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• Ringing Harry The Minder's Visit Letters and Liberty Ride and remember Dreams, Clouds and Darkness The Day Before & The Evening After The Big One Meet the Tutor Letters from Elsewhere Lessons Arrangements The Changing of the Guard Dinner with Abelard Motoring with Moony Dragons, Dreams and Discussions More Letters Dragons Made Small Birthday at the Burrow Cooking with Harry Daze of August The End of August
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Taking care of business

Hedwig was happy.   For most of the summer she’d not carried any letters; the important mail had all come and gone through the Passbox.   The recent bundle of mail delivered by Professor McGonagall, mainly from casual friends and members of the D.A., all merited individual responses.   Harry reckoned that the responses were sufficiently non-sensitive that Owl Post could carry them.   Some would go back to Hogwarts via Passbox, to be carried to their destination by school owls.   His beautiful, longsuffering companion would carry the others.   He sorted the letters into geographic piles, two to a stack.   Hedwig stood at attention staring at him while he tied the letters to her feet, and carefully read out the addresses.   She then noiselessly jumped from the bedroom window into the morning sky.   If past deliveries were any basis for predictions, she’d be back before noon.   Unfortunately for Hedwig, Harry would be long gone by then; today was a class day with his tutor.   The letter on Hedwig’s left foot, which was addressed to Anthony Goldstein, fellow D.A. member, read as follows:

Dear Anthony,

Thanks for your note.   I’m glad to hear that your summer is working out so well.   The story about your cousin’s Bar Mitzvah was great — I have stories of my own that can match those for weirdness and embarrassment.   Look me up once school has started and I’ll see if I can top that story.

My summer?   So far, so good.   See you September 1.

Your Friend,

Harry

Harry was a little bleary-eyed as he finished off the morning notes.   He’d spent much of the night at a public pay phone, talking to Hermione.   After ringing off with her, he’d written Ron a lengthy letter, partially in response to Ron’s recent note, and in part fuelled by things Harry had discussed with Hermione.   It put him in an awkward spot, knowing that each expected that he’d keep their confidences, while each also knew that he was communicating with the other.   He was looking forward to the day when they’d be talking, really talking, to each other.   Either they’d both flame out and kill one another (not too likely in his estimation) or end up as something more than just friends.   It was a day that he looked forward to, if for no other reason than he’d no longer have to check what he said about one to the other.  

After finishing Ron’s letter, he’d started on a reply to Ginny, which had only taken eleven drafts to get to an acceptable point.

Dear Ginny,

It looks like I’ll be at the Burrow by the end of the month.   I don’t know if it’s just an overnight visit, or if I’m coming to stay for the rest of the summer.   Mastermind that you are, you can guess which one I’m rooting for.   If I’m at the Burrow for the rest of the summer, we can surely carve out some time to talk then.

Hermione says that you’ve had a burst of wandless magic recently.   I’ve been learning a great deal about that subject with my new tutor.   Evidently a lot of what we’ve learned at school about wandless magic is just plain wrong.   I have some interesting things that I’ll be introducing to the D.A. next term, assuming that Dumbledore still wants me to teach that unofficial class.   Perhaps you can help me iron the bugs out of my instruction this summer.

Your observant friend,

Harry

His chores were done, he’d caught up on his letters, and he desperately needed a shower in the half-hour remaining before he had to show up at Mrs. Figg’s house.   Grabbing a batch of clean clothes, he went into the lavatory and ran the water, hoping that there was still some hot water left.   Harry hated waiting for hot water.   Why can't Muggles master the trick of instant hot water?   Surely there's a technical fix for something the Wizarding world conquered sometime during the reign of King Ethelred.  

The room began to fog over.   Harry flicked on the fan and jumped into the shower.   While rinsing shampoo from his hair he heard pounding on the door, followed by a bellowing noise from outside the lavatory.   The voice was familiar; it sounded like Dudley imitating a bull seal in rutting season.

With some irritation, he turned the water off and grabbed a cold towel.   The knocking and bellowing continued, but by now Harry could make out the words.  

"Haaarry, telephone!   It’s a gurrrrrl!"

Looking wistfully at the towel, Harry cast the drying charm wandlessly, wrapped the towel around his middle and jerked the door open.

"Haaarry, PHONE!"

"I heard you the second time, Dudley," Harry said, his voice as cool as possible.

"Downstairs, some crusty girl calling you."

"Did you catch the name?"

"Do you think I care, freak?"

Harry didn’t bother to answer what was obviously intended as a rhetorical question, and dashed into his room.   He pondered briefly just how long Aunt Petunia would scream if he wandered downstairs to take the call clad only in a towel.   It was not worth it.   A minute later, he was in jeans, pulling a t-shirt over his head while bounding down the stairs.   Aunt Petunia was pulling a face similar to one who was violently seasick, shooting glances at the cordless phone lying in the center of the kitchen table.

"Thanks, Aunt Petunia," he said, picking up the handset.   "Hello?"

"Harry, Jasmine here."

"Jasmine?"

"You know — short girl, long black hair, taught you how to whistle."

Harry winced. "Yeah, sorry.   I don’t get many phone calls."

"My boss said that I should give you a ring before you set off for class.   Bring your broom."

My broom? "Right."

"Bye then."

"Bye," he said, but the phone line was already silent.   Before he hung up, he heard a second click.   Someone, obviously not Aunt Petunia, who was still sitting there, had been listening to the conversation on an extension.   Without a word, Harry put the phone in its cradle, nodded to Aunt Petunia and padded up the stairs.   A plan unfolded in his mind as he took the stairs.   To keep from being disturbed while he got his trunk open, he jammed a doorstop under his bedroom door.  

Sometimes Muggle solutions are the best.

His beloved Firebolt was at the bottom of his almost-empty trunk, next to the carefully folded invisibility cloak and atop the envelope that held the shards of Sirius’ mirror.   He’d collected the shards after getting a nasty nick on his finger while unpacking.   He didn’t know why he’d kept them.   Perhaps he’d ask ‘Uncle Moony’ to fix it for him this weekend and put it to some good use.   Grabbing a black leather disk from his desk, Harry peeled back the backing from the Shrink-dot, stuck it on his broom and watched his Firebolt dissipate until it was the size of a child’s toothbrush.   The doorknob rattled as he slipped the tiny Firebolt into his shirt pocket.   When he opened the door, Dudley was standing out in the hallway, smiling.

"Where’s your broom, freak?"

Harry smiled wanly, pulling the miniature from his shirt pocket.   "Remember what I said about shrinking things, dear cousin?" Harry asked cheerfully.   "You probably want to stay out of my room while I’m out today, as I wouldn’t be around to reverse any accidents until way late tonight." He flashed a mock-concerned smile.   Dudley grabbed at his crotch and waddled away at a quick pace.   Harry snorted, then reached into his pocket and locked his bedroom door using the knife that Sirius had given him in fourth year and ‘Uncle Moony’ had repaired on their last outing together.  

He bounded down the stairs, calling out to Aunt Petunia on his way out the kitchen door:   "I’m off to my tutor, I’ll be back after dinnertime."   If Aunt Petunia heard him, she didn’t answer.  

As he reached the end of the driveway, Mrs. Figg rounded the corner, carrying a string bag of short round cans.

"Tonks?"

"No dear, I’m afraid that you’ve got to suffer with the genuine article today."

"Oh,"   Harry said, disappointed.

"Come along, Harry, walk me to my house so you can get off to see your tutor," Mrs. Figg said, clinking her cans as she walked.

Harry bristled inside, wondering just how many people knew about the day-to-day details of his life.   He stuffed that annoyance back down and meekly followed after Mrs. Figg, catching up to her at the street corner.

"Can I carry that for you, Mrs. Figg?"

"The proper question, Harry, is may you, and yes, you may."

They walked in silence all the way to her house, Harry swinging the string bag in a gentle arc as he walked.   As Mrs. Figg opened the door to her house, several cats poured out.   The majority of the cats in the welcoming committee were taking turns weaving in and out of Mrs. Figg’s ankles, except for two cats who stood a few feet away from Harry, staring at him and the bag he was carrying.   Both were desperately trying to make eye contact with Harry.   Harry plopped the bag onto Mrs. Figg’s kitchen table, taking care not to release the bag too suddenly and mar the surface.   He extended a wave to Mrs. Figg who was cradling a striped ginger cat to her chin, saying things to the cat in a high singsong voice.   Mrs. Figg nodded to him as he slipped out the back door into her garden.

 

The field trip

The gemstone doorway began to appear as he walked into the garden.   As he opened the door, he was struck by how much brighter the sun was shining in Abelard’s garden than it had been in Mrs. Figg’s.   The door closed noiselessly behind him and disappeared.   There were two Adirondack chairs on the lawn today, Abelard was sitting in one, dressed in shirt, tie and waistcoat, and appearing to be asleep in the morning sun.   The other chair had been placed a few feet away, arranged for comfortable conversation.   Harry sat down quietly, comparing the garden by daylight to his vision of the garden by moonlight from his Farsight dream.  

