Well of Shadows
Tricks of Conversation
By Ruskbyte
Chapter Eleven
~ Tricks of Conversation ~
The many trees of the Forbidden Forest loomed high above them, their dark trunks casting long and deep shadows under the late afternoon sun. Here, near the edge of the forest, bordering on the
village of Hogsmeade, the trees were not packed so densely, thus allowing a measure of sunlight to penetrate through their canopy of branches. Shafts of rich gold slanted down from above, glowing
softly and providing such a stately atmosphere that those who ventured into the forest at this time were often put in mind of a grand cathedral.
"Yes, it does almost look something like that," agreed Harry, when Ginny voiced this observation. He and Ginny were strolling serenely down the path they had found earlier.
Ginny turned her head to look at him and, seeing the peaceful smile on his face, wished that her Animagus form was able to smile so that she could join him. It was now the end of October and Halloween had crept up on them all. Harry, as a treat for the occasion, had arranged permission from Professor Dumbledore for Ginny and him to enter the Forest. They had gone under the pretence of wanting to practice and hone their Animagus transformations, which they had not been able to perform since leaving the Burrow.
They had spent the bulk of the day leisurely walking through the depths of the Forbidden Forest. After finding a nice, large clearing several miles into the forest, they had lunched on a small picnic basket Dobby had prepared for them. The couple had then spent several hours lounging on the grass and making up for the myriad interruptions that always seemed to plague them when they were together at the school.
Now as the sun was dipping low above the horizon, they were making their way to Hogsmeade from which they would follow the path up to Hogwarts. Ginny, whose Animagus was smaller than Harry's and thus able to navigate between the forest trees, had transformed for the short trip.
It's a good thing we have this bond, she told Harry as they approached the edge of the forest. Through the trees they were just able to see some of Hogsmeade's buildings. Otherwise you'd never be able to understand me when I'm like this.
"Hmmm. At least we now have a use for it beyond helping you cheat at Muggle Studies," observed Harry teasingly, stroking her side with one hand.
Since they were now almost clear of the forest Ginny changed back and turned her brown eyes to Harry with a mischievous grin. "I won't tell anyone if you don't."
They emerged from the forest a short distance, a wide grassy field and two short hills, from the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Ginny could see the thin trails of smoke that indicated which houses and buildings had fires burning in their hearths. Half a mile to the east, if what Harry said was accurate, was the rocky path leading up to the cave Sirius had hidden in during the Triwizard Tournament.
After crossing the wide and empty field, which during the spring and summer was overrun with flowers of every colour, and climbing over and down the twin hills that rolled between the forest and the village they entered Hogsmeade from behind the newly rebuilt Post Office.
Ginny noticed as they stepped into the street that Harry's shoulders were tensed up and a grim look had covered his face and entered his eyes. She could understand why, having shared his nightmares and remembering the screams of the owls trapped within the old Post Office, which had been burnt to the ground during the Death Eater attack the previous Christmas.
She was in the act of reaching out to slip a comforting arm around his waist as they walked when they were almost bowled off their feet. A diminutive and rotund man with a meticulously trimmed and maintained black moustache, stomped passed them with short, mincing steps. He was dressed in an immaculate grey suit and bowler hat, with a pink carnation and silver tipped walking stick.
He was being followed by two tall men. The one was wearing a reasonably well tailored suit, but not nearly as high class as the short man, and was looking particularly confused. The other man, also moustached but less meticulously so, was wearing a rumpled, off-the-rack suit under a rumpled and seemingly well used trench coat and was looking just as confused as his compatriot.
"-such impudence!" Ginny heard the short man exclaim in what sounded like a French accent. He was scowling fiercely as he and his companions walked on without pausing. "I am not a bloody little frog... I am a bloody little Belgian!"
"What a peculiar little man," she declared as the trio rounded a corner and vanished from sight. Harry, standing beside her with an arm slung across her shoulders, chuckled and held her close to him as they resumed their return to Hogwarts.
