He's Not Dead Yet
This chapter officially ends Harry's second third year. This is because I have run thin on ideas for year three. Next chapter will start up as Harry is leaving for vacation and will take up from there.
I don't own Harry Potter or anything related to Monty Python (or 'How to Irritate People').
Pigs: 9, British Bipeds: 4
Harry had, once again, received permission to leave the school. It was the day the goblins would destroy the soul fragments and, naturally, Harry's presence was required. However, not everyone was so willing to allow him to leave. Having finally gotten the goblins off his back for the time being, Dumbledore had decided to, once again, attempt to speak with Harry in private.
The old man accosted Harry as Hermione and Neville were walking him out of the school so that he could rendezvous with Sirius who would then Apparate him to Gringotts.
"Harry, I am afraid I must order you to meet with me in my office," said Dumbledore.
"Order, eh, who do you think you are?" Harry replied.
"I'm your Headmaster," Dumbledore replied, looking distinctly baffled.
"Well, I didn't vote for you."
"You don't vote for Headmasters."
"Well, how'd you become Headmaster, then?"
"The Dark wizard, Gellert Grindelwald, challenged me to a duel. I fought heroically and took him down, winning the fabled Elder Wand; signifying by divine provenance that I, Albus Dumbledore, was to carry the most powerful wand in the world. That is why I am your Headmaster!"
"Listen," Harry retorted, "strange Dark wizards trying to take over the world and losing in duels is no basis for a system of academic authority. Supreme academic authority derives from an individual's ability to care for students and delegate and regulate the tasks associated with their position; not from some trumped-up farce of a duel."
"Be quiet."
"I mean, you can't expect to wield supreme authority over this school just because some stupid bastard tripped on a banana-peel and inadvertently chucked his wand at you."
One of the things the Ministry of Death had shown him was what had actually happened during the famous duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
"Shut up!"
"I mean, if I went around saying I was an emperor just because I defeated Voldemort as a baby, they'd put me away!"
"Shut up! Will you SHUT UP!"
"Ah, now we see the violence inherent in the system."
"SHUT UP!"
"Violence inherent in the system! Help! Help! I'm being repressed!" Harry declared, grinning.
"Bloody child!" Dumbledore shouted and stalked off to his office.
"Oh, what a give-away," Harry said, turning to his shocked friends. "Did you all hear that? That's what I'm on about. Did you see him repressing me? You saw it, didn't you?"
"Calm down, Harry," Hermione said. "We'll take care of Dumbledore in time."
"Well, it's not quick enough in my opinion."
"Give it another year, Harry. Remember what you told us about the Triwizard Tournament? Well, there will be plenty of things we can use then to get Dumbledore ousted. Besides, as the owner of Hogwarts, don't you have the power to remove him?"
"Well, yes, but I wanted him to be humiliated first."
"Then I don't know what you're complaining about."
"Harry," Neville spoke up as they continued walking, "I've been wondering, are you going to officially claim your Lordships after the ritual at Gringotts?"
"Not today, Neville. I was thinking of doing that right before school lets out; it'll give everyone something to think about."
"And plenty of girls the chance to ogle you?" Hermione suggested, her cheeks turning faintly pink as she did; something that went completely unnoticed by Harry.
"That will be rather annoying," Harry conceded with a wince. "But it's important to let people know that I mean business. Speaking of business…How are those plans coming along?"
"Great, Harry," Neville replied. "I took the liberty of drawing up a list of various businesses we could consider. I've also sent out invitations to different students who would be great for the Board. So far, there has been a very positive response."
"Well done, Neville, keep up the good work."
They continued to chat about their plans until they met up with the familiar figure of Harry's godfather.
"Wish me luck," Harry said. Just before he turned away, Hermione spoke up.
"Harry," she said. She then pulled him into a hug and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. "Good luck."
Harry gave a warm smile.
"Thanks, Hermione. Don't worry, the goblins told me the ritual is perfectly safe. What's the worst that could-"
"No, don't say it!" Sirius exclaimed, waving his arms frantically. "Whatever you do, don't finish that sentence!"
"What's wrong, Lord Black?" asked Neville.
"Well, first off, Neville, it's Sirius; none of that Lord Black stuff unless it's a formal occasion like the Wizengamot. Now, as I was saying, you should never, ever say 'what's the worst that could happen?' because every time someone says it, every time, something bad does happen."
