Acknowledgement—This is a work of fanfiction, written and posted solely for the enjoyment of readers. The characters and certain locations appear, or derive from, the work of JK Rowling. The author of this story does not receive remuneration. Thanks to Ms. Rowling from all the writers and readers of fanfiction.
Author's Note—London Consultations continues the story of Bellatrix Lestrange and Harry Potter that began with One More Thing to Keep Inside. Subsequent stories, in order, are The Master Sailor, Paradise, Enhanced by Magic and Finding Contentment. London Consultations could be the culminating chapter of that series. It might also not be, depending on the author's ambition and frame of mind.
London Consultations
A Harry and Bella Short Story
By
Bfd1235813
Harry Potter built himself a restorative beverage—skim milk, a raw egg and two tablespoons of molasses, well-stirred. He took the pint glass to his favorite reading chair and sat down.
"Kreacher," he called. "Daily Prophets, please."
The house elf arrived with a pile of newspapers.
"Merlin, didn't realize I'd been gone that long," Potter muttered when he looked at the dates. "I'm going to go through these quickly, Kreacher, and you can throw them out when I put them on the pile. Anything I want to keep I'll put on the table there."
"As Master wishes," Kreacher said, bowing himself from the room.
Potter read Daily Prophets as quickly as he could, taking sips of his liquid nourishment along with the magical news. It had been some time since he had apparated such distances. He wasn't magically exhausted but he needed to recover as quickly as possible. One never knew when an emergency might appear, necessitating quick departure.
The afternoon had become evening when he finished scanning his final Daily Prophet. The news was typical, dull and boring, but there wasn't anything casting doubt on the finality of Bellatrix Lestrange's death by suicide, nor did any of the items even hint at the odd turn in the relationship between Harry Potter and Bellatrix. So that was good.
Potter checked the time, wondering if Neville Longbottom was working at the Leaky Cauldron. Deciding there was one way to find out, he stepped across to his hearth.
Potter walked out of the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace into a full barroom and accompanying cacophony of disconnected sound. Three seconds later, the main room was silent, except for the whispers which were every conceivable variation on "…there…look…Harry Potter…just floo'd in…" plus the usual modifiers. Not spotting any unoccupied tables, Potter diverted to the bar.
"Tom," he said.
"Harry? What's going on? Where have you been keeping yourself?" asked the barman.
"Sailing," said Potter. "The Earth's surface is some unseemly percentage liquid water. We can go out and sail around on it. No charge, once you have your boat."
Tom laughed at Potter's command of detail.
"Once you have your boat," he repeated. "That one little thing. Don't suppose I'd get over that hurdle."
"Don't be so sure," said Potter. "I can give you the name of a sailing school that accepts witches and wizards. Magic makes up for a lot of bad sailing decisions. Start small, buy something used, or join a club."
The barman laughed again and asked for Potter's order.
"A pint, I guess," he replied as he made a mental resolution to drink only half because he didn't want to be awakened by a throbbing head.
"Is Neville coming in?"
"Not working today," said Tom. "Longbottom Manor or one of the Hogwarts greenhouses would be my guess."
"Oh. Well, nothing urgent," said Potter, turning back to his glass.
It was thirty minutes later when the level of liquid arrived at what Potter judged was the halfway point between a pint and none at all. He went through his checklist—go out, be seen, appear to be having a pint in the Leaky Cauldron, see Neville or drop his name in a place he was sure would guarantee it would get back to him. Potter waited until Tom's back was turned, added some coins to the pile around his glass, then stood and crossed to the door that led out to Diagon Alley.
Potter strolled the business district, taking in the familiar sights and smells. He checked show windows now and then, strictly out of habit, but didn't really want to find out he was being followed. The authorities in London could find him at home.
Calling on Harry Potter at home was not necessary, as it turned out. When Potter got back to his house that evening, just before nine o'clock, his house elf had a package of documents for him. The literature pertained to the next session of the Wizengamot, the Magical Britain equivalent of Parliament. Most of the issues to be voted upon could have been handled fairly through the bureaucracy but wizards had a right to a hearing and a vote.
For example: The Committee on Magical Education would be forwarding the names of additional faculty to be hired for Hogwarts' coming school year. Potter looked at the names on the list and none struck him as problematic. Someone, it appeared, wanted to have their say. So be it. He worked through the other synopses.
Looking at the sheaf of parchment in his hand, Potter decided he might as well go on up to bed. It seemed unlikely that he would be getting any answers to his questions by sitting up and rolling a bunch of disconnected factoids around inside his own head. The unanswered questions, of course, followed him upstairs.
The primary one had to do with his absence from Britain and what, if anything, that had to do with the strange case of Bellatrix Lestrange? Someone in the Ministry was curious enough that they'd alerted the aurors, even the ones in Ireland. Not just Ireland, Galway. Potter had few connections to Galway so that would have been a strange place to begin looking for him, no question. And yet, the word had percolated down to the smooth-faced auror who'd spotted him on the street, then blown his own surveillance in his eagerness to get up close to Harry Potter. Thinking it through, there wasn't anything threatening embedded in the unexpected contact with the auror.
