Disclaimer: Harry Potter and pals belong to the nice JK Rowling lady. Not me. No money is being made by me (sad to say).
And now onwards to clear up one or two mysteries…
ooOOoo
Chapter 98: Revenge Served Reheated (With a Side Order of World Peace and Vegemite)
The next morning Harry made it down for breakfast. He didn't particularly want to, what with all the people who hadn't stopped staring at him over dinner and on into the evening, dampening his appetite until he pled a very real exhaustion and turned in for an early night. Sitting at the all-comers table for dinner with several Slytherins, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Ginny to help him carry the Gryffindor banner and Luna as sole Ravenclaw representative, he'd been allowed to eat in silence and absorb the conversation going on around him without needing to be an active participant in it. But then the Parvati twins and Lavender joined them, squeezing into the tight group, bringing with them some Ravenclaw fifth years headed up by some annoying girl named Romilda or Romanda Somethingorother, the latter trying to wedge herself in between Luna and Harry until Harry growled that he was quite happy with the Ravenclaw already sitting next to him, thankyouverymuch.
The thankyouverymuch was more snarled than growled, he had to admit, but surely after a long day spent getting rid of a Dark Lord he was entitled to a short lapse in temper.
But in that moment when Luna had taken his hand under the table, Harry didn't feel like snarling anymore. Purring, maybe, but not snarling.
Romilda (Romanda? Harry couldn't say that he cared either way) huffed off with the twins and Lavender as Draco shook his head at Harry's undiplomatic handling of the masses. Harry had only yawned and wondered aloud if it was worth coming to breakfast in the morning.
Ron had pointed out that as the house elves were bound to be in a good mood there would be tons of sausages and hot crumpet (Seamus sitting nearby had found that funny for some reason Harry and Ron didn't understand and Hermione pretended not to), which was a better reason. Horses weren't the only creatures that found food a strong motivating force.
Draco gave the best argument of all: if Harry remained visible he'd be better able to control his growing fame simply by going about daily life in a normal way, and thus able to hang on to the power that came along with it (and incidentally be in a better position to both keep Simon and back Draco himself in his future endeavours, although Draco wasn't quite unSlytherin enough to be blunt enough to state this openly).
Harry had shrugged this away. "I could sleep for a week."
"So could I," said Draco as the lights went out, "but I'd like to keep an eye on things."
"You do that." At this point Harry had realised everything was dark because his eyes were closed, and opened them again. Lights back on again. He needed sleep badly. Shame Luna couldn't join him… uh-oh, Snuffles was watching him… Harry had decided against the public exposure he would have racked up from searching around the castle for his godfather that afternoon – but secretly admitted to himself that he'd chickened out at the likelihood of a noisy confrontation. He hadn't even been to see Dumbledore. Or McGonagall. Or Flitwick. Certainly not Remus. And he got a queasy stomach when he thought about talking to Sirius. The only staff member he'd approached had been Hagrid, and only to ask about borrowing his cabin to hide out in. His friends had formed a sort of buffer around him, keeping out inconvenient staff. "'M going t'bed," he mumbled. Sirius was the last thing he needed. "See you next week. Month." Yawn. "Year… No, don't stand up… I know the way…"
But Hermione had escorted him up to the dormitory, apparently to make sure he got there safely (not that anyone said so openly), and once there she plumped up his pillows, pulled the curtains against the evening light, sat him down on his bed and told him in a quiet, level voice he didn't normally associate with Hermione that while a flurry of owls had descended with a snowstorm of letters there were those who hadn't heard from their parents today, mightn't hear from them tomorrow, and mightn't ever hear from them again – the Boy Who Killed Voldemort being amongst them would be good for morale.
"What about those who had Death Eaters for parents? How will it help them?" Harry had been so tired and bemused by someone actually fluffing a pillow for him that he couldn't stop himself from asking questions he knew he shouldn't, and wished he hadn't at the look of sorrow that settled on her face.
"You treat them like everyone else," she said briskly, and took off his shoes for him. He wished she wouldn't – it was embarrassing how badly his socks needed a wash. "You show them that the hate ended this morning – that it doesn't have to continue."
Harry bit his lip. "I saw Theodore Nott's father killed," he said in a small voice.
Hermione reached out, as if she were going to stroke his hair in a very un-Hermione way, then let her hand fall. "Yes, Draco told me," she said after a moment. "He said you were a tad shredded over it. But that one isn't your battle. You didn't kill him."
"No, but if it hadn't been for me he wouldn't have died."
"He would have handed you over to Voldemort and then you would have died. I'm glad it was him and not you. That's cold, but so is war."
Harry thought that war wasn't simply cold – the fragmenting impressions of the last subjective twenty-four hours were either fiery with screaming hate and rage or bone-crackingly icy from sweating terror and brittle strategy, but somehow cold was too static a word. Maybe tomorrow he'd think differently. Maybe tomorrow he'd be able to put the whole battle against Voldemort into a static little cold box in his mind and close the lid.
Something to hope for.
So, after a night of sleep so velvety-deep that he didn't remember any dreams and he didn't hear the others in his dormitory come in or leave again in the morning until Ron woke him, Harry went down for breakfast.
He immediately realised it was worth it: firstly for the news that Friday's lessons had been cancelled; secondly for the sight of Hermione brandishing the copy of the Daily Prophet she'd borrowed from Remus, explaining to a miffed Draco that his exploding fireworks spell had been explained to the few local Muggles as a Ferrari club (she had to explain about cars) holding a meeting. Draco was annoyed that his Patronus had been usurped by a Muggle business. To make matters worse, he fumed, it wasn't even a British Muggle business, it was owned by a bunch of wo- (Hermione's glare at him was censorial enough for even Draco Malfoy to pick up the hint) … er, by a bunch of Italians. Draco's pique was somewhat assuaged when she assured him that as far as Muggle transport went, Ferrari was at the top of the scale… for what that was worth, because it was still Muggle transport.
Ron, by now fed up to the back teeth that his girlfriend was mollifying a Malfoy, dragged Hermione off to another table. Instead of the four House tables the seating was now broken up into at least a dozen smaller tables to allow students from different Houses to sit together, although Harry cynically expected this situation not to last through to next September. Ron plumped Hermione down at the nearest table and launched into an explain to a group of Ravenclaws of how the Wall of Sky spell had saved him and Hermione (oh, yes, and Elmsworthy…) when he, Ron Weasley, had cast the mighty dart that caused the pent-up spells to erupt.
Apparently the Ravenclaws were having difficulty with the concept of the spell originating from Loony Lovegood and were making noises about Someone Getting Airs Just Because She Was Someone Important's Girlfriend, but Hermione patiently explained that it really had been Luna's spell and then Ron shouted at them until they meekly agreed that, yes, it might be a good idea to stop calling Luna 'Loony' when it was obvious how bloody useful she'd been breaking the Blockade. They mightn't have capitulated quite so fast, but from over Ron's shoulder Draco was giving them the glare he must have learned from Simon. But the Ravenclaws went back to grumbling as soon as Ron and Hermione bent their heads together to discuss the finer points of darts and potions, Ron being quite taken by the idea of pulling a prank on the twins.
Elmsworthy, just coming in, yawning and rumpling his long fingers through his hair (not that it needed any extra encouragement, because it was almost as bad as Harry's this morning), must have interpreted Draco's quirked eyebrow and faint jerk of the head in a very Slytherin way. While ignoring Ron's jealous scowl, he took a detour past the Ravenclaws' table.
Harry decided not to ask what Elmsworthy put in that jug of pumpkin juice. (Or what Ron's problem with Elmsworthy was now.) If he hadn't been watching carefully he would have missed the quick hand movement as the Slytherin leaned out of the way of a gaggle of Hufflepuffs and over the food… and was that some sort of dropper device he kept up his sleeve?
