Twenty-One
Harry: Visitors
The smell of summer still clung to the hazy days even though the calendar insisted it was mid-September. It was a welcome change for Ron and Hermione who arrived from Hogwarts on a Friday afternoon. Ron had been particularly keen to visit before Quidditch practices took up most of his Saturdays.
As a mark of their seniority, the Headmistress had granted them privileges to travel at the weekend provided they presented the ubiquitous parental permission slips. It didn’t matter that they were both considered of age in the wizarding world; rules were rules.
Their flushed faces attested to the numerous Floo connections they’d endured before being met by Lexxie herself at the last checkpoint.
“That was some Portkey at the end,” Ron raved through his trademark grin. “I thought we’d be crushed between the mountains and the breakers. Absolutely wicked!”
Hermione gave a wan smile. “I’ve never been much for roller coasters.”
“Probably explains why you’re not a Quidditch player,” Ginny affirmed.
“If it’s any consolation, the mountains are leagues to the northeast,” Harry supplied as he was caught up in repeated hugs.
“And the sheer drop beyond your balcony?” Hermione prompted as she bit her lip.
“Warded against falls,” Harry appeased. Then turning towards Ron, he added, “The Healer who recommended this place warned me that I wouldn’t be able to indulge my passion for cliff-diving.”
Harry’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he watched Hermione’s face drain of all color. Even Ron took a few steps away from the railing.
“Ruddy Muggles,” Ron muttered as he shook his head in disbelief. “To go to such extravagant lengths just because they can’t fly a broomstick.”
“Speaking of which,” Ginny prompted. “Did you remember to bring yours? It’s about time for our afternoon match.”
“You didn’t tell me this place had a Quidditch league!” Ron exclaimed jubilantly.
“They don’t,” Harry clarified. “But don’t underestimate some of those wiry local lads; they’re fast learners and have already been training with Ginny and me for weeks.”
“All right, then,” Ron proclaimed as he rummaged through his rucksack. “Err, does anyone have a wand handy to enlarge this tie clip?”
Ginny performed a quick Engorgio Charm on the tiny broomstick in Ron’s open palm. Within moments, they were trudging up the rugged path that threaded through the sheltering coastline.
“Hard to believe that over that ridge there’s a wide expanse of unused meadow,” Harry encouraged as he brought up the rear.
Hanging back, Hermione took him aside when the path widened slightly. “When will we get our wands back? When we get ready to leave?”
Harry flashed a reassuring smile. “Lexxie promised to process them personally so it shouldn’t be more than a few hours. Standard procedure for all visitors.”
“Do you get many threats here?” she fretted.
“None so far. That’s what precautions guarantee. Lots of celebrities come here.”
“Or so we’ve been told,” Ginny interjected. “Everyone keeps to themselves mostly.”
Hermione’s dreamy expression conveyed that she was thinking of famous screen stars or even Muggle royalty. Harry shuddered to think that to wizards, it was likely they were the resident celebrities.
Harry gave her an indulgent smile as his mind recalled Aunt Petunia’s avid obsession with anything having to do with ‘the Royals.’ She’d moon over the latest hairstyle or fashion that was displayed in her magazines and be the first in queue when the local stores offered it to the commoners. Her feeble attempts to have Vernon assume a more gentlemanly mode of dress had been short-lived, however.
“That Crown Prince is nothing but a playboy popinjay,” Vernon rumbled. “Should devote his energy to his living subjects, not to saving desiccated architectural relics. Let him get a job like the rest of us…”
True to her word, Lexxie had the wands waiting when they returned for afternoon tea.
“Seems you two checked out after all,” she deadpanned.
“Was there a doubt?” Hermione replied with a nervous gulp.
Spinning out the prank, Lexxie added, “Harry told me that some of his friends were subversives is all.”
Ron threw back his head and gave a loud laugh. “We would be, if you were one of the dark wizards who tried to overrun Britain.”
“Never been one for politics,” Lexxie relented through her impish smile.
Assuring Harry that she would see him first thing in the morning, Lexxie left them to their own devices.
“I can’t believe she thought we might be Death Eaters in disguise,” Hermione mumbled urgently.
“And why not?” Ginny shot back. “You think Polyjuice is only used in Britain?”
“Who in their right mind would think fiery-red hair such as mine would pass unnoticed in Greece?” Ron pondered.
“I did tell her Voldemort’s most fatal flaw was his arrogance,” Harry teased, unable to keep a straight face any longer.
“So what’s the latest from the home front?” Ginny urged. “You being named Head Girl was a given --”
“”from our first year,” Harry finished. “Congrats on being named Gryffindor Captain, Ron.”
Ginny gave Harry a put upon pout as she turned to address her brother directly, “Ditto for me. Now, who’s Head Boy?”
Ron and Hermione shared an unfathomable look between them. “Dean Thomas,” he supplied.
“No!” Ginny gaped. “But he wasn’t even there with us last year!”
