Harry and the Pirates, Chapter 61

Dementors and Dangers

by Technomad

The Hogwarts Express barrelled north through the deepening evening gloom. In a compartment, the "PD Enterprises Group" was huddled together, talking about this and that. Mainly about how to expand their business. Hermione had left to visit the loo.

"The Quidditch World Cup is being held here in Britain next year," Ron Weasley said, his eyes lighting up. "I wonder who we'd have to talk to to get the right to sell Coke and other such drinks?"

"That's a wonderful idea, Ron!" Harry said. "How big is the gate for one of those events? Do you know?"

"Not offhand, but they attract people from around the world. When we get to Hogwarts, I can look it up." The others all chuckled, and Ron looked puzzled. "Why are you acting that way? I can study and look things up if I want to!"

"No offense," said Dudley, who was sitting across from him with his arm around Luna, "but that answer does sound more like our Hermione."

"I'm glad you're willing to do the research yourself, Ronald," Luna said softly. "It's not a good idea to depend so heavily on another person for important things like information."

"That's a good point, Luna," Ginny said. She leaned against Harry, and he put his arm over her shoulder. "While we all have our specialties, we should at least try to cross-train, so that losing one person won't cripple PD Enterprises."

"You're right, Ginny," Harry said, rather enjoying the feeling of a nice warm girl snuggled up to his side. "I wonder how we can get you lot at least competent with firearms?"

"Why would we want to bother with that?" Luna, Ron and Ginny looked puzzled; Ron was clearly voicing what all three of the wizard-bred present were thinking. "As long as we've our wands, we're able to see off any Muggles with fire-legs…er, excuse me, firearms…that we run across!"

"And what happens if you don't have your wands?" Dudley leaned forward, his blue eyes intense. "Take it from me, and Harry here…" Harry nodded… "depending too heavily on one skill alone can get you right into trouble. You get overconfident and the next thing you know, you're tied up, neat as ninepence…right, Luna?"

Luna smiled brightly. "Oh, yes! Those two assassin children were so wildly overconfident that they were easy to deal with! Even if Harry and Dudley hadn't been there, I knew there were a bunch of people who could and would take them down before they could hurt me!" She winked. "Of course, them not knowing I'm a witch helped a lot!"

Harry explained: "Our employer back home, Miss Balalaika, was once a sniper. That's a kind of Muggle soldier specializing in long-distance precision killing. Many of her men were also snipers. When the assassin twins were lured out into the open, they might as well have signed their own death warrants. What those guys can see, they can hit, and what they can hit, they can kill."

Ron's eyes were staring at something far away. "We could have used men like that in the last war with the Death Eaters. If we'd had men like that, my uncles Fabian and Gideon might still be alive."

"See what I mean? I've always thought that wizards' snobby attitude to 'Muggle' devices was going to bite them in the arse one day," Harry said. He gave his friends an intense look. "I lost my parents before I was old enough to know them. I am not in any mood to lose more people I care about if anything I know can keep them alive!"

Just then, Hermione returned from the girls' loo. She slammed the compartment door shut hard, nearly knocking the "Malfoys Not Welcome" sign that Harry had put on it off. She sat down hard, her scowl deep enough to be perceptible even in absolute darkness. With an angry snort, she crossed her arms across her chest.

For a second, nobody dared say anything. Hermione Granger was one of the most formidable people in their year, and when she was clearly in a temper, wise people steered clear. Ron finally decided to bite the bullet. "Hermione? What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing much." Hermione's tone told them all that she was speaking very ironically. "Other than having to listen to that inbred blond clown going on about how purebloods really are superior, and we lowly Muggleborns should be thankful for the opportunity to kiss his exalted feet!"

"Who was he talking with?" Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Oh, some of the other purebloods he prefers to hang about with. Pansy Parkinson tried to contradict him, but he shut her up, quick-smart. He told her that they're engaged, and that when they're married he plans to do all the thinking in their household. Her role," Hermione said bitterly, "is apparently to pop out pureblood babies to inflict a fresh generation of Malfoys on the world!"

