February 18, 1994
"Legilimens."
Ivy immediately felt the intrusion. She cleared off the stage of her mind before constructing her favorite defense.
A few moments later Sirius retreated.
"You did it!" he said excitedly. "You kept me out entirely."
"Not really," she replied, not feeling her godfather's level of enthusiasm. "I didn't force you out or anything."
"But you still kept me from getting anywhere," Sirius pointed out. "And that is quite impressive. But crocodiles? Really?"
Ivy giggled. "'Earth's Living Dinosaur,' don't you remember?"
Sirius muttered something intelligible. "I don't suppose you want to try using butterflies or something next time?"
"Ooh maybe I could do some that set you on fire when you get too close."
"You know what? How about you just stick to your swamp dinosaurs." Sirius made a face and Ivy laughed.
"Alright. So can we try again? I'd really like to expel you completely."
"…the room and into the wall," Sirius muttered. Ivy couldn't quite make out the rest of it. "Alright then," Sirius said, clapping his hands. "Let's try this ."
This time at the intrusion into her mind Ivy focused on driving it out. Her mind became a blank force pushing against that which didn't belong. The presence pushed back, so she imagined herself encircling it around, giving it nowhere to go. She gave a sharp metal push and felt it withdraw slightly. Feeling encouraged by the progress, she pushed again, this time envisioning the intruding presence disintegrating at her less than gentle nudge. A slight flickering gave her yet more encouragement, and she imagined herself pulling together an army of mental forces for a final assault.
A few feet away, now on his back on the floor, Sirius groaned.
"I did it!"
"You did it."
"Ten points to Hufflepuff!"
"Ten points to Hufflepuff," Sirius said with a laugh, pumping a fist into the air.
February 19, 1994
The many years he had spent alive thus far meant that Albus Dumbledore had had a great deal of practice in a great many things. And if he could have had things go his way, he would not be currently practicing the art of a neutral, yet genial expression masking inner rage. Just who did these people think they were, tellinghimof all people to "come back later" and "make an appointment." He shouldn't need an appointment to visit the Department of Mysteries. They should be thrilled to have him there, had been shuffled out the door last week when he tried coming to see the prophecy, and had been told to come back in a week! Didn't they know how important this was? Well, probably not, but what good was his fame and reputation if it didn't get him what he needed. And if Anthony Belby didn't think Albus recognized him as the short little Ravenclaw from a few decades back he was sorely mistaken.
So here he was now, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, defeater of Grindelwald, Hogwarts Headmaster and a bunch of other titles that had their occasional uses, sitting on a bench outside the entrance to the Department of Mysteries, smiling at the witches and wizards hurrying past, waiting for his "authorized escort" to the Hall of Prophecies.
He had suffered many indignities in his lifetime but this was quickly earning a high ranking on his list.
Anthony Belby watched the esteemed headmaster of Hogwarts leave in a huff, and couldn't quite hide the satisfied smile that had been threatening to break for some time now. Had he been petty? Absolutely. Did he regret it? Not for a moment.
In truth it would not have been difficult to accommodate the headmaster a week prior, but the wizard had failed to give any solid reason for being there in the first place beyond needing to "check on something," and Anthony was not in the habit of allowing just anyone to waltz into the Department of Mysteries on his watch, no matter how many titles they might hold. No, the headmaster could make an appointment just like any other witch or wizard, and Anthony had told him as such.
Of course making Dumbledore wait in the foyer for an extra twenty minutes was being rather petty, but it was a trick that had worked on many others who believed their name or title ought to earn them special privileges and attention. Anthony snorted at the thought. No special privileges to be found in the DoM. That's what the Minster's office was for.
And to think Dumbledore had put up such a fuss over a prophecy that wasn't even housed there anymore.
February 24, 1994
"Please tell me those are for you," Harry said to Luna, looking at the stack of letters on the table.
"I can lie to you if you'd like," Luna said, eyes not even lifting off the page.
Harry sighed but glanced over her shoulder to see what she was reading, making a face at the unintelligible print. "Or you could summarize what all those little squiggles are."
"Sinhala."
"Yes, that."
"I can after you summarize what is in that pile."
"You," Harry said, pointing an accusing finger, "know something. I know you do."
"I know plenty of things," Luna replied cheerfully.
"Not what I meant."
"Then perhaps you need to say what you mean."
"I don't want to look at the mail."
"It might be something informative."
