Dudley's Road Trip (Part 9): Home Again in Surrey
[A/N: Last Dudley chapter for a while.]
"Hi, Big-D," said Malcolm, "What are you doing?"
Dudley looked up and rolled his eyes, "What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Burying treasure?"
"Close," said Dudley, "but the copper in these is worth a quarter of what the engraving cost."
"What are they?"
Dudley stared at him.
"What?"
"Scientific experiment," said Dudley.
"To do what?"
Dudley shrugged, "supposed to summon or awaken nymphs or something."
Malcolm whistled, "So … you just bury them and wait?"
Dudley nodded, "and then garden near them."
Malcolm snorted, "Yeah right. I bet one or the other of those things is a placebo."
"Probably," agreed Dudley, "But I've gardened often enough before to count that as a control."
Malcolm gave a frown, "I know what 'a control' is in GUI interface design, what is it that you're talking about?"
"In scientific tests, 'the control group' is the fraction of the experiment where you don't do anything special, so you can compare the results of your intervention to what normal results would have been with no intervention. Almost the same as 'the placebo group'."
Malcolm nodded, "So you've already done normal gardening, and now you're going to try burying your magic copper board and gardening?"
Dudley nodded, "Exactly. Also, don't say the M-word where my parents can hear you."
Malcolm rolled his eyes.
"So do you have enough to try burying a copper plate and not gardening?"
"Yes," said Dudley, "I'm going to try that two different ways. Long-term: We'll see how much happens while I'm away at school. Short-term: I'm thinking about burying one in the back corner of the park. Where I don't plan to do any gardening."
Malcolm nodded, "See if you draw a naiad to the creek instead of a dryad to your yard?"
Dudley grinned, "Something like that."
"You really think it will work?"
Dudley shrugged, "Probably," he said, "But who knows if nymphs even look like what the legends say they do."
"Oh," said Malcolm.
Dudley shrugged again, "Do you want one in your yard too?"
"Hmm," said Malcolm, "How many do you have?"
"Five?" said Dudley, "I think I was only supposed to need a triangle for them to work."
"Needs a triangle, but would a pentagon be better?"
Dudley let his eyes widen in surprise, better coverage of the important parts of the neighbourhood would be best, but … a pentagon would give Malcolm a geometry puzzle to solve… "Maybe. That would explain why she gave me 5."
"Who?"
"One of Harry's wives' sister."
Malcolm shrugged, "what did she say?"
"About what?"
"About how to use them?"
"Not much, but … I think if they're close enough together they work together, and I think the range is about two miles."
"Ok then, but … does that mean you want all of them a mile from your house in each direction? Or 1 and a half miles from your house in each direction?"
"Huh?"
"Does each one need to be less than two miles from all the others, or from each of its neighbours?"
"Um, I don't know, let's try the less risky one. And I'd rather not put them where people will find them, and not where they'll call the bobby if they see me burying them."
Malcolm smirked, "Alright. I'll be right back."
"Alright," said Dudley, "See you around."
.
In half an hour Malcolm returned with a map of the neighbourhood printed on 4 sheets of paper then taped together. On it, he'd traced in two pentagons, one in red highlighter, one in blue. Both had the plate that Dudley had already buried as one corner, the smaller blue pentagon had a far corner in the back corner of the park, one in Malcolm's yard, one in Piers' Yard, and one in the middle of the street. The other larger pentagon had a corner in Mrs Figg's yard. A corner at the far end of the empty lot behind Malcolm's house. One under Mrs Limeades' she-shed, another … Dudley wasn't sure who that property belonged to, and the centre was near the middle of the park.
Dudley checked the distances.
"I printed out another map, farther zoomed out, but … you know, two miles is a long way when you start thinking about area instead of distance."
"Yeah!" said Dudley, "I like this red one, I'm just thinking … if we're making our shape that much smaller than we could make it, does it follow that we don't need to be quite as careful to make it a regular pentagon?"
"It depends on how it works,"
"I have no idea how they work," said Dudley, "It's just, 5 for corners and one of a different kind for the centre."
"Can I see?"
"They're in the shed," Dudley muttered. He led the way.
Malcolm stared at them until he said, "Ah, this one is different from the others," and "Alright, so now what?"
"Hmm?" said Dudley.
Dudley traced new corners on Malcolm's map, "There, now your yard is all the way inside, and so is Gordon's."
"When are we going to go sneaking all of these places to bury them?"
"Let's do the one on the far side of your house next," said Dudley, "and the park this evening. Maybe the one … maybe we should talk to Mrs Figg before we do hers."
"What? Why?"
"I don't know," said Dudley, "she suddenly reminds me of one of Harry's friends, I think it might be better to get permission before we put anything M-word on her property."
Malcolm frowned, "Alright, whatever."
"If you want to do the same thing about getting all of Mrs Figg's yard, the corner will be under the Gonzales' house."
"We can take it a little further, and just toss it under Mrs Gonzales' she-shed."
"Which might make the operation fast enough to complete while she's walking her dog."
Malcolm blinked, "Yeah, waiting for Oso to be out of the yard would be a necessity. Are you sure you don't want to just go one yard farther, how important is it to be in a pentagon?"
Dudley smiled, "Not necessary, but … you know poetry. M-word seems to go better with poetry."
Malcolm nodded seriously, "Under Mrs Gonzales' she-shed it is."
.
[Dudley?]
What, Wotcher?
[Harry sends this warning, "Miz Figg, the cat lady has a magical fireplace, I presume that she's someone's spy, I've told Wotcher not to interfere with her use of it, but I've also authorised Wotcher to warn you whenever anyone other than her visits by it. I'm not sure what, if anything you'd like to do with that knowledge, but … the information is available to you if you want."]
Tell him, "Thanks."
Wotcher, I don't want to know about all her guests, but I do want to know when she has a magical guest who exits her house while intending to leave her yard.
[Rule accepted.]
I presume that she does enough of her own yard work to be able to see all her plants already?
[She's getting there. If she knew enough to ask. She has not yet done so.]
Alright. thought Dudley, So, Is she a witch?
[No, she's like you.]
Half and half?
[Yes.]
Alright, thanks.
.
"Dudley?" said Mum, "What are you doing?"
"Trimming the camellias," said Dudley, I was thinking of planting some coleus in between, they like shade, right?"
Mum put her hands on her hips, and stared, "What's really going on?"
Dudley shrugged, "Pranking Harry? A little, also making me feel better about … in case …" a shrug, "In case Leona visits again later this summer." Another shrug, "But probably not until next summer."
"Hmmmmm," said Mum, she looked at his progress, "I suppose it's fine. But I want to help pick out the coleus. I've been thinking about what colours we need back here since the snapdragons didn't survive the winter."
"Oh," said Dudley, "Sure, that makes sense."
Mum sent him another suspicious frown.
.
"No, Mum," said Dudley, "I'm paying for them."
"No, you're paying for the half that you picked out and I'm paying for this half."
"Oh," said Dudley, "alright."
.
"So," said Mum when he'd turned onto the motorway, "when did you last speak to Leona?"
"First of the month," said Dudley.
"Where?"
"Harry's Birthday Party."
"Where?"
"His dad's house I guess," said Dudley, "just past Newmarket."
"Who else was there?"
"Hermione and a bunch of her friends I guess. And I guess a bunch of both their study groups."
"Humph."
"Oh, and Mr Snape told me to say 'hi.' I think he was only there because he was someone's ride."
"Who was in charge?"
"Harry," said Dudley.
"Was Mr Snape the only adult there?"
"No, a couple of the other kids' parents were there sometimes. And a man that worked security for one of Harry's vineyards or something."
"Vineyards! Was there drinking?"
"Not that I ever saw or smelled, but … there was a wine cellar that you had to go past to get to the weight room and punching equipment."
"There was punching equipment near a wine cellar?" said Mum in disbelief.
"Yeah, the next room over," said Dudley, "is there something wrong with that?"
"I'm not a wine snob, but even I know the point of a wine cellar is to not disturb the wine for as long as possible."
Dudley snorted, "I bet no one ever told Harry that, and I'm willing to bet he installed that punching equipment himself."
