his verdict. He heard the hated, horrible, high-pitched voice proclaim him "Guilty."
He let out a long sigh, a sigh which almost seemed to rattle in the still, frigid air. His face was very cold.
Calliope would never…
Her voice cut across the silence in a loud cry: "Expecto Patronum!"
Mark felt as though a breeze had stirred the air around him. He opened his eyes to see that a faint, bright cloud surrounded him.
The light cleared his head. He – the core, clear 'Mark' part of him – had one thought: 'Get away.'
So he ran. Shoving himself off the wall, he ran back for the kitchen door. His footing was unsure. He heard footsteps approaching and collided into Linus before he knew it. They both fell backwards onto the ground. The air seemed to get colder. Linus started to get up at once. Seeming to ignore Mark, he pointed his wand skyward. "Enough of this. Expecto Patronum!" He bellowed.
Mark did not see what happened next, because suddenly Calliope was next to him and taking up all his attention. "Mark – Mark, are you all right? Say something!"
She tugged his arm, trying to get him to stand up. He obeyed unthinkingly, his arms and legs trembling. "Ugh – my stomach…"
"That's something, okay, don't worry, we'll get you up, Scurry will make you hot chocolate or something, okay, on your feet…"
By now he was on his feet, but he immediately lurched away, leaning on the wall.
"Mark, are you all –"
He retched, then threw up against the wall. "Ah god," Calliope muttered, her face white. But she continued talking, "All right, get the worst of it over with now, okay, Mark, don't move until you're sure you're better, you'll be fine soon…"
('I will never eat bœuf bourguignon again,' Mark thought, his face flushed and hot, eyes closed.)
"Get him inside, now," Linus said. "I think he was their target. I'll see if there are any left."
"Linus, he's sick! I'm not going to move him…"
"I'm better now, better now," Mark slurred heavily, trying to disconnect himself from the wall. He swayed on his feet and retched again. He felt Calliope's hands on his shoulders. "Mark, I could get something for your stomach…"
"No. Stay." He dared to lean on her, and she quickly steered him back to the kitchen, closing the door behind her.
"Scurry!" she called. "Scurry!"
"Yes, Mistress!"
"Scurry, get me some chocolate from the pantry. Straight chocolate."
"Will baking chocolate be fine?"
"Any chocolate, Scurry, quickly!"
Calliope led Mark to the library again and sat him on a couch. With a flick of her wand she lit one lamp over the fireplace, giving her just enough light to see his face by. She took the throw blanket that had been splayed over the couch and pulled it tightly over his shoulders. All the time he watched her vaguely, without a real focus. Scurry arrived with a large bar wrapped in silver with the golden label Honeydukes' Superior Baking Chocolate: Semisweet on it.
Calliope took the bar and sat beside Mark on the couch. She took Mark's chin in her hand and directed him to look at her – then said "Thanks, Scurry," as the house-elf was leaving the library.
"Nothing at all, Miss," the elf replied.
Calliope tore open the wrapping on the chocolate and broke off a large chunk. "Mark, open up."
He opened his mouth slowly, like a tired child. She pushed the piece of chocolate between his lips. He closed his eyes and took the piece. The pallor in his face warmed. As he chewed, she broke off another piece of chocolate, trying to control her own hands from shaking.
"And another one…" She coaxed, her voice weak. She swallowed hard as the full weight of what had just happened hit her. 'Dementors at Hollywyck… Mark almost Kissed… his skin is so cold… Linus not affected at all… Dementors at Hollywyck… We're not safe anymore… Mark's not well… Hollywyck's not safe…'
Her breath started coming quicker and she felt like she might sob, but she bit it down furiously and broke off a third piece. She didn't realize how much of her anxiety wrote itself on her face, even in the dim light. She focused on giving Mark the chocolate, trying to fix him, to make him look normal again…
"'Op."
She looked at him again. He appeared to be almost choking on chocolate. He swallowed (with difficulty) and fixed her gaze. "Hold on a sec." He reached towards the chocolate bar on her lap and broke off a shred of chocolate. "Wait," he urged. He broke off a larger piece and cupped Calliope's face in his other hand.
She made a faint noise of protest, but he just put the chocolate between her lips clumsily. She tenuously accepted it. The moment her mouth closed on the chocolate she visibly relaxed and sighed. She closed her eyes and after she swallowed, she felt Mark give her another chunk of chocolate. And another. Mark's hand – still cold, but getting warmer – slipped from her hair to her neck.
