Dealing with Danger
Chapter 33: Wait and See (Year 4)
By Anne B. Walsh
Author Notes:
I disclaim the lines from PS/SS and the large block quote (Harry's dream) from GoF.
Chapter 33: Wait and See
He walked down stone hallways, sure-footed even in the darkness between torches, his confidence born of long familiarity with the curves and dips in wall and floor.
This is my place. This is where I belong.
He stopped before a piece of wall and spoke the words to open it, entered the room thus revealed, and sat down in a carved chair before the fire. Water swirled past outside the windows. Everything was as it should be.
But I don’t belong here, a small voice said, deep in his mind. He banished it as stupid. Of course he belonged here. He recalled talking to the boy in Madam Malkin’s, the boy who had turned out to be Harry Potter. "I know I’ll be in Slytherin," he’d said. "All my family have been—"
I never talked to Harry in Madam Malkin’s, insisted the small voice. Not like that. And I’m not a Slytherin.
He shook his head and pulled the letter from his pocket, smirking. His father had arranged everything; the hippogriff would have no chance.
You mean Buckbeak? the voice asked in surprise. What did he ever do to you?
It had attacked him, of course. It had to pay the price. And even if it was just an animal, killing it would hurt that lout Hagrid, and Potter and Weasley and Granger, his good little pets. They’d see they couldn’t laugh at a Malfoy so easily.
I’m not a Malfoy! the voice shouted suddenly, making him wince. And that’s my family and my friend you’re talking about there — Harry and Ron and Hermione...
Draco stood up, disturbed. Something was wrong in his head.
I have to get to a mirror, the voice said urgently. Have to see...
That wasn’t a bad idea. He hurried through the common room into the boys’ dorms, into his own, to the full-length mirror that hung on one wall. His eyes were drawn to his left cheek. "Where did that come from?" he muttered aloud, raising his hand to his face to feel the slightly raised line of a scar, a vertical line marring his otherwise perfect skin.
Thank God, said the voice fervently. You see? It’s true, it’s all true — you’re a lie, a cheat, you’re not real —
"Where did it come from?" Draco demanded aloud.
Your precious father gave it to me. An image shot into his mind, but it was more than an image, it was a full-senses memory — he was sitting on a bed, his hands bound behind him, his father standing before him, speaking suavely about blood magic —
He blinked out of the recollection. "That never happened," he said, his voice shaking. "It never happened..."
It did. And so did this. A moment of terror, darkness and inability to move, and then a voice calling his name, speaking life and comfort. And this... standing in front of a slim blonde girl, her arms around his neck pulling his face down towards hers... and this... a brown-haired boy laughing as his arm went protectively around a tiny, dark-skinned girl... and this... Quidditch practice in the rain, ducking a Bludger, looping a red-haired Chaser, and scoring past an equally red-haired Keeper, as a black-haired boy zoomed past chasing a tiny speck of gold...
Draco closed his eyes, but the images kept coming, faster and faster. He sat in warm darkness with a man and a woman, sweet spice on his tongue, and explained why he hated his face... he basked in the sunlight, glad to be alive, and listened to another man and woman talk to him about death... he lay in a room filled with people and animals, all of them sleeping, even him...
The whirl of images forced him to his knees, until finally he threw his head back in submission, eyes closed uselessly, as the images swirled within his mind. "Enough!" he shouted towards the ceiling. "You win! I’ll be whatever you want!"
No, I’ll be whatever I want. And I do know what I want...
xXxXx
Draco opened his eyes, united in himself once more. He was alone in the shapeless void he often saw before he began to shape a dream. But the hair on the back of his neck was prickling.
Not completely alone, then.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," he said quietly.
"What a shame," said his father, stepping out of a veiling shadow. "I had hoped you would enjoy that little diversion. It certainly gave me an entrance the likes of which I haven’t had for quite some time."
"How are you doing this?" Draco demanded, turning to face the man. "It can’t all be through wishes. How?"
"After Christmas of last year, when I realized that our two shared dreams were exactly that, I brewed myself a potion that would allow me access to your dreams, so long as no greater power than my own blocked it. I never used it during your winter and spring terms, though, since I had hopes that my Christmas gift to you might be in use, and I had no wish to alter its working." Lucius shrugged. "Obviously, the gift never arrived."
Draco bared his teeth. "No, it got there. And it made me sure once and for all that you don’t really want me. You want a puppet, a slave, a little clone of yourself. That’s what it was for, wasn’t it? Taking me over, and turning me into another you?"
"You can have no conception of the heights to which you could soar if you would simply allow the inevitable to take place, my son. No idea of the greatness you could achieve..."
Draco groaned loudly. "Would you just shut up? God, you’re tedious. That’s all you ever talk about — singing the glory of your Dark Lord, and of yourself — have you actually looked at yourself lately? How much glory are you finding right now?"
"It will come," said Lucius, and for a moment his eyes seemed to glow. "He is nearer than he has been in many years. I can feel his presence. The Mark lives again..."
"How did you know about that?"
Lucius laughed briefly. "How should I not know about it? It lives in my very flesh."
"Ew. I didn’t need to know that. Never mind." Draco was backing away, thinking fast. Obviously, being ill had lowered his dream barriers. But if he could call someone else, someone who wasn’t ill and could help him...
