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dysonrules) wrote2010-03-24 04:53 pm
dysonrules) wrote2010-03-24 04:53 pm
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CHAINS OF EARTH CHAPTER SEVEN
I wasn't going to post this yet, but then I thought, "Why the hell not?" so here it is! Much thankys to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
faithwood for the beta and alaana_fair for the final beta and formatting. *glomps a billionty* This one is just over 5,000 words.
Miss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE
Chapter Seven
In our dreams we are able to fly...
and that is a remembering
of how we were meant to be.
-Madeleine L’Engle
Draco reluctantly admitted Hermione Granger to the library. He half-expected a Gryffindor tirade regarding his treatment of the Heroic Wonder, or at least a glare of disapproval, but she surprised him once again.
“Hello, Draco. Harry told me you found a journal that may prove of interest. Do you want some help deciphering it, or do you prefer to attempt it on your own?”
Draco pursed his lips and nearly told her he wanted to do it alone, but the sad truth was that he was heartily sick of being by himself. His time with Potter at least allowed him to converse with another human being and he missed the interaction. Before the wing incident Draco had been a veritable social whore, constantly attending functions, visiting acquaintances, and travelling abroad. Being closeted in the Manor had become a torment.
His mother had apparently concocted a story about Draco having a lingering illness—he had received a variety of polite get-well cards and trifling gifts from those pretending to be concerned. Those who might truly have cared—namely Pansy and Blaise—were on a winter holiday and would not return for at least a month. Pansy had Fire-called a number of times and Draco had pretended that all was well. The last thing he wanted was for his friends to return home. He dreaded to see the horror on their faces before they shunned him completely. They might be his friends, but they were purebloods. He would do the same in their place.
Shaking off his maudlin thoughts, he shrugged. “Stay if you like. It is probable that Pokeby made up his own code, in which case it will probably take some time to decipher. I suppose I could use another pair of eyes.”
Granger nodded wordlessly and allowed Draco to make all of the suggestions regarding the journal. It was decided that they would copy each page of the journal rather than tear it apart or try to work side by side. After some experimentation, they came up with a system. Granger would place a piece of parchment atop one page of the journal and Draco would cast a Replication Charm. The gibberish-like words would appear to bleed through the parchment and then Granger would whip it away and set it upon the growing stack. When Draco tired of casting, they swapped places.
“Harry is at Hogwarts,” Granger stated when they were nearly three-quarters of the way through the chore. He had wondered if she ever planned to speak.
“Bully for the Chosen One,” Draco replied mildly.
Granger shrugged. “I thought you might be curious.”
“What Potter does with his time is no concern of mine.”
“It is when he is working exclusively on your case.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Much good that has done. We are no closer to finding my assailants. All we have is the diary of a long-dead wizard.”
“That’s why Harry went to Hogwarts. He is hoping to find some information on Gunther Pokeby.”
Draco sighed and let the next piece of parchment flutter to the top of the stack. “Do you think it will do any good?”
Granger looked at him and then looked away, probably hoping to keep him from picking up on the pity reflected there. “I don’t know. But we have to try.”
“Why? Because of an overinflated sense of duty and the need to right wrongs?”
Granger actually laughed. “Something like that, I suppose. And it is more than that for Harry.”
Draco sneered. “His need to maintain his status as the Savior?”
A shadow crossed Granger’s features and she smiled almost sadly. “You don’t know him at all, do you?”
A muscle twitched in Draco’s jaw. After more than a decade of watching the Chosen One, Draco thought he knew Potter quite well. “I know him as well I care to, thank you very much.”
Granger’s smile bore an uncanny resemblance to a smirk. “If you say so,” she replied enigmatically.
He thought about asking what she meant, but decided he would rather not know. Was his growing interest in the Auror that obvious? He hoped not. It certainly would not do for Potter to discover that particular madness. He glared at Granger. “We should begin with the most obviously repeated characters, which generally indicate vowels such as A or E.”
She thankfully turned her intelligence to the problem at hand and left off examining Draco’s relationship with Potter. Or lack thereof.
~~ O ~~
Harry left Hagrid’s hut and headed for the castle. He always felt somewhat better after visiting the Gamekeeper, especially now that Hagrid was blissfully happy. He adored his wife and his collection of new pets, few of which were actually dangerous. Harry assumed that was mostly Olympe’s influence. She was away at Beauxbatons teaching, although Hagrid chatted with her often via the Floo Network and they spent the weekends together at Hogwarts or in France.
Harry made his way through the castle and headed for McGonagall’s office, ignoring the buzz in his wake as several students recognized him. Word of his arrival must have preceded him, for the entrance was open. He quickly took the stairs and smiled at McGonagall when he reached the office. It looked much the same as it had when Dumbledore had been in residence, except that several decorative vases filled with flowers adorned the room.
“Hello, Harry. It’s nice to see you again,” she said, although the quill she wrote with did not cease scratching on the parchment. “I take it you are not here for a friendly visit.”
“Well, sort of,” Harry replied with a grin. “I stopped in to see Hagrid and it’s always nice to say hello to everyone, of course. But, yeah, I’m mainly here to talk to Dumbledore and see if he can help me with a case. I need to ask him about a former student. You might remember him, also. His name was Gunther Pokeby.”
She stopped writing and her brow wrinkled slightly. After a moment she shook her head. “Pokeby? That name is unfamiliar to me. What house was he in? And what year?”
“I’m not sure what year, but he was definitely Slytherin.”
“Perhaps Albus will remember. His memory fails somewhat now that he is a portrait, but…”
“Oh, tosh, Minerva,” said Dumbledore and Harry turned to greet the former Headmaster’s likeness with a grin. “My memory is sharp as a Muggle tack.”
“Yes, the sort they use on horses,” she said dryly. “Harry, I will leave you to your research. I trust you can let yourself out without getting into any difficulty?”
“I’m not fifteen any more, Headmistress.”
McGonagall chuckled. “Somehow I doubt your ability to get into trouble has diminished. Nevertheless, I shall depart.”
“Is it all right if I stop by the library on the way out?” Harry called before she reached the stairs. “I might need to look something up.”
“As you wish. I will inform Madam Pince. Give my regards to Hermione and… the others.”
“I will.” Harry turned back to the portrait. “Hello, Headmaster.”
The blue eyes twinkled. “I am Headmaster no more, Harry. Please call me Albus.”