"Congratulations," Harry said to the lanky Slytherin, moving to make space between himself and Trudi at the same time as he waved to catch Hermione's attention and convey to her how she shouldn't under pain of death (hand drawn across his throat) drink (raise phantom cup to mouth) from the (point, point) pumpkin juice. Gryffindors as well as Slytherins could use sign language, although Harry's attempts weren't quite as subtle as Draco's eyebrow. "You seem to have survived."
(And so would Hermione and Ron: Hermione stopped Ron from pouring himself another cup of juice.)
Elmsworthy did an interesting but undoubtedly unconscious preying mantis impression as he folded himself into the space and sat. "What?" he said loudly.
"Comrade Tyrol had a slight accident involving the tree," said Trudi, leaning forward to address Harry around her Housemate. Ron smirked. Fortunately Elmsworthy didn't notice.
"What was that about the tree?" Elmsworthy looked mildly worried.
Trudi ignored him. "… That's what Hermione told me."
"What happened, 'Mione?" Harry asked, turning to call across to Hermione, still sitting at another table with Ron (who was looking daggers at Elmsworthy, even though Harry was sure he didn't know about the doctored juice). "Last night with the tree, I mean?"
Ron groaned. "They sang the tree song. Over and over. No wonder there was an accident. Self-defence on the part of the Forbidden Forest!"
"That wasn't it at all. Besides, it's just a harmless song, Ron," Hermione admonished. "Just because I appreciate Muggle literature –"
"'Tree, tree, one two three, please grow very big for me' cannot possibly be Muggle literature," Ron snapped back. [1] He scowled. "And you and Comrade bloody Slytherin there singing it all the way through the Forest really wore out my last nerve."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's hard to explain…"
Elmsworthy ignored Ron and stuck his little fingers in his ears and wiggled them irritably. "If someone was asking about what happened to me in the Forest last night, the tree happened," Elmsworthy sighed. He seemed to have heard the earlier question, or perhaps he had guessed that this was the right time for this question to be asked. He gave the fingers an extra-hard wiggle. "Damn stuff should be working by now… it keep almost working… I can hear in these, these, waves, you know…" There was a popping sound that managed to be audible over the hubbub of breakfast, and his eyes went wide. Then relaxed again in satisfaction. "Brilliant," he breathed after a moment's listening. "I'm definitely patenting that. Now, what was that other question, Potter? I could see your mouth moving, and that usually means you asking a question."
Harry wasn't sure if he should be offended or not. Possibly not, given that this was Elmsworthy and Elmsworthy had a fine appreciation for curiosity. "Er, what hap-"
There was a scream from the Ravenclaws. Then several more screams. Harry looked around to see them bobbing up towards the enchanted ceiling, which was showing grey skies and light rain. Hermione and Ron were looking very relieved not to have drunk anything dodgy, although Hermione was giving Harry her 'did-you-have-anything-to-do-with-this?' glare.
Harry tried to look innocent and hurt by the very suggestion, something he'd picked up from Draco and hopefully was doing better (Draco tended to look guilty even when he wasn't). By the intensification of her glare, he was unsuccessful.
Elmsworthy craned his head around. "Hmm. Might have to work on that formula a little more," he said, eyeing them critically. "They were meant to turn violet." He sucked at his protruding teeth and his sombre face soured as if he was taking their refusal to turn violet personally.
The screams died away as Flitwick and Sprout tried to get the students down. Flitwick gave Harry's table a stern look just in case it had been them. Harry shrugged and tried to look innocent as hard as he could. Which he was. He just knew guilty people.
Who were about to go further into sin, if Draco's smirk and glittering eyes were an accurate indication.
Draco slanted a sideways look at his Housemate. "You know that… thing you were working on…? Did you use it?"
"What thing?" asked Hermione, her ears almost on stalks, suspicion and curiosity warring on her face. "Oh, for goodness sake," she huffed, and grabbed Ron's wrist and dragged him back to Harry's table.
Harry tried not to smile, but from Ron's quick glare he didn't quite quash his amusement.
"What thing?" Hermione demanded.
Elmsworthy glanced towards a table where a group of Slytherins, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were sitting. It looked happy and innocent. Harry recognised three of them – two Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff – as the ones who'd thrown Draco into Simon's pen. One of those Ravenclaws along with the Hufflepuff and a younger Slytherin student also sitting at that table had gone on to give Luna concussion and a broken shoulder. And later tried to ride Simon out of the paddock. Harry grinned at that last memory, even though it had ended with an outraged Simon attacking Lupin. The Luna-botherers were looking a little more wan of late. Oh – that's right: Draco had been looking at them every so often and giving a small, puzzled smile as if surprised they were still humanoid. And they would flinch. Whatever Draco had been doing to them was working.
The menu for a Malfoy breakfast included Revenge, Served Cold.
Harry shook his head. Now that the Blockade was over, he really needed to source those Klingons and see if they'd written any books on psychology – and then burn every copy to ensure Draco never read it. (Better not tell Hermione that, even if it was a joke – the last time he'd suggested burning a book she'd given him the sort of horrified look that said he was Voldemort in glasses and Gryffindor robes.) "Did anyone ever find out about those Klingons?" he asked, yawning, then realised that perhaps his brain still wasn't back up to speed if his mouth was getting away with stupid comments like that.
Hermione and Trudi blinked at the non sequitur. Ron raised an eyebrow, and Neville and Ginny exchanged puzzled glances. Luna simply nodded as if this was a question for the ages.
"Well, I'd like to know, too," said Draco slowly. "Dashed useful people with solid revenge ethos, by the sounds of things."
Elmsworthy rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, Granger. Sit these two down in front of a telly and a video, and show them one of the movies."
"Wrath of Khan?"
Elmsworthy nodded solemnly. "Well, they used the revenge quote there, and it would be an easier in into the series, but maybe Search for Spock, what?"
Hermione's face lit up. "Yes, wasn't that comedic actor… um…"
"Christopher Lloyd?"
Yes, him. Wasn't he marvellous as the Klingon commander? Very convincing. You'd think he really was an alien soldier. When he –"
Draco's mouth was opening and shutting. Finally words came out. "Are you telling me Klingons are some sort of Muggle fairy-tale?"
"Star Trek." Harry was also having an internal head-slap moment. He knew the word 'Klingon' had been familiar. He'd seen some of the old television shows as well as bits of the movies on the rare occasions he'd been allowed out of his cupboard or the kitchen to watch the telly.
Ron started to laugh. "Your face, mate. You look even angrier than that time Umbridge gave you detention because she reckoned you were telling lies."
"Huh." Aware Ron wasn't the only one grinning at his expense (and Draco's although no-one other than Elmsworthy was stupid enough to let Malfoy know this), Harry grabbed some toast and sausages which he viciously gave a salt and buttering. It was less trouble than assault and battery on his so-called friends.
"You've been winding us up over Muggle stories? Hang on –" Draco pointed a finger at Elmsworthy "– are you telling me Snape knew about Muggle stories?"
"Don't discount Muggle stories, Malfoy," Elmsworthy said. "They could kick Wizarding literature's arse around the Quidditch pitch and through the Forest."
"And then be eaten by an Acromantula because they're stupid Muggle stories and don't have magic to defend themselves," grumbled Draco.
Before a fight could break out, Hermione demonstrated she was now an expert tactician when it came to Slytherins by asking Elmsworthy, "Have you seen that new sci-fi series?"
"What, Babylon 5?"
"That's it."
Shaking his head, Neville tried to involve Ginny and Luna in conversation about the mistletoe they'd found. Luna was insistent Nargles couldn't infest Spring Snow mistletoe. Ginny and Neville were in agreement. As they had never claimed to believe Nargles existed in the first place, it must have been an easy agreement to reach. Neville asked Luna her thoughts on Spitting Daisies, which reminded Harry of the oddly-named potion Elmsworthy had made…
"…Yes, I have a cousin who knows someone who knows someone who works behind the scenes in distribution or something," Elmsworthy was saying to Hermione. "Not sure where, exactly. Anyway, I get copies before it gets aired. Haven't seen any episodes since Christmas," he added sadly, his face, usually morose, now wearing the expression of someone who'd just buried his grandmother. "Which reminds me," he added, perking up slightly as he turned to Harry and Draco, "Did you try Small Fish?"