"Well," said Mum, "perhaps he won't be the incorrigible drunkard that his father was. Vernon will be pleased he had some effect."
"Yes, well," said Dudley.
"What are you snickering about?"
"I'm not sure I want Dad to find out."
"Find out what?"
"That Harry is engaged."
"Already?" said Mum, "He's only 16."
Dudley nodded, "To two girls."
"What?"
"And I don't quite understand this part, … I think that one of Leona's near relatives already has him for a mistress on the side, and both his fiance's know about her, and don't seem to mind."
Mum made a sickened noise deep in her throat.
"Yeah," said Dudley.
"Are you sure that wasn't just posturing? Some boys your age seem to think that bragging about sleeping around makes them seem 'cool'."
"Harry didn't brag, the girl in question did. I'm not even sure if Harry's had sex. He did hold hands with them a lot and called them Mrs Potter and Mrs Black. But I did have the feeling that Mrs Black's sister did more than just snog with the girl that could turn into a little grey monkey."
Mum shrugged, "Girls snogging girls has been an unfortunate tradition for quite some time, among a certain set of college girls that wish to explore themselves without risking pregnancy."
"That makes a certain pragmatic sort of sense," said Dudley, "made me feel weird to see it though."
Mum nodded, "Yes, it is weird."
"Sometimes it kind of made me feel 'not good enough' when I was around them, like, 'don't look at us, there's nothing here that you'll ever be good enough to afford' or whatever. And sometimes … it actually made me feel safe. Like really safe, like, she was completely satisfied with her arrangements and relationships, and she could talk to me like a real person, like, since s—romance was completely off the table, we could talk to each other like normal people or assigned project partners, not like friends or enemies or whatever."
"Co-workers," said Mum.
"Yeah, I guess. Or else, she just really liked being a librarian, and the times I managed to ask her librarian questions, she was nice."
"Ah, humph," said Mum, "and those were when you felt safe?"
Dudley nodded.
"Felt safe from being pressured sexually?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever felt pressured sexually?"
"Yes," said Dudley.
"When?"
"I mean, all the time at school when the boys brag about being able to get girls to talk to them or whatever. But … I've never really had a problem talking to people so I never worried about it, except … well I keep my mouth shut because at first I was confused if there was a special meaning of 'talking to' a girl or 'holding a girl's hand' or whatever."
"Oh," said Mum.
"But … at Harry's place … that girl…"
"Which girl?"
"The one that was bragging that Harry is her mistress, except she used a different word, because … for whatever a boy mistress is called."
"Ah," said Mum, "Yes, tell me about her."
"She … kissed me without permission," said Dudley, "and started unbuttoning my shirt, and I … had to convince her to stop."
"Hmm," said Mum, "Is that what she was trying to get by bragging?"
"Oh!" said Dudley, "yeah, probably."
"How did you convince her to stop?"
"I told her the only girl I'd kissed on purpose was Leona, and wasn't planning on doing anything else with anyone else any time soon. She … I don't think she has any respect for anyone 'not wanting sex,' but she seemed terrified of making anyone be not-a-virgin before they wanted."
Mum sighed several times and seemed to want to say something but not to have the words.
"She even told me key words for looking up kinds of magic to do to celebrate that even, for when I did want."
Mum shuddered, "And did you look those up?"
"Not really, I started looking up which holidays about that meant what, and got distracted by what 'sacrifice' and 'rescue' mean, bloody magic wanting to make everything symbolic and poetic."
Mum winced, "Magic or no, Sex is very symbolic and poetic to a lot of people."
"Yeah, I get that. But everyday transactions don't have to be," said Dudley, "and anyway, the sex I would want would be … about being intimate with one friend and in private, who I can trust. Not with an entire friend group and their cousins, and either in public or knowing that they'll blab about it to everyone."
"So Harry is running a frat house?"
Dudley shrugged, "I'm not sure what that is, but … most of what I heard about was that one or two of Hermione's friends, and one or two of Harry's friends were like that, or wanted to be like that, and it seemed like no one was telling them to stop, just keep it out of sight of everyone that doesn't want to watch, and for sure keep it out of sight of the little ones."
"Little ones?"
"Two girls, Twelve and fourteen I think. I got the idea that the twelve-year-old is smarter than the rest of them, but only in maths."
"Hmm, well," said Mum, "I'm glad they have at least that much sense, but …"
"Yeah," said Dudley.
"Alright," said Mum, "if you want my opinion, I can preach all day, but it sounds like you just want to tell me what happened and for me to agree about which parts you knew weren't right?"
"Like Aunt Marge does for Dad?" said Dudley, "yeah, that was sort of what I was wanting, but you already did that, mostly. Anyway, it's kind of weird talking about this to you, but also … I didn't want to talk to my other friends about it, because I'm afraid they'd just laugh, or make up what they wish they'd have done, instead of listening to what I actually did and didn't do, and agree about that it was all a little bit scary and annoying."
"That sounds like kids that age," agreed Mum.
As if I'm not that age, also.
"So, tell me what you did and didn't do?"
Dudley shrugged, "like I said, one girl kissed me and said she'd do more if I let her. And I said, 'No, maybe with Leona,' and she knew Leona and changed herself to look like Leona, which freaked me out! because then I knew that I can't just trust people that look like my friend to actually be my friend, so that's really annoying."
"Yeah, that's absolute nightmare fuel isn't it?" said Mum.
Dudley shrugged and nodded, "Anyway, I told her 'no' again and she got wistful and poetic and wanted to help me decide how and when and for what I'd be saving my virginity or whatever, but since she was already late for her next appointment, she just gave me library subject keywords instead and left. And then, a while later, a friend I made and I were invited to a play, but it kind of wasn't a play it was the girl who invited me kind of … getting made out to by … three-quarters of the audience. So my friend and I left."
"You mean like an orgy or a gang rape?"
"If I told you that the sex part wasn't the rape, but that after it was over, someone … ran off with her clothes and shoes. And that was wrong of them of course. But that when no one helped her get them back, that was rape? Would you see what I meant?"
Mum snorted, "Yes, I see what you mean. I'm sure that there's a more nuanced word for that particular kind of betrayal."
"Whatever. It wasn't exactly like what I said, but I can't explain what it was like without explaining a lot about some magic things."
"That we'll both probably sleep better if you don't?"
"Sure," said Dudley, "Let's go with that."
"Did you help her 'get her clothes back,' or was it something not within your skills?"
"I helped her 'get her clothes' back," said Dudley, "and the other boy who left early helped her get her shoes back."
"Good," said Mum, "How did … she respond?"
She fed me and made me kiss her hands, which kind of meant I'd helped with the making out, even though I didn't. And that felt freakishly like the wedding cake thing after a wedding, except … luckily no one asked me to feed them anything, and I don't think anyone kissed me.
But they did eat the berries Melantha and I picked, so that was me feeding them, sort of.
Dudley let himself shiver to get his goose-flesh to settle.
Did that mean that the whole thing was like a wedding? Because Pansy had wanted to be married to all of them, at least in one direction even if not mutually or in the other direction?
Or did it mean that … weddings were the way they were, to mean that getting married in front of all those people and sharing cake after, meant that the entire community that helped provide all the cake ingredients was letting you join the town on the say-so of your new spouse, or whatever?
And that only worked because of the underlying meaning of the ritual Pansy wanted, even if most people could be friendly about trading food and money and everything else without needing to intermittently have starting-harvest rituals about it.
"Dudley?" said Mum, "Dudley? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," said Dudley, "I think we might be friends now, but I'm not sure. We didn't really talk after that. We didn't talk much before that, she spends most of her time following Hermione around."
"I thought Hermione was … straight."
"I think so? And I think Pansy is also … No, I meant 'following her around' like as her bodyguard."
"Oh," said Mum, "weird."
"Yeah," said Dudley, "anyway, I think that was all, well right after that, Mr Snape quizzed me about my intentions and reactions regarding helping Pansy with 'her clothes' but mostly we talked about what I'd learned about 'sacrifices' and 'rescues' and economics and farming techniques."
"Hmm," said Mum.
"Anyway," said Dudley, "that was the two times I felt pressured about that, while at Harry's place."
