Living without Danger
Chapter 28: Warriors (Year 2)
By Anne B. Walsh
Chapter 28: Warriors
The remaining weeks of term were uneventful, unless one counted Meghan’s antics in the hospital wing. It was a good thing she didn’t get sick often, Sirius thought, because she was an atrocious patient. She hated having to stay in bed, and made her displeasure known partly by being extremely picky about everything. Aletha’d had to calm down the house elves one morning after Meghan had sent her breakfast tray back five times, and there were nights both of them spent an hour getting her settled down to go to sleep.
The other manifestation of Meghan’s bad temper was tantrums, which began to emerge about halfway through December, when she had enough energy to sustain them. The most extreme of these, the day before she was scheduled to leave the hospital wing, involved flinging herself around in bed, throwing things across the room, and screaming, "I don’t want to! I won’t! I won’t! You can’t make me!"
Sirius removed all the breakables from her reach, stood out of easy throwing range, and let her scream. She’s not rational right now, and trying to talk to her will only make her worse. I knew something was going to set her off, just not what.
But of all things, telling her we’re going to Floo home for Christmas rather than take the train...
"I will go on the train, I will!" screamed Meghan, thrashing around in bed. "I want to, I want to, I want to..."
"Is this a bad time?" said a voice from the door.
"Neville!" Meghan was suddenly all smiles. "Dadfoot — I mean Professor Black — can Neville please come in? May he?"
"Of course." Sirius nodded to the boy, who came inside, holding something behind his back. Flowers, Sirius was sure. Neville must have some secret source of flowers, because Pomona Sprout said she wasn’t missing any from the greenhouses, and it was the middle of winter, yet the vase by Meghan’s bed was always full, courtesy of Neville.
"Oh, a Christmas bouquet!" Meghan exclaimed as Neville displayed today’s offering. "Holly and ivy — they’re so pretty..."
Contrary to popular opinion, Sirius could, sometimes, figure out when his presence was not required. This was one of those times.
"I’m glad you like them." Neville sat on the edge of Meghan’s bed and handed her the bouquet, or whatever one called it if it was made of greenery instead of flowers, Sirius thought. "I would have brought you a poinsettia, but it’s not ready yet."
"That’s all right. I like these better anyway. What’s this plant with the white berries? I don’t think I’ve seen it before."
Sirius turned the corner, cutting off Neville’s reply.
I think I’ll see if Letha’s busy.
We need to talk.
xXxXx
"About what?" asked his wife, looking up from the essays she was grading (he’d done his share that morning).
"Meghan and Neville."
"What about them?"
"Well... she’s acting awfully strangely towards him."
"Strangely?"
"They’re very friendly."
"Is that a problem?"
"No, but it seems to be getting into a direction where it’s more than just friendly."
"You mean they’re good friends?"
Sirius was about to get angry with her for being so obtuse when he realized she was having him on. Instead of trying to be more specific — she knew perfectly well what he was talking about — he tried a different tack. "How long have you known?"
"Known what?"
I love the woman, but she knows where every single one of my buttons is, and takes pleasure in pushing them... "How long have you known that Meghan and Neville were interested in each other?"
"Interested in what way?"
"Damn it, Aletha, this isn’t funny!"
"It’s not?" Aletha shook her head, smiling. "Never mind. I’ll stop. So you’ve finally noticed that our little girl is growing up, have you?"
"Finally? How long have you known?"
"I’ve known, for sure, since last summer. I suspected when I saw the letters she was getting from him last year, and when she started asking me little sidling questions about love and what it was like. I told her that at her age, the best thing was to make friends, and that eventually one of those friendships would probably grow into something more."
"So you call what she’s doing with Neville being friends?"
"Yes. What would you call it?"
"I... I’d call it... I don’t know." Sirius sat down on the sofa with a sigh. "She’s so young, though. Not even ten yet. Were you thinking about boys at her age?"
"Girls are always thinking about boys. Not always thinking the same things, but always thinking about boys. At her age, I was mostly thinking about boys as a ‘How can Danger and I get back at Matt up the street for putting worms in our hair last Saturday’ thing."
"I never saw you as the type to be bothered by worms in your hair."
"Not if I see them coming. He pulled a sneak attack."
"What did you do?"
"Stole his lunch at school and dumped pepper on everything."
"I knew there was a reason I loved you."
Aletha laughed. "Is that the only reason?"
"Well, no, but if I listed them all, we’d still be here next year. And we got off topic."
"Yes. You were saying that you feel Meghan’s too young to be thinking about boys this way yet?"
Sirius nodded. "I thought it didn’t start until they were at least twelve or so."
