Background steps
"How was your day?" said Byron Angelopoulos, pouring the wine and placing it on the table.
"Nothing out of the ordinary to report," said Mary, "if you mean: at work." She pushed the vegetables aside to make room for the roast.
"Oh? What else happened?"
"Over lunch, Phoebe was beside herself about Andy 'getting into mischief' at school, (the school's words, not hers.)"
"Oh?"
Mary glared at him.
He finished sniffing his glass and put it down. He asked more specifically, "What kind of 'mischief'?"
"He and another boy sneaked across the street to the middle school and were eating lunch over there. Apparently, they've been doing it on the regular to see friends from the orphanage."
Byron thought that one through, "On the one hand, good on them for maintaining friendships, but … I imagine it gave the school administration on both sides a bad case of nerves."
"That was my impression, yes," said Mary.
"I take it that they took it out on Phoebe and Andy?"
"Yes, and I think Phoebe got a double dose because the other three 'managed to lose' the notes that were sent home with them."
Byron gave her the stink eye, then contemplated the wiles of middle schoolers who didn't want their parents to find out about the things they got up to.
"'The dog ate it,' I suppose."
Mary rolled her eyes.
"Was Chelsea one of them?"
"No, the orphanage sends theirs to a different school. These are the three who decided to squat at Potter's Manor while he's out of town. There are no parents watching them, just a couple servants that cook and clean and were instructed to make sure that they got fed and didn't make a mess."
That sounded like heaven to Byron's elementary school mind and so many accidents waiting to happen to his adult mind. (Depending of course on how said servants chose to interpret 'not making a mess')
Or rather, the accidents were always waiting to happen regardless, but not having a willing and attentive adult on your team with the knowledge of how to ameliorate them was not a sustainable situation.
"Do they ever do their homework?"
"How should I know?" said Mary.
"Never mind," said Byron, "so they don't have parents to take their notes home to anyway?"
"Yes," said Mary, "two took their notes to one of the servants, and the other said that she'd tacked it to the bulletin board in the library for her Mamma, expect a reply in April or June."
Byron stared, "She's claiming one of Potter's entourage as her mother?"
Mary shrugged, "That's one interpretation, another is that she's saying whatever it takes to put off that trouble until after she knows whether they're getting evicted and transferred back to the orphanage and whatever school they go to over there."
"Is Chelsea going to want to finish out her school year where she is?"
"Or transfer to where the rest of her friends are?"
"Just because they lived in the same building doesn't mean they are friends," said Byron, "But yes, that."
Mary shrugged, "No idea, we should ask her, the next time we get to visit. If we're confident enough that they're going to let us have her, that we're willing to get her hopes up."
Byron sighed, "I'm starting to feel the same way myself. Do we have any idea what's taking so long?"
"I think the corporation that usually does their background checks has fallen off the map, and they're scrambling to find a new one that is compatible with their workflow and cheap enough for their budget or something."
"Ugh," said Byron, "I should tell them to just hire the next more expensive one and bill the prospective parents for the difference."
Mary stared at him.
"I know, I know, not everyone can just throw money at a problem to make it go away."
Mary shrugged.
Byron closed his mouth, if he verbalised that train of thought any further, he'd be sleeping on the couch for a week.
.
Theo looked up at the knock, but it looked like Greg was going to get it.
"Hello, Greg," said Harry.
"Hello, Harry, how did you find us?"
"I asked Nim where her other kitten was," said Harry, "Is Draco around? She wants him to visit."
"Oi, I'm in here," called Draco, "where is she by the way? I haven't seen her around this year."
Harry followed the sound of his voice down the corridor, "She's mostly casing the Black libraries for laps to steal."
"Sounds likely," said Draco and closed the door after them.
Ten minutes later, Draco yanked his door open and walked the length of the hall and back, "Theo, do you have a month?"
"Obviously not," said Theo, "Why do you ask."
"Astoria, Halloween, Ritual."
"Yes, of course, what's going on?"
"My Aunt Bellatrix sent me a book on what's wrong with her and how to realign her blood, the symbolism looks right to me, but could you double-check the rest? The only other thing I know how to check is whether the units convert as specified. I don't do ritual arithmancy or bio-alchemy."
Theo sighed, "Neither do I, legally."
"Does that mean this is illegal?"
"No it means I'm not certified enough to tell if it is legal, but I'll check it to the extent that I know how."
.
At its heart, it was a cleansing ritual taking place inside a blood adoption taking place simultaneously with … well anyway. So, perfectly legal and exactly as safe as … well that was the question, wasn't it? (and who's going to run the thing?)
The question was whether it could repair Astoria's blood curse. Or rather stop it from hurting her further and alleviate a useful amount of her symptoms for the remainder of her life.
After reviewing the arithmancy, Theo was leaning towards, it depended on who donated blood to 'adopt' her. The author of this book set a lot of store by 'sun signs at birth,' according to which, someone on the cusp of an air sign and a fire sign would be needed. According to Draco's aunt, Draco was born with an air sign, but his blood symbolised fire for a different reason.
Draco agreed but would not admit the reason, so that was interesting.
Surely being named after a dragon constellation wouldn't be enough.
Maybe having some other planet aligned with a fire sign was enough. Theo didn't feel like running Draco's horoscope on short notice, but that's how he'd go about it: Figure out which planet and sign combinations were ideal and calculate what dates best aligned with that, then check the pureblood registry for who was born about then.
Finally, he said, "Draco, I can't shadow your Aunt's work to figure out why your blood has the qualities she claims, but the ritual is sound, do you want me to scour the coming month for the ideal time for the ritual?"
Draco flipped over another sheet of parchment. Three date ranges, with how to calculate the time of day against the moon and Mars, the gap between the first two ranges was a couple of weeks long, if Theo's assumption was correct, that gap was about Venus or Mercury, so it almost counted as an unbroken range, the next one was years and years from now. Was that far enough away to mean Jupiter or Saturn?
So … it mattered where Venus, Mars, and Saturn were, but there were multiple options. And the last date fell long after Astoria's 17th birthday when blood adoption would 'require a permit' (read: probably illegal) instead of automatically legal (with the consent of all parties).
The nearest date was a week and a half away.
Theo looked up.
Draco frowned, "What do you think?"
"It's plausible," said Theo, "but it would take me two months to double-check it all."
"My aunt is certified to write this recommendation, she's also sneaky enough to …" Draco sighed, "if she wanted to lie to us, every word in this would be true, the lie would be in the words omitted."
"Like why you represent fire, and why there aren't additional constellations that Saturn could be in?"
Draco frowned, "You think she's trying to rush us?"
"Looks like it to me, do you want to do this as soon as possible? Or give ourselves until late November to research this to hell and back, and maybe time for you to send her additional letters to clarify."
"I don't mind me being rushed," said Draco, "I'm concerned about Astoria feeling rushed, especially if it doesn't work out for a reason that could have been avoided if we'd been more careful."
"Other than the choice of participants and the thoroughness of the ward circles, it's a basic blood adoption," said Theo, "Bet there are three to six ministry employees who could do it in their sleep (if you can find one who's willing to work so late in the evening)."
"Overtime pay is a thing," said Draco, and rubbed his face, "I need to check into the legal ramifications before I try to present this to her sister and parents."
"Or I could manufacture some excuse for you to let me draw a blood sample," said Theo, "and do this to her in her sleep. She's already part of our house, not theirs. Who will ever find out?"
Draco stared, then rolled his eyes, "First of all, that is how you and I are friends, that is not how I joke with anyone else."
Theo smirked.
