Living without Danger
Chapter 27: Memories and Magic (Year 2)
By Anne B. Walsh
Chapter 27: Memories and Magic
"No," said Aletha, shaking her head. "No. That can’t be right."
"I assure you, it is." Dumbledore was still looking at Meghan, lying limply on the bed. "Only a blood Heir of the Founders would be able to use the magic of Hogwarts as directly as Meghan did just now. And only the Heir of Ravenclaw could have used that magic to heal."
"One of you must be an Heir as well, then," said Remus to Sirius and Aletha. "There’s no other way Meghan could be."
Sirius and Aletha looked at each other strangely, as if both reassessing the person they’d thought they knew. Remus left them to it and turned around, startling Neville into a backwards leap which almost landed him on Luna’s toes. She was looking past Remus at the bed where Meghan was lying. "Is Meghan really a blood Heir?" she asked Remus.
"Professor Dumbledore says she is," said Remus. "I trust him."
"All right." Luna went to join the rest of the Pride, all gathered around Harry’s bed, staring at him. Remus smiled at the thought of what Harry would say if he woke up at this moment. He hated being stared at, for any reason, only slightly more than he hated lying in bed during the day, when there were things to do and places to go.
"Is Meghan going to be all right?" asked Neville.
Remus brought his attention back to the boy. He sometimes wished Augusta would realize that her grandson wasn’t her son and stop comparing the two. It only made Neville more uncomfortable with his own abilities, which were not inconsiderable, Remus suspected, if he were a little more confident. Meghan was very good for him in that regard, refusing to believe him when he became self-deprecatory.
That might be a good match someday. And I think Sirius is finally waking up to that fact.
"I think she will be," he said, recalling that Neville had asked him a question. "She used a lot of magic and tired herself out, that’s all."
"She saved Harry’s life," said Neville in awe, turning to look at his friend, or what could be seen of him through the rest of the Pride. "Didn’t she?"
Why don’t I deal with this now, before it goes any farther...
"Listen to me, please, everyone," he said quietly to the Pride, moving between them until he was standing by the head of Harry’s bed. "If anyone asks you what happened, I want you to tell them that Madam Pomfrey was mistaken at first. She misread the diagnostic spell and thought Harry was more badly injured than he actually was. Meghan insisted that she try the spell again, and when she did, she realized her mistake and had Sirius bring Harry to the castle so she could treat him."
"You don’t want anyone to know about Meghan," said Hermione.
"Exactly."
Hermione turned and faced the rest of the Pride. "This is a den-secret," she said. "Like the Stone was last year. No one who’s not Pride or Pack can know about it. Does everyone understand?"
Heads nodded throughout the group.
My little Kitten, alpha female. What a girl. "Go and get some lunch, then," said Remus, as a pang of hunger made him check his watch and discover that it was nearly one o’clock. "We’ll let you know when they wake up."
"Thank you, sir," said Ron, and gently pulled Ginny away from Harry. "He’s not going anywhere now," Remus heard him say as they left, the rest of the Pride trailing them.
Draco lingered for a moment, looking at Remus a little wistfully, and after a moment or two Remus figured out what he wanted.
"Good work today," he said, shaking Draco’s hand first, then pulling him into a hug. "Flying under less than perfect conditions, and your first time, you still scored."
"Thanks." Draco smiled slightly. "Good thing thunder doesn’t scare me so much any more."
"Yes. A good thing." Remus knew exactly what his Pack-son was referring to. It had happened very shortly after he had come to live with the Pack...
xXxXx
Remus shut the bathroom door and was about to get back into bed with Danger when he stopped. Something wasn’t quite right.
A huge thunderstorm was happening outside, of course, but that wasn’t it. It was something indoors, something nearby, a sound, or a scent, that shouldn’t be present.
A scent. That was it. He closed his eyes and thought about other things. The melodies from some of his favorite operas... what would likely be for breakfast in the morning... how Vilias would do as Minister of Magic...
Distress, unhappiness, fear, worry, all were part of this scent, the back of his mind told him. And it was coming from very nearby. Just down the hall.
A flash of lightning, a crack of thunder, and the scent intensified briefly.
Afraid of the storm? That has to be one of the little ones.
He walked quietly down the hallway, listening to the rain pound on the roof.