He realized that he was hearing a faint clicking noise, indicating that Abelard may indeed have been awake.   Harry carefully examined his tutor, looking for the source of the clicking.   Abelard wasn’t sleeping, although his eyes were closed and he was breathing deep, regular breaths.   His lips moved from time to time, his left hand was open, palm up to the sky.   His right hand held a string of jasper-coloured beads that he was moving oh-so-slowly between finger and thumb, one bead at a time.   Harry noticed that the beads and breathing were synchronized, one complete breath, inhale and exhale, per bead.   At the end of the circle of beads was a small metal cross.   When Abelard reached the cross, he opened his eyes, lifted the beads to his lips, kissed the cross briefly and dropped the string of beads into a small leather pouch that in turn was placed in his waistcoat pocket.

"Good morning, Harry.   I won’t ask if you slept well, as I know you were up late last night."

"How did you know that?"

"Farsight, Harry.   I checked on you at the end of my day.   You were nowhere within the bounds of number four Privet Drive, so I scanned the town, looking for you.   I was about ready to send Jasmine out after you when I saw you talking on a pay phone.   You were followed by your minders, so I turned in for the evening."

"Why were you checking on me?" Harry asked, bristling again.

"I am your teacher, Harry, which entails certain responsibilities on my part, just as you have responsibilities, one of which is to be sufficiently rested so that you can pay attention."   Abelard slapped the arm of the chair as he finished this sentence, causing Harry to flinch slightly.   Harry startled even more when he heard Jasmine’s voice behind him.

"Stand up, please, Harry.  I need to measure you."

Jasmine was dressed in green this morning: a knit shirt on top, Capri pants below, barefoot with her toenails painted a matching shade of pale green.   She held out her arms, scarecrow fashion, and spread her feet about a half metre apart.   Harry mirrored her stance.   Jasmine pulled out a tailor’s measure and quickly measured his sleeve length, collar, chest, waist, hips, inseam, circumference of his palms and length of his feet.   Apart from the inseam measurement, it was fairly painless.   Jasmine shook out the tailor’s measure which first rolled out straight and then coiled up on its own length until it was a fat, flat disk.   She popped the measure into her pocket and Disapparated with a muted pop.

"Your broom, lad?" Abelard asked.

Harry fished the miniature Firebolt from his pocket where it was doing a passable impersonation of a toothbrush.   Peeling the Shrink-dot sticker off, he leaned the broom against his chair and   put the sticker back into its protective pouch, looking up to grin at his tutor.

"That will do nicely, Harry."

"So, Abelard, where are we going today?"

"East."

"That’s a pretty broad area.   What are we doing in the east?"

"We’re going see, to hear, to learn, lad.   We’re going to visit the Snow Dragons."

"Is that a sub-species of the Norwegian Ridgeback?"

"Good guess, lad, but not correct."

Harry frowned.   "They’re not listed in Scamander’s book — only ten species of dragon are listed there."

"And yet they exist, Harry.   I spent a great deal of time with them when I was a young man.   Which means?"

"It means that either you’re having me on or that Newt Scamander missed something along the way."

Abelard smiled. "Exactly.   Most dragons are five percent magic and ninety-five percent meat — very interesting meat, but flesh and blood creatures nonetheless.   Snow Dragons are ninety-five percent magic, five percent meat, and very unusual animals.   I’m not sure that they are native to this planet, but I never learned enough of their language to ask the right questions on that point.   Quite rare, difficult to find, and they can become invisible at will."

A chill went down Harry’s spine as he remembered facing the dragons during the Triwizard tournament.   "How do you defend yourself against a fire-breathing, meat-eating beast that you can’t see?"

"But you can see them, Harry, or at least you will see them today."

"Now you are having me on, Abelard."

"Not in the least," Abelard said comfortably.   "We’re going to enhance your Farsight today.   You won’t see them with these," Abelard said, pointing to his own eyes.   "You’ll see them with this," Abelard tapped one finger on Harry’s now wrinkled forehead as he stared at his tutor.

"Another gin-gin?" Harry asked.

"Yes, lad.   Different dosage and formulation; more suited to your size and talent."

Jasmine returned, carrying three bulky boiler suits.   She placed the topmost suit in Abelard’s lap, the second suit on Harry’s lap, and shook out the third suit and began putting it on.

Abelard raised one eyebrow questioningly. "Jasmine, you’re not going on this trip."

Jasmine didn’t reply, only zipped up the front of the suit and bent down to adjust the cuffs.   She then silently picked up Harry’s suit, unzipping it and motioning for him to stand up.   As Jasmine circled behind him, adjusting the suit to allow Harry to slip his arms in the sleeves, tugging on his shoulders, she replied, "Yes, I am."

Abelard responded curtly. "No, you are not going."

Jasmine faced Abelard and replied with a long string of invective in a high nasal language, followed by an even longer string of another, more modulated, accented language that Harry didn’t understand.

"You’re being rude, Jasmine."

"You’re being unreasonable, Abelard."

"If you’re going to be cheeky with me, do so in English."

"I can’t curse in English the same way I can in Hindi and Pashtun."

"Then perhaps you should limit yourself to reasonable argument rather than invective.   You - are — not - going — with — us," Abelard said, slowly and distinctly as if speaking to an idiot.

Jasmine took Abelard’s suit from his lap and motioned for him to stand.   Moving gently she assisted him into the boiler suit, adjusting straps and zipping zippers, moving with a grace and gentleness that belied the fury that Harry could read on her face.   Jasmine started to walk away towards the house and then pivoted on her heel, walking back to face Abelard.

"All right, how’s this for an argument?   It’s my job to protect you.   You are going to a dangerous place.   I can’t protect you if I’m sitting on the patio, buffing my nails while you are off in the mountains."   Jasmine put one hand on her diaphragm as if the short speech had left her with a stitch in her side.

"The fact remains, child, that you cannot protect me if you are there.   You can’t see the dragons."

"What of the boy?"   Jasmine asked with a backhanded gesture to Harry, who would rather not witness this argument in the first place, and certainly didn’t like being called "the boy."

"He’s flown with dragons before, and by the time we arrive, he’ll be able to see them.   You are pledged to obey me.   Please don’t make this a matter of obedience."

"You’re wrong, Abelard," Jasmine said, her eyes beginning to glisten, both hands on her stomach now.   "I’m pledged to protect you, protect you at the cost of my life.   My pledge to serve and obey you is subordinate to that first pledge.   I cannot obey you in this, Abelard.   I cannot.   I’m — I’m so sorry, Master," Jasmine took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she bowed her head.   Harry suspected from her posture and expression that she was fighting off nausea.   Jasmine took another deep breath, looking up to face Abelard.   "Do you know what happens to me if you die while I am pledged to your service?"

"Upon my death, you are obliged to serve my heir for the balance of your pledge period, and if I have no heir, to my most senior student," Abelard recited, looking down at the ground, as if recalling a lesson from decades past, looking up briefly to glance at Harry.

"Almost correct; what you describe would be true if you were to die of natural causes.   If your death is by violence, I am obliged to avenge your death.   I would most likely go mad, and if I was not successful in avenging your death, I would die from starvation."

Abelard sat down again abruptly.   Jasmine knelt beside his chair, taking one of his gnarled hands in her own smooth one, bringing it to her lips for a brief kiss.   "I am so sorry, Master."

"You’ve nothing to be sorry for, child.   You are what you are and I’m glad of it.   Most days at least."   Abelard sat silently, still holding Jasmine’s hand.   He brought his other hand to circle hers, bowing his head, closing his eyes.   Harry sat down and watched with rapt fascination.   The concentration between the two was entire and absorbing; he was certain that they had forgotten that he was there.   Looking at Abelard’s face, Harry could see that his eyes were moving, though his lids were closed.   After several minutes, Abelard relaxed visibly, releasing her hand.   He then took a deep breath, and then looking to Harry said, "Help me up, lad."   Turning to Jasmine he said, "You’re not dying any time soon.   Go get your broom."  

Jasmine bowed her head to the ground until her forehead touched the lawn.   "Thank you, sir."   Rising nimbly, she paced off to the house.

Waiting until she was out of earshot, Harry asked Abelard, "Why is she calling you ‘Master’ now?"

"It is very difficult for her to disobey me.   I should have realized this problem, but it’s been many years since I had someone pledged to me as strongly as she is pledged."

"Why was that necessary?" Harry asked.

"It is the paradox of the Shiva Guild — the witches are most powerful when they are pledged, and that power increases with the severity of the pledge."

"What were you seeing just now?   When your hand was on Jasmine’s."

"I was looking at Jasmine’s lifeline for the next few months, trying to scry the possibility of madness or death."

"Wouldn’t it be simpler to check your own?" Harry asked.   Not to mention less intrusive?

"No."

"Why not?"

"I cannot see my own death, not directly.   No Seer can; it is a possible future that is always dark to us."

Jasmine returned, bringing her broom, a collection of leather helmets and goggles and a map case.   Abelard emptied the map out onto the ground.   Waving his hand over the parchment, it enlarged and became three-dimensional.   Abelard then conjured an additional chair next to where Jasmine was standing.   She sat without a word.   The map was now a sculpture of a valley surrounded by mountains.   Abelard closed his eyes again, touching the edge of the map.   Detail became visible in the sculpture, down to individual trees in the lowest part of the valley.   Abelard opened his eyes again.