"Alright," said Mum, "first of all, I'm proud of you for standing up for yourself, and for standing up for your friend and helping her get her clothes back. Second of all, whenever you need to talk, come find me, there's no shame in needing to talk it out when you experience something or see something that they're not even allowed to show you in a movie, yet."
"Yeah," said Dudley.
"That's why one of the classification standards is even called, 'parental guidance,'" said Mum, "though if you don't want to talk about it with your own mother. That's a reasonably common concern among your age group, tell me what you need and we can work together to figure out who you can talk to instead."
"Oh, alright," said Dudley.
"And another thing," said Mum, "You cannot actually marry two people at once, a second marriage cannot come into effect for either party while either one is still married."
"Oh," said Dudley, "Huh, alright. I wonder if anyone has told Harry that. Not that he ought to need telling."
Mum sniffed.
.
Wotcher?
[What?]
Please warn Harry, My parents say that a second marriage won't be recognised as valid under muggle law.
[How urgent is this warning?]
It's very important, but not urgent at all. I don't think he plans on marrying for several years.
[Alright, the message will be delivered when he's no longer busy.]
Thanks.
.
"Dudley!" said Dad slapping him on the shoulder, then squeezing just a little too much. Not like he was searching for pressure points, only like he wasn't in the mood to be gentle just now.
Uh-oh, not good.
"Your mother tells me that while you said you'd be away 'camping' with Pierce and Malcolm, you actually took a road trip to see Harry and his wineries."
"I never actually saw his wineries," said Dudley, "And I'm under the impression that one of them is mostly employee-owned by its pension fund by this point. But anyway, yeah, I did meet some kids of some of the employees of those corporations. Mostly I just hung out at Harry's house and made everyone uncomfortable, or at the farm next door. And made a different section of them uncomfortable for a different reason."
Dad crossed his arms. At least he's let go of my shoulder.
"Huh?"
Dudley grinned, "Apparently the segregation problems go both ways, a lot of Harry's friends were vaguely surprised that I was human, though apparently less violent about it than they'd have been without previous indoctrination by one of them showing them Telly and movies."
"Dudley!"
"And apparently mages aren't just prejudiced against non-mages, they're also prejudiced against everyone who's had the misfortune to be bit by a werewolf, regardless of whether or not they are mages, and regardless of what precautions they might have taken to keep from being bit, etc. Or habitually take to keep from biting anyone."
Dad snorted, "Bloody likely. If they just killed them all, wouldn't that eliminate the problem once and for all?"
Dudley shrugged, "Apparently Harry's told a bunch of them they can stay and run a vegetable farm in his family land, as long as they keep themselves segregated on full moon nights."
"And how well does that work?"
Dudley shrugged, "No idea, but … I got the impression that it has worked well for several months."
"Hum."
"And of course, outside of full moon nights, they are completely normal people, either our sort or Harry's sort."
Dad glared, "Werewolves are normal people?"
Dudley nodded, "or about as normal as boxers or wrestlers are. Having higher-than-average strength doesn't mean you'll never meet anyone stronger. Having one night a month that you aren't sane, doesn't mean that the rest of the month you're more or less sane than average."
Dad's glare intensified, "But they attack people?"
Dudley nodded, "That's true, I … kind of had the feeling that is controlled by the disease or curse or whatever it is, so you can't hold them responsible for trying to attack people during the full moon, you only can hold them responsible for what precautions they take or fail to take before the full moon. About like you told me about getting drunk, since I cannot take responsibility to drive safely while drunk then I'm responsible either to not drink or to not drive."
Dad nodded, "Exactly."
Dudley nodded again, "Apparently mages have a bunch of laws that do mostly keep the disease from spreading, but … there's politics and prejudice about it all, and Harry's friends are very into arguing politics, among other things."
Dad smirked, "Yeah, he's getting to that age, needs to get a job and put that energy into solving real problems."
Dudley looked away, well, that was a different take.
Dad walked off, but Dudley had the feeling that there was still a looming punishment for sneaking off to Harry's. Or about lying about where I was going. And who knows whether it will be worse because I mentioned werewolves.
.
[Dudley?]
What Wotcher?
[Harry says, "Yes, I am aware. We haven't decided whether we're going to bother with muggle records for either marriage. Because we're not trying to form any new marriage-type partnership corporations. Instead, we already have the correct number of House-type corporations. Under each respective House charter, each girl is to be adopted into the ruling family, and the ruling succession directly after me, with the right to advise me as they think best (and whether I like it or not), and to bear the heirs of the house. At that point the similarity ends, one house charter is much more formal about what a house consort even is, and what rights they can expect, she's my executive officer. The other is much more muggle, she's not just my second in command and heir to power after me, she's also my co-ruler and my direct and implicit agent in all things. According to muggle inheritance law, they will be my step sisters, and they and their children will eventually inherit in my place." End of message.]
Give me ten minutes to process the main concepts, and then repeat that.
[Certainly.]
.
The message replayed again.
Still a weird picture of reality. "Wotcher … Tell Harry, 'Am I understanding correctly, that you're going to marry each of them according to House Procedure, and not bother according to National Procedure? And if so, what protects you from them and them from you?'"
[He says, "There's a House of Lords type organisation, to enforce inter-house law, and to step in when the heads of houses aren't keeping up with their House responsibilities, including protecting their house members, etc. For everything else there are Ministry regulations, and technically muggle law as well, though … a large number of mages prefer not to interact with it. And some mostly manage it.]
Oh alright. Tell him, "Should I presume that as a Head of House, you can only be tried by your version of the House of Lords? Like non-magical peers until 1949?"
[He says, "Yes, and no. Some ministry regulations are compliance issues, they send you a nasty letter, tell you to pay a fine, and remind you to register your intentions next time. Others are licensing issues, you're probably allowed, but you've got to get permission first, others are forbidden except where specifically authorised by law, such as certain forms of violence in self-defence. Others are always forbidden, I don't think we currently have any of those, the myths about the unforgivables notwithstanding."]
Ask him, "What are unforgivables?"
[He says, "a pain communication curse, a painless killing curse, and an addictive hypnotism curse. Technically they are unforgivable, in that you can't pay a fine to get out of a conviction. You can however plead self-defence on two of them. And in theory, you can plead hypnotism on the other two of them. But it rarely goes through, the hypnotism curse is powerful enough to make your body do most anything, but not enough to make most people want to murder anyone, etc. Likewise, fear for your own safety or that of your family is enough to make most people 'lash out with deadly force' in hopes of ending or repelling the danger. But 'making the danger go away' is sufficiently different than 'making a specific individual become specifically dead' that most people cannot use the killing curse for self-defence nor on the random whim inserted by a hypnotist."]
Bloody hell, tell him, "Alright, sorry I asked."
.
"Is that your course selection letter?" said Dad.
"Yeah," said Dudley, "I don't know what I want though."
"Well. What job title do you want?"
"Whatever is farm-related and pays the best," said Dudley.
"Probably Agriculture Engineer," said Dad, "two-thirds a desk job and one-third field research and assessment. Lots of writing reports about sun and seeds and fertiliser I think."
Dudley raised an eyebrow.
"It'd be a lot of maths," said Dad.
"What would be less maths?" said Dudley.
"Agronomist," said Dad, "That would be … a consulting farmer or something, in the field every day, think soil scientist and plant doctor."
"And that would be less maths?" said Dudley.
Dad shrugged.
"Sounds like I'd better take the next maths either way."
"Good plan," said Dad, "And English, you don't just need to be right, you've got to convince people that you are, so that they listen and implement what you meant, not whatever they 'thought you said'."
Dudley nodded seriously and returned to pouring over his selections.
"Of course," said Dad, "What pays better than all of those is being the farmer who owns the land, or the CEO of the farm corporation, but those aren't regular 'jobs,' you can't start out there, usually."
"But it's something to aspire to?" said Dudley, "if … things work out exceptionally well?"
Dad grunted noncommittal approval.
.
Mrs Figg was out watering her hedge. A bit earlier than usual. But supposedly better for most plants to be watered before the sun gets hot.
Dudley slowed to a jog, "Hello, Mrs Figg."
"Hello, Master Dursley. Still training?"
