Brian Hendrickson Normal Brian Hendrickson 7 2921 2002-11-07T03:43:00Z 2003-09-07T18:37:00Z 10 5929 33797 281 67 41505 9.3821
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to Haggridd for his most excellent Beta skills and steadfast moral support.
CHILD'S PLAY
Chapter Five
"Not heeding her plea, he overpowered her;
He shamed her, and had relations with her."
-2 Samuel 13:14
********
"I come to the garden alone,
while the dew is still on the roses,"
He was looking at her again. Always before it had simply been an annoyance. Now it was all she could do to keep from running out of the room in a blind panic.
"And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses."
She tried to concentrate on the words to the hymn she was singing, the cut of the pastor's suit, the wood grain of the pews; Anything to take her mind off those eyes.
"I'd stay in the garden with Him
Though the night around me be falling,"
Marcia Herringbone's life had not been particularly glamorous or exciting, but it had certainly been happy enough. She had a loving family; good friends and she had always made decent grades in school. Yet always there, just at the edges of her life, he had been there, haunting her like a ghost.
"But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling."
In her fifth year at St. Bridget's Public School, Marcia had met Stanley Simons, a nice young man from Croydon who dreamed of one day becoming a solicitor. He had told her she was pretty. She had laughed at all his jokes. He had taken her to the pictures. By her seventh year, she had more or less decided that they would marry.
It was about this time when the dreams began. At first she would simply wake up with a start, her body covered in perspiration and her heart beating wildly-yet she could never quite remember what the dream was about. It was like reaching for an object on a high shelf. Touching it with her fingertips, but unable to grasp it.
"And He walks with me…"
Now, as she looked into those eyes, something was happening. She was beginning to remember.
"...and He talks with me,"
She had begun to recall images-fleeting impressions-a mysterious figure that would crawl into her bed-hands wandering over her-but her body paralyzed, unable to move or cry out-and a voice saying, "I love you."
""...and He tells me I am His own;"
"What's wrong," her beloved Stanley whispered. Marcia was too ashamed to meet his eyes. Fighting back the tears, she stood up and headed for the aisle.
"And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known."
Harry Potter watched the service from the control booth overlooking the studio as the BBC technicians taped it for broadcast on Sunday Morning. Always a bit of a techno-geek, Harry seemed to delight in the organized chaos that went into the making of any television program.
On the monitor for camera one, Reverend Lockhart launched into his sermon. He seemed particularly fired up this week.
"There is a dangerous misconception," he began, "perpetrated on the public by the so-called 'mainstream' preachers who take the phrase, 'Blessed are the meek' to mean that believers should be smiling, touchy-feely little drones, obsessed with 'peace' and 'loving thy neighbor'…"
Less interested in the technical details-or Lockhart's sermon, Hermione, Ron and Victoria sat at the back of the room and chatted quietly.
"You could actually talk to the baby?" Victoria gasped.
"It wasn't talking, exactly…we could each sort of sense what the other was thinking."
"Mum says that's pretty rare." Ron pointed out. "In all her years as a midwife, she's only heard of it happening a couple of times. Sounds like you two have got a pretty special kid on your hands."
"I can't wait for him to be born," Hermione sighed. "I just want so badly to hold him…" She smiled and put a hand to her abdomen. "I think he's embarrassed."
"Little boys never like for their mums to fuss over them." Victoria pointed out.
"It makes the other boys think you're a sissy," Ron agreed. "I just hope our kid won't be quite as chatty. Lord only knows what he'd be telling the neighbors!"
"Victoria! You two aren't-?"
"Not yet…" Victoria blushed. "Now that the show's beginning to pay off, we've decided to start trying."
"Ready or not, world," Ron said, "There could be another Weasley on the way."
"Heaven help us!" Victoria sighed as Hermione gave her a hug.
The assistant director turned around to shush them.
"That's odd," said the Director. "I wonder what's up?" Harry and the others moved to the control board to have a look. Camera three was following a pretty young girl as she scooted her way to the aisle and ran out of the studio in tears.
"Isn't that Marcia Herringbone?" asked Hermione.
"Must've had a fight with her boyfriend," Ron shrugged.
Harry was watching the monitor for camera one.
Lockhart shot a concerned look back at Draco Malfoy, who was sitting behind him.
