Done and out of my head at last. It's been fun (mostly) but it does run into the same problem I usually have, i.e. the tone is a bit uneven whenever the crack stops and a plot breaks out. What the heck, it is what it is, and hopefully someone gets a giggle or two out of it.
Thanks for reading!
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Harry Potter and the Malleus Mallardeficarum | ||||||
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Category: Pre-OotP, Alternate Universe Characters:Albus Dumbledore, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley Genres: Comedy, Humor Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 10 Summary: As the mayhem resulting from the lifting of apparition restrictions at Hogwarts settles down, Harry Potter is trying to survive the last few days of term without going mad. His best friends are behaving strangely, Malfoy is being a git, and, most importantly, he has to learn to dance before the Yule Ball. He’s not the only one with problems, however, and somewhere amidst all this he needs to help Neville Longbottom in his search for a way to restore Luna Lovegood to normality after her avian apparition aberration. If there’s one person he can rely on to keep him sane amidst all this, it’s Ginny Weasley, his best friend’s little sister… and now, his date for the Ball. Oh yes, her twin brothers are very interested in that development. Harry may be in even more trouble than usual, here. A sequel (and very definitely the finale) to Wondrous Apparition Provided By Magician. You probably need to read that for this to even begin to make sense. No ducks were harmed in the writing of this fic, although one was severely inconvenienced and extremely confused. Hitcount: Story Total: 9449; Chapter Total: 1746 Author's Notes: |
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The swirling green chaos of the floo was just as disorienting and terrifying as he remembered, but he did manage to heave himself forward at the right time, and found himself tottering wildly in the front room of the Burrow. He felt a small moment of triumph before something crashed into his chest and knocked him full length onto the floor, driving the breath out of him. He gasped for air through a face full of red hair. “Ginny! Harry! Are you both all right?” asked Mrs. Weasley, bustling into the room from the kitchen. “Honestly, Harry! Get out of the way, next time!” Ginny huffed, rolling off him. “Tsk! Throwing yourself at him, young lady!” her mother scolded, eyes twinkling and biting her lip to keep from laughing. Ginny turned scarlet and glared at her mother, and Harry could feel the blood burning in his cheeks. Mrs. Weasley burst out laughing and hugged her daughter tightly, then gave Harry a hand up and a crushing hug, as well. “It’s so good to see you both, my dears.” Mr. Weasley hurried in with an arm full of logs for the stove at the other end of the room. “You could have turned up any time today, and you chose the one time I had to pop outside for a minute,” he said, quickly dropping the logs by the stove and giving his daughter a kiss. “Welcome home, even if it is only a quick visit,” he added, shaking Harry’s hand enthusiastically. Home? Well, it’s a lot more like home than the Dursleys has ever been. “Thanks, Mr. Weasley.” He didn’t really have time to think more about it, as he and Ginny were bombarded with good-natured questions. “How are your classes going? And you’re keeping out of trouble, I hope? I daren’t ask about the twins. Do you know what the second task is, yet? Did Ron get our last letter? He ought to write more often.” And so on. Ginny did most of the talking, and despite her grumbles to him earlier, he noticed how her face lit up with genuine happiness. She was right, Molly Weasley could be a bit overbearing in a well-meaning way, but there was never any doubt how much she loved her kids — and how much her kids loved her. He was starting to wonder if somehow Professor Dumbledore had taken a wrong turn when the fireplace roared briefly with green flame and the Professor stepped out as easily as if he’d been in the next room. “Ah, Molly, thank you for hosting us on such short notice.” “You’re always welcome, Albus. Do you have a few minutes to spare for a cup of tea and a sit-down, or are you in a hurry?” “Alas, we find ourselves with something of a time constraint, but I’m sure that a cup of tea would be most welcome on our return.” Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked disappointed, but Mr. Weasley said, “Well, we’ll be here whenever you’re ready. After all, finding something that might help Luna after her accident is the most important thing. I have to say, Royston Vasey in Magical Accidents was absolutely fascinated, but poor old Xenophilius has been worried sick.” “He does rather dote on her, as you know, especially since Pandora died,” Mrs. Weasley added, twisting the cuff of her jumper anxiously. Professor Dumbledore smiled reassuringly, “All is not yet lost for Miss Lovegood, and I’m confident that our two young adventurers, here, are on the right track. Thank you once again for the use of your floo.” “Any time, Albus — and good luck!” Harry and Ginny handed over their Christmas presents so that they could leave their bags behind, and then followed Dumbledore out into the front yard. “Well, now, who wants to go first? Harry?” the Headmaster asked cheerfully. He took a deep breath. “Might as well, I suppose.” “It’s quite simple, and there’s no need to be alarmed. If you’ll just take a firm grip on my arm?” Dumbledore held out his arm in a courtly gesture and, feeling a little silly, Harry gripped it just above the wrist. He felt Dumbledore’s arm start to pull away under his hand and automatically tightened his grip. An instant later, he had plunged into a total darkness that squeezed suffocatingly tightly from all directions. He couldn’t open his mouth or expand his chest to take a breath, but just as he started to panic, light winked back on and his ears popped, and the pressure vanished. He sucked in huge gasps of the chill air, partly in relief, partly in need, and partly in pure shock. After a few desperate breaths, he found that he was standing in a small, flint-walled courtyard. Above him, the sky was a lowering overcast that leaked the occasional drop without any real intention of proper rain. “Hmm, it does take some getting used to, doesn’t it?” came Dumbledore’s voice from beside him. “After a while, you barely notice. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be back momentarily with Miss Weasley.” Harry nodded, and the Headmaster vanished with a small pop. Feeling that he should get out of the way, he spied a wooden gate set into one of the walls and went to stand by it. Moments later, Dumbledore popped back into existence with a wide-eyed Ginny clutching his arm. “Ah, and there we are. You can let go now, Miss Weasley.” It seemed that quite a feat of will was needed for Ginny to unclench her fingers. Harry could empathise with the feeling. “Now, then, through the gate you will find we’re in the car park for the Abbey. From there, it’s just a short walk to the house. Follow me, if you will.” He lifted the latch and strode confidently through the gate, Harry and Ginny trailing behind him. “You all right?” Harry asked in a low voice, waving her through the gate ahead of him. She nodded. “Maybe it’s better when you do it yourself.” “Maybe.” They exited onto a long, paved driveway, with a row of cars parked to their left and a series of stone buildings to their right. There were quite a few muggles around, either returning to their cars or following the signs up the drive towards the house, and although Harry and Ginny were not particularly remarked on, they did both notice the incredulous looks directed at Professor Dumbledore. It wasn’t just the unusual suit, but the long, flowing white hair and a beard that reached down to his belt buckle which were also completely at odds with the clothing, hairstyles, and facial grooming of the muggles. The Professor, meanwhile, proceeded on his way with the calm and unruffled grace of a swan. They followed the driveway around until they came to a long, low stone building, and stepped through a smartly-painted black door marked ‘Way In’. To one side, cold-looking muggles were warming themselves up in a café area with mugs of tea and soup, but Professor Dumbledore led them straight up to a desk with a sign saying ‘Admissions’. “One senior and two children, please,” Dumbledore said pleasantly to the lady behind the desk. She stared up at him, her mouth hanging open, and it took a few seconds for her to pull herself together and ring it up. “Would you like a guide?” she asked, handing over his change. Harry and Ginny each took a thin pamphlet but Dumbledore declined. “Thank you, but I’ve been here before. I attended a ball here some years ago.” “Really?” the woman asked weakly. “How long ago? The house has been in Trust ownership since 1948.” “Let me see… yes… early June, I think it was. 1924.” That completely stumped her, and Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at her expression. He didn’t dare look at Ginny or he knew he’d lose it. “Enjoy your visit,” she managed in a faint voice. They followed the signs outside through a huge stone barn until they got their first view of the house proper, an extraordinary blend of styles in stone and slate. A large tower with a faux-crenelated roofline dominated the centre of the house. The lower windows were square, while the upper storey windows were tall, ecclesiastical, multi-paned arches. A lone