"Despite the histrionics of some people, today’s trip will be fairly safe, provided that we take sensible precautions.   When we open the portal, it will appear here," he pointed to a spot on the map, "on the south side of the valley.   We will fly up the valley, hugging the eastern rim, making our way to this ledge on the north side.   The ledge is huge — you can’t appreciate the scale on the map."   Abelard traced the route with his fingertip.

"Why not open the portal on the ledge?"   Jasmine asked.

"It won’t open there — very unusual ambient magic."

"You’ve been there before?" she asked, surprised.

"I lived there for several months, before you were born or your mother entered my service."

"Why are we going?" Jasmine asked.

"We lack one essential ingredient for Harry’s next project.   He needs to experience the Snow Dragons."

"How much of an experience?" Harry asked with some trepidation, remembering the scrapes and scorches he'd received from the Norwegian Ridgeback.

"We’ll watch them.   If we’re lucky, we may talk to them."

"Dragons talk?"   Jasmine asked.

"Their own speech," Abelard replied.   "All dragons speak, but the Snow Dragons are cleverer than the rest of their kind.   It goes along with their more adept use of magic.   They are very long-lived, so they should remember me, all but the youngest.   The Dragons call the ledge the Plains of Meeting — it has ceremonial significance to them."

Jasmine looked down at the map.   "If things go wrong, where do we go?"

"Plan A is to regroup at the insertion point and use the portal.   Plan B is to go over the north ridge, right about here, and once we’re over the ridge, follow this rift to the river, follow the river to the village below.   It’s a Muggle village, but the innkeeper is a wizard, or at least, he was when I visited them last."   Abelard smiled weakly.   "That was quite some time ago."

"Abelard, can I ask a dim question?" Harry inquired.

"There are no dim questions," Abelard replied.

"We’re sitting here on a sunny day in insulated boiler suits.   Why aren’t we all sweating like horses?"

Abelard shot a glance to Jasmine.  "Care to answer that?"

Jasmine turned to Harry.   "The suit is charmed to keep you at a constant temperature," she told him.   "In a hot environment it will keep you cool; in a cold environment, it will keep you warm.   It’s based upon the sentry suit our security forces use."

"Our forces?"   Harry asked.

"The Guild.   We don’t all do personal protection." Jasmine flashed a brief smile, letting Harry know what she thought of those less fortunate souls.   Abelard spoke next.

"Tell me, Harry, have you had any more Farsight experiences?"

"Three in a row, last night," Harry replied.

"Excellent," Abelard sighed.   "Your Eye is opening."

"My Eye?"

"Your ability to exercise the gift.   Today should kick it all the way open for a while."   Abelard unzipped the front of his boiler suit, dug into his waistcoat and pulled out a wrapped gin-gin.   "Here.   Shouldn’t trigger any Foresight and shouldn’t leave you with any dreams later today."

"Shouldn’t?"

Abelard held his thumb and forefinger apart by a tiny slice of space.   "Probability of five percent or less."

"I can live with that," Harry said, unwrapping the gin-gin.   "Just one?"

"Yes, just one, but this one you won’t spit out," Abelard said with a wan smile.  

Harry stared at the candy briefly and then popped it into his mouth.   Compared to his last encounter with the candy, this was anti-climactic.   It tasted strongly of ginger (no surprise that), provoking a copious flow of saliva as the sweet dissolved.   He turned to look at Jasmine and Abelard.   He could see the faintest of lights surrounding them — Abelard’s was white, Jasmine’s was blood red.

Abelard stood with some difficulty and turned to Jasmine.   "Your broom, Ma’am?"   Jasmine bent to retrieve it, handing it to Abelard, who turned to Harry.   "Yours too."  

With some misgivings, Harry surrendered his Firebolt.   Abelard held the two brooms together, closing his eyes briefly as he muttered, "Iugalis."   With a brief shimmer, what had been two brooms was now one larger, longer broom.   Turning to Harry, he said sharply, "Never use this charm on a person — never."   Startled at his vehemence, Harry nodded.  

Jasmine stared at what had been her broom.   The shocked look on her face matched Harry’s.   "You’ll be riding pillion, Jasmine," Abelard told her.   "Dragons fly; Harry can see them, you can’t.   I’ll de-yoke the brooms after today’s mission, they’ll be unharmed."

Jasmine took the broom from Abelard, a sour expression on her face.   "All right then," she said, handing the broom to Harry with a sign.   "It was a Fashir."

"Mine was a Firebolt."

Jasmine smiled wickedly.   "If my broom is preggers after today, I’ll give you the pick of the litter."

"What are you going on about?"

Jasmine leaned closer, whispering in Harry’s ear. "Iugalis is a yoking charm for things, a marriage charm for people.   The Fashir is the best racing broom in India.   The Firebolt is Europe’s finest."   She grinned wickedly.   "Imagine what their offspring would be like," she said with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

Harry pursed his lips, trying to keep a straight face.   "We’ll find out, won’t we?"

"Oh, Harry, one more thing," she said, still close to his ear.

"What’s that?" Harry whispered in reply.

"I can take anything but the Wronski Feint — do that and I’ll squeeze the chi out of you."

"And what’s so bad about that, Jasmine?" Harry asked, trying to look sly and sophisticated.

"I’m very strong, Harry.   If you pass out while we’re flying together, we’re toast.   The broom won’t respond to me when I’m riding pillion."

"Got it.   Don’t scare the pretty passenger," Harry said, beginning to turn away.

"No," Jasmine said, catching his collar firmly.   "Don’t go out of your way to scare the humiliated, out of sorts, very dangerous passenger, who would rather be flying her own broom."

"That’s what I said in the first place."   Harry flashed a grin and went into the house for a quick visit to the loo.   As Abelard was nowhere to be seen in the garden, Harry supposed that he’d had similar thoughts.

Moments later, they were all assembled in the garden again, helmets on, goggles pushed up onto their foreheads.   Abelard summoned the doorframe, extending his hand in an ‘after you’ motion to Harry.  

Harry grasped the handle, twisting and pushing.   An unseen wind was pushing back.   Harry leaned into the door and almost stumbled through.   It was almost sundown wherever they were on the other side of the door.   The valley looked familiar, but the model didn’t convey just how long the valley was, or how high the mountains.  

Abelard mounted his broom.   "It would be a good idea to fly a short loop here to get your feel for the broom’s handling, then we’ll take off."

Harry glanced at Jasmine and mounted the broom, taking care to leave space for her behind him.   She climbed onto the hovering broom, placing her arms around his middle.   Harry was glad that they were both clad in boiler suits, as having this much contact with Jasmine’s very curved body in normal clothing would be quite distracting.   Jasmine flicked a toggle on Harry’s helmet, activating the communication charm.   It was an odd, breathy sound, as if she were whispering in his ear without the sensation of breath.   "Budge up, Harry, you’re too far back."

"Why do you say that?"

"There are heel pegs to keep your feet in place when we’re in racing position — you’ll miss them by about two inches unless you scoot forward."

Harry slid awkwardly forward, with Jasmine moulding herself to him.

"Pull your heels up until they click on the pegs — yeah, that’s right.   Isn’t that better?"

It was — amazing what small touches could improve the ride.   Harry made a note to himself to get pegs installed on his Firebolt the next time he visited Diagon Alley.  

They flew a lazy loop around the doorframe, which although closed, did not disappear from sight.   Harry climbed steeply, did a small dive, and after giving warning to Jasmine, executed a Sloth-grip Roll before coming to a stop next to Abelard.   Abelard pointed to the ledge at the far side of the valley.   His gesture made it clear that they should stay to the eastern side.   With a thumbs-up gesture, he started off.  

Harry was keeping an eye out for dragons, not sure what an invisible dragon would look like at dusk. Jasmine’s voice came into his ear by the intercom charm.

"Fly low."

Harry skimmed over the tops of the craggy terrain.

"Faster."

Harry complied.   Dragons aside, it was a brilliant night for flying — clear sky, not too much crosswind.   The yoked Fashir/Firebolt combination flew like a dream: plenty of power, great brakes, and excellent response.   It wasn’t a Firebolt; it was somehow - better.   As Harry leaned forward to a racing position, Jasmine moved her hands from around his middle to reach forward and place the tips of her lightly gloved fingers on his shoulder blades.   From what he could feel on his back, she had her head turned to one side, her cheek against his back.

"Don’t hold back, Harry, I’m not made of glass.   Open this broom up."

Harry felt a surge of speed as he approached what he felt was the safe limit of the fused broom.  

"Lower."

Harry was following the contour of the terrain, popping up over rises and diving into the gullies that lay on the other side of the ridge.   He saw twin peaks ahead and decided to thread the needle, flat out full-speed.

"YES!"   Jasmine was making a throaty sound now, digging her fingertips into Harry’s shoulders.   Evidently this was the sound made by a contented War Witch with a serious thing for speed.   Jasmine said something in the modulated language she’d used to curse Abelard earlier that day.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that."

"Keep flying, Harry, this is lovely."

Another twenty minutes and they’d reached the ledge, seriously ahead of Abelard, who was about ten minutes behind them.   Harry had seen some unusual flashes of colour, far away in the darkening sky, but not near enough for concern.   Out of an abundance of caution, they circled the ledge, carefully inspecting the area in all directions before landing.   The ledge was a gigantic plain; at least six Quidditch pitches could be assembled here, side by side.   A stiff wind picked up, making enough noise to mask any other sounds.   Harry stretched stiffly, scanning the sky for the colour flashes.   Jasmine’s wand was out, pointed at the ground as she looked about.   Jasmine came close to Harry, putting her hand to the side of her helmet.   Harry clicked the intercom on again.   "Close your eyes, Harry.   Now, look around again, this time with your eyes closed."

