A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines.
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.
Pairings: ADMM, FFPS, and later, AMPP.
Spoilers: none.
Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language).
A/N: Exams are rapidly approaching, and Gryffindor is in last place for the House Cup.
Chapter 23/?? Hic abundant leones et hic sunt serpentes
Next morning, Brian rose early, showered and dressed for classes, feeling better rested than he had in weeks. Seamus, Dean and Neville greeted him when they met up in the Common Room, planning to walk together, as they usually did, downstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast. Ron and Harry were uncharacteristically quiet, almost sullen, but this was chalked up to “burn out” from so much studying. It was, after all, a mere three weeks to go until the end-of-year exams.
There was a loud buzz of speculation outside the Great Hall, where four large enchanted hourglasses held the rubies, which represented the tally of House points, and some of it was growing rather nasty. Gryffindor’s hourglass had lost a lot of points overnight, and this meant that the scarlet and gold lions were in last place, with no chance at winning the House cup. Slytherin had won, seven years running, and even students in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were dishing out the abuse.
More grumbling followed the group of first-year students as Harry and Ron joined their housemates at the long wooden table. Potter, the hero of the last two Quidditch matches; the valiant Seeker who had reliably caught the Golden Snitch, had lost all of those ruby-red points. He and a couple of idiot first-year friends of his.
“What’s up, guys?” Brian finally asked, looking right at Harry and Ron seated across from him, both of whom seemed pale and sickly. Rollins’ appetite was wholly unaffected, and he scooped porridge and raisins into his bowl alongside the peanut buttered-toast, strips of bacon and glass of chilled pumpkin juice. Friday would see them with Double Potions class (alongside Slytherin) followed by a free afternoon. They’d planned to quiz each other in the library on Charms, Spells, and Potions’ ingredients in their study hall before and after dinner.
“Nice going, Potty,” a passing Hufflepuff Fourth-year girl hissed at them. “Stupid, useless firsties!” Her friend scowled in agreement.
Neville’s eyes went wide with fear then; a lot of hostility was being directed toward their section of the Gryffindor table. “Hermione, what’s happened?” he asked quietly, noting the young witch’s blush; she seemed to be trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.
“We were caught out after curfew last night,” she answered in a flat voice, taking a piece of dry toast to nibble listlessly. “I don’t know what we were thinking.” The girl was pasty-faced, almost nauseated at the thought of breakfast.
“Okay, so? Come on then, let’s hear what’s so horrible boys and girl,” Brian prompted the three of them as he finished his bowl of porridge, putting together that it had been Hermione, Ron and Harry who had lost the Gryffindor points (on the way in to breakfast, he had also noticed that Slytherin had lost points overnight, and he wondered who was the culprit).
“We had to see Hagrid, it was pretty important stuff, of course,” Ron whispered, leaning in so that the others did as well. “Malfoy was nosing around and…”
“Filchy dragged the four of us in to see Professor McGonagall. She was beyond displeased last night, believe me,” Harry finished. “We’ll have detention at some point too.” He groaned, overhearing about nine more comments from nearby.
Brian glanced at Seamus, Dean and Neville, reaching an unspoken agreement to stand by their three friends, no matter the cost. Finnegan and Thomas had joined the study group recently, having found themselves altogether overwhelmed with just the pair of them trying to struggle through such a mountain of material for exams.
“Never mind those morons, you hear me…” he said, trying to cheer them up. “I can’t think of anyone who hasn’t lost House points while at school. Besides, don’t Fred and George have practically their own entire file cabinet in old Argus’ office? They’ve lost tons of points over the years, and pretty much everybody likes them; they’re always good for a laugh.” He grinned at this, thinking of his detentions and points lost since the fall months.
Ron chuckled sardonically, stabbing at a sausage with his fork, and eating it in two bites. “Yeah, but they never lost that many in one go.” He exhaled noisily. “Thanks, mates. This end of year is gonna suck, no doubt about it. Just zap me now, will you, and be done with it? I’ll go live in a cave somewhere…maybe Mum and Dad can visit from time to time and bring me Quidditch scores.”
-/-/-/-/-/-
Double Potions with Slytherin was miserable on the best of days, and this particular Friday was no exception. Even though Malfoy, too, had lost points for his house, he spent most of the morning making snide comments about Harry, Ron and Hermione. True to form by favoring the students in his own house, Professor Snape ignored this behavior, even subtly condoned it, but was quick to admonish any Gryffindor who stepped out of line.
“Pay attention, you dunderheads!” he sneered in a low and silky voice, looking directly across the gloomy dungeon classroom at Potter and Weasley when he said this. “Devil’s Snare is not an innocuous plant, and these details which you have heretofore failed to grasp may save your pointless lives someday.”
Snape paused, allowing Draco and his thick-necked cronies time to smirk, all of them hoping that at least one Gryffindor witch or wizard would meet an untimely end due to a plant; the nastier, the better.
“Mr. Rollins!” he thundered suddenly. Brian had just scooted the cauldron he shared with Neville by about three centimeters to his left, centering it on their workbench for when they actually got started brewing in class that morning.
“Yes, sir?” Brian saw no need to be nervous, but was watchful as the Potions Master slowly rounded on him. Longbottom seemed scarcely able to breathe, made edgy by the close proximity of Professor Snape.
The students all fell silent, some with dread and others with abject glee at what was coming next. More often than not, Neville was the one who got humiliated in Potions class; it would be interesting to see how Snape dealt with the sole American at Hogwarts (whom he usually merely ignored; Brian’s work in Potions was not noteworthy really, “middle-of-the-pack”, and he was rather content to leave it that way). Even Hermione, who was quite good at Potions, was holding her breath, not sure if she should raise her hand to divert the questioning.
“Devil’s Snare is occasionally mistaken for another plant by those foolish enough to be inattentive; name and describe that plant for me now,” he demanded softly, his eyes glittering like obsidian.
Brian cleared his throat and calmly stood at his place (it had always been his habit to stand when he answered in class, and no one had admonished him for doing so; his schoolmates had long grown accustomed). “Sir, the immature Devil’s Snare may be mistaken for the Flitterbloom plant which is used primarily as a decorative potted botanical feature. It is particularly dangerous in a darkened room or other such environment, which is favored for growth of the Devil’s Snare tendrils.” He knew more from his recent reading but judged that to be sufficient for his teacher.
Severus grunted a mild acknowledgement, giving Brian a very slight nod. “You may sit down, Mr. Rollins. That is an acceptable answer,” he commented begrudgingly. “Two points to Gryffindor.”
Hermione, Ron and Neville (and at least a dozen others) all put their heads down behind their cauldrons and books, hiding smiles, but Draco couldn’t resist an opportunity to jab. Once Snape had swept to the podium at the front of the classroom, his teaching robes billowing dramatically behind him, he waved his hand at the colored chalk to continue the written instructions for the day. Malfoy, seeing an opening when the Potions Master’s back was turned, gave in to the urge to sneer at Harry.
“Only a hundred forty eight points to go now, to catch up, Scar-head,” he said, not bothering to lower his tone. “Nice one, Rollins; way to go, kid.” Crabbe and Goyle chuckled dutifully, ever faithful to their master’s voice.
“Shut it, Malfoy, you stinking piece of…” Harry snarled, not reacting to the elbow in the ribs Hermione had given him. She nervously watched as Snape continued to write on the board, her eagle-feather quill scritching and scratching across the page in her hard-back composition book. Granger obsessively copied down nearly every word a teacher wrote or spoke in class regarding their magical training.
His eyes flashing wickedly, Brian turned toward Draco and his two cauldron-partners, making sure his housemates could hear: “Oh darling,” he cooed, licking his lips. “You look so delicious today, as always, in your black and snakey-silvery-green robes. Kiss me!” Rollins puckered, and moved as if to stand to be nearer to the blonde Slytherin first year.
Ron and the rest had to cover their mouths to stifle their snickers that threatened to erupt; it was extremely funny when Brian drawled theatrically like that. Malfoy, on the other hand, was stunned speechless, his face red with anger and embarrassment. A momentary look of horror crept into his eyes, and even Crabbe and Goyle shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. Brian glanced over at Neville, giving a subtle shake of his head and catching a broad grin from Dean Thomas.
Not wanting to let Draco off the hook yet, Brian sighed with feigned longing, and blew him a kiss. “I love you, Draco. Truly, madly, deeply,” he whispered, inwardly chuckling at the priceless look of fear on Malfoy’s face. Harry could not have been more cheered if he’d won the Daily Prophet’s weekly sweepstakes draw.
-/-/-/-/-/-
After lunch, and her quickly scribbled note to them, Brian and Neville arranged to meet with Professor Sprout outside the Great Hall, and then go on from there with her to the gardens for a few hours. She had received shipments that very morning of young seedling Fanged Geraniums, Flutterby bushes, and others that needed transplanting into larger pots to replenish her teaching stocks (the Shipping Charms and Root-protection media would only last about a day). The two Gryffindor boys waited, at her request, just outside the main doors while she spoke quietly to Professor Flitwick and Headmaster Dumbledore at the Staff table.
“Nice loser friends you’ve got in your House, Rollins,” muttered Gregory Goyle as he passed by Brian. Vincent Crabbe trod deliberately on Neville’s foot as they walked out of the Great Hall.
“Too bad they can’t all be flouncy gardeners like you pretty little lads, eh?” added Crabbe, chortling softly to see Longbottom wince at the pain.
“Any Herbologist is worth twelve of you, Crabbe,” Neville retorted, resisting the urge to favor his left foot that was most certainly bruised. “Fat bastard.”
“Move along, gorgeous; you’re just not my type of knuckle-draggers. I’m keeping myself for that delicious boss of yours,” said Brian, stepping closer to the hulking pair, not bothering to lower his voice; several Ravenclaw girls giggled and pointed when they saw it was Goyle he was speaking about. This angered the huge Slytherin first-year, and his fists clenched, rising to waist height. Rollins noticed immediately the boy’s aggressive posture.
“Go ahead and take the first swing at me, my lovely Greggy, you saucy flirt,” Brian growled, moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his housemate. Goyle’s eyes widened in disbelief that Rollins and Longbottom might actually fight with them there in the Great Hall entryway (most of the students that he and Crabbe bullied were cowering in seconds). “Just make sure it’s a really, really good one.”
Brian didn’t raise his hands, or even clench his fists, but he shifted his stance somewhat, not backing down; Neville squared his jaw and followed suit.
Toe to toe, and nose to nose, the four boys stared hard at each other, ignoring the titters and comments from students that had gathered around them. Brian overheard a few older students—he thought one might have been George Weasley, placing wagers on the outcome…something to the effect of “I bet the Yank fights dirty” nearly made Rollins smile. It didn’t happen very often, but this potential inter-House brawl looked to be an interesting afternoon diversion.
“Two on two, don’t you like a fair fight, fellas?” asked Brian, head-faking a lunge at Crabbe, who flinched back, startled, raising his hands as if to strike. It was an incongruous image since both of the Slytherins were rather big for their ages, and a quickly stifled shriek was heard nearby.
Just then, Snape and Sprout hurried over, pushing their way through spectators, and the first thing both of them noticed was that Crabbe and Goyle were looming over Brian and Neville.
“What’s going on here, Mr. Crabbe?” Professor Sprout demanded, worried for the safety of her two young student assistants. “Speak up, Goyle!”
At the same time, Snape bellowed: “Idiots!” He grabbed at collars, pulling Crabbe and Goyle roughly aside. “Regardless of what you learned in America, Mr. Rollins, fighting is not condoned at Hogwarts for any reason if you recall from last autumn. We consider ourselves much more civilized here.”
“Yes, sir,” said Brian placidly, looking up at the Head of Slytherin House. “Thank you for reminding me, Professor.” Out of Snape’s line of sight, he mouthed “chicken-shits” to Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom could only scowl and glare at him.
-/-/-/-/-/-
“I don’t care, Hermione,” Brian said, his voice soft but his intent was unmistakable. “They are cowardly chicken-shits, both of them, and Draco too, and I’m not going to put up with it anymore. I’ve had enough.”
“But, you’ll get into all…” she protested, tossing up both hands in a gesture of dismay as her voice rose. A few people at nearby tables were starting to give them irritated glances.
Rollins held up one finger to his lips, a tiny smile quirking his mouth. “I’m not looking to borrow trouble from the House of Salazar Slytherin, but if it finds me, well then…what can I say?” He shrugged and then shifted another parchment in the pile on the table.
Ron leaned in closer from his side of the bench. “George said you and Nev really were about to get into a fight with those two. That’s brilliant!” Weasley did little to hide his admiration. “In front of dozens of witnesses as well!”
Brian shook his head, still smiling, and Neville blushed furiously. “No, no fight, I simply invited them to start something if they chose to, that’s all. Plenty of teachers were about, and students, so yeah, too many witnesses, I guess.”
“They’re still as mean as snakes, Brian,” Neville said quietly. “And Professor Snape isn’t exactly running for teacher of the year.” It was Longbottom’s involvement that had surprised Hermione even more; meek and mild Neville was not known for defending himself, against anyone. Frequent Owl Posts from his no-nonsense grandmother had proven that.
Harry snickered. “Too bloody true he’s not.”
The group of them made quite a lot of progress in Charms and Defense that afternoon using the outlines which Hermione and Harry, respectively, had devised. Neville and Brian had arrived about an hour late—Professor Sprout sent them on to study hall shortly after they had transplanted the newly arrived seedlings, with the encouragement that they were doing very well. She smiled warmly at them as they left, each with a cheery wave and a quick Cleaning Charm for the nearly matching soil smudges on their shirtfronts.
Hermione was just about to call a tea-break after four (Ron was yawning and moaning, and it was growing contagious, moving like a wildfire through all seven of them) when a tiny Scops school owl fluttered in, dropping two envelopes on their long table before immediately fluttering out again; it was rare that an owl delivered Post to the library. Madam Pince was fastidious in her care taking of the campus facility, and always had been.
“Oh, it’s from the Headmaster,” she commented as she retrieved them (being the closest), noticing the Hogwarts seal on each one. The first was addressed to “Brian Rollins” and the second, to “Neville Longbottom”. Brian just shrugged, not recognizing the neat calligraphy since he didn’t know his father’s handwriting, but he slipped open the seal with his thumb.
“Yep,” he said, raising one eyebrow. “Professor Dumbledore asks if I will meet him in his office for tea at 4:20.”
Neville gulped audibly. “Me too.” He checked the big grandfather’s clock at the entrance to the reference section; they had ten minutes.
Their tablemates fell silent, not sure what to make of this development; none of them had ever been summoned to meet with the Headmaster before. It was far more common for them to see Professor McGonagall, as she was their Head of House and the school’s Deputy Headmistress.
Brian shrugged as he stood, gathering up his parchments and book bag. He grinned and gave Hermione a wink. “Relax! I’m sure it’s not anything scary, you guys.”
Neville was not nearly as certain, but he put on a brave face. “Yeah, erm…it’s probably about Professor Sprout’s projects and all those plants that were delivered today for her teaching supplies…things like that.”
“Okay then, see you in the Common Room later?” asked Harry, looking from Brian and Neville to the rest of the study group (all of whom were trying not to appear too worried).
“Sure—see you!” Brian agreed at once, shouldering his backpack and following Neville through the narrow aisle between tables.
When the two were out of earshot, Hermione shook her head. “It’s about their almost-fight with Crabbe and Goyle earlier today, I’m sure of it.”
-/-/-/-/-/-/-
“Ah, excellent! Come in, gentlemen, come in,” said Albus, greeting the pair at the door. He gestured to a small table set for three, with a silver tea service resting upon a long, white tablecloth. A platter of assorted half-sandwiches, and a smaller one of baked glazed lemon-squares was off to one side. “Do sit down, please. I don’t know about you, but tea-time could not come quickly enough today.”
Dumbledore smiled, noting how nervous Neville seemed in his presence. Brian, on the other hand, was completely at ease. It was reasonable after all as Neville had never even been to the Headmaster’s office before.
“Yes, sir,” Neville replied quietly as he was seated. “Thank you.”
Rollins grinned broadly at his father when he saw the sandwiches. “Thanks very much, Professor. I think the boss was just about to call a break so your timing is awesome, sir.” He paused, noticing Albus’ questioning raised eyebrow. “Hermione—she’s the boss.”
Albus chuckled at his son’s delighted expression, giving the boy a wink. “Good thing too. Shall I pour?” He held the Charmed porcelain teapot, nodding toward Neville. “How do you take your tea?”
Longbottom blinked, tearing himself away from looking at the interesting books and magical objects in the cases and on the shelves nearby, and giving Dumbledore a shy smile. “Milk and sugar, thank you.”
Albus served the boys their tea first (Brian took his black, as usual, and exactly like Minerva did), and then prepared a cup for himself—also with milk and sugar, before gesturing to the sandwiches and sweets. “Tuck in, lads; growing boys need their fuel for school…as the Muggles like to say.”
The three wizards ate in comfortable silence for a little while, before Albus got to the point of the “meeting”. He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, folding it neatly by his empty plate.
“So, gentlemen, how are your end of year exam preparations going?” he asked, his eyes twinkling kindly at the two young Gryffindors.
Brian’s mouth was full of chicken salad sandwich at that very moment, so it was Neville who replied. “Rather well, I think, sir. Hermione got us organized into a study group five or six weeks ago, and we each took a course outline…er, that was Brian’s idea actually.” After doing something as ordinary as afternoon tea and sandwiches, Neville didn’t seem quite as intimidated by the legendary powerful wizard. In the back of his mind, Brian admired the way his father was able to relate to anyone, no matter his or her station in life.
“Indeed? Which course are you preparing for your study partners?” Albus sat back a little from the table, crossing his legs to be more comfortable in the high-backed chair.
Neville blushed modestly, satisfaction in his voice. “Herbology, sir. It’s my best area.”
Albus chuckled lightly. “Well done. And you, Mr. Rollins?” He already knew the answer, but needed to continue the minor pretense.
Brian grinned. “Transfiguration, sir, and Astronomy. I think I’m ready for the written exams…it’s the practical demonstrations I need to work on.”
“I hear that often from our students, so you are certainly in august company, my boy,” Dumbledore commented. After a few moments thoughtful pause, he leaned forward, looking intently at both youngsters, his demeanor becoming more serious. “I understand from Professor Sprout that there was nearly an altercation after lunch today.” He didn’t accuse, simply left plenty of room for Neville and Brian to explain their side to him (he’d already left after lunch through the staff doors near the raised dais).
Neville cleared his throat, raising his eyes to meet the Headmaster’s serene gaze. “Gryffindor lost a lot of points last night, sir, and a few of the Slytherins wouldn’t leave it alone. They went on and on about us being in last place, and the House Cup. Things like that.”
“I see,” Albus said neutrally, letting Neville continue at his own pace.
“It started in Potions, really…no sir, not a fight, but we had to defend the other…” Neville’s voice trailed off guiltily. He was already thinking ahead to what his grandmother, Augusta Longbottom would have to say when and if she heard about it. She was stern on her “good” days.
“Words were exchanged, Professor, regarding Harry, Ron and Hermione being out after curfew,” Brian added. “Two of the fellows wanted to continue the discussion after lunch, apparently.”
“Crabbe and Goyle?” asked Albus, though he was already aware of most of the incidents that had taken place.
“Yes sir, it was they,” Brian answered. “And Draco during Double Potions, of course.” Albus nodded; he knew full well of the animosity between Potter and Malfoy.
“I completely understand the desire to defend the honor of your house-mates,” said the Headmaster. “As I did the same in my student days as a Gryffindor, but I suggest a bit of caution where your potential enemies are concerned. I might even recommend choosing your battles carefully while you are here, and focusing more of your energy on your studies.” He quirked a slight smile at that, noticing that both boys were keeping their reactions at a minimum, out of respect for the esteemed wizard’s position; Brian, on the other hand, flinched almost imperceptibly, his magic crackling as he subdued his temper.
Albus paused again, resting both elbows on the table and steepling his fingers in front of him. “I realize that you are first years, and it is not part of your usual curriculum, but what have you learned about Death Eaters? Mr. Rollins, do you know that name?”
