Chapter Thirty-four
Forebodings
The Quaffle was passed from hand to hand to hand, the slaps of flesh smacking the rubber ball echoing in the air to reach a few of the crowd with more sensitive hearing. For others, that sound was drowned out by the cheering. For yet others, that sound was drowned out by language that Madam Hooch would give stiff penalties for if only she heard it being said.
The Slytherin chaser was expressing himself with verbiage that leaned toward some of the most explicit type, directed toward the mostly Hufflepuff counterparts. The Puffs were playing a more physical game than they'd ever been known too, and neither the Slytherin team nor the onlookers knew where it came from. It was a bit confusing, to say the least. Even the Gryffindors playing with the Puffs to round out the team found it odd, but they kept calmer than the Slytherin chaser and carried on.
The Hufflepuff Keeper was on fire, figuratively speaking. Nothing got past her. The lithe form on the rather speedy broom was repelling all manner of attempts to find a way into her goals, and whether it was from smacking away the Quaffle by hand or by broom-tail, it was effective. There were other means that players on both teams hadn't yet seen. She smiled to herself and realized that they were all about to get a surprise.
The surprise was the straight-up punch to the large rubber ball. It made everyone wince, but the Keeper didn't seem to be concerned. In the stands, more than a few with less-than-honorable intent decided to be careful around this particular Puff. The unfortunate opposing Beater hadn't expected it at all and found himself experiencing what it felt like to have the rough surface of the Quaffle scrubbing across his cheek at high speed. He couldn't complain about it either, as it was clear to everyone that he'd blundered into the path of that speeding ball.
The surprise given to the other team allowed her team to grab the Quaffle and score again before Madam Hooch could react.
The score had been stuck at 70-0 for a while. The Black Bands – mostly Slytherin players - had woken up a bit and was working to prevent more scores. The rest of the waking up had been helped along with some choice invective from the team's Captain. It bolstered the team enough to forget about the special guests to today's game.
"Is it like this all the time?" the simulated sensual purr said to Harry.
"No, not always," Harry replied.
"Oh, good. It seems…" but Tessaies was interrupted by her ward.
"…It's worse," the Gryffindor seeker completed his thought, thinking about some of the close calls he'd been involved in over the years. He also didn't mention that such close calls didn't seem to happen when teams other than Gryffindor had been scheduled to play.
"Oh…" The dragon didn't quite know what to say, since as what she thought she'd known about Quidditch was apparently a few centuries out of date. She'd thought that players didn't fly around this quickly or had this much debate, or well… this much drama. The youngling spouting off above them in the green robes needed a stern talking to about interactions with possible mates, she thought.
The mother Horntail looked at the Hufflepuff Keeper again, who wore her white striped robes proudly. Then again, that one looked like she could handle an uppity drake like that… Flyer? Beater? Chaser? No, Chaser, that was it. His position had something to do with the big rubber ball. That one looked like molded phlegm that had rapidly cooled. The other balls had their own movement, and she had to resist flaming them as they passed by. Their moments sparked a bit of her prey reaction.
Speaking of flaming, she could see Rhiain and Annika elsewhere. Rhiain had been invited to attend near the Slytherins. It had been ostensibly as 'a gesture to promote interspecies relationships,' but both Rhiain and Tessaies knew that it was because of her green scales. Rhiain had already planned to have a word with the whole of Slytherin House later to inform them that she wasn't going to be used as a mascot. If they didn't like it, then tough.
If they tried to push the attempt, she was going to pick a few to attend her in the most embarrassing drudgery she could think up. She was no Kirsa when it came to embarrassing younglings, but she knew a thing or twelve.
Rhiain's young ones had toed the line, and the few that had tried to jump over it had painful memories. A lot of those painful memories came up in family reunions, usually to the detriment of the younger ones' pride.
Tessaies was amused at that thought and turned to look at Annika. She was between the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws in the newly redesigned stands with the platforms for dragon guests. There were now taller spaces for draconic fans, with overpowered wards to help contain excited dragons from bumping into the stands' greatly oversized posts and knocking them over. Annika had said that she didn't care where she sat so long as she could watch Quidditch.
