The Letters of Summer
Dragons, Dreams and Discussions
By kokopelli
Chapter 15 - Dragons, Dreams and Discussions
It was a lovely night to fly. The moonlight, when it was visible, cast interesting shadows along his dark blue hide as he flapped his wings. The rain would come and go, but actually, not only did he not mind, it was to his advantage. Uncle had said that he’d smelled prey on the ridge. If true, they wouldn’t be expecting him at night, in the rain. He’d been searching the ridges, flying low into the valleys and then climbing into the thermals to try to catch a glimpse of something, anything. The cloud cover thickened, obscuring the moonlight, so he had to strain his other senses if he was going to pick up any useful leads. He’d caught whiffs several times, but the scents were always cold; the prey had long since gone elsewhere. Any of his nestlings would have returned to the perch long ago to moan about the poor hunting, but he continued to fly for the joy of it.
The cloud cover broke momentarily, letting a shaft of moonlight pour down from the heavens, catching a flash of white as it shone. He smelled the next thermal and climbed higher, hoping to spot the beating of wings, anything that would give him enough information to catch up to her. Patience, altitude and another shaft of moonlight cooperated for once, and he got a fix on her direction and velocity.
Now the altitude came into play. Flying flat out, she was almost as fast as he was; in a dive, however, his weight and bulk gave him a definite advantage. He went invisible, pressing his wings against his body, the tips almost even with the tip of his tail. He was dropping at a constant acceleration with a good measure of forward velocity. With wrapped wings he was not only swift, but also silent.
Even if she were to go invisible right now, he was adept enough at true vision that he could track her aura. He closed in; he could see the sparkle of her scales in the pale light that would pierce the clouds. An unwelcome warmth spread through his belly. He knew that he would have to restrain himself again; the urge to overpower her and mark her was getting stronger every time he saw her. He was not an animal. He knew that she would not resist and would even welcome the marking, but it didn’t quite feel right, not yet.
He peeled the tips of his wings away from his body, twisting them to steer. He knew that when he unfurled his wings at this speed that he’d make a tremendous racket. He had to be close enough that it didn’t matter.
NOW!
His wings snapped as they unfurled, but there wasn’t a blessed thing she could do; he’d matched her speed and was forced her into a dive. Her wings beat with his, stroke for stroke. They powered into the dive together: two minds, four wings, but one heart.
He saw the mesa up ahead; they had landed there before. She dipped a bit, picking up speed. He matched her, getting back into rhythm. Would she land or pop? She’d been working on a complex manoeuvre to cancel her airspeed and then pop to land. When it worked it was a beautiful sight to behold, but then everything about her was beautiful.
He felt her rhythm slow. She was going to try it tonight. She braked with her wings, cancelling her forward velocity, and then disappeared with a pop. An instant later she was on the ground, arching her neck, calling. He banked into a tight turn and then popped out of sight. Reappearing before her, he arched his neck, answering her. He ran his chin along the length of her glorious neck, revelling in the sensation of her scales brushing against the grain of his own.
"Enough! You are just playing with me!" she shouted as she pushed him away.
He paused. He never understood when he’d crossed the line and didn’t know if the protests were serious until it was too late. "I do this for joy, but I’m not playing with you," he said breathlessly.
"Then why haven’t you marked me? Are you just waiting to get your popping skills up to the point that you can catch Au’ng?"
"I’ve been able to catch her for months now."
"Then why haven’t you marked her?"
"Because — because I don’t want her. I want you."
She was silent for the longest time. Finally she spoke. "You certainly have the strangest ways of showing it, Mm’lng!"
He rubbed his chin against hers, growling low. She returned the growl and entwined her neck against his. When she was this close she overpowered his senses. His belly was full of molten fire and his resolve was waning. He broke away, looking deeply into her yellow saurian eyes, the cloud-ringed moon reflecting off of her nictitating membranes. "You are so beautiful."
~+~
Harry was familiar with nightmares, and he’d been having dreams about girls for years now, some quaint flirtatious dreams, others depraved dreams that left him wondering if he were some sort of sex criminal. This was certainly the first dream about a girl who happened to be a dragon. Maybe this was what Abelard had meant when he'd spoken of getting in touch with his inner dragon. He looked at his alarm clock, reckoning whether it was worth trying to go back to sleep for another hour, or whether he should just start the day now. Abelard’s admonition that he had a duty to be rested won out. He fell asleep thinking of a different female, one without wings, one with brown eyes.
