He walked into the darkened living room, unsure of how he happened to be here and what he would do in the empty – now that Xenia wasn't here – house. He tossed his broomstick to the floor, and it bounced off oddly and dissolved into sand. He was nt at all bothered by that. His heart was clenching in anguish, making it hard to breathe.
He took a step forward, squeezing his eyes shut, to ward off the gloom and emptiness of the house. And when he opened them, he saw the soft glow of the torchere in the bedroom. He ran forward, with halting steps – his legs felt weak. It took him a surprisingly long time to reach the bedroom door; he made it through the doorway and stood frozen in is tracks, incredulous – because Xenia, safe and sound, was sat in the chair by the floor lamp, reading. He threw himself at her feet, hugging her knees, pressing his face against them, as something hot and salty ran down his cheeks. He wanted to ask how she was, how she managed to escape, where was Lily, but unexpectedly asked something completely different:
"What are you reading?"
She smiled – softly and warmly:
"Homer."
"Who?" – he frowned, struggling to comprehend the reason for this smalltalk.
"A Greek writer, from long ago," she explained, stroking his deshiveled hair.
"And what did he write about?" the feel of her hand on him again was heaven. He felt calmer already…
"About the fall of a great city. It was besieged by the Greeks for years to no avail, until they came up with a plot. They presented a huge statue of a horse to the city, hiding warriors within. And thus, the unconquerable Troy was brought down."
"And why did the Greeks lay siege to the city?" James ceased to look for the reason for the conversation. What's the difference, if Xenia was back?
"Because of a woman, of course, Jim. In any war or vendetta, there is always a woman. And do you know what her name was?"
"Yes," James replied, surprised at himself, gazing into his wife's loving eyes. "Helen."
She smiled, as though he remembered something she had told him before.
"Yes, Helen," she repeated, her form suddenly growing transparent, as though dissolving in the air. He reached out his arms to grab her, to hold on to her, but grasped only air.
"No, Xenie…," he moaned helplessly.
"Jim," her voice came as though from a distance. "James!"
He started and sat straight, realizing that what he had seen was but a dream, that he was still in the Gregory's living room. He had fallen asleep…
"James," a slightly worried Liana was leaning over him. She held a steaming cup and a plate of rolls. "Have something to eat."
"I don't want to," he muttered, incredulous at how he had let himself sleep. He sought out Scorpius' erect form – his friend was sat at the table, writing.
"Eat, nothing good would come of you collapsing from exhaustion. It would help neither Xenia nor Lily," Liana practically thrust the cup in his hand and put the plate in his lap. "It is enough that we have one bullet-head who thinks that his strength is limitless," the girl looked back at Malfoy, frowning.
"What is he doing?" James asked, not touching the food – he was still chastising himself for his weakness. How could he sleep when Lily and Xenia were still in peril? And this strange, silly dream…
He remembered Liana telling them about a letter from Parkinson, and Scorpius' impulse to run to him, and Gregory dissuading him. He dozed off during the explanation of why they shouldn't rush into a possible trap, succumbing to the warmth and comfort of the others' home. A dunce! So much time lost!
He finally sat down to think logically, which used to be his strong suit," Liana grinned.
"Meaning?" James looked over his friend, confused. There was something odd about him, something statue-like. Serene and still… Then Potter spied a glass next to Malfoy. There was a small amount of strange blue liquid on the bottom. "What did you give him?"
"Oh, little something for fortifying the mind," Liana shrugged her shoulders, smiling slightly. "It's just that, lately, Malfoy was caught up in his emotions, and our potion… move them aside for a bit."
"Our?" James asked, starting on a roll.
"Well, Greg and I are experimenting," Liana nodded toward a small, almost unnoticeable cabinet door in a huge, antique cupboard. "The potion that I gave Malfoy is call 'Icy heart'."
"Very poetic," James snorted, imagining the excitement with which Scorpius took it.
"And very apt: it helps the mind to conquer feelings. And, by the way, Malfoy only needed one sip, anyway: he is already very good at suppressing his… emotions," Liana looked away, as though she was really talking about her private past. Hers and Scorpius'.
"And he decided to practice calligraphy?" James clarified, setting aside his cup, and getting up to stretch his limbs.
"No, he is doing the homework that you ought to have done yesterday," Liana waved her wand to remove the leftovers of James' breakfast – or was it dinner? "In the first column, he is writing down the names of everyone whom he ever… wronged, even if it was only breaking their quill, both within the school and outside it. In the second column, he must list all that can now be done to rescue your wives. And in the third, listing anyone else who could be the target of your mysterious benefactor…"
"And where is your husband?" James decided not to distract his friend from his important task, and sat back down in the chair, feeling exhausted.
"He went to his study, to talk to his father through the fireplace," Liana said down on the arm of the chair, watching Malfoy's methodical work. He could clearly hear them, but did not look up or comment, which for James, was an indicator of the potion's effectiveness. Or maybe his friend simply did not have the energy for anything else. "After all, we must find out how his name ended up on the list of those who had created a portkey."
"Yes," he almost smiled, understanding for the first time why those two – Scorpius and Liana – had once been so attracted to each other. One of them was bound to inject some structure and logic into this unholy mess. "So, we are not meeting with Parkinson…"
"There are now only three courses of events, and none of them – and your friend was forced to agree," Liana nodded at the still scribing Malfoy, "require us to rush to meet with Tobias."
James hemmed, imagining all the guessing and brainstorming that went on while he was sleeping. They now had the operational headquarters…
Xenia, where are you?