Potter denied he was a celebrity, although he admitted he was well-known. It was possible the Galway auror was simply trying for some moments of face time with the wizard who'd defeated Voldemort. On the other hand, he hadn't flinched when Potter cast the tempus charm and advised him to note the exact time because the aurors in London would want to know. From that, Potter concluded the probabilities indicated the request had originated right there in the British Ministry of Magic, quite possibly from someone he knew personally. He remembered thinking time would tell, which, apparently, put his churning mind at rest because he couldn't remember anything further.
Potter arose, the next day, feeling the need to make a plan. He meant to do his duty as a member of the Wizengamot before quietly making his way back to the obscure inlet near Savannah where lay his sailboat. A proper plan would need only a little flesh on those bones.
Potter called out an order for coffee as he walked to his bathroom. Morning necessities took him less than fifteen minutes and soon he was back downstairs, then on to the kitchen. Morning reading was a scan of the Daily Prophet and another quick turn through the official paper the Wizengamot staff had sent.
Potter felt the need for a conversation with Neville Longbottom before taking on anything remotely official. He had been gone from London for over three months. A lot could change in that amount of time. Potter did not intend to be caught unawares.
Longbottom wasn't hard to track down. Tom the barman had been prescient and one floo call to Longbottom Manor turned up the location—Hogwarts School. As an alumnus, Potter had access to the grounds whenever the student body was away. He found Longbottom in Greenhouse Four.
"Harry."
"Neville."
"What brings you up here?"
"I got a summons to that Wizengamot session tomorrow. The documentation was the opposite of enlightening, whatever that is," said Potter.
"Unenlightening?" asked Longbottom.
"Probably," said Potter. "Is there some kind of hidden message in there? The outline of a hidden agenda? Nefarious plot to get us all together and blow up kegs of gunpowder?"
"Doubt it's the last," said Longbottom. "Some muggles tried that. Didn't work."
"We did get an excuse for a party," said Potter.
"Sure, assuming one is interested in those," Longbottom said. "I don't know any more than you. Everything looks mind-numbingly routine to me. My guess is they needed to take a vote on some things or revert to a default position. Why? Got concerns?"
Potter leaned against a worktable, not saying anything. A thumb and forefinger worried his lower lip.
"No," he said, finally.
Potter reasoned that, if there had been a plot to lure him back to London, Longbottom would have heard. If Longbottom had known, Potter would know.
After some pleasant hours keeping Longbottom company in the Hogwarts greenhouses, Potter returned to London, and home. Another scan of the documentation sent over from the Wizengamot was as unrevealing as his previous readings. Giving it up as a complete waste of time, Potter made a cup of tea with some milk and a teaspoon of honey and went to bed.
After rising with an altogether different, much improved disposition, Potter ate a late breakfast while perusing the Daily Prophet. The Prophet, helpful as ever, had nothing on the Wizengamot session or the current issues before the body. When he finished breakfast, Potter walked through his London establishment with a notepad and pencil, making a list of maintenance issues that needed addressing. Without sufficient time to tackle them himself, he planned to give the list to Kreacher with instructions to attend to one or two, in Potter's absence, whenever he found himself with nothing to do.
When his frittering was well-attended-to, Potter used a shrinking charm on the robe he wore to sessions of the Wizengamot. He put the shrunken robe in a pocket of his suit coat and went to a certain telephone booth near the Ministry of Magic and dialed himself in.
Members of the Wizengamot benefited from a little-known institution, to which they referred as 'The Library.' It was a library, in that the room had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along two walls. The true purpose of the room was much more clubby. Members could enjoy a drink and some conviviality on Wizengamot Session Days.
Potter found it useful to arrive a bit early, before the Wizengamot was called to order. He would order a drink, pull a book and sit in a comfortable chair. He made sure there were other chairs close by so he would be available for a conversation, should any other members feel the need.
They did, a surprising number of times. Sometimes Potter was lobbied for his vote, for or against. Sometimes a member wanted to know Potter's thoughts on an issue before making up their own mind. Potter learned a great deal about how the magical community's decision-making worked from those conversations.
On occasion, he came away with more unanswered questions than he'd had at the beginning. Potter wasn't much of a drinker. He did recognize the camouflage qualities of a nearby glass, so he'd established an arrangement with the library's steward. The job title of steward covered a number of duties. One of those might have been bartender, in another establishment. Potter created a drink that used one-half ounce of a very dark fire whiskey in a squat glass. Two ice cubes and water to the rim of the glass completed the recipe. Potter could sit next to his whiskey-and-water for an hour, never drinking faster than the ice melted. Wizengamot members came and went, doing just a little business in between and Potter's head was never affected.
