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Out Of Reach by CanisMajor

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Chapter Notes: Featuring this story's first canon character (and not before time).

The next morning, Phoenix woke with a new sense of purpose. He was no nearer getting to school than he'd ever been, but now he had something to do, and that in itself seemed to shed some light on the way ahead. He rolled out of bed and dressed briskly.


His mother was in her usual place at the kitchen table, steaming cup of tea and Prophet in front of her, poring over the crossword. She smiled at him as he entered the room.


–Sleep well?”


–Great, thanks.”


–They cannot be impartially taken. Five letters.”


–Hmm.” The solution didn't immediately make itself apparent. –Have to think about that one.”


He was thinking all the way through his scrambled egg on toast, but not about the crossword clue. It was the cauldrons that were on his mind: in particular, how to obtain the use of one for the day? The family owned at least a dozen of them, from hefty cast-iron models to a tiny pewter pipkin. Although Phoenix had been allowed to use a cauldron or two -- under close supervision -- several times, he didn't quite have the nerve to ask to borrow one now. That would require explaining what he was up to, which he didn't feel able to do. In the end he sneaked a saucepan out of the kitchen when his mother stepped outside briefly, and stashed it temporarily behind his bedroom door.


–No post this morning,” stated his mum quietly as she re-entered the house, watching carefully for his reaction.


The post! He'd been so absorbed in his own plans that he hadn't considered whether the Hogwarts owls would try again to reach him. But, apparently, they thought their job was done after yesterday's delivery.


–All right,” he muttered, in an equally subdued tone, and finished his breakfast in silence. Never mind today's post: he still had the illegible letter from yesterday, and even though he was fairly sure what was in it, he was determined -- for reasons he couldn't have fully explained -- to have it in authoritative ink for all to see.


Back in his bedroom, he wedged the door firmly closed by jamming his copy of The Tales Of Beedle The Bard into the gap beneath it. He balanced the saucepan, half-filled with water, on an improvised stand made from two other, thicker books. An old saucer, deprived of the candle it usually bore, went between the books, beneath the saucepan. A fierce moment of concentration, a jabbing movement with his wand, and the saucer was filled with soft blue flames: Phoenix Jones, potioneer, was in business.


It seemed to take a very long time for the water to heat. While he was waiting, he took out the flower petals he'd acquired the day before: Bellis Commostrus, the essential ingredient in Defoe's Disclosing Wash. It had been his mum who showed him how to make it, after his dad had helped him with the invisible ink. –Hidden messages, ciphers, or messy handwriting: this'll make them all as plain as could be, if it's brewed strong enough,” she'd explained. –If you're going to play with invisible ink, you'd better know about this, too, in case you write something down and can't remember how to see it again.” He was unsure whether it would work on his Hogwarts letter, but he was going to find out. He didn't dwell too much on his mother's other instruction: –Just don't try making it on your own. It can be very nasty stuff if you get it wrong.” The risk was worth it.


Finally, the water began to boil. Four of the petals went in, one at a time. Then he had to sneak back to the kitchen to obtain some of the other ingredients. It was lucky it had been so wet earlier in the year: his parents would never miss a little of the first rain that fell in spring, and as for dried newt's blood, well, newts weren't really rare, were they? He had only a pen-knife to stir the thin mixture with, but it was the speed and direction of stirring that really counted. Four times widdershins, quickly, then five and three quarters sun-wise, then seven more widdershins. Phoebe Jones hadn't needed to refer to a book for the instructions, and neither did her son.


His mind began to wander. Charlotte had told him that the Potions teacher at Hogwarts was both a strict disciplinarian (–anyone who isn't concentrating on their work gets detention, just like that”) and a hard taskmaster who was difficult to please. He liked to challenge the first-years, apparently, sometimes setting unreasonably difficult potions or entirely unrealistic amounts of homework, just to see how his victims would respond to it. Phoenix found himself wondering how his own efforts would measure up. Would he cope? Could he, perhaps, surprise even such a teacher as that?