The alarm rang. "How rude," he thought, trying to capture the details of his dream, but they were fading fast; something about the Burrow and Quidditch. He was sure that Ginny was somewhere in that dream too. "Monday," he thought. "Breakfast, chores, then off to class — for a summer holiday I’m sure working hard." He strained to remember if he was supposed to have read anything. Nothing came to mind, although there was something about Apparation. After a quick visit to the loo, face washed and teeth brushed, he was slightly more awake and looking forward to making breakfast if only for the chance to drink some coffee. Looking in to the mirror before he left, he noted that he had a bit of stubble accumulating on his chin. If it got any more noticeable, he’d have to nip into town for a razor. The thought of dragging a sharp piece of steel across his face on a daily (or weekly) basis didn’t appeal to him. Dudley, of course, took it as a badge of manhood, but then he also enjoyed pummelling other brutes until one of them dropped. Maybe he’d ask Uncle Moony if there was a decent Wizarding alternative.
Harry smiled. The weekend with Moony had been better than a trip to Hogsmeade. Harry remembered warmly the look on Moony’s face as he woke Ginny’s Pyr’g from its slumber on the coals of the Grangers’ barbeque grill, talking the miniature dragon from the coals to its new perch around Ginny’s wrist. Ginny had been cool to him after that. He had to talk to Hermione about this — he’d done something, but he wasn’t sure what he’d done to muck things up. He knew that his relationship with Ginny, such as it was, had turned some sort of corner. She’d passed long ago from being part of the background noise at the Burrow into becoming a person and friend in her own right.
That friendship wasn’t as old or as deep as what he shared with Ron or Hermione, but it was a vital bond that could stand on its own. It hurt his head to think about these things before breakfast. Breakfast! It seemed like a month since he’d last made the standard Dursley breakfast, but it was only three days past. Toast, eggs and bacon today, along with some decent looking grapefruit that hadn’t been in the kitchen on Friday. Aunt Petunia must have shopped while he was away. Hopefully she’d spotted the note he’d left on the refrigerator to get some more laundry soap; they were almost out on Friday.
Breakfast came and went without incident, which was noteworthy when dining with the Dursleys. Dudley had actually complimented him on his cooking with a grunt of "crisp bacon" before he tossed back the last of his juice and waddled upstairs to change into his boxing workout clothes. There was no list of chores on the table, which left him with a bit of unexpected time before class began. He checked the status of the dirty laundry bags and then slipped into his room, grabbing his quill, ink and parchment.
Hey, Mate,
Greetings from Azkaban South. The only bad thing about this last weekend is that it came to an end. Like Saturday, Sunday was a Moony day too. I saw your lady friend and her family on Sunday for dinner. Instead of pudding, your lovely and charming sister made an appearance. I’ll let her discuss what happened after she came; that’s her business, not mine.
Well, I’m off to class. Be thankful that you’re not being tutored — some of this stuff is hard.
More, later,
HP
He stepped out the back door, looking down the driveway to see who might be on his detail this morning. He didn’t see anyone, which wasn’t all that unusual. Closing his eyes, he looked for things that he couldn’t see with his normal vision. There was a bit of space two houses down that didn’t look right. What might be an aura shimmered next to one of the trees on the front lawn. He dispatched Batty for a quick look-see and was promptly rewarded with an echo indicating that there was indeed a man-sized shape next to his neighbor’s pin oak. He pressed the tip of his baseball cap and tipped his hat to whoever was following him, setting off for the brief walk to Mrs. Figg’s house. After a while he heard a muffled step-thump combination that indicated a certain retired Auror was nearby.
"Good morning to you, Moody," Harry called out pleasantly.
"Morning Potter," he replied in his usual gruff voice. "It’s one thing to spot your tail, it’s another to tweak it."
"I didn’t ask for this detail, you know," Harry answered peevishly.
"Whether you appreciate it or not, Potter, good men and women are willing to risk their lives to protect your scrawny body; a little cooperation is in order if you can’t manage some gratitude."
Harry stopped, putting his fists on his hips. "I tell you what, Moody, a little communication is in order so that I don’t poke the next person following me when I can’t see them, friendly or hostile."
Moody said nothing, leaving Harry to resume his stroll to Mrs. Figg’s house accompanied only by sound of his trainers and the soft step-thump of his detail. Moody cleared his throat. "I guess that’s fair enough, given how you greeted Miss Knight a few weeks ago."
"Who?"
"The Ministry Auror you ambushed."
"Congratulations, Moody, you just burned her name — she’s always been scrupulous that I only know her as Moey."
Moody let off a muffled curse. "Might as well do it properly, then. Maureen Knight," he said.
"Thanks, I guess," he said, wishing that he could see Moody’s demeanor. Talking with an invisible man was about as complicated as talking to dragons inside your own head. "How is it that I didn’t hear your footsteps until you were right next to me?"
Moody chuckled. "Like that, did you? Rubber foot on my new leg combined with a hush zone charm. Beyond a metre I could be screaming my head off and you’d never hear me."
