Dealing with Danger
Chapter 46: Cast Away (Year 4)
By Anne B. Walsh
Chapter 46: Cast Away
Harry stepped off the revolving staircase and stood still for a few moments, looking down the familiar stone hallway.
"I’m the Heir of Gryffindor," he said under his breath.
Nothing changed.
Was I expecting something to? Harry snorted at his own stupidity. Heir or no Heir, I have to do what I have to do. It’ll be a part of what I do, but not the whole thing.
And right now, there’s a cast list with — I hope — my name on it.
He headed for the stairs. The list would be posted on the main castle board in the entrance hall. The trick is going to be getting close enough to read the thing!
His stomach knotted as he descended stairs and began to hear the sound of a large and cheerful crowd in the entrance hall. What if I didn’t get a part? No, that’s stupid, I’m a champion. I have to have a part. But what if I didn’t get a good part?
Or what if I did? Can I do this? Can I really get up in front of loads of people and sing and dance without feeling like a complete fool?
The answer, he decided, was no, probably not. But he was in this, foolish or not.
Besides, I’ll have plenty of company.
He started down the marble staircase, looking for the Pride.
"HarryHarryHarryHarryHarry!"
There’s Meghan. "Oof," Harry said as his sister rammed him. "Happy, Pearl?"
"I’m Benjamin!" Meghan beamed. "I get to be in trouble!"
"Like that’s anything new." Harry hugged her. "Congratulations."
"Thanks. Come on, see, see, we all got parts!"
"All of us?"
"All of us what?" asked Ginny, sliding out of the crowd with Luna and Neville behind her.
"We all got cast?"
Ginny nodded. "A lot of people just wanted chorus roles," she said. "Or to be in the orchestra, or backstage. We said we wanted big roles, so we got them. I’m one of the Narrators."
"Good on you." Harry clasped her hand. "You’ll be great."
"I’m Jacob," said Neville. "Remind me what he has to do again?"
Harry grinned. "Cry for your poor lost son who got killed by a goat."
"It must have been a Carnicorn, then," said Luna. "They’re the only goats that eat meat. I’m going to be Mrs. Potiphar. I think I’ll like it. Viktor Krum is Potiphar."
Harry’s mind was still back at meat-eating goats, so it took him a moment to get around to Luna’s other statements. "Is that why you’re going to like it?" he asked. "Because of Krum being Potiphar?"
"I won’t mind," Luna said. "But I’ll like it better because of someone else. Krum likes his part because he gets to sing a duet with a Narrator."
Harry’s insides did a brief trampoline exercise. "You get to sing with Krum?" he asked Ginny.
"Not me," Ginny said. "The other Narrator."
"Oh." Harry swallowed to make sure everything was back where it should be. "What other Narrator?"
"That other Narrator," said Neville, pointing.
"Hermione, you’re a Narrator?" Harry asked.
Hermione nodded, her smile almost too big for her face. "Isn’t it wonderful? And Ron has a song all to himself!"
"I’m Levi," Ron said, beckoning everyone to follow him. They broke through the crowd to a small quiet area beside the stairs. "I have ‘One More Angel in Heaven.’"
"Country and western," said Harry. "Good style for you."
"Thanks, I think."
"You’ll never believe who’s playing Reuben," said Hermione. "Singing ‘Those Canaan Days.’"
"Fleur Delacour," Harry guessed.
Hermione’s face fell. "You knew!"
"I was right?"
"It is a French song," said Neville.
"It’s a song that makes fun of the French," said Ginny. "I can’t believe she’s doing it."
"So that’s Fleur and Krum," said Harry. "What’s Diggory playing?"
"The baker," said Ginny. She made a face. "With Cho Chang as the butler."
Harry shrugged. Probably inevitable. The show was starting to take shape in his mind. "What about the Benjamin Calypso?" he asked. "Right near the end of the show?"
"Lee Jordan," said Ron. "Probably with Fred and George doing backup, they’re two of the other brothers."
"Parvati Patil and her sister Padma are brothers too," said Luna.
"Hang on, hang on," Harry said, waving a hand. "Meghan and Ron, Fleur and Lee, Fred and George, Parvati and Padma. That makes eight brothers. What about the other four?"
"Two of them are from Durmstrang, and one’s from Beauxbatons," said Hermione.
"That makes three, not four."
"The fourth one is Joseph," said Ron.
"Oh, right. Who got that?"
Everyone looked at someone else.
Harry pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his heart pounding under his pendants. "Just tell me it isn’t me," he muttered.
"It isn’t you," Luna said.
"Thank you."
"You’re welcome. I think you’ll make a good Pharaoh."
"Thank y — what?"
"We worship you, O mighty ruler of Egypt," said Ron, bowing deeply. "Good one, Harry."
Harry groaned and hid his face in his hands. "I’m going to die."
"Everyone dies eventually," said Luna.
"I know, but I was hoping to put it off for a few more years." Harry looked up at his Pride. "I’m not the Pharaoh," he said with waning hope.
"Sorry, Harry, but you are," said Hermione. "And Luna’s right."
"What, that everyone dies?"
"No! Well, yes, but..." Hermione stamped her foot. "That’s not what I mean! I mean that I think you’ll do a good job too!"
"Thank you. You can send a nice bouquet of flowers... to my funeral! I am not doing this!"
"Cast list says you are," said Neville.
"I’ll refuse the part. I’m allowed to do that."
"If you do, so do we," said Ron, indicating the Pride.