"No!" Lucius shouted, looking up from his contemplations. "You will not escape me again!" He lunged forward and caught Draco’s arm. Draco twisted, trying to get away, but Lucius only held on harder. "Third time lucky," he whispered into Draco’s face. "Twice you have escaped from me — once when you were a small child, once when you were a cocky boy... we will meet again, when you are a man, and I will have you for my own then..."
"Danger!" Draco screamed, and the darkness writhed around him and reformed.
He walked down stone hallways, sure-footed even in the darkness between torches, his confidence born of long familiarity with the curves and dips in wall and floor.
Wait, weren’t we just here?
A searching hand found the scar on his cheek still present, but something else was not right...
"Malfoy!" a voice shouted down the hall. "He’s waiting for you!"
Draco looked around him. He was alone.
"Are you out of your mind? Hurry!" Patroclus Nott stood at the end of the hall beckoning him urgently, flaming torch in one hand. "He’s called for you! He wants you to help him decide what to do with a prisoner!"
Draco’s left arm throbbed with sudden pain as if reinforcing this sentiment. "Who is it?" he asked, starting down the passage after Nott.
"Oh, you’ll love this." Nott chuckled. "Remus Lupin has finally come to pay us a call."
Draco stumbled in shock and fell, landing painfully on one knee near a small cavity in the stone, filled with water. The rays of the torchlight fell on its surface with enough clarity for him to see his reflection.
His cheek was still scarred. But he wore his father’s face.
He screamed, a denial without words, begging it not to be true —
Draco, wake up!
Draco bolted upright, shaking. "Moony," he panted. "Voldemort..."
"Easy, Draco," said Moony’s voice from nearby. "You just had a bad dream." Strong arms wrapped around him, holding him close. "Settle down, now, fox, it’s all right."
"He said they had you," Draco mumbled into his Pack-father’s chest. "I was Lucius, and they had you prisoner... I had the Mark, I could feel it..."
It’s all right, said Hermione’s mind-voice, and Draco felt her hand on his arm, her careful presence in his mind. You know that can’t ever really happen. You’re you, not your father.
"Draco, did you call me?" Danger asked, coming up beside Moony.
Draco nodded. "You heard?"
"Loud and clear. But I was in the middle of a dream of my own, and when I tried to get to you, I didn’t get out of mine cleanly. I’m afraid I may have accidentally triggered whatever you dreamed right before you woke up, whatever made you scream like that. Was it what you were just saying?"
"Yeah." Draco leaned into Moony as Hermione began to rub his back gently. "I guess I was stupid to think it was real."
"No, you were ill and faced with something terrifying, and you reacted like any normal person would," said Letha from behind him. "That fever you were due for is probably hitting right now."
Moony laid a hand against Draco’s forehead. "Definitely feverish, but not nearly as bad as Harry’s," he reported.
"May I have him?" Letha asked, holding out her arms.
Draco smiled a little through his shivering as he changed Pack-parents, watching Hermione take advantage of his move to get her own hug from Moony. "I’m glad I’m home," he said.
"I’m glad you’re home too." Letha kissed his forehead, then massaged his shoulders through his shirt, relaxing his muscles and calming the shivers that were beginning to shake his body. "You’re not so hot that the fever will hurt you, and it will burn what’s left of that potion out of you. It’s never pleasant to be feverish, but I think it would be better for you to just ride it out. I will give you something to bring it down if you want it, though."
"It’s not too bad now," Draco said. "And if it’ll get rid of the potion faster, I’m all for it." Another brief wave of shivering overcame him, and Letha held him until it was over. "I don’t ever want to have another dream like that."
"Arm," said Padfoot, holding out his hand.
"Huh?"
"Give me your left arm."
Draco frowned, but complied.
"Can we get some light here?" Padfoot asked Moony, who snapped his fingers to conjure a fireball in the air above them. "Hmm." Padfoot pursed his lips, examining the inside of Draco’s forearm carefully. Hermione giggled at his expression of careful concentration. "No sign of a snake, nothing that could be a skull... you are officially Dark-Mark-free, young man."
"Well, if you say so."
"I do. And as your legal father, it is my duty to say so."
Draco grinned a little. "And as your legal son, it is my duty to disagree with you on all occasions."
"Oh, so you want the Mark?"
"No!"
"Do you mind?" said a rather crabby voice. "Some of us are trying to sleep here."
"Our humblest apologies, O mighty exalted Pearl," said Draco grandly. "We prostrate ourselves at your feet and beg for forgiveness."
"Good."
Draco grabbed Hermione’s hand quickly, so he wouldn’t laugh aloud.
Across the room, Harry slept soundly, and dreamed.
xXxXx
He was in Ron’s room, though it looked rather odd with three camp beds crammed into it besides Ron’s own bed. Also, there seemed to be something missing near the bottom of Ron’s bed, though he couldn’t think what. He was just piling underwear into his cauldron when Ron made a noise of disgust behind him.
"What is that supposed to be?"
He was holding up something that looked to Harry like a long, maroon velvet dress. It had a moldy-looking lace frill at the collar and matching lace cuffs.
There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Weasley entered, carrying an armful of freshly laundered Hogwarts robes.
"Here you are," she said, sorting them into two piles. "Now, mind you pack them properly so they don’t crease."
