Avenging Fire

Late! You’re going to be late! Get your bum out of bed, lazy cow!

After bounding out of bed, alarmed and half asleep, Helena groaned once she remembered where she was. Years of conditioning to awaken early were still in effect although now it wasn’t necessary. No clinic today.

She rubbed her eyes and looked about her sub-dungeon quarters illuminated by the fire burning in the fireplace. The dungeons and sub-dungeons were frightfully cold, almost frigid, and she found that unless she had a fire blazing constantly, she shivered and her hands and feet ached. Normally she needed almost near dark to fall asleep but she’d rather have a hard time slipping off into slumber than she would at freezing to death in the night.

She sat back down on the edge of her bed and let her herself complete the awakening process while her mind provided a running commentary.

No clinic. No going off to work in the field that you spent years and years of your life studying for and then even more years building up a respectable practice. Perhaps you should have stayed in academia. Nice, safe, grant money begging, paper presenting, conference going, lecturing academia. Dad always advised you to. But then again he was, still is, an academic himself. As a tenured professor of Geology, all his needs are provided for and he’s quite happy teaching, writing papers, and running about the planet, communing with Terra Firma.

Safe. Death Eaters want me dead.


Who the hell would want to kill me anyway?! I’m nobody! Is it really that my only ‘crime’ is being related to Magicals and then having the audacity to raise two of them? Oh right, I’m ‘Muggle,’ or at least I was. Or am I still? Who cares! What does it bloody matter anyway?! Almost half of my family and friends are witches and wizards and none of them look down on the other half.


Ah yes, but not everyone is like us. Some, a frightening lot actually, think that being without magic means you’re subhuman, a worm. At least according to the lunatic fringe portion of this society.

Now that my Paranormalicy, or whatever the hell it is, has manifested?

According to Gavin, I’m still Non-Magical, and therefore subhuman, a worm, and apparently a nuisance to the wizarding world to boot. Where the hell did all of this prejudice and hatred come from?! Not every witch and wizard considers Non-Magicals as lower life forms, but rather as just…people. Like them. Just with different talents and abilities. They have magic, we have science and technology. It’s the same fucking thing! Why can’t they see that?!


It’s like Arthur C. Clarke said, “ Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

Once upon a time, no one was magical. We’re all just really clever, naked apes. Adaptive genetic mutations that get passed on to succeeding generations.


There. The mystery of why some people are Magicals, or anything else for that matter, is solved. Viola!

Jesus Helena. Being a bit dramatic and self-centered, not to mention more than a little righteously indignant aren’t you?


Now she was fully awake and worked up into a lather. She stood up and walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower’s hot tap and let it run to heat the bathroom. As she gathered up her clothes for the day, she vowed to begin working on how to get back home as soon as possible. She had a life that was now probably wondering where she’d had wandered off to. She needed to get back to it before it started putting up ‘Have You Seen Me?’ flyers.

**


After breakfast, which Helena hurried through because of being the proverbial fish on a bicycle amongst the teaching faculty of Hogwarts, she found Christopher heading off to class with the rest of his Gryffindor friends and asked him where she could find Hagrid. Before her nephew could answer, Hermione Granger proceeded to not only tell her where Hagrid was at any given hour of the day based on his various duties, but that for the next several hours he would be in his shack, and then the description of said shack, after which she marched off pleased with herself that she knew the faculty’s schedules so well.


“Hermione!” Christopher groused as he sped up to keep pace.


“What? She wanted to know.” Hermione said matter of factly.


Helena had begun to think maybe it was the wrong shack she knocked on when the door finally cracked open and one bushy browed eye peeked out at her.

“’Allo! Wot kin I do fer you, Doctor?”

“For starters, you could call me Helena.” she answered smiling, not wanting to continue with overly stiff formalities. She never found it necessary outside of her professional life. Hagrid blushed.

“Aw, that wouldn’t be proper now, would it?” he said, blushing even more. Suddenly his eyes opened wide in instant recollection and some of the red faded. “The motorbike! Come in, come in! I got ‘er in here, safe an’ sound. She’s a right beauty, she is.”

Just as Helena tried to step inside the door, Hagrid turned his head and looked into his shack and blushed again.


“Oh…ah…jus’ a minute, Doctor. Let me straight’n things up a bit first. Bit cluttery in here I’m afraid.” Hagrid snapped the door shut and Helena heard clanging and shuffling coming from inside.

When the door opened again, a smiling Hagrid wearing a smudge of soot across his forehead motioned her inside.

She wasn’t exactly sure how a man as large as Hagrid was could be comfortable in the small shack, but it was cozy and comfy and all the furniture was larger than normal. Two of her could sit side by side in the chair that Hagrid invited her to sit in as he wrestled the covering off of Steffen’s motorcycle. When he did, gleaming metal greeted her.

“It almost looks better than it did even before I rammed it through the door of the Leaky Cauldron!” she exclaimed, jumping up.