Of course not, Harry thought to himself. Dean had been on the run from the Muggle-born ‘Purification’ Commission much as Hermione had been. Even teamed up briefly with Ted Tonks before being captured, if rumors were to be believed.
“I don’t think he was very comfortable with the honor,” Hermione provided. “At least not at first. I was left alone to do my opening remarks to the Prefects aboard the Hogwarts Express.”
“Where was Dean?” Ginny pressed.
“Met the train at Hogsmeade Station,” her brother explained. “His mum was a bit hesitant about letting him go, but he assured her that he was up to the task.”
“We still had no idea he’d been chosen Head Boy,” Hermione took over. “Didn’t have the insignia on his school robes or anything. Not even during the Welcoming Banquet.”
“He seemed a bit put out when the Headmistress asked him to come to the front and say a few words,” Ron chuckled. “Threw a positively murderous look over his shoulder.” At Hermione’s reproving expression, he added, “Likely it could’ve only been seen if you were still sitting at the Gryffindor table.”
“Which apparently you weren’t,” Harry surmised with a playful nudge at Hermione’s elbow.
Hermione’s eyes lost some of their annoyance as she elaborated, “It was only the next evening that the Headmistress excused herself from our organizational meeting and went to retrieve him herself. ‘Mr. Thomas is feeling a bit overwhelmed,’ she apologized as he trailed in behind her.”
“Dean was always modest to a fault,” Ginny interjected. “I can’t imagine him being at the top of his class, though.”
“No one was last year,” Ron remarked. “Neville told us as much. Too many detentions resulted in unplanned visits to the Hospital Wing.”
“Truly,” Hermione affirmed through tight lips. “It’s a wonder there weren’t any fatalities; I suppose we have Snape’s intervention to thank for that.” Her tone conveyed she still wasn’t too convinced of the man’s loyalties.
“Snape was put in an untenable position,” Harry defended what he had learned from those final memories. “Squeezed by his promises to Dumbledore on one side and the expectations of the Death Eaters on the other.”
“Neville tends to agree,” Ron affirmed. “Said that any other Death Eater would’ve cut down the insurrection with more permanent measures and then found a way to justify it to the world at large.”
“What about the class standings before the Carrows’ Reign of Terror?” Ginny suggested.
Hermione steeled herself before answering, “In that case, Draco Malfoy would’ve been first in line for Head Boy.”
It didn’t surprise Harry that Hermione would know the class standings at any given moment, but he couldn’t help himself from ribbing her, “Were you part of the selection committee then? Rather unethical to choose yourself.”
Hermione looked like she’d been slapped then gave a weak laugh when she saw that he was just kidding. “Really, if the lot of you weren’t always wool-gathering, you’d overhear a lot more of what’s going on.”
“I protest that characterization,” Ron decried. “Sometimes we’re jammering on about Quidditch as well.”
“I rest my case,” Hermione sighed.
“Does this mean you were eavesdropping?” Ginny posed with mounting excitement.
Hermione twisted the ends of her hair as she considered. “That’s too harsh a word if you happen to overhear words coming through an open door or window. It’s amazing how sound travels when you’re searching for a library book in the next aisle over.”
“Luckily, Malfoy is still licking his wounds in --”
“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione scolded. “That’s not very sporting of you. I’m certain Draco is simply studying at home with a tutor. He’ll outstrip all our NEWT scores if we’re not careful.”
“Would’ve been shunned by everyone had he dared to show his pointy little face at Hogwarts!” Ginny whispered in Harry’s ear.
Giving no indication that she had overheard, Hermione nevertheless conceded, “I think McGonagall was relieved when Draco decided to not to return. He’d missed so many lessons, it was fairly certain he would’ve had to repeat seventh year.”
“Malfoy’s ego would’ve never permitted that!” Ron chortled. “Imagine having to borrow class notes from someone you’d berated as being an inferior worm for the past six years.”
Hermione looked as if she might protest, but instead relented with, “Bullies often get what they deserve.”
“What amazes me is that you know so much about the goings on last year when you were so far away from Hogwarts,” Harry teased. “Was that a different Hermione who placed wards around our campsite each night?”
Hermione’s cheeks brightened with color as she explained, “Neville kept a very keen eye on things.”
“And anything having to do with Draco was instantly tagged as being suspicious,” Ginny insisted. “That toerag’s ego would’ve swelled if he’d known how often he’d been the subject of my discussions with Neville and Luna.”
“Seems as if Neville stepped right into Harry’s shoes as the head of Dumbledore’s Army,” Ron chortled. “Wild speculations and all!”
Ignoring her brother, Ginny clamored, “That still doesn’t explain why the Headmistress decided to honor Dean.”
Hermione shrugged. “I think it’s because he had the courage to return to a school that had all but ostracized him in the previous year.” She raised her hand to forestall any objections, “And before you say that could apply others, I made a considered choice --”
With as gentle a tone as he could muster, Harry cut across her ebullient words, “I applaud McGonagall’s brave support of two Muggle-born students. Let’s hope her strong message isn’t lost.”