"It's going to be terrible, isn't it."
"I doubt anything terrible will happen."
"That's what you said about the last little 'get-together.'"
"It wasn't so bad."
"Simon Parkinson said I had minions and peopleagreed."
"Only Remus and Carita."
"That doesn't make it better, you know."
"Augusta thought it was hilarious."
"Still not helping."
Luna made no further comment and Harry eyed the stack of letters for a moment before resigning himself to his fate. Somehow he doubted Voldemort had ever had to deal with this much mail. Then he realized who he was inadvertently comparing himself to and shuddered, throwing himself wholeheartedly into his task with the hope that it would distract him from that unfortunate comparison.
"So, what did I miss?" Remus said, sitting down across from Harry on one of the more comfortable chairs.
"Dumbledore discovered the prophecy is missing from the ministry and is attempting to blackmail Severus; about a dozen 'emergencies' came up in the Wizengamot so we're going to have push back our plan to deal with Umbridge; the TriWizard Tournament is apparently still on even though Crouch, who was the driving force behind it, is dead; the goblins have deigned to inform me that Dumbledore has been poking his nose aroundtheretrying to find out exactly what they did to Ivy's scar, then they also took the opportunity to remind me of the whole Master of Death thing and ask if I had any plans to use that status; and finally Neville overpowered a spell in charms yesterday and ended up in the hospital wing overnight."
Remus paused a moment before responding. "Sounds like a lot…"
"Oh, and I had to argue with nine different people that we couldn't just go around killing people we don't like."
"Umbridge," Luna mouthed to Remus, who nodded.
"And did that get… resolved?"
"The no killing thing? Yes. Sort of. Probably. I honestly don't entirely want to know, but at the same time I feel responsible, do you know what I mean?"
"I don't have minions so no, not really."
The glare Harry leveled at Remus for that statement would have been enough for most grown witches and wizards to flee for their very lives, but Remus managed to remain seated, calmly sipping his tea.
March 12, 1994
"Must we?"
"Yes Draco, we must," Fred said, theatrically placing a hand over his heart.
"Just so long as he doesn't try to feed us again," Draco grumbled.
"We can feed you if you get hungry," George offered.
"Pass," Draco replied sarcastically. He possessed something in the way of survival instincts, after all.
Upon reaching their intended destination Fred knocked on the giant wooden door. A moment later a tearful Hagrid opened the door, ushering the three boys inside.
Draco looked at the ceiling, silently counted to ten, then asked, "what happened?"
"Aragog's dead."
The loud blowing of the large man's nose drowned out George's question of "who?"
"They're all dead," Hagrid cried out, before beginning to sob.
Draco did not do comfort and so looked to the twins who had dragged him here in the first place to convey his insistence that they do something to fix whatever this was. Unfortunately for him, they seemed as lost as he the ones with more siblings than anyone could keep track of; they should be used to this sort of thing. Absolutely useless.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Draco began. "How did it happen?" Maybe this would give him some clue as to who this Aragog fellow was.
"He was fine before. No one bothers the Acromantula in the forest, you know. Who'd wanna do something like that?"
Draco processed that load of information as quickly as he could, simultaneously thinking up several reasons why someone would want to rid the forest of such a creature.
George cleared his throat. "So, er, how many more are there?"
Draco elbowed George's side but waited to hear the answer.
"They're all gone," Hagrid sobbed.
The three each let out their own small sighs, but Draco spoke up before Hagrid could notice their relief. "Was he a friend of yours then?" Seemed entirely plausible.
"I raised him since he was a baby," came the tearful response. "Saw him grow up, and all his children, and their children, and their children, and…"
Thankfully this was interrupted by yet another sob, leaving Draco free to try to think of something other than the several generations of Acromantula apparently inhabiting the forest. Well, past tense on that now, he supposed.
"And you're sure none of them are left?" Fred asked.
It lacked tact of course, but Draco was relieved when the answer came that yes, Hagrid was sure.
Draco shot down all further comments from the twins with a glare. The sooner he could comfort the man the sooner he could leave, and tactless questions that might prompt renewed expressions of grief were in direct conflict with that goal.
"Come in, Draco. Is something the matter?"
"There is a dead colony of Acromantula in the forest. Thought you might be interested."
"And how did you come by this information?" The last thing Severus needed was to learn his godson had been traipsing around the Forbidden Forest.