Hagrid blushed deeply again. “Been polishin’ ‘er up. You know, not much else to do in the late evenings ‘round ‘ere.” he explained, patting the motorcycle.

“I thought for sure I’d bent the fender, dented the tank, or something.” she remarked, running her hands over the motorcycle as well, charmed at Hagrid’s obvious affection and care for it.

“Actually, she did suffer a bit of a bang up, but I worked it out.”

“I see that! Thank you, Hagrid.”

‘Fraid I don’t know anythin’ ‘bout those engine things. So no idea if that’s gone up the spout.”

“The Headmaster told me that you used to ride an enchanted one at some point?”

“It wasn’ mine, you see. Belonged to a bloke I used to know, name a’ Sirius Black. Great fun tho’!” he said, looking wistfully at the motorcycle as Dumbledore said he would.

“Actually by all rights, motorcycles should be able to run in this world. Whatever electronics there are on them are powered by a battery, which is an independent power source. The engine is internal combustion and runs off gasoline, which there should be plenty of in here.” she said, tapping the gas tank. “Strange that they don’t. How did…Sirius Black was it…enchant his?”

“Not rightly sure ‘bout that.


“My brother never tried taking it into this world. It was his toy and tool of seduction when was kicking about at home.”


“His tool of wot?” Hagrid asked, sputtering and blushing.


“Well he claimed the only reason he bought it was so he could learn about engines and whatnot, but the real reason was he was trying to get Mary’s, his future wife’s, attention. It took awhile, but eventually, it worked. Later, he crowed that we women can’t resist a biker.”


Hagrid sat stroking his beard, thoughtfully considering this particular use of Muggle motorcycles.


“That would ‘splain why Sirius was always so keen on ‘em. Randy sod.”


“Sirius is a friend of yours then?”


At once, Hagrid’s easy-going, even if bashful, demeanor vanished to be replaced by a strange combination of sadness and disgust.


“I ‘spose you could say that, at least until he…he…” Hagrid began to stammer.


“What did he do?”


Hagrid quickly glanced at Helena guiltily.


“He…it was ‘coz of him that a witch and wizard were murdered. They say he killed some Mug…” Hagrid cut himself off again with another guilty glance towards Helena.


“What, ‘Muggles?’”

“Ah…yer. Soorie, Doctor.”


“No need for you to be sorry, Hagrid.”

Hagrid sighed and looked towards a window, obviously pained to remember the topic their conversation had strayed to. Noticing this, Helena felt bad for the gentle man.


“It’s alright, Hagrid. I’m sorry to have pressed you about him. I’m just so used to asking people questions that I do it automatically it seems.” she said, providing a polite end to the subject.


A large boarhound canine head appeared beside Helena and plopped down on her knees with a grunt, instantly beginning to soak her legs with slobber.

“Oh, hello there.”


“Fang! Don’t be accostin’ our guest now. Be off, ya silly dog!”


“It’s alright. He’s just saying hello. Aren’t you? Yes, you’re a good boy. I’m sorry Fang, but I don’t have any treats in my pockets.” she said, scratching the dog behind his ears.

Fang cast a reproachful glance at Helena then settled down in front of Hagrid’s hearth with a long sigh. Hagrid reached down and rubbed his belly.

He then began twisting a tea towel in his hands, too bashful and shy to keep his end of the conversation rolling. Helena took the hint.


“Well, I just wanted to stop by and thank you for retrieving the motorcycle and looking after it for me while I got my bearings here. I’ll contact my family and make arrangements to get it back home so it won’t continue to take up your space.” she said, standing up and making ready to leave.

Hagrid seemed almost disappointed at the prospect.

“Now don’ be feelin’ that you have to put you or yours out. She’s not takin’ up much space at all. I don’ mind seeing after ‘er a bit longer. I rather like the faint smell of petrol to be honest.” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“Wouldn’ ‘ave said it, if I wasn’.”


“Alright then. You just be sure to tell me if you change your mind. I don’t want to put you out either. Thank you again, Hagrid. I’ll let you get back to your duties.”


“Not much doin’ today. Fact, I was jus’ goin’ to check on some ducks that’s decided to settle. Got to lure ‘em away from the black lake ‘fore the giant squid makes short work of the wee beasties.”

“Try some cracked corn. It’s easy for them to digest and they love it.” Helena smiled as she exited Hagrid’s shack.

Hagrid returned her wave as she walked back towards the castle.

“Alright Fang, ya big burly, let’s go see to ‘em. And don’ you go chasin’ ‘em off either.”


**


After visiting with Hagrid, Helena decided to stop in the infirmary to say hello to Poppy Pomfrey. The Healer was happy to see her but was busy attending to the bumps and bruises of a few of the first years after their beginning broom riding class. When Helena started to leave after saying that she’d stop by back at another time, Poppy thrust a few standard potion bottles into her hands ‘just in case.’ One of the bottles was a Draught of Living Death that she administered to Helena when she had been in the infirmary.

