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lavanya_sixForewarning on this chapter: you can start to see the fic creaking under the weight of the exposition I was in love with. Also, any scene with the children was pretty much written on the fly and never beta'd. I had no idea what to do with the kids' plotline, which is what eventually killed the fic...
3
DIFFERENT SORTS OF PEOPLE
.
Harry had to steer his friend down the walkway of the carriage, so unmindful was Draco of little obstacles like other people and solid walls. It had been bad enough over the summer when his friend obsessed over his Sorting, but the news about his mother's release from New Azkaban -- which had only just been announced in the morning's papers -- had been hanging over his head for the last few weeks. It was like that one movie, where aliens snatched people while they slept and replaced them with zombies. It pained Harry to say it, but he wanted his wet blanket back.
"Here's good," he said, gripping the handle of a compartment door. Draco shook his head. "No? Further back?" Draco nodded absently. "Right. Come on then." They wandered into the next train car. Harry picked a compartment door at random and threw it open before his friend could object again. To both of their surprise, a frizzy-haired girl their own age was standing right up again the entrance. She nearly stumbled over her own feet as she back-peddled away from them.
Draco, to Harry's astonishment, pulled his head out of his arse to mumble, "Er, sorry. We didn't know you were standing there."
On a hunch, Harry decided to needle his friend's instinctual need to be polite. "Honestly, Draco, it was her own fault for standing against the door like that."
It worked. Draco brushed past him and walked into the compartment. Good. "You'll have to forgive Harry," said the other boy to the stranger. "He's pompous."
Sure enough, her eyes darted to his forehead. "Oh!"
Harry offered his hand. "Harry Potter, at your service." She took his hand up, but didn't seem overly worshipful. Probably a Muggleborn, he figured. "Do you mind if we join you...?"
"Hermione Granger," she said, and Harry mentally repeated the odd name to himself several times to get the pronunciation right. "And no, I don't mind." She turned her head. "And your friend?"
"I'm Draco -- Draco Malfoy."
Blissfully, the name didn't seem to ring any bells for Muggleborn girl. Harry took a seat next to Draco, who sat across from Hermione. "So," Harry started, "can you do any magic yet?"
"N-no. I've just arrived." The Reasonable Restriction on Underage Meta-Normal Activity, Harry knew, only let kids his age practice magic once they were at Hogwarts or on the train there. If you tried to sneak in wand waving, you could get into trouble with the police unless it was an emergency. Sadly, cleaning one's bedroom rarely qualified for exemption. "Can you?"
He shook his head. "Nah. I've done some accidental stuff."
"So have I, I think."
"You think?"
"My parents are Norms. They weren't looking for the early indications."
Harry rolled his eyes at the girl saying 'Norm' with a straight face. "But you think you did stuff?"
"Well," she said, "when I was nine I took apart our telly because I curious how it worked. I was never quite sure how all the screws fell out on their own."
"I turned my aunt's hair red once." Harry shuddered at the memory. At least he'd gotten a weekend at his godfather's out of it.
"What about you, Draco?"
The silver-blond drew himself out from another bout of sullenness. "I banished a photographer that startled me." At the sight of Hermione's agape jaw, he added, "It was all right, though. I only sent him around the street corner."
"It was brilliant," said Harry, grinning. "I wish I had been there." Paparazzi were Harry's least favourite sort of people.
Draco smiled wanly. "It was kind of funny."
Their conversation settled into a satisfying seven minute lull, which, of course, meant that the compartment door had to slam open with a bang. The three children, shaken, turned their heads to regard the pair standing in the doorway.
"Do you guys have room for two more?" asked the redheaded boy. "They're full up everywhere else."
"What Ronald means," said the tall girl at his side, "is that my friends threw him out for being rude."
"They started it!"
"You insulted him first!"
"They were Death Eaters, Susan! How can you defend them?"
"He only said he wanted to be in Slytherin!"
"It's the same thing! Bloody hell! The git probably has the Dark Mark -- we should go back and check his arm."
"Yeah," said Harry, cutting into the pair's repartee, "we're full up. You'll have to find another carriage." At his side, Draco shrank into his seat, trying not to be noticed.
The girl, Susan, looked at him. Her eyes widened in recognition. "Wait," she said, the irritation drained from her voice, "are you Harry Potter?"
"Blimey!" said the redhead, his sudden paleness throwing his freckles into sharp relief. "It is! Can I see your scar?" Harry showed them, hoping it would get them out of their carriage. To general dismay, Ronald stepped inside the carriage. The girl, Susan, shut the door behind them, but at least had the decency to look a little ashamed. "Huh. That's it? I thought it'd be bigger."
"I get that a lot."
"Hey," said Ronald, sitting between Hermione and Susan, "who's the blond? He looks kinda familiar."
"I have one of those faces," Draco said weakly.
He paused. "Wait... aren't y—"
"My name's Hermione Granger," burst the frizzy-haired girl, offering Ronald her hand. As she did so, she smiled at Susan. "Gosh, it's exciting to be on the Hogwarts Express, isn't it? I can hardly believe it. I've seen magic on the telly before, but never in real life. Well, except for that time when I was six and I had to drink a Skele-Grow potion after I broke my leg -- but I don't like to think of that since it hurt terribly. What are your names, Susan and Ronald?"
The redhead boy stared wide-eyed at her, paralyzed by her blitzkrieg. "Um... Ron? Weasley?" He smiled nervously.
"I'm Susan Bones and this is Ron Weasley."
"I like your hair."
"Thanks." Susan blushed and her fingers idly drifted to her plait.
"And does your pet have a name, Ron?"
"You mean Scabbers?"
Hermione Granger, Harry decided, was good people.
"Harry Potter, obviously," he said, "and this is my friend Draco Malfoy."
The tall girl arched an eyebrow at the mention of his surname. Ron was less reserved. "Malfoy?" he said, incredulous. "W--"
"If say one more word," Susan cut in, "I'll tell them about your Blinky Rag."
"You wouldn't!"
Hermione looked befuddled, mouthing the words 'Blinky Rag' to herself. Draco looked to him for guidance. Harry could only shrug. "I would -- if it meant we could stay in a carriage for more than five minute without you terrorizing someone about their parents."
"I do not. I haven't said anything bad to the Muggleborn, have I?" He thumbed towards Hermione.