When he did so, the distant flashes became far clearer; there were dragons flying above the ledge in a circular pattern, at least six of them.   They were flying in formation, two groups of three, circling the airspace above the ledge at a respectful distance.   Harry opened his eyes — he could see them now, slightly more clearly with his eyes open than shut.  The colour, he noticed, was shimmering light, similar to the light he’d seen surrounding Abelard and Jasmine in the garden earlier that day.   He could see the same red light shimmering around Jasmine — he guessed that this was the aura that Trelawney talked about ad nauseum.  

"Harry, what do you see?" Jasmine asked, sounding as though she were trying to keep panic out of her voice.   "I can feel them, but I can’t see them."

"They’re in the air, Jasmine, nothing on the ground, yet.   Six dragons, flying clockwise above us — I can see a sheet of light where their skin should be, same as I can see your aura right now.   They are red, orange, yellow, blue, green and a really pretty purple."

"You can see my aura?"

"Yeah, it’s a lovely shade of red.   I can see it when I close my eyes too."

Jasmine blushed, which did odd things to her complexion.   "Let me know when they land.   I feel so bloody helpless here."

"As I recall," Harry said blithely, rather enjoying her discomfiture, "you invited yourself to this party, Jasmine."

"Yeah, when I get back home, remind me what a blithering idiot I am.   Until then, don’t leave me, Harry," Jasmine said, crossing her arms, moving closer to Harry until her shoulder was brushing his arm.   "Where’s Abelard?"

"He’s about five minutes out.   I can see his aura too; it’s a milky white."   He lifted his head, eyes still closed, as movement caught the edges of his vision.   "Heads up, the rainbow gang is landing."   Jasmine started, leaning slightly into him, her head turning back and forth blindly.   "Easy now," Harry reassured her.   "We’re surrounded.   Mr. Red is at 12 o’clock with Orange at 2, Yellow at 4, Blue at 6, Green at 8 and Purple at 10.   They’re about fifty metres out — put your wand down."  

The normal reserve and confidence that Jasmine exuded was coming unwrapped, but Harry was oddly calm.   He remembered Charley Weasley saying, "Never rush a dragon and never run away from them — if you remember this first rule of engagement, you’ll probably survive."

The dragons began to call to one another, their auras waxing and waning.   Jasmine shivered, obviously fighting to keep her emotions in check and not blast randomly at things she could feel but not see.   "What are they saying?" she asked.

"I don't know.   Abelard is the one who speaks a little of their language."

The red dragon advanced towards them, hunkering down like a cat monitoring a mouse hole.   The dragon’s mouth opened, uttering a series of sibilant hisses and clicks.   To Harry’s horror, he found that he could understand the dragon speech perfectly.   "Son of Adam, daughter of Eve, why are you here?   The People have not invited you to the Plains of Meeting."

Harry looked the red dragon in the eye, hoping that he could speak Parseltongue as well as he understood it when it was spoken to him.   "Please, sir, my name is Harry, and this is Jasmine.   My teacher, the great Abelard, sent me to the Plains of Meeting.   I meant no offense in coming here uninvited."

"You are Abelard’s egg?" the red dragon asked.

"I am not Abelard’s egg, I am his student," Harry replied, hoping that he was understanding the dragon’s use of "egg" for offspring and that "student" translated into Parseltongue.

"What is Jasmine?   I do not know that word."

"Jasmine is a name; it also applies to a fragrant flower."

"Think of the flower."

Harry thought of the jasmine blossoms he’d seen in Greenhouse Number 2, grateful that he’d paid attention when Neville gave him an inside tour last year.   Pulling the picture to the front of his mind, he felt a gentle probing on the rim of his consciousness.

"We do not know that flower, but we know of Abelard.   He was a student here when we were but eggs," Red stated.

Blue spoke from behind Harry.   "Mm’lch, Abelard approaches."

Red reversed a few steps and sidestepped until he was standing to the right of Orange.   Abelard landed his broom, setting it down beside Harry and Jasmine.   Red waddled back to his prior position.   Abelard bowed deeply and then bellowed a tremendous roar.   Red bowed his head until his chin was on the ground, responding with an ear splitting roar.   Abelard said out of the side of his mouth, "Now you two bow."

Harry bowed deeply, but skipped the bellowing roar.   Jasmine curtsied.   Red snorted a spigot of flame and then said, "Abelard, you are welcome here, always.   Why did you bring young that are not your eggs?"

Abelard stared at Red blankly.   Harry whispered to Abelard, "Did you understand the question?"

"I think he wants to know why you two are here," Abelard said with a puzzled look on his face.

"Actually, he wants to know why you brought us here if we are not your children," Harry explained.

"You understand their tongue?"

"It’s some variety of Parseltongue.   I’m a Parselmouth."

"I should have figured.   Answer for me, if you would, lad."

"Abelard says that he has no eggs, but we are members of his house."   Harry realized with a split consciousness that as he said the words ‘members of his house’ his mouth translated the phrase as ‘eggs of his nest.’

Red pondered this reply for a moment, looking to Orange and Purple.   "Nestlings of Abelard are welcome to the plains of meeting.   Let us call Primus."

Harry turned to Jasmine and Abelard "I guess we’re ok because we’re Abelard’s honorary children — they are calling for another dragon, someone they call Primus."

"Primus is a title, Harry, for the leader of this clutch."

"Yeah, well, whatever he is, the biggest white dragon I’ve ever seen is coming this way with a dark blue following close behind," Harry announced blandly.

The large white dragon landed with a slight thump, barely louder than that a cat would make jumping down from a bed.   The dark blue dragon landed behind it, circling under and to the side of the large white.   As the blue dragon circled under, Harry was reminded of the way that Mrs. Figg’s cats would rub her ankles in greeting.   He felt more gentle probing at the edge of his consciousness.   Abelard bowed again.   Without prompting, Harry, too, bowed and Jasmine curtsied.  

White opened his mouth. "As we saw so long ago, you have come back to us, Abelard.   You are growing dim.   Why is your short nestling so afraid?"

"Harry, answer please. I can barely understand his question, and I’m certain that I’d bollix the answer."

Harry was rather afraid he'd bollix the answer as well, but he took a deep breath and said, "Jasmine is afraid because she can sense your presence, but she cannot see your beauty.   Our kind is very dependent upon what we see with our eyes."

The white dragon snorted a brief spear of flame and then became visible.   Jasmine gasped, grasping Harry’s left arm.   The other dragons followed, iridescent in the twilight, their visible form matching their aura colours closely.   They were awful and breathtaking, both in their size and in their beauty.   Their musculature rippled underneath their finely-scaled skin, catching the available light in the facets of the scale like a mountain of pearls and diamonds.   In the dusk they were astounding; in full daylight they must be unbearable.

"Say thank you, Jasmine," Harry prompted.   "They’ve become visible to put you at ease."

Jasmine curtsied, somewhat clumsily in her awe, to the great white dragon.   "Thank you, sir."

"You are quite welcome," White replied.

"You understand her speech?" Harry asked.

"I hear her speaking her own tongue, but her mind is clear enough," White replied.   "Abelard learned a little of our tongue many seasons ago, but we always relied upon the clarity of his thought."

There was a side discussion among the dragons that Harry could not make out.   White then said, "Mm’lch says that you fly quite well; he had a most difficult time tracking you in the valley.   He wants to know if you were attempting to be evasive."

Harry blushed, remembering how he had ripped over the terrain.   "No, sir, I was merely enjoying a good day to fly.   Jasmine is good company, and I was learning how to fly a new broom."

"Jasmine is not your krulach," White said, a statement, not a question.

"Please, sir, I do not know the word ‘krulach.’"

The dark blue dragon twisted her neck around and under the neck of the great white dragon, rubbing the top of her head on the great white dragon’s chin, stage whispering, "They are mammals, Primus; they bear young and suckle.   They know not krulach."

"Jasmine does not bear your young," White said, restating his earlier words.

Harry blushed furiously.   "No sir, she does not bear my young."

"Yet you fly with her?" White inquired.

"Our customs of mating are different than that of The People.   Nestlings will fly together without marking each other," Harry stated, feeling odd as the dragon terms came bubbling out of his mouth when he’d meant to say ‘friends fly together without commitment.’

The great white shook his head as if to clear it from a vexing thought.   Looking straight at Harry, he said, "Why have you brought your nestlings here, Abelard?"

Abelard pulled himself as tall as he could stand.   "Primus, Harry is the Servant of the Light we discussed many years ago when I was little older than Harry is today.   He must be equipped for his life tasks."

The great white snorted flames again, both nostrils this time.   Harry felt more probing at the edge of his mind, gentle but persistent.   "Come forward, Harry," White said.   White’s tail snaked around his great body, thrusting forward to the right of his front feet, dangling in mid-air in front of Harry.   "Grasp my tail."