"That could come in handy," Harry volunteered, hoping that Moody would take the hint and tell him the charm.
"Sphericus Silencio Tempori," Moody replied.
"Tempori, eh, how long does it last?"
"About half an hour — drawback is that it traps heat; all that sound gets converted into warmth."
"Thanks, Moody," Harry said, stepping onto the pathway to Mrs. Figg’s garden.
"Uh, Potter?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Don’t mention the Knight thing and I won’t mention the hush charm."
Harry grinned. "Sure thing. It’s a pleasure to do business with you."
"Yeah, get stuffed, Potter. I’ll be back at the normal time — if not, I’ll leave word with Arabella."
"Thanks again, Moody." Harry heard a step-thump and then nothing — his guess was that Moody had walked away, but with Moody you could never tell for sure.
Arabella Figg’s garden was well kept and beautiful in the morning light. Harry sat on one of the benches, watching and waiting. The doorframe appeared as it always did, and Harry twisted the handle, pushing his way from one garden in England into a garden somewhere in Africa.
"Good morning, Harry," Jasmine purred from the shadows. She came along side him, catching his hand, leading him to the kitchen. "Slight change of plans today, Harry, Abelard has visitors, so I’ll do some training while we are waiting. Ever work with swords?"
"Not a whit," Harry replied. Swords? I have to do swords? With her?
"Good, I won’t have to break you from any bad habits then," she said, opening and closing drawers until she found her tailor’s measure.
"Twenty-eight inches," Harry said aggressively.
"What’s that?" Jasmine asked, a quizzical look on her face.
"My inseam measurement," Harry replied, a nervous smirk on his face.
"Oh, right," she said with a bit of a laugh. "You were a bit ticklish there, weren’t you?"
"Something like that."
Jasmine smiled, arching one eyebrow. "You don’t happen to remember the other measurements, do you?"
"Not a one," Harry said with a shrug.
"Oh, goody," she replied, flashing a brilliant smile. She went to work measuring him, singing under her breath "I get to measure Harry again, I get to measure Harry again, what a lucky girl I am."
"You’re not making this any easier, Jasmine," Harry growled.
"Hard is good, it builds character." She finished her measurements, rolling the measure into a disc, tucking it into the back of her waistband. She drew near to him again. "I’m sorry, Harry," she said, reaching up and touching the back of his head, pulling him closer. "Abelard spoke to me on Friday." Jasmine was brushing against him. "He said," her nose was drawing a lazy circle on his cheek, "that I shouldn’t tease you."
"Then what are you doing now?" Harry whispered, eyes straight ahead. If he turned his head, he’d have his lips somewhere on her face, which didn’t seem like a really good idea at the moment.
"Teasing," she said in a high, little girl voice. "I don’t mind very well sometimes," she said, her voice dropping an octave or two. Her breath was hot and moist on his skin. He wasn’t sure how much of this exquisite torture he could bear before things took a more steamy direction.
"Please stop," Harry gasped.
She leaned closer, taking his earlobe with her lips, nipping it gently with her teeth. "Anything for you, Harry," she purred breathily into his ear. "Within reason," she said in a normal tone of voice, pushing him up against the sink, walking backwards until the kitchen island separated them. "Much better on the Occlumency — I couldn’t read a thing. Made me wonder if I was losing my touch."
Harry gulped, turning aside to look out the window. "I don’t think that’s possible."
"What?" Jasmine said, tilting her head.
Harry turned to face her. "You haven’t lost your touch, believe me. You do things to me." He then crossed his eyes, tilted his head, letting his mouth slack open. Jasmine laughed, long and loud. After a moment Harry joined her, laughing until both had tears in their eyes.
~+~
Jasmine brought two suits into the kitchen; they were similar to the boiler suits they’d worn last week. These suits were made of a black, stiff, padded fabric with looser, flowing trouser legs. She laid one suit out on the floor, put the other on the kitchen island and Disapparated. With a pop she was back again, helmets and bamboo swords in hand. The flirting Jasmine was gone; the taskmaster was back. "Pay attention." Twirling one sword in front of her, she brought it through a swift arc until its point was poised, motionless, an inch from Harry’s nose. "This is a Shinai, a practice sword used in Kendo. I’m not going to teach you Kendo, but we’ll use it nonetheless to go through the basics of swordsmanship. After that we’ll suit up and spar. These are scoring suits. Each time the Shinai hits, it leaves a mark." Poking the suit with the bamboo sword for emphasis, she explained "critical wounds are yellow, mortal wounds are red, everything else is white. Got it?"
Harry nodded. The suit on the floor had yellow gashes on the legs and arms, and a few ominous red lines on the neck and torso. This is not going to be like broomriding, I’m sure of it.