Brewing the Disclosing Wash was a slow process, with many colour changes to wait patiently for. Outdoors, it was another fine day: the sunbeams squeezing between the curtains crawled gradually across the top of Phoenix's desk, eventually reaching the smudged letter with its tantalisingly faint quill-strokes. What did that letter say? Did he really want to find out? He was starting to imagine the worst (–...in accordance with the wishes of your parents, your offer of a place at Hogwarts has been withdrawn...” How would he feel if he read that?) and for a moment toyed with the idea of consigning both the parchment and the potion to the compost heap. But he'd invested too much time already for that. No matter what, if anything, the Disclosing Wash might reveal, abandoning the project half-done would make him feel even worse. He had to finish it; somehow, he'd become desperate to know the truth.


At last the moment came. He removed his saucepan from the flame, and allowed its contents to cool. Once he could dip his finger into it without scalding, he took a deep breath, smoothed the letter out on his desk, and applied his creation to it with an old paintbrush. As he did so, the thin, watery fluid seemed to soak into the parchment and vanish, leaving behind firm, clear handwriting in black ink.


Dear Mr. Jones,

It has come to our attention that a Levitation Charm was used in your vicinity the day before yesterday at seven and a half minutes past two o'clock in the afternoon. As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spell-casting activity on your part may lead to expulsion from said school. (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery 1875, Paragraph C). Please consider this a warning, and try to exercise greater restraint in the future.

Enjoy your holidays!

Yours sincerely,

Diogenes Bell
Improper Use of Magic Office
Ministry of Magic.