"And I don’t think Professor Sprout would be very happy if a third of her cast walked out just because you got in a snit," said Meghan.
"I am not in a snit!"
"Yes, you are."
"She’d know," said Hermione.
Harry ignored this. "I’m not in a snit, and I’m not doing it! It’s embarrassing!"
It was only after the last word left his mouth that he realized that he was yelling. And that the hall was silent. And that everyone was looking at him.
"You’re not dead yet," Ginny remarked as conversations started to resume.
Harry glared at her, aware it was doing nothing for his blush. "Who said I would be?"
"You were acting like getting embarrassed would kill you. But you just got more embarrassed than you will on stage, and nothing happened to you."
"How do you know how embarrassed I’ll get on stage?"
"I’ve seen you. You didn’t have any trouble being King Arthur. Why is the Pharaoh so much harder?"
Harry sighed, admitting defeat. "It isn’t, I guess."
"Could be fun, right?" said Ron. "Adoring fans, girls screaming your name, begging for autographs..."
Harry shrugged. "Sounds like my regular life. All right, I’ll do it. But you never told me who’s going to be Joseph."
Hermione laughed. "You have to ask?"
Harry put two and two together and came up with twenty-two. "Draco," he said with certainty.
"No one else," said Ginny. "And you get to seduce him," she said to Luna. "Lucky."
Luna smiled brightly. "Turnabout is fair play."
Everyone turned to look again as howls of laughter rose from the Pride’s corner.
xXxXx
"Den tonight," Harry said as the Pride climbed the stairs to the Tower after dinner. "If that’s all right."
"Why wouldn’t it be?" Neville asked.
"I don’t know. People have things to do sometimes."
"Nothing that can’t be done in the Den," said Draco, who hadn’t stopped smiling all afternoon. "Practice, practice, practice..."
"Just don’t get too stuck-up, Mr. Walking Work of Art," said Ron. "Fred and George are good at dealing with stuck-up little brothers."
"And you’re not?"
"I don’t have any little brothers."
"You know what I mean."
"I might help them out," Ron conceded. "If they need me."
"But they won’t need you, because they won’t need to do anything," said Hermione warningly. "Right?"
Ron and Draco eyed each other for a moment, then nodded.
Hermione moved up to the front of the group to walk beside Harry. "What was that?" she said.
"What do you mean, what was that? That was Ron and Draco being rude to each other. It happens a lot."
"I know, but you’re usually right on top of it. You seem distracted. Is something wrong?"
"Yes. No. Not really."
"Yes," Hermione said with certainty.
"No," Harry corrected her. "Nothing’s wrong. Just... something happened I wasn’t expecting."
"Is that what den’s about?"
"Yeah."
"Good unexpected, bad unexpected, or you don’t know?"
"I don’t know."
"Well, it’s good to have that cleared up." Hermione linked her arm through his and hugged herself against it. "Children of Israel," she murmured before dropping back again.
Harry smiled as his mind completed the quote. "Thanks, Neenie," he said under his breath.
"I heard that."
Alpha females, in Harry’s experience, all had hard heads, soft hearts, and sharp ears.
xXxXx
"You get everything, you know that?" Ron said when Harry had explained what had happened in Dumbledore’s office.
"I know. But it’s not like this does me any good. Without somebody from my dad’s side to take the bindings off, I won’t be able to use the fire magic, or tap into the castle like Neville and Meghan can."
"But we’re all related," said Neville. "All the purebloods. There ought to be someone around who can do it."
Harry shook his head. "My dad was an only, and so was his dad, and I think even his dad before him."
"How do you know it comes that way?" Meghan said.
"Don’t you think we would have heard about it if it didn’t?"
"No. We never heard about any Heirs of Ravenclaw, but if it comes through Dadfoot, then his whole family has it too, and none of them ever showed it."
"So maybe it only shows up in certain people," said Draco.
"Or somebody bound their child’s powers and then died," said Hermione. "Like your dad, Harry. So the child didn’t know what he could do, or she, but passed it along anyway, and now in Meghan it shows up again."
"How did we get to talking about Meghan?" Ginny asked.
"Am I a bad thing to talk about?"
"Yes, you are." Ginny shook her finger. "Bad thing. Very bad thing."
Meghan pouted.
"We know about Meghan," said Ron. "Makes sense to talk about her. Or Neville. How did Mr. Moony and Mrs. Danger know about you again, Captain?"
"They guessed it from one of Mrs. Danger’s dreams. It talked about me and Meghan, and my dad and mum, and they worked out who it had to be."
"One burst out," said Luna. "One had to be coaxed. And one was bound — is bound," she corrected herself. "Do you think you could make your powers come if you wanted it enough, Harry?"
"I don’t know. When would I want it enough?"
"Fighting You-Know-Who?" Ron suggested.
"All right, that does it." Harry leaned over and deftly snagged the plate of treats from under Ron’s nose. "You get no more until you say the magic word."
"What magic word?"
"Voldemort," said Draco.
Ron shuddered. "I don’t want to say that!"
"We can tell," said Hermione. "But it’s just a name. It’s not like saying it will make him appear."
"He can’t come here," said Meghan. "He doesn’t belong."
"You know, something always bothered me about that," Ron said. "If he’s the Heir of Slytherin, why wouldn’t he belong here? Slytherin was a Founder as much as Gryffindor."
Draco stared. "You want him here?"
"No! I’m just saying, why is it?"
"Because Slytherin left," said Ginny. "He broke his oath, and Hogwarts remembers."
