Chapter 35

DISTRACTIONS

By the same hour Thursday, that question of what part his mother had played in Severus Snape's life was still disturbing Harry's brain. Once again, Remus was coming late. Sirius wasn't expected until tomorrow. Desperate for something to occupy his attention, Harry dug into his bureau drawer for the Djinn ball. When he unwrapped it and smoothed out the paper, the squeaky voice grumbled, "About time. Did it really take you four days to absorb Lesson One?"

"I was busy."

As before, his instructor started by clearing his non-existent throat. "Lesson Two: Television of Familiar Locations at a Distance. Hold the Djinn ball to the bridge of your nose, stare into its depths, and envision your distant home—what are you doing?"

Harry had lowered the ball to bounce it up and down on his palm. He wanted a diversion, yes—but peeking in on his aunt fattening Dudley with Christmas sweets while his uncle tried to cram forty or so presents beneath the tree wasn't his idea of a pleasant evening. "Couldn't I try a friend's home instead?"

"As you like," the paper snapped. "Don't interrupt with the obvious."

Dutifully, Harry placed the ball between his eyes. As he concentrated, the cloudy shapes within coalesced into the warm colors of Mrs. Weasley's kitchen. His best friend's mother was bustling between cooker and cupboard. "I have it somewhere—essence of Joy to the World."

Mrs. Doctor Granger, sipping tea at the table, returned an ironic smile. "Personally, I just add nutmeg to pumpkin pie—unless I buy it readymade."

"Readymade?" Mrs. Weasley turned to gaze at her friend with What-will-Muggles-think-of-next bemusement until a whoosh from the cooker made her spin back around. The multi-colored fire, obviously magical in origin, had decided to act up. Frantically, she waved her wand, trying to command the leaping flames to retreat back under the boiling pot of pumpkin wedges.

Her magically challenged friend leapt to her feet. "Do you have a fire extinguisher? Baking soda? Anything?" She pushed in beside her panicking friend. "Goodness! You can't even turn this thing down. It doesn't have any knobs."

Before Harry could shout out his own suggestions for quelling the blaze, Mr. Weasley raced into the room. Flourishing his wand, he shouted, "Back!" and the fire shrank to a manageable size. Mrs. Weasley's alarm melted into a smile, and she kissed her husband. Their friend glanced from one to the other of them with frank exasperation.

Harry exhaled in relief. Then he wondered, Where are Ron and Hermione? Using the mobility skills he'd learned in Lesson One, he set out to explore the Burrow.

Mr. Doctor Granger strolled around the living room, examining magical artifacts—animated paintings, fidgeting chess pieces, a clock displaying thirteen hours. He kept his arms folded behind his back, as though afraid of touching anything.

In the den, Ginny sat cross-legged on the window seat with her silver-furred fox Vixie curled up at her feet. She was whispering to herself. "Bevel? Revel? Level? Dishevel?" Giggling, she dipped her quill in a bottle of ink and added another line to the poem on her parchment, murmuring, "Handsome devil."

Halfway up the stairs, Harry was happy to see Errol—the Weasley's ancient owl—still alive, snoozing atop a bronze statue that looked rather like Bigfoot. Pigwidgin fluttered about him, addled as usual.

In the upstairs hallway, Fred and George were trying out a new wizard invention. The ball they tossed back and forth looked like an ordinary tennis ball, except that whoever caught it underwent a skin change. Harry watched a blue Fred throw it to a lavender George who, on contact, turned red-green-and-yellow plaid.

Harry edged past them unnoticed and pushed the point-of-view of the Djinn ball through Ron's closed door.

His friend's bedroom was still overwhelmingly Chudley Cannon orange. Of course, his visits home were so brief, he didn't have much time for redecorating. In fact, Ron was hunkered down at his desk, putting quill to parchment—evidently spending part of his vacation on homework. For once, it was Hermione who was loafing on the bed. Harry longed to be sharing the evening with them, but neither gave any sign of sensing he was there. Crookshanks, however, disengaged himself from his mistress's idly tickling fingers to stare at Harry with his yellow cats' eyes.

A minute later, flourishing his quill, Ron announced, "The End. Finally! Old McGonagall's going to love my alternate universe essay—if I do say so myself. She said she's basing twenty percent of our score on how creative it is."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Not if the essay is purely a creation. Mind giving me a look?"

"I've been dying for you to ask." Grinning, Ron handed her the parchment.

Just when Harry was trying to figure out what maneuvers would place his view directly over his friend's paper, Hermione shrieked. "You daft prat! Have you gone completely balmy?"

Ron burst out laughing. A moment later he was dodging Hermione's attempts to whack him with his rolled up essay.

Harry groaned. Now he'd never get to see what it said.

"H-hey," Ron sniggered. "It's j-j-just an-an alternate u-u-universe!"

"If you don't promise to burn this," Hermione growled, "I'm going to kick you into an alternate universe."

At Hermione's ultimatum, Ron suddenly went serious. "You can't mean that. I spent weeks on research. That's my third draft. It's the best essay I've ever written. You couldn't possibly expect me to burn it. Please say you don't mean it."

Hermione blew out her breath. "Well, maybe not the whole essay. Just this part where you . . ." She shuddered. "This part where you have me venerating—no, fawning, palpitating, drooling over—" she shook her head violently, as if to rid it of a disgusting image "—Gilderoy Lockhart."

Harry could see Ron suppressing a grin. "An alternate universe."

Again, Hermione raised the scroll, and Ron retreated a pace. With great dignity, she managed, "I would never admire such an obvious, self-seeking, primping fraud. Anybody who knows me would know that's completely out of character. I am an intelligent, discerning being. My being duped by that dope would never have happened."