They moved into the garden to start with swords. They worked on stance and grip, how to move, how to hop and slide, thrust, parry, block. Jasmine’s perfect hair was now starting to frizz a bit and she had a light sheen on her face. "No putting this off any longer, Harry, let’s suit up."
Jasmine brought out her "delicate" wand, pointing out boundaries. There was now a silver circle on the lawn, indicating the sparring area. She tucked the wand into a pocket and nodded at Harry. They went to opposite sides of the circle, bowed and began. The first match was over in a trice. Harry advanced and took a defensive posture. Jasmine smiled at him and began with a series of slashing attacks, most of which he couldn’t parry. Jasmine walked outside the circle. "Look at yourself," she said, a hint of anger in her voice.
Harry looked down. He had a bright yellow stripe across his chest, a red stripe on either side of his neck and a trio of red stripes across his belly.
"Don’t think of me as a girl," she began.
"Too late for that," Harry quipped.
Jasmine covered her eyes momentarily. "I suppose I deserve that." She made a swishing motion with her free hand and the marks on Harry’s suit disappeared. "Don’t think of me as a girl, think of me as your adversary. Can you do that?"
Harry nodded, putting his game face on. She entered the circle again, bowed and they began in earnest. This match lasted a bit longer; by the time it ended, Harry was just as dead as before, but Jasmine now sported a yellow gash on her thigh and neck. "Better, but you’re still a dead man."
"Funny, you’d think I’d stop walking around. Dead men definitely don’t wonder what’s for lunch," Harry commented drolly.
"Smart arse," she replied, pulling a face. She pulled her delicate wand from its pocket and turned briefly from Harry. When she faced him again, she was wearing Bellatrix Lestrange’s face. "It’s a glamour, I thought it might help you keep your mind on your work."
She returned to the circle and they bowed. There was a blur of blades, the sounds of clacking swords, grunts and gasps. Somewhere in the midst of all of this, she landed an elbow onto his nose. It wasn’t bleeding, but it hurt like blazes. Their form degenerated into tired hacking until Jasmine walked out of the circle again. She sported a red spot over her heart, a red gash on her neck and a series of yellow stripes on her arms, legs and torso. She cancelled the glamour and returned to her normal face. "I’m going to fetch some drinks, we’re going to take a bit of a break, and then do one more sparring session before lunch."
Harry left the circle, looking briefly at his suit. He was still slashed with yellow and red stripes like some sort of tropical fish, but he felt that it was coming together. For a dead man, he was improving. He collapsed into one of the Adirondack chairs. Jasmine returned with a pitcher of some cloudy juice and two plastic tumblers. Leaving the pitcher and one glass with him, she plopped into her own chair.
Harry drained his tumbler of juice and closed his eyes.
Can I say something now?
Sure, Mm’lau.
Your Glossat is whipping you.
Tell me something I don’t know, Mm’lau.
She’s faster than you are — it is her nature. You must play to your strengths, not to hers.
What do you mean?
You are fighting like a human, not like one of the People.
But I am human.
<sigh> We had that discussion yesterday. You are of the People; you should fight as we fight.
What do you have in mind?
Talk to me as you fight — I will guide your magic.
All right then.
"Nap time is over, Potter," she said, sounding more like Oliver Wood than the sultry witch that had been testing him in the kitchen this morning.
They entered the circle and bowed. Harry kept his eyes open, but engaged his Farsight as when he talked to Mm’lau. He could see the wards on the edges of the garden walls, but everything else looked much like normal. He skirted the outer edge of the circle.
You got some ideas?
Oh yes, I’ve got ideas. We’re going invisible.
Harry felt a brief flicker of warmth and saw that his body, including the suit and sword, was covered with a faint glow of blue light. Jasmine looked puzzled, but maintained a battle stance, her eyes straining for some glimpse of her adversary. He’d disappeared, but from the look on her face he reckoned that she could still sense that he was in the circle. Looking down at his feet, he smiled. "Sphericus Silencio Tempori," he intoned, as quietly as possible.
Oooh, nice touch, Harry. You are thinking like a dragon.
Thanks.
He circled, silent and invisible. He swung like a Quidditch Beater, smacking her on the rump with his Shinai. She yelped in surprise and then crouched into a lower stance, ready to spring, except that she was no longer facing him. She was good. Perhaps it was the whistling sound of the Shinai as it came arcing into her space that alerted her, triggering a parry that would have been quite effective, had Harry been attacking from her left instead of her right. Once he connected, she had a fix on his location, so it was no big surprise that she would counter-attack, except that after the first tit-for-tat Harry changed his mode of attack and went for a single blow, retreat, change angle of attack, return. Jasmine was furious, but there wasn’t a lot that she could do at the moment. Or was there?
