Chapter Twenty-Three
Shopping is Easy When You Own the Company
There's not much funnier than watching four eleven and twelve year old girls fight over something in the middle of a public area. Still, Harry wished the ground would open up and swallow him as Lily Cooper, Astoria Greengrass, Diana Wood and Ruby Martin (who Harry really did not know) argued about which house he belonged in. They made quite a spectacle, each providing examples and reasons as to why Harry was more like a Hufflepuff or more like a Gryffindor or more like a Ravenclaw or more like a Slytherin.
He barely knew Diana. She seemed to be mostly pulling stories from Paradise and Oliver. Astoria spoke from experience garnered from her sister and – Harry decided – stalkerish levels of observation. As for Ruby… well, the girl he didn't know pulled from a whole lot of sources and her argument was probably one of the best rounded. She was the Ravenclaw of the group, after all.
It was Emma who, after twenty minutes of the girls screaming at each other, got up and sat the four girls down and led a whispered conversation with them. Five minutes after that, nearly the whole Great Hall was watching when Lily Cooper got to her feet, flicked her black hair from one shoulder to another and coughed out: "Due to recent events and the feelings of all in this institution—" she stumbled over that word "—we have decided to announce that H.J. Potter-Moorland-Aragon-something-something-or-other—" snickers filled the hall "—shall be hereby granted the title of Gryffindor-Slyvenpuff, for he has been granted honorary status among the three houses to which he was not assigned." Lily flounced back to the tables.
Harry spewing pumpkin juice all over the table distracted people so much that no one saw the almost immeasurable increase in the angry twinkle of Albus Dumbledore's pale blue eyes. Cheers filled the rest of the house.
That was when Ruby hopped up. "And the Ravenclaws are extending the rights of our house to Hermione Granger, as a Gryffindor-claw." Some cheers for Hermione, mostly from Su and the other third years. And Kenneth.
That reminded Harry that he still needed to talk with Kenneth. After he paid him back for the skit. After… yeah. So much to do. So little time. And Kenneth, Lee, Fred and George were still blatantly avoiding him.
After breakfast, the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff 3rd years walked as a pretty communal group out the greenhouses for a double Herbology class. They spent all morning together, what with a double DADA class period following the first lesson. Professor Sprout had elevated Neville, Sally-Anne and Hannah into a more advanced growing class and she let Harry and Hermione work with them most of the time. Hermione found herself growing increasingly frustrated when plants didn't response to her like they would for the other four. It was that day when the fourteen other students watched Hermione approach their teacher and request to return to working primarily with the other class. She looked as if she was eating lemons, the way she reacted so negatively to admitting that she wouldn't always be the best.
All fourteen other students, including Ron, cheered for her.
It only made Hermione feel even worse. "Why?" Not many heard her say it. Only Harry, Neville and a few of the nearest Hufflepuffs.
"Because you're a genius, Hermione," Harry said, "but even geniuses have to learn their limits, and for you, this a great accomplishment. Acknowledging that you can't do everything... We're all proud of you." It didn't hurt that Professor Sprout then invented some inane reason to give Gryffindor ten points. They didn't care so much about the House Cup, but still, it made Hermione feel good.
Wednesday mornings were some of the best. Even if Harry had to deal with the teasing over being accepted as a member of everyone else's houses by a group of first year girls (like, you know, totally), it was good fun. And it was with the Hufflepuffs! Lavender and Pavarti got along well enough with the four Hufflepuff girls, but they were starting to seem a little lost without their trio member of Daphne Greengrass. Ron and Ernie and Dean and Seamus stuck together, with the three Gryffindors accepting the Hufflepuff... not seamlessly, but it was close. And then Professor Lupin complained that he hated splitting the class up into groups, because no matter what he did, they'd all be friends. He'd termed Harry, Hermione, Neville, Hannah, Susan, Megan, Sally-Anne, Justin, and Wayne nearly inseparable.
It was weird, Harry thought, but when he actually did think about it, they were some of his closest friends. He knew them. He knew surface details, but then he knew surface details about nearly everyone know. But he also knew their dreams.
