A short trip to Potter Estates
Minerva McGonagall stepped from the floo into Potter Manor, her first time here since Charlus Potter had invited her and her husband over to consult with his orphanage staff about how to ease the intake transition for abused squibs, that was roughly half a lifetime ago. (Minerva didn't care to count more exactly than that.) Of course, back then she and Elphinstone had been auror partners, not romantic partners. He hadn't allowed himself to entertain the possibility of romance until she'd left the force, whereas she could not give him serious consideration while her beloved Dougal remained alive.
She was kept from falling deeper into reverie when Harry appeared.
That hadn't taken long, and yet he had not been here at the appointed time. Either he'd lost track of the time or he'd never had any intention of waiting for her to appear, merely set the wards to notify him when she arrived.
Minerva wondered if it was an intentional snub or just an indication that he had over-scheduled his winter hols. A perennial problem in students everywhere.
"Hello Professor," he greeted happily, "Happy New Year."
"Hello Harry, Happy New Year, yourself."
He paused entirely at a moment that his eyes were on the door. Minerva had two seconds to notice, and then he was back.
"I assumed that you two would be working in any sufficiently empty room for privacy reasons, or outside for keeping animal instincts comfortable. But it seems that Gwyn assumed that tutoring by definition would take place in the library, so that's where she is. Shall we meet her there and you can negotiate between yourselves?"
"Certainly," agreed Minerva.
He began to lead the way.
They were accosted on the way by a girl that Minerva was certain was a Hogwarts student but could not place, not even by cohort, "Lord Potter," she said with a deliberate formality that made Harry flinch.
"I've made a decision, I've thought hard about it, I think that I don't want —"
"Umm, Freyazegen?" said Harry, "can this wait ten minutes for me to deliver Professor McGonagall to the library?"
Minerva did not remember any Freyazegens in recent memory.
"Oh, I guess," she said, "Or, I can walk with you and I think be done before we get there."
Harry sighed, "Alright, What's this about?"
"I figured out who Margaid is," she stopped and bit her lip.
"Ugh, well done?" said Harry.
"And I wanted to say that I no longer feel comfortable with her —"
"Stop," said Harry, "Margaid we will discuss in a locked and silenced room. I … we will discuss your decision and I will respect it, but we will discuss it in private," said Harry, "I'll make time for you in less than an hour."
"Oh!" she said, "I … Oh alright? Umm,"
"Don't wander too far, and I'll be with you shortly," Harry prompted again. She stopped walking and stared after them.
And they were quiet for another corridor.
Harry sighed.
"Trouble in Paradise?" murmured Minerva.
"It's not paradise," said Harry, "It's just mine. Or it's not paradise ergo by definition, you have to make the best of, whatever you can find to make the best of."
Minerva smiled ruefully, "Are you describing your estate or the world?"
"Yes," said Harry, "Same difference, but they call you a dark lord if you go around trying to make the best of the world."
"I'm sure it depends a lot on what methods you choose," said Minerva, "And how well you ask for permission first."
"Well said," Harry agreed.
"Now tell me about—"
But they turned the corner and there was a library, what a library.
And it was full of children, most giving every indication of finishing up their over-hols-revising. Some were recognisably from Harry's study groups. Others were obviously below Hogwarts age. Pets were dozing. Surely that wasn't a juvenile erumpent … in a library. No, it pudged out when leaned on, like a balloon, was it only an air cushion? or was it something with a magical formlessness like a boggart or— That was Lovegood, therefore it was something magical. And as no one seemed afraid that she'd lose track of it, perhaps it was fine.
"I'm not sure your grandfather ever allowed me in here," said Minerva.
"Huh?" said Harry.
"A lot of Houses are very protective of their libraries," said Minerva.
Harry nodded his head horizontally, "you try to move the ladder, an alarm goes off. Everything in easy reach is fine."
Minerva glanced around the room. She estimated the number of books relegated to the top two or three shelves, the many empty shelves below that, and then all the regular stacks throughout the rest of the room.
Someone had prepared to have the same proportion of restricted stacks as the Hogwarts library, and never gotten past a fifth of the way filling it up.
Well, that was mild relief.
"Who are the pre-Hogwarts students?" said Minerva. She expected him to say, 'the children of clients,' and begin making introductions.
Instead, he said, "If you only mean by age, they're orphans that got left outside the wards because Grandpa died while the wards were on a war footing which meant their parents could not deliver them directly to the orphanage. The orphanage closed down for the lack of them. When we found them, we … well the three mages moved in with Melantha and are going to City-of-London with her, and two live here with Eirian and Gwyn, and one belongs to Padma, another has been adopted by some of our muggles. The last two … I'm not clear where they ended up."
"So," said Minerva, "This isn't standard, this is the convergence of three different study groups because end of the hols rush to finish revising?"
"Sounds right," said Harry, "Gwyn is over here. As I said, feel welcome to adjourn to a more private space or go outside if it seems appropriate, I believe my time is reserved to tutor Tate with some charms, so I'll be around, once I finish reassuring Freyazegen, Gwyn can summon me with the wards if needed, or Ginny if she prefers a girl for whatever it is. Anyway, Hey Gwyn! this is Professor Minerva McGonagall, Master of Transfiguration among other things, published in the journals and everything, Professor McGonagall, Gwyn Purcell."
Well, it was a little out of order, Minerva sniffed, but perhaps given that he'd introduced Gwyn once from across the room, doing so again in the second place might have been reflex because a single introduction the other direction had felt awkward by itself.
"Hello Gwyn," said Minerva, "How do you do?"
"I'm great," said Gwyn, "still adjusting from portkey travel back across the Atlantic four days ago, but never mind that. Where are we starting?" she waved at a chair.
Vacations abroad but choosing not to afford post-portkey circadian potions was a better indicator than Minerva had hoped for, detailing a disparity between her lower-class economic rank and middle-class social rank. Minerva sighed in relief and took the proffered chair.
Harry wandered away.
.
What followed was a rather straightforward one-on-one adult continuing education session. Gwyn managed her transformation within the hour, and they did several exercises to cement her mastery of the skill, then they filled out the registration paperwork together and Minerva left.
