Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.
Coalescence: To unite so as to form one mass or community.
The Hogwarts Express arrived in Hogsmeade at five o’clock Sunday afternoon, carrying all the returning students. The first years had arrived the previous Friday to begin their orientation, and would be Sorted at the Start of Term Feast. Hagrid had agreed to continue his former duty and escort the students to the school, even though he was no longer obliged to perform the chore. His job was made much easier by the twenty percent drop in enrollment.
Harry and Hermione, already in town as the train arrived, helped the Prefects coordinate the students for their carriage rides to school. This went particularly smoothly as all the students had done this at least one time before. Minerva McGonagall, and a few other staff members and professors, led the first years out into the lawn to greet to the returning students, then they all went into the Great Hall together for Sorting, speeches and the feast.
Filius Flitwick, the new Deputy Headmaster, reminded the first years of the Sorting procedure. But unlike previous years, where they would not have been prepared for the process, these newcomers were not frightened by numerous rude or rowdy students assailing them with horror stories of the Sorting ‘trials.’ So the procedure went off without a hitch… almost. Of the sixty-seven new students, only two were Sorted into Slytherin. Sixty-four were evenly Sorted between Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. And the remaining one, Diane Bradley, awaited her turn, as the last student.
The Great Hall was already stirring with conversation about the unusual Sorting when Flitwick rose to introduce the American. “Students, for the first time in many decades, we have an exchange student joining us. Miss Diane Bradley, from the United States of America, is joining us for her seventh year. As many of you have undoubtedly heard, Miss Bradley has been with us here at Hogwarts since early September and took part in the, eh, ceremony that ended Lord Voldemort’s reign of terror. I ask you to respect her privacy as, no doubt, there are many fantastic and fanciful stories floating around concerning her role that day. Now, Miss Bradley, if you would, please step forward to be Sorted.”
Diane walked up to the stool used for the Sorting and placed the worn cap on her head as she sat. Then she closed her eyes and waited.
Ah, another Colonial! It’s been quite a while since we’ve had an American join us. Well, Miss Bradley, you’ve certainly proven yourself already, I see. Not a Slytherin, that’s for sure. You have an outstanding mind that would fit in well with Ravenclaw, and you have already proven yourself courageous, and a worthy Gryffindor. Yes, this will be a difficult decision… what’s this I see? Most interesting, most interesting indeed! And unexpected…”
What do you see? Diane thought.
Oh, nothing that time won’t reveal, my dear. Yes, you will have a most interesting year ahead of you in…
“GRYFFINDOR!”
The Hall erupted in cheers and clapping; Harry and Ginny stood to welcome their friend and sat her between them. With the Sorting complete, McGonagall stood and announced, “Let the feast begin.”
As in the previous years, the welcoming feast was the most lavish of the year. Harry, Diane and Ginny ate casually and chatted with many others at the table. Hermione, however, was remained quiet unless a student asked her a specific question. And since she was not sitting close to the other “Trio,” Harry could not easily draw her into conversation.
When the meal was complete, McGonagall clapped her hands and the dishes were cleaned. She rose and took a step up onto a small platform so all the students could see her.
“Again, welcome to, and welcome back to, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This term begins with our lives, and the lives of our families, under a cloud of uncertainty. First and foremost, the man fancying himself as Lord Voldemort is dead... and I can assure you he will remain dead this time.” Harry caught McGonagall glancing at him as the crowd cheered, (even some of the Slytherins joined in.) Those that didn’t were hunched lower on their benches with sullen looks. “In the process of defeating Voldemort, this school lost one of its brightest pupils and truest friends, Neville Longbottom. I would like each of you to remember Mr.... remember Neville as a courageous and gifted wizard and a true friend. He will be sorely missed.”
McGonagall paused and walked back to her seat at the head table. She reached down and picked up a goblet. At the same instant, every student had a goblet appear before them and they also raised it, as their Headmistress had.
“To Neville Longbottom.”
“Neville Longbottom!” the students exclaimed out in response. Harry looked over to the Ravenclaw table; Luna was still missing.
“There have been a number of other changes to our school over the summer holidays, some expected, others not. There is one other student who will not be returning to Hogwarts this year, though for different reasons. Mr. Ronald Weasley has chosen to take a year off to assist his brother with some work in France. As you may know, the situation on the continent is still unstable. Mr. Weasley, and a number of others, are attempting to help the lawful French Ministry of Magical Affairs return to power. His presence will be missed by his friends.”
“And the Gryffindor Quidditch team,” Harry heard Dean Thomas remark. Ginny sent him a scathing glare.
McGonagall took a deep breath and returned to the raised platform. “I’m sure you have noticed that there are very few Slytherins at Hogwarts this term. The vast majority of these students are under investigation as accomplices of Lord Voldemort, and as such are ineligible to attend this school. A few died in his service. Their names will be posted outside the Slytherin common room.” Harry had to resist the urge to cheer; the nearly empty Slytherin table was a vindication of work over the past six years. Ginny sensed this and reached behind Diane to squeeze his arm.
“There are also quite a few staffing changes. Returning to Hogwarts for his second year, and the new head of Slytherin House, is Horace Slughorn.” The cheers were noticeably subdued, though Harry found this somewhat curious. The man was odd, but he was also infinitely better than Severus Snape with his people skills.
“Taking over the Care of Magical Creatures from Rubeus Hagrid is Mr. Argo Ogreski. Professor Ogreski taught in Italy and Spain before joining us. Welcome, Argo.” The tall, thin man who had been sitting three seats to the left of McGonagall rose briefly and waved to the students.