"The Heart of Hogwarts especially remembers," said Luna. "They might even have sworn the oath in here, right where we’re sitting."
Ron looked around the main room of the Hogwarts Den, at eight stone walls hung with colorful banners, a soft floor where the Pride reclined, the gently glowing ceiling which provided light. "You think so?"
"This was their special place," said Neville. "It makes sense."
Ron nodded, his eyes fixed on the green banner across the room. "Do I have to say it tonight?"
"Take it one piece at a time," said Harry. "It starts with ‘Vol.’"
"Rhymes with bowl," Ginny added. "Do you want another ‘Vol’ of porridge?"
Everyone laughed. "Another ‘Vol’ of porridge?" Ron repeated. "That’s disgusting."
"But you said it," said Draco. "Next part is ‘de.’ Like ‘la-de-da.’"
"This is ridiculous."
"So is being afraid of a bunch of letters," said Hermione. "Go on, say it."
Ron let himself fall backwards onto the cushioned floor and lay stretched out. "La-de-da," he said to the ceiling. "Happy now?"
"And the last bit is ‘mort,’" said Meghan. "Like ‘Mort’a known you’d be here.’"
Ron raised his head. "You do a lousy accent."
"Fine, you do it better."
"Mort’a known you’d be ‘ere," Ron said, rolling onto his stomach.
"Nice," said Neville. "You sound just like my cousin Cepheus when he sees someone he doesn’t like."
"So you said all three parts," said Luna. "Now you just have to put them together."
"Why don’t you do it if you’re so clever?"
"Voldemort," said Luna without hesitation. "I wouldn’t do it anywhere else," she added, "because sometimes the luck spirits hear you call someone you don’t want to see and bring that person to you to be mean. But it’s safe in here."
"There, see?" Ron pointed to Luna. "There’s a reason people don’t say his name."
He found himself the object of six disbelieving gazes.
"Well, it could be true. Lupisces were."
"True enough," Harry said. "But it’s safe in here, right, Luna?"
"Oh, yes. There are enough good spells on the Den to stop all but the most powerful luck spirits, and those are down in the Great Hall where the show will be, deciding what kind of luck to give it. So we should be safe here."
"Come on, Ron," said Draco. "I can do it, so can you."
Ron indicated Draco’s condition with his hands. "Vol," he said aloud. "Volde. Volde... Voldemort. There, happy now?"
Harry led a round of applause.
"Voldemort," said Ginny clearly, earning her own applause.
"Voldemort," said Neville. "Dad and Mum say it, why shouldn’t I?"
"So that makes everyone," said Meghan, leaning against Neville happily. "We’re not afraid."
"Of the name," said Harry. "Of the person, yes."
"No we’re not!"
"Yes, we are." Harry leaned over and took Meghan’s arm. "We’re just as afraid as will keep us from doing stupid things," he said, looking her in the eye. "Because magic can’t do everything, and I like my Pride alive. Okay?"
"He’s not even around anymore," Meghan grumbled.
Harry brought his other hand around and laid the pads of his fingers against Meghan’s throat.
"Okay, okay," Meghan said quickly.
"Thank you." Harry let her go. "And he is still around, or why was there a Death Eater here pretending to be Moody? He must have had something planned with the Tournament."
"And someone else picked it up afterwards," said Ginny. "Or a couple of someones. I still think Dursley had a part in what happened to you in the lake."
Hermione frowned. "Professor Dumbledore didn’t tell you anything else about that, did he?" she asked Harry.
"He just said it was under investigation."
"Such a lovely phrase, ‘under investigation,’" said Draco. "It could mean anything. Anything from ‘we’re making the arrest in five minutes’ to ‘we know who did it but we can’t prove it’ to ‘we don’t know a bloody thing about it.’"
"If I had to guess, I’d say it would be closer to the last one," said Harry. "They haven’t done anything about it that I’ve seen."
"Be fair, Harry, we don’t see everything," said Hermione.
"And there have been people asking questions," said Luna. "About people doing spells on the platforms at ten-thirty."
"All right, I take it back. They’re doing something. Not a lot, but something."
"I wish I knew who did it," Ron said, cracking his knuckles. "I’d wait until they’re asleep and shove them in a sodding lake, and see how they like it."
"I’ll help," said Harry and Ginny together, looked at each other in surprise, and laughed.
"Count us in," said Draco, indicating himself and Luna.
"And me," said Hermione fiercely. "Lowlife scum, whoever it was, no better than Voldemort..." Her expression softened into thoughtfulness. "That’s odd, I hadn’t thought of it before."
"What?" Neville asked.
"You and Harry," Hermione said. "Voldemort’s two choices for the one who would vanquish him. You’re both Heirs of Founders, just like he is."
"Don’t take this wrong, Harry," said Neville, "but I’m glad it was you. You make a better hero."
"Yeah, and it means you still have parents," Harry shot back automatically, but his mind was elsewhere. "It almost had to be me, didn’t it?" he said. "The fight in the Founders’ time was between Slytherin and Gryffindor. So we’re just bringing it forward a thousand years."
"I hope we are," said Ginny. "Gryffindor won back then."
"But a lot of people got hurt along the way," said Draco. "And a lot more died."
"That, I could do without," said Ron.
"So could we all," said Harry.
Silence fell for a few moments. Meghan broke it, beginning to sing.
"It was red and yellow and green and brown..."
xXxXx
"Madam Skeeter!"
Rita turned, setting down her suitcase. "Dursley," she said with a dull smile.