.
When she arrived back at Hogwarts she consulted the wards about a Freyazegen staying in Harry's House suite.
Harry smuggling in unregistered students seemed a bit over the top, even for him. Especially since he seemed to have sent everyone else who'd asked him for tuition to the City of London day school instead.
But with a last name to go with 'Freyazegen' she could dig further.
The first time that the wards had seen a being wearing the name Freyazegen Windrow was late spring, in Ravenclaw Tower, late at night in a bedroom assigned to among others, Ben Windrow
Children change their names all the time, some multiple times a day. It was why the wards catalogued students by the hue of their magic and their channelling dimensions, not from the names that could be divined from that. It wasn't perfect, colour could shift slightly with mood and exhaustion. And channelling details (other than exhaustion) should grow over time but gradually. Rarely so quickly that they aren't still recognisable from week to week, and if not, the wards could usually identify those with anomalous growth and use other clues to re-identify them such as which wand they carried, only needing very minimal assistance from professors.
Oh, and the names assigned to wand traces were those that were divined at the time when the trace was applied.
Ben choosing a new name, and getting the sex change potion over the summer, as a seventeen-year-old, all followed together logically. Not registering under her new name for this school year did not so follow. Minerva wrote herself a note to talk to Filius about it … no Severus was the House Liaison for the House of Potter Suite.
Severus would either be the best or the worst for this, Minerva didn't think she had that good a read on who Freyazegen was as a person to guess. But Ben had been a quiet and determined student. As Freyazegen, she hadn't seemed all that different.
Perhaps Minerva should handle this herself.
Right.
She crossed that out and made a new note to that effect.
Actually, given that she was staying in the Potter suite and not required to interact with the gender detection wards in Ravenclaw, perhaps she'd thought that dealing with the extra paperwork was pointless. That apparent consideration for faculty time might alter the optimal tone to take for the conversation, hmm. Another note.
...-...
On nightmares
[Content warnings: The mechanism of wet dreams, contemplation of suicide, mentions of past rapes and underage sex.]
Leathan looked up at the sound of a hesitant knock.
He glanced around the room that nothing contraband was on the surface, then went to the door.
It was Kurt. Of course it was.
"Mr Pasternak?"
"Hey man, what's up?"
"I've been trying to work up the nerve to ask, and when I did, Eirian said to ask you instead."
"Alright, go on."
"I have nightmares sometimes."
"So do we all? Hmm."
He looked heartbroken.
"Alright, Kurt," said Leathan, "How bad are they?"
"Umm, about the orphanage," said Kurt.
Leathan nodded.
"I mean we got rescued, and some of the girls had it lots worse than me. I don't feel right to complain about just dreams, but …" a shrug, "They aren't getting better, and the idea of them never going away isn't … I can't. Sometimes I want to die."
Leathan swung the door wide, "get in here and take a load off."
"What?"
"Sit down, this might take a while, let's be comfortable. Let's see, this is probably a drinking sort of conversation, but you're too young for me to be giving you alcohol. Ugh, well I guess we can drink other things, tea?"
"Sure," said Kurt, and made his way to the sitting area, and a moment later was back up again helping Leathan pull together a tea service.
"I'm not, you know, planning on killing myself," said Kurt, "I just—, they're not getting better. And maybe if they aren't getting better, I should, you know?"
"There is a time and a place for suicide," said Leathan, "but I don't think this is one of them."
"Oh?"
"How much do you know about dreams?" said Leathan.
"Uhh, you get them at night."
"Right," said Leathan, "Anything else?"
"Food can affect them, sometimes, maybe?"
"Mm-hmm!"
"I don't know what else."
"Fever can affect them, or just having too many blankets for the weather, several medicines good and bad can affect them. Being awake too long can cause you to get dreams even if you aren't asleep. That can be dangerous. Some of the bad drugs can also cause that."
"Alright."
"But what are dreams and nightmares made of? Are you aware of what the mechanism is?"
"No, I don't."
They moved the tea to the table and sat down.
"Alright, have you ever laid in the grass and looked up at the clouds and seen pictures in them?"
"No?"
"Well, you're almost aged out of the period of my life where I did that, so never mind. Have you ever woken up and seen shapes in the shadows of the things in your room?"
"Yeah," Kurt shivered.
"That is an effect called pareidolia, a large fraction of your brain's power to see, is related to the ability to recognise patterns. Probably similar for how it uses all your other senses."
"Ok?"
"But in the dark, with less variation between the darkest and the lightest shades of what you see, it has less to work with, and turns everything up, like turning up the wireless when there's no station selected."
"Huh?"
"You hear static, some of it is static from the antenna, probably mostly energy from the sun refracting through the atmosphere, but some of the hiss is from inside the radio itself."
"Oh?"
"The same thing happens when you sleep, the inside of your eyelids are the only thing to see, that's boring, It turns the gain up and up, trying to see something. That just makes static, just like a television, err … the telly?"
"Sure."
"And then all those parts of your brain in charge of recognising what is being seen, go to town, and find pictures, even though there aren't any there."
"Oh?"
"And the things that you've been practising hardest to recognise lately, are the things you'll be more in practice to see."
"Oh, yeah I guess."
"Sometimes an emotional component will make that practice stick around longer."
Kurt shuddered.
Leathan nodded.
"And again, similar things happen with all your other senses, but sight is merely the most memorable for many people. In addition to all that, your general mood when you go to bed can affect what you're likely to see, etc. And what you saw a moment ago can continue to affect the next frame of the movie, so to speak causing a dream to even have enough continuity to remember, to have more sense than just ripples on a pond."
"Oh."
"There is a technique you may or may not wish to learn called 'lucid dreaming.' It consists of noticing, 'I am dreaming' and then making decisions in hopes of affecting the progression of the dream. I have done it a few times, but I would not say that I'm good at it."
"Ok?"
They sat quietly for a bit, then checked on the tea. It had steeped long enough so they pored and stirred.
