Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.
“…one useless man is a nuisance, two useless men are a law firm and three or more become a congress…” John Adams, 1776, the Musical. (And just as applicable today, too.)
“Yes, it took a little longer than we expected, Arthur, but we’ll soon see how successful we were. Please tell Percy that he has a letter of commendation in his personal file.”
“Thank you, Phoebus, I’m delighted he could help. Ah, here they come.”
Arthur Weasley, Phoebus Penrose, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Gilbert Wimple moved to their seats in the front row of the Ministry Meeting Hall, the same auditorium they had first met in two months prior to discuss the fate of their government. There was a steady, disruptive murmuring throughout the hall while delegates waited for the bell to signal the start of the proceedings.
In years past, amendments to the Ministry Charter, the English Wizarding World’s equivalent of a Constitution, went through a formal procedure. The bell was rung, the presiding Head of the Wizengamot, the Minister of Magic, escorted the other twenty-four members onto the stage, the Secretary read the bill and the entire body of the Wizengamot were polled. A majority vote passed the bill. But with more than half of the Wizengamot in prison or dead, the first step was to approve the 14 new members needed to fill out the body. This was the job of the Delegates present. Finally, the newly filled Wizengamot voted for a Minister of Magic and then the legislative bills could be addressed.
As the Hall clock chimed ten, Phoebus Penrose stood and climbed the four steps to the stage and rang a ceremonial bell three times, as was prescribed by tradition. The twelve sitting members of the Wizengamot filed into the hall and took their assigned seats behind Penrose. When all were seated, the bell was again struck three times and the session was called into order.
“The one thousand and third gathering of the Wizengamot is now in session. I call order to this Hall.” Penrose picked up a judge’s gavel and hit the table five times. The noise in the Hall quickly diminished.
“By the Laws of Merlin, and all Wizards and Witches of the Empire, I call upon all delegates in this Hall to pledge their honor to the common good of our society.” As one, the entire Hall shouted out, “So we pledge!”
Penrose finished the opening ritual with a few words. “Keep this sacred oath and work together or we shall surely suffer the consequences… again.” Then bowing to the Hall, then the Wizengamot, Penrose returned to his seat.
From within the twelve Wizengamot members, one witch stood and walked to the dais. After a few words, the witch announced that the members had selected a temporary Chief; she invited Gilbert Wimple to the stage. Arthur and Phoebus shared the briefest of glances, both expected this nomination. In many ways, this temporary Chief of the Wizengamot had far more power than he or she should. The position was responsible for nominating replacements, so any bias would be obvious.
“He had to have known before today,” Arthur whispered to Penrose, as Wimple pulled some papers from his robe pocket. “His list and speech were prepared.”
Penrose nodded, “Of course, Arthur, just as we had discussed.”
Wimple delivered a few brief comments and then began presenting his list of nominees for the Wizengamot. As each name was addresses, Phoebus placed a check in one column or another. Arthur was not as shocked to note that most were Purebloods as he was to hear his own name mentioned.
“Come now, Arthur, don’t tell me that was a surprise,” Penrose said out of the side of his mouth.
“Wimple knows I’m not interested…”
“Yes, but he can’t advance a wholly Pureblood list, now can he?”
“I know, I know.” Arthur sat, listening to the final few names. He knew that his nomination by Wimple was likely to fail anyway; he was nearly the last of over sixty names for only fifteen slots. As the final name was read, the murmurs in the Hall became a roar; Arthur hoped it was due to the obviously one-sided slant of the nominees.
“What’s wrong, Weasley?” Penrose asked. “Don’t you trust your son?”
“Yes! I don’t trust Wimple and his gang of thieves.”
“We shall see. Wish me luck.”
Arthur nodded.
The attendees saw Penrose return to the stage, ostensibly to preside over the voting. When he gaveled the Hall into silence he had the slightest smirk on his face.
“Thank you, Gilbert. While the ballot sheets are being distributed, I would like to remind everyone that revised nomination and voting rules were adopted by the Wizengamot two weeks ago and are binding upon this election.” He looked at Arthur for a moment as a bead of perspiration ran down his cheek. Arthur nodded ever so slightly. “Very well, let the voting begin. All ballots must be returned within sixty minutes, and no one may leave the Hall during that time.” With the directions finished, Penrose walked to Arthur and motioned for him to follow.
Standing off in a corner of the Hall, Arthur could tell his friend was nervous. “Damn, Weasley, I’m too old for this. I thought I’d wet my nappies up there.” Arthur barked out a short laugh.
“You were fine. Let’s vote and see how this plays out.” Clapping his hand on Penrose’s shoulder he began to vote for his top choices.