"Bozhemoi!" Harry couldn't believe Malfoy's stupidity. He had been around the wizarding world long enough to know that in it, women did not play second-fiddle to men, any more than they did in Roanapur. He thought of what would happen to someone who told the formidable Professor MacGonagall that she was rightfully the inferior of anybody who happened to have magic and male genitalia, and shuddered. He knew enough about Transfiguration to have already come up with some very nasty ways to use it in a fight, and he had no illusions that Professor MacGonagall did not know a lot more about that than he did. The idea of being turned into a cockroach and stepped on did not appeal.

Dudley shook his head in wonder. "Where does he get those ideas?" Then he slapped himself on the forehead. "D'oh! What a question to ask! Of course I know the answer, don't I just? His father!"

Harry sighed. "If we can get that wanker's head out of his father's arse, somehow or other, we can maybe mold him into a human being." He shook his head. "Of course, that's going to be a challenge!"

There was a diffident knock on their compartment door. Ron, being seated closely enough to do the honors, opened it, and there stood a Gryffindor from the year behind Harry, Colin Creevey, holding a camera.

"Er, excuse me," said Colin, looking rather like he'd walked into a den of tigers and was wondering if they were hungry, "but would you mind if I took a picture of you, Harry?"

Harry smiled warmly. The Gryffindor was impossible to dislike, and Harry was flattered by his hero-worship. Even if it was for something he couldn't remember. "Sure, Colin. Matter of fact, since we're kind of crowded here, why not take a group shot of all of us?" He knew that Ron sometimes felt overshadowed by his fame, as much as he was by his brothers' achievements, and made sure to throw praise and attention Ron's way whenever he could. Not only was he fond of Ron personally, but Ron was very useful with his lifelong intimate knowledge of the secluded magical subculture.

Colin nodded eagerly. Harry made a mental note to see if they could figure ways to use his photographic skills, whether to market soft drinks or for other purposes. He'd learned to make moving wizard photographs pretty soon after hitting Hogwarts, and, in Harry's opinion, the boy had a real future in photography. His pictures were well-composed and looked professional. He'd had to have a private talk with the younger boy, explaining that he did not want his own personal paparazzo, but once he'd explained why that was so, Colin had generally been very good about not pestering him.

All of the PD Enterprises group bunched together, smiling for the camera. Colin set it off, and Harry was dazzled for a second by the flash. Then he heard a voice he'd have preferred not to hear. Draco Malfoy was standing there, sneering at them again. Crabbe and Goyle were just behind him, as they almost always were outside of the Slytherin dorms.

"Oh, look! Scarhead is getting his picture taken! Hey, everybody, come see! Scarhead's handing out photos! He thinks we all want one!" Crabbe and Goyle looked distinctly uncomfortable; they had both benefited from Hermione and Luna's help on their schoolwork, and Harry thought that they weren't really happy having to follow Malfoy around. Not having been there for him in the Chamber of Secrets had driven a wedge between Malfoy and his bodyguards, although they had both been on detention at the time.

Draco apparently thought that people would be scornful of the idea that Harry Potter would hand out photographs. He was clearly surprised when other students began popping out of their compartments, eager to get in on the bounty.

"Hey! I want one!"

"Me too! Could you write 'to my dear friend, Susan Bones?' And if I can have another copy, my aunt would probably like one, too!"

"Don't forget me!" piped up Hannah Abbot. "If I can give one to my mum and dad, I'll see you get free drinks the next time you stop in at the Leaky Cauldron!"

Draco was gobsmacked. "But…but…why would people want pictures of that git?" he asked plaintively. He actually looked rather hurt, and Harry realised that a big part of Draco's problem with him was that Draco loved attention and resented so much of it going to Harry. An idea began percolating in his mind…what if we offer him a position as spokesman for PD Enterprises? As long as we keep a good eye on him, he can bask in the limelight and make money for us!

"He's the Boy who Lived! And he's soooo cute!" gushed Hannah Abbot. Harry noticed Ginny giving Hannah a hard look. He decided quickly that if Ginny was going to be getting into conflict with other girls about who had a claim to him, he, Harry Potter, would stay well out of it. He'd been imprinted early on with the idea that women were just as dangerous as men, and he knew enough about Ginny to figure that she could teach Hannah to keep her sticky fingers to herself.

Colin looked flustered. "Let me get this developed and done, once I'm back up at school, and then come see me, if you want one."

Ron put in: "Colin. Don't forget to charge them for those pictures. We'll want a share…our soft drink business can always use an infusion of cash…but make sure you get a share, too." Ron had embraced "making money" with the fervor of a recent convert, and Harry was privately very pleased with his pal. Having grown up poor provided, in Harry's view, an excellent incentive to make money, and he planned to have some long talks with Ron and Ginny about other possible opportunities for PD Enterprises to extract money from the wizard world.

"That's the spirit, Ron!" Dudley clapped their friend on the back. Ron gave them all a huge smile. He basked in attention himself, although not to the pathological extent of Draco Malfoy. Harry privately thought that his home situation had contributed to that; he knew that Ron had always felt overshadowed by his high-achieving older three brothers, and having so much of their mother's attention taken up by the twins and their endless mischief hadn't helped any. Neither had having Ginny come along after him helped any; as the youngest, and only girl in the family, she got attention whether she wanted it or not, and poor Ron was left off in the shadows.

Harry and Dudley had discussed ways to use Ron's love of the limelight to their advantage. They had ordered a few books about basic advertising, and they planned to have Ron as their main spokesman when they put together ads for PD Enterprises' products. That way, Ron would be able to shine in a way his brothers hadn't, and his need for attention would be sated.

When the Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station, the passengers all detrained, thankful to get a chance to stretch their legs and breathe fresh air. Then they saw what awaited them, and groans arose.

"Oh, Merlin's beard, not them again!" Ron's words summed up what Harry was feeling. The thestral-drawn carriages were waiting as always, but lined up near them were several Dementors. The spectres were not making any hostile moves, but many of the students were shrinking away from them, and Harry could hear weeping here and there. He shuddered, feeling some of the same horror that was creeping over his schoolmates. Unobtrusively, he checked to see that both his wand and pistol were ready to hand, and he could see Dudley doing the same. Several of the PD Enterprises group drew their wands. They weren't holding them in a threatening manner, but they were ready to rumble should that become necessary.

Hagrid spoke up. He'd been busy supervising the unloading of some fodder for the various beasties the school kept around. "Sorry, kids, but Minister Fudge gave orders. Sirius Black is still at large, and they do think he's headin' after you, Harry."

Harry smiled. He liked the big fellow, for all that he didn't think much of Hagrid's common sense and figured that he'd last about five minutes in Roanapur. "Nothing to apologise for, Hagrid. It's not your fault. Blame it on Minister Fudge." Harry had heard a good deal about the man who headed the wizards' government, and nothing he had heard had made him think well of the Minister of Magic. Hagrid moved on, and Harry growled, low enough so that only the PD Enterprises group could hear him: "Sirius Black! He'd better hope he doesn't find me, because after all this trouble and commotion he's caused I'd love to fill him so full of holes, he'd be able to get a job as a colander!"

Dudley grinned. "Harry, no offense, coz, but have you been taking lessons from Revy? That does sound like the sort of thing she'd say."

Harry gently punched his cousin on the bicep. "Dudley! If I wanted to sound like Revy Two-Hands, I'd have to have used a lot more of the sort of language Balalaika doesn't like us using!" Dudley chuckled and nodded, acknowledging the point. Hermione and Luna both nodded agreement; they had both met the Chinese-American gunslinger in their time in Roanapur, and had been separately impressed by her vocabulary.

The feast was rather subdued; the experience of having had to pass the Dementors had been enough to stifle the ebullience of the students. Even the Weasley twins, over at the Gryffindor table, were quieter than usual. Harry noticed that the teachers were also not their usual selves. He privately resolved to try to find this Sirius Black character and either put an end to him or turn him back over to the authorities. Hogwarts, he decided, was more fun with no Dementors any nearer than Azkaban.

After they had eaten, they headed down to the Slytherin dorms. Much to Harry's surprise, Pansy Parkinson came up to him. "Harry? Could we talk?"

Harry was instantly suspicious. "Sure, if you don't mind some of my friends being nearby." He had never had much trouble with Pansy, personally, but even though he had been the ringleader of the group that had rescued Pansy from the Chamber of Secrets, he didn't trust her much. Anybody who was that tight with Draco Malfoy bore watching, in his view. He also noticed that Ginny, Luna and Hermione were all giving Pansy very mistrustful looks, and he trusted their judgement about girls.

They all moved over to an alcove where a bunch of comfortable chairs, loveseats and sofas were grouped around a coffee table. It was the place that PD Enterprises had more-or-less marked as their own, to be used for discussion of matters of mutual interest. Once they had all settled into place, Harry fixed Pansy with a cold stare and asked: "Okay, what do you want to talk about?"

Pansy looked slightly flustered. "Well, for starters, I did want to thank you all properly for coming to save my arse down in the Chamber. I was a fool; I admit it! It's just that that damn diary was such a nice companion to have, and a safe place to pour out all my troubles! It was like having one of those people that Muggles talk about." At the puzzled looks she got, she went on: "Oh, you know…a pea-sigh-a-christ."

"Psychiatrist," Harry said. He hid a smile; the wizards' self-imposed seclusion from the outside world had often led to situations like this. He noticed that Dudley and Hermione, both of them Muggle-born and –raised, were rolling their eyes in amusement and exasperation. "You're a Housemate, remember? 'Slytherin stands alone, and united, and surmounts all foes!'" The others all nodded their agreement. Whatever they thought of some of their Housemates, they were aware that House solidarity was a good thing, and very useful. When they had told Balalaika about Snape's words on the subject in a letter, Balalaika had written back that Snape sounded like a very wise person.

Pansy went on, looking around herself nervously even though they had a fair amount of privacy: "I also wanted to let you know that Draco and I aren't in agreement about Muggle-borns! I admit it, I used to believe all that stuff myself, but having you come to rescue me was an eye-opener. I owe all of you a Wizard's Debt, and we Parkinsons pay our debts!" She looked very determined.

Harry remembered that the Parkinsons were prominent in the wizards' business world. Several of the establishments he had patronized in Diagon Alley had, in small letters under the main sign, "A Parkinson Enterprises Venture." He had heard that the Parkinsons were the people to go to in the Wizard World if one wanted to open a business. This situation, he decided, had distinct possibilities. He and Dudley exchanged significant glances.

"Well, we'll want to talk to your family. You do know that we're going into business, ourselves?" Pansy nodded. "And do you know where Draco Malfoy lives? We may want to have a talk with his father." Harry glanced at his friends, and was proud to see that none of them betrayed what they had in mind with so much as a flicker of an eyelid.

"Oh, he lives in Wiltshire. But he hasn't been home in months. Didn't you know?" At their headshakes, Pansy went on, her eyes gleaming with the pleasure of spreading gossip: "Mr. and Madame Malfoy are separated! Mr. Malfoy's been in Russia for months and months!"

"But Draco was talking about how he and his parents were in Paris for the hols!" said Ron.

Pansy gave Ron a pitying look. "You've known Draco Malfoy for how long…and you still believe one word that comes out of his mouth?" Ron blushed, and Pansy shook her head. "Sheesh! Are you sure you Sorted Slytherin?" As Ron subsided, a hurt look on his face, Pansy told them: "In any case, Mr. Malfoy doesn't have any real authority in that family! Everything goes through their patriarch, his father. Mr. Malfoy has just about enough clout to wipe his own nose without Abraxas Malfoy giving permission!"

"And where was this Abraxas Malfoy?" asked Hermione. She gave her roomie a sharp look. Pansy shrank back slightly, and Harry reflected that Hermione, who had survived and flourished in his deadly hometown, was more than able to teach an obnoxious roommate her proper place in life.

"Oh, that was all over the society pages of the Prophet! 'Abraxas Malfoy, well-known tycoon, of Malfoy Manor, London and Paris, was in the City of Lights for the Christmas holidays. Our reporters spotted the fabulously-wealthy wizard at several concerts and society events, apparently escorting his daughter-in-law and grandson.'"

Now, this was interesting! Harry and Dudley exchanged significant glances. They had never given much thought to the family dynamics chez Malfoy, but if this Abraxas was the one pulling the strings, he, not his son, might be the target they were after. Harry knew that once the PD Enterprises group had privacy, they would have a great deal to discuss. Dementors, Sirius Black, and a possible assassination plot. Aye,well, he thought. At least it keeps life from being intolerably dull!

END Chapter 61