She pulled her delicate wand from its pocket and waved it in an arc from east to west. They were now both plunged into absolute pitch darkness. This would have evened the score, except for the fact that Harry had been running on Farsight for this entire sparring session. Although everything had gone dark, Jasmine’s aura was still visible, a pulsing, throbbing sheet of girl-shaped vermilion laced with deeper shades of red. Harry decided to put an end to this match. Coming up from behind he laced his Shinai around her elegant neck and pulled her to him. "If this were real combat, your head would be on the ground right now," he growled. Jasmine froze, dropped her Shinai and made a twisting motion with her left hand. Sunlight returned to the sparring circle. Harry withdrew from his chokehold, moving to the opposite edge of the circle. He became visible again, ending the hush charm with Finite. He faced her, bowed, and walked out of the circle. He looked down on his suit — he had a white nick, the first of this morning, and a pair of yellow stripes on his left arm and right leg. His suit was drenched in sweat — Moody was right, the charm trapped a lot of heat, more than the suit could offload. Jasmine’s front looked like a red and black zebra. Her backside was black, except for the broad yellow stripe across her bum. She snorted when she saw that stripe.
"Is this a message, Potter?" she said, twitching her head towards her left shoulder.
"Yeah. Don’t tease the dragon."
~+~
Mrs. Paprikash met them at the door. "Lunch will be served in the dining room in twenty minutes." She took a long look at the yellow and red stripes on her daughter’s sparring suit, raising an eyebrow.
"Mum, I just don’t want to go into it right now, okay?" Jasmine protested. Mrs. Paprikash nodded curtly and returned to the kitchen. Jasmine took Harry’s hand and led him down the hallway towards the loo.
"Is your mum mad at you?" Harry asked.
Jasmine shrugged. "Professionally mad, not personally."
"How’s that?"
"Mum is ticked off that I have all these stripes and you’re relatively unscathed." Jasmine replied, rolling her eyes. Jasmine stopped at a window that flooded the hallway with light, parking Harry so that she could see him in the full light. "How was it that you could still find me when I turned the lights out?"
"I was running on Farsight — your aura was two shades of red and throbbing — you were plenty mad. Would have been a great move against almost anyone else though, wish I’d thought of it."
Jasmine changed the subject. "Harry, your nose," she said, touching his face lightly.
"What about it?" Harry replied.
She ran her finger lightly alongside his nose. Harry flinched.
"That hurts?" she asked, prodding it again.
"EEEYOW! Yeah, a lot."
"Crikey, I must have broken it — when did that happen?"
Harry sucked in his breath through clenched teeth. "During the sparring when you were wearing Bellatrix’s face — I think you got me with your elbow."
Jasmine smacked Harry’s shoulder with the back of her hand. "You prat, why didn’t you tell me?"
"I was a trifle busy at the time, you see there was this madwoman who was trying her best to kill me," Harry replied drolly.
Jasmine ignited the tip of her delicate wand with a fierce blue light.
"What’s that?" he asked.
Jasmine replied with a detached expression. "It’s a diagnostic, it lets me see beneath the skin just a bit so I can see if anything needs to be reset before I mend the break. It’s bad enough that you got hurt while you were under my care, but if I were to botch the mending, I might as well turn in my wand."
"Oh, it’s not that bad," Harry temporized.
"What do you know about injuries?"
Harry chuckled. "Quite a lot, actually. The matron in charge of our hospital at school threatens to dedicate a private room for my use. I’ve re-grown all the bones in one arm, been bitten by a Basilisk and an Acromantula, and burned by a dragon, along with a bunch of more mundane injuries. Then there are the injuries I’ve gotten playing Quidditch."
Jasmine raised an eyebrow. "So, a broken nose is just…"
"Tuition — if you’re going to learn, there’s going to be bumps along the way."
Jasmine lined up the wand with the length of his nose. He saw a brief blue flash and felt a blast of cold that sunk into the bones of his face. Tenderly touching the sides of his nose, he found it quite cold, but pain-free.
"Thanks," he said, rubbing his nose. "Much better now. What’s the charm?"
"Sarcio Anima" she replied. "It’s like the Reparo charm, but it only works on living tissue."
"I read about that in Combat Cures and Countercurses," Harry said with enthusiasm.
"Great book," Jasmine replied. "It was the standard for our sixth year." She put her hand lightly on his upper arm. "Harry, I’m so sorry about the nose, really, I am. You need to get a shower and get presentable for lunch. We’ll talk about the sparring later."
~+~
The shower was bliss. Harry felt sore and tender in a lot of spots. Notwithstanding the padding in the sparring suits, he’d taken quite a beating at Jasmine’s hands. As he let the hot water stream down his back, part of him wondered whether Jasmine had any bruises. Given her normally modest attire, he doubted whether he’d find out. Pity that.
