Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story that is recognisable from the Harry Potter books, movies, etc. Everything else however (eg. story plot, original characters, etc.) stems from my own imagination and belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended and I am not profiting financially from this story in any way.


Chapter 5 – Rooke's Books

Mon, 26/9/2005

Striding down Diagon Alley Evan paused momentarily as he reached his turnoff. Giving the shadowed street a dubious look he pursed his lips before deciding to get on with it. Wand grasped firmly in his hand – and hidden by the sleeves of his robe – he turned into Knockturn Alley. Long-time habits unconsciously returned to him as he walked; his stride gained a sort of liquid grace that screamed 'fighter' and his eyes flickered constantly – guardedly – towards shadows and alcoves, cautiously searching out any possible threats. His actions were not at all lost on Knockturn's residents and they all steered clear of the dangerous looking stranger, letting him pass unmolested.

A fair distance into the dark Alley – far enough that Diagon could no longer be seen in the distance – he found the shop he had been searching for. Staring at the rather worn looking building whose hanging sign read 'Rooke's Books', he flicked his wand and discretely cast a few revealing and ward diagnostic spells.

'Ministry standard building wards: fireproofing, anti-pest and waterproofing on the roof,' he thought silently, as the results of his spells returned, 'and – hmm, what's this – spells to discourage theft, violence or speaking to Ministry officials of business conducted on the premises,' he smirked, 'all probably standard here in Knockturn.'

Satisfied the building posed no immediate threat to him he nodded to himself and approached the edifice. Reaching a hand to the door handle he turned it down and stepped through and into the shop. He then stood still a moment as the door swung closed behind him, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light and taking in his surroundings.

It was a medium sized store and currently empty of customers. Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined walls and crossed the floors, stuffed full with books of all sorts. The few windows were heavily curtained so as not to let in light – possibly because dark stores seemed to be a Knockturn theme but perhaps also to protect the books from sun damage. The candles placed about were all very carefully positioned so as to protect the stock from possible damage by errant flames. Unfortunately – given how crammed in the bookshelves were – there were few positions where it was safe to set up lights. As a result, there were far too few candles lit to give the shop proper illumination. Harry expected that he would need a Lumos spell to read any of the titles in the more shadowed rows.

Towards the rear of the shop there was a break in the wall-lining shelves where a door stood, no doubt leading to a back room. In front and slightly to the side of the door was the only other piece of furniture the room contained; a large wooden counter. Much like the rest of the shop, the surface of the desk was cluttered with books, though a space had been cleared – most likely for tallying up purchases – at the front of which was set a brass bell.

Seeing as the shopkeeper had yet to appear he stepped up to the desk and picked up the bell. Ringing it three times he then set it back down and waited. Silence – not even the sound of hurrying footsteps. He sighed. The owner was probably one of those 'I'll come when I'm good and ready' sorts. With nothing else to do but wait he decided to simply browse around to see if he could find what he was looking for.

Approaching the nearest shelf he observed the mess of books with a doubtful eye. There seemed to be no particular filing system to the bookshelves; more of a 'stick it wherever it will fit' philosophy.

"Well," he murmured to himself, "It's a good thing I had nothing else to do today."

Decided, he drew his wand and lit it before beginning a search of the shelves.

There were two particular subjects that he was looking for books about today. The first – and initial reason for his brother suggesting the store to him – was the Fidelius Charm. However after yesterday's events and the conversation he and Neville had had last night, there was also a second topic he was interested in. As he worked his way down the shelves his allowed his mind to wander back to last night's conversation.

..ooOFLASHBACKOoo..

Sun, 25/9/2005

After an uncomfortably quiet dinner, fraught with tension, the Franklin brothers had both sat themselves down in their living room, staring distantly into the flickering flames in the hearth. After several long moments of further silence Neville finally spoke up.

"We need to help Dobby," he said, emotion clear in his voice, "I know he's not the elf we knew, but still- we can't just leave him there."

Harry nodded, "No, no we can't. So the question is: how do we get him out? Maybe we could buy him," seeing his brother opening his mouth to object he added, "In disguise of course. I doubt the ferret would want anything to do with me after today. He's probably worried my apparent insanity is catching."

Neville smiled slightly at that but still shook his head.

"It still wouldn't work," he told his frowning brother, "Do you not know anything about house-elf bonds?"

"I know that it stops them from disobeying their masters and that clothing from their master will free them."

"There's a bit more to it than that," Neville told him, "And a very important reason that the bonds are intended to be life-long."

"Why is that?"

"Because once the elf is freed or changes to a new master, they no longer need to keep their old master's secrets."

"Really?" Harry asked, eyes wide in surprise, "But why would wizards have made the bond that way in the first place? I don't see any of the old, dark, pure-blood families taking that kind of risk."

