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Chocolate Frog by L A Moody

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Disclaimer: With humble gratitude to J. K. Rowling for allowing me to build castles in her sandbox once more.




Twenty-Two
Hermione: The Glittering Grotto



It was like being rocked in the branches of the stately bay laurels which graced the coastline, Hermione decided as she willed her body to relax. A bit disconcerting after the effervescence of full throttle necessary for the launch to maneuver them across the narrow inlet. She issued a sigh of relief as her knuckles finally unclenched.

Directly before them was the fabled merpeople nesting grounds. The dark maw of the sea cave resembled that of a gargantuan serpent, its jaws unhinged to swallow its prey. The wiry captain flicked his wand towards the cave mouth and hundreds of miniature lights created a path deep within the gullet of the beast. With practiced ease, the captain allowed the tide to pull them closer, teasing the motor to make minute adjustments only as needed.

Within the arch of the cave’s roof, the silence was absolute. The gentle bump of the hull upon the porous limerock reverberated profoundly. Scintillating patches reflecting against the damp grotto walls danced in reply.

“I feel a bit like Jonah,” Hermione tittered nervously. “He was swallowed by a whale,” she added in response to Ginny’s and Ron’s blank looks.

The curve of the high roof indeed bore a striking similarity to a leviathan’s ribcage; perhaps that was the more appropriate metaphor, but she didn’t voice her thoughts. Grim scenarios were precisely what Harry needed to leave behind, Hermione reminded herself firmly.

The wizened boat captain, Demetri, laid a finger across his lips in warning. With his other hand at hip level, he sent a wordless Privacy Charm around them. Like the barest wave of a lilac blanket, it encompassed the boat from stem to stern before fading from view.

“Mermaids very sensitive to light and sound,” he warned. “Let’s see if luck is with us today.” Grabbing hold of a long knotted rope that had been driven into the rock, he slowly eased the launch over the center of the grotto.

At first the constant rocking motion made it difficult to focus, but after a few minutes it was clear that only seaweed undulated in the dark water below. A quick flash of silver turned out to be nothing more than the reflection of the tubular lights in the tireless water. Only the timeless rocks gazed back at them from the depths.

“What about local fish species?” Ginny ventured in a bare whisper.

Demetri’s eyes crinkled in amusement as he explained, “None venture beyond the cove unless they want to become the next meal. Merpeople have voracious appetites despite their sinuous shapes.”

“Sardines and mackerels,” Hermione provided with confidence. “Those are the indigenous species that make up the local diet.”

“Anchovies, too,” the captain volunteered as his gnarled brown finger pointed to the tiny darts that wove among the vegetation. “Fearless fish. They know they are too small to be hunted.”

Reassured that they were in the right location, the group waited patiently for the next half hour. By that time, Hermione had exhausted her inquisitiveness about the local customs as well.

A tantalizing glimpse of orange sent a wave of excitement coursing through the onlookers. Much to their disappointment, it turned out to be a bulbous-eyed squid which quickly retreated under a rock ledge.

“Fickle bunch, aren’t they?” Ron grumbled.

“They’re watching us, though,” Demetri replied in a sage manner. “That’s why the squid scurried out of sight so quickly.”

“Perhaps if we repositioned the boat?” Harry proposed.

“They’re wise to that strategy,” the captain chuckled. “They’ll come out only if something lures them.”

“Like a fishing lure?” Ginny posed in confusion. “Sounds rather cruel to me.”

The captain’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Nothing as crude as that. But you must think like a mermaid. What beguiles a creature who lives among the murky depths?”

Catching on almost immediately, Hermione suggested, “Light. Isn’t that why you triggered the overhead lights from the start?”

“Can’t steer boat blindly,” observed Demetri. “Yet sea creatures are instinctively wary of man-made illumination. Somehow, they sense the difference.”

“Would the full moon lure them?” Ginny considered.

“As well as shafts of sunlight through honeycombed roof,” concurred the captain. “But that only happens at very specific times of the year.”

“Then you’re saying we wasted our trip out here,” Ron groused with a gloomy sigh.

“Not always,” the captain reassured them. “Sometimes the creatures are entranced to show themselves for reasons known only to them. It was so when I fell overboard as a young boy.”

“You’ve seen them, then?” Harry prompted with mounting excitement.

“They came to my rescue. Even though I was an avid swimmer, the undercurrent was tugging mercilessly at my legs. Any rescuers from the boat would have been equally overcome.”

“A re-enactment,” Ginny volunteered as she unbuttoned her blouse to reveal her scant bathing costume beneath.

Catching the dark look Ron threw in his sister’s direction, Harry stepped in diplomatically. “It’s not worth the risk, Gin. Swimming in the ocean isn’t like paddling about the pond in your back meadow.”