There was a slight wind blowing, typical of the autumn weather. It was not particularly cold, but cool enough to necessitate the use cloaks and Molly Weasley's woollen jumpers when outdoors. The path up to the castle was muddy, it had rained nearly the entirety of the previous week and there was still the occasional thundershower in the late evenings.
"The cabaret should have started 'bout half an hour ago," noted Harry as they walked, checking his watch.
"Pity we have to make an appearance," groaned Ginny. "After all, I've always wanted to listen to my classmates screaming up an ungodly racket."
*What does your classmates' singing have to do with us?* asked Osiris.
*Something insidious no doubt,* decided a jocular Loki.
Heracles, of course, had to add, *I think we should be insulted by this...*
Hogwarts' gates were looming ahead of Harry and Ginny by now, so the two ignored the private cabaret act that was going on in their heads and walked up to the school's front entrance. There were a few students milling around the Entrance Hall, clustered in small groups and talking. Some of them waved or called hello, but there was nobody present that the pair needed to stop and talk to. From the partially opened doors leading into the Great Hall, was coming an awful racket that sounded to Ginny not unlike the wailing cry of a full-grown Mandrake.
*How do you know what that sounds like?* asked Romulus, having overheard Ginny's uncharitable comparison. *If you'd actually heard a Mandrake you'd be dead.*
It's just a figure speech, Rom, she told him. As she and Harry approached the hall she asked him, "Do we have to?"
"Unfortunately," he told her, placing one hand on the small of her back and guiding her into the hall, following immediately behind her.
Since the end of September, when Draco Malfoy had first struck against Voldemort's Death Eaters, there had been attacks reported every few days. Roughly half of the attacks, according to evidence gathered by the Ministry, were the work of Death Eaters. They attacked in groups of six to a dozen, targeting single homes or particular streets. They struck during the dead of night and launched the Dark Mark when finished.
The other half of the attacks, despite whatever the Ministry might say, was solely the work of Draco Malfoy. He seemed to attack randomly, without provocation or reason. When the Death Eaters hit a target, people sometimes survived and called for help, or the Dark Mark would alert others that an attack had taken place. When Malfoy attacked it was silent, swift and utterly deadly. There were never survivors and nobody was aware the attack had taken place until they came looking for the victims when they turned up missing.
Even though Malfoy's presence was not officially acknowledged, he and the Death Eaters were creating an atmosphere of alarm and terror that had settling heavily over the wizarding community.
Thus, in one of his not too rare moments of insanity, Dumbledore had decided to try and bolster student morale at Hogwarts by holding a Halloween Cabaret celebration. Naturally everyone with the exception of Dumbledore thought this was a terrible idea. The only redeeming feature, which was doubtless the only reason why anybody had cared to enter, was the first place prize of fifty Galleons and a free full-course meal at the Three Broomsticks.
Entering the Great Hall, Harry and Ginny saw a pair of second year Ravenclaw girls finishing a short piece that was a brutally butchered version of a popular Weird Sisters song. Once they were done, as Harry and Ginny were approaching the Gryffindor table to join Hermione, the master of ceremonies and his assistant took to the stage.
One of the Death Eater attacks two weeks prior had led to Professor Sprout's cousin and his wife being badly injured and their house destroyed. As such the Herbology professor had taken a leave of absence and was currently being substituted by short and fat man, who despite his name, was of Greek ancestry. He was currently wearing green and white striped robes, with a vibrant looking robe of white, black and orange thrown over his sloping shoulders.
This was Professor Arbuckle Bootle-Bumtrinket, accompanied by his very nervous and reluctant assistant, Neville Longbottom.
"Ah, yes," announced Neville, a Sonorus Charm causing his normally timid voice to carry to the very back of the hall. He looked as though he had just been through a harrowing Potions lesson with Snape. "Thank you, uh, Megan and Gabby from, er, Ravenclaw for that... inspiring... rendition."