"It has something to do with the nature of house-elves," Neville explained, "It's an instinctive part of their character to be devoted to serving. There's a reason most house-elves don't want to be freed; being bonded to a family guarantees they have people to serve. Most freed house-elves who don't find someone or somewhere else to serve quickly usually die of depression or go insane," he frowned then, "Something Granger would have found out during her S.P.E.W. efforts if she had actually cared more about the elves than her own self-righteous views of right and wrong."

Harry listened to this explanation with fascination; he'd never heard any of this information before. He wondered though why Dobby had instead seemed to revel in freedom and asked his brother just that. Neville grimaced before explaining.

"The thing was I don't think Dobby was entirely sane," at his brother's expression of objection he quickly added, "Oh, come on! You can't deny that. Don't get me wrong – Dobby was family and we all would have died to protect each other, but that doesn't change the fact that he was always a bit unhinged," he snorted then and a fond look overcame his face, "Can you imagine any sane or non-colour blind person with the wardrobe tastes Dobby had?"

At that Harry let his anger recede and couldn't help but laugh as well.

"Okay so Dobby was a bit kooky," he conceded, "It that because he was freed? You said free elves either become depressed or insane."

"No, I don't think so," Neville shook his head, "From what you've said he wasn't your average house-elf even before you freed him."

"So…" he trailed off, looking questioningly at his brother's grave expression.

"House-elves are born to serve. They thrive on it even if their masters don't treat them well. Most would rather die that be set free; that's how important it is to them. For Dobby to have ever reached the state that he was," he shuddered, "Merlin, I can't even imagine how inhumane the Malfoys must have been to make an elf want freedom."

Harry's breath caught and he swallowed thickly.

"And in this world Dobby had been with them," he paused to calculate, "At least twelve more years than our Dobby was."

"Yeah…"

There was a moment of painful silence as they both reflected on that fact. Suddenly realising an inconsistency in his brother's explanation, Harry spoke up.

"Something else doesn't make sense with Dobby though. It seemed to me that over the last few years we knew him he settled down somewhat. I mean he still had his rainbow socks and football shorts but he was a lot more…" he struggled for the word, "Steady minded, I suppose. Heck, he could even be rather crafty and devious when the situation called for it. When I first met him that was way beyond his abilities – his idea of cleverly trying to help me with the Chamber fiasco was to nearly kill me by knocking me off my broom with a mad Bludger."

"You have a point," Neville nodded, "I think what really helped Dobby was following us and Luna when we fled Hogwarts."

"But I thought you said that having somewhere to serve helped keep an elf sane?" a thought occurred to him then, his expression suddenly becoming worried, "You don't think I did harm to him – letting him leave Hogwarts with us – do you?"

An exasperated sigh, "No Evan, I don't. You already pointed out that he was actually more – what was the word you used – 'steady-minded' after we left. The thing is that while a place to serve does help an elf, more than that they want a person or people. They need the personal connection that comes from serving a living human and seeing that their masters benefit from their work."

"So… okay, you've lost me."

"So, Dobby left the place Hogwarts to serve the person you," at his brother's horrified expression he rolled his eyes, "None of that now. It's not like you were his bonded master; Dobby chose to serve you of his own free will. I know it used to bother you that he called you master all the time-"

"Did it ever! It took me ages to convince him using my full name would be just as respectful, never mind the possibility of him just calling me 'Harry'."

"And the reason he agreed to it at all was because his chosen master demanded it. No, no- it's true," he said but his brother still seemed bothered.

"It's just the whole master and servant thing seems too Voldemort-like for my tastes."

"Okay, I can see that. Maybe you should look at it as a family thing?"

"Family?"

"Yeah. You were Dobby's main master-"

"And you were Winky's, weren't you?" Harry interrupted as that fact occurred to him.

"Yeah, I was," Neville nodded in assent, "But as I was saying: Dobby saw you as his main master, but towards the end he and Winky both served all of us – you, me, Luna, Fred and George."

"Okay, but this is helping with my Voldemort-likeness issues how?" he complained only to receive rolled eyes in response.

"If you'll let me finish?" he gave him a direct stare and Harry gave a mockingly condescending wave of assent, "Ta. As I was saying we were all like one big, hodgepodge family."

"You forgot 'unorthodox'."

"Fine – one big, hodgepodge, unorthodox family. And, as a family we all put in our share, didn't we?" he paused for his brother to nod in agreement, "So, even though Dobby and Winky both served us all, we all 'served' each other as well."

"I guess- yeah we did, didn't we? And, I suppose I doesn't bother me as much if I look at it like that. I can hardly see Voldemort as the sort to pull his own weight with his not-so-little dark army."

"Unless you call sitting back while others do the work, and Crucio-ing them if they make the slightest mistake, pulling his weight…"

Harry snorted, "Exactly. Anyway we've gotten off track. You were explaining the connection between bonds and secrets, remember?"