“They test each visitor’s mettle according to their own capacity,” the captain pronounced with authority.

“In other words, we must find our own unique solution,” Hermione surmised, inwardly pleased when Demetri graced her with an encouraging smile. “To harness light was often a punishable offense in mythological times,” she expounded as much to herself as to the others. “Stealing lightning or fire, both perpetrators were condemned to eternal torment.”

“We don’t need to steal it,” Harry clarified. “Just borrow it for a bit.”

All eyes turned to Ron who was entranced by the juicy peach he held in his hand.

“The device Dumbledore left you,” Ginny urged with a sharp poke to his side. “Tell me you didn’t leave it in your other trousers.”

“Perhaps a Summoning Charm…” Hermione began only to be cut short when Harry fished the very object from Ron’s shirt pocket.

“Oi!” Ron complained as he set his half-eaten snack aside. Despite the fruit nectar dripping from his fingers, he managed to snatch the Deluminator back. “That’s mine! You inherited Gryffindor’s sword, mate.”

“Which is about as useless as discarded basilisk fangs at the moment,” Hermione noted drily.

“All right, Ron,” Ginny dared. “Show us how it’s done.”

Ginny’s very stance indicated that she was ready to commandeer the Deluminator should her brother prove unfit for the task at hand.

Screwing his face in concentration, Ron pointed the small device towards the lights that snaked along the backbone of the cavern. The cave was plunged into shadows as incandescent ribbons were sucked inside the Deluminator itself. The sharp click echoed hollowly within the closed confines, adding to the eeriness of their surroundings.

A sharp splash from the rear of the grotto drew everyone to peer blindly into the shadowy depths. It could be anything, Hermione reminded her hammering heart, something as innocuous as a loose rock tumbling down the curved walls. All around, the impenetrable blackness of the water mocked them with its slowly rippling surface.

“Do something,” Ginny hissed into Ron’s ear. It was the sound of steam escaping from a crouching dragon.

Ron’s wide blue eyes glowed spectrally bright despite the dimness as he directed a helpless glance towards each of them in turn.

“Trust in your instincts like Dumbledore did,” Harry encouraged lowly.

Wordlessly, Ron closed his eyes and clutched the Deluminator tightly to his chest. As in a trance, he slowly waved the device in varying patterns before him. One moment his arm was making a figure eight; in the next, his fist was riding up and down like ocean waves. With slow determination, his thumb pressed down on the lever which would release the pent up photons. The effect was similar to that of a mirrored light ball that shot dancing beams in all directions at once. Only somehow Ron had managed to capture the randomness inherent in all living things.

“Butterflies made of light,” Demetri sighed reverently.

“Mooncalves,” Ginny amended in awe. “Or so I always imagined them to be before I was old enough to know better.”

Somehow the textbook description of burrowing creatures with large flat feet paled before Ginny’s vivid imagination.

“Moon moths,” Harry breathed into her ear as he drew his arm around Ginny’s shoulders.

“Good choice,” she giggled into his hair. “Moon flies sound like they could be nasty disease carriers.”

“Will o’ the wisps,” Hermione contributed. “Their alluring presence belies their deadly intent. Wizards know them as hinkypunks; but Muggles often romanticize magical beings of all sorts.”

Their whispered debate was cut short by the sound of softly lapping water. It was subtle at first but soon could be felt in the increased motion of the boat beneath them. The soft slaps of water became the musical cadences of an underwater drum as an eldritch humming rose and fell around them, often crescendoing beyond the range of human hearing.

Like a gossamer soap bubble, their Privacy Charm dissolved in an eye blink before the reverberating waves of sound. Had she not been looking for it, Hermione told herself, she would surely have missed it entirely.

“You’re getting a reaction,” the captain warned lowly. “Don’t do anything to spook them.”

Wide ridged tails broke the surface of the water all around. As their eyes adjusted to the lower intensity of light, colors ranging from deepest violet to pale blue to softly glowing apricot flashed among the scales of the creatures swirling just below the surface. Vivid ribbons forever caught in the current, the merpeople mesmerized with their ever-changing patterns much as Ron was continuing to do with the Deluminator.

“You are not He!” a strangely-pitched voice rang out from the port side of their launch. The merman’s hair hung in multi-colored strands about his pinched face, the muscles of his broad chest rising and falling just below the waterline. His tiny yellow eyes looked each of them over skeptically.

Before they could frame a response, two other faces broke the surface at either side. Each held an intricately carved trident whose wicked points shone starkly against their pearly white skin. Focusing almost exclusively on Ron, the two sentinels conferred rapidly with the first merman in a language which consisted of nothing more than squeaks and whistles.