Harry grinned. “I’ll try. It just seems kind of strange. Anyway, I’m here to ask you about a wizard named Gunther Pokeby. Do you have any recollection of him? We believe he was obsessed with flying or possibly Veela and similar flying creatures.”
Dumbledore’s brow wrinkled. “Pokeby,” he repeated.
“Slytherin.”
“Ah, yes. They called him Gunnypoke. He was a small, furtive child. Obsessed with birds, as was his entire family, actually. His grandfather was famous for identifying several species. I believe there is even a Chocolate Frog Card in his likeness.”
Harry did not remember ever seeing that, but he had not been interested in collecting Chocolate Frog cards for quite some time. “I think he eventually graduated beyond birds,” Harry admitted and then began the tale of Gunther Pokeby’s experiments.
Dumbledore nodded sadly. “Ah yes, a tragic affair. I do remember now. Poor Gunther was sent to Azkaban. He was quite mad, it seems.”
“Yes, well someone seems to have recreated his experiments. Effectively.”
“What do you mean?”
Harry glanced at the other Headmaster portraits, some of whom listened attentively. “Um… does your painting come free of the wall?”
“Indeed.”
Harry reached up and hoisted down the heavy portrait frame before carrying it down the stairs and into the hall. This is great, he thought, someone will think I’m stealing Dumbledore’s portrait. “Is the Room of Requirement repaired?”
“Yes.”
Harry carried the picture to the seventh floor and walked back and forth the requisite number of times, trying not to remember his last foray into the room. Unwillingly, he remembered Malfoy pressed against his back and the arms that nearly crushed out his breath. He shook off the memory and opened the door to a plain room that contained a large desk to prop the painting upon.
“Okay, it’s private here. I made a promise that no word of this would get out. He would kill me and I don’t mean that figuratively. I mean gruesomely and with relish.”
“I hope you mean the relish figuratively.”
Harry blinked. “Erm… yes.” Before Dumbledore could wander off on a verbal tangent, Harry explained Draco’s condition. He thought he even managed to do so without blushing, mainly by describing the wings in a clinical manner and not allowing himself to think about how soft and enticing he found them.
“How dreadful. Poor Gunther. He was a studious child, almost more Ravenclaw than Slytherin. Surprisingly skilled in Potions, now that I recall it.”
“Did he have any other relatives that might have followed in his footsteps? Someone that might have wanted revenge, perhaps? I find it strange that Malfoy was specifically targeted. Did Pokeby have any interaction with the Malfoys?” Once the question occurred to him, Harry made a mental note to ask Malfoy about it. Perhaps Draco could talk to Narcissa and see if she recalled any family tales or feuds related to the Pokeby family.
“Not that I recall, but sometimes student interactions are unknown to the teachers. You might verify the records to see which Malfoys were in attendance at the time, and perhaps the Blacks, as well. It is not impossible that the ultimate target was Narcissa, with someone seeking to hurt her through her son.”
Shit. The threads of possibility were growing instead of shrinking. Discovery of the Pokeby name had produced more questions and answered none.
“All right. Thank you, sir,” Harry said politely.
“You are quite welcome, Harry. How are your young friends?”
“You mean Hermioine and… Ron?”
“Of course.”
“Hermione is fine. Great, actually. Ron… well, not so much.”
Dumbledore tsked. “I am sorry to hear that. His accident is known to me and I had hoped his healing would begin by now. Some people never find acceptance within themselves after adversity.” His voice was sad and Harry thought he was not completely referring to Ron.
“Hermione thinks he’s being a prat.”
Dumbledore chuckled. “I see Miss Granger has not lost her propensity for speaking her mind.”
Harry grinned. “No. Not at all. In fact, she is helping me with the Malfoy case. I hope they don’t kill each other. Or that Malfoy doesn’t kill her, at any rate.”
“Have no fear, Harry. I believe you greatly underestimate Draco Malfoy.”
Harry made a face. If anything, he had been guilty of overestimating Draco Malfoy recently. The blond’s sneering commentary had been a much-needed dose of reality. Harry might find him stunningly attractive now, but that did not make him any less of a tosser.
“Now that I think on it, I believe Gunther Pokeby spent some time in Egypt after he left Hogwarts. He was a particular friend of Madam Pince. You might ask her for more information.”
Harry’s brows rose. “Madam Pince?” It was hard to imagine the sourpuss librarian even speaking civilly to another human being, much less having something as mundane as a friend.
He returned Dumbledore’s portrait to McGonagall’s office and made his way to the library. The familiar hush greeted him and several Hogwarts students stared at him in astonishment. The resulting stage whisper cascaded through the room and drew the immediately glare of Madam Pince. The murmur died as quickly as it began. Harry quelled his instinctive rush of nervousness and reminded himself that he was an Auror now. He had defeated Voldemort, for pity’s sake. He refused to be intimidated by a bloody librarian.
Harry screwed up his courage and smiled winningly as he approached her desk. Her suspicious glare could have melted metal. “Good morning, Madam Pince. How nice to see you, again.”
“Mr. Potter. You do realize you are disturbing the studies of the students.” It was not a question.
“I’m terribly sorry, but I’m here on official business. I have some questions about Gunther Pokeby.”
She drew in a breath and her features softened into something surprisingly normal, drawn forth by her evident surprise. “Gunther?” she repeated quietly.
Harry nodded encouragingly.
The iron mask slid back over her face. “Gunther Pokeby is dead. I have no wish to speak of him.”
“It’s very important.” His voice brooked no refusal. He had learned that much from his stint as an Auror, at least. She tried to hold his gaze and failed.
“This evening,” she said quietly. “I will meet you in my office after the dinner hour.”
“All right,” Harry replied and wondered what the hell he was going to do in the interim hours. “Thank you.”
He left the library and wandered the familiar old halls, calling up memories and wondering when the place had grown so small.
~~ O ~~
Draco sighed in frustration and rubbed a hand over his temple. They had taken the copied notes and moved to an unused room on the second floor in order to have more room for sorting. At Granger’s suggestion they had tacked each journal page to the wall with a Sticking Charm. The pale mauve walls now had a bizarre white border marred with black scribbles.