"Oh, Right. So, back to what I was saying. Elves are born for servitude and loyalty; they can't help being that way. The reason that the breaking or transferring of a bond also stops preventing the elf from telling its old master's secrets is because a house-elf's intrinsic loyalty to a master – in this case their new master – is far more powerful than any secrecy spell."

"Really?" Harry asked, intrigued, "I always thought that at least the magical oath on life and magic was unbreakable."

"Oh, that one is," the blue eyed brother nodded, "But when an elf makes a vow like that it will always be to its 'master'; they're incapable of making that kind of oath to a person by name. So, when they suddenly have a new master – or no master at all – the oath is invalidated."

A blink, "Oh. I guess that rules out buying Dobby then. The Malfoy family would never allow an elf with knowledge of all their family's dirty secrets to go free."

"Definitely not. That's also the reason I doubt you could trick them into freeing him again. The fact that it worked the first time was a complete fluke. They would normally be much more careful, given what's at stake."

After that they sat in silence for a few moments, trying to brainstorm other possibilities. After several minutes of this Harry gave a frustrated groan and turned to the side, flopping down to lay on his back with his head resting on a throw pillow.

"I don't suppose we could steal him?" he asked doubtfully.

"No, the bond would just make him go back again."

"Then what can we do?" he asked impatiently.

"I don't know. Gran wasn't an elitist but she was a traditionalist. She made sure I had the most thorough pure-blood education possible and that includes the topic of house-elves. Even with all that though, I still can't think of a solution," he sighed, "I think maybe our best bet is research."

"What about that Knockturn Alley bookshop I'm going to tomorrow? You said they were good at digging up what you're looking for right? Well maybe I should ask them to look into house-elf bonds for me."

"Actually," Neville said a hopeful smile slowly settling over his lips, "That sounds like a rather good idea."

And so the decision had been made.

..ooOENDFLASHBACKOoo..

Mon, 26/9/2005

Harry suddenly paused as a title caught his eye, bringing his thoughts fully back to the here and now. Passing his wand to his left hand he reached out and removed the book from the shelf. Kneeling on the floor he set the aged, leather-bound tome on his thighs, tracing over the faded title with curiosity.

"Hmm, 'The Primitive Magic of Magical Creatures'," he read quietly.

Although entirely off topic from either the Fidelius or house-elves, the book had nonetheless grabbed his attention. It brought to mind the memory of Griphook's impressive display of Goblin-magic, creating the ledgers outside his and Neville's vaults. Easing the cover open – careful not to damage the obviously old book – he flicked through the first few yellowed pages before pausing at the contents.

"'Song and Dance'," he murmured, reading one of the listed chapters.

Once again he was reminded of Griphook – this time of the conversation they had had after he created the ledger for the vaults.

Harry recalled having said at the time that the chanting and the patterns his account manager used reminded him more of music and dancing than spell casting. To that, the Goblin had replied that many magical species did actually use music and dancing to perform their magics. He had also intimated to Harry that once upon a time, so too did wizards.

Before he could ponder more on that however, there was a creaking noise towards the back of the shop, as if a door was opening. He quickly replaced the tome, doused his wand, and headed back in that direction. Pausing at the edge of the stacks he observed the man who was now standing behind the counter.

The wizard appeared to be middle-aged, with flyaway greying hair and a businesslike expression. His robes – whilst not the latest style – were undeniably well made and of a superior fabric, indicating that business was good. That was a promising sign, to Harry's mind. For a mere Knockturn second-hand bookshop to do so well, the wizard's ability to scrounge up books of interest must be impressive enough to bring in plenty of customers.

Deciding he had observed enough, Harry stepped out into the light. The man looked up and gave a nod before speaking.

"I take it you're the one who was ringing for assistance?" asked the shopkeeper.

"Yes, that was me."

"Well, step up to the counter lad and tell me what you need," he ordered impatiently, "Name's Cyrus Rooke by the way. So, why'd you ring?"

Deciding to do as he asked Harry stepping up to the desk and began explaining.

"I'm Evan Franklin and I'm after books on the Fidelius Charm and house-elves," he replied succinctly, getting straight to the point.

"Hmm? Rather odd topics but that's really none of my business, is it?" he said, scratching his chin in thought, "I believe I have a few charms texts referencing the Secret Keeper Charm and some of the older magical creature texts – from back in the day when they were classified as beasts rather than beings – make mention of house-elves. Or were you looking for something a bit more particular?"

A nod, "I was actually. For the Fidelius I want information on the charm and in particular details as to the actual casting of it. For house-elves I want something in-depth about their bonds of servitude."

"Really?" Cyrus raised a curious eyebrow before shaking his head, "Well I don't think there's anything here covering that."

"My brother actually recommended this store," said Harry, not willing to give up yet, "He said that you'll sometimes take requests and have a look around?"