Hermione, before she knew of magic, had dreams of being a lawyer. After learning about magic, her whole outlook on life had changed and she hadn't decided what she wanted to do. At least, beyond helping the house elves, she'd always said. Neville wanted nothing more than to turn the House of Longbottom into the most successful of the England's farming houses. Sally-Anne had once dreamed of being a dancer, but she'd had to give that up when she was nine because of a bad fall that had injured her knee, back and neck. She'd spent five days in the hospital before being told she could never safely dance again.
Susan was determined to start an orphanage. Hannah was determined to start an orphanage. The two girls had been best friends for years. It was actually amazing that they disagreed over the type of orphanage that they wanted to build. Wayne, before learning about magic, had been on course to be a professional footballer. He did confess, however, that that had been his fathers' dream. Privately – and to Harry – Wayne just wanted to be content. Megan want sail and travel and dream and write and see the world. Ron was Ron. Dean wanted to be an artist and somehow bend magic and his painting and other forms of art all together, creating things that had never been created. Seamus had no aspirations beyond living a good life, being successful and happy. Lavender wanted to own Which Witch Weekly. Pavarti's ambitions, in the group of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff 3rd years were probably the saddest. She had none. She knew that she was the second daughter of a righteous Hindu family and to her father, she was nothing more than a bargaining chip. So she never let herself dream. And that… well… Harry wanted to fix that, but he didn't know how.
"Harry, can you answer the question?"
Harry blinked. Right. DADA. He'd been thinking about his classmates and Pavarti's situation… "Possibly. Not at this moment."
Professor Lupin smirked. He looked rather exhausted, but Harry knew that was only because of the recent full moon. "The proper way of approaching a dangerous situation?"
"Run away and scream for help?" Harry said, saying what he'd to. What he wished he had done first year with Quirrel and the stone. He had done it, sort of, second year. And then that hadn't worked and he'd still been an idiot and faced down a sixty-foot basilisk with nothing more than a phoenix and a sword. Siiiiigh.
Lupin snorted. "Not a hundred percent applicable, but correct as a very vague suggestion."
And so their DADA class continued on and on. Normally it was pretty good, but with Lupin so exhausted it wasn't as great as it could have been. And Harry was struggling to pay attention. He knew most of this stuff. He knew how to approach uncertain circumstances. He'd survived things that his fellow classmates hadn't. He was the best in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Which… arrogance alert, Harry muttered to himself, not letting anyone else hear him. He wasn't arrogant. He really wasn't. It was just… focus…!
After class, Harry persuaded his various friends to go on to lunch while he stayed and talked with Professor Lupin. When Hermione finally left, Harry approached their professor. "Professor, can you tell me about wolfsbane?" Lupin stiffened. Unnaturally so. Did he not know that Harry knew that…? "Professor Sinistra told me about you, and well, Vicky Frobisher's dad is as well, and I wanted to look into providing him with wolfsbane, like, the potion. So, do you know much it costs or how accessible it is?"
Lupin blinked. "It's a very expensive, inaccessible potion, Harry." His voice was clipped and nervous sounding. "Supplying for a whole year costs upwards of five hundred galleons."
Even Harry gaped at that number. His Hogwarts tuition was about five hundred galleons. He knew his allowance to Paradise was exceptionally high, but still, five hundred a year? "Would it be possible to supply it only for the summer, when Vicky is home with her parents?"
"Yes," Lupin said, "although that would create for some dangerous transformations during the rest of the year." The professor still hadn't processed the fact that Harry knew about his lycanthrope and didn't seem bothered at all. It was… weird. "Lunar magic becomes even more dangerous after it's been controlled."
Harry bit his lip. "Are you a lunar wizard?"
Lupin didn't know how to answer that. He could lie and abide by ministerial degree or he could lose Harry's trust. Thankfully, he didn't particularly have to answer the question.