The apparent leader nodded impassively in response. “You are not the One we expected. Are you a relation? He once, too, had hair like the setting sun, although it was my forebearers who knew Him in His younger years.”

As Ron stammered incoherently, the faded image of a photo from Rita Skitter’s tell-all book rose in Hermione’s mind. Dumbledore’s hair had been auburn in his youth.

“Did He not teach you to speak our tongue?” the merchieftain prompted with authority.

Surely Ron recalled Dumbledore conferring with the merpeople during the Triwizard Tournament. Or had he been too mesmerized by Fleur’s effusive gratitude over the rescue of her little sister? Deciding not to risk it, Hermione whispered, “Dumbledore had red hair…”

“And he spoke fluent Mermish,” Harry prodded.

With realization dawning on his face, Ron groped for the dog-eared collector card he kept in his pocket as a talisman. He huffed with frustration to find the gilded frame empty of its occupant.

“You must mean the former Headmaster of my school,” he ventured hesitantly. “I thought I had a picture, but that didn’t pan out.”

The chieftain’s features showed that he was uncertain of Ron’s informal wording. “You are His disciple then?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Student, disciple, it’s all related.” At Hermione’s sharp nudge, Ron amended more formally, “Albus Dumbledore was a wizard of great influence. But we are not related by blood “ even though my entire family has red hair as you can see from my sister here…” He trailed off as another head poked out of the water.

It was difficult not to stare at the merwoman who had just surfaced. Her long tresses were lilac in color as they sluiced rivulets of water over her bare torso. A garland of sparkling jewels draped from one pierced alabaster breast to the other. The gentle movement of the water caused some gems to sparkle as they caught the low light; those with a filmy iridescence glowed from within.

With a wide sweep of his arm, the chieftain intoned, “This is my birth mother, Mercuria. She is the spiritual leader for our loose confederation, as you would call it. I am known by the name of Panchrome.” Narrowing his eyes in Ron’s direction, he added solemnly, “She reminds me that the Great White Albus did not master Mermish until He was a much older man. Do they not teach languages at your ‘school’? Like a herd of fishes, no?”

Hermione couldn’t help but giggle at the merman’s interpretation. “It’s unfortunate that linguistics are not currently part of the curriculum,” she commented with appropriate gravitas. “But we will certainly suggest it to the current Headmistress.”

The smile froze on her lips as the two guards hissed in warning and brandished their coral weapons. Mercuria issued a low screech in Panchrome’s ear as she motioned for the guardians to stand down.

“Mercuria reminds them that others in the boat have visited our sister kingdoms in the past,” the chieftain offered.

Mercuria’s sharp response sounded like scolding despite the language barrier.

“That is indeed true of the two sitting in the closest seats,” Panchrome translated. “But the one with midnight hair had a different experience.”

Harry gulped as all eyes turned to him. “I was given the task of rescuing those who dreamed underwater,” he offered in humble tones. “It was a test of my abilities and judgment. I ate a specialized plant that allowed me to breathe and swim like a fish.”

“Gillyweed,” the merman acknowledged. “It is not as abundant in these parts as it once was. Too many tried to visit realms to which they had not been invited. Everyone is entitled to his privacy; is he not, Harry Potter?”

Harry ignored the gasps from his friends as he probed evenly, “You know my name.”

“You are known throughout the magical world. Something that does not always please you, no?”

Harry nodded in deference to the merman’s wisdom. “All too often strangers seem to know more about me than I do.”

“Yet you managed to fulfill your destiny while others woefully failed.”

“The price was too high,” Harry stipulated into those ancient glowing eyes.

“That has always been so,” Panchrome affirmed. “The Esteemed Albus said much the same after His defeat of the darkness which called itself Grindelwald.”

“They were childhood friends before their paths diverged,” Harry supplied. “Only recently did I discover this.”

With unerring accuracy, the merchieftain surmised, “And you wish the Great One had confided this to you in person? Was He not entitled to His privacy as well?”

It was convoluted logic, but Harry issued a resigned sigh to indicate that the observation had once again hit home. “You must know that the Triwizard Tournament didn’t have a pleasant ending, either.”

Panchrome listened intently to the council of his bodyguards before offering, “Just as our cousins to the north recounted their involvement in the Venerable Wizard’s burial ceremony, they also spoke of the great contest. It had been an unprecedented request from the great man Himself that others be allowed a privileged window into our secretive stronghold, but it was clear that the one you call Dumbledore’s intentions were peaceful and honorable as always.”

Clearing her throat softly, Hermione ventured, “If you’ll forgive my boldness, Excellency, but I can’t help but be intrigued by your mastery of our language. Do all merpeople communicate so well?”

Panchrome’s eyes betrayed only the slightest surprise as Mercuria gave an abrupt screech. “You, too, were dormant when you visited our realms.”