“No sir, honestly, I don’t.” He shook his head, finishing his tea and setting the saucer aside.
“That’s what the followers of Voldemort call themselves,” Neville said very softly. His expression grew sad but there were no tears in his eyes. “And all of them practice Dark magic pretty much on a daily basis, if you ask me. Er, at least that’s what my Gran has always said, Professor.”
“I’m not surprised, Brian, that you have not heard of them,” Albus commented. “Growing up in America as you did, and in a Muggle household…”
“Sir, there have been rumors for ages about their Dads,” interrupted Neville. “Being Death Eaters, I mean—Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy.”
“I have long suspected the same, young man, but it is a suspicion without proof,” Dumbledore replied, his voice gentle. Neville nodded grimly. “We should be mindful that not all Death Eaters are in Slytherin; the other three houses are well-represented, I’m afraid. And do keep in mind that not all Slytherin witches and wizards are predisposed to darkness.”
Brian didn’t understand all that was remaining unspoken between them, but he trusted his father unconditionally. “Professor? I know I’m behind the curve on this one, so to speak, but if Voldemort and his Death Eaters are the bad guys…who are the good guys?”
Longbottom sat up straighter, and Albus deferred to him at once to answer his classmate’s question. “The Aurors are the good guys, Brian,” he said, a touch of pride clear in his tone. “And the Order of the Phoenix. My parents were both.”
The three sat without speaking for several minutes, each one lost in thought, until the miniature grandfather’s clock on the Headmaster’s desk chimed the hour. Fawkes, who had been sleeping the entire time on his perch nearby, woke momentarily, trilled a few soft, soothing notes, and went back to sleep, tucking his head under one wing.
“Thank you, my old friend,” Albus murmured to the handsome phoenix, rising to his feet. Brian and Neville politely did the same. “And, thank you gentlemen, for joining me on such short notice.” He held out a hand to shake with both young wizards.
“You’re welcome, sir,” Neville replied, smiling shyly again. “I appreciate your taking the time to talk to us about…you know.”
“Indeed I do,” Albus said, his eyes twinkling. He reached up to gently squeeze Longbottom’s shoulder. “I’m sure that Frank and Alice would be proud to know that you are here, my boy, and following in their Gryffindor footsteps.”
Neville nodded, turning to leave; Albus gestured discretely that Brian should stay. “Mr. Rollins, just a moment, if you would please? There is another matter I would like to discuss.”
Dumbledore waited while Neville gathered up his book bag, and headed down the gargoyle spiral staircase. He turned and went through a narrow door near one of the large glass-framed cabinets, and Brian followed, realizing that he’d never been in this side-room before. It was the Headmaster’s private library.
Closing the door behind them, Albus waved a hand to light four sconces nearby, and cast several Charms on the room to secure it further. Then he wrapped his arms around Brian, embracing his son.
“Your mother’s temper. You do come by that quite honestly, you know,” he said, chuckling and placing a light kiss on the boy’s forehead. When he let go, Albus stepped to a shelf, rummaging around as he looked for something stored there.
Brian shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know what came over me this morning, and um, after lunch too—I just knew I’d heard enough from those guys.” He paused, looking around at the very old volumes, one resting open on a chest-high reading table. “Oh, there aren’t any portraits in here. Neat!”
It was Albus’ turn to shrug. “Only one,” he said, pointing to an empty frame. “Dilys is here if I need her counsel and I call for her, but otherwise, yes, it’s much more secluded.” Dumbledore dusted off a mahogany frame, and placed the photograph on the reading table.
Rollins leaned over, fascinated as ever by the moving photographs of the Wizarding world, and this one was no different. It was a group portrait, at least a dozen witches and wizards in sepia-hued tones. Brian immediately recognized his parents as he scanned the faces.
“There are you and Mom,” he said, tracing his finger on the glass. He smiled at their younger selves. “And Harry’s Dad—can’t miss the resemblance there, can you?”
“Indeed. Harry’s mother, Lily, is just there,” Albus replied, his voice low as he remembered the day that this photograph was taken: some of the members were dead two weeks later, killed in battle. “We, your mother and I gathered a group of our most trusted allies and friends in the fight against Voldemort back in the 1970s. We call it the ‘Order of the Phoenix’. You may recognize some of the others, my boy.”
“Hagrid and Uncle Alastor,” Brian commented. “Neither of them are too tricky to spot…Dad, do you have a brother?”
“Aberforth, yes,” said Albus with a grin. He looked at Brian over the tops of his spectacles, raising both eyebrows in amusement. “We three have the same eyes, according to your Mum!”
Brian laughed, returning to his study of the picture. “Is this Ron’s mother?” Albus nodded affirmatively. “I would like to meet her; she made me a sweater at Christmas, and I’ve only been able to thank her by Owl.”
“I’m sure at some point that you will meet all of the Weasleys,” Dumbledore said, pointing out Molly Weasley and three wizards next to her in the group. “Molly, her husband Arthur, and two of your friend Ronald’s older brothers—Bill and Charlie. And here, are Neville’s parents—Frank and Alice.”
Brian’s smile faded. “Are they dead?”
Albus sighed heavily as he Summoned a pair of tall chairs, one for himself and one for Brian. “No, not dead. That, I believe, would be a kinder fate for them. Frank and Alice Longbottom are in St. Mungo’s Hospital, and have been for a very long time.” His son waited patiently for him to continue, great compassion written all over his face.
“Neville would not want others to know this, so I would ask that we continue to respect his privacy, Brian,” Albus began. “He may or may not share the story of his parents, in his own time.”
“Yes, sir. I understand that.”
“They were tortured by at least three Death Eaters, probably more, who used the Cruciatus curse, repeatedly,” continued Albus. “And it drove them insane. Neville visits them during the holidays, with his grandmother and Great Uncle Algie. They do not recognize their only son, at all. I would not like to imagine that kind of pain.” He reached to squeeze Brian’s shoulder.
Brian nodded grimly, blinking back tears. “Thank you for telling me, Dad,” he said after several moments. He stood, embracing Albus who still sat in the tall chair and kissed his father’s bearded cheek. They remained like this for many heartbeats, not speaking, their magic coursing solid and warm between them.
“You should get back to Gryffindor Tower, my boy,” Albus said, unashamedly wiping tears from his eyes. “The others might worry that you’ve been given permanent detention from the Headmaster!”
Brian shook his head and smiled. “It’s getting warm enough; I may go for a swim in the lake before dinner and have a little visit with Elliot. I get fat every winter if I’m not careful.”
Albus chuckled and gave his son a mild smirk. He Banished the chairs with a wave of his hand, escorting Brian back out to the ornate Headmaster’s desk. “With all of the castle stairs to navigate, I rather doubt that, Mr. Rollins,” he said, addressing him more formally now that they were once again in the presence of the portraits.
“Have a good evening, sir.”
After his son left, Albus sat in silence for a long while, thinking about the first rise of the Dark Lord, Voldemort and those who had suffered in the fight against him.
TBC
A/N: one of the nice things about "alternate Universe", IMO, is that we can adjust bits of canon books and films to suit our own purposes. For now, think of "off-screen" witches and wizards that were not much involved in Film #1.
Hellooo there! *waves* I shall have to do a combined review as you are on the ball with your posting, my dear. (Unlike me . . . )
Chapter 22:
I am totally enjoying this far more than the first book. Their study group was an excellent idea, and I'm glad they are all participating.
The little reprieve Minerva gave Brian was wonderful, and I know they all enjoyed it. Albus with the Oreos was grand, lol. I agree that they should make a lemon creme variety. Recently, I saw they have created a banana split creme kind, but I didn't buy them. I'm not sure about that combination though I do love chocolate covered bananas.
I was wondering if Brian was going to be involved with Harry's stint to Hagrid's and the dragon egg. Him being Albus and Minerva's son, I don't think it would have set too well with them. But it would have been interesting to see how Minerva would handle it.
Given Albus' mischievous nature, I would think his son could be prone to getting in a little trouble, now and then. In fact, I don't think Brian has been in much mischief since his fight early on in the year. Hmm...
There at the end, it was neat how Minerva checked on Brian without checking on him. But then, it was an easy way to ensure the trio definitely went back to their dormitory too, tee hee. Genius.
Chapter 23:
Somehow I knew Brian wouldn't hold the point-loss against his fellow Gryffindors. And as the day goes on, I just had to laugh at all of his antics. This was the best of them: Move along, gorgeous; you’re just not my type of knuckle-draggers. LMAO!!! That quote right there needs to be in somebody's signature.
Yep, Brian had definitely got his mother's temper. I think it is neat how Albus seems to sense his emotions and flux of his magic. The trip into the library was a nice treat, too.
It is interesting that Albus is telling Brain things that Harry doesn't seem to learn until his 5th year. But then, Brian is Albus' child, and Harry is not.
I can't wait for the next installment. I hope you are still having a great vacation. Mine was too incredibly short!
Re: What if? « Reply #62 on Aug 12, 2008, 7:06am »
Not "on the ball" fan-fic-wise for much longer, I'm afraid. Faculty report back to campus next Monday (8/18) so it's back to the salt-mines. With one of my colleagues leaving at the beginning of this month quite suddenly, I'll have an extra lecture/lab class to cover. Oy vey.
Glad to hear you are enjoying the story! Yeah, Brian has been good lately in order to study hard and make some progress in his Animagus training. However...that's not always going to be the case, and he needs some trouble (nothing bad), er mischief.
Oreo flavored varieties are evil, I tell you, concentrated evil. But they are sooooooo yummy!
Heh..."knuckle-draggers". Had to throw something like that into the story; Brian's euphemisms may take on a rather Southern flair soon, but I really can't help that given where I've lived most of my life! GRITS, GRITS, GRITS! For some reason, Draco in the movies always struck me as a latent homophobic, so yeah, Brian is gonna mess with his head. A reader elsewhere asked me if Brian and Hermione were going to hook up; if we're being all AU and non-canon, why not?
As soon as I can get it formatted properly, chapter 24 will be here at CR.
Re: What if? « Reply #63 on Aug 12, 2008, 7:29am »
“What if?”
A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines.
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.
Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language).
A/N: Harry unintentionally discovers that Voldemort is using unicorn blood, as well as other nefarious means, to survive. Elliot, the Giant Squid, has wonderful news to share. Neville attempts to stop the trio from losing House points again, and is Petrified for his troubles. After a minor accident, Brian learns a few things about wandless magic.
Chapter 24/?? Left behind but moving forward
A look of sympathetic pain crossed Hagrid’s face as he went down on one knee, running his fingers through the puddle of thick, silvery liquid; it wasn’t quite a liquid, really, but it shimmered and reflected the moonlight above them in the Forbidden Forest.
“Look here, see that?” he asked, showing the four students his stubby fingertips and getting back to his feet. “That’s unicorn blood. Found one dead a couple o’ weeks ago, and this’un here’s been badly injured. We need to find it quickly! Maybe it can be healed, or maybe it needs to be put down, I dunno yet. Either way, we must find it tonight.” The half-giant’s sense of urgency mingled with grief was palpable; not only had Norbert, the Norwegian Ridgeback dragon hatchling been sent away to the colony where Charlie Weasley worked in Romania, but also the beautiful unicorns under his care were being killed.
Argus Filch had delivered the foursome for their detention to Hagrid’s hut, sneering and gloating the entire walk down from the castle not many minutes before, taunting them with stories about the “old punishments” which took place in the dungeons. His craggy features were lit horribly as he raised the lantern a little bit higher above his head, getting what he hoped was one last look at the guilty miscreants.
“I’ll be back at dawn for whatever’s left. Nighty-night!”
Hermione shuddered as she remembered his words, shaking herself determinedly to pay attention to the Groundskeeper: “We’ll split up, cover more ground thattaway… Hermione and Ron, ye’re wit’ me; Harry, you take Malfoy and Fang.” Hagrid gave Potter an apologetic wink, getting a grim nod in reply. “Send up sparks wit’ yer wands if you find summat or get inter trouble, alright?”
As the two groups separated, Hagrid reminded them to stick to the paths wherever possible, and Malfoy began grumbling and complaining loudly enough to wake whatever beings were lurking in the surrounding dark acres.
“Wait ‘til my father hears about this stupid rubbish,” he groused, his lips curling into an arrogant sneer. “That big oaf.” Draco held his lantern handle tightly in his left, and Harry thought he could make out white-knuckles on the Slytherin’s hand. The pale blonde boy didn’t pause to consider that his noisy complaints might even garner them unwanted attention. “I thought we’d be doing lines or something for detention, not this…this is a lousy servant’s job!”
“Shut it, Malfoy. Let’s just get this over with,” Harry countered sharply. “I’m not exactly best pleased to be out here either, scaredy-cat.” Despite himself, Harry almost grinned thinking of what Brian and the rest of the study group would say at that moment.
“I’m not scared, I’m… ”
“Whatever.” Harry couldn’t restrain a frisson of perverse satisfaction at hearing the fear in Draco’s voice.
Weeks later when he recalled this particular night, Harry could not be completely certain what he saw and felt during the next hour or so. Fang began growling at something just ahead of them, the spiky hair of his back quivering in anticipation, and then all of a sudden, the large boarhound cut and ran, leaving the two boys to fend for themselves. In the gloom of the Forbidden Forest, Harry thought he saw a hooded figure crouching over what appeared to be a dead unicorn. The figure looked up, turning toward them, and a searing pain blazed through Harry’s head.
As soon as he made out the fearsome picture, his feeble oil lantern barely reflecting the silvery unicorn blood dripping down upon the man’s (The thing’s? The monster’s?) chin and robes, Draco let out an horrific yell, dropped the lantern and ran shrieking away as fast as he could. Harry stumbled backwards and found himself trapped against gnarled tree roots, their fingerlike structures grabbing and grasping at him and impeding his movement. His heart thundered in his chest, and his limbs felt utterly useless.
Not that he could have run anyway, seemingly frozen in place as he was just then. The pain in his head as his scar seemed to flash and throb was making him quite nauseous, and he felt like he would black out or at the very least, throw up all over the forest floor. Both were reasonable reactions as he fought to quell a growing sense of panic.
Unable to tear his eyes from the surreal scene before him, he watched as a lithe, muscular centaur leaped over a fallen tree trunk, and began flashing its deadly front hooves at the hooded figure. Like a cloud of smoke, the hooded whatever-it-was rose up from the ground and drifted away into the darkness… as if it had never even been there. Harry wasn’t sure what he’d seen, and eventually found his voice as the centaur cautiously approached his hiding place among the tree roots.
“Harry Potter,” said the centaur, his voice deep and clear in the eerie quiet of the forest. “He is gone.”
Harry got shakily to his feet, dusting off his robes and trousers; he still felt rather sick from the fierce pounding in his skull. “Thanks, erm… you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“I am called Firenze,” the centaur replied calmly, lifting his shaggy head and sniffing the air. “Harry Potter, you must leave this place. Many forest creatures know you and know your tale, but you cannot stay with us. It is not safe.”
“What was that thing? Did it kill the unicorn?” He gasped in shock as he realized that several unicorns had been killed recently, according to what Hagrid had told them before they split up to begin their search.
Firenze shuffled and snorted angrily, but Harry got the sense that his anger was at the awful situation and not at him. “It is a grave crime to murder a unicorn, but that one fears only the… ”
“But who would do such a thing, Firenze? I don’t understand,” Harry pressed further. He fervently wished his heartbeat would slow to a more normal pace; its rapidity was making him dizzy.
“Can you think of no one who would slaughter another for his own selfish gain, young one? He has nothing to lose,” Firenze said disconsolately. “Drinking unicorn blood will save you, even if you are inches from death, but it is an unthinkable crime to kill a creature that is so pure, so innocent. He is saved from death for now, but at very great cost to his soul… and to us all.”
“You mean that that thing was Voldemort?”
If the centaur had an answer, Harry never heard it. At that very moment, Hagrid arrived with Ron, Hermione and Draco in tow, the latter still wide-eyed and fearful; Fang had run all the way back to Hagrid’s hut, where he was found later cowering underneath the front flagstone steps.
“Hello Firenze,” he greeted, heaving a sigh of relief at finding Potter alive and then shouldering his crossbow. “I see ye’ve met Harry at last.”
“This is where I must leave you, son of Lily and James,” the handsome centaur said softly, his gray eyes bright in the moonlight. “I must return to my herd, and wish you luck in yours.”
-/-/-/-/-/-
By the time Harry, Ron and Hermione made it back to the Gryffindor Common Room after helping the Keeper of Keys and Grounds to collect the lifeless body of the senselessly slain unicorn, not one of them was in the mood to head up to the dormitories to get a few hours of restless, nightmare-filled sleep. Potter, in particular, was well and truly shaken by what he’d seen and learned during their detention, and much of it, he couldn’t yet understand.
“You-Know-Who is out in the Forbidden Forest? Now?” Hermione asked, sounding incredulous.
“Yeah, killing the unicorns and drinking their blood for weeks apparently,” Harry said, grimacing as his lightning-bolt scar burned again. “The centaur told me… ”
“He told you?” Ron couldn’t help himself, and his voice rose loudly. “What do you mean, he told you?” Odd that Weasley, who grew up in a Wizarding household, would focus on the “talking to the centaur” bit and not the one about “drinking unicorn blood”.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Shh! Yes, the one Hagrid called Firenze. You heard them speaking in full, grammatically-correct, English sentences, Ronald.” The girl sounded exasperated. “Think before you ask these questions, for pity’s sake.”
“Snape doesn’t want the Sorcerer’s Stone for himself, he wants it for Voldemort, to make the Elixir of Life so he can bring him back,” Harry continued, wincing and rubbing his forehead. “To bring him back stronger than ever, probably.”
“If You-Know-Who does come back,” Ron whispered, as ever not using the Dark Lord’s self-proclaimed moniker. “He won’t, er, try to kill you will he? I mean, try again… ”
“He would have tried tonight if he’d gotten the chance.” At last, the burning of his scar had somewhat subsided, but Harry couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. He shifted around to stare moodily into the fireplace, uncertain of what he was feeling when Ron mentioned that this wizard had already tried, and failed, to kill him as an infant. Voldemort had succeeded in killing his parents.
Hermione turned in her seat, smiling slightly as both Zoë and Crookshanks purred in their sleep and began kneading her leg with their front paws (Brian had once referred to this as “making biscuits”, and had then, in response to their blank stares, gone on to explain what “biscuits” were over in America). The cats were well into their customary nighttime cuddle-knot when the trio of first years got back from detention. She carefully moved the felines to one side of her lap, getting more comfortable as they slumbered on, seemingly unaware of the intense conversation around them.
“I think we’re forgetting one very important thing, Harry,” she began, looking pensive and stroking first Crookshanks’ back then Zoë’s. “Who is the one wizard Voldemort is afraid of?”
Harry and Ron glanced at each other, shrugging.
“Dumbledore,” said Hermione, her voice firm, assured. “As long as the Headmaster is around, you’re safe, Harry. You can’t be touched by anyone with him close at hand. He may not look it, or act it much of the time, but it has always been said that Professor Dumbledore is the most powerful British wizard in many generations.”
-/-/-/-/-/-
End of year exams began, as always, on June the first, and there were both written and practical tests to complete. Students were grouped by their year, regardless of Houses, and given special quills that were Charmed to make cheating impossible. The order of exams followed, more or less, their block schedule class times so that written finals for Transfiguration and Charms took up the entire first day with a short break at noon for lunch in each of the four Common Rooms. The Great Hall was occupied as a multi-purpose exam location for those classes that met in tiny tower rooms, such as Astronomy or Divination.
The second day of exams for the first year students saw them sitting through Defense and Herbology, followed by Astronomy and Potions written examinations on the third. Practical exams were next: in Charms, each student sat privately with Professor Flitwick to demonstrate their skills in Charming a pineapple to tap-dance across his desk. Brian earned few extra credit points (and a bit of delighted applause from the merry little Charms Master) by Charming a jazzy musical accompaniment for his tropical fruit. When he left the room to rejoin his classmates, he was grinning from ear to ear and still warm from Flitwick’s genuine praise. Even Hermione expressed her admiration for his creative idea, and friendly envy that she hadn’t thought of it.
