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10/14: Black Potion
Title: Black, in the Smothering Dark
Chapter Title: Black Potion 10/14
Words (this chapter): 7,449
Rating (this chapter): PG-13
Story Info/All Chapters: HERE
Beta’d by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
maybe_someday8 and amelancholykiss. Many thanks to both of them.
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Black, in the Smothering Dark
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Chapter Ten
Black Potion
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By the time they were leaving the Ministry, Ron still didn’t know what to do with his Chocolate Frog cards, which, Harry suspected, wasn’t really that big of a problem in the grand scheme of things, but he wasn’t about to say it.
“So,” Sirius said when they were back in London and heading for the Leaky Cauldron. “Celebrating—where to?”
Ron and Harry exchanged glances, and Harry knew exactly what Ron was going to suggest before his redheaded friend even opened his mouth. “I’ve never had a firewhiskey,” Ron hinted. “Mum won’t allow it, even though I’m old enough now.”
Sirius gave him a dubious look. “You’re going to get me in trouble.” Harry had been, up until then, unaware that Ron was able to look quite so innocent, but indeed he did. He’d widened his eyes and put on a pleading pout. “Wow—just, wow,” Sirius muttered, seeing the look. “Don’t ever make that face again and you can have one.” Ron continued with the look. “Fine, two, but that’s it.”
Harry snorted. “And I don’t want to hear a word out of you,” Sirius continued, trying to look stern. “If Molly finds out that I let you drink regularly, she’ll have my bollocks for breakfast.”
Harry and Ron gave him similar disgusted looks and followed him into the Leaky Cauldron. “Since I don’t want to be seen—and possibly reported—giving alcohol to the two of you, we’ll go to Eweforic Alley,” Sirius said, pulling out a pouch of floo powder from his pocket. They waved to Tom behind the bar again and headed over to the floo. Sirius turned to Ron and gave him a hard look. “I mean it, no telling your mother,” he shuddered. “You’ll be flooing to ‘The Burning Man’,” he said, holding out the pouch for Harry and Ron.
Harry followed Ron through, stepping out just in time to catch Ron’s incredulously raised eyebrow. He’d, obviously, noticed the décor. “Bad form, isn’t it?” Harry commented. Ron nodded wordlessly, flinching as a table candle was lit—complete with low-volume wails of despair from the wicker man on top as it began to burn. Sirius came through right after and ushered them quickly to the men’s rooms.
“Do you want to eat first?” he asked when all three were on the other side. Ron’s mouth split into a grin. It was just after noon by then and all three were hungry.
“I want mushrooms,” Harry said, and his father grinned in response.
“That’s my boy,” he said cheekily, pointing Ron towards Merlin’s Magical Mushroom on Myrrdin Street. Ron did not care what he ate, and so had no objections—at least until they stepped inside.
“What is it with Scottish people and exaggerated themes?” Ron asked, upon seeing the tables painted to look like fairy rings. Harry and Sirius sent him glowering looks until he backed up with his hands extended in surrender. “Fine—I don’t mind, of course. I was just wondering. Mushrooms are great,” he added, smiling beatifically.
Once at the table, Harry ordered the Curry and Mushrooms, with extra mushrooms. Sirius smiled proudly at him, happily ordered the Mushroom Chowder since it was a Thursday, and frowned when Ron ordered a Supreme pizza. “The other things overpower the taste of the mushrooms,” he pointed out.
Ron shrugged. “Not everyone is obsessed with them like the two of you,” he volleyed back, unconcerned. Noticing their narrowed eyes, he quickly changed the subject. “So, how long has this place been around?”
“I’m not certain,” Sirius said, thinking. “I know it was around before I was born. My father took my mother here when she was pregnant with me. It was the only time he was ever able to get her to come, and that was only because she had a craving for shiitake ice-cream,” he said sadly.
Ron grimaced, and changed the subject again—this time to Quidditch because that was usually safe. They got into a wild, Gryffindor-style debate about why the Falmouth Falcons could never best the Montrose Magpies, which probably wasn’t a good idea. “I’m telling you,” Ron exclaimed, standing up and positioning salt-shakers and cutlery as Quidditch players on the table, “that if the Falcons would just position their Chasers wider, they’d have a chance.”
He spread out three forks to demonstrate this and smiled smugly. Harry looked at him dubiously and was about to tell him that the Chasers didn’t need to go wider; they needed to alter their flying height, when they were interrupted by the clearing of a throat. All three looked up.
“Smith,” Harry said, first to recover from the dispute. “What are you doing here?”
Zacharias Smith rolled his eyes. “It’s my aunt’s birthday—married in,” he explained disgustedly, as if any of them actually cared. “She’s fond of the mushroom cheese-sticks here, so my parents are taking her to lunch.”
Ron blinked. “Okay,” he said.
Zacharias looked startled. “Oh—Weasley, good to see you,” he said. “And you, too, Mr. Black,” he nodded. Sirius smiled at him and asked him how his parents were doing, obviously having forgotten that Harry had suggested the Smiths might have been the ones to tell Voldemort they were living at River House.
“Not bad,” Smith said. “We all had a wonderful time at dinner the other week. Mother tried to send you a thank-you note, but the owl was returned.”
Sirius smiled sheepishly. “Something came up and we had to close the wards for a few days. Is your mother here now?” Zacharias nodded, pointing over his shoulder. Sirius smiled. “I think I’ll go speak to her, then,” he said, scooting out of the booth and wandering off. Harry frowned.
“So why aren’t you with your family, then?” he asked suspiciously.
Zacharias groaned. “I really hate my aunt.”
Harry stared. Ron blinked again, and said, “So?” Then he looked back at Harry and mouthed, ‘You had dinner with him?’ Harry shrugged.
“So,” Smith drawled, “I hate to do this, but may I impose myself on you for a bit?” He shuddered dramatically, and added, “I don’t think I can handle a full hour of her.”
Harry exchanged a dubious glance with Ron. “I suppose.” The words weren’t even out of his mouth before Smith was sighing in relief and squeezing in next to Ron.
“Thank you,” he said, and snapped his fingers, calling a waitress over. He politely held his tongue when she gave the customary ‘Merry meet, what’ll you eat?’ and ordered the steak and mushrooms. “You don’t know what this means to me,” he said, turning back to the other two. “She’s such a bitch.”
Harry carefully took a sip of his water and edged a spoon forward. “I think that the Falcons should also spread their Beaters out. The whole team flies too close together.” Ron perked up, and joined back in. By the time Sirius came back, the food was at the table, and Smith had endeared himself to Ron by stating that the Cannons wouldn’t be such a bad team if the Beaters weren’t such misogynists. Apparently, they had a female seeker, and the Beaters never kept the Bludgers away from her.
To Sirius’ dismay, Ron had not forgotten about the promised firewhiskeys by the end of the meal. Sirius looked around the restaurant, noticing that the Smiths were still celebrating on the other side of the restaurant and frowned.
“They won’t care,” Smith informed him, understanding his reluctance. “They say that liquor is a luxury which should be taken advantage of as often as possible.” That earned several more points for Zacharias in Ron’s book. He smiled to show his appreciation and Sirius groaned.
“Fine,” he said, realizing that Ron wasn’t going to give up. He called the waitress back over. “A well brandy,” he sighed. Ron grinned even further.
“And a firewhiskey,” he said smugly. The waitress turned to Harry and Zacharias who both passed. “You’re not going to have one?” Ron asked curiously.
Harry shrugged. “I’ve had it before.” Ron frowned and waved the waitress away. Two firewhiskeys later, Ron liked Zacharias even more, and Harry wished, belatedly, that his father had not agreed to this. Ron, it seemed, had an unnatural affection for alcohol even after his first drink. “I think we should start the D.A. up again,” he said jovially. “I kind of missed it last year.”
Harry, who didn’t think it was such a good idea, but for no reason he could think of, was about to politely decline when Smith spoke up. “I think so, too. It was actually kind of fun.” He spoke the last word as if it were acid on his tongue, but Ron, who was not drunk—thankfully—but certainly a bit happier, didn’t notice.
Harry frowned at Smith, trying to convey with his eyes that he didn’t want to do it. “I won’t have time,” he said when Smith calculatedly refused to acknowledge Harry’s reluctance.
Zacharias smiled smugly. “So delegate.”
“Yeah, Hermione would love that,” Ron added. “Telling people what to do is right up her alley.”
Harry, who was able to see an opportunity for a decent segue when it happened, smiled. “Speaking of Hermione,” he said, “have you had any luck?” Zacharias and Sirius looked on curiously.
“No,” Ron admitted glumly. A bit later, after Ron had sufficiently complained about Hermione for not dating him, Harry was forcefully reminded that he’d agreed to buy a vial of Polyjuice potion while he was in town. He winced—wondering if that was a strong enough reaction to the threat of possible torture and death hanging over his head, and turned to Zacharias. Zacharias was safe—he would ask questions and make snide remarks, but he wouldn’t put up as big of a fuss as Ron would or give him a concerned look like his father would. Smith was safe; Harry could use that to his advantage.
