Part II
For Disclaimers and author's notes, see Part I.
Over the next few days, their nightly chats grew longer and longer. Harry took to waking up just long enough to pay off the owl who brought his Daily Prophet, and then going back to sleep for hours. Aunt Petunia seemed thrilled with this new arrangement; it meant that Harry was underfoot for a smaller percentage of her day. Harry knew she'd be less than pleased if she knew that he had been making any phone calls from their house, even if it wouldn't cost them anything. The phone calls brought him a sense of pleasure and he looked forward to them all day long. His happiness was something that his Aunt Petunia was categorically opposed to, but for now she was blissfully ignorant.
Dudley, however, seemed insulted that Harry wasn't constantly handy for an in-house punching bag (if he had dared to try it). Dudley'd had a tiff with Ludmilla and his mood oscillated between sulky silence and blind fury at the least provocation. Harry coped by staying out of his way. He completed more homework and read a bit of a novel Hermione had sent him via Hedwig after their first conversation: The Lord of the Rings by a man named Tolkein. Parts of it were interesting, but other bits he found most useful for inducing sleep when he was still wide awake after talking to Hermione.
One afternoon the phone rang while Aunt Petunia was out to tea with her friend, Yvonne. Harry was surprised that Dudley failed to pounce on it immediately, but he eventually answered it himself. A saccharine voice trilled, "Is dearest Dudley there, please?"
Avoiding retching by the narrowest of margins, Harry managed to reply, "I'll get him for you. Just a minute." He rushed upstairs with the cordless phone and was sure that Dudley would be eager to hear from his lady-love. However, Harry pulled up short just before knocking as he heard odd noises emanating from Dudley's room - a series of muffled squeaks, grunts, and even a groan. Harry wondered momentarily whether Dudley had found a mouse or one of Mrs. Figg's cats to torture, but then he heard what sounded like a feminine moan. Blushing furiously, Harry retreated to his room and made feeble excuses to Ludmilla, "I'm sorry, Dudley seems to be indisposed at the moment. Can I take a message?"
The voice at the other end turned immediately frosty, "Indisposed? What do you mean? I'll show him indisposed…"
"Really, I'm sure he's sorry and he'll call you back. He is… in the shower," Harry covered desperately.
"Oh. Well, see that he calls me soon," she replied huffily and hung up without so much as a goodbye.
Harry squeezed his eyes tightly shut, wishing he could block out the mental images that were deluging him. How could any girl want to get close enough to make those kind of noises with his repulsive cousin? Harry opened his eyes and stared out the window, little dreaming that he'd find the answer to his internal query. However, the answer was obvious; the door to number four banged shut and a young woman in a much-too-tight red skirt hurried away, adjusting her flimsy charcoal blouse as she did so.
Even from this distance Harry recognized the bleach blonde as Jessamyn Norman, the neighborhood tart. She was several years older than Dudley and Harry - old enough to be finished with school - but she still lived with her father a few blocks away. Mr. Norman refused to believe the awful rumours that spread about his little "Jessy," but all the women in the neighborhood buzzed about her incessantly. Harry knew that Aunt Petunia thought her little better than the persistent soap scum ring after one of Dudley's long bubble baths.
Meanwhile Harry heard the shower running, and decided he would pass along Ludmilla's message once Dudley reemerged. He silently thanked his cousin for reducing his lie. Dudley took the news calmly, seemingly without any sort of remorse. Harry sought the shelter of his room, privately sickened by his cousin's lewdness.
Harry was longing to tell Hermione about his disturbing afternoon, but she was aflutter with news of her own when he first got on the line. Apparently her mum had been in a rotten mood all day because their receptionist had eloped and her temporary replacement was vastly incompetent - Dr. Granger wondered loudly whether the woman had ever seen a phone before, as she seemed afraid of it when it rang.
"You'll never guess who's filling in, Harry."
"Who?" he asked immediately, not even caring to venture a guess.
"Hestia Jones! I suppose the Order wanted to make sure they had some protection and they couldn't find another Muggle-born witch, but I'm afraid Mum'll fire her before Penny and Oliver get back."
"Oliver!?! What are you talking about? I thought Penelope was dating Percy," Harry exclaimed, bewilderedly.
Hermione laughed, "You are behind the times, aren't you? No, Penelope broke up with Percy when he took the job in Fudge's office. She even went to Mrs. Weasley and told her she supported them, not Percy in that whole mess. That's how she ended up working for Mum and Dad."
"Okay," Harry answered, "But that still doesn't tell me how she's ended up eloping."