We haven’t had a big one like this in a while.
The door to the cubs’ room, as always at night, was open, so that someone would hear them if they cried out. The scent was very definitely coming from inside.
Remus looked around the door, just as another flash of lightning lit the room brightly for an instant, long enough for him to see Draco huddled in the middle of the bed, shivering, arms wrapped around his knees. Harry and Hermione were asleep on either side of him, seemingly unaware of the wrath of nature just outside their window.
Draco’s head turned towards Remus, and the fear smell intensified again.
He’s afraid of me? Damn it, his father would probably have "disciplined" him for being so childish as to be frightened of the storm. And never mind that he is a child, and a very little one still, and can’t possibly be expected to face his fears without any kind of help...
But Lucius Malfoy was getting what he deserved, and it was high time Draco got the same.
"Did the storm wake you?" he asked quietly.
A small nod.
"Let’s go downstairs. So we don’t wake anyone else up." It was only after he’d said it that Remus realized Draco might take this the wrong way, that he might think Remus meant to hurt him somehow and didn’t want him to wake the others by crying out. And that’s the last thing I want to do, but how can I tell him that?
But Draco slid off the bed and came to him, and held his hand as they walked down the stairs together, stopping for a moment every time the thunder crashed outside. Remus sat down on the living room couch when they got to the main floor, and Draco curled up at the opposite end, looking apprehensive.
"Does the noise scare you?"
Draco nodded. "What makes it?" he ventured quietly.
"The lightning makes the air hot and pushes it apart. Then it cools down and comes back together, like this." Remus brought his hands together. "You might say it’s the clouds clapping their hands, because they like the show the lightning is putting on."
Draco gave a timid smile, which vanished as a loud clap of thunder sounded just outside. "It’s loud," he said. "And it sounds angry."
"Yes, it does, but it can’t come inside. We’re safe here."
You’re safe here.
On impulse, Remus patted the place beside him, invitingly.
Draco looked indecisive for a moment, then scrambled quickly across the couch and curled up against Remus’ side. Remus put an arm around the little boy, willing calm and peace into him.
You’re safe here. No one will hurt you or frighten you again. Thunderstorms are the worst thing you’ll ever have to face.
He wished he could be sure it would always be true. Even over just the past few days, he had come to care for this child with a passion that startled him, though it shouldn’t have. Something similar had happened when Meghan was born, and when he’d met Hermione, and even at Harry’s birth, though he hadn’t known then that he would someday be responsible for James Potter’s son.
Much less Lucius Malfoy’s. But that’s over. He’s ours now.
He’s mine.
Harry belongs especially to Sirius. Draco can be especially mine.
If he wants to.
A weight on his lap made him glance down. Draco was in the process of taking possession of it. Remus looked away quickly, knowing that the boy would take any action on his part as a denial, and not wanting Draco to see the smile on his face.
It does look like he wants to.
He slid his arms around Draco when the boy was situated, and they waited out the storm together.
"Would you like to hear a story?" Remus asked when the thunder was almost completely gone.
"’M too big for stories," said Draco sleepily.
"You’re never too old for a bedtime story. Do you know the story of Cinderella?"
A little nod.
"Would you like to hear it?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Well, once upon a time there was a lovely witch named Ella, who had a wicked stepmother and two ugly stepsisters. They took away her wand and made her do all the housework without magic, and sleep near the kitchen fireplace so that she got covered in ashes and cinders, and that’s how she came to be called Cinderella..."
Draco fell asleep as the prince took the Shrinking Charms off the ugly stepsisters’ feet. Remus carried him upstairs while Cinderella’s magical shoes transfigured her dirty clothes into her beautiful ball gown, and tucked him in between the other cubs during the wedding.
"And they all lived happily ever after," he finished in a whisper, stroking Draco’s fine, pale hair.
And so will you. I swear, if it takes everything I have, even my life, I will find you a happily ever after. And that goes for everyone.
Remus closed his eyes, thinking of his Pack, the people he loved more than anything else in the world. Somehow, I will find us a happy ending. I have no idea how, or when, or what will happen in between. But I promise you all that there will be a happily ever after for us.
"So I speak," he murmured. "So I intend. And so let it be done."