“Regrettably,” Hermione replied with dignity. “It was a rare opportunity that unwittingly slipped through my fingers.”

The merman cocked his head in thought. “Ah, you are the scholar within the group.”

Hermione’s cheeks colored slightly as she attested, “The pursuit of knowledge is the basis of all understanding.”

With the first hint of a smile they had received from the strange being, the merman remarked, “I see each of you shares a portion of the Great Man’s heart. Small wonder He left His greatest treasures to you. As to your earlier query, merpeople have the wealth of the world’s knowledge within their watery kingdom; should we be denied the wisdom amassed by ancient civilizations?”

“Lost libraries?” Hermione put forth with barely masked enthusiasm.

“Xander’s repository is the closest one,” the merman pronounced with pride. “Close to the large land mass to the south, as you would say.”

It took a few extra seconds for Hermione to catch on. “The fabled Lost Library of Alexandria?”

“Only misplaced,” Ron muttered behind Hermione’s back.

“I would give absolutely anything to visit that!” Hermione confessed.

“Such is not possible. Even the strongest gillyweed would wear off long before we arrived. The only access is through long underwater tunnels many miles deep.”

Recalling how Viktor Krum’s majestic ship had traveled from Durmstrang, the explanation made perfect sense to Hermione.

With a piercing look, the merman added, “You are much too young to make such a sacrifice for knowledge, especially when that knowledge will die with you.”

Hermione blanched noticeably at the dire implications.

As his expression softened, Panchrome amended, “But I can tell you this: not all knowledge is enlightenment. Many so called scholars expounded on doctrines of hatred and false superiority. Rants as such.”

“Diatribes,” Hermione supplied. “Poisonous teachings.”

“Very much so,” the merman concurred. “Words as poisonous as the sting of a lethal jellyfish. The autocrat whom your group recently deposed would have felt right at home.”

“We were but a small part of that army,” Harry clarified. “Without the assistance and sacrifices of others, we would’ve failed miserably.”

Both Panchrome and Mercuria nodded their heads in approval. “He who does things alone soon becomes a tyrant in his own right,” the merman recited as if by rote.

Mercuria squealed her approval which was translated as, “My mother recalls the Great White Albus was much the same. In our culture, it is said that humility in the face of monumental achievement is perhaps the greatest virtue of all.”

“That would certain apply to Dumbledore,” Harry agreed.

“You just proved his point,” Ginny whispered, then cringed when all the merpeople swiveled their icy glares upon her.

“And who is this?” the chieftain hissed. “A stranger to our realm, even though Dumbledore’s Disciple says she is part of his clan.”

Panchrome’s intensity was unnerving in the best of times, but diplomacy was not one of Ron’s strong suits. “She’s my sister, Ginny,” he defended. “I’m Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley.”

“I sense another connection,” the merman translated for his mother once again. “Is she perhaps the Potter’s mate?” Despite the number of times that Ron has used the exact same term to indicate nothing more than friendship, the gleam in the chieftain’s hard eyes was unmistakable.

“Bloody hell!” Ron cried as he half-rose to his feet. Only Hermione’s quick tug on his shirttails kept him from capsizing the small boat.

Much to their surprise, Panchrome threw his head back and laughed uproariously. Or so it seemed to Hermione, as the sounds were more akin to seal barks than anything else.

“Ron Weasley is quite the comedian,” the merman confirmed. “I had forgotten how squeamish land-dwellers were about their interconnections.”

At the mermother’s high squeak, even the impassive guards sniggered. Her words were translated as, “Basic biology is treated like a state secret.”

Knowing how parochial Ron could be about what was obviously a very loving relationship between his sister and his best friend, Hermione silently hoped that Harry had the good sense to play it cool.

“Our customs are just different,” Harry volunteered. “And families often guard their privacy at all costs.”

“Privacy is not a concept my people embrace among themselves.”

“Yet you grace very few outsiders with your presence,” Hermione observed as she recalled the merman’s earlier statements.

“Self-survival,” Panchrome pronounced with a slight frown. “We do not wish to be hunted as the great whales once were. Nor do we entertain gawkers.”

Harry’s eyes were bright with curiosity as he ventured, “But you must somehow communicate with your, er, kingdoms to the north. In the area we call Scotland.”

“Such should be obvious by the other populations which have migrated to the woodlands of Caledonia,” acknowledged the chieftain as he employed an archaic name for the region. “Creatures who originated in the Hellenic peninsula, as land-dwellers call it.”

Without Hermione’s input, it took Harry a few extra seconds before he made the connection. “Centaurs who roam the forest adjoining our school. I’m pleased to call some of them friends.”

Panchrome nodded his head solemnly. “It speaks well of you, Harry Potter. Centaurs are clannish creatures, stand-offish in the best of times.”