Everyone wondered how a dragon was a Quidditch fan, but considering all the things that Annika exuberantly tried out since her arrival at Hogwarts – some that worked out better than others – it was decided that maybe it was better not to ask. Sometimes the Short-Snout just didn't need any help handing out headaches.
Despite the relative position between the two houses and the fact that this wasn't actually an actual school game, Annika had all four house pennants clutched in her forepaws. It had taken some hurried work, but the pennants had been mounted on some blunted spikes. Annika didn't care about the rather rough look, but went about waving them and cheering the teams. As a precaution, everyone nearby ducked away from her whenever a goal was scored. It always took a moment for her to wave the right one according to whoever scored the goal, as all four houses had come together to form the two teams. Sometimes, she forgot and waved the wrong one, but no one was going to correct her. She was having so much fun and enjoying herself that no one wanted to take that away from her.
Harry wondered if the visiting dragons got this cheerful, and hoped Annika didn't go overboard. It took him a moment to realize that 'overboard' was Annika's default setting, more or less. It took another moment to realize that when it was Gryffindor's time to play their matches that Tessaies would be the one with the pennants, probably.
It took many more moments to be able to concentrate on the game after that thought.
"Woo-hoo! Score! Score!" Annika shouted in delight, and danced on the platform. It was evident that somebody had foresight enough to have decided that it was going to need a lot of reinforcement. It was also evident that if another dragon of Annika's heft joined her, there was going to be a need for more.
Several people in different parts of the stand looked at each other and shrugged.
"Score! Score! Score!" they shouted.
Tessaies wanted to facepalm at Annika's antics but realized that the players could see her and might take the action the wrong way. She could see that Jack was getting into the game as well on the other side of the pitch. He was enthusiastic about this game of the younglings – among others - and had flamed the sky during a particularly impressive goal. He'd already shouted something in one of the more obscure draconic languages that she wanted to tug him by the ear and speak sternly to him about comportment.
She didn't know who was worse, Annika or Jack!
|:-:|
The Gryffindor Common Room was heading toward their usual post-game raucousness. It didn't matter that the game hadn't been a Lions game, just that the Black Bands had been beaten 140-30. Aside from the lopsided score, it had been a 'good game.' It was agreed among the Lions that this was the correct evaluation, especially since the majority of the players on the team were Snakes. The dragons had seemed to enjoy the competition and more than one had been heard wondering when the next one would be. No one wanted to be the one to mention professional Quidditch games.
Master Xiang-Zhai had been overheard idly wondering how to make a dragon version. He seemed intent on procuring sheep for a concession stand, but it was a matter of debate on whether the sheep would be for the stand or for him. As no one wanted to ask how such a stand would even be in the air or staffed, it was not much of a debate. Everyone decided that maybe some things were never meant to be thought about.
"Harry?"
Harry looked up to see Madam Pomfrey standing in the open portrait hole. This was something that he'd never seen before. The text of the Transfiguration Mechanics book that he had been trying to study and commit to memory blanked themselves far from any brain cell as other brain cells lined up to wonder what she was doing here. An alarm bell started to ring in his brain, the peals slow and uncertain.
"What are you doing here?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized that it was most likely not the politest way to be finding out what was going on. Then he realized that she had addressed him by his first name, not 'Mister Potter.' That thought made his hackles rise up for some reason, even as she stepped more fully into the Gryffindor Common Room.
She affixed him with a cool stare that oddly made him feel better about the questions piling up in his brain, but only said, "I need you in the Infirmary soonest. I have something that I need your help with, and it has to be done within the next six hours."
"What?" It didn't make sense that she would come all this way to get him, instead of sending someone to retrieve him. It was a bit of a worrisome thought, considering his luck.
Wincing internally at the thought that maybe he spent too much time there if he was being 'retrieved,' he nodded and stood up. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't say anything in public and if she was here, there was a good reason. As he got closer, he could see that she had a bulging pouch stuffed with many potions, tools, and whatnot that was so full, she couldn't close it. It rattled a bit with every step, but she ignored it with the ease of long practice.