"I did." Harry frowned. "I was just going to ask you about that. It was… quite surreal."
"How surreal?" Elmsworthy mumbled around a mouthful of toast. He swallowed – "'Scuse me" – and pulled out a small notebook and a pencil. "Did the subject it was applied to change shape or colour, or… blossom in any way?"
"Hang on a moment." Draco was going pink. "Did you expect us to come back from fighting Voldemort and give you reports on untested potions? Did you seriously think we would live after –"
"Most of the potions I gave you had been tested. You should have remembered Big Boom being used before, Malfoy, and Worse BSM should have been obvious."
"Oh, yuck, did you really use a stink potion nastier than butyl seleno-mercaptan?" Neville asked after a moment's thought.
Draco scowled at him. Harry merely tried not to look astonished. He couldn't have succeeded, because Neville stared down at his plate and mumbled, "Well, we use it in Herbology… fifth year… germinating the Viloxin seeds…"
"Precisely," said Elmsworthy.
Appearing to ignore this, Draco continued, "So you were expecting us to come back after having been blown or hexed to atoms and tell you what the experience was like? What exact shade was the light at the end of the tunnel?" he finished, in a spot-on imitation of Elmsworthy. "Or were you planning on a spot of Necromancy?"
"No, that's totally illegal in most of the Wizarding world outside the African Alliance and Haiti," Elmsworthy replied, a shade too quickly, and Trudi's eyes sharpened. Harry and Hermione shared a worried look.
"Wasn't your dad posted to Haiti for a while?" Trudi asked.
"…But nothing really bad happened, did it?" Elmsworthy continued quickly to Harry and Draco, ignoring her. "Weren't they in the least bit helpful?"
Harry sighed. "They were," he admitted. "Be fair, Draco – that stink potion saved my life when I hit Voldemort with it."
Hermione and Neville, who'd been drinking, choked.
Elmsworthy nearly smiled. "Did you? How about Boom?"
"You know that stone bridge that used to be north of Hogsmeade?"
"Tanner's Bridge? What do you mean, 'used t-' … oh." Elmsworthy thought this over. "Did you tell anyone where you got the potions?"
"No."
Elmsworthy nodded. "Okay."
"What? Don't want to be sued for damages?" Draco asked. "What about the person who used it?" he added, after a brief pause.
Elmsworthy shrugged. "It could be considered war damages. But you never know with historic places. I'll discuss culpability with my lawyer and let you know – if you want a quick chat with him that should be okay. But Potter was telling me about Small Fish. That didn't make anything explode, did it? The Bowtruckle I tried it on didn't do much."
Hermione took in a deep breath of pending outrage at the use of Bowtruckles for experimental purposes.
Harry decided it was best not to let her get to the arguing stage. "I tested it on Death Eaters."
"Oh, good. No experimental ethics committee to get approval from, then. Did they change shape?"
"No, but they did blossom a bit. Overall they just seemed… easily amused. Rocks, blades of grass, Simon… me. The squirting daisies the potion gave them. Imminent death. All absolutely hilarious under Small Fish influence."
"Excellent."
"It's still working," Draco put in sourly. "Comrade Tyrol nearly smiled there."
The most surreal part of the potion was the name. Harry was just about to ask what the relative size of a fish had to do with anything, when a letter fell into Neville's pumpkin juice, splattering all of them.
An owl swooped away, a jaunty flick of its feathers suggesting its aim was true.
The owl was only the first of a multitude – even more than had delivered mail yesterday. Parcels and envelopes rained down on the delighted students.
Draco, one of the lucky, opened his package to find a selection of sweets, including a small bag of peppermints. His face lit up with greed. "Brilliant. Bribes aplenty just in case the Aurors don't let us go shopping soon…" The sweets disappeared into his pocket. There was a brief internal battle which reflected on his face, and the sweets resurfaced (minus the peppermints) along with a determined smile on Draco's part. The smile needed work. It showed teeth in precisely the wrong way. "Care for a caramel, Longbottom? Granger?" He said, voice oozing with determination to show what a jolly good chap he was, ready to share his bounty with the rabble. Hermione said no-thank-you-my-parent-don't-allow-me-to-have-caramels, but Harry, Luna, Neville and Ginny each took one and tried to look appreciative of the great honour. Draco, visibly relieved none of them had taken handfuls, tucked the bag back into his pocket. He ripped out a page from his notebook and penned off a quick letter, giving it to the gigantic eagle owl currently sitting on the table eyeing Pigwidgeon with hauteur. Pig, having given up his parcel to Ron, twittered enthusiastically at it and bobbed up and down. The eagle owl turned its head one hundred and eighty degrees so that it didn't have to look at the riff-raff.
There was a whoop from Ron that startled the owls as well as the students – Pigwidgeon skittered sideways into the butter dish. Ron ignored his owl and brandished the magazine that had been sent to him. "The Cannons won a game!"
"The Chudley Cannons?" Elmsworthy asked, as if there must be another team with 'Cannons' in the name that a wizard might follow.
"You sure it isn't a joke?" Harry asked.
"Yes," said Hermione, picking Pigwidgeon out of the butter and cleaning him with a wave of her wand. The little owl gave her a grateful meep and nibbled her finger. "It might have come from Fred and George, so –"
Ron was shaking his head. "Nope, real deal. Letter from Dad, not the twins." He turned his attention to the letter, his face ferocious with concentration as he drowned out the other conversations around the table.
"I got a letter from Fred and George," Ginny said, opening it carefully. "It's – oh, it's another apology." She smirked. "I think being a sorceress could really help. Nothing about Quidditch, though."
"Awesome." This assessment wasn't Quidditch-related. Elmsworthy had opened his package and revealed several letters, a few packets and small bottles, and a glittering disk with the letters ST:DS9 written in fat green marker. Taking pride of place was a small plastic pot of some foul, tarry substance. The red and yellow label read 'Vegemite'. At first it seemed to be a particularly obscure potions ingredient, but then the Slytherin began spreading liberal amounts on his toast with a satisfied flourish to every turn of his knife, and passed the pot to Trudi, who followed suit, provoking a raised eyebrow from Draco. This probably was not a normal use of potions ingredients, even where Elmsworthy was concerned. Harry realised after a moment's concern for Elmsworthy's sanity that it looked like Marmite, but it was the first time he'd seen it at Hogwarts.
He was the only one at the table without mail. He might have thought that strange, but suspected the Aurors were intercepting it on his behalf, just in case someone tried something as funny as Small Fish. But it was still a little depressing. He sighed and turned to Luna. "Did you – ?"
There was a crash from a nearby table – someone had dropped a plate. Or thrown it. Seamus? No – it was Dean. Dean with his face set in anger, letter scrunched in his hand, marching away out of the hall, leaving Seamus behind with his face red. Harry wondered if he was meant to do anything about this – but then Hermione put her hand on his arm.
"Just leave it," she said.
Harry noticed Justin Finch-Fletchley hurrying after Dean. This seemed to make Seamus angrier. Very strange. "They're up to something," he said.
"Not really," she replied. "That's not a battle for you, Harry."
Ron looked up. "Whose battle? What?"
"Nothing. Read your newspaper."
"For Merlin's sake, did you two turn into an old married couple overnight?" Harry couldn't help but ask.
"Eat your breakfast, Harry. There's a love."
"Not only that, Potter, but they've adopted you," Draco chuckled. "And is that why we saw Finch-Fletchley out last night with Thomas, Granger?"
"Er… did you?"
"We did," Harry said. "They've been acting a bit weird, when you come to think of it."
"I think he means 'acting a bit queer'," Draco said.
"Same thing."
Elmsworthy looked up from his letter and raised an eyebrow. He seemed about to say something when Dean came storming back into the Hall, dragging Justin by the hand.