“Professor Hagrid will return to his previous full-time position as grounds keeper for the school.” Hagrid received far more cheers than Ogreski had, though many wondered if it was because they could look forward to safer Care of Magical Creatures classes.
“The final position being filled is that of Defense of the Dark Arts. As you know, over the past decades this position has been considered rather... problematic. None of those taking the job have held it for more than a single year. With this in mind, know it was a difficult position to fill, but I received an acceptance letter just this past Friday from Madam Jacqueline La Porte. Madam La Porte taught at Beauxbaton Academy for the past six years. Unfortunately, she has become involved in the situation in her homeland, France, and cannot join us until that is resolved. I have asked Professor Remus Lupin to sit in for Madam La Porte until she becomes available.”
It shouldn’t have surprised Harry when a voice from the Slytherin table called out that Lupin was a Werewolf. Harry yelled back, “So what?” The Hall silenced immediately.
“That is quite enough!” McGonagall declare loudly. “Yes, Professor Lupin is a Werewolf; but he is no danger to this school and I will sanction no disrespect or rudeness to him. He will be in a safe location two days every month when he transforms, and his classes, if Madam La Porte has not joined us by that time, will be conducted by me. If you have concerns about Werewolves, please feel free to read up on them in the library. Professor Lupin is also taking the Wolfsbane potion to mitigate the difficulty of his transformations.”
“Those are all the staffing changes for this term. As for the students,” McGonagall smiled stiffly, “I am very please to announce our Head Boy and Head Girl this year. From Gryffindor House, please congratulate Miss Hermione Granger.” The students stood and cheered enthusiastically. “And also from Gryffindor, the Head Boy this year is Harry Potter.”
The Hall again erupted in cheers. Harry was lifted up by many of his Housemates and carried over to Hermione who was trying, unsuccessfully, to shoo off the students who wanted to give her the same adulation. Harry thought half of them were just trying to take advantage of placing their hands where they normally couldn’t.
The two honored students were set on the platform holding the head table and the Headmistress invited them to stand on either side of her as she finished her remarks.
“Due to the role that Mr. Potter played in the defeat of Lord Voldemort, I know many of you wish to hear, first hand, about what happened that day.” McGonagall glanced at Harry and saw him grimace. “However... Mr. Potter will not be giving any speeches or demonstrations about the events of September the 11th, unless, and until, he chooses to do so. Like Miss Bradley, you are expected to show consideration for his privacy.” Then even more seriously, McGonagall added, “The war against Voldemort, as we so recently were reminded,” she held up her goblet, “was not all victories and happy endings.”
McGonagall whispered to Harry and Hermione to return to their seats. “Now, with business complete, I bid you goodnight. Prefects, please escort the first years to their dormitories.”
-|-|-|-|-
Late that night, Harry and Hermione sat in their shared common room and discussed the evening’s events. Hermione had a Muggle notebook and ball point pen, and was jotting down comments.
“Why the pen, Hermione?” Harry asked through a yawn.
“It’s much more practical than a quill and bottle of ink, don’t you think, Harry? I mean, if I have to stop and take out a piece of parchment and find a quill and ink, I might have forgotten what I was going to jot down.”
Harry grunted. “Yeah, like you’d forget something.” When she gave him a wounded look, Harry quickly changed the subject. “What’re you doing?”
Hermione finished the sentence she was writing and slapped the pad shut. “If it’s any of your business, I’m putting down some thoughts about what to write back to Ron’s mother.” As she finished her declaration, Hermione seemed to deflate and sink into the sofa. Harry thought she looked particularly vulnerable.
“You ok, Hermione?” he asked sincerely. His friend nodded, but put her hands to her face, wiping away the tears that had suddenly run down her cheeks. “We going to be living with each other the next nine months, if you want to talk to me I’m sort of use to have girls cry on my shoulder.”
Hermione gulped down a small laugh and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief she conjured out of the air. “Yes, I guess you had some experience with Cho. Does Ginny cry much?”
It was a decidedly odd question, but Harry answered it truthfully. “Not as much as me, recently. But then, I have a lot of lost time to make up.” That familiar, uncomfortable feeling Harry constantly had to fight with to control his emotions exhibited itself again, and he started to make an exit. But he stopped himself this time. Instead of retiring to his room for the night he sat next to his friend. For a long time neither said a word. Hermione would occasionally seem as if she was about to say something, but the time passed quietly.
When the grandfather clock in the room struck midnight, Hermione jumped up, finally speaking. “Let’s get to bed, Harry, we have a busy day tomorrow.” Then looking back to him, “Thanks for sitting with me, I appreciate it.” With a pat on his shoulder, the Head Girl left for bed.
Early the following morning, Hermione sat at the desk in her office reviewing her timetable for the day. When she was satisfied everything was in order, her school-related books and parchment packed away, she took out the notes she had made the night before and started composing her simple response to Molly Weasley.
Dear Mrs. Weasley,
Thank you for the kind note and invitation. My parents and I already had plans for the Christmas holiday, so I must decline. Perhaps you would consider a weekend in November. I am free the first and last weekends of the month, would either of those work for you?
Your information about Percy is wonderful and I am delighted that you and Mr. Weasley have finally been reunited with your son. His bravery and courage the past few months were truly characteristic of the spirit of Godric Gryffindor. We all owe him a debt of thanks.
I will pass on your greetings to Ginny and Harry when I see her later this morning.