"I've been researching it, ever since Professor Sinistra kind of mentioned it, but I haven't found much. Just that it's one of those things classified as Dark Arts and you need a permit to study it. And some of what it does," Harry said, thoughtfully, "but still, not a lot. Why's lunar magic normally considered dark and solar magic light?"
Lupin didn't know how to answer that. He didn't have to.
"It doesn't make sense," Harry complained, not pausing. "I looked at solar magic too; it seemed like it could cause more pain than lunar. But then, it sort of delves into what a Dark Art is and, you know, Professor Lupin, the ministry's classification of stuff doesn't make sense." He stopped talking and just stared at the floor, quiet. "Magic is wonderful, you know, but I wish it was easier to understand."
And with that, Harry spun and strode from the classroom, leaving Lupin standing, stone-still, still trying to figure out what was going on. He wasn't entirely successful.
o.o.o.o.o.o
Harry ate lunch with a conglomeration of Slytherins. It wasn't all that odd, except for the fact that Selene, Persephone, Tracey, Millicent, Theodore, and Blaise were with different groups. That was odd. Still, Harry found his circular table of seven others – Emma and a few other transfiguration geniuses had changed the long house tables into a bunch of eight seat-er circle tables. It was pretty cool. And so Harry joined a table of Zachary Wood, Gracelyn Zale, Daphne Franklin, Astoria Greengrass, Peter Nott, Sebastian Urguhart and his younger brother Kingston. They'd been entering the Hall around the same time he did, so it was easy enough just to slip into their group.
The younger Daphne – a first year – had yet to manage a full sentence around Harry without blushing and stuttering. Peter was likewise rather bashful, but the others were great. Harry really enjoyed hanging out with Zachary. The youngest Wood boy was energetic, funny, and willing to try anything when he was dared. Harry had yet to see a Slytherin side to him, which he found very, very frustrating. Kingston, first year, was having trouble with DADA, so Harry spent quite a lot of time trying to teach him petrificus totalus. Peter, again a first year, was very busily listening in, so Harry specifically worked with his problems.
They ate and talked and Zach kept everyone amused by poking fun at Astoria's handwriting and Harry's messy hair. There could be no doubt that Zach would be a well-groomed ladies-man the older he got. Harry decided – judging on the way Daphne refused to move beyond three feet away from the kid – that he might be starting rather early. It was sort of amusing.
A few desserts had just come out to the table when David Summerby approached their table, grabbed Harry's arm, sprouting thank-yous like there was no end, swore his undying allegiance, before standing up and walking swiftly away. Harry immediately noticed an increase to Dumbledore's already shining eye-twinkle. What the-?
"Did he just?" That was Sebastian.
"He did!" That was Peter.
"Wow." That was Gracelyn.
"You have a subject!" That was Zach, laughing.
Harry still couldn't muster up the courage or wherewithal to actually speak. Well. Not beyond a word or so. "What?"
Astoria narrowed her eyes at him. "You don't get what happened?"
"No…"
"You've got a serf," Astoria said, shrugging. "It's not that uncommon, actually. Lily Cooper's mum swore that oath to my mum, mostly to get out of a marriage she wanted to avoid. We've got a couple other serfs spread out throughout the family too." Her words were perfunctory. "The oaths aren't in anyway hereditary; it's not like Lily belongs to my older sister or whatever."
Harry nodded his head to her in appreciation of the explanation. "Do I have any responsibilities towards him?" He wished it hadn't happened, but he'd figured because of how utterly aristocratic the wizard world was, he wouldn't bother asking if it could be annulled. He didn't particularly want a serf or servant or whatever, but if David wanted it—
"No. Well, he's under your protection now." Sebastian now. "But that particular loyalty oath greatly benefits the one who received it. What did you do to deserve that?"
"Oh great," Harry grumbled. He ignored Sebastian's question. It wasn't necessary to actually explain and he was confident enough that the Urquhart would understand. His mind was still reeling. "So, what just happened?"
The – at the time – evil little Slytherins just laughed at him.
Curse them.
o.o.o.o.o.o
Friday evening.
"Harry, that's not normal." Hermione.
"Yes it is." Neville.
Huff. Hermione.