Almost without thinking, he leaned forward. The hand that was still grazing her lips cupped her face.
She swallowed. "Mark…"
He stopped. His hands broke away and gripped the blanket she'd given him. He leaned back sharply. He didn't look at her. Like one in a dream, she took the chocolate and put it on the coffee table.
The door to the library opened. Linus entered, tucking his wand into his pocket, with Scurry following close behind. "I don't think there are any more out there – I had Scurry check. I also cast a few protective spells – the best I could think of. I'll research more tonight. Is Mark okay?"
Scurry saw the chocolate bar on the table and quietly took it away with her into the kitchen.
"I'm much better now," Mark said in a low but steady voice. "That's really good chocolate."
"Chocolate's the best cure after a Dementor attack." Calliope somehow had moved farther away from Mark on the couch, and she avoided looking at him just as he didn't look at her.
"After a what?" he looked at her now.
"A Dementor." Curious, Linus asked, "What did you experience out there?"
"I – it was horrible. I stepped outside and I felt it was cold and – and I just started remembering everything that's gone wrong these past couple of days. Everything. I felt like – a stupid Muggle. I kept remembering things without wanting to…" He swallowed.
"You're not stupid," Calliope said, just loud enough for Mark to hear. "I was so frightened when I saw you. They were all three around you – you were about to receive the Kiss."
"The Kiss? What are you talking about? What happened?"
"You're angry," Linus observed.
"Good," She said, "That's good. Hang on to that. Take some more… where'd the chocolate go?"
"I don't care. What happened? I didn't see anything around…"
"You couldn't see them," Linus explained. "Dementors are invisible to Muggles, though their presence affects everyone. They suck happiness and hope out of the air."
"What?"
"They drain people of any joy they're feeling, and leave them with the worst memories of their life. You – what you saw was especially vivid because those experiences were only days ago."
"Why were they here? And what do you mean by… by a Kiss?"
"I don't know." Linus took out his wand and flicked it at the fireplace. Yellow flames burst out of the logs there and filled the room with light and warmth. "And the Dementor's Kiss – I couldn't see if you almost received it or not – is when a Dementor… well… you see, they have a sort of a mouth, even though it's hidden under their hoods…"
"I'm imagining with all my might," Mark said flatly.
"The Dementor's Kiss is when a Dementor lowers its hood, and attaches its mouth to that of its victim. Then– well, there's no easy word for what comes next. The Dementor then sucks out the person's soul through their mouth."
Mark gagged again, covering his mouth. "God Almighty," he said, muffled. Calliope turned silently to look at him.
"That's why it was good that Calliope used the Patronus Charm – even though it wasn't corporeal, it was just enough to shock them, ward them off of you long enough for me to drive them off properly."
Mark swallowed. "Thank you. Thank you both."
"It's nothing. We did what we had to." Linus stepped to the closest window and glanced outside. "I can't believe they came here, of all places. They used to guard Azkaban – the prison where they were going to send you."
"They were going to send me –"
"Yes. Well, no. There are no more Dementors at Azkaban. They've rebelled since the war started. Now, they're running renegade all over the country. Or mostly renegade…"
Mark gaped. "Muggle-hating terrorists and invisible hope-sucking dementia makers? My god, England sucks." Before either one could reply, Mark added, "I mean, no offense, but all this evil magical shit is really getting me down."
"If it helps," Calliope offered, "The Dementors are only on the loose because there is a war on. Most of the time England is a very pleasant place to be, in my opinion."
Mark closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that about England. But I'm just… I'm really homesick right now. Really homesick."
Calliope didn't know what to do next. "I'm so sorry that that had to happen to you, Mark. If it helps – I remember things too. Everyone does. I remember…" she trailed off.
"When your mother died?" Mark asked.
"When she died – and the day that I first realized that she was going to die. That she could die at any time. I was young then – it was terrible. And Linus remembers – " she looked up at her brother, but her words faltered. "Linus… what did you remember?"
He looked at her. "Why do you ask?"
"Because you didn't seem affected by the Dementors at all. I was wondering what you saw."
Before Linus could answer, the door opened. Scurry trotted into the room, bearing a tray with three giant mugs of some hot, frothy drink. She went first to Calliope and bowed a little. "For Miss Calliope."
"Well, thank you."
Then Scurry went to the other end of the library and curtsied before Linus. "For Master Linus."
"Thank you, Scurry," Linus said, taking the mug, but not looking at anything.