"Every girl is different. Every boy, too, for that matter. And think about it, Sirius. Meghan’s never had a friend her own age. Everyone she knows, everyone she associates with, is two or three years older than she is, or an adult. Also, false modesty aside, she’s highly intelligent and quite flexible. Does it surprise you too much that she’s a bit precocious in some ways?"
"Well, when you put it like that..."
"And do you really have an objection to her choice?"
"Neville? Why would I? He’s a good kid. A little quiet, and some confidence problems, but he’s improving. He looks more like Alice, but he reminds me a lot of Frank. It’s the little things, I think. Frank would always do the little things that no one else noticed, but that needed doing. Kept everything moving really nicely at Headquarters. You remember that?"
"I do. How he’d always be the one drawing up the duty schedules, and making sure the emergency kits were stocked, and keeping messages flowing... like you said, all the little things, the ones no one really notices until they don’t get done." Aletha sighed. "Not enough people like him in the world."
"True. So I suppose Meghan could do a lot worse."
"Definitely true. And they are still both very young. I doubt anything will be happening we should be concerned about for another few years."
xXxXx
All the Weasleys were going to be home for Christmas this year, since Bill and Charlie had both managed to get time off, so the Pack was going to be alone for the holiday.
As alone as we ever get. Harry smiled as he waited for the Hogwarts Express to pull into Hogsmeade Station. There wouldn’t be a formal Christmas party this year, since Meghan was still off her feet, but he had no doubt there would be plenty of visiting, by cubs and adults alike. Christmas, after all, was for friends and family.
Draco kept humming Christmas carols under his breath, but instead of this being irritating, it put everyone in the holiday mood, so much so that they were all singing along when the train pulled into King’s Cross. Harry’s feeling of Christmas cheer lasted until he crossed the magical barrier and spotted Danger.
For some reason known only to herself, his Pack-mother had chosen to meet the train wearing reindeer antlers and a flashing red nose. Harry briefly considered ducking back through the barrier and spending the holidays at Hogwarts instead, but Moony spotted him and waved before he could go through with it.
Draco spent a moment or two staring at Danger, then summed up Harry’s feelings perfectly with one heartfelt word.
"Why?"
"It just struck me that I hadn’t sufficiently embarrassed you lately," said Danger airily.
Ron seemed to be trying to look sympathetic, but the muffled guffaws coming out from behind his mittened hand were spoiling it. Hermione had pulled her scarf almost entirely over her face, and what little of it could be seen was phone-box red. Ginny was looking curiously at the nose. "Is it magic?" she asked.
"No, it runs on batteries. I’m considering getting your father one."
Ron shut up immediately.
Without any guests to house, it was his own bed that Harry checked over for pranks, later that afternoon, before flopping over onto it for a brief moment and savoring the feeling of being home. Then he got up and went downstairs to help with dinner.
The Den looked very festive, Harry thought, with the wallpaper turned red, green, and silver in honor of the season, and the Christmas tree in the music room threatening to be lifted off the ground by the packages under it. He’d have to watch out for the hallway, though. Padfoot had booby-trapped it with magical mistletoe, which attached itself to anyone who walked under it and wouldn’t go away until they kissed someone of the opposite sex.
Though I suppose Meghan counts. Or Letha, or Danger...
"Scrape some carrots, please, Harry?" requested Danger without turning around from the sink. "We need something for people to munch on, so they’re not asking me when dinner is every thirty seconds." The last three words were aimed directly at Draco, who whistled innocently as he set the table.
Harry grinned and went to the refrigerator.
xXxXx
The days of the vacation blurred happily together. Meghan spent most of them on the couch, but her energy was returning little by little, allowing her to be awake and alert and do things like make paper chains or help decorate sugar cookies. Neville came to visit often, usually staying for lunch or dinner before returning home, and Luna and the Weasleys had long since stopped knocking at the Den.
It reminded Harry a lot of the previous Christmas, only this time, instead of it being Ginny who had to stay inside, it was Meghan. He preferred this Christmas, though, if only because Ginny wasn’t blushing and stammering every time she looked at him. In fact, she nailed him in the face with a snowball a few days before Christmas, jamming his glasses against his nose and nearly making him fall over.
Aunt Andy and Uncle Ted arrived early on Christmas Eve and stayed until after dinner, chatting with the adults. "I wish they’d leave," whispered Meghan to Harry. "Father Christmas won’t come if there are people around."
Harry bit his lip, trying not to laugh. "Meghan, you do know there’s no such person as Father Christmas?"
"That’s what you say."
I tried.
The Pack went to bed early enough to satisfy even Meghan, and in the morning, Harry wasn’t so sure himself that Father Christmas didn’t exist. There were a lot of presents under the tree that hadn’t been there before...