Harry hoped that none of it was for him, especially the sharp things he noticed right away. He'd been lucky that there hadn't been much experience with said 'sharp things,' but he hoped that the Potter Luck wasn't about turn on him again where those were concerned.
Madam Pomfrey stepped out of the portrait hole and waited for him to follow. The Fat Lady closed her portrait and affixed a mournful look on Harry, which didn't really help his now racing mind discard any of the more unpleasant possibilities. It didn't occur to him that she wasn't above winding him up.
It didn't help that when they arrive at the Dungeon of Doom… er, the Hospital Wing, he saw people in Healer robes and Doctor white coats. One of the more familiar white coats stood up and extended his hand for a handshake.
"Harry? I'm Doctor Russell. I did some of the examination of you, and we've asked you here to do the follow-up. Also, we want to fix what we can today. You've had to deal with this long enough."
Harry looked around to see a veritable crowd. His examination of the space must have been noticed, because Doctor Russell winced slightly.
"It's a rather odd thing to have this many people here, yes, I grant you. Still, everyone here has a professional duty to help. There's a lot to talk about, and everyone will chime in when it comes to their specialty."
"Specialty?" Harry asked, then looked at Robbie Russell. "What's yours?"
The man smiled, showing off the perfect smile Harry wished he had.
"I'm an oral and maxillofacial surgeon. Basically, I reconstruct teeth, jaws, faces, among things. There's more, but that's just one thing I do."
"Oookay," Harry drawled.
"I'm also a graduate of Hogwarts, and have known Dan and Emma Granger for years – both personally and professionally."
This relaxed Harry a bit, but he was still a bit wary about the others.
"Introductions. You know Dan Granger. Emma as well, but she is needed at their practice. You know Poppy Pomfrey, too. Over here is Healer Francesca 'Frankie' Goodman, who specializes in bones. That's a simple way of putting it and there's more to that too, but if it involves a bone, she know how to fix it."
He smirked a bit at Harry.
"It also means she's well aware of what it takes to break a bone, so don't mess with her, Harry."
Harry nodded quickly as Healer Goodman gave Robbie Russell a narrowed-eyes glare and it didn't escape his notice that Doctor Russell had placed Harry in between himself and the woman as he spoke. Robbie blithely pretended not to see it and continued with his round of introductions, pointing to people around the room. His finger landed on one of the biggest men he'd ever seen.
"That's Healer Stalking Timber Wolf. He comes to us from the magical United States, and specializes primarily in pediatrics."
Harry had a sudden image of a mountain wolf chasing a younger Harry and then checking his blood pressure, temperature, and tapping his knees with a reflex hammer. He couldn't help the snort that escaped. The big man chuckled.
"Was it the thought about getting a kid to take his vitamins or the one about checking his vitals?"
"Erm… blood pressure and stuff."
"I get that a lot. I think my spirit animal must be doing a lot of that at night or something."
There was a grin on their host's face to match the others as he continued. This time he indicated a woman that reminded him a lot of Professor Sprout, if not quite as stout.
"This is Doctor Phoebe Dalison, who works as an on-call Mind Healer in the Wizarding world and full-time as a psychiatrist in the Muggle world. Like me, she has dual specialties. Phoebe works primarily in the Muggle world and can help us in areas where there's… well, some lag."
Master Auror Monica Wakefield was standing at the back of the room and snorted as she heard this. "Some lag" was a nicer way to put it. She would have just said the Wizarding world was often far behind the times.
"Now, introductions are done, and we have to go into what we found. We're going to fix what we can, but there's some things that may or may not work out."
He waited for Harry's nod of understanding, then motioned toward the big Healer. His robes looked like it could have made four or five of Dumbledore's, and thankfully was the standard green color.
Healer Timber Wolf carefully sat down near Harry.
"Harry, do I have your permission to run a scan over you? You don't have to lay down in your bed." Everyone looked at the brass plate as the bed in question was pointed out. "You can remain there."
"Uh… sure," Harry said as he reddened a bit
The Healer nodded. He waved his gnarled oak wand over Harry and chanted something that no one else in the room understood. It was melodic and had the undertones of a rhythm that no one could hear but still perceived. There was a sensation of not quite an itch and not quite like ants crawling over his skin. It started at his feet and ended with his scalp. He looked at the Healer, who grinned.