When he finally oozed out of the shower, he found that his clothes were gone, although his trainers were right where he left them. Neatly folded next to the trainers was a stack of fresh clothes: shorts, underwear, a t-shirt and socks. To eliminate any doubt, a note was on top of the clothes: "Fresh clothes for Harry — JK." Hanging on the back of the door was a dark-blue dress robe. The robe had its own note. "Lunch is formal — JK." Harry looked at the robe and laughed. The dark-blue was an exact match to Mm’lau’s colour. Harry towelled off and changed into the fresh clothes. The robe was long, barely clearing the ground. It fit beautifully. "They should fit, Jasmine’s measured me more often than Madame Malkin." Harry began humming a tune while zipping up the robes, stopping himself when he realized the tune was Jasmine’s impromptu song "I get to measure Harry again."
~+~
Jasmine was dressed in a peach coloured sari with a long long scarf draped loosely around her shoulders. Compared to her normal attire, which disguised her figure, the sari covered her modestly, but was much more form fitting. Harry thought that the phrase ‘breathtakingly beautiful’ was written with Jasmine in mind. Her hair was in a French braid with two chopsticks pushed through the braid as it met the nape of her neck. Looking closer, Harry realized that one of the sticks was her "delicate" wand. Knowing Jasmine’s taste for combat, he supposed the other stick concealed a stiletto, or maybe a blowgun.
"You cleaned up nicely," Harry said, flashing a smile.
Jasmine nodded and smiled. "Thank-you, I could say the same about you," she said, her eyes sweeping over him.
"Any bruises?" he asked.
She glared at him. "None any place that you’re likely to see anytime soon."
"No?" Harry asked with a smirk.
"Ah, no," Jasmine replied. "Besides, I heal rather fast, bruises rarely last more than a day."
"Handy, that. I expect that I’ll be quite tender tomorrow — you whacked me good a couple of times."
Jasmine drew herself straight, tilting her chin up just a bit. "So, what did you learn?"
Harry stood silent for a while. "Play to my strengths, I guess, because when I was playing to yours, I was getting whipped. So — did I get that right?"
"We said it differently at the Institute: ‘a superior adversary cannot be overwhelmed directly; you must change the circumstances to eliminate your adversary’s advantage.’"
Mrs. Paprikash appeared behind them, nodding her head to Jasmine, placing her palms together and bowing slightly to Harry. "Lunch is ready to be served," she said, opening the ornately carved doors to the formal dining room.
The table was set for six, which meant that Abelard had two guests. Feeling a bit awkward, Harry stood behind a chair away from the head of the table. Jasmine drifted to the seat opposite him, placing her hands lightly on the back of her chair. Harry mouthed at Jasmine "who’s visiting?" when they heard the sound of voices come through the doors leading to the other wing of the house.
Abelard came through the door, dressed in silvery grey Wizarding robes, followed by Albus Dumbledore and Remus Lupin, both wearing fine robes.
"Hello Harry, I’m glad that I could join you for lunch."
Harry nodded at them both. "Headmaster, Uncle," he said in turn.
Jasmine’s eyes opened wide. "Remus is your uncle?"
Harry replied, "I have no blood relatives in the Wizarding world. Remus is my guardian.
Jasmine stared at Remus, who in turn took a deep breath. "Yes, Harry knows that I am a werewolf."
Jasmine took a sudden interest in her dinner plate and didn’t look up until it was time to bring in drinks and the serving dishes for lunch.
Harry spoke up. "I transformed with him at the last full moon. He was a wolf; I was a dog. It was the most meaningful night of my life to date."
Remus smiled.
Abelard spoke for the first time. "What made it memorable?"
Harry pondered his response. "There are certain emotions that can be expressed as a canine that are much harder for me as a human. Plus, I like to chase deer," he said, smiling broadly.
"Did you catch them, lad?" Abelard asked.
"Nah, but we sure had fun chasing them."
There was a brief pause in the conversation. Abelard cleared his throat. "Albus, would you say grace for us?"
Dumbledore looked astonished. "Grace? Ah, yes, grace, well, uh, let’s see." Dumbledore closed his eyes and held his hands in the air, raising them slightly higher than his shoulders. "Blessed are thou, oh Lord our God, king of the universe, who causes the earth to yield food for all. We thank thee for food, friendship and magic. Make us mindful of the fact that none of it is ours, and all of it comes from thee. Amen." He had the satisfied look of a schoolboy who had accomplished a particularly difficult feat of transfiguration when called upon by a teacher who thought him unprepared.
At least that’s how Harry interpreted the look.
Lunch was plain, but tasty and filling. The main dish was some sort of stew made from shredded carrots, raisins and unidentified, strong-flavoured meat, simmered in a savoury sauce, poured over a bed of rice. A large plate of steaming flat bread called Nan accompanied the stew, along with a platter of chutneys, sauces and spices. Remus asked for the name of the dish, but Mrs. Paprikash’s answer wasn’t quite intelligible. Jasmine spoke for the first time during the meal.