"And even without being able to take conscious control," said Leathan, "I'm confident your dreams will change over time, you'll be practising new things during the day, and you'll get new dreams to reflect those things.
"I'm not promising that you'll never get an old dream, but they'll be fewer and farther apart as they are replaced by new topics."
"Yeah, ok."
"Was it helpful to hear me say what kind of meaningless dreams always are, and what kind of meaningful dreams sometimes can be?"
Kurt shrugged and shivered. "Umm, in the long term? Yes, probably. In the short term, not really."
Leathan smiled, "That's alright, I did sort of interrupt when I thought I had the full question. Your turn again."
Kurt was silent a moment, then shuddered.
"I'm a boy," said Kurt, "There were more customers there to sex the girls." Kurt sighed. "A few customers visited to sex me, but not as many."
"Including Eirian?"
Kurt shrugged. "I mean, the first couple of times, yes, but … over time? She was different enough from the others, like night and day, I'd rather call her visits 'to see me' than 'to sex me'. (If I'm allowed to make that distinction when there was still sex), but … when I talk with the others, it hardly comes up anymore, but when we talked back then, we distinguished which customers remembered more about us than just our names."
"Certainly," said Leathan, "If it's meaningful to you, then you should make the distinction, if there's no English available to mention it, or if I don't understand the distinction, that's on English or me, not on you."
Kurt snorted, "Anyway, what I was trying to say was, there were fewer customers for me."
Leathan nodded.
"Sometimes they …" Kurt looked away and muttered.
"I didn't catch that."
"Sometimes they made me train the others."
There it was, Leathan thought and sighed, How can I even approach this? Wait, what was the real question?
"I was as gentle as I could," said Kurt, "I didn't hit or wrestle them, I just, I said, 'Mr Buttons told me to show you how this works. How sex works.' Or whatever. Sometimes they already knew enough to fight back, and I'd … usually I'd wait it out and try again to insist, sometimes they'd put up with the lesson, sometimes they'd promise to fight back no matter what and I'd leave them for Mr Buttons, then we'd both get punished for that, her for being able to fight better than I was willing to face, and me to encourage me to try harder next time. Sometimes I'd get a word in edgewise and we'd just talk it through, with no touching. Sometimes after talking it through they'd get curious enough to try it with me. Sometimes they didn't know anything, didn't know there was a reason to fight, and I'd have to try to keep it slow so neither of us would get hurt."
"Certainly," said Leathan.
"If it was anyone other than Mr Buttons giving the orders, sometimes the 'talk it through' thing was more of what I was instructed, I guess in hopes of selling their first time to someone who cared about that."
"Ah."
Kurt shuddered, "I wish I didn't remember those things about friends."
Leathan sighed, "I don't have any wisdom there either. But I can say this: Forced sex, is forced sex."
"Huh?" said Kurt.
"I mean to the extent that you were forced, to that extent, it wasn't your fault. I am proud of you for trying to not let the experience be worse than it needed to be, for yourself and the one you were with."
"Yeah?" said Kurt.
"To the extent you couldn't manage it, I want to say something about, 'What you did from fear of Mr Buttons, should properly be blamed on Mr Buttons.' "
"Well, yeah," said Kurt.
"I don't know what punishments he liked to extract, I am not interested in second-guessing your decisions from this far removed from their context."
"Oh."
"But if it is helpful, I am willing to call it rape, not by you against your friends, but by Mr Buttons against both of you."
"Oh," said Kurt, "Yeah, ok. That … that maths out."
They both took cleansing breaths and sips of tea.
"But I still don't like dreaming about it," said Kurt.
"Certainly," said Leathan.
"I … sometimes I feel it," said Kurt.
"Feel what?"
"Feel the sex, sort of? And wake up with a mess in my drawers."
"Oh, that," said Leathan. That answers how rarely you and Earian are having sex, I'd done my best not to wonder, but it's nice to have it confirmed. "Where I'm from, that is called a 'wet dream'."
"Oh?"
"For obvious reasons," said Leathan and took a deep breath, "Alright, this is a bit more complex, hmm where to start? From when you become fertile somewhere in puberty, until you age out of that, some people in their 50s some people in their 80s or beyond, your testes produce sperm and some fluid for them to live in … until it's time to expel them."
"Umm, my what?"
"Which?"
"Test whats?"
"Testes, male gonads, umm eggs, balls, bollix?"
Kurt's eyes widened and he nodded.
"To some extent, the amount produced is based on the amount used in intercourse (or masturbation). And to some extent, it's produced regardless."
"Ok?"
"If you're not using any up in intercourse or masturbation," Leathan shrugged, "the fluid builds up until it reaches a certain pressure, things relax to let off pressure, most likely when everything else is relaxing which is to say, during sleep. It is a sign that the system is healthy and functioning properly."
Kurt wrinkled his nose.
"Still can be annoying to clean up, of course."
"Yeah."
"And of course, while that is happening, there's a good chance that it will affect your sleeping brain, pulling up whatever images you associate with that sensation."
"Yeah," said Kurt.
"And in your case, a lot of your sexual experience was less than ideal at that blasted orphanage." (Blasted isn't a strong enough adjective for that thing which had pretended to be an orphanage.)
Kurt nodded.
"For a lot of boys your age, the images brought up are of masturbating, or of things they've stared at while masturbating, such as the shower wall, or whatever."
"Oh," said Kurt.
"And some boys never did much of the masturbating thing, and their brains don't have a recognisable pattern to associate with that feeling, and their dreams will be of the most random selection of objects, but with sexual sensations happening anyway. Which I suppose could be confusing and disturbing in its own way. But never mind."
Kurt was staring at him.
"Maybe I've blathered long enough and it's your turn again."
"Are you saying that if I had sex more it wouldn't happen?"
"Or masturbated more, yes, partly."
Kurt frowned, "Eirian and I don't have sex very often I guess, but I feel like if I masturbated, and then she asked, I would feel bad for not being ready, and …"
Leathan held up a hand, "a lot of men feel that way. I will not try to steer you otherwise."
Kurt sighed.
"But having sex more would get rid of the pressure?"
"Yes, but also encourage more sperm production."