"You know what, Seamus? I don't care what you think!" he snapped. He turned and glared at the rest of the people surrounding them. "We're in love!"
Justin, pink and white with nervous defiance, nodded.
Seamus' face twisted. "That's bloody sick, that is! Two blokes getting it on? Sick! That Ravenclaw poof –"
There was a hiss from the Ravenclaws clustered around various tables.
"Oh, shut up," Justin said angrily, going even more pink. "You've been trying to break us up all year and you haven't succeeded. You threatened to tell everyone. Well, we don't care anymore. We – what?"
Draco had thrown a roll at his head. "We're trying to have a quiet breakfast over here. No riots this morning, please."
Dean looked ready to murder him. "You just hate not being the centre of attention, don't you, Malfoy?"
"A bit, yes, but mainly I detest melodramatics."
The Slytherins around the Hall blinked at each other.
Draco ignored this silent mass contradiction by his House. "Let me get this straight, so to speak: you two are an item. Yes? And you think that there is a huge social shame in, as was so eloquently phrased, 'two blokes getting it on.' Right? Yes. Allow me to talk to the Ravenclaw, please; you lot are meant to be able to think. Look. You, Finch-Fletchley and Thomas are Muggle-born, aren't you?"
"Oh, a new thing against Mudbl-"
Draco lifted a hand. "Please don't use that word in front of Miss Granger."
Millicent Bulstrode was among those who leaned back with arms folded, letting the floorshow unfold before them. Those who had been too far away to hear Dean and Justin's argument with Seamus asked those nearer what was going on, and looked interested at the replies.
Draco turned to address Elmsworthy. "Is it true, Comrade Tyrol, that Muggles are intolerant when it comes to romances involving only one gender?"
"Breeders are always spitting the dummy over bum-bandits and todger-dodgers."
"I'm sure I don't know what that means, Comrade," said Draco, watching interestedly from the corner of his eye as Hermione turned pink.
"Do you try to be offensive, or does it come naturally?" Hermione whispered to Elmsworthy.
"It's natural with him," Trudi said. She was one of the only people who dared be blunt with the dour Slytherin. "Can't see how you're going to get ahead in the business until a bit of your dad's polish rubs off on you, Tyrol."
He shot her and Hermione a cold stare. "I'll thank you to know that my honesty is a reaction to growing up in the hypocrisy of a politically-correct Pureblood world which sneers at my Muggle mother. I feel quite confident in informing you that anything I might come out with is tame compared to what gets bandied about in the real world. Harden up, Granger." He pointedly turned to Draco. "And it means yes, Comrade, you are correct in your assumption. I must already have told you that people are idiots, and here's more proof for you: if they weren't too thick to think towards the future they would already have realised that anything which keeps the population down should be commended."
"Oh. Well, although it's not the usual Slytherin way to give unsolicited advice, for the sake of world peace and because I'm in an unusually generous mood on this fine day, I am inclined to let you know that Wizarding society is different. It's not common for people to want to marry someone of their own sex, but it happens. Nobody makes a big deal out of it. Otherwise couples like Dervish and Bangs, for example, would be out of business."
"Is that true, Neville?" Dean asked.
"I've never really thought about it…"
"Harry?" Dean was holding Justin's hand quite tightly, Harry could see.
"Er… Why are you asking me?"
"Well, you know, you and Malfoy have been –"
Harry's face was going very hot. "I don't know, and me and Malfoy haven't been whatever it is you were going to say!"
"You two have been so busy sneaking around you must have missed the whole Potter-and-Lovegood-joined-at-the-lip thing," Draco said, not looking at all ruffled. "I must say, I was a bit worried. I was so busy wondering if you two were planning on breaking through the barrier or joining Voldemort that I never considered –"
"No, nothing like that, it was just…" Dean looked at Justin. "I guess we thought there were other barriers that needed breaking."
("Aww," went a young Hufflepuff witch, and dabbed at her eyes.)
"Not in the Wizarding world," a Ravenclaw seventh year supplied. Ravenclaws didn't tend towards the romantic. "The only major issue is heirs – but if you don't want children then it's not a bother. Even if you do, there are ways and means…"
(Yuck, thought Harry; please please please don't go into details where potions are involved.)
"…such as adoption…"
(Harry silently let out a breath of relief.)
"…or potions." The Ravenclaw didn't seem to notice Harry's wince. "Wondered why you were being so damned dodgy, Finch-Fletchley. Why didn't you just ask? Or go find a book?"
Justin blushed and mumbled something under his breath.
"Honestly, the amount of education Muggle-borns get when they come into the Wizarding world is shockingly inadequate," Elmsworthy said loudly, just in case any of the professors were listening in.
"Bit of a storm in a teacup. Just another day at Hogwarts," Draco soothed before any professors could take offence and tell them that lessons were suddenly back on for the day, and reached for the pumpkin juice. "So. No riots this morning?"
Justin shook his head, looking around the Hall. Now that there didn't seem to be a fight (several had been hoping Gryffindor House would declare war on the Slytherin Republic or vice versa, because that was always entertaining), the other students were losing interest and going back to their own business. Seamus was quietly leaving the Hall, not meeting anyone's eye. Justin squared his shoulders. "Not now. Thanks for clearing that up, Malfoy."
Dean also looked incredibly relieved. "So… all this time we could have just relaxed like a normal couple…"
"What's normal at Hogwarts? Besides, all the best romances have unbearable tension to them," Draco said airily.
"Yes, but then everyone dies at the end of them," said Luna. "Romance and tragedy – that's the real marriage."
"I'll settle for a box of chocolates," said Trudi, although she was probably lying. Harry had the nagging suspicion she wouldn't settle for anything other than a husband who was in a high political position and a lorry full of diamonds.
Draco smiled at her. "Remind me later – I've got something for you."
She glowed prettily, and Harry knew exactly who she was planning on putting into the space she'd reserved in her life for a husband.
His hand seemed to move of its own volition, seeking out Luna's under the table.
"Now that I've proven myself to be a top-notch agony aunt, I guess it's time for me to move on to world peace," Draco boasted, cracking his knuckles.
"Let me know how that goes for you," said Ron distractedly. The entire drama of the last few minutes had gone over his head while he'd been engrossed in his Quidditch magazine. "Er… Why are Dean and Justin holding hands?"
"Finch-Fletchley, who has no standards, is dating a Gryffindor."
"Right-o." Ron went back to his magazine. "So long as Dean isn't dating a Slytherin and today's classes are still cancelled, that's all I need to know."
Ron's indifference was the final seal of approval. Dean and Justin stood for a moment, as if waiting for the heavens to open up and strike them with lightning, then when that didn't happen they wandered off in a different direction to Seamus', heads bent together as they talked in low voices.
Harry didn't bother watching them leave. The day was already weird enough without Draco (who was now in a fit of generosity he would probably regret later offering caramels to anyone who wanted one) giving out relationship advice. Luna was reading something. That, he hoped, was far more interesting and less likely to boggle his brain.
"Is that a letter from your dad, Luna?" Harry asked.
"It's – what's that noise? Is that a Billynox in your pocket, Tyrol? You need to be careful of those."
"It's not a Billynox. If you ever see one, let me know. I'm keen to find out how various bits of an imaginary creature go as potions ingredients." In this day of distractions, Elmsworthy's pocket was now chiming. He took out a fob watch, flicked it open, gave a nod and leaned forward. "When I say 'go', I want everyone to turn around and smile – big, happy smiles – at the table over there. You too, Bluey." Before Ron could growl about being called 'Bluey' or Harry tell him he had Marmite in the corner of his mouth, Elmsworthy wiped it clean on the back of his hand. "It's the table with that lot who tried to take Simon out of the paddock. Okay?"
"What? Why?" asked Neville. He was reading a pumpkin juice-tinted letter. He was squinting, with his tongue was making odd bulges in his cheek as he shoved it around his teeth. The caramel he'd just accepted from Draco was giving him some trouble.