"Yes, Ma'am," said Dudley, "I hear your fireplace is working again?"
She dropped her hose and stared at him, "What?"
"Harry told me it was only blocked by mistake, said for me to say sorry."
"Come here, young man."
Dudley stopped and turned toward her but did not approach.
They stared at each other.
"What do you know about my floo?"
Dudley shrugged, "That apparently it's big enough for a 'nymph' to notice and be offended by, and Harry's good at talking people down, even non-human people."
She frowned at him, "A nymph? Here?"
Dudley nodded, then shrugged.
"What kind of nymph?"
Dudley shrugged, "Maybe one I brought back from Potter Estates to critique my gardening skills?"
She shuddered. "Which species of plants?" she said, "This is very important."
Dudley rolled his eyes, "I'm not really sure I'm allowed to talk about that to a spy."
She gave a start and stood up straight.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Then again," sighed Dudley, "A spy that never attacks might be another name for a guard."
She nodded thoughtfully.
"So," said Dudley, "Which are you?"
"Some kinds of guards are armed, and others are not," she said, "you might instead think of me as fire-watch."
"Alright," said Dudley, "Anything else you'd like me to tell Harry about why you're here?"
She shivered and retrieved her hose and shut it off.
"And what would he do with the information?"
Dudley shrugged, "He could make your yard invisible for you," said Dudley, "Or he could make your house invisible against you. Or he could just never come back here anymore and ignore that you might be reporting on anything to anyone. I'm really not in charge of what Harry does anymore."
She rolled her eyes, "He's not really planning on coming back here anymore anyway, is he?"
Dudley shrugged, "Maybe for holidays." Not that I can think of any that he'd prefer to celebrate here.
She nodded, then smirked, "That will make my job that much simpler, eh?"
...-...
Preparing for Middle School
After a morning filled with the usual gardening and defence practices, Harry woke from a rather nice nap and a rather exciting dream in which a terrible enemy had been defeated by him and a group of his friends. Parvati and Ginny had been fighting back to back in their inimitable style. With a rhythm of shields and curses that was just unpredictable enough to make his blood pound and rattle their enemies. (Ginny led the rhythm, and Parvati, with the instincts of a war horse, interpreted everything by the feel of her partner's motions against her back)
In a strange way, their hyperactive immobility imposed a form of order on the battlefield. Drawing the eye and forcing the enemy to circle and concentrate and try to punch through their defences. To form a front.
Meanwhile, Harry and Nim had been weaving and dodging throughout the enemy lines. without a care in the world Nim mocking the enemy and laughing at her own jokes, (Though many of her jokes were now based on quotes from Indian, American, Egyptian, and French cinema.)
Margaid had been farther out, slithering around underfoot, sneaking up on people and either biting them or tripping them up like a body-bind, while also trash-talking them in Parseltongue that no one could hear, and only Harry and Parvati could have understood.
Nagini might have been there, for sure she wouldn't have been sneaky. She was far too big for that. Fleur and Gabrielle might have been there, but not together, each with their own dancing partner… Or maybe Fleur had been there and Gabrielle had not. Gabrielle would have stayed home, she liked wrestling with friends more than duelling with curses and her partner was the same and— … but it all melted away. Just a dream after all, the important thing was to go make decisions about redecorating the library.
Harry sat up and glanced out the window. For sure it was time to get up, but why the hell was it time to go and redecorate the library?
Nim, I'm awake, did I miss anything?
No idea, I'm on the roof of your greenhouse, listening to Astoria trying to talk herself down from suicide, the way she does every third morning or so.
We really need to find some exercises that are good for her, and not going to make her more miserable.
Obviously.
Thanks for watching her.
Harry got up and dressed, and after a quick stop at the loo, he went down to check to see if anything interesting was happening in his library, and whether any of the imagined room arrangements that had interrupted his dream had any relation to reality.
.
Padma was sitting on the extreme edge of her tree-house/ledge. Casey was there with her, seemingly using Padma's leg for a desk and writing in a book. Surely she wasn't writing in a book with Padma watching, so … maybe answering a worksheet.
Ronnie was up there also, about two meters away, and staring at his lap, so, possibly also reading or working on something educational.
Padma turned her stare at Harry. Was that an expression of … guilt?
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Well, speak of the devil," she murmured and twitched her head.
The braids he'd helped Luna put in her hair yesterday swung, and amplified the gesture. It seemed an invitation to climb up.
Harry had gotten up there about four different ways now. It might be time for a new method.
He glanced at the height and contemplated the newly reinforced railing and the possible paths through the aisles. He sidestepped until he had a clear path, then he turned Lion, charged across the room, and leapt (mostly) over the railing, to a clear area on the other side.
He had a clear idea that someone was surprised and annoyed by his plan but would get over it before he managed to implement it. So much the better.
Oh, Margaid was up here.
And she had managed to move out of the area where he'd planned to land.
Harry shifted back to human and sat down, facing outward and dangling his feet through the railing. "So, What's the topic?"
"Maths," said Casey.
"§-Wise-one contemplates plans to teach the young ones in preparation for them leaving for more teaching.-§" Margaid hissed.
In other words, Help them get up to speed because they'd been kept out of school for a while. "Makes sense," said Harry.
"May I rearrange the floor plan to allow a story-time and reading-nest for them, over there?" Padma gestured, "Since most of what I want to teach them will be kids' books to help them learn to read, and histories to help them comprehend the magical world."
"Makes sense," agreed Harry, "I have zero problems with the goal, and approve that location as optimised for the least distance commute for them to get the books you're starting them with."
Because letting them up into Padma's reading, meditating, and therapy nest was grating on her nerves.
"I'm not interested in history or novels," said Ronnie, "where are the books on lizards and … well, wolves?"
"That's an excellent point," said Harry, "do boys ever like narrative stuff before they're old enough for romance adventures?"
Padma rolled her eyes at him. "That is not gender-linked."
"Bet it is," said Harry, "But yeah, probably 10 to 20% linked, not 100% or anything."
All the more reason not to pretend that it is linked and confuse the other 80% of people about their gender, just because they do or don't like stories more or less than some poorly researched 'average'.
Yes, Nim.
"Are you going to help," sighed Padma, "or are you going to be a brat?"
Obviously, you'll be a brat, thought Nim, the important part of the question is whether you will also help.
Point.
Harry looked around, "I am … going to ..." he looked around again, "I am going to formally put you in charge of logistics, or operations, (I'm not sure I understand the difference,) for as long as you want the responsibility, feel free to summon me when you need an additional teacher."
"Oh," said Padma, "any restrictions on that?"
Harry turned to stare at her, "I already made you librarian, you may make the changes that you deem are best for the library being its best self. I'm not convinced that it should also be a school. There are a ridiculous number of labs and bedrooms and sitting rooms and residential suites that you could turn into classrooms, I won't argue how many of those we need. I see the ideal of keeping them close to the library, but there's also some sense in using rooms where they are already mostly set up for what you need. Not that you're planning to teach potions, or whatever."
Padma stared at him, "Hum," she said thoughtfully, then turned to stare at the walls, as if contemplating what was available in the rooms beyond those walls.
.
"§-Who will be the prince of this school?-§ said Margaid.
Principle, not Prince. Wait is that what 'principle' means?
No, silly, that's what 'prince' means.
Thanks, Nim.
"I was assuming Padma," said Harry, "Why?"
"§-Our professor of blue?-§ said Margaid.
Harry pulled his legs up and spun to face the snake. Quickly reviewing every teacher and professor he'd ever had, trying to imagine how to instruct Margaid what sort of behaviour would constitute ideal or at least acceptable student/teacher interaction.
"§-What does that mean again?-§" said Padma.
"§-Means 'Raven Queen',-§" said Margaid.
"§-Pearl!-§" Harry hissed warningly.
"What does Queen of Ravens mean?" said Padma.
"Means beloved head of Ravenclaw House," said Harry, "for a couple of feral wilder-folk orphans."
"§-And a certain elf-touched every-gender hat-stall. Why ever did you fly out of your pram to go live with Gypsies?-§" asked Margaid.
