Surpassing Danger
Chapter 3: Portraits, Parties, and Pumpkin Juice (Year 6)
By Anne B. Walsh
"It's called a wall. It holds the house up and divides it into rooms."
"Very funny." Sirius scowled at Remus, then returned to his perusal of the large scorch mark behind the velvet curtains in the front entryway of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. "Not that I object to what you did to my dear old mum, but we ought to have something else here. Something a little more… homelike. Or maybe Headquarters-y."
"We're hoping it won't need to be Headquarters for too much longer," Remus pointed out. "And it wouldn't do us any harm to have a reminder that we're fighting this war specifically so people can have their homes and lives in peace. What did you have in mind?"
"That's the trouble. I can't decide." Sirius cocked his head one way, then the other. "I'd thought about moving the tapestry down here, now that Letha fixed it up, but that seems a little, I don't know, pretentious. I don't want the first thing people see when they walk into my house to be a declaration of my marvelous pureblood lineage."
"So what do you want it to be?" Remus asked, joining his friend in front of the scorch mark. "If someone was touring this house and you weren't here, what would you want their first impression of you to be? What would you want them to take away from here, to think is most important to you, based on what they see?"
"Moony, you're a genius." Sirius made a rectangle with his fingers and held it up in front of his eyes, holding it first horizontally, then vertically. "Hmm, a full-length, I think. Not quite life-size, but close. Formal, or mostly formal. As close as we ever get."
"Mr. Moony is pleased that Mr. Padfoot considers him a genius, but sadly his genius intellect is not up to the task of translating Padfoot-speak into English."
"Really?" Sirius snickered. "Mr. Padfoot is highly amused by this lack in Mr. Moony."
"Mr. Moony would like to suggest that Mr. Padfoot shelve the amusement and get on with the explaining."
"Mr. Padfoot wonders if Mr. Moony is perhaps still affected by the downswing of his cycle—" Sirius held up his hands in surrender as Remus reached meaningfully for his wand. "Don't shoot, I'll talk! I'll talk!"
Remus folded his arms. "You do that."
"We'll have to wait until Christmas to get it done properly, but…" Sirius drew his own wand and sketched the outline of a frame on the wall, and within it a group of figures, some sitting, others standing, rough but recognizable. "A portrait. Or more likely a photograph, but you know what I mean. The Pack, all of us, together."
"I like that." Remus considered Sirius's sketch, letting his mind fill in the details. "Each of us holding something, maybe. A Snitch for Harry, a flute for Draco…"
"A book for Hermione." Sirius chuckled. "Letha could have a potion stirrer, or—no, how stupid am I? Don't answer that," he added hastily as Remus raised his eyebrows. "All she needs is her Healer's robes. She worked hard for those, she deserves to show them off."
"And you didn't work hard for Auror red?" Remus added a sparkle of fire across the sketch, painting the warm color he'd mentioned onto one of the seated figures, a Healer's cool green onto another. "I like this idea."
So do I, Danger chimed in from the back of his mind. Can I have my favorite whacking spoon?
Of course you can. Remus shaped this article out of flames and hung it in place, earning a snicker from Sirius. Any ideas for me?
No answer came in words, but a familiar shape formed itself in fire on the wall, and Sirius made a noise of approval. "I was just going to suggest that," he said, nodding towards the fiery violin. "So that leaves Pearl."
"Maybe this is where that 'mostly formal' should come in," said Remus as Danger caught the thought in his mind and began to giggle. "May I?"
"Please." Sirius gestured grandly at the wall. "Be my guest."
Remus drew his wand and outlined the fiery additions in lines of light similar to Sirius's, allowing the flames to fade. Then he began to draw what he had in mind, posed on the pictured floor between the two seated figures.
Sirius barked a laugh as he caught the gist of the idea. "I stick by what I said earlier, Moony. Genius."
"Once again, thank you." Remus slid his wand away. "I'll let you explain to Meghan that we're not making fun of her for being small."
"Don't be ridiculous, she'll love it." Sirius grinned at the drawing, which showed a tiny girl figure complete with braided and beaded hair, dressed in Healer-apprentice green, though only her head and shoulders were visible above the lip of the large cauldron in which she was seated. "It adds just the right touch. Silly, but not stupid. Very… very us. Very Pack."
"That is the general idea." Remus took a step or two back to get the full impression. "Maybe we should get a second one done for the Den. Less posed, more slice-of-life."
