Neville
"Lord Longbottom, may I have a word."
Neville looked up, "I'm not the Lord of Longbottom yet," said Neville, "But—" He got to his feet and stood straight. He was already several inches taller than Harry. "What can I do for you?"
"I want to discuss this with you, privately," said Harry, handing over a sheaf of parchment, "But I'm not sure how long you want alone to read it and consider it, before we discuss … evidence I might have overlooked or interpreted differently than you do, or whatever. I … guess you might have access to evidence and witnesses that I don't, but … please be discreet, you know."
Neville scanned the first page, then the second. He shivered and rolled up the sheaf of parchments again and looked up.
"There's rumours you're good with privacy wards?"
"There are," said Harry.
"Who else knows about this?"
"Hermione," said Harry, "I'm training her to be my second, mostly because I didn't think ahead to realise that I might need one, and by that time she was the best I both had available and trusted. Also, Director Bones knows that I have an academic interest in the case, I don't know if she's had anyone shadowing my research or not."
Neville sniffed, "Not likely, she's strapped for competent people and anything to pay them with."
"That's what I've heard as well," said Harry.
"Do you have a good place for me to spread this out to go over it?"
Harry stared for at least twelve seconds, then nodded, "Come on." He led the way out of the tower and down the corridor. Then he stuck his hand through the wall, in spite of there being no holes there. And knocked twice, on wood by the sound of it. Neville wasn't sure if the knock was to alert someone, or because, that was just one of the ways of indicating a door.
"I've sort of claimed this classroom for my office," said Harry, "You're welcome to … visit for this evening."
The door … stopped being too forgettable to notice.
"Oh, wow," said Neville. He'd even ducked into this room a few times last year, mostly to sit and cry because he'd forgotten the password again, and couldn't bare to go and ask for help again, and it was easier to just wait patiently for help to show up. And less embarrassing than being too obvious standing at the portrait.
And he hadn't remembered it or recognised it when Harry had knocked on it, and hadn't noticed not remembering it.
There was a diagonal rune series branded into the wood. At the first glance it looked like he ought to recognise them. But no, they didn't all come from an alphabet he knew. And one looked more like a compass rosette with an awkward number of points and … no the only rune there was omega. Never mind.
Harry opened the door and stepped inside.
All the dust had been cleared away, and most of the desks were pushed to the sides, several were standing in for bookshelves. A few desks remained in the open. Probably about as many as had usable chairs. And homework was piled on them, perhaps separated by subject.
Neville ignored the overt signs of habitation and instead glanced into the corners for rune clusters. Abandoned classrooms that had been claimed and disappeared by runes students were the stuff of Hogwarts legend, of course the most egregious stories put them all in the dungeons, and the significantly more sane group of stories merely noted how there were so few abandoned classrooms opening onto the same corridors as Ancient Runes or Arithmancy.
"That half of the room is mine," said Harry, pointing to the third of the room with the teacher's desk and two student desks. "That half is Hermione's," he waved to include another third of the room including five student desks, three of them noticeably neater than everything else in the room. "That half is joint projects and the Kneazles' toys and beds."
Tucked under one of the desks against the wall was a wide cushion occupied by Nim, pretending to be asleep. An effect that was ruined by the one eyed glare.
That third of the room had three desks remaining away from the wall, all three with projects in progress.
"First of all," said Neville, "That lets me know where to set up," he waved his wand and levitated an empty desk away from the wall into a clear area of the 'joint projects,' section and conjured a board and a cushion to cover the cracked and battered seat.
"And second of all?" said Harry.
"Second of all," said Neville, "Even I know enough arithmancy to know the difference between a half and a third."
Harry stuck out his tongue.
"Mr. Potter!" said Neville in his best imitation of his Uncle Alger.
Harry pulled his tongue back in very fast and blinked, "Don't do that," he said, "Shades of Aunt Narcissa."
Neville rolled his eyes, "Then she hasn't given you enough deportment lessons to break your habits, or she hasn't given you enough to inure you to her disapproval."
"There is that," said Harry and stood up straighter. "Nim says I'd do well to imitate your style, both your lordly bearing, and your comfort in dropping it whenever it's not conducive to getting your way."
Neville blinked, "Huh, I … might have said the same of her. Though I might have changed it from 'getting her way' to 'achieving her target' in order to also include limberness during hunting."
Harry nodded, "She'll be pleased to hear it, if I can manage to translate that into pictures she can understand."