"It works in either direction and I change it up from time to time. You just happened to be here on the day I decided to start with the feet. Tickled, didn't it?" he chuckled.
"Yes," Harry said, distracted from the serious look the Healer had as he scratched his scalp. He missed the look at the Master Auror, who gathered up a parchment that had been scribbled on by a quill. That parchment was copied and the original given to Healer Timber Wolf. He sat back, satisfied for now, and Doctor Dalison took his place.
"Harry? I'm Doctor Dalison. I want to look at your mental state with your permission and help you shore it up, if needed."
Her voice was musical, a soprano that didn't hide the steeliness that lay in wait if needed.
Harry started to shake his head, wary of people invading his mind. He looked at her big blue eyes and tentative smile and decided that if she was a Healer then he'd have to do this sooner or later. At least if he did it now, it would be done and over with.
It took a few moments, but he acquiesced. Doctor Dalison took his hand and squeezed gently.
"Thank you, Harry. I'll be as quick and gentle as I can, but you do need to help me while I do this. Squeeze my hand if it gets to be too much and I'll withdraw. Okay?"
He nodded again, and she squeezed his hand before pointing her wand.
"Legilimens," she cast.
Harry found himself in a stormy field of rocks. There wasn't much light, aside from the bolts of lightning that crackled silently overhead. It was odd to see lightning but hear no thunder. There wasn't much else to see, other than an assortment of trunks in a variety of shapes. Some were in better shape than others, some were rather beat up, and some looked like a sneeze from twelve feet away would flatten them.
"Hmm. A bit inhospitable, wouldn't you say?"
Harry jumped as Doctor Dalison's voice announced her presence. He stared at her, waiting for his heart to slow down a bit but thinking that being in his mind was scary enough.
"Well! Let's see what we can do, Harry, shall we?"
"Okay." There wasn't anything else he could think to say.
"There's a mental art call Occlumency that we think you need to learn at least the basics of. It's a lifelong thing, of course, but it never hurts to start young. Do you know how to meditate?"
"No, not really."
She pursed her lips but nodded.
"I have some primers that I give my students about this that will help. Be sure to read them, all right?"
He nodded.
"While I'm here, let's come up with something to protect you."
"Protect? From what?"
"There are some out there that think nothing about using Mind Arts to steal information from a victim, whether it be family recipes, Muggle bank account information, addresses of protected people – the list is endless to someone that doesn't care about their mark. Many times, it's those people that have suffered from those actions that I have to fix. I include the children that have been used by people."
From the expression on her face, Harry didn't want to think or ask about the ways she referred to.
"Let's try this. Harry, can you visualize a stone fence about waist height and about ten feet long?"
It took him a moment but soon there was a somewhat pitiful line of stacked stones that looked like it was made more of plaster than stone. Harry shook his mental head.
"I'm not sure that's a good example."
"Of course not, but that's what practice is for, you know. Try this: You've seen the walls inside Hogwarts practically every day for years, minus the summer break, right?"
"Yes, but what about it?"
"Call up what the stones that make up the wall look like. Think about their weight, color, feel, size, anything that fixes what a Hogwarts Castle stone wall looks like. Or the floor, for that matter."
"Okay," he murmured, picturing a specific stone near the Fat Lady's portrait before turning to his wretched pile of stones. They watched as it slowly changed to a sturdier structure, stone by stone.
Doctor Dalison smiled, even as she watched the sweat pop out on his head.
"Good! Very good! Now, I want you to practice that. Build upon it. Work on it every night without fail. Build yourself something like a castle – not Hogwarts, though. Everyone knows the Castle. Find something in your experience or from your reading or whatever you've seen and use that. For instance, Pureblood wizards might not know about a fast-food restaurant and get confused if they found themselves in the kitchen or the walk-in freezer, right?"
"That's a thought."
"Or maybe you could ask your dragon friends about things they've see over the centuries. That old Chinese Fireball seems to love to teach – ask him for his thoughts."
"That's… actually a good idea."
"Good! It may not seem like much at all, but you've made good progress. I'm proud of you. I do want to see you every week to evaluate your progress. Okay?"