Last Scurry glided over to Mark and bowed to him, as low as she had for either of the Ollivanders. "For the Muggle sir."
Mark smiled and took the last mug. "Thank you very much, Scurry."
"Printzen," Calliope corrected her. "Call him Mark Printzen."
Scurry nodded, and curtsied to Mark again. "For Mister Mark Printzen, then." Then, quickly and quietly as she was entered, she was gone.
Mark took a tentative drink, and found that Scurry had given him nothing less than the richest, creamiest hot cocoa he had ever tasted, flavored with a touch of mint.
Calliope drank deeply of her mug, then set it down the little table with a loud clack. "Linus, I mean it. You were just as close to the Dementors as I was. You saw them both, but you didn't seem at all bothered by it."
"How could you notice that? You were very upset by them, as I noticed."
Calliope took another drink. "Why wouldn't I notice? And of course I'd be upset. You know what I've lived through. I just told you what I saw and heard – and more besides. I heard Dora telling me Uncle Servaas was kidnapped, I heard the radio broadcast that you two were criminals – you were just as close as I was, you've lived all those things too, but you didn't react at all!"
"I've had training to deal with these sorts of situations, Calliope." Linus spoke steadily, but he was gripping his mug of hot cocoa a little too tightly. "I can cast a corporeal Patronus, and you can't…"
"So can Dora, and she still gets unsteady when a Dementor is nearby, let alone three…"
"Adrenaline took over! I'm the man of the house, I had to protect everyone. What's wrong with that?"
"Linus, I've seen you around Dementors before. You have to struggle, because of what happened when you were so little…"
"Calliope." Linus spoke with the authority of a father. "I'm an Obliviator. I've been studying Occlumency and Leglimency for the past five years in addition to creating a corporal Patronus. I've led teams, I've gone out into the field. Why are you so upset over the fact that I could take out three Dementors?"
"But –"
"If it wasn't for me, Mark would have received the Dementor's Kiss by now!"
Calliope lowered her eyes. Mark glanced at her, then glared at her brother.
Linus said shortly, "I think you should be worrying less about my ability to produce a corporal Patronus and more about your inability to do so."
She took a drink of hot cocoa. "Thank you for rescuing Mark," she said quietly.
"You're welcome. Now – I think we can all agree that you two were both quite badly affected. I think you should go to bed as soon as you finish your cocoa."
"You're not my dad," Mark said with a slight smile.
Linus gave a little smile back, but it faded as he went on, "I'm going to stay up a bit. I'm going to work on the defensive spells around Hollywyck. Mark…" he paused. "We'll all talk more about this in the morning."
"Yes." Calliope stood up. "We will. Goodnight, Linus."
"Goodnight, Calliope. Goodnight, Mark."
"'Night, Linus."
"Just leave the mug on the coffee table," Calliope said. "Scurry will pick it up later." Mark followed her out of the library and up the stairs to their rooms. As she reached the landing, Mark said quickly, "Thank you."
She turned around. He was leaning on the banister, but smiling at her. "For the chocolate."
"You're welcome. And…" she fiddled briefly with the hem of her blouse. "Thank you for the chocolate you gave me."
"It's nothing." He was blushing very strongly. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Mark."
Linus, however, did not go to sleep then. He stayed awake for several hours, even after Scurry had coaxed him into going into his room. He kept watch by the window, and only when he saw that the sun was coming up did he turn out his lamps, and try to sleep.
The entry hall lamp was the first glow of the dark house. Turpentine stepped in the door of his house and, as was his custom, he took off his cloak, and his shoes. However, he deviated from custom, however, when he took a large shopping bag straight to his cellar.
When down there, he had proceeded to set up a map of England (freshly bought from a Muggle school-supply store) on the circular marble table, much to the confusion of his ward. Servaas had watched him set it up and said, "May I ask, what is that?"
"No, you may not ask. It's an experiment."
"Oh."
A pause. Turpentine took out his wand and traced the edge of the map with it, murmuring to himself. When he stepped back, finished with the first spell, Servaas asked, "So how was your day?"
"Wonderful. Most enlightening. And yours?" Turpentine Summoned a lantern near him, to work better, marking a certain spot on the map.
Servaas put down he book he was reading. "Oh, the usual. I formulated an escape plan," he said conversationally, "And I read all your mail. I think some of it got confused with the next-door neighbors, or else there's a poodle very well-hidden around here. … That's actually my escape plan. I'm going to sic that poodle from next door on you, my good sir, and laugh while it chews your hair out."