Neville smiled. And shuffled the parchments open.
It seemed to be a dossier on one Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black. This time it had fallen open to the actual beginning. Neville skipped past the boilerplate society columns and birth announcements until he got to the first thing that surprised him. Copies of very private medical records involving her time at Hogwarts, she'd often … make that regularly, come to school with scars and sometimes broken bones, some fast healed with charms or potions, none of it professionally done, all of it, by implication happened at home. Traces of curses left active in some of the scars.
September 1965, The start of her fourth year, was the worst yet, her torso encircled in whip welts apparently from four sessions, seemingly weeks apart. The small bone in both her forearms broken, two times each, make that additional times each since the previous school year. The state of healing suggested a staggered set of dates, which might match the four sessions with the whip.
There was a sketch on modern parchment, of a girl hanging by one wrist, so her toes barely brushed the floor. A long horse whip coiled on the floor next to her.
"Bloody hell," muttered Neville.
"I didn't include reports to that effect," said Harry, "But that was the first year her younger sister Andromeda came to school without additional scars. And when Narcissa came to school a couple years later, all of her broken bones dated to before the summer of '65."
"What do you infer?"
"It took a long time, but the beatings seem to have started near summer solstice, and stop just before the end of July."
"Lughnasadh," said Neville.
"I think," said Harry, "That they finally broke their lioness to plough, but in the process she extracted some kind of bargain."
"It looks that way," said Neville. For a moment Neville took that at face value: She made a bargain that protected her sisters. And then he thought deeper, as if he were hearing Uncle Algie complain about political manoeuvring: Or she made a completely different kind of bargain and her sisters became redundant to the point that any training of them ceased. Or for that matter, she finally submitted after weathering enough punishment that all of them were too cowed to resist ever again.
"And the half of the potions that rely in arousing and channelling internal light magic, stopped working on her about then."
"Of course," said Neville, "either she chose, or they sacrificed her choice."
"Forgive me if this blasphemes your beliefs," said Harry, "But that is a more important distinction to me, than which expression of the powers she chose."
Neville snorted, "Not Hardly, that makes you a red or a bluemage, rather than a light or a dark."
"I don't know that distinction," said Harry.
"You should learn it," said Neville, "so should Hermione, if you two get into the habit of meting out justice, you'll need to be aware of the costs. And the costs of failure."
Harry nodded, "Feel free to update my reading list, everyone else does."
"Are you planning on taking Survey of Magical Law?"
"I'm taking it this year," said Harry, "seems easier to fit in now than sixth year."
Neville snorted, "There is that. I'll owl my gran for a copy of The Boundary Principle, and A Time for Judgement: the Warrior Who Must Reason, and On Execution: War, Revenge, Prevention, or Culling."
Harry shuddered. "Fortunately," said Harry, "I'm not allowed to order executions."
Neville frowned at him, "The blue mage's power follows deontology, no matter how much we wish it were utilitarian. So really, it's merely fortunate that you may only order executions from a chair in the Wizengamot in concert with dozens of others, and the only execution still used is the dementors kiss which doesn't leave soul fragments around to channel revenge against you."
The colour drained from Harry's face.
"What's wrong?" said Neville.
"I don't like dementors," growled Harry, "can they be executed?"
"Not to my knowledge," said Neville, "But their life-cycle is not infinite, though the exact limits are not well studied. The only reason we have so many is that we absorbed most of Northern Europe's strategic supplies after Grindelwald's war, I believe they cannot reproduce without more food than we give them."
Neville turned the page, more medical documents, subtle indications of dark rituals, nothing unforgivable by traditional standards, except that there were not a similar number of light rituals interspersed. That generation of Blacks at least, apparently didn't follow the Rule of Balance, not that many understood the old ways well enough to understand what the principle meant or was even for.
The next page was a betrothal contract to the Lestrange family.
There were oblique references to her as damaged goods, there were oblique references to her as a dangerous and unreliable quantity that must be restrained by oaths.
The next page was a marriage contract, not the sort that a modern state would condone, but Black and Lestrange were above Ministry Law, and magical contracts were a law onto themselves.
Her choice was almost certainly sacrificed to the dark. Then her mind and career as a dark rituallist were sold to the highest bidder. It was an odd use to spend the eldest child on … even if she was a girl. Neville tried to remember hearing if the Blacks had ever blocked women from ruling the family, not that he could remember, most of the oldest families believed 'a witch was as good as a wizard.' The Rosaiers on the other hand, and her mother was a Rosaier.