He returned to bed feeling as if he’d done something important, but not really knowing what.
xXxXx
"Can we have lunch together?" Draco asked a little hesitantly as Remus returned to the present. "There’s something I want to ask you."
"Of course." Remus laid a quick scent-touch on both Harry and Meghan, then left the hospital wing with Draco, leading the way to a room where he knew they wouldn’t be disturbed.
xXxXx
In the staffroom, Aletha regained her composure with the help of a large cup of tea and a plate of sandwiches.
Everything looks better after lunch.
Sirius, she noticed with a secret smile, was beginning to look more and more rattled, as what Dumbledore had told them began to sink in.
It’s our pattern. One of us reacts right away, and the other takes care of them until they get their head on straight. Then the calm one flips out, and it’s the other one’s turn to take care of everything.
It was part of the reason they made such a good team. But now, one of them was something they’d never expected.
What happens now?
"What happens now?" asked Sirius, echoing her thoughts exactly. "I mean, is there any way to figure out which of us is the Heir?"
"I doubt any simple test exists," said Dumbledore, brushing crumbs from his beard. "There are factors in both your favors — you come from a very old pureblood family, Sirius. How far back is your genealogy charted, would you happen to know?"
"At least to the Middle Ages, possibly earlier. But if there is Ravenclaw blood in the family, no one knows about it, or Mother would have trumpeted it to the skies. She would have been so proud of being descended from a Founder."
"If it was your mother," said Aletha. "It’s just as possible it was your father."
"Then she would have been proud of marrying into the family of a Founder. She was proud of it anyway — I think she was prouder of the Black name than Father was." Sirius shook his head. "She was a strange old bird."
"Can you recall if she, or any other member of your family, showed unusual talent for healing?" asked Dumbledore.
"Just Andy, as far as I know. And we’re related on my father’s side anyway, so it wouldn’t have anything to do with Mother. But that would mean Bellatrix would be an Heir as well, and Dora, and even Draco, if that’s where it comes from. And none of them have ever shown any interest in healing. Especially not Bellatrix." Sirius snorted. "Just about the opposite."
"And neither have you," said Dumbledore. "So that is a factor against you, and one for Aletha, with a documented interest in pursuing Healing as a career." His eyes were not accusing, for which Aletha was highly grateful. After a rattling morning, and having just the past year come to terms with the reason she had left her apprenticeship as a Healer halfway through, she was not eager to reopen the matter at the moment.
"My mother did rehabilitation," she volunteered. "She worked with injured animals. Injured birds, mostly. Taking care of them, either getting them fit to return to the wild, or caring for them if they couldn’t. She loved her work."
"And your mother was English," said Dumbledore, in a tone of getting his facts straight. "Your father American."
"Yes, and both Muggles — though Dad had a witch for a sister and never knew it. But you don’t honestly think I could be an Heir, do you? Except for me and Aunt Amy, my family’s Muggle to the nth degree."
"Ravenclaw had that one daughter who was a Squib," said Sirius. "You could be descended from her."
"How would a magical ability come down through a Squib’s bloodline?" demanded Aletha. "No, it has to be you, Sirius. She has to get it from you."
"If she does, why don’t I have it?"
Dumbledore had been quietly turning the pages of a large book he had brought down from the library. "If I may," he said at this point, turning the book around. "Sirius, is this correct?"
Sirius looked at the page. "I don’t even want to know where you got that," he said, "but yes, it looks right." It was a copy of the Black family tree. It was woven into a magical tapestry at their family home in London, Aletha knew, though she hadn’t seen it during their short stay there, and she had no desire to return. She hadn’t cared for Kreacher at all, and she had a feeling it was mutual.
"If I am reading it correctly, your mother had only one sibling, a brother."
"That’s right. Uncle Alphard. He liked me, left me some gold, and Mum blasted him off the tapestry for it."
"He had no children?"
"None. Never even married."
Dumbledore nodded. "Making you, and Meghan, the only living scions of that particular line."
"That’s right."
"It is entirely possible that the Ravenclaw power manifests only in female descendants of the line," said Dumbledore, closing the book. "That would account for your apparent lack of power, and Meghan’s quite obvious possession of it."
"But that would mean my mum had it!" Sirius looked half appalled and half highly amused. "She never healed anything in her life! Even her houseplants died!"