Neville and Seamus had minor explosions during their Transfiguration practicals (in which they were to Transform a mouse into a snuffbox while Professor McGonagall looked on… with points taken off for incomplete transformations). Ron, Harry, Dean and Brian were nearly overcome by fumes which poured from Ron’s cauldron during the Potions lab practical, in which they each had to prepare a Forgetfulness Potion under Professor Snape’s watchful (and nerve-wracking) glares.
The last exam was for History of Magic, and when ghost-Professor Binns called time, even Harry cheered loudly with the rest of his classmates as they Banished the special quills (with varying degrees of success: Seamus’ caught fire rather spectacularly and he received a standing ovation from those present in the classroom). Harry’s head had been aching for the entire week, and not just from the tension of final exams. Every time he turned around, he half expected to see Snape and/or Voldemort blasting their way into the castle classrooms and hallways.
“I rather enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Hermione asked as they walked down the front steps of the castle. “I’d always heard from upperclassmen that exams were positively dreadful… the whole week in fact, but I think we did well. We should get the study group together tonight to go over our written portions.”
Ron and Harry looked at each other in disbelief, shaking their heads. “I’d rather not think about them just yet, if you don’t mind,” said Weasley, trying not to yawn too loudly. “We’ve got a whole blessed week until grades come out, thank you very much; I need to figure out how to tell Mum and Dad I’m nothing but a ‘Troll with red hair’.”
“Brian, what about you?” She asked. Rollins chuckled, continuing to remove his robes and loosen his Gryffindor school tie. They strode closer to the lake where the Weasley twins, and their best friend Lee Jordan, were tickling the Giant Squid as he warmed himself in the shallows.
“If you like,” he answered her with a shrug, smiling and not really paying attention as his clothes made it into more or less the same pile on the lawn; Elliot rose up and splashed water toward shore, happy to see his two-legged friend. “Yep, done at last. Did she get here yet? What does she look like?”
It took several seconds for the third years to realize what Brian was asking the Giant Squid. “Elliot’s got a girlfriend?!” asked Lee. Brian paused, cocking his head to listen.
“A wife; a pretty one too,” he said with a grin. “Dumbledore arranged everything with the Merchieftainess’ help, and she’s on her way. Should be here any day now.”
“Good for you, mate,” George congratulated the Giant Squid, reaching down to pat a large, muscular tentacle. A big bubble of air came from Elliot’s beak-like mouth, followed by a breathy squeak.
“He says thanks,” Brian translated at once. He’d stripped off his entire uniform revealing faded blue swim trunks under his trousers, and then waded in up to his knees beside the squid. “Come on in,” he said to the other students, beckoning with one hand. “The water’s wonderful.”
Fred Weasley snickered, dipping his hand in and looking at the gooseflesh that rose on his arm. “No thanks, Squid. I’d better wait ‘til July or I’ll freeze my bollocks off!”
Brian laughed heartily, regaining his balance as Elliot nudged him. “He means me, buddy. My brothers gave me that nickname a long time ago back home.” He turned to the twins. “Be nice, you guys!”
George, Lee and Fred did a double take, understanding that Brian was still talking to the squid and translating for them. Elliot splashed more water ashore, soaking the third years.
“Oi! Sorry, Elliot,” said Fred, laughing and wiping droplets from his face. George and Lee were laughing too, not caring that they were drenched in the cross-fire.
Ron, Harry and Hermione had been standing off to one side, watching the amusing show and listening in. None of them were brave, or foolhardy, enough to go swimming.
“Harry, hey, you alright?” Ron asked when his roommate flinched and brought a hand up to his forehead.
“It’s my scar again,” was the reply as he sat, a soft groan escaping his lips. “I wish I knew what this meant.”
Ron plopped down on the ground beside Hermione and stretched luxuriously. He was very seriously considering a nap in the shade of the craggy old beech tree. “Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey; she’d know what to do.”
“No, I’ll be alright,” Harry said. “It’s not constant like it was the other night in the For…”
Hermione and Ron gasped in unison when Harry suddenly got to his feet. “Why didn’t I think of it before? Hagrid! The stranger in the pub had to be Snape, and he went looking for Hagrid. Don’t you see? He had to get around Fluffy to get to that trapdoor; that’s where the Sorcerer’s Stone is being kept, that’s what he’s after!”
It was all they could do to keep up with Potter as he started running toward the Gamekeeper’s hut; Hagrid and Fang were relaxing on the front steps, and Hagrid played a cheerful little tune on a home-made flute. Behind them, Brian and the third year boys paid no attention as they splashed and shouted with Elliot, the soon-to-be-wed Giant Squid. It was an unlikely, but entertaining, bachelor’s party of sorts at the Black Lake.
-/-/-/-/-/-
“We have to see Headmaster Dumbledore! Immediately, please!” Harry exclaimed as he, Ron, and Hermione burst into Professor McGonagall’s classroom and gathered in front of her desk. She fixed them with a hard stare; not pleased to have her exam grading interrupted by anyone. One ghostly student was seated at the third table from the back, seeming to be rushing to complete an exam or other assignment.
“He is not here, Mr. Potter,” Minerva said, her lips drawing a thin, stern line. “Professor Dumbledore received an urgent notice from the Ministry of Magic, and left for London nearly ten minutes ago.”
“Please, Professor McGonagall,” Hermione interjected earnestly. “It’s important!”
Weasley nodded his agreement. “Yes, ma’am. Very, very important!”
McGonagall didn’t smile, but her eyes sparkled dangerously as she set aside the exam parchment she had been marking. “Professor Dumbledore is an extremely busy wizard; I would doubt that any issue or concern from a student could not be properly handled by their Head of House or other faculty member. Miss Granger, I should expect better judgment from you… ”
Harry couldn’t believe his ears. “It’s life and death important, Professor! It’s about the Sorcerer’s Stone!”
Whatever Minerva had been expecting to hear from these three young Gryffindors, that was not it. She drew in a sharp breath. “I don’t know how you found out about that, but I assure you that it is more than adequately protected. We teachers are rather good at magic, you know.”
“But… ” the three of them protested in one voice.
Her patience was visibly strained by their disobedient attitudes. “That is an end of it. I will take additional points if necessary! Yes, Mr. Weasley, from my own House, even if we are already in last place.” McGonagall looked at each one in turn. “You will return to your dormitories, at once please.” Her tone indicated that she would brook no further defiance, and they reluctantly made their way to the Gryffindor Common Room.
Once there, Harry looked resolutely at his comrades-in-arms. “It’s tonight then. We have to go down the trapdoor, tonight. I hope Snape hasn’t already gotten it!”
-/-/-/-/-/-
Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited in their dorm rooms until well after eleven, long enough, they decided for the rest of the students in Gryffindor Tower to have gone to sleep. Potter grabbed up his Invisibility Cloak and tiptoed downstairs to the Common Room with the others. A sudden loud “croak!” brought them up short, with Granger and Weasley running into his back.
“Trevor!” Ron hissed at the very large brownish-green toad, recognizing him immediately. “Hush, you’re not supposed to be down here, you silly… ”
“And neither are you,” said Neville, standing from the cushy armchair and stepping into view. “You’re not supposed to be down here. You’re going to get us all into trouble again!”
Ron’s mouth opened and shut several times, but no sounds came out. He was still taking in the image before his eyes of Neville Longbottom, standing up to the three of them, while wearing his completely buttoned-up, blue teddy-bear pajamas.
“Nev, come on,” Harry said in a coaxing tone. “It’s not like we’re going to get caught this time. Why don’t you just get back up to bed? We’ll be back in no time.”
“I won’t!” Neville replied stubbornly. “You’re going to lose us House-points again! I don’t care that we’re already dead last.”
Weasley at last found his voice. “Neville, you can cover for us with old McGonagall, right, mate?” He reached for Longbottom’s shoulder but was shrugged off. “Come on.”
“No way,” said Longbottom, stepping back a pace and raising both fists. “I’ll… I’ll fight you, that’s what.”
Hermione pushed her way forward, huffing impatiently at the delays as the boys debated. She drew her wand from a pocket of her sweater. “I’m dreadfully sorry but this is for your own good,” she said, swishing and flicking the tip of her wand at Neville. “Petrificus Totalus.”
With that incantation, Neville Longbottom became completely rigid, his eyes wide with fright, and he fell heavily to the floor. Harry and Ron winced in sympathy at the loud “thump” when he landed flat on his back, his arms and legs locked solidly. They glanced at Hermione who was putting her wand away; their expressions part admiration and part apprehension.
“Good thing you’re on our side,” muttered Ron as he stepped over the hapless Neville, lying there on the hearthrug. “Sorry, Nev.”
“Yeah, sorry, Nev,” Harry muttered, following the brown-haired witch out through the Fat Lady portrait. “We have to stop Snape.”
A half-hour later, Brian wasn’t sure what brought him awake. Blinking sleepily, he looked around the first-year boys’ dormitory and discovered that there was not one, but three, empty beds. This was most unusual.
Rollins gently scooped up Zoë from his chest, shifted her to one side on the warm bed, and covered her with the blanket. Grabbing his wand from his nightstand, he made his way, barefooted and nearly silent, downstairs to the Common Room.
He was just about to cast a “Lumos” spell, when he tripped heavily over something lying there in the darkness. Brian pitched headlong into the flagstones of the fireplace, felt a sharp pain in his skull, and then, felt nothing at all as he passed out.
When he woke some time later, his heart pounded in his throat when he realized that he couldn’t see out of his right eye. Reaching up with his fingers, Brian felt dampness and immediately stripped off his t-shirt to staunch the flow of blood from his head wound. As he sat up, though, nausea swept through his body, and he had to swallow hard to keep from throwing up all over the hearthrug.
His vision somewhat cleared, he finally saw Neville Longbottom, lying supine and rigid, in the middle of the floor. “Nev? Hey! Neville, get up,” he called to the motionless boy. “Oh, no.”
Brian groaned, still holding his t-shirt to his right eye, as he fought to get himself into a seated position against the hearth. He felt like he was going to lose consciousness again. “Topher! Topher, please,” he shouted, hoping students were allowed to call on Hogwarts’ House-elves in an emergency. “We need the Nurse!”
Heartbeats later, the skinny House-elf appeared, looked quickly around the room, and immediately Disapparated to fetch both Professor McGonagall and Nurse Pomfrey to the Gryffindor Common Room. Brian winced at the pair of loud “pops” that Topher made, and worked to calm his breathing, trusting that help was on the way.
By the time Madam Pomfrey and Minerva stepped through the Fat Lady’s portrait, Brian was able to turn his head without getting dizzy. He gave both witches quite a shock, though, when they saw that his face and upper chest were covered in blood.
“Dearie me,” exclaimed Poppy, moving first to Neville’s side, wand drawn, and casting several spells to light the room. “What has happened here?” She took Neville’s wrist in her warm hand, and then muttered a “Finite” over him. “Easy, easy, Mr. Longbottom; let’s have a look at you,” she admonished him, keeping a firm grip on his elbow. “It was a Petrificus, Minerva,” she murmured to McGonagall, identifying the spell which had been cast on Neville.
Minerva moved quickly to where Brian leaned on the hearthstones, reaching for the bloodied t-shirt he’d just lowered from his face. Brian grimaced at the brightness in the Common Room, waving his empty left hand irritably at the sconces.
“Ow! Too much,” he grumbled, shutting his eyes. “Nox, nox, nox.” The three sconces above them were immediately extinguished, leaving only the dim embers from the fireplace.
Poppy raised her eyebrows questioningly, noticing that Brian’s broken wand was lying there on the floor beside him, but that his spells were quite effective. McGonagall frowned slightly but murmured a Charm to re-ignite the sconces at one-third their usual intensity. She cast a light Cleansing charm on his t-shirt, dampening it with cool water that she Summoned from the nearby washroom.
“Oh, thank you, Professor,” he said softly. “That’s better.”
She looked into his eyes, gently smoothing his hair back but keeping well away from the deep cut at the right side of his forehead; the wound was merely oozing now. He smiled slightly as he felt the warm tingle of his mother’s magic against him.
“What happened, Mr. Rollins?” she asked.
“I think I tripped over Neville,” was the reply. “Other than that, I’m not really sure, ma’am.”
“It was Harry, Professor,” Neville said hoarsely, as the school Head Matron eased him into a seated position on the floor where he’d been Petrified. “He, Ron, and Hermione were going out to stop, I dunno, something.”
“Don’t move, either of you,” Poppy instructed, moving to the fireplace and taking a bit of Floo-powder from a tiny vial in her pinny’s pocket. “I’m going to have two stretchers brought to get you down to the hospital wing. Ah, ah, ah—no arguing, lads.” A kindly wink belied her stern words, but both boys knew better than to protest further.
His curiosity piqued, Brian watched as Madam Pomfrey knelt, and stuck her entire head into the fireplace (it now glowed an eerie green). After a brief conversation with someone at the other end, she carefully stood, brushed off her skirt, and smiled back at them. Brian had only recently learned about the internal Floo-network, but had never seen anyone make a “Floo-call”. Since he grew up in a Wizarding household, Neville thought nothing of it.
“That really is cool, Nurse Pomfrey,” Brian commented with a grin. “I’ve not… Oh! What the heck was that?” He laughed suddenly as a tickling sensation coursed through his entire body, and then looked down at Minerva’s comforting hand on his arm. McGonagall, realizing what he’d so strongly felt at that moment, gave a subtle shake of her head, nodding toward Neville.
“No, ma’am,” Brian said quickly, as Poppy reacted with concern to his exclamation. “I’m fine, really. I just got a shiver for some reason.”
While the four waited in companionable, quiet conversation for the mediwizards to arrive with stretchers for the boys, Minerva McGonagall pondered not one, but two, new magical abilities in her young son. Even with a broken wand, he was apparently capable of performing some simple wandless magic; and, even more unexpectedly, he was able to “feel” it when Headmaster Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts castle, and retrieved the wards from his wife and Deputy.
TBC
A/N: think “end-of-film-One” and what might have been happening off-screen! Thank you so much for your kind comments and encouragement. The theory behind the transfer of Hogwarts security wards is derived from the extensive “RaM-verse” by MMADfan.
Re: What if? « Reply #64 on Aug 16, 2008, 8:33pm »
This was a really cool way to integrate with the first book. I can't decide which was my favorite part at the moment. I liked the tapdancing pineapple, and Elliot is getting a wife?? lol...
I was sad that Brian got so badly hurt when he tripped over Neville, the poor dear. But that was excellent when he used wandless magic, and I giggled at the bit about the transferring of the wards. LOL! Awesome!
Can't wait to see what happens next. So sad... no Knuckle-draggers in this chappie. But I loved it anyway!
Joined: Aug 2007 Gender: Female Posts: 418 Location: Drowning in a pile of goo Karma: 10
Re: What if? « Reply #65 on Aug 19, 2008, 6:11am »
Feeling as if i have just had a lovely cup of tea and a piece of warm applepie, that has warmed my heart.
Thank you for writing this, it is making my day better.
Good, now for the review: love Alastor in true Alastor-style! Plus, as ever, highly pleased that Poppy and him are shipped. Still wondering why she wasn't included in the Fidelius charm though, it just makes for trouble...
There is an awful lot more to say, but unfortunately i have to do some work Will return later!
Re: What if? « Reply #66 on Aug 27, 2008, 12:56pm »
Hi Pinkie, and thank you so much. I'm glad you are enjoying this story, slow-developing that it is. RL and fan-fics don't always blend well, do they?
Movie-Alastor (not the Polyjuiced one, mind you) is one of the funniest characters, mainly due to the actor who portrays him. So, yeah, wouldn't he be a wacky "uncle"? I can't really explain why he and Poppy go togther in my mind, they just do!
As for Poppy, and not being part of the Fidelius charm, I tend to lean toward her being a very powerful witch, and that her patients are protected by her status as a Healer (although, yes, under the right bad-guy circumstances, this could mean trouble).
More adventures to come, I promise, as real-life permits. We've just begun (25th August) our Fall term, and my teaching load is heavier than usual.
This was a really cool way to integrate with the first book. I can't decide which was my favorite part at the moment. I liked the tapdancing pineapple, and Elliot is getting a wife?? lol...
I was sad that Brian got so badly hurt when he tripped over Neville, the poor dear. But that was excellent when he used wandless magic, and I giggled at the bit about the transferring of the wards. LOL! Awesome!
Can't wait to see what happens next. So sad... no Knuckle-draggers in this chappie. But I loved it anyway!
Cheers,
Stef =o)
More to come, I promise, knuckle-draggers and all!
Re: What if? « Reply #68 on Nov 12, 2008, 4:25pm »
“What if?”
A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines.
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.
Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language).
A/N: It is the end of the school year. Hogwarts’ students prepare for the traditional Leaving feast and awarding of the House cup.
Chapter 25/?? The Sleeper Awakes
Madam Pomfrey insisted that Brian remain in the hospital wing for observation until the day of the Leaving feast, even after Neville was released the next morning. She made a point of instructing him to “rest his magic” completely, particularly since he was recovering from a mild concussion. Most students were taking it easy during those few days anyway, lounging about while the teachers marked the end-of-year exams.
Brian was momentarily confused when he heard his father’s voice coming from the hospital bed to his right. When he looked up sleepily, he recalled that Harry had been brought in unconscious and injured the day before (but Pomfrey had reassured him that his classmate would recover fully). Rollins blinked at the narrow table beside him, his gaze passing over the bound sketchbook and backgammon set which his mother had brought during one of her visits.
“Harry, do you know why Professor Quirrell couldn’t bear for you to touch him? It was because of your mother, Lily,” Albus was saying, his tone gentle as he explained, settling himself beside Potter on the raised cot. “She sacrificed herself for you on that night so long ago. That kind of act leaves a mark… oh no, not the scar; this mark lives in your very skin.”
Brian sat up quietly, stifling a mild yawn, and returned their smiles when the two wizards briefly noticed him. Albus’ smile in particular was warm, and the boy caught a slight wink from the Headmaster as Dumbledore recognized the purple paste covering an inch or so the right side of his forehead (Madam Pomfrey habitually used generous doses of the sticky purple plaster, hoping to minimize scarring whenever possible).
“I don’t understand, sir,” Harry replied. “What is it?”
“Love, Harry,” said Albus, his bright blue eyes glistening with a few unshed tears. “It was your mother’s love.” He patted Harry on the head, stood and went around to what looked like half of a candy store on the narrow table. Brian’s own pile of candy, cards and sweets was slightly smaller, but impressive nonetheless.
Dumbledore picked up an empty carton. “It seems that Mr. Weasley, Ronald I mean, has saved you the trouble of opening your chocolate frogs.” He chuckled, continuing to peruse the candy selections. “I have heard from Arthur that he has quite an extensive collection of Wizard cards at home.”
“Ah! Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans… may I? I was unfortunate in my youth to encounter a vomit-flavored one. Since then I am afraid I have completely lost my liking for them,” Albus said. “But, I think I could be safe with a nice caramel or a toffee like this one.”
The Headmaster carefully nibbled at one of the pale-brown colored beans, and then chewed it thoughtfully, letting the flavor wash over his palate. He sighed with disappointment. “Alas, earwax.”
Both boys looked at each other, big grins on their faces, and Brian had to make an extra effort not to laugh out loud. He usually avoided these peculiar jellybean candies, especially if Fred or George Weasley were making “new flavor” recommendations in the Gryffindor Common Room. The twins’ ideas of harmless jokes and pranks were sometimes more than a little nauseating, and Brian had three somewhat trickster older brothers of his own.
“Sorry, Professor,” Brian said quickly, happy to see Albus shrug with good humor. “I still have some lemon drops over here, if you’d like to get the bad taste out of your mouth.” He held up a small brown paper bag, and Dumbledore came to select a few.
“Much better,” Albus told him, his eyes shining with fond amusement as he sucked on the lemon candies. “Thank you, Mr. Rollins.” He felt a mild tickle from Brian’s magical signature brushing against his own, but he didn’t mention it.