"Second of all, I don't think she's officially changed house affiliation." Draco rubbed his face, "If it was me, I'd want it done as soon as possible. And I wouldn't tell my parents until it was done and working. Unless I thought they could hire a better ritualist than the friend who volunteered."
"Are you willing to manufacture a reason why you and she ought to be travelling to her parents' estate or St. Mungo's overnight?"
"Unlike the ministry, St. Mungo's could check this work and have the legal mandate to be discreet, I wonder how/if I could get it checked. I wonder how much it would cost to get it checked over fast enough that she could have time to make a decision."
"How many of them would you trust more than you trust your aunt?"
Draco narrowed his eyes, "That's an excellent point. Thanks." He folded it all up and went away.
Theo stared after him, then smiled. No matter what Draco claimed about aiming for the winter range, he was still aiming for the soonest. Saturn in retrograde was probably better than direct.
It would be nice if Astoria could be less miserable more of the time.
But …
There was no way that there was only one possible sign for Saturn. Not if only element mattered. Something was up. Draco's Aunt was trying to pull something.
...-...
Romilda Vane steals a wish
Content warning: will-altering potions, and cheaters who can resist them.
It had been yet another Saturday in which Romilda Vane had been unable to spend any time with her sister, mostly it was the fault of the quidditch game.
When Gryffindor wasn't playing Romilda could sit where she pleased. When her sister's house team played, sometimes the presence of an extra student in their stands was appreciated with extreme favour.
But when Gryffindor played, trying to sit anywhere but the gryffindor stands was taken as disloyalty, even if a few of the other students understood that Saturday was just about the only day that she could spend time with her sister.
Her sister, who in theory, should have more time than last year.
Her sister, who in fact, appeared to be spending that time with boys.
.
Which is how Romilda Vane came to be dusting off some old ideas that had been staring up at her from the bottom of her trunk for a couple of months now. Well, technically she'd overheard someone else's plan and been intrigued, she'd looked up the potions and found a few recipes within sight of her brewing capabilities, and only one that had seemed to fall within her idea of ethically acceptable. She'd brewed the potion, mostly to see if she could. It had stretched the limits of her capabilities, but she'd been successful. And that more than anything had been why she'd kept some of it, as a trophy of her success.
Or at least, that's what she'd told herself.
And the quidditch team had done superbly well. Between Jimmy Peakes' passionate offence, and Ronald Weasley's excellent defence, Gryffindor had been almost a hundred points ahead long before Ginny Weasley had beaten Harper to the snitch.
She'd made the catch look easy, but the following collision had thrown her from her broom, and she'd had to resort to her animagus form to make a safe landing.
But the catch had been clean and clearly visible to everyone, so no one disputed that the game had already been won when she used her animagus form merely for safety's sake.
Though there were sure to be grumbles about 'not everyone being able to throw caution to the wind because they had a backup plan.'
At least there would be a fun time at the victory celebration, that much more noise for Romilda to get lost in and hopefully not feel lonely.
It's not like she wanted to be the centre of attention.
Derick and Freyazegen gave her enough attention, but it was often a bit condescending, just because they were both better at arithmancy than her.
After last year she'd almost dropped arithmancy. But the older girls were always insisting that it was what made the difference between an amateur and a professional, at all the other things, runes, potions, divination, astronomy, herbology, history (really?), even charms and defence, ok, not flying, though … probably it was an integral part of broom enchanting or something, but how many people wanted to try that?
All those girls on the quidditch team could get all the attention they wanted from Jimmy and Ritchie, but Romilda could barely get any, and … it just wasn't fair.
.
And now Ron was a new centre of attention as well, with him keeping the slytherin score so low. Well, it was impressive. His whole family had been impressive on the pitch, and now Ginny had gotten good enough that Harry Potter didn't even bother to show up to tryouts.
It was in short, enough to make a girl envious, and since she already had exactly the tools she needed to catch someone's attention, if she could just screw up her courage to use them.
Who was she kidding, she was a gryffindor, she had the courage, so the only questions were … waiting for the perfect opportunity. And a busy party was about as perfect as she could ask for.
.
And so she found herself running up the stairs away from the party to root around in her trunk for that potion, and the right kind of sweets, and enough additional sweets as to camouflage what she was doing and… cauldron cakes, perfect.
She applied the changes she wanted and used the mending charm to bring the look of the package back up to factory standards.
She picked up an armload of extras to provide the look she wanted and picked her way carefully back down to the common room.
She dropped a third of the sweets on one of the bigger study tables, and a third on the empty end of the drinks table, (who was bringing the butterbeer now if the Weasley twins weren't? Or did that explain why there was only a third as much, and mostly there was only pumpkin juice, tea, and rhubarb soda?)
And last but not least, she placed the last third of the sweets on the coffee table in front of the couch where Jimmy and Ron were holding court. And lastly, in a perfectly executed move, the chocolates she'd doctored and kept directly in her left hand through the whole delivery process, were laid unobtrusively at Jimmy's end of the pile.
Too bad she didn't have the status or the confidence to put them on Ron's end of the pile. But if he started paying attention to her … well … basically … no one would believe it. Someone would say something.
Ron was the canny sort, he'd always been sceptical; but then, his study groups had started including ravenclaws and slytherins, she didn't want to know how he'd react if he found himself with a sudden interest in her, and anyone accused him of being on a potion.
Also, she'd just seen him body-check players twice her size several times.
She sighed and sat back, and waited for Jimmy to ask her to come sit by him.
That's all she'd asked the potion for. Someone to listen to her, and to want her close, and—
But right now Jimmy was the one getting all the attention because Jimmy was the one saying things that they all wanted to hear. Even Ron was listening to him too, and nodding along, though also stuffing his face. He'd already finished off the plate of biscuits he'd gotten from the refreshment table earlier.
And then suddenly it all went wrong because it was Ron, not Jimmy who reached for the cauldron cakes.
It was Ronald Weasley, The Ronald Weasley, keeper extraordinaire, of The Weasley Family, quidditch enthusiasts extraordinaire, (except Percy, Prefect extraordinaire) who opened the package and took a bite, while Romilda stared in shock.
It was Ronald Weasley who paused at the first taste, while Romilda Vane watched in dry-mouthed horror.
It was Ron who raised an intrigued eyebrow and then kept chewing. While Romilda swallowed and tried to get her mouth working so that she could warn him, so that she could apologise, so that she could—
He clutched the package tighter and swallowed, and his gaze turned and sought her out.
"Romilda Vane," he said loud enough to be sure she heard, and quietly enough to not interrupt Jimmy's recitation of his beating strategy, and how he'd managed to implement it.
"Come with me," He said, holding a hand out to her as he passed the coffee table, and as soon as he had her elbow, he turned toward the portrait hole and kept walking.
"Wha?" squeaked Romilda. Though she didn't try to resist.
That hadn't sounded like 'Come with me, and let's go somewhere quieter so that we can talk like you wished for,' it sounded like, 'Come with me, I need to turn you in, to Professor McGonagall.'
.
I poisoned a prefect, she thought as they walked down the corridor.
I poisoned a prefect, and he knows, she thought as they climbed down flight after flight of stairs.
I'm in for a stern lecture from McGonagall and a howler from my parents.
But they passed the floor for McGonagall's office without slowing down.
He knows I poisoned him, and he's taking me with him while he goes to the hospital wing for the antidote, She thought as they made their way down to third.
They'll make me admit what I did in excruciating detail to make sure they give him the correct antidote, and then they'll have my confession to also have me expelled or something. I should have checked the rules more thoroughly before I planned this.
I should have checked them at all.
But they didn't turn towards the hospital wing.