"Mum, you’ve given me Ginny’s new dress," said Ron, handing it out to her.
"Of course I haven’t," said Mrs. Weasley. "That’s for you. Dress robes."
"What?" said Ron, looking horror-struck.
Harry made sure he turned away before he let himself snicker. He didn’t want to be mean, but Ron was going to look awfully funny wearing that...
xXxXx
The rest of the Pride descended on the Den the next day, Ron and Ginny and Neville full of stories about what had happened after the Pack had left the World Cup.
"Everyone wanted to know if it was really You-Know-Who in the woods," said Ron. "Dad told them it wasn’t. But the paper this morning is all about it..."
"We saw," said Hermione in disgust. "Rita Skeeter. Everything she writes is rubbish."
"That’s probably why people like it," said Luna. "They’ll read anything if it’s sensational enough."
"Mum and Dad were out most of the night helping to clean up," said Neville. "I ended up sleeping in your bed, Harry."
Harry shrugged from his place on the couch. "Not like I was using it."
"Dad was out most of the night too, so he let me have his bed," said Ginny. "Mum made him go to bed when he got home. He was saying he ought to go to work, but she wouldn’t let him."
"Percy can do it for him," said Ron. "I think he’d do anything someone at the Ministry told him to do. And he did say he’d look in at Dad’s office and see if Perkins needed any help."
"I think it’s wonderful that Mr. Padfoot got a Death Eater," said Ginny. "And that he turned out to be that casewizard. Do you think he was working with the Notts?"
Draco snorted. "If he wasn’t, he was doing a good imitation of it. But Nott doesn’t like him. Not that it matters now."
"Going to jail for ten years, hooray," Meghan sang lightly, making everyone laugh.
xXxXx
Aletha was sitting in a cubicle on the ground floor of St. Mungo’s, engrossed in her book, when the call light on her board lit up — a patient had just come into the ward. She set the book aside, stepped out of the cubicle, and kept herself from gawking by a strong effort of will.
"Hello, Severus," she said.
"Madam Freeman-Black," Snape acknowledged her curtly, his usual sneer hardly in evidence at all. "My left arm became injured during the Quidditch World Cup, and Madam Pomfrey advised me to seek more professional medical attention."
Aletha frowned. There’s something he’s not telling me here. "May I see it?"
Snape used his wand to open the seam of his robes on the left side, then lifted his left arm out with a grunt of effort. Aletha stepped forward to help him, feeling the limb as she did. It was not chilled, but entirely stiff, to the point where even the shoulder resisted motion.
"Poppy couldn’t do anything with it?" she asked.
"She could not."
Aletha shook her head. I know what it looks like, but Poppy’s perfectly capable of releasing that — any decent witch or wizard can do it... still, it’s worth a try.
She pointed her wand at Snape’s arm. "Finite Petrificus," she said firmly.
The limb relaxed. Snape pulled away from her and began to massage his arm, flexing his fingers. "My thanks," he said without looking at her.
"But you must have tried that yourself..."
"I did. As did Poppy, and Minerva. We were all unsuccessful."
"What were you trying to curse?"
"I tried to curse nothing. I was in the way of a curse from another."
In the way of a curse at the World Cup... Aletha’s eyes roamed down Snape’s exposed arm, to the ever-so-faint marking on the inside of the forearm. Snape noticed her looking and quickly thrust his arm through the sleeve of his robes.
"I won’t tell anyone," she said quietly. "Not even Sirius."
"I would appreciate that." Snape’s sneer was back, even more firmly planted than before. "Good day, Healer Freeman-Black."
Aletha inclined her head. "Good day."
Snape turned and started for the door.
"Severus!"
He turned back to look at her.
"You’re lucky I was on duty." Aletha was trying her best not to smile. "I’m not sure any of the other Healers could have lifted that curse."
"And why is that?"
The smile broke through anyway. "I’ve always been very good at the Body-Bind."
To Aletha’s amazement, something resembling a smile flickered on Snape’s face for a brief instant. "I will keep that in mind," he said. "Should we ever find ourselves facing one another again."
xXxXx
Ginny brushed soot out of her hair, waiting for everyone to get into the small yard so Mum could open the archway to Diagon Alley. Her hand slid into her pocket again, to see if what was there might have magically changed.
Nine Sickles, twenty Knuts. She sighed. Mum had confiscated the ten Galleons she’d won at the World Cup "for your future," so she was back to pocket money. She had so wanted to buy an owl of her own... but what kind of owl could she buy for nine Sickles, twenty Knuts?
"Remember, just to be sociable," Mrs. Danger told Harry behind her. "But don’t let him get down until they have his measurements."
"I want to get Dad a birthday present," Neville was saying. His parents had passed their tests and were back with the Auror Office full-time, which was why he was shopping with the Pride. "Don’t let me forget."
"What were you thinking about?" asked Luna. "There were some things advertised in Dad’s last issue that I think your dad might like. I’ll bring it over after we’re done here."
"Move over, everyone," said Mum, coming to the fore and tapping her wand on the proper brick. "Now stay together, or let us know where you’re going before you go. And that means you two especially," she said to the twins, who looked at her innocently.
"Ginny, did you see this bit on the letters?" Hermione asked, coming to Ginny’s side as they walked through the archway. "Look, right here."