"Ah, did he now?" he asked but nodded all the same, "Yes that is true; for a small fee of course."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes – having expected nothing less from a Knockturn Alley merchant – and agreed. Soon enough Cyrus Rooke had made note of his requests and Harry handed over the small fee before exiting the shop, hopeful that the wizard would be able to find what he was looking for.

..ooOOoo..

Fri, 30/9/2005

Over the next few days nothing much happened. Neville kept himself busy mostly with tending the flourishing greenhouse, and had also taken advantage of all his free time to do some reading into healing. Though he had never had much time to dig to deeply into the subject, it was a topic that had long interested him. Initially the interest had arisen as a dream of curing his parents and – more recently – was intensified by the wish that he'd had the knowledge to save his wife.

Harry's activities since returning from the second hand bookstore however, had been somewhat less constructive. The truth was that the younger Franklin twin had taken to spending his time being a royal annoyance to his brother. It wasn't intentional of course – well alright it was intentional, though not without reason. He'd by now finished setting up the library and had yet to receive news on a Fidelius or house-elf book, so annoying his blood-brother seemed as good a way to pass the time as any. Thus had Harry had spent the last four days popping up wherever Neville was, getting in the way, complaining about his boredom, and generally making a proper nuisance of himself.

After the first day of this, Neville had sympathetically realised that after so many years of war – with its constant action, movement and fighting – the unaccustomed peace and idleness of this world was too much for his brother. After the second day, whilst still somewhat sympathetic, he was also starting to get annoyed. By day three his sympathy had seriously waned and his irritation shot up several notches. By day four Neville was ready to strangle Harry, brother or no.

Neville had been working in the greenhouse when it happened. Finally at his wit's end, his patience had broke and he'd yelled at his irritating friend, demanding that he find something to occupy himself with lest he send them both mad. Harry, surprised at the forceful outburst from his usual affable brother, meekly agreed.

"Good," Neville nodded firmly.

"Right," Harry agreed hesitantly, "Only thing is- I'm not sure what exactly there is I can do."

"Well I know you finished setting up the library. Why don't you try reading something?"

He wrinkled his nose, "Nothing we have catches my interest at the moment."

A sigh, "There must be something in there obscure enough to entertain you."

"Well a few, but I've already read them all."

"All? You had to expand that room three times before all the books would fit. Surely there's something."

"Nothing."

With a longsuffering sigh Neville set down the trowel he had been using and leaned against the greenhouse wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, if you're absolutely sure there's nothing," he gave the green-eyed man a serious look.

"Absolutely, positively," Harry assured him and nodded with as much solemnity as he could, causing Neville's lips to twitch just a little.

"Well, why don't you go to Rowena's Library then? They're sure to have books you've not read. Or maybe Flourish and Blotts? There're probably new books out that never got a chance to be released in our world. You could even try that Rooke's Books again. From what you told me it's not likely to have anything new, but it does have some old and rare titles you're not likely to have seen before."

By the end of his listed suggestions Harry's expression had brightened considerably. Clearly one of the aforementioned options had caught his attention. Neville waited patiently to hear which one it was.

"You know Lea now that you mention it, there was this one book at Rooke's that I thought was a bit interesting. It was an old tome – practically falling apart – called 'The Primitive Magic of Magical Creatures'. I saw it when I was there before."

"Well, that sounds a bit random and unusual," he smiled then, "Pretty much to your tastes then."

"Exactly!"

Then, before Neville could make any further comment, Harry threw his brother a thankful grin and sped out the greenhouse. The blue-eyed man just smiled and picked up his abandoned trowel before turning back to his garden beds. Hopefully he would now be able to get some work done without constant, annoying interruptions.

..ooOOoo..

Sun, 2/10/2005

It was Sunday evening – an hour or so after dinner – and the twins were sprawled out on the living room couches, each reading in a book. As Neville and Harry flicked through 'Household Healing' and 'The Primitive Magic of Magical Creatures' respectively, conversation flowed freely between the two.

"I swear," Harry said with a frown, "This book must have been written by some pure-blood elitist type."

"I thought the title would have given that away Evan."

"Well, yeah. It's just that the author is so completely derogatory and condescending about magical beings and their abilities."

"It can't be that bad," Neville said, looking over at his brother, "I doubt you would have spent all weekend absorbed in it if it was that disappointing."

"No, but that's just the thing. It's annoying having to read through the slandering crap, but it's actually a really interesting book," Harry enthused, "The author keeps describing the magics as primitive. He's calls them uncivilised and unfocussed a lot as well. The thing is though, from what I've read, better descriptions would be powerful, instinctive and wide-ranging.

"To be honest," Harry continued excitedly, "I really like some of these types of magic – especially the instinctive aspects. Basically a lot of creatures base their magics on feelings, intuition and emotion. Don't know why but for some reason that really appeals to me."