"Just do it, Longbottom. I promise you'll get something out of it. And no Gryffindors will be harmed. Probably." Elmsworthy took a swig of pumpkin juice and swished it around his mouth, probably to get rid of any traces of Marmite, and Hermione's expression went solid at this approach to dental hygiene. "Okay. Three… two – big smiles – one… go."
They turned and smiled, although Hermione's looked forced and Elmsworthy's might as well have been mechanically operated for all the genuine good-will he was able to show.
Nothing happened for a few moments, only the dawning unease on the faces of the Ravenclaws, Slytherins and Hufflepuffs at the nearby table.
"Why are we doing this?" muttered Ginny, although she kept her smile fixed.
"Don't stop smiling," hissed Draco from the corner of his mouth. He couldn't have had any more idea of the exact tactics Elmsworthy was employing, but he'd had personal experience of the dour Slytherin's vindictiveness. That would have explained why his smile was the genuine smirk of one awaiting an evil used on his behalf.
Neville was still trying to get the caramel unstuck from his back teeth without being too obvious about it. His grimaces gained him some increasingly worried looks from the other table.
"Big smiles, big smiles, big smiles," muttered Elmsworthy, who had a fabulous career ahead of him as a ventriloquist if the whole diplomatic potions swot thing didn't work out.
Then:
Smoke curled behind the table. The frightened students didn't notice it at first, being too busy staring into the smiles of those at Harry's table. They didn't even react to the startled gasps of other students throughout the Hall. While Harry didn't appreciate the analogy, they were transfixed like birds before snakes.
The smoke curled and broke into pillars. The pillars hovered, waiting.
Elmsworthy was first to lose patience. Or maybe the effort to keep smiling was a painful one. "Oh, for Ned's sake, it's behind you, you burks," he snapped.
The students turned and, as one, screamed as the black smoke suddenly writhed and took shape under their horrified gazes.
Shapes.
There was a mummy. A giant spider (Ron flinched). A vampire. A giant snake (Harry flinched, remembering Nagini was still at large). An ogre. Two black horses. A third flame of smoke rose into a pillar and for a moment looked like a ghost of Snape (Neville flinched) before it expanded into the form of a third black horse.
The eyes of the smoke creatures blazed with red fire. Their mouths opened; the pincers of the spider widening sideways.
"Flesh," they howled. "Blood!" Smoke puffed from maws that were caverns filled with coals. "Human flesh, human blood!"
Students at nearby tables began to scream.
The table where the Luna-botherers were sitting evacuated so fast it was as if the ban on Apparition had been lifted. But instead of dissolving or staying in the Great Hall, the smoke-monsters sped after the fleeing students, running through tables when they got in the way. One of the smoke-Simons cantered through Harry's table, leaving coldness where it touched and a small oily residue.
"Cool," said Ron, and stabbed a sausage. He was a little pale under his freckles, but the spider hadn't run in his direction. "What was that? Instant Boggart?"
"I was going to call it Bottled Boggart," Elmsworthy said, nodding, eyebrow raised. "Thought it'd be good for Halloween." His mournful face became slightly less so with cynicism. "And weddings, what."
"My brothers'd love to get their hands on it."
"It'll cost them a small fortune," Elmsworthy grunted, leaning across the table to get the jug of pumpkin juice. "I say, why don't we ever have coffee at student tables?"
"I think you're about to get the chance to pick some up from the teachers," Ginny pointed out.
Professors McGonagall and Sprout were striding towards them, looking displeased.
"Are you going to deny non-involvement?" McGonagall demanded of Elmsworthy. Her angry eyes raked Draco and (unexpectedly) Ron.
Elmsworthy leaned back and stretched the kinks out of his shoulders. "Of something that was pure genius? Not at all. Don't you want to know how I did it?"
"I expect you to explain it to me later this morning when I have the time for you."
"Is that when my lawyer's coming? Because I've got a lot to submit for patent and I'd appreciate having a witch of your stature sitting in to make sure everything's above board," Elmsworthy replied, his face never losing its standard sad mien.
McGonagall looked like she was trying not to swallow her own lips.
"I shall see you in my office, Mr Elmsworthy," she snapped. "Ten-thirty sharp. And yes – feel free to bring your lawyer. As for the rest of you… don't… don't any of you dare give me any more paperwork."
She swept off, her cloak billowing with Caledonian menace, Sprout bobbing in her wake. The three Slytherins at the table looked a little downcast, as if they'd wanted something more from her. Mass detention?
But when she was out of earshot, Trudi said in small voice, "Gosh, didn't she sound like Professor Snape?"
Ron shivered. "I'm transferring to Durmstrang."
ooOOoo
That morning was another celebratory one, but with an underlying tension. Harry, leaning out a third-floor window to get a better view of the gates, realised the source of the stress when he noticed a few students hanging around the doors or going down to the gates to see if the Aurors guarding them had any news. They were disappointed – the Aurors were a close-mouthed crew – but it didn't stop them wondering when they would see their parents or be allowed home.
The first time that day someone said 'home' Harry had got a cold shock. Everyone was thinking of leaving Hogwarts. He'd saved the world, only to have it deserted.
Where was his home meant to be? Hogwarts? Were you allowed to have a school as a home?
He leaned on his elbows and sighed. All his friends would be vanishing soon. As if to get into practice, they'd already left him on his own. Draco, smug after obtaining a business card from Elmsworthy's lawyer, was off herding students somewhere, either training to be a politician or a sheepdog. Neville and Ginny had muttered something about the glasshouses and slipped away before Ron could ask questions. Hermione had dragged Ron back to the common room to write letters. Luna – Luna really had picked an odd time to tidy up Snape's workroom, he decided.
He should find Sirius. He considered going to find Remus just in case he had some time to act as a buffer between Harry and his godfather, but the werewolf had been busy helping Professors Flitwick, Sprout and Vector, two Aurors and Elmsworthy (who had escaped from his meeting with McGonagall and the lawyer with all four limbs and his wand intact) sound out the wards around the castle to find out if they were regenerating yet or not, and was booked in later on in the morning to supervise outside activities. Harry was welcome to join in. Harry didn't have much in the way of team spirit this morning, but said he hoped Remus would have fun and admitted that refereeing Quidditch and Invisible Tag was, on balance, less dangerous than refereeing Harry and Sirius.
Not even Remus had seen Sirius around this morning. Not so much as a pawprint. Harry decided to take this as an omen he wasn't meant to talk to him yet.
Harry sensed someone standing by his shoulder. He turned to see McGonagall.
She looked even more exhausted than she had at breakfast. Harry had always thought that when a war was over, it was over. He'd never stopped to wonder who cleaned everything up and organised the non-combatants into safe places. He could only hope Elmsworthy wasn't one of those writing the treaties. Millicent, maybe…
"Are you feeling alright, Professor?" he asked.
She tilted her head. "Fine, Harry. Although as your Head of House I'm meant to be the one asking that."
"Well, I'm not too bad. I feel a bit, well, superfluous now, I suppose."
"You've earned your rest. Have you been looking for Sirius?"
"I was going to, then I lost my nerve." He gave her a wry half-smile. "Have you seen him?"
"He's out patrolling the Forest with Hagrid this morning. Hagrid should keep him out of trouble."
"If anyone can, it'll be Hagrid," Harry admitted. "Er, I heard there were still pockets of the barrier drifting around."
"Unfortunately. Large, silvery balloon-like things that pop at unexpected moments. The Aurors aren't too sure about the danger of them, if they are merely dissipating relics of the barrier or symptomatic of a much deeper temporal issue, although Auror Wren, who touched one which burst and turned her into a pineapple might argue the point when they transfigure her back. They say they need to be absolutely certain Hogwarts is realigned before we can – oh." She nodded at the sight out the window. A new Auror had just Apparated to the gates. "Here we go."
Something was definitely up. The students down there were milling around the newcomer excitedly.
Someone sent fireworks sparkling out of their wand and shouted: "We're back!" loudly enough to be heard from the castle window where Harry and McGonagall were standing.
