Part 12
A/N Time for summer then fourth year. Once again, my muse went bonkers, so what should have been one short chapter has turned into two longer ones. But first! The comments on some comments:
- Some of the comments/questions are addressed either in this chapter or coming ones (great minds!) so I'm not spoiling what I have already written :)
- One reader commented on my problems showing where a scene change is. I admit to this – mea culpa maxima. If it's a major scene-change I use a tilde or two. Otherwise, I think the editor is removing my extra line breaks. Not sure what to do there.
- Another commented that I should simply stop at good breaking points (like the end of last chapter), mark it complete, and have sequels. Since the plot really isn't complete, I kind of think that's false advertising. I won't do that.
- Finally, some plot/story related notes. I've changed some of the canon dates for the Weasley family. Susan Bones is not raised by her aunt in this fic (that's not canon anyhow). Augusta Longbottom is horrid (in case you've forgotten). Narcissa Malfoy is Burning – all of the dark lord's followers were marked because it was control.
~~ now back to the scorching (and Burning) summer of 94 ~~
The morning after the leaving feast, Harry sat in the common room, once again reading a book. It was early. He was in the common room before the sun had risen, and in the Scottish Highlands in early June, that was no mean feat. Harry was nervous and a bit concerned. When the door to the common room slipped open, and Neville walked through, Harry felt relief.
"All right?" Harry asked Neville. His friend nodded with a smile. Handing Neville a small, soft bag, he said, "Happy Birthday, early."
"What's this, then?" Neville asked, opening the drawstring and peering inside. There was glass.
A mirror.
He looked up to his friend in question. Was Harry – Bird's-Nest-Potter – trying to get Neville to pay more attention to his looks? His confusion was clear on Neville's face.
"It's something for you that I didn't want to give in front of the other guys. It's kind of a secret." With that, Harry cast several privacy spells. He'd become quite proficient with them over the last school year.
"You know I don't talk," Neville said with a nod.
"I do, like you know I don't talk. For example, I won't tell anyone where you weren't last night." Harry wiggled his eyebrows.
Neville blushed. "It isn't what you think."
"Oh, I know. The lads were convinced you had taken advantage of your hero status – standing up loudly and proudly for Hermione – with either Hannah or Susan or both. I told them to shut it. You wouldn't appreciate them talking about it, and if Lavender heard, the entire school would be speculating before we even got on the train."
"She does have that superpower," Neville sighed as he sat on a chair across from Harry.
"So anyway, I used one of my family heirlooms. My dad and his friends made this." Harry pulled out the Marauders' map. "This is an interactive map of Hogwarts. Generally, I just use it to find privacy. Last night, I needed to make sure that Draco and his lackeys hadn't ambushed you somewhere."
"They didn't!" Neville assured him.
Harry shrugged. "When I saw that you were in the infirmary, I feared the worst."
Neville shook his head and held up his hands placatingly. "No, no it's…"
But Harry shook his head. "I know. I called Dobby and had him take a note to Professor Lupin to check. Panakos, of course, didn't give details. But you had planned to go?"
Harry put the map away while Neville sat wondering what to say and deciding to confide. He'd seen how much better Harry seemed to be once he shared his burdens.
"When I thanked you after Easter break, I had no idea how much you really had helped me. Bonding to my wand shattered two spells on my magic: a binding ward and a magic inhibitor. By the time Healer Panakos saw the fragments, he couldn't get a magical signature of either caster. Only that there was Longbottom family magic remnants in each, not from me. It's why they sat in my magic for so long. My magic didn't see them as an invader." Neville's voice shook as he spoke. "He doesn't know… I don't know if it was my parents or my gran or my uncle that did it."
Harry was silent. He couldn't think of what to say that could make it better, so he just listened. Neville continued. "I had gone to him because when I meditate, I would always have a sort of dome over the visualizations I chose. I knew that wasn't normal so I did some research. It's the sign of a curse - one used on psychotic prisoners. The prisoner's ward - a limiter that inhibits certain thoughts, like critical thinking and planning, and dulls chaotic or happy emotions. It's behavior modification on a horrific level, and it was outlawed fifty years ago. If I hadn't been meditating, I never would have found it."
"Holy shite," Harry whispered.
"It had to be removed by a healer, and since I wouldn't be able to cast at all after, for weeks, I decided to have it done the night before we went back on the train." Neville's voice trailed off, and he studied the bag in his hands as though it might hold the cure to his worries.
"Did Panakos get the signature on that one?" Harry asked grimly.
"Not many know or can cast it, so the suspects were few. But it ends up it was Uncle Algie. He's next in line for the Longbottom title, and he has a son he'd like to see in my place. He tried to kill me several times when I was a kid; as you know, that didn't work. I have to believe that his next argument would have been that I was not mentally capable of running the house, and with the emotional piece of that curse, I might never bond with a witch to carry on the family line."
"How would he know how to cast a spell that terrible? Does he work at Azkaban?" Harry asked.
"He's an unspeakable." Seeing Harry didn't know what that meant, Neville went on to explain, "He works in the Department of Mysteries. Not for long, though." Neville's eyes burned with justice. "Healer Panakos will certainly turn him in for misuse of that spell."
"He'll get in trouble for that?" The disbelief was evident in Harry's voice. "I mean, it seems like our ministry punishes everyone but themselves for doing wrong shite."
"In this case, everyone knows how dangerous the people who work in the DOM can be. His misuse of a banned spell should see him removed as an unspeakable, which will force the binding of his magic and a rather large block obliviation of everything he learned working there."
"Whoa! What's that noise? Is that chickens coming to roost?" Harry grinned widely.
Neville laughed a little, but it was obvious not a happy sound.
"Yeah," he sighed, resigned.
"Well," Harry said, "I know a little of what it's like to go to a house that isn't a home where the adults ignore or misuse you. Isolated from every friendly face. In the bag, it's a communication mirror. I have a matching one," Harry pulled out a mirror similar to the one in the bag, "and so will Hermione. My godfather has the master. If any of us are carrying it and you call our names into it, we will hear. Speaking for myself, I will answer, no matter where I am." Harry showed how it worked, and Neville smiled.