“But both Heads from the same house?” Ginny countered. “Wasn’t she afraid that would smack of favoritism?”
“It’s not without precedent,” Hermione asserted. “Harry’s parents come to mind. I also think Luna may have put a bug in McGonagall’s ear. She certainly had plenty of time to trade stories with Dean before we joined them in Malfoy’s dungeon.”
“Luna and Dean?” Ginny’s eyes fairly popped from her face. “You don’t mean…?”
“It’s impossible to tell with Luna,” Hermione admitted to a tittering consensus.
As the girls considered romantic pairings, Harry turned to Ron, “Do you have your team lined up yet?”
“Tryouts are next weekend. You don’t suppose some of those Greek lads might want to give it a go, do you?”
Abandoning her conversation with Ginny, Hermione tempered, “I doubt any of them are old enough for Hogwarts.”
“But they’re clearly wizards,” Ron argued. “Couldn’t you get them some sort of special dispensation “ seeing as you’re Head Girl and all?”
Hermione whipped in his direction, her hands on her hips in a fair imitation of Molly. “And just how long do you think I’d last if I abused my position?”
“Long enough for McGonagall to see her House rise to the top again, I hope!” Ron issued with a winning smile.
“She’s impartial now that she’s Headmistress,” Hermione countered.
“Oh sure, for appearance’s sake,” Ron scoffed. “Her blood still runs red and gold, you mark my words.”
Before Hermione could retort that everyone’s blood was red, Harry broke in, “So who’s the new Gryffindor Head of House?”
“Professor Vector,” Ron supplied. “And you’ll never guess who’s the sacrificial lamb for Defense Against the Dark Arts!”
“Wouldn’t Voldemort’s death have ended the curse?” Harry proposed.
“No one wanted to take anything for granted,” Hermione elaborated. “So Professor Flitwick offered to take the helm for one year only. Made it very clear he’d be returning to Charms after that.”
“Makes sense,” Ginny pondered. “Counter-spells and hexes are just the mirror image of charms.”
“So who’s teaching Charms?” Harry considered.
“Elphias Doge,” Ron chortled. “Remember him from the wedding?”
“Right,” Harry considered. “Seemed like he’d blow away in a stiff wind.”
“That’s likely because he was seated next to Auntie Muriel,” Ron observed.
“Don’t let stature fool you,” Hermione cautioned lightly. “Flitwick himself used to spearhead the Hogwarts Dueling Club before it was disbanded. I recall him going full tilt after Dolohov in the Great Hall.”
“What about Transfiguration?” Ginny wanted to know.
Ron and Hermione shared another charged look before bursting out in unison, “Augusta Longbottom!”
“Neville’s gran?” Ginny screeched. “Why she’s practically as old as --”
“Dumbledore?” Harry interjected. “Not by at least a few decades, I’d say.”
“Can you believe it?” Ron laughed merrily. “That old bird can change herself into a right bird.”
“A vulture,” Hermione clarified.
Just like the one on her famous hat, Harry chuckled to himself. Instantly, his mind reverted to that memorable lesson when Neville’s boggart had donned his grandmother’s clothing. The merriment died in his throat as Snape’s pale image emerged from the pitted cupboard. The memory of Remus’ stifled laughter hanging in the background intensified the ache.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry ventured, “Neville never said anything about his gran being a rogue Animagus on top of everything else.”
“I don’t think Neville knew!” Hermione rejoined.
“Gobsmacked, he was!” Ron attested. “Here this little wisp of a tyrant pulls out an old, weathered registration card from her bright red purse.”
Harry squeezed his eyes shut against the encroaching memories.
One look at his expression and Hermione tactfully changed the subject. “But we left the best for last. You’ll never believe who’s in charge of Muggle Studies!”
“A subject which you don’t take,” Ginny commented dryly.
“The Head Girl still has to keep abreast of things,” Hermione affirmed good-naturedly.
“Argus Filch,” Ginny quipped.
Cringes were followed by nervous laughter at the sheer absurdity.
“Geez, Sis,” Ron protested weakly, “even Dad could do better than Filch!”
Recognizing that McGonagall was drawing from stalwart members of the old guard, Harry prompted, “It's not Arthur, is it?”
“Figgy,” Hermione announced with a wide smirk.
It took him a few moments to catch on. “Like in Mrs. Figg? Cat lady extraordinaire?”
“Perhaps she should be teaching Care of Muggle Creatures then!” Ginny posited with a giggle.
“Only don’t tell anyone I used her nickname,” Hermione instructed in a bare whisper. “That’s only for staff members and she doesn’t want the students to think anyone has special privileges.”
Assuming a solemn demeanor, Harry intoned, “Professor Figg it is.” Well, there certainly wouldn’t be any questions of loyalty with the Headmistress’ choices, he couldn’t help thinking.