“All right. I think we’ve isolated the five most common symbols,” Granger said. Draco was impressed with her fortitude. She had barely paused since her arrival and Draco wondered how Potter ever managed to keep up with her. He was exhausted and thirsty. They had stopped for a plate of sandwiches and biscuits at noon, but it was now approaching dinner time and she showed no sign of wanting a break. “These should represent A, E, S, R and possibly T.”
“Unless he translated his notes from French or German or some other language.”
Granger scowled. “Damn. I’d better have Harry check and see if Pokeby spoke any other languages.” She gnawed her lip for a moment. “I think I’ll send him a Patronus in order to catch him before he leaves Hogwarts. Do you have anything you want to say to him?”
“Yes. Ask him why he’s such an idiot.”
Her lips thinned, but she muttered the spell and cast. A silvery shape streaked from her wand and out the door.
“A weasel?” Draco asked and smirked.
Her brown eyes flashed. “An otter.”
Draco nodded. “A water weasel.”
“I’m thinking about yanking on your wings.”
Draco sidled away. He definitely did not want to be privy to any Granger-induced visions. And he thought she might be serious about the wing-pulling.
“So, to get back to these symbols here…”
Luckily, his attempt to distract her worked. She leaped on the subject like a starved dog on fresh meat, intent on worrying it into submission. Draco let her words wash over him and wondered how Potter fared at Hogwarts.
~~ O ~~
Harry wandered outside and cast a Warming Charm to keep from freezing as he walked toward the greenhouses. Snow covered the statues and bushes, making everything looked soft-edged and blurry. Harry thought about looking up Neville, who now taught Herbology. It was his first year without Professor Sprout coaching him and he was guaranteed to be a bit flustered. Harry was not sure he wanted to sit through a dissertation about Neville’s teaching woes and an accounting of his most difficult students.
Instead, Harry diverted his course and walked through the snow to the ice-edged lake, waving at the few students out in the weather who dared to greet him. Most of the friendly ones were Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors, not surprisingly, and one brave group of yellow and black clad students even stopped him to ask for an autograph.
Harry escaped the random students and found a quiet space in the rocks that was sheltered from haphazard gusts of wind. It was cold enough that the Warming Charm needed renewing every few minutes. The lake looked still and somehow pristine. He wondered how the merpeople survived below the surface when the lake was near-frozen. He grimaced at the memory of the lake during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He did not care enough to ever go beneath the waves and ask.
Thinking of merpeople turned his thoughts to Malfoy. According to Hermione, Malfoy was now a throwback to some ancient people. His brow wrinkled as he speculated. How ancient were the merpeople? Would they remember as far back as the Anakim? Did they keep records? It was a strange thought and he vowed to ask Dumbledore before he left the castle.
Harry pushed away from the stones and stood only to suck in a cold breath when Hermione’s Patronus burst into shape before him. The otter cavorted around him as it spoke. Harry, please find out whether or not Pokeby spoke any foreign languages We are focusing on deciphering this into English and do not want any unpleasant surprises, such as discovering his native language to be German or French. Also, Malfoy says hi.
Harry snorted a laugh at the last portion. “I’ll bet.” The Patronus dissipated and Harry continued his trek back through the snow. He had time, so he took the stairs to McGonagall’s office and asked Hermione’s question of Dumbledore. Fruitlessly, as it turned out. Dumbledore had no recollection at all of whether or not Gunther Pokeby spoke any languages other than English and also knew nothing of possible merpeople records. Harry was beginning to think his visit to Hogwarts was a massive waste of time.
He ate in the Great Hall at the teacher’s table and was paraded out like a show pony by McGonagall, which made him give her a subtle look of annoyance and mentally cross her off his Christmas card list. He smiled and waved at the cheering students and cast an eye to the Slytherin table where the green-clad students politely clapped with glacial stiffness. The sight made Harry’s grin broaden to genuine proportion. At least some things never changed. The table likely housed a number of persons Harry would have to track down and arrest in the future. Not that all bad apples were Slytherin. The prior month Harry had hauled in a serial arsonist that had gone through school in Hufflepuff house.
After dinner Harry made his way back to the library. Madam Pince’s office was adjacent to the library with a connecting door. He wondered if her sleeping quarters were nearby and was somewhat surprised that she did not sleep in the library itself. He frowned at the uncharitable thought as he recalled Gunther Pokeby. Apparently there was far more to Madam Pince’s life than sorting books.
He knocked politely and the door swung open. Madam Pince looked different and it took him a moment to realize he had never seen her without her pointed witch’s hat. Her hair was mostly brown, but heavily streaked with grey. Without the shadow cast by the hat’s brim, her face seemed more clearly lined with age. She looked tired and worn, like a dog-eared book.
“Come in, Mr. Potter. I confess to hoping you would depart rather than force me to dredge up ancient history, but I see it is not to be. Can I offer you a cup of tea?”
Harry nodded, knowing the familiar act of preparing tea generally had a calming effect on people. She bustled about with a kettle and Harry seated himself on one of a pair of comfortable moss-coloured chairs.
“Why Gunther?” she asked. “Why now?”
“He conducted some rather unusual experiments after he left Hogwarts,” Harry said carefully, uncertain whether or not she would take offense at any slight against Pokeby. “Something similar has cropped up, with dire consequences. We are looking into his notes to try to determine why. And hopefully to discover who.”
She returned to Harry and held out a cup of tea for him to take. Her lips were set in a grim line. “Something similar?”
“How much do you know about Gunther’s interests?” Harry held the delicate porcelain carefully and wondered why women seemed to prefer tableware that could be destroyed with an accidental clenching of fingers.
She shrugged and sat in the matching chair clutching her teacup without drinking. Harry’s training prevented him from drinking at all, although he could maintain an adequate pretence of doing so. The Hogwart’s librarian most likely had no reason to poison him, but Harry had survived this long as an Auror by taking few chances.
“I know why he was sent to Azkaban.” She sighed. “He was obsessed. His whole family was obsessed, actually, but I had no idea how badly. It seemed a harmless notion when Gunther was young. It was in his blood, after all. He… fancied me once. I had great hopes for him, and for us, until he went to Egypt. I believe that was when everything changed.”
Harry gave no sign of excitement, although his pulse leaped at the mention of Egypt. “What happened?”