"Oh!" said Kurt, "Yeah, ok."
"In other words, over time sperm production will somewhat adjust to how much sex you have, but not completely to zero."
Kurt narrowed his eyes and contemplated.
"Having good memories to replace bad memories might also make the dreams more bearable over time. Or you might be able to use lucid dreaming to drag yourself towards the good memories you already have."
"Do you think Earian would be alright with that?"
"Why wouldn't she?" said Leathan.
"Even the good memories that weren't of her?"
Leathan sighed, "No idea, you'd probably have to ask, if there is another girl that features prominently in them, you might want her permission also, but that can get sticky."
"Ugh, yeah."
"If it was me, I would only ask Earian, and pull towards memories of her, if you can. If or when it doesn't work, I would meditate on the fact that these were the memories drawn from the deck this time. and that over time, you'll be adding more memories, good memories, thereby making good memories more likely to appear in future dreams."
"Alright."
"Are you religious?"
"Umm? Does that mean 'which practice or sect are you from?'"
"Sure, go with that."
"I guess, Presbyterian."
Close enough.
"Alright, the other thing I would suggest, is: On waking with messy drawers, pray and thank God that he made you healthy enough to reproduce when it is time, and that his system is working well enough for you to release pressure before it causes problems. And that you are now safe enough that you can turn down unwanted sex for long enough stretches that now you get wet dreams instead."
"Oh," said Kurt. "I hadn't thought about it in that way."
Leathan rolled his eyes, No one ever does.
"I guess I'll try that." Kurt stared at the ceiling for a while.
Leathan refreshed his tea.
"What's next?"
"I guess explaining all this to Earian and seeing what she says about … permission to dream about her."
Leathan shrugged, "Don't oversell your ability with a technique you haven't tried yet."
Kurt shrugged.
"Do you think that she'll ask you for sex more often if she thinks it will help with your nightmares?"
Kurt shrugged, "She has her own nightmares to deal with, I think she won't change much."
"Alright," said Leathan, "are you prepared for the discussion if she thinks of that?"
Kurt sighed, "Maybe not today."
"Good answer," said Leathan, "Alright as you contemplate whatever else you need to to become ready for that discussion, among everything else include two questions: 1) is changing the ratio of good memories to bad memories that wet dreams can pull from worth the cost? If you and Earian have already picked out an interval that seems optimal for all the other reasons, you might decide that your dream ratios aren't that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. Or it might be that both of you have made assumptions about each other's appetites and will want to consciously negotiate, after adding this new variable to the mix."
"Humph," said Kurt.
"And the reflection of that but from her side: Are you prepared to listen carefully while she says how she would like to help, but that she cannot."
"I already know that. She doesn't need to tell me."
"No. You not needing to be told is not the same thing as her not needing to say it."
"What?"
Leathan sighed, "When you noticed her from among all your customers who could remember your name?"
"Several remembered my name, she was one of very few who asked and remembered things besides my name."
Leathan nodded, "Which is proof that she cares about you. Yes? (Or at least can see you as something beyond a warm pillow?)"
"Yes."
"If you explain what I did, about dreams pulling from memories and recognition patterns. And that you have bad memories and good memories, and a lot of the good memories are of her, and that you'd like her permission to try to pull dreams that have a chance of turning bad towards good memories of her. Will she jump to the same conclusion that you did, that making more good memories might also be helpful?"
Kurt shrugged, "Maybe."
"And if she does," said Leathan, "will she want to help with that?"
"She likes sex," said Kurt, "She definitely used a habit of it to fix something going wrong in her head once before."
Leathan nodded, "but?"
"But she's not asking very often."
Leathan nodded, "have you discussed why?"
Kurt shrugged, "Not really. Umm, actually … I guess less often than all the customers I used to deal with, maybe more often than she used to come in, not sure if money is what limited her before, it doesn't now."
Leathan nodded, "And you've assumed that she doesn't ask more often because there is a limiting factor, and she's powerless against whatever it is."
"Oh," said Kurt.
"You may be wrong, perhaps the limiting factor was her impression of your apatite, and she'll be happy for permission to ask more often. Or you may be right, and she won't be able to help. In which case, she may feel the need to explain that she would like to help, but cannot. If she tries to say that, I suggest you listen as best you can. Not like she's telling you explicitly what you already understood implicitly from her behaviours. But like she's telling you that she loves you and cares about you, even if the kind of help she thinks you need requires a sacrifice that she cannot make."
"You want me to reassure her that adding a few good memories over time is good enough, that it doesn't have to be lots of good memories all this month."
"No, (well yes), but no. I want you to listen," said Leathan, "I'm not the greatest at this, but I'm getting better. If you ever complain about anything, if someone says they want to help, listen to them, even if they are saying that the sacrifice is more than they can bear, especially if they say that the sacrifice is one they are willing to bear, if only that would actually help, listen to them, they are saying that they love you. Even if they say, they will bring you chicken noodle soup with peanuts, because that always helps them feel better from a cold, and you are allergic to chicken and to noodles and to peanuts, listen to them, and thank them, (but decline the deadly soup of course), because they are saying that they care. Even if their ability to care isn't physically helpful, knowing who your friends and allies are, knowing the limits of their ability and the limits of their care, will be helpful next time you're in a scrape that they could theoretically help you with."
"Umm?"
"Because blowing them off will tell them that you do not value their care. You want them to leave knowing that you listened, and thank them if you can, if it makes sense. You know?"
"Yeah, ok."
"Sorry to go off on a tear, I just watched my sister and her husband break up, both screaming at each other how much they cared, and neither one listening because they'd heard it before, and think that communication is only for new information. With the result that— ugh never mind me, I've never been married, I can't say I know how to do it properly. Other than knowing what the hell causes wet dreams, you might know more about it than I do."
"Oh," said Kurt.
"Go out and live your best life kid," said Leathan, "it would be a shame to throw it away, now, when things are starting to look up, yeah?"
Kurt smiled, "Yeah, ok."
He stood up, "Thanks for the tea … and the talk."
.
...-...
