~oo00oo~

Chapter 6

Against the rising tide of darkness

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―==(oIo)==―
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31 December 1984

Harry and I had spent the thirtieth being as lazy as possible. We groomed and played with the kneazles and stacked up the boxes that were upstairs on top of the boxes that were already downstairs, but for the most part we watched telly and read books from my magical closet.

After the harsh, emotional tsunami that was the day before we both felt the need for a break. I planned to take him through his paces on acting again though, since he had a day to rest and recover. The more we worked on it the better it would be and the more effectively he could use it in a variety of situations.

We spent the day acting out different scenes and stories. I had him memorize a passage or two from a book to work on inflection. His intellectual abilities continued to be higher than I thought would be possible and he simply absorbed everything that I could give him and then asked for more. We played strategy games and worked through puzzles in order to develop his critical thinking skills while having a bit of fun.

But after all of that, we settled in and talked about what Harry wanted for his room. Having so little for as long as he could remember, I had expected him to want something fantastical. Instead, he simply wanted a safe place to play and another to sleep. He requested more books, though, especially ones on magic.

Through the use of my post box I ordered and paid for certain forms and a special quill, both of which arrived promptly. Some parts of the forms would need to be signed by Petunia, but others would be signed by Harry so I wanted to go over it with him.

I explained to him that it was basically an agreement that said I was allowed to represent him at Gringotts. I tried to educate him on the complex way in which I could be his financial guardian because Gringotts was not necessarily beholden to certain guardianship and majority laws laid out by the Ministry of Magic, but it looked like that part went over his head.

Harry practiced writing with a quill for several hours. Splattering ink and breaking more than a few as he tried to write out his name like I had in his example. It was to be expected that he would have difficulty holding something as delicate as a quill and I had plenty of extras so he might practice.

As Harry signed his name again in chunky childish script he asked, "Don't I have to be a grownup to sign things?"

I informed him that while that was certainly true in the muggle world as well as for most things in the magical world, any dealings with Gringotts was different. Gringotts was a country all on its own and had its own laws. They liked it when children were smart enough to increase their gold, it harkened back to their fae roots when they would take in human children and teach them the goblin ways. They didn't do that anymore, per the Goblin Treaty of… well, actually I don't remember which one it was, but some time in the 12th or 13th century.

It was all a part of the guardianship and majority laws I tried to tell him about earlier. Harry just seemed to think this all very amusing and went back to practicing. In the end though he understood that his parents had left him money and properties and signing the paper would allow me to access them and use them for him. This money would mostly be used to pay for Harry's room and a safe place here at my house as well as any legal fees necessary to get me some rights over Harry's guardianship in the muggle world and future education or training.

Eventually, he had it down so that his name would look acceptable and the quill wouldn't break. I had him sign the forms in all the right spots. The little sting on the back of his hand quickly soothed by the waiting murtlap essence. When one was not abusing a blood quill it did not cause lasting scars or deep cuts, however, I was sensitive to the fact that Harry had never really had someone look after any scrapes or soothe any hurts.

Most of his memories seemed to be of people being willfully cruel to him. I was acutely aware of all this when I asked him to cut himself open to sign something, as such, I over did it on the loving soothing that he should have received.

That night we celebrated the new year with toasts of fizzy cider and hope for a better year. We both had resolutions to keep, each one would be working towards keeping Harry safer, healthier, and happier. We sang merry songs and watched people celebrating all over the world. It wouldn't be too long before we could celebrate a victory in this secret war, as we pushed back against the most powerful person in magical Britain without him ever even knowing.

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―==(oIo)==―
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3 January 1985

It was difficult for both of us when Harry had to return to the Dursleys. He had to be acting the entire time like he was the meek, beaten child he had been before I opened up the world to him. He had to cook and clean, and sleep in a cupboard under the stairs. He and I couldn't be seen interacting as it would be odd for the old cat lady to seek him out after he had spent so long helping her organize her charity boxes. I spent nearly every waking moment working towards saving him from those monsters, and even moments when I probably should have been asleep.

On the first Thursday after the new year, I was able to get interviews with two of the solicitors on my list. I had very particular points that they had to meet and needed to ensure they would answer only to me. They needed to keep Harry secret and safe. I needed to be able to trust them above all else.

After the interviews, I went down to have a nice tea and mull things over. In my impeccable skirt suit and my confident walk, I would fit in for an afternoon tea in the kind of nice places I would usually avoid in my other persona. It was lovely to have a better blend and a comfortable chair instead of watery tea and hard plastic.

Both of the solicitors had dealt with difficult family cases and had seemed intelligent about their practice, confident in their ability to help set up a special guardianship. However, I could tell they were both leaning towards getting a court order invoked for guardianship. When I hinted at the abuse the child in question was suffering from they had both started talking about the court and how that process worked.

Unfortunately, taking the matter to court would not work for many, many reasons. Starting with the fact that I was not actually related in any way to Harry and then leading into the issue of it being so public everyone would know, especially Albus. In the end I decided to wait for the third interview before making any decisions.

I changed into my crazy cat lady clothes in a random public loo, coming out as a completely different person and walking out with a slow, shuffling gait. I took care of some business in the Alley, before catching the Knight Bus back to the outskirts of Little Whinging.

Arriving home, I found that the last of the supplies I needed were in my post box and I could begin brewing my potions immediately. For now my kitchen was an acceptable brewing space and I set about cleaning and clearing the area. The upper cabinetry and most of my dishware had been set out to the curb after having been blown to smithereens so it was not a great hardship to move the toaster and the kettle for more counter space.

I spent the rest of the afternoon reacquainting myself with potions. It had been so long since I brewed anything myself. I wanted to pretend that was the reason my hands shook and my breath would hitch. That it was just because too much time had past. That I was nervous about making a mistake. But that was just me lying to myself.