"Wicked," he breathed. Then he looked at Harry quizzically. "Your dad made this, too?"
"He, Professor Lupin, and Sirius were partners in Ancient Runes. The map and mirror were their fifth-year projects. Of course, they dumbed down the one they showed the professor and patented the real ones."
Neville smiled, and it was the first real smile he'd shown. "Savvy."
"Yeah, I think Sirius said he's going to start selling them this year, which is why you have to keep this one quiet. Anyway. Let's schedule a time or two a week. Just to touch base."
"Yeah. How about Tuesday and Friday night at nine? Gran usually 'retires' around eight. She goes to drink sherry and listen to the dramas on the wireless."
"My relatives used to gather round the telly. Same difference. As for the mirror. The bag is charmed to keep it safe, and it does have its own durability runed into it. I'll try to carry it with me always, in case. But," Harry hesitated. "I wanted to bring up another thing. Before the horde come down for breakfast in a few minutes."
Neville nodded. "Go ahead."
Harry heaved a great breath. "Dobby saved my life last summer. He told me a week ago or so, about a friend of his. Her name is Winky."
Neville looked at Harry blankly.
"She was Crouch's elf," Harry supplied, and a look of understanding crossed Neville's expression. "Well, in a typical bully maneuver, Crouch didn't let her find a new family. He simply broke her bond."
"That's murder," Neville breathed.
"She slowly going crazy I think you should take her in. Make her your personal elf. Especially now." Neville had been hesitant, but looked at Harry with a question at the last statement. "If your gran had anything to do with any of those spells? Or even if she knew they were there and didn't stop them?"
Neville looked grim. "I'll call Winky when I get home. The Longbottom elves can help her stabilize again – has she started drinking Butterbeer?"
"I don't know. If she doesn't answer your call, call Dobby. I've told him to listen for your call. He'll bring her to you."
"I will. Thanks, Harry. Thanks for being a friend and for looking out for other people." Neville pocketed the mirror and went toward the stairs to check the elves got all his stuff into his trunk. Pausing, he turned back to his friend. "Do you think that it's when we become adults that we become gits?"
Harry waved away the privacy spells that hadn't fallen already. The noise that came back in told him most of the dorm was up and getting ready to leave. "Two pieces of contrary evidence. One: McLaggan is a complete berk and he's only one year above us. Two: I think the war knocked out most of the non-git adults of the older generation. Your parents and mine put themselves on the line to defend others. Just, we got left with the turds. Right?"
"Lucky us." Neville turned and went up the stairs, and Harry watched, wishing he could change the world.
The leaving Express of 1994 was the first time in Harry's memory that he could actually just relax and have fun. At Hogwarts, there was always this external pressure, people always watching him. In Surrey… well, he didn't have to go to Surrey anymore.
This summer, when he got off the train, it would be to freedom.
At the current time, he was prepared to enjoy the ride back to London as he never had. There was no Dursley storm cloud hanging over his head. He had friends, and he was going to hang out with them, no classes, quidditch, or arsehole adults would rain on his parade.
They had claimed their compartment early: Neville, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. When they sat, Harry excused himself and walked the train til he found her.
"Luna," she was reading a magazine, upside down, alone in a compartment. "Come sit with us!"
"Yes?" Her look was a bit stunned; she was still surprised to have friends.
"Unless you'd rather sit alone," Harry was hesitant. He had been there before, where he just wanted to enjoy solitude.
"No, no, Hermione will need another. To balance off you three males. Otherwise, the aura of the carriage would lean too masculine."
That was the first thing that she'd ever said that Harry understood right out of her mouth. "Got that in one. I don't know how she puts up with us."
Harry hefted Luna's trunk and guided her to the carriage he was sharing with the other Gryffs. He edged passed Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott – two badgers who got on well with Neville but had always given Harry a bit of the stink eye, especially since the basilisk incident – as they stood in the hall outside where Harry's friends sat. Ron was looking between the girls and Neville and giving Harry a bit of the waggle brow.
Harry just shook his head in the negative. Ron gave a "really?" look which Harry confirmed. The look of disappointment on Ron's face was comical.
More comical was that they'd had the exchange right under Hermione's eye as she talked to the other girls, and she hadn't noticed. Neville had just contributed quietly when spoken to directly.
"Well, have a great summer!" Hannah said to the carriage in general.
"You too, Hannah."
"Bye, guys. Good job again, Hermione," Susan added. "Hey, Harry. Luna."
"Hello Susan Bones," Luna said in an airy voice. "I heard you and your family are going to Greece this summer?"
Susan smiled. "Yeah! Mum and Dad got us a villa on one of the magic only islands. It should be fun!"
"Do watch out for heliopaths. It is the last known area of their habitation," Luna warned in her spacey manner.
"Ummm… sure! Have a good summer yourself." The red head shared an eyeroll with her blonde friend, and the two walked away.
Harry put Luna's trunk on the shelf in their compartment and took his seat next to the window, and Luna sat down between him and Neville. Ron and Hermione took up the other seat, with Crookshanks between them.
"Where's Hedwig?" Hermione asked.
"I had her fly ahead. I never bothered to get another cage after…" after the Dursleys destroyed all his things, Harry left off.
"Better for owls to fly, anyhow. Even Errol, as decrepit as he is, would prefer to fly than be caged." Ron nodded. The door to their compartment was still open, and they all looked up at the knock.
"Hey guys!" Ginny stood in the open door, looking in at the group. "Is there room for one more?"
"We're pretty tight," Hermione said with some apology. But not really.
Ginny had reached out to "be friends" a few times that year, but it was pretty clear she still just wanted info on Harry. And she asked, not once but twice, why Harry hung out with "Loony" so much.
Hermione had no use for bullies.
"That's all right then, I'll sit with Faith." Faith was another Gryffindor in Ginny's year. "Are you coming to the burrow at all this summer, Harry?"