"Oh, thanks for catching that, Sirius," said Harry. "I would hate to fall prey to Murphy's Law. God knows it's happened enough in my life as it is."
With a final parting wave at Hermione and Neville, the two wizards Apparated just outside of Gringotts. Sirius gave a grin and gestured forward.
"After you, my dear godson."
"Why must magical rituals be so weird?" Harry asked as he watched the setting up of the Horcrux-removal ritual.
"Could be worse," added Sirius.
"True. I just don't see why they need a large, wooden rabbit."
"Or creosote."
"Or a roller-skating vicar. And why do we have to wear fake antlers, anyway?"
"Just go with it, Prongslet. Don't bother trying to understand these rituals; they're all bizarre. It's probably because just about everyone in here is a member of the Free Masons."
"They what?"
"Of course. What did you think the Free Masons were hiding?"
"So, it all falls into place."
"So, Harry," Hermione asked once Harry returned, "how did it go?"
"Pretty well, I thought," he replied. "The soul-fragment in my head tried to possess me a number of times and I'm no longer allowed to use roller-skates unsupervised. But, other than that, it went great."
"That's nice, Harry. Care for some Shepherd's Pie?"
"Ooh, my favorite."
As dinnertime progressed, they slipped into more pleasant topics of conversation.
"You might want to be careful around Ginny, Harry," said Hermione. "I wouldn't be surprised if she tries to slip you a love potion soon. She keeps muttering things like 'Harry will be mine' to herself and I could swear I saw her writing 'Lady Ginevra Molly Potter' in a large heart in her notebook."
"You let me worry about Ginny," Harry replied. "But you need to be careful around Ron."
Hermione gave a snort.
"I am more than capable of dealing with Ron."
Speaking of Ron…
Up in Gryffindor Tower, the young Weasley had decided to try and get into Harry's trunk, once again. Ron had made sure that Crookshanks wasn't around to disturb him and immediately set to work on the trunk. He was surprised to find it locked but tried a simple Alohomora, only for the trunk to react by having a spell shoot out of it that made Ron's nose grow to five times its size. Due to his inability to learn from mistakes on account of the abnormally small substance that passed for Ron Weasley's brain, he tried again. This time the trunk gave off a loud siren-like noise that made an annoying 'eeee-deee-dee-dee-dee, eeee-deee-dee-dee-dee, eeee-dee, eeee-dee, eeee-deee-dee-dee!' sound. However, even that didn't deter Ron as he made one last attempt to open the trunk; the result of which caused a most amusing thing to happen.
When Dean and Seamus came upstairs to the dorm to see what the noise was all about, they saw a very angry-looking penguin with an over-large beak and a tuft of red hair on its head, standing beside Harry Potter's trunk.
It seemed that the workload was finally catching up with Hermione. Despite Harry's advice, Hermione refused to drop any of her subjects, not even Divination, which she loathed.
"Hermione," Harry said calmly one evening, "please, just drop Muggle Studies and Divination. You're not gaining anything by being in those classes."
"But I am, Harry," she replied shortly and with a slightly frazzled expression. "Okay, Divination is very dodgy and Trelawney is a right old fraud; but, can I just give it one more chance?"
Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"In the last timeline," he said, "you got so angry with Trelawney that you picked up your bags in the middle of class and marched out. Please, Hermione, just go to Professor Babbling and ask to drop it."
Harry gave her a pleading look that finally got through her resolute disposition.
"Okay, I'll drop Divination."
"And Muggle Studies?"
Hermione bit her lip.
"It is actually very interesting to know what they teach the magically-raised about Muggles," she explained. "A lot of the information is very outdated and I've been documenting just what is wrong with the course." She pulled out some files and handed them to Harry. "Just something to keep in mind when you take control over the school."
Harry pondered over the notes. Muggle Studies did seem to be very out-of-date and would need a complete overhaul; it seemed that although Professor Burbage meant well her curriculum was wildly erroneous.
"Okay, Hermione," he said, "You can finish the Muggle Studies course this year, but please drop it at the end. It will free up your schedule and then you won't keep losing sleep or stressing out from all that time-turner use."
Hermione nodded and gave a small smile.
"Alright, Harry," she conceded. "I know you wouldn't ask me to give up a learning opportunity unless you believed it to be for my own good."
"Besides," Harry added, "we've got all those extra classes. Stearns said that he would give some pointers on non-magical self-defense after we're done with the next Occlumency lesson."
