CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT –
"The Long, Lazy Days of Summer"
Padfoot gasped as he hauled his far-too battered body out of the ocean. He flopped onto the beach and resisted the almost-overwhelming urge to kiss the dirty sand. He'd been swimming for hours in frigid water, and that had severely sapped his strength.
Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, shaking his heavy fur vigorously. He looked up and down the beach, inhaling great gulps of the air to see if there was anyone present. Seeing that he was in the clear, he transformed back into Sirius, feeling the built-in warming charms on the clothes kick in automagically. He sighed as some much-needed heat began to seep into his bones.
Sirius knew that he'd have to get out of the way of people, and headed into the bushes. He sat against a large bush, feeling an urge to have a brief sleep. Sighing, he transformed back into Padfoot, settling into the undergrowth. He'd rest, briefly, before beginning his journey south. He had to find his godpup, before searching for the traitor...
Harry had completed the seamstress computer program earlier in the day, and begun to transcribe the measurements from the headbands he'd had his friends wear on the train ride home. Hermione was watching him curiously as he scribbled down information, then tapped it into his computer.
"So... how does this work?" Hermione asked, finally breaking the silence.
He looked up, spotting her nibbling on her bottom lip as she was faced with something she didn't understand. When he smiled at her, she blushed slightly, but didn't turn away. "You remember I said the headband didn't only measure what you are now, but what you'll grow up into?"
"Of course." Hermione said, slightly coolly at the perceived slight to her intellect.
"Easy." Harry said softly, waiting for her to relax slightly before continuing. "After I've put all your measurements in the computer, it works out what sized pieces I'll need to actually make the clothes. It'll tell me where and how to stitch, and it gives me an idea of what the finished product should look like."
Hermione blinked. "That's it?"
It was Harry's turn to blink. "Well... yeah. What did you think it'd do?"
"I thought it'd make the clothes." Hermione said, sounding genuinely confused.
"Hermione, it's just a design program. It makes blueprints. That's all it does."
"Oh..." Hermione nodded.
"Well, all that basilisk hide's sitting in the Box, just waiting to be used. Basilisks are kinda like dragons, in a way. Both sets of hide are magically resistant, and they can be used to make protective clothing."
"Yeah, that's something I was wondering." Hermione asked. "I know they can be used for gloves, since we've got them for Herbology and Potions, but I didn't know it could be used for clothing."
"Why do we have them for potions?" Harry asked, easily slipping into the role of teacher.
"So that we can pick up hot things. And so we don't end up touching dangerous ingredients."
"Right. You could almost say they have a nullifying effect on magical items. It's the same with spell energies. Most dragon hide armour's only a few years old, and they'll stop most high-impact spells, not counting the Unforgivables, of course. Since this hide is a thousand years old, it's dozens of times more potent."
"So, you're making spell-proof vests?" Hermione concluded.
"No. That's a little too... pedestrian." A small smile erupted on his face. "That's what everyone does with the remains of a basilisk. Spell proof vests, body armour, second skin... I was actually thinking about making something a little more... presentable."
"'Presentable'?" Hermione repeated. "By 'presentable', you mean..."
"I was thinking something like a uniform." Harry said sheepishly. "A reasonably form-fitting uniform for us all. Since I'm planning on being in the front line of the upcoming war, and you've said you'd stand with me..." He trailed off as he saw her roll her eyes. "What?"
"Harry, you're a dear, really, but a uniform?" She snickered. "Do you have plans for it?"
Nodding, Harry turned the laptop round, so she could see the image on the screen. Her snickering died in her throat as she spotted the finished project. "That's... damn, Harry, that's good!"
"What's good?" Emma asked, stepping into the living room. She spotted Hermione with a book (and the ever-present Crookshanks) sitting on the couch, while Harry sat on the floor in front of her, his laptop on the coffee table. "Good morning, children."
"Morning, Mum."
"Morning, Emma." Harry smiled shyly at her. Ever since his... outburst at the station, she'd been more mothering towards him. Fortunately for Harry's continued sanity, she didn't adopt the 'mother=smother' policy of Molly Weasley. He liked the woman, he really did, but he'd go nuts if he had to deal with her for more than a day. "I was just showing Hermione a project I'm working on."
Emma gestured at the laptop, waiting for Harry's nod, before she leaned over the back of the couch, looking at the screen. She whistled through her teeth. "That's a good-looking set of clothes, Harry... where would you get something like that from?"
"I'd have to make it, Emma." Harry said. "I've got almost all of the components I'd need in the Portkey Box. With a bit of luck, I think I could have it completed by the end of the summer."
Emma stared at the image, frowning for a moment, before she reached forward. "May I?"
Intrigued, Harry held the laptop up to her. Emma tapped a few keys, before running her fingers over the touchpad. "Ah, that way..." It took only a few moments for Emma to make the changes she wanted, before handing the computer back. Harry looked at the revision, and nodded. "I like... and how'd you know how to do that?"
Emma shrugged shyly. "Dan got something similar in a copy of 'Which Computer' a couple months ago. I had a play with it, designing clothes and things."
Harry nodded. "Cool... you did a good job, too. I think it looks a lot better."
"Me, too." Hermione offered.
"Good." Emma smiled brightly. "I'm glad I could help." She came round the couch, and sat next to her daughter. She let out an 'oomph' noise as Crookshanks trotted over to rest his squashed-up head in her lap, looking up with huge brown eyes. "You're a rotten kitty." Emma cooed, rubbing Crookshanks' belly.
"He's a shameless flirt is what he is." Harry said, his eyes narrowing when he saw Crookshanks glaring at him. Get over it, Crooks... we both know why you hate me, but it's too early for me to tell them everything.
With another hateful glare, Crookshanks returned his attention to the cooing human.
"So, what's it gonna be made out of, Harry?" Emma asked, making sure to split her attention between Crookshanks and Harry. "I heard something about dragons."
"Not exactly." Harry said. "At Christmas, while you and Amelia were conspiring outside the ship, we began to discuss what was attacking Hogwarts. Hermione and I worked out that it was a basilisk. Well, at the end of term, I slew the beast. I have it's body in storage in the ship. I'm planning on skinning it, curing it and using the hide as the basic material of the uniform."
"A basilisk." Emma nodded. "But, it's only a snake, Harry. How many of these snakes will you need to complete an outfit?"
"Mum?" Hermione cleared her throat delicately. "It was a rather big snake."
"How big?"
"Wanna come and see it?" Harry asked, a mischievous smirk on his face.
Emma nodded, struggling to push Crookshanks off her belly, before standing up.
Dan ambled down the stairs, glad that it was Saturday and he wouldn't need to go into work. He headed into the kitchen when he heard a piercing scream coming from outside. Without thinking, he grabbed a knife from the block on the worktop, before rushing through the backdoor. He was inside the Portkey Box before he even knew what he was doing. "Emma?" He shouted, looking round.
"We're back here, dad." Came Hermione's amused voice.