Loki snorted and remarked sarcastically, *Ah, inspiring. So that's what that it’s called. For a moment I thought young Virginia was correct and it was indeed a pair of Mandrakes.*
~Hush now, Loki~ Harry told the voice as he and Ginny sat down. ~Your own singing talent is nothing to brag about.~
"Quite right, Mr Longbottom," agreed Bootle-Bumtrinket as he stood beside Neville with a piece of parchment in his hands. He looked just as unenthusiastic to be up on the stage as his student did. He looked down at the parchment he was holding and read off, "Next we will be presenting a pair of sixth-year Slytherin boys-"
Harry, Ginny and Hermione shared an alarmed look.
"-Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Please give them a welcoming hand."
The two hulking boys, wearing the same green dress robes from the Yule Ball two years before, lumbered onto the stage. Apparently they had managed to squeeze into the robes with the aid of an Enlargement Charm on the material in order to make up for two years of growth. The robes were still a poor fit however and seemed in danger of splitting at any sudden movement. They paused by the small band, which Dumbledore had procured from the Hogsmeade village court, obviously instructing them on what tune to play. They then moved to the stage centre, passing Neville and Bootle-Bumtrinket as they departed, and visibly prepared themselves.
With an audible, and highly theatrical, clearing of his throat, Goyle began to sing.
"O Paddy was an Irishman,
He came from Donegal,
And all the girls they loved him well,
Though he only had one ball,
For the Irish girls are girls of sense,
And they didn't mind at all,
For as Paddy pointed out to them,
'Twas better than none at all.
O folderol and folderay,
A sailor's life is grim,
So you're only too delighted,
If you get a bit excited,
Whether it's with her or him."
Ginny found herself unable to do anything but gape in dumbstruck horror as Crabbe joined in for the chorus. The bulky Slytherin was holding his hands to his chest and attempting to project his voice in an operatic manner. He was not succeeding. With wide eyes, Ginny shared a look with Harry that clearly spoke of their mutual desire to disappear to somewhere other than the Great Hall. Anywhere.
She turned to ask Hermione if the earlier acts had been as bad, as dreadful, but found that her friend had acted true to form. Being the thoughtful witch that she was, Hermione had come to the cabaret fully prepared. Somehow she had acquired a pair of the massive earmuffs used by students when dealing with Mandrakes in Herbology.
O Circe, she thought, turning back to where Goyle was starting on the second verse, I would give just about anything for a pair of those right now.
~Give a little extra~ Harry told her, ~I want a pair as well.~
"O Blodwyn was a Welsh girl,
She came from Cardiff city,
And all the boys they loved her well,
Though she only had one titty,
For the Welsh boys there are boys of sense,
And didn't they all agree,
One titty is better than two sometimes,
For it leaves your one hand free.
O folderol and folderay,
A sailor’s life is grim,
So you're only too delighted,
If you get a bit excited,
Whether it's with her or him."
Ginny contemplated the idea of casting a Silencing Charm around the Gryffindor table, but she lost her train of thought when she spotted Seamus out the corner of her eye. He was sitting between Moira and Dean and had, for reasons best know only to himself, large and richly yellow chunks of cheddar stuffed into his ears.
*What the devil is that Irish boy up to?* asked Isis' voice.
"Blame it on the Butterbeer," explained Dean, seeing Ginny's bewildered expression.
"Listening to this racket, I'm almost tempted to try that myself," commented Harry, who had looked to see what had caught Ginny's attention.
Moira propped her chin on her hands and stared at the stage with a resigned expression on her face. "Yeh noo soomthin'?" she said with a sigh. "After a' while o' thi', th' concept' o' dyin' becooms verra, verra appealin'."
Seamus, cheese firmly embedded, asked, "Eh?"
"O Gertrude was an English lass,
She came from Stoke-on-Trent,
But when she loved a nice young lad,
She always left him bent..."
Fortunately an escape presented itself to Ginny and her friends in the timely appearance of one of the many Aurors permanently stationed at Hogwarts. Since the attack on Hogsmeade the previous Christmas, Harry had managed to blackmail, er, bluff, Minister Fudge into having a full division of Aurors assigned to the school. Harry and Ginny, who stepped out of Gryffindor Tower every night for an hour or two to patrol around the grounds and assess state of the defensive wards, had become reasonably familiar with many of the Aurors.