"Sure, if we're going to do one, why not two?" Sirius laid a Preserving Spell over the sketch, then closed the curtains on it. "In the music room, maybe. Letha at the piano, you actually playing, Danger coming in with a tea tray—not that that's all you're good for," he added with a sidelong look at Remus, "but you do tend to be the one who makes sure we don't go hungry."
"With you," Danger said aloud through Remus's mouth, "it's a full-time job."
Sirius shrugged. "What can I say? I need the energy."
"Just as long as you only use it for good," said Remus, reclaiming his own vocal cords. "We could bring your typewriter down, or set you up with a scroll and quill if you like. Either would do. And the cubs sprawled out on the floor, with Exploding Snap or Wizard's Monopoly."
"I like this better the more I think about it." Sirius nodded. "Hang that one at the bottom of the stairs in the Den, what say? Facing the front door. You know the spot."
"Yes, I do." Remus shut his eyes for a moment to imagine it. "And I'm looking forward to being able to see it there, every day."
Assuming we get the chance to hang it, or even have it done.
This war has been ugly already, and it's only going to get worse.
Why have you come to Hogwarts School?
What do you wish from me?
A Sorting, is it? Here's my rule:
Let's see what we shall see.
If compassed in you I detect
A daring, noble heart,
To Gryffindor you'll be elect,
And there each day you'll start.
But if perchance instead I find
Your thoughts sharp as a hatchet,
To Ravenclaw I'll send your mind,
And all the rest to match it.
If "loyal" best describes your traits,
"Hard-working", "dedicated",
The Hufflepuffs shall be your mates,
And all shall be elated.
But if your soul cries out for power,
You thirst for fast advancing,
'Tis Slytherin within this hour
You'll find the most entrancing.
Is one House bad, are others good,
You ask before we're done?
I would not tell you if I could,
For answer there is none.
Both what you are and what you choose
Determine who you'll be;
Let all who'd win instead of lose
Take warning now by me.
You'll need your allies' powers to lend
Your own their fine uniqueness;
So try me on, and learn to mend
With others' strength your weakness!
"It may be a new record," Harry said, watching the first nervous eleven-year-old advancing towards Professor McGonagall and the Sorting Hat. "We made it through the train ride, up to the school, and to the Opening Feast without anyone getting hexed, insulted, or detention."
"Shut up," muttered Ginny out the side of her mouth. "Do you want to jinx it now?"
"I could always insult someone," Draco suggested. "Or see how many candles I can put out before the teachers start noticing."
"Bet I can do more," said Ron.
"You think so, longshanks?" Draco started to reach for his wand.
Hermione's hand closed firmly around his wrist. "That. Is. Enough," she said, glaring first at her twin, then at her boyfriend. "Contrary to popular opinion, we do not come to school to see how much trouble we can get into!"
Professor McGonagall directed a meaningful look at them over the peak of the Sorting Hat, currently on the head of the fifth new student. Harry winced and nodded. "Save it for later, everyone," he advised. "Remember what kind of food the house-elves are allowed to bring you if you're in detention."
Ron, who had been looking mutinous, quickly straightened his shoulders and turned his attention to the Sorting. Harry watched as his friend blinked several times, squinted, and finally shaded his eyes with a hand. "What is it?" he asked. "Something wrong?"
"No. No, I think it's supposed to look like that." Ron frowned. "I hope it is, anyway."
"It doesn't look any different now than it ever has," said Luna. "You're just seeing more of it."
"What does it look like to you, Ron?" asked Meghan curiously. "All I see is…" She covered her giggle with one hand. "Well. An old hat. Sorry, Mr. Godric," she added in a self-conscious whisper, glancing upwards as though she thought the Founders might be watching.
For all I know, they are. Harry cast his own glance up, but saw only the hundreds of floating candles and the starry sky, masked here and there by clouds. It was their school first, after all.
Ron pulled out his wand and pushed his plate aside, drawing a diagram on the tabletop. The rest of the Pride, and several other Gryffindors within earshot, leaned in to see. "Like this," he said, indicating the lines radiating into and around the rough conical shape which Harry assumed was meant to represent the Hat itself. "Is it… magic? I'm seeing the Hat's magic?"
"I don't see why you wouldn't," said Neville, holding his hand a little ways above a portion of the diagram. "Think about what it feels like when a spell just misses you. The air is warmer where it passed, and it smells a little different, almost like burning."