Neville shrugged and returned to reading.
It basically amounted to: She'd existed to perform impossible deeds from her husband's basement until her mind or her magic were gone, as well as, more than likely, to breed him heirs. If that ability hadn't also already been sacrificed by that point.
That might have been the reference to damaged goods. Or that might have been about the scars. Depending on who wanted what in a 'wife'. Or it might have been the contents of 'the bargain' she'd managed to extract to protect her sisters. He almost missed the annotation at the bottom:
"Annulled according to contract," and two signatures, and a date, "witnessed by:" a dark mark drawn in a brown that Neville had seen on enough contracts to recognise.
Neville shivered and turned the page. A bill of sale.
Same three signatures. Seller was Rodolphus Lestrange, buyer was dark mark, property was Bellatrix of no last name, description of property: 'thrall'
Neville shuddered harder.
Owner's copy.
"Lord Potter," growled Neville, "Where did you get these?"
Harry sighed and shook his head.
Neville huffed and turned the page, a newspaper article about a new and terrible death eater being seen in battle for the first time. Neville turned the page back, the dates lined up well enough.
"You think you-know-who bought her. But why? To get her out of the laboratory onto the field?"
Harry nodded, "Or rather her husband was forced to part with her, and we merely know how you-know-who used her after, who knows how Mr. Lestrange thought she would be used, there is no mention of the price payed, it might not have been gold."
Neville nodded, possibly the threat of unleashing her abilities was something that Mr. Lestrange thought he could hold over you-know-who and this was the only acceptable result to either man, once that showdown hadn't gone in Mr. Lestrange's favour. Then perhaps you-know-who put her on the front lines in case she turned out to be easy to kill. And history recorded the opposite.
What could possibly be next?
Neville turned the page, a copy of a page from a history book, assessing and highlighting how the bodies of Lily Potter and the Dark Lord were found.
What was this doing here in a stack of parchment about a completely unrelated woman? Harry thought this was important evidence, and the next logical piece for the progression he was building. A ritual gone wrong. Classic Dark meets Light explosion. Not a wards collapse as had been advertised, although that had evidently happened the same night.
Dark meets Light explosion, and both mages' bodies were found. If neither survived, the winner wasn't as clearly the one who survived. There were rules of thumb, but it wasn't always clear cut, especially if at least one combatant were a slytherin. Who was defending what ground? What counted as keeping it from being 'defiled' or 'captured'? Whose heirs were most successful at claiming the wards and thralls of the deceased enemy?
There was a reason the press pushed for the interpretation that Harry Potter was the boy-who-lived. If Harry survived an encounter with you-know-who he was the clear winner with all that entailed. But if Mrs. Potter destroyed a dark lord but didn't survive. There were the problems: was she sufficiently married to count as Lady Potter? Was she legally or magically entitled to use whatever ritual she had? Had she not survived precisely because she did not firmly wield the right to whatever magic she'd set in motion? Or had she not survived because she'd been interrupted. Or had she not survived because her life was the thing sacrificed. In which case she probably did own the right to sacrifice it, especially if Lord Potter had died already as was rumoured.
If her death was not a result of their encounter, mutually and at the hand of the enemy, then it didn't detract from her victory. And she was the conqueror. The property, titles, and thralls of her enemies could be claimed as part of her estate.
Intriguing.
But only if her heirs got there before her enemy's heirs. Classic reason for feuds to be 'last man standing' type affairs.
Harry had survived, and no one knew if you-know-who had heirs.
Neville turned the last page, nope not quite last, a copy from a page of the trial transcript of Bartemius Crouch Jr. declaring the attack on Neville's parents, to be an act of the loyal death eaters, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Bellatrix and himself. Led by Bellatrix.
Followed by a signed confession by Bellatrix, to the effect that all her death eater activities before her lord's demise were on her lord's orders. And only after that had she taken the initiative as her Lord's vassal to order a search for him, including the capture and questioning of Neville's parents. And a long and graphic tirade about the incompetence of Bartemius Crouch Jr. for using the cruciotus curse improperly for the intent of the mission, and how he deserved to be executed in like manner at her lord's earliest convenience. Unless he entrusted the task to his vassal.
Right. Not the sanest specimen, either of them.
Neville looked up and stared at Harry, "Where are you going with this?"
"There's really only one place to go," said Harry.