He rushed forward, heading through the door at the back of the console room, spotting a door open on the left-hand side of the corridor. He rushed through, only to stop as he saw a wall of green. And green. And green. "Sweet Jesus..." He gasped.
Emma was stood just to the left of him, trembling slightly as she took in the sight of the terrifying serpent. "You... f-faced..."
Dan cleared his throat. "What is this, Harry?" He asked calmly.
"This is the basilisk that was petrifying students at Hogwarts." Harry replied, equally calmly. "I managed to slay it, so I claimed its body as spoils."
"It's huge." Dan pointed out, unnecessarily.
"I know."
There wasn't really anything more to say, as far as Dan was concerned.
"How did you k-kill it?" Emma stammered.
"I stuck a sword through the top of its head."
"O-Oh..." She looked up at Harry, then made a decision. "I'm sorry, Harry."
"Eh?" Harry asked intelligently. He squeaked when she wrapped him in a firm hug. He could feel her trembling, and after a few moments, realised that it was fear that was making her tremble. Fear that Harry had faced such a thing. This is a mother's love...He said to himself, shocked that he'd ever feel anything like this. She cares about me for me...
Hermione was watching Harry's face, seeing the realisation wash over him. She stepped closer, joining her mother in the impromptu group hug, gesturing wildly at her father, who sighed, dropping the knife as he moved it.
"You could have died..." Emma whispered harshly. "Harry..."
"I'm okay, Emma." Harry whispered back. "I won, she lost. That's all that matters."
"Why, though?" Dan asked. "Why was it you that had to do this?"
To Dan's surprise, it was Hermione who answered. "Because nobody else can."
Abhijat Patil sat in his office, pondering carefully. He'd spoken to Parvati about her school year, hearing the events from her point of view, and then called Padma into his office.
"Good morning, daughter." Abhijat said formally, holding out his hand towards the other chair. "Would you join me?"
Gracefully, Padma stepped into the room, bowing slightly to her father before sitting down. "Good morning, father."
"I'd like to talk to you," Abhijat said, "about the events of your last school year. I've spoken to Parvati, and she gave me her version of events, and now I'd like to hear yours."
"Where would you like me start, father?"
"Harry Potter."
"Ah... well, I met him originally during my first year, father. When you sent the marriage contract to him. He asked me the best way to turn it down, since he wasn't searching for a wife or contract at that moment. Since that time, we've become fast friends."
"I see... he did send me a very polite, well-worded reply." Abhijat said absently. "I was quite impressed with it, especially considering his young age." He nodded to himself. "So, you and he are friends?"
"Yes, father." Padma said, barely managing to stop her eyes from rolling. "We would only ever be friends. Although I don't think he's admitted it, he's completely in love with Hermione Granger, and she with him."
"Indeed?" Abhijat asked. "A Muggleborn witch, if memory serves."
"Yes, father."
"Hmm... moving on, Parvati mentioned something about a 'monster' attacking Hogwarts."
"Not exactly, father. There was a basilisk under the school. It was being controlled by a possessed first year, attacking primarily Muggleborns. The rumours about the Chamber of Secrets were correct. After the first year, Ginny Weasley, was taken down to the Chamber, Harry felt that he had no choice but to go down after her and rescue her. We discovered during a duelling tournament that Harry's a Parselmouth."
"Is he?" Abhijat nodded, smiling slightly. "A powerful and severely misunderstood gift."
"While he was down in the Chamber, he used a communication mirror to transmit to us. We heard almost everything that went on down there. He and Hedwig fought the Basilisk and won."
Abhijat held up his hand. "What's a 'Hedwig'?"
"Harry's familiar, father. A Snowy-White owl."
For a long moment, Abhijat didn't move. "A post owl?" He repeated. "Lord Potter went to fight a basilisk with a post owl? And he won?"
"Hedwig's an enigma." Padma replied. "I've seen her reading books. She's a true familiar."
"Hmm..." Abhijat stroked his beard absently. "I'm intrigued by that kind of bond, daughter. But, no matter. Would you tell me about the 'childishness' of Lord Potter, as Parvati put it?"
Padma huffed for a moment. "Father, he wasn't being childish. He told people that he doesn't forgive and forget, and they've been glaring and muttering about him ever since Halloween. He told them that it wasn't him that was attacking people, but they didn't believe him. Then, when it's so obvious even a lump of concrete would understand, they all expect him to just forgive them."
"I see."
"I wouldn't have done it, either." Padma groused. "Then, the Headmaster tells him that he should just forgive everyone, and when he says no, Dumbledore starts proclaiming how childish and petty Harry is. In front of every student in the Great Hall! It was disgusting!"
"I agree, daughter. I would definitely like to meet Lord Potter. Could you arrange a convenient time and date with him?"
"Of course, father."
The Patil family were purebloods, ancient purebloods, but they were still Indian, and in the bigotry of the Wizarding world, that made them all second-class citizens. They were wealthy, powerful and pure, but they would forever be out of the popular clique. Harry Potter seemed to have a better system of doing things. Maybe it was time to see what could be done.
Harry had waited until the Grangers had left, before closing his eyes and opening his hand. Almost instantly, the Sword of Gryffindor appeared, calling out to be used in battle. Well, it's a battle of sorts. He thought as he stabbed the blade into the basilisk's side, before bracing his hand against the pommel and pushing forward. He gagged for a moment as the vile smell of the basilisk's guts erupted, but he kept moving.
Slowly, he made his way down the entire length, stopping just before he reached the end. My god, this thing smells vile! He shuddered, but climbed over the end of the tail, working his way down the other side. Bet this is way too heavy to lift, too.
Once he'd finished his cutting, he let the sword fall to the floor, the innate magic whisking it back to its subspace pocket before it actually landed. Slowly, Harry drew his wand, taking a deep breath as he focussed his powers. There wasn't really a formalised spell for peeling the flesh away like this. Sure, the Dark Arts could easily skin something, but it wasn't appropriate if you wanted to keep the skin.
The flesh rose into the air, sinew and muscle snapping as the flesh was lifted away. Harry let the flesh flop onto the floor next to the corpse, before a sharp flick of his wand turned the corpse over and he started on the other side.
Once complete and the hide was off, Harry flicked his wand. Unlike Dragons, where almost every part was useful, from the blood to the bone to the heart to the meat, a good portion of the basilisk was highly toxic. Unless he wanted to poison someone by slipping them basilisk steak instead of dragon (and Malfoy was at the top of that list), it was useless... and stank. However, there were some parts that were more than useful.
Next, he conjured a large wine-making bottle, making it bottomless (a curious magical effect on a bottle), before flicking his wand at the corpse again. Slowly, the blood rose into the air and funnelled into the bottle. Basilisk blood was excellent when used for blood-based sealing runes, since the blood was so potent and very 'Dark'. Harry could think of several useful places that could be sealed up in that fashion.
After removing every drop of blood, Harry sealed the bottle, placing it gently onto the floor near the door, then charmed it to be unbreakable. No sense in letting all the blood go to waste, after all.