"It’s a dish from Northern Afghanistan, the title basically translates as ‘lamb stew’."
The lunch table was unusually quiet. Whatever Abelard had been discussing with Dumbledore and Lupin prior to eating, they certainly didn’t carry the conversation any further. They were in fact remarkably quiet. Dumbledore broke the silence.
"Remus, do you remember if James ever worked with swords?"
Lupin didn’t answer immediately as he had a mouthful of food. With a chew and a swallow, he took a sip of water. "Yes, he did work with swords."
"How does he compare to Harry?
"Favourably, I’m sure. When it came to Defence against the Dark Arts and martial skills, James was a blooming sponge," Lupin stated. "The very definition of a quick study."
"Happy with your student, Miss Kadakia?" Dumbledore asked.
Jasmine assumed a deer-in-the-headlights look.
"Uh, pretty much," she replied.
"What was deficient in his performance?" Abelard inquired with a bemused expression on his face.
"There was nothing deficient." Jasmine took a long drink from her cup. Putting the cup down, she delicately wiped her lips with her napkin. Peering into Abelard’s eyes, she said, "Master, you were correct."
Abelard lost his bemused expression. "What do you mean?"
"Harry was not supposed to win the fourth round of sparring." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I cannot fight what I cannot see."
Abelard pressed his point, "Yet he did win."
"Yes, sir."
"Then you both learned something."
"I suppose so, sir."
~+~
Dessert was a selection of fruit sorbets. At the end of the meal, Harry got up and helped clear the table, loading the dishwasher. Jasmine came up behind him.
"So, Harry. Is your guardian seeing anyone?"
Harry stood still and stared at her.
"You know, does he have a — a lady friend?" Jasmine turned away from Harry, holding her hands to her face. "I can’t believe that I’m pumping a sixteen-year-old student for information on his bloody guardian — I must really sound pathetic." She turned to face Harry. "Forget I ever asked, okay?"
"Yes," Harry said.
"Yes what?"
Harry gave a slight snort as he smiled. "Yes, he’s seeing someone."
"Oh, Suffering Shiva! It’s probably some Muggle intellectual — maybe an English teacher." Jasmine began to wind up for a rant.
"Actually, she’s an Auror, a Metamorphagus. She’s a friend of mine," Harry said in a quiet voice.
Jasmine put the heels of her hands on her forehead, brushing the wisps of hair back from her face. "I’m sorry, Harry, I shouldn’t be dragging you into my business." She looked embarrassed.
"Why not?" Harry asked, leaning up against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms. "That’s what friends do."
Jasmine cocked her head and looked at him quizzically. "Are you my friend?"
"I’d like to think so." Flashing a dazzling smile, he continued. "If I were older, I’d try to be more than just your friend, but there’s not much I can do about my lot in life right now."
Jasmine grabbed a dishtowel and began to wipe the counter, not looking at Harry. She sniffed. Turning to him, she said, "Harry, that’s very sweet. Thank you, that means a lot to me."
Harry replied. "I meant it, both parts."
"I know. I believe you."
~+~
"Your headmaster would like to see you in the garden," Jasmine said, pulling the chopsticks out of her braid. Harry watched her fuss with her hair. "I can only stay dressed up so long before I start wondering when the musical sound track is going to kick in — people only dress like this in the movies you know."
"Oh," Harry said. "You did look very pretty, even if it’s for the movies."
Jasmine flashed a brilliant smile. "Thank you, Harry, now get going. It’s warm out there. You might want to ditch the robe."
Harry looked down at the robe, pulled it off and hung it on the cloak rack that stood by the back door, plucking a baseball cap from the rack in return. He fiddled with the adjustment as he walked into the garden. Dumbledore was inspecting the climbing roses, sniffing deeply from a scarlet blossom.
"You asked for me, Professor?"
"Yes, I did. Let’s walk."
They walked through the gates and into the meadow. Goats were grazing there. Dumbledore smiled at the goats and headed for the forest on the far side of the meadow. There was a road that led through the forest that wound underneath the canopy provided by the trees. The shade would be welcome.
Dumbledore began speaking as they both reached the shade. His voice was quiet, almost hypnotic. "Lupin says that you have a list. Does this have anything to do with the topic you raised in your letter?"
Wow, nothing like a point-blank direct hit. "Yeah, I guess."
"Harry, I realize that this is awkward, but as leader of the Order of the Phoenix, I have a need to know. How many names are on the list?"
Harry looked down at the ground as he walked. "Three, no two. I took one name off of the list." Harry balled up his fists, wishing that he had something to do with his hands.