What was that about?
McGonagall squinted. "Ah, yes. That looks like Auror Smeed. He was meant to come and tell Professor Dumbledore when the Ministry deemed us safely meshed in with the rest of the world. I shall assume this is so, and that a select band of parents will be descending upon us within the hour. I can only hope everyone will have the sense not to act like a bottle of Butterbeer that's just been violently shaken. However," she sighed, "common sense and decorum have always been too much to hope for." She gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Come and see me if you need to, Harry, even if I appear to be busy. If anyone deserves some time being made for him it's you." She hurried off down the corridor.
Harry only guessed what she meant when a witch and wizard Apparated outside the gates and were ushered in by the Aurors to be met with hugs and kisses from three students. From his window Harry could make out the family reunion with a clarity that was almost voyeuristic. Strangely, he didn't feel quite so hollow at the prospect of no parents coming for him as perhaps he should have, or as McGonagall had been expecting when she issued her invitation.
He propped his chin on his hands, stayed at the window and watched for a few minutes. Then something that felt like jealousy set in, and to get rid of it he went to find Simon.
ooOOoo
The first of the approved parents arrived, almost before the Aurors had declared Hogwarts back in the real world and safe for visitors. After a five-Splinch pileup outside the gates with the threat of worse due to a prospective mass-arrival of family, the Aurors hurriedly set up a temporary ban on Apparition any closer than Hogsmeade, just to spread out the safe area.
They arrived in cars and on bicycles. A few rode carpets, and not even the most officious of the Ministry officials objected to this blatant disregard of current regulations against flying carpets (thanks to a bureaucratic hiccup, the ban on flying carpets had been reinstated), not on this day of days. Percy must have had some sort of reconciliation with his family because he Apparated along with Arthur and Molly to Hogsmeade and although his back stiffened at the abominable sight of such unbridled carpeting he kept his lips closed on the subject. Carriages rolled up the driveway, high wheels crunching on the new gravel the castle manifested for the occasion. Hagrid brought a few braver souls across the lake in boats. This was only the first wave: the Hogwarts Express was going to do a special run late this evening, putting on sleeper cars so mothers and fathers could travel overnight to meet up with their children tomorrow for breakfast.
It wasn't really the done thing to Apparate and then ride a broomstick from Hogsmeade, but several mothers or fathers either didn't know or didn't care.
One witch who came diving down through the clouds and skimmed over the lake like a falcon, her cloak and long blonde hair streaming behind her, would have been one of those who didn't care. Her imperious grey eyes dared anyone to quote protocol at her on an occasion such as this as she banked her broomstick into a turn around the castle, sweeping between Astronomy and North Towers. She seemed to be looking for something.
Or someone.
Draco had been out helping Lupin and Sprout organise energy-depleting games for the younger students who were getting overexcited at the prospect of seeing their families. He raised his hand to shield his eyes against the sun, sure he recognised the rider.
"Mother!" Responsibilities and decorum forgotten, he waved his arms and sprinted towards the driveway as the rider completed her circuit and came in for a landing.
"Draco… oh, Draco…" Narcissa Malfoy dismounted before the broom reached the ground, leaping down lightly as if she'd just shed twenty years and all her troubles with them. "Draco."
Draco bit back a sob and almost crashed into his mother, wrapping his arms around her and feeling her hug him back so tightly he could hardly breathe. But he didn't mind. "Mother… you're all right?"
Narcissa released him and stepped back slightly, her eyes looking up into his. Draco realised with a shock that he was now inches taller than his mother. So his robes hadn't been shrunk in the wash by vindictive house elves!
She cupped his cheek in one hand, the other resting on his shoulder as if she was frightened he would fly away. "I'm fine. As is your father, thanks to you." Her smile was fierce rather than warm. "You did it. You did it, Draco."
He nodded. "Thanks to you. And – and others. I – Mother? Er… you aren't crying, are you?"
Narcissa pressed her hand against her eyes. "Perhaps I am. It's – you've grown so."
Draco hugged her again. "It happens, so I hear."
She chuckled softly. Her laugh hadn't changed, it was still silvery like bells, right where Bellatrix's had been wrong. Draco kissed her forehead. He was tall enough to do that now. Before he'd only been able to kiss her cheek. How strange – a year of his life had gone, measured in the angle of a kiss. "Come on. You don't need all these people."
Narcissa looked over his shoulder. She stiffened with indignation. "I believe a werewolf is watching us."
"Er, I was supposed to be helping out with the younger students…" He tilted his head in a question to Lupin. Hopefully he hadn't noticed Narcissa's reaction to him.
Impossible to tell. Lupin nodded mildly and shrugged in a manner that suggested Draco should go and spend his time with his mother.
"… But I think he and Sprout have everything under control. I've got so much to tell you…" He fished a small rectangle of card out of a pocket. The scales of justice embossed on it seesawed gently. "I talked to Mr Crane of Privet, Holst, Holst, Holst, Crane and Specklemeyersteinskido. He told me to send him an owl some time about an apprenticeship if I ever want to get into law. If it works out well he'll fast-track me into the legal course of the Outs of Court!"
The Outs, historically the first university of Britain, was so venerable and esteemed an institution Narcissa couldn't immediately think of a reason why he shouldn't. "You want to be a lawyer now?" What had happened to her little boy who wanted to be a Quidditch star?
"I hear it's the way to go if you want to go into politics," he said quietly. "As they say, you can't be truly in unless you're Outs." When she tried to stop her smile from becoming too crocodilian, he tilted his head and smirked. "Exactly. But that's just the merest smidgen of what's been going on in my life. Care to come for a walk?"
She tucked her arm through his, thankfully not making any further comment by word or action about the werewolf.
"Come on," Draco said, seized by what seemed like a capital idea. "I'll show you how I got through the barrier. I really want you to meet Simon." He smiled and squeezed her hand. "He's fantastic! You'll love him just as much as I do, I know it."
"…Simon?"
"Yeah."
"But… Simon?"
Draco gave her a puzzled look. "Did Father not say something about when he, er, saw me last?"
"He never mentioned you with anyone other than Harry Potter."
"Oh. Well. High time you met Simon. I'm hoping he can come and live with us. Although we might have to keep him a bit of a secret."
"Oh." Narcissa put on a brave smile, but didn't ask why secrets were necessary.
Draco beamed at her. She really was the best and sneakiest of mothers. Strange that she was suddenly developing a strained look around her eyes, but she'd had a lot of worry recently, too. He stifled a yawn. "Sorry. Dreadfully tired."
"Well, it's been a busy time for you."
"Wait until I tell you just how busy. No Quidditch, but Simon's been keeping me fit. Guess what – I fought off giant spiders! One bit me."
Narcissa, already pale by complexion, went a rather sickly hue.
Maybe he shouldn't have told her about that. "Er… but Simon took care of me. He was the one who saved me from the spiders, actually. Single-handed," he added, conveniently forgetting for the moment that Potter had had something to do with it, too. "Came charging in, killed the spiders, and carried me back to Hogwarts. Amazing."
Narcissa gave him a better attempt at a smile – it almost looked real – and gave his arm an encouraging squeeze. "I'm sure I'll love your… Simon. Where is he at the moment?"
"He's up at the paddock. Not far." He waved a hand. "You can see him from here, in fact."
Narcissa squinted into the distance. Indeed, there was a young man who appeared to be treating some sort of large beast in a field at the top of the hill. A horse? Lucius had mentioned horses… There had been one during the fight when the barrier went up, and another ridden by Harry Potter. He'd said even the Dark Lord had been impressed by Potter's horse – impressed into the ground. As well as that, there was something fishy about the manner of Bella's death.
She gave a small shrug. Lucius' sense of humour left a lot to be desired, but he was her husband and the father of her child.