Conjuring another bottle, this one far smaller, Harry made his way to the mouth of the basilisk. He placed the bottle at the end of the fang, then tapped a small pocket of flesh with his wand. It began stimulating the venom gland, sending to the fluid straight down the fang and into the bottle. Once the gland was exhausted, Harry quickly did the same on the other side.
There was one other part of the basilisk body that could be useful; the heart. Like dragons, the heartstrings could be used in several different ways, notably in a wand. However, basilisks were towards the 'Dark' side of the magical spectrum, and any wand made with basilisk heartstring would greatly favour the Dark Arts. Still, Harry kept it, just in case.
The skin removed, the blood siphoned off and the venom drained, there wasn't a great deal left of salvageable value. The bones could be used to make nigh-indestructible blades that wouldn't set off metal and spell detectors, and the fangs could be used to make daggers. Everything else was simply smelly flesh taking up space.
Harry was about to banish the mess, when a slightly Slytherin thought made it's way into his mind. True, he didn't like his fame, but there was no reason not to be proud of this accomplishment. Harry had long since abandoned his silly desire to be 'normal'. After all, 'normal' was what everyone else was. He just didn't want to be singled out for something that he had no control over. He decided to keep the skeleton, safely sealed up in the Portkey box, just in case they ever needed a record.
That decided, Harry banished the remains of the meat and muscle, before turning to the immense pile of hide that was on the floor. Before it could be used to make uniforms for him and his friends, it'd need to be cured. He'd had to study to find out how the hell to cure something, since he'd never had to before.
He conjured an immense steel bath, before pouring in boiling water, and adding almost forty kilos of sea salt. Once there, he levitated the hide inside, before conjuring several large crystals of alum, dropping it into the mess. It'd take days for the process to get underway, so Harry added bluebell flames underneath, to keep the water boiling.
Once done, Harry hit himself with several Scourgify charms, and left the box, whistling. He'd done enough for today. Perhaps it was time to go and find Hermione, and engage in a brief but furious tickle fight.
The long, lazy days of summer passed slowly, Harry getting used to life as an honorary Granger. They'd accepted him in everything, as a fourth member of the family. Each time they went out, be it to something as simple as dinner, or a trip to an amusement park, he was included wholeheartedly. To a boy who'd never had a family (or even a decent childhood), it was comforting. To an old man who'd lived a life of pain, misery and suffering, it was a balm to the soul.
Things were so different this time around, a fact that both comforted him and scared him, considering his promise to himself that he wouldn't change things until later. But he had changed things, and they were better because of it.
Which smoothly led Harry into his next problem; the Zabinis, and the Patils. The two families had a good-sized family fortune, as well as political connections. He was at a bit of a loss as to what he could offer to them, other than the political good-will of the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. Still, he'd see them, just to see what they wanted.
He headed into the Portkey box, Hermione trailing after him. She knew he wouldn't be running away. He'd promised, after all. She watched as he went over to the seldom-used communication panel, where the large mirror sat with pride of place.
"Potter to Patil." He said into console, waiting for a moment. Bare seconds later, an image of a beautiful Indian girl appeared.
"This is Patil." She said mock-seriously, before smiling. "Must you be so dramatic, Harry?"
"Must?" Harry asked. "No. But, it's fun sometimes." He grinned at her. "So, Padma, what's new with you?"
"I had an interesting chat with my father a few days ago, Harry. He's very interested in meeting with you."
"Oh?"
"Yeah... something about having a 'severely misunderstood gift', and he meant you being a Parselmouth, and he wants to hear the story about that basilisk."
"Ah." Harry nodded, then glanced at Hermione. "Well, I've got the remains of the basilisk here in the box, so he can see it if he wants. I'm sure I can regale him with the story of the apocalyptic battle in the Chamber." On the screen, Padma nodded. "What about Parvati, though?"
Padma's image frowned slightly. "What about her?"
"Well, the last day of term, she was glaring at me all the time. I could even get the impression that she doesn't like me."
The image of Padma sighed. "She doesn't, Harry. She listened to Dumbledore, and thinks you're really childish."
"This coming from the girl who doesn't fart unless Witch Weeklysays which way to tilt your hips." Hermione groused.
"Not necessarily the way I would've put it, but essentially correct." Padma confirmed. "She told Mother and Father that we shouldn't be seen as associating with you, since we didn't need the scandal."
Harry snickered. "Charming..."
"Fortunately, my parents don't allow others to make their opinions for them. Unless they know all three sides of an argument, they reserve judgement."
"All three sides?" Hermione asked.
"'Understanding is a three-edged sword,'" Harry quoted, "'Your side, their side, and the truth.' Your parents seem like my kinda people, Pad."
"I think so. So, is this call to arrange a suitable meeting, Lord Potter?"
"Pad..."
"Come on, Harry. Lighten up a little. You'll have to be serious when you get here."
"Well... I suppose. When's good for you and your family?"
"Hang on." The image on the mirror lurched for a moment, making both Harry and Hermione turn away, less they became seasick. After a few moments, they could hear Padma speak. "Father, I'm in communication with Lord Potter. He'd like to know when an appropriate time for a meeting would be."
The two could hear another, far more cultured voice speaking. "'In communication', my daughter?"
"Lord Potter gave me a mirror at the end of term, Father, allowing instant communication."
"Indeed? I've never heard of such a thing."
"He's on the line now, Father."
"Ah... Lord Potter?"
"Mr. Patil." Harry said politely, his posture instantly transforming from a slouch to 'Lord' mode. "It's an honour, sir."
Abhijat's eyebrow shot up. "Indeed, Lord Potter. However, the honour is mine, My Lord. You're calling to arrange a convenient meeting time?"
"I'm at your disposal, sir." Harry replied.
"On the contrary, Lord Potter. We are at yours."
"Oh, spare me." Harry could hear Padma mutter. "Harry, is Friday good for you?"
Harry glanced at Hermione, who nodded. "Yep."
"Seven pm?"
"Spot on."
"Cool. Dress formally."
"Got it."
"Would you care to arrange anything else, daughter?" Abhijat asked, sounding stern, but all three youths could hear the amusement in his voice. "Any other appointments?"
"No." Padma said, also sounding amused. "You may carry on, Father, Lord Potter."
Harry bowed hugely to the image in the mirror. "Yes, Miss Patil. Thank you, Miss Patil."
"Dismissed!" Padma snapped, her face lit up with a huge grin, before she winked at the image. A moment later, it blacked out.
"Sometimes, she surprises me." Hermione admitted. "She's got a sense of humour like the Sahara."
"True." Harry said. "Still, that's the Patils down. Just need to arrange a meeting with the Zabinis." He tapped the communication rune on the mirror. "Potter to Zabini."
Almost ten seconds later, a red-faced Blaise appeared in the mirror. "Harry, can I call you back?" He asked breathlessly.
"Er... sure."
"Thanks!" The image vanished.
Hermione looked at Harry. "What was that?"
"I have no idea."
Almost five minutes later, the image lit up. "Zabini to Potter."
