Dealing with Danger
Chapter 47: Snakes and Songsters (Year 4)
By Anne B. Walsh
Chapter 47: Snakes and Songsters
Draco sat by himself in a tree at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, mostly hidden from sight by the sprouting leaves. In the castle, two rehearsals were going on, but neither involved him.
And that’s not likely to happen again, so I’m taking the time while I have it.
The grounds, as far as he could see them, were deserted. He was alone.
Which, every now and again, is a nice way to be.
He drew his flute from the pocket Danger had sewed into his robes specifically for that purpose and blew into it once or twice, making sure it was ready. A moment later, sweet, pure notes filled the air around him.
The first thing I ever played for Luna. And Ron and Ginny and the twins, but Luna asked about the recorder first. He hadn’t played this song, his own composition, since summer, but his fingers knew their places, and the melody soared out sure and clear, evoking the images of Hobbiton and Bag End that he’d used when he was creating it.
I don’t know if I’d make a good hobbit. Maybe one of the unusual ones, like Merry or Pippin, but I don’t fit the mold any other way. I like eating, but not that much, and I don’t care much for gardening...
I know who’s a hobbit. Neville.
Draco had to stop playing for a minute to laugh. Yes, our Captain is a hobbit all right.
He amused himself as he played on by setting the rest of the Pride in Tolkien’s races. Ron, despite his height, seemed likely to be either another hobbit or a dwarf, since both races were concerned more with real things than with abstract thought. Ginny might be a dwarf as well, but Draco couldn’t see her as a hobbit, so he assigned the Weasleys to the category of dwarfs.
Makes sense with all the boys, too. There were never many dwarf women.
Hermione was human to the core, though Draco had a hard time deciding if she ought to be a shieldmaiden like Eowyn or a studious lady of Gondor. Studious finally won out, especially when Draco contrasted his twin with Meghan. Pearl’s a shieldmaiden if there ever was one, and the Rohirrim were the humans closest related to hobbits, which is the other place I’d put her. Harry would be human as well, but a Ranger, keeping his own counsel and defending the helpless from evil. Not so different from what he usually does.
So that just leaves me, and Luna...
Draco gave musical shape to his thoughts of Luna, her constant look of wonder, her soft smile when something delighted her, and wove in the image of her at the Yule Ball that lived forever in his mind, a princess of sun and moon and stars.
An elf. There’s nothing else she could be. A picture arose in his mind. Two tall, slender figures stood side by side, the lady clad in soft and flowing white with a red rose in her golden hair, the lord in green with his carven bow in his hand, the arrows in his quiver as sharp as any thorn, as sharp as the points of both their ears.
Draco blinked and the picture was gone, but the memory remained. All right, so I guess that makes me an elf too. He shrugged. Fits, I guess. I might have thought of human first, but elf works better. Especially if that’s what Luna is...
"There you are."
He only jumped a little, mostly because he’d been thinking of the speaker just before she spoke. "Yes, here I am. I thought you were at rehearsal."
Luna leaned against the tree, looking up at him. "I was, but I was just watching. We’re not rehearsing my part until tomorrow. I can’t do it without you."
"Right, silly me." Draco moved over on the branch. "Want to come up?"
"All right." Luna stretched up and caught the lowest branch, walked her feet up the trunk, and in a moment was sitting beside Draco. "Did you want to be alone?"
"I notice you didn’t ask until you were already up here."
"You invited me."
"I know. And I did want to be alone when I came out here, but I think I’d had enough by the time you came along."
They sat for a little while together, not talking, not touching, merely knowing one another. Luna broke the silence, singing the first stanza of an old song, a song of a capricious lady who learned the true value of love too late. Draco joined her, taking the man’s part and leaving her the woman’s until the final verses, which they sang together, their voices entwined like the plants which had grown from the lovers’ hearts.
xXxXx
In the Great Hall, Ginny watched approvingly as Fleur led the final chorus of "Those Canaan Days," which involved half the brothers singing until they fell over. She has a voice, and she’s not afraid to use it. Probably trying to catch up on Tournament points, I can’t think of any other reason a girl with so much dignity would agree to do this.
The interview with Professor Dumbledore in that morning’s Daily Prophet came to mind. The interviewer (not Rita Skeeter, who hadn’t had an article published since the second task) had asked him why he had suggested something so out-of-keeping with the remainder of the Tournament as an auxiliary task. Lurking in the background had been words like "unsuitable" and "frivolous."
"I felt that the champions, and indeed, all the representatives of each school participating, needed some change from the challenges to life and limb," Professor Dumbledore had replied mildly. "As well, performing in a musical comedy requires the courage to allow oneself to look foolish in public, and I wish my students to be acquainted with all forms of courage."
Ah, courage. What would we be without it? Ginny stepped forward with Hermione to sing the few lines that followed the song, describing how the brothers went to Egypt to find relief from the famine ravaging the land. We wouldn’t be Gryffindors, that’s for sure.
She shivered a little, and noticed a faint frown on Ron’s face as he passed her, marching towards Egypt with the other brothers. I wonder if everything’s all right?
"Good, very good," called Professor Sprout as the music stopped. "We’ll work this section again tomorrow, then go on and get as far towards the end as we can. Don’t forget to take your Voice-Restoring Potion."
Ginny hurried towards Ron, who was now standing off to one side, hand against his chest. "What’s wrong?"
"I don’t know. Do your pendants feel just a little cold?"
Ginny hooked them out with a thumb and cupped them in her hand, frowning. "Maybe. But there isn’t anything glowing that I can see."
"Maybe we have to get in the dark to see it." Ron looked around. "Right back here." He stepped to one side and pulled open a flap of the curtain that had come into being when the stage was conjured up. "We can wrap up in this."
Ginny joined him and shut her eyes to let them acclimate better. When she opened them, a faint glow was indeed visible. "It’s the first one," she said. "But it’s not just one carving, it’s glowing all over."