(Her dear, sweet, Machiavellian child who'd put a legal collar on Lucius and, she was certain, would prove to be a much more judicious controller of the Malfoy fortunes. He'd already shown he could make the right friends and influence the right people and participate in the killing of those who stood in Narcissa's/his way – and if he'd managed to decipher the code and make the potion to counter the Vivicus charm, then he was a good boy who listened to his mother and would make a fine Minister of Magic some day. She could even put up with a Simon if that was what it took to keep the family on an even keel, although there might need to be intervention if she was ever going to get those grandchildren she was bloody well going to have.)
ooOOoo
"Well," Draco said proudly, "this is Simon. Handsome chap, isn't he?"
Narcissa kept her face impassive. She didn't want wrinkles from emotional excess, although she was starting to think she wouldn't get out of this day unscathed. "I would have called him Harry Potter myself," she said, ignoring the 'handsome chap'. The boy was certainly growing up into a fine young specimen, if a little on the stunted side. Although the two Potters were very similar in looks from what she remembered of James, Harry's face had a forthright kindness to it. Intelligent people as well as the rabble would vote for Harry on the strength of that, Narcissa, a long-time silent student of the underlying human complexities of politics, decided. Perhaps Draco allying himself with a Gryffindor wasn't as politically suicidal as it first appeared, although Potter would have to be taught to wash his hands properly. His fingernails had gone purple, for Circe's sake.
(And she would still be insisting on grandchildren.)
Draco said breezily, "Oh, sorry, my manners are shocking. Mother, this is Harry Potter. Potter, this is my mother, Narcissa Malfoy. I believe you've met?"
"We have," Harry said, politely inclining his head. "Ah – I'd offer a hand but I've just been cleaning out Simon's hooves and putting on a potion to deal with the stone bruises."
Simon was the horse? Maybe blackmailing her only son into finding an agreeable witch of good breeding for, well, breeding, wasn't going to be necessary. What a relief. Blackmail was such an ugly business when applied within a family setting.
"Yes, I noticed your fingernails are purple…" Draco smirked.
"Deep-bruise potion. Similar to what you use on bone bruises – don't want anything swelling up inside Simon's hooves. The colour'll wear off soon enough. By next Tuesday, I'm told… Mrs Malfoy. It's good to see you.
Odd. He sounded sincere. "And you, Mr Potter. You look well."
"Thank you." The lad straightened, brushing his hands against each other, although there was no hope of getting the dirt and stains off them other than with a strong scouring charm. Or time. He seemed unabashed by being less well groomed than the horse, and she realised that a greater difference between Harry and James wasn't just those startlingly green eyes, but the absence of arrogance. It was the first time in a long while she'd recalled Lily Evans as anything other than that Mudblood who was killed by Voldemort while protecting her baby (Narcissa respected even a Mudblood for that), but now she was strongly reminded of the witch who'd been a year behind her at school. She'd had that same quiet determination to get to the bottom of a problem she could see in Harry now as the young man stepped back to get a better look at the creature's legs. Apparently reaching some decision, Harry took out his wand and cast a spell on a hose snaking through the grass of the field from by the squat rectangular bath which must serve as the source of drinking water for the horse. The horse gave him a dirty look, but didn't back it up with physical punishment, merely sighing in an almost human fashion as the hose reared up like a snake into Potter's hand and the boy began to sprinkle water over the horse's legs.
"Isn't he great?" Draco enthused. "Come on, you need to have a better look at him."
"I can see him quite well from here." Narcissa Malfoy wasn't as impressed by the horse as Lucius and Voldemort (in their different ways) had been. She was, however, definitely too frightened to set foot inside the paddock. "Should you be in there with… with that?" she asked Harry.
Harry shrugged. "He's quite safe," he said. "Especially today."
"Well, yesterday morning was a bit boisterous for him," Draco said. He reached over the fence to ruffle Simon's forelock. Narcissa stiffened and held her tongue on whatever she wanted to say about her son being in biting range of large, dangerous animals – it would only embarrass Draco. "What did Luna say about his legs?"
"Cold water. Lots of it." Harry waved the hose by way of demonstration. "He's standing still now, but it was a bit of a performance until he realised I was serious about washing his legs. Luckily he was too preoccupied with avoiding the water to remember that he knows how to untie himself."
Narcissa curled her lip. It wasn't a sneer, more a wary admission that the animal might be even more dangerous than she'd first thought. "Can it open gates?"
"Oh, no," Draco reassured her hurriedly. "He only knows how to untie a slip-knot. He's terribly sneaky – he's a Slytherin horse."
There was a mutter from Potter's direction that sounded a bit like '… bollocks to that… brave… Gryffindor horse…' which Draco ignored.
"And he's quite gentle," continued Draco. "Usually. Um, what's that smell, Potter? It smells a bit like Hooch after a particularly bad match."
"Yes, what on earth are you doing in there?" Narcissa was genuinely curious. The lad smelt strongly of something along the lines of Pepperup Potion or that viscous stuff she'd rubbed on Draco's chest when he'd been a toddler with a heavy cold, but not quite, and she couldn't remember her Potions classes well enough to place the smell. "Is that what horses smell like?" Not half as disgusting as sheep. She couldn't abide sheep.
Harry turned off the water and ran his hands along Simon's neck. "Huh? Oh. No. It'll be the liniment." He dug his fingers in, massaging out the knots. Simon grimaced.
"Er… he's not about to attack you, is he? He's showing his teeth…"
"No, Mrs Malfoy, that's just his way of saying he's enjoying it." Harry chuckled as Simon's upper lip twitched. "He'd try and scratch me back with his teeth, trying to be friendly horse-style, but it's a bit rough for a wizard."
"I imagine it would be. What a strange creature, showing happiness by baring its teeth. It's almost human."
Harry showed his own teeth at her in a wide, genuinely sunny smile. "It is, isn't it?"
Draco wasn't smiling. "Where'd you get the liniment? What's it for? He's not sick, is he?"
"I ran into Luna on my way out of the castle. She was on the way up to the library – no, I don't know why – and when I told her I was going to see Simon she gave the liniment to me for his neck, which is sore, as well as the potion for the stone bruises."
"Probably she didn't want her nails to go purple for the next three or four days."
"Luna? She'd love purple nails! But she wanted to know how he'd strained the muscles…"
Draco smiled and leaned on the fence, arms crossed, well aware the wheels in his mother's head were spinning at the sight of her son and Harry Potter interacting like they were (these days Draco didn't have to grit his teeth quite so hard to admit it) friends. "What'd you tell her? That it was the bit where you fell off by the bridge?"
Harry laughed. "Not a chance. I told her it was the bit where Simon picked up old Voldie and shook him like a rat."
"It's only the truth."
"There were some Aurors up looking at him earlier. I confirmed Simon had bitten Voldemort – Tonks had already told them that – so I had to tell them that much, so don't give me that look, Malfoy. They were going to ask more difficult questions but then Simon started biting them."
"He doesn't like Aurors?"
"He doesn't like anyone pointing a wand at him when he doesn't know them. I'd already warned them he's twitchy, so fair's fair. Tonks was with them and said she'd tell Moody on them if they annoyed me. Simon likes her."
"How could you tell?"
"He didn't bite her when she touched the spell in his chest."
"That's a glowing recommendation in his case. Er… I thought it'd be okay to tell my mother about him…?"
"Yes. That's fair enough under the circumstances."
Before Narcissa could turn into an icicle over the implication that she might have had something to do with Voldemort's death (or, rather, before she could turn into an icicle over the implication impertinently voiced aloud before she'd decided how to use her part in it for the good of her family), Potter was adding, carefully focussing his gaze on the horse, "And, er, did you tell your mother that the last time I saw her, she was seventeen or eighteen years old?"
Narcissa didn't frown but Draco knew his mother so well that it was as plain as the Cleopatra-perfect nose on her face that she was unimpressed with Potter being enigmatic. "Not yet. She just arrived at Hogwarts. I've only told her about Simon so far. Perhaps you'd like to show her for yourself what you mean – uh, can you still do the spell? You never actually showed me how it works."