"That does make sense." Hermione was nodding. "Magic uses energy, energy from the person who cast the spell, or from a place or thing that they can draw from." She looked around the Great Hall, smiling. "I don't think we have to ask where the Hat gets its magic!"
"But it never feels hot," Harry objected. "It isn't hot to touch, or to wear. Otherwise all the first years would have burns on their heads."
"You may not be the best judge of what's hot and what isn't, Harry," Draco pointed out. "Think about the way Moony likes his tea."
"You have a point there." Harry ran a finger along the frame of his glasses, enabling the spell Ron had added for him, allowing Harry's vision to parallel the new way Ron's own eyes worked. "I never thought there'd be a drawback to being… what I am."
"There are drawbacks to everything," said Luna softly. "And some of them hurt more than others."
Rather than answer this, Harry returned his attention to the Sorting. With his heat-sight spell active, he could indeed see the lines of force which surrounded the Hat like a corona, graceful ovoid curves at four distinct angles from one another. As McGonagall lowered the Hat onto another student's head, the lines began to pulse, some brightening and widening, others dimming and shrinking. Within a few moments, only one was left, glowing like a candle flame—
"RAVENCLAW!" the Hat announced, and the table two down from Harry erupted in cheers.
I wonder… Harry waited for the next student to be Sorted, and was not surprised in the least when a different line brightened as the others dimmed and the Hat announced "HUFFLEPUFF!" So it isn't just that the Hat is magic Ron can see now—he can actually watch it working, and know what it's decided before it speaks. I wonder if the same goes for any magical object?
He made a mental note to have Hermione come up with experiments. Not only was she their best researcher, but she and Ron had plenty of practice at working together.
Maybe see if some of the Ravenclaws want to help too. Isn't that what the year is supposed to be all about, cooperation and using each other's strengths?
Without taking his eyes off the dwindling line of first years, he fished in his pocket, searching around by feel for a quill. Just as he ascertained that the fluffy thing he had located was, in fact, a large ball of pocket lint, a long gray plume protruded over his shoulder into his peripheral vision. He accepted it with a nod of thanks, pulled out a hand-size scrap of parchment he had found, and began to scribble down his ideas before they escaped him, pausing only to swipe two fingers across his cheek and press them against the back of the dainty hand whose owner had read his mind.
It's a good beginning. Now we just need to build on it.
"You're welcome," Ginny murmured.
The word spread in whispers from one Housemate to another, scrawled on bits of parchment slipped or tossed from one table to the next, even shouted over the heads of all in tones so jovial that anyone who did not know the truth already would have put it down to Opening Feast high spirits.
"Secret meeting under the school at midnight! Anyone who should be there already knows where to go!"
And so they hide in plain sight, inviting their enemies to waste their time seeking out hidden motives. Aletha took a sip of pumpkin juice to keep her smile from showing. No doubt sons and daughters of Death Eaters are taking that message down meticulously, ready to analyze it for any scrap of meaning it might hold, then pass it along to their parents for further examination, certain all the while that it cannot possibly mean precisely what it says…
The man sitting next to her made a small sound in the back of his throat which could have been either a stifled snort of disgust or—Aletha sipped from her goblet again—a carefully repressed laugh, audible only to her. "Something troubling you, Severus?" she asked, setting her cup down.
"Simply reflecting on the small step between brazen courage and blatant stupidity," said Snape, bisecting a potato with his fork. "And on the even smaller step between being caught out of bounds after hours and detention."
"So noted." Good heavens. Is Severus Snape actually hinting at…
Aletha sat back in her chair, toying with a peppermint humbug, and reviewed all the memories she had of her own and others' reported encounters with Snape. I stand by what I said to Harry earlier, she decided when she was finished. He can be incredibly childish, particularly when he comes up against something that represents a situation in which he knows, but does not wish to admit, that he was wrong. But for all his petty point-scoring, he knows the stakes we fight for.
Now if I could just be certain he understood how badly his grudges might affect that very matter…
"I will be inspecting the Slytherin dormitories at 1:15 tomorrow morning precisely," Snape said as though in answer to her thoughts. "Any student found not to be in his or her bed will receive the full punishment due for such an offense."
"I see." Aletha nodded, as though Snape were instructing her on some obscure point of Hogwarts etiquette. "That will be your inspection time only this once, I take it. It wouldn't do to have your schedule become too widely known."