I poisoned a prefect, and he knows, and he's taking me directly to Professor Snape to have me expelled, she thought for four more flights, and he won't expel me unless he can also send me to Azkaban, which I don't think he can do, so instead he'll give me month's and month's worth of Friday night detentions dissecting awful little animal corpses. Until I'll want to die while I'm doing it, and hate myself for smelling like their fluids the rest of the time. No one will ever be friends with me again.
The situation seemed desperate enough, but she couldn't seem to manage any sort of protest or excuse for how this was going. All her internal justifications that had seemed plenty strong enough not ten minutes earlier, now all seemed to melt away when she tried to grasp at them and form them into anything she could say to prevent him from exacting revenge. Also no matter how guilty they both knew that she was, she hadn't yet implicated herself, not explicitly. Maybe there was still hope if she held her tongue.
She didn't consciously try to hold back, but Ron was huge and strong, and his grip was sure and firm, but not tight enough to hurt. She determined that if she resisted much harder she'd be dragged off her feet as he marched inexorably onward to her doom, so she gave up that idea and concentrated on keeping her balance, so at least her dignity would still be intact when they arrived.
But after several dozen yards down the dungeon corridor she realised that they'd also passed the Potions Master's office without slowing down. Her dread eased off, but her confusion only grew when they stopped at a blank section of stone wall, and she didn't know what to expect.
.
And he said a phrase that didn't even make sense, and then they were inside a room that was very green and very snake-themed and— Hell this is the slytherin dorm's common room.
Do all the prefects know all the passwords?
There was a chorus of, "Who's that?"s and "What's a gryffindor prefect doing here?" and "Weasley, You've got a lot of Nerve coming in here after a shutout like that."
"That's not the kind of support that does your team credit," said Ron.
Then the way was clear, except for one boy, twice as big as Ron.
"Good game, Greg," said Ron, "if the rest of your team was as good as you, well … it would have been more difficult, wouldn't it."
"What are you doing here Ron?" said Goyle.
Ron shrugged, "business meeting," he said.
"Right," said Goyle sceptically.
"Gryffindor victory parties are legendary," said someone behind them, "if Ron Weasley left one for a business meeting … I want to know what sort of business is that lucrative, or that urgent."
"As usual," said Ron, "I'm here to see Millicent about potions, this time I brought a new contact who's into creative uses. I think we'll both be interested in what she has to say."
Eventually, Goyle stepped aside, and Ron again led the way, this time down a corridor with several cross corridors all leading in the same direction: Away from the dungeon corridor that had brought them to the common room.
"Where are we going?" said Romilda, finally able to speak, and all I managed to say was a question I had just heard most of the answer to.
"The thing about slytherin house," said Ron, "Is that after your third year, you're expected to ward your own room, and unward it again at the end of the year, instead of sharing a room with half the rest of your year, the way we do in gryffindor. If you don't plan on taking runes, you'd best study the economics of trust well enough to decide who to pay to ward your room for you."
"What?"
"There's not a 'girls half' of slytherin and a 'boy's half' of slytherin," said Ron, "There are just seven hallways, and Professor Snape only opens rooms to account for how many students are in that year. There are contests of course, who can get additional rooms open, to turn into study rooms, or contraband stashes, or laboratories. As long as Professor Snape doesn't catch on, what does it hurt? And if he does catch on but you didn't leave anything of your own in there when he re-wards it his way, what have you lost? Hmm? Well besides your contraband, which was forfeit regardless, but if you escape detention about it? Hmm?"
"Oh," said Romilda.
Ron turned a corner and they stopped at a door that looked like all the rest, except for an ornate plaque that said, "Miss Millicent Bulstrode," in turquoise paint on a background of a lustrous red wood grain.
Ron knocked. And without waiting for a reply leaned forward to breathe hard against the door, then let go of Romilda's elbow to press his palm against the cloud of condensation.
The door opened a crack.
"Millicent?" he called, "I've brought an additional collaborator, may we come in, or would you rather we meet in one of the other spots?"
A girl opened the door and glanced back and forth between them. She said "What?" … "Who?"
"Millicent, this is Romilda Vane, a new and creative force in one of our favourite subjects. Romilda, this is Millicent Bulstrode, my girlfriend, and partner in exploration, the mind-healing arts, potions and … some other things?"
Millicent curtsied, then realised that Romilda was still too dazed to move, and offered her hand, and raised an eyebrow.
Romilda shook, because at least she knew how to do that properly, and…
"How old are you Miss Vane?" said Millicent.
"Fourteen," said Romilda, "why am I here again?"
"Where did you want to be?"
Under Jimmy's arm? "Not in Professor Snape's office?" said Romilda.
Millicent's eyes popped wide and she turned to Ron, "What did she do?"
"Mostly, She just explained very thoroughly, exactly what she wanted. Try one?" said Ron holding out the package of doctored chocolates.
"And this is?" she said eyeing the package dubiously.
"Cupid's whim," said Ron.
"Oh," Millicent relaxed and gave Romilda a searching look, "any major changes to the recipe?"
"No," said Romilda, "No changes."
Millicent nodded, and turned back to Ron, "so you know exactly what she wants?"
Ron nodded, "It's rather tame actually, I think we should indulge her. Though, that might just be the potions talking."
"It might," said Millicent, "Give me enough of a synopsis to decide whether I should trust myself under it, or give you the antidote first before I check on what you're experiencing."
"She wants to be someone's pet," said Ron.
Millicent smirked, took a cauldron, considered the taste, savoured, nodded, and swallowed, she closed her eyes for several seconds while she considered and then she looked at Romilda.
"Come in," she said, "and call me Millicent."
"Ok," said Romilda.
"And Ron, that is not at all the kind of 'pet' I thought you meant," said Millicent.
And they went in.
Perhaps, It was what anyone should have expected in a sixth-year slytherin girl's dorm room. There was a four-poster bed with an extra set of heavy quilted tapestries, and a cat. Beyond that was a wardrobe, with an extra full-length mirror hung on it, and a trunk, and a desk, and a sofa that gave off the contradictory impressions of being both conjured and shaped. The only real evidence that it wouldn't just vanish in a puff of sparks the moment you tried to sit on it, was that it seemed to have about a month's worth of homework essay drafts stacked on one end. Which hopefully meant it had been around at least a month and should last a month or two more.
And in another corner was yet another desk, which seemed to be acting as a bookshelf instead. And beside that food and water dishes for the cat.
Very quickly they ended up with Romilda and Millicent on the couch, and Ron lounging on his back staring at the ceiling from the huge puffy footstool he'd conjured in front of them.
And they talked for hours, about potions, and potions laws, about minds and mind control, and about what focus and desires even were, and about family and wanting space, and wanting closeness, and about talking and about listening, and about school being school, and about missing her parents, and about them wanting letters but not liking owls, and about her sister who was close enough to not need owls, but so far away and getting farther away, and her lack of luck with everyone her age, even Derick.
And rumours that older boys might be more interesting and interested …
And then Millicent kissed her.
Which was a surprise.
.
Millicent pulled away, "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."
"Ok?" said Romilda, "Umm, What? Why?"
"You said boys aren't interesting enough," said Millicent, "do you prefer girls?"
"I never thought about that," said Romilda, "Why would I … Oh, um,"
Millicent nodded, "Some girls do, you know?"
Some girls like girls. Yes, I know, but it's rare enough not to worry about most of …
"Do you?" said Romilda.
"Not especially," said Millicent.
Or … I never worried about it before, just wanted things not to change between me and my sister. But they have. I wanted things to go back to how they were before her OWL year, but they haven't. I can't deny that I'm intrigued to find out what keeps her interest away from me, but …
"Oh," said Romilda, "Then why did you kiss me? Did my potion…?"