"Hagrid. He's rather upset. I guess one of them was his friend. Or pet, maybe?"
Of course it was.
Ivy scoped out the library, and, eyes coming to rest on her target, began walking quickly in that direction. Upon reaching the desired table she grabbed its two users by the arm and pulled them away. Surprised, they offered little resistance and stumbled onto their feet.
"I need your help," she said.
This was it. He knew this was it. Nearly three years of work and it was all for naught. Fire? Probably fire. Something had to be on fire, right?
He glanced at Thomas, trying to convey his line of thinking. Thomas just shrugged, but pointed out to Ivy that she wasn't wet.
"Why would I be wet?" she asked, a confused look on her face briefly displacing the previous look of concern and mild alarm.
Yes, definitely fire.
It was not fire. Thomas had thought for sure it had to have been fire. If something were drowning or flooding she would have been wet, and logically that left something being on fire. Percy had clearly shared his opinion, but they were both wrong. Instead, they were standing in his least favorite room in the castle, proud member of Slytherin House notwithstanding.
"Why are we in the Chamber of Secrets?" Percy asked, voicing their joint question.
Ivy shifted from one foot to the other. She was silent for a moment before suddenly blurting out, "Hilda took all the snakes on a field trip to the forest to teach them how to hunt and I think they killed an entire Acromantula colony and Hagrid is really sad now and I think it's all my fault."
Thomas blinked. "I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?"
"Yes, you said an Acromantula colony?"
Ivy looked back and forth between the two and nodded. "Am I responsible for murder now?"
After reassuring Ivy several times that she was not, in fact, guilty of murder or responsible for the actions of a thousand year old basilisk, parselmouth or not, Percy couldn't help but feel a little relieved that there was at least one magical creature in existence that Ivy Potter didn't seem to want to meet. There was hope for his sanity yet.
April 5, 1994
"I'm out. I can't take another round like that." Draco eyed the grass for a moment, wondering if his stomach was going to wish to meet it, but found his insides were content enough to stay where they belonged for now.
Fred and George nodded in sympathy. The flying barrel roll race had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now…
"Who is still in?" Blaise asked.
"Ivy," said Draco.
"Katie and Alicia too," Fred added.
"Bridget Holmwood, Cho Chang, Artemis Keighley, and Madeline Daubney are all still in as well," George said.
"Anyone else?" Draco asked.
The other three all shrugged.
It was another forty minutes before the round came to an end, and Katie Bell was declared the winner of the barrel race. Once Ivy was spotted Draco made his way over to her, followed closely by the other boys.
"Nice flying," Blaise said.
Ivy thanked him, and was about to say something else but was interrupted before she could begin.
"How did you girls manage to stay in for so long?" George asked.
"And how come it was all girls left?" Fred added.
Ivy looked confused for a moment but then realization hit her and she grinned. "You know there is a really nice little anti-vertigo potion. Fairly easy to brew. Rather effective."
The boys let out a collective groan.
"That's how you all lasted so long?" Draco asked, rather upset thathehadn't thought of doing that.
Ivy shrugged. "It was Cho's idea."
"I'm fairly certain I didn't get this sick in last year's Olympics," Fred muttered as they walked back towards the Quidditch field.
"Hey Ivy, you got any of that potion left?" George asked, gratefully catching a vial a moment later.
April 18, 1994
To anyone who found themselves in the Great Hall an hour before dinner inevitably noticed that group of seventh-year boys huddled together at one end of the Ravenclaw table. It was ostensibly neutral ground for the gathering of seventh-years, which was considered to be for the best based on the faces some of them were making. At the center of it all sat Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint, the two Quidditch captains who had been bitter rivals before becoming nearly inseparable. How long that would last was a matter of great speculation at the moment, since the two were seen glaring each other down by many of the student body over the course of the afternoon. Now, as they sat in the Great Hall, surrounded by several of their fellow seventh-years, it was anyone's guess, (and a few people's bets), as to how long it would take for the rivalry to resume in full force.
Percy wanted to bang his head on the table. He loved Oliver like a brother, but by Godric the man could be stubborn. When Oliver's argument with Flint had started earlier in the day over some Quidditch thing or other, Percy had foolishly thought it would be over within a few minutes, but now it was nearly dinner time and they were still going at it. Glares had replaced words for a while, but now, with so many of their fellow seventh-years near them (the boys at least, seeing as the girls had all had the good sense to avoid the situation entirely), the two Quidditch captains had resumed their use of the English language as a tool to beat each other into submission. Or something like that.