"I have information for you," the Slytherin wheezed out, leaning on the wall of the Three Broomsticks and catching his breath. "For your next article."
"Thank you, Dursley, but that’s not necessary. There won’t be any more articles."
"No more articles?" Dursley’s look of dismay would have been funny, if anything was funny anymore. "But — I saw — in the newspaper, just after the second task..."
"Dismally inadequate," said Rita sadly. "And it was the last I’ll ever write." She sighed. "Have you ever been under pressure, Dursley? Have you ever been caught between two undesirables, forced to take the only honorable way out?"
Dursley nodded, his eyes wide. "Is someone..."
"I can’t tell you anything." Suddenly the possibilities of this situation struck Rita. "But if I could..." She picked up her suitcase again, smiling. "Shall we have a drink together, then?"
xXxXx
"Step, hop, step, step, hop, hop, step," Ginny chanted, her feet keeping time with her words. "Step, hop, step, step, hop, hop, step."
"And turn," said Hermione, spinning on her right foot as Ginny did on her left. "And out again..."
"Step, hop, step, step, hop, hop, step," both girls recited as they danced outwards.
"Did you see the Prophet today?" Hermione asked in time with her dancing.
"No, I didn’t, why, what’d it say?"
"That rhymed."
"Good." Ginny stopped where she was and rubbed her side. "This is harder than I thought it’d be. What about the Prophet?"
"The cover story was about Mr. Crouch. He’s still not coming to work."
"Maybe he’s just sick."
"But that would mean he’s been sick since Christmas. Percy came to the Yule Ball instead of him, remember? Why wouldn’t he go to St. Mungo’s if he’s been sick for so long?"
Ginny nodded. "Maybe we should write to him and ask. But we’d have to be careful not to make it sound like we think Mr. Crouch is doing anything wrong. Percy likes him a lot."
"Is Penelope jealous?"
"Eww!" Ginny clutched at her head. "Hermione, that’s so wrong!"
Hermione grinned. "So show me how to do it right, then, if you’re so good at dancing."
"Arrggh!" Ginny took a quick look around to make sure they were alone in the alley in Hogsmeade, then whispered a few words under her breath. The world spun briefly around her, and then she was close to the ground, perfectly poised, ready to leap —
Her flying form struck Hermione in the chest and knocked the older girl down. Hermione changed as she fell, but Ginny was not to be put off by such tricks. Like red lightning she struck, catching the housecat’s orange scruff in her teeth and shaking her head hard. When she let Neenie go, the calico cat staggered a few paces, then sat down abruptly, eyes wavering between open and closed.
The sound of applause startled Ginny into a yowl. Harry, Ron, and Draco stood at the entrance to the alley, all clapping enthusiastically. "Nice," said Harry. "Really nice. Just be glad she didn’t have a chance to use her claws. They’re nasty."
Neenie hissed at him, then returned to her human form, still slumped on the ground. "Now I’m all dizzy," she complained.
"You shouldn’t have been saying nasty things about my brother," said Ron sanctimoniously.
"I wasn’t."
"You w—" Ron lost the rest of the word as Draco thumped him on the back with an open hand.
"Don’t contradict the lady," the blond boy said, crossing to his twin to help her up. "Either of them."
Reditio ipsa, Ginny murmured inside her mind. "How is he supposed to do that?" she asked when she had lips again. "We were saying opposite things."
"This is why boys shouldn’t get into girls’ arguments," said Harry, offering Ginny his hand. She took it and stood up, enjoying his firm grip while hoping he thought any redness in her cheeks was from the brief scuffle. "We can’t win."
"You ought to be used to that by now," said Hermione, now on her feet with Draco’s arm around her waist. "You’ve never won an argument at home."
"Have so. With Draco."
"You’ve never won an argument with me at home."
"Now that I won’t argue with."
"And she wins again," said Ron. "What’re we supposed to do?"
"Shut up and enjoy it?" Draco suggested.
Ginny snorted. "Twins. Ron, we were talking about Crouch, Percy’s boss."
"I know who he is. What about him?"
xXxXx
"All right, people, time to get to work." Letha clapped her hands. "Places. Narrators, midstage, one right, one left. Watch but do not call attention to yourselves."
Hermione winced but had to admit her Pack-mother had reason on her side. But I didn’t mean to sneeze yesterday. It just happened...
"Chorus, spread out in an arc from one Narrator to the other. Not an uninterrupted line, small groups, but I want the effect of the sweep." Letha considered the line, frowning. "You girls in the center, split up a bit. Pritchard, one is not a group, pick a side." Giggles ran through the line. "Yes, Cauldwell, she’s a girl, yes, Macdonald, he’s a boy, neither condition is contagious, close the gap." More giggles. "Baker and Butler, where are you?"
"Backstage, ma’am," Diggory’s voice answered.
"I want to see you a moment."
Diggory appeared behind the nearest Hufflepuffs, Cho Chang beside him. "Right here, ma’am."
"I want you two in the wings watching this song, understand? If one of you isn’t there, the other one go and get him, or her. Missed cues are no fun for anyone. Clear?"
It was.
"And Joseph, right in the center here." Letha drew a circle on the floor with her wand.
Draco stepped into it. "Look, Mum, the Caucasian Chalk Circle."
"I’m the director, not your mother, this is Webber, not Brecht, and if you can’t stay inside your mark any better than you did when you and I blocked this number last night I’ll put bars on it ahead of schedule, is that understood?"