"‘All students fourth year and above should be provided with dress robes,’" Ginny read aloud. "I wonder why?"
"There must be a formal function of some kind. Maybe a dinner."
Ginny smiled. "I bet it has something to do with whatever Percy keeps trying to get us to ask about that he’s not allowed to tell us." Her smile faded. "But I suppose I won’t get any, since I’m not in fourth year."
"Won’t get any what?" asked Mum, turning back to look at them.
"Dress robes. It says students fourth year and above are the only ones who need them."
"Well, I see no reason you shouldn’t have a new set yourself." Mum smiled at her. "I’ll find you something blue, I know you like it. Do you want to come along, or should I let you stay with your friends? I’m not even asking Ron, I know what he’ll say..."
"I’ll stay with them, please. Thanks, Mum." Ginny kissed her mother and watched her hurry off towards the secondhand robe shop.
"I think I’d like blue robes too," said Hermione dreamily. "Blue and floaty and frilly..." She stopped, looking ashamed. "I’m sorry."
"For what?"
"I... never mind."
Ginny shook her head. "Hermione, it’s all right for you to tell me what kind of robes you want," she said. "Just because I’ll have secondhand ones doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about yours."
"But it’s rude..."
"It’s not rude. If you were saying, ‘Ha ha, I’ll have pretty robes and you won’t,’ that would be rude. If I have to have ugly robes, I might as well at least hear about someone else’s that are pretty."
"Who has ugly robes?" asked Meghan, skipping up to join them.
"Well, I don’t know if they’re going to be ugly," Ginny admitted. "But usually the secondhand shops only have a few, and they’re either stained or moldy or so out of fashion even Professor Dumbledore doesn’t remember when they looked good."
"Why do they have to stay that way?" Meghan hopped along on one foot, then the other. "We changed lots of things about our clothes when we made costumes for the plays. We could change your robes too."
Hermione and Ginny looked at each other in dawning delight. "Meghan, you’re a genius," said Hermione, hugging her sister. "Whatever you get, Ginny, we’ll make it look ten times as good as it ever did. I promise." She leaned in. "We can even make sure Harry likes it."
Ginny shoved her friend. "Stop it. Are you going to pick out yours based on what Ron likes?"
Hermione glanced up at the oblivious boy under discussion, who was chatting with Harry and Neville. "Of course I am," she said with a sly smile.
Meghan giggled gleefully.
xXxXx
"Come on, Ron, just do it," Harry said. "We’re all up here, the least you could do is come along."
"Oh, fine." His ears crimson, Ron stripped off his robe and climbed up onto a pedestal to have a magical measuring tape take his dimensions. "I just hope the girls don’t walk in here."
"The back section’s off limits when people are getting measured," said Draco. "That’s why they have two, one for wizards, one for witches."
"But all the people who work here are witches," Ron pointed out.
"But they knock first," said Harry. "You can’t possibly be shy, not after living in your house all your life..."
"I think he is," said Draco, peering at Ron. "Yep, shy. Look at him go!"
Ron’s face, neck, and part of his chest were reddening now. "Shut up."
"What are you ashamed of?" Neville asked. "You don’t look bad with your shirt off."
Harry and Draco guffawed as Ron blushed even harder.
xXxXx
"Something silver, with sparkles," Luna told the saleswitch. "And maybe a puffy skirt."
"Silver, sparkly, puffy skirt," the witch repeated, and flicked her wand. "Will this do?"
A set of robes floated toward Luna, who regarded them as they turned slowly in midair. "I think so," she said. "Mrs. Danger?"
Danger peered at neckline and back, hemline and waist. "I think those should be fine, Luna. Put those on a separate tab from the others, please," she said to the saleswitch.
"All right, a separate tab for silver and sparkly," the witch said, sending the robes sailing towards the back of the store as Luna climbed off the pedestal and pulled her day robes on again. "And what about the young wizards, then? Any separate tabs for them?"
"Girls, will you wait for me outside, please?" Danger asked, and waited until the four were out of earshot before turning back to the saleswitch. "Just the young man with brown hair is separate. It’s standard dress robes for all of them?"
"Yes, that’s right. Is that the same separate tab as this young lady, or different?"
"Different. So that’s three tabs altogether."
The saleswitch nodded. "One silver and sparkly, one standard dress robes, and all the rest together. I can get it totaled up for you right back here, if you’ll come with me..."
xXxXx
"Mum, we’re going to the Magical Menagerie," Ginny said. "Is that all right?"
"Just wait a second, love, and look at these." Mum set down the bag she was carrying and pulled out a length of dark blue cloth. "How do you like them?"
Ginny gulped. The robes were cut very generously, and the rows of lace across the chest had definitely seen better days. Not to mention the huge lace rosettes decorating each hip, which looked as if they would bobble with the wearer’s every step.
"I think Ginny will look just fine in those, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione behind her. "More cloth means we have more to work with," she murmured to Ginny. "And we can get rid of the lace first thing."
Ginny relaxed. Hermione was right. "Do you have some for Ron too?" she asked.
"Oh, yes, and they’re a better fit for him than yours — I’m so sorry about that, dear, but it seems not many people resell children’s robes these days. Ron’s so tall now that I could get his from the men’s section." Mum produced a second set of robes from her bag.
"Is that Ginny’s new dress?" Ron asked, coming out of Madam Malkin’s.