“So I discovered, but they were kind enough to come to my rescue when I was dangerously lost within their territory. They recognized that I was too young to know better.”

“Tolerance of younglings is a hallmark of all sentient creatures as your noble oarsman will no doubt attest.”

“I was rash,” Harry confessed. “My ignorance could easily have been misinterpreted as aggression.”

“Very likely. Centaurs in a herd have always been prone to stampede. Singly, there are more genial.”

Recalling how the centaurs had also come to their assistance with Dolores Umbridge, Hermione was pleased when Harry elaborated, “One of their kind was magnanimous enough to brave censure by coming to teach at our school.” He ignored the gasps and affronted expressions of the merpeople. The boldest who had ventured to poke their heads above the surface plunged beneath at Harry’s pronouncement. “Firenze wished to be an ambassador between cultures as well.”

Panchrome pressed his pale lips together in thought. “This centaur was befriended by the Great White Albus as well?”

“Yes.”

“Excuse me, your Excellency,” Hermione ventured softly. “How did your brothers and sisters come to resettle so far from their native home?”

The chieftain waved a webbed hand to forestall his mother before she had a chance to protest. “It is a scholar’s question: seeking to find understanding at the source. Alas, those details are lost in the misty depths of legend. A foolish warrior from the Age of Bronze was intent on procuring a pelt of golden wool. He took warriors of all sorts in his ship’s hold to seek out the fabled sheep in a land made white by winter. The allure of adventure led centaurs and other land creatures to join the expedition. It was an ill-fated voyage with the luckiest being those who relocated to the north. So the song of the sea creatures tells us. Many of the merpeople who followed in their wake perished in the great migration. The hardier souls who were able to withstand the partial solidification of water formed the basis of our northern kingdoms.”

Jason and the Argonauts in search of the golden fleece. “Remnants of that same tale are still part of our distant past,” Hermione confirmed. “Although it’s an object lesson of geopolitical aggression, treachery and subterfuge. So much so that it has become synonymous with a wild goose chase.”

Panchrome gave a toothy smile that was rather unnerving. “Forgive my unfamiliarity with your terms. Geese are a food source, no?”

Clearly Harry, too, recalled the cheesy movies that had played on the telly. “An impossible quest for something that does not exist,” he translated.

The merchieftain demonstrated just how quick-witted he was. “Ah, a quest with no end used to ensnarl those whom one wishes to overthrow.”

“Our stories don’t pinpoint the destination of that epic voyage,” Hermione elaborated. “Yet your explanation rings true. The sheep of the Scottish Highlands are renowned the world over for the thickness and warmth of their coat. A benefit of the cold, wet climate no doubt.”

“Sadly, a climate that is not conducive to all species,” the merman confirmed with an unmistakable note of sadness. “The satyrs, or fauns as they are sometimes known, are sister species to centaurs, yet could not persevere in such temperatures. They died off before twelve moons had come and gone. Clearly, the centaurs found a unique niche and gave rise to offshoots such as flying hippogriffs.”

It was a perfectly plausible explanation, Hermione told herself as she graced the merman with a smile of gratitude. No wonder hippogriffs were so taciturn when not approached formally. Hagrid would be pleased with a bit of folklore to add to his lessons.

Ron asserted himself in response to Hermione’s wordless urging. “Master Panchrome, we would very much like to learn of your interactions with our former Headmaster. Our world is still reeling from his untimely loss.”

Deciding once and for all that the boat and its humans posed no threat, Panchrome motioned for his lieutenants to withdraw to the back of the grotto. Mercuria, too, swam towards a clump of underwater rocks where she was joined by a bevy of younger females intent on braiding her hair with shiny baubles.

Without further preamble, the stoic merman spun out the tale that resounded all too much with their own experiences. Namely, how the various types of merpeople would focus on their differences in superficial matters to create rifts between neighboring clans. Over the eons, adaptation to either a salty marine environment or fresh water invariably created differences in outward appearance as well as their adaptability to certain conditions and diet. These were accepted as being inevitable. But when some merpeople discovered the rich ecosystem that existed in those areas in betwixt, they were branded as heretics by both groups. Those who chose to live in the brackish areas where the fresh water and the saline harmonized soon found themselves ostracized and had no choice but to interbreed among themselves. So a new breed of merpeople came about, one that was damned as being inferior by the two earlier races.

Hermione couldn’t help thinking that the prejudice was even reflected in their usage of the word brackish to mean a mixture of water that was distasteful and muddy. The resemblance to the term Mudblood resonated starkly in the dimly lit cavern. Despite the balmy temperature, she felt a distinct chill in her bones but wisely kept her thoughts to herself.