flying buttress ran from the tower to the lower house, and the front of the tower bore an arrowhead of stones marking the steep roofline of an original wing that had been removed, and the archway beneath had been filled in with brick. The gardens were tightly clipped back for the winter, letting the house look out on gently rolling hills. The damp and chill did not encourage them to linger, and so they hurried on into the house itself. Dumbledore smiled benevolently at the energetic-looking old man in a National Trust fleece that greeted them, and made polite conversation while Harry and Ginny quickly read through their guides. They continued on into the Sir Francis Drake museum, dotted with a startlingly-diverse array of artifacts from around the world, ranging from chess sets, to large sculptures, to tribal figurines, even a highly-polished sterling silver shovel. Again, Professor Dumbledore was seemingly happy to wait while Harry and Ginny read the display notes for Drake’s Drum and admired the treasures with the half-a-dozen muggle visitors, but after a few minutes he started guiding them to the back of the room, and then deeper into the house. They passed through a dining room and climbed a staircase dominated by an enormous stone statue of Drake in full costume, but rather than turn off the landing into a room full of dummies posed in Elizabethan finery, Dumbledore quickly looked around and led them into a nondescript little anteroom, a large servant’s cupboard of some sort. Harry and Ginny watched as Dumbledore pressed a small pin into the pad of each thumb, squeezed a tiny bead of blood from each of them, and then stepped forward and touched his thumbs together on the wall just above head-height. He opened his arms about a yard, keeping contact with the wall, and then ran them down to the floor. Silver light flared in the trail of his thumbs, and once the drawing was complete, a door faded into view. “Cool, sir!” “Why did you have to do that?” Ginny asked. “It is necessary to offer a small sacrifice to enter the old part of the house. The muggles believe it was destroyed when the Abbey was remodelled by Sir Francis Drake, but instead it was merely hidden. I think whoever laid the warding spell had a sense of humour.” “Why’s that?” “Because of the means required to pass it. To the muggles, witches and wizards were seen as evil, and so — ‘By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes’. Rather droll, don’t you think? Come, let us continue our search.” With that, he opened the door and ushered them through, following close behind them. In front of them was a wall of tightly-packed bookshelves, lit by a large window on their right, while a sultry female voice on their left made Harry and Ginny jump. “Ooh, who do we have here?” The speaker was a very dusty, life-sized portrait of a breathtakingly-beautiful woman, who swung her legs off a velvet fainting-couch and rose on towering heels. She had high cheekbones, and long, dark hair piled up on top of her head and allowed to fall in waves down her back. Her dress and bodice were black velvet, although the dress was slit rather scandalously high up the leg, and the very low-cut bodice only accentuated… certain other assets… that hadn’t gone out of style in the intervening century or two. Nor had the voice, for that matter. Harry felt himself start to sweat. “How lovely to see you again, Elvira,” said Dumbledore calmly. “I’d say the same, but I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, sir,” said the painting. “Not something that happens very often.” “Usually the other way around, if I remember rightly. Albus Dumbledore, at your service.” “Dumbledore? Oh, I remember a Dumbledore. It was you with the ear trumpet, the aubergine, and the feather duster, wasn’t it?” Dumbledore coughed awkwardly. “Perhaps now is not the time,” he said, with a glance at Harry and Ginny. She grinned wolfishly. “Not in front of the grandkids, huh? That stain never did come out. Anyway, you were a handsome young devil, when I remember you. What happened?” “About 70 years.” The woman’s shoulders rose and slumped, doing… interesting… things to her cleavage. Professor Trelawney on a cold day! Professor Trelawney on a cold day! Professor Trelawney on a cold day! “Really? That long? Huh, you really lose track of time when you’re a portrait in an abandoned house. Still, I bet you didn’t just drop in to renew acquaintances with me.” “Sadly not. As delightful as your company is, Madam, we also came in search of a particular book from the library.” The plump, cherry-red lips pouted in disappointment. “Oh. Well, whatever. Knock yourselves out.” Dumbledore hesitated. “Perhaps I shall stay and talk while my young associates search for the book?” The portrait looked up with smouldering blue eyes. “Really?” She