Regards…
Sighing, Hermione read over the letter, signed it and put it in her pack to post later that morning. It was time to move on.
-|-|-|-|-
Diane ran into Harry, Ginny and Hermione as they exited the Great Hall, both the Head Boy and Head Girl looked cross about something. After Ginny waved goodbye and headed off to Potions, she asked what was wrong.
“The first full day back and I’m ready to throttle Colin Creevey,” Hermione answered in a huff. “He let half the first years oversleep… and where were you for breakfast?”
Diane stopped. “If it’s any of your business, Hermione, I was busy getting lost. I got caught on one of those stupid moving staircases and had to kick Peeve’s ass when he wouldn’t tell me how to get to breakfast. Satisfied?” Harry glanced at Hermione, slightly amused. What could Diane do to Peeves?
Then he suddenly sobered. “Di, what exactly did you do to him?”
“I just banished him, Harry, why do you care?”
“Diane, it’s not that I really care much for Peeves… but what happened to him?” asked Hermione. There was just a hint of concern in her voice. Harry knew why, too. It was obvious that the scope of Diane’s powers were still unknown, the shield she had cast on the 11th of September to save Percy from the killing curse was proof. But with all the problems putting the ministry back together, no one had had the opportunity to evaluate her true power.
Diane pushed around Hermione and walked on a bit further before answering. “I used a standard ghost banishing spell on him and he disappeared. I learned it at Salem.” Hermione looked at Harry, at a loss for how to continue.
“Ok, Di. Er”what class you off to now?” Harry said, trying to calm his friends.
“None, Mr. Flitwick wanted to meet with me before deciding which class I should attend. Can I go now?” Diane walked off leaving Harry and Hermione wondering what had hit them.
“Was it something I said?” asked Hermione.
Harry honestly wasn’t sure. “Probably not, let’s get to class.”
Double Transfiguration was followed by Charms, where Diane rejoined them, walking into the room together with the diminutive Professor Flitwick. Harry smiled tentatively at her and the American joined Hermione and him for the two hour class. Since it was the first period in a N.E.W.T. year, the time was spent reviewing expectations and scheduling practices and evaluations with Flitwick. Diane seemed to have calmed down, Harry noted, so he ventured a question. “How was the meeting with Flitwick? I mean, you’re in this class so I guess he thought you were up to speed.”
“Yes, I’m glad of that, but he gave me a couple hundred Charms to work on over the term. He also had me show him the shield I used on Ginny’s brother.”
This peaked Harry and Hermione’s interest, but the Head Girl wasn’t about to ask for more information; Harry saw the pleading look she gave him.
“Yeah, Di, about that; we, er”I was wondering how you managed that…” Hermione looked irritatedly at Harry and shook her head in frustration. She didn’t notice Diane watching her.
“It’s ok, Herms. Mr. Graham, told me I shouldn’t keep it a secret, just be selective about who I showed it to.” It was perfectly clear, by the way Diane made the statement, that she had no intention of showing it to one particular seventh year.
But that did not bother her as much as how she had been addressed by the American. Diane had called her Herms; of all the nicknames one could make out of Hermione, that was her least favorite. Harry knew she would have preferred to have been called an insufferable know-it-all. He also noticed that the students passing by in the corridor were giving them a very wide berth. The air was charged with hostility, but Hermione said nothing.
“In America, we rely more on the raw force of magic than the finesse you practice here. To us, fancy wand movements are a waste of time and do nothing but give your opponent an edge.”
Harry glanced at Hermione, her eyes were wide and her face had the approximate color of an over-ripe tomato. Saying that wand motions were unnecessary was tantamount to telling her book-knowledge was unnecessary.
“Don’t look like that, Herms, it’s nothing personal…” Like heck it isn’t, Harry thought. “Want a demonstration?”
Becoming concerned, Harry tried to step in and say it wasn’t necessary, but Hermione had already snapped back at Diane, pointing to a staircase. “I have just the place,” she said, and rather nastily, too. It was obvious she meant the Room of Requirement.
A few minutes later the three entered the magical room and found it set up as a target range. Hermione set her bag down, turning to her opponent. “You first, Di,” she spat, pointing at the target. The next thing Harry knew, both targets at the far side of the room had been obliterated. And Diane hadn’t even drawn her wand or spoken a word. She was standing with her arms folded, scowling at Hermione.
As the magical room reset the targets, Hermione ignored Diane’s display of power and arrogance. She drew her wand and cast Reducto, but with a hand movement Harry had never seen before, and no light emanating from her wand. The new targets seemed untouched and Diane looked at Harry questioningly. Hermione, however, walked forward at a leisurely pace and lightly pressed the index finger of each hand to the corresponding left and right target. The top half of each fell to the ground, both having been neatly cleaved in two.
Harry was amazed. Diane was not amused. “Very nice, Herms. It looks like we both have a place in the world of magic. Would you care to duel?”
In a heartbeat Harry was between the two girls. “No, you’re both too, er”emotional to duel. Someone will get hurt.” But Hermione and Diane were already lining up.
“Call it out, Harry,” Diane said sharply.
“NO! Hermione, leave, go. NOW!” Harry yelled, but his friend wouldn’t move. “Listen you lot, cut it out. I don’t know why you’re both so bloody pissed at each other, but grow up.”