"And now, for the pride and joy of the collection," said Padfoot, bringing out a rather large and battered box. "This is from your Aunt Amy, cubs, and we don’t even know what’s in it."
"It arrived just in time," said Letha, opening it with her wand. "Day before yesterday."
"And the verdict is..." Danger drummed her hands on the coffee table.
"More boxes," said Letha, pulling them out. "One for each of you. Meghan — pass this down, there — Draco — Hermione — and Harry."
The box was square and a little smaller than a shoebox. Harry shook it and heard a dull sort of rattle within.
Only one way to find out...
He pulled out the flap holding it shut and flipped the lid up.
It looks like a belt. She got us belts?
No, wait. It’s a belt, but it’s wrapped around something. Maybe just the buckle...
A gasp from Hermione drew his attention. He stared.
Lying flat on his sister’s palm was a gleaming silver dagger. The blade was about six inches long and looked sharp enough to cut anything, and a blue stone ornamented the handle.
Harry lifted his own gift from its box, feeling the weight inside the bundle of leather, too heavy to be even the most ornate of belt buckles. Slowly, he unwrapped the belt, revealing a dagger in a hanging sheath. His, he saw as he drew it, was identical to Hermione’s, except that it had a red stone in the pommel.
"May I see?" said Moony’s voice quietly. Harry turned to see Draco relinquishing his blade, with its green stone, to their alpha.
Moony hefted the blade, held it on his own palm, then, to Harry’s surprise, on a fingertip. "Look at that balance," he said to Padfoot.
"These have to be goblin-made." Padfoot was examining Meghan’s, which had a yellow stone inset in the handle. "They’re gorgeous — I’m jealous already."
Moony returned the dagger to Draco, hilt first. Harry looked more closely at his own. Could he do that balancing on a fingertip trick?
He tried it, setting the knife on his left index finger at the same spot he’d seen Moony do it. The blade balanced for a moment, then fell, and Harry grabbed at it clumsily, hissing in pain as he caught it by the blade, which bit into his palm slightly.
"Hold still," said Letha, coming across the room with her wand. "Let me see." She held out her hand, and Harry put his own into it. A quick word, and the cut was healed. "Clean that off, now," she instructed, conjuring a square of cloth. "You never leave a blade dirty."
Harry wiped his blood from the dagger’s blade and sheathed it again, lifting the sheath and belt to his face so that he could catch the scent of the leather. This was far and away the best Christmas gift he’d ever gotten.
"Listen carefully, cubs, there are a few things you need to understand," said Danger, getting everyone’s attention. "These are not toys. You are not allowed to play with them or even show them to anyone except your Pride. If we hear about them being played with, bragged about, shown around at school, or anything of that sort, whoever did it comes home and scrubs floors for a year before going back to school. Is that clear?"
The cubs nodded.
"When you were young, we used to call you warriors," said Moony. "We let it lapse as you got older. But I think it’s time to bring it back. You are warriors, and you will need to be. Because in your lifetimes — probably before you finish school — you are going to encounter war."
Draco was nodding. Meghan was leaning forward to listen better. Hermione was absently stroking the pommel stone of her dagger, her eyes on Moony’s face.
"Sirius and I will teach you the proper way to use these. But you are never to use them unless there is absolutely no other choice. And never on another student. If we’d make you miss a year of school just for showing these around, think about what we’d do if you actually hurt someone with them."
"You would wish that you weren’t underage," added Padfoot. "So the law could have you. The law would be a lot nicer than we will, if someone else gets so much as a scratch from these."
Harry understood his Pack-fathers’ cautions, but he was much more interested in the first things Moony had said. He remembered that he had thought of himself, when he was small, as a warrior. He supposed they had dropped it when they moved to Devon, since it would have been hard to explain to the Weasleys why they called themselves that.
But it’s true. Voldemort’s not dead. He’ll be back, and he’ll try to get power again.
I guess you could say the war’s still going on. It never ended, just stopped for a while.
He drew the dagger again and turned the blade so that he could see his reflection in it, complete with lightning-bolt scar. I stopped it.
And I have to be the one to end it.
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...
He swiped at the air, pretending Voldemort was in front of him. Take that! And that! And that —
A hand caught his wrist. "Stop that," said Padfoot. "Not only is it dangerous, you’re holding it wrong." Strong fingers rearranged his on the handle. "That’s a proper grip. Now take it in your other hand."
"What?" Harry frowned at his godfather. "Why? This is the hand I use most."
"That’s exactly why. Switch hands."