Potter watched the time, rising while he still had some minutes to spare and crossing to the door that led directly into the Wizengamot's chamber. He sat down, followed shortly by Neville Longbottom. Potter and Longbottom had been allied, seemingly forever. The two, ascendant leaders of ancient houses, underscored the return to normalcy in Magical Britain.
"Was your owl informative as to the purpose of this?" asked Potter.
"Looks like routine to me," answered Longbottom. "Why it couldn't wait? No idea."
The minister called the house to order and ordered the clerk to call the roll. Longbottom had to elbow Potter when 'Lord Black' was called, causing Potter some momentary embarrassment. Item after item was disposed of, mostly by acclamation. Eventually, the Wizengamot arrived at the real business of the session.
"In the matter of Bellatrix Black Lestrange," droned the clerk.
Potter fought a reflexive flinch, then, slowly, sat up straight.
The warden of Azkaban Prison emerged from the gallery. He crossed to a speakers' podium and began to read from a parchment.
"The prisoner Bellatrix Lestrange, born Black…"
Some minimal vital statistics followed, date and place of birth, followed by Bellatrix' date of death, the day she jumped from the roof of Azakaban. The prisoner's uniform was found but no body washed ashore. Two guards observed Bellatrix Lestrange jump. The shoreline below Azkaban prison was all rocks, except for one very short stretch of sandy beach. Landing by boat anywhere but the beach was impossible and the beach was under constant surveillance. Sufficient time having passed to satisfy the statute, the relevant officers of the Ministry of Magic agreed the prisoner was deceased. Objections, if there were any, were invited.
"You'll need to affirm the House of Black accepts the conclusion," muttered Longbottom.
"Minister?"
"The Chair recognizes Lord…" said the Minister, before pausing.
"Black, milord," said Potter.
"Black," concluded the Minister.
"On behalf of my house, I accept the report just read," said Potter.
A low muttering sprang up. Bellatrix Lestrange was married, although her husband was a prisoner in Azkaban, also serving a life sentence. The House of Lestrange, every single one of them, was under a cloud. The ancient and decrepit Lord Lestrange was free. Potter heard fragments of sentences alluding to precedent, control, assignment of rights and other arcana. After gaveling for order, the Minister declared the Wizengamot in recess pending consultation with the Parliamentarian and such other officers as deemed necessary.
Potter and Longbottom left their seats and returned to the library.
"Drink?" asked Longbottom.
"Already had my usual," said Potter. "Soft drink?"
"Wisest course," mumbled Longbottom, waving, briefly, to the steward.
Longbottom ordered two seltzer waters with a lemon wedge.
They sat in very comfortable armchairs upholstered in blood-red leather. Several members of the Wizengamot, not all of them super-annuated, nodded over newspapers and magazines spread across their laps. Potter and Longbottom chatted up a stream of witches and wizards, sticking to generic niceties that left space for a substantive observation, should such occur to their interlocutor.
Potter began to sense a presence behind his chair about the same time Longbottom looked up and over his shoulder.
"Something we can do for you, Heiress?" Longbottom asked.
Potter turned around, looking up.
Daphne Greengrass looked him in the eye, face expressionless.
"In my capacity of deputy to the Herald of the Wizengamot, I am instructed to advise the members that the Minister, in consultation with the Parliamentarian, has suspended this session indefinitely, in anticipation of a ruling on the question before the assembly. At such time as the ruling is handed down, the body will be summoned and debate resumed," said Greengrass.
"How…" Potter began, then stopped.
"Convenient," Longbottom finished. "Shall we?"
Potter stood, put his heels together and nodded to Daphne Greengrass. She tried to keep her face expression-free but let a bit of disdain flash, just as she turned to the next recipient of her official message.
"Leaky Cauldron?" asked Potter when they'd gotten back to the street.
"Can I take you home?" Longbottom asked. "Gran would probably like an update."
"Sure," answered Potter, wondering what, in the day's clouded meanderings, would be of interest to the ancient Augusta Longbottom.
As usual, Longbottom was cagier than he let on. Augusta wasn't at Longbottom Manor, rendering the kitchen table available for Potter and Longbottom to open a couple of butterbeers and converse freely. Recent events figured prominently, as was perhaps inevitable.
"What did Greengrass call herself, a deputy? And why was she in the members' library?" asked Potter.
"Studying law," said Longbottom. "It's like an internship. The students work around the ministry for a term. Deputy to the Herald is very prestigious. Walking around the library, giving out news flashes to the likes of you and me…that's considered very career-enhancing."
"Really? Why's that?" asked Potter.
"It's a common stepping-stone."
"I never knew," said Potter.
"You never had a proper mentor," said Longbottom. "I had Gran and several thousand conversations over the dinner table."
Potter pulled on his beer bottle, nodding agreement.
"So, while she studies law, Greengrass does the Herald's scutwork, then leverages that, getting her pick of jobs with all the prestigious firms?"
"Well, there are like three prestigious magical law firms," said Longbottom. "Subtract the broken-broom chasers from one of them and you've got two-and-a-half. But, yeah, that's the road to a position with one of the good firms."