"No," said Millicent, "It wore off about half an hour ago."
"Oh," said Romilda, and I've been boring them to tears for the half-hour since, and they didn't say anything? "Then why?"
"Because," said Millicent, "I also don't particularly prefer boys over girls."
"But?" said Romilda, "Then what do you prefer?"
"Thoughtful people," said Millicent, "Good listeners, like you."
If she likes me, and just described me as the same thing that I wanted, and she also likes Ron, that means … Ron is also like what she wants, like me, like what I wanted, and that means …
That means Ron is what I wanted, but it doesn't necessarily mean Millicent is too.
What does Ron like? If his dose of potion wore off even longer ago, and he hasn't gotten impatient either…
And why had Millicent acted exactly like the potion should have made her, and Ron didn't until they were here? Still didn't, if you counted the fact that he was listening from four feet away instead of from right beside her, and staring at the ceiling.
Also, neither of them was being affectionate to her in plain view, in public, in a way that proved that they valued her over other members of that crowd … but then … that was kind of contradictory to being able to hear what she wanted them to listen to. Maybe it was good that they'd both been able to resist just well enough to try to find a more sensible route.
"Ok, so … now what?"
"What 'now what'?" said Millicent.
"You let me have my potions wish, but it's worn off, so … now what?"
"It didn't seem like the kind of wish that would expire after four hours," said Millicent, "Just because you're not making me give it to you anymore, doesn't mean that you don't still want it … or well, might want it again next week."
"Yes, well, but …" you're a slytherin, what's in it for you?
She just told me what she wanted to be in it for her: She likes me, or at least, likes my type, and thinks Ron wants to share me with her.
Does that mean Ron likes me too? Or does that mean he's the kind of in love with her that means he'd bring her a 'pet'?
Why did he call me a pet?
And what did I tell them I wanted? All the things Emma is too busy to give me. Also maybe to find out what's so attractive about the 'chasing boys thing' so that I could at least be sympathetic to why she ignores me.
I mean, I've touched myself and have an idea how good that can feel, but I don't think Emma does that, at least, I don't think she would with any of the boys I've seen her with.
Well maybe she does, but that doesn't seem to be what she's chasing any of them for.
"So," said Millicent, "Are you coming back again next Saturday?"
"Oh," said Romilda, "May I?"
Millicent nodded, and leaned close, "And when you come, and everyone asks me, 'who was that?' do you want me to tell them, 'little step-sister,' or 'Ron's cousin,' or 'Ron's and my girlfriend,' or something else entirely."
"Well," said Romilda, "It sounds like I'm Ron's cousin-in-law-in-law regardless of whether I come back next Saturday."
Ron snickered.
"And I don't think I want more older siblings," she said, "though, I guess I'll accept that if nothing else will do.
"Hmm," said Romilda.
"May I try being your girlfriend?" said Romilda, "But maybe without you telling people that for a while?"
Millicent smiled and breathed, "And may I try to be your girlfriend? If I don't tell anyone that until you give permission?"
Romilda nodded, turning to her with her eyes wide, but not in surprise.
What was the opposite of surprise? But not boredom, something else.
And Millicent leaned in farther and kissed her again.
This time Romilda didn't flinch, or worry, she just let it be what it was.
Kind of wet and warm and alive. Very very alive.
And she tried to kiss back.
It was ok.
It didn't seem like 'the most wonderful thing ever,' or even like, 'the most wonderful thing except mint-treacle (yuck),' like everyone talked about. But it was nice.
And if it meant that she was welcome to come back and talk again. And maybe get help with the harder potions-specific arithmancy, that Derick didn't know yet, and somehow missed the narrow range of potions that Freyazegen was super-interested in.
Well, she'd put up with a lot more inconvenient things to get tutoring, than sitting close and kissing.
Climbing lots of stairs and working outside in the breeze, for two things.
Well, there were still stairs, but…
"Ron!" said Millicent pulling away from their kiss, "Get me or her out of here before I shag her."
"What?" said Ron sitting up quickly, then standing and straightening his robes.
"I've never shagged on a first date," said Millicent.
"Of course not," said Ron, he looked quizzically at Romilda, "If you want to be shagged, ask for it. if you want to be shagged while on potions, ask for that. No asking for sex by handing out potions! Understand?"
"Yes," said Romilda.
Among other things, Ron was big enough, that if she gave him a potion that took away his ability to think, she didn't want to think what he'd be like. He'd managed to be … mostly gentle on Cupid's Whim, but they HAD talked earlier about some of the mind-altering potions ruining the ability to be gentle. That could be taken as a gentle warning, and now this is a more firm warning.
She shivered. "Of course," she said.
By the same logic, she didn't want to be stuck alone with Ron if Millicent dosed him with something, or not without knowing and deciding that she didn't mind him acting however that potion might make him act.
Which meant, … it was also reasonable for Ron to ask her not to dose herself with anything without getting permission first. Even if she was smaller than Ron … but she'd read what some of those potions could do. No, someone's small size didn't matter with some of those potions. If you couldn't be held responsible for what happened after you took the potion, then taking or administering the potion was the act that required permission.
She sighed, "That makes sense."
"Good," said Ron, "What time is it?"
"Past lunch," said Millicent, "Almost Tea."
"Let's go ask the elves for a picnic," said Ron.
Millicent nodded and stood up.
She stretched and started changing into warmer robes and longer socks.
Right there in front of us?
Because she's our girlfriend?
Are all three of us a group, or is Ron just sharing Millicent with me?
"Umm," said Romilda, "I don't want to go outside," or not for the duration of an entire picnic.
Romilda shrugged.
"Where would you like to go?" said Ron.
Romilda shrugged.
"First-year greenhouse?" Romilda suggested.
"Warm but with large areas where it's not dangerous?" Ron tried to interpret.
Romilda nodded.
"Christmas wish list, item one," said Ron, "warmer underthings."
"Merlin!" said Romilda, "it turns out, I definitely prefer boyfriends to elder sisters!"
Millicent sniffed, "Don't let Ron fool you, regular boyfriends want you in skimpier underthings, so you'll want to snuggle close, not warmer underthings so that you can keep up with them wherever they go."
"Oh," said Romilda.
Ron shook his head, "skimpier underthings are for looking at and snuggling, there's nothing wrong with that when you want to be looked at or snuggled in them, but there's no reason to be uncomfortable when no one is going to see them anyway."
Romilda looked at Millicent, Millicent looked at Ron, and Ron looked at Romilda.
Romilda met his gaze.
"And anyway," he said, "I like a girl who can keep up with me." And he turned around and left.
"Oh," said Romilda.
Millicent was grinning. And then she was taking Romilda's hand and leading her in the direction that Ron had gone.
Did Ron just tell me how to be what he wants in a girlfriend? Was saying that another way to say he wants me also? … Or offer that all three of us sharing all three of us is an option? Or it might be if I can keep up with both of them.
Am I taking this all the wrong way? Did they both want just three friends in a group, not girlfriends and boyfriend? Did Millicent want to be girl, friends, not girlfriends? Probably that was it.
But wait, if that was right then … what was the snogging? What was the 'get her out of here before I shag her!' and everything about. No … they definitely wanted … they definitely were offering the girlfriends and boyfriend thing. And telling her repeatedly for her to clearly ask for what she wanted, … as she became sure of it herself.
As if I even knew how to tell.
.
When they had collected their picnic basket, sneaked into the first-year greenhouse, and given one of the work tables and all of its chairs a thorough scouring with cleaning charms, they set out their meal, and Millicent blessed it, and thanked all the plants and animals that had been made into it, and all the farmers and elves who had helped handle and prepare it.
And then they ate.
It was good.
And maybe it was better because it was in the quiet, instead of lost in a crowd.
It definitely was better for being with two people who listened to what she was thinking and trying to say, instead of what she was saying and whether it agreed with their ideas and plans.
.
When Ron had finished off the last of every dish that both Millicent and Romilda had refused seconds from, he pushed back his plate and sighed. "Romi," he said, "Do you play chess?"
"Not recently," said Romilda.
"Would you join me in attempting to defeat Millicent?"
"Oh dear," said Romilda and Millicent.
Romilda shrugged.
Ron pulled a chess set from somewhere and laid it out.
"White," said Millicent.
"Fine," sighed Ron.
"Facing Ron's not easy," explained Millicent, "you've got to grab every advantage you can get."
Four moves in, they needed to discuss strategy, which meant Romilda getting out of her chair and circling the table to whisper in his ear.
And him whispering back.
While they conferred, Millicent packed away her dishes.
While Millicent stared at what their move had done to the board, they packed away their dishes. And then they sat.
And the next time Romilda needed to point and whisper, Ron slid out to make room for her to reach the board.
And the next time, Ron patted the far side of her hip and she understood the permission for what it was, she climbed onto his lap. Not that it was near as big compared to her as her parents' laps had been, so long ago, when they'd still allowed Emma and Romilda onto their laps.
Being in his lap did make it significantly more convenient to whisper, and to hear the suggestions of the pieces without them needing to shout. (Mostly objections to being placed in danger, or in some cases, left there.)
.
In the end, they lost, but Romilda couldn't quite be sure that it wasn't her fault: Right there at the end, when it had seemed to get easier to see the good moves, Ron had started letting her give the commands and one or two of them might have been mistakes.
"Good game," said Ron.
"Good game. Better luck next time." agreed Millicent with a smile.
"Good game," agreed Romilda.
.
"Romi?" said Ron while the pieces marched back into the box.
I don't know if I like being called that. "What?"
"Do you have anyone else you would play chess with, if you had a set?"
Something boyish to distract Derick and Freyazegen from discussing herbology and wilderness survival. (Not that that would be a problem if they could also keep on task while talking about that. Which they couldn't.) But … she'd seen Ron and his brother Percy play a game together while also working on their revising separately.
Maybe she could introduce the tradition as a way to get them to intersperse their revising with a kind of flirting that didn't require them to also be distracting and…
"Yes, probably?" said Romilda.
Ron smiled, and handed her the chess set, "We've trained these well enough to know a lot of our tricks, see if you can learn those, and teach them some more."
"Really?" said Romilda, "This is for me?"
"At least, for as long as you're my girlfriend. For longer if you want them, or give them back then, if you don't. As long as you promise not to throw them away."
"Alright," said Romilda, "wow."
Millicent was making a weird expression.
But Ron winked at her and she smiled and relaxed.
Apparently, there were still some secrets between them for Romilda to uncover.
.
...-...
Opinionated Familiar
"I'm going to send my father something tomorrow," said Luna, "Will Hedwig be available?"
Harry stared at her. After about fifteen seconds he said, "She says, 'When tomorrow? Should she check on you at breakfast, or wait for you in the owlery?'"
"Oh, the owlery is fine. Evening? She doesn't have to wait around all day if she doesn't feel like it."
Parvati looked up from marking up Susan's essay, "Where is Hedwig? She used to hang around Lionskeep most days. And I think I've seen her maybe twice since the train."
"She's hanging out at home," said Harry, "Trying unsuccessfully to woo Wedna, I can't quite pin down why."
"I cannot imagine that Wedna's animagus form is owl-related," said Parvati.
"Me either," said Harry, "I think she's mostly limiting herself to stealing entire strips of bacon or sausage in the morning, or drumsticks and tomatoes in the evening. Yes, from across the table and bringing them to Wedna's plate. Wedna seems to have moved from completely grossed out, to merely intent to cast cleaning charms on her claws before letting her into the dining room."
"Have you tried telling her to stop?" said Luna.
"Not really," said Harry, "I did advise her to pay attention to what Wedna preferred to eat in general, and whether she gave any indication of appreciating the help retrieving those things. She seems to realise that she's not wanted, but is under the impression that she's wearing down Wedna's objections. If only an actual famine would arise so that Wedna was obliged to eat out of her hand, things could proceed properly."
"Ugh?" said Susan.
"Which is ridiculous," said Harry, "and not at all the way she's wooed or been wooed by other owls in the past, so … yeah, I'm at a loss what instinct she's operating from. Luckily she's most active at night and Wedna is free to ignore her for days at a time, and then boom, her midnight snack plate alone in an empty kitchen, suddenly also includes a tomato (or whatever) and the company of an owl. Same-same for breakfast."
"Weird," said Susan, "is she brain sick?"
"Not that I can tell," said Harry, "She just really wants to keep Wedna around."
Ginny frowned, "Is she reflecting one of her master's desires that you didn't mean to give her as an assignment, but she took anyway?"
"No," said Harry, "I want Wedna safe and free, I don't care where. Hedwig wants her around and available at all times, the fact that she goes away during the day for employment is unacceptable and must be persuaded against. I do not get it, and Hedwig cannot seem to explain. I'm not sure if she gets it."
"Does she feel similarly about anyone else in your life?" said Parvati.
"No," said Harry.
"Not even Melantha or Nim?"
"No," said Harry, "maybe Margaid, but she's afraid of Margaid, Margaid perhaps represents too much of a good thing."
Susan stared, "What's scary about Margaid?"
Harry frowned, "I'm not sure I'm interpreting this correctly, but I think, Margaid could in theory be dropped on enemies that Hedwig wants poisoned, she doesn't think that Margaid could be convinced to put up with the indignity of being transported and might attack Hedwig instead, perhaps merely by instinct."
"The frog's worry about the scorpion," said Susan, "only it's the frog trying to select an ally to carry into battle?"
"Yes," said Harry, "And while I have never tested Hedwig's carrying capacity of items that haven't been shrunk and lightened, I imagine that Margaid is both heavier and more ungainly than that."
"No, Nim, she has not mistaken Wedna and Astoria, nor lost track of which of them was depressed which way. I don't think she models depression as a possible mental state of others."
"Do any of us?" said Susan.
Padma glared at her.
But Harry only shrugged.
...-...
Enchanting for Defence
"Alright," said Justin Warner, "Today we're going to talk about some things that many people know, but most people rarely think about or talk about, and therefore some of you may not know much about it or have picked up some mild misconceptions. Therefore we will start with a review of some basic magical theory and approach our topic … from a perspective you might not yet have considered.
"When we talk about how powerful a mage is, what are we discussing?"
Hands went up.
"Tracy?"
"Is this a trick question?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because I can think of two answers."
Justin smiled, "give both of them."
"Channelling capacity, and magical reserves."
"Very good," said Justin, "And what do each of those things measure?"
"'Channelling capacity' is how big a spell you can cast without side effects. It also applies to wands. And 'magical reserves' refers to how many such spells you can cast before succumbing to exhaustion."
"Very good," said Justin, "four points to Slytherin. These are the two most common measurements, there is one other, I'm not sure how many of you have heard of it."
No one moved. Half his students narrowed their eyes in thought, and half his nerdier purebloods frowned at the implication that there was anything they hadn't heard of.
"You'd most likely have heard of it in the context of magical exhaustion."
"Recovery time!" shouted someone.
"Close enough," said Justin, "Or recovery rate also called absorption rate, which is reserves over recovery time, or as you are more likely to hear it stated, recovery time is reserves over absorption rate."
"What units is that measured in?" Hermione muttered to her neighbour.