"It is also possible for a power to be blocked, or even subverted." Dumbledore set the book aside and took a sip of his tea. "Either consciously or subconsciously, by the power’s wielder or another. If, as you say, her plants often died, she may indeed have had the power to heal, but have warped it with her wishes and beliefs into the opposite."
"Medicine in one dose is poison in another," said Aletha, recalling the most basic lessons of Healing. "That which can heal can also harm."
"Precisely."
"So you think it’s me, then," said Sirius. "Through my mum’s side. But I’ll never have it, because it only comes out in women?"
"It seems plausible," said Dumbledore. "We could, of course, be entirely wrong."
"We could always be entirely wrong," said Aletha. "There could be no such thing as magic, in which case none of this matters at all. This seems like the most likely answer. Shall we leave it at that, then, and talk about something else?"
"Like what?" asked Sirius.
"Like what we’re going to do now. Poppy said Harry was dying, and I don’t think she made any mistake. So Meghan literally pulled him back from death. That’s a big thing for a little girl to do. How are we going to keep her from puffing herself off?"
"The natural consequences of her actions may help with that," said Dumbledore. "Do you recall the tales of Rowena Ravenclaw, and what would happen to her after she used her healing abilities?"
"She was tired afterwards," said Sirius. "Sometimes she’d be in bed for days, or weeks — I think she was bedridden for a couple of months after one time, when she healed a whole bunch of people."
"And she was a full-grown witch." Aletha felt a little dizzy at the mere thought. "Pearl’s just a baby."
"But she had a resource Rowena did not," said Dumbledore. "Hogwarts was still young then, and had not had time to become the reservoir of magical power it now is. I have learned, over many years at Hogwarts, to sense the magic which has collected in and around the school, although I cannot command it. Meghan can do so, and did today. It is a formidable resource."
"So, could any Heir of the Founders use the magic of Hogwarts?" asked Aletha, having suddenly had a truly awful thought.
"Only one who had a legitimate reason to be here," said Dumbledore, meeting her eyes. "No invader could take the school’s magic by force."
"You’re thinking of Voldemort, aren’t you," said Sirius. "Heir of Slytherin and all that."
"Yes." Aletha shivered. "He was powerful enough before, thank you very much. If he had access to the kind of power that allowed a nine-year-old to save her brother’s life and not kill herself in the process..."
"My reasoning precisely," said Dumbledore softly. "And this is part of what makes the opening of the Chamber of Secrets so disturbing. If there is another Heir of Slytherin, one with a genuine tie to the school — a student, or a member of the faculty — that person could indeed be using the power of Hogwarts. That power might have been what killed Harry’s snake."
Sirius glowered. "That’s wrong," he said. "That’s just wrong. This school was built to shelter, to protect, not to kill. It’s like taking a good guard dog and turning it into an attack animal."
The three sat in silence for a long moment.
"We have papers to grade," said Aletha finally, standing up. "And cubs to check on. Even though I doubt they’ll be awake any time in the near future."
"Depends on what you mean by ‘near,’" said Sirius, also standing. "Probably not until at least tomorrow, though."
"Still, we should be findable if we’re needed."
Dumbledore smiled. "You, Aletha, are never hard to find."
"Thank you, Albus. I think."
Sirius chuckled. "She never could take a compliment." He ducked out the door ahead of Aletha’s swat. "And she always had a good backhand," he added, popping his head back in the door for one moment.
Aletha’s second swing didn’t miss.
"Good forehand, too," Sirius mumbled, holding his hand against a rapidly swelling lip.
Dumbledore shook his head regretfully. "Professors brawling in the staffroom," he said. "The Heirs of the Founders returning. What is this school coming to?"
xXxXx
"You don’t think I’m bad, then?" asked Draco for probably the fourth time.
Is he allowed to have adolescent anxieties when he’s not even thirteen yet? Remus resisted the urge to rub his temples. Draco had always been very sensitive to signs of other people’s distress, and worse, he always interpreted them as something he’d done wrong. "No, I do not think you’re bad. Being angry doesn’t make you bad. It makes you a twelve-year-old boy with the normal emotions of one. Ron was just as angry, and he’s not wondering if he’s bad."