"Battery and baking," Ron muttered, flipping his first pendant back and forth. "Ginny, it’s somebody in the family — we don’t have carvings for all of them, it has to be somebody we don’t have a carving for, Bill or Charlie or someone..."
Ginny felt her breath come faster. "It can’t be Fred and George, they’re right out there, and it’s not you or me, or Mum or Dad. It’s Bill or Charlie or Percy."
"You’re right. And it’s not too much yet. Whatever it is, there might still be time to stop it." Ron grabbed her hand. "Come on, we have to get to a Floo."
"Why?"
"Call Mum. Get her to look at the clock." Ron shoved the curtain aside, and they were running, leaping off the stage, ignoring shouted questions as they pelted out of the Great Hall, headed for the kitchens.
"We spend... way too much time down here," Ginny panted out as Ron tickled the pear.
"Only because we have to." Ron yanked the door open and was at the fireplace within seconds. Ginny felt on the mantelpiece for the small pot she knew was kept here and reached inside, snatching up a generous handful of the glittering powder within and scattering it on the flames, which roared up and turned green.
"The Burrow!" Ron shouted, and stuck his head into the fire.
The only thing odder than making a firecall yourself, Ginny discovered, was watching someone else do it. All she could see was Ron’s apparently beheaded body, crouching in front of the fire. Her pendants were cycling now, stabs of heat from her own and Ron’s worry and fear alternating with a deepening chill.
Whoever, whatever it is, it’s getting worse.
The kitchen door, which Ginny had slammed behind herself, crashed open again. Meghan darted in. "Ginny, what’s wrong?"
"Someone’s in trouble," Ginny said, holding out her pendants so Meghan could feel them.
"But I don’t have anything cold!"
"I think it’s our family, Meghan. One of our brothers. You don’t have them, so you wouldn’t know."
Meghan nodded. "The others are coming," she said. "Hermione stopped to tell them where you went."
"Thanks." Ginny accepted the smaller girl’s hand and held it tight. All she could do now was wait...
Ron pulled his head out of the fire as Harry, Neville, and Hermione arrived all at once. "Percy," he said through a fit of coughing. "It’s Percy." He sneezed. "Mum says his hand’s on ‘mortal peril,’ she’s going to the Ministry right away..."
"We can get a message there faster than that," said Harry, and pulled a small metallic object from his pocket. As he flipped it open, a green flame arose from it. "Sirius Black," he said into the flame.
Neville pulled over a chair for Ron. Ginny stared at the flame, barely feeling Hermione’s arms around her. This had better work...
"Black here," Mr. Padfoot’s voice said brusquely.
"This is Harry."
"Harry, this isn’t a good time..."
"Percy Weasley’s in trouble," Harry said quickly. "We don’t know what kind, but Mrs. Weasley says his hand on the clock’s on ‘mortal peril,’ and Ron and Ginny’s pendants are cold."
A muttered curse emerged from the flame. "All right, I’ll see what I can do." A pause. "Good thinking to get in touch with me this way. Black out."
Harry’s Zippo chimed, and the flame vanished. "There," Harry said, closing the lighter and putting it away. "Two messages are better than one."
"Percy not being in trouble would be best," said Ron, staring at the floor. "What kind of danger would he get into?"
xXxXx
Percy stared up at the house distrustfully. It looks as if no one’s been here for months. If Mr. Crouch is here, he must be doing everything by owl order. He wrinkled his nose. And it seems the owls have cached a meal or two and forgotten about them.
All the more reason he needs someone to help him. He straightened his shoulders and started to ring the doorbell —
Only to have his hand stop an inch away from the pull.
What if he doesn’t want to be disturbed? What if his illness embarrasses him somehow, and he knows how to take care of himself? He’s never said that he wanted help, never hinted that I might do well to come by the house and get some personal instructions. This is ridiculous; I should be back at the office.
He turned to go, but stopped again as his original arguments returned to him. What if he’s more ill than he thinks he is, or too proud to ask for help? He can’t possibly take offense that I’ve come to check on him...
Oh, yes, he can, his doubts reminded him. He can most certainly take offense at one of his employees doing anything he hasn’t authorized. Look how he behaved towards his house-elf when he found her doing something against his explicit instructions, even when it was the best thing she could have done. I could lose my job just by being here.
But he’s never said not to come. And besides, something very odd is going on around here, and it is my job to root out oddities and stop them.
Percy’s doubts were just about to rally after this salvo when he heard an odd rustle. He turned, and his vague feelings about "something very odd" solidified into a terrifying reality.
A twelve-foot snake was staring at him, its beady eyes bright, its tongue flicking out.
Percy fumbled behind him, found the doorknob —
It’s sure to be locked —
But it wasn’t, it was turning, the door was swinging open —
Snakes don’t have hands, it can’t get in if I shut the door —
He was inside, the door closed behind him. He was safe.
Hand pressed to his chest, panting, he turned and just stifled a yell.
A grey-haired man lay on the floor of the hall, his arm outstretched towards the door. Percy inhaled sharply, and gagged. No living person lay so unnaturally still, and no living person would remain here with such a smell —
Worse than that, the smell was coming from the man.
Percy groped behind him for the doorknob again — between a living snake and a dead man, he’d take the snake. He could stun the snake, or even kill it if he had to — he fumbled with his other hand for his wand, in case the snake was waiting on the other side of the door —
His hands were shaking, his palms slick with sweat. He lost his grip on his wand as he drew it out, and it clattered to the floor. Bending down to pick it up would mean getting closer to the body...
Not bending down means facing the snake without a weapon.
He compromised, dropping into an awkward squat and reaching for the wand with his fingertips. Closer, closer, just a little closer —
Movement on the winding stair in front of him caught his eye. He wasn’t alone.