"I'm not surprised," Neville commented, setting his own book aside, "You have always had a sort of affinity for magic. Plus, your most impressive spells have mostly been done in emotional situations – usually life or death."

"That's true," Harry nodded in thoughtful agreement, "My best magic has almost always been a result of need and emotion."

"Rather the whole 'rigid control and precise wand movements and incantations' that the Professors at Hogwarts insist are necessary," Neville added.

"Exactly. Like the Patronus Charm for one. The first time I managed to make it corporeal was when I had to use it to save myself and Sirius from some hundreds of Dementors. Then there was the Summoning Charm which I got quite good at. I had to learn that one to escape death by dragon."

"And then that's not even counting all the hexes and curses you've perfected in battle situations over the years," Neville added, "Yeah, I can see why magic based on instinct would suit you. Your magic pretty much works that way already."

"Honestly, I'm even more eager to try out some of the magics myself now."

Neville blinked in surprise, Harry having never told him that he was interested in actually testing the methods in his new book.

"Why would you want to do that?" he asked in confusion.

Harry shrugged, "Partly curiosity, partly whim," he admitted.

"Would it even be possible? I mean, what if the spells and such aren't compatible with humans?"

"There's a chapter in the book titled 'Song and Dance'," Harry said as though that should explain things.

"And?" Neville asked, not understanding his brother's point.

"Remember when Griphook made the ledger outside my vault?" he asked and Neville nodded, "And I commented on how the Goblin-magic reminded me of music and dancing. And he said lots of magical species use just that and that-"

"Wizards and witches used to as well," Neville finished for him, recalling the conversation himself.

"Right."

"So you're really going to try it then?"

"Well, I want to. The only problem is that the book doesn't have any specific, practical directions, so I'm somewhat stuck."

"Hmm."

"'Hmm'? 'Hmm' what?"

"I was just thinking- if Griphook was right you'd think more people would know about it."

"You think he was wrong?"

"What?" he looked confused then shook his head, "Oh, no. No- what I was thinking was that if most everyday witches and wizards don't remember that we used to used singing and dancing and other methods, the only way you'll likely find information on them is probably by searching out old tomes or else books focussed on ancient and forgotten wizarding magic."

"Yeah," Harry nodded in agreement, "You're probably right."

..ooOOoo..

Mon, 3/10/2005

The very next day Harry had left the house in search of information on his newest topic of interest. After a rather disappointing hunt through Flourish and Blotts he had quickly come to the conclusion that recent publications had little – if any – information on old-fashioned and out-of-use wizarding magics. What small amount they did have was either mentioned only in passing or else was not quite what he was looking for.

In desperation he had even looked at some of the more comprehensive volumes on magical creatures. Unfortunately it seemed that either other races kept the details of their magics secret, or the wizarding world was simply too arrogant and/or lazy to show a detailed interest in the topic. Personally, Harry suspected a combination of the two.

Feeling a little disappointed he decide to give Rooke's Books a try and headed towards the Knockturn Alley shop he was fast becoming familiar with. After a good ten minutes of searching the bookshop's overstocked and unorganised stacks, Cyrus Rooke decided to make an appearance.

"Back again I see Mr Franklin. Were you looking for anything in particular lad?"

He looked up at the shopkeeper from the low shelf he was bent over searching, and gave a sigh, relieved and grateful for the offer of assistance.

"Actually I am. Do you happen to have any books on old or almost forgotten wizarding magics?" he asked, "Anything from before we became so solely focussed on wands is probably what I'm looking for."

"Try the ones along the wall back, second bookcase from the left. Should be some there that'd suit what you're looking for."

"Thanks," he said gratefully and headed in that direction.

After much further searching of the indicated bookcase, Harry happened to discover a dusty and obviously ignored volume stuffed behind the books on the second shelf from the bottom. It was entitled 'Olde Magicks'. Briefly flipping through the volume he was pleased and intrigued to find mention of song, dance, invoking spirits, blood rituals, divination methods, spirit familiars and several other topics. This was exactly what he had been searching for – and more – and he decided immediately that he would buy it.

As he went to stand up he spotted another book, this one on the very bottom shelf. Squatting back down he saw that the spine read 'The Noble Arte of Healing'. With a frown he stared at the book thoughtfully as he traced the title. He was unsure of what it was exactly, but something about the book seemed 'off' – though not necessarily in a bad way. Giving a shrug he dismissed his confusion and – thinking that Neville might find an old volume about Medimagic interesting – decided to buy this second book also, to give to his friend.

Pulling the medical text from the shelf he stood and made his way back out of the stacks. As he placed both items on the counter Rooke gave him a strange look.

"Don't know what you plan to do with that book of gibberish," the shop-wizard said before shaking his head and shrugging, "All the same, not my business. I'll just be glad to finally be rid of it."