"'Meek'," he continued, "does not mean 'weak'! Meekness, in biblical terms is that quality of grace under pressure; the ability to keep one's head as the battle rages about you. Our Lord doesn't want soldiers who are weak, soft or soggy, but rather strong in the Lord and the power of his might."
"Onward Christain soldiers…" Ron began singing as he beat on imaginary drum.
It was at this point that the A.D. got fed up and threw the lot of them out of the control booth.
*********
"Loo, loo, loo, I'll take you dreaming,
Through the rainy night,
To a place behind the raindrops,
Where the stars are bright.
Harry could hear Hermione's voice as he climbed the stairs of the old Victorian house they had christened "Potter Manor".
You may not find gold or silver,
But a richer prize,
Waits for you behind the raindrops,
If you close your eyes."
Harry peeked through the open door into the room that they had chosen as the baby's nursery. Many of the boxes still waited to be unpacked but the crib had been assembled and Harry had brought up the big old wooden rocking chair that Molly had given them. In spite of the pouring rain outside, the room seemed wonderfully warm and cozy. Hermione was rocking gently back and forth, as she sang softly to the their unborn son.
"Tonight, Tonight,
When all the world's asleep,
We will tiptoe home with a wondrous star,
A star you can always keep."
They had spotted the eccentric old house on the edge of Wilsdon Green while driving home from a birthday party where Harry was performing. Hermione had fallen in love immediately. For his part, Harry was perfectly content being newlyweds in their tiny "love nest" in Shepherd's Bush, but Hermione was certain that here they had found the perfect place to raise a family. After watching the way Hermione's eyes lit up, Harry needed no more convincing.
"And years from now when you go dreaming,
When you're very old,
Though your crown be rich with rubies,
Diamonds set in gold,
None will shine as bright
As the star we'll find tonight." [1]
"I don't think I've ever heard you sing before," Harry said gently as he walked in.
"I guess I've never had so much to sing about before."
Harry knelt down beside the rocking chair.
"Do you feel it too, Harry?"
"That we should have held out for a lower interest rate?" He shrugged. "Well, with 'twenty-twenty hindsight'-"
"No, silly!" She gave him a playful smack on the shoulder. "That we belong here…That this is home."
"I never really knew what those words meant before I met you." He told her. "My uncle's house was never a 'home' to me-and the first place I ever felt I 'belonged' was in your arms. This is a wonderful old house, but to me, 'home' will always be anywhere that the three of us can be together."
From the doorway came the sounds of someone loudly clearing their throat.
"I hate to interrupt this touching little scene," said Victoria Weasley dryly, "But the natives are getting restless downstairs."
"Fear not," Harry said as he got to his feet, "The food's already on the way."
**********
The Weasley/Lupin clan was sprawled about the Potter's sitting room in various states of exhaustion when Victoria, Harry and Hermione came downstairs. Boxes were still scattered about the room, but the, the stereo, the DVD player and the television had all been carefully unpacked, and fully installed under the strict supervision of Bill, Charlie and Ron, who had taken charge of the remote control.
'Ere!" said Remus Lupin as his eyes snapped open, "I was watchin' that!" Ginny snatched the remote from her older brother and changed the channel back to the news. Before long Remus had settled back in the big recliner he had claimed and was fast asleep again.
"Some people simply weren't cut out to be Muggles," Professor Dumbledore once observed, [2] "It's not an easy life, and few of them ever really get the hang of it." Such was the case with Remus Lupin. He was as friendly and caring as his Hogwarts counterpart, but there was a sadness about him-even more so than his lycanthropic opposite number. A dead-end job as a minor official with the Ministry Of Housing, the pressures of supporting a "Super-Sized" family and the usual day-to-day cares of the Muggle world had worn him down and made him old beyond his years-The same stresses that had already killed his good friend Arthur Weasley.
It was something of a surprise when Remus proposed to Arthur's widow. He never seemed all that interested in family life before. Several of his friends suspected that Arthur had made his friend promise to look after his family. Regardless of how it came about, Remus and Molly seemed happy enough and the children never felt he was trying to usurp their father's place in their affections. Even so, Hermione often suspected that the free spirited Remus might have found the werewolf's curse preferable to the life he lived in this reality.
Remus was still snoozing when the pizzas Harry had ordered finally arrived.