Heartened by the praise, he agreed.
"Now, I'm going to withdraw. Madam Pomfrey and Doctor Russell still need to get you set up. Keep working!"
She disappeared before he could think to ask what the others were 'getting set up' for.
Several minutes later, he found out.
Later that night, he crawled into bed utterly exhausted. Harry had been fed potions, given what the others had called 'physical therapy' but he called 'physical torture,' been poked, prodded, pulled, and persecuted (he thought.) He heard all manner of erudite grunts, thoughtful 'hmms,' and detailed grumbles he couldn't quite make out.
Harry figured some of it out by reading lips, but figuring out what was said and what was understood was not the same thing.
If this was 'fixing what they could today,' he didn't know what tomorrow was going to be like! How was he going to handle this and classes, too?
|:-:|
The parchment in his hand had distracted him for a moment before he sat back. Francis Piece hadn't been expecting any correspondence at all from anyone, but the letter had contained certain phrases from certain persons of… acquaintance… and promised a lead to a lucrative job. He'd been thinking about it for some days. There wasn't any urgency in this job offer but there was a distinct feeling of requirement. Not of him to do, but to be done regardless of who wielded the wand. He'd already decided that he was going to do it.
There was a protocol in place for answering things like this, and he followed it. An ad in the Daily Prophet about crup puppies with the date wrong and under a specific name, then placing an order with a mail-order herbology nursery for a specific list of items with a specific amount. The Daily Prophet ad writer would give him a codeword to 'guard his ad-space.' Then when the floo-call came in from the nursery, the codeword would be given along with the mention of the crup puppies. After that, there would be back-channel contact with the ad-writer and the nursery, and there would be no communication after that. The information on the job would come tucked into the root ball lining of the herbology orders.
And from this, he'd be able to plan for his next move. It was a good idea to get as much information as possible to eliminate anything that could crop up. Proper planning prevented poor performance, after all, and there were plenty of dentists.
|:-:|
There was little to see around the clearing, and little to hear for that matter. There was the sound of shuffling from feet that needed more care in the steps taken, but the leader of the group didn't care. He stepped where he was going to step and to hell with what anyone thought. The others behind him looked around, trying to not show their nervousness.
A couple were better at it than others.
The news had been food for thought. The Daily Prophet was known to be rather liberal with the truth at time, everyone in the group knew, but it was useful in their line of work. They found it to be entertaining, too, but that depended on which section of the paper was being read at the time.
The comic strips were crude and no one usually bothered with them. The crosswords were worse, if not insulting to their intelligence. That being said, several of their number found the crosswords challenging, to say the least. This wasn't something that they mentioned to each other, aside from less than knowing looks over the heads of those futilely engaged in the puzzles.
The leader of the group had his own intellectual diversions that only a few had the capability to keep up with. He liked crosswords, true, but had his own that he was mentally completing as he walked. There were other things that he liked but there wasn't much that could be done about the other things out here. It simply wasn't the time or the place for such things.
"What's he doing?" A hissed question came from somewhere in the back, low enough that the nominal leader couldn't hear.
"Lookin' for somethin', ya idiot. Now be quiet!"
The questioner fell silent, somewhat offended. He could tell that for himself, thank you, but he didn't want to find himself facing the jaws of some feral animal with big teeth. It would be just his luck that he'd be looking the wrong way when he stepped on something with a bad attitude, and then where would he be?
It seemed that the answer to that question was soon to be answered. At the head of the line, the leader of their group was peering around looking for signs of something. What that something was, the majority of the group didn't know. They did know that there were plenty of jumpy feelings in their stomachs, and they wondered just what was waiting for them.
It seemed that the one that had asked the question had been brave enough to simply voice what mostly everyone had been thinking. It was bad enough that there was more than that in everyone's thoughts that hadn't been spoken yet.
Unheeding and uncaring of whatever the assembled group behind him might be thinking, the leader continued with his examination of the area around him. It took him several long minutes, mental checklists being ticked off with every observation and quick test of many things. He checked the sun position, the features of the land around them, Apparition coordinates, and even which way the wind was blowing. He even checked how strong the wind was.