"Harry, Ginny," greeted a young Auror called Victor when he reached them. He had long, curly brown hair that was drawn into a messy ponytail as well as an unkempt goatee that did not suit him. Ginny had come to the conclusion that he had only allowed the facial hair grown in because he was too lazy to shave, or charm, it off every morning.
"Hey, Vic," greeted Harry, turning away from the travesty of song that currently occupied the stage. He asked, "What brings you into this cacophony?"
Victor winced as Crabbe hit a particularly off-key note in the chorus. "Duncan wanted me to let you know that your 'guest' has arrived. McTaggert has taken her down to your office so she can wait for you."
Ginny exchanged an eager look with Harry and Hermione. It had been nearly two months since Harry had asked Hermione to write a letter to their 'guest' as Victor put it. They had discussed this plan of Harry's before and, while Ginny and Hermione were somewhat dubious, it had enough merits to warrant an attempt.
Plus it was the perfect excuse to leave the show early.
"O Angus was a Scottish lad,
He came from Aberdeen..."
"Ach, bluddie Hades," groaned Moira, "nae Scotland as well..."
"Come on," Harry said as he stood up. He grabbed both Ginny and Hermione by their arms and urged them to their feet. "Let's get a move on before they start singing about any countries on the continent."
***
Having vacated the Great Hall with all due haste, Hermione, Harry and Ginny proceeded to the third floor corridor and down the stairs to the Practical Fighting Techniques area. They reached the small antechamber at the foot of the stairs.
Before them stood the three large doorways that led into the auditorium. They were bare, stripped of the large oak doors that had once stood there and gaping at them like some empty, mocking eye sockets of a grotesque skull. Through the open entryway, Hermione could see the insides of the auditorium. For the most part the physical repairs were all but complete, requiring only a few cosmetic touches to finish returning the room to a pristine condition.
The auditorium was only incomplete in the eyes of Harry and Ginny, who were still working on a wide variety of wards, charms and only the two of them knew what else. Apparently, though nobody else laid any blame at their feet, the couple both considered Draco Malfoy's rampage and its consequences to be their responsibility. As such they were working near constantly, at least one hour a day, in the room to prevent any dark magicks, in any form, from gaining entrance. Until they were satisfied, the once nightly Practical Fighting Techniques classes would be on hold.
Dumbledore had offered the use of the Great Hall as a substitute until renovations of the auditorium were complete. The two young instructors had declined however, preferring to wait for the work to be fully finished. It was, they said, more a symbolic act than anything else. Still, as a temporary measure, Practical Fighting Techniques had been evolved, or perhaps even devolved, into a Duelling Club. It was a similar concept to the one Gilderoy Lockhart had tried to get started three years earlier, but far more successful.
Not difficult without his bumbling attempts to teach making a hash of everything, Hermione thought, her eyes wandering over and through the yawning doorways into the cavernous auditorium.
The club would meet every Monday night after dinner and was open to all students, from first to seventh-years. As a general rule the various years were kept separated unless the student showed sufficient aptitude and skill to be placed with more advanced students. Unsurprisingly, to those that knew her, Moira Mackay had rapidly left her fellow fourth years behind and was now on par with most of the more proficient fifth-years. Dean and Seamus had started a betting pool as to when she would be promoted to duel against the sixth-years.
Matches and scoring were supervised by Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Professors McGonagall, Snape and the husband and wife Defence teachers, which led to some interesting moments as the teachers tended to back particular students. Professor Snape was the more often than not loser in these bets and challenges, and almost always to one of the Proteuses, much to his annoyance.
Hermione turned away from the auditorium as they walked, repressing a slight shudder at the memory of the stone ceiling giving way. She looked to one side of the three doorways, to where a single, innocuous door was set into the wall, leading into Harry's office. Outside, waiting for them to arrive was the Auror who had escorted the person they were meeting.