The American witch spoke first, working her jaw angrily and practically spitting out her answer as she pointed at Hermione. “I’ll tell you why, Harry. She’s been treating me like the plague since the day I arrived. Ginny and Ron accepted me at once, but she’s hardly said a civil word to me in the past month, and I’m tired of it. If she doesn’t want to be my friend, that’s fine with me, but I don’t want her interfering with my personal relationships.” Diane turned and started pacing, obviously trying to calm herself. Her long black hair had come undone and was trailing out behind her. When she turned around, it cut back across her face like a cape, momentary giving the witch a decidedly evil appearance. Enraged, her hazel eyes pierced whomever she gazed at.
Harry then looked at Hermione who, he could tell, was somewhat successfully fighting back tears. But what kind? She opened her mouth to say something, stopped and walked over to a chair, sitting and composing herself before finally speaking. “She’s right, Harry, I haven’t been fair to her.” Then she looked up to the exchange student and in a steady and honestly remorseful voice said, “I’m sorry, Diane. I know it isn’t an excuse, but when you came back with Harry, I just… couldn’t handle it. Ron and I were off doing our own thing and you fit in so perfectly with Harry and Ginny. Then Ron went away and I felt left out. Harry, Ron and I had always been best friends, well, almost always,” she stole an embarrassed glance toward her first friend at Hogwarts. “When Harry and Ginny started dating she was a natural addition to our group. I “ I think I saw you as a threat to Harry and Ginny’s relationship, like you were after Harry. It was very immature of me.”
For what seemed like an hour, Harry stood watching his two friends. Finally Diane walked back to Hermione and spoke quietly to her. He could not hear what they said, but it was obvious both had reached some sort of understanding, and that was good enough for now.
“Harry, would you mind getting Ginny and a couple others you trust, and bring them back here? I want to show you the shield I used.” Hermione looked up to Diane in surprise; she had told Harry a dozen times that she wanted to know how the shield worked. Harry knew that it would still be a while before the two girls felt comfortable around each other, but the overt hostility was, apparently, a thing of the past. Feeling better about them, he departed.
The girls were speaking quietly, each with a serious look on their face, ten minutes later when Harry returned with Ginny, Seamus Finnegan and Ernie Macmillan. The American spoke up, per Hermione’s directions, and the Room of Requirement altered its shape to accommodate the slightly larger group, and changed to a single target at the far wall. Diane then told of her ‘secret.’
“Harry and Hermione saw how I destroyed the target earlier,” Diane addressed Ginny, Seamus and Ernie. “Hermione is now going to do the same thing.” With that short introduction, the bushy-haired witch cast a blasting curse and the target exploded. Unlike Diane, she had used her wand and spoken the incantation, but the effect was the same. The room then reset the target and Diane continued her story.
“I know that a blasting curse isn’t as strong as the killing curse, but it will work just as well for this demonstration. I’m going to cast a simple shielding spell this time and Hermione is going to try to penetrate it and destroy the target. Ready?” Diane asked. Hermione nodded.
Harry, Ginny, Seamus and Ernie all watched eagerly as Diane cast her shield, this time using her wand and speaking the Protego incantation. A faint yellow glow appeared in front of the target. When Hermione threw her curse, one far less powerful than the Avada Kedavra, it went through the shield with ease. As if on cue, everyone but Diane started asking how that could happen.
“Ok, here’s the secret,” Diane said, smiling, as the room reset the target for another round. “Hermione’s going to cast the same spell, as am I. But before I cast, Harry and Ginny will join me.” Holding out her left hand, Harry and Ginny took it in theirs, looking suspiciously at each other.
“What do we do?” asked Ginny.
“Nothing, just watch. Go ahead Hermione.”
The Head Girl repeated the blasting curse, but this time it barely made its way through the shield to the target, which lightly toppled over, and no other sign of damage.
“Cor!” Seamus exclaimed. “How’d you do that?” Both his and Ernie’s were wide-eyed with wonder.
She smiled shyly and ignored the question. “Again; Ernie, you and Seamus join Harry and Ginny this time. Ok, Hermione. Now!” This time Hermione’s spell dissipated as it impacted the yellow shield Diane had cast. Now everyone’s eyes were turned to the American, waiting for her explanation.
“Once more, but this time Ginny will cast the shield with us four,” she pointed to Harry, Ernie, Seamus and herself, “supporting her.”
Ginny cast the Protego Charm, but even with her friends’ support, Hermione’s curse sliced through it as if it weren’t there. Ginny frowned and looked at Diane.
“Have a seat, Ginny, we only have twenty minutes before class but I’ll give you the short version of why it works for me and not you.”
Crossing the room, Diane waved her wand and the wall turned into a map of North, Central and South America. As she spoke, lines and shadows followed her story, illustrating the people and places involved. “The history of magic in the Americas is far different than here in Europe, though it has the same roots. An Irish monk named Brendan, who was the first known European to cross the Atlantic about thirteen hundred years ago, is largely responsible for magic in the Americas. Actually, Brendan himself was not the wizard, a pilot on his ship, The Spirit, was; his real name’s been lost over the centuries, but Native Americans called him the Ghost Maker. He stayed behind, when the monk returned to Ireland, in what is now Nova Scotia. Legends say that the Ghost Maker wandered for years and eventually into Central America, where he settled and raised a family.”
“Then American magic really started about the same time Merlin was living here,” Ginny stated.
“Right, Ginny. In fact, there’s been a lot of speculation and theories about whether this Ghost Maker guy really was Merlin, but it’s nothing more than guesses.” With the activity on the map complete, Diane sat with the others and finished the story. “The practice of magic in the Americas evolved largely without wands; that was the way the Ghost Maker taught it. Wands only came back into fashion over the last four centuries, under the influence of European colonization.”