"Could we please just forget about this?" Harry.
"No." Hermione, Neville and Able.
"It's kind of funny." Sarah.
"Can we like… skip this whole rest of the week?" Harry.
"No." Hermione. "Then I'd miss all my classes!"
"Oh, yeah, how are you getting to all of those classes?" Harry.
Silence.
Harry looked up from his cross-course essay talking about the various potions that the plants they were currently studying in Herbology were good for. Hermione had actually stopped writing; her pen was actually quivering a little over her already lengthy essay. Her eyes were lowered, and he perceived a little shake in her normally resolute shoulders. It was so out of character that the other three all noticed. "Hermione?"
She swallowed. "McGonagall says I can't tell you." It came out as more of a whimper than any real sort of answer. "But… but I think I'm doing too much."
"What's wrong?"
"Well, it was the same in the other reality," Hermione said, still holding her quill suspended, "but there I didn't handle it so well. Still, what with the magic crew for the play and all, I'm feeling… overworked."
Neville put down his Standard Book of Spells and studied his friend. "You voluntarily moved down in Herbology. Is this part of the reason?"
"Yeah," Hermione murmured, shrugging. "And that I really, really don't like that class." She made a face. The others grinned at her. Affronted, Hermione snarled, "What? It's dirty, somewhat boring, and – excepting Magical Creatures which just has to be the worst – is the closest thing to PE that this school has!"
Able out-right snickered. "You do realize that your best friend is on one of the Quidditch teams and he's started attending morning workout sessions?"
"It's a good idea!" Harry defended, chewing on the end of his quill while he struggled to figure out how to conclude the essay. "Besides, it helps me get to know Theo, Blaise, Justin and Wayne better."
"It's really just the five of you?" Sarah asked, suspicious. "What do you do?"
"Run the halls; although, we've only met twice though." Harry said, as he figured out the wording for a particularly annoying sentence. "No one's sure if it's going to become a regular morning thing."
Hermione snorted. "And people think I'm overworked."
An owl and a package – both on the shoulder of Temperance Regan – arrived for Harry. "You know," Hermione said, rather annoyed, "people are supposed to get mail in the morning."
Harry accepted the package from Temperance, shared a quick, secretive smirk with her (at Hermione's expense), and laid the unopened packet in the middle of the table. He finished his essay, studiously ignoring the questioning looks and downright inquiries. No; they'd hear the proper announcement along with everyone else. Actually, it was rather surprising that they'd made it to the release date with only him, Temperance and Chastity actually knowing when that date was. Sure, Mary and Neville – as his unofficial advisors – knew about the clothing line, but they didn't know it was in production already.
He was actually excited to look at the samples that Temperance's dad had sent him, a day before the official release. Oh, sure, he'd seen all the various pieces of clothing and downright vetoed any Harry Potter underwear, but he'd actually be wearing it tomorrow. And once that news hit the press, well, it would be publicity enough for this brand of clothes. When Mr. Regan had told him that, Harry had pinched himself repeatedly. It was sort of ugly, thinking of just how much he could influence the little things like fashion. Well, at least it was good practice in case he ever needed to influence things on a larger scale.
"You're not going to tell us, are you?" Able said, sighing.
"Hang on," Neville said, "that was—"
"Shush."
"Oh!"
And so Neville knew. Well, as long as he didn't tell Mary there was a slim chance that this wasn't going to make it out public before the Prophet announced it. "Don't tell Mary," Harry warned.
"'Course," Neville said, unrolling a piece of parchment and inking a quill.
Hermione huffed. "I hate you. I hate you both."
"Don't whine," Sarah said, moodily. She was fiddling around with a few colored pencils, mostly because as she had no electives – even if she did have more periods of each core class – the net result was she had a lot less homework to keep her busy than the others did. Translation: she couldn't figure out what to draw or do and she was bored.