As they ate, the news reported on the inflammatory sermon that Reverend Lockhart had preached on his Sunday program.
"There is a cancer growing in this country today," Lockhart told his congregation, "And it is our duty to remove this disease before it consumes us all. We do not condone these attacks on innocent people accused of practicing witchcraft, but true believers must be prepared to take up arms against the enemies of the Lord and fight. Witchcraft and sorcery are the tools of the Devil and no good can ever come from their use!"
"Harry?" Victoria asked as they tucked into their meal, "Do you ever wonder about where your power really comes from? I mean, I've been hearing it all my life; The Bible says witchcraft and sorcery are evil." She, Ron, Harry and Molly were seated around the dining room table, while the others made themselves comfortable in the sitting room to watch the upcoming Manchester United game.
"I've seen evil, Victoria." Hermione said from the kitchen doorway. "I got to see up close and personal what Lord Voldemort did to those who dared to stand up to him." She sat down in Harry's lap. "Now, I don't know any more about the next life than anyone else, but I refuse to believe that all my friends back at Hogwarts who fought so bravely against that evil are burning in hell just because they chose to use magic."
"Here, here!" Molly said.
"Magic is a tool," insisted Hermione, "You can use a hammer to build a house or you can use it to bash someone's head in. It's how you use it that's either good or evil."
Ron hoisted his beer.
"I'll drink to that!"
"You'd drink to a hernia operation." Fred called from the sofa.
"Only if it was successful." Ron shot back.
The doorbell rang.
Reverend Gilderoy Lockhart made his entrance as if he were the featured act on "Top Of The Pops" and handed his raincoat to Ginny as if she were the maid. In spite of the pouring rain outside, his suit, as always, was immaculate.
"I really wish you'd reconsider joining the church, Harry," He said as he helped himself to a slice of pizza.
"Why should we trust you after today's uplifting little sermon?" Victoria asked.
"What's your game, anyway, Lockhart?" Ron demanded. "With one side of your mouth you're promising us sanctuary, and with the other side, you're trying to turn the public against us. Whose side are you on?"
"His own." Hermione snarled.
"My dear Mrs. Potter…" he sighed shaking his head. "Don't you remember what I said to Harry about 'misdirection'?"[3] Lockhart started to pull out a cigar. Hermione glared at him until he replaced it in his pocket. "The louder I preach against magic, the safer we'll all be."
"And what about Lucius Malfoy?" There was an unusually cold harshness to Harry's voice. Ever the self-absorbed Lockhart couldn't fail to see the depth of Harry's suspicions about him.
"Have you never heard the old saying, 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer'? Malfoy is using me to get in good with the Religious Right." He shrugged and grinned a particularly immodest grin. "What can I say? I'm a great 'photo-op'. Of course it works both ways. I'm using him too. As long as he thinks I'm on his side, we're protected-plus, we have the added bonus that he lets me in on his strategy. We know what he's going to do before he does it!"
"You do like to live dangerously, don't you?" observed Victoria.
"It's part of my charm."
The telephone rang.
Minerva Smith was in a frightful state.
"Reverend Lockhart! You must come quickly!"
***********
Marcia Herringbone lay unconscious in the Intensive Care Unit at Charing Cross Hospital.
"Mr. and Mrs. Potter?" Mrs. Smith seemed quite surprised to see them when they entered the waiting room with Reverend Lockhart. "What are you doing here?"
"The Herringbone's were our neighbors," Hermione informed her rather bruskly. Ever since her talk with Harry in the park[4], Minerva Smith's attitude toward Hermione had cooled considerably. It was as though she suspected her of cheating on Harry or some other equally egregious sin. Tired as she was, Hermione simply wasn't in the mood for it.
"They were very kind to us when we first moved into our old flat," Harry said, trying to sound more diplomatic. "Do you know what happened, Mrs. Smith?"
"The doctors believe that the poor child took an overdose of sleeping pills."
Hermione shook her head. "She seemed fine the last time I spoke her. She'd even offered to baby-sit for us..."
"According to her mother, she's been acting very peculiar these last few weeks." Reverend Lockhart told them. "It was as if she were carrying some terrible burden."
They could hear the sound of raised voices coming from down the hall. As Lockhart opened the door to the waiting room, they saw Stanley Simons burst out of the ICU, followed by Marcia's mother and father. Mr. Herringbone's expression was of sheer disbelief.