“As for what I showed you with the shield charm, that practice appeared in the early seventh century, and all we know about its history is that it’s an inherited trait and the Ghost Maker had it, too. We call it Coalescence, or Channeling. It’s not a spell in itself; the person with the gift simply unites and focuses the magic of others through themselves.” Shrugging, Diane said simply, “I have it, but Ginny doesn’t.”
“I’ve never read anything about this. Is it rare?” Hermione asked.
“Don’t know. I’m the only one living that I know of, but I haven’t been looking, either.”
“That would explain why Riddle was so surprised when it happened. It was old magic,” Harry said. “He fell for it once when he tried to kill me as a baby. I felt his astonishment this time.”
“And there’s no real test for it except what you saw here.”
They looked around, for a second, wondering what the test had shown her that they had not noticed.
Hermione asked Diane tentatively, “The color?”
“Right, the shield’s color, did the rest of you notice it? Mine was a pale yellow, Ginny’s was the standard green. My Patronus also has a yellow tint, I noticed, but it’s so bright it’s hard to see.”
“The other wizards that I channeled last month knew of my ability from Mr. Graham. Some of them are powerful wizards and witches themselves. When I felt them touch me I somehow knew my shield would stop anything. I just wish I could have been there when Neville was attacked.” Diane bowed her head and looked miserable, but everyone who was listening immediately began to admonish her, as they had on the 11th of September. And as friends of Harry, they were well practiced in the routine.
“Then the stories of you killing all those Dementors are true?” Seamus asked a minute later.
“Yes, we did the same thing as with the shield, except I cast the Patronus Charm Harry showed me.”
“Blimey!” Ernie exclaimed softly. The others just nodded.
After a minute of silence, Hermione pointed to the clock and reminded everyone they had class in a few minutes. Harry again warned Seamus and Ernie that only Diane could choose who to tell about her power. Both acknowledged Harry’s words and thanked the American for sharing the story with them.
When everyone had left the room but Harry and Ginny, he asked for a few minutes alone. Ginny departed, giving him a questioning look, as the Head Boy returned to one of the chairs and slumped down. Somehow he knew, just as he had many times over the previous month, that Ankaa was approaching. Sure enough, a second later the Phoenix Flashed brightly into the center of the room and landed at Harry’s feet.
Hello, boy, I haven’t seen you in a while. Harry thought, smiling silently.
We both needed a rest, keeper, Ankaa replied, jumping up on Harry’s leg.
Harry laughed. “Bet you didn’t get a couple Howlers from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley!” What brings you here? But as soon as Harry asked the question he saw… he knew the answer. The magnificent creature was looking a bit bedraggled. Is your Burning Day approaching?
Yes, a few more days. Will you be with me?
If you like, Harry thought. It had been years since he had seen Fawkes Burn in Dumbledore’s office. Having his familiar go through the process, however, was a little more… personal.
Is you American friend fitting in?
Er”yeah, I guess. Her and Hermione seem to have patched things up.
Good. You need to help her. She is not as strong as she believes, or appears, and her future holds many possibilities.
Oh, right then, I’ll do whatever I can, thought Harry, and he meant it. Did you, er, see these many possibilities for her in your other world?
More than you had a few weeks ago. But she must look to the past to understand her future.
I’m not sure I understand…
You may, just continue to help her.
Without waiting for Harry to reply, Ankaa leapt off his leg and Flashed out of the room. Harry was left with more questions than answers, but he was thankful that, for now, none felt at all life-threatening.
-|-|-|-|-
Another week of infighting and petty squabbles continued to blight the activities at the Ministry of Magic. Even a couple Muggle duels broke out in one Committee meeting, a sure sign of rising frustration and impatience. Phoebus Penrose was being called upon more frequently to settle issues and act as a judge for the ever growing list of topics which had reached an impasse. He was still meeting nightly with Arthur Weasley and Gilbert Wimple, too, trying to draw balance into his decisions, for his role was becoming more like that of a judge, or king, than a Minister. No one, least of all Penrose, wanted him to have dictatorial powers, but nearly everyone was unconsciously forcing it upon him.
But not everything about the Ministry of Magic was in disarray, The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, still under the leadership of Kingsley Shacklebolt, was one of only two branches of the Ministry operating smoothly and efficiently. However, even this good fortune had unpleasant side-effects. The large number of Voldemort’s supporters being rounded up was causing a rapid decrease in the number of available cells to hold them. Doubling up the prisoners only worked for a while; until the Wizengamot could be reconvened the numbers would continue to rise. Overcrowding, should it lead to escapes, would bode ill for the embattled Ministry’s reputation.
The other branch still functioning well, the Department of Muggle Investigative Research, had been established only two years before. The sole member of the department, a Squibb named Amanda Bright, functioned as a direct advisor to the head of the Department of Magical Catastrophes, (currently vacant,) and was responsible for using Muggle technology to monitor Muggle suspicions of the magical world. As a Squibb, Bright was perfectly suited (and educated) for the job. She occupied a smallish office two floors below the Minister of Magic, and monitored a small collection of Muggle computers.
The first few months on the job had been a typical bureaucratic nightmare for Amanda. Few in the Ministry wanted more Muggle technology, but more pressing issues, like a war, eventually distracted the dissenters. The computer constantly performed searches on the Internet for subjects such as magic, spells, wizard, witch and the like. When counters registered that a single IP address or user ID was exceeding a predetermined threshold of queries from a list of magic-associated keywords, a flag was raised for Bright to run additional investigations. If the person or persons identified were Muggles who had stumbled upon a little too much information, (or even speculation,) Amanda would notify the Obliviators and they would begin their own surveillance, taking whatever steps necessary to keep their world a secret. This usually entailed nothing more than a small memory modification and the removal of any evidence the Muggle(s) had collected.