“It wasn’t long before hostilities broke out between the three factions,” Panchrome continued. “Senseless killings that just decreased our already dwindling numbers. Instead of railing against the destruction of habitats that prevented all types of merpeople from flourishing, we were intent on squabbling among ourselves like irresponsible younglings. That was the Great White Albus’ quiet summation of the situation, an impartial assessment from an outsider which somehow made us merpeople re-evaluate our priorities. As the Venerable Wizard met on a daily basis with my forefather-twice-over to master the intricacies of Mermish vocalization, their conversations long into the night fueled a bloodless revolution within our very culture.

“No doubt you have noticed that our freshwater counterparts are deeper of skin and hair and predisposed to quicksilver scales. The ocean-faring sirens, as the females were once called by the local land-dwellers, were fairer with spun gold hair and vibrant hues to the tail and fins. In less populous times, they were often found sunning themselves on rocks so their pearlescent skin could assume a pigment similar to that of their scales. This practice was abandoned when they began to fear being hunted to extinction by lovesick mariners.”

It was difficult not to notice the other merpeople who had risen to the surface to listen to their chieftain’s words. Each head sported a more spectacular combination of color than its neighbor with no repetition in sight. Amid the golden eyes were shades of olive, peridot, and persimmon. The women were instantly recognizable by the delicacy of their features, bisque porcelain made flesh. There were enough male warriors armed with deadly looking spears to give pause, however.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Ron was doing his best to avoid staring at the rising swell of the female cleavage. She focused on the curious and unique necklaces each had fashioned for herself while thinking that it was no wonder ancient sailors had been mesmerized by the mermaids’ beauty.

“The Great White Albus came to this area to baptize Himself in new knowledge,” the chieftain expounded. “We gave Him the gift of our language and He graced us with the wisdom to live in harmony with our brethren. From what we have heard of the recent events, it is a lesson that land-dwellers did not embrace as fully as merpeople.”

“Yet it remained Dumbledore’s ambition to his dying day,” Harry attested solemnly.

“Then He chose His ambassadors well,” Panchrome acknowledged with a half bow of his upper torso. With a commanding motion of his arm, he dove in a graceful arc that exposed the sparkling orange rainbow of his scales. The other merpeople followed suit, their powerful tails unfurling just as they plunged beneath the water’s surface. Within moments, the only sign of their presence was a series of small bubbles which floated beneath the mottled light. Mere heartbeats later, even those were gone.

As the grotto returned to its echoing silence, Ron slowly depressed the Delumintor once last time. Released from his command, silverfishes of light flew to the cavern’s backbone once more. Flooded with artificial light, the ancient stone surfaces seemed to refute the events that had just taken place.

In awed silence, Demetri coerced the motor to a low purr with a few pokes of his wand. Turning the launch in a tight arc, he directed them past the low hanging cave mouth and into the sunny inlet beyond. A last minute wave of his hand and the low hum of the lights was extinguished once and for all.









A bonanza of bright orange crustaceans awaited them on the villa’s balcony. Silvery clam shells caught the last rays of the afternoon sun as the inky black of mussels seemed to absorb it. There was no denying that the sea air had sharpened their appetites as the four of them settled around a low table which had been completely covered with newspaper.

Lexxie made sure they had everything they needed before scurrying off to get the details from Demetri himself. “Tales of the merpeople need to be recounted while they’re fresh,” she laughed.

“Not like rotting seafood washed in with the tide?” Harry joked.

“Memories fade mysteriously,” she threw over her shoulder. “Rather like a Mermish version of the Confundus Charm.”

“Is such a thing possible?” Ron hissed.

“Probably,” Hermione decided. “But somehow I think Dumbledore’s blessing may extend to the rest of us.”

“So, Ginny, you’ve been terribly quiet,” Harry tendered. “Anything the matter?”

“Just peckish,” she insisted as she concentrated on the food before her. “Ron didn’t think to bring peaches for everyone, you know.”

Hermione was certain there was more to it as she recalled Harry massaging the feeling back into his hand after they reached the shore. Clearly, Ginny had been clutching it during the most of the encounter with the merpeople.

“I don’t know, Sis,” Ron teased as he speared a hefty chunk of lobster on his fork. “Last time you were so tongue-tied was in first year; did the handsome merman strike your fancy?”

“Hardly,” Ginny scoffed. “The thought of those tin-opener teeth nibbling on my neck was rather off-putting.”

“It was the body piercings that bothered me,” Hermione confessed as she self-consciously crossed her arms across her chest. “Still, those teeth must come in handy without a crab mallet in sight.”

“Those relentless eyes,” Ginny breathed. “It was as if he wanted to see through me more than anything. I was the outsider.”