"Huh. Must have slipped my mind. Severus gave me the sketch – it's in my trunk but the resonance should work just fine."
"Severus?" Narcissa's eyes narrowed fractionally. All her self-possession came to the fore. Even Draco couldn't read her when she was like this. "You don't mean Severus Snape? I thought he's… I thought he died."
Draco took her hand. It was soft in his – the horse had given him calluses. In so many ways he'd grown past his mother this year. Grown past, yes, but never outgrown. He smiled at her, glad to have the sight of her face to put to the series of passing emotions the thought of her evoked. Home wasn't Malfoy Manor – it was his parents. One day it would stretch out to include a wife and children as he added to his lineage. "Potter went back in time to get something to help break the barrier."
"You didn't go, then?"
"No."
"Oh, thank God!"
"No, because I was kind of blind at the time – wait until I tell you about how Simon saved me from the vrikolaki… er… but don't worry, I'm all better now and there aren't any more vrikolaki around that I know about," Draco added hastily at his mother's expression.
Narcissa had gone very pale again, like when he
'd mentioned the spiders. She swallowed. And went back to the previous subject. "Severus was your friend, Mr Potter? Forgive me, but that seems unlikely."
"Yes. Funny how time-travel works." Harry took out his wand. "I had to travel back through about twenty years – there was a bit of an issue because I looked like someone he really hated – that'd be my dad – but we got past that."
Her scepticism seemed to be rising along with an eyebrow. Draco drummed his fingers on a post, hoping everyone would remember how to be polite. "How, if you don't mind me asking?" Narcissa asked.
"Er… as a matter of fact I lied through my teeth and told him I was from an alternate dimension." Harry's face shifted in the weak sunlight, as if he wanted to smile but wasn't quite sure how to. "We couldn't have me running around the castle looking like James Potter, so… here. Let me demonstrate." He lifted his wand.
Simon flicked an ear but otherwise didn't seem to mind. That was a good sign.
A flick later, and –
"Lovegood?"
Even Simon looked puzzled. It was the first time he'd seen this, Draco realised. The horse sniffed Harry's elbow.
Harry nodded, patting Simon's nose to let the horse know he was still Harry. "Good boy, Simon," he murmured, and with another flick of his wand he removed the illusion. To Narcissa he added, "You've got an amazing memory for faces. Sorry about the deception."
He was being polite. Draco could scarcely credit it – he'd thought Potter had been raised by Muggles, yet here he was being polite to Narcissa Malfoy.
She managed a weak smile. "You could hardly announce your real identity. My goodness – that was that sketch-spell Severus was working on, wasn't it. He gave up on it in sixth year for some reason… but it looks like he had some success with it before he did." She turned to her son. "Well. What exactly have you been up to? It might be handy to know how many people are aware of our correspondence."
Draco sighed. She was going to spit sparks when he got to the point where Granger was involved. "It's rather a long story. Care to sit down?" He waved his wand and conjured a nice big comfortable Chesterfield sofa.
"That's a good spell."
"Thanks. One of Harry's friend taught it to me. But I'll get to that later," he added hastily, deciding it better to bring Granger into the story as late as possible. "Harry? You might want to add some details."
"I'll just go and have a bit of a wash. Shall I have a house elf send up tea?"
"That'd be lovely, thank you, Mr Potter."
"Not at all. Although to be honest" – he squinted up at the sky – "I think it's going to start raining again. Would you like to come down to the castle instead? I've done about all I can do for Simon just now – well, apart from put his cover back on…"
Another wave of the wand, and the cover floated up to cover Simon like a neutered Lethifold.
"He seems very… well-trained."
"Oh, he's just an old softy. Right, Potter?"
ooOOoo
They had tea and scones in a small gazebo covered by roses. It was all very civilised, very polite, but the conversation quickly turned as sharp as the thorns, getting straight to the point in a way Harry appreciated and was surprised to find Mrs Malfoy capable.
In retrospect, he thought that night as he lay in bed and let the afterimages of the day wash through his tired mind, Narcissa Malfoy was a mother who wanted to find out how her son had been endangered and exactly how much danger he remained in. She was only interested in Harry as a participant in Draco's adventures, although it was clear she respected the effort he'd taken to overcome generations – perhaps centuries – of Slytherin/Gryffindor antagonism, something Harry in turn was pleased to find she was capable of recognising. She was certainly the first adult of his acquaintance who'd come out and stated it as a fact. She took Draco's dangers with an extra strong cup of tea and two lumps of sugar (dropped awkwardly into the cup so that a splash landed on the stone table) as her only outward signs of how appalled she must be to hear about how he'd been attacked by spiders and blinded, nearly dropped three floors, attacked by a vrikolaki, attacked by more spiders, taught by a werewolf, thrown into a pen containing a wild animal, chased by Dementors, chased by Fluffy, chased by Death Eaters, and hexed by his aunt.
It had been an effort for Harry to suppress the jealous knot tightening in his chest: his adventures had been as dangerous as Draco's if not more so; he had travelled through time, gone to Helga's crazy psychedelic glasshouse of horrors twice; he was even the one who'd managed to befriend Snape! (Oh, and he'd been possessed by the Forest and killed Voldemort – mustn't forget that.)
He was also the one who didn't have a mother or a father. He didn't have someone with the depth of connection between parent and child that allowed them to thrum with the degree of empathic horror or joy Narcissa felt from hearing of Draco's exploits. No matter how hard she tried to hide her reaction, her eyes, her breathing, her mouth, the faint colouring of her pale cheeks and even the slight flare of her nostrils when she was surprised weren't quite schooled enough to completely mask her reactions. At the end of the day, she was Draco's mother, not Harry's. Harry would just have to comfort himself with the thought that he'd revenged his parents. This didn't make him feel better. Revenge was a poor substitute for resurrection. But when he countered with the point that because he'd killed Voldemort other people wouldn't lose their parents the same way he had, this was some comfort. So while it didn't completely wipe away the jealousy, he gained satisfaction of a sort from knowing most of his friends still had their parents.
Useful parents.
They reached some sort of agreement, that Narcissa would help hide Simon from glory or retribution (or reclamation, although none of them went quite so far as to put it in those terms – from what he could understand of the unspoken Malfoy Code, it wasn't theft until you admitted it). She had friends with properties, friends who were neutral politically, friends who wouldn't betray either a Malfoy or the destroyer of Voldemort (Harry, Draco and Simon all fitted into that category, as did Narcissa and all the others who had worked on the potions).
They would shelter Simon. And Harry, Draco and Narcissa, if the need arose.
Lying awake late into the night, Harry considered the possibilities and then, still thinking of Narcissa Malfoy and all the other parents who'd come that day to find their children and rejoice in their company in a way the Wizarding World hadn't seen since the last fall of Voldemort, he used the privacy of a Silencing Charm and the curtains around his bed to grieve for his own parents. And for himself, because he would have liked to have known the man his father could have become – the man who'd held onto a scrap of paper and proved himself worthy enough to marry Lily Evans; the man who would have come to Hogwarts with Harry's mother and listened to Harry's adventures and hugged him and told him how proud they were and how much gladder simply to have him safe.
ooOOoo
Author's notes:
[1]The song Hermione and Tyrol sang does indeed come from a Muggle story. Ron's opinion notwithstanding, Badjelly the Witch is up there admiring the view from the snowy mountaintops of Muggle literature. Go, Jim the Eagle!
Keen lurkers will have spotted that the episode of Babylon 5 Elmsworthy refers to (Day of the Dead) aired on the 11th of March, 1998, and will be asking how in Valen's name Elmsworthy learned the 'Small Fish' joke – a joke that demonstrates Minbari humour – when he couldn't have seen the episode in question. True, the Blockade was already affecting things by then, but Elmsworthy's cousin who knows someone who knows someone who works behind the scenes in distribution or something nabbed copies of upcoming episodes and sent them to Elmsworthy for Christmas or some other pre-Barricade present-giving event.
ooOOoo