Draco looked at the floor. "Ron’s family weren’t all Slytherins until him, either," he said. "And he was angry differently. He was all hot. I was more cold. And I thought really awful things — like I wanted to hurt one of Ron’s brothers, to make him understand how I felt. I didn’t know I could be mean like that."
"Draco, everyone has parts of himself he’d rather not face," said Remus patiently. "Remember last year, when Harry shot his mouth off in Defense, and then tried to hurt you and Hermione when you called him on it?"
Draco nodded.
"If that was all you knew about Harry, what kind of person would you think he was?"
"Violent," said Draco after thinking for a moment. "Uncontrolled and mean."
"Is he really that way?"
"No. That was just a few minutes out of his whole life. He’s almost never like that."
"And that was just a few minutes out of your whole life, out on the Quidditch pitch." Remus hoped he was getting through. "Yes, you have the ability to be cruel and want revenge. So do all human beings. The trick is knowing that, and training yourself not to act on every whim. You’ve been in training for that since you were four, and you still are. Do you remember what we used to call you?"
"Warriors?"
"That’s right. I think we should pick that up again. Consider yourself, and the whole Pride, as warriors in training. Here at school, and at home, you’re going to learn the skills you’ll need in war."
"Is there going to be a war, then?" asked Draco.
Remus sighed. "I don’t see any way to avoid it, fox. Voldemort’s still out there — we found that out last year — and he still wants to come back. And if — no, not if — when he does, there will be another war."
Draco lifted his chin. "I’ll be ready," he said. "We all will."
No, you won’t. No one ever is.
But Remus saw no reason to shake Draco’s bold resolve today. Life would do that for him all too soon.
And they may not be ready, but they will be more ready.
We’ll make sure of that.
xXxXx
Neville couldn’t sleep. He was very tired, since he’d spent the afternoon answering questions from what seemed like most of Gryffindor House, but couldn’t have been, since there were equal crowds around his Pridemates.
Yes, Harry Potter was alive. No, he hadn’t been dying, Madam Pomfrey had made a mistake. Yes, Meghan Black was all right. She’d fainted from relief when she’d found out Harry wasn’t dying (that was his own invention, quickly come up with when the question had arisen, and the rest of the Pride had seized on it). Yes, Harry really had caught the Snitch, Gryffindor hadn’t just been awarded the win. No, he didn’t think Dudley Dursley was the Heir of Slytherin (this from a small and very excitable-looking first year boy clutching a camera).
Now, Neville asked himself a question.
Would Harry and Meghan want a visitor in the middle of the night?
They’d probably be asleep. Harry had been badly hurt, and people who were hurt usually slept a lot afterwards. And Meghan had worn herself out using a lot of magic. But if they were asleep, there wouldn’t be any harm in his just going to look at them, would there?
If he was caught, of course, he’d be in trouble...
So I won’t get caught.
He was getting up already, fitting his feet into his slippers and putting on his dressing gown. He would slip down to the hospital wing, have a look at them both, make sure they were still all right, and come back. No one would ever know he’d been gone.
"You shouldn’t be out of bed at this hour," said the Fat Lady reprovingly as he climbed out of the portrait hole.
"I’ll be right back," said Neville. "I, er, forgot my Charms text in the classroom."
"Well, all right."
He crept carefully down the staircases, stepping over the vanishing step in the center of one, watching where he was going so as not to run into any suits of armor. One floor away from his destination, he backed hastily into a dark corner as Peeves came zooming along the corridor, reclining on what looked like a magic carpet, but Neville didn’t think carpets came in tartan. Nor that they had sleeves.
"Give that back!" shouted a furious voice.
Professor McGonagall — oh no —
Neville shrank into the corner even farther. I’m not here, he thought frantically, willing the darkness to hide him. I’m not here — you can’t see me — you don’t notice me — I’m not here...
"Peeves, return my dressing gown at ONCE!" Professor McGonagall, in her nightdress, came stalking along the hallway, looking quite put out. Peeves bobbed up and down in midair, just out of her reach, wrapped in the dressing gown and whistling. Whatever song it was, McGonagall obviously didn’t care for it, since she whipped out her wand and shouted "Rubellosis!"
Large red spots popped up all over Peeves. He screeched and dropped the gown to scratch at them furiously, and Professor McGonagall caught it as it fell. "Are you going to pester me again tonight?" she asked, putting it on.