"Yes," replied Theodore.
"What?"
"All of them," replied Theodore, "Or more practically, ask the teacher which system he wants to see in our homework."
"I'm proficient in both the Galatea and Abdul Hak systems so you may use those if you prefer, but as all your other professors seem to prefer to reference Milton wherever possible, and he almost exclusively used his own Latinisation of Nikhil's system, I suspect you will find that the most intuitive place to start with while you get your bearings. It is therefore what I will be using in class. However, you may find, like I do, that Galatea has more conveniently sized units for the things you calculate most days. To be clear there are efforts in process to unify with the metric system as soon as anyone can find a systematic equivalence between the way that magic exerts force on matter with the way that matter exerts force on matter. It is already quite clear what range of values ought to be possible for the conversion ratio between joules of food and kends and between kends and joules of change exerted. Or between Kilo-calories, kends, and kilowatt-hours, whichever you prefer."
All but six of them looked lost.
"Harry, what did I just say?"
"That getting enough to eat and maintaining physical fitness could affect your recovery time in a positive direction."
Justin blinked, "That is true, and I can see how you … could say that I implied that, but it is not what I said. Theodore?"
Theodore smiled, "You said I have three books to read and a new guild journal to track down and subscribe to."
Hermione elbowed him.
"Hermione, what did you understand me to have said?"
She scratched her head, "That we may use the system that we already know from Potions and Arithmancy and Runes. Or we can also learn the Galatea system."
Justin nodded, "close enough."
"We've never used 'kends' though, it's always carats or carat seconds."
"Ah, fine," said Justin, "Kends is merely an abbreviation for carat seconds, perhaps more colloquial than I realised. Anyway, how many of you know your channelling rate, reserve capacity, and absorption rate? Do not answer aloud."
A few hands went up. A few glared at him like middle-aged matrons asked their age.
"That's fine, it's between you and your healer regardless. And I don't intend to tell you mine either. Don't let anyone persuade you otherwise. Also, many people don't see any reason to go to the expense or the ordeal of getting tested until they finish growing at 25 anyway. Unless it's getting in the way of their crystal work or their alchemy. It likely won't get in the way of your potions work unless you are on a level with Zygmunt Budge or Headmaster Dumbledore, and how likely is that?
Theodore and Blaise opened their mouths.
"(That was rhetorical, please don't bore us with statistics that would be politically fraught to even gather.)
"Anyway! Supposing you have a spell effect you'd like to achieve, and you don't have the channelling rate, or the reserves to see it through, or not often enough for your purposes, what do you do?"
Hands went up. The enthusiasm was back.
Justin smiled, "Brew a potion or draw some runes, right? Are there other options?"
Most of the hands went down.
Patil's hand went up. Which one was this? Gryffindor. … Damn it. I just looked at her name on the roll not 20 minutes ago.
Everyone else had lowered their hands.
"Miss Patil?"
"Crystals probably unless you include that in runes. Maybe permanent charms, depending on what you're doing and whether several small items with the same charm are sufficiently similar to a single large charmed item. Or you can design a charm to do its own power conversion. Or ritual magic, though that can take a lot of time to prepare."
Justin nodded, "all your answers are technically correct. And all of them hint at an aspect of the question that many of you might find impossible, what is it?"
"Witchcraft," said Blaise with half-lidded eyes.
"And what is objectionable about witchcraft?" said Justin.
"Nothing!" said Blaise, "(If you're asking me.)"
"Time," said Harry, "you cannot invent a new ritual or a new potion or a new rune array in the heat of battle. Nor even if you have one designed, I'd hate to try to brew or carve or point telescopes to check stars against my watch to choose when to start singing in the middle of a confrontation."
"Precisely," said Justin, "please continue?"
Harry shrugged and remained silent.
"But if you know what scrape you are heading into," said Tracy, "you can prepare a potion or engrave or charm your jewellery ahead of time."
Harry blinked like he was suddenly connecting all the pieces.
"Or if you know what sort of tactics your opponent favours," said Draco, "You could prepare specific countermeasures."
"Precisely," said Justin, "If you cannot use wizardry in the moment, you must prepare witchcraft in advance. In either case, you are required to (for lack of a better concept) 'wager' on what your opponent might do or where you might need to go; and choose the best way to prepare for that. Either finding or designing the magic you need, and either memorising and practising the desired spell or enchanting an object to contain the desired effect."
He let that sink in for a few moments, "Now then, how many of you own an enchanted object that could be used defensively?"
Four hands went up immediately, then six more.
"How many of you own brooms?"
Another six hands went up.
Justin stared at the remainder, "Either the rest of you don't own any enchanted objects, or you are dreadfully lacking in creativity."
They frowned, and two looked at him very bemusedly, then each raised a hand.
One of them started grinning at him maliciously.
"Better," said Justin, "often defence is about outsmarting your opponent, not about overpowering them."
"Who has ten or more defence-related enchanted items on you right this moment."
Everyone put their hands down.
"Seven?"
"Right this moment," said Harry, "Or near enough at hand to use in a defence-related incident?"
"If you think you can survive an engagement long enough to bring it to bear, then I suppose I'll let you count it."
He nodded and began twitching his eyes.
"Five?"
Nothing.
"Four? … Miss Patil, give us an example?"
She vanished.
Harry twitched and smiled.
Not disillusionment, something more complete visually and audibly but drastically irritating magically and mentally.
"Some kind of advanced notice me not?" said Justin looking away, "effective, but perhaps not as subtly calibrated as you might wish."
She reappeared.
"Two points to gryffindor, Anyone else with four?"
Harry frowned like he was having trouble counting that high, then he raised his hand.
"Harry, Can you describe one of yours?"
"My undershirt is enchanted with a warming charm," said Harry.
Everyone objected to that.
"You said the majority of our defence needs were actually against the environment," said Harry.
"Very true. I did say that," agreed Justin, "one point, but your classmates are going to lynch one of us if I don't let you give another example."
Harry smiled, "My undershirt is also enchanted to—
But Miss Patil elbowed him.
"Ow Parv," he huffed, then louder, "I'm wearing two anchored portkeys. They may not avail much in most of Hogwarts, but in most places, they'd be useful for escape."
"Very good, two points," said Justin, "Anchored portkeys are a very good idea. To be clear, Anti-portkey wards are possible, but have a tremendous power requirement so are relatively unusual."
"What do you mean?" said Hermione, "I'm sure that—"
"I mean that portkeys in theory cannot be blocked, but in practice, they can be deflected enough as to be unsafe to use in most cases. But the field strength required to do that is high, and the power required to maintain that sort of field grows exponentially with volume, add to that, a few experts in the creation of portkeys can sense that field and adjust for what you've done.
"The anti-portkey field here at Hogwarts is powered by the convergence of several sources, one of them refracted through the chaos of ripples on the Lake, resulting in a field that cannot be predicted far enough in advance to make a useful portkey."
"But—" said Hermione staring at Harry.
"I'm willing to bet," continued Justin, "most of the other places you've seen anti-portkey ward warning signs, are relatively small shops, selling relatively valuable and shoplift-able items."
She seemed mollified.
"Who else has an enchanted object that they'd like to tell us about?"
Draco gingerly drew a broom from his wand holster and let it unshrink. He glared a challenge at Harry.
Harry's eyes were wide, and he nodded an impressed bow.
Draco tilted his head in question.
"Put it away again," said Harry, "and I'll race you from here to the far edge of the quidditch pitch."
Draco put it away again and glanced at Justin.
Justin checked his watch.
"Alright," said Justin, drawing out the word, "how many of you want to spend the last ten minutes of this class listening to me brag about the enchanted items I wear every day, and how many of you would like to watch our two braggarts attempting to risk their necks and detention. (Not from me.)"