"It would not. Future examinations shall take place at such time as seems good to me." Snape pushed his plate away. "I trust we understand one another."
"I believe we do." Better than you would prefer, I'm sure. Aletha watched her husband's old rival and her own current colleague as he chose a small turnover from a platter and lifted the top crust with his fork, ensuring nothing had been added to it. You loathe Harry for being who and what he is—the living symbol of a man you despised, of his success in the face of your failure—but you loathe Voldemort still more, for murdering the one person you ever loved. If I didn't see what Lily was to you in my Hogwarts days, I certainly see it now, looking back. She frowned, piecing together bits of memory as she might a jigsaw puzzle. Though even if you had given up the Death Eaters, I don't know that it would have worked, not the way you wanted it to…
She shook off the unhelpful might-have-beens. That agile mind of yours can come up with all sorts of rationalizations for tormenting Harry in small and creative ways, and some of them may even be true. Certainly he does need to learn to deal with adversity. But when it comes to important matters, and I can't think of much that's more important than robbing Voldemort of the tools he needs to bolster his followers' delusions, you seem able to… not set aside your hatred, perhaps, but work around it.
Smiling, she picked out a turnover for herself and bit into it, relishing the sweet-tart taste of spiced apple and flaky pastry. And honestly? That's all we need from you.
Unless, of course, you could learn to bottle your attitude towards Harry and sneak it into the soup at Death Eater Headquarters one evening, directed towards Voldemort…
Her attempt to keep from snorting crumbs onto her plate was only partially successful.
"Gah!" Ron clapped his hands over his eyes as he stepped from the entrance tunnel into Sanctuary. "Who turned on the lights?"
"Magic traces," said Hermione, taking Ron's elbow and steering him out of the flow of traffic. "Give yourself a moment, your sight should adjust."
"I hope so." Ron peeked cautiously between his fingers, then lowered them with a sigh of relief. "It did. And it wasn't actually that bright, it's just that…"
"That you weren't expecting it?" Neville finished, joining them with Meghan bouncing along behind him. "You've only seen this place by normal light, and it was made by magic in the first place. Then we came along and started changing it with more magic, and hiding it with even more magic. It would be like going away from a normal rosebush and coming back to find it had grown to be like one of the ones in that Muggle story about the sleeping princess."
"Except it was always like that," Meghan put in, sitting down on a handy rock and toeing her shoes off. "Only you never had the right kind of eyes to see it before." She nestled her feet into the grass which carpeted most of Sanctuary and hummed in pleasure. "It's so pretty down here now. I can't believe it used to be just a bare cave."
"It is hard to remember, even when we were the ones who found it." Hermione looked around at the walls, now adorned with paintings which suggested to the eye that the stretches of plain rock between them were in fact freestanding pillars under the night sky above, rather than a continuation of the solid surface onto which the long sweep of grassy plain had been painted. "Luna did a beautiful job drawing the sketches for these—"
"Thank you," said Luna, climbing partway up one of the "pillars" to join Ginny, who was already perched in a niche which looked suspiciously as though it had been melted and cooled into the shape of a pair of seats.
"You're welcome." Hermione smiled up at her friends. "And then everyone worked together on filling in the lines and adding the little details. It's like standing at the center of Stonehenge."
"Going to be more than that soon," Ron began, but broke off as a broomstick took to the air from across the cave.
"Evening, everyone," said Harry in a tone only one notch louder than conversational, setting his Firebolt to hover a few feet above the heads of the Sanctuary-builders. "Glad to see you all back."
He isn't yelling over them, because that would mean he was admitting they're more powerful than he is. Instead he's talking the way he wants to, and making them quiet down to accommodate him. Hermione smiled to herself at the hush which had fallen over Sanctuary. Oh, Harry—you've learned more from Moony about how to manage people without their knowing it than I think you'll ever realize…
"We put in a lot of work last year, and as you can see, it paid off." Harry's hand encompassed the grassy floor, the star-studded ceiling, the painted walls of what had once been a vast but otherwise uninspiring cavern. "But we all knew that was just getting started. Now we have to get this place ready for what it's being built for—for people to live in it. Maybe for a long time. This…" Another circular gesture. "…it's a good start, it will help keep people from feeling hemmed in or claustrophobic, but it's only one part of what they're going to need."
"People have to eat," Hannah Abbott piped up from one side of the crowd below. "And sleep. We'll need places for them to do that."