The dagger felt awkward and heavy in his left hand. "I can’t do it like this."
"Not yet. But you will. You’re all going to learn to fight with either hand. It’s a good way to surprise an enemy, and to be able to keep fighting if one hand gets incapacitated."
"Not to mention, it lets you fight magical and Muggle at the same time," said Letha. "Wand in one hand, blade in the other."
Harry nodded, looking at the knife in his left hand. He liked the idea. He could just see himself, casting spells with his right hand, stabbing and slashing with his left, fighting off a whole roomful of Death Eaters alone...
"Harry."
He looked up. Moony was standing beside him. "Come talk with me?"
Harry nodded and got up, carrying the belt with him. He started to put it on, but Moony stopped him, smiling. "Tradition, Greeneyes. You can’t put it on yourself."
"What?"
"Someone has to gird you with it. It ought to be the lady of your heart, but just a lady will do. I wonder if we have any of those around here..."
Harry laughed. They were in the den room now, and Moony sat down on one of the cushions, motioning Harry to sit near him.
"What does this make you think of, Harry?" Moony lifted the dagger in its sheath. "What were you thinking, when you were looking at it and holding it?"
Harry took a breath to tell Moony all about his thoughts and dreams, then stopped. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. "Not much," he said. "About Voldemort, I suppose. And how I have to stop him."
"Yes, how you have to stop him." Moony drew the dagger from its sheath and turned it so that the blade caught the weak sunlight coming through the window, casting reflections on the walls and ceiling. "The prophecy, of course. Do you remember what we discussed, Harry, after we told you about the prophecy?"
"Sort of."
"Let me refresh your memory." Moony sheathed the dagger again and looked Harry in the eye. "Just because you can defeat Voldemort does not mean you will. It is just as possible — and right now, it is far more likely — that he will defeat you instead."
Harry felt as if someone had emptied a bucket of ice water over his head. His pleasant daydreams vanished. But Moony wasn’t finished.
"I understand how easy it is to think of fighting as glamorous and war as glorious. It’s natural. You’re a boy — you’ll be a man someday — and boys and men like to fight. There’s nothing wrong with that. But Harry, the only glorious thing about war is when it ends. Do you know what war is, mostly?"
Harry shook his head.
"A lot of waiting, and I know you hate waiting. A lot of pain, and I’m fairly sure you don’t care for pain."
Harry shrugged. "I’d rather not have it than have it."
Moony smiled. "So would most people." The smile vanished. "And then there’s the deaths. People die in war, Harry. Often, people that you care about very much. And you do know something about that."
Another bucket of ice water, this one aimed directly at his heart.
Siss.
Moony sighed. "Harry, I don’t mean to pound you down. But I want you to know the truth. War isn’t anything anyone should want. But when it comes, we’ll deal with it. All of us, together. And in the meantime, you’ll be training and learning what you’ll need to know. All right?"
Harry nodded. "How’d you know?" he asked quietly.
"You had a certain look in your eyes. The same one James always had right before he said, ‘Hey, I know. Let’s go...’ Fill in the blank with the dangerous and illegal activity of your choice."
Harry laughed a little, secretly pleased to hear he’d looked like his father, although he wasn’t so enamored of the reason.
"I have a feeling you’ll have plenty of opportunities to use this." Moony returned the sheathed dagger to Harry. "Just, please, don’t go looking for them. If last year is any indication, they won’t have any trouble finding you."
Harry nodded again, and accepted Moony’s hand to help him up. They returned to the other room together in time for Harry to get in on the first knife fighting lesson, which Padfoot was holding immediately by popular demand.
xXxXx
Female warriors, it was decided, could be girded with their weapons by their fathers, so Letha supported Meghan as she stood for the first time in a month and a half while Padfoot buckled the belt holding the sheath around her waist. It didn’t matter, of course, that it was taken off again straight away — it was the tradition that counted. Moony fastened Hermione’s belt with a few quiet words that made her lift her head proudly, and Draco disappeared during the afternoon and returned with his belt on and a very satisfied smile on his face.
Harry was left, as afternoon wore into evening, with a dilemma.
Who should I ask to put this on me?
Hermione and Meghan were available, but Harry had a feeling asking your sister to gird you with your first weapon was a little like asking your sister to go to a dance with you — it meant you couldn’t get anyone else. The same for Danger and Letha. And he didn’t think Luna should do it for him, since he was fairly sure where Draco had gone.
But who else do I know that’s a girl?
Then he felt stupid. Of course. Why didn’t I think of her before? Ginny!
He was halfway across the room to the Floo when he recalled what Moony had said. The belt was supposed to be fastened by "the lady of your heart."