"You won't see bragging," said Harry, "Unless Draco wins."
"Not true," said Dean, "if you win Harry, Ron and I will brag enough for everyone."
Harry turned and nodded a bow to him as well.
"I say!" said Ronald.
Meanwhile, Blaise and Theodore were arguing about the rules and technicalities of flying brooms indoors. It sounded like mostly: not in the corridors.
But from the way that both contestants were eyeing the window, Justin figured they had already planned around that before the challenge was issued or accepted.
Hermione whistled.
Most everyone quieted down.
"I think we were going to vote," she said.
"Who would prefer to give me an entire class period to show off my enchanted items?" said Justin.
Everyone cheered.
"Jokes on you," said Justin, "I will take at least three class periods, now then, do any of the rest of you wish to mention their enchanted items while we wait for our contestants to negotiate the rules of their race?"
He pointed to the side and the contestants left, followed by … probably their seconds. Dean and Theodore.
"I have a pocket sneak-o-scope," said Pansy, then rushed off after them, then Vincent and Gregory also rushed after her.
Justin sighed, "Anyone else?"
Silence. Into which Pansy squealed, "Draco, can you enchant my swords to fit in my wand holster?"
"Don't keep them near your wand," said Draco, "But yeah, Theo and I can do that."
"Cold iron might be difficult," said Theo, "Might need to make you custom swords out of something else, or put some fairly large gems in the pommel."
"Something to save up for then," muttered Pansy.
"Certainly," said Theo.
"Alright," said Justin, "Then I'll see you all next week."
A few students raced for the door, to take advantage of the extra five minutes of liberty, but the rest packed up and formed a circle around the contestants.
"The rules they've agreed on," announced Dean, "are no quidditch fowls, and Neville will count off from equidistant between them, loudly."
"On your marks," bellowed Neville, "which here means: get equidistant between me and the window already."
Everyone moved farther out of the way, the contestants moved into the open space, facing each other about a quarter of the way from the window.
"Is anyone going to open the window?" said Hermione.
"First one to get to it," muttered Blaise, "Or whichever of them wants to be responsible for casting a mending charm from here to the ground."
"Ugh," said Greg.
Hermione huffed and muttered something about liability insurance.
Justin was inclined to agree with her and—
"Get set!" bellowed Neville.
People started holding their breaths.
Harry's eyes twitched nervously towards the walls and downwards, his fingers twitched.
Suddenly Justin knew exactly what his plan was and opened his mouth to protest about that instead of about the window.
"Go," said Neville.
"Accio," said Harry before drawing his wand and turning to face the window.
Point casting left armed, out one's holster, and behind one's self, was two steps more insane than Justin had expected.
Meanwhile, Draco had drawn his wand and broom in a single motion and managed to make separating them into 'one in each hand,' count enough for a wand tap that the broom started expanding.
He was already mounting it before it had expanded halfway. Meanwhile, Harry was already sprinting towards the window casting the unlocking charm as he went. He'd started the swish and flick of a hover cast much too quickly for a verbal cast to keep up with.
Justin had never used the charm in his life but could appreciate the dedication of wordless casting, especially the brutal efficiency of choosing the spells with long incantations to be the first to master casting wordless.
But Draco's shout of "Lancia," cut through the cheers and the window shattered. Not in the millions of tiny pieces that Justin had grown used to from modern safety glass, but into the large jagged shards of annealed glass. Hogwarts was old and laughably far beyond the reach of reasonably modern muggle building codes.
Damn it, Harry was getting ready to leap to his death, trusting his summoning spell. And Draco was sending down daggers and spearheads of ancient annealed glass ahead of him to 'cushion' his fall.
Justin's career and its sudden abrupt end was passing before his eyes in fast forward, while in slow motion he saw Harry comprehend Draco's choice and the destruction it would cause. He shrugged microscopically and started to let his charm dissipate before it was even fully formed, then thought the better of it and forced more magic into his charm reshaping it and speeding it faster.
By the time Draco reached the window his broom was full size and already lifting and initialising the sticking charms on the stirrups to hold its rider's feet in place, should he ever get them in place.
Meanwhile, the shards and daggers of glass had receded from the window, levitated away and upward by Harry's charm.
Draco leapt through, continuing straight and Harry after him, sinking from view.
The window repaired itself and everyone rushed to it.
Justin took a deep breath, Harry might spend the afternoon in the hospital wing with broken bones, but he wasn't going to bleed out from his limbs being amputated by glass falling on him, or him on glass. Unless he had the bad luck to plough into the greenhouses. Were the greenhouses even in that direction?
He took another deep breath.
Several students whistled.
"Damn, Firebolts are fast," said Dean.
"It's not even a contest," said Blaise.
"Why don't they use them for quidditch?"
"Because they're racing brooms, they corner like the Hogwarts Express."
"Damn!"
"Like that, see."
Justin made it to the window in time to see Draco pass beyond the far quidditch stands and loop back. Where was Harry? Oh, circling the other way and already on his way back. Not as high and drifting lower, was he going to buzz some other class's window before returning for his things? Or was he heading straight to lunch?
Justin turned, his things weren't at his place, he glanced around.
Ah, Parvati Patil had already gathered them and slung them on with her own.
Justin sighed, "Alright, scram. You need lunch and I need to visit the nurse for a calming draught."
Someone snickered and most of the rest started moving.
Pansy assigned Greg to pick up Draco's things.
And everyone else started filing out. Theodore, Blaise, and Seamus debated the strategy of breaking the window versus levitating it open as they went. And whether Harry would have insisted on going through first, or levitating it down on Draco's boots as he went through.
As she left Pansy tossed something at him.
Justin caught it reflexively and checked to see what it was.
A calming draught, with the Ogden's Brand seal still intact. Commercially brewed then.
Speaking of defence-related items to have on hand, though by a technicality it was brewed not enchanted, but still. Defending oneself from heart palpitations was still defending oneself.
"Two points to Slytherin," he said, then thought the better of taking it.
He locked up and went to the infirmary and got a vial through official channels. The vial was the same size, Fleamont Potter's brand.
Oh dear.
"You've had quite a scare," said the nurse, "and I'd say something about magical exhaustion if I didn't know better. Any other complaints?"
"You'd think I'd have already learned my lesson," he said, "Not to let students talk me into things."
She smiled wryly, "I haven't had as many gryffindors and slytherins coming in with illicit duelling injuries since you arrived here, so I'm sure that you are a good influence overall."
"How is my heart?"
"It's had a workout, but seems fine. Shall I prescribe some aerobics, or do you already know all that, a large percentage of defence professors already know the theory, just need a little encouragement to put it into practice."
Justin rolled his eyes at her.
She smiled wider, "There are plenty of stairways around with nice views from the top, you know."
"Hmm," said Justin.
"The dear little menaces aren't allowed to cast magic in the corridors, if that sets your mind at ease, or helps you decide which of your observations to enforce about."
"Ah," said Justin, "sounds familiar. Is that casting from the corridors, or into the corridors?"
She smirked mischievously, "I believe both, but you might wish to double-check."
"I just might do that," Justin agreed and went to lunch.
.
While he ate, his eyes fell on the potion master, the one with the dragon skin notice-me-not communications trinket up his sleeve.
Justin pushed up his own sleeve, then yanked and tore off a wide ribbon of sticky parchment from the portable desk set he wore on his forearm. He drew a pen and wrote, "Is this the genuine article and untampered with?" and stuck it to the medicine vial he'd received from a student.
He turned his forearm the other way up to hover it down the table and leave it beside the potion master's plate.