"Those kinds of student jobs are supposed to make one familiar with some area so they carry that on when they go to work. In Greengrass's case, working for the Herald, she is going to learn the Wizengamot, and by extension, the inner workings of the Ministry. Very helpful when she is coming up in the legal ranks. She could be a valuable asset, counseling certain clients or senior partners, knowing the membership, the senior civil servants, fault lines between this or that interest group," said Longbottom.
"I can see the advantages," said Potter. "So Daphne Greengrass is bound for the heights of our community's legal edifice."
"She'll make an excellent gate guard, keeping the chaos of human nature at bay, don't you think?" asked Longbottom.
"We could do a lot worse," answered Potter as he looked at his watch.
"Neville, thanks, as always, for the hospitality and insights. I'd better get on home."
Longbottom saw him to the door. When Potter had passed outside the wards and disapparated, Longbottom stood on the verandah, wondering when he'd next see his adventuring friend.
Potter spent the rest of the day completing some personal administration that required his presence. He tried for a final, restful night at home, in a proper bed, spending most of it tossing from one side to another.
The Eastern time zone of the United States is London time minus five hours. Out of consideration for Bella's right to a good night's sleep, Potter disapparated shortly before noon, retracing his earlier trip.
"Harry," said Bella when he popped into existence on the shore opposite the boat's anchorage.
"Bella, sweetheart," he replied.
"You're back. What did you do?" Bella asked when Potter had apparated over to the deck of the boat.
"Business," said Potter. "Wait 'til you hear."
Potter recounted the session of the Wizengamot and the report from the warden of Azkaban, ending with the procedural question then under consideration by the Parliamentarian.
"It sounds like Bellatrix Lestrange is kind of dead," said Bella, "Although…"
"Just not, finally, officially…" Potter continued. "I accepted the report, as Lord Black. Lestrange, I don't know, is he even competent to say yea or nay?"
"Technically, perhaps," said Bella. "He's really kind of a walking advertisement on the dangers of too many conjugal relations between cousins. The family didn't thrive under his leadership. It was more about feuding and consuming the surplus put aside by earlier generations."
"Happens," said Potter. "Well, lessons learned. I don't suppose those will be considerations for us. The message I finally discerned, after thinking it through about a thousand times, was if you aren't running around visible to Wizarding Britain, you're dead to them and they will keep their heads down and noses pointed at their own work. Can I help you with that?"
"Let's think about it," Bella answered.
Potter and Bella worked their way further down the coast, using the magical chart to find wizarding villages on obscure barrier islands or inland, up inlets with little or no commercial utility. They spent hours watching the wildlife that seemed to be everywhere along the coast. Potter bought a fishing license from the State of Georgia, which came with a complimentary pamphlet illustrated with drawings of common fish and wildlife found within the state. He kept the guide nearby when they anchored. Potter hadn't seen a lot of corvids in the wild and was always claiming he'd seen a raven.
"Crow," Bella replied, until the day a snake dropped from an overhanging branch, right next to where she sat on deck.
A large black bird appeared, stood on the snake, just behind its head, dispatching it with one peck of a huge and wicked-looking black beak. Bella sat up and looked it over.
"Raven," she said.
"I wanted to get one of those tattoos," said Potter. "When I was in London? Just ran out of time."
"Don't suppose you need one, technically," said Bella, adding, "Lord Black."
The raven looked at Potter, blinked once, grasped the snake in a clawed foot and took off with its prize.
"They are very impressive," Potter noted.
"Smart, too," Bella added.
They decided one evening, over a late pot of tea, to sail east and look for something in the Bahamas. There were supposed to be little cays, hardly more than sandbars, that were waterless and pretty much ignored by Bahamians. Bella asked why Potter wanted to go to the Bahamas.
"Never been there," he replied.
Bella studied his face.
"Good reason," she said.
HJPHJPHJPHJPHJP
The decision to make a stop in the Bahamas was the source of Potter's raven tattoo. The artist wasn't marooned on a nameless cay, although his situation wasn't all that distant. The population was mostly made up of witches and wizards, with a few muggles who'd married in adding some variety. The streets near the harbor were host to the usual collection of vendors of sailors' necessities, including a tattooist.
"It's time," said Potter, looking at the façade plastered with examples of the proprietor's art.
"Are you sure?" asked Bella.
"If I change my mind, later, well, surely there are charms…" said Potter.
"Of course," Bella replied. "It's better to conceal them, rather than removal. That's—uh—bad luck."
Had he been more cautious, Potter would have stopped outside the tattoo parlor to ponder Bella's comment. Heedless, as usual, he pushed on the door, stepped in and held it open for his companion.
"Need ye some art?" asked the proprietor.
"It's time," said Potter.
The man's hands were working, fingers coiling and extending. Potter thought the digits were operating independently. He was starting to get around to thinking through his decision when Bella spoke.
"Look," she said.
Potter and the tattooist watched as she pulled her tee shirt up. Bella turned away from her audience, reached back and unhooked her brassiere.
"Can you do one of these?" she asked.
Once again, Potter smiled at the raven over Bella's right scapula. The raven stood on a snake, which hadn't been there before, looking back at Potter, not smiling. Perhaps he was conveying a smirk, raven-style.
The artist's voice cracked when he replied.
"Y-yes…ma'am," he managed.
"Good," said Bella.
"I'll just draw…"
"No need," she said. "Harry?"
She gave Potter the charm, speaking into his ear, then turned so he could copy her tattoo. Bella took Potter's wand and transferred her raven to his bare shoulder. Bella thought it looked perfect. The tattooist motioned for Potter to come closer.
"That should work," he said. "Sit down, please."
Three hours later, Potter had a tattoo of a raven, standing on a snake, looking out for danger coming up from behind.
"How does it feel?" asked Bella.
"Like the worst sunburn I've ever had," said Potter.
"I heard you had a Hungarian Horntail on your chest," said Bella. "First time I saw you without a shirt, I must say I was severely disappointed."
"Boarding school rumor," Potter replied. "Funny how our lives are so affected by that crap."
Bella started to laugh.
"World's full of that, isn't it?" she asked.
Potter heard something beyond the words.
"Bella?"
She let go a long, drawn-out sigh.
"Yeah. Okay, here it is, Harry," she began. "I'm going to need to see a healer."
"You're sick?" he asked.
"Not that I know of. I'm late," she replied.
Potter was still a fairly young adult and had no experience with witches' cycles, what was late, what it might mean, to be late. The tumblers did align, eventually, and the latch lifted.
"Oh. OHHHHHH! Really?"
"Yes, really. I think I can still see someone. Depends on the timing."
"What? No, please don't," said Potter.
"You—you'd want to, I mean, you want to be a dad?" asked Bella.
"Of course," said Potter. "I'm a wizard. You're a witch. I never gave it any thought. We're…"
"I'm too old. That's what you were going to say, wasn't it?" Bella demanded.
"Ah, Bella, no, I mean, yes, well, maybe, I guess, but…but that's not true, is it? I mean, if you are. That doesn't count."
"Wizard logic," Bella answered, articulating her exhalation.
Later, near midnight, they lay on the bunk in the boat's cabin. Potter again declared he loved Bella, he'd drawn a line under all the time before she apparated to his boat, she'd been nothing but a loving partner to him and he'd happily throw his previous life over again for her, not changing anything. For her part, Bella confessed she thought she would not be alive had Potter not been there for her. Azkaban, the second time, quickly becomes unbearable. Sailing around with Potter, Bella was the happiest she could remember. She repented, through tears, her evil deeds of years past.
Potter assured her those were finished. She ought to look forward, not back. He'd thought he was finished for the night until Bella rolled closer, whispering in his ear, convincing him he was a he-goat, with perfectly legitimate, honorable, he-goat needs.
They spent the months before the birth of their child sailing, mostly south, a bit east. Now and then they would find a magical village, some with a healer, most without. When they asked about delivery, the professionals' answers were consistent. The best healers for their needs, since they preferred staying in the Caribbean, would be found in Trinidad.
Anemone Euphemia Black, daughter of Harry Potter-Black and Bella Black, was born in St. James, Port-of-Spain, Trinidad, pink-skinned, black-eyed and loudly proclaiming her sense of affront at being stared at in such an insolent fashion. Father and mother were pleased to learn their daughter had arrived in perfect condition. She took nourishment greedily, appeared to be passing judgment on all within sight and generally relished being free of her confining gestational quarters.
Potter confessed to himself that he was mildly surprised to find his daughter lacked a birth mark resembling a raven. Not even a hint.
When Bella was back on her feet, Potter rented a small house on the ridge overlooking Maracas Bay. He took Bella and Anemone for walks on the beach before sunup. The midwife was a firm believer in the efficacy of stout to ensure abundant mother's milk. Potter insisted Bella take a half-pint in the morning and another before bed. She complied, as long as he finished the remaining half-pint, so as not to waste. Anemone was shortened to Ane, which they pronounced AH-ne, close enough to 'Annie' to blend. Ane was soon thriving in the blend of stout, mother's milk and enclosure in her father's arms during their beach walks.
"It's not any one thing," said Bella, leaning across their breakfast table. "I just get the feeling."
"We're under observation?" said Potter. "So? That other person, the one in limbo, has been missing for two years now. The warden's statement was read into the record. I was there."
"All I'm saying is I don't want Ane to get caught up in a bunch of legal nonsense when we can just leave. We have a sailboat!" said Bella.
It was the possibility of legal proceedings that got to him. Worst case, they could lose Ane. They wrote their landlord, paid the next month's rent in advance and advised their plans were still uncertain so feel free to rent the place and keep the change.
They were two day's sail past Tobago, well out of sight of land, when a motor yacht overtook them.
"What?" he asked, catching Bella's look.
"I'm taking Ane below," said Bella. "If it comes down to me or her, save her."
"What?" Potter repeated.
"What? Look at that boat. Some kind of lowlifes. Pirates, probably," said Bella as she descended the ladder into the cabin.
Potter looked at the yacht that was gaining on them, quite steadily. He didn't notice Bella was back until she spoke.
"Can I have your wand?" she asked.
"If it comes to that, shouldn't I have the responsibility of defending my family?" Potter demanded.
"You can't steer and fight," said Bella. "I won't get carried away. Promise."
Potter handed the wand over.
The seriously misguided crew of the yacht didn't waste time, pulling alongside, matching speed and firing a rifle shot through Potter's mainsail.
"What?" Potter shouted across the few yards separating the two boats.
"Drop your sails and prepare to be boarded!" came the reply.
With other things on his mind, Potter hadn't had time to look toward Bella and try to figure out what she was doing.
"Tell him no," she said.
"Okay," said Potter.
He turned toward the yacht.
"NO!" he shouted.
The yacht attempted a second shot but some obstruction had seated in the barrel, so the rifle round became stuck and the combustion gases from the powder blew the firing pin back into the shooter's eye. The unlucky marksman began to howl.
Bella stood up in the cockpit then climbed onto the deck.
"Agua tormenta," Potter heard as Bella cast the charm, scribing circles in the direction of the yacht. The water near the other boat started to kick up.
"Want some?" she asked. "They didn't teach that one at Hogwarts."
"You're right," said Potter. "It wouldn't hurt to practice a new charm, I guess."
Bella jumped down into the cockpit, taking the wheel.
"Circles, out over the boat. Picture waves and a boat getting tossed about. The incantation is 'agua tormenta.' The more you cast, the rougher the water."
Potter kept his left hand on the lifeline, working the wand with his right. Bella held their course, stealing a glance at Potter now and then, shouting encouragement.
"Put some magic behind it!"
"Make them pay, Lord Black, make them pay!"
Potter thought he was doing well, watching the grotty yacht bouncing on the swells. That did not seem to be enough. Bella reached over and let him know with a slap on his back, right on his raven tattoo.
"They shot at us! With a baby aboard—your baby, Potter! Make the bastards feel a REAL wave, dammit!"
Bella slapped him again, hard, and Potter felt heat, a blast of heat that flashed over his entire body, whether from the outside in or inside out, he couldn't tell, it was simply HEAT pouring from him into his wand.
"AGUA TORMENTA!"
He screamed it out, across the chop between the boats. A huge swell popped up, dead ahead, breaking over the yacht before anyone could do anything about it. Tons of water fell across its length, pushing the yacht down. Potter saw the whole boat was underwater. He couldn't have said how long. He knew about time distortion under stress.
The boat did come up, a bit, but clearly wasn't long for this world. Oddly enough, Potter, Bella and Anemone sailed along with just a gentle swell to give their watery world some rhythm.
"Trying to swim for it," said Potter, pointing.
Bella looked over from where she stood, hand on the wheel.
"Should I?" he asked.
Neither needed clarification.
"Potter, be a wizard," said Bella. "He made his bed. He has to experience what it means to sleep in it. Kill him and you show mercy, in a way. Pull him out and you expose your daughter to a pirate who will cut your throat as soon as he gets the chance. He should fulfill his destiny. I say let him."
Potter nodded. Bella could sail on.
"Good luck you bastards," she said, looking between the sinking yacht and the compass.
HJPHJPHJPHJPHJP
They had no timetable, a good stock of food and water, and magic. The magic helped smooth out weather and wind problems. With nothing better to do, they sailed north and east, eventually sighting Bermuda.
"I always wanted to see that pink sand," said Bella.
"Let's go," said Potter. "I don't know anyone from Bermuda."
"If you think it's okay," she said.
They took the rest of the day to circumnavigate Bermuda, obsessing over the chart, casting charms whenever they thought they might be crossing dangerous ground.
"There must be some witches and wizards," said Potter. "That would mean someplace where a witch and a wizard could tie up a boat."
"Logical," said Bella. "You could anchor and come and go by apparition."
"What's this?" Potter asked, pointing at the chart.
"Boudica Bay? What catches your eye about Boudica Bay?" asked Bella.
"Boudica. Muggles don't name anything after her," said Potter.
"Could have been some history-obsessed Elizabethan," offered Bella. "Shipwrecked. Pining for Bristol or Southampton."
Potter put Bella's comment aside, mentally, to be processed at some later time.
"Let's take a look," he said, already adjusting course.
As Potter suspected, Boudica Bay was a bay, exactly as advertised, although occluded and not apparent to muggles. A handful of small businesses served magical customers like Potter and Bella, supplying necessities to the magical yachting community.
Bella had taken some canvas and conjured a sling for Ane so the family could go ashore and reinvigorate their land legs. They secured the boat and apparated over. Potter and Bella had become accustomed to the look and feel of obscure harbors and waterfronts, little subcommunities of witches and wizards living on the periphery of the Atlantic maritime culture, going back to the earliest days of exploration. They traded glances as they walked.