An hour later, Penrose stood again on the stage and called for the collection of ballots in bags being passed around by two nasty looking Goblins. When they were all retrieved, the bags were brought to the stage where they were spelled against tampering. Then the Goblins who were to tally them took the bags and exited the Hall.
“Now we wait,” Penrose said simply, and slouched down in his seat to nap.
The Hall emptied as most of the delegates headed to lunch or some other activity. Arthur, who was watching the crowd leave, noticed Percy at the entrance and waved him in.
“Hello, father, is everything going as expected?” he asked with an even voice.
This boy worked with and faced down Voldemort, no wonder he’s so calm! “Yes, so far, but I would not recommend you being here in two hours, things will be getting very ugly.”
A smile slowly crept into Percy’s face. “I see your point.”
“By the way, son, Penrose has placed a letter of commendation into your personnel folder. Due to the nature of your, eh, work, it is somewhat vague. But I hope your new boss pays attention to it.” Arthur was glad to see his son show humility at this information. The ‘old Percy’ would not have been so graceful. “Your mother asked if you will be joining us for dinner Sunday.”
“Yes, father, please tell mother I’ll be there. How is Ronald?”
“Percy, please call him ‘Ron,’ I think it will help the situation.”
“Yes, very well. Does Ron have a job, yet?”
“Not yet, but he still needs another week of physical therapy for his ankles, I told him to just relax and take it easy. Ginny will be stopping by Sunday for a few hours before returning to Hogwarts, we’re hoping she convinces him to return, too.”
“Do you think the Headmistress will allow it?”
“I believe so.”
Percy picked up the leather folder he’d been carrying and shook his father’s hand. “It would be best for him, I believe, but… well, we’ll see. Good luck this afternoon, father.”
“Thank you, son.”
By early afternoon all the delegates had returned to the Hall and the vote tabulations were complete. The election committee, of which Arthur Weasley and Phoebus Penrose were members, sat at a table awaiting the sealed election results. As the clock rang one o’clock, two Goblins brought the tabulated results in identical sealed envelopes to the committee; the scowls on the Goblin’s faces discouraging any would-be antagonist or assailant.
With three bangs of the gavel, Penrose glanced nervously at Arthur and then called the Hall to order. “Fellow witches and wizards, the ballots have been counted and tabulated; I will now announce the results.” Clearing his throat, he continued by reading off sixteen names. Since the attendees were only expecting fourteen, bedlam ensued as soon as the last name was revealed.
“Order! There will be order in this Hall!” Penrose shouted. Looking down into the crown, Arthur saw Wimple’s face distorted in anger as he spoke with a group of wizards and witches who had instantly gathered around him. He also knew that the next piece of information Penrose supplied would make this mayhem appear trivial.
“Order! There will be order in this Hall!” Penrose shouted again, this time magically amplifying his voice. He received better results. “I will remind the Delegates that disruptions in the Hall during an election can be punished by vote invalidation.” It was an empty threat, he knew, since the balloting was secret, but it did quiet the crowd down further. “Very good, let me explain the results.”
But some of the Delegates were a step ahead of him, already looking through the election procedures that had been stealthfully manipulated two weeks before by Percy Weasley’s friend, Michael Gibson. Gibson had explained that procedural changes governing elections were far easier to alter than writing new legislation; Penrose and the elder Weasley immediately saw the elegant simplicity of the suggestion.
And it all came down to numbers.
The Pureblood families comprised only about twenty percent of the Wizarding community in Britain, but due to their wealth and connections, they had been able to buy their way onto the Wizengamot for decades, thus controlling the Ministry. Thanks to Gibson’s recommendations, that inequitable financial advantage had been eliminated. All that remained was for Penrose to explain the election results.
“Before I begin, I must remind every Delegate of their obligation and responsibility to understand the election rules. As I stated this morning, there have been changes made to the balloting procedures, thus the unusual results.”
The murmuring in the Hall slowly increased as Penrose continued. “By rule, no more than thirty percent of the Wizengamot may be made up of the Heritage Party,” (the Party name the Purebloods had adopted decades before.) “This is slightly more than ten percent greater than the total percentage of Party members present. This quota is governed by Article A, Section 23, Sub-section q of the election rules. The Freedom and the Liberal Parties make up the remaining sixty-nine percent of the members.” These next two parties comprised the balance of the Delegates. “Therefore, by rule, the Freedom Party gains nine seats, the Liberal Party gains seven seats, and the, ahem, Heritage Party… looses two seats.”