“Speaking of which, Harry,” Hermione elaborated, “the professor wanted to know if you’d had any news of her former neighbors. All the Order will tell her is that they were relocated without incident.”
Harry felt a genuine smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll owl her a long response. Do you know if it’s still considered classified information?”
“Dunno,” Hermione admitted. “Use initials if you have to. All she said was that the offer from the Headmistress was a true blessing as she was afraid of her cats falling into the pit of doom two doors down.”
“How’s Mrs. Norris taking to all her new neighbors?” Ginny considered.
“McGonagall’s way ahead of you there,” Ron grinned. “Professor Figg was allotted a twee cottage on the outskirts of Hogsmeade village.”
“Secluded enough that no one would question her need for Muggle conveniences such as electricity or a television antenna,” Hermione intervened. “Although she does keep a pot of Floo Powder on her mantle.”
With a knowing wink, Ron added, “Far enough from Hagrid’s menagerie, as well.”
“How is Hagrid?” Harry asked.
“He’s added giants to his…” Ron began only to be cut across by Hermione almost immediately.
“Oh, I totally forgot!” She dug what looked like a sachet from her pocket and then enlarged it to a good-sized book satchel. Letters and scrolls of all colors and sizes tumbled out over the floor. “Goodwill wishes from Hogwarts.” At Harry’s incredulous expression, she added, “You don’t have to respond to each of them individually.”
“I thought Harry’s location was supposed to remain secret!” Ginny bristled.
“It is,” Hermione assured her. “Nor does anyone, other than Neville and Luna, know that you’re here with him. But word that Ron and I would be visiting leaked out nonetheless.”
“What’s this one on top?” Harry pondered as he turned an official looking envelope over in his hands.
“That’s from Mum,” Ron clarified. “Or rather forwarded from the Burrow where it arrived in your name.”
“How do you know it’s not from some nutter?” Harry posed with a scowl.
“Give Percy credit, mate. He’s been sorting through all of those, even the ones addressed care of the Ministry. Mum’s certain this one’s quite different,” he added with a large wink.
Deciding he might as well take the mickey, Harry slipped his thumb under the elaborate wax seal that identified the administrative offices of Witch Weekly. It wasn’t exactly a Howler, but before long Harry began to think that would have been preferable. The coquettish vermilion lips on the letterhead reminded him too much of Rita Skeeter as they began:
Dear Mr. Potter:
Or should we say, Harry? Surely we can all be friends here. Why our editors at Witch Weekly think you’re the absolute best! Such courage and fortitude for a wizard just having come of legal age.
That’s just one of the reasons why we think our readers would love to get to know you better. We are planning an expanded issue to commemorate the most eligible wizards in all of Britain and are certain that you are an ideal candidate. The first February issue hits the newsstands just in time for Valentine’s Day!
Awaiting your immediate reply to schedule your personal profiler and photographer.
With a loud smooching sound, the parchment rolled up neatly and floated down to the table top. Along the top, a pair of overlarge blue eyes blinked smoky lashes at him.
When hell burns down to a ruddy cinder! Harry cursed inwardly as he felt the embarrassment burning in his cheeks. His next thought was that this was a prank “ certainly one worthy of Fred and George in their heyday.
“Let me guess,” he countered as he took in the barely controlled smirks all around. “It’s a prototype for the next WWW product, right?”
“Not really,” Ron chuckled. “But I’ll make the suggestion to George.”
“A prank from Romilda Vane then?” Harry considered as he tried to think of anyone else who could be so shameless.
“Actually, I think it’s from just whom they say they are,” Hermione uttered.
“And just how are you so certain, Great Mastermind?” Harry dared.
“Because Ron got one, too,” she giggled behind her hand.
“Just be glad you didn’t open yours in the middle of the Gryffindor breakfast table,” Ron confided.
Ginny succumbed to gales of laughter as Ron elaborated lowly, “If Hermione hadn’t been quick with an Imperturbable Charm, I don’t know if I could’ve ever lived it down.”
Not that the Headmistress hadn’t immediately noticed the disturbance and marched down to their table, Hermione explained as she took over the retelling.
“And just what exactly is the meaning of this, Miss Granger?” McGonagall demanded imperiously. “It was your wand I saw flick under the table, wasn’t it?”
In the Headmistress’ wake, a clearly distraught Professor Vector wrung her hands until her knuckles shone white.
Meeting her piercing eyes, Hermione returned as evenly as possible, “Yes, Headmistress. Ron received a rather disturbing owl.”
McGonagall’s features creased with concern as she turned to Ron.
“I bit unnerving, yeah,” he stammered. “Perhaps you should see for yourself…”
The Headmistress’ lips pressed into a rigid line as she caught sight of the lurid letterhead. The lipsticked smile made as if to start again as it sensed a new presence.
“There’ll be none of that,” McGonagall commanded with a sharp rap of her wand. The rosy mouth pouted slightly but remained silent. “If you’re quite through with breakfast, my office. Both of you. And bring that…abomination…with you.”