Earlier Percy would have happily left them to their glares and insults, but he had been cajoled into staying by the uncomfortable combination that was Thomas's pleading and Burke's glare, and now he was too invested in whatever "this" was to leave without seeing the outcome.
Cedric, like every other student in the Great Hall at present, was a bit more than mildly curious why the two Quidditch Captains were locked in such a heated battle of words. Traditionally that had not been their preferred manner of fighting but who was he to judge.
Finally seeing one of the seventh-years break away from the group at the center of it all, he hurried on over to find out what exactly was happening.
"May I ask what is going on between Wood and Flint?" he asked, hoping that the Gryffindor didn't catch onto the fact that Cedric couldn't remember his name at the moment.
The other boy hesitated momentarily before responding. "It's about Quidditch. Not sure what, precisely, don't think any of us know for sure. Last I heard they were arguing something to do with Cardiff."
The Quidditch portion of that reply was entirely unhelpful, because of course it was something to do with Quidditch. The only logical reasons for the two to be arguing would be over Quidditch or Ivy, and if it was Ivy it probably still had something to do with Quidditch. The Cardiff portion was interesting though, if not entirely informative. His attempts at unraveling the mystery with so little detail were interrupted however, as a sudden boom drew his attention to the two captains, who were now sporting a few small fireballs between them. This was… not good.
This was not good. Percy knew that he could reasonably deal with this on his own, but it would be so much easier if he had reinforcements. Suddenly he spotted Diggory a little ways away, looking their direction.
"Help me," he mouthed, gesturing to the two idiots who thought indoor fireballs constituted a viable fighting plan.
Cedric was a little far away to be reading lips, and he didn't have a particular talent for that in the first place, but Percy mouthing "Ivy" made plenty of sense to him, so he turned towards the door quickly to complete his appointed task.
Percy watched the Hufflepuff get up and walk straight out and sighed, thinking to himself that Cedric Diggory was proving to be almost an unhelpful as Thomas was being at the moment.
A brief moment later though he reentered the Great Hall, followed by… Ivy?
Ivy marched her way right down to the group of seventh years, most of them unconsciously parting the way for her.
Even Oliver and Flint looked up from their battlefield. The change was instantaneous.
"Hey Ivy, what's up?" Oliver asked, as if nothing at all were the matter.
Ivy did not look particularly pleased. "You two can't throw fireballsindoors," she said indignantly. "Do you know how much trouble I almost got in when George and I tried to do that? Fred made us take it outside by the greenhouses instead."
Percy's brain skipped a heartbeat as he tried to process how or when Fred became the responsible one of any group ever. He ignored the fact that Ivy, fire, and the flammable indoors were all mentioned in the same sentence. It was better that way.
"It was for a good cause?" Flint offered, as if unsure of his excuse himself.
"And what would that be?"
"Wood's being an idiot."
Oliver, obviously protesting this statement and subsequent reasoning, set about to explain loudly and in no unclear terms why that was not the case.
"And what's wrong with Cardiff?" Ivy asked.
"Nothing," Oliver insisted between gritted teeth.
Flint threw up his hands. "How can you even be considering it?" he demanded. "Not only are they the worst team in the league two years running, but they are hardly the best offer either of us received."
Percy saw Ivy's eye twitched and thought to himself how remarkably like her…Uncle? Father? she looked right at that moment.
"I amnotjoining the Tornados," Oliver said hotly.
"And I'm not going to live in Dorset," Flint countered with the same heat.
"You are both idiots, you know that, right?"
Percy looked at Ivy just like everyone else.
"I mean, there is this lovely little devil's powder that you all seem so fond of," she continued. Seeing the general confusion she rolled her eyes. "Floo powder. Apparation. Portkey?Brooms? You two are bloody wizards so I don't see how it matters where you live."
"Language," Percy called out absently. Force of habit, really. He was Head Boy, after all.
Ivy just huffed and plopped down in the nearest seat, which happened to be next to Flint. "I don't see how being on different teams is likely to interrupt your plans in any way. You can live wherever, after all, and I'll still come visit you."
Although put out at having the flaws of their argument presented to them, both wizards seemed content to voice their complaints or protests quietly and at a low enough register so as to remain unheard by the rest of their fellow students. A bit late for that kind of consideration, but Percy would take what he could get.