Confused and surprised at the man's comments he looked down at the indicated book and focused on it for a moment. It was only through excellent control of his own reflexes that he managed not to jerk in shock as he watched the writing seemingly transform into a collection of serpentine scribbles. Somehow, despite never having seen the language before or having even known it existed, he instinctively realised just what he was looking at. The healing book was written in Parseltongue. 'Well,' he thought silently, 'at least now I know why it seemed odd somehow.'

Not wanting to give the secret away he looked up at Rooke with a carefully casual expression.

"Figured it'd make a good coffee table book," he said and gave a careless smile, "If nothing else it'd confuse guests and make for an interesting conversation starter."

Cyrus Rooke just gave an appreciative chuckle and resumed tallying the bill.

..ooOOoo..

By the time that Harry arrived home it was getting late and was time for dinner to be started. And so, despite his curiosity about the book in Parselscript – as he had cleverly named the written language – he reluctantly set down his purchases and headed into the kitchen.

Ten minutes into his preparations he heard Neville come in through the back door then stop to wash his hands in the laundry sink before stepping through into the kitchen.

"Need a hand with anything Evan?" the elder twin asked, watching the younger deftly slice up an onion.

Harry snorted, "Please, do I look like a masochist?"

"Hey," Neville objected, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're a disaster in the kitchen Lea and we both know it. Need I remind you of the time you gave us all food poisoning?"

Neville flushed in embarrassment at the reminder of that unfortunate incident, whilst his brother merely smirked.

"Well, I was going to ask how your day was," the blue-eyed man said sulkily, "But now I don't care."

"I'm devastated, I'm sure," Harry shot back sarcastically.

He smiled mirthfully as Neville then left the kitchen in an indignant huff – mumbling that he was heading up to the bathroom to clean up properly – and focussed back on preparing their meal.

An hour or so later dinner was almost ready.

"Leander!" he called out to his brother, "I'm nearly done here so could you set the table?"

After several moments with no response he rolled his eyes, hoping his housemate hadn't tripped over something and knocked himself unconscious… again. With an impatient sigh he resolved to do the job himself and collected up the needed crockery and cutlery. As he headed to the living area and began setting everything out on the table he paused, surprised to see Neville was sitting just nearby in the living room, seemingly engrossed in a book.

Wiping his hands off on a tea towel and throwing the rag over his shoulder he approached the lounge and leaned against the side of the unoccupied couch, legs crossed and arms folded. Inspecting his brother's reading choice he raised an eyebrow as he realised it was 'The Noble Arte of Healing' – the Parselscript book.

"You know, if you were just looking to get out of setting the table you could have at least chosen a more convincing supposed distraction," he drawled, "Like – oh, I don't know – maybe something you could read."

Neville's head snapped up as though truly surprised to see him there – and Harry had to give him kudos for his acting skills – before the blue eyes for some reason rolled in exasperation.

"Ha, ha," the elder Franklin pouted then looked back down at his book, "I know it's a little bit advanced but I'm not an idiot and I have been reading up on healing a lot lately, in case you had forgotten."

At the strange silence that followed Neville again looked up from his reading only to be faced with the image of his twin gaping at him in shock. Wondering if it was something he'd said, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"W-what?" he stutteringly inquired of the still silent wizard.

"I- you- the-"

Harry continued spluttering rather ineffectually before snapping his mouth shut and plonking himself gracelessly down onto the couch he'd been leaning against. After a few calming breaths he tried to speak again.

"Did you just say that the book was about healing?"

"Yeeees," he said slowly, clearly confused at the question.

"So you can read it?"

"Yes," Neville was now frowning, wondering if his friend might not somehow have been hit with a Confundus, "Are you alright? It's just-"

"No, no, I'm fine," Harry assured.

After a moment's thought he got up from his seat only to plop back down on the other couch, so that he was now sitting beside his brother. Then, without bothering to ask permission, he grabbed the book from Neville's hands and focussed on the page. 'Yep' he thought, 'still Parselscript.'

"Are you absolutely sure you're alright?"

At the concerned tone he looked up at his blood-brother's worried face and shook his head. 'Well,' he supposed to himself, 'there's one way to know for sure.' Decision made he laid the tome across both their laps and pointed to the beginning of a paragraph halfway down one page.

"Read this," Harry said.

"Why-"

"Now," he ordered succinctly.

Neville sighed, "Okay, it says: 'Studies have shown that this fever – whist not directly fatal – can bring about death by the exposure of a recovered body to the common cold. This occurs due to the reaction between the fever's resultant lingering affects and the sneezing that so often accompanies-"

"That's enough," Harry said and slouched down in his seat and tilted his head backwards.