Harry tapped on the rune, seeing the normal, cool, collected Blaise on the other end. "Everything okay, Blaise?"
"Yes. I was just... indisposed."
"Oh..." Harry and Hermione said together.
"Not that." Blaise said, rolling his eyes slightly. "I was... answering a call of nature."
"Much better." Harry said. "To be honest, I thought you were-"
"Yes, I know what you thought." Blaise interrupted. "Not something I'd like to discuss, Harry. Ever."
"Understood."
"Good. So, I assume you're calling about a dinner meeting?"
"I am."
"Thursday good for you?"
Again checking with Hermione, Harry nodded. "Thursday's fine, Blaise. Seven pm?"
"That's fine."
"Let me guess; dress formally?"
"Yes."
"Marvellous." Harry said. "So, the Zabinis on Thursday, and the Patils on Friday. I should probably get in contact with Madam Bones, too. She'll probably want Saturday."
"Harry, I know you don't follow pureblood politics, which I can't blame you for, but you should know that the Bones family are one of the oldest families around. There's only a few which are older."
"I know." Harry groused. "I just hate all this pomp and circumstance. I'm a blunt kind of guy, Blaise."
"Yes." Blaise agreed. "Just think of the possible good alliances can cause, and focus on that."
"I know..." Harry said again. "Doesn't mean I have to like it, though."
"You'll be fine. I should get going, Harry."
"Sure, man. Take care of yourself, okay?"
"You, too." The image cleared, making Harry turn to Hermione.
"Are you okay with this?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Would I have been nodding at you if I wasn't?"
"No. Still, thought I should ask, is all."
"And I appreciate it, hero." Hermione said, rolling her eyes again. "Still, need to dig out my party dress."
Knowing this was only asking for trouble, Harry made an offer. "I could take you shopping, if you'd like?"
Squeeing loudly, Hermione wrapped him in a hug. "Okay!" After a chaste but passionate kiss on the lips, Hermione shot off to find her parents, presumably to ask for some money.
"Women..." Harry muttered as the tapped the mirror again. "Potter to Bones."
After a moment, Harry had to suppress a chuckle, as he heard the mirror say, "How do you answer this?"
"You just did, Sue."
The image resolved into Susan Bones, looking cutely confused. "Hi, Harry!"
It sounds like you already are. Harry thought as he chuckled. "Hi, Sue. How're you?"
"I'm good. What about you? Are you with Hermione?"
"Yes."
"Any interesting gossip to share?"
"No."
"Harry!"
"What do you want me to say?"
"I want to hear all the juicy gossip!"
"Well, there isn't any."
"Then go and make some, and call me back!"
"Sue!"
The image chuckled for a moment. "Harry, you clearly don't understand how teenage girls think."
"I've never denied that."
Sighing dramatically, Susan sobered up. "So, what can I do for the famous and powerful Lord Potter?"
"Well, your Aunt was saying how she wanted to hear the story of the basilisk and the Chamber. Since I've just made dinner appointments with the Patils and the Zabinis, I thought I should go three for three."
"Ah, yes. Hang on. Aunt Amelia!"
"Ow..."
"Sorry, Harry." The image apologised. "Aunt Amelia, you got a minute?"
Another voice came over the mirror. "Is there a reason you're shouting like a dock worker?"
"Harry's on the mirror, Aunt Amelia. He wants to know about dinner."
"Ah, good. I'd like to speak to him. This saves Apollo going out, anyway." A pair of footfalls announced the arrival of Amelia Bones, who budged Susan slightly to one side so she could share the mirror. "Lord Potter?"
"Madam Bones, please call me 'Harry'. You know I don't like all that 'Lord' rubbish."
"My apologies, Harry. Yes, I was hoping to invite you and the Grangers to the Ossuary this Saturday."
"Myself and the Grangers, ma'am?" Harry blinked.
"Yes. When we were all staying together at Christmas, I got to know them a little. They seem like good people, and I'd like to get to know them more. If that's okay?"
"Not a problem with me, ma'am, I assure you. Hang on..." Harry tapped a few buttons on the console, transferring the 'call' from the box's mirror to his hand-held one. "I shall go and ask them now."
Harry quickly made his way into the house, hearing Hermione chattering a mile a minute to her mother, who was half-listening, half-translating her daughter's excited babble. "Excuse me?"
The three Grangers looked up at Harry's entrance. "Yes, Harry?" Dan asked.
"I've got Amelia Bones on the 'phone' at the moment. She'd like to know if the four of us would like to have dinner at the Ossuary on Saturday?"
"'The Ossuary'? Why would we be going to a... ah... that's a clever name." Emma said.
"It's the proper name for a bone yard." Hermione said. "It's also the name of the Bones' ancestral home."
"It is." Amelia confirmed from the mirror. "I'd like it if you would join us for dinner. I was also planning on inviting the Longbottoms."
Dan glanced at Emma, who gave a little shrug and nodded. "It's all good with us, Amelia. Don't have any plans for this weekend." He frowned. "What do we wear?"
"I'll take care of it." Harry interjected, a smile on his face. "Trust me."
"Then we shall see you on Saturday, Lord Potter." Amelia's image said. "Seven pm is the customary time for dinners."
"We'll come via the Box, Madam Bones." Harry replied. "See you soon."
"Goodbye." The image cleared, leaving Harry to look up.
"Well... busy few days, really."
"Shopping!" Hermione near-squealed, bouncing up and down on the couch. "Shopping, Harry!"
"Magic or non-magic?" Harry asked, reaching into his pocket to check if he had his moneybag.
That caused Hermione to stop. "I don't know..."
"Hang on a minute." Dan said, holding up his hand. "What kind of shopping?"
"Clothes shopping, Daddy!" Hermione squealed. "Lots of lovely new clothes!"
Harry and Dan shared a glance, before each of them grimaced. Clothes shopping... a special kind of torture.
The stray had been travelling hard for days. Living off whatever he could scrounge, Padfoot had made his way from the very northern tip of Scotland down to Surrey. He'd heard rumours that his godpup was living with Lily's vile sister, and he knew they resided somewhere in Surrey.
Fortunately, Sirius wasn't completely dense to the Muggle world, and understood the concept of the phone book. It had taken all of two minutes for him to remember Petunia's fat husband's name, and was casually strolling through a park near to his target.
As he crossed onto Privet Drive, he lowered his nose to the ground, and began sniffing. If the pup was anywhere around here, the magnificent nose of the magnificent Padfoot should be able to find him. Slowly, he made his way up to #4, but there was something wrong. There were traces of Harry, but they were old. Years old, at least.
Slowly, Padfoot retreated to the park to consider his options. Without a lead, Padfoot was screwed. He couldn't go to Diagon Alley and ask someone, since they'd almost certainly hex first and... well, not bother answering questions.
Hmm... what to do? The dog mused as he sat in the bushes. Ooh, itch, itch... Licking himself shamelessly, Padfoot slumped back. Guess I'll have to find the rat... once I get the rat, I can turn myself in and get my freedom back. Once I have that, I can find Harry. The dog whimpered. Back to Hogwarts... my feet are killing me... bloody hell...