had trouble keeping the hope out of her voice, which Harry thought was actually quite sad. Did portraits get lonely? He didn’t see any other portraits for her to visit, just endless walls of books. “Most certainly,” he said, with a significant look at Harry and Ginny. Ginny looked around at the wide expanse of densely-packed shelves. “Um… OK. Where should we start?” Dumbledore simply raised an eyebrow. “Under ‘M’, I would suggest.” Harry had to swallow back a snort of laughter, and pulled Ginny away before she could retort, but the portrait’s mocking laughter rang out behind them. The books appeared to be arranged in alphabetical order, but that order wasn’t always easy to follow as sections trailed around alcoves, then jumped across to islands of bookcases in the middle of the room, or even right across the room, in no especially logical sequence. Some of the ‘J’s seemed to rustle and shuffle restlessly at their approach, but they found the ‘M’s arranged in an order that ran right around an island of bookcases. Behind them, they could hear Dumbledore and the painting talking animatedly, and occasionally, the painting’s low, throaty laughter. It was incredible how a laugh could simultaneously sound so joyful and so insinuating. Harry found their target on their second run through the ‘M’s. Quite a number of the books had no title on their spine, and so they had to pull each individual book partly out of the shelf to check. A few of the books didn’t appreciate being disturbed and had to be forced back into place. “Ginny? Over here.” The heavy, black leather of the cover was scarred and pitted, and the title was carved deeply into it in letters the colour of blood. Indeed, they seemed to glow with a red malevolence when the light caught them. Harry ran a hand down the spine, and felt an urge to wipe his fingers. The pages were thick vellum and had a slightly greasy, almost fleshy, feel. “This is it. Malleus Mallardeficarum,” breathed Ginny. “Merlin’s beard, it looks evil!” “Yeah.” Harry hesitated for a moment. “Does this seem too easy to you? I mean, we just walk in, and there it is?” Ginny raised an eyebrow. “What were you expecting? Carnivorous plants? Giant chess pieces? Flying keys?” Harry grinned at her, recognising the references. “Well, maybe a row of potions with a riddle, or at least a dragon or two.” Ginny laughed, “Come on, let’s get out of here before an army of zombies show up, or something.” “Professor? We found it.” The painting’s finely-plucked eyebrows shot up. “Professor? Whoa. You were much more fun when you were younger.” Dumbledore just smiled. “As are we all, although I hope I haven’t completely descended into staid, stick-in-the-mud old age. We wish to borrow this book for a time.” Harry held it up for the portrait, but she waved it away disinterestedly. “That dusty old thing? Eh, whatever. You’ll bring it back, though?” Again, Harry could hear a note of hope in her voice. Lonely, all right. “As soon as opportunity permits,” Dumbledore promised. “And perhaps we can resume our conversation.” “I should look forward to that very much.” “And now we must bid you farewell,” he said, with a short, courtly, bow. They followed Dumbledore back through the hidden door to the main house, but it was only after the door swung shut behind them that Ginny asked, “Who was that, Professor?” “That, Miss Weasley, was Elvira, Lady Le Soir. A very powerful and tremendously talented witch — and, in her day, one of the most dangerous people in Europe.” “She seems very lonely, and there’s not even any other paintings for her to talk to,” said Harry, as they descended the stairs. “Sadly, that is quite deliberate. As I said, in her day she was one of the most dangerous people in Europe, and while her physical charms may have perished, her personality and, most importantly, her knowledge has been preserved in her painting.” “What’s so dangerous about a painting?” “Knowledge. Secrets. Old magic. Many people foolishly attributed her influence to her looks, but they failed to realise that her most potent weapon was always her mind. She was an arch-manipulator in her day, and I have no doubt that her portrait retains her silver tongue and also her love of causing mayhem — sometimes benign, but also deadly when the fancy takes her. You may wish to note how she has evoked pity from Mr. Potter — justifiably, perhaps — but with it, she seeks to obtain an advantage, an opening of some sort to the outer world. And yet, she has proved again and again that this cannot be permitted.” The energetic old man that had greeted them on the way in was coming the other way, and Harry tried to hide the Malleus Mallardeficarum behind himself as unobtrusively as he could. “Oh! Hello, I thought we’d cleared this section. The house is closing in five minutes, so if you’d