“May I have a word with you?” he asked, looking at the Hufflepuff boy. Smith cocked a haughty eyebrow and slid smoothly from the booth. Ron was still yammering to Sirius about Hermione being cold, and so didn’t realise, but Sirius had. He looked pleadingly at his father, and Sirius caught on immediately. He gave Harry a considering look, and then responded to something Ron had said with a ‘Perhaps you should buy her a book. I’ve heard of one called Kamasutram from an Indian wizard named Vatsyayana’. Harry smiled gratefully and led Zacharias from the restaurant.
“What?” Smith asked, bluntly, as soon as they were outside.
Harry scanned the streets, looking for an Apothecary, grinning when he noticed one right across the way next to a second hand robe shop—or rather, he assumed it was an Apothecary; it was called Panacea and Placebos. It suggested that Harry would either find what he was looking for, or they would sell him something else entirely. He frowned, and then looked over at Zacharias.
“I need to buy something from there,” he said, nodding to the shop, “and I need you to cover for me.”
Zacharias stared at him utterly unimpressed. “Why?” he asked bluntly.
Harry shrugged. He had no idea, and told Smith so. “I suppose because you know the power of being in someone’s debt, and I’ll owe you one.” He paused, and then added, “Or—we could consider this a debt you’re paying me, since I allowed you reprieve from your auntie.” Smith snarled, and crossed his arms over his chest.
“That was not a favour,” he growled, “but I’ll watch out for you anyway. You owe me. I’ll keep Weasley from looking for you.” With that, he crossed his arms haughtily over his chest and scowled, looking the other way.
Harry stared at him. He reckoned that he would never figure out Zacharias Smith. He was odd—haughtily sneering one minute and haughtily pleading another. It almost reminded him of Malfoy, but then Malfoy would never plead—haughtily or not—and he didn’t want to waste time thinking of Malfoy during holiday. With a shrug, he turned and walked into Panacea and Placebos, half hoping that they wouldn’t carry Polyjuice, and half dreading that if they didn’t, he’d have to use something Voldemort brewed.
A bell jingled over the door as he walked in, scrunching his nose up at the smells and most-likely noxious fumes. He hated the smell of potion ingredients. No one paid him any attention, and he didn’t mind that one bit. He walked straight for the back where he figured that the ready-made potions would be, and frowned.
They were not in alphabetical order. He supposed that someone like Snape would have an innate ability to sort through any kind of potion cataloguing, but he also supposed that Snape probably would have just made it himself. With a sigh, he started at one end and began rifling through. Luck seemed to be on his side, however, when he located one last bottle of Polyjuice potion stowed behind two others. Carefully, he reached between them, trying to grab the Polyjuice.
“Looking for anything in particular?”
Harry jumped, startled, and his arm knocked one of the bottles off. He tensed and tried to grab it, but missed. It landed with an anticlimactic thump in front of his feet, and he turned sheepishly to confront the shopkeeper.
“Yes,” he said simply. He was embarrassed that he’d been caught off guard enough to react that way, but the shopkeeper really had no reason to come up behind him like that. “I’ve found it, thank you.”
The shopkeeper didn’t move. He was an imposing man, even if he was shorter than Harry. It was the air about him. Harry suspected that all apothecary attendants were shifty-looking like that. The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow.
“What were you looking for?”
Harry nearly rolled his eyes. I wasn’t aware this was an inquisition. “Polyjuice,” he said flatly.
“It’s a controlled substance, you are aware,” the man said casually. Harry did roll his eyes that time. He was certainly aware.
He stood up all the way and tilted his head, letting his fringe fall away from his scar, and glared. “I am aware. I can prove my age.”
The man eyed his forehead, but made no other inquiries. He nodded and then gestured to the potion vial on the floor. Harry followed his gaze, staring down at the little black bottle. It was unlabeled, but otherwise looked completely ordinary. Picking up the vial, the man handed it to Harry and then reached back and grabbed the Polyjuice potion off the shelf. “We do not often cater to the whims of celebrities,” the shopkeeper informed him bluntly, “but both of these are free to you. Take them and be gone.”
Harry fairly gaped at him. “Sir—I only need the Polyjuice,” he said, trying to hand the little black one back. He didn’t even know what it was, for Merlin’s sake—most likely a cold remedy or some such. The shopkeeper shook his head.
“No—you will need it eventually. Someone always needs it.”
Harry scrunched up his brows in confusion. “What is it?”
“Our namesake,” the shopkeeper said plaintively. “It is either panacea or placebo…or perhaps it is both. Or perhaps it is neither. You will know when to use it, and once you have, it will be passed on. It would not have come to you if it was not meant to be used. Now be gone.”
The shopkeeper turned and walked away into a backroom behind the counter. Stunned, Harry stared at the two bottles in his hand, shrugged, and put them in his pockets. At least he would leave no paper trails of buying Polyjuice.
Outside, Zacharias was tapping his foot and looking surly. “Thanks,” Harry muttered to him as he exited the shop. Smith gave him a withering look and followed him back over to the restaurant where Sirius was just now leading out a grinning Ron.
“I love firewhiskey,” Ron sighed. He had an arm around Sirius’ waist and he was smiling at everyone who walked by. He’d only had two, and Harry would hate to see him after three.
“We better walk back,” Harry muttered to his father as he absently waved goodbye to Zacharias and slipped Ron’s other arm around his shoulder. Sirius gave him an amused look.
Back at the Manor, Hermione was in the library and Mrs. Weasley was indeed trying to split duties with Ginger. Ginger was not having it, but Harry found Fred hiding in his bedroom when he went up to toss Ron on the bed and take off his robes. They were too hot for summer, he decided.
“What are you cowering from?” Harry asked the elf suspiciously. With Ginger occupied, Harry had assumed that Fred would spend the time relaxing—however house-elves did that.
“Fred is not cowering,” Fred squeaked. “Fred is rejoicing. Ginger has been arguing with Mrs. Weezy for over an hour. Fred is very happy. Fred has had an hour to himself.”
“Right,” Harry muttered. He turned back to the bed and gave Ron a speculative look. It was fortunate that both Hermione and Mrs. Weasley were occupied when they got back. He would not have relished having a confrontation with them with Ron in this state. Rolling his eyes, he pulled his friend’s shoes off and threw the blankets over him before tossing his outer robe over a chair, and walking out. He made sure to tell Fred to make sure no one knew Ron was in there or went looking for Ron in there before he left. His room was warded—it could only be entered by those of Black blood or those invited by a Black, but he didn’t want to take any chances with the kind of women he had in his house.
“Mates before dates,” he reminded Fred sternly as he was shutting the door. Fred grinned at him, delighted to be part of the conspiracy, and nodded fervently.
Harry found Ginny on the veranda. She was lounging on a chaise and petting Hedwig absently. The view of the firth was especially nice from the veranda—Ginny seemed to agree. Her eyes were locked straight ahead.
“Hi,” he said, dropping into a chair next to her. She hummed in acknowledgment, not even noticing that Harry was there until Hedwig left her to flutter over to Harry. The owl gave him an affectionate nip and settled in for much more focused attention.
-x-
Ginny was always aware of the distinct distance that separated her from Harry, Ron and Hermione. She had never been one of them, and she never expected she would be. The thought of that didn’t trouble her as much as it once had.
Ginny never had a best friend. Not like Ron, Hermione and Harry were to each other, anyway. She never had anyone that she felt that close to, and she suspected she never would. The three of them were like one person—like a runespoor that operated with one body and three minds. She imagined that Hermione was the planner, Ron the critic and Harry was very obviously the dreamer.
Runespoors were notorious for biting off the head of the critic and operating the rest of its days with only two heads. Ginny could feel the dissention that was settling among the three of them lately and she wondered how long it would be before Ron’s head was bitten off. Runespoors were not designed—by their very own nature—to live very long.
Ginny thought that best friends might be like that, too. She’d never had one, though; she wouldn’t know. Someone said something next to her, and she was startled out of her thoughts.
“Oh—Harry,” Ginny said, coming back to herself. “I didn’t even notice you come out. How did everything go?” It was barely noticeable, but Harry had faint lines of worry etched into his forehead. She didn’t bring it up.
“We both passed,” Harry grinned. Then he added, “Ron’s passed out on my bed. He talked my father into buying him firewhiskey to celebrate.” Ginny noticed the way his lips curled very slightly downwards with those words. She nodded to herself, imperceptibly: that was the reason Harry was troubled. Or at least part of it—perhaps Ron had drank more than he should have, and said something he shouldn’t have.
Ginny snickered, trying to lighten the mood. “You didn’t let Mum see him like that, did you? Or Hermione?” she added, suddenly horrified. Even Ginny would never hear the end of it if Hermione found out Ron had been drinking. She didn’t hold to those kind of things.
“No, we made it back safe. Sirius is in the kitchen now trying to placate your mum and Ginger. She’s offended our house-elf by trying to take over the cooking. It wasn’t going well.”
“I’d imagine not,” Ginny snorted.
Harry shrugged. “So what did you do all day?”
“I finished up my homework this morning,” she answered. “Then I came out here. It’s really nice.”
Harry spent the rest of the afternoon chatting with Ginny about everything from Quidditch to the Chamber of Secrets, which, admittedly, caught Harry off guard when she brought it up. Not that he hadn’t expected it to come up eventually, but he just hadn’t expected it the very next day.