A dangerous thing for a spy to do, lie to themselves.

When the first potions were simmering gently, I sat on the couch and pulled a kneazle to me for comfort. I knew why I had stopped brewing. I knew that was the reason I was having trouble now. It was because everything about potions reminded me of her.

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―==(oIo)==―
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Being a squib had always allowed me direct access to ingredients as it was usually a squib that grew or raised the ingredients, and often one who prepared them as well. During a normal drop by to see my usual supplier I happened upon an unusual occurrence. A witch was there with my friend, trying to get the best of the best ingredients for some experimental potion she was going to brew. It was a curious sight for an actively magical person to be out here on the fringes and I took the time to give the witch a once over.

Her skin was a bronzey kind of brown that was well accented by the forest greens of her robes. And her short, sharp bob of tight curls cascaded out from under a small pointed plum hat that was sitting at a cocky angle on her head. She was taller than both of us, not even taking into account the hat and the large amount of hair, but she was very thin. It was an odd thin, as usually one so thin might seem brittle but in this case she seemed strong and vibrant. She smiled as she haggled over ingredients, as though it were a happy past time, showing a row of perfectly pearl teeth with a cupid's bow of full lips framing them.

It was a different time then, people were happy and at peace following the defeat of Grindelwald. Most had no inkling of the rising power of Voldemort. Life was good and slow and kind. I was just into my twenties, just making my way into the world as an adult. My reputation as a kneazle breeder was well known and I had so many goals and lofty ideals. What I didn't have, was someone to share things with and then there she was. We never knew the world could turn on us like it did, but then maybe the young never know. My life was changed from the moment I saw her, from the first introduction to this winsome witch, we were always meant to be together forever.

Always.

Our courtship, if you could call it that, was slow and shy. Neither of us very experienced, but both of us enthralled by the other. We started with things we knew the other liked to do and, of course, the first thing to come to mind was potions. We spoke of potions, we read about potions, we brewed potions. All of it together in concert with each other as we learned the steps of this dance we had never known before.

We branched out to other subjects and other past times, but my love was a potions master and it was her truest passion. She invented and perfected the highest level of potions. Potions that I would never be able to make because they required active magic, because they needed wands that could perform charms while brewing simultaneously. She studied my work in potions as a squib and encouraged me to get my brewer's certification.

Passing that test would give me a standing in the brewing community, it would allow me to publish any research I did on potions or on how to brew as a squib in the peer journals. If I combined it with a brewing license then I would be able to sell potions as well. I put it off. I regret it now, all that time, all that could have been.

Our love grew and grew, surrounding us, connecting us, in its heady glow. A magic I never thought possible. We would dance and sing to the wireless as we brewed with kittens mewling in the background. We could sit silently reading for hours at a time and be perfectly content in each other's company. Any time apart was a cold agony that would make us both listless and grey, as though the colors of the world were drained away until we could be with each other again.

The night that I proposed to her was nerve wracking. For some indefinable reason, even though I knew that her answer would be a resounding yes, I was nearing a breathless panic. Everything had to be perfect. Flowers were laid, small silver cauldrons decorated the area, music had been planned, a camera was in easy reach, and the ring was perfect. A silver band with a forest green emerald and two amethysts on either side. The story of our meeting had been told many a time by that night and she continuously thought it the height of hilarity that I could remember exactly what robes and hat she had worn. But to me, that memory had seared itself into my brain and I could never forget any detail about it.

Every moment of our far too short time together was there in the vivid color of potion stains on fingertips and softly simmering cauldrons. Of love grown in the whirling dancing art of potions made with joyful, happy hearts. Even later when the potion making was for those fighting against a rising tide of darkness, the connections between us, the love that moved us, grew.

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―==(oIo)==―
ˇ

I was crying when the timer went off, set for two minutes before the next ingredients should be added in one cauldron and the other needed off its heat. There was nothing for it really. One simply had to learn to move on. The life of a child hung in the balance and with him the lives of many others would follow.

The potions that I was brewing would help me regain my footing in the field, if I could work through my complicated emotions. After that I could start the potion that I needed for my plan to work. A will weakening potion was not exactly illegal, it was just heavily frowned upon. And technically it was illegal to use potions on muggles, but they would have to prove that you had used potions and that was not likely to happen. When I did finally find an appropriate solicitor the plan was to dose all of the Dursleys with the will weakening potion. I would then lead them through signing off on a special guardianship for the muggle world as well as the contract for Gringotts.

I worked on potions all night. Making and then remaking the same easy common level potions that I used to be able to do blindfolded. I cleaned everything up and put everything magical away in the closet. Finishing getting dressed, after completing my nightly routine, I found that I couldn't sleep. It had been a long time since I had allowed myself to miss her. It was easier to be bitter and closed off than to feel the sharp sadness that would follow any sweet remembrance.

I crept to my closet and scanned the boxes towards the back. Had I hidden them further back on purpose? Or had I thought that I wouldn't need anything from them and pushed them as far back as possible? Out of sight, out of mind.

It took two boxes of memories and a half an hour of sniffling cries before I found it. A dragon hide box the same color of her eyes with a latch the shape of a potion vial. I had it custom made by a friend just for her, something that was completely unique. Inside rested a ring of silver with an emerald stone, amethysts on either side. It had been given back to me with a bundle of other belongings that had been on her at St Mungo's.

I slowly closed the boxes I had taken out from the far reaches of the darkest corner in the closet. I held my treasure close to my chest as I made my way upstairs to my bed. Lying in the dark all alone, I let myself miss her as I looked at this symbol of our never ending love. Tomorrow would be a new day. And I would go on with purpose and confidence. But for now, in the shadow of the night, I missed her.

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―==(oIo)==―
ˇ