"And it'll probably work better if we give them some privacy," Susan Bones added. "For sleeping, at least. They're not soldiers or students, they're families, and they'll want to be able to stay families when they're here."
"Dormitories would be easiest for us, though," said Selena Moon, stepping up onto a nearby boulder so that everyone could see her. "How would we know how many family-style sleeping rooms we'll need?"
"We can always make more if we start running low," pointed out one of the Patil twins, Padma, Hermione realized as she saw Parvati at the other end of the crowd, whispering with Lavender Brown. "It isn't like we're going to run out of rock to excavate!"
At this, the gathering devolved into half a dozen individual arguments—
But no, it isn't either. They aren't really fighting. Discussing with vigor, as Danger might say, but not fighting. No one's angry, there's no shouting, no squaring off, no fists or wands. Hermione glanced up at Harry. He was leaning back on the Firebolt, both hands planted on its handle, a smug little smile on his face. You planned this, brother of mine. You always meant them to talk it out themselves…
Because it's better if they come up with the answer independently, Draco murmured mentally, brushing his fingers against the back of her hand. No matter how much they respect and look up to him, they'll still work harder for a plan they feel like they thought of themselves, a plan that belongs to them. He sighed theatrically. And here I thought I was the Slytherin one in the family.
You are. Hermione glanced sideways at her twin, not bothering to disguise her amusement. You scheme for your own advancement. Harry schemes for everybody.
Ouch. Draco snatched his hand back as though Hermione's skin had burned him. "I am chastised," he said aloud, shaking out his fingers. "But since when did I care about advancement?"
"You always have," said Luna, smiling down at him. "It just has to be in an area where you want to excel. Like Quidditch, or theatre."
"Point," Draco acknowledged. "And speaking of theatre, wouldn't it be a good idea to have an area for things like that, if people want to perform in the evenings sometimes? A stage with some seating, either here in the 'open air' or in one of the larger 'enclosures'?"
"We'll add it to the list." Hermione pulled a scroll from her pocket. "And I think we're starting to come to a consensus…"
"Starting" was the operative word, but gradually the hubbub sorted itself out into the compromise Hermione knew Harry had planned from the beginning. Sanctuary would hold two or three large communal eating and gathering areas, along with a good-sized kitchen of its own in case something happened to the school, but the sleeping apartments would be designed for family use, with one, two, or three bedrooms as needed. Some dormitories would also be built, for anyone passing through who simply needed a bed for the night, but by and large what Sanctuary would most resemble when it was done was an underground village.
Which is what we're hoping it can be, after all. There may be a war on, but that's no reason everything should be dull and gloomy and gray.
With that important question settled, the discussion moved onto timetables for construction. The give-and-take on this was even livelier than the first round had been, with several fifth and seventh years reminding the rest of the room at the top of their lungs that they had exams to study for on top of all their regular schoolwork. Harry eventually had to let off two or three of Fred and George's magical fireworks to get everyone's attention back on him.
"The most important thing is to have a place for people to go as quickly as possible, if the war starts getting bad," he said when the shouting had died down. "Isn't that right?" His eyes went unerringly to the students in the crowd who had Muggle relations, all of whom were nodding firmly. "They won't care so much if it's private or even if it's very comfortable, so long as it's safe."
"So what we ought to be focusing on first are the basics," said Justin Finch-Fletchley. "The eating areas and the dormitories."
"Don't forget the entrances." Colleen Lamb's flinch when everyone turned to look at her was much smaller than it once would have been. Blaise Zabini smiled at her proudly and squeezed her hand in encouragement. "We won't do anyone much good if they can't get to us in the first place."
"We'll have help with the entrances." Maya Pritchard tossed a wink to her cousin Graham, who grinned back. "The Red Shepherds will be working from the outside, while we work from the inside."
"And we could even put off the 'inside' rooms if we had to." Su Li extended her arms to indicate the area in which they were all standing. "It won't exactly rain on people here, and we can always conjure tents if they need privacy. I say the entrances have to be the very first thing we do."
"Dorms and eating areas second," Ernie Macmillan called out over the chorus of approval.
"Dorms before eating areas, I think," said Lindsey Jordan, glancing over at Su. "No offense to the tents idea, it would work for a while, but people will get tired of sleeping on camp beds sooner than they will of eating picnic-style. And with dorms come toilets and showers, which are something we definitely need right off!"