"Well, apparently Oliver's flat is close to my parents' practice, so they ran into one another one evening and started to go out anytime he wasn't on tour with the team."
"Wait, do you mean Oliver Wood?" Harry cried.
"Of course, silly. Do you know any other Olivers?" Hermione giggled, "Anyway, I guess Puddlemere United had a week-long break in their schedule, so Penelope and Oliver decided to go ahead and elope secretly."
"But she… I mean… I guess… I just never would have pictured the two of them together," stumbled Harry, still trying to take it all in.
"Honestly, I think any girl would choose a handsome Quidditch star over a great red-headed prat if she had the chance, no matter how sensible she seemed to be," Hermione teased. "But that certainly can't be the oddest match-up you've ever heard of."
"I guess not," Harry admitted, thinking back to that afternoon. He related the incident between Dudley and Jessamyn to Hermione.
She was similarly disgusted. "He doesn't deserve to have a girlfriend, not even a horrible one like this 'Lewd-milla' person."
Harry laughed in agreement, and this led to him relating stories of growing up with Dudley. Hermione was appalled at the way Harry's own cousin had treated him, but Harry found that re-living the horrors for Hermione was much more calming than being forced to recall them in Snape's presence had been. Some of the events even seemed comical when he recounted them, much to his surprise.
Once the conversation reached a lull, Harry sensed that Hermione was thinking about Sirius again. However, to his relief she did not broach the subject again, but instead launched into another batch of Hogwarts gossip, interspersed with tidbits from Ginny's letters.
"Ginny says Bill is still teaching Fleur English… and she's teaching him all sorts of French things in return," Hermione leered.
Harry colored, trying not to picture his friend's cool brother and the disdainfully beautiful French girl grunting and groaning like Dudley and Jessamyn. He tried to deflect the subject, "You mean like how to make bread and that pancake dessert and stuff?"
Hermione laughed, "Something like that. Ginny doesn't like Fleur all that much, I don't think. Bill always spoiled her rotten, but he hasn't had as much time for her recently. Ron's probably jealous too."
"Nah, I doubt it," Harry replied. "Fleur caused him enough grief that I don't think he's recovered enough to think about her that way again."
"True. Parvati and Lavender would have plenty to say if they found out Bill was dating someone his brother used to have a crush on. Of course, Lavender and Parvati always have a lot to say about everything," she added scathingly.
"Like what?" Harry asked. He was ashamed to say that he was finding gossip more and more intriguing.
"Well, speculating about teacher relationships is one of their favorite hobbies," Hermione began. "They like to think that Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall are having a wildly passionate, torrid love affair behind our backs. They talk about it constantly and I think they've actually talked themselves into believing it. They imagine late night trysts on the Quidditch pitch and in the Potions storeroom."
Harry was aghast. Somehow passionate seemed incongruous with his generally stern Transfiguration professor, especially when combined with his greasy Potions instructor. "Wha… what?" was all he managed to respond.
"I know. It's ludicrous! They obviously respect each other as colleagues, but there's no way they'd ever get along romantically with the severity of their house rivalry," Hermione rejoined. "I'd never tell them this because they'd guffaw, but I think it's perfectly obvious that if Professor McGonagall is having a secret relationship with anyone at the school it's Professor Dumbledore."
At this Harry was even more shocked. Professor Dumbledore was a wise bastion of knowledge and understanding. An institution. The spirit of Hogwarts itself. He simply couldn't picture the kindly professor in a romantic relationship. "Um, why?"
"It's obvious, Harry. He's the only one in the school who calls her 'Minerva,' they both have a common interest in Transfiguration, and she puts her life on the line for the Order of the Phoenix even though she's terrified of Voldemort. It's obvious to see how much they respect each other and value each other's opinions. I wouldn't vouch for them being in a relationship, but I think it's perfectly plausible and even natural. They could even be married and conceal it to keep students from gossiping."
Harry shook his head, "If you say so, Hermione, but their attempts to avoid students gossiping don't seem to have worked."
Hermione sniffed, apparently put out at his lack of enthusiasm for her theory. "It could be much worse, you know. Lavender and Parvati are forever coming up with the wildest teacher match-ups you could think of. Madame Pince and Mr. Filch. Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra. Madame Hooch and Professor Grubbly-Plank."
Harry's head was swimming with the web of supposed links and disturbing mental images, when Hermione added something that made him sit up and take notice. "I do have it on good authority that one of our former professors has actually found a relationship, though. You know that Tonks inherited number twelve, Grimmauld Place, right?" Harry shrugged, and Hermione plunged ahead, "Well Ginny says that Professor Lupin kept the room he'd been using before she moved in and they're apparently getting quite friendly these days. I think it's wonderful, actually. He deserves some happiness."