He dropped to the floor and snatched up his wand — a green spell passed over his head, close enough to make his hair stand on end, and blew a hole in the door behind him. "Stupefy!" he shrieked, and was on his feet and out the door with only one panicked glance to tell him that he’d missed, that his attacker was coming after him.
I’m going to die — I’m going to die —
The snake reared out of the garden, hissing. Percy screamed and dived away from it, landing in the remains of a flower bed. His robe snagged on a bush, and he tore at it but couldn’t get loose as the snake slithered leisurely towards him —
"Stupefy!" shouted a new voice, a man’s, and the snake dropped where it was. "Take it off, you idiot!"
Percy pulled his arms swiftly out of their sleeves and just caught his glasses with his wand hand as the neck of his robe scraped them off his face. No sooner was he free of the fabric than a hand closed around his free one, hauled him to his feet, and he was half-running, half-being dragged away from the house — he could see a blurry outline of a man with dark hair in an Auror’s red robes —
"Hold on!" the voice ordered, and a large hand clamped both of Percy’s around the speaker’s arm. "I’m going to Apparate us out." Percy felt the man twisting away from him and clutched tighter, his wand and his glasses leaving furrows on his fingers as everything constricted around him —
And then he was gasping for breath, hearing the splashing of running water and voices exclaiming all around him. Even without his glasses, he could tell where he was.
The Atrium, at the Ministry.
In my underwear.
Please let this be a bad dream.
xXxXx
The Pride sat in a small huddle in the kitchens, Ginny sitting on the floor with Meghan in her arms and Hermione’s arms around them both, Ron opposite the girls with his hands buried in Wolf-Harry’s ruff and Neville in a chair behind him. No one spoke, no one moved, until —
"Oh!" Ginny’s hand went to her chest, and her shoulders unknotted in a rush of relief. "It’s gone," she said thankfully, hugging Hermione and Meghan tight. "It’s not cold anymore."
Ron sagged onto Wolf. "He’s all right," he said into the dark fur. "He’s going to be all right..."
"Are you?" Neville asked, going to one knee. "You don’t look good."
"I’ll be fine." Ron sat up, turned pale green, and leaned over again. "Or not."
"Excuse me," Neville said to a passing house-elf. "I think we need something to eat. Nothing too fancy," he added quickly.
The house-elf nodded and disappeared, and within a few moments four house-elves trotted up with a large silver tea tray, containing a steaming pot, six cups, and a plate of plain tea cakes. Hermione poured while Meghan passed around the cakes, giving the first one to Ron and catching his hand in hers. "You’ll be all right in a minute, Ron," she said with certainty, offering the plate to Ginny, who took one carefully, since they were still warm. "You were so worried that you used up a lot of energy, and you came straight from rehearsal to here, so you didn’t have any to spare."
"Yeah." Ron took a small bite of the cake and chewed slowly, adjusting his position so that he was leaning on the chair instead of on Wolf. "I wonder what happened."
Wolf whined, then sat up and changed back into Harry to accept a cup of tea from Hermione. "Padfoot’ll probably call and tell us," he said, squinting into the tea. "Or your mum will. Wonder where Draco and Luna are?"
"You have to ask?" Meghan made kissy noises. "Bet they didn’t even notice when the pendants went off."
"Or they noticed, but thought we could deal with it," said Hermione.
"Yeah." Ron was regaining some of his usual color. "We don’t always all have to come running when there’s a problem."
"Fine." Harry mock-glared at his friend. "Next time you need help, I’ll stay right where I am."
"But have you noticed," interjected Neville, "the pendants don’t always go off when we’re upset? Only when someone needs help. It’s like they can tell what doesn’t matter and what does."
"They don’t always go off?" Ginny frowned a little. "When didn’t they go off?"
Neville grimaced. "When Meghan and I had a fight, they didn’t go off. I was mad, and you were too, Pearl, but nothing registered on the pendants."
"Maybe they can tell," said Harry. "Not about what matters, but about what other people need to get involved with. It wouldn’t have helped anything to have us all horning in on your fight; we’d start picking sides, and then we’d all be mad at each other."
"And we can do that anytime," said Meghan cheerily.
Harry was about to answer when his pocket chimed. He fished out the Zippophone and flipped it open. "Hello?"
"Harry, it’s Padfoot. Are Ron and Ginny with you?"
"Yes, they’re here."
"Tell them it’s all right." Padfoot chuckled. "Be glad Percy’s so rule-following — he left a note on his desk, saying where he was going. If he hadn’t, we might never have known what was going on in the Crouch house."
Everyone sat up straighter or leaned in. "Is something going on in the Crouch house?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"Judging by the big hole in the front door — the kind you get when someone misses with a Killing Curse — and the bloody huge snake I stunned, yes, there’s something going on."
"Voldemort," Harry said with certainty.
"I’d think so, yeah. Neville — you there?"
"I’m here."
"Your dad should be going in there right about now. He pulled duty for this round. Your mum’s escorting Percy home."
"Thank you, sir." Neville laid his hand over Meghan’s as she hugged him from behind. "I like knowing that."
"I’ll tell you more when we know more. Probably through more regular channels, though, so don’t expect any more calls today. We’re likely to be busy. Black out."
"That means, ‘you did right to tell me about this, but now I have to concentrate on taking care of it, so don’t bother me,’" Meghan translated.
"Just about." Harry pocketed his Zippophone again. "Rehearsal’s over for today, dinner isn’t for another hour or so... anyone want to go hunting?"
"That’s a great idea," said Hermione. "We’ve never all gone out together."
Ginny swallowed another bite of tea cake. "Do we have to eat it?" she asked, feeling a bit queasy at the thought of freshly dead rodent.
"Only if you want to," Ron said. "Funny thing is, in Animagus form, you usually do."
Meghan folded her arms. "Are you trying to tell me to go away?" she demanded.