A wave of laughter rippled through the group, and Harry glanced out at Hermione and held out his hand. She quickly drew her wand and Banished the scroll on which she'd been keeping notes towards him. He caught it deftly, nodded in thanks, and skimmed down her list.
"So I see here entrances being built first," he said. "And why don't we put toilets and showers on that part of the timetable as well, since everyone seems to agree those matter." To light chuckles, he made the emendation on the list. "Dormitories second, eating areas and other common rooms third, and individual sleeping areas fourth. All in favor say aye?"
"Aye," rumbled back in semi-unison.
"Perfect." Harry levitated the list into the air and stuck it to the top of one of the "pillars", then turned back to face the group. "That should leave us plenty of time to get our schoolwork done—oh yes, and one other little thing."
The Pride exchanged looks as puzzled as the rest of their year-mates. Whatever Harry had in mind, he hadn't discussed it with any of them—
Except her. Hermione raised an eyebrow at Ginny, who was leaning back against her rocky perch, her eyes dancing in mirth. What has he got up his sleeve now?
"It isn't right that we should have to do all the work towards fellowship this year," Harry said sanctimoniously, landing his broomstick in the center of the group. "What if we could get the rest of the school to help us out with that?"
"That'd be nice," said Dean Thomas. "But how are we going to do it without telling them all about the year?"
"We could do it lots of different ways." Harry pulled a small bag from his pocket. "But I think the easiest one is to have each House do something kind for the others. And it helps that we have holidays dividing up the rest of the year almost exactly. Halloween, Christmas, St. Valentine's, and then May Day to finish up." He held up the bag and shook it. "Would one person from each House come up here?"
"Oh, he's good," Ron muttered. "He is very good. Who's going to think anything of the Houses holding holiday parties?" He glanced up. "Gin, you knew?"
"We talked about it some," said Ginny, clambering down to ground level, Luna sliding down behind her. "Not only that, he's already got Professor Dumbledore and all the Heads of House on board. So whatever we come up with here, they'll present it as their idea, and no one has to know about us."
Susan Bones, drawing for the Hufflepuffs, pulled her hand out of the bag with the slip marked "Halloween". Terry Boot, for the Ravenclaws, got Christmas. Blaise glanced at Colleen with a smile when he came out with St. Valentine's Day for the Slytherins, which left—
"What else could I draw?" asked Maya with a laugh, exhibiting her "May Day" slip. "We'll need your help with the flowers, of course," she called to the Hufflepuff contingent. "What do you think, pink and pale yellow, like red and gold but lighter, for springtime?"
"So, what do you think?" said Harry, arriving unnoticed beside the Pride as discussions broke out again, louder and more boisterous than before. "Will it work?"
"As long as we can keep people from hexing each other over color schemes or refreshment lists, it should," said Neville. "Or trying to sabotage other Houses' turns."
"Regular little ray of sunshine, aren't you?" Draco commented. "Not that you aren't right. That would wreck everything, even set us further back than we began."
"But if it works the way it should, it'll make Voldemort so angry." Meghan squeezed her hands together, beaming. "He'll think we should be afraid of him, setting everything aside to fight him, and instead we're having extra celebrations, planning a whole year of fun. It's like he doesn't matter at all."
"He shouldn't," said Ginny. "And if we can pull this off, we'll be one step closer to making sure he never does again." She held out her hand, palm down. "Pride together."
"Pride forever," chorused seven voices quietly, as seven other hands piled on top of hers.
As Professor McGonagall moved down the table to Draco, Harry ran his finger along his list of classes for his first day. The free period with which he was starting out brought a smile to his face, which was quickly banished when he spotted Defense Against the Dark Arts later in the morning.
I can handle Snape, he reminded himself. Let him do whatever he likes, be as childish as he wants, I don't have to respond to it.
No matter how much I want to.
Keeping his resentful look in Professor Black's direction strictly mental, he continued through the day. He and Hermione would share Advanced Arithmancy after lunch (though not exactly necessary for an Auror apprenticeship, the interplay of numbers and magic still interested him, and he thought he could handle one extra class along with his core subjects), and then, late that afternoon…
"I'm going to need that back, Pearl," he said, looking across the table at his little sister, who had her nose buried in his copy of Advanced Potion-Making.
"In a minute." Meghan turned a page. "Oh, now that's interesting…"
"No, not in a minute. Now." Harry checked his watch. "Breakfast is almost over, and you've got Charms to go to, don't you?"