"No, dear, this is for you." Mum handed Ron the long, maroon garment. "I think you’ll look quite nice in them."
Ron stared at the armful of fabric in horror. Behind him, Harry and Draco both appeared to be trying not to have fits. Ginny knew the feeling.
"They’re very lacy," said Luna, coming over to Ron and stroking the robes. "I think you and Ginny will go well together."
"Weren’t we just going to the Menagical Magerie?" said Hermione in a high-pitched voice. "I think we should go right now."
"Me too," said Ginny fervently, turning away from Ron before the look on his face and the robes in his arms overcame her will not to embarrass her brother any further in public. Fred and George will do that enough. "Come on, Meghan, Luna, let’s go."
The girls sought refuge down the nearest alley and laughed until they were all red-faced and panting. Even Luna was set off by the others. "Ron really shouldn’t have lace on his robes," she said when they were all recovering. "He won’t like the way it looks. You’re planning to fix Ginny’s, aren’t you? I heard you saying that on the way in."
"Yes, that’s what we thought we’d do," said Hermione. "Do you think we should do Ron’s too?"
"As a surprise," suggested Meghan. "We’ll just steal them one day when he’s not looking, and turn them into something he’ll like better, and get them back to him whenever he has to wear them."
"I like that," said Ginny. "And we won’t tell him, so he’ll think he has to wear the ugly ones until the last minute."
That settled, the girls proceeded to their destination. Ginny stroked the cats and let several owls nibble her fingers, but the prices under all their cages were far too high.
"We could try Eeylops," Hermione suggested. "Maybe their prices will be better, since all they sell is owls."
Sure enough, the prices were lower at the Owl Emporium, but they were still too high for Ginny. She was almost ready to give up when, back in a corner, she saw a cage no bigger than her own head. She reached back cautiously and lifted it. Within was an owl about the size of a tennis ball, which drew its head out from under its wing and hooted excitedly as it saw someone looking at it.
"Hello," Ginny said to it, sticking her fingers into the cage. The owl flapped its wings so hard that it fell off its perch.
"Look!" said Meghan in excitement, pointing to the base of the cage. "‘Make an offer’ — they don’t even have a set price for this one!"
"He’s so cute," said Luna, slipping her fingers through the bars to pet the tiny owl. "And he looks lonely."
"I think you might have found your owl, Ginny," said Hermione, smiling broadly.
"I think so too." Ginny set the cage on the counter and rang the bell. "This one says, ‘Make an offer,’" she said to the clerk who came out of the back room. "How about eight Sickles?"
"Sold," said the clerk immediately. "We didn’t think we’d ever get rid of that one. We even tried letting him free for a while, but he showed up back here last week."
Ginny stopped, her money still in her hand. "Is there something wrong with him?"
"No, nothing wrong, exactly... he’s just small, noisy, excitable. Most people want something with a bit more dignity for a post owl. And something that can carry more than a medium-sized postcard."
"Well, he’s just perfect for me," said Ginny, handing the wizard eight silver coins. "Does he have a name?"
"No, no name. That’s your job." The clerk smiled at her. "I’m glad to see the little fellow go to a good home," he told her quietly. "I was starting to worry about him."
"He’ll be happy with me," Ginny promised, looking into the cage at the owl. "Won’t you, little one?"
The owl bobbed its head up and down, twittering comically.
"What are you going to name him?" Meghan asked as she held the door open.
"I don’t know." Ginny regarded her owl carefully. "He’s so small and sweet... but I’m not calling him anything stupid like Sugarplum."
"Maybe he should have a big name," said Luna. "Because he’s so little."
"Good idea," Hermione agreed. "Then he can feel big and important."
"A big name for a little owl." Suddenly it came to her. "I know — I’ll call him Pigwidgeon!"
"Pigwidgeon!" Hermione laughed. "I like that. And then he can be Pig for everyday."
Meghan giggled. "Pig the owl!"
"It sounds like a song," said Luna. She started singing to the tune of Frere Jacques.
Pig the owl, Pig the owl,
Is so small, is so small,
We can hardly see him, we can hardly see him,
There at all, there at all.
The other girls picked it up, singing it as a round (as best as they could over their giggles).
Pig the owl, Pig the owl,
Is so small, is so small,
We can hardly see him, we can hardly see him,
There at all, there at all.
Pigwidgeon hooted along with the singing proudly.
xXxXx
"I’d rather go starkers than wear those things in public," Ron said in the orchard later. "Wasn’t there anything else Mum could have got me?"
"Probably all the rest were worse," said Neville.
"How?" Ron demanded with some justice. He checked his watch. "I’ve got to go — I promised Dad I’d have that Muggle thing I was looking at put back together when he got home, and it’s getting late..."
"He’s worked late every night this week," said Ginny. "I think you have time."
"Padfoot says the Ministry’s been chaos," said Draco. "The Auror Office has a lot of tips about the people who were under those masks, and they have to check them all out, even if it’s obvious that the person it’s about couldn’t possibly be a Death Eater."
"Percy keeps complaining about all the work he has to do," said Ron. "He was whining about how his quill burned up when a Howler exploded. What was he doing letting it explode in the first place? Everyone knows if you open them right away they don’t do that."
"Unlike you, he’s probably never got one before," said Hermione. "So he wouldn’t know."