New year's
"Hey," said Padma and slipped into the music room. The holiday tree was gone but the musical instruments remained. Parvati and Harry were sitting together studying the fingering for whatever song. Parvati had her violin out but was focused on what Harry was doing with the wheel organ keys.
Parvati was the fastest to look up and smile when Padma entered, "Oh hi, Pad."
"Is Freyazegen gone?" Padma asked.
Parvati sent her a dirty look.
Harry looked up slower. He smiled welcome while also shrugging about knowing anything about Freyazegen's whereabouts.
"Yes, she left hours ago," said Parvati, "Why?"
"Just calculating what kind of jam session was available before I started petitioning to join."
Parvati grinned. "No, she's not borrowing your piano, you're welcome to join us." She rolled her eyes. "But … I don't think what we're doing is close to counting as a 'jam session'." She used air quotes.
Harry shifted his weight and glanced between Parvati and the couch closer to the piano.
If I stay, they'll feel obligated to move closer to the piano. Instead of staying huddled up where they are. A moment ago they looked a couple of minutes away from snogging. I don't necessarily want to interrupt that … I just wanted to accompany my friends' experimental notes with my own … Ok, maybe not on the piano.
"No," said Parvati, "Keep it."
"But you—" he slid the wheel organ another three inches towards her.
"Yeah, don't get up," said Padma and sat down across from them.
"Huh?" said Harry, but he leaned back again.
Parvati also looked at her.
"Do you two mind if I … give into instinct slightly differently than usual, and try to sing as Singer?"
They stared at her.
Parvati shrugged, "You can be … I won't call it loud but Singer's voice carries extremely well, we might want to silence the walls first to keep from distracting everyone."
"That's fair," said Padma and got up to do that.
.
They practised for a while, Harry trying to play whatever chord was next on his sheet music, and Parvati either correcting him, or nodding, then Singer trying to match that whatever he'd played, and then Parvati trying to match what she'd sung.
To be fair, Parvati seemed to make more consistent progress imitating the monkey song than Padma did imitating the wheel organ.
.
On the next play through Harry tried to do several notes or entire measures at once. He was still learning to read rhythm. Slow progress but progress.
That was both more fun and less because Singer could more reliably match tone shifts than she could match individual notes.
Parvati seemed less proficient at matching Singer that way, but after a few bars Padma was sure that it was an illusion, as she was still finding the tones quickly enough, it was just the wobble at the beginning of each note as she matched that tone which gave away the difference.
At the end of the piece, Harry put the organ aside and rubbed his face.
"I've … got a question," he said, "But I'm not sure how to ask it."
"Hmm?" said Parvati.
"You two are making noises that I don't think the organ can match."
"For sure," said Parvati, "it's keyed, like a piano, or more specifically it has frets like a guitar, that the keys apply to. (even if it has a vibrato option for half its strings.)"
"Hmm," said Harry.
"Whereas instruments like the violin and trombone can hit all the tones in between the standard tones."
"Hmm," said Harry, "Sure, I think that's part of my question."
Parvati looked at Padma helplessly.
Padma turned human and rubbed her forehead, "I should address this with Freyazegen also?"
"Do what?" said Parvati.
"What's up now?" said Harry.
"Human and monkey voices, like the violin, can hit notes that are not named on the standard scale. You've noticed this from listening to me try (and fail) to sing on key, and Parvati trying to play off key to match me."
Harry shrugged.
"Really good singers, and really good violin players, can switch to something called the pure scale, rather than the normal tempered scale. In general, you want to sing on key, and failing that, to harmonise with your neighbours. But when you are singing alone, or with a small enough group that all have perfect pitch, and the tune you're performing is designed for it, you can go with the pure scale instead of the tempered scale and it sounds divine. Parvati can do that on her violin."
Parvati sighed.
"She calls it 'sloppy style'."
"I do not, sloppy style is when you're noodling a solo or whatever, and also go off key, and—."
They made narrow eyes at each other.
Parvati shrugged, "Alright, I don't have a term to differentiate what you're talking about and what I'm talking about, never mind."
Padma nodded smugly, "Anyway, the European tempered scale isn't the only scale out there, I think all of them have octaves, but the European scale stops at half steps, other scales have quarter steps, etc."
"The organ literature says if you lock the tone-bend levers at the other notch, the fretboards of your second and fourth manuals should be correctly located to play quarter tones," said Parvati, and wrinkled her nose, "but I think it's only … vaguely correct."
"I know 'manual' in this case means which row of buttons I'm squeezing," said Harry, "and that these are the bend levers, which I leave locked because you told me they were something for later," said Harry, "What was the rest of what you said, is the other notch in the wrong place?"
Parvati shrugged, "I think it's not right, but I don't have enough experience with quarter tones to be sure, it's probably adjusted to be ideal for what they expected to be the most commonly played notes."
"It's probably adjusted as best they could and you have to re-tune the associated strings to match," said Padma.
"Possibly," agreed Parvati.
Padma closed her eyes and tried to do maths, moving the fretboard half a fret away from an adjacent fretboard ought to give quarter tones, but the frets were not equally spaced, they were logarithmically spaced, so no, naively impossible, stretching or loosening the string to account for the difference would …
She couldn't make it work in her head, you could build a new fretboard, (which was laughably beyond her ability with woodworking or transfiguration.)
With only stretching the string, that felt like it could work, but maybe that was as much an illusion as moving the fretboard was.
She sighed and opened her eyes, "I can try to tune a string to play a specific note at a specific key, but I have no idea how the other keys will tune with that one."
Parvati shrugged, "give the 4th manual the ability to play neutral thirds, around low G and he'll get the idea eventually. It won't let him chase me around, but it should get him enough quarter tones to mimic Arab music when he feels like it."
Padma gave her a sceptical eyebrow, "What is a neutral third?"
Parvati picked up her violin, and demonstrated, "major third … minor third … neutral third."
Padma looked at Harry and shoved an indicative wave at her exasperating sister.
"What?" said Harry.
"She's a witch, burn her at the stake," said Padma.
Harry gave Padma his own exasperated expression.