“Nonsense,” Harry mollified. “If Ron was Dumbledore’s Disciple that made you Dumbledore’s Dumpling by sheer association!”

Ginny pulled a face and threw an empty crab claw at Harry who ducked. Her chocolate eyes flashed a look to indicate that there might just be a Bat-Bogey Hex in his immediate future.

“What do you think was going through his mind?” Hermione asked in a low whisper.

“Who knows?” Ginny cried. “I just didn’t like the insinuations he made about our provincial attitudes. His laughter reminded me too much of a hyena on helium for my taste!”

Laughter erupted at her wry commentary. But as the conversations rattled on throughout their sumptuous dinner, Hermione couldn’t help but mull over Ginny’s words. No doubt about it, the merchieftain’s intense looks had intimated much more than he’d put into actual words. And Ginny had every reason to be discreet, especially with Ron seated not two feet away.

Did Ginny really think she was fooling anybody with her clothes arranged in the second bedroom? Hermione recalled performing enough Transfiguration of beds in preparation for the wedding guests at the Burrow that she could easily distinguish that particular tingle in the air. She would bet her last galleon that there had not been two twin beds in Harry’s room the night before “ or the night before that. Not that she was about to share her conclusions with Ron. There was no sense risking a second international incident in the same day.








Ron never seemed to tire of replaying their encounter with the merpeople, Hermione observed affectionately. He still had that dreamy expression on his face, but he no longer colored bright pink when he described the mermaids’ beauty. With practice, he’d learned to gloss over their naked torsos and just detail that their body piercings were often draped with long strands of jewels. By the tittering of the first and second years which comprised his core audience this evening, it was clear that they conjured the images in their minds quite clearly. Or perhaps it was the awed tone in Ron’s voice as he described their long tresses in colors so exotic they had yet to be named.

She didn’t begrudge him a bit of his newfound celebrity status. It was just another way in which he had managed to finally break free of Harry’s shadow. His added confidence had been a boon to her as well, she allowed with a small, private smile.

Hermione marked the page in her book as the girls acknowledged that it was past their bedtimes and scurried off like a flock of geese. Ron waved merrily as he watched them duck into the staircase leading to the girls dormitories.

Finally alone in the Gryffindor Common Room, he turned towards Hermione with the glow of the fireplace contouring his face into ruddy planes and deep shadows.

“You look like you have a lot on your mind,” he ventured as he joined her on one of the squashy sofas.

“Not really,” she allowed softly.

“You haven’t turned a page in hours. I could see you out of the corner of my eye.”

Pleased that he was so acutely aware of her presence, she admitted, “I was thinking about the Deluminator is all.”

“This?” Ron hefted the very object in his hand, its silvery surface catching the low light.

“I see why Dumbledore entrusted it specifically to you.”

“So I could find my way back. No secret there.”

“I’m beginning to think there might be more. That device opens doors.”

“Really? I always use Alohomora myself,” he teased.

“I meant in a figurative sense.”

“Right. Now you’ve lost me for certain.”

“It started a dialogue with the merpeople.”

“So you’re saying it opened the doors of communication?” He scrunched up his nose in deep thought, a gesture she found particularly endearing.

“I think Dumbledore intended you to be an ambassador of sorts.”

Ron snorted derisively. “Sounds like an assignment for Percy. I can’t think fast enough to keep from saying the wrong thing.”

“You managed just fine with the merchieftain,” Hermione insisted proudly. “He even found your outcries humorous.”

“Good thing, too. Those spears looked mighty sharp.”

Not to mention their smiles, she considered inwardly but left the words unsaid. Hermione took a few extra moments to organize the random ideas that she’d been mulling, then suggested, “It’s because you have such an open heart about everything.”

“All my family does.”

“But you in particular. That’s why the locket Horcrux affected you so much more deeply than Harry or me.”

“Don’t remind me. I was a total louse when you were both just trying to get me to take a break.”

“Ancient history,” she dismissed with a quick peck to his cheek. Instantly, his clouded eyes shone bright blue once more. Another example that she was on the right track. “Don’t you like interacting with new people?”

“It’s not that,” he fidgeted. “It’s just that ambassadors so clearly work within the walls of the Ministry of Magic.”

“So do Aurors.”

Ron licked his lips nervously. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, Hermione. I may not want to be an Auror anymore.”

“I’ll see that you pass your NEWT’s,” she promised.

“It’s not the class load actually. I think I’d rather make people happy.”

With sudden inspiration, she tendered, “Does this have anything to do with your newfound zest for potions?”

Even in the dim light, she could see that Ron reddened slightly under her direct scrutiny.

“Does it bother you that I jumped at the chance to work with you?”