"I don't think so. But I'll see your family at the quidditch cup."
He could see the disappointment in Ginny's eyes, but Harry didn't pay it any mind. Ginny was a Boy Who Lived groupie, still. He didn't mind her, but he wasn't going to voluntarily hang out with her any time soon.
"OK, then. See you guys." She walked away, dragging her trunk.
"She suffers from an entire host of wrackspurts," Luna sighed. "She used to be more Weasley and less Prewitt and then that black book got her. Every time she wrote in it, I swear, the wrackspurts dug another tunnel in her thoughts."
"Who told you about that book, then?" Ron demanded, not even getting to the Prewitt/Weasley latent insults. Ginny's possession had been a family secret!
"People don't see me. We rode the express together before we were sorted, and she wrote in it more than half the ride. I saw her with it in the halls several times. Why, the black cloud around the thing was impossible to miss. Perhaps it was what the muggle astrologers refer to as a black hole?"
"Astronomers. They study the physics of the stars. Astrologers study the divination of the stars." Herimone tried to translate and hold her eyeroll.
"What's a black hole?" Neville asked. In a side conversation, Harry tried to explain from what he had read in his Earth/Space science course from St. George's. When Ron guffawed about Muggles believing in things they couldn't see, Luna addressed Hermione. She believed the brilliant witch might have more of an understanding than Harry did, or, at least, would want to explain in her own words.
"As logy is Greek for study and nomy translates to numbers, I suppose it is apt. Can you tell me what a black hole is? My dad says they're the portals the dementors came through to get to our reality."
Hermione tilted her head. She didn't know a great deal about astronomy, but there was a theory about some black holes – worm holes? – being extra-dimensional transit.
Could it be?
"I really don't know. But I'll do some reading this summer if you'd like."
"Send me the names of the books to read; I'm a Ravenclaw, we like to get to the source when possible."
Just then, a random Hufflepuff from a year ahead of them popped their head in the door. "Nope. Not here. Hey! Granger, can I shake that hand?"
The boys broke out into laughter at Hermione's resigned look and outstretched unenthusiastic hand.
Since the leaving feast, students across the houses (even a few, rare Slytherins) had asked to shake the hand that socked Malfoy. Hermione always acceded to the requests with as much grace as she could, but she was getting tired of it.
Hermione shook her head as the badger left, laughing uproariously at the idea of a muggleborn punching the Malfoy heir.
"You can't be surprised they want to shake the hand that punched Malfoy," Ron said.
"I'm just surprised," Hermione replied archly, "that the older Gryffindors haven't excommunicated me for losing us the house cup."
Neville nodded shortly. "Never mind that you earn 50% of our academic house points alone. Remember how they treated you guys when you lost the 150 points the first year?"
"Nobody even asked us why we were out," Harry said with exasperation.
"Well, if you had told the rest of your housemates that Hagrid had a dragon, he would have been fired two full years earlier," Luna argued, not even looking up from her book. They all looked at her, especially Neville, in surprise.
"Hagrid had a dragon?" Neville asked.
"Hmm," Hermione said. "In a wooden hut."
"Norwegian Ridgeback. Bit me, it did." Ron added with a short nod. "My brother Charlie came and took it to the sanctuary where he works, in Romania."
Neville was looking back and forth between his three friends, wondering if he'd ever know the extent of their "adventures" from the first two years.
None of them asked how Luna knew. She seemed to know an awful lot.
"Anyway," Hermione continued, "the older kids in our house have never been too gracious about our 'missteps.' Just thinking about how most of them treated Harry last year, for the 'crime' of being a parselmouth…" She looked out the window, her jaw set with remembered fury.
Ron nodded. "Yeah, when you put it like that. I'm surprised they didn't give you more grief."
"It's because of Neville," Harry said. "Right after Dumbledore made his little announcement," Harry's voice mirrored his disdain, "Neville stood up and then you and me followed, clapping?" Harry nodded to Ron. "It showed there was more to the story."
"Maybe it's more than that," Neville said. "Maybe being completely wrong the last two years and finding out what actually happened to you made them think before they jumped to conclusions."
Harry snorted. "You have way too much faith in people, mate. Our housemates jump to conclusions like there's a prize at the end."
"Don't give me too much credit." Neville smirked. "I've learned the hard way not to underestimate pack mentality."
Luna nodded in agreement to this one and smiled. But it wasn't a happy smile. "None of us is as stupid as all of us?"
"Stupid, mean, you name it…" Harry grumbled. "But at least I know now there are some people, some adults, that we can trust."
"People can change," Ron said quietly. Hadn't he changed most of his own stupid behavior? He was at least trying. He felt Hermione's hand squeeze over his as she smiled, acknowledging what he was saying.
"Well, at the least, the faculty is changing at school, if not the students." Luna added dryly. "We lost three professors this year. It's a new record! I checked."
"Three professors and Madame Pomphrey," Hermione added sadly.
"The professors are no great loss," Ron shrugged. "I mean, Professor Lupin was great, but we always change defense teachers. Snape was worse than Binns, and Hagrid, well, I love Hagrid but…"
"He was hopeless as a teacher. Yeah," Neville agreed.
"Fred and George are trying to get him to apply for Charlie's job at the Dragon preserve," Ron added.
"Charlie quit his job?" Harry asked.
"Finished his mastery, didn't he? Passed the last test in January." Ron quipped proudly.
"Isn't he full young to have a mastery?" Hermione asked.
"Well, he's been a journeyman for I don't know… five years?" Ron scrunched up his nose and looked to the ceiling in thought. "I think five years."
"I remember, kind of, when he first left your home." Luna smiled, and it was a warm one. "My mother baked a dirigible plum pudding for your mum to console her. No mum wants her child to play with dragons; that's what Mum said." Her voice trailed off.
"That was the same summer…" Ron stopped speaking, then paled. "Sorry, Luna."
She smiled, "Do not trouble yourself. The accident happened, and in this timeline, I can do nothing to alter that."