“Do you think I’m crazy?” Ginny asked, referring to her dreams and the pull she felt towards Voldemort. Harry winced, thinking that, yes, she might be if she could honestly consider having sex with the Dark Lord, but tried to be logical in his answer.
“If you were bonded to him like that before, then you can’t really help it, can you?” he asked. Ginny shrugged, looking miserable. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure something out, like I said. Just don’t forget to come to me immediately whenever something happens.”
Ginny nodded just as Mrs. Weasley, looking quite smug, bustled outside and gave them a warm smile. “Oh, look at the two of you,” she gushed. “Dinner’s ready, come eat, won’t you?”
Harry exchanged an amused glance with Ginny and followed her inside. Ron and Hermione were busy carrying the trays of food out to the dining room while Ginger stood to the side, holding a water pitcher and looking put-out. Harry tried to help but Mrs. Weasley frowned and pushed him and Sirius towards the table.
“Ginger’s not happy,” Sirius said, pulling Harry aside. “Molly was relentless—I had to let her cook tonight.”
Harry snorted and sat down at his usual place. “You think?” he asked sarcastically. “You’re going to have to make it up to Fred.”
Sirius winced as he sat down at the head of the table. He gave Harry a pained look, and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “I know—he told me about the gender thing. I think I have it worked out, though. I told Ginger that if she let Molly cook tonight, she could redecorate the north wing. She seemed pretty happy about that.”
Harry snorted again. “Bloody women.”
“Harry!” That was Hermione, who’d just sat down across from him. She had a stern look on her face and she was directing it entirely at Harry. “Watch your language.”
Harry winced. “Sorry.”
“Ignore her, mate,” Ron said, sliding into the seat next to him. “She’s in a foul mood. She found some new theory to study and you didn’t have all the books referenced in your library.” He leaned in further, and whispered, “And thanks for…you know…letting me sleep it off in your room. That stuff’s really strong.”
Harry nodded. “No problem,” he said, ignoring Hermione’s narrowed eyes. She wasn’t very pleased to be left out of the conversation. “You two are staying until school starts, aren’t you?” he asked louder.
Ginny and Mrs. Weasley sat down next to Hermione then. “Yeah, we are,” Ron answered, looking excited. Mrs. Weasley gave him a stern glance and he slumped, knowing what was coming.
“You’ll finish your homework before you play with Harry.”
Harry wasn’t sure if he liked the way Mrs. Weasley said that. Surely, they were too old for ‘playing’, he thought. “Can Ginny stay, too?” he asked.
Everyone looked up at him sharply except for Ginny, but Mrs. Weasley was the first to react. Her eyes were narrowed thoughtfully as she looked him over, then Ginny, then Harry again. Suddenly, she broke out into a wide smile. “Of course!” she exclaimed. Ron rolled his eyes and Hermione gave him a surprised look, but he shook his head, indicating that it wasn’t what she thought. She frowned, and Mrs. Weasley continued to gush. Harry smiled blandly and nodded when appropriate.
“See anything you like on those FDs?” Sirius asked quietly, elbowing Harry in the ribs. Harry blushed madly, shot a helpless look at Ginny, and shook his head.
“Shut it, Father,” Harry muttered pointedly. Sirius grinned sheepishly and made a show of going back to his dinner.
After dinner, Harry played a few rounds of Exploding Snap with Ron because he just didn’t feel like being trounced at Chess again, and retired early. Both he and Ron were rather tired from their day out, so he didn’t need to load his friend down with excuses.
Hermione, however, was a different story altogether. She cornered him as he was heading up the stairs and gave him a glare that he suspected a mother might give a wayward child. He winced, and wondered when Hermione’s maternal instincts had kicked in. It made him feel a bit sorry for Ron, but he didn’t have time to dwell on that because Hermione was already talking.
“Are you dating Ginny?” she asked. Her hand was closed rather tightly around his forearm and he did his best not to cringe. He would not cower to Hermione.
“No,” he said shortly.
“Are you trying to?” Hermione persisted.
Harry narrowed his eyes and shook her hand off. “No,” he said again. “Just because I enjoy her company doesn’t mean I want in her knickers, Hermione, honestly.” He hadn’t meant to be so crass in front of Hermione—that kind of thing was saved for the boys’ dorm—but she’d been eyeing him calculatingly all night and he didn’t appreciate it. He just wanted to go to bed.
“If you are,” Hermione continued, oblivious to his plight, “Ron won’t mind. And neither will I, you know.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I don’t like Ginny that way, Hermione. Merlin! She’s like my sister. It would be like…like dating you.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed further. “Not that you aren’t wonderful and an ideal girlfriend, of course,” Harry added hastily. “It just wouldn’t feel right.” Not to mention the other problems.
“Alright then, Harry,” Hermione said slowly. “I believe you for now. But you’re up to something; I know it. When you’re ready to tell me—and Ron—we’ll be there to listen.”
Harry rubbed his eyes. “Alright, whatever. Can I go to bed now?”
Hermione nodded roughly and wandered back to the library where, Harry suspected, she might have possibly set up a campsite of sorts. Harry sighed tiredly as he watched her disappear through the doors, and quietly climbed the stairs for bed.
-x-
Excerpt from the Journal of a Necromancer, 709th page.
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Harry drifted slowly into consciousness, wondering vaguely what had woken him up. It was still dark outside, and he couldn’t see a thing. Slowly his door opened and he sat up quickly, scrambling for his wand. He aimed it at the door, ears perked for any sound, and waited.
There was the sound of someone stumbling and then a muffled curse in a feminine voice. He relaxed slightly. At least it wasn’t Voldemort. The person came forward and Harry could finally make out the face. He sighed in relief and lowered his wand.
“Harry?” Ginny whispered.
“Yeah, I’m awake,” he muttered, flopping back on his bed. Vaguely, he wondered how Ginny had gotten into his rooms, and then remembered that he’d added her to the wards. Ginny closed the distance to his bed and looked down at him hesitantly. “You okay?” he asked, a bit awkwardly, staring at her with one eye opened.
He could barely make out her face in the dark, but he still saw when the white of her teeth showed as she bit her lip. Her hair was tangled and mussed from sleep, but she looked quite awake. “Can I get in?” she asked.
Harry raised an eyebrow, even though he was pretty sure she couldn’t see it. “Yeah, I guess,” he said slowly. After all, it wasn’t often that he had women asking to get in his bed. He couldn’t think of a single time, actually. He frowned at the thought: he couldn’t think of a time any boys had asked to get in his bed either, and that was altogether more depressing.
Ginny slipped in quickly, sliding under the covers and laying on her back. They both stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes while Harry waited for Ginny to speak, wondering if he should ask her if anything was wrong again. He didn’t think Ginny would come and jump in his bed for any other reason. He frowned at that thought, too. Was he selling himself short? He didn’t get a chance to ponder that as Ginny finally broke the silence.
“I had another one of those dreams,” she said.
Harry diverted his entire attention back to her. “Really?” he asked quietly. He didn’t really know why they were still talking so quietly. His bedroom was an entire wing away from the guest rooms—there was no way anyone would hear him, but he had a feeling that this was going to be one of those conversations that should be held in a hushed voice. “The same one? You were trying to find him?”
Harry admitted, if only to himself, that he still thought it a bit disgusting to dream about being in love with Voldemort. He didn’t say it; there was no reason to upset Ginny further, and he still had to figure out a way for her to not go insane when he killed Voldemort. If he killed Voldemort, he automatically corrected grimly. There was always the chance that he could fail.
“No,” Ginny answered slowly. “This one was different.” He thought he might have felt her shudder on the other side of the bed, but he couldn’t be sure, so he didn’t say anything about it.
“How?” he asked.
This time, Ginny definitely shuddered. “It was strange,” she said. “I didn’t dream of Tom Riddle or Voldemort this time. It was a different person altogether, and I was a different person, too. Actually,” she hesitated, as if embarrassed, and then added slightly faster, “I was a boy and he was a girl. And we were…you know.”
“Fucking,” Harry supplied in his sleepy haze. He immediately winced after he’s said it. It was, again, one of those things that were meant for the boys’ dorm, not around his best friend’s little sister. “Sorry,” he added.
“No, it’s okay,” Ginny laughed quietly. “That’s what it was.”
“Are you sure this wasn’t just…you know, a regular dream?” Harry asked after several moments.
Ginny shifted on the bed and rolled over on her side to face him. When he looked at her, she was staring at him intently. He shifted closer to the edge of the bed, feeling slightly uncomfortable in the situation. “I’m sure,” Ginny said. “I can tell the difference. They feel different from other dreams—like memories kind of. I always get this really strange sense of déjà vu.”
“So you think it was what? A past life or something?” Harry asked dubiously.
He rolled over to face her in time to see her shrug uncomfortably. “It’s possible,” she said. “According to that book of Hermione’s, anyway.”
“Right,” Harry said. He honestly had no idea what any of this meant or what to do about it, so he stared at the ceiling instead. It wasn’t very interesting. “We’ll figure something out,” he said finally. He’d been saying that a lot lately, he realised.