Ron ignored the first two words. "Well, I’d think the first one would teach him."
"And he still hasn’t told you what this big mysterious thing is that’s happening at Hogwarts?" Harry asked.
"No. But he and Bill and Charlie all keep going on about it. Even Mum and Dad keep hinting, but they won’t tell us what it is. Just that it’s exciting, that Charlie might be part of it somehow, that Bill wishes he was back at Hogwarts..."
"It’s something to do with International Magical Cooperation," said Ginny. "The way Percy keeps going on about it, you’d think he was in charge."
"I know what it is," said Luna. "Dad has a piece about it for this month’s issue. It’s an international talent search with three categories — dragon taming, horticulture, and a swimsuit contest. You should enter," she told Draco. "I know you’d win one of them."
Draco turned bright pink as the rest of the Pride laughed themselves nearly sick.
xXxXx
"Can I walk back with you?" Harry asked Ron later as the Pride headed off to their various homes for dinner.
"Sure, why?"
"I was hoping you’d show me this Muggle thing you were looking at."
"Oh, that. Sure. Dad bought this one, in a Muggle shop a year or two ago. It’s got a name, but I can’t think of it. It’s this bent tube with mirrors inside it, so when you look in one end you can see what’s at the other. You can use it to look around corners or up higher than you can by yourself."
Harry frowned. That sounded familiar. "A... periscope?"
"Yeah, that’s right. Periscope."
"Why were you looking at it?"
"Just interested. And I remembered something George told me once. Did you know you can reflect spells off mirrors?"
"No."
"You can — they’re not as strong when they’re reflected, but they still work. So I was thinking, what if you shot a spell through the periscope?"
"Cool."
Ron grinned. "Thought you’d like it."
Harry nodded, thinking it through. "Only problem is, your enemy would see this great whacking thing sticking out from wherever you were hiding and figure out what you were doing. You’d need a little periscope, maybe even little enough to fit on the end of your wand."
"Maybe it should have a sight on it, too, so you can see what you’re aiming at."
"But that would make it bigger again, easier to see."
"Not if you worked it out so that you could see through the same opening the spell goes through. Maybe have another mirror on your wand where you can see it, but only the one around the corner."
"But that wouldn’t work. The mirror only reflects it the one way. You wouldn’t be able to see at the same time you were shooting."
"You would if it was a magic mirror."
Harry smacked himself on the forehead. "Duh. Magic mirror. That makes a lot of sense. But it would be shiny, if it caught the light it could give you away..."
"Maybe it could be magic to only reflect spells, not light." Ron frowned. "But I don’t know — spells are light, aren’t they? Or energy or something like that?"
"I suppose you could probably do it," said Harry. "But you’d have to think a lot about it."
"It sounds like fun," said Ron thoughtfully. "Maybe I’ll try it at school." He snorted. "In my spare time — they’ll probably be giving us loads of homework to make up for whatever fun we could have with this special thing. And I’m regular Quidditch team now that Wood’s left."
"That’s right, you’re our Keeper now. Just don’t panic and you’ll do fine."
"Easy for you to say. You’re great on a broom. I’m just kind of there."
"Maybe you’ll get better when you can fly without one."
"I hope so. How are we going to manage doing that this year? Mr. Padfoot and Mrs. Letha have their jobs, they can’t take time off just to come help us be illegal, and Mr. Moony isn’t allowed to see us that much."
Harry grinned. "Ron, when did being not allowed ever stop the Pack-parents from doing anything? He’ll find some way to get to the school and keep you up with your lessons. You’re close now, aren’t you?"
"I just have to be able to do the head all the time. I almost had it before school let out, but I haven’t been able to practice since. And I almost have my incantation ready..."
Harry looked sideways at his friend. "Almost?"
"Well, sort of. Kind of." Ron sagged. "It’s terrible," he confessed. "I can’t get the grammar right at all, and even when I do, it sounds stupid. Yours was really great — all that stuff about body of a wolf and heart of a lion — maybe could you help me?"
Harry gulped a little. "I can try," he said. "You might want to ask Hermione too. Or Neville. He doesn’t seem to be having any trouble."
"I think he asked his parents." Ron opened the door of his father’s shed and turned on the lights with his wand. "Here it is. I didn’t take the mirrors off their backing, just took them out of the tube. They should be pretty easy to put back in."
They were, but getting the angles right took a while, and getting tired of peering around corners with the apparatus took even longer. They were still there nearly an hour later when Ginny came down to the shed to call Ron in for dinner and ask if he’d seen Harry.
xXxXx
The Saturday before term was to start again saw Harry and Draco in their bedroom, each sorting through a pile of things that had somehow not been packed yet.
"Dress robes came, looks like," said Harry, coming to a parcel from Madam Malkin’s.
"Looks like." Draco had a similar bundle in his hands. "Why don’t we have a look?"
Harry was already tearing open his parcel. The cloth inside was black, but had a white front to it, with something that looked suspiciously like a bow tie. Harry tugged on it, seeing if it came off, then found the shoulders of the thing and shook it out.
"They’re too big for me," he said, frowning. "I thought they made them to your measurements."
"They do. You must have someone else’s..." Draco pointed. "There’s another one right there, look."