The roar that emanated from the Hall was deafening; a cacophony of jeers, cheers and verbal curses. A number of scuffles broke out, but most of the Delegates, members of the Freedom and Liberal Parties, stood in shock; for the first time in over five decades they enjoyed a significant majority in the Wizengamot.
The election committee gathered around Phoebus Penrose to show their support, even though only two of their number knew what had happened to cause the near riot. Placing his had on Arthur Weasley’s shoulder Penrose leaned over and whispered into his ear. Arthur looked down to Wimple and saw his red face scowling up at the stage. Kinglsey Shacklebolt was still sitting in his seat, but he had a concerned look on his face. From behind, a page delivered a note to Arthur who blanched as he read it.
“Phoebus,” he began with a gulp, “the Muggle Prime Minister is insisting that we open discussions on compensation for war damages.” Eyes wide, both men had placed the Muggle demand on the back burner while they ironed out their own problems.
The senior Ministry official shook his head. “Yes, and we just alienated the only block of people in the country who could possibly provide them what they want.”
|-|-|-|-|
“Thanks, Ankaa,” Harry said as his Phoenix handed him a roll of parchment. That it came from Ginny was certain, she was the only person, other than Harry, who could summon the magical creature. Propping his feet up on the coffee table, he opened the letter and began to read. It covered her first three days in Salem, the trip to the Attorney’s office, the boxes of personal items, Thanksgiving with Jason Graham’s family and a piece of news that Harry was glad to see.
Diane had a terrible night, Wednesday. She found her mother’s diaries and started to read them. At one point she threw Jason and me out of the room (my room, actually,) for the night. The next morning she and I had a long talk about the diary’s content. (Di said you knew this so I’m breaking her trust by telling you.) Diane is a lesbian, or bi-sexual, she says she isn’t sure. This you know. What none of us realized, especially Di, was that her parents knew also. They had been attending support groups and counseling to try to understand her better. The diary showed that they were about to speak with her about her ‘lifestyle’ when they were killed.
Needless to say, Di was devastated by this news. Part of her reason for attending Salem was because she felt a need to be away from her ‘strict’ parents. She thought they would never accept her. But there they were, on their own, trying to understand their daughter’s struggles. Poor girl, she cried all Thursday morning with Jason and me…
Harry breathed a sigh of relief, while at the same time his heart went out to his American friend.
Ginny’s letter continued to talk about the American Thanksgiving tradition, the parades and the enormous turkey dinners nearly everyone had attended. They spent the afternoon with Jason’s brother and friends in Boston where, Ginny emphasized, Diane began to feel better and be her old self again. Friday was spent sightseeing around Boston and Ginny described a number of her favorite locations, usually having to do with clothing or food.
Closing the letter, Ginny mentioned the strange date discrepancy she’d found on Diane’s Birth Certificate. But as she was the only one interested in finding out why, nothing was looked into.
I miss you so much, Harry, I hope you’re surviving without me and I can’t wait to see you Sunday evening. Why don’t you Floo Ron and see what he’s doing?
Got to fly, the dinner bell is ringing…
“That from Ginny?” asked Hermione, walking into the room and plopping onto the settee next to Harry. Crookshanks followed her and sprawled out between them, watching Ankaa pick at Harry’s hair, trying to playfully annoy him. Handing her the letter, Harry pointed out the section concerning the diaries, then he shooed the Phoenix away. Hermione scanned through it and handed it back to Harry a minute later.
“How sad, she must feel awful. I hope she can work through this.”
“Yeah, I know it’s been dragging her down.”
Suddenly changing the subject, the bushy-haired witch handed Harry a familiar piece of parchment. “Look, Harry, I talked with Professor McGonagall a few minutes ago and she wants us to continue doing the rounds together.”
“Doesn’t like my idea of us alternating nights?”
“No, and she snapped at me about it, too. I think you better take your ideas to her yourself from now on.” Hermione also handed Ginny’s note back, but remained leaning forward.
“You’re doing it again, Hermione.”
“What?”
“That look on your face, whenever something’s bothering you.”
“What face?”
Harry smiled and pointed at her, “Your face, goofy! What’s on your mind?”
“All right, I surrender,” she laughed, “I was thinking about Ron. He hasn’t contacted us since returning. Maybe you should Floo him.”
“Why me?”
“Because he’s your best friend and you haven’t talked to him in months,” Hermione said, matter-of-factly.
“Yeah? Well he’s your best friend too, and you haven’t talked to him in months, either.”
“It’s a little different now, Harry, you know that. I don’t want to give him any ideas.”
Harry was fiddling with Ginny’s letter, trying to think of a good come-back. “I have an idea. Why don’t you Owl Luna and have her drop a hint for him to stop by? You females are always plotting devious stuff like that.”