Her gaze seemed far away. “It was flying. Always flying. Not on a broom, though. No, that was not good enough for the Pokeby family. They believed man should fly with wings like a bird. ‘Think of it,’ Gunther used to tell me, ‘To be able to fly without the aid of a manmade object!’ I laughed at him, once. He refused to speak to me for nearly a month, until I purchased him a book to beg his forgiveness. It was a Muggle book, of all things, but it was about an inventor who also thought men should fly. Of course, the Muggle was intelligent enough to be satisfied with manmade designs. He did not try to magically alter human beings!” Her voice cracked and she quickly took a sip of tea. Harry noticed her hands shaking.
“I’m sorry,” he said lamely, although he was not certain why he apologized. For dredging up the past, certainly, but he was also sorry that Pokeby’s odd obsession had created repercussions that reached beyond his death, and still brought pain to a woman who had possibly once loved him.
Madam Pince gave him a look reminiscent of a hundred expressions she had bestowed on him in the library on numerous occasions. “It is not your fault, Mr. Potter. Gunther was not himself. Sometimes I wonder if he was ever himself, or if he simply followed the pattern handed down from father to son. Some people never shake the shadow of their parents.” The statement reminded Harry sharply of Draco, living in the dubious shadow of Lucius Malfoy. Would he ever shake the grasping, egocentric, arrogant sense of superiority and entitlement granted him by Lucius? Did he even want to? Madam Pince went on and Harry tore his thoughts away from the Malfoy family.
“When he left Hogwarts he did some travelling. He was not ready to settle down, so he toured Europe with some of his friends. Everything was fine until they went to Egypt. Gunther found something there that made his obsession a thousand times worse. When he returned, he spent all of his time on research; he had none left for me.”
“What was he researching?”
Her eyes pierced him. “I think you know. He was sent to Azkaban for it.”
“Anakim.”
She nodded. “Yes. He had found some sort of proof that Anakim had existed. He thought he could bring them back.”
“Someone seems to have taken up the gauntlet of his research, recently. Do you know what materials Gunther used to attempt his potion? We are trying to locate anything that might have fallen into the wrong hands.”
“Is it that serious?” she asked. “I mean, his theories never panned out. All his potions ever did was—”
“Kill people. Yes.”
She winced and her voice was barely audible. “Has someone been killed?”
“No, but it was a near thing. I don’t want it to happen, again.” Thinking about it made Harry realize how close Malfoy had come to dying and he felt a shard of something uncomfortably close to horror. It was a sobering thought—he was actually beginning to care about the git. And caring had very little to do with lust.
Madam Pince broke his reverie. “I don’t know what he used for guidelines. The Ministry seized all of Gunther’s belongings, did they not? I do have a couple of books about the Anakim, although I’m not sure how much use they will be. The stories are nothing but legends translated from Ancient Runic.”
She gestured to a stack of books on the tea table; apparently she had anticipated Harry’s line of questioning before his arrival. He set aside his untasted cup of tea and picked up the books. He only glanced at the titles before hefting the small stack and standing up.
“Thank you for your help. I know this must be difficult for you.”
She scowled. “It was a long time ago, Mr. Potter. Just take care to bring the books back within three weeks or you will, of course, be charged a fine.”
He blinked at her for a moment and her lips curled in a strange-looking grin. It took him a moment to realize it was odd merely because he had never seen the expression on her face, before. It was a smile.
“I am only joking, Mr. Potter. Keep them as long as necessary.”
He forced a chuckle. Librarian humour. Lovely. “Thank you again. I’ll bring them back. Oh, and one more thing. Do you know if Gunther spoke any foreign languages?”
She cocked a brow at him. “Not that I know of, Mr. Potter.”
Harry nodded and moved toward the door, where he paused to look back. Madam Pince sipped her tea and stared out the window. Her gaze was far away.
~~ O ~~
Draco miraculously convinced Granger to call it a day by allowing her to take a large stack of pages home for perusal. She flitted around the room, double and triple checking the pile she had accumulated and muttering to herself. It became clear how Potter and the Weasel had managed to make it through Hogwarts with decent grades. The woman was a dynamo. Draco was exhausted. Of course, much of that might have been due to spending an uncomfortable night sleeping in a chair while cradling the Saviour of the Wizarding World in his lap.
Draco frowned, but before he could pursue that memory a silvery beast sprang through the window and charged at Granger, nearly startling Draco into flight. The dynamic wonder took it in stride, however, and waited as the stag halted and spoke with Potter’s voice.
Hi, Hermione. Apparently Gunther spoke no other languages, although I will keep asking to verify that for certain. It’s probably safe to assume that his notes can convert back to the Queen’s English and not French or Swedish, or something. There was a momentary pause and then the message continued. If you’re still with Malfoy, tell him I apologize. I’ll check in later.
The Patronus dissipated and Draco blinked at Granger in astonishment to find her expression mirroring his. He folded his wings back into place and contemplated the message.
“Harry apologized?” Granger said in a disbelieving tone. “He apologized to you? Where is my date book? I need to mark this down as an historical event. You should do the same, Malfoy. I’m not sure it will ever happen again.”
Draco glared at her. “Don’t sound so impressed. The bastard is trying to manipulate me. He does quite well at impersonating a Slytherin, at times.”
“Manipulate?”
“Naturally. I am the one who should have apologized. I made some… less than flattering remarks about Weasley’s sister. I may have been out of line.” He waved a hand at her knowing smile. “Regardless, by apologizing first, Potter is proving himself to be the better man. Again.” It was maddening, really.
“You know, you might try focussing on the root of the issue rather than concentrating on this silly, juvenile competition with Harry.”
“The root of the issue. And what might that be?” Draco demanded as he revised his opinion in reverse. Granger was still an insufferable know-it-all.
“You should ask yourself if you really are sorry for what you said to Harry. You obviously said something that upset him. The question is, does it bother you, and do you feel you should apologize? For once stop thinking of Harry as a rival and start thinking of him as a person. You might be surprised what you find.”
He glared at her, unwilling to give credence to her words. “Are you always so damned cryptic?”
She laughed. “Heavens, no! Normally I’m dreadfully blunt. But I don’t think you’re quite ready for that.”
Draco had to agree. She collected her stack of research materials.
“All right, then. I will see you tomorrow. Send me an owl when you can bear to be tormented by my presence.” She granted him a cheeky grin, waved her wand, and Disapparated. When she had gone, he pondered Potter’s words.