"Yes, ma’am," Draco said, not quite standing at attention. His hands moved as Letha turned away. Touch-y.
Hermione smothered a laugh. Harry, sitting out front at one of the displaced House tables, didn’t bother.
"Quiet on stage," Letha called. "Chorus, when you sing, I want you to walk around Joseph. Narrators, lead them. We’re doing this by halves, people, the split is between Finch-Fletchley and Quirke. Granger-Lupin, your group circles inside of Weasley’s, understood? Narrators, when you get to your opposite position, stop. Chorus, when the Narrator stops, you take a seat, watching Joseph. Yes, that puts your backs to the audience, live with it."
Self-conscious smiles from some of the girls who had been in shows before and complained early on that some of the blocking put them facing away from the audience.
"When it’s time for you to sing again, turn around gracefully, there’s no hurry. If that means you have to sing a few notes upstage, do it, that’s what the amplifying spells are for. The audience will still hear your lovely voices, I promise." Letha’s tone was slightly sardonic, as some of the chorus members had proved more difficult to teach than others. "You know what to do when the song is over..."
"Move into the next one," the cast answered in unison.
"Correct." Letha put her hands on her hips and surveyed the scene. "Well, cast, I think this calls for a celebration. Let’s hear it for finishing the last piece of blocking in the whole show."
"Really?" The words tumbled from Hermione eagerly. "We’re done?" She was clapping at the same time, as was everyone else, shouting questions over the applause.
Letha shook her wand once in the air, letting off a loud bang that silenced everyone. "Thank you for your enthusiasm, but save it for the show. We have four weeks to go and in that four weeks we are going to work even harder than we have been." She smiled at the groans. "That’s right, the real work starts now. Blocking is finished, on-book time is nearly so. I want everyone completely memorized — and Pomona is telling this same thing to the brothers over at their rehearsal, so no complaining that they get off easy — by Monday of next week."
"But this is Thursday!" said Cho from behind the chorus’ groans.
"That’s right, Chang, and that means you have Friday and the whole weekend to finish memorizing your lines, as I’m sure you’ve been working on them all this time, the way we told you to."
She’s enjoying this, Hermione signed to Harry.
No kidding. The actual translation of this sign was cruder, but Hermione didn’t care for swearing except in emergencies, even in hand-sign.
"This also means that it’s time to stop marking. No more pretending; this is going to be the real thing now. Thanks to magic, none of you will lose your voices even if you sing full-out every rehearsal from here to performance, as long as you all use the lozenges we gave you and have a drink of the Voice-Restoring Potion after every rehearsal. You all got supplies when the cast list went up; if anyone’s run out, see me, Professor Sprout, or Madam Pomfrey for more." Letha paused, looking the cast over. "You’re a good group," she said. "Keep doing as well as you have been, and we’ll have a stellar show."
Harry started clapping. The rest of the cast took it up quickly. Letha acknowledged it with a small bow, then waved them to silence. "Now let’s get this going. Black?"
"Ma’am?"
Letha leapt off the stage and took a seat in the pit. "Make me cry."
She waved her wand at the ceiling and nodded to Theodore Nott, at the piano.
The lights over the audience went to black, with hardly more illumination than that on the chorus. Draco stood in the middle of a spotlight, his expression one Hermione had known all her life.
He used to look like that just after he woke up from his nightmares...
Two solemn chords, twice repeated, and the song began.
Not hard to make Letha cry with this one. Not when she used it herself. Hermione blinked back tears of her own. There were some stories the Pack didn’t need to hear too often.
The blocking’s good. I wonder if she got Padfoot’s help? Draco’s restless pacing illustrated Joseph’s dilemma clearly — should he give up the torture of hope, become resigned to his fate, or should he continue to believe that his dreams held the truth, and all he had to do was wait?
The instrumental section began. Hermione cleared her face and voice quickly by reminding herself of the more outrageous things Draco had said lately and began to walk and sing at the same moment as Ginny and the Chorus. At least there’s no very hard lyrics to remember here. Just "la la la."
Draco took up the song again, and Hermione had to concentrate again on her twin’s occasional insanity to avoid being pulled in by what he was projecting. He’s never really experienced this. Not when he was alone. The only time it happened, I was with him. And we got away.
The memory kept her from weeping as she began to sing again. It’s a terribly sad song, but at the same time it’s defiant. "No matter what you do to me, I refuse to be defeated." A perfect song for the Pack.
She was sure she heard at least two different sobs from the audience in the silent moment after everyone let the last note go.
Not my problem. People will probably be crying the night of the show. Give it a few seconds for applause, and then...
She stepped forward and began her line, projecting to the back of the Hall as she’d been taught. When she had finished, she turned and made her way through the Chorus to Joseph’s side, hearing Ginny take up the melody line.
Draco stood dejected in the center of his "cell," staring at the floor. Hermione stopped at the edge and sang directly at him. His head came up, and he stared at her. Ginny joined them on the other side and sang her line, pulling his attention. The Chorus leapt to their collective feet as the music picked up speed.
Perfect act-ending song. Bouncy, lively, leaves the story on a bit of a cliffhanger... what more could we want?
The Baker and the Butler entered, told their dreams, got their bad and good news. Hermione was vaguely aware of motion in the audience as the final chorus began, but didn’t let it distract her from the rhythms her feet were beating out. Step, hop, step, step, hop, hop, step... step, hop, step, step, hop, hop, step... and get to positions for the ending tableau... three, two, one, hold.
The applause startled her, and everyone else judging by the noise level. Not even if Letha had forgotten herself enough to applaud her own work could there be that much clapping out there...
The house lights came up, and Hermione relaxed. Charlie Weasley and Tonks were standing in the middle of the Great Hall, next to Harry, all three applauding enthusiastically.
"Break," Letha called, and everyone relaxed. "Five minutes, then we’re doing it again." She chuckled at the groans, then turned and was halfway up the aisle by the time Hermione could get out of her position. "And what are you two doing here?"
"Delivering the fancy invitations," said Tonks, handing over an envelope of creamy parchment. "You already know the date, this is just so people have something for the scrapbook."
"Two months," Charlie said, his arm around Tonks’ waist. "I can’t wait."
"I’m sure you can’t." Letha was turning the envelope over and over in her hands as Hermione arrived beside her. "Tonks, can I talk to you for a second?"
"Sure, I’m off all day." Tonks frowned. "Is something wrong? You look upset."
Letha started for a more distant section of the Great Hall without answering. Tonks followed, pausing to exchange shrugs with Charlie.
"You know anything?" Charlie asked Hermione and Harry.
They shook their heads. Draco came up the aisle. "What goes on?"
"We were bringing around invitations, but now I’m not sure," Charlie said. "You’ve got a hell of a voice."
"Thank you."
"Incoming," said Harry, pulling Draco back from the aisle. Hermione stepped aside hastily as Ginny charged at Charlie.
"What’re you doing here?" she asked when they let each other go.
"Delivering wedding invites. I never knew you could sing like that."
"You never listened." Ginny flicked Charlie’s ear. "You coming to the show?"
"Wouldn’t miss it. You still maid of honor?"
"No, I decided not to be while you weren’t looking," Ginny said sarcastically. "Yes."
"And I might be the wrong person to ask you this," Charlie said to Hermione, "but you and Meghan are the closest thing Tonks has to sisters..."
A tremor started in the middle of Hermione’s mouth. "You want us to be bridesmaids?"
"Yeah."
The tremor exploded outwards into a huge smile. "I don’t think Meghan will mind."
"I don’t think you’ll mind either," said Draco. "What a terrible thing for you, Hermione, to have to go get new dress robes. My sympathies are with you."
Charlie laughed. "Your sympathies ought to be with Bill. Percy and Ron got new robes for the Yule Ball, but Bill hasn’t worn his in years, and with all the traveling he’s done I don’t think even Winky will be able to get the creases out. Where did Ron find her, by the way?"
"In the kitchens here," said Harry. "She used to belong to Percy’s boss."
Charlie shook his head. "He must have been mad to fire her. She’s great. She and Mum will sit there for hours and talk about recipes and cleaning... do you think Mum could be part house-elf? It’d explain a lot."
"That would mean we’re part house-elf, too," said Ginny. "It might account for the short ones like us and the twins, but I don’t see it in Bill or Percy or Ron."
"True, they are pretty tall for house-elf blood. People used to claim Mum and Dad had really only had Bill and me, and they were just duplicating us by magic every couple years."
"And the spell slipped once, so they got two," said Harry.
"But we do look a lot alike," Ginny mused. "Even me."
"Even you," said Hermione. "But no one would ever mistake you for a boy."
"Oh, I don’t know," said Draco. "Dressed right, hair cut short... you might pass for a little while."
Hermione shook her head. "Nope, wouldn’t work. It’s a girl’s face, not a boy’s, for all she looks like the twins."
"I do not!"
"She does not!"
Hermione blinked. "Well, if you say so," she said to Ginny and Harry.
"It’s not such a bad thing," said Charlie. "Why don’t you say she looks like me?"
"That I don’t mind so much," said Ginny.
"Why don’t you want to look like the twins?" Draco asked, perplexed.
"Because I would occasionally like to be taken seriously?"
Draco was about to answer this when Harry tapped his arm and pointed. Tonks was standing up, her hair rippling through different colors like Joseph’s coat. She was staring down at Letha, who was staring towards the opposite wall. Hermione couldn’t see her Pack-mum’s face, but she could see Tonks’, and it was twisted in anger, sorrow, and... betrayal?
"How could you do this to me, Letha?" Tonks’ voice carried over the ambient noise made by three dozen chattering students, and reduced it to silence. "Why?"
Letha’s answer was inaudible, but Tonks’ reply to her was not. "You could at least have asked if I was willing! If I wanted to do it! But you didn’t — you just went ahead and did it, and now I’m not sure about anything..."
"Tonks, what’s wrong?" Charlie asked, starting towards her.
Tonks turned and held up a hand. Her hair was a mid-length mousy brown. "Don’t, Charlie. Just... don’t."
"What... did I do something?"
"No." Tonks looked over her shoulder at Letha, then back. "No, Charlie. You didn’t do anything."
"Please don’t do this in public," Letha said just loud enough to carry.
Tonks wasn’t listening. "Didn’t you ever wonder why I suddenly turned into a clinging vine? Why I was suddenly so happy to be with you, and so unhappy to be away from you? Why I was so ready to agree to marry you that night, even though I thought I might love someone else five minutes before?"
Letha’s wand was out, drawing a line across the Great Hall, a line formed in grey smoke, and Hermione recognized a Privacy Spell. Charlie stared at Tonks. His lips formed the words "love someone else."
"Letha slipped me a love potion," said Tonks, hatred audible in her tone. "She thought it would be ‘best for me.’" No hands were necessary to show the sneer quotes. "She wanted to make everything all clear. And it was, while the potion was working. But as soon as she told me, it got unclear again. It got a thousand times less clear than it used to be."