Of course, Parseltongue didn't have words for metamorphmagi or hats or prams or Roma, but part of the magic was making itself understood. The word she'd used for 'pram' meant something about wolf spiders carrying their young. And the phrase she used for Roma people (sparkle-bell-scaled hatchling-charmers) technically meant a species of dragon able to wear its hoard like a decorator crab, also known for being able to charm snakes and rats, (also to a lesser extent dragonets and children).
In a pinch the phrase could also be used to differentiate mages from muggles, what with their bright clothes and mildly higher tendency to carry around precious metals, and lure children to far away boarding schools.
The whole statement was a reminder and accusation of the Leona skit he, Susan, and Luna had put on to keep their true identities hidden. "We're just feral children, found and raised by Gypsies."
I'm not a metamorph, I don't identify as non-binary(inclusive), but I suppose I could identify as non-binary(agender) if I cared enough about the topic to 'identify' about it at all. I don't remember ever being in a pram. I don't fly without a broom. And I didn't run off with Roma.
Except.
From a sufficiently muggle perspective, I've run off with mages every chance I've gotten: Hagrid, Ron & co, By myself(and Nim), Hermione, Blacks and Tonkses, etc.
Running away with Roma indeed. Better to be self-aware, I guess.
But adding in the pram and the flying?
Probably that was a reference to Peter Pan, and therefore living with birds for a while.
And therefore the other half of the skit, 'Raised by wild veela.'
But … what did that add to the social commentary?
Harry hadn't been 'raised by veela' but he had gone off with some for a while. (Which was half of what had made the skit feel real enough at the time to act out.) In the process, he might even have had some formative 'coming of age' realisations about social order, if only in weird vicarious self-defence 'how do I explain this to Gabrielle?' sorts of ways.
So, he also could not 100% deny being 'raised by veela'. Ugh.
Harry rubbed his forehead.
Ugh. So if I cannot contradict, and systematically correcting the minor lack of nuance would take more time than I have today, then a deflection is called for.
"Well, I almost never claim to be wise," said Harry.
Everyone laughed nervously.
"And I'm sure I have no memory of that episode," said Harry.
"§-And yet, you're so good at flying and hatchling-charming.-§" said Margaid, "§-Though perhaps your days of migrating are coming to an end.-§"
"Is there something you need to tell me?" said Padma.
Harry turned to Robbie, "Hey, Robbie, is there anywhere else in the world you'd rather be?"
Robbie dropped his pencil and tensed up, "Does that mean 'get lost,' so you and Padma can 'talk'? Or talk?" the first with scare quotes the second with a subtle gesture towards the pillow pit.
So Padma had started to include the little ones in that tradition. Good to know.
"No," said Harry, "That was a real question, if you don't like living here, there are at least two other mage orphanages in Britain, and more muggle orphanages than I want to know about. If you don't like it here, or anyone tries to make you feel like a slave, you may tell me, or Padma, or … most of the others, though they'll probably just tell Padma, she's amazingly better at paperwork than a lot of us. And she can help you get moved somewhere else."
"Hermione…" started Padma.
"The House of Granger is likely to give you an arithmancy placement test, and kidnap you if it's above 2 standard deviations," said Harry, "Only ask Hermione or Theo to help you run away, if they are who you want to run away to."
Padma chuckled and petted Casey's hair. "I resemble that, a bit."
"You didn't kidnap me," said Casey, "and maths isn't what I'm great at."
Robbie stared, and shook his head, "No, I don't want to run away. And I don't want to live somewhere else."
Harry smiled, "Thanks for the compliment."
"Just to be clear," said Padma, "Do I have permission to relocate any of the orphans that ask for it?"
"To either of the reputable mage orphanages or to the state system, whichever they prefer. And I mean the real state system, not that false front we found them at."
Padma nodded, then looked at Robbie, "Also, if you want to stay here, but someone is bullying you, talk to Harry or my sister, they're scary with swords and wands, and everyone …" Padma trailed off and cracked her neck, "Err, Never mind that, Harry doesn't like bullies, and Parvati's a good listener, just … in a different way than me."
Robbie stared at her, his eyes flicking over to Harry several times.
"You want me to tell the others this too?"
"Yes," said Padma, "If you don't mind. If you don't want to, I'll try to remember to make an announcement later."
"Alright," said Robbie. He turned to stare at Harry.
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Living here was more fun before Padma started bullying us about revising things before school even starts."
Margaid started chortling so hard that Padma threw a silencing field around her. Margaid slithered out of it, still chortling, but less hysterically.
But Harry was staring at Robbie.
Robbie stared back. His eyebrows and dimples were twitching. He was half joking, but the other half was deadly earnest, maybe not about reporting Padma for bullying, maybe about … checking whether Harry listened well enough to be worth tattling to.
"I believe you," said Harry, "You don't have to do that revising, but I'm sure she has your best interests at heart. I'd highly recommend you take her advice seriously."
Robbie smiled, "Probably," he agreed.
"Also," said Harry, "I much prefer revising with Padma or one or two friends, rather than listening to a teacher talk at me for so long and so fast that it's hard to remember it all. So maybe take that into consideration also."
"That's what taking notes is for," said Padma.
Robbie rolled his eyes.
"Which, if you hadn't noticed," said Harry, "Is most of what writing is good for."
Robbie thought about that for a long time and then said, "Huh?"
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"I get the joke, that even writing books or whatever, is just 'taking notes' but more of them. So … isn't that actually everything that writing is good for?"
"Almost correct," Harry smiled, "there's also enchanting with runes."
"What's that?" said Casey.
"That is how Harry is going to eventually kill himself," said Padma.
Harry stuck his tongue out at her.
Padma smiled, "Get out of here, Harry, and take your sassy snake with you."
"Alright," said Harry, "§-Come on, Aunt Pearl.-§" He rolled under the railing, landed gracefully on four big paws, stood up onto two feet again and continued from the library, "§-Let's go find the others and plan an age-appropriate physical education curriculum. If I plan it alone, I'm liable to have them jumping out of trees onto the roof or something.-§"
Margaid hurried after him, sliding off the ledge, catching herself mid-air with some kind of levitation and setting down gently. "§-You wouldn't really?-§" said Margaid, "§-That technique is owned and un-rentable.-§"
Harry spun to face her, "did you just say that flying without a broom is trademarked?"
"§-No! … ugh. There's like five ways to fly without a broom, you were talking about jumping out of trees. I imagined for a moment that you— … Never mind.-§"
"§-Still refusing to teach me how you fly?-§"
"§-Not at all, I'm still insisting that my method is inherently unteachable. Though scores of mages throughout history have left vague instructions. Hence, among other things, it counts as witchcraft, not wizardry.-§"
Harry suppressed a swear word, (there were little children about now), and just sighed.
From outside, in a comfortable patch of shade, Nim laughed at him.
.
...-...
An Embarrassing Second Impression
Content warning: The aftermath of child abuse/assault of a not yet economically independent adult. Etc.
Ginny returned to the kitchen from setting the table to find Harry easing a woman with short black hair into a conjured chair, by the sink, then rushing to get her a drink of milk.
Her mouth was full of blood.
"What's going on? Who's this?"
"The Patil's cousin. Wedna Bryce. Her father fed her some of Grandma Nagini's poison in lieu of veritaserum, then started asking her questions that no one should have to answer before they are ready. And certainly not to their father."
Parents often know things about their children before the children have the vocabulary to even discuss a problem, but she looks like an adult and perfectly capable of communicating about whatever the topic is.
Also, Wedna was a familiar name, when have I heard it before?
"Umm, like what?"
Harry gave her an irritated glare.
"Like, 'What is my sexual orientation?'!" said Cousin-in-law Wedna Bryce. And sighed, "Oh, that's better ask me more easy ones."
"Why is that a difficult question?" said Ginny.
"Because she's neither straight nor lesbian," said Harry.
Oh, that's fair.
"And please be careful what you ask in her presence until this wears off," said Harry.
"How long is she staying?"
"For as long as she feels like it," said Harry, "I've removed all of Grandma Nagini's preferential access through the wards and blocked anyone from loosening that for a month. I'd block her father from visiting at all, except he never has yet, so the wards aren't yet able to recognise him."
Wedna whimpered something.