As the days passed in preparation for their dinner, Harry had taken Hermione shopping for several new party dresses. Naturally, she looked stunning in whatever she wore, so Harry was more than pleased to buy her whatever she wanted. Hermione didn't let this go to her head, of course.
At 6:30 on Thursday, Harry and Hermione entered the Portkey box, clad in the finest magical robes that money could buy. Setting the co-ordinates, the armoured Portkey disappeared, spinning through the magical vortex to a small manor house in the middle of Essex.
Harry stood by the controls, idly tinkering with some basic Arithmancy formulae. He was still working on decoding the Marauders' Map, but it was slow going, keeping in mind that the original was, to him, a truly priceless and irreplaceable magical artefact. Hell, the Portkey box itself was less valuable to Harry. It could be replaced. The map couldn't.
Since the distance involved was only a few hundred miles, it took just a few minutes before the vibrations changed in preparation to materialise. Until the floor rocked, shunting the box to one side. Harry was already sliding levers to stabilise the ride.
"What was that?" Hermione demanded, rushing over to his side of the console.
"Just hit an incredibly powerful anti-portkey ward." Harry replied. "We're being shunted to one side."
Hermione frowned. "Were you trying to land inside their house?" She asked, sounding quite disapproving.
"No. I was trying to land just outside the front doors." Harry replied, typing away. "Got it. The anti-portkey ward extends twenty metres. I thought it was ten. We're materialising now." As if on cue, the gyroscope at the centre of the console began to wheeze/groan.
While Hermione was clinging on to the console for dear life as the momentum of the Portkey was neutralised, Harry shot into the kitchen area beyond the console room, grabbing several bottles from the pantry. In pureblood custom, it was the height of rudeness not to bring alcohol to a formal dinner. A bottle of three-century old brandy would be more than sufficient.
He headed back into the console room, seeing Hermione use the communications mirror on the console to fluff her hair. She frowned for a moment, before shrugging. She looked up to spot Harry grinning at her. "What?"
"Nothing." Harry said, shaking his head.
"I'm doing the best with what I've got, Harry." She said, sounding just a little testy.
"Hermione, you look gorgeous all the time. How can you improve perfection?" He asked with a cheeky grin, extending his arm to her.
"You spoil me." Hermione said, blushing slightly but taking his arm.
"You deserve it, my dear." He replied, sliding up a lever to open the doors. "Come on, then... let's pop the hatch and meet the people."
Knocking on the door, Harry was surprised at the house elf who answered. They spoke relatively clear English as the young couple was invited inside the lobby, and asked if they'd like to surrender their travel cloaks. The elf neatly folded them over an arm and vanished, presumably going to find their host.
"Harry." Blaise came stalking down the stairs, clad in a semi-tux robe. He looked, as always, quite dashing. "It's good to see you."
"You, too." Harry said, extending his hand. Once the obligatory shake was out of the way, Harry leaned a little closer. "Any tips for tonight?"
"Be yourself." Blaise whispered back. "If you'll accompany me to the reception room?" He turned and led the way.
"How formal?" Hermione whispered.
"Bells and whistles, love." Harry whispered back, smiling at her. "Be confident and polite, and we'll be fine."
Hermione nodded and straightened her back. Harry was temporarily distracted as her new posture thrust out her chest slightly.
Focus, Harry. On the meeting, not on Hermione... A voice sternly told him. Clearing his throat, Harry stood taller. They were led into an expensively, but tastefully, decorated receiving room. Inside the room were Blaise's parents, each dressed in fine, fashionable robes.
"Good evening, Mr. Zabini." Harry said, nodding in that annoying pureblood way. "Mrs. Zabini. It's agreeable to see you again."
"Lord Potter, you honour our home." Michael Zabini said, striding forward with a hand extended. "I offer you the welcome and protection of the Zabini family."
Harry shook the extended hand. "I accept your welcome and protection." He completed the ritualised greeting. God, he hated pureblood politics...
Michael turned his attention to Hermione. "And Miss Granger. Be welcome and protected in my house."
"I accept your welcome and protection." Hermione said, repeating what Harry had said, since she'd never been told about this.
Alexandra quickly added her greetings, before saying something which drastically raised the youths opinions. "Good, very good. Now the pureblood crap's out of the way, shall we make ourselves more comfortable, Lord Potter?"
"Harry, please, ma'am." Harry replied, allowing his posture to slump slightly. "And I'd appreciate that."
"Harry?" Hermione asked gently.
"As a rule," Harry said, "if you don't like your guests, pureblood decorum means you're very, very polite to them. It's also done where one of the parties is substantially politically superior to you."
Hermione just looked confused. "I don't understand."
"Miss Granger, I assume you have not been taught Wizarding etiquette?"
"No, sir." Hermione replied.
"It's not surprising." Alexandra replied. She could see the look of red-faced fury on Hermione's face at the apparent slight to Hermione's Muggleborn heritage. "Allow me to clarify; as you are still several years from being of-age, it has not yet been needed."
Hermione relaxed marginally. "I understand, ma'am. Thank you for the clarification."
"You understand, do you not, Harry?" Blaise asked.
"Yeah." Harry nodded, then turned to Hermione, making certain not to show his back to any of the Zabinis. "Imagine if we were invited to the Malfoys' place, and we couldn't get out of it. While there, we'd be ever so polite to them, because it simply 'isn't done' to be rude to a guest or a guest to the host. Equally, if the Minister of Magic were to come to your parents' house, we'd have to be obsequious little squirts, since he's the highest-ranking official in magical Britain."
Hermione blinked, glanced at Alexandra, then back at Harry. "So, in pureblood politics, if you don't like someone, you're nice to them?"
"It could be summed up that way, Miss Granger." Michael said. "Being informal with guests is only done for those you like. Blaise has told us nothing but good things about the pair of you."
Nodding, Hermione whispered through the corner of her mouth to Harry. "How'd you know about this? You're as Muggle-raised as I am."
"I'll show you the book later." Harry whispered back.
"Now, Cracker should be announcing dinner shortly, my friends." Michael said happily. "I believe she's outdone herself with the meal tonight."
"We look forward to it." Harry said, stepping forward and extending his other hand, still clutching the bottle of brandy. "We bring a gift for your hospitality."
Michael's eyes lit up when he saw the label. "Harry, this is... how did you know?"
"I didn't, sir." Harry replied, glad he'd made a good choice.
"You appear to have gained a friend for life, Harry." Alexandra said. "Michael's been searching for that brand for almost four years."
Michael turned and put the bottle in pride of place in his wet bar. "I shall enjoy your gift, Lord Potter."
The sound of a clearing throat gathered everyone's attention. In the doorway to the reception room was a house-elf, clad in what looked like a toga. "Master, dinner is ready to be served at your command."
"Thank you, Cracker." Micahel replied. "My friends, if you'd escort us to the dining room, we shall sample Cracker's delicious cooking."