Will Ginny think this means I fancy her?
Will she go over all funny on me again?
Harry scowled at his reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece. He wasn’t at all eager for Ginny to go back to blushing every time she saw him and never saying anything to him. Not only would it make den-nights a lot harder, but he enjoyed talking with her. She knew a lot about Quidditch, and he was looking forward to next year, when she could try out for the team.
"Cheer up, dear, it can’t be that bad," said the mirror.
"How do you know?" muttered Harry.
At least I can go over there. To show her and Ron what I got for Christmas. Then maybe I can bring it up. Casually, like it doesn’t matter so much.
He was reaching for Floo powder before the thought was complete.
"The Burrow!"
xXxXx
Ron was delighted to see him. "Look what the twins got me," he said, showing it to Harry.
"Keep Yourself Amused," Harry read the title aloud. "By Yora Nidjit."
"I haven’t gotten very far in it yet," confessed Ron. "It’s not very interesting, really. All it says is, ‘If you want to have fun, turn the page.’ So I turn it, and on the next page it says..."
Harry nodded, biting his tongue hard. He would not laugh in his best friend’s face, no matter how much he wanted to. That would be rude. "When did they give this to you?" he asked instead.
"This morning."
Harry’s heart sank. Ron was his friend, but there were limits on how much stupidity he could tolerate in even the best of friends...
"But I didn’t look at it until just now."
Oh, good. He just hasn’t had a chance to figure it out yet. "Ron, have you ever seen a little card that says, ‘Do you want to know how to keep an idiot busy for hours?’"
"Oh, I love those — because it tells you to turn the card over, and then it says the same thing on the other side..." Dawning comprehension was crowded out of the way by horror on Ron’s face. "Oh no."
"I’ll help you get them back when term starts," Harry promised. "Is Ginny around? I wanted to show you both something."
"Downstairs somewhere." Ron kicked his bed, on which the book was lying. "Bloody gits!"
"You’re just figuring that out now?"
Ginny was eventually located in her bedroom. "Happy Christmas, Harry," she said, standing in the doorway. "How’s Meghan doing?"
"She’s fine. She stood up a little today, with Letha helping her. She might be back on her feet by the time term starts again."
"That would be great."
"Yeah, it would. I have something I want to show you. One of my Christmas presents. It’s up in Ron’s room."
"I’m coming." Ginny shut her bedroom door behind her.
Both Weasleys goggled when Harry unveiled his gift. "Wicked," said Ron finally, in an awed whisper, touching the tip of the hilt with one finger. "Can I hold it?"
"Sure. It’s not too different from the ones we use in Potions, really..."
But Ron’s face said differently. He was caressing the hilt of the dagger, obviously lost in a daydream of fighting off fearsome enemies, and Harry suddenly understood how Moony had known what he was thinking. It wasn’t so hard to see, really, if you were looking for it.
"It’s really nice, Harry," said Ginny, stroking the belt. "Who gave it to you?"
"Our Aunt Amy. Great-aunt really, she’s Letha’s aunt, she lives in America and works at a bank there. That’s how she got these, because she works for goblins, and they’re goblin-made."
"These? Do you have more than one?"
"No, we all got one. Me and Draco, and Hermione and Meghan. We all have different colored stones." Harry watched Ron slashing at the air in the corner of his room. "Listen, Ginny, I wondered if I could ask you a favor."
"What kind?"
"Well, it’s kind of traditional for a warrior not to put on his weapon himself." Why was his face heating up? This was a perfectly logical thing to ask a friend to do. "He has to be girded with it by someone else. Usually a lady." And no law said he had to be looking at her. It was acceptable to be staring at the opposite wall. "I was wondering... would you do it for me?"
A pause stretched into a silence, which hung on so long that even Ron, lost in his dreams, noticed it, stopping for a moment to glance at them before returning to mutilating invisible foes. Finally, when Harry couldn’t stand it any more, he turned to look at Ginny.
She might not have heard him at all for all the response she was exhibiting. One finger was tracing the tooling of the leather sheath, lying beside her on the bed, and her eyes were fixed on that.
"Ginny?"
"You want me to put your belt on you?"
At least she didn’t sound disbelieving, or like she was making fun of him. She had just asked a question, as if she’d wanted to know what he’d had for breakfast, or what two and two made. "Yes. Please. You’re really the only girl I know well, except Luna and my sisters, and Luna put Draco’s on him, so I’d feel kind of funny asking her to do it, and I don’t think a sister’s really supposed to..."
"Yes."
"What?"
"Yes. I’ll do it for you." Ginny looked up now, with a funny little smile on her face. "If only because you said please."