Ron spread his hands wide as if that proved his point. "That's why the idea makes such a good example—because it emphasizes how different—"

"Never. I repeat, never. Not in this universe. Not in any universe."

Ron folded his arms while a superior smile rose to his face. "Not according to Dr. Chronosticon. The Perpetual Moment maintains that the infinity of possible choices makes possible an infinity of possible actions—even one as hard to believe as—" he choked back another snicker "—as you admiring Gilderoy Lockhart."

At Ron's appeal to intellectual authority, Hermione looked slightly abashed. "Dr. Chronosticon? I—I don't think I've ever read him."

"Her," Ron corrected. "And why should you have? Your paper was on trans-sequential, temporal-spatial shifts. Even with Elixir of Infinite Memory, it'd be impossible to know every magical text ever written."

Hermione tilted her head. "You read my paper?"

"I couldn't put it down." Ron looked aside, suddenly bashful. "I like your mind."

The parchment on alternate universes fluttered from Hermione's hand. Harry's eyes widened. The PDA that in his heart of hearts he wished his friends all the luck in the world in pursuing was about to take place.

It would definitely be a moment he didn't want to share.

He was about to wink himself out of Djinn Ball Lesson Two when he heard a knock at Ron's door. Two seconds later, Ron was again hunched over a textbook at his desk and Hermione was standing on the opposite side of the room, avidly inspecting a full-length picture of the Chudley Cannon goalkeeper flexing his muscles.

In a slightly breathless voice, Ron called out, "Come in." His face was flaming.

The door inched open, and Hermione's mother peaked around the side. She glanced from her daughter to her daughter's friend and swallowed hard. "Er, Ron—your mum wants you to come help her. Something about wrestling another pumpkin away from the garden gnomes?"

Ron jumped to his feet, his cheeks still red. With a mumbled, "Yes, ma'am," he dashed from the room.

Hermione remained with her back to her mother, peering at the fine print at the bottom of the poster. Harry was about to use the Djinn ball to follow Ron, when something in Dr. Granger's eyes as she shut the door made him decide to stay.

"Anything going on here I should know about?"

Hermione grimaced, then turned with a pleasant smile. "No, mother. Why—"

"It's not that I don't like Ron. He's a dear, dear boy. And the Weasleys—they're all so sweet and charming, I'd never say a word against them. But darling . . . it's just that I don't want you to do something that you might consider, well, irrevocable."

"Mother! Nothing happened!"

"I mean, irrevocable as far as which world you're going to choose." Mrs. Doctor Granger glanced behind her at a life-sized poster of the Chudley Cannon seeker sticking out his tongue. At her stern look, he jerked it back and pretended to whistle.

"Mummy." Hermione took a deep breath. "You're just disconcerted by how different the magical world is."

"You mean, how whimsical, unexpected, and astonishing all these magical gewgaws and gizmos are?"

Hermione frowned. "Well, yes."

Her mother shook her head. "No, I'm just disconcerted to find out that whimsical, unexpected, and astonishing is all this world seems to be."

Harry bit his lip. What did Hermione's mother mean?

"I mean," the older woman said slowly, "It's all very nice for a weekend's amusement. But is it enough for a life? I'm not convinced that all of this hocus pocus, mumbo jumbo, bells and whistles, glitter and flash is right for you."

Hermione ducked her head slightly, looking defensive before her mother.

Mrs. Doctor Granger raised her chin, reminding Harry of none other than Hermione when she'd found a cause. "From what you've told me, it's not only twentieth century technology that's lacking—it's twentieth century social progress, as well. Take that Azkaban Prison—it sounds absolutely barbaric, even for someone justly convicted of a crime. And you told me they sent that nice Mr. Hagrid there merely on suspicion!"

"Well, yes, but—"

"And those poor gnomes! When I heard Molly say she wanted Ron to come down and toss them out of the yard, I was shocked to learn she meant it literally. I'm just grateful the Weasleys don't have an elf. From what you've said, I doubt I could stand it."

"Mother, Mother," Hermione tried plaintively. "That's why I need to pursue this life. I feel it's my mission to bring about some change."

"As a woman? Among wizards?" Mrs. Doctor Granger arched an eyebrow. "Not likely. From what I've seen, unless you're a hag or a biddy, a witch's place is in the home. What kind of life would that be for you? Now that all of Molly's children are grown or away at school nine months out of the year, she has practically nothing to do—except knit! Yet she's so brainwashed about the rightness of this status quo that whenever Arthur mentions one of the few women employed in his office, she clucks her tongue, 'Has to work, poor dear. She never got married.'"

"Well, maybe that's true for the Ministry. But at Hogwarts—"

"You have some respected female professors? I know that, darling. And every one of them that old cliché—the liberated, independent, highly accomplished old maid!"

At that pronouncement, both Grangers fell silent. Harry stared from one to the other, feeling disconcerted. Was this how his mother had found the magical world? But just as Hermione was clearing her throat for a rebuttal, Harry heard a key in his dormitory lock. When his concentration broke, so did his connection to the Burrow. He secreted the Djinn ball back in his bureau and waited for Remus to open the door.

Friday, the morning before Christmas, Harry awoke to find the landscape outside his window swirling white. Remus still snored on Seamus's bed, Bête Noire sacked out across his legs. Harry sighed. The night before, he'd once again lacked the courage to open up his mother's drawings to her schoolmate's comments. Pressing his hands together, he vowed to do it tonight when Sirius came. No matter how upsetting, he had to learn the secret of Lily Evans and Severus Snape.

Yes, I just had to do it... stick up for us Muggles. To all you very nice people who've reviewed, followed and/or faved, my heartfelt thanks.