Madam Pomfrey came bustling over to check on her two young patients, placing a tray of amber glass and clear crystal vials upon a cart between their beds. Dumbledore smiled at her in greeting, and politely took his leave. “Good afternoon, Nurse Pomfrey, and good luck to you gentlemen. I hope to see you at the Leaving feast tonight if…”
“If all goes well with my examinations, Headmaster,” she interrupted courteously. “Although I do agree with you that it would be a shame for Mr. Potter and Mr. Rollins to miss their first one. We will do our best to see that your old Gryffindor House is well represented, Albus.”
He smiled again, giving her a nod of understanding as he turned and strode from the hospital ward, his midnight-blue robes swirling smartly behind him.
“Right,” Poppy said, taking up her wand to cast a few diagnostic spells. “Tell me which of you lucky lads shall be first?”
-/-/-/-/-/-
“I’m positive, Mom,” Brian said over the backgammon board, as he studied his next possible moves. “I didn’t go to Mr. Ollivander’s shop at all. Hagrid went to London before school started and picked up my things at, um, Dee…”
“Diagon Alley,” Minerva added with a look of utter surprise crossing her features.
“Yes ma’am, thank you. I never made it to Diagon Alley or King’s Cross station or anything,” Brian continued, shaking the dice cup and pushing two of his chocolate-brown disks around the board.
“I flew trans-Atlantic from Bangor, Maine to Glasgow to London—that was easy; got to Heathrow airport through Immigration and all of that official stuff; got down to the Underground; and, got jumped by those tough guys.” He shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “I woke up in Madam Pomfrey’s hospital… which I seem to do a lot of these days. I also met you and Dad, though I didn’t know it at the time. You both told me a little about Gryffindor house and I knew I wanted to be sorted there.”
McGonagall shook her head, smiling affectionately at her son, and thinking yet again how handsome she thought he was in his wizarding robes. “I thought you might, and I remember that day very clearly. I’m still a bit curious about your wand though, Brian, and how well you did during the school year. Usually it is a wand which chooses its wizard you know; that’s how it was for me when my father took me to Ollivander’s shop.” She picked up her dice at the completion of her turn, looking thoughtful (and remembering what a torturously long day it had been before her wand of magical ivy and dragon heartstring core had finally chosen her in the late summer of 1936).
“I saved the pieces,” he said, pulling a small nondescript box from a pocket of his school robes. “And the original packaging… yes, here it is: ‘Mahogany wood with a unicorn tail hair core.’ I’m not sure what that means.” Brian handed the box containing his wand fragments and the card written in Ollivander’s neat calligraphy script to Minerva.
“Hmm, I’m no expert in wand making but mahogany wood can often be associated with good skills in Transfiguration,” she remarked, pushing her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose. McGonagall held the broken handle, looking at it closely. She gave a rare shrug, realizing with an inward smile, that she was unconsciously imitating his rather endearing gesture.
“But,” said Minerva softly, “that could also be due to your innate abilities which we have only started to uncover, my young one.” Brian raised both eyebrows at this, clearly interested.
The door to the Headmaster’s suite opened just then, and in walked Albus Dumbledore. His face lit up brightly when he saw Brian and Minerva waiting for afternoon tea with him; they had planned a brief visit before the Leaving feast to be held later that evening.
“No, don’t get up, dear boy,” he called, as Brian was about to rise from the table. In a few long strides, Albus came over to kiss his wife and his son.
“My favorite witch and wizard! How did it go with Madam Pomfrey this afternoon, Brian? Obviously you got out of hospital with a good report from the matron.” Albus sat on the small couch, sending his hat and heavy outer robe to rest neatly on the coat tree. He stretched his arms and shoulders, groaning softly at the luxurious feeling; he’d been caught up with school business for the better part of the afternoon, and was looking forward to the summer holidays, almost as much as the students were.
“It went well, I think, Dad,” was the reply. “My magical reserves and all that have returned to normal, and she said I am ‘fit for punishment.’” Brian looked over when he heard Minerva stifle a chuckle. “I do hope she was kidding about the last part.”
Dumbledore chuckled too, his eyes twinkling at the boy. “Poppy was indeed; it’s an old Muggle expression over here, R.A.F. I believe. What would you say to tea and biscuits or tea and sandwiches for the three of us?”
“I would say ‘yes’,” Brian responded immediately, and with his usual enthusiasm. This made Albus and Minerva laugh again, and McGonagall called for their house-elf.
“How may I serve, Professor?” Topher asked as soon as he appeared in the sitting room. He gave Brian a friendly smile and nod, pleased that the young man looked better than the last time he had seen him up in the Gryffindor tower.
“A pot of tea please, Rooibos would be nice if we still have it, and an assortment of light sandwiches,” said Minerva. “We don’t want to spoil our appetites for tonight.” She completed her final turn of backgammon, narrowly defeating Brian who had three remaining disks as Topher Disapparated with a faint “snick”.
“That was a good game, Mom,” Brian commented, collecting the playing pieces, cups and dice to put the backgammon set away. Moments later, a tea service appeared, fully stocked with three cups and saucers, the white porcelain matching the decorative coral-colored hollyhock and yellow roses intertwined on the side of the kettle. A platter of neatly stacked sandwiches rested nearby.
“What time is the feast starting, Dad?” Brian enquired, indicating his school robes and loosely knotted necktie. “I wasn’t sure if I’d have time to get back up to the dormitory beforehand to change clothes.”
“Usually around seven or seven-fifteen, and I hope the Headmaster doesn’t give a dreadfully long speech this year,” replied Albus, beaming happily at his wife. “Thank you, dearest.” This last was in response to Minerva who had passed tea to him and Brian. Both wizards took up small plates and selected sharp Cheddar cheese and green apple sandwiches. Topher had prepared them on toasted whole-wheat bread triangles.
“And don’t forget your hat,” Minerva added. “This is a formal occasion when the House cup is awarded; it makes a nice book-end on the year, with the Sorting ceremony at the beginning of school.”
Brian gave a small grimace, pulling his black wizard’s hat from another pocket. He put it on, not looking entirely pleased, but trying to keep a straight face for his mother and Head of House. “No ma’am, I remembered to bring it. I just don’t like wearing it.”
Albus struggled to hide his smile and McGonagall’s eyes were sparkling with amusement. “It’s very handsome, son. You’ll get used to hats that are not your familiar style,” she said gently, thinking of his favorite American Muggle baseball cap (dark blue with a large red “B”).
Brian blushed, grinning shyly as he returned it to his pocket. “Thank you. I don’t think I look as good and ‘wizardy’ as Dad does in his robes and hats… lots and lots of hats, by the way.”
Dumbledore chuckled at the expression, his cheeks growing faintly pink from the good-natured teasing. “You flatter me, Brian, but I’ve been ‘wizardy’ looking for many, many years now. It’s expected!” The three of them laughed, enjoying the quiet family time together. Minerva checked the cart, Levitating two plates of biscuits to their small table. One held her favorite ginger newts, and the other was laden with crispy lemon snaps.
Their appetites whetted by the light snack that Topher had provided for their afternoon tea, Albus and Brian both selected a second half-sandwich—curried chicken salad this time, and conversation turned to the events of two nights prior, when Harry had gone down into the dungeons and Brian had inadvertently discovered an ability to perform a wandless spell.
“Tell me about it, my boy,” Albus began, wiping his mouth and beard with a cloth napkin before he settled back with a fresh cup of the fragrant red tea; even for his taste, he found that he rarely had to sweeten the Rooibos variety. “What do you remember?”
Brian finished eating a lemon snap and sighed at the recollection, a smile quirking his lips. “Mostly being a clumsy goof-ball, to tell you the truth. I had my wand out and I was about to cast a ‘Lumos’ for at least a little bit of light in the common room, when I tripped over Neville lying there in the middle of the floor. I didn’t expect to go crashing into the fireplace and cracking my skull in the process, that’s for sure.”
Minerva reached over, pushing back a lock of his hair to reveal the scar on his forehead. Madam Pomfrey’s potions and plasters had mostly healed it but there would always be a faint reminder. She didn’t comment but caught a tender look from Albus; Minerva knew he was thinking about Brian’s crooked nose that he earned in a fight on the castle steps, just a few months before.
“I broke my wand then too,” Brian said, blushing again. “I’m sorry; I know they are expensive and I could work to pay back…”
Albus patted his arm, then took his wife’s hand in his, lightly kissing the soft skin of her knuckles. “Not a worry for now, son. What happened next?”
The boy paused, thoughtful. “I called for Topher when I came to—Neville was so still and stiff, and I was dizzy and bleeding from my head. It was a little scary since I couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.”
“Understandable,” Minerva told him. “He’d been petrified, but you did the right thing calling for help as quickly as you did.”
Brian nodded. “A few minutes later, Mom and Madam Pomfrey showed up, probably lighting extra candles or something as they came in. The brightness made my head hurt and so I just… switched them off with the first spell that came to mind. I don’t believe I thought about it much, more like a gut-reaction on my part.” He looked expectantly at the elder wizard.
Dumbledore smiled, nodding his approval. “It was your intent that mattered most, Brian, regardless of what spell you cast.”
“And you formed the intent quite clearly from what I saw,” Minerva added.
“I’d never even thought about wandless magic or anything before, I just did it.”
“Quick, my boy! Would you fetch my hat, please?” Albus asked suddenly, leaning forward expectantly.
Rollins reached out his hand toward the coat tree, the request coming too fast for him to hesitate more than a heartbeat or two. “Accio hat!”
The dark blue wizard’s hat flew rapidly across the room to the table, missing Brian’s grasp entirely, but Albus was able to catch it, laughing. He looked satisfied.
“Well done, son! Your control is a bit off, but that was well done,” Albus told him, his voice warm with praise for the first-year student. “We’ll have to add this to our tutorials before trying any more, just to be safe. Please don’t experiment on your own yet, alright?” Brian concurred and seemed to be about to ask a question.
At Brian’s rather puzzled look, Minerva went on to explain: “Wandless and nonverbal spells are usually part of the fifth through seventh years’ curricula. I’m sure none of your year could accomplish it, not even Miss Granger, as skilled as she is.” She shook her head, smiling faintly. “It seems that Albus and I should have known.”
“That’s really neat!” said the youngster, still not sure what to make of this new magical skill. “Mom, you said earlier that my wand didn’t pick me… the one I broke, I mean.”
Minerva inclined her head, noticing that Dumbledore had raised one questioning eyebrow at this information. “Yes, it is probably significant that you did not go to Ollivander’s yourself at the beginning of the term. In fact, here,” she said, reaching into her outer robe’s pocket and handing Brian her wand, handle end first. “Use mine to cast a spell.”
“What should I try?” he asked, hesitantly taking up McGonagall’s wand while Albus quietly observed, his interest piqued. “I don’t want to damage anything.”
“Try the Duplicating spell I taught you during our tutorials, remember? It was very useful with your Animagus essays, and you are familiar with it, Brian. You won’t damage anything.” She smiled to reassure him.
Not sure why he was still a little uncomfortable, Brian sat up, and arranged two small plates in front of him. On one he placed a ginger newt, and on the other, he placed a lemon snap; both Albus and Minerva could feel him calming and concentrating as he prepared to cast the “Geminio”.
Tapping the ginger newt, he muttered the incantation successfully, and then he repeated the movement and spell on the lemon snap. Perfect copies of each cookie appeared on the plates, and Brian blew out a sigh of relief. He smiled as he passed his parents their respective duplicates.
“You’ll have to tell me if they turned out alright. I had a little trouble with the copies-of-copies the first time I tried this,” he said, his smile growing broader as he watched Dumbledore taste both lemon snaps, nodding his approval. Minerva did the same, with the same result, and Brian carefully returned her wand.
“What would you say, Albus, to a mother and son shopping excursion in Diagon Alley the day after tomorrow?” McGonagall asked. “We should pay a visit to Mr. Ollivander and then perhaps a few of the other vendors while we are there.” Her eyes were bright with the thought of shopping with Brian and showing him around Hogsmeade, if they had time.
Albus happily agreed. “You two could have a lovely day away from the castle to start your summer holiday, couldn’t you?” He turned, beaming at the young wizard. “And you, young man, will need to pack your school things if you’re going to make the train on time. Hogwarts’ Express will take you to King’s Cross, and your Mum can pick you up there, or at a nearby meeting place.” He knew that Minerva liked to visit the Charles Dickens Museum on nearby Doughty Street sometimes (venturing out in conservative Muggle-attire), and that it was a short walk from King’s Cross once you made your way up to the street level.
“Molly Weasley will be meeting her children as well,” Minerva added. “You did say that you wanted to thank her for the beautiful sweater she made for you at Christmas.”
Brian realized that this meant riding the train down to London with all of his friends, and a happy shout erupted from him. The next moment, Minerva and then Albus had their arms full of a very enthusiastic Gryffindor lion cub.
-/-/-/-/-/-
Harry made his way down to the Great Hall, in the nick of time for the start of dinner, sliding into his seat just as Headmaster Dumbledore stood at the ornate staff table to get the students’ attention. It was just as well since Harry was desperately trying to ignore all of the people craning their necks to get a look at him. Despite learning that Gryffindor had lost spectacularly in the final Quidditch match (Harry had been unable to play while he was convalescing in Madam Pomfrey’s hospital wing), Brian grinned across the long table at his classmate, unconcerned as usual about House cups, house points and things such as that. His black velvet wizard’s hat was tilting at a jaunty angle, and he seemed pleased.
“Hey, you alright, Harry?” Brian asked in a whisper. “I know Nurse Pomfrey turned me loose before you.”
“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks,” replied Harry just as quietly, glumly looking toward the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy and his cronies looked smug as they prepared to celebrate a seventh consecutive House cup victory. “I just wish we had been able to beat those guys over there. Ron told me Gryffindor got swiped all over the pitch with whoever was the substitute Seeker. Oliver may never speak to me again.”
Ron chucked Harry on the shoulder. “No worries, mate; Wood’s okay if a bit emotional, at least that’s what the twins told me. There’s always next year.”
Dean and Seamus were about to add their assurances but all of the boys were on the receiving end of Hermione’s clearly admonishing glance. Harry shrugged, giving a faint smile of gratitude as they turned their attention to the Headmaster’s speech.
“It seems, ladies and gentlemen, we have a traditional house cup to award,” Dumbledore was saying cheerfully, his gaze twinkling over the students. He turned to his left and right at the front table, nodding slightly to Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout as the Heads of the school Houses. “In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three-hundred twelve points; in third is Hufflepuff, with three-hundred fifty-two; in second, we have Ravenclaw with four-hundred twenty-six; and, in the lead, we have Slytherin at four-hundred seventy-two points.”
Cheers, shouts and stamping of feet erupted from the Slytherin side of the Great Hall. Albus waited for some of the noise to die down. He smiled benignly, raising one hand for quiet.
“Yes, well done, you lot, very well done indeed. However,” he said in a patient voice, “recent events require that I award a few last-minute points before we settle accounts, as it were…”
Harry felt a tremor of hope pass through him at the elder wizard’s words; he had been watching Draco celebrating by pounding his fists on the table top, and had been sickened by the scene. A perverse sense of happiness settled on his entire being as he saw Malfoy go pale and still, looking at Crabbe and Goyle who just shrugged dumbly. The upperclassmen seated along the Slytherin table looked unwell at that moment.
Albus cleared his throat. “To Mr. Ronald Weasley, I award fifty points for the best played game of wizard’s chess that Hogwarts has seen in a great many years.”
Harry snickered as Ron blushed crimson, suddenly being slapped on the back by Percy, George and Fred, all at once.
“To Miss Hermione Granger, I award fifty points for her sense and sensibility in the face of numerous obstacles.” Brian had to chuckle as the brown-haired witch buried her face in her arms right next to him; he was fascinated, as ever, watching his father speak to the entire school. Although he couldn’t tell a soul that his Headmaster was also his Dad, protected by both the Fidelius charm and Vox Cassandra, he was certain he would burst with pride one of these days.
“To Mr. Harry Potter, I award sixty points for his Gryffindor nerve and courage—even in the face of certain failure,” Albus continued, raising his voice slightly over the shouts from the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff students combined. Those who could do arithmetic while yelling were trying to let their classmates know that Gryffindor and Slytherin were now tied at four-hundred and seventy-two points each… completely deadlocked.
Albus waited tolerantly again before he continued, his blue eyes shining as he looked out over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. “And finally, children, there are many kinds of courage, as you know. It takes bravery to stand in the face of one’s enemies, and just as much to stand up for what is right, even against our friends. For this, I award Mr. Neville Longbottom ten house points,” he said, casually flicking both hands at the hanging banners. “In that case, as long as my calculations are in order, we need a slight change of decoration…”
The flags and tapestries which adorned the Great Hall were transformed in brief shimmers of magic: the silver bands became gold; the green flags became scarlet; and, the striking snakes became lions rampant. The noise was deafening as students from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw shouted themselves hoarse, all united in the celebration of Slytherin’s defeat (it had been at least six years since a house other than that of Salazar Slytherin had claimed the Hogwarts House cup). Students in Slytherin house sat silent and morose, watching in disbelief as Professor Snape was shaking hands with Professor McGonagall, a fixed smile upon his face. The Potions master’s eyes were black and hard when he looked over at the joyous Gryffindors, some of whom were helping a disheveled Longbottom back into his seat along the bench. All year long, Neville had not won so much as a single point for Gryffindor.
In the midst of the celebrating, the delicious food arrived from the kitchens as it usually did by means of house-elf magic, and Brian couldn’t help grinning up toward the teachers’ table, catching the attention of both the Headmaster and his Deputy Headmistress. It was very subtle, but the boy was sure he felt a teasing tickle against his magic from one or both of them. As he and Harry laughed and pounded their fists against each other, both boys knew that this would be a night they would not soon forget.
-/-/-/-/-/-
Brian spent much of the following morning helping Neville track down his rather large toad called Trevor, and convincing his small black and white cat, Zoë, that she needed only to spend a short while in the pet-carrier until Topher could get her safely up to his rooms in the Headmaster’s suite. It took a promise from the boy to get her extra ahi tuna-flavored treats from London before she gave her word that she would in fact, sleep in the carrier and not hide from the house-elf. He gave her a grateful kiss on the ear as she curled up for a nap on top of his luggage, and hurried down to the common room where Professor McGonagall was handing out grades and letters of instruction for them to take home.
“Glad you could join us, Mr. Rollins,” she said somewhat sternly as he sat with his letters on the floor in front of the over-stuffed sofa. Minerva looked at him over the rims of her reading glasses, and several people shook their heads at his tardiness. This particular house meeting was for students in the first through third years.
He smiled apologetically, undaunted by her mild displeasure. “Sorry, Professor McGonagall. Cat trouble upstairs as I was packing my trunk.” Brian flinched, chuckling at the hard back slap from Fred Weasley seated behind him. His mother knew at once that he was telling the truth, and gave him a tiny smile of acknowledgement.
“Yeah, likely story, Squid,” Fred commented quietly, turning his attention back to the Deputy Headmistress as she cleared her throat.
“Gentlemen,” said Minerva, waiting for the students to quiet down again, then she continued: “I would like to add my congratulations to those from Headmaster Dumbledore, for representing the honor of Gryffindor House this year. It wasn’t just Quidditch that won the house cup, but all of you.” She smiled warmly at Harry and the rest as the twins let out loud, joyous cheers.
McGonagall nodded slightly in agreement. “Be sure to look over your exam marks, and if you have any questions, I am available this afternoon and evening in my office. The other letter, as you know, is strictly enforced by the Ministry of Magic for underage witches and wizards to not use magic while away from the school. You should all qualify soon enough by age seventeen, barring any unforeseen circumstances.”
Rollins heard George sigh wistfully, and indirectly felt him elbow his twin brother. “I always hope they’ll forget to send these out,” he whispered. Fred quietly grunted his assent.
Minerva’s hearing was preternaturally acute and she merely looked at the Weasley pair, shaking her head (and making an effort not to roll her eyes—that might encourage them).