"Besides," Harry complained, "you'll find out tomorrow."
o.o.o.o.o.o
Harry met Justin, Wayne and Theo on Saturday morning in black athletic pants and a pale green light-weight exercise shirt that had a stylized black lightning bolt on it. None of the boys commented on it. He was pretty sure Blaise would have inquired, but the Slytherin had declined to show up that morning. It was not required on the weekends that the uniform was worn, but a lot of people wore it just for convenience. Still, Harry was grateful after his exercise that the additions to his wardrobe would not catch too much attention. At least immediately.
He changed into everyday black slacks and a bottle green – he really was going to get sick of green very quickly – button down shirt, with a swash of other vibrant colors running through the fabric, which was accented by a black and gold tie. He didn't actually tie the tie, but left it hanging down both sides of the collar. Had he actually tied the tie, it would have come out in a zig-zag, lightning shape. That was actually one of his favorite parts… The outfit went with a smart black hat and a jacket that could be worn in a choice of any hue of green, black, white, brown, or gold. He chose a somber brown color that somehow managed to accent the tie. Lastly, he got Neville to sneak a green colored pencil from Sarah's book-bag and transfigured that into a greenish plant garland that he rested on the brim of his hat.
And, of course, he didn't realize until he was done that he'd spent half-an-hour primping himself out.
That was really not cool.
Still… he did like the look…
With black shoes laced in place, Harry and Neville headed for breakfast, arriving late for their normal time, but rather early for Saturday breakfasters in general. The Prophet hadn't been delivered yet. Still… Demelza, Dakota, Queenie and Katie took great pleasure in making Harry sit with them so that they could critique and compliment his semi-messed up style of dress. Still… it made Harry very self-conscious to be sitting around while wearing clothes embellished with his scar.
He was beginning to think this was a very… very… very bad idea.
Temperance and Chastity Regan were sitting together at the Hufflepuff table, right at Harry's back. It was like they'd purposefully positioned themselves so as not to miss the show. Great… Wait. What? The tables had been changed back to the house tables. Where'd the circle tables go?
A very unawake Mary MacDonald and a far too chipper Eliza Kirke joined Harry and the fourth year girls just as the mail began arriving. Neither seemed to notice Harry's attire. Of their particular group, they only received three Daily Prophets, so Harry just sunk lower and lower in his seat as wind-blown owl delivered the newspaper to Mary. She took it unceremoniously, paid the owl, and started eating her cereal.
Across the hall, somewhere from the Slytherin side of the things, a girl squealed. Harry took a big bite of cereal and chewed.
"What?!" Hermione's screech was distinctive.
Curious now, the fourth year Gryffindors looked up from their breakfasts to see more and more girls disappearing behind their daily newspaper. Harry, dread growing greater and greater in his stomach, watched as Mary snatched up her copy of the newspaper and looked at the headline: Harry Potter: Fashion Express. She looked at her pupil, and then back at the paper before letting out a squeal of her own.
The article outlined the release of the new: Potter Fashion for Every Occasion. It also wrote that to receive a copy of a magazine devoted to this clothline, owl the appropriate clothing line or visit the stores, locations in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and the Liverpool Magical Quarter. Harry – in his package – had received a copy of said magazine. Under Temperance's guidance, Harry had secretly modeled the first samples that Julius had sent his daughter and employer and they'd returned pictures of Harry – in the clothing – to the company. Julius's other daughter – Harry thought her name was Hope or something – was a squib, and so she modeled most of the other pictures for the magazine. It actually worked – as a magazine – really, really well.
As news spread – even affecting some of the boys – Harry leaned behind him and gave Temperance a high-five. Chastity smirked at them. All three were happy. The projected profits from this line were incredibly high (and Harry had just starting paying their dad an additional percentage).
By the end of the day, owls were flying towards the company carrying requests for the magazine. One owl even carried four separate requests, as several people didn't have owls and begged their friends to let them send in requests with said friend's owl.
After seeing the initial reaction, Harry grabbed little Sarah (somehow the only girl maintaining any semblance of sanity) and fled to Sinistra's rooms, staying out of sight for as much as he could.