Harry tore the second parcel open and found robes that corresponded more closely to his own height. "Wonder whose these are, then?" he said, frowning at them.
"Let me see them again?"
Harry tossed them over.
"Hermione!" Draco shouted down the hall.
"What?"
"Come in here a second?"
Hermione came.
"Hold these up for me, would you?"
Hermione caught the robes and held them up. "What are you doing with Ron’s dress robes?" she asked.
"Mystery solved," said Draco, bowing a little. "Thank you, thank you, you’re too kind."
"Why did they send us robes for Ron?" Harry asked. "He doesn’t live here."
Hermione tutted. "Danger probably bought them for him," she said. "So Ron doesn’t have to wear those awful maroon things. But we’re not supposed to tell him that, because you know he won’t take charity."
"So how are we supposed to give them to him, then?" Harry asked, taking the robes back from Hermione and folding them up again.
"I’ll manage it," said Hermione officiously. "Just give them here."
"Yes, O Queen of the Universe," Harry said, throwing the robes at her.
"I’m glad to see one of you has finally figured out who I really am," said Hermione, lifting her nose in the air and making a grand exit from the room.
Harry laughed aloud.
"How do I look?" asked Draco, holding up his dress robes against himself.
"Stupid," said Harry.
"Thanks a lot."
"It’s all right," Harry allowed. In fact, he thought Draco looked quite good in the black and white, but he wasn’t about to say so out loud.
"I wonder what color Luna’s dress is," Draco said, folding up his robes again.
"Luna’s dress?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Harry, if we have to have dress robes, there’s got to be something to wear them to. Probably some kind of formal dinner, maybe even a dance."
"A dance? At Hogwarts?"
"Why not?"
Harry shrugged. "Don’t know. Never thought of it."
"Who’d you take, then?"
"Huh?"
"Merlin, you’re spacy tonight. Who would you take? To the dance?"
"You have to take someone?"
Draco shook his head. "Are you sure you’re awake?" he said. "Harry, boys ask girls to dances. Boys walk up to girls and say, ‘Would you like to go to the dance with me?’ And girls say either yes or no. That way, when you get to the dance, you have a partner to dance with."
"Oh." Harry folded his robes over and set them on top of his sock-filled cauldron, sitting down on his bed. "I don’t know who I’d ask."
"Think you do."
"Fine, I’m not telling, then."
"Suit yourself."
Harry closed his eyes, thinking of Cho as he had last seen her — several people back in the crowd around their performance at the World Cup, laughing. He was grateful he hadn’t seen her until they took their bows, or he would never have been able to perform for the butterflies in his stomach. She had seemed to enjoy the show, waving at them and tossing a couple of Sickles into the hat before she left.
I hope she liked it. I hope she thought I was funny...
"Earth to Harry," called Draco. "Come in, Harry."
"Sod off."
"Profanity in space. How nice."
Harry suggested something even less polite and got to his feet. "I’m hungry. I’m going to go see what’s for dinner."
"Somehow I don’t think what you want is going to be on the menu."
xXxXx
The rest of the Pack had a grand time laughing at Draco, perched precariously on top of a bookshelf with an irate wolf snapping at his feet. "I said I was sorry!" he shouted down. "What more do you want?"
"A pound of flesh, it looks like," said Sirius, chuckling. "Enough, Harry. Let him down."
Wolf whined. I don’t wanna, he was obviously saying.
"Come on, now. Behave."
Wolf shook hard, then bounded away from the bookshelf and turned into Harry again. "Fine," he said. "But no more cracks about what I’m thinking."
"Don’t make it so easy, then," said Draco, feeling for the next shelf down with his foot.
Harry flipped him off and went to help with dinner.
xXxXx
The next morning was chilly, rainy, and distinctly unpleasant. The Floo went off just as breakfast was starting. Aletha went to answer it and came back a moment or two later. "Danger, will you be all right driving everyone to London?" she asked. "Arthur’s had to go in early and you know Molly doesn’t like to drive."
"I think I can handle that." Danger topped up her own mug and Sirius’. "What did Arthur have to go in for?"
Aletha chuckled. "Remember Mad-Eye Moody?"
"Oh, what’s old Mad-Eye done now?" Sirius asked, blowing on his tea.
"Are you sure you want me to tell you in present company?" Aletha indicated the cubs, all of whom looked very interested.
"We’re getting rid of them for three months. Tell."
"Exploding dustbins."
Most of the cubs sniggered. Meghan bubbled her orange juice into froth giggling.
"Exploding dustbins," Sirius repeated. "Don’t tell me — his security system."
"Apparently," said Aletha, sitting back down at the table. "Arthur’s hoping to get him off with a caution. It’d be a bit embarrassing to have one of the finest Aurors of our time arrested on improper use of magic charges, especially today."
"Agreed." Sirius took a cautious sip. "I suppose this means I’d better be ready for Scrimgeour to be more than usually full of himself today. He’s very proud of having a service record almost as good as Mad-Eye’s, but without Mad-Eye’s... idiosyncrasies."
"Big word," said Harry and Draco in unison.
"Little ticks," said Sirius, waving his wand behind him to make two pieces of toast soar into the air and fall onto his plate. "Things that make a person interesting."
"Why especially today?" Harry asked Aletha.
"What?"
"Why would it be especially bad for anything to happen today?"