He stared at the words after reading them. Then he read them again, but they still came out the same way. Diogenes Bell, whoever he was, had stern, no-nonsense handwriting, with dark vertical strokes. Not Hogwarts at all; Hogwarts had, quite possibly, never heard of him. He was on course, in fact, to be expelled from Hogwarts without having ever set foot in the place. Perhaps they'd write to him then. He sat on his bed in the dim room and stared desolately at the curtained window, backlit now by the afternoon sunshine it hid. All at once, the sense of loss became too much to bear, and before he knew it there were tears running down his face, and he was nowhere near Hogwarts; nowhere near any school at all.


~~~


–Where have you been all day?” his father asked conversationally, as Phoenix emerged from his bedroom. –Steak and kidney pie tonight,” he went on, without waiting for a reply. He was skilfully overseeing several culinary processes at once: a rolling-pin rolled pastry, two knives chopped carrots and leeks, while Griff himself ensured that the stove was well-supplied with firewood. Phoenix mooched over to the table and sat down. He would just try to make it through dinner, that was all. His dad wasn't endeavouring to talk to him at the moment, being distracted by his cookery, and that was good. He just had to keep staring straight ahead, and not think too much about the day's disappointment.


It was mercifully easy to do. Even when his parents joined him at the table and the family began to eat, his mum and dad seemed content to leave him in peace. His mum did cast a few curious glances at his face -- could she tell he had cried? -- but didn't say anything. Instead, his parents talked quietly to each other about the weather (–If this drought doesn't break soon, the runner beans won't be good for anything...”). Perhaps they mistook his subdued demeanour for acceptance of his home-schooling. Perhaps they were right.


Their plates were almost empty when the interruption came. A series of loud bangs had them all looking around for the cause; only after the third thumping stroke did Phoenix realise that someone was knocking on the front door. His mother got up and went over to the kitchen window, to look out into the summer evening; as she did so, the door quivered with another forceful impact. When she saw who the visitor was, both her gaze and her eyebrows lifted.


–Come in, Hagrid,” she sighed, opening the door. –No need to demolish the place.”


A huge man squeezed into the Jones' kitchen; his black, bushy beard brushed the floor tiles as he bent almost double to fit beneath the lintel. His eyes, which were mostly hidden in a nest of shaggy hair, darted around the room before alighting on Phoenix's dad.


–Griff! Haven' seen you for years an' years! How'd that business with the Bowtruckles work out, then?”


–Not all that well. I tried, but I don't think their hearts were in it, to be honest.” Phoenix's dad looked a bit embarrassed; it occurred to Phoenix that Hagrid resembled a larger, hairier version of him. –Can we offer you a cup of tea?”


–I'll not say no ter that. Milk, an' nine sugars, please.” Hagrid continued to stand; perhaps he realised that he risked crushing any chair he sat on. He fidgeted a bit as Phoenix's mother put the kettle on.


–This is my son, Phoenix,” said his dad, nervously filling the conversational gap. –I expect he's the reason you're here, isn't he?”


–In a manner o' speakin'.” Hagrid reached into an inside pocket of his enormous black great-coat, and extracted a rolled-up piece of parchment. –I'm jus' a messenger, mind --”


–Couldn't the school have replied by owl? That is the conventional method of correspondence.” Phoenix's mum sounded acerbic, but Hagrid didn't appear to notice the tone. Instead, he chuckled.


–An' if the Deputy Headmistress needed remindin', she's had that white one o' yours droppin' inter Hogwarts with one letter after another! Well, yeh needn't worry: she got through all right. Unlike some o' the owls sent ter this address, I bin hearin'.”


There was a brief change in the expression on his dad's face; after a moment Phoenix realised that it was not discomfiture, but relief at the news of Emmy.


–Anyroad,” Hagrid went on, –she told me not ter start arguin' with yeh -- especially not with Phoebe, she was strict on that -- or I'd be here all night. So I'll jus' hand it over.” He flourished the parchment in his hand. Phoenix leaned forward eagerly, ready to take it -- at last! -- only to be disappointed again as Hagrid handed the letter to his mother.


She unfolded it; it was several pages long. –Dear Mrs. Jones,” she began to read aloud. –We acknowledge receipt of your owls of the second, nineteenth, and twenty-seventh of May, the tenth, eighteenth, and twenty-fifth of June, and the sixth and thirteenth of July... Hmm.” She frowned as she read on silently. Phoenix, his dad, and Hagrid watched her intently, Phoenix most of all. Whatever his mother chose to say out loud might be the only parts of this letter he would ever be privy to. –The usual procedure endorsed by the school's governors in such cases is to appoint a Special Admissions Officer -- with capital letters, dear, take note -- to securely ascertain the family's wishes. As if we hadn't made those plain enough already! You may expect the Officer's first visit imminently ... any decision will be subject to sanction by the governors as a board ... all the rest is just bumf.” She looked up at Hagrid. –This Officer isn't you, is it?”


–Nah, I told yeh, I jus' brought the letter. I don' know who it is -- they'll try ter find someone who knows yeh well, probably.”


And that was all they could get out of him. But long after Hagrid had drunk his tea and departed, and the remnants of the meal were polished off and the dishes washed, Phoenix's parents hung about in the kitchen, debating the mysterious letter and speculating on whom the Special Admissions Officer might turn out to be. Phoenix stayed up with them -- they hadn't told him to go to bed -- but he didn't say much. Nothing to get excited about here, he insisted to himself. Hogwarts is just making sure that –the family” -- meaning Mum and Dad, obviously, not me -- means it. As clearly they did; their plans to teach him at home were obviously quite long-standing. Still, he couldn't bear to leave the room while the subject was being discussed.


–They'll find someone who knows us well, he said,” his father was muttering, as he paced about and pulled on his beard.


–They'll have a job doing that,” his mother replied incredulously. –Neither of us has any close relatives any more, not since your mother passed away and your uncles were killed in all the fighting. And we aren't exactly beset by neighbours in this valley, not even if you count the Muggles. Which you wouldn't, of course.”


–Someone we knew at school, maybe?”


–I hated everyone at school. Well, not quite everyone” -- she cast a grateful smile at her husband -- –but there's no-one else who would have much influence with me. And if they were going to choose someone like that for you, they'd have picked Hagrid already.”


Griff sat down again, acknowledging the point with a nod. –Well, if they can't find a friend, they'll use an authority figure, I suppose. It'll be some toff from one of the old wizarding families, who thinks he can tell us what to do.”


His wife didn't look convinced, but she had no better ideas. She looked around exasperatedly, and seemed to notice for the first time that Phoenix was still listening.


–Sides,” said Phoenix quickly, before she could tell him that it was getting late, and that he should be in bed. –The crossword clue, from this morning,” he added in explanation. He'd had it in the back of his mind all day, all through his potion-making and even Hagrid's visit, but the solution had popped into his head only moments ago.


–Cannot be impartially taken -- yes, brilliant. Let's hope so.”