Neville shrugged and turned the page.
A letter of apology from the House of Potter to the House of Longbottom for not taking control of their conquered estate quickly enough, a specific apology for the events of the kidnapping. An apology for the incompetence of their vassal, a thrall by the name of Bellatrix, who could not keep control of her fellows. A hint that such an apology could not be made nor accepted without any token of reparation.
He turned the next page.
An unfinished deed of gift, made out from the House of Potter to the House of Longbottom, no property yet specified no signatures, yet.
"What is this?" said Neville looking up, "Harry!"
Harry shrugged, "Nothing can ever repay the loss of one's parents."
"Obviously," said Neville, and shrugged.
"It's not fair that I get fame for something my parents did, and you and Susan (and I don't know how many others) don't get anything."
"Agreed," said Neville, "but I stopped blaming you for that before I met you. And while I might have reserved the right to start again if you'd acted … more stuck up about it, you haven't, so I don't."
Harry nodded, "But that's fairness." He waved at the stack of documents, "This is justice, or more accurately, it is a plea that a plea for mercy, not become necessary," said Harry, "I can get any of the seventh year law students to sign as witness."
Right, this is, 'please be my friend' and 'let's settle this out of court.'
A gift from House of Potter to the House of Longbottom could only mean property of the house. So mostly real property and thralls, technically only thralls that had been passed on at least once already. He didn't know or care what houses or farms Harry owned.
"I don't think we need another house elf," said Neville, "And Gran complains all the time that our assets are land-heavy."
"That only leaves one thing," said Harry, "Nim, come."
A familiar was personal property and exempt from debt collections, always and forever, there were few other things so thoroughly established by precedent. The only thing that came close was thralls-by-choice, (which it was not clear that Bellatrix had ever been). This piece of parchment was made out for House Property.
"What?" said Neville but he already knew. Nim didn't wear boots, but Harry had been doing a fair impression of the miller's son of legend ever since he'd inherited that cat.
Also Harry was silently crying.
Also the cat obeyed, not with a boisterous run and jump, as was her want, but with reluctant obedience.
She went to Harry, rubbed around his dragon hide boots, then turned to face Neville with her head down and her tail down and … her ears back.
Neville sighed.
Harry sighed.
If he waited even another moment, Harry might … would pick her up and say he was giving Neville his thrall, previously known as Bellatrix Lestrange.
"I don't want your cat," said Neville, there he said it. Harry might still say something to convince him, but … he'd said it at least once. And there might be some hope for a future friendship.
"She's not a normal everyday cat," said Harry. As if he wasn't sure if he was trying to sell Neville on the idea. Or hoping Neville would say 'no' but wasn't sure if Neville had gotten the point yet. Neville certainly had gotten the point. And after the fiasco with Pettigrew, Bellatrix being an animagus made a lot of sense of the escape gone wrong, and Harry's suddenly acting like he was getting tutoring from a pureblood several years older, not from only Hermione.
"That much has been evident for quite some time," said Neville.
Harry seemed stuck.
"Is she really under your control?" said Neville.
"She is now," said Harry.
Another reference to the letter of apology.
Neville imagined writing a letter like that, or more like needing to write several per year, because she wasn't the sanest specimen. Better him than me.
Neville deserved something from Bellatrix, more than that, he deserved something from the dead Bartemius Crouch Jr.
He deserved something, but being able to get his hands on Bellatrix Lestrange without any authority competent to restrain him, would not be good for his soul. On the other hand, if she ever acted against him or his family again, he might never forgive himself for not ending her here tonight.
Could he take her and demand the tutoring that his parents would have given him? Could they be proud of him for such tutoring, or would it be obscene to learn to duel from the dark witch who all but ordered their insanity.
Could he keep himself from abusing her? He didn't beat the elves the way some did. Could he explain things to Gran? Could he keep the secret from Gran?
He had to impress the gravity of it all on Harry.
He took a deep breath, and then another. Courage, brave gryffindor. "I would take it as a sufficient favour," said Neville, "If she always remains under your control."
Harry shrugged and nodded and bit his lip.
"I'm trying to think of a useful measure to put in place to ensure that, but I think being a thrall is sufficient. And there's no way you-know-who didn't do the complete ceremony."
"He did," said Harry with suspiciously informed finality.
"Some kind of unbreakable vow to suicide on your death would satisfy me that she would never pass into your enemies' hands," said Neville, "but…"
Harry's expression was a new mask of horror and nausea. The greenness around the chin didn't look good either.