“No, Harry, we’re more subtle than that, at least by this age,” she laughed.
“Well, I’ll see, maybe later,” he said, looking back at Ginny’s letter, which meant the subject was closed and he didn’t want to talk about it any more. Hermione looked irritated and started to leave.
“Hang on,” Harry said unexpectedly. “How are you doing? You seem happier these past couple weeks.”
“I’m fine, but thanks for asking.”
“Sure, that’s what friends are for.”
Hermione stopped and fiddled with the hem of her jumper, reluctant to leave. “Harry, did you and Ginny make your Christmas holiday plans yet?”
“Er, sort of; she’s talking with her parents Sunday to see if we can spend some time with Remus and Tonks. I’m not very optimistic,” he finished dejectedly.
Hermione smiled, “Don’t give up hope. When I met with Molly I think she was more inclined to allow you two some time away… just not two weeks at a beach where everyone runs around starkers.”
Harry buried his face. “It wasn’t like that at all, Herms… Hermione. It was one afternoon, and Remus and I were too embarrassed to really appreciate the, ahem, situation.”
Covering her face, Hermione let out a giggle. “You poor thing, I imagine you were awfully uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, but I’m sure some day I’ll wish I was more bold.”
Hermione sat again and the Head Girl and Boy spent the next half-hour laughing at other more common situations they had experienced over the years which had caused them embarrassment. After a while, Hermione ran into her room and brought out two pictures Colin Creevey had given her. Both were of her, Harry and Ron, and both were complete opposites. In the first all three were in their school robes, very serious, looking as if they were being photographed for some sort of national security poster. In the other they were dressed in casual Muggle attire, acting silly and making faces at the camera, or each other.
“It’s a bit like our lives, don’t you think, Harry? One extreme or the other, without much in between.”
Harry looked again at the two pictures, one in each hand. “Yeah, I see what you mean.” He handed the pictures back. “How are you adjusting to the, er, war being over? I feel like I have to learn how to live all over again. Everything is so different, or maybe this is normal?” Harry said with a raised eyebrow and just a hint of sarcasm.
“I know what you mean, I haven’t thought much about the war being over; too many other things on my mind I guess.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over them.
“Hermione,” Harry said hesitantly, awkwardly taking her hands, “I really am sorry things didn’t work out with you and Ron. I guess we all knew that this could happen if one of us got involved with someone.”
“It didn’t happen with you and Ginny,” she replied grumpily.
“You’re right. But she was an outsider, in a way.”
For a moment, Harry looked like he would cut off the conversation, and he began to pull his hands away, but Hermione held on to them firmly, but gently. Neither spoke, Harry with his face turned down, Hermione with hers looking over the top of her friend’s head. Then, clear out of the blue, he asked, “Remember our Fourth Year?”
“How could I forget it?” Hermione dead-panned, wondering what made Harry recall that.
“We all had such a bloody awful time, I mean even outside of Riddle and Cedric, you, me and Ron were always fighting about something. Classes were a mess with those gits from Beauxbaton and Durmstrang butting into everything. And when I think back at the Yule Ball, Merlin, what a disaster!”
This time Hermione burst out laughing, pointing at Harry, but still holding his hand. “You and Ron brought that upon yourself; waiting until the last moment to get a date. I can still hear Ron saying, ‘You’re a girl, Hermione’. I wanted to hex him right there.”
Harry shook his head. “Yeah, but when you think about it, you and Ron would have been an odd couple on the dance floor… that is, if he ever asked you out there.”
“You’re on dangerous ground, Harry. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, er”nothing, just, I mean…” Hermione was trying to keep a straight face watching Harry’s discomfort. “Ron was wearing those hideous dress robes from his Aunt Somebody, and you looked beautiful. A real life Beauty and the Beast sort of thing, you know?”
“Ok, you got yourself out of that one gracefully,” she admitted, blushing slightly. Neither seemed to realize that they were still holding hands, or neither wanted to break contact. “You know, Harry, I think that was the first time in my life I really felt positive about my appearance.” Ugh! Why did I say THAT?! She turned away, but Harry misread the action.
“Nah, Herms, you’re attractive… God, I said it again, sorry Hermione. But after that year you did seem to pay more attention to… you know, how you dressed and that sort of thing. Ginny was always telling Ron or me how she was jealous of your looks.”
“No!”
“Yeah, seriously; she thinks you’re more attractive than she is.”
There was no reply for a moment. “Well, I think Diane has us both outclassed.”
Harry started laughing, not taking the bait. “I don’t think I’m going to comment on that one.”
