Starfox5
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They could also need far more gold than the real world as well, if they have so much of it as Harry's vault seems to indicate. That would compensate for easier access.
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Patron (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)
- Thread starter Starfox5
- Start date
They could also need far more gold than the real world as well, if they have so much of it as Harry's vault seems to indicate. That would compensate for easier access.
Chapter 12: Summertime
Starfox5
Experienced.
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Chapter 12: Summertime
Hermione Granger woke up at home. At her parents' muggle home, to be precise, in the room she had since she had been moved from her crib to a real bed. Her room. With full bookshelves, an old armoire (with books on top), a desk with her computer, a small portable stereo next to her bed, and a potted plant next to the window, that would have died long ago if it had just been up to her to water it. Her electronic alarm clock was on the sideboard. Nine o'clock.
A casual observation of her room would have never revealed that a witch was living there. Her trunk had been stashed in the cupboard as soon as she had arrived yesterday evening, her robe - she still needed to replace it, or at least the spells on it - was in the armoire. Which she really should expand one of those days. Her wand was sitting in her wrist holster, hidden under her pajama sleeve, and by a spell on it. She wasn't about to sleep without her wand ready, not with Voldemort back. She had to find a way to increase the security for her parents as well. Wards would interfere with electronics, but she had some plans to use spells to make the house safer and alert the DMLE and Harry in case of trouble. It wasn't enough though.
And there was so much she needed to do before school resumed! Her homework was no concern, it would barely take her a day to finish it. But she needed to enchant her robe, to bring the protective spells up to par. She'd have to check Harry's too, and update it. This was the most urgent task. Apart from the occlumency lessons, which Sirius and Professor Lupin - Remus now - would give her, Harry, and Ron. Those would take time, though, and likely not be finished until long after they were back at school. And her experiments with wards and electronics. She was so close, she was sure she was on the right path. If she managed to get an electronic calculator or even a computer running at Hogwarts, that would allow her to break new ground in spellcrafting, too. But any time spent on those experiments would mean less time spent on using her computer now, during her vacation, to help with her other tasks. Decisions, decisions...
Hermione got up, blinking, and ran her hand through her hair, which had escaped her fading styling spells during the night. A quick flick and swish of her wand had it back in some semblance of a hairstyle other than 'bird's nest', before she headed to the bathroom, skirting around the piles of newspapers and science magazines her parents had collected for her during her absence. She loved coming home from Hogwarts and catching up with what had happened in the world. It kept her grounded, sane, when she was forced to play the role of the dutiful muggleborn retainer of her pureblood Patron again, cut off from her parents. When she was again a third-class citizen due to her birth, no matter how talented and skilled she was compared to everyone else. And yet, she thought with a wry smile, she would not want to lose the blanket permission to use magic at home that Harry had been able to grant her. Magic was just too convenient, and she really liked to look good with a flick of her wrist, instead of an hour spent with muggle cosmetics and hairstyling means. "Hypocrisy, thy name is Granger," she muttered while she placed her pajamas on the rack in the bathroom and stepped into the shower.
Thirty minutes later she was sitting at the kitchen table with her parents, her hair perfectly styled thanks to a more complicated spell, and wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a Dr. Who motif on it. Both had been resized so they fit perfectly - in her opinion. Her parents might have disagreed, but after seeing what other witches her age wore in Diagon Alley, they had become far more reasonable about her attire.
"Have you already finished your movie schedule?" Hermione's father asked after putting down the 'Times'. He was an avid reader, not just of newspapers and magazines, and responsible for her name.
"I've got a preliminary one I'll pass to Harry, so he can go over it." Hermione answered primly. There were not that many good picks, in her opinion, but Harry might add some action movies. She didn't mind that and had left a few slots open for the likeliest ones, though one had to keep up appearances. She was certain he'd want to watch 'Braveheart'. She was looking forward to it herself, if only to see what Americans had done to British and Scottish history.
"Ah, Harry. How is he doing?" Her mother asked, a bit hesitantly. Hermione knew what she really wanted to ask, since she had filled them in about the events of the tournament on the drive back from King's Cross - well, most of the events. Some details her parents didn't need to know. Like how close she had come to burning to death. And the exact nature of her relationship to Harry, which was what her mother really wanted to know. And which Hermione didn't know either, right then. Even if she knew what she wanted it to be.
"He's doing well. He won the Triwizard Tournament as the youngest champion in centuries." Hermione smiled, she was proud of her Patron.
"I bet the girls are throwing themselves at him." Her father's tone was slightly teasing. Only slightly. Her parents didn't know just how much power Harry had over her, but they knew how close the two were, and had hinted a few times that Harry might be abusing what they saw as a massive crush on the boy who saved her life, given how quick and eager she always was to help him.
"Not yet. They'll do that in our sixth year." Hermione took a sip from her orange juice and nibbled on a scone. Not quite as good as those at Hogwarts, not that she'd ever say so to her parents.
"What?"
"Sixth year is when British wizards and witches traditionally start dating at Hogwarts." Hermione wasn't about to explain what really went on in the Year of Discovery. Her parents might have grown up in the 60s and 70s, but neither had been a flower child, nor wanted their daughter to practice free love, woodstock style, at 16.
"Ah." Her father even sounded relieved.
"And how do you feel about girls throwing themselves at Harry?" Hermione's mother, on the other hand, was not so easily diverted. Hermione had inherited her single-mindedness in the pursuit of knowledge from someone, after all.
"That depends on just what kind of relationship Harry and I have by then." Hermione answered with an unconcerned smile on her face that was not indicative of her current state of mind. Her mother raised her eyebrow, and the girl sighed and looked at her plate, where a half-eaten scone was all that was left of her breakfast. "I'd not like it."
She had the undivided and full attention of both her parents now. "And how does Harry feel about ... that?"
Hermione didn't want to lie to her parents. Not more than needed, in any case, to keep them from worrying, and from finding out that according to the law of Wizarding Britain they had lost custody of their only daughter to a boy younger than Hermione years ago when they tried to do something about their fears. She sighed again. "He wants us to be more than friends."
Her parents stayed silent, other than taking some deep breaths and making noncommittal noises. She glared at them, knowing what they were asking, without stating it. "I am not sure how I feel about him. I want us to be more than friends too, but… I want to be certain it's more than just the result of … him saving my life, and us spending lots of time together." The young witch almost spat the words out, her frustration with her own situation leaking into her tone.
"You want to be sure it's true love?" Her father asked in a teasing tone, which earned him an elbow and a glare from his wife.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, and decided to vent some of her frustration. "Yes. If we end up sleeping together, I want to know if it's out of love, or just a mutual attraction between friends." When she saw the expressions of her parents, she hastened to add "I don't mean this summer, or this year." The expressions didn't change. Drat.
*****
Harry Potter stepped out of the floo at No. 12 Grimmauld Place and relaxed. Spending the night at Privet Drive was not enjoyable. Even if he avoided his relatives completely by heading out before they even got up, he still felt guilty, knowing he caused them such troubles just by being a wizard. Not guilty enough to even consider removing the private floo Sirius and Dumbledore had installed to connect his room at the Dursleys and his room here, though, even if he knew that the connection made his muggle family nervous. Well, his adult muggle family - Dudley was fine with magic. His cousin hadn't had any bad experiences with it, of course. Unlike Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.
Harry sat down on his bed and looked around his real room. A well-locked and protected room, given his magical family's penchant for pranking. Not that he minded pranks, especially now - they took his mind off Voldemort's return, and off his hope for a change of his relationship with Hermione. He sighed, sitting up on his bed. Sometimes he wished his friend was less smart. They'd be a couple already then, neither thinking about the possibility of being influenced by magic. Harry didn't want to think about that, but with the genie out of the bottle… He hissed through his teeth when that saying brought back memories of the end of the tournament, Hermione on fire, screaming, hurting. He shook his head and tried to calm down before he had a flashback to the ritual that brought Voldemort back as well. He almost succeeded.
A bit later he was in the kitchen, watching Kreacher cook breakfast. Neither Sirius nor Remus were up yet, both having celebrated Harry's safe return last night a bit longer and with more alcohol than Harry himself.
"Tea and scones for Master's Godson." Kreacher stated while a plate, a cup and pot appeared on the table.
"Thank you Kreacher. Did anything happen while I was at Hogwarts?" Harry didn't expect a useful answer, but he still felt odd, sitting there with just Kreacher in the kitchen, and not making conversation.
"Master's been bringing witches home. Lots of work cleaning up after them." Kreacher grumbled, and Harry couldn't tell if he was glad or angry about the work. Most elves would have been happy, but Kreacher was not most elves.
"Oh?" That was news. Sirius had started dating again, then. Or the witches looking for a rich pureblood husband had started their attempts to catch him. Sirius was young still, after all, handsome - not that Harry would say that to his face - and had both roguish charm and a tragic history. 'That combination will be irresistible for so many witches, the house will be under siege once they think it's acceptable to pursue him again,' Hermione had declared over Yuletide, with a pointed look at Harry, in case he had missed the fact that he too shared many of those traits.
"Yes. Master brought many different witches. Hard to learn what they want for breakfast, if they never return."
That sounded more like Sirius was playing the field, instead of dating. At least as Harry understood it. He was no expert. But sooner or later, Sirius would settle down, that much he was certain of. For all his rebel attitude, his godfather longed to have a family, a big family. He deserved it, too. The young wizard wondered what his future 'godmother' would be like. He didn't know what kind of witch Sirius prefered. Or what kind of witch he'd end up marrying.
He chuckled at that - here he was, unable to sort out his own love life, and yet speculating about his godfather's.
"What's so funny?" Speak of the devil. Sirius had appeared in the door, looking far too well for what he had drunk last night, and wearing a silken house robe with the Black crest embroidered over his heart, and on the back, in gold thread.
"Nothing." Harry smiled at him.
"That usually means there is something. Want to talk about?" Sirius sat down, and his breakfast appeared on the table without any delay. Kreacher by now knew his master's habits by heart.
Harry debated this. Sirius wasn't the most mature adult he could talk about this with, but he was his godfather, and with the possible exception of Remus, there was no one else. And while Remus would likely be more mature about it, it would hurt Sirius if Harry talked about such matters with Remus, and not with him. And Sirius had been hurt more than enough already. Still… "Only if you promise not to tell anyone about this." Asking Sirius to be serious would only lead to a bad pun, so he could only hope it wouldn't be too bad.
"I promise." Sirius answered at once.
"Not even as a prank."
"I promise."
Harry sighed. "Okay… It's about Hermione."
Sirius perked up as if he was a starving dog who had just been shown a juicy steak. "Did something happen between you two?"
"No. Yes. Sort of." Harry sighed, then held up a hand when Sirius opened his mouth. "Let me explain before you speculate what we might have done, and we get side-tracked." He waited until Sirius nodded, then continued. "I told her I love her. Well, I almost did, but she understood what I was about to say, so it's close enough."
Sirius was frowning. "That sounds like she wasn't happy about your declaration. Did you check her for love potions or compulsion spells?"
"We were in the infirmary. I am sure Madam Pomfrey would have noticed either."
"I don't understand then. I was sure she loves you." Sirius looked puzzled. "Did someone else get her while you were dithering?" Harry wasn't exactly sure what 'dithering' meant, but he understood the gist.
"No. She's afraid that the both of us are under the influence of the Patron Oath, or the life debt, or both, and that we're not really in love." Harry sighed, hunching his shoulders.
Sirius slid over and wrapped an arm around him. "Well, she's wrong. Magic can't do that, I told you that before."
"Tell that to her." Harry shot back. "On second thought… no, don't." He didn't want to know what Hermione would do if Sirius tried to educate her - his godfather's mouth had a tendency to be faster than what his brain could keep up with. "But there are love potions, lots of them."
"Harry, if either of you were under the influence of a love potion, you'd have noticed, trust me. They're only called 'love potions' because 'lust potions' was not acceptable back when they were invented. If you were under the influence of say, Amortentia, then you'd have shagged Hermione silly each night at Hogwarts, and would likely be starting to live out all those kinky fantasies you have had about her by now." Sirius showed him a grin that was both toothy and leering at the same time.
"Sirius!" Harry shrugged off the arm of the older wizard.
"Don't tell me you don't have fantasies about her. You're a healthy young man, and you've got some Black blood in you." Sirius chuckled. Harry glared at him, but didn't protest further, which made his godfather laugh.
"It's completely natural, Harry. If you and Hermione had been raised in the Magical World, you'd not have such concerns at all."
"If we'd both been raised in the Magical World, we'd not be together like we are." Harry shot back.
"That's true. And you'd have to deal with her head of family."
"Can we get back to Hermione's fear?" And his own fear, though he didn't want to mention that. And how I can help her?"
"Sure, sure. We can revisit your fantasies and how to make them come true afterwards." Sirius held up his hands in a placating gesture when Harry snarled at him. "Pax, Harry! I just want you to lighten up some. It's clear you two have the hots for each other. You're better off than most others wondering if their crush loves them back enough to put out." Sirius coughed, probably noticing Harry's expression. "Anyway. Hermione is just insecure. She probably thinks she's not pretty enough for you, and that you're only after her because of magic, and not because you want into her pants."
"Hermione is one of the prettiest girls in school!"
Sirius smiled at him. "Your mother was the hottest girl in school, and she said she felt like an ugly duckling - whatever that means - for years, after meeting all those witches who already had cosmetic spells on them when she arrived at Hogwarts. Such impressions tend to linger. I used to have quite the success in teaching witches that they were prettier than they thought, back at Hogwarts." Sirius had a dreamy expression for a second. "But, back to your witch. She's had those huge beaver teeth, right, till second year or so?"
Harry didn't deign that with an answer. He did twitch though.
"Right. Anyway, she probably felt really ugly compared to the Patil twins, or that bubblehead Greengrass. And other witches will have made sure she was reminded of that regularly. You'd know that as well, if you'd ever followed my example and placed some enchanted mirrors in the girl's bathrooms."
"What?" Whenever Harry thought his godfather couldn't shock him anymore, he was proven wrong. Did he peep on Harry's mother?
"Ah, don't spread that, right? They found the mirrors after two weeks, but never found out who put them there. Anyway, she just needs time to realize that your feelings for her are genuine, and not magical. Not that kind of magical, at least."
"So, you think I'll just have to wait?" It couldn't be that easy, Harry thought. Things never were.
"Yes. Just wait, help her realizing she's pretty now, and before you realize it you'll have to tell Kreacher to widen your bed in your room and get the toys from the attic."
"Sirius!"
"Unless you prefer the toys from the dungeon."
"SIRIUS!"
Laughing, Harry's godfather fled from the kitchen before Harry could violate the ban on underage magic and hex him. When he sat down at the table again, he had to admit though that he felt much better than before the talk. Sirius was right - he and Hermione were in love, and she just needed to realize that. This was shaping up to be a very good day.
"Kreacher will have to polish the cage then, so it'll be ready when Master's Godson needs it for Master's Godson's Slave."
Or not. Maybe he should talk to Remus too.
*****
"How was your first week at home?" Hermione asked, walking next to Harry down the street towards the movie theatre. The young witch was happy. She had dressed up just a bit - short skirt, close to a mini, and matching blouse with just the right amount of cleavage shown, heels - and Harry had complimented her quite nicely for it. He might just be influenced by magic to make her happy, but it was working.
Hermione glanced over. Her friend was wearing jeans and a t-shirt under a light jacket with sneakers. All expensive brands. Someone at Gringotts had made a mint changing galleons from the Black Vault. It was money well spent, in her opinion. She moved closer to Harry and slipped her arm into his.
"It was good, mostly. Kreacher's doing better, Remus and Sirius are relaxing, now that the tournament and school are both over." He didn't mention the Dursleys, and Hermione didn't ask. She knew how they felt, about Harry and herself, and while there were quite a few people she'd like to be afraid of her, seeing people she had never done any harm cringe when she entered their house hadn't felt right.
"That's nice to hear, but you said 'mostly'." Hermione wanted to know what was not going well for Harry, so she could fix it.
"Ah, yeah. Sirius has started dating." Harry sighed.
"Oh. Is she nice?" He was probably jealous, Hermione thought, for not having the full attention of his godfather anymore. Understandable, if a bit selfish - but her Patron deserved to be selfish, after last year.
"Who?"
"The girl Sirius is dating." Hermione narrowed her eyes. Harry was usually not that dense, but maybe her blouse was providing a greater distraction than she had planned.
"That doesn't narrow it down."
"Oh." Hermione understood. She shouldn't have expected Sirius to settle down yet, she berated herself. "How many?"
"So far there was a new girl each morning."
"That's not dating, that's womanizing!" Hermione frowned. If that dog gave Harry the wrong ideas…
"Yes. But… he has been in prison for over a decade. I can't blame him for trying to catch up." Harry smiled ruefully. He did love his godfather, Hermione knew, and had a hard time seeing his faults.
"You're right. As long as he doesn't string them along."
"He isn't… I think. At least he's not doing anything worse than what they are planning."
"Probably mostly gold diggers." Mostly, but not all of them, she assumed. "How's Remus taking it?" He was the responsible adult in the household, after all.
"It's close to the full moon, so he's not doing well." That would explain it.
"So, you've got no future godmother yet."
"No. You're still the only witch in the house. When you're there." Harry smiled at her, but his tone made it a question, as well as a statement.
Hermione sighed. "My parents were prying into our relationship, and I lost my temper and tried to shock them. It took a while before they were convinced I did not really plan to sleep with you this week." She frowned at her friend when he started chuckling. "I got a lecture on safe sex too; they said they didn't want to become grandparents just yet. As if I didn't know all about safe sex already! And I use magical protection anyway!"
"Oh…" Harry was chuckling again, and she briefly elbowed him in his ribs. "Oof. At least you didn't get the safe sex talk from Sirius."
"I'd have thought he'd teach you the contraception charm, and that was it." Hermione also expected him to hand Harry a coupon for St. Mungo's, but she didn't want to go there.
"His lecture involved safe words."
"Ah." Hermione hoped she was not blushing as much as she felt like. That was some fuel for her imagination she didn't need.
"Yes. Apparently the library at Grimmauld Place also has a few books on the matter." He was looking ahead at the movie theatre, avoiding her eyes, but he was grinning. Teasing her. Probably noticed her blush.
"I'll make sure to study them carefully." She spoke in her most serious tone, and managed to keep from laughing until he had stumbled and was staring at her.
"You should aim your wit at Sirius, not at me."
"I am going out with you, not with your godfather." She tensed up. That was a bit too close to the topic they still were not touching.
"So, your parents don't have problems with you visiting me unsupervised anymore?" Her friend was not changing the topic, merely nudging it a bit away from that particular minefield.
"No. Though if they knew Sirius as well as we do, that would not be the case. Even with Remus there." Hermione didn't think telling her parents that there was a very respectable werewolf in the house would do much to make them feel better. "But when you visit, they might keep a closer eye on us for a while."
They walked the rest of the way to the movie theatre chatting about the latest hits and the TV series they had missed. Hermione really needed to find a way to deal with the interference from wards that wrecked electronics. Even if the lack of such distractions made studying easier. A bit. Then she pushed the thoughts aside. She was here to enjoy a movie, and immerse herself in muggle culture. With Harry at her side.
*****
"It was a superb dish, Amelia. My heartfelt compliments."
Sirius was right - the course just served at dinner at the Manor of the Bones family had been excellent. "I have to agree with my godfather, Madam Bones. It was excellent."
Susan beamed at him while her aunt nodded graciously. It was an almost intimate dinner, just the two Bones, Harry and Sirius. Fewer than six people at a dinner party with three head of families would have been unheard of, before Voldemort. A dozen would have been the minimum, with the spouses of the heads, and the heirs and their spouses expected to attend the occasion as well. These days, it was still exceptional. The Potter, Bones and Black families had been hit harder than any other families. Any other families that had survived, to be precise.
The entertainment had been solid, if not spectacular. A Sword Dancer from the Ottoman Empire - with significant dervish blood, their host had explained. It had been an impressive performance, exotic and skillful, but… it was paid entertainment. Understandable, since Amelia Bones had a very demanding position at the Ministry and most families did the same, but it was not very personal. Harry also had missed Hermione whispering tidbits of information into his ear. He would have brought her, but that would have been a faux pas. Like showing up with your mistress instead of your wife. He almost snorted when he considered that most assumed Hermione would be, or already was, his mistress. They didn't know her. He was already looking forward to the trip abroad to France, and then to Bulgaria. It would be just him, her, and Sirius. And hopefully no worries about her future status.
A house elf served more wine. Harry stopped him from filling his own glass. He wasn't expected to talk politics as a minor, but he wanted to keep a clear head. Especially given what he knew about Voldemort. So far he had been lucky - Madam Bones and Sirius had handled most of the dinner conversation until now.
"Would you like another wine?" Madam Bones asked with a slight concern audible in her voice. Harry shook his head.
"Thank you, Madam Bones, but plain water will suffice. I fear I drank my fill already." An instant later a glass of water appeared next to his plate.
"Susan told me you were a serious young wizard, for your age."
"I try to live up to my duties." Harry nodded at Susan and at her aunt.
"I keep telling him he should loosen up some, but he doesn't listen. In that, he is a typical teenager." Sirius laughed at his own remark, and Harry saw Madam Bones chuckle slightly. The stern witch was a marked contrast to Sirius, but they seemed to get along.
"There's always sixth year." Susan spoke up, grinning at Harry. He smiled back, not quite sure if she was implying more than the obvious.
"I think Harry might remain more reserved than most even during the Year of Discovery." Sirius didn't sound as disapproving of the prospect as he usually did at home, which confused Harry some.
"We'll see." Susan was winking at him. She had had more wine than he had, he noticed, but not too much. Unless she was what Sirius called a lightweight. But the implications were quite clear now, and Harry had to suppress the first answer that came to mind. Susan was a friend of his, and had done nothing to offend him.
"It's still a year away. A lot can happen in that time." Harry tried to sound as noncommittally as possible.
"I'll just have to team up with Hermione." Susan giggled. She was wearing a low-cut thin robe, he had noticed before, with floating patterns that kept forming her house crest, breaking up, and reforming it again, drawing attention to her chest, which was quite ample for her age.
Harry coughed. Her remark made him imagine scenes he was quite sure were not very likely, unless a lot happened this year. He wasn't sure if Susan wanted to be his mistress, the lover of both him and Hermione, or if she was just teasing him. He managed another vague answer before Sirius steered the conversation back to the Wizengamot. Harry was grateful - with his and Hermione's relationship still… unconfirmed, he was not really up to discussing it with anyone. Especially not without her being present. The talk with Sirius was a special case.
Part of him wished he'd have drunk more wine. The other part wished he had not drunk any. That one sounded like Hermione's voice in his head, so he listened to it.
*****
"It's a madhouse." Harry sounded slightly shocked. Honestly, what did he expect, after inviting the entire Weasley family (apart from the three eldest sons) to dinner? A quiet affair, as he had described the dinner at Bones Manor?