The department’s sole member was, justifiably, proud of her work. Before 1995, the Obliviators had to rely upon word of mouth and notifications from the Improper Use of Magic office for assignments. These often arrived long after a problem started and the Obliviators had to scramble to keep up with nosey Muggles. The timely reports that Bright now provided made the Obliviators job much easier and the wizards and witches happier. Additionally, with the Ministry focused on the war against Voldemort the past twenty-one months, Amanda Bright had nearly free reign in running her one person domain.
Within the Department’s office there was also a second computer, which served as a backup, and upon which Bright developed new search tools and algorithms. Her current project dealt with name searches, famous Wizarding names like Merlin, Agrippa, Dumbledore and a recent addition, Potter. But it would be a few more weeks before her automated searches were ready to be placed in an active status. Meanwhile, Amanda busied herself with her everyday duties, noticing that the backlog of reports to the Obliviators was beginning, finally, to decrease.
-|-|-|-|-
An unfamiliar noise startled Ron Weasley, mid-snore, from a deep sleep and he rolled awkwardly off the sofa in Nettie Mellanson’s flat. The wood floor was hard and bruised his elbow when he struck. Still disoriented by the noise, he swore and tried to get up, succeeding only in banging his head rather painfully on the sharp corner of the coffee table. Swearing again, this time more enthusiastically, he began to identify the noise as a Muggle telephone. Just as he rose to answer it, Nettie ran into the room and picked up the handle.
“Oui?” she croaked, half asleep herself. Ron could make out another voice on the other end of the strange device. The past three days he had been eyeing it suspiciously until his host had allowed him to try making a call. Of course, once he had his hands on it he couldn’t put it down. Nettie had to explain that the phone would never ring unless he left it alone. Disappointed, Ron placed the handset back on the receiver and hoped for someone to call, then he realized they would not be calling for him.
Nettie started babbling in rapid French, but one word Ron easily detected was ‘Charlie.’ He approached his host, forgetting he was wearing only a pair of boxers, and put his ear up to the receiver, attempting to hear the voice on the other end. It was definitely Charlie! Nettie handed Ron the phone and went to wake her sister.
“Charlie, is that you?” asked Ron.
“Yes! Was that Tré’s sister?”
“Yeah, Nettie, uh”Antoinette is like that. How did you find us? Where are you?” Ron was rubbing his eyes and didn’t see Tré and Nettie return.
“I’m in Belgium. Merlin, what a mess I made of things, eh?”
But Ron didn’t get a chance to answer, Tré had tapped him on the shoulder; smiling, he handed her the phone and retreated to the sofa. Wide awake now, he jotted out a brief note to his parents on the pad of paper he’d been given the night he arrived. As he finished, Louise, Nettie’s owl, landed on the arm of the sofa awaiting its message. Ron tied the note to Louise’s leg, and gave her an affectionate tap on the beak. “Know where the Burrow is, girl?” Louise blinked at him and flew out the back entryway Nettie had just opened.
“You want some breakfast?” his host asked after closing the door. Tré was deep in conversation with his brother and it was doubtful he would be able to get much more sleep.
“No, don’t bother, thanks. I’ll just go to the, er”bull-an-jerry? Is that what you called it?”
“Oui, that’s close, just be sure you ask for la lait in your coffee this time, not la vache, they won’t overcharge you.” Ron looked crestfallen, he obviously needed more practice with the language than he thought. Nettie laughed. “Hang on, I’ll go with you.”
“Oh, thanks… I’ll, eh, get dressed.”
Nettie looked him over. “You know, Ron, there are some places in France where you would be overdressed wearing that.”
His eyes bulged. “You’re yanking my chain, aren’t you? You aren’t!” Grabbing a handful of clothes he’d purchased the previous day, with no particular attention to what it was, Rob backed out of the parlor and into the bathroom to change.
The damp, misty morning air of Vernon carried the first chills of autumn as Ron and Nettie walked the half-mile from her flat to the café; the eastern sky was only just beginning to show the pale grey light that heralded the dawn. Ron had insisted they take the back streets, and he carried his wand at the ready, but hidden within the folds of a jacket Dr. LeVasseur’s had lent him. He had the feeling his guide found the behavior amusing; for his part, Ron could not understand her lackadaisical attitude.
“So, Ron, who is this woman you are suffering over?” Nettie asked out of the blue.
“I’m not suffering over anyone,” he retorted harshly. When his partner laughed he knew he’d confirmed her suspicion. Then he wondered… “Did Tré or Charlie tell you something?”
“Moi? Non, how could zey tell me somesing zat iz not?”
Ron could not stand it when she got like this, very know-it-all-ish… far too much like Hermione. And she intentionally throws in that ruddy thick accent.
“Alright, Ron, I’m sorry.” She patted him very condescendingly on the head, but smiled when he turned to say something rude to her.
“Bloody women!” Ron muttered, only to hear Nettie laugh again, as if she could read his mind… But then, she was Tré’s sister. “Wait a minute, can you do that thing your sister does, you know, read minds and all that rubbish?”
“Essie doesn’t ‘read minds,’ and neither do I. And why do you call her ‘Tré’?” They had stopped walking and were standing in the middle of an alley, next to a particularly foul smelling garbage bin. Ron nodded in the direction they’d been traveling, as if to indicate a rapid departure was desired. Antoinette agreed and they continued their walk.