Remembering how odd of an effect it had on her, Helena made a mental note to stop by the library at some point and look it up in a potions book to see if she could determine how the potion produced such a dreamless, black hole of time loss after it was administered. Did it perhaps block the REM stage of sleep? Was that why Poppy said it shouldn’t be taken with any sort of regularity?

The visit with Hagrid about Steffen’s motorcycle had reminded her of the dozen other things at home that needed tending to and decided to return to her quarters to compose a letter to her parents. She would inquire about borrowing a school owl in the morning to send it off.

The noise reverberating off the stone walls told her that classes were over for the day so she hurried through the corridors and passageways before she found herself trampled by the student body of Hogwarts. Safely ensconced in her quarters, she sat down and began to write her letter but had gotten no further than ‘Dear Mum and Dad’ when three loud knocks sounded at her door, startling her, and causing a long ink scratch to ruin the correspondence.

She had told her niece and nephew that they shouldn’t attempt to visit her until their free time in the evenings, so she jumped up, preparing to shoo them back to their common rooms lest they incur detentions and demerit points. Aiming her vision to approximately eleven year old child height, she opened the door a crack only to find a wall of black teaching robes facing her. As her eyes rolled up the teaching robes, they were met with the constipated looking countenance of her upstairs neighbor, Severus Snape.



“Professor?”



“Doctor.”



“Is there something wrong?” She quickly ran through a list of perceived offenses she may have inadvertently committed against him and came up with nothing.



“I believe this may belong to you.” He drawled and pulled open her door wide enough so she could see what he had suspended in the air with his wand.


A petrified owl, with a manila envelope still attached to one of its legs, hovered frozen in the air.


“Queequeg?!”



With a flick of his wand, Snape released the spell and her aunt Cynthia’s terrorized and very indignant owl flew into her quarters and landed on the back of an armchair, screeching furiously. Owls such as Cynthia’s that were used as legal couriers weren’t used to such treatment. Helena quickly untied the envelope from Queequeg’s leg after which he promptly climbed up her arm and onto her shoulder while Snape watched from the doorway with a quirked eyebrow.



“What happened?” Helena asked as Queequeg hissed loudly at Snape, still very much offended. “Queequeg!” she chided. The bird turned around on her shoulder and buried his head under her long hair. This had the effect of lifting Queequeg’s back end up in the air so that he was effectively ‘mooning’ the Potions Master.


“That rather malevolent bird found his way to your quarters and not finding you present, proceeded to raise enough of a racket that it wafted up to my office. I assumed that Mr. Filch’s cat had cornered another elf so I came to rescue the creature. When I tried to remove the bird, it attempted to make a meal out of a few of my fingers therefore I stunned it before Madam Pomfrey had to reattach the appendages of my livelihood.”


Queequeg began to make pitiful ‘meep meep’ noises at the sound of the Potions Master’s deep baritone. Helena reached up and stroked her aunt’s owl whose head was still buried under her hair, trying to comfort him. Snape frowned at the continued presentation of the owl’s backside so Helena twisted around slightly so that he did not have to view avian arse.



“I apologize for that, Professor. Queequeg here is a legal courier and has been specially trained not to relinquish his parcels to anyone other than the intended recipient. I’m afraid the attempted attack on your fingers was a result of that. Ssh Queequeg, you’re fine.” She continued to soothe.




“I wasn’t aware legal owls were so very spoiled.” he sniffed at Helena’s comforting of the bird.




“He’s not spoilt. He probably thinks he’s in trouble for allowing himself to be…uh…incapacitated.” she said diplomatically. Queequeg ‘meeped’ again, miserably. “You’re not in trouble, Queequeg, calm down.”




“In the future, Doctor, might I recommend using a different sort of owl. One who is obviously not so…sensitive?” he drawled, eliciting another hiss from Queequeg’s buried head.




Helena had to agree. Another encounter like this one and Queequeg, who tended to be histrionic in the first place, would undoubtedly have a nervous breakdown. Snape excused himself but turned around just outside of the door and looked back at Helena with another quirked eyebrow.




“Queequeg…as in the cannibal harpooner from Herman Melville’s novel ‘Moby Dick?’”




“Why, yes!”



“Appropriate.” he quipped with a meaningful departing glance at the bird.



After Snape departed, Queequeg finally emerged from Helena’s hair and napped as she started a new letter back home, this one asking not only if her parents would mind seeing to various chores, but to request that Cynthia not send Queequeg again for his own well being.

-------------------------------------

A/N: Hi again. And hi to Tambrathegreat who I think is the only one reading this. ;)

I agree with you about the Snape intimidation factor. Since Helena is a psychologist and deals with all different kinds of personalities, she sees no reason to be overly intimidated by him.

To her, he's just a little difficult and finicky at this point. However like you saw in the last chapter, just because she's a little more accommodating in their interactions, that doesn't mean she'll let him walk all over her.

Also, she doesn't base her judgement of him from his reputation or past (at least at first). In other words, she's a blank slate in regards to him as a person.


That will be important as the story wears on. Stay tuned! :)