"It's your house." Hermione answered. Harry had left the dining hall to fetch a muggle magazine from his room for Mr. Weasley, and Hermione had exercised her retainer's privilege, as she liked to think of it, to come with him, in case he needed assistance. Merlin knew she needed the break as well. It was a formal invitation, so manners had to be observed as if they were in public. Which meant she was not Ron's best friend, like when she and Harry visited the Weasleys, but Harry's retainer. It wouldn't have been bad, but for the twins and Sirius and Remus hitting it off, and starting to compare notes and spells. And demonstrating them. As long as Sirius, the host, was not only condoning the scene but actively participating, there was nothing Mrs Weasley could do to rein in the twins, not without giving offense to Sirius. And, since it was a formal affair, Hermione couldn't do anything either, not without embarrassing Sirius and Harry. Which was where the need for a break had originated. Harry could have done something, though.
"It's Sirius's house."
"Your point?" Hermione giggled at his expression, which made him smile.
"I can intervene, I guess."
Hermione shook her head. "You'd just end up a target for the next demonstration, and Mr. Weasley is looking forward to reading the magazines you mentioned." Which likely wouldn't survive such an event unscathed.
"Well, it's entertaining. And educational." He must have noticed her expression, since he hastily added "In an immature, inappropriate way, of course."
"It's not quite inappropriate, but certainly immature." She couldn't keep from grinning though. "Now just imagine if the Lovegoods were not on their yearly expedition, and could have come as well…"
"Thank the Gods for small blessings!" Harry sounded as fervently as a member of the Faithful at that moment. While he searched for the magazine with the article he had mentioned to the head of the Weasley family in one of the chests in his room, Hermione waited at the door and let her thoughts wander. Could she live like this, always Harry's retainer in public, even in the company of friends? Invitations in her, Harry's home, she only could attend if she could provide entertainment? Could she stomach such a future?
"Ah, there it is!" Harry held up the magazine he had been searching for, and beamed at her as if he had just found a new spell. Hermione shook her head slightly. She knew she didn't want to imagine a future without him.
*****
The wards protecting Malfoy Manor were quite extensive. Far stronger and older than those pitiful shreds covering Macnair's home. Lord Voldemort knew he could break through them, but it would take a while - long enough for the residents to alert the Ministry. Once, the wards would not have stopped him, but the changes caused by his resurrection were too extensive. Fortunately, he didn't have to break through the wards, or approach dear Lucius in Diagon Alley to contact the wizard. It was not as impressive as waiting in Lucius' own study for him, and it carried a bit more risk, but it would suffice.
The Dark Lord left his vantage spot near the manor's boundaries and apparated to the middle of a clearing in a small forest in Wales, where Macnair was waiting. "Your arm." His follower hastily raised his left arm and exposed the dark mark. He was not quite trembling, but Voldemort could see the nervousness and fear the Death Eater was trying to hide, and smiled before jabbing the point of his wand into the mark and concentrating.
"Go now, Walden. I will contact you once I have finished my business. Do not hunt until then."
"My Lord." The other man bowed, his relief and resentment at the order as imperfectly hidden as his earlier fear, and apparated away. He was an enthusiastic tool, a killer, but after more than a decade away from the Dark Lord's control, Macnair had to learn again that everything he did was at Voldemort's pleasure.
The reborn Dark Lord disillusioned himself, and stepped a bit away from the center of the clearing. In the past it had been a holy place of Celtic Druids. Roman wizards had put an end to their rituals here, but the magic was not completely gone: no trees had grown in the clearing since. It was a fitting site for him, who would restore the ancient glory of Wizarding Britain.
Voldemort didn't have to wait long until a faint popping sound announced the arrival of another wizard, behind an old tree. He had expected that. "Step up!" he commanded, though he moved to the side as soon as he had spoken, still hidden by his spell. One could never fully trust one's followers, after all, after they had been out of control for over a decade they might have gotten ideas above their station.
After a few more seconds, a figure appeared at the edge of the clearing. Unlike Macnair, this one wore no silver skull mask, nor the pitch black robe of a Death Eater. A dark grey cloak with a hood hid his identity, but the Dark Lord could feel their connection.
"Crucio." He didn't have to say the words, but it added to the strength of the spell. He didn't have to aim, or even point his wand, not with the dark mark burned into the man's arm. While the wizard collapsed, screaming and thrashing on the ground, Voldemort canceled his disillusionment and stepped forward. He did not stop the curse until his boots were just a foot away from his victim's head. "Greetings, Lucius. Did you forget during my absence what the signal I sent you meant?"
Lucius Malfoy stared up at him, pain and shock plainly visible on his face, his lips moving without words being heard.
"You were to appear in the clearing and wearing your robe and mask, Lucius. Not skulk around in the woods garbed like an assassin." He had known Lucius would not do that, of course - the man was far too cautious to show his hand, after more than a decade of freedom.
"Forgive me, M-master. I f-feared an a-ambush." Malfoy was shaking, but managed to get up enough to kneel. He would have an excuse ready, of course. He always did.
"You honestly thought someone else would be able to use the mark that ties us together to prepare an ambush? You doubt me so much?" Not that his excuses always worked.
"F-forgive me, M-Master!" Lucius pressed his head into the ground, his long blond hair covering the grass. He was still trembling, both from the lingering effects of the spell, and the shock of the Dark Lord's return, no doubt.
"Why should I, if you think so little of me to defy my orders so blatantly?" Voldemort moved his wand in a lazy motion. It was so tempting to torment the wizard further, debase him, but he needed the man, and his gold. "Others held their head high and went to prison in my name. You denied all ties to me, and claimed to have been my victim."
"I… I have worked for the cause, M-master. I cultivated contacts, gained influence in the Ministry. Raised my son to follow your ideals. Command me, and reap the fruits of a decade's labor!" The blonde wizard was panting. "I did not surrender, nor give up, but worked for you, even while you were absent."
"And you feel this excuses your wavering faith in me?"
"Forgive me, Master. I did what I could do, what I did best, to serve you."
Theatrically sighing, Voldemort turned away, but kept the man in his field of view. Staring at the edge of the clearing, he spoke: "While I have others more faithful than you, and more obedient, it would be a waste to not use your own talents and influence." Turning his head back at the man, who was staring up at him with raw hope in his eyes, he nodded. "Provided you will not lapse again."
"Never, my Lord!" Lucius smiled weakly, through the pain and fear still holding him in their grip.
"Never again, you mean. Do not presume to be able to fool me. I know what you did, three years ago." He smiled coldly at the paling, groveling wizard. "Even if you did not know what you were doing. Or did you?"
Lucius shook his head. "I did not know, Master." He probably had not known anything more than what Voldemort had told him back before that cursed night at Godric's Hollow, that the diary was a cursed muggle object, a trap for mudbloods and blood traitors.
"And yet you used it, ignorant of its nature, to further your political aims. I expected better of you, Lucius." It wasn't a terrible loss. That diary had been the result of his foolish, youthful enthusiasm, back when he had just started to delve into the real Dark Arts. It was even embarrassing, in hindsight - he had done so much more once he had truly understood its nature. A talking diary, with a copy of his teenage mind and a sliver of his soul… He would have had to kill whatever had come of it himself, he guessed, if Dumbledore had not taken care of it. And his old foe likely was chasing a false trail now. But his basilisk slain by Potter and that buffoon Lockhart… that was a loss.
"Forgive me, Master!" Lucius was getting repetitive. No reason not to do the same.
"Crucio!" He let the man suffer a bit more - not enough to damage his body or mind, of course. Malfoy was too useful.
This time it took longer until the blond man was able to speak and move again. Voldemort savored every second. "Now that I can trust you not to make such a mistake again, I forgive you."
"T-t-thank you M-m-master! Th-thank you!"
"Now return to your home. To your family. Young Draco is back from his fourth year, right? A promising child, I think. Though not yet strong enough to be taken into confidence." Only a fool would let children know crucial information. Unless one wanted such information to spread.
"Y-yes, M-master!"
"Go home, and work on weakening Dumbledore's influence on the Ministry. Make sure that my return remains a secret. Do not fail me again, Lucius."
"I w-will n-not, M-master!"
"I will call you again."
The trembling wizard managed to apparate away without splinching himself, and Voldemort was alone again in the clearing. Once, before, it had served for meetings with his inner circle. It would serve again.
*****
Albus Dumbledore smiled at the various wizards and witches gathered in the - magically expanded - cottage near the coast of Dover. The place had served as a safe house in the War with Voldemort, and he had hoped it would not have to serve the same purpose again. But Voldemort had returned from death, and so it was time to revive the Order of the Phoenix. He almost lost his smile when he took in just how few had survived that war, and how they had changed since they had last gathered. It had been but a bit more than one decade!
There was old, and there was experienced, of course. But he feared many of those present had just grown old, and not experienced, in the peace they had enjoyed until now. A peace that, unknown to them, had ended. Some of them would already know what he was about to tell them. The attack on the World Cup had been the first sign. Others would not want to know, but had to.
He coughed, and the conversations among those present fell silent as everyone turned towards him, standing at the head of the conjured table. "My friends, I thank you all for accepting my invitation. Many of you will wondering why I have called you to this gathering. Some may already suspect the reason." He glanced at Alastor. "I wish I had better news to share, but the truth is, grave times are ahead of us."
He waited a bit, until the whispers that had started had died down again. "You remember the attack on the World Cup last year, rumored to be the work of Death Eaters. The sabotage of the Triwizard Tournament that almost claimed the life of the Boy-Who-Lived." He nodded apologetically towards Sirius, who was sitting at the end of the table with Remus.
"Neither crime has been solved so far. The culprits behind those events have not been caught. They will be emboldened by this, and I fear they will continue, or even expand their activities." Some of his friends - Sirius, Remus, Hestia, Emmeline, Kingsley, Minerva and of course Alastor nodded grimly, but others, Molly, Arthur, Dedalus, and Elphias gasped in dismay. Mundungus looked like he was about to faint. "We will have to be on our guard. While we do not know who is behind the attacks, and what their goals are, the events are clearly aimed at causing fear among the population, and painfully remind us of how the last war started." That started even more whispers.
"The Death Eaters are back!" Dedalus exclaimed.
Albus nodded at him. "Some of them might have donned their old robes again."
"Should have killed them all after the last war!" Alastor growled.
"I do hope this is nothing more than a few vile individuals lashing out in an attempt to satisfy their own urges, but we cannot exclude the possibility that this is a more organized effort." He couldn't tell them he knew Voldemort was back, not without risking Harry's connection becoming known to Voldemort. As long as the Dark Lord believed his distraction had succeeded he would not be as careful, and might make mistakes. "Which is why we need to prepare for the worst."
"You mean… You-Know-Who…?" Emmeline trailed off, and more people gasped.
Albus hated lying to his friends, but this secret was too important to be revealed just to be honest with them. If Voldemort learned that Albus already knew about his return he'd adjust his plans accordingly, and they would lose a big advantage. And, there were ways to make even the staunchest of his friends talk. He had to suppress a shudder at the memory of the fate the Longbottoms had suffered. "All the signs point to followers of his acting out of their own volition." All the signs Voldemort had placed, no doubt. "And yet, that does not mean they are not dangerous. We all know that many claimed to have been under the Imperius in the last war who might not have been under such duress. Many other Death Eaters never were caught and remained hidden. They will not have forgotten what they did in the war, nor how they did it."
Albus saw his friends take heart. Voldemort was terrifying, but Death Eaters? They had dealt with them in the past. Whispers started up again, but more confident. Even vengeful. He exchanged a glance with Alastor, who had expected that. "Please do not act rashly. All we can do right now is to be careful, make sure our homes and families are protected, and keep our eyes open."
"Aye. And you better start getting back into shape. You lot got lazy and soft. A fourth year student could take out half of you I'd say." Alastor bared his teeth at the Order members. A number glared back, or scoffed, but others looked away.
Alastor was right - with a few exceptions, namely the grizzled former auror himself, and the active aurors, they had grown softer. And neither Alastor nor himself were getting any younger either. There was no way around it - they needed more wizards and witches skilled at fighting. "That, and recruiting more members for the Order. The more we are, the better we can protect each other."
"Do we know what the Death Eaters are after?" Kingsley spoke up.
"Not at this point. The attacks on the World Cup and the Tournament seemed meant to cause terror among the population, and make them question the competence of the Ministry and Hogwarts, but this year is lacking such high-profile events."
"Apart from Quidditch matches."
"I am sure the DMLE will guard those." Especially after Albus voiced some of his concerns to Amelia.
"The Boy-who-lived was present at both occasions." Kingsley was sharp.
"It is not unfathomable that some followers of the Dark Lord want to avenge him, but trust me when I say that his security is taken care of." Albus nodded at Sirius and Remus.
"If they come after the boy we can use that to prepare an ambush." Not that sharp, Albus thought. At least Remus managed to hold Sirius back from hexing Kingsley.
"Be on your guard, and keep your eyes open - for suspicious activities, as well as potential recruits and allies. This may turn out to be just a scare, but I'd rather feel like a fool and laugh at our fears in a year, then attend a funeral."
On that somber reminder, the meeting broke up and the Order members left. Alastor stayed.
"Fat load of good that'll do us. Whole lot has gone soft."
"Mundungus has good contacts in Knockturn Alley. If Voldemort or his followers are making waves, he'll pick it up. And Kingsley will keep us informed about all the aurors find out." Albus smiled with more confidence than he felt. Mundungus had not been brave in his youth, and had not grown braver since. He still tried to do the right thing, but his fingers slipped ever so often.
"Without more skilled wands that will just mean that we can see what's coming, but won't be able to do something about it."
"Voldemort too will not have many wands. He cannot trust all his former followers not to betray him. Not after Karkaroff."
"What about your pet spy?"
"He has not yet reported any contact."
"'Not yet reported', you say."
"Yes." Severus had proven himself in the war, but… people changed. It had been over a decade since Lily had died, and the young Potion Master had not shown any affection for anyone else. That was not a good sign. He was so full of anger, and loathing… Albus would have to keep an eye on him.
Chapter 13: Foreign Shores
Hermione Granger woke up at home. At her parents' muggle home, to be precise, in the room she had since she had been moved from her crib to a real bed. Her room. With full bookshelves, an old armoire (with books on top), a desk with her computer, a small portable stereo next to her bed, and a potted plant next to the window, that would have died long ago if it had just been up to her to water it. Her electronic alarm clock was on the sideboard. Nine o'clock.
A casual observation of her room would have never revealed that a witch was living there. Her trunk had been stashed in the cupboard as soon as she had arrived yesterday evening, her robe - she still needed to replace it, or at least the spells on it - was in the armoire. Which she really should expand one of those days. Her wand was sitting in her wrist holster, hidden under her pajama sleeve, and by a spell on it. She wasn't about to sleep without her wand ready, not with Voldemort back. She had to find a way to increase the security for her parents as well. Wards would interfere with electronics, but she had some plans to use spells to make the house safer and alert the DMLE and Harry in case of trouble. It wasn't enough though.
And there was so much she needed to do before school resumed! Her homework was no concern, it would barely take her a day to finish it. But she needed to enchant her robe, to bring the protective spells up to par. She'd have to check Harry's too, and update it. This was the most urgent task. Apart from the occlumency lessons, which Sirius and Professor Lupin - Remus now - would give her, Harry, and Ron. Those would take time, though, and likely not be finished until long after they were back at school. And her experiments with wards and electronics. She was so close, she was sure she was on the right path. If she managed to get an electronic calculator or even a computer running at Hogwarts, that would allow her to break new ground in spellcrafting, too. But any time spent on those experiments would mean less time spent on using her computer now, during her vacation, to help with her other tasks. Decisions, decisions...
Hermione got up, blinking, and ran her hand through her hair, which had escaped her fading styling spells during the night. A quick flick and swish of her wand had it back in some semblance of a hairstyle other than 'bird's nest', before she headed to the bathroom, skirting around the piles of newspapers and science magazines her parents had collected for her during her absence. She loved coming home from Hogwarts and catching up with what had happened in the world. It kept her grounded, sane, when she was forced to play the role of the dutiful muggleborn retainer of her pureblood Patron again, cut off from her parents. When she was again a third-class citizen due to her birth, no matter how talented and skilled she was compared to everyone else. And yet, she thought with a wry smile, she would not want to lose the blanket permission to use magic at home that Harry had been able to grant her. Magic was just too convenient, and she really liked to look good with a flick of her wrist, instead of an hour spent with muggle cosmetics and hairstyling means. "Hypocrisy, thy name is Granger," she muttered while she placed her pajamas on the rack in the bathroom and stepped into the shower.
Thirty minutes later she was sitting at the kitchen table with her parents, her hair perfectly styled thanks to a more complicated spell, and wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a Dr. Who motif on it. Both had been resized so they fit perfectly - in her opinion. Her parents might have disagreed, but after seeing what other witches her age wore in Diagon Alley, they had become far more reasonable about her attire.
"Have you already finished your movie schedule?" Hermione's father asked after putting down the 'Times'. He was an avid reader, not just of newspapers and magazines, and responsible for her name.
"I've got a preliminary one I'll pass to Harry, so he can go over it." Hermione answered primly. There were not that many good picks, in her opinion, but Harry might add some action movies. She didn't mind that and had left a few slots open for the likeliest ones, though one had to keep up appearances. She was certain he'd want to watch 'Braveheart'. She was looking forward to it herself, if only to see what Americans had done to British and Scottish history.
"Ah, Harry. How is he doing?" Her mother asked, a bit hesitantly. Hermione knew what she really wanted to ask, since she had filled them in about the events of the tournament on the drive back from King's Cross - well, most of the events. Some details her parents didn't need to know. Like how close she had come to burning to death. And the exact nature of her relationship to Harry, which was what her mother really wanted to know. And which Hermione didn't know either, right then. Even if she knew what she wanted it to be.
"He's doing well. He won the Triwizard Tournament as the youngest champion in centuries." Hermione smiled, she was proud of her Patron.
"I bet the girls are throwing themselves at him." Her father's tone was slightly teasing. Only slightly. Her parents didn't know just how much power Harry had over her, but they knew how close the two were, and had hinted a few times that Harry might be abusing what they saw as a massive crush on the boy who saved her life, given how quick and eager she always was to help him.
"Not yet. They'll do that in our sixth year." Hermione took a sip from her orange juice and nibbled on a scone. Not quite as good as those at Hogwarts, not that she'd ever say so to her parents.
"What?"
"Sixth year is when British wizards and witches traditionally start dating at Hogwarts." Hermione wasn't about to explain what really went on in the Year of Discovery. Her parents might have grown up in the 60s and 70s, but neither had been a flower child, nor wanted their daughter to practice free love, woodstock style, at 16.
"Ah." Her father even sounded relieved.
"And how do you feel about girls throwing themselves at Harry?" Hermione's mother, on the other hand, was not so easily diverted. Hermione had inherited her single-mindedness in the pursuit of knowledge from someone, after all.
"That depends on just what kind of relationship Harry and I have by then." Hermione answered with an unconcerned smile on her face that was not indicative of her current state of mind. Her mother raised her eyebrow, and the girl sighed and looked at her plate, where a half-eaten scone was all that was left of her breakfast. "I'd not like it."
She had the undivided and full attention of both her parents now. "And how does Harry feel about ... that?"
Hermione didn't want to lie to her parents. Not more than needed, in any case, to keep them from worrying, and from finding out that according to the law of Wizarding Britain they had lost custody of their only daughter to a boy younger than Hermione years ago when they tried to do something about their fears. She sighed again. "He wants us to be more than friends."
Her parents stayed silent, other than taking some deep breaths and making noncommittal noises. She glared at them, knowing what they were asking, without stating it. "I am not sure how I feel about him. I want us to be more than friends too, but… I want to be certain it's more than just the result of … him saving my life, and us spending lots of time together." The young witch almost spat the words out, her frustration with her own situation leaking into her tone.
"You want to be sure it's true love?" Her father asked in a teasing tone, which earned him an elbow and a glare from his wife.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, and decided to vent some of her frustration. "Yes. If we end up sleeping together, I want to know if it's out of love, or just a mutual attraction between friends." When she saw the expressions of her parents, she hastened to add "I don't mean this summer, or this year." The expressions didn't change. Drat.
*****
Harry Potter stepped out of the floo at No. 12 Grimmauld Place and relaxed. Spending the night at Privet Drive was not enjoyable. Even if he avoided his relatives completely by heading out before they even got up, he still felt guilty, knowing he caused them such troubles just by being a wizard. Not guilty enough to even consider removing the private floo Sirius and Dumbledore had installed to connect his room at the Dursleys and his room here, though, even if he knew that the connection made his muggle family nervous. Well, his adult muggle family - Dudley was fine with magic. His cousin hadn't had any bad experiences with it, of course. Unlike Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.
Harry sat down on his bed and looked around his real room. A well-locked and protected room, given his magical family's penchant for pranking. Not that he minded pranks, especially now - they took his mind off Voldemort's return, and off his hope for a change of his relationship with Hermione. He sighed, sitting up on his bed. Sometimes he wished his friend was less smart. They'd be a couple already then, neither thinking about the possibility of being influenced by magic. Harry didn't want to think about that, but with the genie out of the bottle… He hissed through his teeth when that saying brought back memories of the end of the tournament, Hermione on fire, screaming, hurting. He shook his head and tried to calm down before he had a flashback to the ritual that brought Voldemort back as well. He almost succeeded.
A bit later he was in the kitchen, watching Kreacher cook breakfast. Neither Sirius nor Remus were up yet, both having celebrated Harry's safe return last night a bit longer and with more alcohol than Harry himself.
"Tea and scones for Master's Godson." Kreacher stated while a plate, a cup and pot appeared on the table.
"Thank you Kreacher. Did anything happen while I was at Hogwarts?" Harry didn't expect a useful answer, but he still felt odd, sitting there with just Kreacher in the kitchen, and not making conversation.
"Master's been bringing witches home. Lots of work cleaning up after them." Kreacher grumbled, and Harry couldn't tell if he was glad or angry about the work. Most elves would have been happy, but Kreacher was not most elves.
"Oh?" That was news. Sirius had started dating again, then. Or the witches looking for a rich pureblood husband had started their attempts to catch him. Sirius was young still, after all, handsome - not that Harry would say that to his face - and had both roguish charm and a tragic history. 'That combination will be irresistible for so many witches, the house will be under siege once they think it's acceptable to pursue him again,' Hermione had declared over Yuletide, with a pointed look at Harry, in case he had missed the fact that he too shared many of those traits.
"Yes. Master brought many different witches. Hard to learn what they want for breakfast, if they never return."
That sounded more like Sirius was playing the field, instead of dating. At least as Harry understood it. He was no expert. But sooner or later, Sirius would settle down, that much he was certain of. For all his rebel attitude, his godfather longed to have a family, a big family. He deserved it, too. The young wizard wondered what his future 'godmother' would be like. He didn't know what kind of witch Sirius prefered. Or what kind of witch he'd end up marrying.
He chuckled at that - here he was, unable to sort out his own love life, and yet speculating about his godfather's.
"What's so funny?" Speak of the devil. Sirius had appeared in the door, looking far too well for what he had drunk last night, and wearing a silken house robe with the Black crest embroidered over his heart, and on the back, in gold thread.
"Nothing." Harry smiled at him.