“Yeah,” Ginny answered. He could practically hear her deliberating over whether or not to say something else, so he gave her a pointed look, telling her to go ahead. “What if…what—would it be terrible of me to not want you to figure something out?”
Harry snorted. “You want to just go crazy?” he asked.
“No,” Ginny answered immediately. “No, of course not, it’s just…never mind. Can I stay here tonight? I don’t think I’ll be able to get to sleep again if I’m by myself.”
The uncomfortable feeling was back, along with hundreds of different results of him allowing that, including, but not limited to, Ron developing a taste for removing limbs, and trying it out on him. He hesitated.
“No one will know,” Ginny said quickly. “And it’ll just be sleeping.”
Harry sighed. “Yeah, I guess. Just make sure you’re not here when everyone else wakes up. I don’t relish the thought of your mother finding you in my bed.”
Ginny laughed. “Okay.”
Harry rolled over on his stomach and buried his head under his pillow. He’d never had to share his bed with anyone before, and he couldn’t deny that it was uncomfortable. He was used to stretching out, sometimes ending up facing the wrong direction when he woke up. Determinedly, he closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep.
It wasn’t working.
He was tired, and he could feel himself drifting off occasionally, but every time he did, he’d try to stretch out again and his limbs would inevitably brush against another body. Harry rolled on his back. When he felt himself drifting again, he was so utterly tired, that he didn’t retract his arm when he absently flung it across Ginny’s stomach. She was asleep. She was in his bed. She could deal with it. Harry closed his eyes and went to sleep.
-x-
The next morning, Harry woke up to the feeling of a warm body pressed against his back. He narrowed his eyes and cursed under his breath. At least it wasn’t very late, he noticed as he looked out the window. The sun was just now rising. He extricated himself from Ginny’s tight grip and rolled over.
“You gotta get up, Ginny,” Harry said, shaking her shoulder slightly. She shifted and blinked sleepily up at him. “It’s morning,” Harry continued. “You need to go back to your room.”
Ginny sat up quickly. “Oh shit,” she muttered, scrambling out of the bed. “Sorry!” she added, and then she was gone. Harry stared after her, hoping beyond hope that Mrs. Weasley—who was certainly up by now—hadn’t gone to wake up Ginny.
Grumbling, he rolled out of the bed and wandered over to the bathroom. After a quick shower, he dressed, still sleepy, and wandered down the stairs. He was definitely not a morning person, he decided when he tripped and nearly fell down the stairs.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley was sitting at the table reading the paper with a pinched expression on her face. She looked up at him when he entered and smiled entirely too brightly. “Good morning, Harry,” she said. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
Harry, unsurprisingly, didn’t get a chance to answer. Mrs. Weasley was already up and about, setting the kettle to boil the muggle way. She scowled at Ginger, who was already cooking breakfast, then shook her head and continued with the tea. “Sleep well?”
“Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry mumbled. He hadn’t, really, but he couldn’t very well tell Mrs. Weasley that. She would ask all sorts of questions why and he had no good excuse other than the truth: that her daughter had spent the night in his bed, thus taking up all his room. He didn’t think Mrs. Weasley would appreciate that very much. Wisely, he kept silent and accepted the tea from Mrs. Weasley with a smile. “Thanks,” he said again.
“No trouble,” Mrs. Weasley smiled. Harry smiled back, and then they were locked into some sort of odd smiling contest, during which Harry was confused and Mrs. Weasley obviously knew something he didn’t. He raised his eyebrows expectantly as he sipped his tea, still looking at her.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
Mrs. Weasley faltered for only a second before her smile was back full force. “No, of course not, Harry,” she said.
Harry looked at her suspiciously. “Alright.” He sipped his tea for several more minutes, and when Mrs. Weasley let her guard down, he casually looked over at the headline on the front page of the Daily Prophet.
Boy-Who-Lived Not a Potter, Source Says
Harry groaned and grabbed the paper, ignoring Mrs. Weasley’s indignant squawks and platitudes. He’d expected it really; he just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. It must have been that shifty wizard who did the paternity test, Harry thought with a growl. He seemed like the kind of person to sell other people’s secrets.
Harry set the paper back down on the table and glared into his tea, trying to will Gabby Gordon into an early grave. What right did she have to write about his mother that way? Had it really been necessary to add in her own opinion on the matter? If his mother’s name was about to be dragged through the mud because of some ridiculous article, he was going to pitch such a fit.
In the library, he’d read that the Blacks had a tendency to go clinically mad when family was threatened or otherwise insulted.
It wasn’t talked about.
He narrowed his eyes. He had to admit that he hadn’t expected the media to take it out on his mother. Himself, of course, and possibly Sirius since they were both still alive and Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived, but never his mother. Never his mother.
“Morning, Kiddo.” Sirius ruffled his hair as he walked past, but Harry barely noticed enough to scowl properly. “Harry?”
He looked up reluctantly. “Hmm?”
Mrs. Weasley chose that moment to strategically ‘go wake up the children’ which Harry thought was rather good form. He watched her as she slipped out of the kitchen, and when she was gone, turned his attention back to his father. Sirius was looking at him curiously.
“What’s wrong?”
Harry didn’t respond; he just handed the newspaper over and tapped the article with his finger. His father took the paper gingerly, snapping it open and shifting his weight to one leg as he read. Harry thought he might have been more comfortable sitting down, but he didn’t suggest it because if he knew Sirius at all, he would just jump back up when he got to the exciting part.
“Fucking hell,” Sirius muttered.
The response, Harry thought, was not as expressive as he had anticipated.
“Do we have a solicitor?” he asked calmly.
Sirius looked up from the newspaper, which he had been rereading, and shook his head. “No. We did once, but,” he shrugged carelessly, “there’s not been anyone who needed once for sixteen years.” He paused, staring at Harry and finally picking up on the half-hidden mania in his eyes. “Why?” he asked carefully.
Harry gestured roughly towards the newspaper. “That chit debased my mother.” It was, Harry felt, all the explanation needed. Sirius disagreed.
“And?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“And,” Harry stressed, “It’s slander.”
“No,” Sirius said harshly, “If it’s anything, it’s libel, not slander, which you would know if you’d actually paid attention to any of the lessons I gave you. Additionally, this Gordan woman didn’t actually say anything libellous. She only hypothesised.”
Harry stood up and stalked forward. “Are you telling me that I can’t do anything about this? You’re just going to let them get away with writing whatever they please about her?”
Sirius didn’t back down. “I’m sure you could do something with the right people, but the point is that it’s already been printed and there’s no way to take it back. They’re going to do it anyway; the more you fight back, the more they’ll want to write about it. Pick your battles, Harry.”
“This is ridiculous!” Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “What kind of Gryffindor are you? Aren’t you supposed to be about honour and loyalty? Why aren’t you helping to defend her honour? Or mine, by association?”
“Your perceived honour will come and go no matter what I do,” Sirius said bluntly. “And Lily is dead.”
Harry’s mouth fell open slightly, and for several long moments, there was nothing to be heard but his own ragged breathing. “Fine,” he sneered, and pivoted, walking quickly out of the kitchen. He held two fingers up over his shoulder, but he didn’t really care whether or not Sirius saw the gesture. Right now, he only wanted to get away from everyone and everything.
Damn it, he hated the Daily Prophet.
-x-
NEXT CHAPTER
comments=♥
Chapter Title: Black Potion 10/14
Words (this chapter): 7,449
Rating (this chapter): PG-13
Story Info/All Chapters: HERE
Beta’d by
maybe_someday8 and amelancholykiss. Many thanks to both of them. -x-
Black, in the Smothering Dark
-x-
Chapter Ten
Black Potion
-x-
By the time they were leaving the Ministry, Ron still didn’t know what to do with his Chocolate Frog cards, which, Harry suspected, wasn’t really that big of a problem in the grand scheme of things, but he wasn’t about to say it.
“So,” Sirius said when they were back in London and heading for the Leaky Cauldron. “Celebrating—where to?”
Ron and Harry exchanged glances, and Harry knew exactly what Ron was going to suggest before his redheaded friend even opened his mouth. “I’ve never had a firewhiskey,” Ron hinted. “Mum won’t allow it, even though I’m old enough now.”
Sirius gave him a dubious look. “You’re going to get me in trouble.” Harry had been, up until then, unaware that Ron was able to look quite so innocent, but indeed he did. He’d widened his eyes and put on a pleading pout. “Wow—just, wow,” Sirius muttered, seeing the look. “Don’t ever make that face again and you can have one.” Ron continued with the look. “Fine, two, but that’s it.”
Harry snorted. “And I don’t want to hear a word out of you,” Sirius continued, trying to look stern. “If Molly finds out that I let you drink regularly, she’ll have my bollocks for breakfast.”
Harry and Ron gave him similar disgusted looks and followed him into the Leaky Cauldron. “Since I don’t want to be seen—and possibly reported—giving alcohol to the two of you, we’ll go to Eweforic Alley,” Sirius said, pulling out a pouch of floo powder from his pocket. They waved to Tom behind the bar again and headed over to the floo. Sirius turned to Ron and gave him a hard look. “I mean it, no telling your mother,” he shuddered. “You’ll be flooing to ‘The Burning Man’,” he said, holding out the pouch for Harry and Ron.