"No, ma’am, your Professorship, ma’am," said Peeves, scratching all over and looking as penitent as he ever did.
"Innoculus," said McGonagall, and the spots disappeared. Peeves did the same, and McGonagall turned and walked away.
It worked — I don’t believe it! It worked! She didn’t see me! Neville did an entirely internal dance of joy, then cautiously followed McGonagall down the hall, being sure to keep a corner between them at all times.
As he lurked at the top of the last staircase he had to go down, he heard a sudden gasp and an ejaculation of "Merciful heavens!"
"Minerva?"
Oh no — Professor Dumbledore too?
Neville gulped as the Headmaster appeared out of the darkness in the very corridor he was in — he was in plain sight, there was no time to hide, he’d be spotted for sure —
But Dumbledore’s eyes passed right over him, as if he were nothing more than another suit of armor, and landed on something partway down the stairs. "What on earth..."
"I don’t know," said Professor McGonagall, sounding shaken. "I found him like this, just a moment or two ago..."
Dumbledore disappeared from Neville’s view, down the stairs. "The hospital wing, I think," Neville heard him say, and chanced a peek just in time to see McGonagall vanish around the corner at the bottom of the stairs, carrying something that looked like the feet of a statue.
What’s going on?
Neville made his cautious way down the stairs, ending up outside the open door of the hospital wing, looking in. Meghan lay in her bed, Harry in his, neither moving. Four adults were grouped around another bed, whose occupant was entirely blocked from Neville’s sight.
"Petrified," said Madam Pomfrey, grimly. "That’s the only thing that looks like this — he’s been Petrified. Where was he?"
"On the stairs just a little ways from here," said Professor McGonagall. "There were grapes lying beside him, I have no idea why..."
"Probably trying to sneak in and visit Harry," said Professor Freeman-Black. "He hero-worships him, always saying hello in the hallways, trying to get him to sign a picture."
"Yes, a picture," said Professor McGonagall, moving over so that Neville could see who was in the bed.
That little first year! What’s his name — Creevey, Colin Creevey!
"Might he have taken a picture of his attacker?" continued Professor McGonagall, handing something to Professor Dumbledore. It was the camera Colin carried everywhere, Neville saw, as McGonagall stepped out of the way.
"It is worth a look." Professor Dumbledore opened the back of the camera.
A jet of steam hissed out, and Neville gagged a little at the smell of burnt plastic.
"I guess not," said Professor Freeman-Black, looking slightly ill herself. "What could melt a camera like that?"
"The same force that could Petrify a child," said Professor Dumbledore, setting the camera down. "I can draw only one conclusion. The Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened once more."
Professor Freeman-Black swore under her breath. Madam Pomfrey’s hand was over her mouth. Professor McGonagall was staring at Dumbledore.
"But, then, Albus... who..."
"I do not know." Dumbledore was frowning. "But there is another aspect to this that troubles me greatly. A few moments ago, just before I discovered you and this young man, Minerva, I felt the magic of the school being tapped once more."
"But Meghan can’t have done anything," said Professor Freeman-Black. "She’s been asleep for hours, probably will be for a week. It has to have been someone else."
"Precisely. And if you recall what we discussed earlier, about who can and cannot use the power of Hogwarts..."
"Heirs of the Founders, with a valid reason to be here," said Professor Freeman-Black slowly. "So you think..."
"That another Heir of Slytherin may exist," said Dumbledore gravely. "And one who has a current tie to Hogwarts."
Professor Freeman-Black sat down on the bed behind her. "That," she said, "would be very bad." Her eyes traveled from Colin’s frozen face up to the wall behind him, across to the door, and landed on Neville.
If you think you’ve been seen when you’re sneaking around, keep doing whatever you were doing, said Hermione’s voice in his mind. If you were moving, keep moving, if you were holding still, keep holding still. Don’t react or try to run away unless you’re sure you’ve been seen.
Neville had been standing still. He remained frozen in position. I’m not here, he chanted in his head. I’m not here, you can’t see me...
Professor Freeman-Black blinked and rubbed her eyes. Neville used the moment to nip out of sight.
"Aletha, is something wrong?" asked Madam Pomfrey’s voice.
"No, nothing. I’m overtired, seeing things."