Ron made a concentrated effort to shovel the last of the ham, eggs, and fried mushrooms into his mouth as Hermione’s appetite drained away into her shoes. All around them the whispered speculations rose and fell like a miasma: What had the Head Girl been caught doing? What infraction had she committed to anger the Headmistress so?
Not wanting to be late to her first class on top of everything else, Hermione urged Ron to his feet as he stuffed a few extra pieces of toast into his book bag. With her head bowed, she led them into the sudden silence of the Entrance Hall.
A few rather unorthodox short-cuts later, they arrived before the placid gargoyle which looked fit and trim after the recent refurbishing. Before they had time to consider what the password might be, he swiveled aside to permit them entrance. The door at the top of the spiraling stairs opened of its own accord just as they made to knock. Much to their surprise “ or perhaps, relief “ the over-sized desk before them was empty.
A whisper of air and a floating tea tray materialized between them as they sank into the chairs before the massive desk.
With a sound like a rusty hinge, a voice floated from below, “Kreacher is here to serve. The Headmistress begs your pardon for being delayed and asks that you help yourselves to cocoa or cider, scones and clotted cream.”
The ancient house-elf’s voice could have curdled said cream, Hermione grumbled silently; but at least it was evident that McGonagall’s anger had not been directed at them. With a rich mug at her side, Hermione unabashedly dunked the still warm scone as she considered the offending document Ron held in his fist.
So they were expecting a response, were they? Inside her head, the gears spun into action. With an innocence dripping with venom, she offered, “Have you considered what kind of response you might send?”
“Bloody hell,” Ron proclaimed through a creamy mouthful. “How do you tactfully tell someone to sod off?”
“Who says we need to be tactful? I was thinking of something a bit more daring.”
Ron’s face split into a crooked grin. “Like the hex you put on the roster to Dumbledore’s Army?”
“Similar. I’m not certain how to activate it without them having to do more than just read the parchment, though.”
“Leave those details for later. What will you have it spell on their foreheads? Is Mind Your Own Damn Business too long?”
Hermione sniggered. “Probably. How about Busybody?”
“Too nice.”
“Harridan? Hussy? Slag?”
“Might I suggest: Gossipmonger?” the Headmistress’ clipped tones tendered as her tartan skirts swept into the room. “Forgive my delay, but it seems that Mr. Weasley was not the only one receiving unsolicited attention.”
A scowling Augusta Longbottom moved to stand at the Headmistress’ left elbow. “Luckily, I intercepted the missive before it plunked into my grandson’s porridge. Nearsighted owl got confused with the names; lucky for us.”
“Obviously, they are expecting some sort of a reply,” the Headmistress considered as she settled herself behind the desk. “But I fear that will only fuel the fire.”
Professor Longbottom nodded in agreement.
“Plot revenge in your daydreams,” McGonagall urged gamely. “But make certain that it’s a hypothetical exercise only.” Her stern eyes sought out each of theirs in turn to make sure they understood. “This is not the image that Hogwarts wants to foster. Is that perfectly clear?”
“Yes, ma’m,” Ron gulped.
“Who would’ve ever been flattered by such attentions?” Hermione mused as they made their way down the curving stairs. Then it hit her, “Gilderoy Lockhart. Remember, Ron: he was once voted most winning smile.”
“Several times over,” the gargoyle grunted. At their shocked expressions, the statue rumbled, “As many times as that gilded pillock-hart sang his own praises, even the suits of armor could recite the lyrics by rote. And they haven't half a brain between them.”
“These days, neither does Lockhart!” Ron guffawed.
At the end of the corridor, a tiny man's head popped out of a decorative urn. “It’s debatable whether he ever did!” Peeves snorted. Giving them a wicked grin, the poltergeist whizzed around the corner and out of sight.
“Blimey, you don’t think….” Ron turned a mortified expression towards Hermione.
“I doubt Peeves overheard the part about Witch Weekly; but if he repeats it, people are just that much more likely to think he made it up himself. You just have to appear unperturbed.”
“Easier said than done,” Ron protested.
As the recounting drew to a close, Ginny prompted, “So did the rumor spread like wildfire?” Her tone conveyed that she very much wished it had.
“Naw,” Ron chortled. “Everyone just assumed Hermione was being overly affectionate at the table, is all.”
“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione cried as she leapt to her feet.
Harry gently grabbed her wrist before she could reach for her wand. “He’s just kidding.”
“Then only he thinks he’s funny,” Hermione harrumped. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some unpacking to do.”
“What about Neville?” Ginny prompted as she followed Hermione into the next room.
“He flashed a thoroughly embarrassed look in our direction to indicate that his gran had filled him in, but that was the end of it.”
In the other room, Ron confided to Harry, “I checked with Percy and he agreed with the Headmistress. Any kind of response only gives them something to twist.”
“Won’t they make up stories if they don’t hear back, though?”