It didn't match Harry's normal expression of being reminded how paranoid he ought to be. Which was the expression Neville had expected his statement would bring.
"She deserves freedom, for once in her life," said Harry, "Not continued bondage."
"Deserving freedom is one thing," said Neville, "Being fit for freedom is another."
Harry sighed, "Don't ever let Hermione know I accepted that argument about anyone, But in Nim's case, sadly, you are right."
Nim started purring. Yes, a true thrall, not merely in the legal sense.
"And I kind of like that she's out in the world, trying to do good, not being fed to dementors," said Neville.
Harry's eyes flashed happiness and … righteous enthusiastic determination. Nim paused her purring momentarily to think that over, then purred louder.
Good, "So should I tear up this deed of gift?"
"Or make it out," said Harry, "Dated today, but effective the day of my death, should she not predecease me. I think that takes precedent over both a last will and testament, and conqueror's rights."
"Yes," said Neville, "But the point is not legal in this case, but magical."
"Um?" said Harry.
Neville made it out with an additional clause that allowed Nim to suicide if she preferred that to serving the then current head of Longbottom, or required it if there was no longer any House of Longbottom. He also made it effective not the day, but the moment of Harry's death. He held it down to Nim, "Do you agree to this?"
Nim glanced it over then met Neville's eyes and nodded.
"Right," said Neville and put it back on the desk, "Do you know how to sign with your magic, without also signing in blood?"
"I put down my mark and mean it," said Harry.
"Right," said Neville, and slid the parchment to him.
Harry read it over and nodded, then took the pen and dithered.
"I can't sign this the way you wrote it," said Harry, "It's in the wrong person and tense."
Neville sighed, "I may or may not have written it in the correct legal style, but go ahead and put it in the words you can sign and Nim can agree to."
Harry rewrote it on a new sheet of parchment, Neville noticed that he was putting more than a little magic into it. Probably, from adding an 'I, Harry Potter,' at the beginning even though that wasn't really necessary to use that styling on a deed of gift.
On the other hand if this was the closest thing he'd ever made or felt the need to make, to a last will and testament, well, it was mildly fitting. And it was said that magic would do things like that for blue mages.
Harry again dithered over his signature. Finally he put down an H, turned the paper sideways, drew something odd, (which sparkled just as he finished,) then he wrote the rest of his name. That should be more than sufficient.
Neville looked it over, it did not start with 'I, Harry Potter.' Much of the rest was word for word what Neville had suggested, with only tenses changed. The weird symbol in the middle or Harry's signature could be mistaken for 'arryP' only you were assuming he'd been drunk at the time. And the rest of the letters were not cursive. But there was magic in them, and it felt like signature magic not rune magic to Neville, so that was fine.
"Alright, Nim," said Neville, "you have to sign this."
Nim reared back, and then didn't jump, she just stood.
It was Bellatrix, dressed like a house elf, except with duelling boots, two wand holsters, a belt knife on one hip and a messenger tube on the other. So much for seeming not to wear boots.
She read the new deed several times, "By which name my lord?"
"Which name is yours?" said Harry.
"None of them," she said, "you even put 'cat known as Nim' instead of either Nim or Bellatrix."
"No, I mean," said Harry, "Which name is yours?"
"Everything you call me is my name," she said, "and nothing that anyone else calls me is."
Neville sighed, "what do you call her in your head?"
"My Nim," said Harry, "Except when I'm exasperated, then it might be Bellatrix or something else."
"That would be why," sighed Neville, "Also animagus mind, her name might not even be verbal currently. Or spellable in letters for that matter, there's a reason we only practice writing with implements that can engrave here."
"Huh?" said Harry, "Oh, right." He closed his eyes. Good, he would think about runes for a minute.
"I get it," said Bellatrix, then she drew her knife and cut her finger and dropped not one, but three spots of blood across the space allocated for her signature.
That was definitely a signature. She pulled her hand away and licked it, then her knife, then drew her wand and healed her hand and cleaned her blade and put it away.
Crazy cat.
Neville signed twice: once as representative of his house witnessing the making of the gift, and once as witnessing the signing of the giving parties. Then he put it aside to let it dry. He was not going to try to blot that blood properly with the tools he had on hand.
By that time Nim was in cat form again.
.
They went back to discussing law vs. justice and other blue mage issues. Also magical signatures.