She shut her eyes tightly, then opened them again. "I don’t even know if I love you anymore, or if that’s just the potion working. I don’t know if I love the other man, or if it was just a stupid crush. I don’t know anything. So the wedding’s off." She held up a hand as Charlie started towards her. "I’m not saying I’ll never marry you. I just want to be sure it’s really me doing it, and not a potion. So I need some time." A watery smile edged onto her face for a few seconds before disappearing. "I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you." One more poisonous look over her shoulder. "But I didn’t have a choice."
She started for the exit, but Letha met her halfway there, speaking in low tones.
Tonks scoffed aloud. "Don’t ruin your dream? Why should I care about your dream, when you ruined mine?"
Another quiet comment. Hermione had to look away from the pleading and sadness lined into Letha’s face, but she couldn’t escape that in her Pack-mother’s voice. Even though she couldn’t hear the words, she knew what one of them must be...
"Sorry doesn’t cut it this time, Letha. I trusted you. And you let me down pretty damn bad." Tonks marched around Letha and out into the entrance hall. Charlie stood frozen for one more second, then followed her at a run.
Letha shut her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, her face was serene. A flick of her wand dismissed the Privacy Spell. "Rehearsal is over," she said to the Chorus, lined up on the other side of the spell far more neatly than they ever did it on stage. "Back to your common rooms."
Amid the bustle of everyone getting ready to go, Letha caught Hermione’s eye and slid a finger firmly across her lips. Explain later, she signed.
Hermione nodded automatically.
But how can she? It’s wrong to give someone a love potion — I don’t think it’s illegal, but it’s still wrong!
Even if you’re just making them fall more in love with the person they’re already in love with? asked part of her mind. That’s what it sounded like.
Yes, even then! Even then, it’s still taking away that person’s right to choose! It’s still wrong!
Her mind took a long time answering, and when it did, it was hesitant. Then... I guess Letha can be wrong.
xXxXx
This is not the time, the place, or the way I would have chosen for them to discover that we’re fallible...
Aletha smiled weakly at her own folly. Of course not. You would have much preferred it if one of the others had fouled up in front of them first. But it wasn’t any of the others, it was you, and now you have to own up to it and take your medicine.
Or start taking it. It’s likely to be a long dosing.
The Hall was empty now, empty of everyone except her three and Ginny, who were all watching her without trying to hide it. Aletha steeled herself and met their eyes, one set after another, acknowledging what they had seen.
She looked at Harry last, and it was Harry who spoke first. "Did you?"
"Yes."
Harry’s brows drew in. For all his bravery, all his intelligence, he was still a boy talking to his mother. "Why?"
"Because I thought it was necessary." Time to take the dose. "I was wrong."
Her mouth tasted as though she’d chewed on an orange peel. Harry still looked baffled, as though it had never crossed his mind that she could do anything wrong. Ginny’s face was closed, as if she were unsure what to feel. Draco’s confusion was starting to clear, but Hermione...
We could never hide anything from you, little Neenie. Hermione’s eyes held comprehension, and perhaps a trace of understanding.
Of course, the only thing worse than knowing you did wrong is being understood by someone else when they find out you did wrong. Not that Hermione can know that.
Aletha nodded to them all, then Summoned her bag and started for the door. She needed to go home. She needed to think about what she was going to do now.
You need to tell someone why, exactly, you gave Tonks that potion.
She rejected this thought. That would be either begging for sympathy or making an excuse. She refused to do either.
An explanation is not an excuse. You are not asking them to ignore your behavior, merely to understand what prompted it. Your intentions were good.
She smiled wryly. And we all know which road is paved with those.
Still, it was a valid point. The Pack, at least, might react better if they knew the whole truth. And they won’t reject you out of hand, you know that.
No, they’ll wait until they have the whole story, then they’ll reject me!
She snorted a brief laugh. The Pack won’t reject me for an honest incident of stupidity. Heaven knows we’ve all had enough of them in the past.
And with these semi-comforting thoughts Aletha had to be content.
xXxXx
Hogwarts being what it was, the whole school knew within two hours that an Auror engaged to one of the older Weasley brothers had come to the rehearsal of Joseph, had an argument with Mrs. Freeman-Black, and stormed out. Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Draco were able to find Ron, Meghan, Neville, and Luna as they left the other half of the rehearsal and tell them the part of the story no one else knew.
"She gave her a love potion?" said Ron.
"But the wedding can’t be off!" Meghan wailed.
"Did Mrs. Letha really do it?" asked Neville.
"Why didn’t Tonks just take an antidote and trust herself?" Luna said.
"Yes," said Harry, pointing to Neville. "Yes." Ron. "Yes, it can, but maybe not forever." Meghan. "I don’t know." Luna.
"Because she’s afraid that she never really loved Charlie to start with," said Hermione quietly.
"Oh, come on," said Ron. "Everyone who ever knew them knew she’d fallen for Charlie, even I could see it."
"Must have been really obvious, then," Draco muttered.
Ron ignored the sarcasm. "It was. It really was. Maybe I should go talk to her..."
"No," said Hermione. "She doesn’t want anyone to talk to her right now. She wants to go home and cry for a while, and then she wants to get an antidote — she didn’t actually take one, but the potion’s mostly worn off by now — and then she wants to figure it out herself. And if she’s honest, and if you’re right, Ron, she’ll figure out that she does love Charlie, and come back."