Harry knocked on his own forehead dramatically. "Yup, empty," he said. "Sorry, Pearl, sorry, Neville. Forgot."
"It’s all right," Neville said. "Just because we don’t hunt doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. We can still come out with you, can’t we? If we won’t be in the way."
"We might have to wait a little while after we get there," said Ron. "Humans usually scare the game away. But if you sit quietly and don’t make noise, then it comes back. I guess you could come."
"And there’s somebody I want you all to meet, anyway," said Harry. "And she’s out in the Forest. So we can do both, go and meet her, and then hunt."
"Who do you know out in the Forest?" Hermione asked in surprise.
Ginny grinned. "Long and scaly, Harry?" she asked.
"That’s her." Harry locked his hands and popped his shoulders, stretching. "I did say I’d introduce her to my family. Might as well be now."
"Long and scaly?" Neville repeated.
"Oh no." The truth had dawned on Ron. "You can’t be serious."
Ginny watched Harry, Hermione, and Meghan avoid each other’s eyes and repressed a giggle. "No, he can’t be," said Hermione finally. "But he can mean it, and I think he does."
"I do." Harry started for the door. "Nobody’s making you come, Ron."
"I should have run," Ron grumbled as he shut the kitchen door behind them. "That day in the orchard, I should have just run away before I ever got to know you..."
xXxXx
Well, aren’t we a good little boy and girl. Draco would be willing to bet that for the hour he and Luna had been sitting together in the tree, they’d spent less than five minutes doing anything that their parents would disapprove of.
Of course, Luna’s dad almost never disapproves of anything, and the Pack-parents are notoriously lax about that kind of thing...
Still, we’re being good. He tilted his head sideways to touch it to Luna’s, which was resting on his shoulder. And good feels pretty nice.
Leaves rustled behind them. He turned.
And yelled in strangled shock, nearly falling off the branch. Luna shrieked and clung to him.
The enormous snaky head confronting him withdrew a foot or two, quiet hissing coming from between the enormous fangs. Draco would have bet his broomstick that the snake was laughing at them.
Especially when he heard several more familiar laughs coming from nearby.
"Draco and Luna, sitting in a tree," Meghan’s voice started to chant.
Ron and Harry joined in. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"
"Oh, shut up," Draco snapped, grabbing the branch with both hands and hoisting himself off it backwards. "Just because the best kiss you’ve ever had is from Padfoot in dog form..."
"Ewww!" all the girls squealed in unison, as Harry went bright red and Ron and Neville howled with laughter.
"Harry, is this Sangre?" Luna said, dropping to the ground.
"Yes, this is Sangre." Harry took Luna’s hand and led her to the basilisk, speaking in Parseltongue. "She wants to get your scent, Luna. Hold your hand out."
Luna did, and the basilisk’s tongue whipped around her wrist twice before snaking back into the mouth.
Harry looked at Draco. "You want in or not?"
"Fine, you don’t kiss Padfoot in dog form."
"That wasn’t what I meant, but thank you."
"What did you mean then?"
"It was an actual question. Do you want Sangre to know your scent?"
"Why does she want to?"
"So she knows what not to eat."
"I thought she wasn’t supposed to eat humans at all."
"She isn’t. But we’re going to have other forms than human eventually, and if she knows your human scent she probably won’t go after your animal form. You can show her that as soon as you’re done."
"Okay." Draco stepped forward and held out his wrist, watching Harry hissing to the giant snake. His brother had always been puzzling to him. Harry loved playing pranks, and understood the law of get-backs as well as any Marauder’s cub, but he had an ability to forget things that Draco felt he himself lacked.
I broke his freaking wrist before Christmas, and first he covered for me, then he never said another word about it once I apologized. If someone broke my wrist, I’d be looking for ways to get back at him for months, even if he didn’t mean to do it.
I guess that’s some of the difference between us. And it’s probably good to have someone like Harry to lead — if I was alpha, I’d always be pulling the Pride down, trying to get back at people. Harry gets his get-backs if he feels he needs them, and that’s it.
"So what brings you out here?" he asked when the basilisk had taken his scent.
"Hunting." Harry climbed onto the snake’s back and up to her head. "And snake-sliding. Watch." He rapped twice on Sangre’s skull, and she reared up, sending him zooming down her neck and along her back.
Draco winced at his brother’s landing. Ouch. "If that’s how it ends, think I’ll pass."
"That’s not how it ends. Not always. You just have to be careful." Harry got up slowly. "Nothing broken. I’m fine."
"Quidditch players," Hermione muttered.
"We’re not risking our necks on brooms, so we have to do it somehow," said Ron. "Harry, can I have a go?"
"Sure. Let me tell her." Harry hissed, and the snake lowered her head for Ron to climb on. "She says she likes your scent. It’s very warm."
"Er, thanks." Ron braced himself as the basilisk’s head shot skyward.
xXxXx
Percy buttoned his fresh robes with, he was pleased to note, hands that had mostly stopped shaking. He’d saved his glasses, he’d saved his wand, and he was alive.
I owe Sirius Black my life.
That pleased him less. He hoped it was a reaction to the owing of the life, rather than to whom it was owed. He’d been happy that Ron and Ginny had found friends in their new neighbors, but he had never been close with those neighbors himself, and deep inside him lurked the angry and hurt fifteen-year-old whose pet rat they had callously stolen.
No matter how often I remind myself of who and what Scabbers really was, I cannot escape who and what he was to me. Percy fussed with his hair, making sure the part lay just down the center. I know that he never cared about me, that I was only his hiding place and his meal ticket, and that I would have lost him anyway, to Ron in the fall. It makes no sense that it still hurts me after all this time.
He was beginning to suspect that emotions rarely made sense.
And I am being waited for downstairs, so there is no reason to stay here any longer.
An Auror and two MLE personnel sat at the Weasleys’ kitchen table, Winky carrying around the tea service. Mum was doing something at the sink, but turned as she heard him on the stairs. "There you are," she said, coming over to him. Percy was afraid she’d try to straighten his collar or something equally embarrassing, but all she did was look up at him with her eyes very bright, then embrace him quickly and hurry out of the room.
"Have a seat, Mr. Weasley," said the Auror, indicating a chair. He was tall and black and bald and wore a gold earring in one ear. By comparison, the two wizards from MLE were identical, except that one had slightly darker hair than the other, who was scowling.
"I’m Kingsley Shacklebolt," the Auror went on, offering his hand. "Michael Hudson..." Dark-Hair nodded. "...and Endymion Monroe." Scowler inclined his head sullenly.
"You’re in no trouble," Shacklebolt added, accepting a teacup from Winky. "We don’t generally prosecute people who tip us off to trouble spots the way you did. So I’d like you to tell us, in your own words as far as possible, what you did and what you saw when you went to Barty Crouch’s house."
Percy took his own teacup from Winky’s tray and gave her an absent nod. "I was starting to be concerned," he began, "because of Mr. Crouch’s prolonged absence, and because his handwriting seemed shakier and less sure than it had been..."
He covered arriving at the house, being unsure whether or not to enter, being surprised by the snake — "Twelve feet?" said Hudson. "You’re sure?"
"Not positive," Percy admitted, "but it was quite a bit longer than I am tall."
"Couldn’t be native, then," muttered Monroe. "Go on, Weasley, go on."
"I wasn’t thinking about whether or not it would be wrong to enter the house," Percy admitted. "I just wanted to be away from the snake. So I tried the doorknob, and it was unlocked. The door opened, and I went in. But when I turned around, I saw..." He swallowed. "I saw a body."
"A body?" repeated Shacklebolt, sitting up straighter. "What kind of body?"
"A dead body."
"Are you trying to be funny, Weasley?" snapped Monroe.
"No, sir," Percy said quickly.
"Man or woman?" Shacklebolt put in.
"A man, sir. He looked as if he’d fallen reaching for the door."
"Did you see his face?" asked Hudson.
"No, but I think I know who he was." It had come to him while he was sitting at the kitchen table in shock, letting his mother hold him for the first time in years. He didn’t like it, but if it was true, someone else had to know. "I think he was Mr. Crouch."
"Just because you were in Crouch’s house?" Monroe peered at him. "Or do you have something else?"
"I could be wrong, sir. But he had grey hair. It was a little longer than Mr. Crouch’s used to be, but it’s been a few months since I’ve seen him. And his robes were dirty, but they looked expensive." Percy tightened his grip on his mug. "I think whoever was in the house was holding him, forcing him to write instructions as if nothing was wrong, and they killed him when he tried to get away."
"Why do you think there was anyone else in the house?" Hudson asked.
"Because someone shot at me, sir. I was trying to get back out, I dropped my wand, and while I was picking it up a spell went over my head. It was green, and it left a large hole in the door behind me. I tried to shoot back, but I missed." He hated admitting that, but he couldn’t have them thinking something untrue about him. "I ran out the door, tried to get away from the snake, and got caught in a bush. Auror Black arrived then and helped me."
"And brought you back to the Ministry." Shacklebolt’s voice was devoid of laughter, for which Percy was grateful. "Did you happen to see who was shooting at you?"
"Yes, sir, I think I did." This was the impossible part, the part that was going to get him fired, but he never lied and he wasn’t going to start now. "I think I saw... I think I saw Headmaster Karkaroff."
The older wizards looked at one another. Percy sneaked a look under the guise of drinking some tea. Skepticism was plain on Monroe’s face, Hudson just looked confused, but Shacklebolt... Shacklebolt was clearly thinking hard. As Percy watched, the Auror’s lips moved, forming Karkaroff’s name.
A whoosh of green flames in the kitchen fireplace, and Auror Mr. Longbottom’s head was there. "Kingsley?" he called.
"Here, Frank." Shacklebolt came around the table to kneel in front of the fire. "What do you have?"
The two voices dropped too low for Percy to hear. He rested his teacup on the table and stared into it. I’ll be fired, he thought miserably. I’ll be fired for falsely accusing an esteemed guest, for spreading malicious rumors, for taking too much on myself...
"You’re sure?" Shacklebolt said sharply.
"Positive. You care to come through and identify him yourself?"
"No, I take your word for it. Weasley’ll be glad to hear it. Anything else I should know?"
"Not at the moment. We’ll keep you informed."
"Do that." Shacklebolt stood up as the other Auror’s head disappeared. "I have some good news for you, Weasley," he said. "It seems Barty Crouch isn’t dead after all."
Percy stared at the Auror. "Sir?"
"They found him in one of the rooms upstairs. He’d been held the way you said, under Imperius mostly, but under lock and key as well after he started fighting it. No one else in the house, dead or alive, though signs of two or three other people’s occupancy for the last few months. And also no snake. They must have taken it with them when they left."
Percy barely heard most of this. He was too busy reexamining his life and finding it good.
There ought to be a reward. If not an official one, then Mr. Crouch will certainly not overlook me. I have kept the department running as per his instructions — which I am sure were good, even if he was forced to write them — and it was only by my intervention that he was freed.
"You were wrong about Crouch, Weasley," said Monroe, breaking into Percy’s thoughts. "Think you could have been wrong about Karkaroff too?"
"I think so, sir." I was unnerved, saw an unfamiliar face, and my mind made it familiar. He nodded in satisfaction. It made sense.
Life was very good for Percy Weasley at this precise moment.
Near-nudity in the Ministry notwithstanding.
xXxXx
"Full dress, schmull dress," Harry grumbled, scratching the side of his face. "At least magical makeup doesn’t smear."
"Places!" Letha’s voice echoed around the backstage area. "The call is places!"
"Places, thank you," Harry called back, one part of a discordant chorus. "You ready for this?" he asked the two people beside him.
"Ready as I’ll ever be." Ginny was pale under her makeup. Hermione nodded tightly without speaking.
Harry put a hand on both their shoulders. "You’ll do great," he said. "You’ve sounded great in every rehearsal, you know the show forward and backward, you’ll do fine."
Both girls smiled back at him, and Hermione dipped a brief bow, letting Harry’s hand slide up to the back of her neck. A moment later, Ginny did the same.
"’Scuse me," said Dursley, emerging from the shadows behind them. Harry snatched his hand away from Ginny’s neck. "Have to lower the first backdrop. They called places, you know."
"We know," said Ginny coldly. "Break a leg, Harry."
"You too, Gin, Neenie."
Hermione bared her teeth briefly before moving out on stage to her position opposite Ginny’s.
Harry moved back a few steps and watched Dursley waving his wand in lazy swirls to bring the weighted edge of the painted backdrop down from the pipe on which it hung. Something about the other boy made him uneasy.
He’s my cousin, but I hardly know him. And I don’t think I want to. Everything I hear makes me like him less. He used to be one of Nott’s bully boys, but now he’s in business for himself, and I’ve seen him walking around and laughing with Crabbe and Goyle. And there was that thing last year, where Wormtail and Malfoy both used his face to get onto the grounds...
Harry made up his mind to watch Dursley very carefully during the final rehearsals and the show. After all, on the stage, anything could happen.
Then the music began, and Harry forgot Dursley for the moment in the pleasure of hearing his sister and his friend sing.
They look good, too. Pink suits Hermione, as much as she hates it, and blue is just right for Ginny. She wore blue to the Yule Ball, too...
The music segued from "You Are What You Feel" into "Jacob and Sons," and Harry nipped out of the way as Jacob, his twelve sons, and the chorus surged into the wings.
And we are off.
Jacob presented his favorite son Joseph with a fabulous coat of many colors, making Joseph’s eleven brothers insanely jealous. To add to the troubles, Joseph had fantastic dreams, featuring sheaves of corn, stars and moons, all bowing down to him.
Loves to dress up, dreams of interesting things... typecasting the Fox much?
Joseph’s brothers decided the only proper way to deal with such a pest was to get rid of him. At first, they thought they’d simply throw him into a pit and let him starve, but then a bunch of Ishmaelites — dressed in this production as sightseeing American Muggles — came along, and the brothers decided that selling Joseph into slavery would be more profitable.
Maybe we’re ‘perpetuating stereotypes,’ but it’s funny...
The brothers covered Joseph’s coat with goat blood, then presented it to their father as evidence that Joseph had been killed by a wild animal.
Ron actually looks good in a cowboy hat. And Fred and George are having far too much fun with those dance steps.
The song over, the brothers scattered, and Dursley and his black-robed partner on the other side of the stage levitated down a new backdrop, showing pyramids and a sphinx. The Chorus massed onstage; Krum brushed by Harry’s spot without looking around; Luna followed but wiggled her fingers in Harry’s direction.
"Room for one more?" murmured a voice beside him.
"Sure, Ron, c’mon in." Harry moved over. "You can see everything from here."
"Yeah." Ron was leaning forward to watch as Hermione circled Krum, tossing sung lines at him and letting him lob them back. Harry heard an odd grinding sound and almost peered around the side of the curtain to see what the drummer (a third year Hufflepuff) was doing, then realized the noise was coming from beside him.
"What’s wrong with you?"
Ron pointed stiffly at the stage, where Hermione was standing beside Krum, both watching Luna dance. "Her... him... them."
"It’s a show. They have to do it."
"They don’t have to be standing that close."
"Yes, they do. It’s in the blocking."
"Damn it, Harry, would you stop being reasonable? I’m trying to get pissed off here, and you’re not helping!"
Harry had to press Pharaoh’s golden cape up to his mouth to keep himself from laughing. Ron leaned back against one of the crates that framed their hiding place and grinned reluctantly. "I know," he said, peering back out onto the stage, where Luna, in her role as the wife of Joseph’s master Potiphar, was attempting to seduce Joseph. "It’s just... Harry, aren’t you even a little worried about Hermione getting too close to Krum?"
"Why would I worry?"
"You know Durmstrang’s reputation. They actually study the Dark Arts there, not just Defense. And didn’t Karkaroff use to be a Death Eater?"
"He said he was sorry," said Harry. "Named names to the Ministry. Mind, this was after he’d been caught and spent a while in Azkaban."
Ron’s snort said more than words.
"Yeah, I know. But I’m sure the Ministry’s watching him anyway. Just in case."
"Percy said he thought he’d seen him at Crouch’s house." Percy’s adventure had become common knowledge by the afternoon of the day after he’d had it, helped along by an interview in the Daily Prophet with both him and Mr. Crouch. "But Crouch said he’d never recognized anyone who was holding him."
"’Course, he also said they wore masks." Potiphar had just discovered his wife and Joseph in a compromising position. Being in love with his wife, he immediately assumed the fault was Joseph’s and had his slave hauled off to prison. "Ssh, I want to hear this."
A full dress rehearsal meant that everything was exactly as it would be for a performance — costumes and makeup, sets and props, lighting, music. It was the first time Harry had really appreciated how each of those elements worked together. He’d heard "Close Every Door" dozens if not hundreds of times, heard Draco sing it in rehearsal at least ten, and this was still giving him the shivers.
Movement to one side caught his ear. He leaned out to have a look, then quickly pulled his head back in.
Talk about a mood-breaker.
Cedric and Cho, as ordered, were in the wings. One or both of them had decided on a better way to pass the time than watching the action onstage.