Neville whispered to Hermione, who looked confused, that Luna's mum had died in a spell accident. Hermione turned to her odd little friend. "Oh, Luna," she consoled.
"It truly is fine," Luna said, but her eyes were filling with tears. Hermione moved across the aisle and hugged her.
"If you ever want to talk about your mum, I'll listen. I swear. You taught me how to be a friend. Let me be yours."
Luna nodded harshly, swallowing her tears. "Not now though. We don't want to attract Halophile Grubs. They subsist on human tears."
"Of course, they do," Hermione smiled, and Luna turned to Ron.
"William and Charles are quite a bit older than you are, yes?"
Glad the subject had changed back to one that didn't make girls cry, Ron nodded. "When mum and dad first got married, they had Bill and Charlie right out of the gate. But they waited to have Percy until after Dad got promoted to department head. Bill's like, thirteen years older than Gin."
"What does Bill do?" Neville asked.
"Works for Gringotts. Cursebreaker. That's where we were last summer, visiting him in Egypt."
"I heard a nundu got loose in the valley last summer?" Luna asked.
"Yeah. Charlie actually came down to help corral the thing. They're ferocious and talk about morning breath. Yikes."
"It would be fascinating to talk to them about how they chose their careers," Hermione pondered. "We don't have nearly enough career counseling at Hogwarts."
"Well, you'll get your chance to grill them at the Cup. If you come. Are you going to come?"
Hermione sighed. She turned to Luna. "Are you? I'll go if you will." Luna was about as fond of quidditch as Hermione was.
"Dad already told Stubby Boardman that I could go."
"Huh?" Hermione asked, completely asea.
"Luna believes that Sirius is actually the lead singer of the Hobgoblins. In disguise. Sirius likes the Hobgoblins, so he's okay with it," Harry explained.
"ooooh…kay," Hermione chuckled. "Count me in. We'll have fun!"
"We will." Harry smiled at her, glad he'd get to see all his friends before school and its hectic schedule took over.
They passed the rest of the train ride talking about this and that, playing snap, gobstones, and Uno (Harry and Hermione taught their magic-raised friends the game, and they loved it).
Finally, they packed away all of their things, the children all got their trunks and disembarked into the mass of humanity that was platform nine and three quarters.
Harry waited, patiently, for the crowds to clear a bit, looking for Sirius. And there he was.
"Pronglet!"
Though Harry had just seen Sirius a few days earlier, he went in for a hug. He was starting to get used to positive tactile response and hugs from Sirius were only second in comfort to hugs from Hermione.
"Ready to go?" Sirius asked. An elf popped in and took Harry's trunk ahead.
"Yeah. Let's go home."
"This is the library." Sirius had taken Harry through the ground floor of their house.
Their house.
Sirius had gone over every square inch, every nook and cranny, to put his own Padfoot stamp on the old place.
It still resonated with Black magic, but it no longer had the Dark tinge – hell, dark hadn't been a trace or a smattering but the overwhelming flavor of the magic before the cleansing.
Harry was impressed with the house, overall. Sirius had been very busy, if this house had ever been dank. Because now, it was open, airy, comforting and just beautiful. Every room tour, he smiled a bit more.
"Some of the books," Sirius continued, "are unrepentantly dark. But if you want to defend yourself from the dark, you have to have an idea what they might throw your way. Forewarned is forearmed."
"Know your enemy," Harry finished and Sirius looked at him quizzically. "Muggle saying. Anyway, yeah. I'll stay away from the dark books. But are those?" Harry looked at a small section.
"More parselmagic books. Yeah. I have feelers out for them, and Moony's going to go out and build up our library. While he's not doing the work he's doing for Fezziwig."
"Is he going to be selling the balm?" Harry asked, a bit worried. "I know Master Fezziwig is concerned that, once the dark wanks know it works, they'll try to muscle their way into stealing it."
Sirius smirked. "I might have helped in the planning of the sales. A bit." He held up his finger and thumb to indicate just a little amount, and Harry knew that the two remaining Marauders had put some thought into mischief with the sales.
"Will you tell me?" Harry asked.
"Sure. Let's sit." They both sat on chairs near a low table, and as soon as they had, a tea service appeared. "Thank you!" Sirius chimed, knowing one of the elves had provided it.
"Yeah, thanks!" Harry agreed with a smile.
Harry fixed his tea and sipped, looking at Sirius with his big, green eyes imploringly.
"God, those Evans eyes. Your dad could never hide anything from her, and I'm beginning to understand why. OK. So, the first thing: The balm is going to be sold on the muggle side of different cities. It will be sold on Wednesday mornings, but otherwise, where it will be sold will change every week."
"Randomize it up," Harry nodded. "You can't plan to rob a store if you don't even know where the store will be."
"Right. The location of the sales will be protected by a fidelius charm. The fidelius is a charm that hides a location, completely and utterly, unless one has been given the secret of the location. The secret will be written on a paper held in Gringotts."
Harry laughed. "And in order to get the secret, you have to pay in advance! Nice."
"Yes. Because of the limited supply – and you're going to have to go in weekly still, to keep up to what demand we can fill, if you're okay with that," at Harry's enthusiastic nod, Sirius continued, "a customer can only purchase two weeks' supply, max."
"Okay, that makes sense," Harry agreed.
Sirius sighed. "The next piece was tricky. We've runed the vials to get the ID of the person who purchased them and return to HC when emptied. They also will take the magical signature of the person who got the balm applied. That was a piece of work, let me tell you."
Harry was sipping slowly, his look far away. "If you know who's getting the medicine, you can match it with the person who paid."
"And we can know if someone is purchasing for someone else, or if someone is stealing the balm. Fezziwig agreed with me – we should reserve the right to deny the balm to someone who tries to force their way into more of the supply."
"As you know at least one of these tosspots will try, once they know it works. We've priced it so high that it will take away all of their ill-gotten gains, if they haven't already spent it all."
"Well, rampant thuggery has always worked for them in the past," Sirius stated. "It's going to be a hard lesson for at least one of them."