Harry followed Ron through, stepping out just in time to catch Ron’s incredulously raised eyebrow. He’d, obviously, noticed the décor. “Bad form, isn’t it?” Harry commented. Ron nodded wordlessly, flinching as a table candle was lit—complete with low-volume wails of despair from the wicker man on top as it began to burn. Sirius came through right after and ushered them quickly to the men’s rooms.
“Do you want to eat first?” he asked when all three were on the other side. Ron’s mouth split into a grin. It was just after noon by then and all three were hungry.
“I want mushrooms,” Harry said, and his father grinned in response.
“That’s my boy,” he said cheekily, pointing Ron towards Merlin’s Magical Mushroom on Myrrdin Street. Ron did not care what he ate, and so had no objections—at least until they stepped inside.
“What is it with Scottish people and exaggerated themes?” Ron asked, upon seeing the tables painted to look like fairy rings. Harry and Sirius sent him glowering looks until he backed up with his hands extended in surrender. “Fine—I don’t mind, of course. I was just wondering. Mushrooms are great,” he added, smiling beatifically.
Once at the table, Harry ordered the Curry and Mushrooms, with extra mushrooms. Sirius smiled proudly at him, happily ordered the Mushroom Chowder since it was a Thursday, and frowned when Ron ordered a Supreme pizza. “The other things overpower the taste of the mushrooms,” he pointed out.
Ron shrugged. “Not everyone is obsessed with them like the two of you,” he volleyed back, unconcerned. Noticing their narrowed eyes, he quickly changed the subject. “So, how long has this place been around?”
“I’m not certain,” Sirius said, thinking. “I know it was around before I was born. My father took my mother here when she was pregnant with me. It was the only time he was ever able to get her to come, and that was only because she had a craving for shiitake ice-cream,” he said sadly.
Ron grimaced, and changed the subject again—this time to Quidditch because that was usually safe. They got into a wild, Gryffindor-style debate about why the Falmouth Falcons could never best the Montrose Magpies, which probably wasn’t a good idea. “I’m telling you,” Ron exclaimed, standing up and positioning salt-shakers and cutlery as Quidditch players on the table, “that if the Falcons would just position their Chasers wider, they’d have a chance.”
He spread out three forks to demonstrate this and smiled smugly. Harry looked at him dubiously and was about to tell him that the Chasers didn’t need to go wider; they needed to alter their flying height, when they were interrupted by the clearing of a throat. All three looked up.
“Smith,” Harry said, first to recover from the dispute. “What are you doing here?”
Zacharias Smith rolled his eyes. “It’s my aunt’s birthday—married in,” he explained disgustedly, as if any of them actually cared. “She’s fond of the mushroom cheese-sticks here, so my parents are taking her to lunch.”
Ron blinked. “Okay,” he said.
Zacharias looked startled. “Oh—Weasley, good to see you,” he said. “And you, too, Mr. Black,” he nodded. Sirius smiled at him and asked him how his parents were doing, obviously having forgotten that Harry had suggested the Smiths might have been the ones to tell Voldemort they were living at River House.
“Not bad,” Smith said. “We all had a wonderful time at dinner the other week. Mother tried to send you a thank-you note, but the owl was returned.”
Sirius smiled sheepishly. “Something came up and we had to close the wards for a few days. Is your mother here now?” Zacharias nodded, pointing over his shoulder. Sirius smiled. “I think I’ll go speak to her, then,” he said, scooting out of the booth and wandering off. Harry frowned.
“So why aren’t you with your family, then?” he asked suspiciously.
Zacharias groaned. “I really hate my aunt.”
Harry stared. Ron blinked again, and said, “So?” Then he looked back at Harry and mouthed, ‘You had dinner with him?’ Harry shrugged.
“So,” Smith drawled, “I hate to do this, but may I impose myself on you for a bit?” He shuddered dramatically, and added, “I don’t think I can handle a full hour of her.”
Harry exchanged a dubious glance with Ron. “I suppose.” The words weren’t even out of his mouth before Smith was sighing in relief and squeezing in next to Ron.
“Thank you,” he said, and snapped his fingers, calling a waitress over. He politely held his tongue when she gave the customary ‘Merry meet, what’ll you eat?’ and ordered the steak and mushrooms. “You don’t know what this means to me,” he said, turning back to the other two. “She’s such a bitch.”
Harry carefully took a sip of his water and edged a spoon forward. “I think that the Falcons should also spread their Beaters out. The whole team flies too close together.” Ron perked up, and joined back in. By the time Sirius came back, the food was at the table, and Smith had endeared himself to Ron by stating that the Cannons wouldn’t be such a bad team if the Beaters weren’t such misogynists. Apparently, they had a female seeker, and the Beaters never kept the Bludgers away from her.
To Sirius’ dismay, Ron had not forgotten about the promised firewhiskeys by the end of the meal. Sirius looked around the restaurant, noticing that the Smiths were still celebrating on the other side of the restaurant and frowned.
“They won’t care,” Smith informed him, understanding his reluctance. “They say that liquor is a luxury which should be taken advantage of as often as possible.” That earned several more points for Zacharias in Ron’s book. He smiled to show his appreciation and Sirius groaned.
“Fine,” he said, realizing that Ron wasn’t going to give up. He called the waitress back over. “A well brandy,” he sighed. Ron grinned even further.
“And a firewhiskey,” he said smugly. The waitress turned to Harry and Zacharias who both passed. “You’re not going to have one?” Ron asked curiously.
Harry shrugged. “I’ve had it before.” Ron frowned and waved the waitress away. Two firewhiskeys later, Ron liked Zacharias even more, and Harry wished, belatedly, that his father had not agreed to this. Ron, it seemed, had an unnatural affection for alcohol even after his first drink. “I think we should start the D.A. up again,” he said jovially. “I kind of missed it last year.”
Harry, who didn’t think it was such a good idea, but for no reason he could think of, was about to politely decline when Smith spoke up. “I think so, too. It was actually kind of fun.” He spoke the last word as if it were acid on his tongue, but Ron, who was not drunk—thankfully—but certainly a bit happier, didn’t notice.
Harry frowned at Smith, trying to convey with his eyes that he didn’t want to do it. “I won’t have time,” he said when Smith calculatedly refused to acknowledge Harry’s reluctance.
Zacharias smiled smugly. “So delegate.”
“Yeah, Hermione would love that,” Ron added. “Telling people what to do is right up her alley.”
Harry, who was able to see an opportunity for a decent segue when it happened, smiled. “Speaking of Hermione,” he said, “have you had any luck?” Zacharias and Sirius looked on curiously.
“No,” Ron admitted glumly. A bit later, after Ron had sufficiently complained about Hermione for not dating him, Harry was forcefully reminded that he’d agreed to buy a vial of Polyjuice potion while he was in town. He winced—wondering if that was a strong enough reaction to the threat of possible torture and death hanging over his head, and turned to Zacharias. Zacharias was safe—he would ask questions and make snide remarks, but he wouldn’t put up as big of a fuss as Ron would or give him a concerned look like his father would. Smith was safe; Harry could use that to his advantage.
“May I have a word with you?” he asked, looking at the Hufflepuff boy. Smith cocked a haughty eyebrow and slid smoothly from the booth. Ron was still yammering to Sirius about Hermione being cold, and so didn’t realise, but Sirius had. He looked pleadingly at his father, and Sirius caught on immediately. He gave Harry a considering look, and then responded to something Ron had said with a ‘Perhaps you should buy her a book. I’ve heard of one called Kamasutram from an Indian wizard named Vatsyayana’. Harry smiled gratefully and led Zacharias from the restaurant.
“What?” Smith asked, bluntly, as soon as they were outside.
Harry scanned the streets, looking for an Apothecary, grinning when he noticed one right across the way next to a second hand robe shop—or rather, he assumed it was an Apothecary; it was called Panacea and Placebos. It suggested that Harry would either find what he was looking for, or they would sell him something else entirely. He frowned, and then looked over at Zacharias.
“I need to buy something from there,” he said, nodding to the shop, “and I need you to cover for me.”
Zacharias stared at him utterly unimpressed. “Why?” he asked bluntly.
Harry shrugged. He had no idea, and told Smith so. “I suppose because you know the power of being in someone’s debt, and I’ll owe you one.” He paused, and then added, “Or—we could consider this a debt you’re paying me, since I allowed you reprieve from your auntie.” Smith snarled, and crossed his arms over his chest.
“That was not a favour,” he growled, “but I’ll watch out for you anyway. You owe me. I’ll keep Weasley from looking for you.” With that, he crossed his arms haughtily over his chest and scowled, looking the other way.
Harry stared at him. He reckoned that he would never figure out Zacharias Smith. He was odd—haughtily sneering one minute and haughtily pleading another. It almost reminded him of Malfoy, but then Malfoy would never plead—haughtily or not—and he didn’t want to waste time thinking of Malfoy during holiday. With a shrug, he turned and walked into Panacea and Placebos, half hoping that they wouldn’t carry Polyjuice, and half dreading that if they didn’t, he’d have to use something Voldemort brewed.
A bell jingled over the door as he walked in, scrunching his nose up at the smells and most-likely noxious fumes. He hated the smell of potion ingredients. No one paid him any attention, and he didn’t mind that one bit. He walked straight for the back where he figured that the ready-made potions would be, and frowned.
They were not in alphabetical order. He supposed that someone like Snape would have an innate ability to sort through any kind of potion cataloguing, but he also supposed that Snape probably would have just made it himself. With a sigh, he started at one end and began rifling through. Luck seemed to be on his side, however, when he located one last bottle of Polyjuice potion stowed behind two others. Carefully, he reached between them, trying to grab the Polyjuice.
“Looking for anything in particular?”
Harry jumped, startled, and his arm knocked one of the bottles off. He tensed and tried to grab it, but missed. It landed with an anticlimactic thump in front of his feet, and he turned sheepishly to confront the shopkeeper.
“Yes,” he said simply. He was embarrassed that he’d been caught off guard enough to react that way, but the shopkeeper really had no reason to come up behind him like that. “I’ve found it, thank you.”
The shopkeeper didn’t move. He was an imposing man, even if he was shorter than Harry. It was the air about him. Harry suspected that all apothecary attendants were shifty-looking like that. The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow.
“What were you looking for?”
Harry nearly rolled his eyes. I wasn’t aware this was an inquisition. “Polyjuice,” he said flatly.
“It’s a controlled substance, you are aware,” the man said casually. Harry did roll his eyes that time. He was certainly aware.
He stood up all the way and tilted his head, letting his fringe fall away from his scar, and glared. “I am aware. I can prove my age.”
The man eyed his forehead, but made no other inquiries. He nodded and then gestured to the potion vial on the floor. Harry followed his gaze, staring down at the little black bottle. It was unlabeled, but otherwise looked completely ordinary. Picking up the vial, the man handed it to Harry and then reached back and grabbed the Polyjuice potion off the shelf. “We do not often cater to the whims of celebrities,” the shopkeeper informed him bluntly, “but both of these are free to you. Take them and be gone.”
Harry fairly gaped at him. “Sir—I only need the Polyjuice,” he said, trying to hand the little black one back. He didn’t even know what it was, for Merlin’s sake—most likely a cold remedy or some such. The shopkeeper shook his head.
“No—you will need it eventually. Someone always needs it.”
Harry scrunched up his brows in confusion. “What is it?”
“Our namesake,” the shopkeeper said plaintively. “It is either panacea or placebo…or perhaps it is both. Or perhaps it is neither. You will know when to use it, and once you have, it will be passed on. It would not have come to you if it was not meant to be used. Now be gone.”
The shopkeeper turned and walked away into a backroom behind the counter. Stunned, Harry stared at the two bottles in his hand, shrugged, and put them in his pockets. At least he would leave no paper trails of buying Polyjuice.
Outside, Zacharias was tapping his foot and looking surly. “Thanks,” Harry muttered to him as he exited the shop. Smith gave him a withering look and followed him back over to the restaurant where Sirius was just now leading out a grinning Ron.
“I love firewhiskey,” Ron sighed. He had an arm around Sirius’ waist and he was smiling at everyone who walked by. He’d only had two, and Harry would hate to see him after three.
“We better walk back,” Harry muttered to his father as he absently waved goodbye to Zacharias and slipped Ron’s other arm around his shoulder. Sirius gave him an amused look.
Back at the Manor, Hermione was in the library and Mrs. Weasley was indeed trying to split duties with Ginger. Ginger was not having it, but Harry found Fred hiding in his bedroom when he went up to toss Ron on the bed and take off his robes. They were too hot for summer, he decided.
“What are you cowering from?” Harry asked the elf suspiciously. With Ginger occupied, Harry had assumed that Fred would spend the time relaxing—however house-elves did that.
“Fred is not cowering,” Fred squeaked. “Fred is rejoicing. Ginger has been arguing with Mrs. Weezy for over an hour. Fred is very happy. Fred has had an hour to himself.”
“Right,” Harry muttered. He turned back to the bed and gave Ron a speculative look. It was fortunate that both Hermione and Mrs. Weasley were occupied when they got back. He would not have relished having a confrontation with them with Ron in this state. Rolling his eyes, he pulled his friend’s shoes off and threw the blankets over him before tossing his outer robe over a chair, and walking out. He made sure to tell Fred to make sure no one knew Ron was in there or went looking for Ron in there before he left. His room was warded—it could only be entered by those of Black blood or those invited by a Black, but he didn’t want to take any chances with the kind of women he had in his house.
“Mates before dates,” he reminded Fred sternly as he was shutting the door. Fred grinned at him, delighted to be part of the conspiracy, and nodded fervently.
Harry found Ginny on the veranda. She was lounging on a chaise and petting Hedwig absently. The view of the firth was especially nice from the veranda—Ginny seemed to agree. Her eyes were locked straight ahead.
“Hi,” he said, dropping into a chair next to her. She hummed in acknowledgment, not even noticing that Harry was there until Hedwig left her to flutter over to Harry. The owl gave him an affectionate nip and settled in for much more focused attention.
-x-
Ginny was always aware of the distinct distance that separated her from Harry, Ron and Hermione. She had never been one of them, and she never expected she would be. The thought of that didn’t trouble her as much as it once had.
Ginny never had a best friend. Not like Ron, Hermione and Harry were to each other, anyway. She never had anyone that she felt that close to, and she suspected she never would. The three of them were like one person—like a runespoor that operated with one body and three minds. She imagined that Hermione was the planner, Ron the critic and Harry was very obviously the dreamer.
Runespoors were notorious for biting off the head of the critic and operating the rest of its days with only two heads. Ginny could feel the dissention that was settling among the three of them lately and she wondered how long it would be before Ron’s head was bitten off. Runespoors were not designed—by their very own nature—to live very long.
Ginny thought that best friends might be like that, too. She’d never had one, though; she wouldn’t know. Someone said something next to her, and she was startled out of her thoughts.
“Oh—Harry,” Ginny said, coming back to herself. “I didn’t even notice you come out. How did everything go?” It was barely noticeable, but Harry had faint lines of worry etched into his forehead. She didn’t bring it up.
“We both passed,” Harry grinned. Then he added, “Ron’s passed out on my bed. He talked my father into buying him firewhiskey to celebrate.” Ginny noticed the way his lips curled very slightly downwards with those words. She nodded to herself, imperceptibly: that was the reason Harry was troubled. Or at least part of it—perhaps Ron had drank more than he should have, and said something he shouldn’t have.
Ginny snickered, trying to lighten the mood. “You didn’t let Mum see him like that, did you? Or Hermione?” she added, suddenly horrified. Even Ginny would never hear the end of it if Hermione found out Ron had been drinking. She didn’t hold to those kind of things.
“No, we made it back safe. Sirius is in the kitchen now trying to placate your mum and Ginger. She’s offended our house-elf by trying to take over the cooking. It wasn’t going well.”
“I’d imagine not,” Ginny snorted.
Harry shrugged. “So what did you do all day?”
“I finished up my homework this morning,” she answered. “Then I came out here. It’s really nice.”
Harry spent the rest of the afternoon chatting with Ginny about everything from Quidditch to the Chamber of Secrets, which, admittedly, caught Harry off guard when she brought it up. Not that he hadn’t expected it to come up eventually, but he just hadn’t expected it the very next day.
“Do you think I’m crazy?” Ginny asked, referring to her dreams and the pull she felt towards Voldemort. Harry winced, thinking that, yes, she might be if she could honestly consider having sex with the Dark Lord, but tried to be logical in his answer.
“If you were bonded to him like that before, then you can’t really help it, can you?” he asked. Ginny shrugged, looking miserable. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure something out, like I said. Just don’t forget to come to me immediately whenever something happens.”
Ginny nodded just as Mrs. Weasley, looking quite smug, bustled outside and gave them a warm smile. “Oh, look at the two of you,” she gushed. “Dinner’s ready, come eat, won’t you?”
Harry exchanged an amused glance with Ginny and followed her inside. Ron and Hermione were busy carrying the trays of food out to the dining room while Ginger stood to the side, holding a water pitcher and looking put-out. Harry tried to help but Mrs. Weasley frowned and pushed him and Sirius towards the table.
“Ginger’s not happy,” Sirius said, pulling Harry aside. “Molly was relentless—I had to let her cook tonight.”
Harry snorted and sat down at his usual place. “You think?” he asked sarcastically. “You’re going to have to make it up to Fred.”
Sirius winced as he sat down at the head of the table. He gave Harry a pained look, and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “I know—he told me about the gender thing. I think I have it worked out, though. I told Ginger that if she let Molly cook tonight, she could redecorate the north wing. She seemed pretty happy about that.”
Harry snorted again. “Bloody women.”
“Harry!” That was Hermione, who’d just sat down across from him. She had a stern look on her face and she was directing it entirely at Harry. “Watch your language.”
Harry winced. “Sorry.”
“Ignore her, mate,” Ron said, sliding into the seat next to him. “She’s in a foul mood. She found some new theory to study and you didn’t have all the books referenced in your library.” He leaned in further, and whispered, “And thanks for…you know…letting me sleep it off in your room. That stuff’s really strong.”
Harry nodded. “No problem,” he said, ignoring Hermione’s narrowed eyes. She wasn’t very pleased to be left out of the conversation. “You two are staying until school starts, aren’t you?” he asked louder.
Ginny and Mrs. Weasley sat down next to Hermione then. “Yeah, we are,” Ron answered, looking excited. Mrs. Weasley gave him a stern glance and he slumped, knowing what was coming.
“You’ll finish your homework before you play with Harry.”
Harry wasn’t sure if he liked the way Mrs. Weasley said that. Surely, they were too old for ‘playing’, he thought. “Can Ginny stay, too?” he asked.
Everyone looked up at him sharply except for Ginny, but Mrs. Weasley was the first to react. Her eyes were narrowed thoughtfully as she looked him over, then Ginny, then Harry again. Suddenly, she broke out into a wide smile. “Of course!” she exclaimed. Ron rolled his eyes and Hermione gave him a surprised look, but he shook his head, indicating that it wasn’t what she thought. She frowned, and Mrs. Weasley continued to gush. Harry smiled blandly and nodded when appropriate.
“See anything you like on those FDs?” Sirius asked quietly, elbowing Harry in the ribs. Harry blushed madly, shot a helpless look at Ginny, and shook his head.
“Shut it, Father,” Harry muttered pointedly. Sirius grinned sheepishly and made a show of going back to his dinner.
After dinner, Harry played a few rounds of Exploding Snap with Ron because he just didn’t feel like being trounced at Chess again, and retired early. Both he and Ron were rather tired from their day out, so he didn’t need to load his friend down with excuses.
Hermione, however, was a different story altogether. She cornered him as he was heading up the stairs and gave him a glare that he suspected a mother might give a wayward child. He winced, and wondered when Hermione’s maternal instincts had kicked in. It made him feel a bit sorry for Ron, but he didn’t have time to dwell on that because Hermione was already talking.
“Are you dating Ginny?” she asked. Her hand was closed rather tightly around his forearm and he did his best not to cringe. He would not cower to Hermione.
“No,” he said shortly.
“Are you trying to?” Hermione persisted.
Harry narrowed his eyes and shook her hand off. “No,” he said again. “Just because I enjoy her company doesn’t mean I want in her knickers, Hermione, honestly.” He hadn’t meant to be so crass in front of Hermione—that kind of thing was saved for the boys’ dorm—but she’d been eyeing him calculatingly all night and he didn’t appreciate it. He just wanted to go to bed.
“If you are,” Hermione continued, oblivious to his plight, “Ron won’t mind. And neither will I, you know.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I don’t like Ginny that way, Hermione. Merlin! She’s like my sister. It would be like…like dating you.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed further. “Not that you aren’t wonderful and an ideal girlfriend, of course,” Harry added hastily. “It just wouldn’t feel right.” Not to mention the other problems.
“Alright then, Harry,” Hermione said slowly. “I believe you for now. But you’re up to something; I know it. When you’re ready to tell me—and Ron—we’ll be there to listen.”
Harry rubbed his eyes. “Alright, whatever. Can I go to bed now?”
Hermione nodded roughly and wandered back to the library where, Harry suspected, she might have possibly set up a campsite of sorts. Harry sighed tiredly as he watched her disappear through the doors, and quietly climbed the stairs for bed.
-x-
Excerpt from the Journal of a Necromancer, 709th page.
12 September, 850
Beloved,
I have found, completely by accident, I assure you, something rather interesting. And I do not say this lightly, as you know that I am not a woman to leave anything to chance. I know that you are upset and impatient with me—I did not succeed last year. It was out of my hands, Beloved, you know that. I was never very good at Arithmancy.
You were, though. And here I smile because it is you who will help me help you. After much pleading and bribing, the Necromancers from the Isles relayed their rituals and traditions to me last night. But they left something out on purpose. They did not want me to try to resurrect you.
I forgive them for it, Beloved, as should you. They did not know you; they did not know how you changed the world just by being in it. I will prove them wrong now because one of them was not as careful with his literature as he might have been. I found the book lying open to the correct page this morning in one of their rooms when I went to fetch them for breakfast.
You will be proud of me—I used that spell you were so fond of with your research. The one that copies text from paper. I have everything I need to help you on Halloween except for the Arithmancy, and that is where you come in. I am rambling; I know. Forgive me.
In your study was your findings on this art. Even now, the practice is not wholly precise, but I trust your research. I will use the formula you provided in one of your journals, and I will succeed.
It is not long now. I will see you again All Hallows’ Eve. I know you will be waiting. I’ve told our son that you are coming back, and he is beside himself in his happiness. You will love him I am sure. He is so much like you.
With love,
R.
-x-
Harry drifted slowly into consciousness, wondering vaguely what had woken him up. It was still dark outside, and he couldn’t see a thing. Slowly his door opened and he sat up quickly, scrambling for his wand. He aimed it at the door, ears perked for any sound, and waited.
There was the sound of someone stumbling and then a muffled curse in a feminine voice. He relaxed slightly. At least it wasn’t Voldemort. The person came forward and Harry could finally make out the face. He sighed in relief and lowered his wand.
“Harry?” Ginny whispered.
“Yeah, I’m awake,” he muttered, flopping back on his bed. Vaguely, he wondered how Ginny had gotten into his rooms, and then remembered that he’d added her to the wards. Ginny closed the distance to his bed and looked down at him hesitantly. “You okay?” he asked, a bit awkwardly, staring at her with one eye opened.
He could barely make out her face in the dark, but he still saw when the white of her teeth showed as she bit her lip. Her hair was tangled and mussed from sleep, but she looked quite awake. “Can I get in?” she asked.
Harry raised an eyebrow, even though he was pretty sure she couldn’t see it. “Yeah, I guess,” he said slowly. After all, it wasn’t often that he had women asking to get in his bed. He couldn’t think of a single time, actually. He frowned at the thought: he couldn’t think of a time any boys had asked to get in his bed either, and that was altogether more depressing.
Ginny slipped in quickly, sliding under the covers and laying on her back. They both stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes while Harry waited for Ginny to speak, wondering if he should ask her if anything was wrong again. He didn’t think Ginny would come and jump in his bed for any other reason. He frowned at that thought, too. Was he selling himself short? He didn’t get a chance to ponder that as Ginny finally broke the silence.
“I had another one of those dreams,” she said.
Harry diverted his entire attention back to her. “Really?” he asked quietly. He didn’t really know why they were still talking so quietly. His bedroom was an entire wing away from the guest rooms—there was no way anyone would hear him, but he had a feeling that this was going to be one of those conversations that should be held in a hushed voice. “The same one? You were trying to find him?”
Harry admitted, if only to himself, that he still thought it a bit disgusting to dream about being in love with Voldemort. He didn’t say it; there was no reason to upset Ginny further, and he still had to figure out a way for her to not go insane when he killed Voldemort. If he killed Voldemort, he automatically corrected grimly. There was always the chance that he could fail.
“No,” Ginny answered slowly. “This one was different.” He thought he might have felt her shudder on the other side of the bed, but he couldn’t be sure, so he didn’t say anything about it.
“How?” he asked.
This time, Ginny definitely shuddered. “It was strange,” she said. “I didn’t dream of Tom Riddle or Voldemort this time. It was a different person altogether, and I was a different person, too. Actually,” she hesitated, as if embarrassed, and then added slightly faster, “I was a boy and he was a girl. And we were…you know.”
“Fucking,” Harry supplied in his sleepy haze. He immediately winced after he’s said it. It was, again, one of those things that were meant for the boys’ dorm, not around his best friend’s little sister. “Sorry,” he added.
“No, it’s okay,” Ginny laughed quietly. “That’s what it was.”
“Are you sure this wasn’t just…you know, a regular dream?” Harry asked after several moments.
Ginny shifted on the bed and rolled over on her side to face him. When he looked at her, she was staring at him intently. He shifted closer to the edge of the bed, feeling slightly uncomfortable in the situation. “I’m sure,” Ginny said. “I can tell the difference. They feel different from other dreams—like memories kind of. I always get this really strange sense of déjà vu.”
“So you think it was what? A past life or something?” Harry asked dubiously.
He rolled over to face her in time to see her shrug uncomfortably. “It’s possible,” she said. “According to that book of Hermione’s, anyway.”
“Right,” Harry said. He honestly had no idea what any of this meant or what to do about it, so he stared at the ceiling instead. It wasn’t very interesting. “We’ll figure something out,” he said finally. He’d been saying that a lot lately, he realised.
“Yeah,” Ginny answered. He could practically hear her deliberating over whether or not to say something else, so he gave her a pointed look, telling her to go ahead. “What if…what—would it be terrible of me to not want you to figure something out?”
Harry snorted. “You want to just go crazy?” he asked.
“No,” Ginny answered immediately. “No, of course not, it’s just…never mind. Can I stay here tonight? I don’t think I’ll be able to get to sleep again if I’m by myself.”
The uncomfortable feeling was back, along with hundreds of different results of him allowing that, including, but not limited to, Ron developing a taste for removing limbs, and trying it out on him. He hesitated.
“No one will know,” Ginny said quickly. “And it’ll just be sleeping.”
Harry sighed. “Yeah, I guess. Just make sure you’re not here when everyone else wakes up. I don’t relish the thought of your mother finding you in my bed.”
Ginny laughed. “Okay.”
Harry rolled over on his stomach and buried his head under his pillow. He’d never had to share his bed with anyone before, and he couldn’t deny that it was uncomfortable. He was used to stretching out, sometimes ending up facing the wrong direction when he woke up. Determinedly, he closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep.
It wasn’t working.
He was tired, and he could feel himself drifting off occasionally, but every time he did, he’d try to stretch out again and his limbs would inevitably brush against another body. Harry rolled on his back. When he felt himself drifting again, he was so utterly tired, that he didn’t retract his arm when he absently flung it across Ginny’s stomach. She was asleep. She was in his bed. She could deal with it. Harry closed his eyes and went to sleep.
-x-
The next morning, Harry woke up to the feeling of a warm body pressed against his back. He narrowed his eyes and cursed under his breath. At least it wasn’t very late, he noticed as he looked out the window. The sun was just now rising. He extricated himself from Ginny’s tight grip and rolled over.
“You gotta get up, Ginny,” Harry said, shaking her shoulder slightly. She shifted and blinked sleepily up at him. “It’s morning,” Harry continued. “You need to go back to your room.”
Ginny sat up quickly. “Oh shit,” she muttered, scrambling out of the bed. “Sorry!” she added, and then she was gone. Harry stared after her, hoping beyond hope that Mrs. Weasley—who was certainly up by now—hadn’t gone to wake up Ginny.
Grumbling, he rolled out of the bed and wandered over to the bathroom. After a quick shower, he dressed, still sleepy, and wandered down the stairs. He was definitely not a morning person, he decided when he tripped and nearly fell down the stairs.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley was sitting at the table reading the paper with a pinched expression on her face. She looked up at him when he entered and smiled entirely too brightly. “Good morning, Harry,” she said. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
Harry, unsurprisingly, didn’t get a chance to answer. Mrs. Weasley was already up and about, setting the kettle to boil the muggle way. She scowled at Ginger, who was already cooking breakfast, then shook her head and continued with the tea. “Sleep well?”
“Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry mumbled. He hadn’t, really, but he couldn’t very well tell Mrs. Weasley that. She would ask all sorts of questions why and he had no good excuse other than the truth: that her daughter had spent the night in his bed, thus taking up all his room. He didn’t think Mrs. Weasley would appreciate that very much. Wisely, he kept silent and accepted the tea from Mrs. Weasley with a smile. “Thanks,” he said again.
“No trouble,” Mrs. Weasley smiled. Harry smiled back, and then they were locked into some sort of odd smiling contest, during which Harry was confused and Mrs. Weasley obviously knew something he didn’t. He raised his eyebrows expectantly as he sipped his tea, still looking at her.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
Mrs. Weasley faltered for only a second before her smile was back full force. “No, of course not, Harry,” she said.
Harry looked at her suspiciously. “Alright.” He sipped his tea for several more minutes, and when Mrs. Weasley let her guard down, he casually looked over at the headline on the front page of the Daily Prophet.
Boy-Who-Lived Not a Potter, Source Says
Harry groaned and grabbed the paper, ignoring Mrs. Weasley’s indignant squawks and platitudes. He’d expected it really; he just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. It must have been that shifty wizard who did the paternity test, Harry thought with a growl. He seemed like the kind of person to sell other people’s secrets.
[London] – An anonymous source claims to have proof that our own Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, is not really a Potter after all.
Harry Potter was seen in the Ministry yesterday morning with long-time friend Ronald Weasley, son of the Ministry’s own Arthur Weasley, testing for his apparating license. We are proud to say that both young men passed.
However, Mr. Potter did not leave then. Our source claims that Harry Potter then visited the Department of Magical Inheritances with Sirius Black and requested a paternity test. The test was given, and the results will astound you, dear readers!
According to our source, the test revealed that James Potter, who died, along with Lily Evans Potter in the attack by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on October 31, 1981, is not Harry Potter’s father. Instead, the test revealed that it is Sirius Black, heir of the Black fortune and recently cleared of criminal charges.
The Boy-Who-Lived and Sirius Black were both caught on Security Spells during their visit, and we at the Daily Prophet are excited to show you those pictures. After a closer look, the resemblance is quite obvious. How were we fooled for so long?
What a scandal, dear readers! It certainly sheds a new light on once-venerated martyr, Lily Evans! What this reporter wants to know is, was James Potter aware of this? How long has Mr. Potter been aware? Was the Boy-Who-Lived the love-child of Sirius Black and Lily Potter, or is something much stranger going on? We will be digging, and promise to update you, dear readers, on anything we find. – Gabby Gordon
Harry set the paper back down on the table and glared into his tea, trying to will Gabby Gordon into an early grave. What right did she have to write about his mother that way? Had it really been necessary to add in her own opinion on the matter? If his mother’s name was about to be dragged through the mud because of some ridiculous article, he was going to pitch such a fit.
In the library, he’d read that the Blacks had a tendency to go clinically mad when family was threatened or otherwise insulted.
It wasn’t talked about.
He narrowed his eyes. He had to admit that he hadn’t expected the media to take it out on his mother. Himself, of course, and possibly Sirius since they were both still alive and Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived, but never his mother. Never his mother.
“Morning, Kiddo.” Sirius ruffled his hair as he walked past, but Harry barely noticed enough to scowl properly. “Harry?”
He looked up reluctantly. “Hmm?”
Mrs. Weasley chose that moment to strategically ‘go wake up the children’ which Harry thought was rather good form. He watched her as she slipped out of the kitchen, and when she was gone, turned his attention back to his father. Sirius was looking at him curiously.
“What’s wrong?”
Harry didn’t respond; he just handed the newspaper over and tapped the article with his finger. His father took the paper gingerly, snapping it open and shifting his weight to one leg as he read. Harry thought he might have been more comfortable sitting down, but he didn’t suggest it because if he knew Sirius at all, he would just jump back up when he got to the exciting part.
“Fucking hell,” Sirius muttered.
The response, Harry thought, was not as expressive as he had anticipated.
“Do we have a solicitor?” he asked calmly.
Sirius looked up from the newspaper, which he had been rereading, and shook his head. “No. We did once, but,” he shrugged carelessly, “there’s not been anyone who needed once for sixteen years.” He paused, staring at Harry and finally picking up on the half-hidden mania in his eyes. “Why?” he asked carefully.
Harry gestured roughly towards the newspaper. “That chit debased my mother.” It was, Harry felt, all the explanation needed. Sirius disagreed.
“And?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“And,” Harry stressed, “It’s slander.”
“No,” Sirius said harshly, “If it’s anything, it’s libel, not slander, which you would know if you’d actually paid attention to any of the lessons I gave you. Additionally, this Gordan woman didn’t actually say anything libellous. She only hypothesised.”
Harry stood up and stalked forward. “Are you telling me that I can’t do anything about this? You’re just going to let them get away with writing whatever they please about her?”
Sirius didn’t back down. “I’m sure you could do something with the right people, but the point is that it’s already been printed and there’s no way to take it back. They’re going to do it anyway; the more you fight back, the more they’ll want to write about it. Pick your battles, Harry.”
“This is ridiculous!” Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “What kind of Gryffindor are you? Aren’t you supposed to be about honour and loyalty? Why aren’t you helping to defend her honour? Or mine, by association?”
“Your perceived honour will come and go no matter what I do,” Sirius said bluntly. “And Lily is dead.”
Harry’s mouth fell open slightly, and for several long moments, there was nothing to be heard but his own ragged breathing. “Fine,” he sneered, and pivoted, walking quickly out of the kitchen. He held two fingers up over his shoulder, but he didn’t really care whether or not Sirius saw the gesture. Right now, he only wanted to get away from everyone and everything.
Damn it, he hated the Daily Prophet.
-x-
NEXT CHAPTER
comments=♥
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Good luck with the Sorting Hat fanfiction awards, by the way!
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Oh drunk Ron! lol... kinda reminds me of a friend of mine actually... gotta luv easy drunks :P
Damn the Prophet, they get meaner every fic i read...
i kinda hate you you know... there are only like 4 chapters left... i dont want it to end... but i want to know the end... off its a vicious circle...
gtg write a story for English now... sigh cya xxx
p.s. give me a plot?
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;)
PLOT: The death of a small town postman leaves the mail system in disarray until the citizens all step up to help. What began as part time sorting and delivery gig for all the townsmen/women quickly turns into much, much more when Mrs. Wimbleby, the local gossip, picks up a delivery shift--and does more than deliver the mail.
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Great idea, if i'd read that last night lol. my story is due in an hour :P
sigh
I went with the time honoured classic, contrct killer... accidently kills his girlfriend not his target :P teach him to get a day job like everyone else... ^^
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(Anonymous) 2006-09-28 10:48 pm (UTC)(link)no subject
I especially love how Harry and Ginny are so separate from Hermione and the other Weasleys... and how Harry's going on making his own plans, and nevermind Sirius and the rest. ;)
♥
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