"The first option: Parkinson has nothing to do with all this, and merely wanted to chat about the weather," Liana began counting on her fingers, "in which case what is the point to go to him and put a wand to his throat? Even though unlikely, it is still possible. Second option: it is Parkinson himself, amusing himself with sending you on a day-long wild goose chase for innocent people. It would be strange, however that he, having led you here – and it is your enemy right now who is calling the moves – would up and put all his cards on the table. Not likely, but possible… as it is difficult to grasp other people's motives. However, running there without planning is a bad idea; after all, he might have a couple of other portkeys in the bag… Or even something worse…"
"And option number three: this is the next step in someone else's game," James finished the girl's thought.
Liana nodded, smiling. Gregory entered the room: he was now dressed in a cloak and was wiping his hands with a handkerchief. It was apparent that he had spoken with his father through the fireplace, given the soot stains.
"He said that he would try to investigate," Greg replied to his wife's unasked question. At that moment, Scorpius put down his quill and stood up.
"All right, this is all," he tossed the parchment on the table and turned toward James. The other was momentarily stunned, because he had never seen such an expression on his friend's face. Or in his eyes. He might be able to freeze the fire in the fireplace with a single glance and kill an enemy by merely facing him. It was not really a face, but a mask of an emotionless, indifferent killer. James felt a chill run up his spine, while Liana whispered:
"I think we overdid it a bit with the potion…"
Greg shrugged his shoulders and pulled Malfoy's list toward him. Liana promptly took it from her husband and sat at the table, taking a quill. The others crowded around her.
"Just like Malfoy," she hemmed, and James knew what she meant. The first column was the longest. The shortest one, of course, was the list of the possible other victims of the unknown foe. "Do you know what surprises me the most about the two of you?"
Potter raised his eyebrows inquiringly at Liana.
"It is that you have not raised hell at the Ministry about your wives. Oh, no, James, spare me your talk about not wanting to worry your family prematurely, and yours, Malfoy, about not trusting the Ministry gents and their ineptness…"
"I wasn't going to," Scorpius' voice oozed contempt. He sat across from Liana and stared at her, smirking. "I was simply going to point out that the portkey lead comes from there. A total strange could have hardly pulled off the stunt with putting your darling husband's name on the list."
The Gregorys ignored the remark, focused on the Scorpius' list.
"So, the plan of actions is…," Liana started.
"Since when are you deciding what we are doing?" Malfoy inquired calmly.
"Since you have acquired a tendency to wallow in your emotions and forget about logic," Liana quipped, with growing irritation. "You two have bungled so much in the last twenty-four hours that cold logic is just what you need right now, so shut up and listen!"
"What are you so sore about?" a nasty smirk crossed Malfoy's face. "This is your potion, after all…"
"Aha, and your wicked personality, which your wife has been very good at hiding from the world," the girl stared angrily at Scorpius. Greg's quiet laughter sounded behind them. "What?"
"You two are like peas in a pod," Gregory took the list from Liana. "So, I think that James ought to go to the Ministry, to his father's colleagues…"
"Former colleagues," James reminded him.
"No matter. Try to explain to them that someone at the top may be in on this."
"I am going to see Tobias," Liana smiled coldly at Malfoy. "I have an excuse – his letter."
"All right. And Scorpius and I will get to the best part…"
"Gregory, you are scaring me," Malfoy hemmed, clearly unperturbed by any feelings, and seemingly unaware of anything upsetting at all.
"We will check out every person in the first column that the hero of this occasion penned down," Greg said with a pleasant smile, which reminded James of how the aristocracy could show even with a mere smile what they truly think about someone. Their host clearly bore no warm feelings toward Scorpius at the moment.
"You don't happen to have an antidote to what you'd given him, do you?" James got to his feet, looking at Liana.
"There is no antidote to his own nature to-date," liana replied. "The effect on Greg and I was quite different. It appears that this potion is counter-indicated for some people…"
"McLaggen," Scorpius clearly avoided calling her by her married name, "this idea of yours to go to Parkinson is simply brilliant. Because if he is the friend we are looking for, then you will make his task so much easier, by playing right into his hands and becoming his third hostage willingly and with our consent. Or is it your husband's dear wish, to be rid of you?"
Greg turned away, to keep from saying something unpleasant. His self-control was impressive.
"Malfoy is right," Gregory said hollowly. "I shall go to Parkinson. Liana, you will help Scorpius."
James saw the joy in Liana's face. Right…
"All right, I am off to the Ministry," he decided unable to bear this Malfoy any longer. Besides, they had to do something: they had lost an hour and a half already.
"We'll meet back here," Liana said into his back. James waved his hand and walked to the door – it was easier to Apparate straight to the Ministry's front door.
Oh, by the way, I meant to ask you," Potter glanced at Malfoy, "did you ever have an acquaintance named Helen?"
Scorpius raised one eyebrow in surprise, and after a while shook his head. Then hemmed:
"Although who knows…"
Liana rolled her eyes. James smiled weakly and walked out into the autumn daylight.
The street in front of the hidden Ministry entrance was quiet and empty, and James felt the chill run up his spine again. He took a deep breath and was about to enter, when an owl landed on his shoulder.
Expecting no good tidings, Potter unsealed the letter and scanned it. In Rose's handwriting, it said that Albus had ran away from school and his present location was unknown, but that his cloak was found in James' living room. Rose asked to contact her as soon as possible, and this put James in front of a dilemma: what to do next?
"Merlin, when will this end?" he whispered and Apparated, thinking about how little and silly Albus still was. And about the newspaper article about the close relationship between Malfoy and the youngest Potter…
James walked through the gate to his house, wondering who he should be worried about the most, pushed open the door, and froze in his tracks at the sight of his living room.
Merlin, who has gone mad: me or the world?