Ami McTaggert was a young woman with long, straight red hair, deep blue eyes and a bit of an Irish accent. Ami was one of the youngest Aurors stationed at Hogwarts. She had been a seventh-year Ravenclaw during Harry's first-year and had only completed her Auror training and been posted on active duty two years before.
"Hi, Harry!" she called as she spotted them approaching. "Hello, Ginny, Hermione!"
"Hello, Ami," greeted Harry. "Is she here?"
The young Auror's face darkened in a disapproving scowl. "Aye, she's waiting in your office. Though why you'd ever want to speak with her I don't know. She's never been anything but a gossipmonger."
That's what I'm afraid of.
Hermione wasn't all that certain they should be having discussions with her either, but Harry had put forth a persuasive argument. He shrugged nonchalantly and told Ami, "We're just checking to see if she might not have any information for us."
"Okay," accepted Ami reluctantly. "In any case, I've got to get back to my post by the gates. If you need anything else, just give a yell."
"We'll yell, scream, shout, holler and set off Fillibuster Fireworks," declared Ginny with one of those impish grins that loudly proclaimed her to be related to the notorious Fred and George.
Ami, shaking her head, departed and made her way up the winding staircase leading up. Harry waited until she had disappeared from sight before reaching for the handle and pushing the door open and waving the two girls inside.
Once more unto the breach, Hermione thought humourlessly as they stepped into the office.
"Hermione, are you all right?" asked the woman sitting brazenly behind Harry's desk. She was playing with one blonde curl, her gaudy spectacles perched on the very end of her nose and her feet propped on the desktop, next to her crocodile-skin handbag. She smirked wickedly and continued in a saccharine tone, "You're looking ghoulish, even for Halloween."
"Rita," acknowledged Hermione, gritting her teeth and resisting the urge to reach for her wand and hex the columnist to kingdom come.
Harry stepped up, resting a calming hand on Hermione's shoulder. He glared silently at Rita Skeeter with the full force of his blazing green eyes. Hermione was gratified to see the older witch swallow nervously and take her feet off Harry's desk. The columnist shifted uncomfortably and then reached for her handbag, her long nails gleaming scarlet as she did.
"Don't bother, Ms Skeeter," Harry told her, forestalling her from opening her bag and pulling out any parchment and her Quick-Quotes Quill. He leaned forward, resting both fists on the desk and seemed to loom over her. "This isn't an interview. This is a business proposition."
"A proposition?" asked Rita snidely, apparently making an attempt at recovering from Harry's fierce stare. She leaned back in Harry's chair and steepled her fingers. "And just what do you wish to talk about, Harry? How can a humble reporter such as myself lend aid to the famous Boy-Who-Lived?"
Die, was the first suggestion to enter Hermione's head. Unfortunately Harry had other ideas of the snobbish woman.
"First, get the hell out of my chair," he ground out, waving his hand between them. With a soft pop Rita disappeared from view, leaving Harry's chair to swing back and forth from the sudden loss of weight resting in it. An identical pop sounded off to one side and Rita reappeared, still in her seated position, but without a chair to support her. With a thump she hit the floor.
"Second," declared Harry, rounding the desk and taking his seat. He motioned Hermione and Ginny to make themselves comfortable. "Shut up and let me do the talking.
Rita stumbled to her feet, glaring viciously at Harry. "Why in the seven rings of hell should I do that?"
Harry leaned back in his chair and arched an eyebrow at her. His voice took on the same sickly sweet tone Rita had been using earlier when he answered, "Because if you help me, I will help you. The biggest, most exposing, most far-reaching, most acclaimed story you will ever write."
"I'm listening," said Rita as she warily approached the desk. With another wave of his hand Harry conjured up an extra chair for her to sit in, but made sure to keep it a little bit separated from Hermione and Ginny's chairs. Rita sank into it and kept her eyes on Harry, her expression a closed one.
"Have you heard about what has happened to Draco Malfoy?" asked Ginny, drawing Rita's attention away from Harry.
The woman nodded. "Of course. The Ministry isn't letting the press print anything though - they say they want to prevent a panic - but I have a fair idea about this Well of Shadows you told Dumbledore all about."