"Stanley!" called Mrs. Herringbone. "Wait! This has to be a mistake!"
Stanley roughly shoved his way past three young men loitering by the vending machines near the elevators. Though they tried to keep their faces turned away, Harry recognized them as Dennis Malfoy, and his stooges Crabbe and Goyle; All of them with guilty looks on their faces. They turned and walked casually toward the restrooms, apparently convinced that no one had spotted them.
Once they were out of sight, the color began to return to Lockhart's cheeks.
Mr. Herringbone fumbled with a pack of cigarettes.
"I don't understand…" his wife muttered to herself over and over.
A Doctor in full surgical scrubs emerged from the ICU.
"Mr. and Mrs. Herringbone? I know this has been a horrible shock, but there are some decisions that need to be made right away if we're to have any chance at all of saving the baby."
"Baby?" Mrs. Smith gasped.
""I just found out that my daughter is going to have a baby," Mrs. Herringbone was quickly loosing her grip on reality. "She never said a word -and now I could end up losing both of them."
Harry, Hermione, and Mrs. Smith did their best to comfort the family, but it soon became apparent that there was little they could do to help. The doctors and Lockhart both made a point of saying that Marcia was "in God's hands now."
All the while, Mrs. Smith kept watching Hermione. To hear Lucius Malfoy tell it, Hermione Potter was some kind of evil Mata Hari, simply using poor innocent Harry in her plans to bring about the downfall of Western Civilization-and yet every time she had seen Hermione lately, it seemed as if she were performing some act of unselfish kindness. This simply did not compute.
********
"I almost forgot," Molly said. "How's your friend that's in the hospital?"
A few days later, Victoria, Molly and Ginny were helping Hermione finish unpacking the things for the kitchen. Hermione was getting antsy just sitting there, "supervising", but Molly had insisted that she stay off her feet.
"Going downhill fast." Hermione sighed. "Nothing seems to help."
"It's almost as if she's given up, poor kid," Harry and Ron carried in the last boxes of cooking utensils, "like she's lost the will to live."
"I just wish there was something we could do for her…" Hermione let out a frustrated sigh.
"They still don't know who the father of the baby is?" Ron set the box down on the kitchen table and Hermione began unpacking it.
"The boyfriend swears he and Marcia have never did anything."
"Judging by his reaction when he found out she was pregnant," Harry said, "I tend to believe him."
"Men!" Ginny harrumphed. "He just automatically assumes that she's been cheating to him!"
"She could have been raped," Hermione concurred.
"I know this might be an alien concept to your brilliant analytical mind, my darling," Harry said, "but logic has nothing to do with a situation like this. All the boy knows is that she's pregnant and she never said a word to him about it."
"Yeah!" Ron chimed in, "If you caught Harry snogging another bird, would it even occur to you that there might be a perfectly innocent explanation for the whole thing-or would you just hex him into next Tuesday?"
"Oh, I'd give him a chance to explain himself" Hermione said, "then I'd hex him into next Tuesday."
"Note to yourself, Harry," said Ron, "Before you decide to cheat take elocution lessons."
Molly was searching through the cabinets.
"Do you know where your measuring cups are, Dear?"
"I think we ran out of room and they got put in the box with the bathroom things."
In spite of Molly's objections, Hermione got up to take a look.
"I didn't want to say anything in front of Hermione," Harry said confidentially after she had left the room, "But Dennis Malfoy & Co. were at the hospital last night. They acted like they didn't want anyone to know that they were there."
"They know Marcia." Ron shrugged. "We all went to grammar school together. And they might have been there with Lockhart. I hear he makes the rounds of the hospitals at least a couple of times a week to visit sick parishioners."
"Maybe I'm just being paranoid," Harry sighed, "But it seems as if every time there's been any kind of trouble lately, Dennis Malfoy and his trained baboons are lurking somewhere nearby."
"You don't think they had anything to do with Marcia getting…?" asked Victoria.
"I don't know," Harry shook his head, "but I can't help wondering just how many people took 'The Hermione Potter Correspondence Course in Sorcery' while Lockhart had possession of her notebook…"
***********
The car sat at the bend in the road until the lights in the upstairs bedroom went out. The three occupants got out and made their way toward the big, wrought iron fence that surrounded the house. The rain had finally stopped but the ground was still saturated and the going was slow. One of the intruders pulled out a magic wand, aimed it at one of his companions and levitated him over the fence. Once all three were inside the yard, they carefully crept toward the house.