"And what if she’s not honest?" said Ginny. "Or what if Ron’s wrong — and me, and the twins, and Mum, and everyone else who watched them together?"
"Then we deal with that when it comes," said Harry. "Let’s go back to the Tower. We shouldn’t hang around out here."
xXxXx
Remus held back his urge to laugh hysterically over the cause of Aletha’s peccadillo. Tonks had been in love with him? He still occasionally doubted that Danger stayed with him for any reason other than the purely physical necessity they’d discovered over the summer —
Of course, she smacks me every time I doubt, so I’m learning not to doubt.
But the idea of a younger woman, a woman so different in almost every way from him, suddenly and immensely attracted...
Truth be told, he thought, making no attempt to conceal the thinking, if I had never met Danger, I might have been attracted in return. It would be very flattering, at the very least, to have Tonks interested in me. And whether it stayed a shallow interest or turned into something deeper, I would have been kind to her and helped her find her heart’s desire.
No matter your own?
Remus smiled inwardly. I can hardly answer that, least of all to you.
Oh, go on. Pretend I’m somebody else.
I don’t think so.
Pretty please with sugar on top?
Remus gave a silent groan. Fine, all right, yes, I think I could have loved her. If I had never known you. If we had never met, if I had made it to right now without you and the Pack, if I had met Tonks first as an adult without ever seeing her as a little girl... then yes, I could have loved her.
And you would have been as wonderful to her as you are to me. He felt the warmth of Danger’s smile. Don’t worry. I of all people don’t need to be frightened about you straying. How could you, with us so much together?
And yet I managed to stitch something of that together out of whole cloth about you and Sirius...
I thought we weren’t going to talk about that any more. Over, done with, no longer important.
Remus frowned. But we never did get around to having that talk about what you want, and how we could deal with it. Other things got in the way.
That’s true, but there certainly isn’t time for it now. We have to reassure Aletha that we still love her, that we’re grateful for what she did, and I doubt there’s any need to rub it in to her that it was wrong.
No, I don’t think so. And then we’ll have to remind her that we’ll stand between her and Molly, if it becomes necessary.
Good point. Danger gulped. How is Molly going to react when she finds out Aletha’s responsible for Charlie’s wedding being postponed?
xXxXx
Percy Weasley sat at his desk, neat piles of parchment in front of him. He straightened the framed photograph of his family, then straightened it again.
So much disorder. No, I think chaos would be the more proper word.
He prided himself on using the proper words, to the proper people, at the proper times. But lately, what was and was not proper had become harder and harder to discern, with even his own heart divided against itself.
As if his family woes were not enough — I had already taken the time off work for the wedding, and now I will have to use it some other way — Mr. Crouch’s mysterious illness was niggling at Percy. He tried to tell himself that he enjoyed the responsibility of being interim Head of a Department, but he was uncomfortably aware that he was young and untried, and probably making mistakes that his subordinates were quietly correcting. He wasn’t ready, not for something as big as this, and he wished Mr. Crouch would get well and come back and take some of the load off his shoulders.
And he’s ill at home, with no one around, not even his house-elf. Percy had reason to know the house-elf was no longer with Mr. Crouch, since it now cleaned his room every day while he was at work, and sometimes bobbed a curtsey as he passed it in the hall or on the landing. Apparently his brother Ron had found it at Hogwarts, drunk on butterbeer or some such nonsense, and offered it a job at the Burrow. That was one reason Percy would rather Mr. Crouch stay away; he didn’t want to have to admit that his family had never had a house-elf, and could only find a drunken and disgraced one.
That same brother, in collusion with his friends — and why they must call themselves a Pride I don’t know — was now suggesting that there might be something unusual about Mr. Crouch’s illness. The letter lay on top of one of Percy’s stacks of parchment, open to its brief contents, asking if Percy had seen Mr. Crouch lately or gone to his house, or if he was just getting instructions by owl.
At least Rita Skeeter is leaving us alone. Percy had been in terror that the overly inquisitive reporter would learn he hadn’t seen his boss in the flesh for four months. He could hear her voice now. "And how do you know that someone isn’t duping you into accepting false instructions? Are you positive this is Bartemius Crouch’s handwriting? Are you aware that handwriting can be mimicked, either with skill or with magic? Are you willing to bet your job that this is Barty Crouch’s handwriting?"
Percy blinked, and picked up the letter on top of the right-hand pile. It looked like Mr. Crouch’s writing, but...
He dug into the pile, to the very bottom, pulling out the first letter he’d received from Mr. Crouch, shortly after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. Setting the two side by side, he compared them.
There could be no doubt. The letter written yesterday was shakier, less firm, less sure than the one written months ago. If Mr. Crouch was ill, he was getting worse.
And if he is too ill to work, he should be too ill to care for himself. Who is taking care of him, without the house-elf there?
The obvious answer was that Mr. Crouch had owned more than one house-elf, that he had freed only the disobedient one and retained another to serve him...
But he still should not be there alone, without any human company. Especially when he is obviously getting worse instead of better.
Percy stood up, having made his decision. I have been a valuable and faithful employee. I can afford to take this risk.
I will go to Mr. Crouch’s home and see if there is anything I can do for him.
Author Notes:
See, Joseph isn’t taking over the story. I think it will only be in one more chapter, two at the outside. And I haven’t abandoned the rest of the plot for it, either.
I’m sorry if what I said last chapter came across as "don’t give me criticism." Concrit is welcomed. I just don’t want flames. Clear? Thank’ee, and see you next time!