Well, the rest of the year passed with relative quietude. Harry remarked that it was the quietest year at Hogwarts that he had ever experienced. The private self-defense lessons with Mr. Stearns were rather odd as he had an obsession with teaching them how to defend themselves against anyone who attacks them armed with a piece of fresh fruit. Soon enough it was time for exams to begin. Harry discovered that he and Hermione tied for best in Ancient Runes. All in all, it seemed as though this would be Harry's best year at Hogwarts in living memory. And it only got better during the last couple of days.
The morning of the last official day of school saw an edition of The Quibbler that officially made the magazine the number one bestselling media outlet in all of magical Britain and drove the editor of The Prophet into chronic depression and alcoholism.
Harry Potter-Hogwarts Heir!
By Xenophilius Lovegood
Yesterday, at Gringotts Bank, Mr. Harry James Potter made the decision to officially claim Lordship over the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter. Under normal circumstances, such a thing wouldn't happen until Harry reaches the age of seventeen; however, as the last of the Potter line and with his guardian's permission, Mr. Potter was able to be declared an emancipated minor, thus making him Lord Harry James Potter.
However, that is not the only Lordship Harry has a claim to. In addition to the Potter line, Harry was able to officially reinstate the Peverell Lordship, long thought extinct. But it didn't end there. After undergoing the Inheritance Ritual, young Lord Potter has been confirmed as the heir of all four of the Founders of Hogwarts.
It seems that the famous Patrocles Potter married the last named descendent of Godric Gryffindor, Geraldine Gryffindor, in the year 1776. According to tradition, as Geraldine was the last person to bear the name Gryffindor, the Gryffindor Lordship would pass to a younger child; however, the couple only had one son, Gordian Potter. The Potter-Gryffindor marriage was kept very quiet so as to protect family interests. Janus Peverell and Ilsa Hufflepuff, married in 1823, had one daughter, Ignatia Peverell, who was the last true heir to both families; Ilsa married Christopher Potter in 1849. The reason why none of the Potters ever claimed their Lordships is unknown, but it does mean that our dear Lord Potter has four families to reinstate into the magical community.
At least, it would have been only four families had not new light been shed on the heritage of the late Lily Anne Potter (nee Evans). The name Evans, though common amongst the Welsh Muggles, has long been believed to have gone extinct like the Peverells. The Evans family was a clan of Welsh Battle-Mages; although they never possessed a Lordship, they were highly respected. The last son, Jonas Evans, was a Squib; however, the name of Evans seemed to be so prestigious that the Squib daughter of the Ravenclaw family, Hypatia, married young Jonas. But even this is not the end of the matter. It seems that Lily Potter was descended from the Florus family line which had intermarried with the last member of the Slytherin family to bear the name, Syrena Slytherin. The last head of the Noble House of Florus died twenty years ago without any children to inherit the Florus family fortune; however, the family did not die off. Rosemary Florus, a Squib, married Robert Evans and they had two daughters; Petunia and Lily Evans.
Through simple deduction, it has been determined that young Lord Potter has six family names to reinstate. As part of tradition, this will require Lord Potter to take one wife for each name; Potter, Peverell, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. The other two families that Lord Potter is descended from, Evans and Florus, are separate cases. The Evans family did not follow the usual inheritance method, as they were a clan without official title; the Florus line, on the other hand, was of the Noble class but did not possess Lordship as it was not Ancient or Most Ancient. It is necessary for Lord Potter to take a wife for each name because of a required separation of power that is far too complex to explain.
In addition to his current Lordships, Lord Potter is the current heir-presumptive for the Black family. Should Lord Sirius Black not have a child to take on the Black Lordship, the title will fall to Lord Potter (who would then need a seventh wife); however, reliable information indicates that Lord Black will not be without an heir of his own for too long.
Lord Potter gave his opinion on this situation:
"It really was quite shocking," he said. "Growing up in the Muggle world, the idea of having multiple spouses only ever appeared in very ancient history or in stories. I suppose in some parts of the Muggle world it still exists, but I have never been to those places. I am in no rush to get married; I have no intention of getting married before I turn twenty-one, unless something seriously persuades me otherwise.