The balm – strengthened with Harry's parselmagic – did, indeed, work as an almost miraculous panacea. Harry helped brew and applied the parsel spell the weekly, when he went to his mind healing session. He also gave more basilisk venom to the cause. He didn't want people to be in pain, even if they were death eaters.
In mid-June, the analgesic went on the market, and was purchased by a few of the more desperate, rich death eaters.
Simon Parkinson was among the first to try the stuff.
"Lord Parkinson," Healer Bey bowed slightly to his private patient. "I have no more news for you with respect to your current ailment."
"Indeed, Dawoud, I have news for you. This is a new medicine, purported to work. I have seen three different men who tried it. They are none the worse for the wear and indicate that it helps enormously." Parkinson held out a vial of bright orange liquid to his healer. The man might be an infernal foreigner, but he was an excellent healer and potions master.
Bey ran his wand over the glass, analyzing the information that came back from his diagnostic spell. He muttered, nodded, and shook his head.
"There are pieces I do not recognize. But whoever has made this has access to a parselmouth, as it's enhanced by a parsel spell. It's what causes the glow. There is also venom of extremely high toxicity. Magical snake or wyvern, I'd say."
"It's poison?" Simon was outraged to have been thus fooled. But Healer Bey shook his head.
"No, in many high-end healing potions, a trace amount of venom actually enhances the healing properties of the potion." He saw that his patient didn't quite believe him. "Rather like a dash of salt makes a sweet item taste… sweeter? Surely, you've heard of the limb-regeneration potion that was used so freely this winter? And the magical scar ointment? Those rely on the high-toxicity venom to boost the normal properties exponentially."
"You think this balm is safe, then?"
Healer Bey nodded. "I do. But I shall watch and run tests as you administer it."
Simon nodded shortly. He removed his robe and rolled up his sleeve. Uncorking the vial, he poured the ghastly-orange gel-like substance (and there wasn't much of it) onto his tortured skin. In the months since the Burning started, his flesh had become so sensitive that even sleeves hurt. His magic tortured him. Without occlumency, he would have gone the way of his brethren in Azkaban.
The vial popped out of his hand, obviously inscribed with a "return to owner" rune set. By the time he turned his attention back to his arm, he noted he didn't have anything forcing his attention to his arm.
In short: it didn't Burn. It didn't hurt. It didn't even ache, which the mark always had, since he'd taken it.
Tears popped into his eyes. Simon Parkinson was vicious to his enemies and barely cordial to his friends. He was fair with his business associates, and he respected his wife. But he did not cry. Not even when his eldest son died of spattergoit did he cry.
Ruthlessly forcing the emotion away, he cleared his throat before speaking. "The symptoms are gone. I feel… well. Could you please run a diagnostic?"
Casting at the specific area and over his patient, Healer Bey kept his expression neutral. To see a Death Eater – and he despised what his patient had done, but as a healer, he would always alleviate suffering and as an immigrant, he couldn't very well be picky about who he had for patients – almost cry in relief?
It was certainly surprising, as well as satisfying on some level.
"The nerves are stabilizing. The venom has been neutralized. I see no negative effects. Do you wish me to run diagnostic spells the rest of the day? Keep you under observation?"
Parkinson shook his head. "I'll come back this afternoon, and again twice a day for the rest of the week. I'll see myself out."
Simon wanted to go home. Iris had been very concerned about him. Rightfully. Though he had good occlumency, the Burning was pernicious. Parkinson had been closing out his affairs and would have taken certain steps once his youngest daughter graduated from Hogwarts.
His only light in that particular tunnel was that he had the foresight to keep Iris pregnant during the Dark Lord's rule. The mark was never given to a woman who was increasing – something about the magic of the babe inhibiting the process. He had a large family and now, he would be around to see them for longer than he had thought.
It was a good day.
Over the week Simon applied the balm and had his healer go over his health, twice a day. There did not seem to be any side effects or underhanded dealings. Indeed, the ointment was so expensive that only the wealthiest would be able to afford it, long term. Simon was afraid someone was trying to undermine the ruling class. But it seemed that the only side effect of the treatment was a lighter coin purse.
It worked, just as advertised.
After word of the treatment spread, it rapidly sold out on the Wednesday mornings. Livia Prescott, a known werewolf (who was taking part in the new wolfsbane study) was the primary salesperson. She and a few other weres (Remus Lupin among them) set up shop in the morning, setting the fidelius and other wards on the temporary shop used for sales that day.
The first week, sales were slow and very limited. But after Parkinson reported that it worked for him, sales picked up immediately. They had run out of balm before noon the second week. Gringotts promised to have more available if people signed up for service.
And so, the third week, the balm shop was fully stocked, Livia, Remus, Garret (another werewolf) and three house elves waited for their customers and hoped everything went as well as the first two weeks did. They were, of course, dealing with death eaters, so they hoped rather than believed.
"Why are you so nervous today?" Harry asked as Sirius threw himself into a chair again after pacing the room. "We don't have to go to Salisbury if you don't want to." They had plans to camp on the site of Old Sarum and investigate the druid magic that still resonated there before heading to the ancient henge nearby with its still-active circle.
"It's not that," Sirius stood, and resumed pacing, picking up objects and setting them down again.
"You're worried about Moony," Harry realized. Moony was selling the balm. He had something a bunch of murderous thugs wanted, and only his wit and strength and a bit of subterfuge was between him and a bunch of 'reformed' death eaters.
No wonder Sirius was nervous.
"Yeah. Yeah, I am," Sirius said, running his hand through his hair. "I know he can take care of himself, but…"
"Yeah," Harry sighed. "The first two weeks weren't too bad, though," he encouraged.
Shaking his head, Sirius rubbed his hand along his forehead and sighed. Looking at Harry, he shared his worries. "The first week, they had no idea whether it would work or not. They were so desperate that they'd try anything. Last week, Remus said they ran out of balm, because they hadn't predicted the sales properly. Now, the death eaters know it works and that the shop will be fully stocked? Remus and Livia are a target. They know it. I feel like I should be there."