“Be sure, also, to get to the train by ten o’clock in the morning. Hogwarts’ Express leaves at eleven sharp and you do not want your parents to have the extra expense of collecting you all the way from Hogsmeade. When you make your way down to the Great Hall for breakfast in the morning, it is often easiest to have your things organized ahead of time for the house-elf staff.” Most of the second- and third-year students already knew this, and all of them would be directed by the house prefects, but Minerva felt that this last meeting was useful for all sorts of reminders.
“Are there any questions?” asked McGonagall, waiting a few moments as she caught the eye of a student here and there. She realized then how much some of them, including Brian, had grown over the months since September. “None? Very well. I would remind you of one final issue, and that is regarding detentions… my records-keeping can move ahead to the next school year if need be. Thank you for your attention, ladies and gentlemen.”
With that, Minerva bid them all a good afternoon and left the common room through the Fat Lady’s portrait. The students’ conversations resumed their excited tones as they compared exam grades and summer holiday plans.
Brian stood, waiting for Ron, Harry and the twins before heading back upstairs to the boys’ dormitory. “She was kidding about that last bit, right guys?”
Fred, George and Lee Jordan exchanged guilty looks with one another. “Uh, no she’s not,” said Lee, clearing his throat with embarrassment (and one had to know him well to see that he was blushing).
TBC
A/N2: Fall term is busy as you might expect! I hope you are well, and I thank you for your continued patience with Brian and me.
Joined: Aug 2007 Gender: Female Posts: 418 Location: Drowning in a pile of goo Karma: 10
Re: What if? « Reply #69 on Dec 17, 2008, 10:37am »
I wonder why i have missed this last installement. I really do love this story so incredibly much, because it has all the things that are 'normal' in a realtionship with parents and a child, plus all the images of HP universe.
Whenever i read a new installment i dread the end, because i know there is not a new one after it... very sad for me, because i really want to know what will happen to Brian in Ollivanders.
I want to know how his magic will develope, how his skills will be perfected by his practice and the lessons taught by his parents. I want to see him grow up a little, but how does that work if you are born on the 29th of February? I am intruiged, will he go to the second year with his mates or will he be homeschooled, since it is really quite strange to have only aged one year when your friends all have aged four.
Perhaps Olay could sample some of that btw...
Keep up the good work! Give me more! I am kindly begging you
Re: What if? « Reply #70 on Dec 17, 2008, 12:00pm »
I do solemnly swear that I am up to no good, er, rather, Pinkie, I promise that I have outlines up to GoF (and rough ideas through OoTP). Honest!
Now that my term is done (done done done, by golly), I have been working on chapter 26 (yes, Brian went to Ollivander's with his Mum) aaaaaaaand trying to get a decent start on my Secret Santa too.
Brian will grow by leaps and bounds in his first summer at the castle, both magically and in his physical being. Just to tease, can you watch CoS and imagine what would happen in his HP second year? Yeah, baby!
And, BTW, thank you so much for reading this very very slow story. I appreciate the feedback very much (and it makes my Muse write faster, I think).
Joined: Aug 2007 Gender: Female Posts: 418 Location: Drowning in a pile of goo Karma: 10
Re: What if? « Reply #71 on Dec 18, 2008, 5:50am »
*claps hands*
Oh baby! Certainly looking forward to that, though CoS is far in the back of my mind, i will have to re-read it. Not really punishment or anything.
And for the thanks: i am a patient woman (ahem...), well, Taurus anyway - so you just take your time, i will read any new installment.
What i do wonder about is that Brian is an only child - that he has no siblings besides the ones in Maine. He obviously isn't the only one in the world without siblings, but it is one of those things that just keeps wandering in the back of my mind. Perhaps it is because i did grow up with siblings. Well... sisters really.
Chapter 26 and outlines! I cannot wait! I am so glad that you schedule is less stressed and that Christmas is coming! Good luck with your Secret Santa - but i am sure it will be fantabulous!
Re: What if? « Reply #72 on Mar 16, 2009, 7:28pm »
“What if?”
A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines. It is, for the most part, RAM-verse compliant!
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.
Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language and implied sexuality).
A/N: Minerva and Brian have returned to the castle after a full evening of shopping in Diagon Alley, followed by a late dinner in Hogsmeade. It is the beginning of Brian’s first summer holiday at Hogwarts.
Chapter 26/?? A Wand Chooses its Wizard
Minerva McGonagall rested her hand on the bedroom door, quietly watching as Brian and his very petite black and white cat, slept in an undisturbed cuddle-knot. She felt a familiar warm presence at her back, leaned into Albus’ broad chest, and sighed her contentment.
“Knut for your thoughts, my dear?” he asked softly, his breath a ticklish whisper in her ear. She could hear the smile in his voice as his hand came around to caress her waist. Albus so loved the feminine curves of her body that were more often than not concealed beneath her teaching robes.
“It was a wonderful day, Albus,” she said, just as softly, closing her eyes and letting his magic wash over and through her; even after more than five decades of marriage, she still found it to be an irresistible sensation. “I admit that I’m a little surprised he was able to stay awake through our dinner though. The poor child didn’t want to let on to me how tired he was.”
“Most of the students spend a few sleepless nights with the excitement of returning home from school,” said Albus, placing a kiss on the back of her head and breathing in the spicy-floral fragrance that was uniquely his wife’s. “Of course, we have the usual end-of-year mischief on top of that.”
Minerva chuckled lightly, closing the door to their son’s “summer bedroom” at Hogwarts. “Yes, I got the impression that Fred and George were in fine form this year,” she told him. “Brian said he had packed his things quickly, and then helped out some of the others—like Mr. Longbottom and his often-lost toad. He wasn’t sure how far to carry the pretense, but I think he did quite well, don’t you?”
“Indeed, he did,” Albus said as they walked arm-in-arm to the sofa. It was a chilly June evening in the castle, and Dumbledore had had a cozy fire going in the fireplace when his wife and son returned from their adventures in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. “Would you like more tea or perhaps a brandy before retiring, dearest?”
Minerva sat, stretching slightly and grimacing at the muted popping noise her shoulder made; perhaps she could convince her husband that she needed a full-body massage that would lead to even more closeness. “Brandy, thank you, Albus. That would be nice.”
Soon, they were snuggled on the couch, snifters warming in their free hands, silently watching the crackling logs in the hearth. Minerva toed off her Muggle pumps with a soft groan as Albus gently removed her hair pins, massaging her scalp and twirling the ends of her long hair in his fingers. True to her Animagus’ nature, she was nearly purring with warmth and pleasure.
“Sleepy, my dear?” Dumbledore finished his brandy and sent the empty glass to rest on the nearby end-table. He kissed Minerva’s forehead as she leaned into his embrace.
“Mmm, no, not really,” she replied, rubbing his arm and smiling to herself. “I am rather enjoying the peace and the company after a very long and eventful school year.” Minerva shifted to look into his eyes when she felt, and heard, a faint chuckle. “What is it, Albus?” After nearly a lifetime of being together, she still shivered with anticipation when he gazed at her that way.
“I was just wondering if you needed my assistance with your wardrobe tonight, my dear Professor McGonagall,” he said in a low rumbling voice, his eyes twinkling naughtily. His fingers continued to stroke her hair where it fell past her shoulders.
She raised her eyebrows at this, unable to conceal the gleam in her own eyes and lazily sent her glass to rest beside Albus’ with a bit of wandless magic. “Your assistance is always invaluable, Headmaster Dumbledore, if I must reassure you of that fact,” Minerva replied noncommittally, teasing him just a little with her subdued reaction. “What do you have in mind?”
Albus didn’t restrain a cheeky grin, but he kept up his end of their flirtatious role-play; after all, they’d had many years of devoted practice. “I could not help but notice, Professor that you remained in your Muggle attire far longer than you usually do. I’m sure that can’t be comfortable if I recall prior outings correctly.”
Minerva looked down at her conservative pale green skirt and blouse, having completely forgotten about it while she was out with Brian for their shopping day, and she laughed. “I was able to ignore it until you mentioned it just now!”
Dumbledore shook his head in mock commiseration, clucking his tongue against his teeth and heaving a dolorous sigh. “Oh dear, dear, dear,” he said, shifting around until her bare feet rested in his lap. He squeezed her left foot, firmly massaging the instep before switching to the right foot (and knowing full well that a foot massage was one of Minerva’s secret weaknesses). His talented hands moved further up her legs, massaging and kneading her calf muscles but going no higher than her knees. Albus smiled as her eyes darkened with her desire. “A bit of tension here, I’m afraid. I must remember to take better care of my Deputy Headmistress in the future.”
“Indeed?” She could feel a rising flush as she resisted the urge to bite her lower lip, nearly groaning as his touch alternated between soft and firm strokes on her legs and feet. Keeping a straight face, Minerva tickled his growing erection through his robes with her dainty toes. “I believe I detect a bit of tension here as well, Headmaster.” She knew he could tell that she was becoming more and more aroused by the passing moments.
Albus suddenly stood, a soft growl escaping his lips, and he waved his wand toward Brian’s bedroom door which glowed pale blue for a moment as the light Privacy charm was activated upon it. “Just in case I cannot restrain myself, my dear,” he whispered as he tucked his wand away in a pocket of his robes, leaning down to lift her bodily from the sofa. Minerva didn’t protest, as she often did when her husband carried her into their bedroom, instead threading her fingers in his long, silvery hair and laying her head upon his shoulder, breathing in his scent of lemon faintly tinged with chocolate.
“I do love you with all of my heart, Albus Dumbledore,” she said, kissing his bare neck; the closest spot she could reach. “I love you forever.”
-/-/-/-/-/-
Albus and Minerva spent a long, enjoyable June night with their suite windows open to the cool mountain air, making love to each other with a slow-burning gentleness that was unhurried and intense. Rising the next morning, far later than they usually did when the school was in session, Minerva put a finger to her lips at the sound of a soft conversation in the outer room. She smiled up at her husband as they paused to listen.
“Thank you, Topher,” they heard Brian saying. “I think that’s it for now.” The house-elf must have replied since the next sound was Brian’s pleased chuckle, followed by the unmistakable “snick” of Disapparation.
Minerva and Albus waited quietly, now hearing the sounds of plates and cutlery being moved upon the table. A quick check of their dressing robes, pulled on over green tartan and scarlet silk pajamas, respectively, and the pair stepped around the bookcase to watch as Brian put the finishing touches on the breakfast table set for two. They saw him bend to whisper something to the live miniature yellow roses on the centerpiece, brushing his fingertips gently over the fragrant petals. Topher had removed the window-darkening charms and the breakfast nook was bathed in cheerful, morning sunshine.
“Good morning, my boy!” Albus greeted as he and his wife walked hand in hand across the sitting room. Brian stepped back without startling, a broad smile upon his face; they both felt a tickle as his magic reached out to them. His mother noted that he had indeed grown during the school year, now reaching her height of 5-feet-and-5-inches. She smiled to herself as she thought, yet again, he will be a tall man, like his father.
“Hi, Dad,” replied the young wizard as he pulled out a chair for Minerva. “Good morning, Mom.”
McGonagall leaned over to kiss his cheek, instinctively brushing back a lock of hair from his forehead; the scar from his crash into the hearthstones of the Gryffindor Common Room had healed nearly perfectly under Madam Pomfrey’s attentive care. “Did you sleep well, Brian?”
Brian nodded as he pulled the silver cart nearer to the tableside. “Very,” he said, moving a teapot to the table and pouring the steaming, fragrant amber liquid into two cups. Albus laughed softly when he saw that the youngster was fully dressed for the day.
“Are you off to classes so soon after the term has ended? You are allowed to take a summer holiday to rest, you know.”
Brian blushed, looking down at his faded blue jeans, “Bar Harbor, Maine” t-shirt, and sneakers. “No, sir. Professor Sprout gave me a job helping her in the greenhouses,” he replied, looking concerned. “I thought she cleared it with you first since I’ll be starting in Greenhouse Three and some of the more hazardous plants are in there. Um, the Fanged geranium, the Venomous Tentacula, the…”
Dumbledore grinned, patting the boy’s shoulder (and he happened to catch Minerva slightly rolling her eyes at him: they had plenty of pleasant memories of the narrow, hidden niche behind Greenhouse Three). “Of course, I’m teasing you, son. Come and join us before you head off to your work.” Without waiting for an answer, Albus waved his hand and conjured a third place setting at the oval table; a third matching print chair appeared as well.
“That is so cool,” Brian said admiringly as he sat, pulling the white linen napkin open and drawing it across his lap. Minerva poured his tea for him, and then placed her own napkin carefully.
“As your schedule permits, perhaps we should add another day or two of Animagus tutorials each week?” Albus suggested, waving his hand over the omelets to duplicate the egg and cheese dish, and serving one to Brian. “What do you think? We should work a bit on your wandless magic as well, to be safe.”
“I would love it, really,” he replied at once, his blue eyes bright. “I don’t even know what you usually do for your summer holidays though; I certainly don’t want to interfere with your plans. Fridays down at the Wizengamot sessions, right?”
Minerva clasped his hand gently, smiling at the thought of Albus, who often burned the candles at both ends, suggesting that Brian should be sure to get plenty of R&R. “I have waited forty-eight years to have you in my life everyday, child. Don’t worry about our schedules or school business; just enjoy the days, alright? I, for one, am looking forward to this summer very much.”
“Sure, Mom, so am I,” said Brian softly, squeezing her hand in return. He helped himself to several pieces of bacon and grinned as he ate them.
“You fell asleep before you finished telling me about your new wand, my boy,” Albus commented, thinking to himself that he also needed to interview for a new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor once the advertisement for the teaching position had run in the Daily Prophet. “How did you enjoy your visit to Ollivander’s?”
Brian chewed and swallowed a bite of toast. “It was neat, and it didn’t seem to take long at all… or at least, not as long as I expected,” he replied. “Mr. Ollivander brought out, what, four or five wands?” The boy continued at Minerva’s nod. “Five. Anyway, the one which chose me is oak, fourteen and a half inches, with a selkie skin core. He said it was an unusual wand but there was no doubt I was meant to have it.”
Albus made a sound of surprise, dabbing at his beard with a napkin to catch the tea he’d just spilled. “That is an unusual wand. Do you know what sort of creature a selkie is?” He looked over at Minerva, raising his eyebrows in a question. She shook her head slightly, giving him a mysterious wink in reply.
“Not yet I don’t, but I think Madam Pince can help me find some references,” Rollins said enthusiastically. He speared another segment of fried-green tomato; the disks were large, nearly four inches across. “Did you try these? They’re a special dish over in the States.”
Minerva selected one from the platter, passing it across to Albus. “Peppery, but I like the flavors of fresh tomatoes from your gardening efforts. Did Topher help you with the breakfast? It is a lovely surprise.”
Brian’s cheeks turned a little pink. “I’m glad you were surprised. Yes, he helped me plan the menu; I told him about a tradition we kids had back in Maine, especially after Frank finished a busy term of teaching. He and Juliet… well, I’ll put it this way… we made sure they had time to relax together.” Brian’s blush deepened slightly and he shrugged.
Albus, mirroring his son’s gesture and blush, patted Brian’s shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze. “It’s marvelous, and very thoughtful. Madam Pince usually takes a short holiday in early July; if she doesn’t have a reference, I probably do in my private library here.” Dumbledore nodded his head toward a narrow door.
“I’m guessing it’ll be in the ‘Care of Magical Creatures’ section,” Brian said, and then he leaned closer to Albus, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “And Dad, I gotta tell you that Mom has already assigned me an essay on selkies—eighteen inches worth on my summer holiday!” The boy kept a serious expression on his face but his eyes sparkled with amusement.
The Headmaster looked over at his Deputy, who was sipping her tea innocently. Albus opened his mouth but no sounds came out, a little disbelieving that she would assign homework that soon to an incoming second year student (and not to mention, her own son).
“Really?” Albus asked, finding his voice after one or two heartbeats. Brian and Minerva glanced at each other, and they both burst out laughing.
“No, not really,” Minerva told him, dabbing at the corner of one eye as she caught her breath. She smiled warmly at both wizards. “It was Brian’s idea to play a wee joke on you though since he set the essay assignment for himself.”
Albus chuckled and poured himself a fresh cup of tea. He found the Daily Prophet folded on the tea cart, shaking it out casually to scan the headlines, and looked at the two of them over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. “Mmhmm. I’ll be sure to remember that then.” He tried, unsuccessfully, to sound admonishing. Albus realized yet again how much he appreciated his young son’s sense of humor.
Brian just laughed, checked his wristwatch and rose from the table. “I need to meet with Professor Sprout,” he said, leaning over to kiss Minerva’s cheek, and then Albus’. “See you later.” He sneezed once when Albus’ whiskers tickled his nose.
“Don’t forget your castle password,” McGonagall reminded him helpfully. “Otherwise you won’t be able to get back in.”
“I won’t. ‘Splendid Splinter’ is easy to remember,” he replied, tucking his wand into the carpenter’s pocket of his jeans. He took one more piece of whole-wheat toast and left the suite, munching happily on it.
Minerva reached across the table for a section of the newspaper, and then she and Albus moved to the sofa to read in companionable silence, occasionally sharing an interesting article or wizarding photograph. In continuing their private first-day-of-summer-holidays tradition, they would return to bed later for a “nap”.
-/-/-/-/-/-
Whistling softly to himself, Brian made his way down from the Headmaster’s tower, out the front doors of the castle and across the grounds to Greenhouse One where he had arranged to meet with Professor Sprout. So intent was he as he scanned the thriving vegetable garden that he nearly ran over Professor Flitwick as he exited.
Brian winced, his strong hands reaching immediately to keep the tiny wizard from falling. “Sorry, sir. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
Filius chuckled as he regained his feet. “Neither was I, I’m afraid. No worries!” He glanced back at a prettily blushing Pomona Sprout and surreptitiously ran his index finger around to check the collar of his outer robes. “Before I bid you hard working green-thumbs good morning, how did your exam marks turn out?”
Pomona smiled warmly. “Indeed, Brian. How did you do?” She straightened her smock as best she could and hoped that Brian wouldn’t interpret much from her slightly disheveled appearance.
Rollins grinned at the question, seemingly oblivious to her mild embarrassment; these really were two of his favorite teachers at the school, apart from his Mom and Dad of course. “Outstanding in Astronomy, Herbology and Transfiguration; Exceeds Expectations in Charms, History of Magic and Potions… that one surprised me actually; and Acceptable in Defense.”
Flitwick clapped him on the forearm. “Well done, young man. That was a particularly neat trick with the pineapple in my final… I think I told you about that one, Pomona dearest.” The first-year student had added a musical accompaniment to the Charmed dancing pineapple for the practical portion of Filius’ exam.
“Thank you, Professor,” Brian replied modestly.
Pomona bent to kiss Filius’ cheek once more. “Right. I’m off to practice a bit this morning; Albus kindly let me reserve and modify the Great Hall,” he said, and with that he turned to head back across the grounds. Flitwick definitely had an extra spring in his step this morning.
Professor Sprout chuckled at Brian’s confused look. “My husband is a champion duelist. Not many students know that.”
Brian nodded, smiling at the reminder that he had even asked her about Professor Flitwick some months before (she’d rather gratefully acknowledged his perceptiveness). “Now that you say it, I recall that Hermione told me something like that from her reading in Hogwarts, A History but I’m not familiar with dueling over here. Surely not pistols or swords!”
Pomona laughed brightly, looking up at her Gryffindor assistant. “Wizard’s duel. Come on, I’ll explain as we get started inside.” She handed him a pair of fluffy green earmuffs, pulling a pink set out of a pocket of her robes, and resting them around her neck. Brian looked curiously at the earmuffs for a second, and then mimicked her gesture, following her as she walked to Greenhouse Three.
Just inside the door, as the high humidity hit them in their faces, Sprout leaned to take up a fresh bag of “Madam Ceres” brand potting soil. “Would you mind grabbing one as well, Brian? You can use your wand if you like… I won’t report you!” The plump Herbology mistress giggled to herself, heaving the bag easily to her shoulder. She was wearing her usual tan work-smock over her robes.