She scowled. "I have a name, Ronald Weasley."
"It's just 'Ron', thanks."
Susan sighed. "Ignore him, Hermione. He's just parroting whatever his mother says. I know -- "
" -- I do NOT parrot what my mum says, Susie! -- "
" -- he sounds like a git, but he's actually okay. For a boy. And don't call me Susie, Ronald."
"If you say so," said Hermione.
"It's not my fault she's so Muggle-ish." Ron shook his head in dismay. "I bet when she got her letter she went out and nicked herself a TONKS album."
"I did not nick it!" Ron laughed. Hermione reddened at her misstep. "That didn't come out right," she hurriedly insisted. "I didn't mean to imply that I own one. I was simply correcting your implication that I stole one."
"Yes you do! You're such a girl."
A sour look passed over Hermione's face. Not wanting to lose one of the first friends he'd made on the train, Harry said, "I think she's brilliant. Tonks. I've met her lots of times and she's always nice."
"You've met TONKS?" asked Ron. "Liar."
"Of course!" Hermione smiled. "She's your godfather's cousin's daughter, isn't she? I read about that in your biography, The-Boy-Who-Lived, when they illustrated the Black family tree." The Muggleborn girl studied Draco. "That'd make her your cousin."
Harry blinked. "You memorized Sirius' family tree?" Hermione stared back quizzically at him, almost as if she was disappointed that he hadn't.
"You know she fakes it, right?" Ron glanced between the four of them, looking for support. "It's just her Metamorphmagus abilities. She shape-shifts her vocal cords to sound nice."
"So?" Draco asked briskly.
"It's cheating!"
Harry opened his mouth but the frizzy-haired witch stepped into the brewing fray first. "It's hardly cheating. Even Norms—" Ron snorted at her choice of vocabulary; his sentiment was not frowned upon by the others in the compartment. "—with natural singing talent require extensive training to best utilize their abilities. TONKS may level the playing field with her innate magical aptitude, but she still required coaching to make use of the voice she fashioned for herself."
The three boys blinked warily at this monologue, none quite sure what half the words that had spilled from Hermione's lips had meant. Draco took a blind stab at the issue and ended up reiterating the Muggleborn girl's point more succulently. "She might have changed her voice, but she still works really hard to be a good singer."
"I wanted to see her in concert next year," said Susan, "but with school I won't be able to go. Not that my aunt would let me go either way."
Before Ron could protest this latest betrayal, the compartment door opened and a black-haired girl poked her head in. "Pardon me," she said, speaking with a heavy Scottish burr, "but have any ye seen a toad? Neville's lost his."
"Um, no," said Harry. "Sorry."
"Oh." The pug-faced girl hung in the doorway indecisively. "I'm Pansy Ferguson, by the way. If ye see a toad, just give a whistle in the hall." And with that she shut the door.
"Who brings a toad anymore?" Ron asked.
"I dunno," said Harry. "The sort of wizard who can afford more than a rat?" To this, Draco kicked his friend's shin. Ron reddened in embarrassment.
"We're not poor anymore," Ron insisted, and Harry admitted that was true. Some wizards were still better off than others, but there was always a demand for magic users in the Muggle World. "Scabbers was a gift from my brother."
"He's a very nice rat," Susan said.
After that, the five of them settled into safer small talk, with Susan and Hermione refereeing the conversation whenever anyone hedged into uncomfortable territory. Draco at least seemed to poke his head out of his shell every once in a while to join in.
When the trolley came by, Harry settled for a package of Bernie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, a Chocolate Frog, and a Coke. Ron had the same, but went with a bottle of pumpkin juice instead. Hermione eyed the cart hungrily but settled for a liquorice wand and a Diet Coke, claiming that she was saving her appetite for the Welcoming Feast. Draco and Susan simply said they were too nervous to eat.
The train continued on to Hogwarts.
..........................................
SEE TONKS LIVE IN CONCERT!
(an advertisement posted in the Daily Prophet, Guardian, and several other major British newspaper – save the Sun)
She's back! TONKS, the international singin sensation behind such smash hits as Muggleborn and Love is a Cauldron, returns to the UK for the final leg of her Boggart of my Heart world tour!
04/03/92 London, GB – SOLD OUT
06/03/92 London, GB – SOLD OUT
08/03/92 London, GB
10/03/92 Diagon Alley, GB – SOLD OUT
14/03/92 Manchester, GB – SOLD OUT
16/03/92 Manchester, GB
30/03/92 Sunderland, GB
02/04/92 Cardiff, Wales – SOLD OUT
05/04/92 Edinburgh, GB – SOLD OUT
07/04/92 Edinburgh, GB – SOLD OUT
09/04/92 Coventry, GB – CANCELLED
10/04/92 Coventry, GB
11/04/92 Coventry, GB – SOLD OUT
15/04/92 Middlesex, GB
17/04/92 Middlesex, GB
20/04/92 Hogsmeade, Scotland
.
Call 0844 277 1000 to buy your tickets today!
..........................................
Andromeda Tonks stood in place, watching the Hogwarts Express steam off beyond the horizon.
Ted took her hand. "Come, love."
She nodded, and the two of them turned and walked back towards the platform barrier. Many other parents, mostly first timers, had likewise lingered. What struck Andromeda was how few people wore robes. Even in the short span of years since Dora had finished with Hogwarts, there had been a noticeable decline in traditional Wizarding fashions. Andromeda had nothing against trousers -- raising a fashionista had long-since disinclined her from passing judgement on the prevailing trends of youth -- but there was something to be said for the drape of a well-cut summer robe. Aside from her and Ted, the only ones still left on the platform dressed in robes were a heavy-set redheaded woman and the ginger girl weeping at her side.
"You know," she said to Ted, "it just occurred to me that Draco's school list failed to mention a black pointed hat."
"They phased them out last year. Remember that fuss the Heritage Society raised in the Prophet?"
"Ah. You're right. I'd forgotten." Andromeda had been an early member of the Heritage Society, but, between her support of a Dark Creature for public office and her daughter's choice of career, her old friends among refined society had stopped answering her letters years ago. "Hogwarts without hats -- I wonder how long until they take away the robes." She and Ted passed through the barrier.
"Children will always need robes," Ted said.
Privately, Andromeda wondered.
..........................................
Narcissa Black hated needles.