"Umm, can you start again from the beginning?"
"In early 1996, a seventh-year student," Harry pointed at Wedna, "approached me with what at first glance seemed to be one of the most despicable breed contracts I have ever had the displeasure to read. But we figured out that Grandma Nagini … probably thought it up in Parseltongue, probably while a snake, and translated poorly in her rush to finish writing it out and send it while human."
"Circe!" said Ginny, "Did you …"
"I haven't signed it," said Harry, "I wouldn't without input from all Lion's-keep for obvious reasons. Separately and distinctly, from the fact that I wouldn't without checking with The Lady Potter, because of the hospitality requirements, nor without notifying the Patils because she's their cousin, etc."
"Fair enough," Ginny shrugged. It seemed like she could remember there being a bit of discussion about some of this, back … a while before finals.
Harry continued, "However, between Nagini giving Mr Bryce the venom he asked for, before she knew why he wanted it, and his actions since, and Nagini stepping in and bringing her here before he could bleed her to death. I'm … letting her into the manor on the standard asylum clause, not that we've had time to go over those rules."
"Oh, sure," said Ginny.
"I think that she'll be looking for a normal-ish job type situation to support herself, not taking advantage of the farm chores option."
"Eventually," nodded Wedna.
"Sure," said Ginny.
"Once she has that established, and a sufficient income stream, I don't know whether she'll prefer to move out or not."
Wedna shrugged.
"Why or why not?"
Harry shrugged, "She's somewhat of an introvert, she might prefer having her own flat."
Wedna shivered and took another sip.
"Or she might enjoy having intermittent access to Lion's-keep if she can convince everyone to let her in."
Wedna smiled wryly before looking down.
"But … she does have your blessing to pursue that?" said Ginny, "unlike all the other girls we're offering asylum to?"
Harry shrugged, "All the others seem to be happy with who they're with at the moment, and I'm in no hurry to change that. I think the only girl I definitely would not want is Pansy, though she has mellowed somewhat. All the more reason to let her stay in her current situation for as long as it suits her."
Wedna stared up at him. "You're not—?" she exclaimed, then blinked, "Oh, yeah, demi-sexual." She wiped the bloody drool off her chin.
Harry shrugged.
Ginny conjured a handkerchief for her.
"Thanks," said Wedna and used that.
There was certainly an aesthetic to blood red on white, too bad it changes to brown after a few hours.
Ginny turned back to Harry, and opened her mouth, then stopped herself yet again.
"So many questions," she said.
Harry shrugged, "Yeah, given that tomorrow is the new moon, I'm not clear if this will wear off then, or if she's going to be stuck like this for a month."
"I think, tomorrow," said Wedna, "and it's not directly questions that are the problem, it's that I get punished for lies or incomplete answers."
She winced, "Or maybe for incomplete answers that are intended to mislead?"
She frowned harder and jumped up again to stand by the sink, though she didn't spit, just breathed hard.
"Or … I don't know!"
Then she relaxed.
"Hmm," said Ginny, "If I ask you to explain only as much as you are comfortable about something, does that change an incomplete answer from a lie into properly following an order?"
Wedna shrugged.
"Shall we try it?" said Ginny.
Wedna shrugged.
"What is your sexual orientation?" said Ginny, then put her hand over her mouth, "I didn't mean … actually I meant, why is it even a big issue?"
Wedna wrinkled her nose and narrowed her eyes, "Because I'm a fucking paedophile!"
I don't know what that is.
But Wedna grunted and retched blood into the sink.
After a second retch, she managed a breath and gasped out, "So … I'm not a paedophile?"
She whimpered and mostly relaxed. Her next spit was significantly smaller.
After another gulp of air, she said, "I have no idea what I am."
She sighed, stretched her jaw, and rinsed her mouth with the milk.
A waste of good milk, said Percy's voice in the back of her head. Ginny did her best to ignore that.
"What's a paedophile?" said Ginny.
"Wants to shag children," said Harry.
Wedna shook her head, "A paedophile is defined as someone who experiences primary sexual attraction towards children, it doesn't follow that they actually want to give in to or act on that attraction."
"And anyway, if that doesn't describe you?" said Harry.
Wedna shrugged, "I guess … um, being around eight to eleven-year-olds makes me horny, not horny for those eight to eleven-year-olds, just horny in general."
"How is that different than just wanting kids?" said Ginny.
Wedna shrugged, "Probably that's what this was supposed to be, it just didn't grow right, I have no idea why. I'm just like this. Being normal would be more comfortable."
Ginny rolled her eyes, "Yeah, ok."
"My problem isn't with that making me horny," said Wedna and resumed her chair, "My problem is that very little else makes me horny. I can't imagine I'd be a very fun partner for anyone."
Ginny smirked, "That's the advantage of a commune, it isn't your personal responsibility to keep anyone satisfied."
Wedna's eyes widened. And after a few seconds, she said, "Yeah, ok."
After a few breaths, she said, "I guess I could try that."
Behind her, Harry smiled.
"But I'm going to prioritise a job first."
Harry smiled wider and patted her on the back.
Ginny contemplated where he must have just come from and might be impatient to get back to.
Right.
"Harry, you can go on, I'll stay with her."
Harry tensed and glanced around, then relaxed and nodded, "Thank you. I'll be back as quick as I can."
He gave Wedna another pat, then Ginny a peck on the cheek and was gone again.
Ginny hovered for another half minute, then went back to cooking.
"So, easy questions?" said Ginny.
"Yes, please," said Wedna.
"Favourite colour?"
"Favourite colour for what?"
"Favourite colour for anything, and three deep reasons why?"
"Blond sand, because … I like basking vacations? Grey-brown tree-bark on trees too big around to hug with three people, because strength and ancient foundations, —"
Ginny turned to stare at her. This was not how you were supposed to answer that question, but … the deep answers mattered more than the colour name anyway, or names apparently.
"—And Harry's eyes green," said Wedna, "Because … because … because … because he can listen like a girl, not just like a man, at least, if you give him sufficient provocation."
Ginny blinked, "do you have anyone else in your life who listens to you properly?"
"Not since I got my Herbology NEWT."
Ginny had heard rumours that Sprout was the best Head of House, she just hadn't ever felt justified in trying to figure out if that was true. She'd always had plenty of elder brothers, who … well Dad and Charlie were the best listeners, but …
"Thank you," said Wedna, "Ask another?"
Ginny blinked, and shivered, "First of all, Yes, Harry is a good listener, but Luna and Padma are often better."
"Padma is scary," said Wedna, "and I know that sounds ridiculous coming from someone three years older than her."
Ginny shrugged, "Anyway, how many kids do you want?"
Wedna shrugged, "I never want any, until I'm around them, and then I don't want to leave, it's … disorienting. (Standard caveats about 'while they are happy and not fighting' and 'until I run out of the energy to keep up with them')."
"What kind of 'don't want to leave'?"
"Basking vacation?" she said, "except more active?"
Ginny frowned, "So you aren't as introverted as you pretend, you're just in tune with a children's-social-energy type, instead of whatever type normal people expect from extroverts?"
Wedna blinked, "Elementary school P.E. teacher?"
"I have no idea what that is," said Ginny.
"It's a muggle thing," said Wedna, "Not at all the type of job I was applying for, but it's an interesting idea."
Ginny shrugged. Fine, back to easy questions. But first-day-of-class questions, or first-date questions? Harry implied … he wanted them 'first dating' her, even if nothing ever went farther than the current 'I offered her asylum for her safety, for as long as she plays nice with the rest,' so…
"How many kids do you want?" said Ginny, "No, I already asked that. Wait, did you answer?"
Wedna rolled her eyes, "The most complete answer about me is, I don't know. The most complete answer about my situation and duties is: At least two. Harry analysed the genetic statistics, and our guesses about Grandma, and the contract she offered him about me, and figures it might take five pregnancies to give her what she wants. That would leave 3 for me to call Bryces, after she takes the two she finds acceptable to call Gaunts."
"Oh, ugh," said Ginny.
"And I'm … ok with the idea of three, I just don't want to live through the part where they can't talk or piss in the toilet."
Ginny sighed, "You sound related to Padma."