After a few moments to ensure the two weren't about to go at it once more, he pulled Ivy off to the side. "So what was all that about then? They wanted to play together?" For some reason he couldn't quite explain he felt that might not end well for everyone involved.
"Oh, well they had made plans to find a flat together, see, and so they thought they would need to be on the same team, only they each prefer offers from different teams, and I promised to visit them and keep training during the summer sometimes, but if they find't live together I might not have time to visit both and I think that might have been what started it. I can't say for sure though."
There was so much to unpack with that, though the main conclusion Percy was drawing from this so far was that Oliver and Flint were, as Ivy had so eloquently put it, idiots.
"Why do they need to live to… You know what? Never mind. Thank you for interfering."
With that dismissal Ivy shrugged and ran off, no doubt to take more years off of Percy's projected lifespan in some way or another.
Stalking back over to the assembled seventh years he pointed first to Oliver then to Flint. "You two are idiots," he said. "You were entirely unhelpful," he said, pointing an accusing finger at Thomas now, "and Burke, stop looking so damn smug."
The prefect just grinned more.
"I…" Percy was interrupted by a clearing throat behind him. "What?" he said sharply, turning around.
Professor McGonagall raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow. "Language, Mr. Weasley."
Once she was safely out of hearing distance a very flushed Percy leaned in towards the two who started this whole mess. "I hate you both very much right now," he hissed, "and you had better hope I don't have to endure any more of this nonsense or I swear to Merlin I will… something. I will do something. And you won't like it."
Hardly a suitably forceful threat, but he must have looked angry enough because he only received two sharp nods in response.
April 19, 1994
"So about yesterday…"
Percy snorted. "A great help you were," he said bitterly.
Thomas sighed and sat down across from his friend. "You know when Quidditch becomes involved going against those two is like facing a pair of dragons head on. Literally too," he said, mimicking an exploding fireball and earning himself a small upwards tilt of the corner of one mouth… There. Satisfied, he leaned back in his chair. "So," he continued, "looked over any of our own offers?"
Percy groaned and Thomas couldn't help but smirk. Percy Weasley, Head Boy, who had aspired to nothing more than a perfect Ministry career for longer than Thomas had known him, had thus far received many offers of employment. Exactly zero of those had been for the Ministry or any other form of work that could be considered "office work" by any stretch of the imagination.
"You know if we had published in a different journal it might not have been like this."
"It's a charm most useful for monitoring babies, where else were we supposed to publish it?"
"Professor Flitwick might have…"
"Professor Flitwick is the only reason we're only being inundated with offers from your eldest brother's associates and not that dragon keeper brother's friends as well," Thomas pointed out.
"But also the reason so many happy parents are extending such a variety of horrid propositions in their gratitude. And to be fair you could use it on large creatures as well…"
"Yes and I'm sure that's exactly what every new parent in Britain wants to hear. 'Monitor your baby and your illegally sourced dragon with the same spell! Keep close track of both your magical fire producing responsibilities at once!'"
"Well not if you phrase it like that," Percy said with an eye roll. "Besides, babies don't produce fire."
"You sure about that?"
"I have four younger siblings. Five if you count Ivy. I'm sure."
"And you're positive neither of the twins ever managed to set something on fire as babies? Or Ivy for that matter?"
Percy opened his mouth but closed it again, shaking his head ever so slightly.
"So, any offers you're leaning towards?" Thomas asked, changing the subject somewhat.
"I have not heard back from the Ministry, so no," Percy said.
Now it was Thomas's turn to roll his eyes. "You don't have to be at the ministry to study law. Besides, I thought you were already had an in there. Several, actually, if I remember right."
Percy shrugged. "I suppose. But nothing solid as of yet. But what about you?"
"Thinking about the Australia one."
"Oh, your parents are going to love that," Percy said with a great deal of sarcasm.
"Cursebreaking in Australia isn't all that different from politics in Britain," Thomas began.
Percy seemed entirely unconvinced.
"Well, it isn't," he defended. "Both dealing with old, potentially lethal things that want to eat you alive." This earned him an actual snort of laughter from the redhead and he grinned.
"I have reached out to a few people, you know," Percy said after a moment.
"Well, there's always curse breaking," Thomas retorted cheekily.
"As Bill reminds me in every letter he sends," Percy said with another eye roll. "I think I'll pass, thank you very much."