How does she know what Harry told Dumbledore? thought Hermione with some alarm. As far as she knew the details of Draco's transformation into the Well had not yet been made public.
"D'you know what's required to create a Well of Shadows?" asked Harry. When Rita shook her head, he shifted in his seat and leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk. "Among other things it needs the blood and magic sacrifice of one hundred witches and wizards."
"Impossible!" Rita exclaimed, looking surprised. She shook her head disparagingly. "It couldn't be done. I hear almost everything of consequence that goes on in this country and believe me; I'd know it if a hundred people were killed all at once. There's no way nobody found out about such a slaughter. It's simply not possible."
"Perhaps," admitted Harry. "That's why we asked you here tonight."
Ginny stood up and sat on the corner of Harry's desk. "So far we've come up with four possible explanations. One: Tom - Lord Voldemort - has been sneaky about it. He acquired the people he needed for the sacrifice from overseas, possibly over a long period of time, so that nobody in our Ministry would be aware that something had happened."
"Possible, but why bother?" observed Harry.
Hermione turned in her chair, to face Rita more directly, and continued, "Two: the sacrifices did come from Britain. One hundred witches and wizards were killed here, on this island, only the Ministry and Fudge are too stupid to notice."
"Also possible," admitted Harry, "but unlikely."
The dialogue turned back to Ginny. "Three: The Ministry, that is Minister Fudge, did notice the loss, but have been suppressing the information because they don't want to cause a panic. Very much like why they're reluctant to allow any disclosure about Malfoy and his transformation into the Well of Shadows."
"Very likely, but if true then why hasn't the Minister or his people told us or any of our people about it? He has instructions to keep us informed in any matters that might possibly pertain to Voldemort and his followers," noted Harry.
"Four," finished Hermione, "Fudge and his lot have noticed the missing people but are suppressing the information out of spite for Harry and Professor Dumbledore. Or possibly an ulterior motive, beyond simple pettiness, that we are unaware of."
Harry looked intently at Rita. "This is why I asked for Hermione to request you come here. We need someone to dig into this mess and find out the truth. Is Fudge just an incompetent idiot or is he withholding his knowledge? If he is , then why?"
Rita looked at the three students incredulously. "So you chose me?"
"Who better?" asked Hermione, hating what she was about to say. "You seem to have a talent for digging up dirt on people, finding whatever skeletons they have in their closets. If anyone can ferret out what Fudge is up to..."
"What exactly do you have in mind?"
***
Harry quickly finished his discussion with Rita Skeeter. Their plans for digging into Minister Fudge's activities were finalised and he sent her on her way after what was probably the single most polite and candid conversation he had ever had with The Daily Prophet journalist. Of course, that was not saying all that much considering his previous encounters with her.
Shortly after she left, there was a soft knock on the door to Harry's office. Ginny, who had been pacing restlessly, quickly opened the door and let Remus Lupin inside. Following on Remus' heels was the large, shaggy black form of Snuffles. Once the door was closed, Sirius transformed and was greeted by Harry with a firm hug.
"You okay, Harry?" he asked as they separated.
"I've been better," Harry replied wryly. "We all have."
Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his tousled hair, "I'm sorry it took us so long to get here."
"Don't let it bother you, Sirius," Ginny said, indicating for the two men to seat themselves. "We understand that you had your hands full keeping an eye on Tom and his Death Eater's movements."
Remus, taking a seat next to Hermione, asked, "How's Ron? Any changes in his condition?"
Hermione answered quietly, "No."
Sirius knelt down beside her chair and rested a hand on her shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze as he told her, "Don't worry about it, Hermione. You know Ron, even when he's down he doesn't ever give up. Remember when I broke his leg and he still tried to fight me off?"
"Thanks, Sirius," Hermione replied. She looked at him gratefully, but tears were glistening in her eyes. "It's just so hard not being able to talk to him. To be with him."
"We know," Remus told her from her other side. "We know."
I hate this feeling, Harry thought, watching as his godfather and sometime professor comforted his friend. I hate feeling so utterly helpless.