"Oh... it just would," said Aletha vaguely.
Harry looked thoughtful, but refrained from further questions.
xXxXx
Danger Flooed to the Burrow when breakfast was over and drove the car around into the yard. Bill and Charlie held the rain off with their wands while Percy, managing to make a great show of graciously donating his time, loaded his brothers’ and sister’s school trunks into the boot.
"We’ll see you in London," Mrs. Weasley told her children as they climbed into the car. "Behave on the ride, don’t make trouble."
Danger shook her head. "Nice try, Molly," she said, "but that’s like telling water not to be wet."
"I know, I know, but you can’t blame me for trying."
The next stop was the Landing Zone, where Luna kissed her father goodbye under a large umbrella, then climbed into the back seat. Fireflower House was next, and Frank levitated Neville’s trunk into the boot with the others while Alice hugged her son. "I expect a letter every week, young man," she told him mock-sternly. "At least a foot long, and no writing big to take up space."
"Yes, ma’am." Neville hugged both parents tightly. "See you at Christmas."
"Maybe," said Frank, chuckling. "Have a good term, son."
Finally, Danger pulled up outside the Den again and pressed on the horn. "Oranges and Lemons" sounded around the yard, and the rest of the Pack emerged, Draco carrying Hedwig’s cage and Hermione holding tightly to Crookshanks’ cat carrier. Aletha was levitating the four trunks while Sirius kept the rain off her, and Meghan was jumping up and down with excitement. "I’m a first year, I’m a first year!" she caroled as she tumbled into the back seat next to the twins. "I’m a first year!"
"You’re wet," said Fred, handing her off to George.
"We’re all wet," said Harry, climbing in after her. "Want me to shake?"
"No," said everyone in the car at the same time.
"Behave yourselves!" Aletha called through the window after she’d slammed the boot.
"Have fun!" was Sirius’ contribution.
"How can we do both?" Ron wanted to know.
"You’ll manage," said Danger, rolling up the window. "Everyone settled?"
Everyone was.
xXxXx
Mrs. Weasley and the two oldest Weasley brothers were waiting for them on the platform, as, to Hermione’s joy, was Moony. "I was afraid you wouldn’t be allowed to come," she told him as they stood under the platform’s overhang, half-listening to Mrs. Weasley giving her brood final instructions for the year through the window of their compartment.
"Technically, I’m not," said Moony. "But one hooded cloak looks much like another. And you know and I know that I’m not about to start attacking everything in sight, so I feel justified in skirting the rules this once. There might even be a way for me to come to Hogwarts and keep giving certain people their... private lessons. Not that you need them anymore, obviously, but most of the others still do."
"They’ll like that," said Hermione. "Ron’s been worried that he wouldn’t be able to finish, since you won’t be there to watch them do transformations anymore. He and Neville are both so close, too."
"Tell him not to worry. We’ll work it out somehow." Moony hugged her. "Have a good term, Kitten, and enjoy yourself. This should be an exciting year."
"Everyone keeps saying that," said Hermione impatiently, "but no one will tell us why!"
"Because you’ll find out in a few hours at the Welcoming Feast," said Moony as the whistle sounded. "Now get on the train before it leaves without you."
Hermione ran for the steps, leapt inside lightly, and waved through the smeared glass of the door until Moony and Danger were out of sight.
xXxXx
It was a good thing the compartment was larger than usual, Hermione thought. Meghan might have hurt herself in a normal-sized one, with all the bouncing she was doing. She alternated between excited and worried. "But what if it doesn’t put me in Gryffindor?" was her most frequent question. "What if it doesn’t?"
"If it doesn’t, nothing changes," Harry told her, pulling her close to him and knuckle-rubbing her scalp until she squeaked. "You’re still a pest."
"It will," Hermione reassured her. "You know it only Sorts you where you want to be Sorted."
But Meghan couldn’t seem to settle down. Finally, after the lunch cart had been and gone, she dug a brightly-colored cube out of her trunk and started to play with it.
"What’s that?" Ron asked, leaning over to look at it.
"It’s a Rubik’s Cube. Aunt Amy sent it to me for my birthday."
"And you haven’t solved it yet," said Draco.
"What are you supposed to do?"
"You have to get all the same color on the same side," said Hermione. Meghan had really made a mess of the Cube — the side facing her had five different colors on it, and most of the ones that were the same were separated somehow. "Without taking the stickers off and putting them back on, I mean."
"Can I see it?"
Meghan tossed it across the compartment. Ron began to twist and turn it, muttering to himself. Hermione watched him for a minute or two as the rest of the Pride began a game of Go Fish.
I’m sorry, she told him mentally. I’m going to be really mean to you this year. But I have to do it. This isn’t the kind of thing anyone can tell you. You have to figure it out on your own if you’re ever going to be happy with it.
For a moment she worried — what if she was wrong? What if the reason he didn’t show any signs of liking her was that he actually didn’t like her, except as a friend? What if she was trying to win his heart, but it had already been won by someone else?
No, that’s stupid. Who else would he like? Who else does he even know exists? Honestly, sometimes I think he walks around in a fog and doesn’t notice things until he bumps into them.
Well, if Letha’s right about there being a dance this year... Hermione blushed a little at the thought of the dress she’d chosen at Madam Malkin’s.
Why don’t we just wait and see what happens.