The meal proceeded splendidly. The Zabinis' cook had prepared a starter of particularly good pea soup, followed by a falling-off-the-bone leg of mutton, served with full trimmings, and a selection of home-made profiteroles as a desert.
Wine had been offered during the meal, but Harry and Hermione refused; Harry, since alcohol affected Occlumency, and Hermione because Harry did. During the meal, conversation was kept to pleasant subjects, such as Hogwarts experiences and the general situation of the Wizarding world. It wasn't until the last of the sweet was finished that the conversation turned to the more serious matters.
"So, Harry... you're probably wondering why we wished to speak with you." Michael said as he leaned back in his chair, pulling a small silver case from his pocket. He drew out a cigar, expertly trimmed it and lit up.
"I am understandably curious." Harry replied casually.
"To be blunt, we've heard quite a bit about you over the last 18 months or so. Your attitudes towards other magical people, your intolerance for the distinction between those of pureblood heritage and non-purebloods. Your praises have been sung highly in certain areas of Wizarding society, and I've heard some rather bitter diatribes about you, as well."
"Ah," Harry said cheerfully, "how is old Lucius?"
"Furious with you." Michael replied, just as cheerfully. "I believe that if you were to drop dead this instant, the party would be held at Malfoy Manor."
Hermione let out a sort of strangled gasp at the casual mention of Harry's death, causing said young man to glance over.
"Yeah, it's a bit blunt," Harry said comfortingly, placing his hand over hers, "but we both know it's true."
"I don't like it." Hermione whispered, making certain that only Harry could hear her.
"I know." He whispered back, before straightening up. "I believe that old Lucius is angry because I interfered with one of his little plots. I've been trying to feel bad about it, but I just can't seem to manage."
"Yes, a dreadful shame." Michael said in mock-sympathy. "If he wasn't such a pretentious arsehole, I'd probably be trying, too."
"Michael." Alexandra said firmly. "Watch your language."
"Yes, dear." Michael replied. "To business, then, Harry. As I'm sure you're aware, the Zabini family promotes strict neutrality in all dealings. This is business, political and economic. We have trade deals with the Parkinson family for their potions ingredients, and the Patils for their shipping capabilities."
"I'm aware of your family's neutrality, Michael. In a way, I can understand and respect it. I'm also aware that you have extensive business connections. What I don't understand is how I can help you. At the moment, I have a reasonable set of holdings, but very little in the way of infrastructure."
"Your name, Harry." Michael said casually. "The name of the 'Boy-Who-Lived', if wielded properly, could open many doors."
"And close many others." Harry replied, just as casually. "My age is a discriminatory factor as well. You already have an infrastructure and opportunities set up. In this situation, you have all the advantages. I fail to see what I can offer you, sir."
Hermione was watching, before a tiny smirk erupted onto her face. "You're sneaky, Mr. Zabini."
"I try." Michael replied. "I am a Slytherin, dear girl. But what made you say it?"
"You know that having Harry's support at this moment in time wouldn't be worth much. But as he gets older, he's going to become more and more popular and powerful. You're trying to get your foot in the door while it's still early."
"A true Ravenclaw." Michael said with a laugh. "But essentially correct, my dear." He turned to Harry. "In time, your star will rise to be at least as high as Dumbledore's. I'm hoping to 'stake my claim' to your attentions."
Harry chuckled. "I see. So, you wish to groom me to become a friend."
"Not only as a friend, Harry, but also as a source of income for us both. An alliance with the 'Boy-Who-Lived' could grant us many things."
"Wouldn't it get you into trouble with some of the... less-savoury aspects of our society?" Hermione asked, then shook her head. "No... the Zabini neutrality. What about Voldemort, though? From what I've read, he doesn't believe in neutrals. You're either for him, or against him."
Michael sighed. "The Dark Lord was... interested in us during the last war. I've already heard from Blaise that he's not dead, just disembodied. It wouldn't hurt my family if we were to have some fingers in Lord Potter's pot."
"Please rephrase that." Harry said, making Blaise chuckle. "I can understand your point, though. How would this work, exactly?"
"You hear things, Harry." Alexandra said. "You're friends with the children of some powerful and influential people. You, of all people, have access to some unique information."
Harry's face became a little more controlled. "I see. What sort of information would you be interested in?"
"Anything that can be profitable." Michael continued smoothly. "Information which could be bartered... Details about the Chamber of Secrets, for example. Word is you slew a basilisk. That alone could be liquidated to form a vast sum of money. Not to mention what other secrets that chamber holds. You also have access to Amelia Bones through her niece."
"I see." Harry pondered for a moment. "So, you're asking me to publicly ally with you, but you're also asking me to pass along intelligence about the people I'm around, things which can be utilised to make a profit?"
"Yes." Michael said. "If you use your wealth and influence properly, you could be a fantastic source for our company."
"And this information... anything in specific, other than the Chamber of Secrets?
Michael smiled winningly. "As I said, Lord Potter, you meet many interesting people. I'm sure with a word here or a word there, you'd be able to... influence them in the proper manner."
"Indeed." Harry smiled, but Hermione and, to a lesser extent Blaise, could see that it wasn't genuine. "You've certainly given me a lot to think about, Michael. I'll need to take some time to ponder my options."
"Of course." Michael said understandingly. "I understand that other families are trying to 'court you' as well."
"Yes." Harry replied simply, then glanced at his watch. "Would you look at that? Where has the time gone?"
Hermione already knew that Harry wanted to leave, so she stood up, barely managing to avoid rolling her eyes as Blaise, Harry and Michael shot to their feet. "Yes, we really should be leaving, dear." Hermione said pompously. "Mr. and Mrs. Zabini, it was a pleasure."
After exchanging pointless small talk, the guest near-ran to the door, grabbing their cloaks, entering the Portkey box and leaving.
Michael sat down in the study, his wife next to him with his son on the other couch. "Well, Blaise, how do you think that went?"
"Poorly." Blaise said bluntly. "Had you not requested he spy on people, it would have been far better."
Michael shook his head. "I didn't ask him to 'spy', Blaise. Simply to pass on any interesting information he came across."
"Translation: spy." Blaise shot back. "You insulted a powerful man of honour with that request, father. It may be salvageable, but personally, I believe not. One thing I know about Harry Potter is 'no second chances'. People who've insulted him will never get another opportunity."
Alexandra cleared her throat. "Blaise, surely you overstate things."
"If anything, Mother, I'm understating things. The best possible outcome will involve Lord Potter entering into a public alliance with us and some profitable business dealings, but he will never trust you after that request."
Michael's eyes narrowed. "We did not insult him, Blaise, and I don't appreciate the implication from my thirteen year old son. I've been running this business for almost fifteen years. I know how it works."
Blaise just shrugged. "Indeed, father." In his mind, he silently added, You may know how it works, but I know how Harry works. You just killed your chance with him.
Inside the Portkey box, Harry loosened the robes round his neck, sighing in relief as he was able to breathe properly. "That didn't go well." He said slowly.