The boy nodded, remembering the letters he and his classmates had received during a year-end house meeting with McGonagall. “I usually forget that I have one, Professor,” he said, shaking his head. “Even after a year at school, I’m still not used to the idea of magic—and I’ve been hauling things around in the garden with my Mom for ages.”
Pomona laughed again. “Too true. I have always liked to do some chores as the Muggles do, otherwise I’d get no exercise at all. Are you still swimming across the Black Lake?” She stopped at a large wooden potting bench, covered with several rather full trays of nondescript green seedlings. Each plant was no more than a few inches tall.
Brian put his bag of soil on the floor where Sprout indicated, looking curiously at the as yet unlabeled plants. Some of them moved jerkily back and forth, but he had long since grown accustomed to that particular quirk of magical plants.
“I hope to go for a swim later today. It should be sunny, and the water’s not quite as cold as it was last week.” He grinned, thinking of how some of his fellow students had tried getting wet in the still-frigid lake and had quickly exited shortly thereafter. “I haven’t chatted with Elliot much since exams ended.” Brian thought fondly of his friend the Giant squid, who now had a beautiful mate called Miriam.
“Good,” she replied, dusting off her hands and pulling a tray of empty, square nursery pots to her work-station. “Right. It’s time to get these little lads into the next larger pots—I don’t want them getting root-bound if we can help it.”
Brian looked over the full trays, mentally counting: there seemed to be well over two-hundred seedlings, but he was used to caring for this volume of plants. He also knew that you had to start many more seedlings than would survive to maturity; sometimes seeds did not germinate, or young seedlings “damped-off” due to fungi or other pathogens shortly after they germinated.
“Okay. What are we repotting, Professor? I don’t recognize the leaves on these.”
Pomona smiled kindly at her young assistant. “You wouldn’t yet. These are mandrakes, which you will begin working with in second-year Herbology—in fact, most of this lot will be ready for you in September with your classmates. It doesn’t look like much now, but mandrake is an extremely useful Potions ingredient, in particular the remedy for Petrification, and they can be troublesome to handle. Here, these are small but I want you to be ready with your earmuffs if it gets too loud.”
She reached for one of the seedlings, snipping open the bag of potting soil with her free hand, and carefully held up a gnarled little mandragora. It was merely two and a half inches long, tremendously ugly and it was emitting a continuous high-pitched squeal until it was happily covered with warm soil again in the square nursery pot.
Brian grimaced but had not otherwise moved; he could see how the noise would eventually induce a headache. “Ouch.”
“The cry gets much louder as they mature. In fact, the sound could kill you from a fully-grown mandrake root but these wee ones are mainly very, very annoying. I use earmuffs for so many otherwise I’ll have a screaming migraine by lunchtime!” With a broad grin, Pomona clapped her fluffy pink earmuffs into place, and jerked her chin toward her office door. “There are some extra dragon-skin work-gloves if you need them.”
Rollins just shrugged, and put on his earmuffs; if his Professor was comfortable working bare-handed then so was he. “I’m good, ma’am, thanks,” he said, beginning the important task of repotting a wriggling tray of seedlings.
-/-/-/-/-/-
Two hours later, soil-covered, sweaty and pleasantly tired, Brian made his way out to the tomato gardens to check on his special projects. Professor Sprout had generously provided lunch with the help of her house-elf; a wizened little one called “Piper”, who had known the Herbology Mistress and her husband for more than thirty years now. Brian finished the last two bites of his thick brown-sugar-glazed ham sandwich as he wandered through the first row of healthy black-cherry tomatoes; each fragrant green shrub was laden with purplish fruits that would be ready to harvest in a day or two.
“Hi, silly girl,” the young man called quietly to his cat, Zoë, as she made her way easily along the rows ahead of him. She chirruped in reply and leapt to his shoulder as he was bent over adjusting the circular aluminum cage for a large-fruited “Better Boy” tomato plant. Each row of tomatoes was interspersed with mildly aromatic yellow and orange-flowered marigolds as companions to reduce the insect pests. Leaves of fresh sweet basil made a pretty counterpoint to the flowers (and were also effective pest repellants in their own right).
“Sure,” he said with a chuckle, reaching up to tickle her chin. The lithe little animal was just the right size to rest her front paws across the front of his shoulder as her hind legs gripped his shirtsleeve. It was her habit to find him in the gardens, or elsewhere in the castle, and ride along for a short while.
Zoë stayed with him for a half-hour or so before she licked his ear with a friendly purr, and leapt off to find other adventures (or, perhaps a better napping spot). Brian was contemplating a nap by the lakeshore when he heard an outburst of raucous laughter coming from several rosebushes. He smiled, realizing that he hadn’t seen or chatted with the gnomes in a few weeks.
“Blimey! That’s a big ‘un!” shouted one of the gnomes in surprise when Brian brushed through the rosemary fronds and sat in their midst. This particular gnome leapt up in fright, his eyes goggling, and he nearly ran off before one of his comrades stopped him.
“Easy there, easy. That’s our mate Brian,” said the eldest of the gnomes. Unfortunately, he had a bit of a speech impediment, and it always sounded like “Bwian” when he spoke to the young wizard. “Haven’t seen you in a while… all’s well in the castle?”
Brian grinned, reaching for a cherry tomato from the pile they had gathered, popping it into his mouth. “Absolutely. We finished with exams and I’ll stay for most of the summer holidays.” This announcement was greeted with murmurs of approval from the half-dozen or so other gnomes; each one was short—barely to the boy’s shin in height, stout, and extremely grey and wrinkly. All of them had bare, knobby heads that were at least two sizes too large for their bodies.
He leaned back in the grass, resting on his elbows. “How have you fellows been? Not making too much trouble out here for Professor Sprout have you, Guzzle?”
“Nay, never lad,” said the eldest gnome with a pointy-toothed smile. He seemed to be the leader of the colony, such as it was. “Just watching out for them big cats from the castle mainly and that giant of a groundskeeper ye’ve got here.” Several gnomes laughed out loud at this; Brian smiled and raised his eyebrows in a friendly way.
The newcomer gnome perked up when Brian mentioned the Herbology mistress. “D’ya mean that fat witch what comes out here regular?” He was rewarded with a hard smack on the back of his head from the gnome seated to his left. “Hey! Gerroff me, Jake! What’d ya do that for?”
Brian could never remember if this one was “Ugly Jake” or “Wee Jake” since he had trouble telling them apart, and he nodded at him to acknowledge his admonishment of the newcomer.
“Show a bit of respect for the Professor, Bren,” said Jake the gnome. Several of the others muttered their agreement.
The gnome called Bren simply scowled and rubbed at the tender knot on the back of his head. Brian smiled and held out his hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Brian, a student here at Hogwarts.”
Bren blinked and looked at the other gnomes, wondering what to do. At last he reached out his tiny gnarled fingers to shake hands with the boy. “Cheers, then.”
The smallest gnome, who for some strange reason was known as “Big Ian” in this particular gnome colony, chuckled. “Aw, well, Bren here has never talked nice like to a wizard. It’s a new experience fer ‘im!”
“Or to an American I’ll bet,” Brian commented. Several gnomes guffawed at this, squirting tomato juice and seeds on their chins.
Bren grinned sheepishly. “No, can’t say as I have. Bloody hell… and you’re a Yank?” He still looked incredulous.
Brian shrugged. “Yes, but I live here now. Professor Sprout is my Herbology teacher, Bren, and she knows all about you guys living on the grounds. I had to ask one of the other students about the de-gnoming of the castle gardens once, and someone told me about using Jarveys for that purpose. I didn’t like the idea…”
“Nor me,” said Guzzle (whose real name was David) in a shaky voice. He bit into a tiny green and yellow cucumber, heaving a sigh of enjoyment. “These are really good, by the way, Bwian.”
“Glad to hear it. I’ll have to find out the variety name if you want.” Brian shifted his legs, sitting more comfortably between the rose bushes. “So Bren, yes, I got special permission from Professor Sprout for the guys to stay; I know you have families to raise and she’s cool with it as long as the colony doesn’t get too large. You’re visiting this summer?”
Bren’s eyes widened, surprised that the wizard had picked out his slightly different accent from the rest (and not to mention the fact that Brian was talking with gnomes as if they were friends and neighbors). “Erm, yeah. I hitched a ride all the way up from Bristol.” He bit the inner side of his cheek thoughtfully. “And you really got permission to let these gnomes stay here in the gardens? Wizardin’ folk don’t usually keep us’ns around you know.”
Brian reached into his pocket, drew his wand and summoned a small plastic garden statue from the other side of the society garlic plants. He caught a figure, dressed in a yellow jacket and red hat, turning it carefully to show Guzzle and the rest. “How about these?” He grinned at their reactions of somewhat amused disgust.
Wee Jake laughed, shaking his head and pointing at the figurine. “I cannot believe you put that Muggle-style bugger in here, mate. That’s not a real gnome!”
Big Ian snickered, knuckling Brian’s leg. “Nobbut fat little Father Christmases, that’s what they are, Sunny Jim.”
Rollins just shrugged, still smiling good-naturedly. “Yeah, but this is what I grew up with, guys… Muggle-style. I think he’s funny, don’t you?” He placed the plastic “gnome” statue on the ground next to him so that it was facing the group and participating in the conversation.
Brian spent the better part of the next hour, visiting with the gnomes (and promising to grow Brussels sprouts for them to enjoy later that year as part of the winter crops), when he finally got to his feet, brushed off his blue jeans, and took his leave of them. Since he was getting rather sleepy, he thought a dip in the lake would perk him up until dinner.
By the time he walked back up to the castle steps, the afternoon shadows were lengthening and Brian was feeling rather hungry. His swim in the lake was chilly but pleasant, and he’d visited with Elliot for a little while—offering his congratulations for the egg-pouch that the Giant squid’s mate was now looking after. He reminded himself that he wanted to look up the biology of Architeuthis if he could find anything in the school library.
As he passed the Great Hall, he peeked in an open door and practically skidded to a halt. Just inside the large wooden door, he could see Sir Nicholas floating above a chair and watching Professor Flitwick at his practice. Brian knitted his brow, a little confused at what was supposed to be dueling: it seemed more like dancing with his wand drawn defensively, and the tiny Charms master was dressed in tight-fitting black trousers and a gleaming white shirt. He stepped quietly in, whispering a greeting to Nick, and finally recognized the music that was loudly playing. It was Ravel’s “Bolero” and Flitwick was moving quickly and gracefully in a paso doble-style.
Filius stopped at the end of the musical movement, giving a self-satisfied nod. He turned and saw the young wizard by the entry door and smiled.
“Oh! Come in, come in, Mr. Rollins my boy,” said Flitwick, wiping the sweat from his face with a clean towel. “I know you are an accomplished dancer… would you like to try?”
TBC
A/N: It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Anyway, I don’t expect real life to slow down in any way but thank you for reading this far. “Companion planting” is a real gardening topic, as is the genus name for Giant squids! More to come, I sincerely promise.
Joined: Aug 2007 Gender: Female Posts: 418 Location: Drowning in a pile of goo Karma: 10
Re: What if? « Reply #73 on Mar 17, 2009, 10:38am »
Squeal, scream, happy dances! All important parts of my 'What if?' routine!
I laughed so hard when you used the word 'snifters' - i really connect that word with old movies i used to watch.
More wandless magic, now done by Minerva. I am expecting this to play a big part in coming chapters!
I like the citrus and implied citrus - just so you know
Okay, this is just me i know, but i always thought of Minerva as a tall woman, but 5 foot 5 is even shorter than i am! This is just one of those things in which different people have different opinions, i just needed to get it off my chest
The Squid has a mate!? And it is named Miriam! Well, that is just swell! And eggs already - they are not taking it slow, are they?
Another thing: brown sugar glazed ham? That sounds revolting to my Dutch ears, but i am sure it is delicious, otherwise you wouldn't feed it to Brian and Pomona.
I also love that i got gnomes - gnomes are awesome, even if they ruin your garden.
Best laugh i had? Bwian - more Python references!!!
All in all, i thoroughly enjoyed it and will reread tonight, when i have more time and there are no students staring at me for laughing out loud!
Re: What if? « Reply #74 on Mar 20, 2009, 4:24am »
Hi Pinkie! I'm glad that this update was happy-dance-inducing for you... thank you.
Yep, wandless magic is going to play a big role soon as we get closer to the "Chamber of Secrets" year. Dueling too, as you might imagine.
Regarding Minerva's height, I too think of her as a tall woman... could be the hat and her stature. I use a site for plenty of data at imdb.com, and try to make it close to the actor's RL (e.g., Minerva is 5'5 because Maggie Smith is; Filius is 3'6 because Warwick Davis is). I'm almost 5'9 in real-life.
Squids are fun. Elliot has been lonesome for a long, long time!
You might like the glazed ham (it's just on the outside when you cook it). There's also a pineapple glaze, with bits of crystallized ginger, that is very yummy.
I have garden gnomes too! Well, the Fat little Santa Claus types anyway. That scene in the CoS book when Harry visits Ron's house for the first time was irresistible. Too bad it didn't make the film.
"Life of Brian" has got to be one of my favorite Python movies. "Whom should I welease? Bwian!!"
More to come; we'll see if real life lets me write. Thanks again; I'm so happy that you are still enjoying the story!
A Harry Potter story (AU, set in the beginning of HP-ATSS to follow each school year but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines. It is, for the most part, RaM-verse compliant.
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.
Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language and implied sexuality; ADMM and FFPS).
A/N: Brian has begun dueling lessons with Professor Flitwick and is continuing his Animagus training with Minerva and Albus. If you are familiar with a story by MMADfan called “Resolving a Misunderstanding”, you may have already met the character “Malcolm McGonagall”, Minerva’s brother. His name and part of his story is borrowed here, with permission, specifically from a chapter entitled “A Spree”.
Chapter 27/?? A Dance and A Duelist
Brian could not remember when he had ever been so energized after two hours or so of dancing lessons. This was no ordinary exercise though; now, under the tutelage of Professor Filius Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw House and Charms master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the young wizard was learning to duel as wizarding folk dueled. His years of dance training allowed him to see the wisdom of working on skilled footwork in addition to the spells he was trying to cast against his opponent.
He was, at the moment, in his lightweight pajamas and lying face-down on the floor in front of a warmly blazing fireplace in Headmaster Dumbledore’s suite, reading Water Shapers by William L. McCafferty. A brief visit to Madam Pince before dinner had been surprisingly productive for his research on selkies; throughout the school year, Brian had endeared himself to the elderly witch as a rare student who truly appreciated librarians, and was not intimidated by her often very stern appearance. Since the youngster had grown up spending plenty of time in Muggle University libraries, he didn’t think it was unusual at all to ask her advice or help with reference books. His closest friends simply chalked it up to yet another of the American’s idiosyncrasies.
“This is not turning out as well as I had hoped, my boy,” Albus commented from his seat at the Charmed table. “It looks like you and your mother will have to battle it out for this night’s backgammon tournament winner.”
Minerva chuckled and took a sip of her chamomile tea. “I did give you the option of chess, dearest.” With one more roll of the dice, she moved her last white disk to the home side of the board; Albus had no less than three stranded disks on the bar.
“True,” said Albus with a smile, rising and then leaning over to kiss her on the lips. “You did, as always, my love. Brian—it’s your turn, lad.” Dumbledore moved to the sofa as Brian slid into the empty chair, placing his book on the end table. “I don’t know that I have read this one; Madam Pince is so good at keeping her references updated at faculty requests. How is it?”
Brian grinned as he gently tapped his mother’s right hand; she opened it to reveal a single white disk and he began to set up those pieces on his side of the backgammon board. “I like it, better than the Fantastic Beasts book anyway. What’s his name… Newt Scamander says that the Loch Ness monster is actually a very large selkie. I don’t agree,” he said, giving a little shrug. He grinned again, his eyes taking on a decidedly cheeky glint.
“But I may get to go see for myself: I got a note from Frank and Juliette today. We’re going to visit Drumnadrochit when they come over in August… either before or after the Edinburgh Festival, I’m not sure yet. Archie said he wanted to see Fort William, too. Something about all of the rain they get there.”
Minerva laughed out loud at this. “Only you who can swim with a giant squid would want to see if you could also swim with Nessie, young man. Brian, you are an adventurous one!”
Brian only smiled, shaking his cup to roll the dice. “It could happen.”
As the evening passed, the three of them enjoyed the rare, quiet family time together; each of them already dressed for bed. Minerva and Brian were fairly closely matched at the game, and Albus skimmed through the boy’s library book. From time to time, Brian would hum under his breath, not realizing that he was even doing it (yet another of Albus’ habits that he had unconsciously picked up).
“Tum tum tum,” repeated Dumbledore, matching the tempo of his son’s humming. “What is that tune? I’m sure I know it from somewhere.” He continued to vocalize the notes, his brow knitted as he tried to identify the fast-tempo musical piece.
Brian shrugged, looking up from the board. “I should know it too but I can’t for the life of me pick out the name. Professor Flitwick was playing it earlier… he said it was a good warm-up for his practice.”
McGonagall finished her turn of backgammon, and flicked her wand at the Wizarding music box that rested on the mantle. It chattered and skipped through several short segments, until finally, the distinctive tones of Khachaturian’s “Sabre Dance” played. She adjusted the volume with a satisfied nod, and returned her wand to the end table beside her.
“That’s it!” Brian exclaimed, beaming at her. He stage-whispered behind his hand toward Albus: “Mom’s really good at this.”
Albus just laughed, winking at Minerva as she refreshed her cup of tea. “Very nice. It sounds like Filius is adding some new tunes to his dueling-dancing. I feared it would be Bizet forever!”
Brian stifled a yawn, and completed his turn at the board. “He did play Bizet—‘Carmen’, I think. And ‘Bolero’.”
“By Ravel, also a nice one,” Albus commented. He leaned over to inspect the backgammon disks, curious as to how the final match was going.
“I was hoping for ‘Ride of the Valkyries’,” Brian said with a soft giggle. “Maybe next time.”
“Remind me sometime to tell you about your uncle Malcolm,” Minerva said, smiling at the memory of her oldest brother. “He and Albus dueled as part of a job interview here at the school. This was before you were born, in fact.”
“No kidding?” Brian asked, shaking his dice cup to start his next turn. He was delighted, as always, to hear more about his relatives throughout Great Britain. “What did he teach?”
“Defense,” replied Minerva. “Let’s save the story for another day, though, shall we?”
Brian was sensitive to his mother’s moods, and though he wondered what would make her seem sad about his uncle, he immediately agreed. The mention of Defense against the Dark Arts did remind Albus of the job advertisement he’d just posted in the Daily Prophet, as well as a few other publications. He hoped to interview qualified applicants well before the warding of the castle that traditionally occurred on the first of August each year.
-/-/-/-/-/-
“Let’s try this tactic, Brian,” Flitwick suggested, thinking back many years to when he’d first begun dueling for sport. “Your left hand is naturally your defensive posture, I think. Cast a Shield spell to block, and use your wand hand for an attacking spell—you’ve learned the Stinging hexes in my class, in fact!”
Brian frowned as he sat in front of the tiny wizard, listening attentively as the Charms Master coached him (and he knew that Filius was a champion duelist before he came to teach at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry). They had already warmed up to the quick stepping of “Bolero”, and were now perspiring in the afternoon humidity of the Great Hall. The long tables and benches had been placed into storage by the castle House-elves until they were needed when students returned to the school in September.
“Yes, sir, I think I can do that.”
Filius toweled off his face and neck. “We will add the nonverbal spells later. You can use those very effectively in combination.” He had already reassured Brian that many of the dueling spells were well within his grasp, but that nonverbal spells were typically not taught until the sixth year curriculum at Hogwarts.
Brian grinned and got to his feet, shaking his arms to loosen the muscles. “Cool.”
The boy stood where Filius directed him, and held his wand at the ready while the Head of Ravenclaw twitched his own wand toward the music box. He let it cycle through several pieces of music before he nodded in satisfaction.
“Alright Mr. Rollins,” he said with a smile as the invisible Wagnerian orchestra began to play. “You requested the ‘Valkyries’, I believe?”
Brian bowed in the traditional manner as he faced his opponent. “Yes, sir.”
“Ready? Good.”