There was a long pause as they continued to walk. "That would be Miss Granger?"
"That would be correct."
"Why is that?" Dumbledore asked as he placed his fingertips together.
Harry frowned. "She fancies someone else and I really don’t want to muck with that. Besides, if things didn’t work out, I’d risk losing both of my best friends."
Dumbledore turned to face him, his expression grave. "That would not be good, Harry. You need those friends, and they need you."
Harry smirked. "I don’t know about the last part of that, but I do need them both."
Dumbledore slowed his pace as he took a fork in the road.
"Is Miss Kadakia on the list?"
Harry laughed. "I never gave her serious consideration, sir. I think I’m a little young for her. She’s the scariest woman I know, and besides, I might become her boss if anything happens to Abelard."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Many men before you have taken War Witches as mistresses."
Harry pulled a foul face, making a gagging motion with his finger. "Not this man, Professor. I’m pretty sure that’s not what I’m looking for. I’m not sure I have time for any relationships. I’m not really any good with any of this feelings stuff. It might have something to do with growing up with people that hated me and stuck me in a cupboard under the stairs."
Dumbledore winced. "Point well taken. What are you looking for, Harry?"
Harry picked up a stick and tapped tree trunks as he passed them by. "I want to do more than just survive; I want to live." He sighed deeply. Gesturing with his free hand, he continued. "I want to have a life beyond being Voldemort’s murderer-in-training. I want someone to care for, someone who cares for me, Harry Potter, not the bloody Boy-who-lived." He stopped, turning to Dumbledore. "So, I thought I’d ask you if you thought this was wise," he asked, his face calmed with his best game face.
"Wise? In what sense?" Dumbledore parried, his face was unreadable too.
"Is it possible that I could live something like a normal life while training as an assassin?" Harry asked, his voice getting a little reedy.
"First, you’re not training as an assassin; second, you’re not likely to live a normal life, ever." Dumbledore began walking again, Harry followed. "But to answer your question, not only is it wise, I believe that it is necessary."
Harry frowned. "I don’t know how I feel about that." He whacked the next tree trunk repeatedly until the tip of his branch shattered, sending shards of wood flying out into the forest. "Are you saying that I need to have a girlfriend to defeat Voldemort? How fair is that to her?"
"That’s not exactly what I’m saying." Dumbledore Summoned the wood shards back to Harry’s stick, making a faint gesture with his left hand. Harry was now holding a stout hickory walking stick. "Voldemort understands fear and power and greed. He was unable to possess you for more than a moment at the Ministry because of the power of your heart, specifically the love you had and have for Sirius. You have powers that he has never developed, but the one power that he cannot comprehend is love. You don’t need a girlfriend to develop that power; your love for your friends is both powerful and profound." Dumbledore dug for a handkerchief to wipe his brow. Even in the shade the woods were warm. "There are however certain bits of your personality and of your powers that will not blossom properly until such time as love begins to heal the hurts that you have endured in your short life." Dumbledore extended his palms, making a pantomime scale. "The right girl would make that possible. The wrong girl would only make things worse."
Harry assumed a mirror of Dumbledore’s scale with his hands. "So how do I know?"
"How do you know what?"
"How do I know the right girl from the wrong girl?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Get to know her as a friend and see what develops."
"Great, just great, I’ve already taken my best friend off of the list," Harry replied, exasperated.
Dumbledore raised one eyebrow. "Then work your way down the list. Ask Abelard about Potentis Amicae — he and I are the only ones old enough to remember that. It should prove to be quite — ah — instructive."
Harry whirled around when he heard the faint "pop" behind him, only to stagger in relief when he realized it was Lupin.
"Albus, we need to be off. Do you need more time?"
Dumbledore looked at Harry. "I think that Harry and I have talked about this topic sufficiently. If I am wrong, Harry, write me, or perhaps we can discuss it further after your Birthday. Good day, Harry. And by the way, good show on the sparring." Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. He nodded, first to Harry then to Lupin. With a slight syncopation, there were two pops as the older wizards disappeared.
Harry began to trudge back to Abelard’s villa. "Yeah, right, work my way down the bloody list."
A voice called from the garden. "Harry, get your scrawny bum in gear, Abelard is ready for the afternoon lesson!"
He smiled and started a slow jog. "Coming, Jasmine!"
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Copyright © 2004 — J. Cornell — all rights reserved
Oh, yeah, right, the disclaimer from the prologue? Still true.
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Author’s note: Mm’lau’s father was a dark-blue dragon named Mm’lng. Mm’lng had a thing for a white dragon named Au’lh. They eventually worked things out, Mm’lau being the first fruit of their union. Under certain circumstances, Snow Dragons can recall the memories of their ancestors. Useful trick that.