Ron shrugged. “Only that you’re anti-social, which everybody discounts anyway. Look, if I say I'm too busy with my studies, they’ll just make me out to be in remedial classes. If I were to say that my girlfriend objected, then it would redirect the spotlight on her. There’s nothing they won’t mangle to their own ends, so you have to grit your teeth and give them zero.”
Harry took a moment to consider Percy’s advice. If he said he was on holiday, they’d clamor to know where and they would undoubtedly assume he was not alone “ which would be all too true in this case. Time off for health reasons just translated into a loony bin “ or rehab. Even saying he was traveling abroad would be construed to mean he was engaging in activities unbecoming a Gryffindor “ and then they’d elaborate with gusto.
“Tell Percy I’ll just let it die,” Harry affirmed.
“Neville and I burned ours in the Gryffindor hearth once everyone else went to bed,” Ron supplied.
Harry vowed to himself that he’d do likewise then bury the ashes for good measure.
He could hear the girls giggling in the other room as he returned from the kitchen with two frosty bottles in hand. Secure that they were deeply engrossed in girl talk, Harry turned to Ron who was stretched out on the other single bed. “So how are things going?” He waggled his eyebrows deliberately towards the tittering voices.
It took Ron a moment to catch on as he took a long pull of cold beer. “With Hermione, you mean? All right, I suppose. She hasn’t chucked me out on my arse, if that’s what you mean.”
“Still sticking to the advice in that book of yours?” Harry noticed a slight sulfurous residue in the air which indicated Ron had gotten quite good at setting a wordless Muffliato Charm.
Barely moving his lips, Ron replied, “Somehow everyone knows we’re dating “ even if they only ever see us holding hands.”
“Hermione never struck me as a cold fish.”
“She isn’t, not really. A bit prudish in public....”
With a wide smirk, Harry teased, “Probably doesn’t want to be confused with Lavender.”
“As if!” Ron fairly sputtered. “She has all these notions about how a Head Girl should behave and set a proper image. Blimey, it’s almost like dating my mum at times!”
Harry threw back his head and laughed. “Somehow I doubt that!” He couldn’t help thinking of Iron Maggie and the husband she only trotted out for state occasions, but doubted Ron would get the analogy.
Ron laughed deeply in his throat as he confessed in a bare whisper, “Well, it’s not all bad. Don’t get me wrong. She’s just got a lot on her mind.”
“So will you once Quidditch season starts.”
“Tryouts are only a week away.”
“Don’t forget you’ll also have to deal with the fallout,” Harry advised. “Those whom you passed over and wish to debate your judgment -- and sanity -- at length.”
“Right, I’d forgotten about those,” Ron winced.
“Just be glad McLaggen already graduated.”
“Crikey! That lunatic would likely call me out just for dating Hermione.”
“Surely you don’t think she ever cared for such a blowhard.”
“No, I don’t suppose she rightly did,” Ron speculated. “But you couldn’t count on McLaggen seeing that for himself.”
“Right.”
Ron followed him into the kitchen to retrieve another two bottles. Settling themselves in the small sitting room, the soothing sounds of the ocean eased them into the relaxing cushions.
Breaking the companionable silence, Ron began, “Say, Harry, don’t you find that a bit disconcerting?” He motioned towards the far wall with his bottle.
“Dumbledore’s portrait? Not particularly. He founded the place, or so Lexxie says. Can’t blame him for wanting to take credit.”
“Is that all it is?”
Feeling as if he was grasping at straws, Harry guessed, “You’re thinking the old man we knew didn’t show much ego.”
Ron cleared his throat, then clarified, “I’m thinking this feels entirely too much like the Headmistress’ office to my liking.”
“Had many more occasions to be called to answer for your actions? Minerva’s verdicts hardly sound like a pleasant experience.”
Ron rolled his eyes in response. “I’m being serious here. There’s something about that portrait that’s downright unnerving. Can’t we turn it to the wall or something?”
“It’s in the parlor, Ron. I’d understand if it were hanging in the loo.”
Ron shuddered. “The bedroom would give me nightmares, for sure.”
“Then I’m lucky it can only look as far as the kitchen.”
“But he’s always staring at us,” Ron persisted.
Harry shrugged. “It’s a portrait.”
“It’s a wizarding portrait,” Ron emphasized. “Don’t you recall when you first asked me about chocolate frog cards aboard the Hogwarts Express?”
Harry couldn’t help smiling at the memory. Candidly, he replied, “I found the cardboard likeness a sad substitute for the main prize which had just hopped out the blinking window.” All he got was a piercing look for his levity.
“Don’t you remember how awed you were when Dumbledore walked right out of the picture frame?”
“Right. You said he couldn’t sit still all the time.”
“Bloody right! That man had his tether-hooks into everything.”
“The achievements on the reverse were only the tip of the iceberg.” At Ron’s expectant look, Harry conceded, “I still don’t see what you’re going on about.”
With an exasperated sigh, Ron supplied, “Why doesn’t this Dumbledore wander off?”