As they approached the rear door, a luminous figure materialized behind them.
"WHO GOES THERE?"
One of the reasons that "Potter Manor" was still available when Harry's television program went on the air was because the previous owners believed it to be haunted. Hermione had decided that as long as they were friendly, a ghost or two would make them feel right at home. Captain Jeb Maguire, a retired seaman and his wife, Erma, turned out to be hospitable enough and agreed to share their home with the newcomers. The old woman was thrilled at the prospect of helping care for a new baby and the old captain immediately appointed himself night watchman and dutifully patrolled the house and grounds to guard against trespassers.
"Scampered over that fence like their britches was on fire!" The old sea dog laughed as he related the tale to Harry. "One of 'em dropped 'is stick."
Harry examined the magic wand, and then handed it to Hermione.
"I'll give you three guesses who it was," Harry said, "and what they were after."
"Even if they'd gotten into the house," Hermione said with a smile, "they would've had an interesting time trying to get past the new spells I put on my notebooks." Hermione sank down onto the couch. "You say they were at the hospital when we were there?"
Harry nodded.
"I'm not sure how this all ties together, Harry," Hermione mused, "but maybe its time I paid Marcia a visit."
************
The steady "beep, beep, beep" of the heart monitor was the only sound as Hermione appeared in Marcia Herringbone's hospital room, casting a privacy spell so they would not be disturbed. Hermione had often dreamed of continuing her studies and perhaps becoming a magical healer like Madame Pomfrey-but the war with the Dark Lord had put an end to that dream along with the dreams of many others. Still, there was a chance she might be able to do some good.
The healing charm she cast was sort of an all-purpose basic first-aid spell that she had learned her second year. It wasn't much, but it might at least give Marcia and her unborn baby a fighting chance.
Hermione paused and placed a hand on her abdomen. It was a struggle to keep her imagination from running wild with visions of harm befalling her own precious little one.
Hermione bent down and kissed Marcia on the forehead.
"An awful lot of people are praying for you." Hermione told her. "Try not to let them down."
Suddenly, she was bombarded by psychic images: A shadowy figure-hands wandering over a young girl's body-a voice saying, "I love you".
Mommy?
Baby Potter was frightened. This had never happened before. Had the child somehow picked up images from Marcia's mind and relayed them to his mother?
"It's alright, Darling," Hermione reassured him. "It's nothing to worry about." Even as she said it, she hoped that she wasn't lying to her son.
********
Hermione said little about her experiences at the hospital, but it had obviously spurred her to action. She spent the next few days either huddling with Molly or searching for materials on Portobello Road. By Thursday, she was ready.
Harry found her in the kitchen with Molly. In the center of the kitchen table was a large wooden bowl filled with a
strange silver white liquid.
"By George, I think you've got it, dear!" Molly grinned, patting Hermione on the back
"Okay," said Harry. "I'll bite. What is it?"
"It's called a 'Pensieve'." Hermione told him. "It's a way of sorting out one's memories and examining them in detail. Let's give it a test." Hermione touched her wand to her temple. As she withdrew her wand, it first appeared that several hairs had been caught on the tip and were coming away with it, but upon closer inspection, they turned out to be filaments of the same silvery substance, which Hermione quickly deposited in the bowl. The strange liquid formed into tiny cloud-like formations as if a miniature thunderstorm were brewing.
"There!" Hermione seemed quite pleased with herself. "Shall we give it a try?"
Harry looked down into the bowl as the "clouds" parted. It was as if the bowl had become a window looking down into another room.
"Is this the famous 'Hogwarts'?" asked Molly.
"The Gryffindor Common Room." Hermione nodded. "Would you like to have a look, Harry? You've always wondered what Hogwarts was like." Hermione took Harry's hand, and then guided it to the bowl. They touched the tips of their index fingers into the image and they were both suddenly drawn inside.
Having grown up in an alternate universe, this Harry Potter knew Hogwarts only from the stories Hermione had told
him. It was just as wondrous as she had described it. The memory Hermione had extracted was of the good times, before
the war. It was just before Christmas. The decorations were up and Hogwarts was full of holiday cheer.