like to make your way back to the front door?” “Of course.” “So, she just stays there forever, all alone?” Ginny asked when he had gone. “The alternative is to destroy the painting, and that is not something done lightly. In truth, I fear that Elvira has been placed here, out of the way — and rather conveniently forgotten, rather than deal with her one way or the other. And so she persists, guarding the old library here. Do not be fooled by her seemingly-casual dismissal of the book that we took, I can guarantee you that she marked it well — and, should it suit her and the opportunity arise, she will seek to trade that knowledge to her advantage. But come, it is time for us to return to the Burrow. I’m sure Arthur and Molly can’t wait to spend some time with you.” They were some of the last visitors to head back down the driveway towards the car park, and the rapidly-deepening gloom made it relatively easy to slip back into the little stone courtyard unnoticed and disapparate. Despite Harry’s deep misgivings, now that he knew what to expect the process was a little more bearable the second time around. It was raining in earnest in Ottery St. Catchpole, and Harry hurried to the door while Professor Dumbledore returned to fetch Ginny. Lights shone through the windows, but he stopped with his hand halfway to the latch, wondering if he should knock rather than just walk in. After all, it was someone else’s house, and it didn’t seem quite right to just barge in- Mr. Weasley quickly opened the door and ushered him inside. “Good gracious, Harry, don’t just stand out there, it’s pelting down. Here, hold still for a moment.” Mr. Weasley raised his wand, and suddenly Harry was dry again. “Come along into the sitting room where it’s warm. Molly!” Harry heard a pop from outside, and turned to see Dumbledore walking serenely towards them with Ginny by his side, the rain parting and bouncing off when it got within a few feet of them. Mrs. Weasley ducked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Oh, there you are, Harry. Go through and sit by the fire. Would you like a hot chocolate?” “Yes, please, Mrs. Weasley.” Despite the inviting warmth of the fire, Harry lingered in the sitting room doorway while Ginny and Dumbledore wiped their feet and said hello. Ginny got a hug and sent through to the sitting room, but he noticed that Professor Dumbledore stepped into the kitchen to talk to the elder Weasleys. Ginny stopped in front of him, looking up enquiringly. “All right, Harry?” He smiled at her and peered over her shoulder back towards the kitchen, but the door remained firmly shut. “Yeah. So, what do you think? Better the second time?” Ginny caught on, and turned to look, too. “I guess you know what to expect, but there is still a weird urge to go somewhere quiet and check that you haven’t left anything behind,” she said, with a shudder. “Even though it’s Dumbledore, yeah.” “Mind you, apparently that really did happen to Cormac McLaggen,” she said, gesturing in the obvious direction. Harry winced, but Ginny started to giggle. “Can you imagine, having to walk to the Hospital Wing holding that? ‘Um… Madam Pomfrey…?’” The kitchen door opened, and Mr. Weasley emerged holding two large mugs of hot chocolate. “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me, he’s managed that with just about every other body part in the last month or so,” said Harry. They were both about to turn and go into the sitting room, when Mr. Weasley started grinning at them. “Now, now, you two, I know you’re going to this Yule Ball together, but really!” “Err… what?” He simply mimed looking upward. Harry and Ginny did so… and saw that they were standing right underneath the sprig of mistletoe pinned over the door. Harry felt all his blood rush into his face, and they both bolted into the sitting room. Mr. Weasley followed, chuckling and shaking his head. “Just thank your lucky stars that the boys aren’t here, or you’d never hear the end of it,” he said, handing each of them a mug. Harry laughed, despite his burning cheeks. “I think Ginny has that particular problem well in hand.” Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley joined them in the sitting room with tea and a plate of fresh biscuits, and Harry quickly found himself describing the chaos of the last few months at Hogwarts, ably assisted by Ginny. He did remember to censor some of the more outrageous or illicit adventures, but the twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye at some of their omissions and evasions told him that the kindly old Headmaster knew far more about these goings-on than they’d thought. All too soon, the mantle clock was striking six. “Good gracious, is that the time?” said Dumbledore. “As much as I have enjoyed your hospitality, I believe we should be getting back to Hogwarts.” “Yes, I suppose it is getting late — and Luna will be waiting for you,” said Mrs. Weasley. “You found what you were looking for?” “Yeah. I just hope we can do something for her,” said Ginny. “Well, before you go… I’ll be back in a minute,” said Mr. Weasley. He shot a look at Professor Dumbledore, who rose to his feet as well. “Perhaps I should make myself comfortable before the journey,” he said calmly, and followed Mr. Weasley out. A minute later, Mr. Weasley was back with their backpacks, both full. “Seeing as you’re here, we thought you could take everyone’s Christmas presents,” he said. “They’ll need un-shrinking, of course, but I’m sure you can manage that.” They said their thank-yous, and Mrs. Weasley gave them both a tight hug. “We weren’t expecting to see you this Christmas, so this has been a wonderful surprise. Give our love to the boys, and have a wonderful time at the Ball.” “Do write and let us know how it goes,” said Mr. Weasley. His face took on an uncharacteristic sternness and he added, “And I know what the boys can be like, so you may tell them that if they give you two any trouble, we will be having words when they get home.” “We’ll see if we can make it up for the second task,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Be good!” Ginny grinned, “And if we can’t be good, then don’t get caught, we know!” “Now, Ginny,” her mother started indignantly, but luckily, Professor Dumbledore reappeared at that point, and she let it drop. “Are we ready, then? Molly, Arthur, thank you again. Now, who wants to go first, this time.” “Harry!” “Ginny! Damn. Ugh, hand me that floo powder, then.” Harry lurched out of the floo, tripped over the grate, and stumbled head-first into a conveniently-placed chair. He quickly flipped himself around to a normal sitting position, Malleus Mallardeficarum in his lap, as Ginny hopped out of the floo with fluid grace. “What kept you?” he asked innocently. She laughed. “Floo congestion. Some slowpoke hogging the fireplace.” Professor Dumbledore stepped out of the floo before Harry could retort. “Well, now. All safe and sound? Excellent! Dinner should be starting in the Great Hall very shortly, so I suggest that you eat and then ask Mr. Longbottom and Miss Lovegood to join us here in my office.” Outside, they hefted their backpacks onto their shoulders and set off for Gryffindor Tower. "So, where do you reckon we’ll find Neville? Library?” “Library. Let’s swing by there after we’ve dropped this lot off.” To their surprise, they found Neville in the common room with Ron and Hermione. He looked up hopefully when they entered. “Any luck?” “Yeah. Give us a minute and we’ll tell you about it over dinner.” They jogged upstairs to leave their coats and backpacks, and found the twins waiting for them when they returned. “Ah, look, our two little birds have returned to the nest once more!” cackled Fred. “You two, sneaking off together all day, again,” George said, in a mock-regretful tone. “Yeah, just us and Professor Dumbledore,” Ginny said coolly, glaring at them. The twins’ shoulders slumped. “You know, you’re taking all the fun out of this,” said George. “My heart bleeds!” she snapped. “Gits!” For a moment, Harry thought she was going to utilise her father’s threat, but she just turned sharply on her heel and headed for the portrait, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville falling into step behind her. The Great Hall was only about half-full, so it was easy to get seats together, where Harry and Ginny could describe the day’s events. “When we’re done, here, Dumbledore wants to see us, Neville, and Luna,” Harry concluded. “Although I don’t see her here?” “I know where to find her,” said Neville. He was looking tired and rumpled, but his bloodshot eyes had a look of hope about them that they hadn’t seen for days. “Did you find anything more since this morning?” Ginny asked. “Not a bean,” Neville sighed. “Let’s hope that Professor Dumbledore has some bright ideas.” They noted how quickly Neville bolted down the rest of his dinner, and picked up the pace themselves. Finally, Harry pushed his plate away. “Come on, then.” Ron went to stand up, as well, but Hermione caught his arm and the two exchanged a look. Ron sank back down, looking a bit disgruntled. “Let us know how it goes,” he said, after a moment. “Thanks.” “I’ll find Luna,” said Neville. “You know the gargoyle on the third floor? Meet you there,” said Ginny. Harry and Ginny only had to wait a few minutes until Neville turned up with and Luna in tow, and the four of them rode the spiral staircase up to the Headmaster’s Study. Harry could feel his stomach churning a little in anticipation, and wondered how Neville and Luna were feeling. Presumably worse. Dumbledore welcomed them and waved them over to a set of