As he absently inspected the ceiling he contemplated what this could mean. Well okay, it was pretty obvious what it meant. The real question was, how had they never known about it before? Unless he'd kept it a secret? But, no; that couldn't be it. He knew his brother and knew he would at least have told Harry if he'd known. Neville wouldn't have wanted his friend to be burdened with thinking he was alone in possessing the supposedly dark talent. So then why had it never been mentioned before? Unless- he suddenly sat up straight.

"The blood-brother ritual!" he blurted out.

"The blood-brother ritual?" the still confused Neville echoed, "What about it?"

Shaking his head he realised he needed to explain from the beginning.

"I saw this today in Rooke's Books and something about it seemed different," he explained, "That's why it caught my eye."

Neville nodded, "Yeah, I know what you mean. I thought maybe there might be some sort of enchantment on it so I checked," he then shook his head, "There's only the usual waterproofing and preserving charms and such."

"Right, well I saw the title and thought it might interest you so I took it up to buy it and Rooke – the owner – said the strangest thing," he explained then paused.

"Well spit it out already," the elder brother demanded after the silence began to lengthen uncomfortably.

Harry frowned accusingly "That was supposed to be a dramatic pause. You were meant to be all entranced and curious and ask me what happened next."

A snort, "Sorry," he said insincerely before adopting an eager, breathy tone, "What happened next?"

"Thank you, that was much better," he smiled before returning to the story, "So Rooke said to me that he didn't know what I was going to do with a book of gibberish."

Neville frowned in confusion, glancing down at the book in question and back up again.

"Gibberish? I mean it's not exactly up to date on a few things but from what I've read it's rather brilliant overall. There's some remedies in here I've never even heard of."

"Well, I can't comment on that since I haven't read much of it yet – plus I know nothing about healing to compare it to – but I do know that Mr Rooke was referring more to the writing than the content."

"The writing?" he asked, still frowning in confusion, "What did he mean? It's handwritten rather than printed and the script is a bit old-fashioned I suppose, but it's legible enough all the same."

Harry nodded, "Oh, yes. Definitely legible," he paused a beat, "Provided you can read the language."

"Language? But it's in English."

He shook his head in denial then watched in amusement as his brother's frown became more pronounced, his confusion intensifying. Eager to see the reaction when he revealed what he had discovered, he decided to get to the point and explain.

"Look at the page and focus on the writing."

His blood-brother gave him a bewildered look before deciding to go along with it and doing just that.

"Okay," he said, "Should I be seeing something in particular?"

Harry frowned at the lack of surprise before realising what was wrong.

"You need to focus on the actual writing, not the words."

"The writing not the words? Why-"

"Just do it," he snapped impatiently.

The younger twin watched as his companion followed the directions, muttering under his breath about "bossy brothers" before cutting off suddenly, eyes widening.

"What the-?" was all the wizard managed to say.

"Surprising, huh?" Harry grinned.

"What is this? I'm sure there was no spells on it that could change the text. And why squiggles?"

"Those squiggles brother dear, are what I have unofficially dubbed 'Parselscript'."

"Parselscript?" Neville looked confused before his eyes widened in realisations, "Wait- Parselscript? As in Parsel-"

"-tongue and Parselmouth," he nodded, grinning widely at his twin's stupefied expression, "That's exactly right."

"B-but. H-how can- I didn't even know t-that-" he looked helplessly at his amused friend, "Evan, please explain this before my brain explodes."

Harry burst into laughter and after a moment Neville too joined in.

"Okay, so maybe my brain won't literally explode but- oh! That's what you meant before. You think the blood-brother ritual somehow made me a Parselmouth as well, right?"

He nodded, "Yeah. Remember, Luna's notes said the purpose of the original blood-adoption ritual was so children could be adopted not only by law, but also by blood and…"

"Magic!" Neville finished.

"Just so. Now I don't know the specifics – because you know I'm a complete dunce at runes – but the ritual basically blends us together somewhat by sharing random aspects of ourselves with each other. So, from what I can guess, it must have taken my magical ability to speak the snake language, and blended that into your magic."

"Making me a Parselmouth as well."

"Yep."

The two then sat in silence, each contemplating what this would mean. After a few minutes, Harry began to feel nervous. It was all very amusing seeing his friend's reaction to the news of course, but now that everything was out in the open he was worried. Being a Parselmouth was generally viewed as a dark talent – or at least it was in their world, he could only assume the same was true for here. He himself had received much suspicion and anger from the public when his possessing the ability had become widely known. Of course the reaction was no doubt exacerbated by the fact that the Chamber of Secrets fiasco was going on. Not to mention that he was supposed to be the perfect light wizard – the people's young hero, the Boy-Who-Lived. Still, even without the extenuating circumstances, being a Parselmouth was something most witches and wizards would be leery of. And now, thanks to him, Neville was one also.