“I don’t know, that’s how Harry and Charlie introduced me to her. Why do you call her ‘Essie?’ Wait a minute, you’re changing the subject.”
“Ok, Ron, turn left at this corner,” she said, pointing to the approaching intersection. “Essie has very well practiced and refined Empathic skills, she senses emotions and thoughts. But unlike Legilimency, she does not have to physically see the person. She can also project… um, I am not sure of the English word for this… ideas, perhaps, into a person’s consciousness. Under controlled conditions she can even transfer images and specific thoughts into another person’s mind.”
“Oh, right, that’s what she did with Harry.” They turned the corner, both walking slowly to finish the conversation before reaching the café.
“Oui, all the females in our family have some level of that ability. I’m probably the least gifted, I can only sense emotions.” She stopped again and looked at Ron. “So you see, no one had to tell me you were, eh… in pain, heartbroken, a bit, yes?”
Ron unsuccessfully tried to hide his scowl. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to talk to a stranger about his failed relationship with Hermione, least of all someone who could easily tell if he was lying to cover up something.
“You see, now you are uneasy and you are trying to hide it. Don’t worry, Ron, I will not speak of it to anyone, including yourself, unless you want me to. This ability we have is also a curse, you know.” Now it was Nettie’s turn to scowl.
“How’s that?”
“We cannot just turn it off. Even an accomplished Occlumens is easy for me to sense, and they stand no chance against Essie… and Jackie, one of my other sisters.”
“You have three sisters, what about the other…?” As soon as he asked, Ron could tell it was a painful subject. Even the Frenchwoman’s skills could not hide her reaction. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You are, perhaps, a bit Empathic, too, I think, no?” Nettie turned away for a moment before continuing. “Essie is my oldest sister, then Jacqueline, Marie and me.” She paused. “Marie is in an institution in Switzerland. She could not handle the… voices, I think you would say.”
“Voices?”
“Oui… yes, eh, what we hear and sense when we are around people. It is not too uncommon for sensitive Empaths to crack under the constant strain of other’s emotions. Some recover, some don’t. Marie has been gone ten years, it was very difficult on my parents…”
Nettie’s voice drifted off and she turned to continue walking, but Ron took her arm gently. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly, neither turning back to Ron nor continuing on her way. “We all have our pains, yes? Sometimes it helps to talk, sometimes not.”
“Right, er…”
Ron was suddenly very uncomfortable with his own emotions. He had a strong desire to embrace Nettie, to comfort her, but he really did not know her well enough, he thought. And for the past few months, physical affection towards a female had been almost always associated with physical intimacy. That was something he didn’t want. But Nettie solved the problem, giving him a brief hug and locking her arm in his as they started walking again. The last few blocks to the café were spent in silence. The eastern sky had become noticeably lighter, and off to one side or the other they could hear an occasional voice speaking or dog barking as they day began.
Arriving back at the flat thirty minutes later, Tré was sipping coffee and reading what appeared to be some type of official documents; when Ron and Nettie entered the room she covered them with a newspaper. “Did you bring me a croissant?”
“Never mind the croissant, what did Charlie say?” asked Ron, his face lighting up.
Nettie placed a small waxed bag on the table in front of her sister. “Ignore Monsieur Weasley, he did not get his beauty sleep today.” Tré looked at both of them and laughed. Ron grumbled something that sounded very unlike the expression on his face and sat down, taking a bite from a large muffin.
“Charlie is taking a train to Paris and should be in about two this afternoon. He has to get a new wand, apparently his was lost when he sent us here.” Tré flexed her arm and rubbed the spot where it had been broken.
“Is it still bothering you, Essie?” Nettie asked. Walking over and taking her sister’s arm, she began to massage it with her thumbs. Tré grimaced, trying to suppress her obvious pain. “No complaining, you big baby, this will teach you not to get yourself blown-up.”
“And you, my baby sister, need to work on your bed-side manners.” Both laughed at the elder woman’s chastisement. “Oh, Doctor LeVasseur came by a few minutes ago,” Tré added, searching through the mess on the table for a scrap of paper, “and asked it you would see go see Captain Girard. Apparently his foot is acting up again.”
To Ron, the request seemed unusual, Nettie could not be far along in her Healing studies and attending a patient alone was very uncommon, but her face lit up with the request. He suspected the captain might be a potential suitor. When Nettie asked him if he would like to go with her, Tré spoke up immediately. “Please, Ron, would you? My sister will make a wonderful Healer but she’s dreadfully average when it comes to defending herself.” Nettie stuck out her tongue at the older woman and left the room.
Ron finished his muffin and coffee, waiting for Nettie to return. Apparently it would be a few minutes; he noticed the shower was running. When he looked up from his drink, Tré was watching him. “Feeling better today, Ron?” He nodded. “Good! Today is the first day I’ve seen you happy in a long time.” Tré stopped speaking, but continued to watch her boyfriend’s brother closely.
“Take it slowly, my friend. She is dedicated to her Healing career and still very young. And we will be leaving here tomorrow.” Tré did not need her Empathic skills to notice Ron’s face fall.
“It’s not like that, Tré,” Ron attempted to correct her, but stopped. Or was it? He tried to change the subject. “Uh, Nettie’s what, twenty, twenty-one? She said Fleur was a year ahead of her at Beauxbaton.” When Tré gave him an enormous smile he began to feel like he’d put his foot in his mouth.