"That usually means there is something. Want to talk about?" Sirius sat down, and his breakfast appeared on the table without any delay. Kreacher by now knew his master's habits by heart.
Harry debated this. Sirius wasn't the most mature adult he could talk about this with, but he was his godfather, and with the possible exception of Remus, there was no one else. And while Remus would likely be more mature about it, it would hurt Sirius if Harry talked about such matters with Remus, and not with him. And Sirius had been hurt more than enough already. Still… "Only if you promise not to tell anyone about this." Asking Sirius to be serious would only lead to a bad pun, so he could only hope it wouldn't be too bad.
"I promise." Sirius answered at once.
"Not even as a prank."
"I promise."
Harry sighed. "Okay… It's about Hermione."
Sirius perked up as if he was a starving dog who had just been shown a juicy steak. "Did something happen between you two?"
"No. Yes. Sort of." Harry sighed, then held up a hand when Sirius opened his mouth. "Let me explain before you speculate what we might have done, and we get side-tracked." He waited until Sirius nodded, then continued. "I told her I love her. Well, I almost did, but she understood what I was about to say, so it's close enough."
Sirius was frowning. "That sounds like she wasn't happy about your declaration. Did you check her for love potions or compulsion spells?"
"We were in the infirmary. I am sure Madam Pomfrey would have noticed either."
"I don't understand then. I was sure she loves you." Sirius looked puzzled. "Did someone else get her while you were dithering?" Harry wasn't exactly sure what 'dithering' meant, but he understood the gist.
"No. She's afraid that the both of us are under the influence of the Patron Oath, or the life debt, or both, and that we're not really in love." Harry sighed, hunching his shoulders.
Sirius slid over and wrapped an arm around him. "Well, she's wrong. Magic can't do that, I told you that before."
"Tell that to her." Harry shot back. "On second thought… no, don't." He didn't want to know what Hermione would do if Sirius tried to educate her - his godfather's mouth had a tendency to be faster than what his brain could keep up with. "But there are love potions, lots of them."
"Harry, if either of you were under the influence of a love potion, you'd have noticed, trust me. They're only called 'love potions' because 'lust potions' was not acceptable back when they were invented. If you were under the influence of say, Amortentia, then you'd have shagged Hermione silly each night at Hogwarts, and would likely be starting to live out all those kinky fantasies you have had about her by now." Sirius showed him a grin that was both toothy and leering at the same time.
"Sirius!" Harry shrugged off the arm of the older wizard.
"Don't tell me you don't have fantasies about her. You're a healthy young man, and you've got some Black blood in you." Sirius chuckled. Harry glared at him, but didn't protest further, which made his godfather laugh.
"It's completely natural, Harry. If you and Hermione had been raised in the Magical World, you'd not have such concerns at all."
"If we'd both been raised in the Magical World, we'd not be together like we are." Harry shot back.
"That's true. And you'd have to deal with her head of family."
"Can we get back to Hermione's fear?" And his own fear, though he didn't want to mention that. And how I can help her?"
"Sure, sure. We can revisit your fantasies and how to make them come true afterwards." Sirius held up his hands in a placating gesture when Harry snarled at him. "Pax, Harry! I just want you to lighten up some. It's clear you two have the hots for each other. You're better off than most others wondering if their crush loves them back enough to put out." Sirius coughed, probably noticing Harry's expression. "Anyway. Hermione is just insecure. She probably thinks she's not pretty enough for you, and that you're only after her because of magic, and not because you want into her pants."
"Hermione is one of the prettiest girls in school!"
Sirius smiled at him. "Your mother was the hottest girl in school, and she said she felt like an ugly duckling - whatever that means - for years, after meeting all those witches who already had cosmetic spells on them when she arrived at Hogwarts. Such impressions tend to linger. I used to have quite the success in teaching witches that they were prettier than they thought, back at Hogwarts." Sirius had a dreamy expression for a second. "But, back to your witch. She's had those huge beaver teeth, right, till second year or so?"
Harry didn't deign that with an answer. He did twitch though.
"Right. Anyway, she probably felt really ugly compared to the Patil twins, or that bubblehead Greengrass. And other witches will have made sure she was reminded of that regularly. You'd know that as well, if you'd ever followed my example and placed some enchanted mirrors in the girl's bathrooms."
"What?" Whenever Harry thought his godfather couldn't shock him anymore, he was proven wrong. Did he peep on Harry's mother?
"Ah, don't spread that, right? They found the mirrors after two weeks, but never found out who put them there. Anyway, she just needs time to realize that your feelings for her are genuine, and not magical. Not that kind of magical, at least."
"So, you think I'll just have to wait?" It couldn't be that easy, Harry thought. Things never were.
"Yes. Just wait, help her realizing she's pretty now, and before you realize it you'll have to tell Kreacher to widen your bed in your room and get the toys from the attic."
"Sirius!"
"Unless you prefer the toys from the dungeon."
"SIRIUS!"
Laughing, Harry's godfather fled from the kitchen before Harry could violate the ban on underage magic and hex him. When he sat down at the table again, he had to admit though that he felt much better than before the talk. Sirius was right - he and Hermione were in love, and she just needed to realize that. This was shaping up to be a very good day.
"Kreacher will have to polish the cage then, so it'll be ready when Master's Godson needs it for Master's Godson's Slave."
Or not. Maybe he should talk to Remus too.
*****
"How was your first week at home?" Hermione asked, walking next to Harry down the street towards the movie theatre. The young witch was happy. She had dressed up just a bit - short skirt, close to a mini, and matching blouse with just the right amount of cleavage shown, heels - and Harry had complimented her quite nicely for it. He might just be influenced by magic to make her happy, but it was working.
Hermione glanced over. Her friend was wearing jeans and a t-shirt under a light jacket with sneakers. All expensive brands. Someone at Gringotts had made a mint changing galleons from the Black Vault. It was money well spent, in her opinion. She moved closer to Harry and slipped her arm into his.
"It was good, mostly. Kreacher's doing better, Remus and Sirius are relaxing, now that the tournament and school are both over." He didn't mention the Dursleys, and Hermione didn't ask. She knew how they felt, about Harry and herself, and while there were quite a few people she'd like to be afraid of her, seeing people she had never done any harm cringe when she entered their house hadn't felt right.
"That's nice to hear, but you said 'mostly'." Hermione wanted to know what was not going well for Harry, so she could fix it.
"Ah, yeah. Sirius has started dating." Harry sighed.
"Oh. Is she nice?" He was probably jealous, Hermione thought, for not having the full attention of his godfather anymore. Understandable, if a bit selfish - but her Patron deserved to be selfish, after last year.
"Who?"
"The girl Sirius is dating." Hermione narrowed her eyes. Harry was usually not that dense, but maybe her blouse was providing a greater distraction than she had planned.
"That doesn't narrow it down."
"Oh." Hermione understood. She shouldn't have expected Sirius to settle down yet, she berated herself. "How many?"
"So far there was a new girl each morning."
"That's not dating, that's womanizing!" Hermione frowned. If that dog gave Harry the wrong ideas…
"Yes. But… he has been in prison for over a decade. I can't blame him for trying to catch up." Harry smiled ruefully. He did love his godfather, Hermione knew, and had a hard time seeing his faults.
"You're right. As long as he doesn't string them along."
"He isn't… I think. At least he's not doing anything worse than what they are planning."
"Probably mostly gold diggers." Mostly, but not all of them, she assumed. "How's Remus taking it?" He was the responsible adult in the household, after all.
"It's close to the full moon, so he's not doing well." That would explain it.
"So, you've got no future godmother yet."
"No. You're still the only witch in the house. When you're there." Harry smiled at her, but his tone made it a question, as well as a statement.
Hermione sighed. "My parents were prying into our relationship, and I lost my temper and tried to shock them. It took a while before they were convinced I did not really plan to sleep with you this week." She frowned at her friend when he started chuckling. "I got a lecture on safe sex too; they said they didn't want to become grandparents just yet. As if I didn't know all about safe sex already! And I use magical protection anyway!"
"Oh…" Harry was chuckling again, and she briefly elbowed him in his ribs. "Oof. At least you didn't get the safe sex talk from Sirius."
"I'd have thought he'd teach you the contraception charm, and that was it." Hermione also expected him to hand Harry a coupon for St. Mungo's, but she didn't want to go there.
"His lecture involved safe words."
"Ah." Hermione hoped she was not blushing as much as she felt like. That was some fuel for her imagination she didn't need.
"Yes. Apparently the library at Grimmauld Place also has a few books on the matter." He was looking ahead at the movie theatre, avoiding her eyes, but he was grinning. Teasing her. Probably noticed her blush.
"I'll make sure to study them carefully." She spoke in her most serious tone, and managed to keep from laughing until he had stumbled and was staring at her.
"You should aim your wit at Sirius, not at me."
"I am going out with you, not with your godfather." She tensed up. That was a bit too close to the topic they still were not touching.
"So, your parents don't have problems with you visiting me unsupervised anymore?" Her friend was not changing the topic, merely nudging it a bit away from that particular minefield.
"No. Though if they knew Sirius as well as we do, that would not be the case. Even with Remus there." Hermione didn't think telling her parents that there was a very respectable werewolf in the house would do much to make them feel better. "But when you visit, they might keep a closer eye on us for a while."
They walked the rest of the way to the movie theatre chatting about the latest hits and the TV series they had missed. Hermione really needed to find a way to deal with the interference from wards that wrecked electronics. Even if the lack of such distractions made studying easier. A bit. Then she pushed the thoughts aside. She was here to enjoy a movie, and immerse herself in muggle culture. With Harry at her side.
*****
"It was a superb dish, Amelia. My heartfelt compliments."
Sirius was right - the course just served at dinner at the Manor of the Bones family had been excellent. "I have to agree with my godfather, Madam Bones. It was excellent."
Susan beamed at him while her aunt nodded graciously. It was an almost intimate dinner, just the two Bones, Harry and Sirius. Fewer than six people at a dinner party with three head of families would have been unheard of, before Voldemort. A dozen would have been the minimum, with the spouses of the heads, and the heirs and their spouses expected to attend the occasion as well. These days, it was still exceptional. The Potter, Bones and Black families had been hit harder than any other families. Any other families that had survived, to be precise.
The entertainment had been solid, if not spectacular. A Sword Dancer from the Ottoman Empire - with significant dervish blood, their host had explained. It had been an impressive performance, exotic and skillful, but… it was paid entertainment. Understandable, since Amelia Bones had a very demanding position at the Ministry and most families did the same, but it was not very personal. Harry also had missed Hermione whispering tidbits of information into his ear. He would have brought her, but that would have been a faux pas. Like showing up with your mistress instead of your wife. He almost snorted when he considered that most assumed Hermione would be, or already was, his mistress. They didn't know her. He was already looking forward to the trip abroad to France, and then to Bulgaria. It would be just him, her, and Sirius. And hopefully no worries about her future status.
A house elf served more wine. Harry stopped him from filling his own glass. He wasn't expected to talk politics as a minor, but he wanted to keep a clear head. Especially given what he knew about Voldemort. So far he had been lucky - Madam Bones and Sirius had handled most of the dinner conversation until now.
"Would you like another wine?" Madam Bones asked with a slight concern audible in her voice. Harry shook his head.
"Thank you, Madam Bones, but plain water will suffice. I fear I drank my fill already." An instant later a glass of water appeared next to his plate.
"Susan told me you were a serious young wizard, for your age."
"I try to live up to my duties." Harry nodded at Susan and at her aunt.
"I keep telling him he should loosen up some, but he doesn't listen. In that, he is a typical teenager." Sirius laughed at his own remark, and Harry saw Madam Bones chuckle slightly. The stern witch was a marked contrast to Sirius, but they seemed to get along.
"There's always sixth year." Susan spoke up, grinning at Harry. He smiled back, not quite sure if she was implying more than the obvious.
"I think Harry might remain more reserved than most even during the Year of Discovery." Sirius didn't sound as disapproving of the prospect as he usually did at home, which confused Harry some.
"We'll see." Susan was winking at him. She had had more wine than he had, he noticed, but not too much. Unless she was what Sirius called a lightweight. But the implications were quite clear now, and Harry had to suppress the first answer that came to mind. Susan was a friend of his, and had done nothing to offend him.
"It's still a year away. A lot can happen in that time." Harry tried to sound as noncommittally as possible.
"I'll just have to team up with Hermione." Susan giggled. She was wearing a low-cut thin robe, he had noticed before, with floating patterns that kept forming her house crest, breaking up, and reforming it again, drawing attention to her chest, which was quite ample for her age.
Harry coughed. Her remark made him imagine scenes he was quite sure were not very likely, unless a lot happened this year. He wasn't sure if Susan wanted to be his mistress, the lover of both him and Hermione, or if she was just teasing him. He managed another vague answer before Sirius steered the conversation back to the Wizengamot. Harry was grateful - with his and Hermione's relationship still… unconfirmed, he was not really up to discussing it with anyone. Especially not without her being present. The talk with Sirius was a special case.
Part of him wished he'd have drunk more wine. The other part wished he had not drunk any. That one sounded like Hermione's voice in his head, so he listened to it.
*****
"It's a madhouse." Harry sounded slightly shocked. Honestly, what did he expect, after inviting the entire Weasley family (apart from the three eldest sons) to dinner? A quiet affair, as he had described the dinner at Bones Manor?
"It's your house." Hermione answered. Harry had left the dining hall to fetch a muggle magazine from his room for Mr. Weasley, and Hermione had exercised her retainer's privilege, as she liked to think of it, to come with him, in case he needed assistance. Merlin knew she needed the break as well. It was a formal invitation, so manners had to be observed as if they were in public. Which meant she was not Ron's best friend, like when she and Harry visited the Weasleys, but Harry's retainer. It wouldn't have been bad, but for the twins and Sirius and Remus hitting it off, and starting to compare notes and spells. And demonstrating them. As long as Sirius, the host, was not only condoning the scene but actively participating, there was nothing Mrs Weasley could do to rein in the twins, not without giving offense to Sirius. And, since it was a formal affair, Hermione couldn't do anything either, not without embarrassing Sirius and Harry. Which was where the need for a break had originated. Harry could have done something, though.
"It's Sirius's house."
"Your point?" Hermione giggled at his expression, which made him smile.
"I can intervene, I guess."
Hermione shook her head. "You'd just end up a target for the next demonstration, and Mr. Weasley is looking forward to reading the magazines you mentioned." Which likely wouldn't survive such an event unscathed.
"Well, it's entertaining. And educational." He must have noticed her expression, since he hastily added "In an immature, inappropriate way, of course."
"It's not quite inappropriate, but certainly immature." She couldn't keep from grinning though. "Now just imagine if the Lovegoods were not on their yearly expedition, and could have come as well…"
"Thank the Gods for small blessings!" Harry sounded as fervently as a member of the Faithful at that moment. While he searched for the magazine with the article he had mentioned to the head of the Weasley family in one of the chests in his room, Hermione waited at the door and let her thoughts wander. Could she live like this, always Harry's retainer in public, even in the company of friends? Invitations in her, Harry's home, she only could attend if she could provide entertainment? Could she stomach such a future?
"Ah, there it is!" Harry held up the magazine he had been searching for, and beamed at her as if he had just found a new spell. Hermione shook her head slightly. She knew she didn't want to imagine a future without him.
*****
The wards protecting Malfoy Manor were quite extensive. Far stronger and older than those pitiful shreds covering Macnair's home. Lord Voldemort knew he could break through them, but it would take a while - long enough for the residents to alert the Ministry. Once, the wards would not have stopped him, but the changes caused by his resurrection were too extensive. Fortunately, he didn't have to break through the wards, or approach dear Lucius in Diagon Alley to contact the wizard. It was not as impressive as waiting in Lucius' own study for him, and it carried a bit more risk, but it would suffice.
The Dark Lord left his vantage spot near the manor's boundaries and apparated to the middle of a clearing in a small forest in Wales, where Macnair was waiting. "Your arm." His follower hastily raised his left arm and exposed the dark mark. He was not quite trembling, but Voldemort could see the nervousness and fear the Death Eater was trying to hide, and smiled before jabbing the point of his wand into the mark and concentrating.
"Go now, Walden. I will contact you once I have finished my business. Do not hunt until then."
"My Lord." The other man bowed, his relief and resentment at the order as imperfectly hidden as his earlier fear, and apparated away. He was an enthusiastic tool, a killer, but after more than a decade away from the Dark Lord's control, Macnair had to learn again that everything he did was at Voldemort's pleasure.
The reborn Dark Lord disillusioned himself, and stepped a bit away from the center of the clearing. In the past it had been a holy place of Celtic Druids. Roman wizards had put an end to their rituals here, but the magic was not completely gone: no trees had grown in the clearing since. It was a fitting site for him, who would restore the ancient glory of Wizarding Britain.
Voldemort didn't have to wait long until a faint popping sound announced the arrival of another wizard, behind an old tree. He had expected that. "Step up!" he commanded, though he moved to the side as soon as he had spoken, still hidden by his spell. One could never fully trust one's followers, after all, after they had been out of control for over a decade they might have gotten ideas above their station.
After a few more seconds, a figure appeared at the edge of the clearing. Unlike Macnair, this one wore no silver skull mask, nor the pitch black robe of a Death Eater. A dark grey cloak with a hood hid his identity, but the Dark Lord could feel their connection.
"Crucio." He didn't have to say the words, but it added to the strength of the spell. He didn't have to aim, or even point his wand, not with the dark mark burned into the man's arm. While the wizard collapsed, screaming and thrashing on the ground, Voldemort canceled his disillusionment and stepped forward. He did not stop the curse until his boots were just a foot away from his victim's head. "Greetings, Lucius. Did you forget during my absence what the signal I sent you meant?"
Lucius Malfoy stared up at him, pain and shock plainly visible on his face, his lips moving without words being heard.
"You were to appear in the clearing and wearing your robe and mask, Lucius. Not skulk around in the woods garbed like an assassin." He had known Lucius would not do that, of course - the man was far too cautious to show his hand, after more than a decade of freedom.
"Forgive me, M-master. I f-feared an a-ambush." Malfoy was shaking, but managed to get up enough to kneel. He would have an excuse ready, of course. He always did.
"You honestly thought someone else would be able to use the mark that ties us together to prepare an ambush? You doubt me so much?" Not that his excuses always worked.
"F-forgive me, M-Master!" Lucius pressed his head into the ground, his long blond hair covering the grass. He was still trembling, both from the lingering effects of the spell, and the shock of the Dark Lord's return, no doubt.
"Why should I, if you think so little of me to defy my orders so blatantly?" Voldemort moved his wand in a lazy motion. It was so tempting to torment the wizard further, debase him, but he needed the man, and his gold. "Others held their head high and went to prison in my name. You denied all ties to me, and claimed to have been my victim."
"I… I have worked for the cause, M-master. I cultivated contacts, gained influence in the Ministry. Raised my son to follow your ideals. Command me, and reap the fruits of a decade's labor!" The blonde wizard was panting. "I did not surrender, nor give up, but worked for you, even while you were absent."
"And you feel this excuses your wavering faith in me?"
"Forgive me, Master. I did what I could do, what I did best, to serve you."
Theatrically sighing, Voldemort turned away, but kept the man in his field of view. Staring at the edge of the clearing, he spoke: "While I have others more faithful than you, and more obedient, it would be a waste to not use your own talents and influence." Turning his head back at the man, who was staring up at him with raw hope in his eyes, he nodded. "Provided you will not lapse again."
"Never, my Lord!" Lucius smiled weakly, through the pain and fear still holding him in their grip.
"Never again, you mean. Do not presume to be able to fool me. I know what you did, three years ago." He smiled coldly at the paling, groveling wizard. "Even if you did not know what you were doing. Or did you?"
Lucius shook his head. "I did not know, Master." He probably had not known anything more than what Voldemort had told him back before that cursed night at Godric's Hollow, that the diary was a cursed muggle object, a trap for mudbloods and blood traitors.
"And yet you used it, ignorant of its nature, to further your political aims. I expected better of you, Lucius." It wasn't a terrible loss. That diary had been the result of his foolish, youthful enthusiasm, back when he had just started to delve into the real Dark Arts. It was even embarrassing, in hindsight - he had done so much more once he had truly understood its nature. A talking diary, with a copy of his teenage mind and a sliver of his soul… He would have had to kill whatever had come of it himself, he guessed, if Dumbledore had not taken care of it. And his old foe likely was chasing a false trail now. But his basilisk slain by Potter and that buffoon Lockhart… that was a loss.
"Forgive me, Master!" Lucius was getting repetitive. No reason not to do the same.
"Crucio!" He let the man suffer a bit more - not enough to damage his body or mind, of course. Malfoy was too useful.
This time it took longer until the blond man was able to speak and move again. Voldemort savored every second. "Now that I can trust you not to make such a mistake again, I forgive you."
"T-t-thank you M-m-master! Th-thank you!"
"Now return to your home. To your family. Young Draco is back from his fourth year, right? A promising child, I think. Though not yet strong enough to be taken into confidence." Only a fool would let children know crucial information. Unless one wanted such information to spread.
"Y-yes, M-master!"
"Go home, and work on weakening Dumbledore's influence on the Ministry. Make sure that my return remains a secret. Do not fail me again, Lucius."
"I w-will n-not, M-master!"
"I will call you again."
The trembling wizard managed to apparate away without splinching himself, and Voldemort was alone again in the clearing. Once, before, it had served for meetings with his inner circle. It would serve again.
*****
Albus Dumbledore smiled at the various wizards and witches gathered in the - magically expanded - cottage near the coast of Dover. The place had served as a safe house in the War with Voldemort, and he had hoped it would not have to serve the same purpose again. But Voldemort had returned from death, and so it was time to revive the Order of the Phoenix. He almost lost his smile when he took in just how few had survived that war, and how they had changed since they had last gathered. It had been but a bit more than one decade!
There was old, and there was experienced, of course. But he feared many of those present had just grown old, and not experienced, in the peace they had enjoyed until now. A peace that, unknown to them, had ended. Some of them would already know what he was about to tell them. The attack on the World Cup had been the first sign. Others would not want to know, but had to.
He coughed, and the conversations among those present fell silent as everyone turned towards him, standing at the head of the conjured table. "My friends, I thank you all for accepting my invitation. Many of you will wondering why I have called you to this gathering. Some may already suspect the reason." He glanced at Alastor. "I wish I had better news to share, but the truth is, grave times are ahead of us."
He waited a bit, until the whispers that had started had died down again. "You remember the attack on the World Cup last year, rumored to be the work of Death Eaters. The sabotage of the Triwizard Tournament that almost claimed the life of the Boy-Who-Lived." He nodded apologetically towards Sirius, who was sitting at the end of the table with Remus.
"Neither crime has been solved so far. The culprits behind those events have not been caught. They will be emboldened by this, and I fear they will continue, or even expand their activities." Some of his friends - Sirius, Remus, Hestia, Emmeline, Kingsley, Minerva and of course Alastor nodded grimly, but others, Molly, Arthur, Dedalus, and Elphias gasped in dismay. Mundungus looked like he was about to faint. "We will have to be on our guard. While we do not know who is behind the attacks, and what their goals are, the events are clearly aimed at causing fear among the population, and painfully remind us of how the last war started." That started even more whispers.
"The Death Eaters are back!" Dedalus exclaimed.
Albus nodded at him. "Some of them might have donned their old robes again."
"Should have killed them all after the last war!" Alastor growled.
"I do hope this is nothing more than a few vile individuals lashing out in an attempt to satisfy their own urges, but we cannot exclude the possibility that this is a more organized effort." He couldn't tell them he knew Voldemort was back, not without risking Harry's connection becoming known to Voldemort. As long as the Dark Lord believed his distraction had succeeded he would not be as careful, and might make mistakes. "Which is why we need to prepare for the worst."
"You mean… You-Know-Who…?" Emmeline trailed off, and more people gasped.
Albus hated lying to his friends, but this secret was too important to be revealed just to be honest with them. If Voldemort learned that Albus already knew about his return he'd adjust his plans accordingly, and they would lose a big advantage. And, there were ways to make even the staunchest of his friends talk. He had to suppress a shudder at the memory of the fate the Longbottoms had suffered. "All the signs point to followers of his acting out of their own volition." All the signs Voldemort had placed, no doubt. "And yet, that does not mean they are not dangerous. We all know that many claimed to have been under the Imperius in the last war who might not have been under such duress. Many other Death Eaters never were caught and remained hidden. They will not have forgotten what they did in the war, nor how they did it."
Albus saw his friends take heart. Voldemort was terrifying, but Death Eaters? They had dealt with them in the past. Whispers started up again, but more confident. Even vengeful. He exchanged a glance with Alastor, who had expected that. "Please do not act rashly. All we can do right now is to be careful, make sure our homes and families are protected, and keep our eyes open."
"Aye. And you better start getting back into shape. You lot got lazy and soft. A fourth year student could take out half of you I'd say." Alastor bared his teeth at the Order members. A number glared back, or scoffed, but others looked away.
Alastor was right - with a few exceptions, namely the grizzled former auror himself, and the active aurors, they had grown softer. And neither Alastor nor himself were getting any younger either. There was no way around it - they needed more wizards and witches skilled at fighting. "That, and recruiting more members for the Order. The more we are, the better we can protect each other."
"Do we know what the Death Eaters are after?" Kingsley spoke up.
"Not at this point. The attacks on the World Cup and the Tournament seemed meant to cause terror among the population, and make them question the competence of the Ministry and Hogwarts, but this year is lacking such high-profile events."
"Apart from Quidditch matches."
"I am sure the DMLE will guard those." Especially after Albus voiced some of his concerns to Amelia.
"The Boy-who-lived was present at both occasions." Kingsley was sharp.
"It is not unfathomable that some followers of the Dark Lord want to avenge him, but trust me when I say that his security is taken care of." Albus nodded at Sirius and Remus.
"If they come after the boy we can use that to prepare an ambush." Not that sharp, Albus thought. At least Remus managed to hold Sirius back from hexing Kingsley.
"Be on your guard, and keep your eyes open - for suspicious activities, as well as potential recruits and allies. This may turn out to be just a scare, but I'd rather feel like a fool and laugh at our fears in a year, then attend a funeral."
On that somber reminder, the meeting broke up and the Order members left. Alastor stayed.
"Fat load of good that'll do us. Whole lot has gone soft."
"Mundungus has good contacts in Knockturn Alley. If Voldemort or his followers are making waves, he'll pick it up. And Kingsley will keep us informed about all the aurors find out." Albus smiled with more confidence than he felt. Mundungus had not been brave in his youth, and had not grown braver since. He still tried to do the right thing, but his fingers slipped ever so often.
"Without more skilled wands that will just mean that we can see what's coming, but won't be able to do something about it."
"Voldemort too will not have many wands. He cannot trust all his former followers not to betray him. Not after Karkaroff."
"What about your pet spy?"
"He has not yet reported any contact."
"'Not yet reported', you say."
"Yes." Severus had proven himself in the war, but… people changed. It had been over a decade since Lily had died, and the young Potion Master had not shown any affection for anyone else. That was not a good sign. He was so full of anger, and loathing… Albus would have to keep an eye on him.
Chapter 13: Foreign Shores
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macdjord
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This is, what, 1996? A child having their own computer in their bedroom seems a bit of a stretch. Unless it's one of the things Harry got her?
The Unicorn
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Why? I had computer in 1996. I actually got my first computer in 1992, and quite a few of my friends had computers before that.
macdjord
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I don't mean having a PC at all was odd, just that her having her own in her room is a bit anachronistic. In 1996, a computer was a household appliance, not a personal possession. Unless her family was quite rich or particularly technically oriented, there would have been at most one computer in the house. It would be kept in the office, if they had a room designated as such, or in the lounge or living room. The only exception would be, again, if the computer was her personal property, either given to her by Harry or bought by her (presumably using Harry's money).
Hrm. I wonder if that's part of what her parents are worried about? She's dressing in expensive clothes payed for by Harry, and I can't imagine she wouldn't have taken advantage of his resources to buy books too. They might be worrying about her becoming a 'kept woman'.
turbinicarpus
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Good chapter. Generally, you seem to use a lot of sentence fragments in the chapter. I understand that it's a stylistic choice, but it's awkward in some places. Some specific suggestions:
Unless Hermione is down one parent already.
"Into" seems more literal, while "to" can be more abstract: the transition from a crib to a real bed.
Don't most digital clocks do that when they haven't been set? It'd be kind of annoying if it always blinked.
Loosely, "until" refers to a point of termination of an ongoing activity, while "before" refers to a deadline. Hermione listing the things she needs to do before the deadline.
This is more personal choice, but I, for one, like Oxford commas.
"Commas, like nuns, often travel in pairs." --- Mary Norris
'Cause it's a Harmony 'ship.
The quotation is a complete sentence.
Not sure about this one.
Helps emphasize "that".
"Sirius" isn't plural. (It does have a Latin origin, so it's not as clear, but the way I would sound it out would be "Siriuses", not "Sirius".)
Not sure if this sounds better, but "waste to waste" sounds punny.
Not sure about this one.
I've mentioned it before, but I think it sounds more serious to say "placed under The Imperius" or something like that. Considering that The Imperius is unforgivable, it should be treated with gravity.
I am not up on my Britishisms, so I am not sure.
Not that big a stretch. This is well into the Pentium period.
macdjord
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The Oxford comma isn't a personal choice, it is unambiguously the Right Way To Do It. The Oxford comma is the difference between "I dedicate this book to my parents, Mary, and God." and "I dedicate this book to my parents, Mary and God."
It's as much a matter of psychology as it is of cost. In 1996, buying a family member their own computer just wasn't a thing you did (at least not without a good, specific reason, like if they needed one for their job or something and couldn't live with shared access to the family machine).
Starfox5
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I am a few years older than Hermione, and not from England, but in my experience, kids having a computer in their room was the norm in the 1980s. Our parents at the time usually didn't have nor wanted a computer, or only used it at work. My father got a computer of his own when he retired, for example. So, Hermione got a computer of her own because she asked for it. Money was no issue anymore (if it ever had been) after Harry started paying her tuition.
Hermione is reluctant to let Harry buy her things, that was covered in an earlier chapter. The parents don't worry about her becoming a kept woman (but they would if they knew the exact nature of their relationship, and of the Wizard Society, since that's exactly what most wizards expect will happen to Hermione.)
Yes. Stream of consciousness bleeds in. I've made msot of the corrections and followed most of the suggestions - thanks a ton! - with a few exceptions.
Changed that to show that the spells faded during the night, gradually.
I left that in. Emotions, especially those that are or could be the result of the Patron Oath, are important.
I wanted to show that Harry still has to mentally adjust to understand just how bad Voldemort hit Britain. He knows it intellectually, and he knows some families are small from meeting their members, but he still has to remind himself that many families are completely gone, since those he never met, but at best occasionally heard of them.
I didn't want to imply that no trees would grow there forever. Magic on such places is not eternal, it'll fade with time and disuse.
Dumbledore does not use the "You-know-who" title, but uses Voldemort's name. He's not about to treat a mere spell with that sort of reverence. I changed it to "placed under the Imperius" since that sounds a bit more olf-fashioned and formal, not because Dumbledore thinks the Unforgiveabes deserve more formality and gravity than other dangeroius and powerful spells.
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The Unicorn
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I meant I had a computer in 1992. My mother got one sometime before that, but it was an XT with a monochrome screen and you couldn't play any games on it, unlike mine.
Wrong. Granted my family is "particularly technically oriented", but not all of my friends were and a bunch of them had computers before me (I recall it being quite a while before me, but "quite a while" for a 12 or 13 y/o is very different than what I'd consider quite a while now) which was four years earlier than the story is set and dealing with exchange rates and import taxes that make computers more expensive than they'd be in the US, not sure how that compares to computer prices in England.
Prince Charon
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Same. So did my sister, who is quite a bit younger than me.
macdjord
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Ah, yeah, it makes sense if it's hers by default by virtue of being the only one who uses a computer in general.
Growing up in the 90s, my family had several computers - my dad is a programmer - but they were all set up in the home office. Some of them were used almost exclusively by Dad, but that was simply a matter of practicality and operating system; they were all considered family property. The first time any of us got a computer that specifically belonged to us personally was when I was in high school and got a laptop for homework and note-taking due to my 'fine motor issues' (doctor-speak for 'handwriting so bad it's a medical matter').
It was the same for all my friends: they all had a computer, but it was 'the family computer' (even if only the kids ever actually used it in practice) and was placed in a public area of the house. Generally that was the only computer in the house, unless their father had one of his own for business reasons. On the other hand, none of them was an only child, and their siblings were computer literate, even if their parents were not; it's possible things would have been different if they were the only user in the house.
Chapter 13: Foreign Shores
Starfox5
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Chapter 13: Foreign Shores
"Drat!"
Harry Potter took care not to react in any way to Hermione's cursing, nor to the sound of sparks getting set off, or the smell of burning plastic that started to fill the room he and his friend were in at Grimmauld Place 12. He hadn't kept an exact count, but that had been close to half a dozen calculators that had been sacrificed for Hermione's experiments today, and he knew from experience she would be getting angrier with each failure to shield the electronic calculators from the effects of the wards on the house. At least she was making some progress, or so she claimed.
That both of them had had quite a stressful week behind them, and could look forward to another one, only made his friend's temper worse. It couldn't be helped though - with the upcoming trip to France and Bulgaria and the need to learn occlumency, their usual summer schedule was more crammed than usual this year.
Without turning his head away from the treatise on mind shielding techniques he had been skimming in preparation for today's lessons with Sirius and Remus, he glanced over to Hermione. She had pulled the fried calculator apart and was checking the runes she had edged onto the casing, muttering while she made notes with a dictaquill. He spotted a stray lock that had escaped her ponytail and was hanging in front of her face. The witch did not seem to have consciously noticed it yet and was unsuccessfully trying to blow the distraction away from her field of vision while she worked. It was an adorable sight. Then she started to brush it back with her left hand, without any success at keeping it away from her face. After repeated attempts, she finally huffed and used her wand to restore her hairstyling charm without taking her eyes off her experiment. That was the witch he knew so well, and loved so much, in a nutshell.
He let his eyes linger over her for a bit longer - she was wearing a tank top and jeans today, with her robe draped over her chair, in case someone visited the house - before returning his attention to his book. Or trying to. Hermione was on his mind a lot these days. Between enchanting her and his robes, learning occlumency, her experiments, and running arithmantic calculations on her computer at the Grangers' for spellcrafting projects, the young witch hadn't had time to look further into the intricacies of the Patron Oath. Or so she had claimed - he wasn't sure, but he had the impression she was afraid, on some level, to find out exactly what the Oath did. He wouldn't press her though. Sirius and Remus had agreed that pressing his friend in this matter would not be helpful. She'd have to work through this herself. He only hoped it would happen soon. He sighed.
"Harry? Is something wrong?" Hermione looked at him with concern clearly visible on her face.
He didn't want to tell her what he had been thinking about, so he quickly made up something. "No, no, I am just a bit stumped with this passage here." Harry pointed at the page he had been staring at for ten minutes now, without really reading it.
"Oh? Let me see, I read the treatise two days ago and found it quite sound." With that, his friend came over to him and leaned against his back to look over his shoulder at what he had been pointing at. He should have been used by now to such close contact, but he still had to struggle to focus on her explanation, instead of her body pressed into his back, and her head so close to his that he'd only have to turn his cheek a bit to plant a kiss… he really had to struggle to follow her.
*****
"I said 'no', Draco, and that is final."
"But Father! We had plans! I was looking forward to it all year!" Draco wasn't whining. He was asking - no, demanding - an explanation for his father's sudden bout of … whatever it was that had caused him to cancel their summer plans.
"Draco, circumstances have changed. We cannot risk it, not now."
His father wasn't even looking at him, but reading notes on his desk. He was his son! He was more important than a scroll of parchment!
"Why not? The mudbloods and blood traitors are weak! We can strike at their homes, kill them, and vanish before anyone notices! Like in the war!" Draco had been looking forward, had longed, to don the sacred robe and mask again, to fight mudbloods and blood traitors, to further the cause of the purebloods. To feel the thrill of lethal battle again, like last summer.
"No we cannot. Not now. Maybe next year, if things go well."
"Next year?" To spend another year, caged among the sheep in the school, unable to show his true nature, unable to strike at his enemies… no, that was impossible!
"Yes. If things go well, next year." His father rolled up one scroll and dropped it on an enchanted pad on his polished marble desk. The scroll vanished with a quick flash of green light. It was the same color as the Killing Curse, something Draco had found very funny when he had noticed it after the World Cup.
"Why? Why can't we fight now? We did it last year!" They had sent their enemies fleeing in terror. Culled their numbers in glorious combat! He would have stamped his foot, if it would have made any impression on the thick Persian carpet on the floor in his father's study.
"I told you, circumstances have changed. We cannot risk getting exposed." His father was, finally, looking at him, and he looked annoyed - no, he looked angry.
"That's it? You fear the aurors? You have the Minister in your pocket, why should we fear the aurors?" It wasn't as if anyone had bothered them after the fight at the World Cup last year. Not the Malfoys. Draco put his hands on the desk and leaned forward, towards his father.
"I told you my reasons. In the current political climate, a mistake or slip up could be ruinous. The risks are simply too big." The head of the Malfoy family narrowed his eyes, and Draco had taken a step back before he realized that he had moved
Huffing, the young wizard turned away. "I'll amuse myself with some muggles, then."
"No, you will not do that either." The cold voice stopped him.
Draco whirled around. "What? You can't forbid that! Those are muggles, animals! No one cares about them, not the aurors, not even the blood traitors!"
He didn't hear the incantation and when he saw the cloud appear around him, it was too late to do anything. For a moment he felt as if he was back at the dueling competition last year, when the mudblood had sent the poison cloud he had sent at her back to him. Then the poison touched him, and he collapsed, screaming. The pain was far worse than back then - unbearable. Death would be a relief! He thrashed around, hands and knees hitting the floor, lashing out at the poisonous air that clung to him. And during it all, he kept screaming.
Then it ended, and he lay there, panting, crying, vomiting on the carpet, and heard the anger in the voice of his father.
"I've had enough of your backtalk, Draco. Your foolishness could doom our entire family, and I will not tolerate disobedience in this. Do you understand?"
Draco was unable to answer, his voice hoarse, but he managed to nod jerkily at the boots and the hem of his father's robe that he saw from his position.
"Get out then, and do not bother me about this again."
The young pureblood wizard crawled out of his father's study, weeping and shivering. As soon as he had crossed the threshold the black wooden door closed behind him, and he curled up in a ball. His father had cursed him! He had never done this before!
He barely heard a gasp before soft hands caressed his cheeks, brushing away the tears. "Mother..." His mother was there, for him.
"Shh, Draco. Drink this, it will bring relief from the pain." A vial was held to his lips, and he drank it all. The pain lessened, but did not go away.
Draco looked at his mother, kneeling next to him, holding him in her arms. "Mother! Father cursed me. Cursed ME!"
"I know, Draco."
"But why? Why?" He didn't understand. His father had never done this before. He had been punished, but never like this.
His mother looked very sad. "Draco, your father is... I can't tell you why, but you cannot anger him, or disobey him. Please."
Draco nodded. He wouldn't dare to cross his father, not after today. He still didn't understand what had happened, what had changed, but he understood that.
"Good boy."
*****
She should have known it was a bad idea, Hermione Granger told herself when she stepped out of the floo into Grimmauld Place. She had known it was a bad idea, actually, but her parents, even Harry, had not agreed with her.
"That was…"
"That was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, Harry. I want to forget it as soon as possible." Hermione cut her friend off.
"I didn't think she would…"
"Talking about something is not conductive to forgetting it." She glared at Harry until he shut up. She'd not talk about Nymphadora Black-Tonks, metamorphmagus and a recent but big fan of muggle culture, and her disastrous visit to the Grangers.
Wisely, her friend did drop the topic. Both knew that once Sirius heard of it, they'd have to do something drastic to keep him from bringing it up at every opportunity. At least her parents had not forbidden her to travel with Harry this summer. Probably too shocked still. She could explain to them that the French and Bulgarians had quite different customs than the British, but that wouldn't help that much.
"Greetings, Master's Godson and Master's Godson's slave." Kreacher was busy in the kitchen when the two entered.
Hermione had to take a deep breath to control herself, and not hex the evil little… poor old house elf who didn't know any better after more than a century spent in service of the Blacks. "Tea please."
While the elf was busy preparing tea, the two sat down at the kitchen table, in their usual spots, facing each other. "Well, the floo works. If anyone attacks your parents they can flee through it."
"Yes." Hermione smiled at her friend. Thanks to the private floo connection coupled with the spells she had cast on the house, her parents were much safer than before. Still not as safe as she wanted them to be, but without warding the house and dooming her family to a life without electronics, that was the best she could do. Until she managed to solve the problem with wards and electronics. She was so close...
Two cups appeared on the table. Harry leaned towards her and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. Both remained silent for a while, drinking their tea.
"I wonder how many such private floos exist, separate from the public network." Hermione refilled her cup.
"Not too many. They are quite expensive to install, and there are not many wizards able to do it. And even fewer one can trust to be discreet about it."
"Don't tell my parents that." Hermione hated being indebted to anyone, a trait she shared with her parents. But their safety was more important, and if they didn't know just how much that connection had cost it would harm no one. Her father probably thought the sole reason for it was to let her visit Harry more easily. Well, that was a rather nice side benefit, if she was honest with herself. Too bad it was situated in the living room, and not in her own room, or she'd be able to sneak out at night, and visit… she clamped down on that thought before it touched on some of her fantasies she really shouldn't indulge in before she had mastered occlumency. One never knew when Sirius might try to surprise test one's mental defenses, after all, and if Harry's godfather knew about that she'd never live it down. Or if he told Harry.
*****
In a small cottage in Wales, the greatest Dark Lord of Britain was pacing back and forth between the desk and the bed. It was a safe house, arranged by Barty Crouch before his sacrifice, secure and well-hidden, but he would have to expand the interior a few times, until it was fit for him to spend more than a day in. Doing that might leave clues that would point to him having returned though, if the wrong people found the house despite the precautions he had taken. Another inconvenience hampering his path back to the power he deserved, though a minor one compared to other obstacles. Like his lack of trustworthy Death Eaters.
The more Voldemort knew of the current state of his old followers, the more he realized how much of a blow the loss of Barty Crouch Jr. had been. Barty had not just been fanatically devoted to him, but far more skilled and talented than most of his Death Eaters. And Barty would have died rather than betray him, or his secrets. Voldemort was sure that none of his followers outside Azkaban had that kind of loyalty right now, no matter if they were marked or not. At least Lucius was cowed enough to keep the Ministry from meddling too much in his affairs, and Walden was apt at finding malcontents to bolster the numbers of his followers, as well as at thinning the ranks of his enemies. But neither one could really replace his Bellatrix, or the others imprisoned at Azkaban. He briefly considered contacting Severus. The man was certainly competent, one of the best potioneers, and had been a fair hand at dealing with enemies on the battlefield as well. But he couldn't be trusted. Not after revealing himself to be a spy for Dumbledore in the aftermath of that particular Samhain. Even if Severus had only claimed that to escape Azkaban, he had been at Hogwarts, at Dumbledore's side, for over ten years since. No, one could not trust such a man, not yet.
As much as it galled Voldemort, he still had to move with the utmost care, lest Dumbledore learn of his return. He had planned to send a few of the potential recruits out to deal with annoyances like Lockhart. People who had vexed him but didn't pose real problems to his plans. It would serve to bloody his recruits, and to weed out the incompetent. But that would have to wait for now. He needed another diversion. He pondered this for a while. As far as Dumbledore knew, the saboteur who had tried to kill the Boy-Who-Lived was still at large. If his old enemy could be fooled into assuming that that man was dead, he might lower his guard, which would make both recruiting more wands for Voldemort's cause as well as dealing with obstacles much easier. But how to arrange that?
Potter and his mudblood were bound for France and Bulgaria this summer according to Lucius's sources in the Ministry. That would be a good opportunity to strike at them without Dumbledore able to come to their rescue, even though there was a small risk of making more enemies abroad. On the other hand, Voldemort didn't know the French and Bulgarians well enough to predict their responses, so letting them dispose of his scapegoat in a way that would fool Dumbledore would be more difficult to pull off. And, if there was an opportunity to kill the Boy-Who-Lived, it would be a shame to deliberately waste it.
He nodded. He knew the right sort of wizards - ruthless, and mercenary - from his time in the Balkans, when he had prepared his refuge in Albania. He just needed to pick a fitting scapegoat, and have that one hire them. Best case, the Boy-Who-Lived died, and the French or Bulgarian aurors tracked down his puppet, who would be killed of course. Worst case, he would have his puppet try again in Britain.
He went to the kitchen and checked what kind of meals were left in stasis in the pantry. He'd have to restock them soon.
*****
International magical travel was faster than muggle travel, but no less exhausting, Harry had learned, both for organizing the trip, as well as the actual travel. International Portkeys took a lot of paperwork to get, and more than a little gold, though he was sure that that could be improved with a better organization of the department that issued them. At least Hermione had claimed that, after she had gone along with Sirius to that particular department in the Ministry. The trip itself though… International portkeys spun one around as badly as national ones, just for longer. Fortunately, they hadn't traveled the entire distance to the South of France in one trip: that would have been nasty. Even so, he noticed there were buckets placed in the room of the traveling agency they had just arrived in at Paris. After he found his bearings, that is.
"Wow! I had forgotten just how much fun those trips were!" Sirius, of course, was having a blast. He hadn't fallen down upon arrival, either. Life wasn't fair.
Hermione muttered something under her breath - they were in public, so she couldn't curse the animagus, literally or figuratively - and got up from where she had been thrown by the portkey. Fortunately the floor was enchanted with a cushioning charm. The walls probably as well.
"Only an utter fool out of his mind would enjoy such torture." The last member of the traveling party, Nymphadora Black-Tonks, had leave to voice her feelings on the matter. She was prone to clumsiness to start with, and the trip had not done her any favors, so she was not even trying to get up right now. The young auror was their security detail - the Ministry feared for their safety, since at least to their knowledge the culprit behind the attacks on the Tournament had not been caught yet. Apparently, she was a compromise - a trained auror and, if not legally family, she at least had blood ties to them. Further, unknown to the Ministry, she was a member of the Order of the Phoenix. The auror hadn't been told about Voldemort's return so far, a fact that didn't sit well with the rest of their group, but Dumbledore had been adamant about the need to keep this secret. And after her display at the Grangers', Harry and Hermione didn't feel that bad about keeping her in the dark anymore.
"Why, dear Nymph..adora, did you have trouble during the trip?" Sirius made a show of offering her his hand to help her up, knowing she'd not be able to stand yet.
If looks could curse, Sirius would be sprouting something embarrassing, painful, or both now, but as it was, Nymphadora's eyes only showed the promise of future retribution, or so Harry thought. You never truly knew with Blacks, even if they were children of an emancipated Black and not of the main family. Their tempers were sometimes too much for their manners.
"I wish we had Remus with us," Hermione whispered next to him, shaking her head at the antics of their two fellow travelers and supposed adult chaperons.
"Me too." It was impossible, though. Bringing a werewolf along without informing the host of his nature would have been a grave insult, even a capital crime depending on the phase of the moon, and revealing his curse would not be not worth the trip, not for the trouble it would cause for Remus and Hogwarts back in Britain.
Hermione sighed. "They are supposed to watch us, not the other way around. So much for our vacation. Let's see if we can find the floo entrances before they start something."
Harry nodded, cast the translation charm Hermione had taught him, and the two went off to the information desk. With some luck they'd be back before Nymphadora and Sirius had started too much trouble.
*****
The entrance hall of Chateau D'Aigle, where Fleur's family lived, was an impressive sight, though to Hermione's surprise, it was more similar to Hogwarts than to Beauxbatons, at least according to the pictures of the French school she had seen, even though it was situated in a similar location in France. While beautifully decorated, it left a very solid, secure impression, with thick walls and sturdy doors.
When she spotted the half-dozen veelas and wizards awaiting them - Fleur and Gabrielle, their parents, and their maternal grandparents -, Hermione was very glad that they had arrived by floo and not by portkey. To arrive flat on her back or stomach would not have made a good first impression, in her opinion.
"Ah! Ugh! I'm okay… I'm okay."
Or to arrive as a flailing bundle of limbs and roll over the polished marble floor until stopped by a pillar, like Nymphadora. The young witch noticed with some relief that their hosts seemed to ignore the spectacle, apart from a few giggles from Gabrielle, which were quickly shut up by a glare from her mother. Sirius and Harry, who had arrived before Hermione, didn't react to the scene either. The young witch stepped up to stand slightly to the side and behind her Patron while their security detail was still untangling her limbs. Fortunately, not quite as literally as she could have done it, given her body-changing talent.
"Be welcome in our home, honored guests." Fleur's grandmother levitated a loaf of bread, and with a flick of her wand, broke it up in bite-sized pieces which floated to each person present.
"Please accept our thanks, honored host." Sirius bowed, then ate his piece. As they had been instructed to beforehand, the rest of them followed his example. The bread tasted very salty - bread and salt, Hermione knew, symbolized hospitality. She also felt a tingle of magic as the small ritual finished and everyone relaxed while less formal greetings were exchanged. Gabrielle went back to hiding behind her mother as soon as possible, but she was peeking out and at staring at Hermione with wide eyes, which was puzzling the witch.
"You must be tired from your travels. Please follow me to the guest quarters so you can rest until lunch." Fleur smiled, taking the formal edge off her words. The British group followed her out of the entrance hall. As soon as they were out of earshot, she started speaking English instead of French. "You'll be given the tour later, of course - grand-mére loves to show off the chateau - but I'll show you where the dining hall and the terrace are." The young veela led the small group to the guest quarters, a series of rooms in the west wing, with a beautiful view of the azure mediterranean sea. Hermione's room was last, as expected.
"And 'ere is your room, 'ermione." Fleur opened the door, but stepped inside as well, surprising Hermione. The room itself was spacious, with cream-colored walls, big windows and elegant furniture including an old armoire and a big bed with thick curtains. The windows looked a bit off though, something wasn't right.
"And here's the door to 'arry's room. In case you get lonely at night." Fleur stated with a teasing smirk.
Hermione should have blushed or smiled saucily back with a joke, she knew, but all she managed was a weak, even wistful smile. "I will keep that in mind."
The veela's smirk changed into a puzzled frown at that reaction. "Did something 'appen? Should I 'ave the door sealed?"
"No, no." Hermione held her hands up. To lock Harry out? Perish the thought. "It's just… we're currently trying to find out if we want to use such a door, you know? In the future, that is. For what you implied." She sat down on the soft bed.
Fleur nodded, grinning again. "Ah, I see. Romance is in the air then. This is the perfect location for a couple to grow closer."
Hermione coughed. That wasn't what she had meant, well, not precisely. Not that she was against the idea, in principle. She decided to change the topic. "Did your exams go well?"
"They did. I 'ave a number of offers for employment. Even one from Gringotts in Britain." Fleur looked proud of that, and she had reasons to - Gringotts was a first-rate employer, able to take their pick from a number of applicants.
"I am glad to hear that. I am sorry I missed seeing you off after the tournament." Hermione ran a hand over the covers on the bed. Silk, embroidered and enchanted. Thin and soft.
"'ermione, you were hurt and in the 'ospital! No one would 'ave expected you to come see us off. Not that 'arry would 'ave let you leave, I assume. It looked so bad, Gabrielle was convinced you 'ad some fire creature ancestry to survive that." Fleur shook her head, but Hermione couldn't tell if it was at her, or at the notions of her little sister. The British witch held up her hands in surrender anyway, and Fleur nodded, apparently satisfied. "Now rest. We'll eat lunch in an hour, and afterwards you'll get the tour. After that I'll show you the beach."
"I am looking forward to it." And she was - French food, an old French chateau to explore, and a beach to enjoy. That's what Summer vacations should be like!
*****
The meal was great, and the company was charming. French hospitality was as good as the tales he had heard, Harry thought. Well, apart from the tales from Sirius - according to his godfather the French would make sure he wouldn't have to sleep alone. Harry had dismissed that as another tall tale. Though, maybe it would be prudent to make sure that his door was locked - some of Fleur's cousins were giving him funny looks between whispering to each other.
That was another difference to Britain he fully approved of: The French let the head of a family decide who was part of his family. Just as what looked like all of Fleur's cousins and other assorted relatives were present, so was Hermione. His retainer could sit at the table with him, even though she was a muggleborn, without anyone feeling slighted as long as she didn't make a faux pas. He wasn't worried about that - his best friend knew her manners, better than most.
Despite everyone having dressed up, and the formal elegance of the meal, with the dishes floating in graceful arcs around the table, darting in at the point of a wand while soft music played in the background, it felt more like being at the Weasleys' than say, at the Bones'. Part of that was the number of people present. They had to be filling the chateau to the roof, if everyone was sleeping here. But more importantly, they also seemed to be more relaxed than Harry was used to on such occasions. Fleur's family members laughed more, joked more, flirted more… at that thought he briefly and hopefully subtly checked if anyone was flirting a bit too much with Hermione. It didn't seem to be the case, she was mostly talking with Fleur about the veela's future plans.
Harry didn't glance, subtly or not, at Sirius, who was outrageously flirting with every pretty witch - and all the women and girls present were very pretty - within reach that was not obviously married or engaged. Not that he did not flirt with those as well, just not as hard. Harry didn't think his godfather had to worry about sleeping alone. More likely, he had to worry about his bed getting too crowded… and now Harry was thinking like Sirius. It was just flirting, they were not courting. Fleur had explained the differences when she had been at Hogwarts. At least he hoped it wasn't.
Nymphadora was acting a bit more restrained, in comparison. She wasn't showing off her talent, at least. Harry wasn't keen on living through another moment like at the Grangers'.
"I was very impressed by your performance in the air race, Mister Potter. You came close to beating my daughter, and that's no mean feat given her talents in the air." Fleur's mother addressed him. She was wearing a high-necked silk robe that seemed to flow around her body, with small illusionary exotic birds flying around the fabric, and on the fabric.
"I have to thank Hermione for that, mostly. She created a spell that allowed me to fly faster. I am a Quidditch player, not a racer." Harry had done well, he knew, but he didn't want to sound as if he was boasting. He was wearing his best robes himself, recently adjusted by Hermione's latest spells.
"I have heard of that spell. It was recently banned from both Quidditch matches and races, without having been used so far in either sport. That's quite an accomplishment for a witch so young." The veela nodded towards Harry's retainer, but Hermione hadn't noticed; she seemed engrossed in her conversation with Fleur.
"Oh, yes, she's a genius. I'd have died without her help." Harry saw Fleur's parents exchange smiles, and noticed Fleur's cousins giggling some more, but with half the table flirting, he didn't mind if they realized just how he felt about his Hermione. If that made a few of those too-handsome wizards stop looking at his best friend like that, so much the better.
*****
Lunch had been great! For the first time in her life Hermione had felt truly welcome at a formal occasion involving rich purebloods. Sadly, she knew it did not mean that France had a more liberal society - it was simply the result of French wizard and witches caring less about how the heads of family treated their muggleborn family members. Wizarding Britain's society might not approve of muggleborns sitting at the pureblood table, but it also didn't approve of a Patron exercising his or her legal power over a retainer in ways that apparently wouldn't even make the French blink.
Hermione pushed those thoughts away. She had better things to focus on - the tour of the chateau afterwards was perfect! Fleur's grand-mère was better than any tour guides in a museum. The tapestries she had shown them, the portraits on the walls… Hermione hoped she could note down all she had heard, it made for a fascinating and enthralling story. The hallways and rooms of the chateau were also enchanted with spells that kept a soft warm breeze of fresh air going, scented with the merest hint of the sea.
"The chateau was built on the location of an ancient veela enclave taken by the Romans when they conquered southern France and named it Gallia Transalpina, later renamed to Gallia Narbonensis. They had a castellum here at first, but it was abandoned later after Pompeius had driven all the pirates from the Mare nostrum. During the middle ages, the Clan d'Aigle took control of the place once more and rebuilt the castle, sheltering veela from Barbary Coast raiders."
"That explains the thickness of the walls." Hermione nodded.
"Indeed." The older veela smiled at her. "Given our history, we never felt secure enough to trust spells and wards, like the founders of Beauxbatons. Instead of just strengthening our walls with magic, we did both that, and created magical windows that can be reduced to firing slits in case of an attack."
"How often does that happen these days?" Nymphadora asked. "I thought after the Intervention such raids ceased."
The old veela smiled ruefully. "If only that were the case. The larger raids ceased, but lone veelas or witches, and the occasional wizard child, still disappear. And as memories grow weaker, raiders grow bolder. I fear that before I die I'll see the day the chateau will be under siege again."
That was a sobering thought. Hermione had been at this coast before, with her parents. To think she could have been kidnapped…
"But we have improved our defenses. Our private beach is as heavily warded as the chateau itself. Do not fear for your safety as long as you are here." She turned towards a side corridor. "This leads to our wine cellar. It's heavily warded, of course - we French do value our treasures greatly - but if you are interested, my husband will likely give you a tour; the wine cellar is part of his responsibilities."
Hermione had known that the French had two heads per family, who divided their responsibilities among them as they wanted, but this was the first time she had heard of an actual example - apart from Fleur's grandmother handling the female members of her family, and her grandfather the male ones. She noticed Sirius was looking very interested, and slightly shook her head, though with a smile. She had hoped this vacation would be helping Sirius deal with the lingering effects of his time in Azkaban, and it seemed to be working. Almost too well, even - she hoped he didn't start to drink too much.
*****
The 'private beach' of the Chateau d'Aigle was an impressive feat of magic. It wasn't, as one might expect, a natural beach, hidden by wards from muggles, maybe made unplottable too - no, it was an artificial bay, originally a tiny inlet that had been magically expanded. Like the mokeskin bags Harry was familiar with, just on a scale he had not heard of before. Hermione had been gushing over the intricacies of it for a quarter of an hour after realizing what had been done, so he was now well-acquainted with the theory. More familiar than he wanted to be, if he was honest. It wasn't as if he'd have an opportunity to duplicate the feat anytime soon, after all. Not that he had let Hermione know that, of course - she loved discussing such things, and he'd be a poor friend to spoil it for her. Poor Patron too. Though given that everyone on the beach, including his retainer, was wearing the merest hints of bathing suits, if one could call the tiny illusionary patches floating over their bodies that, he would have had trouble following a normal conversation, much less Hermione's explanation. Sirius and Nymphadora had gone into the water right after they had arrived at the beach. Traitors.
"Am I boring you, Harry? You seem a bit distracted."
Harry blinked. It seemed he had not been as discreet as he had thought. "Ah… no, no. It's just…" he made a sweeping gesture at the white sand, and the azure sea, and Fleur's relatives currently either swimming in the water with Sirius and Nymphadora, tossing some glowing spheres around, or sunbathing.
"I guess that is a bit distracting." Hermione sounded a bit wistfully, or even sad. He didn't know why.
"Yes… I mean, no."
"I think I'll go swimming for a bit myself." Hermione stood up and started down to the surf. He started at her back, almost bare but for a bit of illusionary string, and she was out in the water before he could say anything else.
"I believe you've made a bit of a blunder, 'arry."
He turned his head away from the sea, and realized Fleur had sat down next to him, on another of the enchanted towels that appeared on command. The veela was wearing a bit more than her family, but if it had been real cloth, it still wouldn't have been enough to craft a purse that would hold more than six galleons. He closed his eyes, both to avoid staring, and because he felt angry at himself. "I know."
"That wouldn't 'ave 'appened if you were French."
"Do you mean if I was French, I would have been more… attentive?" Charming, suave, seductive?
"That I cannot say. But if you were French, you'd be formally courting. You'd 'ave an understanding, and you'd be less afraid of stumbling or missteps in the dance towards each other."
"We have an understanding, of sorts." Or so he hoped. Hermione just had to accept that magic couldn't create love.
"You should compliment 'er more then. Every witch likes to be flattered by 'er lover."
Now he was staring at her with wide open eyes. "We're not, I mean… we're still… that's usually done in sixth year."
"I thought the Year of Discovery was for experimenting, not love." Fleur was lying on her back, propped up on her elbows, looking at him.
"It's complicated." Though Harry was quite sure that if he and Hermione didn't manage to settle things this year, their sixth year would be a catastrophe. He sat up and pulled his knees up.
"It must be a British thing then. It looks quite simple from my point of view. You love 'er, she loves you." Fleur showed him a friendly smile, though her tone was gently teasing.
"It is a British thing, yes." Harry wasn't about to discuss the particular details of his relationship with his retainer and all of its problems with Fleur.
"See? If you were French you'd not 'ave this problem." Fleur giggled.
"Speaking of British… how is Bill doing?"
The veela stopped giggling. "'e is doing well. 'e recently got a promotion at Gringotts, and was transferred to Britain."
"Are you two… dancing towards each other?" Harry was proud he managed to say that with a straight face. It probably sounded better in French.
Now Fleur sighed. "We are, but… I am not sure we should be dancing in Britain. The laws there could be a problem."
Harry nodded. There was not much he could say. Veela were not considered purebloods in Britain, with all the consequences that brought with it. "Bill's been working in Egypt."
"Yes, but he wasn't 'appy about being so far away from 'is family. If not for the money 'e'd never 'ave accepted the position."
"And his family is in Britain."
Fleur nodded, staring out at the sea, though Harry was sure she was seeing something else than the bay. "Things would be so much better if everyone was French."
Harry had to snort at that, but couldn't argue the point right then. A squeal from one of Fleur's cousins that Sirius had grabbed and was about to throw into the water caught his attention.
"Ah, there's a British wizard who knows 'ow treat a girl, or girls. Your godfather is quite the flirt." Fleur must have noticed the scene as well, and took the opportunity to change topics.
"He's more a seducer than a flirt." Harry frowned a bit. It wasn't as if Sirius was acting uncouth, but… he was an older wizard, in Harry's opinion, and some of the girls looked hardly older than Fleur.
"I do 'ope so. There would be much disappointment otherwise, later tonight."
Harry closed his eyes again. He was glad for Sirius, he really was, but seeing his godfather having such success was not making him feel better about his own love life.
*****
"My Patron, may I take your leave and head to bed? I am in need of rest."
Harry was surprised for a moment. Hermione had been a bit distant at the beach, swimming a lot and chatting with Fleur's family and not with him, but dinner had been filled with tales of their adventures at Hogwarts - the stories they could tell in public, at least - and she had been talking animatedly about this or that detail, as she would usually do in such occasions. His retainer had been swimming a lot today, but… she didn't look that tired to him, and Harry was usually better at knowing when she was tired than Hermione herself. Too often he had had to send her to bed because she was pushing herself. It wasn't that late either, but he certainly wouldn't keep her at his side if she wanted to leave. "Of course, my Wand."
Hermione bowed to him, then to their hosts, and left the salon. With her gone, Harry's good mood seemed to have vanished as well. He managed to finish the account of his first Quidditch match, but then acted as if he was stifling a yawn. It took two more tries until Madam Aigle asked if he felt the need for rest himself, though given the way she was smiling, she probably assumed he had other plans for the night, and was just being discreet. Sirius of course was winking so blatantly, a blind wizard would have been able to figure out what he was thinking. And Nymphadora was not that much more subtle. If only they were right!
Once in his room he couldn't help but staring at the door that led to Hermione's room. Fleur had pointed it out to him as a matter of course earlier that day. The young witch in the room next to his would be in bed by now. Probably reading. Or sleeping. Wearing… he shook his head. He didn't want to dwell on that, not now. He pulled his robe off and sent it to the hanger in the corner with a quick swish of his wand. His undergarments followed, and he summoned his pajamas from his traveling trunk. Red Silk with golden trim, a birthday gift from his godfather - Sirius took house pride seriously. He had just pulled the bottoms on when he heard a knock on the door. The door to - or from - Hermione's room. He unlocked it with his wand at once, but it didn't open more than a narrow gap. "It's open."
"Harry? Can I come in?" Hermione sounded almost timid. Had something happened? She usually didn't hesitate to enter his room at Grimmauld Place. Sometimes she even stormed inside without knocking, usually when she was very excited about something.
"Of course." He realized he still held his top in his hand, and was about to pull it on when Hermione entered and he froze. His friend was not wearing a robe, or pajamas, but some flimsy, mostly transparent thing, held up by magic, that exposed far more of her bosom than it hid, and barely reached her thighs. His mouth suddenly felt dry. Hermione had been wearing less fabric at the beach, but…it had been a bathing suit meant for swimming and sunbathing. This… this outfit was meant for seduction. It drew far more attention to the curves it failed to hide, and it looked as if all it took to make it fall off was a touch. Why was she wearing this? And coming to his room, at night. He could think of a reason, of course.
"Harry?"
He blinked, and tore his eyes off Hermione's body to look at her face. She was smiling, but he could tell she was nervous. Or afraid. And blushing. But she had restyled her hair as well, using her wand as a hairpin. He licked his lips nervously. He had had dreams that started like this, and went on to… he was suddenly glad he still had his top in his hands, it covered his groin. "Yes?"
Hermione bit her lower lip, then took a deep breath. The movement of her chest sent Harry's thoughts again to places he wasn't sure they should be in. "After this afternoon I wanted to… I am no veela, I know, but… " she cocked her head slightly to the side, and smiled, though a bit weakly. "I can be distracting too, can't I?" She gestured at her body with her left hand.
Harry was nodding, staring again. Then he realized she was trembling. "You're not distracting, Hermione, you're beautiful," he stated as firmly as he could. He wanted her to understand and accept that.
It seemed he had failed. She still looked nervous, insecure. Timid. The sight tore at his heart. Harry stood up and walked towards his retainer. Her mouth opened, but she made no sound, and Harry saw she was staring at him. At his body. He stopped in front of her, close enough he would only have to lean forward to...
He didn't know who of them started it, but suddenly, their lips met. It wasn't the sort of kiss Sirius had told him of. His godfather would call it chaste even, but it was his first kiss, and when they separated, both were flushed and taking deep breaths. "You're beautiful," he repeated, "and I love you."
Hermione beamed at him, smiling while tears ran down her cheeks, and then she hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands touching her bare back, like at the Yule Ball. But this time he was wearing only his pajama bottoms, and Hermione was wearing a little bit of nothing. He could feel her body pressed into his as if she was nude. Harry wanted to rip her clothes, such as they were, off her, push her against the wall, and… he closed his eyes, shivering at the thoughts filling his mind. Suddenly he felt her freeze, stiffen in his arms, and blushed when he realized what she must have noticed. He gripped her shoulders, and pushed her back a bit, until he could look into her eyes.
Neither said anything while they stood there, facing each other, the only sound their heavy breathing. For a moment, everything seemed possible. Then Hermione's eyes wandered down and widened, and Harry took a step back, covering himself up with his hands.
"Well…"
"Well…"
Suddenly, Hermione's expression changed into a wider smile. She reached out and gripped his wrists with one hand, fixing his hands in place, before pulled his head towards hers with her other hand. The kiss that followed was more suitable to their current location.
*****
"And this is the best tailor of the Quartier Magique of Marseille!" Fleur pointed at a small shop in a side alley - though one a bit wider and brighter than the ones she was used to in Diagon Alley. The streets were made from the same cobblestones though, though the houses looked quite different, in a distinct Mediterranean style, especially the roofs. Even apart from that the shop looked quite different compared to Madam Malkin's. No big windows showing off the dresses, just a small display of a single robe, next to a sign that simply read 'D'Alba'. "'e is not as well-known as the tailors in Paris, but 'e makes the best protective robes. All the top aurors of France shop 'ere."
"Really?" Hermione looked at the ship with renewed interest. A tailor specializing in protections! She winced when she thought of how much such robes would likely cost, and how long it would take her to identify and then reverse engineer the spells used. Well, it was for Harry's protection, ultimately, and so she was sure Sirius would buy a robe or two, if she asked. She glanced back at where Harry and Sirius were looking at the latest French racing brooms in the display of the broom shop on the main street. From the looks of it, Harry was asking for a test ride. She smiled - he looked so passionate, so attractive…
"Mh. That look on your face tells me something happened last night." Fleur's teasing voice interrupted her little fantasy.
Hermione jerked and looked at the veela. "What?"
"You were not looking at 'arry like that last evening. Did you visit 'im at night?" Fleur was leaning close to her, and had dropped her voice to an almost conspiratorial whisper.
"It was not like that!" Hermione protested. Fleur's tone insinuated something very different than what had actually happened - even though the young witch knew they had come close, very close, to that. If she had not kissed him while holding his hands, but had had instead pulled his hands away, placed them on her chest… maybe simply waiting would have been enough for Harry to take charge and grab her, and...
"How was it then?" Fleur interrupted her fantasies again.
For a moment Hermione hesitated to share. She did not know Fleur that well. On the other hand, the veela was more experienced, and it wasn't as if Hermione had a best girlfriend. Apart from Luna, and Luna was… not here. The young witch took a deep breath, looked at the main street again to make sure Harry and Sirius were still checking brooms, and whispered: "I visited him, but we just kissed."
And she now knew Harry thought she was beautiful. After the beach, with all the veelas around, distracting him, she had felt like an ugly duckling. Not pretty enough for the Boy-Who-lived to pay attention to without being forced by a magic oath made as a child to a silly girl. She had been so afraid, so desperate, when she had gone into his room, wearing that negligée. To prove her doubts and fears wrong, she had been willing to… it had not come to that, fortunately. Or unfortunately. After she had broken that last kiss, and returned to her room, Hermione had spent a few minutes leaning with her back to the door, panting, knees trembling, and much longer in her bed, before she had calmed down enough to find some sleep.
"Mh. Why do I think there was more than that?"
Hermione frowned at the veela, then sighed. She didn't think the witch would let up until she knew more. "We were not wearing much while we kissed." Let the veela draw her own conclusions from that!
"Ah! Marvelous! So you've become a couple then."
That wasn't the conclusion Hermione had wanted her to draw. "It's complicated."
"You British are always complicating things that should be simple." Fleur shook her head in mild disapproval.
"You sound as if you are speaking from experience. Did I miss something that happened at Hogwarts?" Hermione didn't think she had been that out of the loop, even with Lavender and Parvati giving her the cold shoulder after the Yule Ball, but she had been quite focused on helping Harry survive the year.
"Did you 'ear about the time a few of my fellow students were caught with some 'ogwarts sixth year students in a very embarrassing situation on top of our school's carriage?"
Hermione shook her head. That did sound scandalous, even for sixth years. Unless it had involved the Weasley twins.
"Well, you missed a near-scandal then, but that's not what I was talking about." Fleur giggled when Hermione scowled at the teasing veela. Then she grew more serious. "It's Bill. Bill Weasley."
"Oh."
"I love him. He loves me. We have an understanding. But he also loves his family, and doesn't want to leave Britain. And there veelas are not held in the same regard as in France." She sighed, leaning against the white wall of the shop. Unlike many other shop signs, this one did not react to her presence, didn't change and try to entice her to enter. Only the very old, established shops could afford that kind of understatement.
"You're not seen as purebloods there." Hermione was quite familiar with the problems differences in blood status caused, or could cause in Britain.
"Yes. We'd need the permission of the Wizengamot to marry. And that means politics, and bribes. Not the most romantic things to think about when it comes to marriage. And while Bill loves 'is family, I love mine as well. I am not sure why we should live and marry in Britain, if it's so much easier to marry 'ere in France. Not to mention the question of whose family we will become part of."
"I see." Hermione hadn't thought about those problems, but they were quite obvious in hindsight. Though she wasn't sure Fleur, who had been raised as a pureblood, and a privileged one at that, even realized that she was still in a far better position than Hermione - it wasn't as if muggleborns were even permitted to marry purebloods in France or Britain. But even if the veela saw things from the perspective of a pureblood suddenly treated as a half-blood, and might not realize that muggleborns faced worse everywhere, this was not the time to point that out. This was the time to be supportive. "But if you two love each other, you'll manage to find a way to be happy together, no matter the problems you are facing." Hermione smiled encouragingly at the veela. She was sure they'd find a way - she had to be sure, or she would not be able to face her own future.
"Thank you, 'ermione." Fleur smiled at her, with gratitude, but also sadness. "But let's talk about something else."
"Ah. I have a question." It was a rather intimate question, but Hermione had spilled all of her admittedly not so great love life to Fleur, so the young witch felt she was not overstepping her bounds in asking a perhaps a bit prying question herself. "At the beach I noticed a number of your family members were wearing the same tattoo."
"Ah, the aigle? Most wear it. The eagle is the symbol of grand-mère's family."
"Oh. Is that common among the French wizards and witches?" Hermione was intrigued. It sounded like the French really cared more for their extended family than the British, if they went as far as wearing matching tattoos. No wonder Fleur thought the British were more individualistic.
Fleur grinned, though a bit ruefully. "You could call it a tradition among veelas, but it has a rather dark origin. The tattoos are magical marks that allow our family to track us - in case we get kidnapped that might allow them to rescue us."
"Oh."
"Things have improved a great deal since the Intervention, but… old habits and fears die slowly."
"How do they work?" If she and Harry shared such a tattoo they could track each other. Maybe even communicate. And it would be a quite intimate tie between them too. Then Hermione had a more chilling thought. Hadn't she heard speculation that the Dark Mark of Voldemort worked like that?
"That's a secret I cannot share. If slavers would learn of it, they could find easier ways to remove them, or even find a way to track us through them." Fleur pushed off the wall again, and to the entrance of the side alley. Harry and Sirius were on their way to them.
"I understand." She'd have to look into this. Once she had time.
The boys, as Hermione sometimes thought of Harry and his godfather, joined them, both carrying slim packages. Not big enough to be brooms, Hermione thought, unless they had been shrunk. Which was quite likely. She knew Harry was just waiting for her to ask what they had bought, and so ignored the packages after a frown at him, which made her Patron grin widely. Before she could point out the auror robe shop an old witch walking past them stumbled and would have fallen down if Sirius had not caught her. Then the old woman spoke in a whisper, and Hermione realized it was Nymphadora.
"Someone's following you. They're good, changing appearances frequently, but they're not good enough to change how they walk. One of them is at the entrance to this alley right now, brown robe and blonde hair."
Fleur hissed under her breath. "The saboteur?"
"Or someone wishing to kidnap you?" Hermione had just been told that kidnappings still happened, after all.
"Either way we'll deal with it." Harry looked like he was about to hex their tail right away.
"If the alley up ahead is clear we can lure the tail in and ambush him. I'll scout it out," the metamorphmagus stated, before walking away, still in her disguise.
The other four waited in front of d'Alba's shop, with Fleur giving them a short lecture about its history to pass the time so the wizard tailing them would hopefully not suspect anything was up.
When a young man passed them on his way to the main street, winking at the two witches with a very familiar leer, they knew the alley ahead was clear. The four moved further into it, leisurely strolling until a bend broke the line of sight to their pursuer, at which point they quickly spread out a bit. Shortly afterwards, a different wizard from the one they had expected turned around the corner - or was it the same as before, but with a changed appearance? The possibility of attacking an innocent passerby by mistake was enough to stay their wands, though, and, for a second, the man was staring at them He had to know something was up now, from the way they were spread out for their ambush. Then a red spell hit the man from behind. Nymphadora, who had changed her form again, back to a witch, had followed him. The spells on the man's robe flared, shielding him from the stunner, and he whirled around, wand ready to curse the metamorphmagus.
Hermione's had been ready too though, and she started casting as soon as his back was turned - together with Harry, Sirius and Fleur. The protections on the robe of the unknown wizard were quickly overloaded by a veritable hail of stunners and other spells from the four of them, and he dropped, unconscious, before he got off more than one spell, which Nymphadora shielded against. There was no need to try anything fancy to bypass protections, no sense in wasting spells on lowering defenses.
"Good work!"
Hermione exchanged a smile with Harry at Sirius's praise. Despite the short time the fight had taken, she was still riled up, almost panting from the rush. Their trap had worked perfectly. She looked at the man. "Do you think he's from Britain, or from the Barbary Coast?"
"I think he is from the French Auror Corps."
What? Hermione stared at Nymphadora, who was holding up a badge she had taken from their victim.
Damn.
*****
Draco Malfoy didn't cringe when his father entered his room, but it was a near thing. He had not forgotten - could not forget - the pain he had suffered at his father's wand, even though he had not been harmed since. His father had not mentioned the incident in the prior week, but he hadn't apologized either. The mood at Malfoy Manor was tense, with Lucius only meeting Draco's mother and Draco himself at the meals, where they acted very formally towards each other - as if they were strangers. And now he was here. Draco felt quite nervous.
"Father." Draco stood up and bowed his head. The formality emphasized the distance between them, but it felt safer than risking another punishment for angering his father.
"Draco. I have a gift for you." He sounded like the father Draco knew, most of the time - friendly, generous, and proud.
The young pureblood perked up. A gift?
"Follow me."
That sounded promising. A gift too big to be brought to his room? A new broom maybe? Draco's father didn't lead him to the stables or to the garden though, but down to the cellar. That didn't look too promising anymore. For a moment Draco feared the worst. Had he angered his father again, and would he now be punished here?
When he saw a secret door opening, revealing a dark corridor lined with sturdy doors and small, barred openings - cells, Draco realized - he wanted to turn around and run away. He didn't, though. He was a Malfoy. He'd face whatever his father had prepared like the wizard he was.
"You've learned your lesson, Draco, and you deserve a reward." With that his father opened the last cell and smiled at him, motioning him forward.
Draco smiled back, and then stepped up to take a look inside. He gasped in surprise. There was a girl. No, not a girl, a muggle girl, in dirty muggle clothes, chained to the wall. She was staring at him with wide eyes, trembling with fear. He could see the tracks tears had left on her dirty face. She was moving her lips, but Draco heard nothing. She was silenced, he realized. He looked at his father, who smiled indulgently at him.
"No one will be missing her, no one will suspect us. Go ahead son, enjoy yourself!"
The girl was trying to scream now, from the looks of it, and was desperately pulling at her chains. She could understand them then. For a moment Draco wanted to turn around and run away, back to his room. He didn't know why - maybe because he had not captured the muggle himself. There was no challenge, no tension. It made sense, but didn't feel right to him.
He glanced back. His father was still smiling. He clearly expected Draco to be grateful, overjoyed even. Would he want to disappoint his father, after he had gone to such troubles? How would he react to an ungrateful son refusing such a gift?
Draco did not want to find out the answers to these questions. So he smiled back, as widely as he could, and drew his wand. He'd make his father proud.
Chapter 14: Bulgarian Troubles
"Drat!"
Harry Potter took care not to react in any way to Hermione's cursing, nor to the sound of sparks getting set off, or the smell of burning plastic that started to fill the room he and his friend were in at Grimmauld Place 12. He hadn't kept an exact count, but that had been close to half a dozen calculators that had been sacrificed for Hermione's experiments today, and he knew from experience she would be getting angrier with each failure to shield the electronic calculators from the effects of the wards on the house. At least she was making some progress, or so she claimed.
That both of them had had quite a stressful week behind them, and could look forward to another one, only made his friend's temper worse. It couldn't be helped though - with the upcoming trip to France and Bulgaria and the need to learn occlumency, their usual summer schedule was more crammed than usual this year.
Without turning his head away from the treatise on mind shielding techniques he had been skimming in preparation for today's lessons with Sirius and Remus, he glanced over to Hermione. She had pulled the fried calculator apart and was checking the runes she had edged onto the casing, muttering while she made notes with a dictaquill. He spotted a stray lock that had escaped her ponytail and was hanging in front of her face. The witch did not seem to have consciously noticed it yet and was unsuccessfully trying to blow the distraction away from her field of vision while she worked. It was an adorable sight. Then she started to brush it back with her left hand, without any success at keeping it away from her face. After repeated attempts, she finally huffed and used her wand to restore her hairstyling charm without taking her eyes off her experiment. That was the witch he knew so well, and loved so much, in a nutshell.
He let his eyes linger over her for a bit longer - she was wearing a tank top and jeans today, with her robe draped over her chair, in case someone visited the house - before returning his attention to his book. Or trying to. Hermione was on his mind a lot these days. Between enchanting her and his robes, learning occlumency, her experiments, and running arithmantic calculations on her computer at the Grangers' for spellcrafting projects, the young witch hadn't had time to look further into the intricacies of the Patron Oath. Or so she had claimed - he wasn't sure, but he had the impression she was afraid, on some level, to find out exactly what the Oath did. He wouldn't press her though. Sirius and Remus had agreed that pressing his friend in this matter would not be helpful. She'd have to work through this herself. He only hoped it would happen soon. He sighed.
"Harry? Is something wrong?" Hermione looked at him with concern clearly visible on her face.
He didn't want to tell her what he had been thinking about, so he quickly made up something. "No, no, I am just a bit stumped with this passage here." Harry pointed at the page he had been staring at for ten minutes now, without really reading it.
"Oh? Let me see, I read the treatise two days ago and found it quite sound." With that, his friend came over to him and leaned against his back to look over his shoulder at what he had been pointing at. He should have been used by now to such close contact, but he still had to struggle to focus on her explanation, instead of her body pressed into his back, and her head so close to his that he'd only have to turn his cheek a bit to plant a kiss… he really had to struggle to follow her.
*****
"I said 'no', Draco, and that is final."
"But Father! We had plans! I was looking forward to it all year!" Draco wasn't whining. He was asking - no, demanding - an explanation for his father's sudden bout of … whatever it was that had caused him to cancel their summer plans.
"Draco, circumstances have changed. We cannot risk it, not now."
His father wasn't even looking at him, but reading notes on his desk. He was his son! He was more important than a scroll of parchment!
"Why not? The mudbloods and blood traitors are weak! We can strike at their homes, kill them, and vanish before anyone notices! Like in the war!" Draco had been looking forward, had longed, to don the sacred robe and mask again, to fight mudbloods and blood traitors, to further the cause of the purebloods. To feel the thrill of lethal battle again, like last summer.
"No we cannot. Not now. Maybe next year, if things go well."
"Next year?" To spend another year, caged among the sheep in the school, unable to show his true nature, unable to strike at his enemies… no, that was impossible!
"Yes. If things go well, next year." His father rolled up one scroll and dropped it on an enchanted pad on his polished marble desk. The scroll vanished with a quick flash of green light. It was the same color as the Killing Curse, something Draco had found very funny when he had noticed it after the World Cup.
"Why? Why can't we fight now? We did it last year!" They had sent their enemies fleeing in terror. Culled their numbers in glorious combat! He would have stamped his foot, if it would have made any impression on the thick Persian carpet on the floor in his father's study.
"I told you, circumstances have changed. We cannot risk getting exposed." His father was, finally, looking at him, and he looked annoyed - no, he looked angry.
"That's it? You fear the aurors? You have the Minister in your pocket, why should we fear the aurors?" It wasn't as if anyone had bothered them after the fight at the World Cup last year. Not the Malfoys. Draco put his hands on the desk and leaned forward, towards his father.
"I told you my reasons. In the current political climate, a mistake or slip up could be ruinous. The risks are simply too big." The head of the Malfoy family narrowed his eyes, and Draco had taken a step back before he realized that he had moved
Huffing, the young wizard turned away. "I'll amuse myself with some muggles, then."
"No, you will not do that either." The cold voice stopped him.
Draco whirled around. "What? You can't forbid that! Those are muggles, animals! No one cares about them, not the aurors, not even the blood traitors!"
He didn't hear the incantation and when he saw the cloud appear around him, it was too late to do anything. For a moment he felt as if he was back at the dueling competition last year, when the mudblood had sent the poison cloud he had sent at her back to him. Then the poison touched him, and he collapsed, screaming. The pain was far worse than back then - unbearable. Death would be a relief! He thrashed around, hands and knees hitting the floor, lashing out at the poisonous air that clung to him. And during it all, he kept screaming.
Then it ended, and he lay there, panting, crying, vomiting on the carpet, and heard the anger in the voice of his father.
"I've had enough of your backtalk, Draco. Your foolishness could doom our entire family, and I will not tolerate disobedience in this. Do you understand?"
Draco was unable to answer, his voice hoarse, but he managed to nod jerkily at the boots and the hem of his father's robe that he saw from his position.
"Get out then, and do not bother me about this again."
The young pureblood wizard crawled out of his father's study, weeping and shivering. As soon as he had crossed the threshold the black wooden door closed behind him, and he curled up in a ball. His father had cursed him! He had never done this before!
He barely heard a gasp before soft hands caressed his cheeks, brushing away the tears. "Mother..." His mother was there, for him.
"Shh, Draco. Drink this, it will bring relief from the pain." A vial was held to his lips, and he drank it all. The pain lessened, but did not go away.
Draco looked at his mother, kneeling next to him, holding him in her arms. "Mother! Father cursed me. Cursed ME!"
"I know, Draco."
"But why? Why?" He didn't understand. His father had never done this before. He had been punished, but never like this.
His mother looked very sad. "Draco, your father is... I can't tell you why, but you cannot anger him, or disobey him. Please."
Draco nodded. He wouldn't dare to cross his father, not after today. He still didn't understand what had happened, what had changed, but he understood that.
"Good boy."
*****
She should have known it was a bad idea, Hermione Granger told herself when she stepped out of the floo into Grimmauld Place. She had known it was a bad idea, actually, but her parents, even Harry, had not agreed with her.
"That was…"
"That was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, Harry. I want to forget it as soon as possible." Hermione cut her friend off.
"I didn't think she would…"
"Talking about something is not conductive to forgetting it." She glared at Harry until he shut up. She'd not talk about Nymphadora Black-Tonks, metamorphmagus and a recent but big fan of muggle culture, and her disastrous visit to the Grangers.
Wisely, her friend did drop the topic. Both knew that once Sirius heard of it, they'd have to do something drastic to keep him from bringing it up at every opportunity. At least her parents had not forbidden her to travel with Harry this summer. Probably too shocked still. She could explain to them that the French and Bulgarians had quite different customs than the British, but that wouldn't help that much.
"Greetings, Master's Godson and Master's Godson's slave." Kreacher was busy in the kitchen when the two entered.
Hermione had to take a deep breath to control herself, and not hex the evil little… poor old house elf who didn't know any better after more than a century spent in service of the Blacks. "Tea please."
While the elf was busy preparing tea, the two sat down at the kitchen table, in their usual spots, facing each other. "Well, the floo works. If anyone attacks your parents they can flee through it."
"Yes." Hermione smiled at her friend. Thanks to the private floo connection coupled with the spells she had cast on the house, her parents were much safer than before. Still not as safe as she wanted them to be, but without warding the house and dooming her family to a life without electronics, that was the best she could do. Until she managed to solve the problem with wards and electronics. She was so close...
Two cups appeared on the table. Harry leaned towards her and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. Both remained silent for a while, drinking their tea.
"I wonder how many such private floos exist, separate from the public network." Hermione refilled her cup.
"Not too many. They are quite expensive to install, and there are not many wizards able to do it. And even fewer one can trust to be discreet about it."
"Don't tell my parents that." Hermione hated being indebted to anyone, a trait she shared with her parents. But their safety was more important, and if they didn't know just how much that connection had cost it would harm no one. Her father probably thought the sole reason for it was to let her visit Harry more easily. Well, that was a rather nice side benefit, if she was honest with herself. Too bad it was situated in the living room, and not in her own room, or she'd be able to sneak out at night, and visit… she clamped down on that thought before it touched on some of her fantasies she really shouldn't indulge in before she had mastered occlumency. One never knew when Sirius might try to surprise test one's mental defenses, after all, and if Harry's godfather knew about that she'd never live it down. Or if he told Harry.
*****
In a small cottage in Wales, the greatest Dark Lord of Britain was pacing back and forth between the desk and the bed. It was a safe house, arranged by Barty Crouch before his sacrifice, secure and well-hidden, but he would have to expand the interior a few times, until it was fit for him to spend more than a day in. Doing that might leave clues that would point to him having returned though, if the wrong people found the house despite the precautions he had taken. Another inconvenience hampering his path back to the power he deserved, though a minor one compared to other obstacles. Like his lack of trustworthy Death Eaters.
The more Voldemort knew of the current state of his old followers, the more he realized how much of a blow the loss of Barty Crouch Jr. had been. Barty had not just been fanatically devoted to him, but far more skilled and talented than most of his Death Eaters. And Barty would have died rather than betray him, or his secrets. Voldemort was sure that none of his followers outside Azkaban had that kind of loyalty right now, no matter if they were marked or not. At least Lucius was cowed enough to keep the Ministry from meddling too much in his affairs, and Walden was apt at finding malcontents to bolster the numbers of his followers, as well as at thinning the ranks of his enemies. But neither one could really replace his Bellatrix, or the others imprisoned at Azkaban. He briefly considered contacting Severus. The man was certainly competent, one of the best potioneers, and had been a fair hand at dealing with enemies on the battlefield as well. But he couldn't be trusted. Not after revealing himself to be a spy for Dumbledore in the aftermath of that particular Samhain. Even if Severus had only claimed that to escape Azkaban, he had been at Hogwarts, at Dumbledore's side, for over ten years since. No, one could not trust such a man, not yet.
As much as it galled Voldemort, he still had to move with the utmost care, lest Dumbledore learn of his return. He had planned to send a few of the potential recruits out to deal with annoyances like Lockhart. People who had vexed him but didn't pose real problems to his plans. It would serve to bloody his recruits, and to weed out the incompetent. But that would have to wait for now. He needed another diversion. He pondered this for a while. As far as Dumbledore knew, the saboteur who had tried to kill the Boy-Who-Lived was still at large. If his old enemy could be fooled into assuming that that man was dead, he might lower his guard, which would make both recruiting more wands for Voldemort's cause as well as dealing with obstacles much easier. But how to arrange that?
Potter and his mudblood were bound for France and Bulgaria this summer according to Lucius's sources in the Ministry. That would be a good opportunity to strike at them without Dumbledore able to come to their rescue, even though there was a small risk of making more enemies abroad. On the other hand, Voldemort didn't know the French and Bulgarians well enough to predict their responses, so letting them dispose of his scapegoat in a way that would fool Dumbledore would be more difficult to pull off. And, if there was an opportunity to kill the Boy-Who-Lived, it would be a shame to deliberately waste it.
He nodded. He knew the right sort of wizards - ruthless, and mercenary - from his time in the Balkans, when he had prepared his refuge in Albania. He just needed to pick a fitting scapegoat, and have that one hire them. Best case, the Boy-Who-Lived died, and the French or Bulgarian aurors tracked down his puppet, who would be killed of course. Worst case, he would have his puppet try again in Britain.
He went to the kitchen and checked what kind of meals were left in stasis in the pantry. He'd have to restock them soon.
*****
International magical travel was faster than muggle travel, but no less exhausting, Harry had learned, both for organizing the trip, as well as the actual travel. International Portkeys took a lot of paperwork to get, and more than a little gold, though he was sure that that could be improved with a better organization of the department that issued them. At least Hermione had claimed that, after she had gone along with Sirius to that particular department in the Ministry. The trip itself though… International portkeys spun one around as badly as national ones, just for longer. Fortunately, they hadn't traveled the entire distance to the South of France in one trip: that would have been nasty. Even so, he noticed there were buckets placed in the room of the traveling agency they had just arrived in at Paris. After he found his bearings, that is.
"Wow! I had forgotten just how much fun those trips were!" Sirius, of course, was having a blast. He hadn't fallen down upon arrival, either. Life wasn't fair.
Hermione muttered something under her breath - they were in public, so she couldn't curse the animagus, literally or figuratively - and got up from where she had been thrown by the portkey. Fortunately the floor was enchanted with a cushioning charm. The walls probably as well.