"I'm concentrating, please."
Servaas was quiet then, and waited until Turpentine was done. Straightening up, the Death Eater walked over to Servaas' corner and relaxed on the cot, muttering, "How about that, old man."
Servaas asked, "Does this experiment have anything to do with me?"
"In a roundabout way, sort of, but not really, no. You won't be hurt or affected, I assure you."
"Does He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named know of this experiment?"
"I'm quite sure he has an idea of it – he is a brilliant, brilliant Leglimens, you know. I made no move to hide this from him, and he said nothing to stop me. He sees that this is for his advantage – or at least, is willing to wait and watch it unfold."
"Why? What does the spell do?"
"I'm not going to tell you."
Servaas looked over at the map. The laminated surface had a sheen to it that did not match the lamps in the cellar – but it was the sheen of a spell unfinished. "So you're letting it ferment, now, as it were?"
"Yes. You know, if it weren't for your age and position, you'd probably make a fine student for me." Turpentine had nodded, underscoring his sentence.
"Don't insult me."
Turpentine scowled at that. "I won't. I'll give you a job to do." He gestured to the map of England. "I'll get a proper easel for that, don't worry about that, but certain spots on that map will take on a discoloration – I've marked it to be a red dot – when a certain trigger is set off. Never mind what the trigger is. It may go off anywhere in the country. Trouble is, it will fade shortly after the trigger is activated. Your job will be to – hold on a sec – Accio!" A smaller, un-laminated paper map of the United Kingdom sailed out of the shopping bag, along with a marker and landed at Turpentine's feet. "Your job will be to take this map of England and mark the spots where the dots appear. I predict there won't be many, if at all."
"What if I lie?"
Turpentine waved his wand over the marker, which glowed for a minute, then returned to dullness. "Anti-Cheating Spell. And don't forget I can read your memories."
"Oh, I never forget that," Servaas said half to himself as Turpentine got up and approached the laminated map again.
Turpentine bent over the map, his eyes alight with the thrill of the scientific method. Taking his wand, he carefully wrote "Benedicte Ollivander" on two separate lines in shining letters where the ink read "The United Kingdom of Great Britain." He took care to hide the letters from Servaas until they faded.
At once the whole map fell dull again, but both could feel the enchantment in the air. "Ah." Turpentine straightened up and eased his back muscles. "Another experiment to test a chaotic world."
"Another?"
"The Dark Lord and I are two of a kind, you know. He has made so many vast experiments into the realms of Dark magic, of which I only know the littlest scraps. In his name I perform experiments of similar depth in the fields of Oneirology, Pyschomagery, et cetera. Not Dark Magic, of course, that's against my nature…"
"Really…" Servaas muttered.
"But the Dark Lord allows and encourages me in tests that I would not be allowed to dream of otherwise. Because we're both scholars! Or at least, I am rather fond of thinking of myself that way… all right. That's done. Now I'm going to ask you a few questions."
"As you say."
"You may enjoy it. Just a simple test of memory."
Servaas' voice was bitter. "Don't disguise cruelty with a schoolmaster artifice."
Turpentine's voice lost its amiability. "Cruel? I have not been cruel. Obedient to a cruel master, yes, but that is necessary. I am not cruel on my own. If you were in any other Death Eater's house, you would right now be tortured until your sanity stretched like a piece of gum, purely for a lark. I am not cruel. I tell you the truth. I feed you well, don't I? These lodgings are fairly comfortable. All I ask in return are some harmless, non-personal questions."
Servaas was quiet. Then, after he heaved a sigh, "Why not."
"Excellent." A writing pad and pen suddenly appeared. "Let us begin. Question one: what are the four distinct magical properties of meteoric rock?"
Servaas took his time answering: "Resistant to fire and heat, amplifies divination magic, completely immune to the effects of the moon, and it enhances luck and probability."
"Very good." Turpentine took some notes. "Now, if you would please name the characters in 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' and what their desires are?"
"They're, ah, Asha, who has a wasting illness, Altheda, who is suffering poverty, and Amata, whose beloved has left her, and then there's the knight, what's-his-name… no, I don't think he has a name. He's just born unlucky – Sir Luckless, that's it. Am I right?"
"Yes, you are. I have two more questions for you."
"All right."
"What are the three woods sacred to the British Isles and their properties?"
"Oak and ash and thorn," Servaas replied promptly. "Oak for power, ash for truth, and thorn for light. That's how I learned it, at its most basic. Would you like me to go into greater detail?"