She was disinclined to x-ray machines because they seemed insidiously benign. She loathed heart rate monitors for that ever-present beep beep beeping that hung like some Sword of Damocles over her head. Truth be known, she found every piece of thrice-cursed technology the Muggles clung to an abomination. But needles she hated above all else, even florescent lighting. The sickening dread of the Muggle Healer banding it about in front of her, squirting a bit of its fluid out to lessen the injection's potential lethality, was bad enough. The way the Muggle Healer insisted on manhandling her arm to find a vein was an insult. Narcissa found she couldn't even watch as the fine metal needle pierced through the pallor of her near-translucent skin. She had to turn her head away and screw her eyes shut.
"There," said the Muggle Healer, blasé to the barbarity of his actions. "All done."
Narcissa let go off the breath she had been holding and resisted the impulse to rub the tingly spot on her left arm. "I fail to see how another unnecessary vaccination will serve me outside this prison."
"It's not a vaccination, Ms. Black," said the assistant technician, who sat in the corner of the examination room, scribbling notes. "It's a radioactive isotope marker that will bond with your skeletal structure." Narcissa's knowledge of Muggle technology was limited, but she knew radeoo-activity wasn't a good thing. The technician seemed to pick up on her veiled distress. "It's perfectly harmless. However, as trans-uranium elements cannot be apperated, we'll know if you violate your pardon agreement."
"What about the Floo?"
"You won't have any trouble with the Floo. Well, provided they grant you a license." Muggles bureaucrats controlling Floo travel, thought Narcissa with mild revulsion, what has the world come to? "Ah, that reminds me!" The technician dug around in his lab coat, retrieved a small laminated item, and tossed it her way. Narcissa caught in one-handed. "Nice."
She brushed off his plebian compliment and examined the offering. It was an identification badge, with her name and a photograph -- a magical one, thank Merlin -- printed on it, along with odd facts like her height, weight, and 'blood type' (what?). The white-on-black label affixed along the top read 'TEMPORARY FLOO LICENSE'.
"It's good for ninety days," explained the technician. "After that, you'll have to apply for a permanent one."
"How do I do that?"
"The process is detailed in your parole folder. However, I'm sure your sister will be more than happy to walk you through the procedure."
Narcissa's expression soured. "I'm sure."
..........................................
When Grimmauld Place's fireplace flared emerald, Remus and Sirius looked up from their private conversation. They watched as Ted, then Andromeda, and finally a third person popped out. Despite knowing, intellectually, it was going to be his cousin Narcissa, it took Sirius' brain two seconds to synchronize that fact with the dusty stranger who stood in front of the fireplace.
Between her short, neck-length blonde hair that was shot through with grey, and her nearly translucent skin, Narcissa looked thirty years older. If not for the incongruity of her slight paunch – Narcissa had a paunch! -- Sirius might have been inclined to think she had been released from hospital, not Azkaban.
No one said anything. Andromeda held her hands casually in front of her, as if she were waiting someone to suggest tea. Ted looked deeply uncomfortable. Remus was staring at Narcissa, but she wouldn't meet his eyes -- the bitch.
Narcissa surveyed the living room, squinting as her eyes passed over the large bay windows. "You redecorated," she said. "It's... different." No one commented. "Is the third floor shower room still in the same place?" With a nod from Andromeda, she added, "I'm going to bathe. I'll be down for supper."
After the sound of her footsteps had receded into the distance, Remus gestured to the dining room. "Anyone care for refreshment?"
"Yes," said Ted, "please."
The four of them gathered around the dining room table. Remus noted Andromeda, as the lady of the house, did not object as he took the initiative and began to fill their cups. The tea service itself was gold and enamel, with the sterling silver set long ago boxed away for Remus' sake. It was also a minor political statement, as such things stood in the Wizarding World, that Grimmauld Place was friendly to those afflicted with lycanthropy. Sometimes Remus marvelled that politics could be conducted through something as commonplace as crockery, and at those times he wondered if they were all damned.
Sirius conjured a platter of biscuits but both she and Ted waved them off. "So," he ventured, after an uncomfortable silence threatened to envelope the table, "did anyone see that speech by Molly Weasley they printed in the Prophet this morning? She had some choice words to say about her boy." Politics, Sirius figured, was a far safer topic than the hippogriff in the room.
Andromeda sipped her tea. "Ah yes, it wouldn't be a week without a public spectacle between Molly and her brood. Which one was it this time, William or the Dragon?"
"Will Bill," said Sirius. "She was chastising him for volunteering to cap the 'Muggle' oil fires in the Middle East."
"You can always trust Molly to put a human face on the abstract political issue of the day."
"It's odd," said Ted, "that she's become the face of the Heritage Society recently. Being new money and all."
Remus picked up the thread. "That's Madam Bones' fault, I'm afraid. She's trying to spin herself as being above the more unsavoury aspects of the Society; bolstering her reputation as being a traditionalist who, when she has to, can work with Muggles. Molly Weasley is just a cat's-paw."
Sirius added, "Remus thinks Amelia's going to run for his seat next year."
"I've heard rumours to that effect. However," Andromeda said, "I must admit I'm not entirely unsympathetic to some of her stances, particularly with regards to the Gulf War. The masses are happy now, but the Exemption Act was put into place for a reason."
Andromeda, of course, referred to the Muggle-Meta Exemption Act, which prohibited signatory Muggle governments from around the world from fielding magical Beings in combat zones. In the early 1980s, the Soviet Union had intentionally infected a group of special forces soldiers with lycanthropy, controlling their more savage nature with Wolfsbane Potion. However, since the Wolfsbane Potion was still a new medical development at the time, some of its finer points weren't understood, resulting in several incidents. After the much-publicized Panjshir Valley Massacre of 1982, the United Nations and the International Confederation of Wizards had together developed the Exemption Act to prevent the weaponization of magic.
She continued, "Sending British Aurors to put out Kuwaiti oil well fires plays well in the media but it opens a door to future integrated operations. Before long there will be a tricky hostage situation we'll be called in on, and then what? If they fail, it hurts us all. If they succeed, it won't be long before our children are dragged into Muggle wars 'for the greater good'."
Ted nodded. "More than a few Muggles would rather we just shut up and stayed out of 'their business', like with that letter those National Health Service doctors posted in the Times last month about how the use of potions was stifling research into 'real' medicine."