Hermione joined him laughing and then sighed. “Well, boy-who-can’t remember-my-name, I’m turning in, good night, Harry.”
“Night,” he answered, his head again turned down.
“Harry?”
“Hmm? Oh, sorry,” he said in embarrassment, letting go of her hands.
Hermione gazed at Harry for a moment as he turned to read Ginny’s letter again, and then headed for her room to get ready for bed. The week had been difficult and she was in no mood for revising or reading. Instead she took a long, hot bath and climbed into bed. Five minutes later she fell asleep looking curiously at her friend in one of Colin’s pictures. Herms? Ugh!
At Ginny’s insistence, Jason Graham sent her and Diane back to England by Portkey and they landed outside the Burrow early Sunday afternoon. Neither girl had much opportunity to collect their things before Mrs. Weasley was heard calling to them from the back stairs. A moment later, Ron, Percy, Bill, Fleur, and Mr. Weasley exited the house to welcome the visitors.
“Oh, Ginny!” was all Molly Weasley could say as she pulled her daughter into an embrace, one that Ginny was certain had become stronger as the years went by. “And Diane, welcome to our home!” She treated the American with nearly the same affection and it left her momentarily stunned.
“Hi, Mrs. Weasley,” she managed to gasp.
“Oh, now none of that ‘Mrs. Weasley’ business, it’s Molly and Arthur.”
“Come in, come in,” Arthur called as his sons greeted their sister and her friend.
Percy lingered behind to help levitate their bags and boxes when everyone else started for the house. The air was nippy and a dense and a penetrating fog was rolling in. “Diane,” Percy called out. “May I have a minute of your time?”
“Oh… sure Percy.” Immediately on guard, Diane wondered if another Weasley was going to ask her out. But her fear was quickly assuaged.
“I’ve never really had the opportunity to thank you in person for shielding me from V-Voldemort’s curse.”
“I received your note, Percy, and you’re very welcome. I just wish I could have done the same for Neville.”
“Yes, but I think that just wasn’t to be, the prophecy and all that. Anyway, I want to thank you and let you know if there’s ever anything I can do for you, just let me know.” Before Diane had a chance to say another word, Percy turned and headed into the house, the luggage trailing obediently behind him.
“Alright there, Diane?” Arthur called out the door.
“Yes, I’m coming.”
Ginny felt as if she were in a dream as she walked through the kitchen into the parlor where everyone was gathering. In the background she could hear her mother humming as she went back to cooking. Her father, after a loving greeting to his only daughter, sat in his favorite chair and took up the Daily Prophet. Bill and Fleur were speaking with Ron. And Ron! Her brother, how he had changed since she saw him just a short time before, but then he’d been mostly confined to a bed or limping through the streets of Paris. Now he was… different.
It might have been his height, (which seemed to increase every time she saw him.) At nearly two meters he was the tallest on the boys… of the men in her family by four or five centimeters. He was poised, confident, mature even; very unlike the Ron of two or three months before. Ginny wondered if it was because she had not seen him regularly for so long, or was it because he was away from school, or could it be the French girl?
Something on the mantle caught her eye: a new photograph among the many family pictures she was used to seeing. It was Ron and, what was her name… Antoinette? She walked over, passed her oldest brother who automatically took her hand as she passed, bringing a smile to her face. It was a Muggle photo, but it had so much life, so much feeling. Ron and Nettie were obviously happy together, happier than she had ever seen him with Hermione. She turned to Ron and interrupted his conversation with Bill and Fleur.
“Ron, how is Antoinette?”
Surprised by the intrusion, he answered casually, “She’s fine, I guess.” Then he finished telling Bill and Fleur about his experience on the beach with Nettie.
She’s fine, I guess?
Bill squeezed her hand gently, passing a nonverbal message. Ginny understood and waited until Ron finished talking. Then he turned to his little sister. “Yeah, Gin, we went our separate ways last week. She’s returning to Healing School for three years, then three more if she goes into surgery and, well, we just knew…” But he couldn’t finish, his face passed the message on. We’re just friends, and that’s fine with both of us.
Ginny threw an arm around Ron’s neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You look so happy.”
“I am,” he said simply. His face expressed it even better than words. But then it changed as he shouted out, “Luna!”
Ginny spun around and saw her classmate coming into the room. She had gone through a transformation since Ginny had seen her in September at Neville’s funeral. The best way she could describe her unusual friend would be… well, changed. But how would be more difficult to pinpoint. Not missing a beat, she ran over and gave her friend a hug.
“Luna! I didn’t know you were going to be here. You look fabulous.”