Padma sighed, "That is why Freyazegen doesn't like playing with Parvati. Freya's ear is good, but not perfect, and she's afraid of being tempted away from the orthodox safety of the tempered scale and losing her ability to play by ear."
"Oh is that all," said Parvati, "Thank you, I was wondering what I did to scare her away. I'll try to make fewer heretical sounds in her hearing."
Harry was looking back and forth between them, "Do I even want to be let in on this joke?"
"There's no joke," said Parvati, "just a lot of exaggeration and sarcasm. But the tempered scale is real, and required a genius to invent, and there all sorts of tone intervals that sound better, but won't fit together into a song properly. Rest assured that I'm perfectly able to accompany anyone playing a tempered instrument. But sometimes, I want to hear other things, so I play other things. The notes that sound better, the notes that sound worse, depending on my mood."
Harry stared at her, "I think I've heard … a sidewalk trombonist doing that in Kings Cross."
"Plausible," said Padma.
Parvati smiled.
"The point is," said Padma, "it's all provable with maths, I could probably write (or find) a piece that if Parvati accompanied me on the piano, it would sound one way, and if she played with no thought of accompanying anyone, would start out sounding the same only better, but would gradually float away into the stratosphere."
"Or the reverse," said Parvati, "The Well-Tempered Clavier is the original advertisement for the tempered scale. If you played it untempered it quickly gets really sad."
Padma smiled at her.
Harry had shifted from looking sceptical to mystified.
"Anyway," said Parvati, "Do you want to go back to Warbeck? And later I'll try to find something Arabic for us to try after Padma has fiddled with one or both of your bendable strings?"
"Sure," Harry retrieved the sheet music and the organ and played enough noise to be sure he had his fingers located where he wanted them.
He played three or four measures.
Padma had just relaxed into the exercise again when Harry paused.
For a very long time.
His face gradually reddened.
"Parvati?" He said without looking up.
"Hmm?"
"That's at least the second time you've hinted, or slipped, or whichever, — umm? Do you not want the organ?"
Parvati sighed, looked at the organ, swallowed and then looked at Harry. "Harry please look at me."
He met her gaze.
"Harry, I do like it. I love the sound of it. Don't you dare send it back or whatever you're thinking of. But … you already play it better than I do, despite me having years more access to music lessons," said Parvati. And held the neck of her violin again, quickly fingering a four-chord progression, "You … have less to unlearn, the keys on that go the other direction and are the other way up. You're picking it up much faster than I ever will. I think it should be yours."
"Oh," said Harry, "But…"
"I know that you bought it for me, and I very much love the sound it makes, and so does Ginny. But you're best at it, you should be the one it belongs to."
Harry smiled his 'I'd do anything for you smile,' (usually seen when someone requested he cook something exotic.)
"Alright, if you're sure," he said hesitantly.
"I'm sure," said Parvati. "Promise me that you'll keep playing for us and it's yours."
They stared at each other. Padma instantly knew that had been the wrong tone to take.
Parvati was obviously in love, and Harry was obviously tense.
A moment ago Harry had been indulging in a hobby of keeping company with his girlfriend while she learned a new instrument (assisting with experimenting with it), and now he was in the position of being sent to music lessons by a family member he didn't want to disappoint. The bane of elementary school students everywhere.
Padma knew exactly what she wanted to communicate but did not have any words to say it.
"Humph," she said and stood and stalked back across the room to plop down at her piano and found her place, and reached for the most irreverent bit of trash she could think of.
What came out was an even less wholesome song by Ginny's dratted Celestina Warbeck, that wasn't quite what she needed but it was in the right direction, maybe if she just sped it up a bit, or …
Oh, ragtime, yes there we go.
"Oh, my god!" said Parvati, and a moment later they were both beside her listening to her butcher a melody she'd heard often enough over the last two weeks to begin to hate, but not quite often enough to know by heart when she was also changing the time signature.
"What is this?" said Harry.
Parvati hummed along and chanted the words she knew here and there.
She could feel the awe in Parvati's tone, she could not tell what Harry was thinking.
She got to the end of the chorus and repeated it once and stopped, no point in playing all three verses if no one wanted to sing.
She stopped and turned to stare at Harry.
"That's ragtime," said Padma, "there's more to life than church music and ballroom music, there are also love songs and pub songs and sitting around a trash barrel singing about what you've lost music. Just because your instrument can sound like a violin or a pipe organ doesn't mean you're not allowed to play it like a fiddle or a Baen Sithe clarinet, or whatever. You don't have to play Bach, you can play Weird Sisters, or whatever music you like."
Harry wrinkled his nose, "I don't really like Weird Sisters," he said, "But … I like some of the punk that Seamus plays," his eyes flicked skyward, "Tonks … taught me to dance to punk, I might be able to handle weird sisters, now that I get the point. If I had to."
Padma smiled and nodded.
"Still don't think I'd want to play that sort of thing," he said.
"That's fine," said Padma, "Learn to play what you want, it will be the best way to pick up the skill regardless, and once you have the skill it will be a shorter trip from there to accompanying either of us when we're playing what we like."
"Oh, alright," said Harry.
"(To the extent that its even possible to follow Parvati. Like we said earlier she can wander off the scale that the rest of us are stuck on.)"
Padma looked at Parvati, "Sorry for stealing the spotlight, you can go back to whatever you had going. But don't get impatient with Harry if he isn't willing to promise a timeline. He's already super busy, (at least during the school year)." She refrained from mentioning his folly with the professor's oath and its consequences.
Harry's demeanour shifted like he'd also remembered about that.
Parvati turned to stare at him, "I didn't mean you had to promise promise," said Parvati, "I sort of meant … um, may I give it to you while reserving the right to have it back if you ever completely give up on learning it or whatever?"
Harry gave her a disappointed look, not disappointed about the instrument, disappointed about her trust issues or whatever.
"Why not just say that we're sharing it?" said Harry, "and/or currently you're giving me the responsibility to keep track of it or whatever, based on momentarily being the best at playing it."
"Sure," said Parvati, "That's probably better."