Not exactly, she allowed inwardly. He was her boyfriend, after all; everyone expected them to work together on class projects. And she’d been inordinately pleased that he was determined to make a valuable contribution to their collaboration; it was a sign of his new maturity. The ‘old’ Ron would’ve just been content to hang on her coat tails.

“I couldn’t help noticing that you’re applying yourself much more than in the past,” she issued as tactfully as she could. “Don’t say I’m just rubbing off on you because I won’t buy it!”

Ron chuckled lowly in his throat. “Sluggie’s just not as stern a taskmaster as Snape was. His lessons are actually fun “ sometimes, anyway.”

Hermione’s eyes threatened to bug out of her face. Ron deriving enjoyment from his school lessons? Had she fallen into an alternate reality?

He threw up his hands playfully. “Don’t look at me as if I’ve grown two heads, now.”

Nonetheless, she couldn’t help arguing, “Need I remind you that Slughorn taught us in sixth year as well?”

“Yeah, but there was the book, see. The Half-Blood Prince’s notes were right there with us in the classroom. Snape’s dark influence could still be felt.” Ron shivered in an exaggerated manner to emphasize his point.

Hermione nodded grimly, the memories fresh in her mind once more. She’d been openly hostile to Harry, seething with jealousy at his burgeoning skill from following the Prince’s alternate instructions. Harry’s successes had unleashed a ruthless competitiveness within her that was…worthy of a Slytherin. Such blind ambition was the road to alienation “ and Voldemort. Small wonder the memories chafed.

Ron was right: the Half-Blood Prince had asserted an influence over all of them. Not that she questioned Snape’s natural talent for potions. Imagine tweaking the long-established recipes while he was nothing but a student! Such daring, such arrogance -- such resourcefulness. There was no denying the man’s brilliance. Despite his off-putting exterior, the world was a dimmer place without him.

True enough, Hermione had found his glowering face to be more of a detriment to learning than anything else. There had been many occasions when only her stubborn determination to beat him at his game had seen her through. Snape’s style would’ve alienated someone like Ron from day one. She was fairly certain the entire school preferred Slughorn’s lessons over Snape’s any day. Even the Slytherins had wholly embraced their new Head of House.

“Fine,” she conceded aloud. “I admit the Prince’s book set my teeth on edge.”

Ron chortled knowingly at her blanket understatement but made no attempt to correct her.

“So can you blame me for wanting to cozy up to the Head Girl?” he nuzzled into her neck.

She swatted him playfully. “No special treatment,” she issued in a terse tone.

Ron pulled a horrified face. “So how many others are you snogging?”

“None,” she giggled. She laid her book on the side table so Ron’s arms could snake about her comfortably. “What made you change your mind?” she dared.

“Nothing! You’re still my number one girl.”

She found it impossible to hide her smile as she clarified, “Not about me! About being an Auror.”

Ron’s face fell. “Oh.”

“Could you elaborate beyond a single syllable?”

With a shuddering breath, he conceded, “I wanted to make my mark in a different way.”

“Aurors do a lot of good for ordinary people. They’re regular heroes.”

“And perfectly suited to a Gryffindor?” He shook his head sadly. “Perhaps for Harry; but no longer for me.”

She bristled instinctively at his self-deprecating tone. About to break into a tirade on the distinction between modesty and low self-esteem, she stopped short when she saw his expression. Gone was the boyish gleam that she recalled from before the war. The blue irises had acquired the depth of manhood in the previous year, a look that said he’d seen all too much in his eighteen years.

“Got a good preview of that during our Horcrux search and beyond,” Ron explained. “Enough to know that staring at the underbelly of humanity is not for me.”

“Aurors perform a great service for the innocent,” she argued.

“Do they? How many would it take, then?”

“To do what?” She doubted he was hinting at a lame lightbulb joke; those were for Muggles, anyway.

With a heavy sigh, he tendered, “How many dark wizards would I need to capture before I evened up the score?”

The watery gaze he turned on her said it all: he could never make up for the loss of his brother.

“So you think it’s a better testament to Fred to make people smile,” she surmised.

“Thanks for understanding,” he whispered as he drew her into his lap. “George needs a business partner anyway.”

So that explained his sudden interest in potions. George was great with the ideas, but had depended upon his twin for the workable formulas.

“George will be lucky to have you,” she attested, gazing lovingly into his eyes.

“I’m not much at keeping the accounts and still can’t master the conversion from galleons to shillings and crowns…”

She laid her finger across his lips. “Muggles use pound notes or even Euros now.”

Ron groaned lowly. “See what I mean?”

“You can always hire someone to do those tasks. Verity is a right whiz “ and Angelina made quick work of the supply manifests.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he breathed before he captured her lips with his.

Hermione couldn’t help thinking that it was the Deluminator which had brought about Ron’s epiphany. Then she just surrendered herself to the kiss.























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