As the music swelled around them, Brian practiced blocking the Stinging hexes that Professor Flitwick hurled at him. Occasionally, one got through and struck the young wizard in the arm, leg or torso, but after a while, his Shield spells were successful and Filius’ hexes or jinxes bounced harmlessly away. Flitwick called for a break after another fifteen minutes. He had found out early on that he did not need to hold back much on the force of his spell casting. Rollins had a great deal of natural talent, but his control of it still needed some refining. This was completely expected in a second year student.
“That was very well done, young man,” he said, his voice full of pride for his student. They walked companionably to the stool where a pitcher and two glasses rested. “Now, tell me about that last Shield, the one that resonated so well.” His dark eyes twinkled as he recalled how the “bong” had echoed loudly through the Great Hall when his Stinger bounced from it. It had been louder even than their music before it faded away.
Brian took a sip of cool water, and tucked his wand away in a pocket of his trousers. For comfort and freedom of movement, both he and Flitwick wore loose white shirts and tighter-fitting dark blue slacks.
“I think I tried the Expelliarmus with my wand,” said Brian, raising his empty right hand. “And relaxed my other hand with the Protego. It was just natural motions.” He demonstrated as he spoke, and Professor Flitwick merely smiled and nodded, letting the youngster draw his own conclusions.
Brian grinned broadly, sweeping his left hand in front of his body in a slow arc, careful not to spill from the water goblet he held. The movement, though a slower tempo, matched the flow of the music. “And that’s probably why it worked so well.”
“Indeed,” said Filius, chuckling softly. “Whenever I tell students to relax, it often has the opposite effect. I’m sure you can recall several examples of that from last spring!”
-/-/-/-/-/-
“Filius, dear,” called Pomona as she entered their suite in the Ravenclaw tower. She tossed her well-worn and patched hat to the coat tree by the door, and sighed with pleasure as she toed off her gardening shoes and padded toward the bathroom in her bare feet. The Herbology mistress had been daydreaming of a cooling soak, just before the staff dinner, all afternoon; the early summer sun, although pleasant and necessary for most of the plants under her attentive care, had been scorching the back of her neck even through her sunscreen charms.
“Are you alright, Fil?” she asked softly, hearing water running as she entered.
“I’m here, darling,” Filius replied, an involuntary groan escaping his lips when he reached for a bluish potion vial on the side of the tub. He drank down the potion (his wife recognized it as a mild pain-relieving draught) and sat back with his eyes closed. Pomona could smell the aloe extracts and calming lavender bubbles in the water, and she stifled a giggle since she had a pretty good guess as to why Flitwick was soaking away his aches in the bath on that particular early July evening.
Sprout put a carefully sympathetic look on her face as she undressed, removing her outer robes and sitting on the bench to brush out her hair. “So, did you gents have a good session this afternoon?” Filius heard the amusement in her tone, and opened one eye before he spoke, watching as she gestured to send the potting soil-dusted tan robe to the laundry basket.
“We did, thank you. It was quite… enthusiastic,” he said a bit sheepishly when he noticed the way her mouth was quirking up at the corners. Pomona looked at him warmly and finally gave in to her laughter.
“Poor you,” she said, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “I know you had fun, but I wish you’d take it easy, Fil. At your age, after all…”
Filius chuckled ruefully. “I should know better. Here, come share my bubbles with me; the aloe will be good treatment for your sunburn.” He winked another kind of invitation and held out a soapy hand to help her into the tub.
Pomona raised one eyebrow, still smiling. “Indeed?”
He raised an eyebrow back at her, his chocolate-brown eyes sparkling when she stood at the mirror and removed the rest of her clothing. “Oh, absolutely. And perhaps we could negotiate further massages and so forth; strictly therapeutic, of course, my dear.”
Her answering chuckle made his knees positively weak and made him glad that he was sitting down as the blood rushed straight to his groin. Surprisingly graceful (and many outside of Hogwarts underestimated her much to their chagrin due to her soft-seeming plumpness), Pomona took his hand and then eased into the warm, fragrant water behind him, reaching to rub the muscles at the tops of his shoulders and upper arms. For some reason, Flitwick always got sore there when he dueled (or “practiced” dueling).
“How is your apprentice progressing?” she asked with a teasing lilt in her voice as he groaned happily at the way she kneaded his deltoid muscles; her strong fingers exerted just the right amount of pressure. “I remember you had concerns about his nonverbal spells or something.”
Filius slumped his head forward as she dug into the knotted muscles at the back of his neck, wincing at first and then sighing as he relaxed. “I’ve never seen anything like him, Pomona, truly; I mean, we only got started last week, and Brian is already using verbal and nonverbal spells in combination.” He reached to kiss her hand when she retrieved the soapy pouf he’d been using. “Wandless as well, if you can believe that. I asked Albus to come watch for a bit today, and he didn’t seem at all surprised. There must have been something special about his early years over in the States; I’d always assumed that Brian was raised in a Muggle household.”
Pomona paused to wash her own arms and chest before resuming the impromptu massage. She made a small sound of interest. “He’s only just completed his first year at school so Mr. Rollins should be careful not to overdo it too. Still a growing boy, after all.”
“And an excellent student from what we’ve both seen,” said Filius, shrugging. “Albus was rather interested, and said something about consulting with Nurse Pomfrey about that very thing, in fact. The castle herself can help protect him from a magical accident in our duels.”
“Or dances?” she asked with a grin. “Don’t think I didn’t see those awful blisters on your feet the other night, silly wizard.”
Filius laughed, carefully standing up in the water to turn around and face her; the sun had kissed her nose and her cheeks a rather appealing pink. He held onto the sides of the bathtub and leaned to kiss her lips, using the sensuous pauses to punctuate his words: “I promise to wear more sensible shoes. I promise not to duel with Albus Dumbledore like we did thirty years ago. I promise to make love to you until neither of us can move.”
Pomona Sprout flushed as she looked at his glistening chest, warmth rising to her face that had nothing to do with the sun or the warm bathwater. “We’ll be late for dinner.”
Flitwick shrugged, leaning further to rub his aroused body against her soft skin. “Probably.”
TBC
A/N: we are getting closer to year 2 and HP-CoS. I admit I’m anxious for Brian to meet Professor Lockhart! Thank you for reading. I hope your summer finds you well and happy.
Joined: Aug 2007 Gender: Female Posts: 418 Location: Drowning in a pile of goo Karma: 10
Re: What if? « Reply #76 on Jul 1, 2009, 8:28am »
Oh how lovely! Far too short, as always, it is the greed in me. She rears her ugly head whenever there is What if? in sight. I try to calm her down by reading slowly, but you know how it is.
I just love the glances in the domestic lives of Albus and Minerva, Filius and Pomona and how Brian is playing such a role in both of them. Chuckles through the library over Nessie and over the 'silly wizard' - i have been listening to the audio-books of Winnie-the-Pooh, Judi Dench and Stephen Fry, utter bliss, but very giggle inducing.
Can't wait for more - it is pure torture! I can only imagine how it is going to be with Brian and Lockhart. We all know how much Minerva dislikes him, her disapproval is always visable - well, not just on her face, i bet it is on Pomona's too.
Wow - the heat here makes me ramble! Anyway, i loved it. Thank you for sharing it with us!
No, you're not greedy, and I so totally do not mean to torment you. My Muse has been letting me work on 4 chapters simultaneously so I hope more posts are upcoming.
We've got a long holiday weekend and will get out of town to the beach/pool at my sister's... rain or shine, I really don't care at this point!
I am VERY anxious for Brian and Professor Lockhart to meet... that will come soon as we are getting closer to HP Year 2 and CoS. Sparks will fly, and not in a good way.
A Harry Potter story (AU, set in the beginning of HP-ATSS to follow each school year but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines. It is, for the most part, RaM-verse compliant.
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.
Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language and implied sexuality; ADMM and FFPS).
A/N: Brian and Albus plan a little Animagus surprise for Minerva. Later, Brian is taken ill and must be treated by Nurse Pomfrey.
Chapter 28/?? The Hound of Hogwarts
Albus leaned to retrieve the short willow tree branch, and laughed at the expectant, albeit lop-sided, look he was getting from his companion on their early afternoon walk on the castle grounds. A pleasant cool breeze was coming in from the Black Lake, and the giant squids were lazing in the shallows near shore.
“Alright, alright,” he said, chuckling and preparing to throw the stick toward the Black Lake. “Patience is a virtue for all of us, young fellow, including a wizard’s best friend.”
“Woof!” was the enthusiastic and rather insistent reply, but the Headmaster’s companion was no ordinary canine. In continuing with Brian’s Animagus training that summer, Dumbledore had suggested that they try out another form. And here, on a bright sunny mid-July afternoon, he was playing fetch with his son… who at the moment was temporarily Transformed, by means of a Canis verto spell into a lively black and white Border collie.
Watching while Brian-as-dog raced after the stick that had been tossed for him, Albus shook his head fondly and conjured a sailcloth-covered shaded glider to sit upon. He grinned at the stripes, realizing that he’d once again unconsciously used Gryffindor house colors of scarlet and gold. Dumbledore had been Head of House before rising to the post of Headmaster in the 1940s, and often utilized that particular color palette in his Transfigurations. He settled on the seat, propping his feet up on the brace, and he could feel the tingle of Brian’s magic as the young wizard loped back across the grassy slope, completely delighting in the strength and agility of his new form.
The handsome Border collie flopped to the turf in front of the glider, panting; his large blue eyes were focused on the elder wizard’s face, and he held the stick loosely in his mouth. Brian-as-dog dropped it, once again looking eagerly up at Albus. Dumbledore Summoned it to his outstretched hand.
“I may have to charm our retrieving stick to throw itself if you keep at this, son,” he said, smiling and gesturing with the stick. “Perhaps we could get a few sheep for you to herd here on the lawn, eh? I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“Woof, bow-woof!”
Albus laughed, taking this for an agreement. He was about to draw his wand from a pocket of his robes, when Brian-as-dog suddenly got to his feet and barked in the direction of Hagrid’s hut. A few moments later, Fang, the groundskeeper’s enormous boarhound came bounding and slobbering toward them.
“Fang! Geddown yeh daft mutt,” Hagrid called breathlessly as he hurried over, fully expecting to have to break up a fearsome canine squabble. He grabbed Fang by his collar, hauling him away from the Border collie. Both dogs wagged their tails at each other but neither one was exhibiting any kind of threatening behavior. This was particularly interesting because Fang was at least four times bigger than Brian.
Brian-as-dog barked again, wagging his tail and his rear end enthusiastically, dropping down so that his chest brushed the grass… an invitation to play. He whined until Hagrid released his own dog to pat him on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry about Fang, Perfesser. His manners leave a lot to be desired,” said Hagrid, stroking the collie’s ears with both hands after patting Fang on the back. “What a bonny fellow, sir. I didn’t know you had a dog.” The gentle half-giant loved all creatures, most especially dogs and dragons.
“Thank you, Hagrid,” Albus replied. “He’s here off and on for the summer, I believe.” Dumbledore chuckled when Brian-as-dog yipped at him again and pointedly stared at the stick which he had rested on the arm of the glider.
“What’s his name? He looks rather keen with those bright eyes of his.”
Albus grinned at the compliment, tamping down his mild feeling of guilt at the ruse he and Brian were carrying out. “Fly, because of the way he likes to run. Here you go!” And with that, he threw the stick down the slope; Brian-as-dog, or rather, Fly, ran at top speed, easily out-distancing the much larger Fang as he grabbed the branch and returned to Albus’ feet.
“He is a fly one!” Hagrid exclaimed, laughing heartily and clapping his shovel-sized hands. “He could do awfully well at the Muggles’ sheep trials… if you were so inclined.”
At Dumbledore’s invitation, Hagrid sat on the ground beside the glider, demurring Albus’ offer to conjure him a similar, if proportionally larger chair. They chatted and visited for a while, watching the two dogs chase and rough-house with each other. Hagrid’s loyalty to the Headmaster really was boundless, all the way back to the time he’d been in Gryffindor House during his short three-year term as a student at the school—prior to his false accusation and unfortunate expulsion, but that is a tale for later chapters, isn’t it?
Hagrid just happened to look toward the main gates, and Albus felt a pleasant tingle as Minerva Apparated and gave her Deputy Headmistress password for re-entry to the castle grounds.
“I’ll head up and finish mah rounds, then, Perfesser,” he said, getting to his feet and dusting off his trouser legs. He smiled and nodded at Dumbledore before he called Fang to his side, giving McGonagall a wave of friendly greeting. “Good afternoon, sir, and thank you.”
“I have enjoyed our visit very much, my boy,” said Albus sincerely. He reached to stroke Fly’s silky ears as the groundskeeper made his way toward the Forbidden Forest and the Greenhouses. “How about a few sheep to demonstrate for your Mum? What do you say to that, lad?” He held the dog’s muzzle in his hand, marveling at the new look with which Brian seemed entirely at home.
Fly barked energetically, wagging his tail and squirming with anticipation as he glanced over to see Professor McGonagall waving and walking toward them. If dogs could smile, Brian-as-dog was smiling rather broadly just then. At a soft whistle from Dumbledore, he raced off several yards and dropped to the turf, his eyes never leaving the Headmaster’s face.
“Good afternoon, dearest!” Albus said cheerfully, kissing her cheek as she joined him. A subtle wave of his wand and the glider became a two-seater. “Did you have a pleasant trip over to Edinburgh?”
Minerva smiled at his welcome. “I did. It was good to see my cousin and her new shop; I really don’t visit as often as I should, so it was a good idea. Thank you, Albus.” This last was in response to his offer of a cool glass of lemonade.
“Mmm, my pleasure,” he said in a low voice. “Perhaps you can thank me again, later?” She laughed at the innuendo, and squeezed his hand. “Would you like to see a brief demonstration? You might enjoy this!”
Looking in the direction that he was pointing his wand, Minerva finally saw the attractive Border collie, waiting patiently for Albus to conjure his flock of sheep. In another heartbeat, six wooly Romney Marsh ewes appeared, noisily calling to each other as they too, caught sight of the shepherding dog.
“Oh my! I haven’t seen sheepdog trials in years,” she commented with a grin. “But Albus, where is Brian? He might like this as well.” She turned and looked over her shoulder back toward the main steps of the castle.
His eyes twinkling as he glanced over at the dog, Albus nodded, giving a sharp whistle. “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere, my dear.”
“Up you get, Fly,” Albus called, and the dog rose at once, creeping toward the ewes. He watched them closely, trotting left and right as the sheep huddled shoulder to shoulder. Dumbledore whistled once, then twice more and Fly scooted to his right, driving the sheep to their right as they faced the Border collie. Minerva’s eyes widened when she realized that she could feel the tingle of Brian’s magical signature very close by, and that it was he who was herding the sheep at Albus’ whistled and spoken commands.
“Good lad!” said Albus, twitching his wand once more so that a small wooden paddock appeared with its white-washed three-rail gate wide open for the sheep to enter.
“Is that really he?” she asked, stifling a laugh. “I don’t know that I’ve ever heard of a working-dog Animagus before!”
“I don’t think either of us expected his canine form to be this particular breed,” Albus said. “He simply concentrated on being a dog during our session earlier, and this is the form he took when I cast the spell for him.”
Minerva looked thoughtful as she gently rocked the glider with her foot. “Well, if you recall the photographs from his childhood with the Rollins family…”
Albus chuckled, squeezing her into a one-armed hug and placing a kiss on her hair. “You are right; I hadn’t thought of that. There were two Border collies, weren’t there?”
“Rex and Fly,” Minerva added.
Albus laughed again. “And here I thought I was being clever with the name!” He shook his head, still laughing at himself.
While they had been talking, Fly the collie had guided the small flock of sheep into the enclosure, and ran back to the pair seated on the scarlet and gold striped glider. He propped his front paws up on the armrest beside Minerva, his mouth wide in a doggie smile for his mother. Albus grinned his approval, and banished the sheep and their pen with a subtle wave of his wand.
Minerva stroked the dog’s ears and head, laughing as he further insinuated his snout under her hand if she paused even for a moment.
“This is a very good look for you, Brian,” she said warmly, momentarily resting her forehead on his. “I normally think of myself as a cat person as you know well, but I may have to make an exception for this bonny little collie…”
Brian-as-dog barked at the joke, his pink tongue lolling over her wrist as he panted. Minerva just laughed when he briefly rested his warm muzzle on her knee, his blue eyes sparkling at her. She felt a rush of love as her son flopped to the turf, yawning and showing dozens of flawless white teeth. He rolled over onto his back, scratching against the grass and obviously enjoying the sensation. When he finally sat up, he looked expectantly at Albus.
“Good idea,” Dumbledore agreed, nodding at the unspoken but very clear request. “I think I’m getting hungry for sandwiches and tea myself.”
Brian barked in reply and patiently waited for the Finite Incantatum from his father. Moments later, he had returned to his human form and was sitting cross-legged in front of the glider, a few stray bits of grass and leaves clinging to his head and shoulders.
“Hi, Mom, surprise,” he said, grinning broadly up at her. “That was a lot of fun!”
-/-/-/-/-/-
It was dark but Brian found his way as the sconces along the short hallway to his parents’ bedroom came on faintly; not enough to be blinding, and he had learned to adjust them. He had awoken from a sound sleep with a splitting headache, and was now drenched with perspiration, even though he typically only slept in light-cotton pajama bottoms and kept one window open to the cool night air. His heart pounded and he bit his lip to stifle a moan of pain; he leaned heavily against one hand to support himself as he stumbled in the hallway.
It was several painful minutes before he reached Albus and Minerva’s bedroom in the Headmaster’s suite. Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly and urgently on the door. He pressed his cheek on the cool, smooth wood and felt a bead of sweat running down the left side of his face.
“Mom,” he whispered, hoping she would hear. “Mom, I’m sorry. Oh, man…” Brian knocked again, groaning as he leaned against the doorjamb; a wave of dizziness and nausea swept over him, and it seemed to be getting worse. He blinked rapidly and clenched his teeth, hoping he wouldn’t pass out.
As he slumped to the floor, sliding down with the wall against his back, he heard footsteps on the other side of the door. He looked with worry at the shaking of his hands, and he clenched his fists tightly to try and stop it.
“I’m coming, Brian,” said Minerva, hurriedly drawing her dressing robe over her nightgown and trying to ignore the worry that clenched at her chest. “We’ll be right there.”
Not sure how long he waited there on the floor, Brian felt Albus’ hands gently lifting his head, and he saw both of his parents looking at him with concern.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized again, blinking to clear his blurry vision while Minerva cupped his feverish cheek. “I’m sick… like last time, at Christmas, but I don’t know what caused it.” He swallowed heavily, taking a deep breath against the nausea.
A tingle of magical Levitation, and Brian felt Albus helping him to stand, one arm lifting under each of his armpits. “Come on, lad, let’s get you sitting more comfortably in here…”
“And I’ll call Madam Pomfrey,” Minerva added, heading over to the fireplace to make the Floo-call. Her attention was on making the call and she did not see that the boy was now taller than Albus’ shoulder and a good four or five inches taller than she herself was.
Brian leaned heavily against Dumbledore, his unsteady feet not cooperating as he stumbled along to the sitting room. “I called Topher right away and asked him to bring the nurse. I’m sorry I woke you…”
Albus gently eased him into a chair, Summoning a cool cloth from the nearby bathroom as he did so. “No need to keep apologizing, my boy; that was quick thinking. Poppy will be here in no time.” He smiled encouragingly as he wiped Brian’s sweat-soaked face with the damp cloth and the elder wizard sat in another wing-backed chair, drawing it closer.
“Thanks, Dad,” said Brian, sipping from the water glass Albus now held for him. He sighed and sat back, holding the cloth to his forehead. Minerva joined them and drew her wand to further adjust the chair upon which Brian rested.
“Here, child,” she said softly, lengthening the seat with a wave of her wand. “Lift your legs up here and lie back. Madam Pomfrey will be here any minute.”
Brian did as she instructed, and sure enough, the fireplace glowed with an eerie green light as the school nurse stepped through, looked around briefly to get her bearings and headed directly for the young wizard stretched out on the Transfigured chaise lounge.