~Harry~ Ginny chided him. She had come around the desk and seated herself, to his embarrassment, on Harry's lap. She made certain to wiggle about quite a bit too before settling down comfortably. Harry showed his slight disapproval by playfully poking at her ribs with a finger.
"How long with you be staying?" asked Ginny, wiggling about again, this time to avoid the finger Harry was tickling her with.
"Only a few days, I'm afraid," admitted Sirius unhappily.
Remus nodded. "Dumbledore wants us to make a trip to Paris, and after that to Dublin. We've been told by Snape that Voldemort is preparing a gathering of vampires in both cities."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Paris is supposed to be one of the favourite nightspots for vampires, I guess the French cuisine appeals to them. I don't know about Dublin though, that seems a bit out of the ordinary."
*If anything about this situation can be considered ordinary,* remarked Iolaus.
"That's one of the reasons Dumbledore is sending us," Sirius told him. His godfather perched on the arm of Remus' chair. "We think Voldemort is assembling a cabal of Old Ones there, possibly for a strike against the Ministry."
"Would the Old Ones, the ancient vampires, get involved in this?" asked Hermione. She shifted in her seat to look at them better. "From what I've read most vampires over a thousand don't pay much attention or interest in wizarding affairs."
*Is there anything Hermione hasn't read about?* asked Alexander.
Harry hid his smile and replied smugly. The only things Hermione hasn't ever bothered to read about are probably those sappy Romance novels my aunt was so fond of.
"Perhaps we should send Snape to find out?" suggested Ginny jokingly. "After all, the man's practically a vampire anyhow. All he needs is to start drinking blood and he'll fit right in."
Sirius laughed. "I've been saying that since the day I first met that slimy git!"
Remus chuckled. "Actually you said something to that effect within about three minutes of coming face-to-face with him on the Hogwarts Express."
"He hasn't ever done anything to change my opinion either," agreed Sirius happily.
Harry meanwhile was deep in thought and missed most of the byplay, thinking about what Sirius had said about a possible cabal of Old Ones. Vampires, especially truly ancient ones, were capable of powerful magic that could prove dangerous even to the Order of the Phoenix.
~You okay?~ asked Ginny, who had noticed his distraction.
Fine, he told her, before asking, "Hermione? Have you had any luck in the library yet? Ginny and I've been going through most of the headmaster's private library, but we haven't had much luck finding what we need."
"Nothing, I'm afraid," admitted Hermione, shaking her head.
"Finding what?" asked Sirius.
Ginny answered, "We've been looking for documented information about Hogwarts' protective wards as well as the layout of the general magic surrounding the school."
"We might have to make some modifications," Harry told her, using his hands to hold her hips in place and prevent too much squirming against his lap. "It would be a good idea to include some sort of... I don't know... Barrier Spell to prevent any vampires to enter the school or the grounds."
"Something else to worry about," muttered Ginny, sinking her head back against his chest. "Wonderful."
Harry noticed that Remus had narrowed his eyes and was looking thoughtful. He had obviously realized that neither Harry nor Ginny had mentioned the reason as to why they wanted information about the wards surrounding Hogwarts. His curiosity was obviously piqued and he was obviously about to ask when suddenly the door to the office swung open.
"Hey, Potter, what's keeping you down here?" asked Blaise Zabini as she sashayed her way into the room. She had most of her attention directed at Harry as she entered, but her voice trailed off as she noticed the visitors Harry was entertaining. "Our budding masters of bawdy sea shanties are finished now, all one hundred and forty verses, so there's no reason for... you... to... hide..."
He had to smile, even if he was slightly concerned about what had just happened. Blaise was now frozen just inside the office, her mouth hanging slightly open and her sparkling blue eyes wide as could be. Hermione was sitting stiffly in her chair, watching the Slytherin girl in obvious alarm and was shooting worried glances towards Remus and Sirius. Ginny, still resting on Harry's lap, was holding her breath in anticipation and he could feel the sudden tension in her muscles where he held her.