Against his better judgment, Harry edged out for another look. God, she’s gorgeous in that outfit. Cho’s butler costume was black and white and gold, skintight except for a demure apron in front. She fit perfectly into Cedric’s arms, though his tall baker’s hat kept threatening to fall onto her head...
Stop watching them, he remembered saying to Ron at the Yule Ball about Hermione and Krum. You’ll only drive yourself crazy.
A tiny trickle of an idea began inside Harry’s mind, but the Chorus burst into song at that precise moment and he lost it.
It’ll come back eventually.
Besides, the act was almost over, and in Act Two came his big number. Harry smiled. If he could pull this off, Cho might just be impressed with him.
Remember what Letha said. If you think you look stupid, then you do. But if you think that you look great, that you’re giving it all you have, then that makes it good.
Harry sighed, watching Joseph interpret the Butler’s dream. I don’t know what to think about Letha anymore. Or any of the Pack-parents, really. If Letha could make a mistake that big, so could any of them.
Can I trust them anymore?
Joseph finished interpreting the Baker’s dream and added his disclaimer, and the Chorus went into the big final dance. It swirled in colorful spirals, the occasional misstep notwithstanding, and Harry let it mesmerize him.
Can you trust Draco? murmured a voice in the back of his head.
Of course I can trust Draco. Harry looked out on stage, locating his brother easily at the center of the dance. He’s my brother, I’d trust him with my life.
Even after he Stunned you and locked you in a closet?
Oh, come on. He was scared, he made a mistake. He doesn’t make a habit of it. I still trust him.
And what about you? Can you trust yourself?
Harry felt his eyebrows ascend. Well, I think I can.
After all the stupid stuff you’ve done? The voice started with things Harry barely remembered and worked up through telling Danger’s secret in Defense, fighting with Hermione just before she got Petrified...
Harry closed his eyes and exhaled through his teeth. Shut up. Yes, I’ve done stupid things, but now I hope I know better, and I won’t do them anymore.
The voice took on triumphant shadings. So why do you feel you can’t trust Letha, then? She didn’t do anything worse than either you or Draco. She should have known better, but she didn’t. So now she will. Do you think she’ll ever give anyone a potion lightly again?
Well, no.
There, see? It happened, it’s over. She’s learned what she needed to learn. And no permanent harm was done. Not if you use what you know, and what you have available to you. A colorful image swirled on the inside of Harry’s eyelids — not the dance on stage, which was just ending, but the tie-dye cover of the program for Joseph, in which families and friends could place messages for their actors...
Harry’s eyes shot open as the final button of the song played and the dancers struck their tableau. "Ron," he said urgently over the applause from the orchestra and crew. "Ron, is Charlie coming to the show?"
"Yeah, he should be. Why?"
"Because I think I know something we can do to fix what went wrong."
"Fifteen minutes to Act Two!" Professor Sprout bellowed from the audience.
"Fifteen minutes, thank you!" Harry and Ron shouted back.
"I’ll find Meghan and Neville and Luna," Harry went on. "You get Draco and Hermione and Ginny. Meet me at the back of the Hall in two minutes."
"Right."
Harry watched Ron hurrying towards the panting, laughing dancers for a moment, then dashed farther backstage. They had a wedding to salvage.
xXxXx
Harry took the stage at the opening of Act Two in high good humor. Operation Changing Dragon was off to a smooth start. Neville knew where the proofs for the programs were being kept, Draco had volunteered to write to one of the persons involved, Ron and Ginny would tell the other what was in the wind. Everyone had volunteered a Sickle or two to cover the cost, though Harry thought they might well end up reimbursed if they pulled it off.
And that’s assuming they don’t make up on their own before the show. It’s been a month.
But Letha was still being quiet and as close to meek as she ever got, and Ron and Ginny reported that a certain room at the Burrow was still occupied, meaning its occupant was allowing the other tenant of his flat her privacy...
Well, we’ll just see about that.
The music began. Harry straightened his back and looked regal.
I am the King. Worship me.
Worship was uncomfortably close to what he was seeing in some of the younger girls’ eyes as they went through the choreographed bowing. Part of him wanted to run away and hide, but he growled at that part and clamped his hand around its throat.
I am the boss here. Not you. I will not be ruled by fear.
The fear submitted. Harry remained where he was through the song explaining Pharaoh’s status and power, and into the beginning of the one about Pharaoh’s strange nightmares. Cho entered and, at Hermione’s prompting, sang her lines directly to Harry, about the man she’d known in jail who had interpreted dreams. Harry allowed himself a quarter-turn to regard her with a proper majesty.
Remember, she’s your servant. Kings don’t drool over servants. Kings can appreciate servants, but not drool over them.
Ginny gave Harry his prompt, and he ordered that Joseph be fetched. Two of the guards at the side of the stage hurried off and brought Draco in, his hands held together by a thin length of chain. Joseph asked what he could do for the mighty Pharaoh, and the beat of the music changed in response.
Here we go.
Harry leapt down from his platform, feeling Wolf’s easy grace in his human movements. He sang, with the entire Chorus backing him up, about his dream — he’d been walking along the Nile River, when he’d seen seven fat cows and seven skinny cows. The seven skinny cows had eaten the fat ones, but hadn’t got any fatter themselves.
Don’t listen to the Chorus, he reminded himself. Don’t listen to the Chorus. The one time he had, the sheer silliness of their scat lyrics had made him crack up in the middle of the song. And this is your big moment. The only one you get. Make the most of it.
Pharaoh danced backwards up the stairs of his platform, appealing directly to Joseph; kings weren’t stupid, but he didn’t understand the dream at all. "You gotta help me out, I’m begging of you," Harry sang, dragging out the last word, turning it into almost a vocal howl. The surprise in Draco’s eyes was gratifying.
I do believe he likes it —
"Harry, look out!" Draco screamed, pointing upwards.