"Only an utter fool out of his mind would enjoy such torture." The last member of the traveling party, Nymphadora Black-Tonks, had leave to voice her feelings on the matter. She was prone to clumsiness to start with, and the trip had not done her any favors, so she was not even trying to get up right now. The young auror was their security detail - the Ministry feared for their safety, since at least to their knowledge the culprit behind the attacks on the Tournament had not been caught yet. Apparently, she was a compromise - a trained auror and, if not legally family, she at least had blood ties to them. Further, unknown to the Ministry, she was a member of the Order of the Phoenix. The auror hadn't been told about Voldemort's return so far, a fact that didn't sit well with the rest of their group, but Dumbledore had been adamant about the need to keep this secret. And after her display at the Grangers', Harry and Hermione didn't feel that bad about keeping her in the dark anymore.
"Why, dear Nymph..adora, did you have trouble during the trip?" Sirius made a show of offering her his hand to help her up, knowing she'd not be able to stand yet.
If looks could curse, Sirius would be sprouting something embarrassing, painful, or both now, but as it was, Nymphadora's eyes only showed the promise of future retribution, or so Harry thought. You never truly knew with Blacks, even if they were children of an emancipated Black and not of the main family. Their tempers were sometimes too much for their manners.
"I wish we had Remus with us," Hermione whispered next to him, shaking her head at the antics of their two fellow travelers and supposed adult chaperons.
"Me too." It was impossible, though. Bringing a werewolf along without informing the host of his nature would have been a grave insult, even a capital crime depending on the phase of the moon, and revealing his curse would not be not worth the trip, not for the trouble it would cause for Remus and Hogwarts back in Britain.
Hermione sighed. "They are supposed to watch us, not the other way around. So much for our vacation. Let's see if we can find the floo entrances before they start something."
Harry nodded, cast the translation charm Hermione had taught him, and the two went off to the information desk. With some luck they'd be back before Nymphadora and Sirius had started too much trouble.
*****
The entrance hall of Chateau D'Aigle, where Fleur's family lived, was an impressive sight, though to Hermione's surprise, it was more similar to Hogwarts than to Beauxbatons, at least according to the pictures of the French school she had seen, even though it was situated in a similar location in France. While beautifully decorated, it left a very solid, secure impression, with thick walls and sturdy doors.
When she spotted the half-dozen veelas and wizards awaiting them - Fleur and Gabrielle, their parents, and their maternal grandparents -, Hermione was very glad that they had arrived by floo and not by portkey. To arrive flat on her back or stomach would not have made a good first impression, in her opinion.
"Ah! Ugh! I'm okay… I'm okay."
Or to arrive as a flailing bundle of limbs and roll over the polished marble floor until stopped by a pillar, like Nymphadora. The young witch noticed with some relief that their hosts seemed to ignore the spectacle, apart from a few giggles from Gabrielle, which were quickly shut up by a glare from her mother. Sirius and Harry, who had arrived before Hermione, didn't react to the scene either. The young witch stepped up to stand slightly to the side and behind her Patron while their security detail was still untangling her limbs. Fortunately, not quite as literally as she could have done it, given her body-changing talent.
"Be welcome in our home, honored guests." Fleur's grandmother levitated a loaf of bread, and with a flick of her wand, broke it up in bite-sized pieces which floated to each person present.
"Please accept our thanks, honored host." Sirius bowed, then ate his piece. As they had been instructed to beforehand, the rest of them followed his example. The bread tasted very salty - bread and salt, Hermione knew, symbolized hospitality. She also felt a tingle of magic as the small ritual finished and everyone relaxed while less formal greetings were exchanged. Gabrielle went back to hiding behind her mother as soon as possible, but she was peeking out and at staring at Hermione with wide eyes, which was puzzling the witch.
"You must be tired from your travels. Please follow me to the guest quarters so you can rest until lunch." Fleur smiled, taking the formal edge off her words. The British group followed her out of the entrance hall. As soon as they were out of earshot, she started speaking English instead of French. "You'll be given the tour later, of course - grand-mére loves to show off the chateau - but I'll show you where the dining hall and the terrace are." The young veela led the small group to the guest quarters, a series of rooms in the west wing, with a beautiful view of the azure mediterranean sea. Hermione's room was last, as expected.
"And 'ere is your room, 'ermione." Fleur opened the door, but stepped inside as well, surprising Hermione. The room itself was spacious, with cream-colored walls, big windows and elegant furniture including an old armoire and a big bed with thick curtains. The windows looked a bit off though, something wasn't right.
"And here's the door to 'arry's room. In case you get lonely at night." Fleur stated with a teasing smirk.
Hermione should have blushed or smiled saucily back with a joke, she knew, but all she managed was a weak, even wistful smile. "I will keep that in mind."
The veela's smirk changed into a puzzled frown at that reaction. "Did something 'appen? Should I 'ave the door sealed?"
"No, no." Hermione held her hands up. To lock Harry out? Perish the thought. "It's just… we're currently trying to find out if we want to use such a door, you know? In the future, that is. For what you implied." She sat down on the soft bed.
Fleur nodded, grinning again. "Ah, I see. Romance is in the air then. This is the perfect location for a couple to grow closer."
Hermione coughed. That wasn't what she had meant, well, not precisely. Not that she was against the idea, in principle. She decided to change the topic. "Did your exams go well?"
"They did. I 'ave a number of offers for employment. Even one from Gringotts in Britain." Fleur looked proud of that, and she had reasons to - Gringotts was a first-rate employer, able to take their pick from a number of applicants.
"I am glad to hear that. I am sorry I missed seeing you off after the tournament." Hermione ran a hand over the covers on the bed. Silk, embroidered and enchanted. Thin and soft.
"'ermione, you were hurt and in the 'ospital! No one would 'ave expected you to come see us off. Not that 'arry would 'ave let you leave, I assume. It looked so bad, Gabrielle was convinced you 'ad some fire creature ancestry to survive that." Fleur shook her head, but Hermione couldn't tell if it was at her, or at the notions of her little sister. The British witch held up her hands in surrender anyway, and Fleur nodded, apparently satisfied. "Now rest. We'll eat lunch in an hour, and afterwards you'll get the tour. After that I'll show you the beach."
"I am looking forward to it." And she was - French food, an old French chateau to explore, and a beach to enjoy. That's what Summer vacations should be like!
*****
The meal was great, and the company was charming. French hospitality was as good as the tales he had heard, Harry thought. Well, apart from the tales from Sirius - according to his godfather the French would make sure he wouldn't have to sleep alone. Harry had dismissed that as another tall tale. Though, maybe it would be prudent to make sure that his door was locked - some of Fleur's cousins were giving him funny looks between whispering to each other.
That was another difference to Britain he fully approved of: The French let the head of a family decide who was part of his family. Just as what looked like all of Fleur's cousins and other assorted relatives were present, so was Hermione. His retainer could sit at the table with him, even though she was a muggleborn, without anyone feeling slighted as long as she didn't make a faux pas. He wasn't worried about that - his best friend knew her manners, better than most.
Despite everyone having dressed up, and the formal elegance of the meal, with the dishes floating in graceful arcs around the table, darting in at the point of a wand while soft music played in the background, it felt more like being at the Weasleys' than say, at the Bones'. Part of that was the number of people present. They had to be filling the chateau to the roof, if everyone was sleeping here. But more importantly, they also seemed to be more relaxed than Harry was used to on such occasions. Fleur's family members laughed more, joked more, flirted more… at that thought he briefly and hopefully subtly checked if anyone was flirting a bit too much with Hermione. It didn't seem to be the case, she was mostly talking with Fleur about the veela's future plans.
Harry didn't glance, subtly or not, at Sirius, who was outrageously flirting with every pretty witch - and all the women and girls present were very pretty - within reach that was not obviously married or engaged. Not that he did not flirt with those as well, just not as hard. Harry didn't think his godfather had to worry about sleeping alone. More likely, he had to worry about his bed getting too crowded… and now Harry was thinking like Sirius. It was just flirting, they were not courting. Fleur had explained the differences when she had been at Hogwarts. At least he hoped it wasn't.
Nymphadora was acting a bit more restrained, in comparison. She wasn't showing off her talent, at least. Harry wasn't keen on living through another moment like at the Grangers'.
"I was very impressed by your performance in the air race, Mister Potter. You came close to beating my daughter, and that's no mean feat given her talents in the air." Fleur's mother addressed him. She was wearing a high-necked silk robe that seemed to flow around her body, with small illusionary exotic birds flying around the fabric, and on the fabric.
"I have to thank Hermione for that, mostly. She created a spell that allowed me to fly faster. I am a Quidditch player, not a racer." Harry had done well, he knew, but he didn't want to sound as if he was boasting. He was wearing his best robes himself, recently adjusted by Hermione's latest spells.
"I have heard of that spell. It was recently banned from both Quidditch matches and races, without having been used so far in either sport. That's quite an accomplishment for a witch so young." The veela nodded towards Harry's retainer, but Hermione hadn't noticed; she seemed engrossed in her conversation with Fleur.
"Oh, yes, she's a genius. I'd have died without her help." Harry saw Fleur's parents exchange smiles, and noticed Fleur's cousins giggling some more, but with half the table flirting, he didn't mind if they realized just how he felt about his Hermione. If that made a few of those too-handsome wizards stop looking at his best friend like that, so much the better.
*****
Lunch had been great! For the first time in her life Hermione had felt truly welcome at a formal occasion involving rich purebloods. Sadly, she knew it did not mean that France had a more liberal society - it was simply the result of French wizard and witches caring less about how the heads of family treated their muggleborn family members. Wizarding Britain's society might not approve of muggleborns sitting at the pureblood table, but it also didn't approve of a Patron exercising his or her legal power over a retainer in ways that apparently wouldn't even make the French blink.
Hermione pushed those thoughts away. She had better things to focus on - the tour of the chateau afterwards was perfect! Fleur's grand-mère was better than any tour guides in a museum. The tapestries she had shown them, the portraits on the walls… Hermione hoped she could note down all she had heard, it made for a fascinating and enthralling story. The hallways and rooms of the chateau were also enchanted with spells that kept a soft warm breeze of fresh air going, scented with the merest hint of the sea.
"The chateau was built on the location of an ancient veela enclave taken by the Romans when they conquered southern France and named it Gallia Transalpina, later renamed to Gallia Narbonensis. They had a castellum here at first, but it was abandoned later after Pompeius had driven all the pirates from the Mare nostrum. During the middle ages, the Clan d'Aigle took control of the place once more and rebuilt the castle, sheltering veela from Barbary Coast raiders."
"That explains the thickness of the walls." Hermione nodded.
"Indeed." The older veela smiled at her. "Given our history, we never felt secure enough to trust spells and wards, like the founders of Beauxbatons. Instead of just strengthening our walls with magic, we did both that, and created magical windows that can be reduced to firing slits in case of an attack."
"How often does that happen these days?" Nymphadora asked. "I thought after the Intervention such raids ceased."
The old veela smiled ruefully. "If only that were the case. The larger raids ceased, but lone veelas or witches, and the occasional wizard child, still disappear. And as memories grow weaker, raiders grow bolder. I fear that before I die I'll see the day the chateau will be under siege again."
That was a sobering thought. Hermione had been at this coast before, with her parents. To think she could have been kidnapped…
"But we have improved our defenses. Our private beach is as heavily warded as the chateau itself. Do not fear for your safety as long as you are here." She turned towards a side corridor. "This leads to our wine cellar. It's heavily warded, of course - we French do value our treasures greatly - but if you are interested, my husband will likely give you a tour; the wine cellar is part of his responsibilities."
Hermione had known that the French had two heads per family, who divided their responsibilities among them as they wanted, but this was the first time she had heard of an actual example - apart from Fleur's grandmother handling the female members of her family, and her grandfather the male ones. She noticed Sirius was looking very interested, and slightly shook her head, though with a smile. She had hoped this vacation would be helping Sirius deal with the lingering effects of his time in Azkaban, and it seemed to be working. Almost too well, even - she hoped he didn't start to drink too much.
*****
The 'private beach' of the Chateau d'Aigle was an impressive feat of magic. It wasn't, as one might expect, a natural beach, hidden by wards from muggles, maybe made unplottable too - no, it was an artificial bay, originally a tiny inlet that had been magically expanded. Like the mokeskin bags Harry was familiar with, just on a scale he had not heard of before. Hermione had been gushing over the intricacies of it for a quarter of an hour after realizing what had been done, so he was now well-acquainted with the theory. More familiar than he wanted to be, if he was honest. It wasn't as if he'd have an opportunity to duplicate the feat anytime soon, after all. Not that he had let Hermione know that, of course - she loved discussing such things, and he'd be a poor friend to spoil it for her. Poor Patron too. Though given that everyone on the beach, including his retainer, was wearing the merest hints of bathing suits, if one could call the tiny illusionary patches floating over their bodies that, he would have had trouble following a normal conversation, much less Hermione's explanation. Sirius and Nymphadora had gone into the water right after they had arrived at the beach. Traitors.
"Am I boring you, Harry? You seem a bit distracted."
Harry blinked. It seemed he had not been as discreet as he had thought. "Ah… no, no. It's just…" he made a sweeping gesture at the white sand, and the azure sea, and Fleur's relatives currently either swimming in the water with Sirius and Nymphadora, tossing some glowing spheres around, or sunbathing.
"I guess that is a bit distracting." Hermione sounded a bit wistfully, or even sad. He didn't know why.
"Yes… I mean, no."
"I think I'll go swimming for a bit myself." Hermione stood up and started down to the surf. He started at her back, almost bare but for a bit of illusionary string, and she was out in the water before he could say anything else.
"I believe you've made a bit of a blunder, 'arry."
He turned his head away from the sea, and realized Fleur had sat down next to him, on another of the enchanted towels that appeared on command. The veela was wearing a bit more than her family, but if it had been real cloth, it still wouldn't have been enough to craft a purse that would hold more than six galleons. He closed his eyes, both to avoid staring, and because he felt angry at himself. "I know."
"That wouldn't 'ave 'appened if you were French."
"Do you mean if I was French, I would have been more… attentive?" Charming, suave, seductive?
"That I cannot say. But if you were French, you'd be formally courting. You'd 'ave an understanding, and you'd be less afraid of stumbling or missteps in the dance towards each other."
"We have an understanding, of sorts." Or so he hoped. Hermione just had to accept that magic couldn't create love.
"You should compliment 'er more then. Every witch likes to be flattered by 'er lover."
Now he was staring at her with wide open eyes. "We're not, I mean… we're still… that's usually done in sixth year."
"I thought the Year of Discovery was for experimenting, not love." Fleur was lying on her back, propped up on her elbows, looking at him.
"It's complicated." Though Harry was quite sure that if he and Hermione didn't manage to settle things this year, their sixth year would be a catastrophe. He sat up and pulled his knees up.
"It must be a British thing then. It looks quite simple from my point of view. You love 'er, she loves you." Fleur showed him a friendly smile, though her tone was gently teasing.
"It is a British thing, yes." Harry wasn't about to discuss the particular details of his relationship with his retainer and all of its problems with Fleur.
"See? If you were French you'd not 'ave this problem." Fleur giggled.
"Speaking of British… how is Bill doing?"
The veela stopped giggling. "'e is doing well. 'e recently got a promotion at Gringotts, and was transferred to Britain."
"Are you two… dancing towards each other?" Harry was proud he managed to say that with a straight face. It probably sounded better in French.
Now Fleur sighed. "We are, but… I am not sure we should be dancing in Britain. The laws there could be a problem."
Harry nodded. There was not much he could say. Veela were not considered purebloods in Britain, with all the consequences that brought with it. "Bill's been working in Egypt."
"Yes, but he wasn't 'appy about being so far away from 'is family. If not for the money 'e'd never 'ave accepted the position."
"And his family is in Britain."
Fleur nodded, staring out at the sea, though Harry was sure she was seeing something else than the bay. "Things would be so much better if everyone was French."
Harry had to snort at that, but couldn't argue the point right then. A squeal from one of Fleur's cousins that Sirius had grabbed and was about to throw into the water caught his attention.
"Ah, there's a British wizard who knows 'ow treat a girl, or girls. Your godfather is quite the flirt." Fleur must have noticed the scene as well, and took the opportunity to change topics.
"He's more a seducer than a flirt." Harry frowned a bit. It wasn't as if Sirius was acting uncouth, but… he was an older wizard, in Harry's opinion, and some of the girls looked hardly older than Fleur.
"I do 'ope so. There would be much disappointment otherwise, later tonight."
Harry closed his eyes again. He was glad for Sirius, he really was, but seeing his godfather having such success was not making him feel better about his own love life.
*****
"My Patron, may I take your leave and head to bed? I am in need of rest."
Harry was surprised for a moment. Hermione had been a bit distant at the beach, swimming a lot and chatting with Fleur's family and not with him, but dinner had been filled with tales of their adventures at Hogwarts - the stories they could tell in public, at least - and she had been talking animatedly about this or that detail, as she would usually do in such occasions. His retainer had been swimming a lot today, but… she didn't look that tired to him, and Harry was usually better at knowing when she was tired than Hermione herself. Too often he had had to send her to bed because she was pushing herself. It wasn't that late either, but he certainly wouldn't keep her at his side if she wanted to leave. "Of course, my Wand."
Hermione bowed to him, then to their hosts, and left the salon. With her gone, Harry's good mood seemed to have vanished as well. He managed to finish the account of his first Quidditch match, but then acted as if he was stifling a yawn. It took two more tries until Madam Aigle asked if he felt the need for rest himself, though given the way she was smiling, she probably assumed he had other plans for the night, and was just being discreet. Sirius of course was winking so blatantly, a blind wizard would have been able to figure out what he was thinking. And Nymphadora was not that much more subtle. If only they were right!
Once in his room he couldn't help but staring at the door that led to Hermione's room. Fleur had pointed it out to him as a matter of course earlier that day. The young witch in the room next to his would be in bed by now. Probably reading. Or sleeping. Wearing… he shook his head. He didn't want to dwell on that, not now. He pulled his robe off and sent it to the hanger in the corner with a quick swish of his wand. His undergarments followed, and he summoned his pajamas from his traveling trunk. Red Silk with golden trim, a birthday gift from his godfather - Sirius took house pride seriously. He had just pulled the bottoms on when he heard a knock on the door. The door to - or from - Hermione's room. He unlocked it with his wand at once, but it didn't open more than a narrow gap. "It's open."
"Harry? Can I come in?" Hermione sounded almost timid. Had something happened? She usually didn't hesitate to enter his room at Grimmauld Place. Sometimes she even stormed inside without knocking, usually when she was very excited about something.
"Of course." He realized he still held his top in his hand, and was about to pull it on when Hermione entered and he froze. His friend was not wearing a robe, or pajamas, but some flimsy, mostly transparent thing, held up by magic, that exposed far more of her bosom than it hid, and barely reached her thighs. His mouth suddenly felt dry. Hermione had been wearing less fabric at the beach, but…it had been a bathing suit meant for swimming and sunbathing. This… this outfit was meant for seduction. It drew far more attention to the curves it failed to hide, and it looked as if all it took to make it fall off was a touch. Why was she wearing this? And coming to his room, at night. He could think of a reason, of course.
"Harry?"
He blinked, and tore his eyes off Hermione's body to look at her face. She was smiling, but he could tell she was nervous. Or afraid. And blushing. But she had restyled her hair as well, using her wand as a hairpin. He licked his lips nervously. He had had dreams that started like this, and went on to… he was suddenly glad he still had his top in his hands, it covered his groin. "Yes?"
Hermione bit her lower lip, then took a deep breath. The movement of her chest sent Harry's thoughts again to places he wasn't sure they should be in. "After this afternoon I wanted to… I am no veela, I know, but… " she cocked her head slightly to the side, and smiled, though a bit weakly. "I can be distracting too, can't I?" She gestured at her body with her left hand.
Harry was nodding, staring again. Then he realized she was trembling. "You're not distracting, Hermione, you're beautiful," he stated as firmly as he could. He wanted her to understand and accept that.
It seemed he had failed. She still looked nervous, insecure. Timid. The sight tore at his heart. Harry stood up and walked towards his retainer. Her mouth opened, but she made no sound, and Harry saw she was staring at him. At his body. He stopped in front of her, close enough he would only have to lean forward to...
He didn't know who of them started it, but suddenly, their lips met. It wasn't the sort of kiss Sirius had told him of. His godfather would call it chaste even, but it was his first kiss, and when they separated, both were flushed and taking deep breaths. "You're beautiful," he repeated, "and I love you."
Hermione beamed at him, smiling while tears ran down her cheeks, and then she hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands touching her bare back, like at the Yule Ball. But this time he was wearing only his pajama bottoms, and Hermione was wearing a little bit of nothing. He could feel her body pressed into his as if she was nude. Harry wanted to rip her clothes, such as they were, off her, push her against the wall, and… he closed his eyes, shivering at the thoughts filling his mind. Suddenly he felt her freeze, stiffen in his arms, and blushed when he realized what she must have noticed. He gripped her shoulders, and pushed her back a bit, until he could look into her eyes.
Neither said anything while they stood there, facing each other, the only sound their heavy breathing. For a moment, everything seemed possible. Then Hermione's eyes wandered down and widened, and Harry took a step back, covering himself up with his hands.
"Well…"
"Well…"
Suddenly, Hermione's expression changed into a wider smile. She reached out and gripped his wrists with one hand, fixing his hands in place, before pulled his head towards hers with her other hand. The kiss that followed was more suitable to their current location.
*****
"And this is the best tailor of the Quartier Magique of Marseille!" Fleur pointed at a small shop in a side alley - though one a bit wider and brighter than the ones she was used to in Diagon Alley. The streets were made from the same cobblestones though, though the houses looked quite different, in a distinct Mediterranean style, especially the roofs. Even apart from that the shop looked quite different compared to Madam Malkin's. No big windows showing off the dresses, just a small display of a single robe, next to a sign that simply read 'D'Alba'. "'e is not as well-known as the tailors in Paris, but 'e makes the best protective robes. All the top aurors of France shop 'ere."
"Really?" Hermione looked at the ship with renewed interest. A tailor specializing in protections! She winced when she thought of how much such robes would likely cost, and how long it would take her to identify and then reverse engineer the spells used. Well, it was for Harry's protection, ultimately, and so she was sure Sirius would buy a robe or two, if she asked. She glanced back at where Harry and Sirius were looking at the latest French racing brooms in the display of the broom shop on the main street. From the looks of it, Harry was asking for a test ride. She smiled - he looked so passionate, so attractive…
"Mh. That look on your face tells me something happened last night." Fleur's teasing voice interrupted her little fantasy.
Hermione jerked and looked at the veela. "What?"
"You were not looking at 'arry like that last evening. Did you visit 'im at night?" Fleur was leaning close to her, and had dropped her voice to an almost conspiratorial whisper.
"It was not like that!" Hermione protested. Fleur's tone insinuated something very different than what had actually happened - even though the young witch knew they had come close, very close, to that. If she had not kissed him while holding his hands, but had had instead pulled his hands away, placed them on her chest… maybe simply waiting would have been enough for Harry to take charge and grab her, and...
"How was it then?" Fleur interrupted her fantasies again.