Nim made free with his lap. She'd sometimes wandered across his lap before, wandering down the bench in the Great Hall, or passing down the couch in the common room from Hermione to Harry. But Neville didn't remember her ever staying still in his reach before.
And now he knew she was Bellatrix Lestrange. Or rather. Bellatrix Lestrange was the dangerous beast pet of his friend Harry Potter.
Oh, "Harry's Bellatrix," pronounced Neville carefully.
Nim jerked and sat up and stared at him.
Yes, that was how people other than Harry could say her name. True thrall, he should have guessed.
.
Later in the evening, on the way out, Neville caught sight of the rune on the door, it was familiar. He turned his head sideways. It still didn't spell 'arryP'.
.
Aftermaths
"I didn't expect he would buy that so easily," said Harry.
"He's a nice boy," said Nim, "Why wouldn't he have?"
Harry shrugged.
"Just because you have a strong sense of justice and revenge and have to exercise caution that you keep them pointed in the right direction, doesn't mean everyone else has the exact same mix of problems."
"I guess," said Harry.
"And it was nice of him to try to warn you off becoming a blue mage."
"Perhaps," said Harry.
"Anyway, pay up."
"Fine," said Harry, "What book do I have to read to you now?"
Nim chortled, and told him.
.
Millicent
"RED! Err … Gryffindor! How do you know where to find this door?" said the second year.
"How do you know I wasn't a slytherin in my previous life," said Potter with rhetorical annoyance, then more formally: "Please inform Blaise Zabini that Harry Potter desires to speak with him."
This sounds more diverting than transfiguration revision, "I'm right here," said Blaise standing and going to the door, "What's this about?"
Potter looked pointedly at the door. Blaise closed it and verified that it was shut and the sound dampening charms had activated. "It's closed," he said.
"I lost a bet," said Potter, "and my forfeiture is to beg you for the lend of your copy of Dirty Familiar, Pretty Familiar. And then read it."
"By Astegall Hagrid?" clarified Blaise.
Potter nodded.
"First of all," said Blaise, "you've got it backwards, it's Pretty Familiar, Dirty Familiar. Second, I don't own a copy. My mother I'm sure, thinks that it exemplifies everything that is wrong with the world, and would never let a wizard my age get their hands on it. Third, do you even know what it is about?"
"I think it's a steamy romance about thralls."
Blaise snorted, "No, it's a grimoire of living to living transfiguration charms magic, which leaves the mind 'intact'."
Potter looked surprised and confused.
"Either the mage you're chasing is into some very very kinky things, or the girl you're chasing is tired of putting you off and has resorted to trying to divert your attention to the hopefully much easier pickings of your own familiars, or the boy that put you up to this is hoping for a chance to screw one of your pets when you leave one unattended between when you transfigure it and untransfigure it."
Potter shuddered, "thank you for the warning."
"No problem," said Blaise, "was the essence of the forfeiture the begging, in which case you should get down on your knees and try harder, or on the reading it after?"
Potter rolled his eyes, "On the reading it, unfortunately; I'd much rather be done with this tonight, and two minutes on my knees would have been less bad than what I thought I was getting into. But if it's just a branch of magic I might never actually find inclination to practice, I'm dreading it significantly less than I was."
"In that case, Millicent Bulstrode has owned a copy. And I know Malfoy has had access to a copy other than Millicent's, but I'm not sure where or whose."
Potter closed his eyes. After a deep breath he said, "would you ask Millicent to come talk to me?"
"No," said Blaise, "but I will inform her, that you wish to."
Potter thought about the distinction, then nodded, "Thank you, I'd appreciate that."
.
"What was that about?" said just about everyone in Blaise' year, and half of the third years also.
"Potter made a bet he couldn't keep," said Blaise, "Now he's scrambling to meet the forfeiture. Milli, he'd like to talk to you next."
"Any advice," she said.
Blaise snorted, "Not that you need me to say so, but the whole episode has got to be a goldmine of gossip, but I couldn't crack it open."
"Well yeah," she said, "I meant what's he wanting?"
"To borrow a book."
"One that I can afford to part with?"
"One that you use every Tuesday and Friday."
"There's no way he cannot afford a new potions book," she said, "Unless his wager was significantly more esoteric than…"
"We're talking about a gryffindor boy," said Blaise. With two pets. But he didn't say that part.
"Oh, History of Magic," she said and cackled.
She had an enticing cackle. He'd never noticed until this year, which must be symptomatic of something. Perhaps only that she had developed it over the summer.
She ran to her room, probably to retrieve the desired book.
Now Blaise had to watch how this would play out. So he stared after her, to help lead everyone else into doing so. Then with the focus off him, he disillusioned himself and moved to stand by the door.
When she returned, he slid out the door as she opened it, then he stood unobtrusively aside while she held the book out.
"Two conditions," she said.
"Oh?" said Potter, "That you get it back, and?"
"Alright three," she said, "that you tell me who put you up to this."
"Would you believe me if I told you that Nim did?"
"Not if I had any other choice," said Milli, "Was it Granger? That tom cat she has…"
Potter gaped then turned up his nose, "even if that had been true, I wouldn't have told you."
"Oh, come off it," said Milli and waved the book in his general direction, "Was it Ron? If it was, he's been holding out on me and should have asked me himself."
What was this? On first name basis with Ronald Weasley?
Potter blinked but did not seem surprised enough. "Ah," said Potter, "The mystery girl is in slytherin, that explains the sudden desire for discretion." He froze, seeming to register the many ways that could be taken. Then he shrugged, "If he hadn't been so prejudiced in first and second year, he wouldn't have so far to backpedal now."
That was interesting, maybe Potter's friendliness with Malfoy last year was less of an aberration and more of a progression also.
"Whoever it was," said Millicent, "You have two weeks to read it, and they have two weeks to read it. I want it back the day after."
"Allowing the other entity access to it was already part of the original forfeiture," said Harry.
Millicent leaned forward, "Then for my third condition, Ron has to borrow it for two weeks also."
"Oh," said Harry, "Oh dear."
"And has to be the one to return it," she said.
Harry let his eyes widen, then relaxed and smiled warmly, "Of course, um, good luck you know."
"Thanks," she said.
Well that was a different interpretation.
But … Millicent's reputation was her own business, as was everyone else's. Blaise would leave well enough alone. He'd lost one gossip war with her in second year, and had no intention of getting involved in another one, especially not while there were international players to catch wind of it.
He just wouldn't want to be in Ronald Weasley's shoes if he ever crossed her.
.
The Not-Veela
"Um," said Harry, "Why is there a naked veela tied up in our office?"
"It's not a veela," said Hermione, "But I don't know what it is, not human obviously. Won't talk any language I know. It was here when I got here. I wondered where you caught it and what you had against it. And yes, I almost let it go to spite you for tying it up, but … given that it wouldn't talk to me, I decided I didn't want to be alone in a room with someone you thought needed tying up."
Harry went over and prepared to release it. Her.
When he crossed some radius, she turned to stare at him with flat yellow eyes.
As he untransfigured the straps off her arms, her stare remained consistently unnerving. She didn't seem to have any idea how to manipulate any of her limbs except her neck, she kept her hands flat with an unnatural stiffness. Her feet curled.
She coughed up inarticulate sounds now and then, especially as he got her arms free and she folded them tight to her sides. Her facial expressions also seemed neither the coordinated and well formed things of practice that an adult her size should wear, nor the instinctive scrunching and bunching of an infant, nor the experimental stretching and twitching of a preschooler practising, with or without a mirror.
He got her up and she found her balance. She still didn't seem to know what to do with her legs. That or she was very sore from being … from losing her virginity.
Harry turned away.
Three things fell into place:
If Hermione hadn't brought her here, that left three possibilities: It was Nim, or Luna, or his wards were less secure than he'd thought.
Hedwig was projecting that combination of 'affectionate' and the relaxed calm-of-returning-home, that she always felt when planning to land on his shoulder. And there was no snowy owl in the room.
The not-veela was an disturbing albino white with stark oversized freckles on her sides, arms, and back. Where they were in her hair, her hair was brownish black instead of white.
She managed a step and caught her balance against him, not with her hands or arms, but with an awkward lean against his back. Then leaning her face against his hair and nosing his ear.
"Hedwig," said Harry, "Why and how are you human?"
Hermione started and looked up.
His link with Hedwig's mind went crazy, but as usual he could make little sense of it. Except that which didn't surprise him at all: As always, she felt motherly toward him, not the mixed up worship that Nim normally felt. Not that Nim never felt motherly at him, only that it was never pure, always mixed up with other things. Once he'd seen it in Mrs. Malfoy for Draco and Mrs. Granger toward Hermione and Mrs. Bones toward Susan, and used that to filter out the complexities of everything he'd felt from Nim or seen from Mrs. Weasley. Then and only then had he been able to name it anything, or been willing to say that it was also a fraction of what Hedwig often projected at him, or Nim often felt but rarely projected at him.
The impression that he did identify clearly enough was Hedwig's rivalry with Nim.
Either Hedwig had done this to herself out of rivalry with Nim, or 'my rival Nim, is who did this to me.'
"Nim did this to you?" said Harry, "doesn't that just figure."
"Oh, good grief," said Hermione and hopped up, now staring openly at them both, like watching a train wreck in progress.
Thanks for the vote of confidence, Hermione.
"Where is Nim now?" said Hermione.
"She's trying to bully the house elves into delivering a load of bacon, and roast chicken legs," said Harry.
The emotions from Hedwig shifted.
Harry turned to look her in the eye.
"I didn't think Hedwig ate chicken," said Hermione.
"She doesn't but Nim and I do," said Harry absently, "Hedwig, have you … eaten anything since you shifted human?"
She didn't telegraph anything physically, but the link was clear enough.
Harry took the half step forward and embraced her as he hadn't tried since first year, except now he didn't fear for her size or her claws or her beak, though her teeth and jaws were newly much more dangerous; though, he doubted she knew how to use them. He just wasn't afraid he'd overpower her by accident.
When she'd relaxed to his presence, and his embrace, and to trusting him with her balance he pulled back marginally and brought their lips together.
[Sharing food with chick?] she thought, [neither of us are chicks]
[Letting souls embrace,] he thought back.
She let his tongue in, and after a moment her tongue went exploring, almost as if she hadn't understood that her human mouth even had a tongue. Perhaps her entire mouth had been far enough from her expectation that she hadn't been able to make sense of any of it.
Her link to his mind certainly seemed to gain … reality.
He let her explore. Even as he explored her mouth as well. And the sensations both physical and magical and mental.
And…
[Query? This male and female will play the adultness game between my legs, the same as they do with Nim, and Nim did with me.]
[Query? Is that the desire of Hedwig.] sent back Harry.
[IS DESIRE]
[Is acceptable,] replied Harry.
Without withdrawing his arms from around her, he drew his wand from his sleeve holster and transfigured three of the desks stacked against the wall into a bed that was a confused mix of the four poster bed in his dorm, and Hermione's bed from home.
He was fairly sure that the mattress would be comfortable enough, even if the chromed steel looked totally out of place on a four poster bed. And almost certainly would be cold to the touch.
"Oh, my goodness," said Hermione, "Really?"
"She's assuming it will be your turn after mine," said Harry, "But I will be totally understanding if you have no interest, or refuse on principle until she has enough English to negotiate for herself."
"Why is she assuming that?" said Hermione.
Harry shrugged, "are familiars extensions of their mage, or are they friends and family and partners?"
He led Hedwig to the bed and helped her climb onto it.
"No idea," said Hermione, "Crooks is a friend, and kind of family, and kind of not."
"Hmm," said Harry.
"What's your opinion, or was that rhetorical and philosophical?"
"I think that all of the above and none of the above are also valid answers, and it depends on the particular relationship. Familiars are familiars, if they fit well in another category, mages wouldn't have needed a separate word for them. Lasere ducatus."
Hedwig twitched and barked.
Harry hummed soothingly, and started stroking her chest. She looked down in interest, curious to see what he was doing.
.
Half an hour later the four of them were seated around a conjured table, munching their way through a meal consisting entirely of meat and water.
Hedwig was perched oddly in her chair and ate with her hands, and would jerk intermittently as if she were still expecting to be using her feet to eat with, instead of her hands. Harry was still naked. Bellatrix crouched over his lap, all of them pretending to ignore the fact that she was obviously riding little Harry at a slow and savouring pace, even as she also savoured the chicken she'd bartered or bribed from the house elves.
Hermione was still dressed, but from the way her eyes twitched between the three of them, Harry suspected at any moment she'd soon request sex from Harry or Bella, or lose patience and start trying to teach Hedwig proper table manners, (as if Hedwig weren't already trying to learn muscle control as fast as she could.)
.
{End Chapter 7}
Thanks again for all the reviews.
Parts of this back-story for Bella, are from Coming of Age in the House of Black, By LeighaGreene which instantly became my head cannon, it's amazing! But also very intense, and very dark, you have been warned.