Harry jumped as Oliver Wood brushed past him without even looking. Hermione explained that everyone and everything that
they were seeing were simply memories. No one could see or hear them. It was like viewing a three dimensional
movie.
Harry grinned as he noticed the bushy-haired little eleven-year-old bookworm seated next to the big fireplace, reading "Hogwarts, A History" for the umpteenth time. Hermione blushed as if Harry had just discovered a particularly embarrassing baby picture.
"Did I really look like that?"
"I think you were adorable," Harry said, as he kissed his wife on the cheek. "But I definitely prefer the 'grown-up' version."
Nearby, two boys, one with flaming red hair and a the other with a mop of unruly black hair and round, owlish spectacles sat on opposite sides of a table thoroughly engrossed in a game of wizard's chess; Ron Weasley and himself-or more precisely, the Harry Potter of this world.
In the back of his mind Harry wondered if he should be jealous. After all, this was the Harry Potter that Hermione had first met on the Hogwarts Express. He was the one with whom she had shared so many adventures and the one with whom she had originally fallen in love-Of course, Harry reminded himself, he was also the one who managed to get himself killed by Lord Voldemort-and he certainly wasn't the one sharing a bed with Hermione nine months ago when their child was conceived.
Tough luck, mate, Harry thought to himself.
Hermione took him on the grand tour, showing him the dormitories, the Potions classroom and even the Astronomy Tower.
They were admiring the enormous Christmas tree in the Great Hall when a strange thing happened.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Harry Potter." Professor Dumbledore was looking right at them. He got up from his place at the faculty table and walked over to greet them.
"B-b-but," Hermione stammered, "this is just a memory!"
"It's been said that as long as a person is remembered, he is never truly gone."
Dumbledore told her. "It's even more true for some than for others," he said with a mischievous wink.
"Hermione has told me so many stories about you-about this place," Harry said, shaking his hand. "I wish I'd had the opportunity to actually study here."
"The loss was ours as well as yours. Our Harry was taken from us much too soon." The old wizard looked around and sighed. "Yes, Hogwarts is truly wondrous, but in the end, the true essence of this school lies not in the place-the lands nor the stone walls nor even the mighty towers-but in the hearts and minds of those who have passed through it over the years." He rested a wizened hand on Harry's and Hermione's shoulders. "The torch has been passed. You are now the keepers of Hogwarts flame, my children."
"We're trying to rebuild as you asked,' Hermione said apologetically, "but the job seems so overwhelming sometimes."
The old wizard smiled at her.
"You've already accomplished far more than you realize, my dear," he told her. "Because of your most excellent tuition, Harry is well on his way to becoming the great wizard he was always destined to be. With each life you touch-the Weasleys, the children you've found through Harry's magic act, and so many others you may not be aware of-another stone is added, and the foundation for a new Hogwarts is laid." He gently placed a hand on her abdomen. "And this may be your greatest achievement of all." He spoke directly to the baby. "In this form I am little more than a shadow from the past. As such there is little I can give to you except my blessing. May you grow in strength and in wisdom. May your joys outnumber your sorrows, and may you always be surrounded by those who love you."
"Thank you, Professor." Hermione said, giving him a hug.
"Now you must go," Dumbledore told them. "There is still much to do. Farewell my children."
With that, Harry and Hermione found themselves back in the kitchen.
Both of them felt quite drained, so they decided to wait until the next night to use the Pensieve again.
********
It was after midnight when Harry and Hermione appeared in Marcia Herringbone's room at the hospital.
"How can you be sure you're getting the right memory?" Harry asked as Hermione began the extraction process.
"If I'm right," Hermione said as she transferred Marcia's thoughts into the pensieve bowl, "this memory is so traumatic that it's going to be just about the only thing on her mind." Once the mixture was ready, Harry and Hermione dipped their fingers into the bowl and were transported inside once more.
They found themselves in an upstairs bedroom that, like its owner, was in transition; Dolls, teddy bears and posters of boy bands were giving way to cosmetics, clothes and bridal magazines. Marcia Herringbone sat at her vanity table, brushing her long, blonde hair.
"I always wished I had hair like that," Hermione sighed. Harry was about to comment, but thought better of it. He gave her an "I love you just the way you are," hug.
According to the alarm clock by Marcia's bed, it was a little after ten at night.