"In my opinion, marriage is a partnership, an agreement between equals in addition to being a physical, romantic, and loving state of life. I fully intend to treat each of my wives with the respect and love that they are owed; I will not marry someone based purely on either physical attraction or family connections. The marriages will be something agreed upon mutually and without coercion on either part. The title of 'Lady' for each of the families I am the Lord to is one of prestige; each of my wives will sit in proxy on my behalf in the Wizengamot as I may only occupy one seat at a time. I hope with all my heart that I can find wives who I can love and respect, and who can love and respect me in return."
Truly stirring words. I think many of my readers will agree that such good fortune could not have fallen upon a more deserving individual. I trust you will all join with me in wishing the best of luck to Lord Potter in his endeavors and in hoping that he will find the right young ladies to share his life with.
For information on Inheritance Rituals, see page 99
For details on different family genealogies, see page 45
For a brief history of polygamous marriages in magical Britain, see page 64
For news regarding the renewed Potter-Longbottom Alliance, see page 12
The look on everyone's face was hilarious. Albus Dumbledore appeared as though he was going to have a stroke. Snape looked as though someone had set him up on a date with Lockhart. The only thing that really annoyed Harry was the fact that just about every girl in the school looked ready to pounce on him.
Harry sat down across from Hermione and Neville and tried to act as though everything was perfectly normal.
"So," Neville spoke up, "you going to do anything to end the year on a positive note? I mean, other than what's happened already?"
Harry gave a devious smirk.
"I was thinking we could do something to get Snape to violate the restraining order," Harry replied. "I've got Fred and George in on it. You interested, Neville?"
Neville seemed to ponder the offer for a moment before smiling too.
"Lord Potter, I would be delighted to join in your pursuit of vengeance."
"No, Neville, not vengeance. That is such an ugly word. Call it 'payback.'"
Hermione smiled at the two boys and shook her head in amusement as she went back to reading. Hermione thought over all that had happened this year and how much it had changed her. It used to be that such things would have sent her flying into a rant about responsibility, but now she was more relaxed to the unconventional or even a bit of the rebellious. She supposed it was Harry's influence on her.
That evening, as everyone sat down for the feast amidst the red and gold banners (Gryffindor had won the House Cup thanks to Harry's outstanding victory during the Quidditch Final), the doors of the Great Hall swung open yet again to admit someone. It was Snape. Only, he didn't look like himself; his hair had been turned into a frizzy, orange mess, his teeth had been transfigured into a ridiculous overbite, someone had conjured a pair of fake glasses with Ping-Pong ball eyes on them onto his face, and his robes had been turned bright yellow with multi-colored polka-dots.
His face was red with fury. When his eyes caught sight of Harry, who was laughing at the sight, something inside the potions master snapped.
"THAT DOES IT!" he screamed. "RESTRAINING ORDER OR NOT, I WILL KILL YOU, POTTER!" He descended upon Harry and reached for his throat, only to be knocked back by several stunners.
Neville, Hermione, and Luna had shot from their seats to launch Stupfies; but they weren't the only ones. Fay Dunbar and Susan Bones had both fired jinxes, and several other students looked to have been about to do so as well.
"Someone call the Aurors," Harry declared. "I believe attempting to kill me is a violation of his restraining order."
Dumbledore sank into his chair as though hoping to vanish. There was no way he could get Severus out of this. His only chance was to try and plead with Harry to have mercy on Snape when the man stood trial.
In a matter of minutes, Amelia Bones and a large division of Aurors were on the scene to cart off the still unconscious Severus Snape. As she left, Amelia threw a very nasty smile at Dumbledore.
Harry and his friends, however, simply returned to their dinner. At the close of the feast, a very uncertain Dumbledore stood up to give his end-of-the-year speech.
"Well…" he began shakily, "another year seems to have passed. How time flies, indeed." He began to fidget, unsure of how to proceed. "Congratulations, once again, to Gryffindor House for winning the House Cup. I look forward to seeing you all again next year; with the exception of our graduating class, to whom I wish the best of luck. I hope you all have a wonderful summer."
Harry smirked at Dumbledore's obvious discomfit. He had plans for this summer; he was going to completely overhaul the school curriculum and practices. The Triwizard Tournament would only serve to aid his plans; mostly because the expected catastrophe would be just the perfect opportunity to oust Dumbledore. Harry did, however, have one thing to say before he started work on those practices.
"Before you call the feast to a close, Headmaster," Harry spoke up, "There is one final matter to be addressed."
Dumbledore winced but nodded for Harry to come forward. Harry took the podium.