"Apothecary," Bella might say when a distinct scent tickled her nose.
"Healer…magical, ah, greengrocer?"
"Fishmonger!" said Potter, clearly delighted he'd been the first to identify the shop.
"Da-da-da-da-da-da…" sang Ane.
They approached a bench some kind soul had placed along the promenade.
"Harry, sit? For a minute?" asked Bella.
"Sure," he said. "Can I?"
Potter held his hands out, ready to take Ane.
The family sat down, Bella unslung Ane and handed her to Potter, who sat down in turn.
"Beautiful here," he said.
"It is," said Bella.
"What do you think, Miss Ane?" asked Potter.
"Da-da-da-da…" proclaimed Ane, waving her arms in the air.
Bella sat, silent, looking out at the water. She turned, now and then, to look at Potter and Ane. If Ane raised her arms, kicked with her feet or made nonsense sounds, Bella smiled and looked at Potter.
"Well?" she seemed to be asking.
"Such a smart young witch!" Potter might say, resulting in a very satisfied smile from Bella.
They stayed around Bermuda for several months. Potter met a magical boatbuilder with a yard. He asked about pulling the boat out of the water for a thorough hull inspection, which proved to be a lucky inquiry because the magical boatyard was very efficient, using magic to raise the boats up and place them on supports. The boatbuilders used many specialized charms to inspect the hull, frame members, the mast and all the rigging. Potter nearly choked when the yard's invoice showed up but he managed to stifle his ungracious reaction and paid. Upon reflection, Potter decided he'd gotten the better part of the deal with all the free magical boatbuilding education he'd picked up. The inspection and repairs funded the furthering of his magical nautical education. Thinking of it that way alleviated the sting of the cost.
Bella asked Harry to come with her, and Ane, on a stop at the apothecary's. She and the proprietor conferred across the counter, then the three of them waited for him to fill Bella's order. That night, after Ane had gone to sleep, Bella asked Harry to come topside so they could talk.
"The thing is," she said, "My heart isn't the same. Since the baby. I can't have more or I'll die. My midwife brought in a specialist, back in Trinidad. I suspect my younger days simply used up my time. I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"
Potter sat, listening to the slap of the chop on the hull. His life was perfect. He didn't want it to change. He decided to tell Bella.
"Bella, lover," he began. "Come here. I have to hold you, come here."
She scooted across the deck.
"The time we've spent together, I don't have the words to describe it. Here's what we're going to do—you're going to take your potion. We'll go to low-stress places where the weather is agreeable. If you need anything, let me know and I'll take care of it," said Potter.
Bella looked at him, alert for a hint of insincerity. She didn't see any, and started to laugh.
"Potter, it's not like I'm going to topple over tomorrow," said Bella. "We have to accept as fact that I've gotten the first forewarnings. No more pregnancies. I'll put all my mothering into Ane. Give her the best chance possible. This is a wonderful way to raise a little witch, I've decided. By the time she's ready for school, she'll have all this knowledge, islands, peculiar animals, a father who's a sea captain…"
Potter started to laugh.
"Battles with pirates!" Bella finished.
"We'll keep those to a minimum, won't we?" asked Potter.
"If they leave us alone," said Bella. "Up to them, isn't it?"
They finished their business in Bermuda, stocked the boat and went back to sea, crossing back to Georgia and the little bay with the magical village and no presence on the muggle charts.
Ane bobbed with her dada when the Atlantic supplied baby-safe waves. She learned to walk on the wet sand, pointing and spouting gibberish when their feet made the hermit crabs scurry.
After two months in Georgia, they returned to their anonymous cay in the Bahamas, only to change course and keep sailing when Potter spotted a pile of plastic-wrapped bundles and identified the well-known lines of the drug smugglers' favorite speedboat.
"You'd be doing the world a favor, you know," said Bella.
"Yeah. Trouble is, I'm sick of that kind of law and order," he answered.
"You'll be a good teacher. For her," said Bella, sighing as she lay back against a duffel. "Can I tell you something, very, very secret?"
"More secret than all this?" asked Potter, sweeping his hand in an arc that took in the boat, Bella and himself.
"Yes," she said. "This is serious."
Potter paused to look at her.
"Of course," he said.
"I had another one," said Bella.
Potter thought about that. What was 'another one?'
"Oh," he said, "You mean…"
"Yes," said Bella. "A baby. Another girl. Between my Azkaban sojourns."
"When?"
"March, '98. Then the battle…" Bella said.
Potter thought about that. Of all things. He wondered what possessed Bella, to get her to go through a pregnancy, give birth and get right back to being a Death Eater.
"Oh, Merlin! Is the father…"
She didn't have to answer but her face said he'd figured it out.
"Where is she? Someplace safe? Who's looking after her?"