"They're right bastards, those death eaters." Harry muttered, shaking his head. "Mooney is tough though and smart. And Livia is a real arse-kicker." Moony had brought his new partner (and girlfriend) around to the house a few times. She was fun and funny, but also had been able to make a successful life in a world that was set against her. Harry respected her enormously. "They'll be alright."
"I hope so," Sirius muttered. He'd lost enough friends. He couldn't lose any more.
Everyone's worries were completely founded.
Junius Nott tried to force his way into stealing more than he paid for.
Entering the tent, Nott brought up his secondary, illegal wand. "All right then, folks. Hand it all over and I promise only to kill you."
The wolf next to the door's eyes glowed with menace, and Nott girded himself, ready to send a silver-knife spell. The stupid wolf in front of him, between him and the balm, grinned with madness.
That one was going down first.
Nott sent the silent spell at the wolf behind the counter. His casting failed. He then tried a physical attack as he had silver daggers in his possession, just in case the proprietors of the balm were smart enough to ward against casting.
When he went to jump, he felt a strange grip on his legs, and suddenly, he was outside the shop. He tried to re-enter, only to find that he was force-portkeyed to a warded cell and unable to apparate or get himself out.
He was released that afternoon, and he went to Gringotts, demanding a refund and the names of those who ran the shops. He was determined to get his pound of flesh.
Thugs like Nott still thought might was right. The result was that he was not allowed to purchase at all. Nott's magical signature was banned from all future balm sales and permanently disallowed from the balm shop wards.
A notice was put up that if any provided Junius Nott with the balm, by sale or by gift, that person would be barred from purchasing the medicine themselves. It was a limited resource, after all. The vials were all keyed with the purchaser's and recipient's magical signatures, and if Nott's showed up on any vial, the proprietors would know and take further action.
No death eater was willing to deny themselves the cure, just to help Nott.
Two weeks after losing access to the balm, Junius killed himself.
"Hermione, courrier pour toi!"
Hermione's aunt Cécile handed Hermione a relatively thick envelope with postage from Britain on it.
The paper it was on smelled of parchment. It was such a very odd dichotomy. The handwriting was a dead give away if the return address wasn't
Hey Hermione
It's Ron
Like she didn't know that. Her friend was so silly sometimes.
I heard from Harry already this summer. Nev, too. Not Luna, but she and her dad are supposed to get home in a week, so I suppose I'll see her then. It's no secret that they've gone on vacation to find her a new pet.
Speaking of, I've got a new one to match Harry's Pet. Bill, Charlie, and Percy put together for a late birthday present for me. His name is Chudley, and he's little, orange, and white. He's tiny but mighty. Like you! Gin was jealous until he gifted her the remains of the breakfast he hunted. Mom won't let me feed him from our table, so I'll never know what his favorite food will be.
Are you excited to go to the match? I know sport isn't your thing, but it's a big one, and there'll be a ton of people from other countries and such. We're all excited. I think Ginny's only excited because Harry's going. She keeps talking about him and how dreamy he is. She's barmy. I'm glad you're not a girl like that.
Anyway, I just wanted to say hi and that I hadn't forgot my friends over hols. See you at the match!
Ron
Hermione wondered at the underlined passages and realized all at once. She excused herself then whispered over the parchment: "Hedwig's favorite food is bacon." "Hedwig's bacon." She tried a few other combinations until she tried "Hedwig loves bacon."
And the paper shimmered in her hand, becoming parchment.
Hey Mione,
Ron here. I knew you'd figure it out because you're brill.
Hermione rolled her eyes at the repeat identification, but blushed with the compliment.
I had Fred and George help me figure out how to get this letter to you. They worked with Percy, cos he's of age, to make this parchment look like… whaddya call it? Pay purr? What's that, then? Something Crookshanks does?
Just having you on. I know what paper is. But sometimes, you think us magic-born are completely daft. Did you get a good laugh?
It was a challenge, sending muggle mail to France. Let me tell you. I asked Harry how to do it. He told me I had to add a dress. Why do you need a dress? He told me to give the directions to Gred. It was like four owls between us blokes for me to be able to send this. Hope you appreciate it!
I still don't understand why Forge had to put the sticky things on the envelope. It was weird. Muggles must be touched in the head – licking pay purr for post.
I know it's a bit odd for me to be writing. But I'm trying to be a better friend. Dad says that part of being a better friend is good communication. I'm writing to you. Is that what he meant? I wrote to Nev and Harry too, like I said on the pay purr.
I really like writing pay purr, and I bet it's got your goat every time I do, yeah?
But the burrow is dead boring. I swear. Mum listens to that awful Celestina Warbeck and makes me degnome the garden and feed the chickens and goats and cow and pick the veg and fruit. At least she doesn't make me do laundry. That's GinGin's job, and she got mad at me a few weeks back and starched all my pants. She's right mean, my sister.
It's so boring that I actually started my summer homework. When did I go mental?
I can't wait to see the cup. Krum is sure to catch the snitch. He's the best keeper ever…
Here, Ron devolved for over a page, talking about sport. Mostly, he wrote of quidditch, but he also gave space to football and rugger, as the pub in Ottery St. Catchpole, a mixed village, always had some sort of sport on the telly. Ron had apparently spent several hours that summer watching the matches in hopes to understand more what Dean and Seamus would go on about.
I know you're stuck in muggle land, but when you come back, you need to keep your ears open. I think something big is going down at Hogwarts this year. I know, two years' peace was too much to expect? I heard Mum talkin on the floo – I think to Charlie – but she changed the subject like when I came in the room. Fred and George say they heard a weird conversation between Dad and Percy, too. Not suspicious at all. I told Harry and Nev to keep their ears open. We'll compare notes at the cup.