And she did, too. Her hair was a bit longer and completely straight. Its color had lightened noticeably, to where it was almost platinum. Gone were the odd earrings and bottle-cap necklace. She wore a plain but trendy pastel-blue skirt and a green jumper. Except for her face, Ginny would have been hard pressed to recognize her.
“Hi Ginny, thank you,” she said quietly, then looking past her she greeted Ron with a wave.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Ginny proclaimed again, “I’ve missed you. Tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself.” And Luna was dragged off to the sofa.
Walking into the Burrow stunned Diane to her core. More than anything else it reminded her of going home after her first year at Salem. The Burrow was a bit messier, but it was also a lot homier than any place she had lived since she was orphaned. The overall, pervading sensation was that of family, love and acceptance.
Off to the side, Percy set her things in the hallway to the front door and excused himself. Behind her, Diane could hear Molly fussing over the stove. The room was filled with an amazing combination of wonderful odors: freshly baked bread, some sort of meaty stew, pumpkin and a floral smell that reminded her of Ginny.
In the adjoining room, the rest of the family could be heard talking until Ron called out Luna’s name. Diane’s head snapped up, she saw Molly watching her.
“Everything all right, dear?”
“Yeah, I’m fine; it was a rough trip, that’s all. Being here seems to have erased all that. You don’t have a permanent Cheering Charm on the house, do you?” she asked with a sly smile.
“No, dear, it’s just love.”
Diane had no idea how much her comment affected the Weasley matriarch. The friends of those she loved were her friends, too. Or, as in Harry’s case, they were considered part of the family. The distant American witch had fascinated her since they’d first met in late August. Her obvious affection for Harry had disturbed Molly a little at first, until Ginny set her straight. And her display of power, still largely inexplicable, was intriguing. Some of the details for that had been provided by Hermione earlier in the month, but she wondered what was really behind Jason Graham’s reason for sending her overseas.
With a flick of her wand, Molly sent a cup of steaming tea to the table. “Here you go. Try it with lemon and honey; it’s just the thing for a day like today.”
Smiling, Diane followed the suggestion and found she loved the flavor. “Thank you, Molly. And thank you for letting Ginny go with me, she was a big help.”
“Yes, when she isn’t acting like the twins she can be quite the comforter.”
Blast! I forgot about them… “Will Fred and George be here tonight?” She tried to make the question sound innocent.
“Oh, they wouldn’t miss a free meal, or their sister, for anything. Remus Lupin and Tonks will be stopping by also.”
Diane smiled at this news. She knew Harry felt particularly close to the werewolf, they had been nearly as inseparable on their two week vacation in Florida as Harry’d been with Ginny. Hermione had told her that there was a connection with Remus and Harry’s father, but she had not had the chance to get the whole story. Perhaps when I return…
Further delighting Molly, Diane rose with her tea to go and visit with Luna, but stopped to give her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Molly. You make me feel at home after just a few minutes.”
Back in the parlor, Ginny and Luna were seated on the sofa, Ginny holding her friend’s hands and trying to find out how she was really feeling.
“Honestly, Ginny, I’m much better now. Ron came by yesterday and we talked for a long time, about… things.”
“Neville?”
“Of course, but your brother must have talked for two straight hours about his time in France. He sounds like a different person.”
Ginny was gobsmacked. Ron talked for two hours? Intelligibly? With a girl? With LUNA? Maybe he’s changed more than I think... or she has! “I’ll bet.”
“He convinced me it was time to get back to school.”
“Luna, is this my brother Ron you’re talking about?” Ginny was certain either Ron or Luna were ill.
“Of course, silly; I can’t sit around here forever. But I have to admit, it will be strange being at school without Neville and some of the others.” A brief cloud of pain passed over Luna’s happy face for a moment, but it was obvious she was working through her loss.
Ginny pulled Luna into another embrace. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re coming back to Hogwarts, Luna. When will it be?”
“Tonight,” she said calmly.
Ginny laughed after a moment. “You had me going there, Luna. Seriously, when are you going to return?”
“Tonight.” And she pointed to the hallway. What had escaped Ginny’s attention earlier were two trunks and a travel case.
Ginny squealed, just as Diane walked into view. “Di, Luna’s coming back to school with us!”
“Super! Hi, Luna, good to see you again.” She leaned down and gave her a hug.
“Thanks, Diane. I can’t wait to get back and see everyone.” Again a brief pained look flashed over her face. “Now we just have to convince Ron to return also.”
Shaking her head, Ginny said, “I wouldn’t count on it, unless you know something we don’t.”
“Give me some credit, Ginny, I know lots of things you don’t know,” Luna said, jumping up and walking to Ron.