“Well, what have we here?” she asked, nodding in silent greeting to Minerva and Albus. “Topher said you had taken suddenly ill, young man.”
Brian sat up slightly, pulling himself up by the chair arms. “Yes, ma’am, almost like last time. My headache woke me up and I felt sick to my stomach.”
“M-hmm,” Poppy replied briskly, waving her wand over his head and chest to run several diagnostic spells. “No, just there is fine, Brian.”
Minerva watched anxiously as the Head nurse scanned the obscure symbols that now floated above the boy. Albus reached to squeeze her hand reassuringly, though he too, was somewhat nervous. As a Potions Master, Dumbledore was familiar with some of the glyphs but for different purposes than Healing.
Poppy reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a tiny green crystal vial to hand to Brian; the boy’s parents immediately recognized it as a fairly strong analgesic Headache potion, one often recommended for migraines.
“You’ll need this, but wait just a moment and hold absolutely still please,” she instructed, making two very intricate swishes with her wand. Brian’s eyes went wide as he felt the peculiar popping and bubbling of the spell through his chest and abdomen.
“Magical core diagnostic, Brian,” she explained without even waiting for him to ask his question. “I’m sure it felt very odd since it is your first one, hmm?”
“Yes, ma’am, it was weird,” he agreed, curiously watching her as she studied the new set of symbols that rose from her wand. He glanced over at Minerva. “I actually feel a whole lot better right now, Mom. I bet it’s just a summer cold—I seem to get them every July.”
“I concur,” said Poppy with a smile, not commenting on his self-diagnosis (and it probably was correct). “The asynchronicity adjusted itself at almost the same time that I cast the spell. Go ahead and take your Headache potion, and we’ll get you back to bed.”
Brian drank down the potion, now feeling a little foolish at making such a fuss—he truly felt much better than he had not five minutes prior. Madam Pomfrey had him remain seated while she held his wrist gently, checking his pulse and then looking at the way his eyes reacted to light.
“Have you been expending a lot of magic lately?” she asked, nodding with satisfaction at his other vital signs.
Brian shrugged, taking another glass of water from Albus to wash the metallic taste of the potion out of his mouth. “I guess you could say that. Gardening with Professor Sprout, dueling with Professor Flitwick, and we’re still working on my Animagus training,” he replied, easing forward with assistance from both Poppy and Minerva. “I ran around as a sheep dog for most of the afternoon… no, I didn’t Transform myself. Not yet.”
“That is rather a lot for a student on his summer holidays, I would say,” commented Poppy, and then she gave a loud gasp of astonishment as he stood and towered over her. “And a significant growth spurt, apparently!”
Albus chuckled when he realized that he and Brian were looking at each other nearly eye to eye, and Minerva inexplicably blushed when she saw that her son was now gazing down at her, his own eyebrows rising in surprise.
Joined: Aug 2007 Gender: Female Posts: 418 Location: Drowning in a pile of goo Karma: 10
Re: What if? « Reply #79 on Jul 7, 2009, 2:34am »
I find it interesting that Brian's magic is growing so big that he can't physically take it - in the summer he grows, not only his inches, but his magic is growing too. I am not surprised he gets sick.
Because i am so much more a doglover than a catperson, i just loved Brian as a collie. Collies are awesome: sweet, swift and pretty.
Albus training with Brian, Minerva being so caring, it almost makes them a normal family, doesn't it? I am so curious as to how this will all evolve. As i have said before, i am surprised that Brian is an only child, but this way it seems to be fitting just right.
Poppy was lovely, as always, though it did get a bit of a Star Trek vibe when she was diagnosing him.
I read slowly and feel very satisfied. For the coming ten minutes
Re: What if? « Reply #80 on Nov 24, 2009, 1:54pm »
Thank you, Pinkie. I hope you enjoy this next little bit!
“What if?”
A Harry Potter story (AU, set in the beginning of HP-ATSS to follow each school year but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines. It is, for the most part, RaM-verse compliant.
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.
Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language and implied sexuality; ADMM, AMPP and FFPS).
A/N: Brian is confined to bed rest for the remainder of the week, and his godfather visits Hogwarts. Hagrid and Brian are keeping an eye on the greenhouses and gardens while Professors Sprout and Flitwick are on their late-July holiday in southern France.
Chapter 29/?? The Dog days of summer
With Albus in daylong meetings at the Ministry of Magic (Cornelius Fudge had, yet again, begged Dumbledore for his advice and assistance), Minerva took advantage of the time and decided to finish a handful of articles she’d started earlier that spring for Transfiguration Today. It had been many months since she had had the opportunity to focus on them; that, and she would be close by if Brian needed her.
True to his self-diagnosis, Brian had contracted a seemingly ordinary “summer cold” and had spent the last three days in his bed up in the suite of the Headmaster’s tower. Madam Pomfrey’s potions gave him some relief from the coughing but most helpful was the uninterrupted rest. He had been given strict instructions not to use magic of any kind, just in case his fever was a symptom of a problem with his magical core and not merely a bad head cold with a cough.
Minerva pushed her reading glasses back up on the bridge of her nose as she read the first parchment one more time, preparing to send it by owl to Edwina, her journal contact in London. She smiled a greeting as the tall young wizard padded in his sock-covered feet across the sitting room to the large dining table where she had spread out her work.
“Hi Mom,” he said hoarsely. “I’m not disturbing you, am I?” Brian coughed once and leaned against the back of a heavy dining room chair. His voice was somewhat deeper than usual due to recent lack of use and the congestion in his nose and sinuses.
“Not at all,” she replied, gathering up several pages neatly. She smiled at the way his dark brown hair was disarrayed from resting on a pillow for so long and gestured for him to join her. “Feeling any better?”
“A little,” he said, wrapping his robe more tightly about his bare chest. “I’m not coughing nearly as much as I was yesterday, and the day before, but my throat is still sore. And my nose—very sore.” Brian indicated his red and irritated nose; even the softest of linen handkerchiefs could irritate tender skin. He chuckled slightly, stretching his arms wide and sighing loudly at the pleasure of it.
“I am starting to get achy from sleeping so much though; I don’t suppose that Nurse Pomfrey would let me swim in the lake today, would she? I feel like I could use the exercise.”
Minerva arched one delicately slender eyebrow and gave him a look of mild admonishment. “Doubtful,” she said, and then softened her gaze. “I was just about to call Topher for a light lunch. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. I slept through breakfast this morning,” he said as he pulled out a chair and sat at her left. Moments later, Topher popped in.
“How may I serve, Professor Minerva?” The elf nodded silently to the young wizard as well.
“Lunch for two, please Topher. I think soup and sandwiches would do well.”
Topher grinned and bowed low. “Breaklin has made her carrot and barley soup today, Professor,” he told her, knowing that his mate’s special soup was one of McGonagall’s favorites. “And Topher’s special herb tea for the young Master’s cold?”
“It does help, thanks,” Brian replied. He coughed again into his forearm but otherwise looked like he truly was feeling quite a bit better. “Could I have more of those soda crackers that you brought yesterday? They were delicious.”
The wizened old house-elf inclined his head, smiling. “Breaklin will be pleased to hear it so I shall ask for extra.” Minerva chuckled at the way Topher shook his head fondly before he popped away to the kitchens, and recalled that he’d barely hidden his surprise when he saw how tall Brian had grown in just a few days.
Brian sneezed twice, dabbing his tender nose with a handkerchief from a pocket of his blue tartan robe. He sat back against the cushion and grimaced. “I really hate being sick, and summer is the worst.”
Minerva made a soft noise of sympathetic agreement as she removed her glasses and rested them on a short stack of books at her elbow. “I have to agree with you on that one, Brian. This is your first illness of the calendar year as well, isn’t it?”
“You’re right. I missed out on the ‘flu that was going around school in February, and right now, I’m not sure if that was lucky or not.”
McGonagall nodded. “Aye, well, this will pass. I heard from Poppy that Hagrid came to her to get a stronger potion for Fang’s cold.”
“I caught this one as a dog? Wow, canine germs,” Brian grinned and chuckled, which brought on another slight cough. “Not unheard of, I guess.”
A silver cart appeared with a light pop, and Minerva deftly moved the tureen to the table between them. She served Brian a large bowl of the steaming, fragrant soup, and then took a smaller portion for herself. Her son poured tea for the two of them, each cup without sugar or milk.
“Now that I think about it, I once became ill shortly after I had acquired full cat Transformation,” she commented as she moved the soup spoons and white cotton napkins to their table. “It was at least two days of a very upset stomach—after something I’d eaten.”
Brian looked shocked but his eyes were twinkling with merriment. “Ugh, Mom that’s gross. Did you catch a mouse or something?” He tried to inhale the aroma of the soup but his stuffy nose thwarted him.
Minerva chuckled, blowing gingerly on her soup to cool it. “Sparrow.” She tried to keep a straight face but relented at the look Brian gave her, and wrinkled her nose, mirroring his own expression. “A big and plump feathery one.”
“Really?” He seemed both highly amused and disgusted at the thought.
“Oh, yes,” she replied, laughing as she recalled one particular week, shortly after she had achieved full Transformation on her own. “It took some doing to learn how to control the aggressive wee hunter of my feline behavior when I was starting out as an Animagus. Some days, I would pounce on anything that moved. It was very distracting.”
Brian shrugged, smiling. “Then I’ll have to remember that when I get further along.” He paused, thoughtful as he dropped several of the crackers into his bowl… a “dunker”, just like his father. “And maybe I can catch a rainbow trout or something nicer tasting for your dinner and Dad’s.”
As they ate and chatted companionably, Minerva was pleased that Brian seemed to have a fairly good appetite even with the congestion that was probably affecting his taste buds. Two large owls flew in the open window, one a Great Gray and the other a pale Barn owl. Both had neatly rolled parchments attached to their legs. The Great Gray owl landed lightly at Brian’s side of the table, folding her wings with barely a sound.
“For me?” he asked, sounding a little surprised as he set aside his spoon. He took one of the herbed soda crackers from the basket and offered it to the handsome bird. “Thank you. It’s from my folks, getting ready to fly over to Glasgow on the fourth of August. Oh, that’s not very far off!” He was sincerely happy to hear their news. “Bangor to Glasgow was a pretty easy flight, if I remember correctly. It wasn’t too difficult to sleep on the plane.”
Minerva closed the tin of owl treats and held up the smaller parchment she’d received. “And this is from Albus, hoping you’re feeling better.” She read further down the page. “He is also enquiring whether you’ll feel up to dinner with your godfather the night after tomorrow. Alastor must be in London this week.”
“That would be great. I haven’t seen him since, what—Christmas or so?”
“We’ll invite Poppy as well and make a nice dinner of it for the five of us. I’m sure that Alastor will enjoy hearing about your Scottish tour plans as well.” Minerva smiled at Brian’s enthusiasm over caravanning around her homeland (and his) with his adoptive family.
-/-/-/-/-/-
“So where is the bonny godson then?” Alastor asked as he sipped his firewhisky and got comfortable in the recliner by the fireplace. His shirt, trousers and light over-robe were freshly pressed and Minerva had complimented his wardrobe. Usually Moody looked like he’d just gotten his clothes out of a rumpled pile in his trunk.
“He’s in his room getting dressed,” Minerva replied, twitching her wand to light the candles on the dinner table. “Filius and Pomona went on their holidays to the south of France, so Brian is looking after the greenhouses while she is away. Actually, he and Hagrid both.”
“Still tops in Herbology? Good for him.”
“And Astronomy. He’s not far from achieving an Animagus transformation on his own; we’ve been working at it this summer,” Albus added, stretching his long legs out on the low ottoman. “You’ll be pleased to hear that Filius has been coaching him at wizard’s dueling as well.”
Alastor chuckled gruffly. “I do like the sound of that, and Flitwick is a fine duelist from what I remember. What news of the Defense position this year?”
Dumbledore sighed, giving a one-shouldered shrug. “Not many qualified applicants, I’m afraid, but I will interview next Tuesday. We’ll be fine on the day.”
“I could come and fill in for a few weeks…” the ex-Auror offered as he had many times before.
Albus raised his glass in a toast to his friend. “Thank you; I’ll keep the red carpet ready to roll out.”
Both wizards rose at the sound of Poppy exclaiming happily when Brian made his way down the short hallway, rather dramatically coming into the firelight. “Very nice! I was hoping they would fit you, young man,” she said.
Brian’s cheeks flushed, but he seemed pleased. “Thank you,” he said with a big smile. “I really like the colors too.” His long-sleeved shirt was a vibrant blue, and the over-robe was navy, so dark it was almost black. The tailoring of the black trousers was fine, emphasizing his newly acquired height, broad shoulders and slender build. Minerva had enlisted Poppy’s help with the clothes shopping, and both witches were extremely pleased with the outcome. Even the recent short haircut contributed to the more mature look.
Moody took a sip from his glass and nearly choked as the younger wizard drew near. Dumbledore patted him firmly on the back. “You weren’t kidding, Albus. What in blazes happened to you, lad… didye’ grow a foot or two in a week’s time?”
Rollins grinned, shaking his godfather’s hand, and accepting a chilled bottle of butterbeer from him with the other. “Just about, Uncle.” He reached to the sideboard and deftly poured his pint into a clean glass, just as Minerva was joining them. She nodded her approval at his manners, took the empty bottle and banished it to the kitchen in one smooth motion. Brian had had her laughing out loud with a story about Frank Rollins referring to himself as a “beer-barian”, preferring to drink lagers, stouts and the like, straight from the bottles when Juliette was not around to scold him about it.
“Come and sit,” she invited graciously, motioning Poppy ahead of her. “Topher will have the soup and fish course up in a few minutes.” McGonagall smiled warmly when Brian leaned down to kiss her cheek and thank her again for the new clothes. She shook her head slightly with the wonder at how tall and handsome he was—so very like his father, and in such a short amount of time.
Alastor and Albus had reseated themselves, while Brian joined the two witches on the longer sofa near the fireplace.
“Why don’t you tell us more of your upcoming summer holiday plans, young man?” Dumbledore suggested, his eyes twinkling behind the gold frames of his spectacles. “I’m sure they’ll spark some interest here.”
Brian swallowed another sip of his beer, wiping the small foam mark from his upper lip. “Sure. I’ll be heading over to Edinburgh in a week or so, and from there it will be touring around all of Scotland in the month of August before school.”
“Festival?” Alastor asked, referring to the Edinburgh International Festival.
“Festival Fringe and the Tattoo… which I’ve never seen. Frank used to tell stories from his days at the University of Edinburgh about the Military Tattoo and how spectacular it was to see the massed pipes and drums on the castle esplanade.”
“I can’t say as I’ve never seen such a festival,” Albus commented. He looked over at Minerva, smiling before he continued. “And I can’t imagine so many bagpipes all at once!”
“It’s an acquired taste, dearest,” Minerva said drily, reaching to squeeze his hand. The mention of bagpipes was a very old teasing topic between them. Even Alastor and Poppy shared a glance and a chuckle over this.
“I like the pipes,” Brian added. “This is supposed to be one of the best piping festivals in the world, and I’ve only seen two smaller ones back in Maine. It’ll be my first truly Scottish fest.”
“Aye and it’s about time too, lad,” Moody growled, finishing his whisky and sending the empty glass over to the sideboard. “You’ll have to get your Dad to take you to the Whisky Heritage Centre afterwards… right down the road from the castle, first or second door on the right. Tell ‘em your godfather is running low on his supplies!”
Brian grinned and nodded. “I’d love to but they may card me if I look too far underage.”
Alastor shrugged, grinning back at the boy. “No worries, lad. Where are you staying? Down in the Old Towne someplace?”
“I think mostly camping. There’s a place called Mortonhall, about an hour out from the city,” said Brian. “Or, over in Leith if it’s not too full. Mom, er Juliette, likes camping near the beach so she can paint.”
“Camping? As in tents?” asked Poppy, sounding mildly concerned.
“Camper,” he replied with a questioning glance at Minerva who nodded her understanding. “No, caravan is what you call it over here. Frank is renting a big caravan but Archie and I are used to pitching a tent right next door. That’s what we always did back in the States, mostly so we could get up very early to go fishing for breakfast.”
Poppy grimaced slightly, and then smiled to let Brian know she was teasing him about the camping and fishing both. “Where else are you planning to visit?” Albus was laughing softly and gave Minerva an amused look: she, too, would eat fish for every meal if she could.
“I really want to search for the Loch Ness monster from some of the tiny towns on the lake up there,” said Rollins, catching a look of surprise from Moody and a nudge on his arm from Pomfrey. “I don’t think Nessie’s a giant selkie like in some of the books… probably a plesiosaur or something like that.”
Alastor grunted in agreement, hauling himself up from the armchair to follow Minerva and Poppy to the dining room table. “You might be a selkie, lad, for all we know. Oh, and is that lovely Scottish salmon I smell, McGonagall darlin’?”
-/-/-/-/-/-
Brian took the stairs down from the Headmaster’s suite three at a time, practically running along the stone corridor to meet with Hagrid at the greenhouses; he was smiling to himself as the new song from Moody was rolling around in his head (actually several new songs, most of them rather naughty pub limericks). It was nearly ten at night, and he’d promised Professor Sprout that he would check on her nocturnal plants each evening while she and Filius were on their summer holidays. Professor Flitwick had finally convinced his wife that Aix en Provence was ideal for them, and that they could rent bicycles for picnicking day-trips through the countryside (or they could stay in and order room service; either plan made the tiny wizard very happy).
The young Gryffindor had gotten so involved with sharing his travel plans that he’d lost track of the time, and when McGonagall reminded him of the late hour, he’d made his apologies and bolted for the spiral staircase… even the gargoyle had chuckled when he slid gracefully around the first corner to the castle’s front doors. At his mother’s request, he had left his new robes in his room, opting instead to wear a gray hooded sweatshirt against the chilly breeze coming in from the Black Lake.
Brian’s broad grin vanished instantly when he heard Professor Snape’s loud call just as he reached the main entrance. His chest was pounding from the run, and he was startled to hear anyone other than the head Groundskeeper just then.
“MISTER ROLLINS!” he thundered as he strode up from the Slytherin dungeon. “Where are you going in such a hurry, hmm?”
Rollins quickly regained his composure as he turned to politely wait for the Potions Master to reach him. “Good evening, Professor. I am looking in on Professor Sprout’s plants while she is on her trip to France with Professor Flitwick.” He held the thick oaken door open with his hand before he stepped aside, the cool night air sweeping over both wizards.
“I was not aware that the Headmaster had allowed students to remain at school during the summer since so few of the faculty members are in residence,” Severus commented in his soft, silky voice. His dark eyes glittered dangerously, almost as if he hoped to catch Brian in a lie. “Even for our first American pupil here.”
Brian did not rise to the subtle bait, and he relaxed his mind in the hopes that Snape would brush against its edges. “Special circumstances, sir. My parents are coming to the UK in about nine days; we will tour all around Scotland before I meet my classmates at Kings Cross station.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, sir. Madam Sprout hired me on as an assistant for the summer months and I’ve been learning quite a lot about…”
“Hopefully enough to improve your disastrous marks in my Potions course,” Severus interrupted drily. He was exaggerating a bit, but of course, Brian’s grades in Potions had room for improvement.
“My oldest brother Joseph is sending me his chemistry textbook before he heads off to University,” Brian said, smiling slightly. He turned when he heard Hagrid call him from the outside steps.
Snape raised one sardonic eyebrow, keeping the rest of his face carefully still. “Fascinating, Mr. Rollins. Very well, you may attend to your greenhouse duties.” He too, turned to acknowledge Hagrid very briefly before he swept away toward the Headmaster’s office.
Brian grinned. “Thank you, Professor Snape. Pleasant evening, sir.”
Out of their sight as he made his way to the gargoyle staircase, Snape shook his head and grumbled to himself: “Too bloody cheerful… just like Dumbledore.”
TBC
A/N: Happy Thanksgiving, gang in the US. And, happy autumn to all. It’s been a while since I was last able to post but we are about to get young Brian into his second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (keeping with HP-CoS).
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