Harry’s head jerked back. Something very large was falling towards him. He dived forward, forcing himself to go limp in anticipation of the impact with the stage —
Girls screamed — a horrible crash sounded —
Why don’t I hurt?
He opened his eyes. He was hanging about two inches from the stage floor, held there by — he looked up — Letha’s wand. She was standing up in the audience, her face gray even in the dim light.
Draco was beside him, offering a hand. Harry took it and got his feet under him, and Letha ended the spell, letting him drop the last two inches. "Thanks," he said.
"You’re welcome." Draco’s voice was cool in the way that meant he was madder than a caged pixie. "I guess someone thought we were doing Phantom instead of Joseph."
Harry turned. The Canaan backdrop, coiled on the pipe from which it usually hung, was lying across the platform he’d been standing on a moment before. "Was I that bad?"
"I don’t think so. Now if you’d been singing Carlotta..."
Harry smacked him in the shoulder.
"Dursley!" shouted Professor Sprout. "Dursley, you’re in charge of backdrops — where are you?"
"Coming!" Dursley sauntered out onto stage. "What’s — holy shite."
"Where were you?" Letha demanded.
"Boys’ toilet." Dursley stared at the fallen backdrop, looking shaken. "That shouldn’t have happened."
"No, it shouldn’t have." Professor Sprout was on stage now, moving through the Chorus to investigate. She knelt beside the backdrop, then pursed her lips. "Clean cut most of the way," she said, holding up one of the cables that had held up the backdrop and its pipe. "Then left to fray and come apart on its own time. Anyone could have been hit."
Hermione was beside Harry now, her shoulder against his, and Meghan was peering out from the wings, her desire to be with him in tension with her stage training never to come into sight unless she was supposed to be onstage. Harry waved her on, and she came at a run, Ron and Neville and Luna on her heels.
"All right, that’s enough of that," said Professor Sprout, turning away from her inspection of the backdrop. "Everyone take ten. Get a drink, have some Voice-Restore, and calm yourselves down. We’ll take Act Two from the top in ten minutes, with extra Holding Charms on the backdrops."
Letha leapt onto the stage and was at Harry’s side. "You’re all right?"
"Fine," said Harry through suddenly chattering teeth. "Except I’m cold."
"Delayed reaction," Letha murmured. "Oh, Harry..." She pulled him into a tight hug. "I’m sorry I didn’t catch it, I’m so sorry."
"I’d rather you catch me." Harry had his eyes shut, letting Letha’s warmth flow into him, her clean safe mother scent wash away the fear smell. "And you did, so nobody got hurt, not even bruised from hitting the stage too hard."
More warmth behind and beside him was Meghan, the presence to his left was Draco, Hermione was on his right now, the rest of the Pride ringed them, watching to see that no one bothered them. The fear of a few moments ago, the doubt of twenty minutes past, the unease of the month since Letha’s disclosure, were all revealed for what they were — little things, petty troubles, not worth worrying about.
For what trouble could threaten a united Pack and Pride?
Harry opened his eyes and smiled at his Pack-mother. "Thanks," he said, and let it mean everything it should.
xXxXx
Nymphadora Tonks fidgeted in her seat. She didn’t know why she was here.
Yes, you do. Draco sent you a free ticket and a copy of the cast list. You had to come.
So she knew why she was here. She still didn’t know why she’d come so Merlin-blasted early. Granted, she wasn’t alone — the entrance hall had been filled with excited witches and wizards before the doors had opened a minute or two ago and the student ushers had started taking tickets and showing people to seats — but there were still twenty-five minutes to kill until the performance started.
I suppose that’s what this thing is for. She looked dubiously at the brightly-colored program. Probably full of sappy messages for the actors. "We’re so proud of you, darling — now, are you fourth from the left or fourth from the right?" Gah.
She flipped the cover open and started reading. As she had suspected, the adverts were nauseating. She took to flipping the pages at the rate of one a second, and she was three pages past a certain one when it registered in her mind.
That was my name.
She hastily flipped back. No, no, no, no... where did it go? I know I saw it, where is it?
Five minutes of frenzied searching brought her no closer. She was almost ready to give up when she turned a page over and saw it, sitting clear and plain on page fourteen, where it must have been all the time.
Tonks —
Love Potions only last two months, but my love for you lasts forever.
I’m in seat G12. Please at least come over to say hello.
— Charlie
Tonks stared at the message, her heart suddenly pounding a totally different rhythm than that of the boy testing his drums.
Love Potions only last two months?
Letha had given her the potion in December. If the only reason she loved Charlie was the potion, she should have stopped caring in late February.
But it was April, and I was bringing around invitations, I was going to get my dress fitted, I was choosing people to be in the wedding party...
She was on her feet, peering around. Absently, she sharpened her eyesight until she could read the labels on the red velvet seats someone had conjured in for the audience.
There’s row G. Seat 1, 2, 3... huh. Nobody in 12. Nobody in 11 or 13, either, and no programs. She smiled. Guess they’re not here yet.
Tucking her precious program into her pocket, she started to sidle out of her row, changing her face as she went.
When Charlie arrived, he’d already be in his seat.
xXxXx
A silver-grey eye peering through the crack in the curtains withdrew, and small feet pattered gleefully across the boards of the stage.
Operation Changing Dragon was a success.
Author Notes:
I thought it would be nice to finally get some use from those stupid little ads in school theater programs.
Anyway, this is the end of Joseph in the main story. However, I will be typing up a super-long songfic — or would you call it a musicalfic? Anyway, it gives you both the lyrics of the songs and the actions of the characters, and I’ll be posting it here on fanficauthors. I suggest you read it even if you know the show, as there might be story clues buried in there — and I will tell you that there are several clues even in what of the show I’ve put in here!
Oh, bonus points to anyone who can name the song Draco and Luna sing together!