Hermione nodded, slipping off the iron maidens that the magical world considered 'shoes'. "He wanted you to spy on people."
"I know." Harry replied. "That's why it was time to leave. The Zabini family have a lot of wealth and influence, especially in the Wizengamot, and their business allows them more influence."
"Wait a sec..." Hermione leaned closer. "What do the Zabinis actually do? What is their business? You said something about 'exotic potions ingredients' back on the train."
Harry sighed. "Hermione, 'exotic potions ingredients' usually refers to things that can't be obtained through normal channels. If I wanted to get some... I dunno... some dragon liver or armadillo bile, I'd just be able to go to the apothecary in Diagon. That shop's supplied mainly by the Parkinson family. They provide the routine supplies. But, if I wanted phoenix ash or basilisk venom, I'd need something more specialised. That's where the Zabinis come in. They can get hold of anything you need for the right price."
"By 'anything', would that mean illegal?" Hermione asked.
"Not necessarily." Harry said quickly. "For example, 'blood of a virgin' is useful in a number of things. It can be used in Black Arts rituals, true, but it can also be used for light stuff. Things like female-only protections. The Zabinis have deals with some groups where they obtain the 'blood of a virgin', paying the virgin for the sacrifice. It's not illegal, but it's hellishly hard to find on your own, unless you're willing to do some pretty unsavoury things."
"Female-only protections?"
"The charms on the girls' staircases at Hogwarts." Harry said. "The blood of a virgin witch can be used to reinforce those protections, making them nigh-unbreakable. Not bad at all. But the Zabinis have contacts where they can obtain that, and they can charge a hell of a lot."
"Right." Hermione, slightly mollified that their friend Blaise wasn't attached to the magical equivalent of the mafia, was able to relax slightly. "But... asking you to spy on our friends... that's not right."
"I know. I may enter into business with him," Harry said, almost exactly repeating what Blaise had told his parents, "but anyone who asks me to spy on people isn't someone I want to deal with. Besides, neutrals scare me."
"Why?"
"Because, you never know when that neutrality will end, and you never know what side of the fence they'll come down on." He admitted shyly. "Trade, yeah. Spy, no. So, I'll leave the Zabinis alone for the moment." He thought for a second. "God, I hope the Patils aren't like this."
Harry found out approximately 21 hours later, as the Portkey box materialised outside the Patil residence. It was a far more 'homey' house than the Zabini place. Harry and Hermione had gone for lunch to India to make certain they picked up a suitable gift, since it wasn't appropriate to bring alcohol. It had shocked Hermione when she realised just how tactically useful the Portkey box was, not to mention the fantastic options for holidays.
They'd dressed to the nines again, wearing something a little more colourful that the austere robes of the previous evening.
"I hate this." Harry said, struggling with his top button. "Why do we have to wear these bloody silly dresses? Why can't I just wear a tux?"
Hermione chuckled at him as she forced the collar together, leaving Harry with a slightly-red face as he struggled to breath. "Stop it." She scolded lightly. "You look very handsome." She nibbled her lip for a moment. "What do you look like in a tux?"
"Dashing." Harry said snootily, before he coughed. "Great... two hours being barely-able to breathe. This better bloody be worth it."
The grinding of the gyroscope changed into the typical wheezing/groaning sound of materialisation.
"No bouncing this time?" She asked.
"Nope. I put us down on the edge of the property this time." Harry said, grabbing the small doll he'd picked up in India. "Don't want to hit another ward." Hearing the thump as the magical 'handbrake' engaged, Harry pulled on the lever which opened the doors. "Let's go say 'hello'."
Inside the house, the procedure was similar to the Zabinis'. A house elf took their outer cloaks, before leading the couple into a comfortable-looking sitting room. "Ah, Lord Potter!" Abhijat stood up, striding over and shaking his guest's hand. "Please, be welcome in my home."
"Thank you, Mr. Patil." Harry said, shaking the man's hand. "I bring a gift for your family, sir."
Abhijat took the small statue, smiling at the small goddess represented there. "A fine choice, Lord Potter. I thank you, and offer the protection of my home and family while you are here."
"I gladly accept your welcome, sir."
"And Miss Granger?" Abhijat held out his hand, waiting until Hermione shook, before raising it to his lips. "An honour, Miss Granger. I bid you welcome, and offer the protection of my home and family while you are here."
"I'm honoured to accept your welcome and protection, sir." Hermione replied gracefully.
"May I formally introduce my family?" Abhijat said. "This is my wife and partner, Durga, and I believe you're already aware of my daughters Parvati and Padma."
Harry greeted Durga as Abhijat had greeted Hermione; with a kiss to the back of her hand. He performed the same move with Padma, before shaking Parvati's hand once, before letting it drop. The girl scowled angrily at him.
Abhijat saw his Gryffindor daughter's behaviour and was ashamed. He'd be having words with her later... "Shall we head to dinner, Lord Potter? I'm assured that our chef has prepared a fine meal in your honour."
"Certainly, Mr. Patil." Harry said. "And please, call me 'Harry'."
Dinner had been a strangely formal affair. Harry had been deeplydisappointed when they hadn't served him a decent curry. Instead, a whole roasted pig was sitting on the table. They'd all eaten their fill, while Parvati shot him evil looks.
"A fine meal, Mr. Patil." Harry said, wishing he wasn't in a formal setting so he could loosen his belt. It'd been seriously tasty. "My compliments to your chef."
"Gordo!" Abhijat called out and a moment later, a small, neatly dressed house elf appeared.
"Master is calling for Gordo?" The tiny elf squeaked.
"Indeed, Gordo. Lord Potter was complimenting your cooking."
Harry smiled at the elf. "It was excellent, Gordo. Thank you very much."
The elf blushed, stammered something and vanished with a faint 'crack'.
"You seem to have a way with house elves, Harry." Abhijat said, stifling a laugh. "I've never seen Gordo so happy before." He sobered up slightly. "And now, My Lord, would you care to talk business?"
"Indeed." Harry said. "And please, Mr. Patil, I prefer 'Harry'. I'm not 'your Lord'.
"Of course, Harry." Abhijat. "We would prefer it if you were to use our given names, too."
"Not mine." Parvati mumbled spitefully.
"You embarrass me, daughter." Abhijat said firmly. "Remember your place."
Parvati looked up, her face a mask of fury. "No, I've had enough of this." She snapped angrily. "He's not a Lord of anything, he's just a childish little boy! Professor Dumbledore said so to everyone!"
"Daughter, you will leave this table." Abhijat commanded. "You will retire to your room. On the morrow, we will discuss your conduct."
Parvati got up, stuck her nose in the air and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. The slam made Abhijat and Durga flinch.
"My Lord, I am so sorry." Abhijat said, wringing his hands nervously. "The conduct of my daughter-"
"Is her responsibility." Harry interrupted smoothly, not Harry-the-12-year old, but Lord Potter. "Mr. Patil, allow me to be frank. I know that your family does not practice the use of the Imperious curse. Without that, there is no guaranteed way to make your children act as you wish." He sighed, allowing 'Lord Potter' to slip to the background. "Mr. Patil, your daughter is simply one of those people who's been blinded by Dumbledore's all-seeing, all-knowing attitude. I do not fault her for that."