Harry sighed in relief. "Thanks. Ron, I need that back now."
"You are so lucky," said Ron, handing the dagger over. "All I ever get is a jumper from Mum, and something stupid from the twins." He glared at the book lying innocently on his bed.
"What about all that candy I saw you unwrapping?" asked Ginny. "A whole carton of Chocolate Frogs, and a super-sized bag of Bertie Bott’s?"
"Yeah, but that’s candy. You eat it and it’s gone. Something like this..." Ron gestured to the dagger, his hands making circles in the air as he tried to find the right words. "This is just amazing."
Harry sheathed the dagger and held the belt out to Ginny. "Thank you for doing this," he said.
"You’re welcome." Ginny took the belt from him and looked it over. "The buckle goes in the front?"
"Yeah, and the dagger hangs on the left, so I can reach it with my right hand. But the sheath moves, so I can swing it around to my other side if I want to. Padfoot’s going to teach us to fight left-handed," Harry added to Ron, as Ginny turned the belt in her hands, getting it ready. "So we can use our wands and these at the same time."
"Double wicked," said Ron enviously. "Would he teach me? If I had one, I mean?"
"He might. Or we can, at den-nights, the way we do the hand-to-hand stuff." Harry frowned. "We’ll have to see if we can find some kind of dulling charm, though, these are sharp..."
Ginny went to one knee and slid the belt around his waist, her arms almost encircling him as she did. She fastened the buckle in front, pulling it just as tight as it needed to be to stay up, and tucked the extra length of belt into one of the front belt loops. "There," she said, looking up at Harry. "All finished."
"Thanks, Ginny. This is really nice of you."
Ginny smiled again, standing up. "Like I said. Just because you said please. ‘Scuse me?"
She was out the door and gone before either boy could say a word.
"Please tell me she’s not going to get into the vanishing thing again," said Harry.
Ron shrugged. "Girls. I don’t think anyone understands them, except them, and that’s no help."
Harry nodded, perfectly in charity with this statement. "So. What should we do to the twins?"
xXxXx
The Pack allowed the cubs to stay up later than usual on New Year’s Eve, but not quite late enough to see in the new year itself. It was almost 11:30 and snowing heavily as Sirius carried Meghan up the stairs to bed. The other cubs had already brushed their teeth and donned pajamas, and were climbing into their own beds as Remus tucked Meghan in.
"Tell us a story?" said Harry. "Please?"
"Please?" echoed the other cubs.
Remus chuckled. "Aren’t you a little old for stories?"
"You told me once, you’re never too old for a bedtime story," said Draco with a smug smile.
"Oh, all right. What would you like?"
xXxXx
"I’m surprised Harry lets you get away with that line about the lynx," said Sirius later. "Or doesn’t he know what it means yet?"
"I’m hoping to sneak it in once or twice more before he figures it out." Remus took a sip of his champagne. "Call it propaganda if you must, but a few hints never hurt."
"At least he’s on speaking terms with her," said Aletha. "Harry’s not the love-at-first-sight type."
"He might get a crush at first sight," said Danger. "Be infatuated for a while. But I agree, if he’s going to find someone to spend his life with, he’ll want to know them well first. It’s a good idea for everyone, really."
"Even if said knowing is occasionally a little forced." Remus wiggled his eyebrows in Danger’s direction.
"Are you complaining?"
"Not in the least."
xXxXx
Fred and George woke up two days before their return to Hogwarts to find dunce caps affixed to their heads. Messrs. Padfoot and Moony took official responsibility for the prank, claiming they had to make sure their successors weren’t getting soft. Harry and Ron spent a lot of that day snickering to themselves.
"Such a fine, upstanding example you set, Professor Black," scolded Aletha that night. "Playing pranks on your own students."
"It’s the holidays, Letha. Give me a break."
"I’d like to give you a break," muttered Aletha, folding robes into her trunk. "I’d like to break your arm. Or your leg. Maybe then you’d settle down a little, stop playing these stupid jokes, since you couldn’t run away from everyone. Of course, it wouldn’t help much, since you’d just get it healed up right away, and then you’d be fine again..."
Sirius let her mutter. It was good for her. Besides, she needed to let off some steam before he told her about his latest plan. She was sure to explode, otherwise.
"You know, I’ve been thinking about the whole warrior idea," he said casually a few minutes later.
"What about it?"
"It’s good. But I think we need to take it a little farther."
"How do you mean?"
"We have the right idea with teaching Harry and the Pride how to defend themselves. But what about the rest of the students? Who’s going to teach them? They are going to be in danger at some point, if Harry stays at Hogwarts. Shouldn’t someone work with them, teach them some basic defense skills?"
Aletha turned around. "What are you suggesting, Sirius?"
"I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you what I’m going to be doing when we get back to school."
Aletha motioned him to continue, her eyes skeptical.
"I’m starting a dueling club."
"A what?"
"A dueling club. A gathering of students, headed by me, in which the main focus is magical dueling. I’d hoped you’d help me with it."
"Help you do what? Blow yourself up at the same time every week? No."
Sirius shrugged. "Suit yourself. I have someone else lined up to help already."
"Who?"
"Our favorite Potions Master."
Aletha dropped the armload of socks she was holding. "Snape? You’re letting Snape help you with this?"
"He seemed fairly enthusiastic about it, actually. As enthusiastic as he ever gets."
"Sirius, he doesn’t really want to help you! He just wants an excuse to knock you around for a while! Are you honestly so dense that you can’t see this?"
Sirius hid his glee. This was going precisely as he’d hoped. "Letha, we can’t keep being mortal enemies forever if we’re teaching at the same school. This’ll be good for us. A chance to see which of us is really better with a wand. Besides, we won’t really be dueling all that much ourselves. We’ll do demonstrations at the beginning of each meeting, but then we’ll be working with the students."
"I can’t believe I’m hearing this." Aletha shook her head. "All right, fine. You’ve convinced me. I’m coming to this dueling club, if only to see you and Severus Snape do something together."
Yes! Got her! "If you insist."
Now all I have to do is actually ask Snape about it...
xXxXx
Harry climbed the staircases wearily on Wednesday afternoon of their first week back, chilled to the bone after Quidditch practice and thinking longingly of the warm fire in the Gryffindor common room. Wood had let Draco and Ron off early, since he didn’t plan to put them in for the next match in April, but Harry, being first team, had to stay.
"But what if I don’t want to?"
The voice, loud and petulant, echoed down the hall Harry was passing. He paused to listen.
"That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you do it, not whether you want to or not. Is that clear?"
Harry frowned. This second voice was familiar. As was the first, really, but he couldn’t put a name to either of them.
"Why should I do it?"
"Because I say you should. Or isn’t that enough for you?"
The first voice grumbled a little, and footsteps sounded. Harry beat a hasty retreat up the stairs, thinking hard.
I know those people. But I know half the school, so that’s really not helpful. It’s not anyone in the Pride, I know that, and I don’t think it’s Dean or Seamus... they were boys, both of them, they were boys’ voices. Not girls. So that narrows it down a little more...
The first one sounded younger than the second. My age, almost. And the second one like someone with authority...
"Password?" asked the Fat Lady.
Harry blinked. He hadn’t realized he’d arrived. "Er, castor oil."
The portrait swung open, and Harry nearly took a step back at the blast of sound which emerged from the common room.
What’s going on?
"Harry!" Ginny came hurrying over to him. "We were wondering where you were — come see, there’s a dueling club been started!"
"A dueling club?" Harry forgot he was tired, clambering quickly through the portrait hole to meet her on the other side. "When? Where’s it happening?"
"Tonight. Eight o’clock in the Great Hall. Everyone’s talking about it. Do you want to go?"
"No, I think I’d rather do my Potions homework," said Harry mock-seriously, making Ginny laugh. "No, it sounds great. But I really should get my homework done early, if we’re doing that later tonight..."
xXxXx
"Who’s running it, do you know?" asked Ron as the Pride made their way down to the Great Hall at seven fifty-five.
Harry shook his head. "No idea."
"I heard Flitwick used to be a dueling champion," said Draco, turning in at the doors. "Maybe it’s him."
"No, I think it’s someone else," said Luna, pointing.
Meghan waved to them from her chair by the stage which had appeared along one side wall, replacing the House tables. Letha, standing near her, waved as well. Padfoot was busy writing signs in the air with red smoke from his wand. Harry and the rest of the Pride made their way over to the area indicated by a large arrow under the words FIRST AND SECOND YEARS, where Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan greeted them eagerly.
"Did you know, Harry?" asked Seamus.
Harry shook his head. "He kept it quiet, we had no idea."
"Do you train at home?" asked Dean.
"Sometimes," said Draco, his hand going to his waist, where Harry knew his dagger was hanging, hidden under his robes. "Never with magic, though. Just basic Muggle self-defense."
"Cool." Dean was about to say something else, but broke off as Padfoot jumped up on the stage and waved his wand in a circle, saying something Harry couldn’t hear over the crowd noise.