Harry walked forward and grasped the tip of White’s tail.   It was surprisingly warm and smooth, like a muscular rope.   He could feel a surge of magic as his skin made contact with the dragon’s hide, his scar buzzing with magical energy again.   It was quite similar to the buzzing induced by Fr. Martin’s Transfiguration salve.   Harry looked down; expecting some sort of transformation, but to his relief saw that he remained unchanged.   The great white dragon pulled back his tail and Harry knew without bidding that he should return to where he was standing before.

"You are indeed the Servant of the Light, yet you are tied with a thread to unspeakable darkness," White said.   There was a quiet question to his tone, as though he invited clarification.

Abelard paused for a moment, and then spoke slowly and clearly.   "The thread will sever when the Servant of the Light overcomes the darkness."

"Darkness attempts to extinguish the Servant of the Light?" White asked.

"There have been five attempts," Abelard answered.

The great white dragon yet again blew flames from its snout, which Harry was reckoning must be the dragon equivalent of a deep sigh.   "We are of the light," he said at last.   "We are obliged to aid the Servant of the Light.   How may we be of assistance to you, Abelard?"

Abelard smiled, and Harry thought he could detect a bit of relief in the smile.   "It is a trifle, Primus.   Harry needs to see you, in flight, transforming and disappearing."

"I think my krulach should do that," White observed.

"As you think best, Primus," Abelard answered.   "Harry, watch the dark blue dragon carefully."

The dark blue dragon, apparently the krulach of the white, raised her head and bellowed a tremendous roar.   The roar was followed by a blistering blast of flame.   The dark blue dragon disappeared with a gentle pop that must have been some sort of Apparation, as she appeared moments later in the air, flying loops and diving.   As she flew, she became invisible; leaving only her aura, then became visible again.   Landing in front of Harry, she crouched down, catlike as the red dragon had been, then began to shrink in size until she was barely the size of a squirrel.   With another pop, she Disapparated, appearing again in the air, flying languid loops, this time twice her normal size, which was half again as large as the great white dragon.   With a third pop, she Disapparated from the air and Apparated again to her crouching position in front of Harry, back to her apparent normal size, which was slightly larger than a lorry with wings and a long tail.   Harry felt gentle probing at his mind that withdrew after a moment.

Dark Blue spoke.   "Farewell, Abelard.   We will not see you again.   I must speak briefly with your nestlings.   We will escort them safely to your door."

Abelard bowed deeply, mounted his broom and took off at a fair clip.   Jasmine nestled in closer to Harry, one hand on his elbow, the other on the back of his neck.   Sometime during the extended chat with the dragons she’d removed her glove and holstered her wand.   Harry could feel the warmth of her fingers on the back of his neck.

"You know that Abelard’s time is short?" Dark Blue asked.

To Harry surprise, Jasmine answered.   "Yes, Ma’am, we know that his time is short."

"Do not try to extend his time.   He has done all that has been required of him, and then much more."

"He has made his wishes quite clear, Ma’am, and we will honour his wishes," Jasmine replied.

"Thank you, nestling of Abelard.   Servant of the Light, I cannot see if you will return again; your future is very difficult to see clearly.   You, your krulach, and your nestlings are welcome at any time to return.   We are of the light and must do what we can to assist the Servant of the Light."

Harry nodded, unsure what to say.

"You require one last thing."   Breathing a long jet of flame into the rock, Dark Blue closed her eyes.   When she opened them again, a small white stone appeared in the middle of the expanse of stone that bore scorch marks from her flame.   "This is for your krulach, Servant of the Light.   When you have need of it, you will know how to use it."  

Harry advanced slowly, shaking off Jasmine’s hands with a gentle shrug, kneeling down to carefully pick up the white stone.   To his surprise the stone was cool, much cooler than the stone it was sitting upon, which still radiated heat from the dragon’s fire.   Picking it up, he saw that it appeared to be an intricately carved model of the great white dragon, bent in a circle with its tail in its mouth.   Harry placed it securely in a pocket and zipped it shut.   Standing again next to Jasmine, he bowed deeply.   Jasmine curtsied and then picked up their broom.

"Farewell, Servant of the Light," the White said, bowing his head.

"Farewell, Primus," Harry replied.   "I am glad to see your beauty.   I am deeply in your debt."

"The beauty is not ours, Servant of the Light; we are of the light.   Mm’lch, make sure that the Servant of the Light reaches the golden door without mishap."  

The rainbow dragons were all airborne again.   Harry knew without being told that they were waiting for him to be aloft.   He put his goggles in place, cinched the strap on his helmet, clicked his intercom off and on to insure that it was on, and mounted his broom.

Jasmine settled into place, reaching up under his arms to place her fingers on his shoulders, tilting her head to the left, placing her cheek against the back of Harry’s neck.   "Harry, this has been the most beautiful and weird experience of my life, but if you don’t pour out every bit of speed this broom can produce, I’ll figure out a creative way to hurt you when we get home."

Harry snorted, kicking off from the ground.   Within a moment he was in racing position, flying with the red dragon as escort.   The other dragons had disappeared.   Red kept pace with Harry quite well, but seemed to prefer a good amount of altitude compared to Harry’s ground-hugging approach to the ledge.   After a good twenty minutes of flying, he spotted the golden door.   The door appeared to be open.   Harry put on a burst of speed and overshot the door, earning a baffled comment from Jasmine.   Harry was smiling broadly as he climbed steeply and then turned backwards into a vertical dive.   Three seconds into the dive, Jasmine figured out what Harry was doing.

"HAAARRY — YOU BASTARD!   I TOLD YOU I’D DO ANYTHING BUT THE WRONSKI!"

Harry had already clicked the intercom off, but it didn’t matter, he could hear her screams quite clearly.   A fraction of a second before ploughing into the ground, Harry made a sharp turn.   He cleared the ground by inches and shot through the open doorframe like a manic Bludger.   Once through the door, Harry climbed, losing speed as he gained altitude.   He made a gentle loop as he spiralled in to land in the garden.   Abelard was sitting in an Adirondack chair next to the back door.

Jasmine released her death grip on Harry’s shoulders, peeled off her helmet and goggles.   She began to stomp off to the house, stopped and wheeled around.   She stomped back to where Harry stood with the broom in one hand and helmet in the other, tossing her helmet to the ground.

"This is for scaring me spitless!" she said, smacking his cheek with an open palm.   Standing on her toes, she reached up and grabbed Harry’s collar, pulling his head level to hers.   She stared into his eyes briefly before giving him a vigorous kiss.   "That’s for everything else!" she said, pushing him away.   Before Harry could figure out what had just happened, Jasmine picked up her helmet and stomped back into the house.

Abelard looked on with amusement as Harry stared uncomprehendingly after Jasmine.   "Jasmine is the Queen of the mixed signal," he said. "I see that she’s feeling comfortable enough with you to express herself freely."

Harry rubbed his cheek.   He suspected that he’d have quite a mark there for the rest of the day.   "Is that what she was doing, expressing herself?"   He shook his head.   "I don’t pretend to understand girls, Abelard."

"You didn’t attempt to perform the Wronski Feint, by any chance?"   Abelard asked.

"Not exactly the Wronski, but pretty close."

"Hummph.   Jasmine likes flying fast, always has, but she doesn’t care for the Feint.   She saw her brother plough into the ground when she was eleven.   With the best of care he was hospitalized for months."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling particularly low right then. I am in deep trouble.

"After we finish lunch and our lesson for the day, perhaps you two can have a chat about that."

"Yeah, Abelard, I’m really looking forward to that."

"Go inside and get a shower before lunch, lad.   I’ll run interference for you until after lunch."

 

Something old, something new, lot of magic, one piece blue

Lunch was soup with fresh yeast rolls.   Jasmine joined the table after the blessing, sitting as far from Harry as she could without making a scene.   After two bowls of soup and five rolls, she excused herself from the table and disappeared.   Harry cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the counters.   When he returned to the table, Abelard was finishing some tea.   Next to his teacup were a small stone Pensieve and an elegant ebony wand.

"Nice wand," Harry said, slightly surprised that Abelard even had one, as the older man had performed all of his magic without one in all their encounters.

"Today’s trip was quite tiring for me, Harry.   Pensieve work has always been easier with a wand than without, and today I just don’t need the extra effort that doing this work wandlessly would require," Abelard said, rubbing his eyebrows as he spoke. He looked as though he’d aged thirty years since that morning.

"Would you rather do this next session?" Harry asked.

"We haven’t time, lad," Abelard snarled.   "I’m quite surprised that Voldemort hasn’t been pounding you senseless this summer.  I cannot in good conscience delay building your defenses.   It will be today, Harry."

"What are we doing?" Harry asked.

Abelard sighed.   Picking up his teacup, he swirled the dregs and then knocked the cup back, draining it dry.   "Primus said it best, lad.   You have a thread connecting you to Voldemort."

Harry’s hand went unbidden to his scar.

"It’s not the scar, lad.   The scar is merely the sign of the link; otherwise Dumbledore would have removed the scar years ago.   The only thing that will sever this link between you is death: his or yours.   He lost a bit of his power when he tried to kill you almost fifteen years ago.   If he succeeds in killing you, he’ll get that bit back, plus a healthy residual dab of magic from your own abilities.   If you kill him, it’s the reverse."