"She is my responsibility." Abhijat protested mildly. "My Lord, she has dishonoured the House of Patil."
"Father," Padma said slowly, knowing it wasn't really her place to comment in this situation, "Parvati believes that Dumbledore knows everything. And Dumbledore said that Lord Potter was acting childishly at the end of the school term."
"Precisely." Harry said. "I firmly believe it was Dumbledore's plan to make me seem childish and petulant, simply because I'm not obeying his every wish and desire. Also, I don't forgive peoples' stupidity. Almost everyone in that school turned on me because of their own ignorance and fear. I do not forgive, nor do I forget." He sighed. "But that's not why we're here today. We're here to discuss business, are we not?"
"Indeed, Lord Potter." Abhijat said, only to frown as Harry cleared his throat noisily. "My apologies, Harry."
"Better."
"Well, we're not unaware that other families are trying to gain your influence. We've heard that the Zabini family is interested."
"They are." Harry said neutrally.
"Well, the Patils would also be interested in garnering your support and alliance."
"And what would you request of me?" Harry asked, leaning forward slightly.
Abhijat smiled, a little nervously. "I don't know if you're aware, but the Patil business is generally involved in merchandise. We bring items into this country that can't be found anywhere else. This gives us access to unique sources of products, but we sometimes have difficulties in dealing with... certain aspects of the Ministry."
"Because of the fact that your family is not an old British pureblood family." Harry said, glancing at Hermione, who was a little shocked that the typical racism she'd heard of back in the non-magical world was prevalent here. She'd always thought it was just blood status and sex that the wizards despised.
"Correct." Abhijat said sadly. "There are some in the Ministry's trade department who consider us as 'uppity filth' because we come from India, despite the fact that the Patils have been classed as 'pure blood' for the last three thousand years."
"But..." Hermione looked lost, "you're people, just like them. Why does the colour of your skin or your origins matter?"
Durga smiled warmly at Hermione. "You will either go very far with that attitude, dear girl, or you will be pushed to one side. You're a breath of fresh air." Her smile faded. "Unfortunately, the dominant force at the Ministry is white, male, English and pureblood. We only meet one of those criteria, and it has hampered our activities."
"What is your proposal?" Harry asked. "You've said what you think I could do for you, but you haven't given me the brass tacks. I'm a very plain guy, Mr. Patil."
"Very well." Abhijat leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on the table. "With you acting as a proxy for our activities in Britain, we would be able to act as your proxy for any international dealings. You also have access to some information that could be of benefit to us."
Harry's face froze at the last sentence. "Continue." He said neutrally, watching Hermione stiffen next to him.
"You are uniquely placed with the next generation to find out what shipping and other merchant services are required in the near future. If you found a good opportunity, we're hopeful that you'd be able to arrange a meeting with that party and ourselves, so that we would be able to negotiate a business contract."
"What other information?" Harry asked, still keeping the neutral tone.
"Well... none, really." Abhijat said cautiously. "We're business people, Harry. We're looking for some good, honest work." He blinked. "What did you think we were asking?"
"At the Zabinis yesterday, they asked me for spying services." Harry said simply. "They want me to find 'actionable' information so that I may 'influence people to their way of thinking'."
"I'm shocked that you would consider that of me, Lord Potter." Abhijat said firmly. "I do not sneak, nor do I spy. Honesty and integrity have been Patil values since the family was founded, and I won't go against that tradition."
"My apologies." Harry said softly. "I meant no offence."
Abhijat sighed. "I can understand your... thoughts on the matter, Lord Potter. However, I do not wish you to spy on your friends and fellow students. Simply keep your ear to the ground for a good deal, and grant us the opportunity to negotiate for that deal."
"You want me to be your agent and endorser." Harry said, his voice becoming far more friendly.
"Yes."
"That I could do." Harry admitted. "But, as I've said previously, my influence is limited at the moment. There's little I could do for you that you couldn't do for yourself."
"Now, yes." Durga agreed. "But in the future, Harry, your star could be the brightest of the last millennia. Opportunities will be throwing themselves at you in the near future. You should keep a sharp eye out for them."
Harry shrugged. "I intend to, ma'am. There's lots of opportunities in the future." A hard gleam came to his eyes. "I intend to take full advantage of as many as I can."
Dinner had ended amiably, with Harry far more inclined to ally with the Patils than with the Zabinis, and he and Hermione had left after enjoying a pleasant conversation. The trip back to the Grangers had been a nice, quiet one, with the young couple snuggling next to each other on the chairs. When the Portkey box materialised, neither of them moved, the pair happy to just sit and snuggle in the comfortable chairs.
Almost a half hour later, the door to the Portkey opened, Emma's head appearing round the doorway. She spotted the youths, smiled, and vanished.
Harry awoke to a flash. His wand was in hand and a stunner lighting the tip before he realised it was Emma, and she'd just taken a photograph. Since Harry wasn't naked and he didn't have his hands in inappropriate places, he was okay with the thought of having a photo taken.
"Hi, Emma." He said wearily. "Wanna help me with Hermione?"
Together, the two managed to haul a sleepy Hermione up to her bedroom.
Padfoot trotted along the train tracks, keeping a roughly northern bearing. The heat beating down on his coat made his tongue hang out, but he possessed a will of iron, and wouldn't let something as trivial as summer sunshine stop him from exacting his revenge.
Deciding on taking a break, and finding a spot to sleep before it got too dark to see, he headed over to the bushes, looking for a well-covered spot, just in case it rained. It was, after all, England, and an English summer still had a rainfall higher than most countries when flooding.
As he settled down, he rested his head on his paws. No matter what form he was in, one thought reverberated through his brain. He's at Hogwarts... He's at Hogwarts...
The Ossuary had been the residence of the Bones family ever since the Middle Ages. An ancient, well-defended manor, painted a bright, shiny white. It was always quiet around the Ossuary... until the other-worldly energies of a dimensionally transcendental armoured Portkey brought the box to the grounds.
Dinner with Susan and Amelia was far different that it had been with the Patil and Zabini families. This was far more comfortable and informal, since the groups had already allied themselves with each other. However, even though the dinner was informal, Harry and Dan were still clad in tuxes (and Hermione was forced to agree that Harry looked 'dashing' in a tux), while Emma and Hermione wore the 'little black dress' that sent both males' pulses racing.
The meal was pleasant, the company divine and the conversation stimulating. Things were going well... until a house elf dashed into the room, wielding a small silver tray, a single sheet of parchment resting on top.
"Dippy?" Amelia turned away from her conversation, taking the parchment and reading quickly. "Oh, damn..." She muttered.
Harry looked up from his golfing conversation with Dan. "Madam Bones, is everything all right?"
"No..." Amelia let her monocle drop from her eye, before she began rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban."