Chapter 2) Invitations

Selected Listening: Kama's Memory- James Newton Howard

"No mermaids today?" Albus asked. Her father sat at his grand desk in the middle of the headmaster's suite. Fawkes snoozed happily on the perch beside him. The headmaster wore his summer linen robes of pale blue, much lighter than his usual dress, but still had silver embroidery running down the sleeves and buttons. His face had stayed mostly the same over the years, but she did notice that since ceasing usage of the sorcerer's stone three years ago, he had gained an extra wrinkle or two, and his skin was marked by moles and spots reflective of his age.

"Hm?" Anastasia looked up innocently as she entered the room. "None, how'd you know?"

Albus's crystal blue eyes stared at her from behind his half-moon glasses.

"You know as well as I that the mermaids won't swim to the shore near the kitchens. It's too shallow."

Anastasia feigned confusion for only a second longer before giving up with a great sigh.

"Fine, you're right. It's just…I'm not sure if I'm ever going to get the hang of this or if I'll ever really need it. When are the castle mermaids going to need to hear from me? You can speak with them any time you'd like."

He raised an eyebrow.

"It never hurts to learn another language," he suggested. "Mermish has come in handy quite a few times for me, such as when I journeyed to–"

"What did Narcissa send?" she asked, ready to change the subject. She leaned over the edge of the grandeur desk to peek at the parchment.

Albus smiled, turned the parchment, and gestured for her to read.

Dear Headmaster,

I enjoyed having my goddaughter at the Manor over Easter break and would like her to visit again. I request her presence for the two weeks leading up to the school term and the Quidditch World Cup, which she is welcome to attend with us (Lucius has premium seats reserved with the Ministry).

Please let us know if she will be able to visit post haste. I have already arranged a room for her.

Sincerely,

Narcissa Malfoy

"Oh, she wants me to stay with them?" Anastasia was utterly surprised. Although she knew Narcissa was fond of her, she personally felt that her last visit had not gone well. While her godmother had taught her plenty about her past and her mother, Anastasia had also been caught raiding the wine cellar with Draco and the visiting Slytherin crew. Plus, she quarreled with Mr. Malfoy over several matters at dinner. Not to mention the entirely awkward court trial, in which Mr. Malfoy was trying to have her adopted off to her grandparents and sent to France. She hadn't been expecting a formal invitation thereafter. Her grandfather chucked at her shocked expression.

"Yes, I found it rather amusing. Narcissa has always been persistent, and she seems to have taken a keen interest in you, not just as her best friend's daughter, but as a young witch." Anastasia sighed and fell back into the chair across from him, staring hopelessly at the letter. A whole two weeks? That was a whole two weeks she couldn't use the prefects' bath, or explore the castle, or wander about the grounds in her animagus form…a whole two weeks she would have to avoid Draco.

"I don't understand. I'm not like them at all. Why does she want me around so badly?" Anastasia fished for an excuse to hide her nervousness. She took a ginger snap from the candy bowl and munched it loudly. A few crumbs fell from her lips onto the floor. "She could invite Pansy instead, at least she's a Slytherin."

Of course, that was the exact opposite of what Anastasia wanted to happen, but her stomach tied up in knots about spending two weeks with the Malfoys.

Albus stared at her daughter encouragingly.

"Miss Parkinson has a family and a mother who takes care of her upbringing. You, on the other hand, have not had a consistent maternal figure in your life. It makes sense that as your godmother, she wants to spend time with you and ensure you are brought up properly." Albus explained, with another broad gesture of his hands. Anastasia frowned.

"I guess." she said and swallowed loudly. "But what will I even do there? Have tea every day? Read books? Talk to Draco?" she asked, blushing. Her father smiled.

"I was under the impression the two of you enjoyed keeping company. I distinctly remember you trying to run away with him at the end of last year."

Anastasia flushed an even deeper shade and gripped the arms of the chair so tightly her fingernails turned white.

"Yes…well…that was before he ratted me out and abandoned me and acted like a git during Buckbeak's execution…" she bluffed, knowing she would have to do better to get out of the arrangement. "Besides that, his father's a blood purist arse, and he'd never let us spend time together anyway, so I really don't see the point."

Albus, who could not keep a straight face any longer, chuckled softly. But tears began to prick Anastasia's eyes. It wasn't funny that she was magically connected to someone she was almost entirely socially incompatible with. And although Narcissa cast the lifeline spell before they were born to save her life, it only seemed to grant her and Draco countless repercussions thereafter. While the lifeline allowed them to share pain and illness, it also put them in mortal danger whenever one was seriously injured. Not to mention, everyone who knew about the lifeline seemed to buy into this ancient idea—that she and Draco were destined to be together for all their lives, whether they liked it or not.

"I am sorry dear. I realize it's not the most comfortable of situations. Despite your newfound animosity towards the boy, Narcissa's invitation couldn't have come at a more convenient time. In fact, I will need you away from Hogwarts starting Monday throughout the rest of the summer break."

"What? Why?" she asked, startled. "Are we doing renovations or something?"

Albus chuckled as if it were absurd to have renovations performed on a thousand-year-old castle that housed several hundred children each year.

"No, no, Hogwarts is scheduled to be hosting an important event next school year, and if I were to have my daughter waltzing around the suite listening to all the planning, it would be considered an unfair advantage for our school."

"An unfair advantage?" Anastasia mouthed to herself, and then said to her father, "What kind of event will it be?"

"I'm sworn to secrecy until everything is in place, so don't think about asking again," Albus emphasized. Anastasia rolled her eyes.

"Fine, I'll go, but I already agreed to go to the World Cup with the Weasley's. Remember? Could you let her know in your reply?" she asked. It had been Albus's birthday gift to her in June. A ticket to the game, and the promise of a trip with friends, free of his supervision.

"Certainly…but before you begin packing for your trip, I do need you for an errand."

"An errand?" Anastasia asked.

"We need to hire our next defense against the dark arts teacher."

"Alastor Moody—is a bit rough around the edges." Albus warned as they wandered the darkened Ministry halls. Anastasia had never been to the upper offices before, and while the front-facing offices were cast of dark marble and gold trimmings, as they wandered farther into the back corridors, the materials seemed to change to rough wood and cast-iron metal bracings with torches that barely lit the way. A sign they passed in the hall marked the change in décor as "Office of Aurors and Magical Defense," and a line of paper memo planes lay at the border, dead, as if someone simply couldn't stand their buzzing about.

They heard voices down the hall, cheerful voices, being countered by someone's loud grumbling.

"I told you maggots, no parties!" the man's voice yelled gruffly.

"Oh, come on, Mad-Eye, what's the harm in a little fun? You are retiring after all…" a younger male voice claimed.

Albus and Anastasia had reached the doorway of the office, before opening it, Albus looked at his daughter pointedly, "Don't take anything he says too personally and try not to stare."

"Stare? Why would I—"

But she saw immediately when Albus pushed the door open. Amidst a circle of motley aurors under a banner that said, "Happy Retirement Mad-Eye!" stood a great bulge of a man, looking quite aggravated with the whole affair. He was only slightly less oafish than Hagrid, but much less friendly. Whisps of ginger fluff clung to the sides of his balding nub of a head. He wore a leather jacket more suitable for a pirate ship than a ministry job. In fact, all the people in the room looked more like pirates than wizards with their dark leather, chrome jewelry, and odd hair colors. But what was most shocking about the eldest man was the prosthetic eyeball strapped to his head.

"Ah! Looks like I have uninvited guests. Thank you for saving me from this miserable experience, Albus," Moody thundered past them out the door with his large, knotted cane, gesturing at them to follow.

"But you haven't even had a slice of cake yet—" a familiar looking young woman with bright pink-hair tried to argue. A young man with ginger hair and a gold earring patted her shoulder sympathetically. Anastasia thought for sure he was a Weasley.

Moody slammed the door on his celebration.

"Now what do you want?"

"It's better we discuss in your office, Alastor," Albus suggested.

The lumbering man grunted and limped to a door only a couple more down, barged in, and fell into a chair behind the large wooden desk…that had knives stabbed into the surface.

Anastasia closed the door behind them and took a seat next to her father. She gazed around at a myriad of instruments on the wall gauging things like "Magical Danger," "Overall Suspicion," and "Vigilance" on the scale spanning from "Constant" to "Irresponsibly Spotty" to "Downright Doltish." Wooden crates towered throughout the room, some open, all empty. Nothing in the office had been packed for a departure.

Moody's eyes seared through her intently.

"I see you brought your demon spawn…" the man began. His eyebrow twitched around the prosthetic. She uncomfortably began picking at her cuticles.

"Anastasia is my daughter, yes," Albus replied. "She'll be a fourth year."

"Is that what you call the only witch in history to survive an obscurus host? A bloody princess name?" Moody's eyes continued wandering, analyzing.

Anastasia held back as she tried to remember what her father had said about not taking offense, but she found herself giving him a critical side-eyed glare. She didn't like to think about her childhood affliction if she could help it.

"People generally tend to get their names before significant life events, Alastor," Albus countered sternly, "and if you'll forgive me for saying so, not everyone wants to be nicknamed by their most notable battle scar."

Moody seemed to finally register Anastasia's angered expression and changed the subject, lowering his cane horizontally over his knees.

"Right, well, what's the rub?"

The headmaster relaxed into his seat as well.

"The rub as you call it is, that I am once again in need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Albus explained.

"That goddamn curse," Moody spouted. "Well, I've got a whole lot to choose from. Raltson's horrible at field work. You can have him."

Albus smiled primly.

"Alastor, I am not in need of one of your protégé's, but I appreciate the gesture. I am in need of your personal services."

Moody made a horrible face, as if he swallowed an entire lemon.

"You knew I was retiring, Albus!" he protested.

"Quite right. And in your career, you have built an astounding department of aurors, most of whom completed their education at Hogwarts, wouldn't you agree?"

"You could say that about every department…" Moody griped, "Hogwarts is the only school this side of Europe."

"Certainly, but my primary concern is that we've had a real bout of bad luck with the past few defense teachers, seemingly more troubled than the curse allotted before. I'm afraid with such incompetent staffing, I cannot imagine how it will be possible to prepare any of my students to be aurors in the next five years." he said worriedly. Moody started looking vaguely interested.

"Professor Lupin wasn't incompetent," Anastasia argued. "He was our best teacher yet!"

Albus turned to his daughter and held up a finger.

"Ah, but third year isn't about dueling. Second year is, and you missed out on that due to Lockhart's identity plagiarism."

Anastasia swallowed and for a moment, remembered her attempts to hit Sirius and Pettigrew with curses the night of Buckbeak's scheduled execution. They had not gone well…

Moody's free eye rolled back over to Anastasia.

"You…princess…show me what you've got—" he gestured to the dummy in the corner.

"I can't do magic outside of school—" she said nervously.

Moody waved his wand, and a lavender shield of electricity phased over the room and vanished.

"There. Bureaucracy proof. Now get on with it."

Anastasia stood, pulled the wand out of the pocket of her navy corduroy dress and faced the dummy.

"What do I do—just?" she turned around to ask.

"NEVER TURN YOUR BACK TO THE ENEMY!" Moody shouted. "Unless you've got an eye like mine. Constant vigilance!"

Anastasia jumped and turned back around.

"Throw whatever spell you've got—"

"Um…expelliarmus?" she said at the dummy.

The dummy stared back at her, still holding its stick of a wand, unflinching.

"Expelliarmus!" she shouted. After a pause, the stick fell out lamely, hit the edge of one of the open crates, and clattered to the floor.

"Albus," Moody whispered, "This is your daughter? You sure?"

"I'm right here!" Anastasia griped. Albus touched her wrist gently for her to calm down and she pulled away and folded her arms.

"Anastasia's much better at prepared rituals, like alchemy and potions. Her spellwork is suitable in less stressful environments."

Moody narrowed his eyes critically. She glared back.

"That's not going to help her on a battlefield…does she want to be an auror?"

Albus looked back at her expectantly. He never asked her about her career aspirations up until now. They had too many other things to worry, and put on the spot, Anastasia spouted—

"I don't know! I haven't really considered it…I like to keep my options open."

"Way open…" Moody suggested. "Alchemy is of little use to anyone these days." Anastasia wasn't sure if she could glare harder, but she tried as she regained her seat.

"Whether she wishes to be an auror or not is beside the question…a couple of months ago, a matter most concerning occurred on the eve of Sirius Black's escape from Hogwarts," Albus recounted.

"Not the fact that he escaped again? That's not what you're concerned about?" Moody asked. "Although he hasn't caused us much trouble lately."

"Not in the slightest. In fact, Anastasia, Mr. Potter and friends discovered Black's innocence…and, well…Peter Pettigrew is alive and guilty of the crimes we assumed Black committed."

Anastasia became nervous and looked down at her hands.

"Oh…well that is interesting…and what of Pettigrew?" Moody asked.

"He managed to escape…" said Albus.

"He wouldn't have escaped if you let me go back with the time turner and catch him," Anastasia argued.

"I've already explained this—"

"I could have caught him and clawed his throat out if I wanted!" she snapped. The two men stared at her, stunned.

Anastasia drew back, surprised at her own words, and the feeling of her heart beating heavy in her chest. She hadn't realized she was still angry about what had happened.

At this, Moody laughed.

"Ha! You've got a spitfire there, Albus. Maybe she'd make a good auror after all."

Albus grimaced, but then looked to his daughter fondly. "Their entire generation, you know, is of high risk already."

"The born of shadows…" Moody said darkly.

"I'm sorry, what?" Anastasia asked.

"The term for people around your age," Albus explained, "Those who were only infants in the last and darkest days of Voldemort's reign. Many lost parents…"

Moody looked over at the photo of the Order on his bookshelf. It was the same photo Anastasia had on her own nightstand.

"Potters. Sinclairs," Moody looked to her respectfully and she nodded. The Sinclairs referred to her mother, Holly, and her mother's husband, Francis, "Longbottoms…bloody hell…Frank and Alice got the worst of it if you ask me."

"Why?" Anastasia asked concernedly, "What happened to Neville's parents?"

"Tortured to insanity by two of the worst death eaters, the baby was watchin' you know—" Moody began.

Albus saw Anastasia's horrified expression and cleared his throat. Moody took notice and changed course.

"Never really liked the term though…prefer to call 'em 'born fighting.' Never had a choice in this fight and never will…so you're saying there's a risk to Pettigrew being out and about—"

"He wants to bring Voldemort back," Anastasia interrupted, leaning on the desk. "He threatened to find him and revive him so he could come back to power."

Moody frowned at her and turned to Albus, waiting for confirmation.

"Yes, Alastor," Albus nodded, "and you know as well as I, there are ways he could succeed."

"Right. Well. I'll get my best scouts on it. You've got yourself a teacher, for now, but don't expect me to be bright-eyed and bushy tailed for the maggots."

Albus smiled and folded his hands together casually over his knee.

"Thank you, Mad-Eye. I would expect nothing less than your usual candor…I have one more reason for bringing you on staff that I'd like to discuss privately…Anastasia could you wait in the hall please?"

Anastasia stood and stared at him questioningly.

"It concerns the event I can't speak to you about. Now go," Albus said patiently.

Already tired of hearing of this event without knowing anything of it, Anastasia sighed and reached for the doorknob.

"And don't go wanderin! You're likely to get your head blown off with what's hidden up here!" Moody barked.

"Nice to meet you too…" she said and closed the door behind her.