"I don’t want his magic," Harry said, his eyes wide with horror at the prospect of absorbing anything more of Voldemort.

"We’re long past the point of wants, lad," Abelard said, looking blankly out the window.   Returning his gaze to Harry, he continued.   "Think of the link as a bridge.   You are on one side of the bridge; he is on the other.   How do you defend yourself from an enemy that has a bridge into the most sensitive portions of your mind?"

"Uh, blow up the bridge?" Harry offered.

"That would be a good tactic, and you’ll be working on that soon enough.   When Voldemort dies, the bridge will be gone.   But until that time, you need to defend the bridge, as you cannot sever the link, nor would you want to - in the end, it will be your preferred avenue of attack.   You need sentries on the bridge, beings that can sense your adversary, tell you when he is coming, repel the attack, and if necessary, bind up your wounds and take you far away.   We’re going to build those sentries today and install them in your mind.  

"Dumbledore meant well when he tried to teach you Occlumency, although why he ever let Snape be your teacher is a mystery to me.   Occlumency closes the mind from invasion, but could never defend against this type of attack.   You cannot close this bridge, you can only defend it."

"So, what do we do?"

"First we harvest some of your memories and store them in this Pensieve.   Then we’re going to use those memories to build your sentries.   Lastly, we install them."

Harry nodded abruptly.   "Let’s do it."

With a small smile, Abelard picked up his wand.   "Most of these memories are quite fresh, this should be quite easy.   Think of the spider we say the first day you visited me here."

"The brown one with the long stringy web?"

"The very same one.   Bring the memory to mind.   See the spider, see her spinning her web.   Do you have all that?"

Harry placed his palms flat on the table, eyes closed.   after a moment, he nodded.   "Yeah, I’ve got all that."

Abelard touched his wand lightly to Harry’s temple.   "Fiat Memoriam," he said, and pulled a gooey, glistening strand from Harry’s temple, dropping it into the Pensieve.   The swirling, milky fluid in the Pensieve hissed briefly as if Abelard had poured in drops of molten metal.   After a brief bit of bubbling, the surface of the Pensieve became placid.   "Wonderful, Harry.   Now we need to think about the bats we saw the same night.   See them surging into the night sky — focus on their flight."

Harry concentrated, picturing them clearly in his mind.   "Ok, I’ve got it."

Abelard repeated the incantation, placing the string of memory into the Pensieve with similar hissing and bubbling.   "Now I want you to visualize the dark blue dragon.   Her name is Mm’lau, the krulach of Primus.   Recall everything, lad: flames, roars, flying, size changing, Apparition, Disapparition, the awful beauty of this creature."

That memory was etched onto the backs of his eyelids; he didn't think he'd ever forget it.   "I have it."

The memory harvested this time was a very long strand that caused violent boiling in the Pensieve.   Harry’s eyes snapped open.

"Whew, that must have been a good one."

"Mm’lau always did pack a good punch.   I could tell you some great stories about her, but not today."

Harry smirked.   "Anything else?" .

"Only one more to harvest, then the real work begins."

"Which memory now?"

"Your headmaster’s phoenix, Fawkes."

Harry relaxed.   "Fawkes and I go way back."   He closed his eyes as he brought to mind every encounter he’d had with the immortal scarlet bird: Fawkes bursting into flame on a Burning Day; swooping down with the Sorting Hat in the Chamber of Secrets; beautiful snatches of phoenix song; Fawkes standing over him, weeping tears into the wounds he’d received from the Basilisk and again on the wounds he'd received the night Voldemort was reborn.

"Fiat memoriam," Abelard said as he harvested the last strand of memory.   He reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a glass vial, adding several pinches of powder to the Pensieve, closing the vial and returning it to his pocket.   "Jasmine," he called.   There was no answer.   "Jasmine, now!" he bellowed, a note of irritation in his voice.  

An oversized t-shirt appeared on Abelard’s lap.   Abelard put a hand over his eyes and chuckled.   Moments later there was a gentle pop as Jasmine Apparated into the room, clad in a large terrycloth bathrobe with her hair wrapped in a towel.

Abelard lifted the t-shirt.   "What am I to make of this, Jasmine?"

"I wanted you to keep your shirt on — I wasn’t able to come when you called.   I was in the shower, sir.   I didn’t think that Harry would appreciate seeing me starkers today, or any other day for that matter," Jasmine said, smiling.

"I may need your assistance if this gets out of hand.   I am very weary," Abelard said, gesturing towards the Pensieve.

Jasmine looked around the room and then stared at the Pensieve.   "Let me get some tongs.   I think this should be done outside."

Abelard tugged at his beard.   "That would be wise."   Looking at Jasmine, he said, "Get decent and meet us out on the flagstones in the garden."

"Yes, sir."

Abelard pulled himself out of his chair with some effort, stretched, and moved slowly into the kitchen.   Mrs. Paprikash had prepared a tray with tumblers, a pitcher of ice water and a pitcher of some cloudy juice.   Harry picked up the tray and headed out into the garden, earning a smile and nod from Mrs. Paprikash, who returned to her cupboard, pulling out ingredients.   Given the collection of bins, bottles and bags already on the counter, she was preparing for an industrial strength batch of cooking.

In the garden the afternoon sunlight was bright, making the cold drinks especially welcome.   Following Abelard’s lead, Harry half-filled his tumbler with water, topping it off with juice.   The combination was delicious.

"What is this, Abelard?"

"Tamarind, Papaya and water — I don’t care much for either of the juices on their own, but the combination is right pleasing."

The juice seemed to recharge Abelard, peeling back the fatigue that had shrouded his demeanour since they’d returned from the meeting with the dragons.   Looking particularly satisfied, he drained the dregs of his tumbler and refilled it.

Jasmine walked out to into the garden, carrying the Pensieve with metre-long tongs.   Her hair was pulled back into a bun, held in place with metal pincers; the bathrobe had been replaced with black cargo pants, boots and a loose, long-sleeved denim shirt.   Jasmine set the Pensieve down on the flagstones and handed Abelard his wand, then pulled her own wand, a delicate inlaid bamboo creation, from her sleeve.   Noticing Harry’s glance at the wand, she blushed momentarily.

"I haven’t used it since school, all right?   We were supposed to learning how to be ladies, and this is a ladies’ wand.   I did learn something more than death and destruction at the Institute," she said, pulling a funny face.   She twirled her wand counter-clockwise over the Pensieve.   In response, the contents of the Pensieve swirled clockwise.   Moving a chair back a respectful distance, Jasmine placed her hand over her eyes.

"Look away, this is going to be hot."

As Jasmine poked her wand in the direction of the Pensieve, Harry heard a great whoosh as a fireball shot straight up from the Pensieve.   The fireball was bright, blindingly so.   Harry turned his back to the tiny inferno, feeling surges of heat against his back.   The fire waned quickly, allowing the wizards and witch to look at the Pensieve again, or at least where the Pensieve had been.   The flagstones were scorched in a nice even circle.   The flagstone at the centre of the circle had crumbled under the heat, leaving a small mound of ash where the Pensieve had been.

Jasmine squatted at the edge of the scorch ring, holding the back of her hand over the ashes, pulling a face.   Walking into the house, she returned moments later with two pitchers of water, a large metal spoon and a bottle of dish soap.   Squatting again at the edge of the ring, she carefully leaned over and scooped the ashes into a pitcher, covering her face with her hand as a cloud of steam and fly ash erupted from the pitcher.   After there were no more ashes to be scooped, she squirted soap into the now steaming pitcher and stirred with the spoon.   From the sound of the spoon, there were a few clinkers in the pitcher.   Harry crouched next to Jasmine as she poured the water out into the hole in the flagstones.   When the pitcher was almost empty, Jasmine used the spoon to gather four slime-covered objects from the bottom.   "Hold out your hand, Harry," she directed, her face suppressing a sly smile.

What felt like warm rocks plopped into his palm.   "I’m honoured, I’m sure, but what exactly is this?" Harry asked, a slight scowl on his face.

"Those are your sentries, lad," Abelard said, his face impassive, all but his eyes, which were smiling.

"I have faith in you, Abelard, really I do, but a handful of muck is not what I was expecting." Harry replied.

"The muck is just muck, lad, but there’s treasure in your hands."

"I’m sure," Harry said dryly, making sure that none of the muck dripped onto his new jeans or trainers.

"Stand still, Harry," Jasmine said, pointing her wand at his hands.   "Scourgify."

Harry felt like he’d been slapped by a tidal wave of cold seawater, but when he looked down, the muck covering his hands was gone and his clothes were spotlessly clean and dry.   In his hands were four intricately carved stones: an agate carved into the form of a spider; some tiger-eye carved into a bat; a garnet-coloured phoenix; and a delicate dragon the colour of lapis lazuli.   The dragon was bent into the shape of a ring, its tail held delicately in its mouth.   The pieces were intricately detailed: Harry could see individual hairs on the wings of the bat, the spinners on the spider, feathers on the Phoenix, and eyelashes on the dragon.   Each was so lifelike that Harry wondered if they would walk (or fly) from his hand if he blinked.

"They’re gorgeous, Harry, I wasn’t expecting anything so wonderful," Jasmine said in a voice barely above a whisper.

Turning to Abelard, Harry asked, "What am I supposed to do with them?"