Glancing to the side Harry could tell by his expression that his brother was deep in thought. He wondered just what those thoughts were. Was he upset that he was now a snake-speaker too? Or perhaps sad? Was he angry at Harry for burdening him with this stigma? Did he regret going through with the ritual? Did he wish he had never agreed to become Harry's blood-brother? Before he could think up any more painful possibilities Neville suddenly sat up and opened his mouth to speak. Harry braced himself for the worst-

"I wonder if I could fly a broom now?"

-then blinked in confusion.

"What?" he asked his now excited looking twin.

"Flying?" Neville repeated, "I wonder if I'd be better at it?"

'Well,' Harry thought, 'that wasn't exactly the response I was expecting. Not that I'm objecting any – it's much better than a rejection. But wait- what does he mean by-'

"What do you mean by that?" he asked aloud.

"Well I know I was in the hospital wing and missed it, but from what I heard you were a natural on a broom from your first flight."

"And?" he was confused at the relevance of the topic, "What's that have to do with Parseltongue?"

"Well personally I reckon you were too good at flying too quickly for it to be anything other than a magical gift. And, since I inherited the Parseltongue from you, I was wondering if I inherited any of your Quidditch talent in return."

"Oh!" he exclaimed, finally understanding, and a related thought popped into his mind, "I wonder if I'll have a 'green thumb' now too. Assuming that's a magical talent and not just hard work on your part."

"It was a magical gift," Neville confirmed, "I inherited it from my mother. The 'green thumb' as you call it runs in the Phillipson line. As for whether you'll have inherited it though, you've always been a pretty decent Herbology student anyway."

"That's probably because I spent most of my childhood as Aunt Petunia's personal slave, including serving as her full-time gardener. Still, I might be alright at it but there's a fair difference between 'decent' and 'prodigy'," he pointed out, "Me being the former and you of course being the latter."

He smiled as Neville blushed at the praise.

"Thanks," the blue-eyed twin mumbled.

After another few moments silence Harry finally gathered the nerve to ask the question that was weighing on him.

"So, are you angry at me?"

"Angry?" Neville asked, seemingly having no idea what he was referring to.

"That you're a Parseltongue because of me."

"Oh!" his brother's eyes widened in understanding before his shook his head fiercely, "No! No, definitely not. It's not your fault at all."

"So you don't-" he hesitated, "You don't regret doing the ritual."

Neville immediately twisted in his seat so he faced him more directly and grabbed his upper arm firmly but gently. He leaned in closer, his expression earnest and compassionate.

"Listen to me. Even without the ritual you were the closest thing I've ever had to a brother. Us doing the blood ritual meant more to me than just a convenient disguise, and I know you feel the same," he said, and Harry nodded, admitting that was the truth, "And if I could go back – knowing ahead of time that I'd inherit snake-speaking from you – I'd still do exactly the same thing."

Harry took in his brother's words – and the sincere manner in which he spoke them – and knew they were true. Feeling as though a weight had lifted from him, he let out a relieved breath and smiled a little. Now that their little heart-to-heart was over however, he decided he needed to do something to break up the soppy atmosphere. He glanced down at the hand on his arm then up at the face so close to his own, and smirked internally.

"So," he asked quietly, lacing his voice with shyness and eagerness, "Is this where we kiss?"

Neville immediately released him and bolted to the other end of the couch. Harry took in his blood-brother's horribly flushed face and wide, appalled eyes and was unable to retain his composure. He burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"I- you-" Neville growled, "Evan, you bastard! That was awful."

"Hey, I'll have you know my parents were happily married when I was born."

Neville just snorted and then pouted as Harry continued to laugh at him. After a few more chuckles he finally calmed down enough to speak.

"Don't worry Lea," he punched his brother affably – and completely platonically – on the arm, "I've absolutely no amorous designs on your person."

"Good," the elder twin sighed in relief and the younger's expression flitted quickly from calculating to hurt.

"What do you mean, 'good'? Am I not good enough for you?"

Again Neville was reduced to blushing and stuttering as he tried in vain to assure his brother that he would be a prime romantic target, without insinuating an interest of his own. The blue-eyed wizard's clumsy assurances soon tapered off however as he realised Harry was sniggering at him. He slouched down in his seat and crossed his arms, sending a pouting glare at the amused green eyes.

"Prat," he muttered.

"S-sorry Lea," the younger Franklin apologised through hiccups, "I-I honestly h-have no interest in you that way," he paused then looked at Neville with wide, unconvincingly honest eyes, "You're just not pretty enough for me."

"Hey, I am so pretty," the young man automatically objected then realised what he'd said.

This of course set Harry off yet again and – after a few seconds – Neville joined in. As the two finally got to their feet to attend their cooling dinners, the green-eyed wizard mused that he'd laughed more since coming to this new world than he had in the past several years in his old one.

..ooOOoo..

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