Wedna snorted.
"Anyway, luckily, some of mine and some of Harry's will be parselmouths and will be able to talk from a few weeks old. Unluckily, we're assuming those are the ones that Grandma will claim for Gaunts."
Ginny shivered.
"And, anyway, I think Harry's going to let me stay long enough for him to make her accept a replacement contract."
Hopefully… So more first date questions? Maybe from Padma's silly book on psychology-based divination…
"What's your ideal animal, and 3 deep reasons why?"
Wedna gave her an annoyed expression, "Something edible, I guess? Because I'm not really the pet-having type."
"Apparently," said Ginny, "and it doesn't have to be a pet."
Wedna shrugged.
"So … make up three things with only one reason each, instead of only one with three reasons?"
Wedna rolled her eyes, "House elf, because obviously. And … I don't know, something huge, fast, dangerous, possessive, intelligent, and cuddly, because then I could walk around with it every once in a while, to create the right reputation, then people would leave me the fuck alone for fear of making it jealous. Or irritating me enough to call it, whichever."
Ginny blinked.
"And I'm keeping something edible as my first answer of the three."
"I'm leaning towards, you'd be a terrible addition to Lion's-keep, and also, there might be no place in the world where you'd fit better."
Wedna stared at her in open-mouthed shock.
"What did you just …"
"Do you know what my animagus form is?" said Ginny.
Wedna shrugged and nodded, "I don't know what that's called but I remember the shape."
Ginny grinned, "Huge and fast and jealous. And Harry is a Lion."
Wedna blinked, "Ah, hence the commune name?"
"Exactly."
"Neat," said Wedna.
Ginny checked on her timers, then on the food they in theory represented. Fine.
"There's time for one more question," she said, "Favourite form of, or body of water, and three deep reasons why."
"This is some kind of divination by induced dream-work thing isn't it?"
Ginny nodded.
Wedna rolled her eyes, "What's it asking?"
"No fair telling before you answer."
"Humph," said Wedna, and crossed her arms, then got a horrified look on her face and turned to vomit a huge gob of blood into the sink.
"My own blood serum, and preferably, while it's still inside me."
She spit again, though smaller.
"For obvious reasons," she said.
She spit again, then whimpered, "How the hell does that count as only a partial answer?"
"Maybe because that reason is a shallow reason, not a deep one," said Ginny, "or maybe because you need to give two more."
"Humph," said Wedna.
"And it's a big question, it shouldn't count as an incomplete answer if you have to think about it for a while."
"Humph," said Wedna and spit again, and looked more nauseated, as if she'd vomit again soon.
"The leaking drool of a dead teenage girl centaur."
"Huh?" said Ginny.
"And she died of something painless," said Wedna, "Maybe she's just stunned, whatever."
"Ok, but why?" said Ginny.
"I don't know why," said Wedna, "but the blood stopped, so it seems to be true."
Oh dear! Which meant it was Ginny's turn to try not to vomit.
"Did she do something to deserve it?" said Ginny.
"Not that I know of," said Wedna, "In fact I think the point is that she's entirely innocent."
"Innocent as in legally, or morally, or …umm ceremonially?"
Wedna wrinkled her nose, then shrugged.
Her ideal animal is: something edible.
"Innocent as in acceptable sacrifice?" said Ginny.
Wedna shuddered.
"Or as in edible?"
Wedna narrowed her eyes, "Well, that's horrific."
Ginny agreed, but still wanted to know how 'drool from a dead centaur' could be a correct answer to the essay question: 'Describe your sexuality in symbolic terms.'
Or maybe I don't want to know?
"I know that doesn't currently count as cannibalism, legally, but it still seems like it should be to me?" said Wedna, "so … no, not edible."
She winced and tensed hard, "But apparently not-not edible either, I'm confused." She let her gorge rise the rest of the way and spit blood.
"I'm also confused," said Ginny, "How many kids did you want again?"
Wedna shrugged, "None immediately, some eventually."
"I thought …"
"My father and grandmother have made absolutely clear that my duty is to breed 2 children within acceptable parameters. They are the ones in a hurry, I am not."
"Oh," said Ginny, "And your answer to the water question is … 'I'm a virgin, and that changes only over my dead body?'"
"I'm not a virgin," said Wedna, "where are you getting that, … wait the question is to divine something about my sexuality?"
Ginny nodded.
Wedna frowned, "I've had two lessons of … sex tutoring with my brother, and three with one of my cousins. Yes, sex is fun, but like … a waste of time. Nothing to show for it after. And I'd rather … get my house in order and properly paid for and warded before I consider bringing children into it."
"Because your preferred approach to everything is: to do it at a restful pace, from a position of strength, inside an ancient foundation."
Wedna narrowed her eyes, then nodded, "Exactly, how did you … colours, how did you get that from colours?"
Ginny smirked, "Favourite colour is how you see yourself, and your personality; favourite pet is your ideal virtues for a partner, favourite water is how you see your sexuality."
Wedna frowned, "And I'm notorious for not seeing my sexuality very clearly."
Ginny shrugged, "I'm going to go with, not for the faint of heart, and you refuse to surrender anything about it to anyone who might try to take it by force."
Wedna frowned, "Centaurs are wild and untamed."
"Symbolically, yes," said Ginny, "But, I think they're all individuals, and will all define 'tame' differently."
"And if my sexuality is symbolically wild, but the wildness is already slain?"
Ginny grimaced.
Wedna trembled, "Am I only fit to be the sex slave Grandma tried to sell me as?"
Ginny snorted, "I doubt it, There are other ways to serve society than raising children."
"Like how?"
"I'm told that knowing what other people value is the easiest thing in the world: check what they're willing to spend money on."
"Fuck you," said Wedna.
Ginny flinched, "I think we're talking past each other," said Ginny.
Wedna froze and stared at her, "Then … say again?"
"Like you said, you don't want kids yet, your relatives do, but you don't, and Harry is willing to shelter you from them here for as long as … I don't know how long, but for a while. I'd suggest you make something of yourself, the way you want. Get the job you want, buy or build the castle you want. Get it all set up and ready, then you can relax, and bask, and let your sex drive turn over and let you wake up and go running off into the wild to collect the children you want, in your own time, in your own way, not right away like your father and grandmother thinks is appropriate for some strange reason."
"Yeah, ok," said Wedna.
"Would you like to help me get this food onto the table?"
Wedna paused for a long long time before she said, "Sure."
Apparently, that didn't count as an easy question.
.
At lunch, Wedna sat with the Patils, but after only three minutes, Padma announced she and Wedna would be picnicking in her tree, and for them to be left alone for the duration.
Parvati and Harry objected.
Padma softened that to no interruptions by anyone except from the families of Potter, Bones, and Black. Which meant whatever was discussed would be Lion's-keep internal secrets. Except…
Harry counter-proposed that Lion's-keep adjourn to the other dining room.
Wedna counter-proposed that they finish eating lunch quietly, like civilised people, and then she'd take a nap and let her food settle beyond anyone's magic's ability to make her vomit, and then they have the discussion that they all wanted.
No one suggested a better idea than that, so that's what they did.
.
While Wedna slept Ginny shared the results of her interrogation and the seeming ambiguous nature of some of it with the others.
And then she and Parvati shared a glance. And they both knew Wedna was Parvati's project now, and Ginny could go kip.
.
When Ginny woke up, and on finding the suite quiet, she searched for them in the wards. Luna was in the library. And all the rest were clumped together in a third-floor study.
She made her way there to find them huddled around a table, but the floor was littered with shattered crockery.
What?
Gilt-edged, expensive-looking porcelain shards were everywhere, perhaps with a concentrated puddle of the stuff over in the corner surrounding the bronze bust of Augustine Potter. The bust seemed none the worse for wear, but there were gouges in the wallpaper behind … or had those already been there?
"Umm?" said Ginny.
But Harry, Padma, Parvati, and Wedna were arguing in Parseltongue about Wedna's contract.
There was a double stack of porcelain bowls in the centre of the table, gilt-edged and with a rose pattern that Ginny immediately recognised. She spun to face the portrait of Harry's great aunt who for some inexplicable reason had chosen to be painted with a stack of such bowls on the table beside her. She often wore an irritated expression, so Ginny had always avoided her, but just at the moment she seemed genuinely amused, and her stack of bowls was nowhere to be seen.