Harry had never thought about Professor Lupin that way (since he'd never before considered teachers' relationships) but he supposed Hermione had a point. Remus Lupin must have led an awfully solitary existence since his Hogwarts years and Harry was glad to hear that he'd found some measure of happiness. "That's true, I guess. I'm… I'm glad for them."
Hermione chattered away in a similar vein until Harry heard a tapping on his window. He looked up to see that the sky had become streaked through with dawn's first rays and that the Daily Prophet delivery owl was already there.
"Um, Hermione? It's really late and the paper's here. I'd better ring off and pay for it."
Hermione's reply sounded slightly embarrassed, "Sure, Harry. Call me tonight, all right?"
"Of course. Talk to you then." Harry hung up the phone and paid the owl as usual. He stuck the newspaper on the bottom shelf of his nightstand and tiptoed downstairs to put the phone away. He turned around after placing the phone it its cradle to see the washroom door blocked by his cousin's mammoth frame.
"Been talking to your girlfriend again, Potter? Just wait 'til I tell Mum. You'll be grounded until it's time for you to go back to that freak school of yours," sneered Dudley in obvious delight. "She's already irritated that you've been sleeping in so late in the morning."
Harry scrambled for a reply, "I'll stop sleeping in - I'll get up early and scrub the bathrooms tomorrow. Besides, it's not long distance; Aunt Petunia wouldn't mind." Part of his brain was stuck on being annoyed at Dudley for interfering, and another part wondered why everyone always assumed that Hermione was his girlfriend.
Dudley's face showed plainly the inadequacy of that excuse, so Harry decided to pull a play out of the twins' book. With a sigh, he continued, "All right, Dudley. Tell on me if you must, but if I ever answer the phone when your darling Ludmilla calls again I'll tell her what you were getting up to yesterday afternoon."
Dudley's smug grin morphed into horror. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me," Harry warned. "And I don't suppose Aunt Petunia would be very happy to hear that you'd let that woman into her house, either."
Dudley's face grew paler. "Fine then. You keep your trap closed and I will too. Just… don't try any funny business."
"There's nothing funny about me, Dudders," replied Harry calmly. "Oh and you might want to wash your sheets before your Mum tries to change your bed. It sounded like they got quite a workout."
Dudley scowled, turned on his chubby ankles, and slumped back to his own room. Privately, Harry prayed that Dudley would hold up his end of the deal. Harry's calls might be in keeping with the instructions the Dursleys had received from the Order members at King's Cross and they might not be costing them a cent, but Harry still knew that his aunt would find a way to stop anything that brought happiness to Harry's weary days. He set his alarm for 8:00 and hoped that some early morning cleaning would help placate his aunt.
Harry was on quills and wand tips throughout the next day, worrying that Dudley wouldn't keep up his end of the bargain. He kept his own resolution to be helpful around the house even though he was exhausted. He retreated to his room directly after dinner for a quick nap before his nightly conversation. Since he hadn't been summoned to the kitchen for a good screaming-at before Aunt Petunia went to bed, he took that as a sign that his cousin was trustworthy after all.
He discussed his fears with Hermione that night, "Dudley found out about our talks. I'm afraid he'll tell my aunt and then…."
"She'd prevent us from talking?" Hermione asked confusedly
"Yeah, because these calls make me happy; and we can't have that sort of thing, if you know what I mean."
"Yes, I suppose," sighed Hermione. "I don't understand how anyone could get their jollies out of making you miserable, though. I mean, with Voldemort you can sort of understand because he's evil, but your aunt just sounds sadistic."
Harry laughed mirthlessly, "Sort of like a former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we could mention?"
"Yes, exactly like that," Hermione replied, showing the warning signs of gathering fervor. "She was so fond of power that she couldn't bear to be contradicted or open her eyes to the possibility that there might be a bigger destabilizing threat out there than a couple of mouthy teenagers." Harry grinned, as that was a pretty apt description of his behavior in Umbridge's class. Hermione's too, for that matter. "And it's like the wizarding community is with house-elves, too. We've got to exert our power over them so we keep them dressed in rags and call them servants when they're really nothing more than slaves and…"
Hermione's recitation of the S.P.E.W. manifesto was very familiar after the past two years. Harry thought back to her tireless but apparently wasted efforts to knit the Hogwarts elves' way to freedom. He wondered if he should finally come clean and tell her the truth about what happened to all of those hats and socks.