Neville edged along the corridor and up the stairs, then started running. The sooner he was back in Gryffindor Tower, the better.
He had a lot to think about.
xXxXx
"Another Heir of Slytherin?" repeated Ron.
"That means they must already know who one is," said Draco.
"So Siss was killed, and Colin Petrified," said Hermione. "I wonder why Colin didn’t get killed too?"
"I’m glad he didn’t," said Ginny. "He’s annoying, but I wouldn’t want him dead."
"Is there any way to get un-Petrified?" asked Ron.
"Mandrakes," said Hermione, Luna, and Neville all at the same time, making the rest of the Pride laugh. They were sitting outdoors after lunch, enjoying the weekend, the fair weather that had come in the wake of yesterday’s rain, and the fact that no one was dead.
"What’s all this about?" Percy Weasley, looking very disapproving, swept down on them.
"We’re talking," said Ron, looking strangely at his brother. "What’s wrong with that?"
"You shouldn’t be out here, unsupervised. Not with people getting Petrified, and animals getting killed — both the school roosters were killed this term, not to mention that snake of Harry’s, and now the Creevey boy — you should be indoors."
"Percy, the last time I checked, Colin and Siss were both inside when they were attacked," said Ginny. "What makes you think inside is any safer than out?"
"Inside, you can be watched," Percy said patiently, as if Ginny were three. "By qualified witches and wizards, and prefects. They can make certain nothing bad happens to you. I don’t want to see you wandering around the grounds again. Is that clear?"
"We’re not wandering around," said Draco. "We’re just sitting here. And there’s a teacher right over there." He pointed across the courtyard at Professor Black, who was lounging on another stone seat, scribbling on some pieces of parchment and comparing them one to another. "Two teachers, actually," he corrected himself as Madam Hooch came into the courtyard. "So why should we go inside again?"
Percy scowled and walked away.
"He’s even worse than usual lately," said Ron. "Wonder what’s up."
"He probably takes it as a personal insult that it was a Gryffindor snake and a Gryffindor student who got attacked," said Ginny, stretching her legs out. "So what’s this about Mandrakes?"
"Well," said Hermione, "I know Professor Sprout has Mandrakes growing, because we repotted them in class, and I know they have to be mature before you can prepare them, but I don’t know how long that’s going to take..."
"About nine or ten months, I think," said Neville, trying to recall what he’d read about Mandrakes in their Herbology book. "They start out looking like babies, and grow up little by little — when they look like adults, they’re ready to be used."
Hermione launched into a long explanation of how Mandrakes were made into the potion called Mandragora, with Draco and Luna correcting her along the way. Neville tuned out, watching Madam Hooch talking to Professor Black instead. He was only interested in plants as long as they were alive.
"Sirius!"
He looked up. So did everyone else.
Professor Freeman-Black was leaning out of a window, two stories up. "He’s awake!" she called down.
Professor Black said something to Madam Hooch, crammed his parchment scraps and quill into his bag, and started inside at a run. The Pride wasn’t far behind.
"He" could only be Harry.
xXxXx
Harry was confused. He remembered running with Meghan down a long stone corridor, following the sound of his friends’ voices singing, calling him back...
How he had gotten from that corridor to this bed, he had no idea. He knew where he was, of course — the hospital wing — but he had absolutely no recollection of anything between running with Meghan, each of them supporting the other, and lying here with Madam Pomfrey fussing over him.
"You look as well as can be expected," she said finally. "How do you feel?"
"All right, I guess," said Harry. "Tired, and kind of achy. Is Meghan all right?"
"Still asleep," said Madam Pomfrey, moving aside so that Harry could see Meghan, tucked into a bed near his. "And likely to be for quite a while. That was powerful magic she used. But I’m sure your family will tell you all about that."
Letha entered the hospital wing and crossed to Harry’s bed, smiling at him. "Is it all right for him to sit up, Poppy?" she asked Madam Pomfrey.
"It should be. But if you start to feel dizzy, lie back down," Madam Pomfrey cautioned Harry. "And have a drink of water."
Harry carefully raised himself to sitting, Letha supporting him. Once he was up and propped by pillows, she poured him a glass of water, then gave him a gentle hug after he was done drinking. "You gave us a good scare, Greeneyes," she said. "It seems to be your stock in trade. And I should warn you, Poppy, you’re about to be invaded."