"As a tribute to the pleasant events of this year, I have certain gifts to the school." He looked towards the doors. "We're ready!"
In walked Red Bayly and Josiah Prewett, with them were two goblins who were carrying a large box. Red directed them over to the podium.
"Okay, set it down right there," she said.
The goblins set the box down and removed the lid.
"All set, Lord Potter," Red stated.
Harry smiled and reached inside to remove the first item. It was Hufflepuff's cup.
"I bequeath to Hufflepuff House, the legendary cup of Helga Hufflepuff herself," Harry declared to the 'oohs' and 'ahhs' of the audience. He then carried the cup over to Professor Sprout. "I hope that this cup will be seen by future generations of Hufflepuffs."
Professor Sprout smiled warmly at Harry and nodded.
"Next," Harry continued and withdrew the necklace, "is a family heirloom of Salazar Slytherin. It was an engagement gift to Orla Slytherin and later given to Salazar Slytherin's youngest granddaughter. The history of this necklace was discovered in the Slytherin journals. Is there an acting-Head of Slytherin House? Only, it would be quite impossible to hand this over to the previous Head."
Professor McGonagall turned to Professor Vector.
"Septima," she said quietly, "would you be willing to take over Slytherin House?"
Professor Vector nodded discreetly.
"Mr. Po-I mean, Lord Potter," McGonagall said. "Professor Vector has agreed to take over for Slytherin House."
Harry nodded and presented the necklace to Professor Vector. Next, he withdrew the Diadem of Ravenclaw from the box, eliciting the loudest gasps yet.
"The Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw," Harry proclaimed. "Long thought lost, I now have the great pleasure of returning to Ravenclaw House." He presented the magnificent artefact to Professor Flitwick, who looked about ready to burst into happy tears.
Finally, Harry turned to face Gryffindor House. It was time to put something to the test. Harry raised his right hand.
"I, Harry James Potter, heir of Godric Gryffindor, do call upon the sword of my forbear to appear before me." There was a flash of light and the ruby-encrusted silver sword materialized in Harry's hand. "This sword belongs in Gryffindor Tower, not in the Headmaster's office," he said resolutely. He then presented the legendary weapon into the waiting hands of Professor Babbling.
"Well," Harry concluded, "I do believe that's it for the moment. No, wait, I almost forgot. Mr. Prewett?"
"Yes, Lord Potter?" said Josiah.
"Have those funds been transferred?"
"They have, milord."
"Excellent." Harry then turned back to the hall. "There are going to be a few changes next year. First off, we need a new Potions teacher." He turned to his hired instructor. "Mr. Preston, would you be willing to work for Hogwarts fulltime?"
"It would be my pleasure, Lord Potter," Robert Preston replied.
"Thank you, I look forward to class next year."
It was at this moment that Dumbledore decided he needed to meddle.
"Harry, I am the Headmaster and only I can appoint professors."
Harry's eyes flashed in Dumbledore's direction.
"You are sadly mistaken, then, old man," he snapped. "As the heir of Hogwarts, my authority supersedes yours. Consider yourself lucky that I haven't already had you removed from your post for your sheer incompetence and abuse of position." Harry then turned back to the Great Hall with a grin. "On that note, have a great summer, everyone."
Harry then stepped down from the podium and headed for the doors. Red, Mr. Prewett, and the goblins took that as their cue to leave. As they walked out, Mr. Prewett stopped for a brief word with Percy.
"I will see you in a few weeks to discuss your employment, young man," he said.
Percy smiled in delight. He had taken a far greater interest in working with Bayly, Black, and Prewett than he had done with his previous aspirations for a job at the Ministry. Since his meeting with Josiah Prewett at the New Year's ball at Potter Manor, Percy had been much more drawn to finances than to being some Ministry lackey.
Meanwhile, Harry had been heading off towards the tower, but something caused him to be diverted off his path. He found himself walking deeper into the school, into a part of the castle he had never been. Soon, he found himself in a long corridor; the end of which was guarded by a portrait of a very pretty female knight in glinting armor.
"My Lord," she greeted courteously. "Lady Hogwarts has asked me to welcome you on her behalf."
"Erm, thanks?" Harry replied.
"I am Dame Maude of Kent, thy humble servant."
"I didn't know there were female knights," Harry said suddenly.