comfortable-looking armchairs around his desk, the Malleus Mallardeficarum open in front of them. Harry noted that this time, nearly all of the portraits were awake, and those that weren’t craning their heads to get a look were listening with undisguised interest. “Well, now, Miss Lovegood, as you may know, Mr. Longbottom has identified a book that may be able to help us resolve your unfortunate semi-avian condition. This afternoon, Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley helped me to retrieve it, but we are yet to ascertain its exact method of employment.” Luna tilted her head to examine the book, and hissed loudly at it, some feathers rising on the back of her head. “There is no need to be alarmed, I believe it is quite safe. For now, we wish to examine the book in more detail to see if there is any clue as to how it may be used. If you would like to do the honours, Mr. Longbottom?” Neville took a deep breath and reached out to flip the cover open. Malleus Mallardeficarum was burned into the title page in heavy, Gothic letters, the brownish, iron-gall ink giving the impression of old blood. The next page contained a map of northern France picked out in exquisite detail, the colours rich and unfaded. The next few pages were full of dense, hand-lettered, and ornate script, with illuminated marginalia of birds down the side — most notably, ducks. The language was unfamiliar, but did not appear to be English or French. Turning another page revealed a title followed by what looked like a list of ingredients or instructions. Neville looked up hopefully. “What’s this? It looks like a potion, or spell, or something? Can you read it, Professor?” Dumbledore cleared his throat and fiddled with his glasses. “Hmm… yes, my Latin is rather rusty, but… yes, indeed. It’s a recipe for Duck à l’Orange. From Rouen, I believe. “ There was a moment of stunned silence. “You’re kidding?! And that?” Harry asked, pointing at the facing page, which contained a different list. “Pan-Roasted Duck Breasts with Sherry, Honey, and Thyme Sauce. Ooh, I must ask the house-elves to try that, it sounds delightful!” “This thing’s a recipe book?” Ginny said incredulously. “Why, yes. You’re in the introduction; it provides a historical perspective of the evolution of duck recipes in Normandy.” “So where does Malleus Mallardeficarum come into it?” Neville asked hopelessly. “Ah. That’s the main section of the book. It’s a history of what they also refer to as Blacksmith’s Pressed Duck. Rather than all that unseemly business with par-cooking and squeezing out the blood, they simply de-boned the bird, put the flesh in a muslin bag, and hit it repeatedly with a large hammer before simmering with butter, cognac, and lemon.” “That’s it?” “Well, a good splash of port rounds off the sauce, but, broadly speaking, yes.” Neville slumped back in his seat. “Oh, good grief. Guys, I’m really sorry, I’ve completely wasted your time. And Luna-” She quacked and put her hand on his arm in consolation, but Dumbledore fixed them with a disappointed look. “Mr Longbottom, is your wand merely a polished stick? Is the Sword of Gryffindor just an oversized letter opener? Or, indeed, the Goblet of Fire simply a gaudy drinking vessel? An object does not need to shine or sparkle to show that it has magical power, and I would have hoped that four years at Hogwarts had taught you this.” Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ginny swallow. The diary, he realised. She knows this better than anyone. Tentatively, he put his hand on hers, and she gave him a startled look for a moment before gripping it tightly. Meanwhile, Dumbledore continued, “I can assure you that I can feel the power in this book, even if we do not yet have the key for unlocking it.” “Have you still got that history of the Holy Roman Empire, Neville?” Ginny asked. “Read that part about Rudolf and Philip again for us. There’s got to be something in there that can help us.” Chastened and red-faced, Neville rummaged around in his bag and produced the relevant book, quickly flipping it open. “‘And Rudolfus strukke hym downe with the mightee power of ye great tome, and thus did Philip arise cured of hys strange afflixion once mor.’” Neville chewed on his lip. “Any ideas, anyone? Professor?” “It is a knotty one, isn’t it? I can only assume that the method of employment was so well-known at the time that the author saw no need to record it.” “Struck him down. Struck him down.” Neville forced out a breath and dragged his hands through his hair. “It could mean anything. I mean, he was a muggle! For all I can tell, he might’ve hit him over the head with it.” “You could always try it and find out,” Harry pointed out, half-joking. “What have we got to lose?” “And, besides the obvious, what harm can it do?” Neville said