"What else is new," said Madam Pomfrey with a sigh. "Try to keep it down to a dull roar, please." She went into her office and shut the door.
"Who’s there?" asked Harry, pointing at a screened-off bed in the corner.
"That’s part of what we have to tell you about," said Letha, looking sober, as Padfoot pelted through the door, wearing a huge smile and closely trailed by Ron and Draco, with the rest of the Pride in hot pursuit. "But in a few minutes."
xXxXx
Those few minutes later, Harry was feeling dizzy, though not from sitting up.
Why does everything interesting happen when I’m asleep?
He had told his story, about Siss and Meghan, in return for the Pride and Padfoot and Letha telling him what had been happening at Hogwarts. He thought their story was much more interesting, but they all seemed more interested in his.
"Meghan shut the door you wanted to go through?" repeated Padfoot.
Harry nodded, carefully. "And then she asked me to dance with her, and when I did, I remembered things about my life, and that I didn’t want to go through the door — I wanted to go back with her and be alive again."
"What kinds of things?" asked Draco.
"All kinds. Like where I lived, and the Pack and everyone, and what happened to me. Did I get hit with a Bludger?"
Padfoot nodded. "And Madam Hooch told me something very interesting," he said. "The bat the Dursley boy used was hexed."
"Hexed?" repeated Letha.
"With a certain charm you might remember. The one that turns a wooden Bludger temporarily into iron."
"Well, that would certainly explain a lot," said Letha after a moment of shocked silence. "What does he have to say for himself?"
"According to Rolanda, he claims he doesn’t know how it got that way. And I don’t think a mediocre second year student could have performed that hex. And you’re not to repeat that," Padfoot added, looking at the Pride.
"None of this," said Letha, making a zipper motion over her lips. "Den-secret, all of it."
Two or three of the Pride looked to Harry, who nodded.
"So you got hit with an iron Bludger," said Draco. "That would explain why you fell. We’ve only ever played with the wooden ones."
"And you got hurt," said Luna. "But Meghan saved you, after your snake friend made you stay alive."
"And now Meghan’s asleep." Harry looked over at her again. "Do we know how long it’ll be before she wakes up?"
"No idea," said Letha. "And she’ll probably be quite weak for a while after she’s awake. She might not fully recover for a month or two."
"Better than Colin," said Ginny, looking towards the corner with the screened-off bed. "He won’t be awake until the Mandrakes are full-grown, and that’s not likely to be until spring or even summer. He’s going to miss most of his first year. Probably have to take special lessons to make up for it."
"He’s lucky he wasn’t killed," said Harry quietly, thinking of Siss.
Everyone fell silent for a moment.
xXxXx
Madam Pomfrey permitted Harry to leave the hospital wing the next day, and his life went back to something resembling normal. He discovered, now that Colin was no longer saying hello to him every time classes changed, that he’d got used to it, and actually missed it now.
Ginny hexed Fred on Thursday, after the fourth time in a day that he or George had leapt out at her from behind a statue, snarling loudly and covered in boils or sporting fangs. The combination of her beautifully performed Bat-Bogey Hex and Percy’s threat to write home to Mrs. Weasley convinced the twins to stop trying to scare her.
Meghan awoke for a short while on Saturday, longer on Sunday, and was pronounced on the road to recovery on Tuesday, though she wasn’t allowed to leave the hospital wing yet.
"But I wanna go back to the dorm," she complained.
"Pearl, you can’t even sit up on your own yet," said Padfoot, who was holding her upright in the bed. "Or eat, or get to the bathroom. You’re better off here."
"And when you do move, you’re coming to our quarters, where we can keep an eye on you," said Letha, scooping up a spoonful of applesauce. "Open."
Meghan rolled her eyes but opened her mouth. Letha inserted the spoon, and Meghan promptly clamped her teeth down on it.
Harry turned his head away, fighting his urge to laugh. If he laughed, Letha would be angry with him for encouraging Meghan. But it was so funny to see Meghan playing the same tricks now that she had when she was a baby...
Padfoot snickered. There was the sound of a smack. "Don’t you start," said Letha.
"Ow."
Harry turned back just in time to see Meghan giggle and spray applesauce across the bedspread. He smiled to himself.
Everything was going to be fine.