"Have a seat, Harry.   First we’ll talk, and then we’ll do," Abelard said, looking up at Jasmine.   She flicked her wand, bringing a circle of chairs together.   Making a funny face of concentration, she conjured a table in the midst of the chairs.   She frowned at her result, a delicate cherry wood Queen Anne style table.   Another wand flick later the table was rustic and   white, matching the Adirondack chairs.   Jasmine cleared her throat.

"Excuse me for a moment," she said, shedding her long sleeve shirt, revealing a loose, modest black tank top.   Holding her wand in her teeth, she pulled her hair out of its bun, revealing a swatch of midriff when she did so.   Catching Harry’s gaze, she turned her back to the men, shaking her hair loose, applying the Scourgify charm.   Turning around, she smiled shyly and sat down.  

"Your hair is quite pretty," Harry said, "I’ve never seen you wear it loose before, it’s always in a braid or a bun."

"Thank you, Harry," Jasmine replied, "I normally keep it up when I’m working, but I just had to get the ashes out of my hair — I couldn’t stand being gritty any more, especially after just showering."   Turning to her employer she smiled and said, "I’m ready now, Abelard."

"Let us be thankful for small things," he said dryly.   "Harry, put the sentries on the table."   A moment later the carvings were spread out on the table, glistening in the afternoon sun.   "These are bits of your magic, carrying your memories of the items they represent — think of them as little magical machines that work at a dedicated task.   That task is defending your mind, Harry."

"How do they do it?"

"Elegantly, Harry, elegantly.   The bat, in nature, uses its voice as an active sensor.   Muggles call it Sonar: finding things in the dark, or the light, by listening for the echoes.   This magical bat will search far and wide for bandits that threaten the bridge.   The spider, in nature, spins its webs for a multitude of purposes.   The magical spider will spin threads that serve as Gossamer wards; when the thread is broken, you’ll know it.   If you differentiate the threads, you can tell how far away your intruder is, and where they are at any given moment.   The dragon, oh, Mm’lau, you are such a beauty.   The dragon is your active defence.   No one in their right mind would attack anything that a dragon was guarding."

"Thanks, Abelard," Harry said, remembering the first task from the Triwizard tournament.   "That must mean that I really am loony."

"This dragon is much smarter than that Norwegian Ridgeback, Harry."

"And the phoenix?"

"The phoenix is good for many things--for healing the wounded, for carrying messages, for transporting heavy loads, for inducing calm and cheer though its song."

"So I’m going to carry them around with me?" Harry said, his eyebrows raised.

"No, lad, you’re going to have them inside you, guarding your mind."

Harry wasn't entirely sure he liked that.   "Mr. Weasley always says never trust anything if you can’t see where it keeps its brain."

"A wise sentiment, lad, very wise.   All of these bits of magic are made from your memories, and consist bits of your own magic.   We’re going to return them to you and put them to work."

"What are the side effects?"   There has to be a catch somewhere.

"Good question — let me ponder that for a moment."   Abelard tapped his lips with a finger.   "Hmmmm, yes.   From the spider, you’ll gain an unusual aptitude for casting the Gossamer ward and related invisible charms.   No other side effects there.   With the bat, you’ll be able to understand the language of bats, but not speak it.   It’s of limited utility — you won’t develop any cravings for moths, so there’s not much to worry about there.   The dragon, hmmm.   You’re already a Parselmouth, so that won’t change, although it might improve a bit.   You will be able to speak with Mm’lau, or a shadow of Mm’lau, but as it’s your own memory and magical essence, it will be under your control at all times.   Your talents at Occlumency and Legilimency will sharpen, as that is second nature to the dragons. There is one thing.   Ah — dragons - er - mate for life.   It will similarly affect your temperament — you’ll mate for life when the time comes."

"Is that a good thing?"

"You’re asking the wrong wizard, Harry.   I’ve been celibate all my life.   I missed my mate."

"And the phoenix?"

"This shadow of Fawkes will be present in your mind — you’ll be able to talk to it, and it will be able to understand you, as Fawkes understands Dumbledore. You most likely will be able to understand the tongue of the Phoenix, but again, your body can’t make the sounds that make up their language.   The positive side of all of this is that even when you are asleep, your mind will be guarded from magical and physical attack."

"And after Voldemort?"

"After Voldemort you will still have the sentries, but without a pressing need, they will stand down and lie dormant until need for their protection arises again.   With Voldemort’s death, the link will be gone.   There will no longer be any bridge to defend.   I suppose it would be possible to remove them, but I rather much doubt that you’d want to — you’ll grow accustomed to them."

There was a long moment of silence.   Jasmine got up, walked into the house and returned with pitchers of juice and ice water.   Abelard refilled his tumbler, smiling like a cat with tuna breath.

Harry froze as he thought it over — he was going to stuff four magical creatures into his mind to keep the foulest wizard alive out of his mind.   He thought of the times when he’d been gripped with fury as Voldemort tried to possess him, shuddering as he remembered the bone deep revulsion that racked him after Voldemort withdrew.   Harry looked up and nodded at his tutor. "It’s odd, Abelard, but I’d rather have these beasts in my mind if I can keep Voldemort out of it."

Abelard chuckled.   "That’s about how I see it as well.   Remember when we were doing the work to produce the Lesser light?"

"That ball of light that I pushed out of my hand last lesson?"

"Correct.   This will follow a similar path.   This too is a hot charm, which is why I have asked Jasmine to join us."

"She’s the fire department?" Harry said with a smile.

"Something like that, lad, something like that."   Abelard gave him a sharp look.   "Are you in or out, Harry?"

"I’m in," he said with determination.

"Then close your eyes.   Look deep within your guts, where the magic flows.   See the magic swell and throb and churn — yes, that’s right.   Now, see a simple ring — a plain circle.   Push that ring up from where all your magic is stored; up your arm and into your hand.   Good, now open your eyes, Harry."

In the middle of Harry’s right palm was a gold circle, thin as fine thread.

"Don’t touch it, Harry — command it to become larger."

"Larger?"

"Yes, larger."

"Larger," he said, with a small hiss of effort.   Through half closed eyes he saw the ring expand until it was the size of a dinner plate.   It was now hovering above his hand, floating a discernable half-inch above his palm.   He held the wrist of the open hand with his left, supporting it and sweating as if he were hoisting a boulder.

"Make it stand on edge, Harry."

Harry said nothing, but another hiss could be heard.   The ring now stood straight up.   Abelard looked at Jasmine and nodded.   She picked up her wand, pointing it at the carved jewels that one by one, floated from the table into the large ring on Harry’s hand.   When all four sentries were in the circle, Jasmine swirled her wand above the ring.   The ring began to twirl on its vertical axis, spinning faster and faster until the space appeared to be a golden sphere.

"The sentries are now contained, Harry.   Shrink the ring.   Don’t worry about the contents of the sphere — they are bits of your magical essence, the size of their container is a non-issue, you won’t hurt them in any way.   Now, just as you did with the ball of light, absorb the sentry sphere back into your hand, down your arm, into the centre of your magic."

This was easier to say than do.   Harry closed his eyes, hissing with the effort of shrinking the rotating ring.   When it got to the size of a marble he paused, panting.   "Water," he whispered hoarsely.   Jasmine brought a cup to his lips, letting him gulp from the cup.   Nothing had ever tasted as good, as he felt it slide down his throat, cooling the heat his efforts had created.   He closed his eyes again, bringing the ball of magic into his hand, closing his hand as his palm emptied, feeling the surge travel down his arm, into his body where he was flooded with warmth that turned into a brief spasm of intense heat.   He felt a click inside his head and almost fell out of his chair as he relaxed from the exertion and tension that he’d been bottling up.   "Wow, that’s hot," Harry said, reaching for the cup of water again and wiping his forehead with the back of one shaking hand.

"Congratulations, Harry," Abelard said with a note of pride in his voice, "your sentries are now installed and active."

Harry closed his eyes, calming himself as he breathed in and out, deeply.   Fawkes? he called tentatively.   There was a brief trill in reply.   Mm’lau?   He saw a flash of blue light, rippling in his mind.   Spider? There was no reply, but he could feel the threads being cast from point to point.   Bat? Again, no reply, but he could sense the flutter of wings in the darkness of his mind.   He grinned.   Two of these guests need better names, but that’s not a problem for today.

His eyes opened and he looked at his tutor. "Ok, Abelard, they are all in there.   How do we test them to see if they work?"

"Well, we could ask Voldemort to try attacking you, but that’s a bit much for today, so I thought we’d see how an accomplished Legilimens does in an attempt to get into your mind," Abelard said, smiling as he tugged on the end of his close trimmed beard.  "Don’t look at me, lad, I’m tapped out for the day."

Harry turned to Jasmine.   "You’re a Legilimens?" he asked incredulously.  

"Well, yeah, I am," she said with an amused look on her face.   "The Guild has its own version of the art — looking into eyes is okay for shallow stuff, but to really make contact with your mind, I need skin contact."

Something clicked into place.   "That’s what you were doing when you were touching the back of my neck when we were talking to the dragons."

She had the grace to blush.   "I’m sorry, Harry, I should have asked first, but I had to know what they were saying to keep from going mad.   Once I was inside your mind, I saw them and heard them as you do.   It was really a very beautiful experience."