For a moment Hermione hesitated to share. She did not know Fleur that well. On the other hand, the veela was more experienced, and it wasn't as if Hermione had a best girlfriend. Apart from Luna, and Luna was… not here. The young witch took a deep breath, looked at the main street again to make sure Harry and Sirius were still checking brooms, and whispered: "I visited him, but we just kissed."
And she now knew Harry thought she was beautiful. After the beach, with all the veelas around, distracting him, she had felt like an ugly duckling. Not pretty enough for the Boy-Who-lived to pay attention to without being forced by a magic oath made as a child to a silly girl. She had been so afraid, so desperate, when she had gone into his room, wearing that negligée. To prove her doubts and fears wrong, she had been willing to… it had not come to that, fortunately. Or unfortunately. After she had broken that last kiss, and returned to her room, Hermione had spent a few minutes leaning with her back to the door, panting, knees trembling, and much longer in her bed, before she had calmed down enough to find some sleep.
"Mh. Why do I think there was more than that?"
Hermione frowned at the veela, then sighed. She didn't think the witch would let up until she knew more. "We were not wearing much while we kissed." Let the veela draw her own conclusions from that!
"Ah! Marvelous! So you've become a couple then."
That wasn't the conclusion Hermione had wanted her to draw. "It's complicated."
"You British are always complicating things that should be simple." Fleur shook her head in mild disapproval.
"You sound as if you are speaking from experience. Did I miss something that happened at Hogwarts?" Hermione didn't think she had been that out of the loop, even with Lavender and Parvati giving her the cold shoulder after the Yule Ball, but she had been quite focused on helping Harry survive the year.
"Did you 'ear about the time a few of my fellow students were caught with some 'ogwarts sixth year students in a very embarrassing situation on top of our school's carriage?"
Hermione shook her head. That did sound scandalous, even for sixth years. Unless it had involved the Weasley twins.
"Well, you missed a near-scandal then, but that's not what I was talking about." Fleur giggled when Hermione scowled at the teasing veela. Then she grew more serious. "It's Bill. Bill Weasley."
"Oh."
"I love him. He loves me. We have an understanding. But he also loves his family, and doesn't want to leave Britain. And there veelas are not held in the same regard as in France." She sighed, leaning against the white wall of the shop. Unlike many other shop signs, this one did not react to her presence, didn't change and try to entice her to enter. Only the very old, established shops could afford that kind of understatement.
"You're not seen as purebloods there." Hermione was quite familiar with the problems differences in blood status caused, or could cause in Britain.
"Yes. We'd need the permission of the Wizengamot to marry. And that means politics, and bribes. Not the most romantic things to think about when it comes to marriage. And while Bill loves 'is family, I love mine as well. I am not sure why we should live and marry in Britain, if it's so much easier to marry 'ere in France. Not to mention the question of whose family we will become part of."
"I see." Hermione hadn't thought about those problems, but they were quite obvious in hindsight. Though she wasn't sure Fleur, who had been raised as a pureblood, and a privileged one at that, even realized that she was still in a far better position than Hermione - it wasn't as if muggleborns were even permitted to marry purebloods in France or Britain. But even if the veela saw things from the perspective of a pureblood suddenly treated as a half-blood, and might not realize that muggleborns faced worse everywhere, this was not the time to point that out. This was the time to be supportive. "But if you two love each other, you'll manage to find a way to be happy together, no matter the problems you are facing." Hermione smiled encouragingly at the veela. She was sure they'd find a way - she had to be sure, or she would not be able to face her own future.
"Thank you, 'ermione." Fleur smiled at her, with gratitude, but also sadness. "But let's talk about something else."
"Ah. I have a question." It was a rather intimate question, but Hermione had spilled all of her admittedly not so great love life to Fleur, so the young witch felt she was not overstepping her bounds in asking a perhaps a bit prying question herself. "At the beach I noticed a number of your family members were wearing the same tattoo."
"Ah, the aigle? Most wear it. The eagle is the symbol of grand-mère's family."
"Oh. Is that common among the French wizards and witches?" Hermione was intrigued. It sounded like the French really cared more for their extended family than the British, if they went as far as wearing matching tattoos. No wonder Fleur thought the British were more individualistic.
Fleur grinned, though a bit ruefully. "You could call it a tradition among veelas, but it has a rather dark origin. The tattoos are magical marks that allow our family to track us - in case we get kidnapped that might allow them to rescue us."
"Oh."
"Things have improved a great deal since the Intervention, but… old habits and fears die slowly."
"How do they work?" If she and Harry shared such a tattoo they could track each other. Maybe even communicate. And it would be a quite intimate tie between them too. Then Hermione had a more chilling thought. Hadn't she heard speculation that the Dark Mark of Voldemort worked like that?
"That's a secret I cannot share. If slavers would learn of it, they could find easier ways to remove them, or even find a way to track us through them." Fleur pushed off the wall again, and to the entrance of the side alley. Harry and Sirius were on their way to them.
"I understand." She'd have to look into this. Once she had time.
The boys, as Hermione sometimes thought of Harry and his godfather, joined them, both carrying slim packages. Not big enough to be brooms, Hermione thought, unless they had been shrunk. Which was quite likely. She knew Harry was just waiting for her to ask what they had bought, and so ignored the packages after a frown at him, which made her Patron grin widely. Before she could point out the auror robe shop an old witch walking past them stumbled and would have fallen down if Sirius had not caught her. Then the old woman spoke in a whisper, and Hermione realized it was Nymphadora.
"Someone's following you. They're good, changing appearances frequently, but they're not good enough to change how they walk. One of them is at the entrance to this alley right now, brown robe and blonde hair."
Fleur hissed under her breath. "The saboteur?"
"Or someone wishing to kidnap you?" Hermione had just been told that kidnappings still happened, after all.
"Either way we'll deal with it." Harry looked like he was about to hex their tail right away.
"If the alley up ahead is clear we can lure the tail in and ambush him. I'll scout it out," the metamorphmagus stated, before walking away, still in her disguise.
The other four waited in front of d'Alba's shop, with Fleur giving them a short lecture about its history to pass the time so the wizard tailing them would hopefully not suspect anything was up.
When a young man passed them on his way to the main street, winking at the two witches with a very familiar leer, they knew the alley ahead was clear. The four moved further into it, leisurely strolling until a bend broke the line of sight to their pursuer, at which point they quickly spread out a bit. Shortly afterwards, a different wizard from the one they had expected turned around the corner - or was it the same as before, but with a changed appearance? The possibility of attacking an innocent passerby by mistake was enough to stay their wands, though, and, for a second, the man was staring at them He had to know something was up now, from the way they were spread out for their ambush. Then a red spell hit the man from behind. Nymphadora, who had changed her form again, back to a witch, had followed him. The spells on the man's robe flared, shielding him from the stunner, and he whirled around, wand ready to curse the metamorphmagus.
Hermione's had been ready too though, and she started casting as soon as his back was turned - together with Harry, Sirius and Fleur. The protections on the robe of the unknown wizard were quickly overloaded by a veritable hail of stunners and other spells from the four of them, and he dropped, unconscious, before he got off more than one spell, which Nymphadora shielded against. There was no need to try anything fancy to bypass protections, no sense in wasting spells on lowering defenses.
"Good work!"
Hermione exchanged a smile with Harry at Sirius's praise. Despite the short time the fight had taken, she was still riled up, almost panting from the rush. Their trap had worked perfectly. She looked at the man. "Do you think he's from Britain, or from the Barbary Coast?"
"I think he is from the French Auror Corps."
What? Hermione stared at Nymphadora, who was holding up a badge she had taken from their victim.
Damn.
*****
Draco Malfoy didn't cringe when his father entered his room, but it was a near thing. He had not forgotten - could not forget - the pain he had suffered at his father's wand, even though he had not been harmed since. His father had not mentioned the incident in the prior week, but he hadn't apologized either. The mood at Malfoy Manor was tense, with Lucius only meeting Draco's mother and Draco himself at the meals, where they acted very formally towards each other - as if they were strangers. And now he was here. Draco felt quite nervous.
"Father." Draco stood up and bowed his head. The formality emphasized the distance between them, but it felt safer than risking another punishment for angering his father.
"Draco. I have a gift for you." He sounded like the father Draco knew, most of the time - friendly, generous, and proud.
The young pureblood perked up. A gift?
"Follow me."
That sounded promising. A gift too big to be brought to his room? A new broom maybe? Draco's father didn't lead him to the stables or to the garden though, but down to the cellar. That didn't look too promising anymore. For a moment Draco feared the worst. Had he angered his father again, and would he now be punished here?
When he saw a secret door opening, revealing a dark corridor lined with sturdy doors and small, barred openings - cells, Draco realized - he wanted to turn around and run away. He didn't, though. He was a Malfoy. He'd face whatever his father had prepared like the wizard he was.
"You've learned your lesson, Draco, and you deserve a reward." With that his father opened the last cell and smiled at him, motioning him forward.
Draco smiled back, and then stepped up to take a look inside. He gasped in surprise. There was a girl. No, not a girl, a muggle girl, in dirty muggle clothes, chained to the wall. She was staring at him with wide eyes, trembling with fear. He could see the tracks tears had left on her dirty face. She was moving her lips, but Draco heard nothing. She was silenced, he realized. He looked at his father, who smiled indulgently at him.
"No one will be missing her, no one will suspect us. Go ahead son, enjoy yourself!"
The girl was trying to scream now, from the looks of it, and was desperately pulling at her chains. She could understand them then. For a moment Draco wanted to turn around and run away, back to his room. He didn't know why - maybe because he had not captured the muggle himself. There was no challenge, no tension. It made sense, but didn't feel right to him.
He glanced back. His father was still smiling. He clearly expected Draco to be grateful, overjoyed even. Would he want to disappoint his father, after he had gone to such troubles? How would he react to an ungrateful son refusing such a gift?
Draco did not want to find out the answers to these questions. So he smiled back, as widely as he could, and drew his wand. He'd make his father proud.
Chapter 14: Bulgarian Troubles
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Prince Charon
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Hmm. The French providing a discreet protection detail (without the important step of telling the bodyguard they brought with them), or someone moonlighting as an assassin? Maybe both?
Also, now hoping Lucius and Draco die (more Lucius than Draco), which I suspect is what you intended to convey.
Also, now hoping Lucius and Draco die (more Lucius than Draco), which I suspect is what you intended to convey.
Starfox5
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Or someone showing initiative, or some mix up. Or a discreet Imperius.
There are other reasons for those scenes. Lucius tried to get every muggleborn student at Hogwarts killed in Harry and Hermione's second year, I don't think him kidnapping a muggle girl for Draco can make him any worse.
BF110C4
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Yeah, he would have fared quite well with the Nazis, hating and abusing everyone bellow him and kissing the ass of everyone above. At least Draco is not so willing to postrate to others... yet.
turbinicarpus
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He is quoting himself.
Wizards can be counted, so "fewer".
Awkward. Perhaps rewrite as "Voldemort was sure that none of his other followers outside Azkaban had that hat kind of loyalty".
"Lucius" isn't plural. Also, try sounding it out: it sounds "Luciuses".
Here and elsewhere, when beginning a sentence with a conjunction (like "and", "or", "so", "though", or "but"), it's often a good idea to put a comma after it.
I don't think "strawman" is quite the right word. "Patsy" works better. If not, I'd suggest looking through the thesaurus for synonyms for that or for "fall guy".
Adverb modifying "spun", not adjective.
"That is" is a stable expression, I think.
His trip was...
trippy.His being an animagus is not salient for this scene.
Awkward expression. Suggest "Harry and Hermione could not help but agree about the secrecy."
Serial comma forever!
Not sure which sounds better.
A castell!
A random thought: kissing is a skill, like any other. One has to practice to be good at it. For this reason, "first kisses" tend to be a lot more awkward than fiction portrays them. (I have had the occasion of reading a romantic fic by a writer who was a highly intelligent and skilled and hardworking, but also rather sheltered, teenager. Once she got to college and made out with someone for the first time, she wrote in her author's notes that she may have idealized the protagonists' first kiss.)
"It's" is for contracting "it is". "Its" is for indicating something belonging to or pertaining to "it".
Though "then" is OK too, I think "from" is better in this case.
Suggest using dashes rather than commas here.
I am not sure "deepened" is the best verb here, since it modifies the metaphorical "distance", which isn't measured by depth. But, I am not sure what's better.
I understand the atmosphere you are trying to create, here, but I think that it would be more fitting and disturbing if Lucius had "wrapped" his present properly, cleaning the girl up (or having a house-elf do it), dressing her nicely, etc.. That said, it depends on what, exactly, was Lucius expecting Draco to do. (Yes, they are blood-purists, and she is a muggle. Rape is not about admiration, it's about power.)
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A very involved chapter, with lots of developments.
interior
hat?
Not sure if this is a typo, or if he's drawing her name out to tease her.
Starfox5
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He's quite willing to prostrate himself to his father. He'll be doing the same to anyone his father grovels to - he simply hasn't met anyone like that yet.
Thanks! I corrected most typos there.
I replaced it with "puppet", Strawman would work as well I think, but is more oriented towards business in English, as I found out.
Not really, but it's a quite defining part of Sirius. It's like using "metamorphmagus" instead of "witch" for Nymphadora.
I replaced it with "Harry and Hermione didn't feel that bad about keeping her in the dark anymore." It's not as much that they agree about the secrecy as that they feel she kind of deserves it, at least a little.
Corrected it to "castellum".
Yes. But remember: Point of view is from a character who has no experience with kissing either. I still remember my first kiss very fondly, and at the time I surely did not think "man, that's awkward", quite the opposite - even though it was promptly followed by "and this is how you do it right" lesson (very enjoyable too) and so logically it has to have been awkward at least for my more experienced partner. That doesn't mean Harry and Hermione are some savants at kissing or love making, nor will their first time be some multiple-orgasm night-long experience that would make Don Juan weep with envy. But since I'll be fading such scenes to black anyway, I will not have to sacrifice the romantic ideal for the gritty and awkward reality either.
I know that. I still make typos though. And if not at home, my autocorrection always tries to turn "its" into "ist".
I rewrote that a bit to "it emphasized the distance between them".
I always write from the point of view of a character. Draco's a bigoted idiot and the girl's a muggle so she's wearing "dirty muggle clothes". That doesn't mean they actually are dirty. Though Lucius wouldn't have dressed her nicely - as in "proper wizard clothes". And even if she had been dirty (more than what being in a slightly dusty dungeon for a few hours causes), Lucius would not have cleaned her up - he wants his son to keep thinking of muggles as dirty animals, unfit to walk the same earth as purebloods. Why, if you dress them up and clean them up they almost look like people, and we cannot have that!
Thanks! I corrected the typos.
He's teasing her by almost shortening her name - as stated in an earlier chapter, this Nymphadora is very proud of her name, and doesn't like nicknames or anyone shortening it, especially not to "Nymph".
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The Unicorn
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The difference between being willing to engage in a conspiracy that would kill people and enjoying personally kidnapping and torturing and raping people makes him a LOT worse. Although it is at least implied even in canon that he does both.
Nice chapter, although the implications that laws everywhere not Britain are more liberal was annoying, especially in contrast to how good a job you dead creating a believable and plausible indentured slavery and caste system.
turbinicarpus
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Yeah, wizarding UK being portrayed as oh-so-backwards is often annoying. That said, what we've seen so far isn't too egregious: it's not everywhere, it's France, and even there, purebloods and muggleborns are, apparently, not allowed to marry. Also, I suspect that there is no shortage of places where things are worse; but those are probably not places where underaged wizards would want to pay a friendly visit, so we are less likely to see them until later, if at all.
macdjord
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Actually, the impressions I got was less 'France is liberal' and more 'France is Veela-friendly'.
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Because who wouldn't want to be Veela-friendly?
Starfox5
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Indeed. Given from what we know how such people operate, and what happens when you consider your enemies/victims as subhumans, I think it is quite clear what every Death Eater signed up for, and what they did in both wars. That's what makes the Malfoy's "redemption" in canon so disgusting.
I would not think that "muggleborns may, if their head of family desires, sit at the good table in France" implies that the laws everywhere are more liberal. The laws are not even more liberal in France, it's just that the Head of Family has a bit more power over their muggleborns there, compared to society's influence, and bringing your lover with you to invitations is accepted - provided you do not have a wife/husband, and the lover is well-mannered. I think I'll add a few lines to make it more clear that France is not a better place for muggleborns in general.
Britain actually is the most liberal country for muggleborns in Magical Europe, thanks to Dumbledore's influence. Hogwarts, as was pointed out, is a very egalitarian school, where muggleborns and purebloods are treated the same (in general. Harry and Hermione's unique situation with the Patron still at school has some consequences).
Though I also have to point out that what the law says, and what society actually looks like is not the same. One theme of the story is that the laws are archaic and often barbaric, but society moved on and peer pressure makes people adhere to the standards of society, not just the law. So, the muggleborns and purebloods (apart from the rich) live just about the same lives, apart from the marriage limitations and few other areas. Harry (or any other Patron) could use his power over a retainer to make him or her do a lot of things, legally, but would face social pressure, disapproval and ostracism as a result because such things simply are not done. France has a bit more leeway there, if it's considered "a family matter". Good if you've got a good family, bad if not. And in Britain, things can go really really bad really quickly if society's values change.
Yes. In France, veelas are considered purebloods, dating back to the times when they were the favorite mistresses of the kings. That's not the case in other countries.
Starfox5
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I edited a passage to show France is not more liberal than Britain.
Lunch had been great! For the first time in her life Hermione had felt truly welcome at a formal occasion involving rich purebloods. If only that would have happened due to France having a more liberal society! Instead it was simply the result of French wizard and witches caring less about how the heads of family treated their muggleborn family members. Wizarding Britain's society might not approve of muggleborns sitting at the pureblood table, but it also didn't approve of a Patron exercising his or her legal power over a retainer in ways that apparently wouldn't even make the French blink.
Hermione pushed those thoughts away. She had better things to focus on - the tour of the chateau afterwards was perfect! Fleur's grand-mère was better than any tour guides in a museum. The tapestries she had shown them, the portraits on the walls… Hermione hoped she could note down all she had heard, it made for a fascinating and enthralling story. The hallways and rooms of the chateau were also enchanted with spells that kept a soft warm breeze of fresh air going, scented with the merest hint of the sea.
Hermione pushed those thoughts away. She had better things to focus on - the tour of the chateau afterwards was perfect! Fleur's grand-mère was better than any tour guides in a museum. The tapestries she had shown them, the portraits on the walls… Hermione hoped she could note down all she had heard, it made for a fascinating and enthralling story. The hallways and rooms of the chateau were also enchanted with spells that kept a soft warm breeze of fresh air going, scented with the merest hint of the sea.
The Unicorn
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France and, at least by implication Egypt - given that Hermionie pointed out Bill was working in Egypt with the implication that Fleur didn't need to worry about British laws if they were living in Egypt.
I agree it's not too bad, I mostly felt annoyed by it in contrast with the superb job of creating a plausible caste system, and because other stories made me more sensitive to the issue.
You'll note that French laws and more importantly customs are also more favorable to Muggle-born (although not to the point of allowing them to marry purebloods) - case in point Hermionie sitting at the table as a member of Harry's household, and not being a grave insult to the hosts.
I wouldn't go that far. Take for example canon Draco. While he did sign up as a death eater, I doubt he knew what he was getting into and he certainly didn't enjoy murder and torture. I think there would be a wide range of reasons and reactions among people who joined the Death Eaters, from Walden Mcnair (who I figure was simply looking for an excuse to be allowed to rape and kill), to Barty Crouch Jr. (whose primary motivations were the cause - he was willing to kill or torture, but wouldn't go out of his way to look for reasons to do so) to Regulus Black and Draco Malfoy (who joined the cause out of conviction in the abstract, but couldn't stomach what was actually expected of them when it came to actually act).
You might want to make this clearer.
This is obvious in the story.
This is not, quite the opposite. The constant repetitions of how inappropriate it would be for Hermionie to speak out in public, or be seated at a formal dinner with Harry, etc... make it clear that British society, not just the law enforce the caste system in every aspect of society.
This works for the previous issue, but now Hermionie seems to be talking to the reader, as opposed to merely an internal monologue. Maybe change
it to something like:
Lunch had been great! For the first time in her life Hermione had felt truly welcome at a formal occasion involving rich purebloods. She needed to keep reminding herself this was not actually an indication of how liberal France was. The same social standards that prevented her from acompanying Harry to formal dinners in Britain, also protected muggle-borns from a Patron exercising his or her legal power over a retainer in ways that apparently wouldn't even make most of Europe blink.
Starfox5
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Though Egyptian laws have their own drawbacks of course.
Being allowed to sit at the table doesn't mean that the customs are in general more favorable.
But we only know one, Regulus, who actually showed a conscience and acted on it. Draco only opposed Voldemort after it was clear that his family had lost the Dark Lord's favor. And even then he was willing to let those monsters inside Hogwarts. I do not think either Draco nor Lucius were redeemed in canon, they were just lucky that the good guys were too corrupt or stupid to not take them to task for their crimes. Barty Jr, seemed to delight in the chance to torment students given any excuse - ferretting Draco, showing the torture curse to Neville, and so on. Lucius tried to kill children several times before Voldemort was back even. Draco was wishing all mudbloods would die as early as second year.
The upcoming visit to Bulgaria should make it clearer.
The caste system is enforced - but it's not as if all purebloods are equal either. I'll have to slip in a few scenes later that show that poorer purebloods' lives are not that different from muggleborns and that neither really gets to mingle with the rich. Apart from the - social climbing - Weasleys, and the Black-Tonks who have blood ties to Sirius, I haven't shown many non-rich purebloods outside Hogwarts yet.
Hm, I rewrote it a bit. Hermione does think like that, she has a slightly pontificating nature after all, and she doesn't need to keep reminding herself of what she knows.
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macdjord
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They weren't redeemed, they were let off. And it wasn't stupidity of corruption that let them get away with; amnesty was the implicit price of them switching allegiance at a critical moment. Which wasn't just or fair, but was a wartime necessity.
Really, of them only Lucius really deserved death or Azkaban. Draco, while he supported the Dark Lord and committed several crimes, never actually had the heart to kill, rape, or torture; he shouldn't have walked away free, but he didn't deserve long-term punishment, either.
Starfox5
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Our opinions differ then. I do not recall Lucius doing anything for Harry and Co. - simply deserting Voldemort is not switching allegiance in my book. That would be on the same page as letting Himmler or Goering get off just because at the last minute, both kind of lost the favor of Hitler.
I also do not really believe Draco never had the heart to rape, kill or torture. He certainly didn't show any such morals as a kid. And what he did - multiple counts of attempted murder, despite his failures almost costing the lives of students and teachers, certainly deserves severe punishment, and we're not even talking about letting in a bunch of murdering terrorists into a school.
Not that it matters for this story - I tend to ignore what the last books did to the canon characters anyway, and in "Patron", Draco already murdered or at least helped murder his first victim before year 4 - and without feeling any remorse since "it was in a battle", ignoring that he attacked peaceful Quidditch spectators who didn't offer him any harm.
The Unicorn
Well worn.
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Of course. The thing is we don't see that in the story.
Looking forward to reading it.
That will be interesting to see. I can't figure how you can make those fit together.