desperately. “Sorry, Luna.” With that, he hoisted the book into the air and brought it down smartly on the downy head. There was a deep, shimmering chime like an old bell, and Luna’s eyes crossed briefly. “Ah… ah… ah… achoo!” A huge cloud of white feathers shot into the air, obscuring her from their view. Somewhere in the maelstrom, something fled from the room, quacking furiously, and, as the feathers began to settle, they saw the familiar, blonde head of their friend back where it ought to be. Luna spat out a last few feathers and looked around. “Oh. Just when I was getting the hang of it, too,” she said, in her normal voice once more. “Luna! You’re all right!” Neville said breathlessly. Harry and Ginny just looked on, open-mouthed. “Well, of course I am,” Luna said calmly. “I suppose it’s nice to be back in my proper shape again, Daddy was getting anxious. The Giant Squid will be disappointed, though, he’s been trying to teach me some of the games he plays to amuse himself. I’m sure I was starting to get the hang of Squidditch.” “Squidditch?” Harry burst out before he could stop himself. Luna’s silvery-grey, rather protuberant, eyes locked on his. “Of course, it’s played under water and they have to do their own propulsion rather than sit on brooms. Its very popular in the Marianas Trench. How did you find this book, then?” “Oh. Err-” Harry felt Ginny’s foot press on his. “It was all Neville,” she said. “Yeah, he worked himself ragged on this.” Neville flushed and looked at his feet. “Someone had to try something.” “And you have shown remarkable diligence and persistence, Mr. Longbottom. I’d say your efforts are easily worth fifty points to Gryffindor, but more importantly, you have rescued one of your friends and fellow students, and I suspect you have learned a lot about yourself throughout this, too. I hope you can take confidence from it. Well done, indeed! And as for you, Miss Lovegood, I hope you have also learned from this sorry episode.” “Yes, Professor. Duck pellets are really quite tasty, once you get used to them.” Harry, Ginny, and Dumbledore exchanged a look. Yes, Luna Lovegood was well and truly back to normal. “Not quite the lesson I was looking for, I must admit, but I suppose it shall do for now. I should like to talk to you tomorrow, Miss Lovegood, after you have had a chance to rest and recover.” “Yes, Professor.” “Excellent! Well, in that case, I think it is time for you to return to your dormitories. It’s been quite a thrilling day.” “Good night, Professor!” “And thank you,” Luna added softly. It was only once they were back in the third-floor corridor that Neville, Ginny, and Harry blew out a deep breath. “I can’t believe we did it,” Neville said. “You did all the hard work, Neville. I’m sorry we weren’t really much help,” said Ginny. “You believed in me and you offered, and that helped more than you think. I didn’t see anyone else tripping over themselves to help.” “I guess the most important thing is that Luna’s all right,” Harry said. “How are you feeling?” “Fine,” said Luna vaguely. “I suppose I should head back to Ravenclaw Tower and see what inventive things my house-mates have done with my belongings.” She took a deep breath and suddenly seemed to fade into focus, her usual, distant persona gone and her eyes sharpening. “Thank you. All of you.” Harry said nothing, rather stunned by the sudden revelation of a much more focussed Luna Lovegood than he had encountered before, but Ginny didn’t seem overly surprised. “What will you do now? Are you going to go home for Christmas?” she asked. Luna shrugged, and was suddenly back to her usual, vague, slightly dotty, self. “I might. Daddy will be anxious to see me. I’ll talk to Professor Flitwick tomorrow and see.” “There’s the Yule Ball coming up, too,” Neville pointed out. “Oh, yes. Ginny, you’re going with Harry, aren’t you? You must be pleased.” Ginny coughed awkwardly. “Err… yes.” “Oh, good. She does talk about you an awful lot, Harry.” Ginny turned puce, and Harry just gaped at her, but she simply carried on as if she hadn’t noticed. “What about you, Neville?” “I wasn’t really thinking much about that, to be honest,” he said. He shuffled his feet and took a deep breath. “U-unless you’d like to go with me, Luna?” She stared at him in surprise — for a fraction of a second longer than was comfortable. “Yes, I think I will. After all, it might be fun.” “Really?” Neville asked breathlessly, hope and excitement lighting up his face. “Really.” Harry felt Ginny tug at his sleeve, and they tried to slip away down the corridor as quietly as possible to give their friends some space, but before they went, they didn’t miss Luna smile and pat his cheek. “It’s all right, Neville, I’ve always thought you’re rather ducky.” |
| Reviews 10 |
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