“I hadn’t really noticed.”
“Well, I did. And believe me, he’s in there 100% of the time. No naps like in the other portraits. I bet he’s even alert when you get up for a midnight snack.”
“Perhaps the noise wakes him up.”
“I’m serious, Harry. Why is he so intent on spying on us in particular?”
Harry took a moment to consider. “Perhaps he’s just not as busy now that’s he’s retired “ so to speak.”
The gloriously ruby sunset was almost enough to awe Hermione into temporary silence. Still, her enthusiasm was contagious and Harry found himself waxing nostalgic after a satisfying supper of roast lamb with lemon and rosemary. The feeling of contentment stretched as far as the first stars on the horizon when he watched Ron’s silhouette take Hermione’s hand as the two of them set off on an after dinner stroll.
Turning to Ginny at his side, he pondered, “Sorry you didn’t return to school with the others?”
“Not so much. You forget my last memories of Hogwarts were not as pleasant as yours.”
He managed an apologetic smile even as he heedlessly continued, “Couldn’t help wondering who the Head Boy and Girl were last year. Seeing as how I attended cl --”
Ginny cut him off with a tender finger across his lips.
“There weren’t any. Snape declared it to be a meaningless ritual designed to enshrine mediocrity. Said as much during the Welcoming Feast.”
The image in his mind’s eye was so vivid, Harry found himself even missing the man’s disdainful taunts. He covered Ginny’s hand with his and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Her eyes searched his face with great care before she continued, “We had a full compliment of Prefects, though. All from Slytherin. Reminded me of the Inquisitorial Squad during Umbridge’s Totalitarian Regime.”
Recalling her earlier comments, Harry added, “And he banned Quidditch as well.”
She screwed up her face in disgust. “Only in retrospect does it seem like a cautionary edict. We were already at each others’ throats without using Bludgers and bats to clobber one another.”
Harry couldn’t stop himself from pointing out the obvious flaw. “Who maintained order inside the common rooms then?”
“Our Head of Houses did. It became a refuge for them as well.”
Recalling how McGonagall had stood up to Umbridge’s bullying tactics with such steely determination that was really saying a lot.
“The Carrows and Snape often patrolled the hallways themselves,” Ginny elaborated. “As if they couldn’t quite put their trust in anyone else.”
“Mistrust in one another, more like,” Harry observed.
“Likely so. Still, it was rumored that the Carrows were sent to spy on the other teachers, not the students. And no one wanted to be sent packing on what was likely to be a permanent trip.”
Noting the grim set to her lips, Harry decided it was high time he changed the subject. Since the others were still out of sight, he shared Ron’s earlier comments. “Do you find Dumbledore’s portrait particularly creepy?” he asked.
Ginny shrugged as she cuddled against his shoulder. “It’s a wizarding portrait. No different from all the others.”
“Ron’s unnerved because the figure never walks away.”
“And Muggles would be unnerved when it did,” she returned pragmatically. “What’s the big deal?”
Now that he’d had a few hours to weigh the matter, Harry remarked, “He seemed to imply that it could be used as a spying tool.”
Ginny snorted. “Little he knows. Ask him if he can see into Auntie Muriel’s from that group photo we had taken at Bill’s wedding.”
Harry pondered, “Yet I’ve had occasion to see one portrait carry a message from one locale to another.”
“A message from a living, breathing wizard who’s outside the frame. The chap in the portrait doesn’t initiate anything.”
Just an echo of their former selves, that’s how it had been explained to him before. That accounted for Mrs. Black’s obsession with purebloods. “So the portraits in the Headmaster’s office are different, you’re saying?”
Coming up behind their bench, Hermione postulated, “Just another example of the unique magical properties inherent in the castle bedrock itself.”
Harry smiled at her over his shoulder. “Let me guess, Hogwarts: A History?”
“I’ve moved way beyond that,” she protested. Summoning a book from her room, Hermione expounded, “I’m currently embroiled in A Wizard’s Guide to Art Appreciation.”
Harry shook his head. Only Hermione would find a textbook all-consuming. Everyone else would save that terminology for a particularly juicy novel.
“Although Harry makes a point,” she continued. “That’s why landscapes are so highly prized among wizards. Remember all those pastoral scenes that hung in the grand hall at Malfoy Manor?”
“I can’t believe you remember “ considering the circumstances,” Ron supplied as he returned from the kitchen with another bottle in hand.
Including him in the impromptu lesson, Hermione volunteered, “Some are actually mentioned in this book; they’re quite famous and valuable. So I used a Pensieve to move through those rooms as one would a museum.”
Clearly intrigued by Hermione’s brand of lunacy, Ginny urged, “So what’s so great about still lifes? Mum always thought they were boring.”
“Those are just plain lifeless, even when painted by a talented wizard. But when a living forest is committed to canvas -- or photographed, for that matter -- it continues to show signs of life.”