"A witch named Euphemia Rowle," said Bella. "She's no relation, or anything. There's a stipend, Rodolphus and I arranged it, before we had to go back. It wasn't supposed to take this long."
Potter laughed, a barking laugh encompassing the brilliant, accursed Tom Riddle, his megalomaniacal quest for immortality via Dark Magic, the misguided followers and all the disruption caused by alleged adults who pursued a juvenile's illogical agenda. Not least amusing was his lover's observation that "IT" wasn't supposed to take this long, "IT," of course, was the defeat, capture and murder of Bella's current lover, one Harry James Potter.
"Irony of ironies," said Potter.
"True. I can see it, now," said Bella. "Well. Having identified the foreshadowing in my plotline, I have been thinking about that. So, when I'm gone, can you check on her? Convey my apologies for not being there. There were events in motion. I was caught up in things bigger than myself. You know how that is. You can explain. If anyone can."
Potter had to agree with Bella on that point. If anyone could convey to her daughter the idea of world-altering events taking control of one's individual life, it was him.
"Sure," he said. "Do my best. Promise. How are you funding her care? Did you have enough put aside to last until now?"
"I think so," said Bella. "Maybe you could see the goblins, next time you're in London?"
"I generally have to stop in, for one reason or another," answered Potter.
Bella was fated to experience a slow decline in vigor and overall health before the end of her earthly sojourn. She did everything she could to take care of herself, to spend the maximum possible time with Ane. Even so, she was conscious of increasing weakness. Potter still answered summons to sessions of the Wizengamot, although he no longer built additional days in London into his schedule. He, too, wanted to spend every possible minute with his family, now that he had one.
Night watches became excruciating. Calm stretches were so quiet he often heard Ane give a little cry, or Bella's night noises—a few minutes' snoring, a cough or sneeze. Potter wondered if he would ever have a family again.
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The harbor master, who saw the sailboat some distance off, quoted to himself the odds he'd give as to whether the craft was heading to his enchanted marina. When he identified the rigging and paint job, his fun was ruined, so he started getting ready for receiving his new neighbor. There were two berths available next to piers. He wrote the numbers down on the blotter on the desk. He thought he knew which one the captain would choose but didn't want to seem presumptuous. The boat stopped by a buoy a short distance inside the harbor's mouth and a line snaked from the deck over to the buoy before tying itself to a pad eye. Seconds later, the master stood before the harbor master's long desk.
"Captain Potter," said the harbor master, "Welcome home."
He shuffled the papers the new arrival would be completing.
"Captain," said Potter, nodding.
"Come to stay for a bit?"
"Maybe more than a bit," Potter answered, looking down at the child in the sling that hung from his shoulders.
"And, um, the uh, the uh Missus?" asked the harbor master.
Potter looked him in the eye, then slowly shook his head.
"Didn't make it, I'm sorry to report," he said, then, "Heart."
"Pardon my nosiness, Captain Potter, I had no…"
"'Course not, how could you? Where do you want us?"
Discussion of the two berthings didn't take long. Potter filled out the required information sheets, gave them back to the harbor master and left to move his boat. Two hours later he was materializing on the front step of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London. He had a toddler that needed a change and a canvas sea bag filled with laundry.
Fortunately, Grimmauld Place had a house elf, named Kreacher, whose house elf magic needed regular exercise to keep an elf healthy and sharp of mind.
"Master Harry," gushed Kreacher as he stood aside to make way for Potter and Ane.
Kreacher had not been introduced to Ane, since Potter had left her in Bella's care when he had to return to London on business.
"She needs a change, Kreacher, which bathroom would you recommend?" asked Potter.
"If Miss Ane will be staying in the nursery, Master Harry, the master bath would be most convenient," answered the elf.
Potter had a good stock of magical single-use diapers in his sea bag, which he took upstairs along with Ane.
"Clothes to the laundry," he called back over his shoulder.
Potter took care of a few homecoming chores. He assessed the nursery and decided it was adequate, for the present. Ane was shown what would be her new room and didn't throw a fit. Potter took that to be a good sign. Returning downstairs, he put Ane on the floor to let her explore and get used to her home. They walked through the front salon, then the dining room, then on to the second drawing room at the rear of the first floor.
Potter crossed straight to the Blacks' enchanted family tree tapestry to look for new entries.
"Oh, Merlin," Potter said to himself.
There was Bella, a single line linking her to Potter, a shorter line dropping from their link to Anemone Euphemia Potter-Black, another linking Bella and Tom Riddle, Jr., with Delphini Riddle below, and a line to Rodolphus Lestrange, with no children from that union.
"Well, Ane, we are going to have to look up your sister, I can see," said Potter.
"Sitter," said Ane.
The End
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A Note to Readers—
One More Thing to Keep Inside was meant to be short, semi-serious and semi-whimsical. As you can see, Harry and Bella, if you know what I mean. Harry and Bella! Think of the possibilities! Think of them, but not too long. You risk letting them into your head and then they'll want to take over. Believe me, it can happen. Regards, Bfd