Speaking of, I think Ginny's gone round the twist. She wants me to ask you to ask Sirius (see what I mean?) if she can bunk with you and Luna to be with girls. At the cup. But I think she just wants to be closer to Harry, and I don't think I wanna do that to him. Mum wants her with you, too, though. Maybe, I don't know, but could you be a girl, and tell Ginny Harry doesn't like her in a boy/girl way? I tried, and she just got mad and nasty (see laundry episode above) and that made Mum and Dad mad at me which wasn't fair. What'd I do? Just try to tell her the truth and spare her feelings. You'd think after the Lockhart poem disaster, she'd give up. Eyes like pickled toad? I ask you. She's a stubborn witch, though.
Well, that's all the news from Devon. Hope you're okay on the other side of the channel and that you don't dock me points for the spelling and grammar in this here letter. See you soon.
Ron
Hermione put the letter away and went to the sitting room, perching on a window seat overlooking the garden with her history text and a notebook. She had just started taking notes when her father noticed her.
"Did you enjoy your letter, poppet?" Benedick Granger looked up from his coffee – one of the things that was superior in this foreign land of his wife's birth.
"Yes, Daddy. Ron was mostly complaining about everything, as usual, but he did make me laugh."
"How my daughter's friends are all boys…" Élise bemoaned the situation with a wink to Hermione, showing she was joking.
"Luna is one of my best friends. But she's all the way over in the America's for the summer," Hermione defended. "A letter would never get here on time." Not sent by muggle post, anyhow, Hermione thought to herself.
Her mother didn't have a chance to answer, being hailed by Cécile Huet, Hermione's aunt.
"Élise, viens voir ces photos." Cécile called Élise away, and Hermione watched her mum and aunt look over pictures from their grandparents' youth, chatting away about who was in what picture. They were joined shortly by Benedick Granger, who had an interest in historical things.
Hermione's bully cousins, twins Daniele et Lisette, sat on either side of her in the window seat.
"Who did you pay to send the letter?" Lisette whispered rudely.
"As we all know you have no friends except books." Daniele finished with a mean little smirk.
Hermione sighed. "Since I'm such an inferior example of a person, you should just ignore me. I'm obviously not worth your time." Looking down at the chapter she was reading – the royal progression in the hundred years' war – she put her cousins out of her mind.
The twins couldn't make out if Hermione was having them on or being serious. They tried another avenue.
"God, you're such a nerd. Reading school work when there's so much more to do."
Hermione closed her book. "What are you lot doing then?"
They looked at each other. They had spent a full half an hour dissing Hermione. This was the first that she'd engaged them, and they weren't sure how to react.
"We were thinking about going to the beach."
"Oh, that sounds lovely. Are you going for a swim, or just a walk?"
"Neither, you stodgy old girl. The beach is where everyone who is anyone hangs out."
"Well, I'm for a swim," Hermione smiled, refusing to let the terror twins get under her skin. Some girls were just bitches.
Putting her text back in her rucksack, Hermione changed into a swim suit, plaited her hair, applied sun lotion, put on a wrap, a sun hat, glasses, and sandals. She was ready for a swim.
The twins, already cowed by Hermione's superior mind, were completely threatened by her new maturity and attitude. In the past, they had always been able to put her in her place. They went to an exclusive school, they holidayed in the most exclusive of resorts. The only reason Granger was able to be here was their parents invited hers.
Always before, they had been able to get her goat. They'd make fun of her studying, and she'd stammer and excuse herself. This summer, she simply asked what they had to offer that was better.
They'd make fun of her appearance. But sometime, somehow, she'd managed to get those beaver teeth fixed. (Healer Panakos had fixed them the first night of term, with Hermione's grateful permission.) And now, with the heavy clothes of the British winter shed, they saw that she was, somehow, fitter than they were.
Hermione, almost 15, was a bit more mature than her slightly younger cousins and had started to blossom. She also had finally found hair products that worked for her and made good use of them.
The twins couldn't get under Hermione's skin. But they bet the beach crowd could. They were surprised when she came out, really ready to swim.
Several of the boys in the young crowd noticed Hermione, and the popular set began to talk to her. They whiled away the afternoon, Hermione chatting away with different kids, and the twins glowering at her seeming social success.
"Oncle Benedick will not be half pleased that you're such a flirt," Daniele accused.
"If flirting is asking them questions, listening to answers, and not talking about myself and how cool I am and how dopey every other female is, I suppose I'm a flirt. That makes you the stodgy ones." Hermione smirked, walked back to the house, and wasn't bothered much by her cousins for the rest of the visit.
"Ma chère, come sit with your maman." Élise Granger patted the cushion next to her on the window seat. It was Hermione's favorite place to sit, and her mother wanted her comfortable.
Élise pulled Hermione around, pulled her hair out of the plait, and started to brush (with Hermione's new, magical brush that calmed her hair.) Hermione would have worried a year ago that she was in trouble. But ever since her parents had heard what had happened to Harry (because Lord Black had told them), they had tried to reach out to her more. They knew that dealing with her friend's trauma would be traumatic for Hermione, too. These mother-daughter and father-daughter chats had become almost commonplace since summer hols started.
At least some good had come of that rotten situation.
"So, what did your friend have to say?" her mother asked.
Hermione sighed, "The usual – just telling about his family and home and asking what I'd heard from our friends. But there was a weird request. He wants me to ask Lord Black if Ginny can stay with us in his tent."
It was a convoluted request that only a thirteen-year-old boy would ask. Élise saw to the heart of it, though, being a woman and a mother. "Do you not want her in your tent?
"Not really." Hermione didn't want to say anything else.
Her mother stopped brushing and looked at her, patiently.
"She's kind of a bully." Hermione tried not to whine.
"Like your cousins?" The moue of humor on her mother's lips told Hermione that she'd seen the behavior and was quite proud of how Hermione was handling it.
Hermione blushed. "They're just trying to impress me. I know that. I'm older. They're threatened." Élise nodded and started brushing again. "Ginny's different. Ginny picks on Luna. Luna is the sweetest girl. Odd as a nine-bob note, but completely harmless and naïve. Her dad is a cryptozoologist who runs a 'News of the Weird' sort of paper. Her mum died, in front of her, when Luna was only nine. Ginny and Luna used to be friends, but since Luna has become friends with Harry, Ginny…"
"Ginny is the red head with the crush on Harry?" Élise vaguely recalled the girl from that horrid afternoon on Diagon Alley.