"Your rune is burnt into the power array, I'm not sure you can 'give' it away and have the word mean the normal thing."
Parvati shrugged and leaned forward. "And don't you forget it!" she whispered close to his face, "Speaking of things I've put my rune on and don't intend to ever give away, even if I gladly share you with my closest friends."
Harry's face was trembling as he leaned into the kiss.
Padma smiled appreciatively in the background until they seemed like they were close to coming up for air, then she schooled her features and waited for further developments.
Parvati scampered back to the couch to retrieve the organ.
"Sometimes she makes me wish thrall marks were repeatable, so I could wear her brands all over," muttered Harry.
"That's what lipstick is for," said Padma.
That struck Harry wide-eyed and speechless.
This time Padma didn't hide her leer. But before anything else could happen, Parvati returned with the organ. She held it out to Harry, then leaned over it to kiss him again.
"May it always work perfectly for you," said Parvati, "when you use it to bless the fortunes of Black and Potter, and always fail you in the most embarrassing way possible, if ever you use it to flirt with a girl outside Lionskeep."
The magic around them went very very wrong and twitchy, not just discordant like a modem, but also aggressively raw and controlling, but it only lasted for a second and a half, and then smoothed out into something that seemed like a braid. Not that it was possible to braid two people's hair together from opposite ends, but this wasn't their hair, this was their magic.
"Acceptable," said Harry, "if I may restrict 'flirt' to mean romantically, in this case only."
Were they negotiating conditions? If Parvati had just bestowed a magical artefact with her rune in it, maybe she could make demands about how it was to be used. But … their magic had fought over something, if briefly. Did Parvati do something to her rune on Harry? Maybe she'd just bestowed a fraction of her musical talent to him, as long as she approved of what he was doing with it. Was it possible for her to change the meaning of her mark after she'd placed it? Or had that been a geas she'd laid on him to make a fool of himself if he ever played without her approval? Could a geas even stick to Harry-who-can-throw-off-Imperious?
Parvati had said her mark meant something about giving advice the same as Padma's, but Padma had never felt comfortable that Parvati knew what she meant by that.
But Parvati's mark was lightfoot's ears. Perhaps musical talent was something she could bestow. Harry's lightfoot mark was gold, for sure she could bestow the magic to make the organistrum's wheel turn when and only when Harry (who was a sentient part of her rune's network) knew he was being a good boy.
"What else could 'flirt' mean?" said Parvati.
"There are lots of other kinds of friendship," said Harry, "Or so I've been told."
"There are," agreed Parvati, "But it seems like the only other one you know is buttering up professors and politicians."
Harry sat up straight. "That's not true," he protested, "There's also … well not counting Ron, Neville, and Hermione, most of my friends are inside Lionskeep at this point. Or inside AHDT, depending on where you draw the line about strategic allies and siblings in arms."
"Whatever," said Parvati, "Let's not argue about that. You got what I meant, so that's fine."
"I did," agreed Harry, "and I guess I'll be bringing this along to Hogwarts."
Parvati smiled, "Yes, do!"
Harry smiled, and their magics reached out to each other again.
Perhaps not with any kind of thrall marks and negotiation involved this time, just each summoning the other to their lips.
They kissed awkwardly across the top of the instrument, and then he laid it aside and they fell together.
They looked like they'd be at that for a while. On the one hand, Padma enjoyed watching each of them enjoying themselves. Even better when they were being enjoyed by someone she could claim some vicarious responsibility for.
On the other hand, it looked like Parvati's mood was already swinging towards arousal, while Padma's mood was still stuck at 'hope that things might progress enticingly in that direction,' And tonight had seemed an auspicious night for music, specifically him making music, and she'd been looking forward to finding out how her animagus form liked the sound. Specifically, music made by her lover, (lovers?) to see if it tweaked her animal's instinct in an interesting direction.
But if the instrument had been redefined as Harry's, (even if only usufruct instead of ownership?), and he was looking forward to bringing it along to school. There could be plenty of time for her experiments later. No longer any rush to complete her experiments tonight.
When they came up for air, Parvati panted, "I've changed my mind about tonight, we could just adjourn to your room now, if you want."
Utterly predictable. Utterly cute.
Harry's eyes flicked to Padma to collect her vote also.
Padma smiled to see that he was also beautifully predictable.
"Yes," he said, "let's do that." With a gesture that implied the invitation included Padma.
So they did. Even if that wasn't precisely what Padma's smile had meant.
.
"Parvati," he said about half an hour later, as all three of them lay panting.
"Hmm?" said Parvati.
"It occurs to me," said Harry, "That if you've given me back your Christmas present, I might owe you a new one."
"Humph," said Parvati, "and playing it for me sometimes isn't enough?"
"Maybe," said Harry, "at any rate, help figuring out how to play it feels like a gift to me now, instead of to you."
"Fine," said Parvati and rolled and wiggled tighter to his side, "If the preferred denomination is study group time, I wish you were taking ritual magic with me."
"I'd be glad to read along with you if we can make time. But … isn't that the one where you have to be passing divination, potions, astronomy, and arithmancy to get into?"
"In theory," said Parvati, "But … Firenze likes you, I feel like you could get a pass somehow."
Harry sighed, "That might be true, but it doesn't make it right."
Parvati sighed.
"Also, if the topic has changed from reading along to auditing classes or attempting to sign up for next year, I think it meets at the same time slot as Survey of Magical Law."
"I'll—" Padma barely stopped herself blurting out that she'd let him borrow her time turner.
"What?" they said.
"He caught up with arithmancy," said Padma, "and he'll be done with Survey this year." Maybe both of us could join you next year. But no, I had been thinking about cramming for an extra owl in Alchemy next year.
Again Padma wished her time turner was big enough to go back 18 hours, instead of only six.
"Oh, I see," said Parvati, "I'll help you study for the Divination Owl, and you can join me in Ritual next year. I'll talk to Vector and/or McGonagall."
"Alright," sighed Harry, "I'll skim your textbook to see if it's something I think I can handle."
"You're better at runes and astronomy maths," said Parvati, "I bet you can handle it."
"I guess we'll see," said Harry.