"I’m not mad at you, Jasmine," Harry reassured her.   "I’m just amazed that you can do it without making me feel like I’ve been violated.   When I practiced with Professor Snape, I always felt like he’d come into my skull with a sledge hammer."

"Yeah, well, I’m good, what can I say?"   Jasmine said, smiling as she spread her hands.

Jasmine stood, stretching out her hands to touch Harry’s face.   Harry closed his eyes.   He heard an echo ping back to him, high and faint as she approached.   Next he heard the sound of threads snapping, making little musical sounds as they severed.   Last he saw a flash of dark blue light as Mm’lau uncoiled her neck, striking forward.   There was a roar within his head, some shouts and a brief sense of dragonfire.   The next thing Harry knew, his eyes were open and Jasmine was across the garden, flat on her back, shrieking, holding her hand.   Harry bounded out of his seat, crossing the lawn.

"Stay where you are, Harry!" Abelard shouted.   Abelard moved nimbly, cutting around Harry, kneeling beside his fallen guardian.

"I’m okay, Abelard.   I just got a very nasty fright as the dragon came at me from within Harry’s mind.   She said something rather insulting and then scorched my hand for good measure."   Pulling herself up, she walked Abelard back to his chair, plunging her red, blistered hand into the pitcher of ice water.   "The dragon was all in his mind, but the burn is quite real, thank you."

Abelard pulled her hand out of the pitcher, smoothing his hand over the blister on her palm.   With each stroke of his fingers, the blister receded until the hand was looking normal and healthy.   Abelard released her hand.   Jasmine flexed her fingers and made an experimental fist.   "Much better, thanks, boss."   She grinned.   "Do you remember the last time you did that?"

Abelard said nothing.   Jasmine began, with the slightest bit of a pout, "You don’t remember, do you?"

Abelard returned to his seat.   "I forget nothing, child.   You were a slip of a girl, eight or nine years old, I suppose, pigtails and big brown eyes.   You knocked on the door of my study, asking if I had a medicinal plaster.   You were a frightful mess; you’d been climbing in my mango trees, even after your mum had forbidden you to go near them, and after falling out for the third time, your dress was ruined and you had scrapes up and down your arms and legs.   Your knees looked like a cheese grater had attacked them.   I managed the healing charms, but your dress was beyond repair.   I conjured you a duplicate of the old one and burnt the original in my fireplace.   I never did tell your mum.   You were more frightened of her than you were of me.   I still don’t know why you were climbing in my trees."

Jasmine laughed, "It seemed like a very good idea at the time.   The ripest mangos were all at the top of the trees; the ones lower down had already been picked."

"Should I tell your mum after all these years what happened to that brown dress?"

"No!"

"There’s a price for my silence, child."

"And that would be?" Jasmine asked sweetly, a smile playing on her lips.

"You’re making dinner tonight.   Harry can help you in the kitchen.   I’m going to lie down before I fall over."  

Jasmine gathered up the tray and pitchers, returning to the house.

"Changing the subject slightly, Harry, what did Mm’lau say when she was repelling Jasmine?"

Harry could feel the heat rise up the back of his neck and spread across his face. "Uh, it doesn’t translate real well, but she pretty much called her a scarlet woman and said to keep her hands to herself."

Abelard sighed.   "The sentries are little bits of your memory and magic, and will do as you tell them, but I’m afraid that you’ll have to be very clear with the echo of Mm’lau.   That bit of magic has a lot of intelligence packed into it.   You can order her to stand down.   I recommend that you do so before she blasts the next person that tries to shake your hand."

Harry nodded and closed his eyes.

Mm’lau?

I am here.

You injured Jasmine.   She is my friend.

She. . . she intended to touch your mind without permission.

That was a test.

Did I fail that test, Harry?

No.   You did well, but you need to stand down while I’m here.   Abelard and Jasmine and Mrs. Paprikash will not harm me.

I will stand down, Harry.   I will watch, though.

That’s fine, Mm’lau.   I’m glad you’re here.

Harry saw a wiggle of blue light in his mind’s eye as Mm’lau disappeared to wherever she went when she was not talking to him.   This would take some getting used to.   From his brief chat, he felt that the echo of Mm’lau in his mind had a temperament that was something of a cross between Molly Weasley and Mad-eye Moody.   He opened his eyes again.   Abelard was basking in the afternoon sun.   Seeing Harry’s eyes open, he looked up.

"Finished your chat with the hired help?"

"Uh, yeah.   The Mm’lau echo seems quite serious about protecting me."

"That’s her reason for being, Harry.   You would do well to harness this rather than ignore it."

A niggling something in the back of Harry’s brain burst at that moment.   Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the white dragon that he’d received at the Plains of Meeting.   "Abelard, what’s a krulach?" Harry asked, giving it the throaty pronunciation that approximated the word in Parseltongue.

"Do you want the long answer or the short answer?" Abelard replied.

"The short one.   Mm’lau gave me this after you left the Plains of Meeting.   She said it was for my krulach, and that I’d know what to do with it when I needed it."

Abelard made a beckoning motion with his hand.   Harry placed the dragon figure into Abelard’s open palm.   "The short answer to your question is that a krulach is an adult dragon’s life mate.   The long answer requires an understanding of their courtship rituals; how they hatch their eggs and a bunch more obscure stuff that only biologists would find interesting."   Abelard closed his eyes, holding the dragon figure between two hands.   "Most curious.   Did she retrieve this from somewhere?"

"No, she scorched a bit of the ledge, and when she stopped breathing fire this figure was smack dab in the middle of the scorch mark."

"Even more curious.   Jasmine," he called.   There was a sharp pop as Jasmine Apparated to Abelard’s side.

"I thought you said that I was going to have a helper in the kitchen," Jasmine began, wiping her hands on an apron that she must have just tied on.

"Soon, I’m almost done with him.   Have you ever seen this, Jasmine?" Abelard asked, handing her the white dragon figure.

"Yeah, the dark blue dragon conjured it while we were standing on that ledge, surrounded by the rainbow gang."

"You’re better at reading magical signatures than I am; take a look at this.   Was this made by a dragon or a human?" Abelard asked, his eyebrows colliding with furrowed forehead.

Jasmine reached back behind her head and pulled out her elegant bamboo wand.   Holding the dragon figure in one hand, she passed her wand over the figure using the same steady scan that Tonks had used at the beginning of the summer when she’d delivered the Passbox to Privet Drive.   "It’s a human signature, female, not male.   Other than that, I can’t tell you much.   Not a sniff of dragon magic on it.   If I had another signature to compare it against, I could make a match, but that’s about it."   Handing the figure back to Abelard, she looked back to the house.   "Can I go now? I’ve got a salad to finish."

Abelard nodded and Jasmine Disapparated with a pop.

"So, lad, somewhere in your future there’s a lass who is your krulach.   Evidently she also needs protection.   It’s a bit odd; Mm’lau protects you and her mate will protect your krulach.   It makes perfect sense, if you think like a dragon."   Handing the figure back to Harry, he said, "Take care of it, lad.   You can’t break it, no matter how delicate it appears, but I wouldn’t show it around much, if I were you.   You’ll know when you need it.   I’ve never known the dragons to be wrong about their vision of the future, never."

Harry helped Abelard out of his chair and the two walked off into the house.   Abelard disappeared into the wing of the house, apparently for a pre-dinner nap.   Harry stayed in the kitchen, where Jasmine was launching into a frenzy of cooking: salad, dessert, meatballs and a pasta sauce.   There were enough rolls leftover from lunch to serve at dinner, and as dinner approached they’d put the pasta on to cook.   Jasmine’s cooking philosophy was make it all now and throw it together at dinner time, leaving some time to play before dinner.   They chatted and swapped stories from school, Harry apologized for the insult and injury she’d received from his sentry, assuring her that Mm’lau was standing down.   After a good hour’s work, dinner was ready to roll.

Jasmine washed up, wiped the counters and loaded the dishwasher with Harry’s assistance.   She then tossed her apron aside, went out into the garden and retrieved their now de-yoked brooms.   There was a bit of steel in her gaze, but her smile was warm enough.   "I’m not done with you, Potter.   We’re going to fly before dinner, and you’re not going to stop until I can do the Wronski Feint."

It was, after all, a lovely day to fly.

++++++++++++

Copyright Ó 2004 J Cornell — all rights reserved.

Kokopelli20878@yahoo.com

Author’s notes: This chapter took a while, and is now broken into one long chapter and a short chapter.   Abelard is using a rosary know as Anglican Prayer Beads.   You can find a picture of it at:

    http://www.solitariesofdekoven.org/assets/pb02_lrg.jpg

Any confusion about Harry and Jasmine will be resolved (or not) in the following chapter.   I’m not making any promises about when that will come out though, as real life intrudes from time to time.

The disclaimer from the preface applies to this chapter too.

• Previous
• Ringing Harry The Minder's Visit Letters and Liberty Ride and remember Dreams, Clouds and Darkness The Day Before & The Evening After The Big One Meet the Tutor Letters from Elsewhere Lessons Arrangements The Changing of the Guard Dinner with Abelard Motoring with Moony Dragons, Dreams and Discussions More Letters Dragons Made Small Birthday at the Burrow Cooking with Harry Daze of August The End of August
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