After a minute potion master unrolled the parchment and examined the vial.
A few moments later he cast two charms. He cracked the seal and sniffed it. He wrinkled his nose, re-capped it and examined the vial some more.
He summoned a quill from somewhere and penned a reply then wrapped the parchment around it again, and hovered it back down the table.
Justin read the note.
"Yes, it's genuine and was un-tampered with until I broke the seal. I also note that it expired eleven days ago. Probably safe, but safer still to visit the infirmary. Why?"
Justin wrote back, "Thank you. I received it from a student. I wished to calibrate whether to interpret it as a misguided sign of care, or a prank. I've already visited the infirmary. May I lean on you to see it disposed of properly?"
He levitated it back.
The potion master peeled the note off and read it. Then he pocketed the vial. He glanced out over the assembled students.
"You could just go over and talk to him," said Justin's neighbour, "no need to act coy."
"M'not acting coy," said Justin, "I'm carrying on a conversation while continuing to chew. Or I was trying. It's what I get for being late."
"Damn," she said, "I was hoping to live long enough to see him settle down with someone."
Justin sniffed, "I assure you ma'am, he's not my type."
Then he returned to eating.
The note, sans vial, floated back to him.
He unrolled it, sticking it to the table in the process.
"It's gratifying that her need of it has reduced far enough below her estimates that her supply is starting to expire, I'll check on her. Thank you."
Justin stared at him. How did he know which student?
On the other hand, she was one of his. So, good for him?
The potion master turned his head.
Justin nodded a bow like Potter's. You're welcome. Thank you for taking care of it.
The potion master nodded back and returned to his meal.
Ok then.
...-...
Enchanting for Comfort
"Harry," said Ron, bending close to be heard over the roar of breakfast in the great hall, only to dodge back when Hedwig came in for a landing.
"What have you got for me girl?" said Harry, offering her bacon and collecting the letter.
"Anything interesting?"
"I have no idea," said Harry, "Umm, Aunt Petunia writes that there might be a coven of witches living in the park across the street. Every morning: three women and several children walk out of the park and wait for a bus that doesn't look or behave naturally. Also, their clothes sometimes remind her of witch fashions. Also, they irritate and scare her. Also, Mrs Figg, (the squib across the street with too many kneazles) agrees that they look like witches, but doubts they're likely to act like witches, because she spoke to them once, and they 'seemed nice enough.'"
Harry put the letter down with a grunt, "As if there aren't any nice witches."
"Whatever," said Ron.
"I'm not sure what she expects me to do from way up here in Scotland," said Harry, "On the other hand, if she does need protection from witches, it makes sense she'd try to contact me."
"Are they getting close enough to her house that Wotcher can see them?" Ginny asked.
"Good question," said Harry, "I'll have to ask later."
He stuffed the letter in his pocket.
"Harry," said Ron.
"Yeah?"
"Can Hedwig get a letter to your friend Leona?"
Ginny sat up and stared at him.
Harry blinked, "Possibly not, but I could probably get it to her by another route. What do you need to contact her about?"
"Christmas presents," said Ron, "I know that I can copy the runes just as well as the next person, but … well, it's for a girl."
Harry raised an eyebrow and turned to stare at him.
"And unlike Millicent, I haven't seen her altogether, so … it would be awkward to ask, and …
"What did you just say about Millicent?" said Ginny.
Ron rolled his eyes, "Millicent and I just added leather panels to one of her regular nightshirts, it wasn't that hard."
"Oh," said Harry, "And this other girl, you don't want to just ask to borrow her favourite nightshirt, to send to Leona for her to take a pattern from and send back?"
Ron frowned.
"Or if she wants a jumpsuit like yours, or a romper, which is the same only with the legs stopping higher. She'll need a shirt and pair of pants, or shorts, that fit the way she wants, except add pins on the leg of the pants where she wants the new set to be shortened to, and on the front, back, and side, of the shirt where she wants the waistband of that pair of pants to be."
"That might be doable," said Ron.
Harry shrugged, "seems like it should be easier than smuggling your girl out to London or wherever, or Leona in, or waiting for a Hogsmeade weekend for maximum compatibility with Hogwarts boundary rules."
"Fair enough, fine," said Ron, "I'll see what I can borrow."
"Herbs?" said Harry.
"I was thinking Star of India and Milfoil," said Ron, "But I'm still checking whether they're neutral enough."
"Alright," said Harry.
.
"You know …" said Ginny.
"Hmm?"
"Those runes we worked on to put inside a quilt, to describe a portal located outside the quilt in a particular direction."
"Sure?"
"And you know the arithmancy you and Susan worked on to describe how to find all of a body's skin?"
"That was a while ago, but I think I can find that again."
Ginny nodded, "Between the two of them, do you think we could make belts that could find every layer of woven cloth inside them, and make them self-warming? Or, how did you call it? temperature regulated."
Harry blinked, "Those seem like they'd be compatible, though communicating them on a space as narrow as a belt might be a challenge."
"It doesn't have to be a belt, that would just be an ideal to derive for."
"As an outermost layer of clothing that you could move between various outfits without a huge bother?"
"Exactly," said Ginny, "I guess it might not work for nightclothes though."
"It still would be an interesting thing to try though."
.
"That's what I'm trying to explain, Miss Weasley," said Professor Vector, "I have no problem with the project in general, I'm saying that it won't do as well for a NEWT project compared to the multi-colour tapestries you worked on last year, because it's too derivative."
Ginny shrugged, "I was mostly planning to do it for an exploration into expressing recursive selection in Linear-B, but what I'm hearing is, I could just go out and buy products that match my design?"
"Perhaps not as such, but… match your specifications, certainly."
"Then it would still be a sufficient project for handmade Christmas presents," said Ginny.
Professor Vector raised an eyebrow, "Assuming that your chosen friend is a hufflepuff … and knows enough arithmancy to appreciate the problem, or little enough runes to have noticed similar charms available…"
"Are you saying that there are better ways to permanently enchant something with charms instead of with runes?"
Professor Vector sighed, "Composing charms takes up most of the spring term of sixth-year arithmancy, and the autumn term of seventh-year runes."
"Alright," said Ginny, "So … the reason I haven't heard of these permanent charms yet, is because …"
"They aren't available to the public, except pre-cast on high-end clothing, where, unlike engraved runes, they are hard to extract from the final product and copy everywhere else that you have a mind to."
Ginny nodded, "So if I do work on this, and then rework it again in my sixth or seventh year to make a permanent charm, it could be the basis for a small line of clothes by the time I graduate?"
Professor Vector sighed, "Is that what you want to do with your career, construct and enchant clothing?"
"Not necessarily," said Ginny, "More like brooms, or everyday objects."
Professor Vector nodded, "Direct enchanting with runes is still best for one-off objects, but I did want to warn you that investing several weeks' worth of time on a project that when you're finished will just be a pale imitation of products available in Diagon and Trowbridge for only a couple hundred galleons."
"Only a couple hundred," said Ginny, "and the best method for me to earn those sorts of commissions in future would be to work through this now?"
Professor Vector nodded.
"Good," said Ginny.
Professor Vector smiled and turned away, "Hmm, good luck on this."
.
...-...
{End Chapter 11}
A/N: In editing this chapter, I realised I was missing most of the important middle steps of an entire plot. and as I added them to the next chapter, two other plots that had been hovering in the 'this is probably impossible to include' section, resolved and forcefully inserted themselves into the outline and the next chapter, also requiring two additional sub-chapters added to this chapter, so here you go, three weeks later than I had anticipated.
And the next chapter has become two chapters now with improved chances of appearing sooner rather than later. :)