"Yes," Sirius huffed, snorting derisively, "well, they should have thought about the consequences before they annulled the Statute of Secrecy."
Remus added quietly, "Private sentiments in the Commons are not entirely congruent with public ones decrying the Exemption Act, especially after what happened to the late President Yeltsin came to light."
"Russians," Ted muttered. "I'm starting to think they're all mad. How could any right-minded wizard side with the Soviets after Afghanistan and the pogroms?"
"There are always traitors," said Andromeda, her eyes flickering over to Sirius and Remus. It was a truth they -- indeed, the world -- knew all too well. "Someone had to lay those Anti-Apparition wards in Leningrad, and it certainly wasn't a squib."
Sirius cleared his throat. "Moving on to lighter subject matter—"
"Thank Merlin," Ted breathed.
"—are you all still on for brunch next Saturday?"
"Of course," said Andromeda. "I shan't confess it will be strange for our nest to be empty. Of children. Company will do Ted and I good." By the passing, slight crease to her brow, Remus guessed that Andromeda's slip wasn't intentional.
Remus scratched the back of his head. "I'll have to double-check my schedule with Delyth, and, yes," he said, glancing at Andromeda, "I'm sorry about last time. In my defence, the Soviets had just sent tanks into Estonia."
"Ah," she said, raising her head in mock haughtiness, "Estonia."
It wasn't much of a joke, and it wasn't even that funny, but the four adults sitting around the table still shared a laugh. After it passed, Sirius felt it was appropriate to ask, "So, how is she?"
"Narcissa is...." Andromeda Tonks drank some tea, mulling her next words. "She's angry."
..........................................
The craft slid across the surface of the still lake, disturbing the reflection of starlight with their wake. In one particular boat, Draco Malfoy tried desperately to clamp down on the panic rising in his stomach. So unmindful was he of the scenery around him that he did not pay any attention to the looming castle of Hogwarts, and he was only peripherally aware of his classmates sharing his boat. So it came as a shock to him when he was punched in the shoulder.
"Ow!" Draco shot a death glare at his friend. "Quit it, Harry!"
"Lighten up, Draco. I kept trying to talk to you but you weren't listening. You look like you're about to be sick."
"Right," he said, taking one last glance at his friend, then looking back at the castle looming over him. "It's just seasickness."
"We're not on the sea," cut in Hermione Granger, "we're on a lake. You should properly call it motion sickness."
"I didn't ask you to talk."
There was a long pause, and Draco could just picture the frizzy-haired girl being flustered by his reprimand. "Well," she sniffed, "you don't have to be rude about it."
Harry ignored her. "Look, no matter what House you're sorted into, you'll still be my friend."
Faintly, Draco nodded. "I... yes. The same with you."
"Look," Hermione said, pointing past Draco to the shoreline, "there's the dock!"
The boats sailed on.
..........................................
Night time. An anonymous apartment in Godric's Hollow, rented under an assumed name...
"Gryffindor, definitely. He's a Potter."
"You say that now, Padfoot, but what happens when he's sorted into Slytherin?"
"Damn it, Moony. That's not funny!"
"You're right." Remus walked back into the cozy living room, wine glasses in hand. "Harry's a born Hufflepuff." He settled onto the sofa, tucking his feet in under him.
"No godson of mine will be a Slytherin, Moony. I won't stand for it!" He accepted the offering of red wine. "Bad enough that Snivellus still teaches there when he should be rotting in Azkaban."
"Well, Harry always seemed a Ravenclaw to me."
"He's not that much a swot."
"What did he ask for when he turned eleven?"
"Books," answered Sirius, "and a Nimbus 2000. But Tolkien and Pratchett are hardly on the Ravenclaw reading list." In front of them, the TV flashed to a spooky nighttime scene.
"Why are we watching this movie again?" asked Remus, pained.
"Because it's hilarious and it stars us."
"Hilarious is one word for it. At least you don't have to put up with editorial cartoonists draw you in that ridiculous tweed outfit."
No, Sirius mused, they usually just drew him with hands dripping blood. "You're just upset you were miscast."
"That too."
"It's not all bad. Well... whatshisname was the wrong bloke to play Dumbledore."
"Richard Harris."
Sirius snapped his fingers. "That's him. He made a total hash of it, didn't even look the part. I don't know why they didn't dip into Polyjuice."
"That would have disqualified the actors from most awards. Muggles think it's cheating to mix magic into things."
"Cheating? What a world."
"You're not wrong."
"Oh! Oh! Look!" said Sirius, sitting up on the couch even as Remus rolled his eyes. "This is the part!"
Onscreen, dressed in something the looked it had been dug out of the rubbish bins behind a fetish leather shop, Charlie Sheen denounced the nameless Death Eaters using only a clenched jaw, a dry quip, and a bad accent. Soon all the wizards were flinging around spells that looked suspiciously like superimposed glitter and lightning f/x. Sirius laughed and laughed.
The smash-bang fight went on until it was just Charlie Sheen and that one Death Eater with the scar on his lip. The two circled each other, all seizing one another up. "I know you think you're doing the right thing," Sirius Black said, quoting himself as portrayed by Charlie Sheen, "but you're not."
"My power makes me right."
"I still don't understand why you don't just hex him," observed Remus. "His defensive stance is a mockery of common sense."
"Shhhh! You're ruining the best part!"
"Maybe," said both Sirius Blacks. "Maybe not. If life has taught me anything, though, it's taught me one thing."
"What's that?"
Suddenly a pot came down atop the Death Eater's head. The Dark wizard crashed to the ground unconscious, revealing in the background a wolfish-looking Robert Downey Jr. dressed in a grey tweed suit.
"That I can count on my friends, asshole," said the Blacks, as the real Remus began to tussle the real Sirius Black's hair. "Nice aim, Remus."
"Yes," said Remus, letting his hand drop down to Sirius's neck. "Nice aim with the pot plant for a wizard with a perfectly good wand."
"Your snark is not appreciated, sir."
Remus murmured into his ear, "What are you going to do about it?"
Charlie Sheen fell to his knees. Robert Downey Jr. rushed to his side. The camera cut in close, revealing a dark, wet stain that had been hidden under Charlie's leather jacket.
"You were cutting it a bit close, mate," said Robert Downey Jr., admonishing his friend.