The two adults, for their part, were frozen in place in much the same manner as Blaise. Remus was sitting on the very edge of his seat and was moving scarcely a muscle. His face had likewise frozen in a blank mask. Sirius, the more excitable of the two, had such an expression of dismay and apprehension, not including the complete drainage of all the blood in his face, that Harry wondered if his wasn't having an attack of some sort.
~Harry?~ he heard Ginny ask him, ~what are we going to do?~
I think maybe I should introduce her to Sirius, he replied seriously. She already knows Remus.
Ginny twisted her head to look at him. Her eyes were wide. ~You have got to be joking! She's seen Sirius, she knows he's here at Hogwarts. Once loud scream and she'll have a dozen Aurors running down here!~
Harry reached up and stroked her cheek. Don't worry, Gin. I trust her.
~She’s a Slytherin~ she cautioned him.
I know, he admitted, looking passed her to where Blaise and Sirius were staring silently at each other.
She persisted, ~Why? Why d'you trust her with something like this.~
Harry sighed softly before explaining, Remember during the Triwizard Tournament? After my name was spat out by the Goblet of Fire? All those badges Malfoy was handing out?
~Potter Stinks~ She nodded fractionally.
Blaise was the only Slytherin in the school who never bought or wore one, Harry told Ginny thinking back to those harsh days when it had seemed that almost everyone was against him, even Ron. She never supported me openly, but it meant a lot to me that she did that. Besides, the cat, or rather the dog, is out of the bag. What would you suggest we do if we can't trust her? Obliviate her memory of walking in on us?
~That's probably not a bad idea~ she muttered silently. After a moment she sighed and shook her head just enough to let him know her decision as she leaned back against his chest. ~Well, at least now we have an ally in Slytherin that's not Snape.~
Harry chuckled, returning his attention to the still frozen forms of Hermione, Remus, Sirius and Blaise. He waved a hand from Blaise to Sirius and back, finally breaking the long silence. "Sirius, this is Blaise Zabini," he introduced with a bemused smile, "Blaise, this is my godfather, Sirius Black."
"Sirius Black?" asked Blaise weakly.
"Yes."
"Sirius Black, as in the escaped prisoner of Azkaban?" she asked, looking at Sirius with more than a little concern. "The convicted murderer and supporter of the Dark Lord? That Sirius Black?"
Harry nodded. "That's right."
"Oh. Y'know," Blaise finally tore her wide-eyed gaze away from Sirius and towards Harry, "a few years ago I would have started screaming by now."
"That's what I like about you, Blaise," he admitted with a smile, "you're very level-headed."
Blaise returned his smile and then strode over to where Sirius was sitting perched on the armrest of Remus' chair. She came to a stop just in front of him and looked him over in a manner that reminded Harry of his Aunt Petunia sizing up a side of beef at the butcher's.
"So you're the infamous Sirius Black?" she asked coyly. At Sirius' silent nod, she reached out a hand and seductively traced the line of his jaw with a manicured finger. She grinned impishly at Sirius' dumbfounded expression and told him, "You're cuter than I thought you'd be."
Harry tried his hardest not to laugh as Sirius all but fell from his seat. He couldn't hold back a short cough of amusement as Blaise turned away from the two men and spoke to him again. She shook her head in what could only have been wonder. "You certainly do keep... interesting company, Potter. You'll have tell me about it one day."
He shrugged and gave a noncommittal nod. "One day."
Blaise's eyes were twinkling merrily as she walked to the door and pulled it open again. She stood in the doorway and looked back at Harry. "I'll hold you to that. See you up at the feast." Just before she turned to leave she glanced at Hermione and then at Ginny, who was still happily sitting on Harry's lap. She nodded amiably to them, "Granger, Weasley."
Turning on a heel, the centrefold of Slytherin house, stepped out of the office. She left behind one highly amused Harry Potter; two bemused, if slightly concerned young ladies; one somewhat worried, but otherwise willing to trust Harry's judgement, werewolf; and lastly one escaped convict that was in the process of having a mild stroke.
Offhand it was quite an exit.
TBC...