Play practice was torture.
o.o.o.o.o.o.o
November rolled away in a mass of classes, extra studies, play rehearsals, inter-house Quidditch practices, study groups, friends, novels, sleep, and a dramatic increase in wealth for the Regan's. Harry's increase in riches was just as sizable but not nearly as noticeable. Potter Fashion for Every Occasion began popping up all over the place, and – to Harry's utter mortification – their replacement Potion's Professor arrived wearing one of the signature robes. That Professor, one Mr. Daryl Rhythm, immediately started fighting Professor Vector for the position of #1 Staff Harry Potter fan.
Professor Rhythm wasn't even that great a teacher, but everyone did notice an increase in their potion's ability; the fifth years all thanked their lucky stars that Snape had left. And the mainline Slytherins all rejoiced when Madame Hooch took over as their head of house. Well, the ten ostracized students all hated it, but Hooch made rather good head of house, or so Tracey and the rest of his Slytherin friends said.
The third weekend of November, the first officially scheduled Quidditch match took place between Gryffindor and Slytherin. It was a bit of joke. The Slytherin team had been struggling after Flint, Montague, Higgs and Malfoy were removed from the team: Flint by Deputy Headmistress Mandate and the other three by Hooch and popular opinion. Hooch also removed Adrian Pucey and Daniel Bole for "being an impossible players to work with." As such, the Slytherin team morphed into, on average, the youngest current team. Zachary Wood, Sapphire Vaisey and Sebastian Urquhart made up the Chaser trio. Hezekiah Derrick (a 7th year and the only upper classman) stayed on as Keeper. Harriett Patterson (to her grandmother's pride and dismay) paired with Blaise Zabini as Beaters. Second year Franklin Harper played Seeker.
The weather was absolutely awful. Harry struggled to control his Nimbus; it rocked and rolled and threatened to spin out of control. Harper, while larger than Harry, was less experienced and skilled, so he flew nearly aimlessly, just fighting with the winds and rain to stay in the pitch. It was nearly impossible for Harry to see the others, but in the few glimpses he did manage to catch, even Katie was struggling with her broom. Sebastian – the only player actually smaller than Harry – had massive problems. He barely touched the quaffle at all, only managing to block a few passes. Harriet was too small to control both broom and bat, but the bludgers would get driven so off-course by the wind that they barely played a role in the game.
Few spectators had shown up, mostly due to the weather and the fact that Quidditch games were now almost common. It was probably pretty good; Harry had no idea where the snitch was. And given how the rain lanced against his face and practically blinded him, he didn't foresee any change.
Sometimes, he caught a glimmer and managed to push his broom approximately in that direction, but the glimmer would disappear or turn out not to be a glimmer at all. Somehow, the Gryffindor girls racked up a 200 goal lead in the first hour, while Oliver kept the Slytherins to only one goal. Harry thought that Sapphire scored it, but he couldn't hear, he couldn't see, the rain had long ago soaked him through and…
The dementors were nearby.
Harry was hovering just above a struggling Harriett when he first felt them. He knew they'd been on the pitch before, but surely Dumbledore had some safe-guards in place to keep them away. The old man was awful, most times, but he wasn't… idiotic. Squinting, Harry could see Harriett look around, shivering even more than before. The bat slipped from her hands and she just looked terrified.
A cloaked dementor then another and another and another ghosted down on the two fliers, mouths open, skeletal hands out-stretched. Harriett screamed. Harry fumbled for his wand; he'd tucked it in his jersey. A dementor swooped around him, knocking into his broom, flipping him upside down. Harry grasped the broom handle with both hands. The wand was knocked free. No. No! He caught the tip, just managed to whisper to fated words, and the wand jerked free. It plummeted.
A failed mission, test, experience…
A woman's scream…
A green light…
A frying pan…
A screamed profanity…
A spider… a pig…
A dead friend…
A dead sister…
Of being without magic…
Of pain…
Another of Harriett's screams managed to penetrate Harry's hazy mind. It sounded distant. Like it came through water. Something jabbed one of Harry's fingers. It felt like a splinter. Or something.
And then there was nothing but weightlessness.
Falling…
And fear.