Sirius turned his head and softly kissed Remus on his cheek.
"Don't be ridiculous," grunted Charlie Sheen. "I was the one waiting on you."
The movie was soon forgotten.
3
DIFFERENT SORTS OF PEOPLE
.
Harry had to steer his friend down the walkway of the carriage, so unmindful was Draco of little obstacles like other people and solid walls. It had been bad enough over the summer when his friend obsessed over his Sorting, but the news about his mother's release from New Azkaban -- which had only just been announced in the morning's papers -- had been hanging over his head for the last few weeks. It was like that one movie, where aliens snatched people while they slept and replaced them with zombies. It pained Harry to say it, but he wanted his wet blanket back.
"Here's good," he said, gripping the handle of a compartment door. Draco shook his head. "No? Further back?" Draco nodded absently. "Right. Come on then." They wandered into the next train car. Harry picked a compartment door at random and threw it open before his friend could object again. To both of their surprise, a frizzy-haired girl their own age was standing right up again the entrance. She nearly stumbled over her own feet as she back-peddled away from them.
Draco, to Harry's astonishment, pulled his head out of his arse to mumble, "Er, sorry. We didn't know you were standing there."
On a hunch, Harry decided to needle his friend's instinctual need to be polite. "Honestly, Draco, it was her own fault for standing against the door like that."
It worked. Draco brushed past him and walked into the compartment. Good. "You'll have to forgive Harry," said the other boy to the stranger. "He's pompous."
Sure enough, her eyes darted to his forehead. "Oh!"
Harry offered his hand. "Harry Potter, at your service." She took his hand up, but didn't seem overly worshipful. Probably a Muggleborn, he figured. "Do you mind if we join you...?"
"Hermione Granger," she said, and Harry mentally repeated the odd name to himself several times to get the pronunciation right. "And no, I don't mind." She turned her head. "And your friend?"
"I'm Draco -- Draco Malfoy."
Blissfully, the name didn't seem to ring any bells for Muggleborn girl. Harry took a seat next to Draco, who sat across from Hermione. "So," Harry started, "can you do any magic yet?"
"N-no. I've just arrived." The Reasonable Restriction on Underage Meta-Normal Activity, Harry knew, only let kids his age practice magic once they were at Hogwarts or on the train there. If you tried to sneak in wand waving, you could get into trouble with the police unless it was an emergency. Sadly, cleaning one's bedroom rarely qualified for exemption. "Can you?"
He shook his head. "Nah. I've done some accidental stuff."
"So have I, I think."
"You think?"
"My parents are Norms. They weren't looking for the early indications."
Harry rolled his eyes at the girl saying 'Norm' with a straight face. "But you think you did stuff?"
"Well," she said, "when I was nine I took apart our telly because I curious how it worked. I was never quite sure how all the screws fell out on their own."
"I turned my aunt's hair red once." Harry shuddered at the memory. At least he'd gotten a weekend at his godfather's out of it.
"What about you, Draco?"
The silver-blond drew himself out from another bout of sullenness. "I banished a photographer that startled me." At the sight of Hermione's agape jaw, he added, "It was all right, though. I only sent him around the street corner."
"It was brilliant," said Harry, grinning. "I wish I had been there." Paparazzi were Harry's least favourite sort of people.
Draco smiled wanly. "It was kind of funny."
Their conversation settled into a satisfying seven minute lull, which, of course, meant that the compartment door had to slam open with a bang. The three children, shaken, turned their heads to regard the pair standing in the doorway.
"Do you guys have room for two more?" asked the redheaded boy. "They're full up everywhere else."
"What Ronald means," said the tall girl at his side, "is that my friends threw him out for being rude."
"They started it!"
"You insulted him first!"
"They were Death Eaters, Susan! How can you defend them?"
"He only said he wanted to be in Slytherin!"
"It's the same thing! Bloody hell! The git probably has the Dark Mark -- we should go back and check his arm."
"Yeah," said Harry, cutting into the pair's repartee, "we're full up. You'll have to find another carriage." At his side, Draco shrank into his seat, trying not to be noticed.
The girl, Susan, looked at him. Her eyes widened in recognition. "Wait," she said, the irritation drained from her voice, "are you Harry Potter?"
"Blimey!" said the redhead, his sudden paleness throwing his freckles into sharp relief. "It is! Can I see your scar?" Harry showed them, hoping it would get them out of their carriage. To general dismay, Ronald stepped inside the carriage. The girl, Susan, shut the door behind them, but at least had the decency to look a little ashamed. "Huh. That's it? I thought it'd be bigger."
"I get that a lot."
"Hey," said Ronald, sitting between Hermione and Susan, "who's the blond? He looks kinda familiar."
"I have one of those faces," Draco said weakly.
He paused. "Wait... aren't y—"
"My name's Hermione Granger," burst the frizzy-haired girl, offering Ronald her hand. As she did so, she smiled at Susan. "Gosh, it's exciting to be on the Hogwarts Express, isn't it? I can hardly believe it. I've seen magic on the telly before, but never in real life. Well, except for that time when I was six and I had to drink a Skele-Grow potion after I broke my leg -- but I don't like to think of that since it hurt terribly. What are your names, Susan and Ronald?"
The redhead boy stared wide-eyed at her, paralyzed by her blitzkrieg. "Um... Ron? Weasley?" He smiled nervously.
"I'm Susan Bones and this is Ron Weasley."
"I like your hair."
"Thanks." Susan blushed and her fingers idly drifted to her plait.
"And does your pet have a name, Ron?"
"You mean Scabbers?"
Hermione Granger, Harry decided, was good people.
"Harry Potter, obviously," he said, "and this is my friend Draco Malfoy."
The tall girl arched an eyebrow at the mention of his surname. Ron was less reserved. "Malfoy?" he said, incredulous. "W--"
"If say one more word," Susan cut in, "I'll tell them about your Blinky Rag."
"You wouldn't!"
Hermione looked befuddled, mouthing the words 'Blinky Rag' to herself. Draco looked to him for guidance. Harry could only shrug. "I would -- if it meant we could stay in a carriage for more than five minute without you terrorizing someone about their parents."
"I do not. I haven't said anything bad to the Muggleborn, have I?" He thumbed towards Hermione.
She scowled. "I have a name, Ronald Weasley."
"It's just 'Ron', thanks."
Susan sighed. "Ignore him, Hermione. He's just parroting whatever his mother says. I know -- "
" -- I do NOT parrot what my mum says, Susie! -- "
" -- he sounds like a git, but he's actually okay. For a boy. And don't call me Susie, Ronald."
"If you say so," said Hermione.
"It's not my fault she's so Muggle-ish." Ron shook his head in dismay. "I bet when she got her letter she went out and nicked herself a TONKS album."
"I did not nick it!" Ron laughed. Hermione reddened at her misstep. "That didn't come out right," she hurriedly insisted. "I didn't mean to imply that I own one. I was simply correcting your implication that I stole one."
"Yes you do! You're such a girl."
A sour look passed over Hermione's face. Not wanting to lose one of the first friends he'd made on the train, Harry said, "I think she's brilliant. Tonks. I've met her lots of times and she's always nice."
"You've met TONKS?" asked Ron. "Liar."
"Of course!" Hermione smiled. "She's your godfather's cousin's daughter, isn't she? I read about that in your biography, The-Boy-Who-Lived, when they illustrated the Black family tree." The Muggleborn girl studied Draco. "That'd make her your cousin."
Harry blinked. "You memorized Sirius' family tree?" Hermione stared back quizzically at him, almost as if she was disappointed that he hadn't.
"You know she fakes it, right?" Ron glanced between the four of them, looking for support. "It's just her Metamorphmagus abilities. She shape-shifts her vocal cords to sound nice."
"So?" Draco asked briskly.
"It's cheating!"
Harry opened his mouth but the frizzy-haired witch stepped into the brewing fray first. "It's hardly cheating. Even Norms—" Ron snorted at her choice of vocabulary; his sentiment was not frowned upon by the others in the compartment. "—with natural singing talent require extensive training to best utilize their abilities. TONKS may level the playing field with her innate magical aptitude, but she still required coaching to make use of the voice she fashioned for herself."
The three boys blinked warily at this monologue, none quite sure what half the words that had spilled from Hermione's lips had meant. Draco took a blind stab at the issue and ended up reiterating the Muggleborn girl's point more succulently. "She might have changed her voice, but she still works really hard to be a good singer."
"I wanted to see her in concert next year," said Susan, "but with school I won't be able to go. Not that my aunt would let me go either way."
Before Ron could protest this latest betrayal, the compartment door opened and a black-haired girl poked her head in. "Pardon me," she said, speaking with a heavy Scottish burr, "but have any ye seen a toad? Neville's lost his."
"Um, no," said Harry. "Sorry."
"Oh." The pug-faced girl hung in the doorway indecisively. "I'm Pansy Ferguson, by the way. If ye see a toad, just give a whistle in the hall." And with that she shut the door.
"Who brings a toad anymore?" Ron asked.
"I dunno," said Harry. "The sort of wizard who can afford more than a rat?" To this, Draco kicked his friend's shin. Ron reddened in embarrassment.
"We're not poor anymore," Ron insisted, and Harry admitted that was true. Some wizards were still better off than others, but there was always a demand for magic users in the Muggle World. "Scabbers was a gift from my brother."
"He's a very nice rat," Susan said.
After that, the five of them settled into safer small talk, with Susan and Hermione refereeing the conversation whenever anyone hedged into uncomfortable territory. Draco at least seemed to poke his head out of his shell every once in a while to join in.
When the trolley came by, Harry settled for a package of Bernie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, a Chocolate Frog, and a Coke. Ron had the same, but went with a bottle of pumpkin juice instead. Hermione eyed the cart hungrily but settled for a liquorice wand and a Diet Coke, claiming that she was saving her appetite for the Welcoming Feast. Draco and Susan simply said they were too nervous to eat.
The train continued on to Hogwarts.
..........................................
SEE TONKS LIVE IN CONCERT!
(an advertisement posted in the Daily Prophet, Guardian, and several other major British newspaper – save the Sun)
She's back! TONKS, the international singin sensation behind such smash hits as Muggleborn and Love is a Cauldron, returns to the UK for the final leg of her Boggart of my Heart world tour!
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14/03/92 Manchester, GB – SOLD OUT
16/03/92 Manchester, GB
30/03/92 Sunderland, GB
02/04/92 Cardiff, Wales – SOLD OUT
05/04/92 Edinburgh, GB – SOLD OUT
07/04/92 Edinburgh, GB – SOLD OUT
09/04/92 Coventry, GB – CANCELLED
10/04/92 Coventry, GB
11/04/92 Coventry, GB – SOLD OUT
15/04/92 Middlesex, GB
17/04/92 Middlesex, GB
20/04/92 Hogsmeade, Scotland
.
Call 0844 277 1000 to buy your tickets today!
..........................................
Andromeda Tonks stood in place, watching the Hogwarts Express steam off beyond the horizon.
Ted took her hand. "Come, love."
She nodded, and the two of them turned and walked back towards the platform barrier. Many other parents, mostly first timers, had likewise lingered. What struck Andromeda was how few people wore robes. Even in the short span of years since Dora had finished with Hogwarts, there had been a noticeable decline in traditional Wizarding fashions. Andromeda had nothing against trousers -- raising a fashionista had long-since disinclined her from passing judgement on the prevailing trends of youth -- but there was something to be said for the drape of a well-cut summer robe. Aside from her and Ted, the only ones still left on the platform dressed in robes were a heavy-set redheaded woman and the ginger girl weeping at her side.
"You know," she said to Ted, "it just occurred to me that Draco's school list failed to mention a black pointed hat."
"They phased them out last year. Remember that fuss the Heritage Society raised in the Prophet?"
"Ah. You're right. I'd forgotten." Andromeda had been an early member of the Heritage Society, but, between her support of a Dark Creature for public office and her daughter's choice of career, her old friends among refined society had stopped answering her letters years ago. "Hogwarts without hats -- I wonder how long until they take away the robes." She and Ted passed through the barrier.
"Children will always need robes," Ted said.
Privately, Andromeda wondered.
..........................................
Narcissa Black hated needles.
She was disinclined to x-ray machines because they seemed insidiously benign. She loathed heart rate monitors for that ever-present beep beep beeping that hung like some Sword of Damocles over her head. Truth be known, she found every piece of thrice-cursed technology the Muggles clung to an abomination. But needles she hated above all else, even florescent lighting. The sickening dread of the Muggle Healer banding it about in front of her, squirting a bit of its fluid out to lessen the injection's potential lethality, was bad enough. The way the Muggle Healer insisted on manhandling her arm to find a vein was an insult. Narcissa found she couldn't even watch as the fine metal needle pierced through the pallor of her near-translucent skin. She had to turn her head away and screw her eyes shut.
"There," said the Muggle Healer, blasé to the barbarity of his actions. "All done."
Narcissa let go off the breath she had been holding and resisted the impulse to rub the tingly spot on her left arm. "I fail to see how another unnecessary vaccination will serve me outside this prison."
"It's not a vaccination, Ms. Black," said the assistant technician, who sat in the corner of the examination room, scribbling notes. "It's a radioactive isotope marker that will bond with your skeletal structure." Narcissa's knowledge of Muggle technology was limited, but she knew radeoo-activity wasn't a good thing. The technician seemed to pick up on her veiled distress. "It's perfectly harmless. However, as trans-uranium elements cannot be apperated, we'll know if you violate your pardon agreement."
"What about the Floo?"
"You won't have any trouble with the Floo. Well, provided they grant you a license." Muggles bureaucrats controlling Floo travel, thought Narcissa with mild revulsion, what has the world come to? "Ah, that reminds me!" The technician dug around in his lab coat, retrieved a small laminated item, and tossed it her way. Narcissa caught in one-handed. "Nice."
She brushed off his plebian compliment and examined the offering. It was an identification badge, with her name and a photograph -- a magical one, thank Merlin -- printed on it, along with odd facts like her height, weight, and 'blood type' (what?). The white-on-black label affixed along the top read 'TEMPORARY FLOO LICENSE'.
"It's good for ninety days," explained the technician. "After that, you'll have to apply for a permanent one."
"How do I do that?"
"The process is detailed in your parole folder. However, I'm sure your sister will be more than happy to walk you through the procedure."
Narcissa's expression soured. "I'm sure."
..........................................
When Grimmauld Place's fireplace flared emerald, Remus and Sirius looked up from their private conversation. They watched as Ted, then Andromeda, and finally a third person popped out. Despite knowing, intellectually, it was going to be his cousin Narcissa, it took Sirius' brain two seconds to synchronize that fact with the dusty stranger who stood in front of the fireplace.
Between her short, neck-length blonde hair that was shot through with grey, and her nearly translucent skin, Narcissa looked thirty years older. If not for the incongruity of her slight paunch – Narcissa had a paunch! -- Sirius might have been inclined to think she had been released from hospital, not Azkaban.
No one said anything. Andromeda held her hands casually in front of her, as if she were waiting someone to suggest tea. Ted looked deeply uncomfortable. Remus was staring at Narcissa, but she wouldn't meet his eyes -- the bitch.
Narcissa surveyed the living room, squinting as her eyes passed over the large bay windows. "You redecorated," she said. "It's... different." No one commented. "Is the third floor shower room still in the same place?" With a nod from Andromeda, she added, "I'm going to bathe. I'll be down for supper."
After the sound of her footsteps had receded into the distance, Remus gestured to the dining room. "Anyone care for refreshment?"
"Yes," said Ted, "please."
The four of them gathered around the dining room table. Remus noted Andromeda, as the lady of the house, did not object as he took the initiative and began to fill their cups. The tea service itself was gold and enamel, with the sterling silver set long ago boxed away for Remus' sake. It was also a minor political statement, as such things stood in the Wizarding World, that Grimmauld Place was friendly to those afflicted with lycanthropy. Sometimes Remus marvelled that politics could be conducted through something as commonplace as crockery, and at those times he wondered if they were all damned.
Sirius conjured a platter of biscuits but both she and Ted waved them off. "So," he ventured, after an uncomfortable silence threatened to envelope the table, "did anyone see that speech by Molly Weasley they printed in the Prophet this morning? She had some choice words to say about her boy." Politics, Sirius figured, was a far safer topic than the hippogriff in the room.
Andromeda sipped her tea. "Ah yes, it wouldn't be a week without a public spectacle between Molly and her brood. Which one was it this time, William or the Dragon?"
"Will Bill," said Sirius. "She was chastising him for volunteering to cap the 'Muggle' oil fires in the Middle East."
"You can always trust Molly to put a human face on the abstract political issue of the day."
"It's odd," said Ted, "that she's become the face of the Heritage Society recently. Being new money and all."
Remus picked up the thread. "That's Madam Bones' fault, I'm afraid. She's trying to spin herself as being above the more unsavoury aspects of the Society; bolstering her reputation as being a traditionalist who, when she has to, can work with Muggles. Molly Weasley is just a cat's-paw."
Sirius added, "Remus thinks Amelia's going to run for his seat next year."
"I've heard rumours to that effect. However," Andromeda said, "I must admit I'm not entirely unsympathetic to some of her stances, particularly with regards to the Gulf War. The masses are happy now, but the Exemption Act was put into place for a reason."
Andromeda, of course, referred to the Muggle-Meta Exemption Act, which prohibited signatory Muggle governments from around the world from fielding magical Beings in combat zones. In the early 1980s, the Soviet Union had intentionally infected a group of special forces soldiers with lycanthropy, controlling their more savage nature with Wolfsbane Potion. However, since the Wolfsbane Potion was still a new medical development at the time, some of its finer points weren't understood, resulting in several incidents. After the much-publicized Panjshir Valley Massacre of 1982, the United Nations and the International Confederation of Wizards had together developed the Exemption Act to prevent the weaponization of magic.
She continued, "Sending British Aurors to put out Kuwaiti oil well fires plays well in the media but it opens a door to future integrated operations. Before long there will be a tricky hostage situation we'll be called in on, and then what? If they fail, it hurts us all. If they succeed, it won't be long before our children are dragged into Muggle wars 'for the greater good'."
Ted nodded. "More than a few Muggles would rather we just shut up and stayed out of 'their business', like with that letter those National Health Service doctors posted in the Times last month about how the use of potions was stifling research into 'real' medicine."
"Yes," Sirius huffed, snorting derisively, "well, they should have thought about the consequences before they annulled the Statute of Secrecy."
Remus added quietly, "Private sentiments in the Commons are not entirely congruent with public ones decrying the Exemption Act, especially after what happened to the late President Yeltsin came to light."
"Russians," Ted muttered. "I'm starting to think they're all mad. How could any right-minded wizard side with the Soviets after Afghanistan and the pogroms?"
"There are always traitors," said Andromeda, her eyes flickering over to Sirius and Remus. It was a truth they -- indeed, the world -- knew all too well. "Someone had to lay those Anti-Apparition wards in Leningrad, and it certainly wasn't a squib."
Sirius cleared his throat. "Moving on to lighter subject matter—"
"Thank Merlin," Ted breathed.
"—are you all still on for brunch next Saturday?"
"Of course," said Andromeda. "I shan't confess it will be strange for our nest to be empty. Of children. Company will do Ted and I good." By the passing, slight crease to her brow, Remus guessed that Andromeda's slip wasn't intentional.
Remus scratched the back of his head. "I'll have to double-check my schedule with Delyth, and, yes," he said, glancing at Andromeda, "I'm sorry about last time. In my defence, the Soviets had just sent tanks into Estonia."
"Ah," she said, raising her head in mock haughtiness, "Estonia."
It wasn't much of a joke, and it wasn't even that funny, but the four adults sitting around the table still shared a laugh. After it passed, Sirius felt it was appropriate to ask, "So, how is she?"
"Narcissa is...." Andromeda Tonks drank some tea, mulling her next words. "She's angry."
..........................................
The craft slid across the surface of the still lake, disturbing the reflection of starlight with their wake. In one particular boat, Draco Malfoy tried desperately to clamp down on the panic rising in his stomach. So unmindful was he of the scenery around him that he did not pay any attention to the looming castle of Hogwarts, and he was only peripherally aware of his classmates sharing his boat. So it came as a shock to him when he was punched in the shoulder.
"Ow!" Draco shot a death glare at his friend. "Quit it, Harry!"
"Lighten up, Draco. I kept trying to talk to you but you weren't listening. You look like you're about to be sick."
"Right," he said, taking one last glance at his friend, then looking back at the castle looming over him. "It's just seasickness."
"We're not on the sea," cut in Hermione Granger, "we're on a lake. You should properly call it motion sickness."
"I didn't ask you to talk."
There was a long pause, and Draco could just picture the frizzy-haired girl being flustered by his reprimand. "Well," she sniffed, "you don't have to be rude about it."
Harry ignored her. "Look, no matter what House you're sorted into, you'll still be my friend."
Faintly, Draco nodded. "I... yes. The same with you."
"Look," Hermione said, pointing past Draco to the shoreline, "there's the dock!"
The boats sailed on.
..........................................
Night time. An anonymous apartment in Godric's Hollow, rented under an assumed name...
"Gryffindor, definitely. He's a Potter."
"You say that now, Padfoot, but what happens when he's sorted into Slytherin?"
"Damn it, Moony. That's not funny!"
"You're right." Remus walked back into the cozy living room, wine glasses in hand. "Harry's a born Hufflepuff." He settled onto the sofa, tucking his feet in under him.
"No godson of mine will be a Slytherin, Moony. I won't stand for it!" He accepted the offering of red wine. "Bad enough that Snivellus still teaches there when he should be rotting in Azkaban."
"Well, Harry always seemed a Ravenclaw to me."
"He's not that much a swot."
"What did he ask for when he turned eleven?"
"Books," answered Sirius, "and a Nimbus 2000. But Tolkien and Pratchett are hardly on the Ravenclaw reading list." In front of them, the TV flashed to a spooky nighttime scene.
"Why are we watching this movie again?" asked Remus, pained.
"Because it's hilarious and it stars us."
"Hilarious is one word for it. At least you don't have to put up with editorial cartoonists draw you in that ridiculous tweed outfit."
No, Sirius mused, they usually just drew him with hands dripping blood. "You're just upset you were miscast."
"That too."
"It's not all bad. Well... whatshisname was the wrong bloke to play Dumbledore."
"Richard Harris."
Sirius snapped his fingers. "That's him. He made a total hash of it, didn't even look the part. I don't know why they didn't dip into Polyjuice."
"That would have disqualified the actors from most awards. Muggles think it's cheating to mix magic into things."
"Cheating? What a world."
"You're not wrong."
"Oh! Oh! Look!" said Sirius, sitting up on the couch even as Remus rolled his eyes. "This is the part!"
Onscreen, dressed in something the looked it had been dug out of the rubbish bins behind a fetish leather shop, Charlie Sheen denounced the nameless Death Eaters using only a clenched jaw, a dry quip, and a bad accent. Soon all the wizards were flinging around spells that looked suspiciously like superimposed glitter and lightning f/x. Sirius laughed and laughed.
The smash-bang fight went on until it was just Charlie Sheen and that one Death Eater with the scar on his lip. The two circled each other, all seizing one another up. "I know you think you're doing the right thing," Sirius Black said, quoting himself as portrayed by Charlie Sheen, "but you're not."
"My power makes me right."
"I still don't understand why you don't just hex him," observed Remus. "His defensive stance is a mockery of common sense."
"Shhhh! You're ruining the best part!"
"Maybe," said both Sirius Blacks. "Maybe not. If life has taught me anything, though, it's taught me one thing."
"What's that?"
Suddenly a pot came down atop the Death Eater's head. The Dark wizard crashed to the ground unconscious, revealing in the background a wolfish-looking Robert Downey Jr. dressed in a grey tweed suit.
"That I can count on my friends, asshole," said the Blacks, as the real Remus began to tussle the real Sirius Black's hair. "Nice aim, Remus."
"Yes," said Remus, letting his hand drop down to Sirius's neck. "Nice aim with the pot plant for a wizard with a perfectly good wand."
"Your snark is not appreciated, sir."
Remus murmured into his ear, "What are you going to do about it?"
Charlie Sheen fell to his knees. Robert Downey Jr. rushed to his side. The camera cut in close, revealing a dark, wet stain that had been hidden under Charlie's leather jacket.
"You were cutting it a bit close, mate," said Robert Downey Jr., admonishing his friend.
Sirius turned his head and softly kissed Remus on his cheek.
"Don't be ridiculous," grunted Charlie Sheen. "I was the one waiting on you."
The movie was soon forgotten.