She got up and began to undress.
"I don't think we have to see everything." Hermione grabbed Harry's hand. They passed through the bedroom door as if it were made of mist. They waited in the hallway for what Hermione judged to be a reasonable amount of time and then re-entered the room just in time to see Marcia get into bed.
They settled down in a corner and waited as she fell asleep.
"Isn't there any way to 'fast forward' this thing?" Harry was just about to fall asleep
himself, when there was a noise at the window. An extension ladder was leaning against the side of the house and
someone was climbing up toward the window.
"Alohamora!" came a muffled voice from outside. The window slid itself open and Draco Malfoy's
goon Gregory Goyle climbed in.
"He's not exactly "Raffles" is he?" Harry observed as Goyle clumsily crawled inside, knocking several knick-knacks off the windowsill. "It's a wonder he didn't wake the whole neighborhood."
"He may have put a sleep charm on her parents," Hermione noted grimly, "or else he's put a privacy spell on this room."
"He obviously hasn't mastered levitation yet."
Goyle got to his feet and pointed his wand at the sleeping form of Marcia.
"Spero nos familiares mansuros!"
Marcia opened her eyes and sat up. At first, her expression was a complete blank, like a zombie. Then, as she gradually became aware, her face fell as if she had totally resigned herself to the situation. Goyle sat down on the bed and kissed her on the cheek.
"Hello Darling." Goyle said. A shiver went up Hermione's spine. He let his hands begin to wander. A tear trickled down Marcia's cheek.
"I can't watch this," Harry declared and walked back into the hallway.
Hermione forced herself to remain behind. There were things she needed to see. Before very long, even she'd had enough.
Harry was sitting on the floor of the hallway when Hermione walked in.
"He not violent." she sighed, "He didn't hurt her." Hermione almost spat out the words. "He even said he loved her."
"I guess all boys fantasize about girls they can't have… You always assume that once she gets to know you… You never think that your dream might be the poor girl's worst nightmare."
"Don't belittle the man I love by trying to compare him to that looser in there." She knelt down and took his hand. "There is no comparison."
"I swear, if anyone ever did that to you, I'd-"
"Don't say it, Harry." Hermione said in an odd tone, "I know that you love me, and that you'd do anything to protect me, but I pray that you'll never have to know how it is to actually take the life of another human being…" Hermione rarely spoke of her experiences during the war with the Dark Lord, and Harry knew better than to press her on the subject.
Hermione led him back into Marcia's bedroom. Goyle was snoring like a chainsaw. Marcia sat hugging her knees and weeping.
"I'm responsible for this!" Hermione voice was barely audible. "He could never have done this to her without my journal."
"Remember what you said to Victoria?" Harry said gently. "Magic is a tool. If Goyle had stolen a hammer out of Ron's toolbox and bashed someone's head in with it, would Ron be responsible?"
"In my head, I know you're right, Harry…" she sobbed, "but in my heart I still feel as though I'm to blame for this."
Harry was all for leaving, but there was still one thing that Hermione needed to see.
Just as the first rays of the sun began peeking over the rooftops, outside, Goyle woke up and took out his wand.
"You don't have to do this, you know," Marcia said softly. "I won't tell anyone" The shame on her face was heartbreaking. "Even if I did, who would believe me?"
"Sorry, luv." Goyle said. "Can't take any chances." He kissed her on the cheek, then swished and flicked his wand rather awkwardly at her. "Obliterate!"
Harry turned to Hermione.
"That's wrong, isn't it?"
"I had the wrong word written down in the notebook before Molly caught it and corrected me…" Hermione shook her head and let out an ironic chuckle. "That's why she started to remember. He was following my notes and he screwed up the memory charm!"
********
"I swear I never hurt her!" Goyle was almost pleading. "I would never hurt her…"
"I suppose that's why you had to erase her memory every time?" Hermione was furious.
"It's just that she's so…" He was almost in tears. "A girl like 'er wouldn't even give the time of day to a bloke like me…if not for…"
"Stop your sniveling!" Draco Malfoy was like a general issuing orders. "The solution is obvious." He turned to face Hermione. "If the girl survives, you must cast a proper Memory Charm on her and see that it's done right this time."
"You seriously expect me to clean up this mess for you?"
"There's more at stake here that just the girl's feelings." Lockhart reminded them.