She caught Ginny looking and raised an eyebrow, "Do you need some too?"
"What?" said Ginny.
The portrait drew a wand and conjured the stack of bowls in its normal place on the table beside her. Despite recognising the wand motion and the sparks, Ginny felt no magic. Just a moving painting doing moving painting things.
Right.
Then she picked up the stack and held it out to Ginny.
What?
Ginny took a step forward and contemplated how far any of this could go, and how much of a fool she was willing to be made by one of Harry's dead ancestors' portraits.
And then the bowls disappeared from the woman's hands and appeared in front of the painting. This time Ginny felt real conjuration magic. Moving quickly she reached out and caught … most of the stack. Two bowls smashed on the floor, but the rest were now stacked precariously in Ginny's hands, heavy and fragile.
"Give it a try," said the portrait with a grin, "anger exists to release, not to bottle up inside, the more physical the act of release the better it works."
Oh. Shades of my mother.
"Don't hurt anyone though, unless they deserve it." The woman's eyes flashed with malicious glee.
Well yes.
"Thanks," said Ginny, "I'm fine right now, but I might be back."
"I'll be here," winked the portrait.
Ginny snickered and turned.
The others were staring at her. One of them motioned vaguely at the pile of bowls already on the table.
Ginny picked her way carefully over, if the shards were all conjured and would clean themselves up eventually, she didn't need to be going out of her way to clean them up right now. However, it still would be better to not step on the pieces and drive the sharp edges into the irreplaceable oriental rugs nor slice up her indoor slippers.
She put the bowls down with the rest.
For a time they argued in English but gradually the conversation returned to Parseltongue, the language they seemed to think the contract was best understood in, which left Ginny out of it.
Ginny checked the time, then settled in at a neighbouring table to do some summer homework before it was time to cook supper.
She stayed close enough to be present and easy to consult, should they want that, but mostly they didn't.
.
She looked up again when Padma started hissing and swearing, in mixed English, Welsh, and French.
Parvati asked her to stop.
"No!" said Padma, but took a break from swearing to throw two bowls at the bust in the corner for emphasis, "It's not asking for Harry's signature that he'll fulfil anything because it's not a breed contract. Or any kind of contract. See? Look at the first and last paragraphs, it's a bloody Deed of Gift. The gift has already been made, he just needs to sign receipt of it."
"But the whole rest of it is a breed contract, a bloody weird one."
"Yeah, because everything is phrased not as contract obligations, but as if what's being bestowed is usufruct of Wedna as a … comfort pet, or something, as long as we take good care of her, and make reasonable efforts to ensure she stays pregnant."
Harry snorted.
Parvati growled.
Wedna grabbed the contract and read the first and last parts again.
Parvati's low growl lost enough of its angry edge that Ginny could make out that what remained was Padma's tone of 'I'm correcting you pedantically, for my own sanity, but please ignore me and continue your explanation.' But the only words Ginny could make out were something about "only 'as pregnant as she wishes to be'!"
Wedna released the contract, letting it settle fluttering to the table. "She's right," said Wedna. And sighed. And groaned, and sighed again.
"So," said Harry, "now that we understand it properly, are we signing it, or burning it."
"Using it as it was intended," said Wedna, "to keep me out of reach of my father's insane intention to get me married. How about I transfigure it back into a ring and we go back to ignoring its existence, until and unless he somehow tracks me down and sends the law to retrieve me."
"So," said Harry, "Now instead of taking it as Grandma Nagini's misguided permission for us to court you, we're taking it as her misguided plot to preemptively rescue you from what your father tried to pull this morning?"
"Which under the circumstances, turns out to be not so misguided, after all," said Wedna.
Parvati swore.
Parvati was cute when she swore.
Or else I'm just in love.
.
That discussion went on for several minutes. Ginny wandered over to lend moral support, though she didn't really feel like she had much to contribute to the conversation beyond what she'd already said.
Finally, Wedna drew her wand to do the deed, except, before she could bring her wand down on the document it transfigured into a narrow gold bracelet to match the choker Padma had transfigured her contract into. And slithered across the table and wrapped itself around Wedna's wrist.
Then it glowed red, and she screamed.
Harry and Padma went after it with all their curse-breaking skills, but everything either had no effect whatsoever or made her flinch or scream more.
Finally, she told them to stop.
"The whole thing is under a locking charm anyway," said Padma, "And I suspect the transfiguration itself is under a locking charm. I don't think we could get it off without Fiendfyre. Which would destroy it completely."
"Less than ideal," said Parvati, "but … how much is it hurting you?"
"It's not anymore," said Wedna, "but … I have the vague idea that if I want anything maliciously against it or any of you it will burn me again."
"Humph," said Harry.
"What about against grandma?" said Parvati.
Wedna snickered, "No, that's just countered with little compulsions, relatively weak. Relatively subtle, more of a game, to find and remove."
"The symbol it branded into your wrist," said Harry, "is my personal rune."
They all froze and looked at him.
"We've got to get that off of you and healed before you can properly inherit your title."
Wedna swore colourfully for a few seconds, then remembered that there were bowls available, she tossed several across the room, smiling slightly as they shattered, until she was laughing. "I'm in no hurry to inherit, but thanks for the information."
She tried to wiggle the bracelet but it refused to budge. She wrinkled her nose, "It tightens if I try to loosen it. It tightens if I want to tighten it, it only loosens if I want …" She stared at it until it suddenly slipped down to the narrower part of her wrist.
Ginny felt the texture of the room's magic shift as Harry saw his rune on her skin, and gave into his instinct to believe that the thing so marked must by rights be his to protect.
Then he lifted his wand and conjured burn salve across it.
Wedna relaxed several more degrees and sighed.
"So, what's next?" said Parvati.
"I'm going to write a letter to her father, informing him of her change in legal status, and demanding he lay off, until she regains her freedom and informs him of such."
"Do you want me to read and countersign that when you're done?" said Parvati.
"You and Ginny both," said Harry, "If I can come up with something you're willing to sign."
.
After the meeting broke up Ginny chased Padma down.
"What?" Padma said belligerently.
"I'm not angry about your hyperbole about Parseltongue vs lycanthropy," said Ginny, "I'm quietly nervous about …"
"Wedna and I giving off the same dark lady vibes, and her not being polite enough to suppress hers?"
"No?" frowned Ginny, "I a) don't know what you're talking about, and b) am more likely to be comfortable with no one suppressing anything, you know what my mum is like."
Padma frowned, "I may not know your mum nearly well enough. So what are you nervous about?"
"Wedna being here against her will," said Ginny, "lots of our other refugees would rather be here than elsewhere, but she was kind of sent here specifically."
"For sure," said Padma, "Yes, that is different than the others."
Ginny nodded, "and to be clear I don't mind her staying. But what I'm getting at is that we're not proposing to have sex with any of the others. It seems like the 'forced to be here' thing would make everything else weird."
Padma's eyes widened and she nodded, "Yes, you are correct, by attempting to force her to be here, by attempting to force her to breed, Nagini has made it logically impossible to trust any consent Wedna might eventually choose to give."
Ginny sighed in relief.
"Therefore we can best help her, not by helping her breed, but by helping her gain enough independence that the demands of her family are irrelevant. After which, whatever choices she might choose to make about her breeding schedule, would be believably her own, rather than her parents, who set the terms of her banishment, nor ours, the hostesses of her place of exile."
"Yeah, alright," said Ginny.
"Unfortunately," said Padma, "I have as little practical idea how one goes about getting a job or a flat or any of the other modern accoutrements of independence. I do know how to get a Gringotts account, … but I have little doubt she already has one of those."
"Humph," said Ginny. And all I know how to do is plant and tend a garden, which pre-supposes having land to plant it on. And Wedna doesn't seem the type; though, Padma didn't either until this summer after she'd been helping for a couple of weeks.
...-...
{End chapter 7}
A/N: Not entirely satisfied with these, but sometimes the art of art is knowing when to stop retouching it and move on. Sorry.