Meghan muttered something about Charms to which Professor Flitwick would surely have objected and turned another page.
"Meghan." Harry put all the authority he could muster at such an early hour into his voice. "Give me my book."
"Why?" Meghan glared at him over the top of the pages. "You don't need it until after lunch, do you?"
"And what are you going to do with it? Read it under the desk all morning?" Harry reached across the table and grabbed hold of the textbook's spine. "Give it here. I'm not letting you get in trouble for something that silly our first day back."
"But I just want to finish this one bit!" Meghan tightened her grasp. "You don't understand, I think he's made a mistake, or not really a mistake, but there's a better way to do it, and if I can just read this recipe over once more, I think I know what it is—"
"So now you're smarter than—" Harry increased his pull on the book until he could read the name on the front cover. "—Libatius Borage was? Smarter than everyone who's used this book in all the years since it was written? I don't think so—"
"And why couldn't I be?" Meghan snapped, pulling back even harder. "You just don't want anyone else to be more special than you are yourself—"
Harry growled under his breath and gave the book a mighty yank. Meghan lost her grip on it and toppled backwards with a squeak, Neville grabbing her arm just in time to save her from a painful impact with the Great Hall's stone floor. Harry saw this only in passing, his attention mainly given to his textbook as it slipped from his fingers and went sailing gracefully through the air.
This can't be good.
Time seemed to slow as Advanced Potion-Making soared across the Great Hall. Knocking candles aside right and left, showering Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws with sparks and making them yelp, it described a beautiful parabolic arc which ended in proper dramatic fashion with a splashdown in a pitcher of pumpkin juice on the Slytherin table. Pansy Parkinson and two of her friends broke off their intense session of gossip to squeal indignantly as a wave of orange liquid drenched them.
I was right.
Snatching a full pitcher of pumpkin juice from under Ron's nose, Harry spun around on the bench and hurried across the Hall as whispers broke out everywhere. "Sorry, I'm terribly sorry," he said as soon as he was near enough for the Slytherin witches to hear him. "That was an accident, let me just replace that for you—" He thunked down the fresh pitcher and scooped up the one in which his book now floated. "And I'll get out of your way, let you dry yourselves off—"
"Accident, my foot," Pansy snapped, wringing out the hem of her robes. "You did that on purpose, Harry Potter!"
Reminding himself of the secret under the school, of the need for him to be the adult in his dealings with others this year, Harry kept a firm grip on his temper and merely shrugged his shoulders instead of snapping back as he longed to do. "I've said I didn't, and I don't like lying," he said calmly. "If you want to think I did, I can't stop you. I am sorry, and I won't let anything like this happen again."
Before Pansy could come up with a retort, he turned on his heel and started back to the Gryffindor table, looking ruefully down at the pitcher in his hands. The juice within was darkening by the second as the ink from his textbook leached from the pages.
"Oh, no," said Meghan repentantly as Harry set the pitcher down in the center of the table. "Harry, I'm so sorry, I never meant—"
"We neither of us meant, Pearl, but it happened anyway." Harry fished the book out with a fork and laid it on a plate Draco shoved over, peeling back the first few pages and sighing at the damage. The words within were all but unreadable, the illustrations a muddy mess of colors. "Looks like I'm going to need a new Potions book…"
No prizes for guessing what book he gets, now.
Marvelous news for all those who enjoy my writing! I met with some nice lawyers earlier this week, and though they want to do a bit more research, it is their opinion that I may very well be able to go ahead and publish A Widow in Waiting! I'll keep you updated on exactly what goes on, but here's the deal:
Once AWiW goes on sale, for every 100 copies I sell, e-book and print combined, I will commit to updating Surpassing Danger every week—and if I sell more than 1000 copies, that will change to twice a week.
Please note, SD will still be written and updated whether AWiW sells or not. This is just a way you can assure yourselves of regular and plentiful DV updates, if for no other reason than that I'll be less stressed and more in the mood to write if my original is selling well!
So get your money ready (I'm thinking the e-book will cost $4.99 and the print book $9.99, on account of production costs) and watch both this space and my Facebook page, facebook.com/annebwalsh.page, for details. Once again, please remember, you do not need an e-reader to read an e-book—all you need is a computer, which, if you're reading this author's note, you already have!
Thanks as always for reading, and don't forget to review!