“Like the leaves swaying in the breeze?” Harry tendered, still unsure where the conversation was leading.
“More than that,” Hermione insisted. “It will actually change with the seasons. Saves on having to redecorate for Yuletide as much as my mum used to do.”
With sudden inspiration, Harry considered, “What if someone was to chop down all the trees in the forest? Would the change then show up in the painting?”
“No. It’s still encapsulates the scene at the time that it was rendered.” Catching on to Harry’s idea, Hermione added, “Nor can you post a sign in a particular spot and have the message relay to another by way of the painting.”
“That idea was in a Muggle novel I read, though,” Ginny interjected. “Speculative fiction that comes surprisingly close to realities in the wizarding world.”
“Makes you wonder whether every Squib out there is a ruddy author,” Ron grumbled.
Despite its patent absurdity, the idea of Dumbledore’s portrait having ulterior motives would not leave Harry alone. After the others had gone to bed, he remained lost in thought as he stared into the golden dregs of the bottles he and Ron had consumed.
What horrors in Dumbledore’s life had led him to establish this retreat? Harry found himself pondering. Ariana’s accidental death? His bitter fight with Aberforth over his friendship with Gellert Grindelwald? Or his final confrontation with the monster that had once been his closest confidant? It seemed that trouble and heartache had doggedly followed the former Headmaster just as they had one Harry Potter.
He couldn’t deny that the portrait had captivated him with its interactive realism from the very start. He often caught himself looking towards the canvas out of the corner of his eye just to witness the shifting emotions across the great wizard’s face. Blue eyes twinkling with amusement then shifting to amazement to intent curiosity to tearful sadness, all had conveyed themselves appropriately during his many discussions with Lexxie. There were times when Harry almost felt as if the wizard’s lips were about to impart advice, but the portrait had always remained sullenly silent. Just as when Harry had addressed it directly during his first week at the villa.
He’d grown so accustomed to voicing his feelings aloud to Lexxie that he hardly noticed when he addressed the likeness of great wizard before him.
“I’ve completely forgiven you, you know. Took me awhile to get untangled from the puppet strings, though. But I’m on to your methods, old man. Had you not presented such a callous face to Snape, he would’ve never gone through with his part of the plan.
“You were always so good at manipulating people. Give them what they want, or expect, or desperately need. Find the hole in their psyche and fill it. Easier said than done; I won’t deny that you were the unsung master. After all these years, Snape was still looking for an authority figure, a substitute for the real father he’d found so spineless and unloving. So you became the polar opposite of the Dark Lord. Neville was looking for someone to recognize that he possessed great strength of character even though he’d not yet outgrown his clumsiness.
“As for me….Well, I suppose I, too, was looking for socks.” He’d chortled a bit at their inside joke. “Didn’t think I’d seen through your metaphor, did you? Certainly not as a first year. But in Aberforth’s words I found the truth: both of you yearned for the cohesive family that Fate seemed determined to deny you. No wonder you understood me so well.
“Like Snape, I also needed to recognize that there was no wavering from the inevitable, regardless of how distasteful it was to accept my own death. Sure I railed against the injustice of it all, but I still dragged my feet into that clearing and let Voldemort make the biggest mistake of his life. I admit I hated you with every fiber of my being as I trudged down that hill, but my heart hardened enough to resist the desire to seek refuge in Ginny’s arms. You had wisely anticipated that an accomplished Legilimens like Riddle would’ve read any nuance. In my despair he found the vindication of his own grandiose plans: even the great Harry Potter acknowledged the Dark Lord’s superiority.
“Would I have been able to pull off such a feat if I’d known that you’d hedged your bets? That you counted on my selfless surrender to recreate the same phenomenon my mother’s sacrifice had done so many years ago? It was a bold and dangerous plan, old man. I’m just relieved you gave me the tools to play my part without a hitch. Better that you recognize that the born actor in our midst was Snape and not me.
“But you demonstrated your true feelings in that heavenly version of King’s Cross Station. Down to the little details. You were always an incongruent combination of Father Time and Peter Pan: so ageless and eternal and yet never losing sight of your boyishness. The perfect grandfather figure.”
Only when the portrait inclined its head as if it were listening intently did the sound of his own voice register. Harry dismissed it as inconsequential; people spoke aloud to their pets all the time, for Merlin’s sake. Mrs. Figg was a prime example.
Ginny’s interpretation of his latest obsession came after breakfast the next morning.
“You’re just missing Hogwarts,” she opined. “Or rather your memories of it. It had certainly changed for the worse during my last year.”
“I’m certain the new Headmistress will have everything back on track,” he replied.
“That’s still not to say that her methods will be the same as Dumbledore’s. Similar perhaps, but change is inevitable.”
“So you think having Dumbledore looking over my shoulder just makes me feel like everything is back to normal.”
“You told me yourself that his demise was the beginning of the downward spiral, as you saw it.”
Harry nodded in acceptance of her insight. There was nothing wrong with a bit of nostalgia, anyway.