"The only alternative," Draco pointed out, "is to insure that she doesn't recover."
"Bastard!" Hermione hissed.
"Have you a better plan, little Miss Know It All?"
"As much as I hate to agree with them, Darling," Harry pulled her aside, "they may have a point."
"He raped her!"
"He deserves to be punished for what he did-but they're right. There is more at stake here. If she starts remembering, she could end up exposing all of us. Now maybe you're not concerned about our safety, but what about our son's?"
"Harry--!" "I know, my darling. This whole thing stinks to high heaven, but we have no choice." He sighed. "Did it ever occur to you that erasing the girl's memory just might be the most merciful thing we could do for her?"
The look of betrayal in her eyes was almost unbearable. Hermione's glare looked like it could've melted steel. Harry had never seen such anger and disappointment focused in his direction. Hermione wanted to answer back. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to hit somebody. But she knew that none of those things would have changed the situation one bit. She looked up at Harry through her tears.
"What else can we do?"
They turned to face the others.
"All right." Hermione said softly. "I'll do it."
"But on one condition." Harry added. He pointed an accusing finger at Goyle. "She'll only erase the girl's memory if she erases his too."
Goyle looked like he'd been hit with a bucket of cold water.
"WHAT?"
Hermione beamed up at her husband, her faith restored.
"If Marcia can't be allowed to remember the crime," Harry insisted, "then neither can he! Every last bit of illicit pleasure he got while molesting her has to go!"
"What a novel sense of justice you have, Harry Potter," Lockhart chuckled. "Very well. We agree."
"Now just a minute--!" Goyle began.
"Silence!" Roared Malfoy. "It's certainly preferable to the alternative. As a Member of
Parliament, my father would, of course, have insisted on a long prison term for such a deplorable crime."
"But I love her…" Goyle pleaded.
"That's not love," Harry informed him. "Love is sitting through 'Steel Magnolias' when you'd rather be watching 'Raiders Of The Lost Ark'."
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"You said you liked 'Steel Magnolias'…"
*******
"I had hoped that we might be able to persuade Harry Potter to cooperate," Lucius Malfoy mused as his son had related the incident to him, "But what with one thing and another, I'm afraid that Mr. and Mrs. Potter may prove to be more trouble than their worth." He opened his briefcase and took out a file folder. "But that can wait. I need you to do a little 'job' for me, Son. It seems the Labor MP from Brixton is holding up my Wiretapping Bill in committee. I need him to suffer a small accident. Nothing serious. I just need him out of action until after the vote."
Draco Malfoy was staring at his wand with an expression of pure disbelief.
"I-I can't, Father,"
"What are you babbling about, boy?"
He looked at his father wide-eyed.
"I can't remember how to do magic…"
"The little bitch." Lucius Malfoy said with a mixture of admiration and astonishment. "She tricked you!"
*******
Hermione was jubilant as they crossed the parking lot at BBC Center.
"We got all four of them!" Hermione squealed. "Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Lockhart!" She gave Victoria a "high-five". "They didn't even remember us putting the charm on them!"
"That's great," Ron agreed, "but what about Daddy Malfoy?"
"As far as we can tell, he let Draco handle the magic in the family." Harry told him.
"Well he may not be able to hex you," Ron said, "But he's still a Member of Parliament. Once he figures out what you did, there's any number of things he might do to get back at you."
"Harry James Potter?" Three policemen stood between them and the building.
"That's right," Harry answered warily. "What can I do for you, officers?"
"I'm very sorry about this, Mr. Potter." The policeman seemed embarrassed. "My kids think you're the greatest…" The other two officers nodded in agreement. Clearly, none of them was very keen on this assignment.
"What's going on here?" Hermione demanded.
"Harry James Potter," the policeman said, trying not to sound ashamed of what he was doing. "You're under arrest. I must warn you that anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence against you…."
"Now just a cotton pickin' minute," Ron said. "What's the charge?"
The policeman took a deep breath.
"The charge," he said, feeling an inch high, "is Practicing Witchcraft."
End of Chapter Four
[1] "I'll Take You Dreaming" from the film "The Court Jester". Words and Music By Sylvia Fine and Sammy Cahn
[2] Don't bother digging through the books to find the quote. I just made it up.
[3] See Part 3.
[4] See Part 4.