“Is it my imagination or is that a different Luna Lovegood?” asked Diane in wonder as she sat next to Ginny.
“I don’t know, she certainly has changed since… since September.”
Diane took a sip of her tea and remembered something. “I was about Luna’s age when my family was killed. God knows it can change a person.”
Ginny didn’t have an opportunity to respond as Luna returned with Ron in tow. He and Diane exchanged greetings and then the three girls began to talk about returning to Hogwarts, and how nice it would be if a certain former student joined them. Ron took it all in good naturedly, and had, in fact, anticipated their encouragements. But he made it clear that it wasn’t going to happen.
“Sorry, I just can’t right now. But why don’t we meet at Hogsmeade next weekend? Fred and George will be there to check on a possible store branch in town, and I told them I’d tag along.”
Ginny sighed, looking disappointed. “Ok, we can have lunch together. I’ll Owl you later this week.”
Conversations around the room continued until Molly called everyone in for dinner. As if on queue, Fred, George, Remus and Tonks all appeared and joined the crowded table. When the meal ended, Diane offered to show Molly a couple of her cleaning charms, insisting that, “Us lazy Americans find the simplest way to clean up after meals.”
Everyone returned to the parlor where Fred and George were mercilessly teasing Percy about something; Molly and Diane rapidly cleaned the kitchen. When it was nearly complete, Molly stepped out and Diane sensed someone walking up behind her. She cringed.
“Hi, how’er you doing?” Fred asked politely.
“Oh, fine, thanks,” answered Diane, turning to find Fred a half step closer than she expected. But he also saw he was invading her personal space and backed up.
“Still busy?”
“Huh? Oh, well…” Diane froze. She didn’t want to be impolite, but neither did she want to lie. “No, it’s getting better. Our schools are a lot different from yours. I have so much make-up work to do.”
Fred said nothing, at first, trying instead to read her body language. It said a lot. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Diane?”
“Not until you asked that question.” She gave a nervous titter.
“Ok, no hard feelings,” he said lightly, backing off slowly.
Diane stepped forward, her face falling. “Fred?”
“It’s ok Diane. I take rejection well.”
“I’m not rejecting you, Fred, I… I…” A fine situation you got yourself into now, Bradley. The twin had stopped and was looking at her with a confused expression. “I’m a lesbian, Fred,” she said quietly, so only they two would hear. Fred’s bottle of Butterbeer fell to the floor and broke, and his face went scarlet instantly.
“S-Sorry, I… I… bugger me blue!” Fred muttered, partly to himself. He drew his wand and cleaned up the mess on the floor. In the intervening few seconds, Molly had come into the room to investigate the noise.
“Everything all right in here?”
“Yeah, mum, I just dropped a bottle,” Fred explained. He muttered another apology to Diane and beat a hasty retreat.
Before she knew it, Diane was again alone in the kitchen. She stood leaning against the sink with just her thoughts. One more bridge crossed, she told herself. It was the first time she had told someone other than a friend about her orientation. It didn’t feel as good as she had hoped it would.
|-|-|-|-|
It was the worst headache he could ever recall, far more crippling than the migraines he’d experienced over the years. The flashes of light, the nausea and vomiting, the dizziness, were all rolled together. One hideously painful point in the center of his head radiated in pulses outwards, like shards of glass ripping through his grey matter. By mid-morning Michael Allen knew something was terribly wrong and he did something he’d never done before: he called for help.
The emergency crew arrived fifteen minutes later but had to break down the door to Allen’s flat. They found him lying on the floor where he had fallen minutes before. The room held nothing unusual and there was no immediate sign of foul play, one of the technicians saw, but he still radioed in for police to arrange for security for the broken door.
An initial examination of the man found nothing out of the ordinary, his blood pressure was normal, as were his heart rate and temperature. The rank smell of vomit was the only sign of something amiss and they assumed a bad case of food poisoning. Within minutes Allen was in the ambulance and on his way to the emergency room of St. Thomas Hospital.
Within Michael Allen’s brain, the magic that had erased the memories of Harry Potter had also caused a tiny, genetically weakened blood vessel to rupture. The cranial vascular accident, or CVA, was essentially a tiny stroke, in this case it occurred on the outer layer of his brain. The escaping blood had enough room to expand between the surface of the organ and the dura, its whitish, protective covering, and no other damage ensued from the slight increase in pressure. By the time Allen had received a CAT scan, the bleed had sealed itself and his own body was repairing the damage. Still, the scan did show the doctors that there had been an ‘event’ and Allen was admitted into the intensive care unit until they could confirm, with a second CAT scan, that the bleeding had stopped.