"Just look at Dobby! He risked his life to save you and he never would have been able to resist a direct order from a member of the Hogwarts staff if he hadn't been a freed elf," Hermione finished with a flourish.
"Er, right," Harry said since he felt he had to say something. Then, casting his lot in, he went ahead, "Do you remember what he was wearing the night he came to warn us, Hermione?"
"Not really, I wasn't very close to him at the time," she answered, sounding puzzled.
"Well, he was wearing about eight of your hats and at least three pairs of socks," Harry answered reluctantly. "I think he really likes them," he added, trying to soften the blow.
"But why would he have taken them? Surely he would want the other elves to become free like he is?" Hermione asked, sounding hurt.
"Y'see, the thing is… Dobby says the other elves don't want to be free. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would free them if they wanted it, but they don't for some reason. Just look at Winky."
Hermione sounded close to tears, "But they're slaves! They should want to be free!"
"Maybe they've been slaves for so many generations, that they have no idea what freedom would mean. And, y'know, the unknown is scary" Harry suggested.
"You're absolutely right, Harry," said Hermione cheering up. "I should have realized - it's just like Plato's Allegory of the Cave."
"Come again?" Harry said, wondering what obscure Astronomy lesson she was talking referring to. He now knew Pluto's moon didn't have mice on it, but he couldn't remember anything about a cave on it either.
"Plato made this argument that if people were held prisoner in a cave and couldn't turn their heads, they wouldn't understand the difference between shadows on the walls and the objects that cast them. Later when they would get released into bright sunlight, they would see how skewed their sense of reality was," Hermione explained patiently.
"And that relates to house-elves, how?" Harry asked perplexed. He still didn't know who Plato was, but he suspected that he didn't have much to do with Astronomy.
"They just need to learn what freedom offers them! Maybe I should spend some more time talking to them in the kitchens next year about freedom and oppression and self-determination. I can save the clothes for after they've decided they want freedom."
"Yeah, maybe that would help," Harry said, trying to sound encouraging. "Freedom can be a pretty scary thing when you've never experienced it. I guess the familiarity of a planned existence can be pretty appealing."
"You don't enjoy it though, do you?" Hermione asked quietly.
"No," Harry had to admit that he much preferred his life in the magical world, dangerous though it was, to his monotonous existence on Privet Drive. "Maybe you should try to talk to Professor Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall about it. Or maybe Professor Binns could tell you more about the history of house-elf/wizard relations."
"Yeah, maybe," Hermione replied in a still-small voice. "Why did Dobby keep taking my hats, though? And if you've known this so long, why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Dobby took them because he was the only elf that was willing to go to Gryffindor Tower. The other elves refused to go there because they were offended that you were trying to trick them into freedom. I'm really sorry I didn't tell you earlier," Harry replied sincerely, "I might have saved you some yarn and some knitting time. My only excuse is that I didn't want to hurt your feelings like I just have. As for Dobby, he really did like the hats, and I know he shared them with Winky too," Harry added, hoping that the reference to their other freed house-elf acquaintance would help pacify Hermione.
Hermione sighed loudly, "You're forgiven. I suppose I should have noticed that no one ever said anything about newly freed elves. To be honest, I wondered at first whether or not I even had the authority to free the elves. I mean, I'm a student after all and Professor Dumbledore's the one who hires them. But when the hats and stuff kept disappearing, I figured it was working. Do you think that I was being stupid?" she asked with a sniff.
"You? Stupid? Of course not! No, you were just hopeful and enthusiastic," he answered, racking his brain for a way to cheer her up. "Um, have you heard anything about the twins recently?"
His gambit worked. "Oooh, yes!" Hermione exclaimed. "Tonks finally came by for tea today. She wanted to know how you were, of course, but she also told me about the twins and Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes…" Soon Hermione was regaling him with stories of failed experiments and their new Daily Prophet ad, which featured a scratch-and-sniff panel that exuded essence of George's feet. Harry picked up his copy of the paper, which had lain untouched since the owl brought it the previous morning and began to flip through for the advertisement. Before he got there he found an article about a bombing of a Muggle bookstore which had strong Death Eater ties. He didn't want to upset Hermione further so he didn't mention it, but before they said goodnight he reminded her how important it was to follow Moody's safety precautions.
After he hung up the phone, he returned to the Prophet article. Apparently the bookstore that had been bombed specialized in fantasy and witchcraft books. The reporter traced the suspects' ties to known Death Eaters and speculated that the objected to having Muggles know anything about magic - however ill-informed and inaccurate the fictional portrayals might be.