“Ron, Nettie is only seventeen, the same as you.”
“Bloody Hell!” he exclaimed. He knew she looked young but assumed it was only her youthful appearance. If she finished Beauxbaton two years ago, he thought, she should be at least twenty…
“She was something of a prodigy… perhaps more than Miss Granger, no? You do like the smart one, eh?” Tré said, flashing a brief, friendly smile his way. Ron’s ears and neck turned scarlet and he looked down to the dregs of his coffee.
When Nettie appeared a quarter-hour later she wore what would be considered in most places a Muggle doctor’s outfit: Dark trousers and a white coat with the universal Muggle symbol for doctors embroidered on the front; a smaller Wizarding Healer’s pin was on her lapel. Any non-magical person seeing her dressed as such would not think the attire unusual in any way. But now, with her hair up and relaxed, she looked seventeen. Ron glanced at her as she gathered a small case and her now lukewarm coffee.
“Ready?” she said brightly.
“Sure.”
Nettie called out to her sister that she was leaving and the two walked out.
The day had warmed significantly over the intervening ninety minutes and the town was far more active than it had been the previous two days. First they stopped at Dr. LeVasseur’s house where Nettie disappeared into the old examining room for a bit, presumably to receive instructions, or medicines. Ron was quite certain that even a brilliant teenage Healer would not be allowed to write prescriptions. When the girl returned waving a piece of paper and looking disgruntled, his suspicions were confirmed. The trainee called out her goodbye to the old man as they exited. Ron thought he caught an annoyed look when he insisted on checking the street for trouble first. “There has been no trouble here since September, I wouldn’t worry, Ron.”
Still, he kept his hands in his pockets, near the wand in his belt, ready for anything.
The two looked decidedly odd together. One carried herself as the professional, the other with long hair, slouching a bit, and eyes darting every which way. As they walked along, Nettie told Ron about Captain Girard. “He’s an old hero from the second world war and a friend of Dr. LeVasseur. They served together in the French fleet at Toulon when the British attacked them in 1942. The captain hates the English so you probably should not tell him where you’re from.”
Oh, brilliant! “I’ll try not to inflict my French on him, don’t worry,” Ron said, trying to sound upbeat. Having just survived a civil war in his own country, he would now face an elderly navy bloke with an axe to grind. “What’s wrong with the old codger?”
“Oh lord, Ron, you’ll never be a doctor, that’s for certain.”
“What’d I say?” he asked innocently.
“Nothing at all. Well, here we are.”
They turned into an old apartment building and Ron followed as the Healer climbed the stairs to the second floor. Coming to apartment 21, Nettie knocked and waited. A strong voice called out a moment later for the guests to enter.
“Bonjour, monsieur, ca va?” Nettie asked pleasantly. The old captain was seated in an extremely uncomfortable looking chair, his right leg propped up on a stack of magazines. The foot was wrapped in a bandage and Ron had to concentrate to keep from covering his nose; the foot was obviously infected and the accompanying stench was gagging.
Nettie and the captain spoke, exchanging pleasantries, Ron thought, by the tone of their voice. After a minute, she turned around and tried to mouth something to him but was interrupted by the old man in heavily accented English. “And ou ahr yoo?”
“Eh, bon-ger, muss-your,” Ron said in his best French.
Nettie rolled her eyes and walked over to him, trying to hide her message by feigning a kiss on his cheek. “Ron, please wait outside.”
“Er”we.” Then turning to the man and waving he said, “A-joe-do-we, muss-your.”
Nettie turned bright red and covered her eyes with one hand in embarrassment.
After Ron had exited the apartment and closed the door, he heard Nettie jabbering rapidly in French. The old man barked out what sounded like a laugh. This helped calm Ron’s nerves down a bit.
An hour later, Nettie exited the building and found Ron waiting for her in the small, dank smelling lobby. She wore the same look Ginny had when she was trying to decide whether to hex or hug him.
“Sorry about that…”
“Ron, do you have any idea how bad your French is? Do you even know what you said?” But try as she might to scold him, she just ended up smiling in the end.
“Not really…”
“I thought not. Come on.” She took his hand, pulled him up and then pushed him through the building exit. Ron felt a flutter in his stomach when their hands touched. Perhaps there is life after Hermione…
“First of all, mister or sir is pronounced monsieur, NOT ‘muss-your.’ Now you try it.” He did… sort-of.
“No! monsieur, listen to me… monsieur.”
“Monsieur?”
“Oui, bon, encore. Again!”
“Monsieur?”
“No! It is not a question; say ‘monsieur’.”
“Monsieur.”
“Tres bien! I’ll make a Frenchman out of you yet. Now, when you greet someone it’s salut, bonjour or allô. Let’s stick with just one, salut, it’s less formal…”
“You mean you have to say hello different ways to different people?” he asked in obvious distress.
Nettie stopped and looked at Ron very seriously. “You will love the masculine and feminine nouns, I’m sure.”
Ron’s face went blank. “We leave tomorrow, Nettie,” he said apologetically.
This she had not heard, yet. “Oh… Well that takes care of the lessons, doesn’t it?”
Ron wanted to believe there was a trace of disappointment in her voice, she had to have known, didn’t she? They continued on in silence for a bit. “I’m sure I’ll be back, now and then. Maybe Tré will teach me some…” But when he looked to his right, Nettie had a hard, almost expressionless look on her face. Ron recognized it as the face he had seen on her the past few days, the face that made him think she was so much older than she really was.
Translations:
lait - milk
vache - cow