That second scan, the following morning, confirmed the doctor’s hope that the stroke was very minor; their patient’s complete control of all his motor and cognitive skill indicated a complete recovery. But there was one thing that had both the doctors and Allen himself puzzled: he could remember nothing of the past few weeks except that he had been out of town. The doctors knew this was a possible side-effect of a CVA, but the magnitude of the memory loss was unusual. Other than the missing memories, though, Allen was not concerned and received assurances that he could go home in a couple days if there were no further complications.
A taxi delivered the journalist at the front entrance to his apartment building Sunday afternoon, and after collecting his mail he settled back into his flat and began to consider his options. Vague memories of the previous few weeks had begin to reappear in bits and pieces, but it was still impossible to make any sense of them. First he had to clean up the mess he’d made days before, the pungent smell of dried sick filled the room. And then there was a barely perceptible, but annoying, clicking sound he could not identify, it eventually drove him to an early bedtime.
The following morning, he began calling a number of publications he wrote for, to see if they had any interesting assignments. The reception he received at every one ranged from cool to rude. He knew he was disliked, but he had never been put off like this before and he finally asked one of the people why they were being so rude.
“Because you called us just a few days ago, that’s why!”
Another lapse of memory, he realized, and it explained the annoyed answers to his inquiries.
Putting around the flat was driving Allen crazy, but he had little desire to do any work that might cause his head to hurt more. After considering watching the TV or surfing around the web, he chose the latter and booted up his laptop.
Nothing happened.
His limited knowledge of how a PC worked told him only that the problem was likely serious. He wrote out a memo to himself to have the machine serviced at a local repair shop he had patronized a few months earlier when a virus infected the same machine on a brief trip to London. Satisfied that plan A would not work, he turned to plan B and headed to the TV, and a rerun of a Black Adder episode.
“Mr. Allen, isn’t it?” the teen behind the counter of PC Repairs said when Digger began to ask for assistance the following morning.
“Yes, my laptop seems to have… crashed at some point over the past few days. Can you have a look?”
“No problem, Mr. A., let’s see what you got.” Allen handed the machine and power supply to the same boy who had assisted him months before and watched as he expertly set up the laptop and pressed the power button. A moment later he whistled in amazement. “What’d you do to this thing?” he asked, an accusing look on his face. He placed a three and a half inch floppy into the drive and restarted the machine again. It whirred and beeped a few times, and the lad, Billy, kept giving Allen dirty looks over the edge of the screen.
“Jeez, Mr. A., did you run this thing through the laundry or something?”
“No, why?”
“Well, it’s seriously hosed, dude… er”Mr. A.. And I don’t mean, like, the hard drive is wiped, I mean everything is gone. The drive, all the firmware, it’s toast… with jam.”
“With jam, eh? How could that happen, it was just sitting at my desk for a few days?”
“Well, I hope you had your backups stored far away from this thing, because only a heavy-duty magnet could do this kind of damage, and everything within a half meter would be ruined, too. You do have backups, don’t you?” Billy looked skeptically at Allen.
“No, but it doesn’t matter too much, I store all my notes in books and on tape.”
“Hey, whatever floats your boat. Here you go.” Billy closed the machine and started to hand it back.
“Can’t you fix it? You know, reload… whatever makes it run.”
“No, sir. When I said everything was gone, I meant everything. Even the LCD has been fried. You can keep the power pack and use our trash can for the rest, because it’s nothing but junk now.”
“Ok, what’s the tab… Billy?” he said, checking the boy’s name tag.
“Nah, don’t worry about it, Mr. A., save your twenty quid for a new machine.”
Back at his flat, Allen piddled around for a while, trying unsuccessfully to stave off boredom. The truth was, however, he could not sit still very long without becoming antsy, so he sat at his desk and considered the pile of notebooks before him. With a sigh of frustration he picked up the top one and opened to the second page “ he never wrote anything on the first. Then he turned a few more pages, and then flipped through the entire book. Nothing. It was as empty as his laptop.
Odd, I usually set all my used books in that pile… Five minutes later he was even more confused, having leafed through the entire stack and found nothing. He sat back and scratched his chin, a bit of a headache starting to push its way into his consciousness. Drumming his fingers on the pile of books, he noticed the handset of his Dictaphone jammed between the edge of the desk and the wall. He freed it and set it off to the corner. The clicking sound, which he had nearly forgotten about, almost immediately stopped. Allen realized it was the tape from the dictation machine that had been causing the noise. While the mike was wedged between the desk and wall, the RECORD button had been depressed; now it was free and the tape stopped running.