"Of course, my Lord. I am of the same tradition as Joan de Arc, Maud de Braose, Nicola de la Haye, Queen Aethelburg of Wessex, Queen Emma of France, and even Eleanor of Aquitaine. I, myself, served in battle to defend this noble isle. Now, my Lord, what dost thou wish for a password?"
"Password?"
"For your new quarters, my Lord. I guard the entrance to the private chambers that were used by the Founders. As you have claimed your Lordships and ownership of the castle, you are now entitled to use the Founders' quarters. The house-elves have already moved your belongings in there. Now, my Lord, what wilt thou for a password?"
Harry thought for a moment.
"Holy Grail?" he replied with a shrug. He would only be there for one night and could change the password once he came back next year.
Maude smiled and swung the portrait forward to admit him.
The first room that Harry encountered was a large, circular common room with a round table and several large chairs; Harry supposed that this was where the Founders held their staff meetings. Then there were four additional chambers, one for each Founder. Ravenclaw's chambers were up a winding staircase into a tall tower, much like with the Ravenclaw dorms. Slytherin's chambers seemed to go down into a fairly dark and chilly space that Harry had no intention of exploring at night. Hufflepuff's rooms were just down a few short steps and were set up much like an enormous den; they seemed very warm and cozy and very feminine in style. Gryffindor's chamber was where Harry decided to spend the night; they were regal-looking and very masculine; the walls were draped in red and gold and there were numerous weapons used as decorations. It seemed as though the house-elves must have been taking good care of the place for centuries as there was no trace of mold or mildew.
Harry tucked himself into the magnificent four-poster bed and drifted off to sleep; silently wondering what sort of mayhem he would get into in the near future.
Omake (was originally the opening for this chapter):
Bill was slowly pacing the living room of The Burrow. Because the ritual to remove the soul fragments from the Horcruxes was to take place in a few days, he had agreed to visit his family for Easter. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the fact that his mother kept guilt-tripping him into staying every time he tried to go out and do something.
"It's nice having you home with us for Easter, dear," said Molly.
"It's nice to be home for Easter, Mum," Bill replied through clenched teeth.
"It's been a long time since we last had you home with us for Easter."
"I was home last Easter, Mum."
"Yes, but that was twelve months ago, dear."
Bill was halfway through giving an irritated air-punch when he let out a sigh and moved to take a seat on a nearby chair.
"Fair enough," he said. "You can't argue with that." He slapped himself on the back of his neck and stared up pleadingly at the ceiling. "Well," he declared as he moved to sit next to his mother on the sofa, "What are we going to do this evening, then?"
"We thought we'd have a nice, quiet evening at home," Molly replied.
Bill gave his leg a slight slap and then put on a forced smile.
"Really? A nice, quiet evening at home?" He stood up and turned to face the wall. "That's a bit out-of-the-blue, isn't it? You ever thought of that?"
"It'll be a nice rest for us all."
Bill then turned and leaned down to speak more clearly.
"Yes, well, I thought I'd just pop down to the pub," he said with hopeful determination.
"Because we can listen to the Wizarding Wireless," Molly continued as though she hadn't heard.
"To the pub for half-an-hour-"
"Because we don't see much of you, nowadays, dear; and, when we do, we like to spend time together…"
"Thirty minutes…"
"Because we don't see much of you, dear; and even when you are at home, dear, you never really talk to us."
Bill gave another desperate glance at the ceiling before moving back to his seat on the sofa.
"Mother," he said, "since I got home, two days ago, we have discussed (in detail) socks, keeping warm, sensible underwear, my hair being too long, the trouble Mrs. Diggory had with her Floo, what happened to the greeny-brown pullover, how I got in with the wrong set, and how much you and Dad hate me messing around with curses…which, as I pointed out, is one of the snags about my being a Curse-Breaker. We may not have discussed the moral dilemma of 20th Century Man, but we certainly have talked, Mother."
"Anyway, why do you want to go down to the pub, dear?" Molly inquired.
"Ahh, so you did hear. I just want a quick drink."
Molly gave him a 'look.'
"You're no sooner home than you want to go rushing out, again."
"Mum, I haven't been out of the house for two days," Bill pleaded. "I only want to go to the pub."
"Oh, well, dear," Molly sighed, "If the pub's more important to you than your own mother…we don't see very much of and…it isn't much fun being left here with him." She nodded over to where Arthur was passed out in his armchair.
"Look, I shall be gone from nine 'til nine-thirty," Bill stated as he crossed his arms.