The roar of a lion startled everyone into silence. "Just wanted to get your attention," said Padfoot, grinning, as the students turned to face him. "Welcome to the first session of the Hogwarts Dueling Club. A duel, as you may or may not know, is a battle with rules. Everything from your choice of spells to when you start and stop is regulated. The rules are there to keep you, and everyone else around you, safe. Please respect them, or you’ll be politely asked to leave. Which is code for, kicked out."
A ripple of laughter went through the group.
"Now, we’re going to have a short demonstration duel. Professor, if you would join me on stage?"
Harry looked at Letha, but she didn’t move. Draco poked him.
"What?"
His brother pointed. Harry turned in time to see Professor Snape walk onto the stage, with an expression of satisfaction on his face.
Harry gulped. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see this or not. On one hand, a combat between his godfather and Professor Grumpy was sure to be amazing, but on the other, he didn’t want Padfoot to get hurt...
He can take care of himself. Harry abandoned worry and watched.
"The combatants face each other and bow," said Letha from her place beside the stage. Padfoot and Snape did so. "Then they turn and take a predetermined number of paces away — we’re using five." Each wizard walked five steps away from the other. "They turn, and bring their wands to the ready." Padfoot’s wand was in front of him, Snape’s over his head.
"On the count of three, gentlemen. One — two — three."
"Expelliarmus!" cried Snape, as Padfoot shouted, "Oppilorbis!"
A jet of crimson light shot from Snape’s wand and struck the yellow disk Padfoot’s had emitted, shattering against it with a sound like hot metal striking water. The students broke into applause.
"Professor Snape used a Disarming Charm," Letha informed them all, coming onto the stage. "Professor Black blocked the spell with a basic Orbis Block. Had his block not worked, he would have lost his wand. Why don’t you show them what that looks like, Professors?" she suggested, and Harry was sure there was a hint of malice in her tone. He suspected Padfoot had done something recently to annoy her.
Padfoot nodded resignedly and lowered his wand. Snape swung his up with a look of pure glee and shouted his spell again. The jet of red light struck Padfoot full force, knocking him backwards into the wall and throwing his wand all the way across the Hall. Letha Summoned it back with her own. "Thank you, Professor Snape," she said, tossing it in Padfoot’s direction as the students applauded again. "Very impressive."
Snape nodded curtly.
"She thinks I roped her into it," said Padfoot to Harry some time later, after the teachers had demonstrated a few more spells and the students had started practicing on one another. Harry had paired up with Ron, who couldn’t seem to get the hang of the Disarming Charm, but could throw up a pretty decent block already. "But she said she wanted to come..."
"Probably only so she could watch you and Snape hex it out," said Draco over his shoulder.
"Be polite, Draco, we’re in public. Professor Snape."
Draco rolled his eyes and turned back to his duel with Neville.
"Now let’s see you two try a few," said Padfoot. "Harry, you cast, Ron, you block."
Letha threaded her way through the crowd from the other side of the Hall, where she’d been coaching the older students. "I’ve just had an excellent suggestion," she said. "Why not put a couple of volunteers up on stage? One pair from each age group?"
"I like that. OY!" bellowed Padfoot, getting everyone’s attention again. "Who thinks they’re good enough to show off a bit?"
Hands went up all over the place. Padfoot and Letha had a brief hand signal conversation, which Harry caught only the gist of, but that was enough.
"He won’t pick us," he muttered to the Pride. "It’d look too much like favoritism."
"We’ll get our chance," said Hermione comfortingly.
"You, Finch-Fletchley, you’re one," said Padfoot after a moment of thinking. "And Nott, you’re the other. Up with you."
The two boys scrambled onto the stage. Snape was looking surprised, Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye. Surprised and — could it be gratified?
"Face each other and bow," instructed Letha. "Turn and walk your five paces. Turn again, wands at the ready — on three."
Nott looked a little unsure of himself, Harry thought, but then Justin did too. Anyone would, with the entire school watching...
"One — two—"
"Serpensortia!" shouted Nott.
An enormous black snake exploded out of his wand, landed directly in front of Justin, and raised itself, hissing, ready to strike.
Without even thinking about it, Harry was running forward, jumping onto the stage. The vibrations he made drew the snake’s attention, and as it turned to look at him, he shouted.
"Back the hell off! He didn’t do anything!"
The snake looked mildly affronted, but lowered its head to the ground, with an air of, Well, I wasn’t really going to bite him anyway.
Harry became more aware of his surroundings. His heart was pounding, and he could hear it in his ears, because of the unnatural hush in the Hall. Everyone was staring at him. Padfoot flicked his wand at the snake, muttering "Evanesco," without taking his eyes from Harry.
And then it sank in what he’d done.
He’d spoken Parseltongue. In public.
He leapt from the stage and ran.
He had to get away before anyone saw him cry.