Padma rolled up onto her elbows and scooted closer.
Harry looked at her, "Hey," he whispered.
"Permission to get on top again?"
Harry's eyes rolled, even as he smiled, "Half on top to sleep or all the way on top and moving?"
"Half on top to sleep," she said, "but no promises that I won't move some first."
"Do you want another full turn?" he said, "I can turn Leona if you want?"
"No," she said, "I'm not asking for a full turn, just saying that I've caught my breath and am not ready for the sex to be over. May I pretend to make out on your hip for a while, until I've convinced myself that you'll still be there next time I want you?"
Harry smiled, "of course."
He sat up just enough to bring their lips together for the briefest moment, then lay back and helped her curl up the way she wanted. Her head on his chest, and her hip and leg on top of his.
It still intrigued her how, when she was sufficiently aroused, most of her skin enjoyed being touched, and her stomach especially liked some wide pressure and stimulation. And yet, when she wasn't aroused, … well it wasn't that she didn't like to snuggle, just that a fraction of those touches could be enjoyable without seeming sexual, depending on context.
When she opened her eyes from concentrating on pressing herself around his hip, Parvati had rolled away and scooted closer again, this time facing them.
She hitched herself up and kissed them each on the lips, then scooted down to mirror Padma, though farther away and less intent on bringing pressure against her stomach, and more focused on placing her elbow at an optimal angle to be snuggled along the gap between Padma's chest and Harry's.
Parvati's appreciation for specifically breast petting might be closer to the stereotype than Padma's more general enjoyment of … well anyway, it would be alright to let the arousal fade in time to get some sleep tonight.
Padma laid her arm back the other way to Parvati's shoulder, tracing the gap between Parvati's arm and Harry's chest.
Parvati smiled and closed her eyes.
"Are we trying for a twin dream," said Padma, "or just inviting one?"
"Just inviting," said Parvati and yawned.
"See you in the morning if not before."
"What's a twin dream?" said Harry.
"Magic carries a certain amount of resonance of the mind that it is anchored to," said Padma, "that's how mind mages can read thoughts or memories or emotions or auras, whatever their speciality is. We aren't mind mages, but we're sensitive enough to … well Parvati is doing alright in divination isn't she? When the mind is quiet enough, such as in sleep, the resonance can pass back the other way too. Sometimes we share dreams, direct touch helps. You've been present in several, though I'm never sure how much you can sense of us, versus how much we can sense you."
"Oh," said Harry, "I often have dreams with Hedwig and Nim in them, but that's usually when they're awake. Or notice that their dreams including my waking activities. I'd never considered whether the other minds in my dreams might be real but asleep."
"Hmm," said Parvati.
"But you call them twin dreams?"
"Padma calls them that," said Parvati, "I've felt other people in my dreams before, but I think only Lionskeep members have slept close enough for me to be sure that they also felt my presence."
"Ah, alright," said Harry. And a minute later he said, "I'm not sure I've noticed anything that I'd call 'sharing dreams,' I would say that … if we're using musical analogies like 'resonances.' I'd say that I've noticed the ambience of my dreams seems to follow distinct chord progressions or keys or whatever, depending on who I'm sleeping near. But I've never felt like there were specific details that felt foreign enough to ask around to find out who they belonged to."
"That doesn't surprise me," said Padma, "I've often thought you seemed … well anchored, probably your mind to your familiars, and maybe your magic to all your thrall marks, everything else might just be too muffled before it gets to you."
"Perhaps," said Harry.
"Or maybe he'll be more sensitive to everyone who wears his thrall marks at the expense of detecting anything from anyone else." Said Parvati.
"Or maybe I'm supposed to lower my occlumency shields for this … project?"
"Oh," said Parvati.
"Yes," said Padma, "try that."
And so they slept.
And so, they had a jam session after all.
Though somehow it intermittently involved the ritual yard behind Hogwarts and a centaur made of fire and dancing planets. And a horny teenage elf/vampire/lilin zooming around dark forests trying to seduce a cat/crup, either by giving it wild rides through dense foliage, or by catching food to share.
And then Parvati's mind snapped onto that, which changed the tune, and it became a more reasonable music video of, 'The Owl and The Pussycat' Edward Leer's poem set to music that Parvati had heard somewhere. Now starring Hedwig and Nim, as performed by the House of Black Punk Singers: Parvati on fiddle (who sometimes morphed to do animal sound effects as a horse or a dragon), Harry (as himself but with a lion's mane and tail) on organistrum, drum, and Bean Sithe clarinet, and Singer with four hands on the piano, except it didn't make piano noises, it made monkey hoots, making a tropical jungle out of a forest that wanted to merely be the werewolf forest on Potter estate or maybe the stretch of forbidden forest near the ritual ruins where the band was very obviously located. But no, if there were gibbons singing in it and lions dancing, it must be a jungle. So it … tried. But none of them had seen any jungle, except on telly, so it was just an English forest with extra palm branches and ferns and hanging vines (some of which were actually lazy anacondas trying to ignore the music.)
.
At breakfast, everyone seemed both sleepy and in an upbeat mood.
"I think I had the most epic dream," confided Ginny.
"Oh?" said Padma, "what was it?"
"Kind of an opera, with actually good music, I realise that's a contradiction, I'm sorry."
"The owl and the pussycat, set in Africa?" suggested Padma.
Ginny's eyes went huge, "You had it too, did Parvati already interpret it?"
"Nothing to interpret," said Padma, "That was just Harry and Parvati and I trying to share a dream, and it turned into a concert. I wonder how many of our thralls got to watch."
"I did," said Luna, "It was very rousing. I liked it."
Luna and Ginny were both mutual thralls of two or all three of them. Casey did not report remembering any such thing. Nim didn't seem to be around to ask, but she usually slept through breakfast if she'd managed to be out hunting at midnight.
.
And then it was time to worry about laundry and packing.
.
...-...
{End Chapter 15}
A/N: I made it a short chapter this month. The last section that was going to be in this chapter is not cooperating. Which sometimes means it does not belong, maybe it wants to be dropped.