"Yes," he murmured. "This is the right place."
Just one of the assembled group heard him, and that was because of the nearness. A raised hand from him to the others brought them to a stop; a clenched fist told them to shut the hell up and don't make a sound.
It wasn't like they were going to break out into song and dance. It was getting a bit warm and the heavy cloaks they had been wearing when they set out earlier that morning had been efficient in trapping their body heat. The leader didn't seem to be bothered by it, and several of the others didn't either or admit to it, but it was sure and certain that a good number had their regrets about the sartorial choices.
Granted, several needed some help with their tailoring as their needle and thread work in their robes were so rough as to be abusive to the stitches. That was something else that joined the crossword puzzle thoughts in not being commented on. Some things even magic couldn't fix, especially if they tried to do something magical that they had problems doing manually.
The leader nodded to himself, satisfied. He shouted a phrase in some language that no one else recognized, causing very carefully hidden winces and refreshed worries to show themselves. The area they now stood in was likely not a good place to make such sounds.
A loud snort was heard somewhere in the distance. It was deep and a bit wet, some thought. Others thought that 'deep' was a fitting adjective, but snorts wasn't quite the right word.
The leader shouted something else now, in another language that no one recognized.
"Oh, now he's just showing off," the man who'd asked the question earlier muttered. This was met with a pointy elbow sinking into his ribs. "Blimey, Jake! That hurts!"
"Shut up! Just shut up, you plonker!"
Jake was about to respond with something ruder when he looked up. His face went whiter than the skin on the legs that hadn't seen sunlight since Hogwarts, long ago.
The dragon roared, steam issuing forth. It had responded to the shouts in the two languages. The things that had been said hadn't been said in many years, and while many things had been said of dragons in those years it was true that dragons possessed a good bit of curiosity when something odd happened.
It had been long enough that the speech was odd. Not so much that speech itself was odd, but the way that the greetings had been spoken. Even the dragons thought those languages were dead – or at the very least, nearly lost to time. So, when the grumpy Hebridean Black heard that after getting awakened by all the noise made by the stumbles, he decided to look into it.
~~Who's out there? Who dares to disturb me!~~
Angus Firearse wasn't in the best of moods to begin with. His name came from an unfortunate issue with his digestive system that couldn't really be fixed, as it had resulted from another unfortunate happenstance while he was still in his egg. His mother had been forced off her clutch at an inopportune time for Angus, and his development had been stunted in a minor way.
It hadn't affected his nestmates, none of whom treated him any different than a given member of that nest. Still, the stunted development had manifested itself in a rather unique ability to shoot fire. This was also a manifestation of an understandably constant bad mood, even if Angus turned out to be one of the most highly intelligent dragons ever recorded in that weyr.
Angus looked out to see a wizard in dark robes with a group behind him. There were no signs of obvious weapons. Still the mood he was in warred with the smarts he had, and he wanted to know who was stupid enough to be where they happened to be right then.
The pale golden eyes narrowed, sizing up the group. Most of them shrunk away from him, rightfully afraid of him. After all, he was a dragon, and a thumpin' good 'un, if he did say so himself.
It took him a moment to recognize the leader of this pitiable band. Not that he particularly cared about what the lesser beings did or didn't, so long as they left him alone. However, he did know a bit more about wizards, goblins, centaurs and so on than the average dragon. He had to find something to feed his brain and exercise it, after all.
Angus just wasn't impressed with this particular one. To be fair, he wasn't too impressed with any non-dragon types anyway, but this one rated less impression.
~~You! You dare to be here?! At least there's a meal for me in those cowards behind you!~~
There was no immediate reaction from the leader, although the presence of flame over their heads and behind the dragon made the others in the band of pitiable bags of meat made the others duck. The leader didn't, however, and merely stepped forward with a sinister smile for the dragon.
~~It seems we have much to discuss.~~
The rising sun glinted on the face staring at the dragon with a chilling expression, over the missing nose.
Author's Note:
Still here! I've been working on Phantasms of Reality too, even if it's been slow going. Summer heat is here and I'm not enjoying it. I can handle it better than mom, who doesn't handle it too well either…