I’ll check in later. Check in with Granger… or with him? Most likely the Auror had meant Granger. Draco refused to acknowledge the foolish sliver of hope that Potter had meant otherwise.
Ignoring further thoughts of the irritating man, Draco went to bed.
~~ CHAPTER EIGHT ~~
faithwood for the beta and alaana_fair for the final beta and formatting. *glomps a billionty* This one is just over 5,000 words.Miss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE
Chapter Seven
In our dreams we are able to fly...
and that is a remembering
of how we were meant to be.
-Madeleine L’Engle
Draco reluctantly admitted Hermione Granger to the library. He half-expected a Gryffindor tirade regarding his treatment of the Heroic Wonder, or at least a glare of disapproval, but she surprised him once again.
“Hello, Draco. Harry told me you found a journal that may prove of interest. Do you want some help deciphering it, or do you prefer to attempt it on your own?”
Draco pursed his lips and nearly told her he wanted to do it alone, but the sad truth was that he was heartily sick of being by himself. His time with Potter at least allowed him to converse with another human being and he missed the interaction. Before the wing incident Draco had been a veritable social whore, constantly attending functions, visiting acquaintances, and travelling abroad. Being closeted in the Manor had become a torment.
His mother had apparently concocted a story about Draco having a lingering illness—he had received a variety of polite get-well cards and trifling gifts from those pretending to be concerned. Those who might truly have cared—namely Pansy and Blaise—were on a winter holiday and would not return for at least a month. Pansy had Fire-called a number of times and Draco had pretended that all was well. The last thing he wanted was for his friends to return home. He dreaded to see the horror on their faces before they shunned him completely. They might be his friends, but they were purebloods. He would do the same in their place.
Shaking off his maudlin thoughts, he shrugged. “Stay if you like. It is probable that Pokeby made up his own code, in which case it will probably take some time to decipher. I suppose I could use another pair of eyes.”
Granger nodded wordlessly and allowed Draco to make all of the suggestions regarding the journal. It was decided that they would copy each page of the journal rather than tear it apart or try to work side by side. After some experimentation, they came up with a system. Granger would place a piece of parchment atop one page of the journal and Draco would cast a Replication Charm. The gibberish-like words would appear to bleed through the parchment and then Granger would whip it away and set it upon the growing stack. When Draco tired of casting, they swapped places.
“Harry is at Hogwarts,” Granger stated when they were nearly three-quarters of the way through the chore. He had wondered if she ever planned to speak.
“Bully for the Chosen One,” Draco replied mildly.
Granger shrugged. “I thought you might be curious.”
“What Potter does with his time is no concern of mine.”
“It is when he is working exclusively on your case.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Much good that has done. We are no closer to finding my assailants. All we have is the diary of a long-dead wizard.”
“That’s why Harry went to Hogwarts. He is hoping to find some information on Gunther Pokeby.”
Draco sighed and let the next piece of parchment flutter to the top of the stack. “Do you think it will do any good?”
Granger looked at him and then looked away, probably hoping to keep him from picking up on the pity reflected there. “I don’t know. But we have to try.”
“Why? Because of an overinflated sense of duty and the need to right wrongs?”
Granger actually laughed. “Something like that, I suppose. And it is more than that for Harry.”
Draco sneered. “His need to maintain his status as the Savior?”
A shadow crossed Granger’s features and she smiled almost sadly. “You don’t know him at all, do you?”
A muscle twitched in Draco’s jaw. After more than a decade of watching the Chosen One, Draco thought he knew Potter quite well. “I know him as well I care to, thank you very much.”
Granger’s smile bore an uncanny resemblance to a smirk. “If you say so,” she replied enigmatically.
He thought about asking what she meant, but decided he would rather not know. Was his growing interest in the Auror that obvious? He hoped not. It certainly would not do for Potter to discover that particular madness. He glared at Granger. “We should begin with the most obviously repeated characters, which generally indicate vowels such as A or E.”
She thankfully turned her intelligence to the problem at hand and left off examining Draco’s relationship with Potter. Or lack thereof.
Harry left Hagrid’s hut and headed for the castle. He always felt somewhat better after visiting the Gamekeeper, especially now that Hagrid was blissfully happy. He adored his wife and his collection of new pets, few of which were actually dangerous. Harry assumed that was mostly Olympe’s influence. She was away at Beauxbatons teaching, although Hagrid chatted with her often via the Floo Network and they spent the weekends together at Hogwarts or in France.
Harry made his way through the castle and headed for McGonagall’s office, ignoring the buzz in his wake as several students recognized him. Word of his arrival must have preceded him, for the entrance was open. He quickly took the stairs and smiled at McGonagall when he reached the office. It looked much the same as it had when Dumbledore had been in residence, except that several decorative vases filled with flowers adorned the room.
“Hello, Harry. It’s nice to see you again,” she said, although the quill she wrote with did not cease scratching on the parchment. “I take it you are not here for a friendly visit.”
“Well, sort of,” Harry replied with a grin. “I stopped in to see Hagrid and it’s always nice to say hello to everyone, of course. But, yeah, I’m mainly here to talk to Dumbledore and see if he can help me with a case. I need to ask him about a former student. You might remember him, also. His name was Gunther Pokeby.”
She stopped writing and her brow wrinkled slightly. After a moment she shook her head. “Pokeby? That name is unfamiliar to me. What house was he in? And what year?”
“I’m not sure what year, but he was definitely Slytherin.”
“Perhaps Albus will remember. His memory fails somewhat now that he is a portrait, but…”
“Oh, tosh, Minerva,” said Dumbledore and Harry turned to greet the former Headmaster’s likeness with a grin. “My memory is sharp as a Muggle tack.”
“Yes, the sort they use on horses,” she said dryly. “Harry, I will leave you to your research. I trust you can let yourself out without getting into any difficulty?”
“I’m not fifteen any more, Headmistress.”
McGonagall chuckled. “Somehow I doubt your ability to get into trouble has diminished. Nevertheless, I shall depart.”
“Is it all right if I stop by the library on the way out?” Harry called before she reached the stairs. “I might need to look something up.”
“As you wish. I will inform Madam Pince. Give my regards to Hermione and… the others.”
“I will.” Harry turned back to the portrait. “Hello, Headmaster.”
The blue eyes twinkled. “I am Headmaster no more, Harry. Please call me Albus.”
Harry grinned. “I’ll try. It just seems kind of strange. Anyway, I’m here to ask you about a wizard named Gunther Pokeby. Do you have any recollection of him? We believe he was obsessed with flying or possibly Veela and similar flying creatures.”
Dumbledore’s brow wrinkled. “Pokeby,” he repeated.
“Slytherin.”
“Ah, yes. They called him Gunnypoke. He was a small, furtive child. Obsessed with birds, as was his entire family, actually. His grandfather was famous for identifying several species. I believe there is even a Chocolate Frog Card in his likeness.”
Harry did not remember ever seeing that, but he had not been interested in collecting Chocolate Frog cards for quite some time. “I think he eventually graduated beyond birds,” Harry admitted and then began the tale of Gunther Pokeby’s experiments.
Dumbledore nodded sadly. “Ah yes, a tragic affair. I do remember now. Poor Gunther was sent to Azkaban. He was quite mad, it seems.”
“Yes, well someone seems to have recreated his experiments. Effectively.”
“What do you mean?”
Harry glanced at the other Headmaster portraits, some of whom listened attentively. “Um… does your painting come free of the wall?”
“Indeed.”
Harry reached up and hoisted down the heavy portrait frame before carrying it down the stairs and into the hall. This is great, he thought, someone will think I’m stealing Dumbledore’s portrait. “Is the Room of Requirement repaired?”
“Yes.”
Harry carried the picture to the seventh floor and walked back and forth the requisite number of times, trying not to remember his last foray into the room. Unwillingly, he remembered Malfoy pressed against his back and the arms that nearly crushed out his breath. He shook off the memory and opened the door to a plain room that contained a large desk to prop the painting upon.
“Okay, it’s private here. I made a promise that no word of this would get out. He would kill me and I don’t mean that figuratively. I mean gruesomely and with relish.”
“I hope you mean the relish figuratively.”
Harry blinked. “Erm… yes.” Before Dumbledore could wander off on a verbal tangent, Harry explained Draco’s condition. He thought he even managed to do so without blushing, mainly by describing the wings in a clinical manner and not allowing himself to think about how soft and enticing he found them.
“How dreadful. Poor Gunther. He was a studious child, almost more Ravenclaw than Slytherin. Surprisingly skilled in Potions, now that I recall it.”
“Did he have any other relatives that might have followed in his footsteps? Someone that might have wanted revenge, perhaps? I find it strange that Malfoy was specifically targeted. Did Pokeby have any interaction with the Malfoys?” Once the question occurred to him, Harry made a mental note to ask Malfoy about it. Perhaps Draco could talk to Narcissa and see if she recalled any family tales or feuds related to the Pokeby family.
“Not that I recall, but sometimes student interactions are unknown to the teachers. You might verify the records to see which Malfoys were in attendance at the time, and perhaps the Blacks, as well. It is not impossible that the ultimate target was Narcissa, with someone seeking to hurt her through her son.”
Shit. The threads of possibility were growing instead of shrinking. Discovery of the Pokeby name had produced more questions and answered none.
“All right. Thank you, sir,” Harry said politely.
“You are quite welcome, Harry. How are your young friends?”
“You mean Hermioine and… Ron?”
“Of course.”
“Hermione is fine. Great, actually. Ron… well, not so much.”
Dumbledore tsked. “I am sorry to hear that. His accident is known to me and I had hoped his healing would begin by now. Some people never find acceptance within themselves after adversity.” His voice was sad and Harry thought he was not completely referring to Ron.
“Hermione thinks he’s being a prat.”
Dumbledore chuckled. “I see Miss Granger has not lost her propensity for speaking her mind.”
Harry grinned. “No. Not at all. In fact, she is helping me with the Malfoy case. I hope they don’t kill each other. Or that Malfoy doesn’t kill her, at any rate.”
“Have no fear, Harry. I believe you greatly underestimate Draco Malfoy.”
Harry made a face. If anything, he had been guilty of overestimating Draco Malfoy recently. The blond’s sneering commentary had been a much-needed dose of reality. Harry might find him stunningly attractive now, but that did not make him any less of a tosser.
“Now that I think on it, I believe Gunther Pokeby spent some time in Egypt after he left Hogwarts. He was a particular friend of Madam Pince. You might ask her for more information.”
Harry’s brows rose. “Madam Pince?” It was hard to imagine the sourpuss librarian even speaking civilly to another human being, much less having something as mundane as a friend.
He returned Dumbledore’s portrait to McGonagall’s office and made his way to the library. The familiar hush greeted him and several Hogwarts students stared at him in astonishment. The resulting stage whisper cascaded through the room and drew the immediately glare of Madam Pince. The murmur died as quickly as it began. Harry quelled his instinctive rush of nervousness and reminded himself that he was an Auror now. He had defeated Voldemort, for pity’s sake. He refused to be intimidated by a bloody librarian.
Harry screwed up his courage and smiled winningly as he approached her desk. Her suspicious glare could have melted metal. “Good morning, Madam Pince. How nice to see you, again.”
“Mr. Potter. You do realize you are disturbing the studies of the students.” It was not a question.
“I’m terribly sorry, but I’m here on official business. I have some questions about Gunther Pokeby.”
She drew in a breath and her features softened into something surprisingly normal, drawn forth by her evident surprise. “Gunther?” she repeated quietly.
Harry nodded encouragingly.
The iron mask slid back over her face. “Gunther Pokeby is dead. I have no wish to speak of him.”
“It’s very important.” His voice brooked no refusal. He had learned that much from his stint as an Auror, at least. She tried to hold his gaze and failed.
“This evening,” she said quietly. “I will meet you in my office after the dinner hour.”
“All right,” Harry replied and wondered what the hell he was going to do in the interim hours. “Thank you.”
He left the library and wandered the familiar old halls, calling up memories and wondering when the place had grown so small.
Draco sighed in frustration and rubbed a hand over his temple. They had taken the copied notes and moved to an unused room on the second floor in order to have more room for sorting. At Granger’s suggestion they had tacked each journal page to the wall with a Sticking Charm. The pale mauve walls now had a bizarre white border marred with black scribbles.
“All right. I think we’ve isolated the five most common symbols,” Granger said. Draco was impressed with her fortitude. She had barely paused since her arrival and Draco wondered how Potter ever managed to keep up with her. He was exhausted and thirsty. They had stopped for a plate of sandwiches and biscuits at noon, but it was now approaching dinner time and she showed no sign of wanting a break. “These should represent A, E, S, R and possibly T.”
“Unless he translated his notes from French or German or some other language.”
Granger scowled. “Damn. I’d better have Harry check and see if Pokeby spoke any other languages.” She gnawed her lip for a moment. “I think I’ll send him a Patronus in order to catch him before he leaves Hogwarts. Do you have anything you want to say to him?”
“Yes. Ask him why he’s such an idiot.”
Her lips thinned, but she muttered the spell and cast. A silvery shape streaked from her wand and out the door.
“A weasel?” Draco asked and smirked.
Her brown eyes flashed. “An otter.”
Draco nodded. “A water weasel.”
“I’m thinking about yanking on your wings.”
Draco sidled away. He definitely did not want to be privy to any Granger-induced visions. And he thought she might be serious about the wing-pulling.
“So, to get back to these symbols here…”
Luckily, his attempt to distract her worked. She leaped on the subject like a starved dog on fresh meat, intent on worrying it into submission. Draco let her words wash over him and wondered how Potter fared at Hogwarts.
Harry wandered outside and cast a Warming Charm to keep from freezing as he walked toward the greenhouses. Snow covered the statues and bushes, making everything looked soft-edged and blurry. Harry thought about looking up Neville, who now taught Herbology. It was his first year without Professor Sprout coaching him and he was guaranteed to be a bit flustered. Harry was not sure he wanted to sit through a dissertation about Neville’s teaching woes and an accounting of his most difficult students.
Instead, Harry diverted his course and walked through the snow to the ice-edged lake, waving at the few students out in the weather who dared to greet him. Most of the friendly ones were Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors, not surprisingly, and one brave group of yellow and black clad students even stopped him to ask for an autograph.
Harry escaped the random students and found a quiet space in the rocks that was sheltered from haphazard gusts of wind. It was cold enough that the Warming Charm needed renewing every few minutes. The lake looked still and somehow pristine. He wondered how the merpeople survived below the surface when the lake was near-frozen. He grimaced at the memory of the lake during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He did not care enough to ever go beneath the waves and ask.
Thinking of merpeople turned his thoughts to Malfoy. According to Hermione, Malfoy was now a throwback to some ancient people. His brow wrinkled as he speculated. How ancient were the merpeople? Would they remember as far back as the Anakim? Did they keep records? It was a strange thought and he vowed to ask Dumbledore before he left the castle.
Harry pushed away from the stones and stood only to suck in a cold breath when Hermione’s Patronus burst into shape before him. The otter cavorted around him as it spoke. Harry, please find out whether or not Pokeby spoke any foreign languages We are focusing on deciphering this into English and do not want any unpleasant surprises, such as discovering his native language to be German or French. Also, Malfoy says hi.
Harry snorted a laugh at the last portion. “I’ll bet.” The Patronus dissipated and Harry continued his trek back through the snow. He had time, so he took the stairs to McGonagall’s office and asked Hermione’s question of Dumbledore. Fruitlessly, as it turned out. Dumbledore had no recollection at all of whether or not Gunther Pokeby spoke any languages other than English and also knew nothing of possible merpeople records. Harry was beginning to think his visit to Hogwarts was a massive waste of time.
He ate in the Great Hall at the teacher’s table and was paraded out like a show pony by McGonagall, which made him give her a subtle look of annoyance and mentally cross her off his Christmas card list. He smiled and waved at the cheering students and cast an eye to the Slytherin table where the green-clad students politely clapped with glacial stiffness. The sight made Harry’s grin broaden to genuine proportion. At least some things never changed. The table likely housed a number of persons Harry would have to track down and arrest in the future. Not that all bad apples were Slytherin. The prior month Harry had hauled in a serial arsonist that had gone through school in Hufflepuff house.
After dinner Harry made his way back to the library. Madam Pince’s office was adjacent to the library with a connecting door. He wondered if her sleeping quarters were nearby and was somewhat surprised that she did not sleep in the library itself. He frowned at the uncharitable thought as he recalled Gunther Pokeby. Apparently there was far more to Madam Pince’s life than sorting books.
He knocked politely and the door swung open. Madam Pince looked different and it took him a moment to realize he had never seen her without her pointed witch’s hat. Her hair was mostly brown, but heavily streaked with grey. Without the shadow cast by the hat’s brim, her face seemed more clearly lined with age. She looked tired and worn, like a dog-eared book.
“Come in, Mr. Potter. I confess to hoping you would depart rather than force me to dredge up ancient history, but I see it is not to be. Can I offer you a cup of tea?”
Harry nodded, knowing the familiar act of preparing tea generally had a calming effect on people. She bustled about with a kettle and Harry seated himself on one of a pair of comfortable moss-coloured chairs.
“Why Gunther?” she asked. “Why now?”
“He conducted some rather unusual experiments after he left Hogwarts,” Harry said carefully, uncertain whether or not she would take offense at any slight against Pokeby. “Something similar has cropped up, with dire consequences. We are looking into his notes to try to determine why. And hopefully to discover who.”
She returned to Harry and held out a cup of tea for him to take. Her lips were set in a grim line. “Something similar?”
“How much do you know about Gunther’s interests?” Harry held the delicate porcelain carefully and wondered why women seemed to prefer tableware that could be destroyed with an accidental clenching of fingers.
She shrugged and sat in the matching chair clutching her teacup without drinking. Harry’s training prevented him from drinking at all, although he could maintain an adequate pretence of doing so. The Hogwart’s librarian most likely had no reason to poison him, but Harry had survived this long as an Auror by taking few chances.
“I know why he was sent to Azkaban.” She sighed. “He was obsessed. His whole family was obsessed, actually, but I had no idea how badly. It seemed a harmless notion when Gunther was young. It was in his blood, after all. He… fancied me once. I had great hopes for him, and for us, until he went to Egypt. I believe that was when everything changed.”
Harry gave no sign of excitement, although his pulse leaped at the mention of Egypt. “What happened?”
Her gaze seemed far away. “It was flying. Always flying. Not on a broom, though. No, that was not good enough for the Pokeby family. They believed man should fly with wings like a bird. ‘Think of it,’ Gunther used to tell me, ‘To be able to fly without the aid of a manmade object!’ I laughed at him, once. He refused to speak to me for nearly a month, until I purchased him a book to beg his forgiveness. It was a Muggle book, of all things, but it was about an inventor who also thought men should fly. Of course, the Muggle was intelligent enough to be satisfied with manmade designs. He did not try to magically alter human beings!” Her voice cracked and she quickly took a sip of tea. Harry noticed her hands shaking.
“I’m sorry,” he said lamely, although he was not certain why he apologized. For dredging up the past, certainly, but he was also sorry that Pokeby’s odd obsession had created repercussions that reached beyond his death, and still brought pain to a woman who had possibly once loved him.
Madam Pince gave him a look reminiscent of a hundred expressions she had bestowed on him in the library on numerous occasions. “It is not your fault, Mr. Potter. Gunther was not himself. Sometimes I wonder if he was ever himself, or if he simply followed the pattern handed down from father to son. Some people never shake the shadow of their parents.” The statement reminded Harry sharply of Draco, living in the dubious shadow of Lucius Malfoy. Would he ever shake the grasping, egocentric, arrogant sense of superiority and entitlement granted him by Lucius? Did he even want to? Madam Pince went on and Harry tore his thoughts away from the Malfoy family.
“When he left Hogwarts he did some travelling. He was not ready to settle down, so he toured Europe with some of his friends. Everything was fine until they went to Egypt. Gunther found something there that made his obsession a thousand times worse. When he returned, he spent all of his time on research; he had none left for me.”
“What was he researching?”
Her eyes pierced him. “I think you know. He was sent to Azkaban for it.”
“Anakim.”
She nodded. “Yes. He had found some sort of proof that Anakim had existed. He thought he could bring them back.”
“Someone seems to have taken up the gauntlet of his research, recently. Do you know what materials Gunther used to attempt his potion? We are trying to locate anything that might have fallen into the wrong hands.”
“Is it that serious?” she asked. “I mean, his theories never panned out. All his potions ever did was—”
“Kill people. Yes.”
She winced and her voice was barely audible. “Has someone been killed?”
“No, but it was a near thing. I don’t want it to happen, again.” Thinking about it made Harry realize how close Malfoy had come to dying and he felt a shard of something uncomfortably close to horror. It was a sobering thought—he was actually beginning to care about the git. And caring had very little to do with lust.
Madam Pince broke his reverie. “I don’t know what he used for guidelines. The Ministry seized all of Gunther’s belongings, did they not? I do have a couple of books about the Anakim, although I’m not sure how much use they will be. The stories are nothing but legends translated from Ancient Runic.”
She gestured to a stack of books on the tea table; apparently she had anticipated Harry’s line of questioning before his arrival. He set aside his untasted cup of tea and picked up the books. He only glanced at the titles before hefting the small stack and standing up.
“Thank you for your help. I know this must be difficult for you.”
She scowled. “It was a long time ago, Mr. Potter. Just take care to bring the books back within three weeks or you will, of course, be charged a fine.”
He blinked at her for a moment and her lips curled in a strange-looking grin. It took him a moment to realize it was odd merely because he had never seen the expression on her face, before. It was a smile.
“I am only joking, Mr. Potter. Keep them as long as necessary.”
He forced a chuckle. Librarian humour. Lovely. “Thank you again. I’ll bring them back. Oh, and one more thing. Do you know if Gunther spoke any foreign languages?”
She cocked a brow at him. “Not that I know of, Mr. Potter.”
Harry nodded and moved toward the door, where he paused to look back. Madam Pince sipped her tea and stared out the window. Her gaze was far away.
Draco miraculously convinced Granger to call it a day by allowing her to take a large stack of pages home for perusal. She flitted around the room, double and triple checking the pile she had accumulated and muttering to herself. It became clear how Potter and the Weasel had managed to make it through Hogwarts with decent grades. The woman was a dynamo. Draco was exhausted. Of course, much of that might have been due to spending an uncomfortable night sleeping in a chair while cradling the Saviour of the Wizarding World in his lap.
Draco frowned, but before he could pursue that memory a silvery beast sprang through the window and charged at Granger, nearly startling Draco into flight. The dynamic wonder took it in stride, however, and waited as the stag halted and spoke with Potter’s voice.
Hi, Hermione. Apparently Gunther spoke no other languages, although I will keep asking to verify that for certain. It’s probably safe to assume that his notes can convert back to the Queen’s English and not French or Swedish, or something. There was a momentary pause and then the message continued. If you’re still with Malfoy, tell him I apologize. I’ll check in later.
The Patronus dissipated and Draco blinked at Granger in astonishment to find her expression mirroring his. He folded his wings back into place and contemplated the message.
“Harry apologized?” Granger said in a disbelieving tone. “He apologized to you? Where is my date book? I need to mark this down as an historical event. You should do the same, Malfoy. I’m not sure it will ever happen again.”
Draco glared at her. “Don’t sound so impressed. The bastard is trying to manipulate me. He does quite well at impersonating a Slytherin, at times.”
“Manipulate?”
“Naturally. I am the one who should have apologized. I made some… less than flattering remarks about Weasley’s sister. I may have been out of line.” He waved a hand at her knowing smile. “Regardless, by apologizing first, Potter is proving himself to be the better man. Again.” It was maddening, really.
“You know, you might try focussing on the root of the issue rather than concentrating on this silly, juvenile competition with Harry.”
“The root of the issue. And what might that be?” Draco demanded as he revised his opinion in reverse. Granger was still an insufferable know-it-all.
“You should ask yourself if you really are sorry for what you said to Harry. You obviously said something that upset him. The question is, does it bother you, and do you feel you should apologize? For once stop thinking of Harry as a rival and start thinking of him as a person. You might be surprised what you find.”
He glared at her, unwilling to give credence to her words. “Are you always so damned cryptic?”
She laughed. “Heavens, no! Normally I’m dreadfully blunt. But I don’t think you’re quite ready for that.”
Draco had to agree. She collected her stack of research materials.
“All right, then. I will see you tomorrow. Send me an owl when you can bear to be tormented by my presence.” She granted him a cheeky grin, waved her wand, and Disapparated. When she had gone, he pondered Potter’s words.
I’ll check in later. Check in with Granger… or with him? Most likely the Auror had meant Granger. Draco refused to acknowledge the foolish sliver of hope that Potter had meant otherwise.
Ignoring further thoughts of the irritating man, Draco went to bed.