"I don't expect I shall be here much longer," Molly said in a quiet voice.
Bill gave a muffled groan.
"Well, if you go between nine and nine-thirty, that's bad luck."
Molly suddenly burst into sobs.
"Oh, God," he sighed, "she's gonna cry." He turned to his father. "Dad!" he said, jolting his father from his nap.
"Hmm?"
"Mum's going to have a cry."
"Hmm." Arthur then went right back to sleep.
"How can you be so cruel?" Molly sobbed.
"Alright," Bill conceded, "alright, I'll stop being cruel. I won't go down to the pub. I'll sit at home resting." He began to glower. "I'll make a list of famous stranglers."
"Oh, that's a good idea, dear," Molly said as she dried her eyes; her tone had become much more upbeat. "I'm glad you've decided to stay."
"Yes, yes, I've decided to stay and I, uh…I don't think I'll go out; I'll sit here resting." He cleared his throat and stood up. "I'll be out of here the day after tomorrow," he muttered, "I'll use the wooden horse trick."
There was an awkward silence before Molly spoke up again.
"You're looking forward to going back to London, aren't you?" she said sadly.
"No, Mum," Bill assured her, "I-I-I love it at home; really, I have a glorious time."
"You don't like it here at home."
"Yes, I do."
"No, you don't," she started to sob again.
"Oh, God," Bill groaned quietly. "Dad!"
"Hmm?"
"Number two."
"Hmm."
"L-look, Mum, I do really love it at home, I really do; it may be just a little bit quiet, but I have a lovely rest." She sobbed louder. "Mum, I-I've got to go back to London, the day after tomorrow, but I-I will try and get back down again, um, uh, in a fortnight."
"Oh, that'll be nice, dear," Molly instantly brightened.
"What have done?" Bill gasped. "What have I done?"
"Do try and get down on Friday night…and not on Saturday morning."
"Um, y-y-yes, yes; but-but, I may want to go out for a meal on Saturday night."
"Alright, then. If you come down on Friday night…and go back on Monday morning-"
"Done."
"After breakfast-"
"Done."
Molly then went back to her knitting and Bill picked up the newspaper.
"Do you care to go out on the Saturday night, dear?" Molly asked after a while.
"We made a bargain," Bill said over the top of the paper.
Molly started to give another sob.
"No, it's no good, Mum," he continued, "We made a bargain."
"Who are you going to go out with on the Saturday night?" she suddenly demanded.
"Does it matter?"
"Your mother has a right to know these things."
"No, she doesn't."
Molly then resumed her sobbing.
"I shan't be with you much longer."
"No, we've had that one." As Molly's sobbing persisted, Bill gave another groan. "Oh, God. Dad!"
"Hmm?"
"Number four."
"Hmm."
"Alright, Mother, alright," Bill pleaded. "Alright, alright, Mother, alright, alright, alright, Mother, alright, I'll tell you who."
"Who?"
Bill picked the paper back up and said, "Christine Whedon."
Molly gave a look of exasperation.
"Christine Whedon?" she inquired. "You're not going to throw yourself at her again?"
"Mum, she is Healer Whedon's daughter."
"I don't understand you, anymore." She then moved to pick up an old baby-picture of Bill. "What did we do wrong, Arthur?!" she exclaimed and started sobbing again.
"Oh, she's going again," Bill muttered. "Number five."
"Why do you want to go out with Christine, dear?"
"What?"
"Why do you want to go out with Christine?"
Bill took a moment before finally blurting out:
"Because she's a loose woman."
"Is she?" Molly gasped. "Christine?!"
"She can't get enough of it, Mother," Bill said with a smirk.
"Can't she, dear?" Molly said thoughtfully. "Look, why don't you go down to the pub? I've got one or two Floo-calls to make." She then tottered off to the fireplace.
"How does her mind work?" Bill thought aloud in disbelief.
Author's Note: And there you are. I finally got this chapter done! Hooray! It took me long enough. The Omake at the end is based on something from "How to Irritate People" which was a show that the Monty Python actors John Cleese, Graham Chapman, and Michael Palin acted in before the official Monty Python's Flying Circus. In light of the implications of the scene above, this chapter is dedicated to everyone who has ever been guilt-tripped into visiting by their mother (or, in my dad's case, their father).
Remember, folks, review carefully. Even if something sounds perfectly fine in your head, it can still come out as being rude or insensitive.