Turpentine shook his head, finishing up another note. "No, no, thank you, that's enough. One last question."
"I'm ready."
"Name your nieces and nephews."
"Philomel and Phoebe, those are Andries' daughters. And the grand-nieces and nephews – Hector and Tess, and then, ah – mm – it's…" he squeezed his eyes shut, "… Linus! Then Calliope."
Turpentine nodded, slowly. "Thank you. Your memory is in excellent condition, Ollivander, all things considered."
For a reward, Turpentine brought down a new book for him to read on the history of Persian enchantments, and a potion, to help him sleep.
That night, Turpentine entered the cellar to check on Servaas. The wandmaker was deep in slumber. He did not seem agitated. Turpentine, before returning upstairs, whispered to him, "No one is coming to find you. No one will ever find you here. I am not cruel. I am telling you the truth."
Philomel Ollivander had been, in her youth, a dueling champion. While in her prime, she had faced off against Cormac Prince, and he had hit her with a spell for which he went to Azkaban rather than name. Whatever the source, Philomel's heart was severely weakened by the strike for the rest of her life.
Healers told her she should never attempt to have children; after her second successful Caesarean section, most of them shut up, although Philomel only disclosed to a few the fact that being put under sedation, and the heavy surgery required, meant that even C-sections, an experimental procedure among Healers, posed a very real danger. Benny herself learned of this at the age of twelve, on a specially allowed and chaperoned visit to her mother and brand-new baby brother in Hogsmeade. She had taken the news well for her age, neither denying her sorrow nor letting herself obsess over it. However, five years later, she did not take a similar piece of news nearly so well.
"You're pregnant? Again? Why?"
Philomel was a little taken aback. "What do you mean, why? It's a baby, it doesn't really need an explanation."
"But – I mean, why now?" Benny was going through a phase of italics and dramatic hand gestures. "You almost died giving birth to Linus, if you wanted a third child, why wait so long?"
"I decided long ago," Philomel was very calm, "that I would never be running after two babies at the same time. There's a good-sized gap between Linus and the new one. And I managed his birth—"
"But that was five years ago, Mother. You're older – begging your pardon. Wait, no, I'm not begging your pardon, you know that."
"You think I'm making a mistake."
"It's just a statistical proof! Older women have more difficult births! And you – in your condition –" (That sentence couldn't finish.)
"Well, what are we going to do about that now?" Philomel, seated on a bench, folded her hands across her still-flat stomach while Benny paced back and forth.
"Ohhh – I'm not suggesting we, we terminate it or anything, but I'm saying it's a risk! A risk that's a whole lot worse than the last time you did this –"
"I am well aware of that."
"Then why the hell are you pregnant again?"
Benedicte rarely swore. The shout disappeared into a night's outdoor silence.
Philomel inhaled deeply. "This was not exactly a planned incident. When I found out, I was delighted, in spite of the risks that are possible, and the changes that are inevitable. How can you be angry, when this would affect you least of all the family?"
Benny had slumped on the bench, her shoulders bowed, her hands clenched into fists in a gesture of defeat. "But you're my mother," she managed to say. "You could die. I've tried not to think about that all these years…"
"I know." Philomel was hugging her daughter before the girl even realized it. Benny plugged up her sobs, though a few tears escaped her (she was sixteen, after all.) Philomel drew back and looked Benny square in the eyes. "This is why I want to ask you to be the godmother to the new baby."
Wide-eyed, stunned, Benny had answered, "What? Me? But – after what I just said –"
"I will ignore that, for now, for the simple reason that you're my daughter and I love you. And it does prove how much you care for my welfare – and the baby's."
Benny swayed on the spot, silent.
"Bristow and I will be working carefully and closely in the later days of this, so there's no surprises like last time."
Benny looked around vaguely, possible futures dawning on her, her vision returning to her mother. "So – when's the due date?"
"Not certain, but early to mid February."
Benny swallowed. "You really think I'm the best for the job? What about Papa?"
"He suggested the idea in the first place."
Overwhelmed, the young lady looked to the stars. "Drat – I won't be able to meet 'em until March—if I can spare time – at Easter vacation—" She couldn't speak anymore. Her mother hugged her and patted her hair.
"It's okay to cry, dear. I know. This is frightening."
"I'm not crying," Benny protested.
A few minutes later, they returned inside, where Linus, who'd had to keep in the wonderful secret for an entire day, was waiting for them.