"Hmm. But she's had a crush on him since she was a little girl."
Élise had begun to French-braid Hermione's hair and paussed. "How, when she didn't know him?" Then her fingers began to work again. "Ahh, I see. She is in love with the celebrity."
"The myth, I think." Hermione mused, thinking about how Harry had reinforced that by saving Ginny and killing the basilisk. "The hero. She doesn't see Harry as just a boy."
"You want to protect him from her?" The murmur was knowing.
Hermione started to shake her head but her mother stilled her. Her hair was better behaved, but it was still a bulk of hair, and Élise wanted to get the entire plait finished. "No, not really. He doesn't have much to do with PotterSpotters, as he calls them. Before this year I might have worried. He would have done anything for Ron. But he and Ron got in such a blowout… well…"
"What was that about then?" Were you in the middle? Was what her mother really wanted to know. It was becoming apparent that Hermione was much more emotionally mature than her two friends, which would make sense since she was a girl. But it made for much exasperation on the witch's part.
"I thought Lord Black came and talked to you about what happened to Harry? When he set up the St. George's stuff with you?" Hermione really didn't want to talk more about it.
"Only in the vaguest of terms." Élise reassured. "We know that his former guardians and a few others in authority have become guests of Her Majesty."
"Yeah. Well. They deserve it." Her maman pressed a kiss to Hermione's head, and tears filled the girl's eyes.
"Why did any row with Ronald change Harry accepting this witch as a potential girlfriend?"
Hermione sighed. "Oh. Well. You know, those Dursleys always treated Harry badly. But Harry was embarrassed. Like it was his fault."
"Children often take onto themselves blame for situations over which they have no control." The braid was done, and Élise tied it off.
"And adults don't do that enough." Hermione said, bitterly as she turned to face her mother now her braid was done. Élise looked at her sharply and Hermione just shook her head. "Teachers, mum. The teachers at school." The older woman thought she'd come back to that later. "Anyway, Harry did stuff to hide how bad they treated him. First year, he figured out how to fix his appearance. I showed him the glasses repair charm; he learned that and others like it. Fixed his clothes." She paused, thinking back on all the clues she'd missed. And she considered herself both a smart, observant girl and a good friend.
"Summer before second year," Hermione continued, "a magical creature, an elf, caused some mischief in the Dursley house. They blamed Harry. They locked him in his room, put bars on the window. They gave him and Hedwig – she was locked in, too – just a can of soup a day."
"Harry knew that they had no compunction against starving him." Élise murmured and Hermione nodded.
"He tried to prepare. He spent the first part of the year learning how to make a magical bag. He made the most wicked bags to hide his precious things and food. He filled it with fruits and wrapped sandwiches. He hoped to save enough to get him through the summer if the Dursleys tried to starve him again."
"It would have been smarter to ask an adult for help," Élise ventured and was surprised at Hermione's venom-filled look.
"He did. Three times." Ahh, that explained the anger with her teachers. "He planned and he stockpiled. Then, he got bit by the basilisk."
"The one that attacked you?" Élise never would have thought the creatures of myth – and she used to love mythology – would be referred to as actual, living beings in her own life.
"The same. He was in the hospital wing for a week or so. When he got back, he was afraid he would have to take more sandwiches. He did a count. Dozens of his sandwiches were gone."
"Ronald had been eating them?" Élise concluded.
"Yeah." Hermione nodded then sighed. "He got into Harry's trunk, that didn't lock, and took Harry's food. Harry was so mad that he just dropped Ron completely. They had a big blowup at the beginning of term. When Ron found out exactly what happened, he apologized. He really, truly apologized. And Harry forgave him. But it's different now. When Ron starts to be a git, Harry checks him. Harry studies a lot more. He still plays quidditch and flies. He still goofs with the other boys. But he's not looking for Weasley approval."
"And that means he's not going to accept Ginny simply because she's Ron's sister." The woman concluded, finally understanding.
"Right."
"And you think that she wants to be your friend to have an in with Harry." The woman's insight was rarely wrong.
"Exactly. She always brings the conversation to Harry, thinking she's subtle, when she talks to me. When Harry is with us, she always takes the conversation to things I'm not interested in, like sport, or I don't know about, like things Harry saw at the burrow when he was there."
"Trying to edge out her competition." Élise smiled a little, teasing Hermione.
"She set that snake on me, you know." Hermione didn't want anyone to think she was just a jealous twit. As her mother's smile fell immediately, she had met her goal.
"What?" The whisper was serious and demanding.
"She was under the influence of a dark – maybe black – magic object. She controlled the snake. Her victims were people who bothered Harry, mostly. And me."
That vicious little bitch had tried to kill my daughter, was all Élise could think. But aloud, she tried to be more politic. "Do you think she'd hurt you now?"
"No. But I would never trust her to be a true friend." Hermione concluded. Her mother nodded.
After a moment of silence, her mother came back to the problem. "What are you going to do about the cup?"
"I'm going to tell Ronald that he should ask his mum to ask Lord Black. He's more likely to do her a favor since she has looked out for Harry since she met him. In her overbearing way."
"And when she stays with you, you can watch over what she does." A raised brow was all the indication Hermione needed to see she had support.
After all, it was that much harder to be stabbed in the back when the potential assailant was in front of you, being watched.
A/N part deux:
I guess the moral of this chapter is: know your enemy! No, this is not going to be Ginny bashing. She's just a girl with a crush. As she was in canon. If Hermione turned just a bit, refusing to be friends with Ginny because of the basilisk, I don't think that Ginny would be so forgiving or accepting. Look how she treated Fleur. That sort of behavior is going to be what you'll get from her in this story. I did mark it H/Hr.
Bad google translate:
courrier pour toi = mail for you
viens voir ces photos = come look at these pictures