Sticks & Stones

Harry opened the door to the basement just in time to see Snape reach past Pansy and grab Hermione’s wrist. Harry’s wand was in his hand in a heartbeat, but Snape only drew Hermione’s arm away from the cauldron simmering in front of her. “Miss Granger, has it been so long since you attended my lessons that you have forgotten even the most basic rules of potion composition? If you are attempting—”

“Let go of me,” Hermione demanded. Her voice was thick with anxiety, and Harry could guess why—even before she’d been Cursed with permanent weakness Hermione hadn’t been particularly strong, and she was still battling fears that she was unable to defend herself physically. Ron, who’d been watching from across the room, leapt to his feet with his fists clenched. But before he could move Harry grabbed his arm; he caught Ron’s eye and shook his head.

“Not until you have proven to me you understand how monumentally foolish you are being,” Snape sneered. “Such folly is reminiscent of Longbottom in his first year—”

“BANIR!” Hermione’s charm was so powerful that Snape was flung backward fifteen feet and still hit the wall hard enough to crack the old oak. He slumped to his knees and stared at the floor, completely dazed. Harry noticed there was a bit of blood on the wall and winced; he surreptitiously pulled out his Galleon that he used to call other D.A. members, tapped it and muttered something.

Hermione seemed oblivious to the damage she’d caused. “This is not your classroom and I am not your student!” She snarled, storming over to Snape. “There are no house points for me to lose or expulsion for you to threaten me with! So unless you fancy having the geas I cast grow tighter with each passing hour, when I say let go you’d better bloody well do it!”

Snape, it seemed, was too stunned by the attack to respond. Hermione’s anger began to dissipate; what had happened began to sink in, and her control broke. Ron was at her side in a heartbeat, and led her to a private corner of the basement where she could cry without restraint.

“Well, so much for this potion session,” Pansy muttered, and began the process of suspending their current mixture so they could return to it later.

Harry walked over and looked down at Snape. He still hadn’t moved—maybe he’d been hurt more than Harry had thought. As Harry contemplated how to handle things, the door opened and Neville entered the basement. He looked around confusedly, his eyes finally settling on Harry. “Er… you wanted to see me, Harry?”

Pansy looked up when Neville spoke, and smiled nervously. Neville smiled back, causing Pansy to flush and return quickly to what she’d been doing. Harry suppressed a laugh; he never would have believed Pansy would act so love-struck, but there was no question she’d actually fallen for Neville. “Neville, come help me with Snape,” he said.

Neville joined Harry, and they hefted Snape onto his feet. He seemed rather shaky, so they put his arms over their shoulders and walked him over to the door to his closet. Harry still had his wand in his free hand; he pointed it at the door and muttered a release charm, enabling them to enter.

Inside the closet was about as different as it could have been—Neville, who hadn’t seen it yet, gasped in surprise. The Enlarged room was roughly the size of one of the suites of rooms on the third and fourth floors of the House of Black; a comfortably sized bedroom with adjoining study and full bath. The décor was Slytherin, which Harry had chosen both to make Snape feel at home and to remind him that Harry and the D.A. would never forget what he truly was.

Harry and Neville led Snape over to the bed and sat Snape on it. “Snape? Can you hear me?” Harry asked; Snape hadn’t said a word since Hermione had attacked him.

“Yes, of course,” Snape said testily. Well, that’ll never change, Harry thought resignedly. “What in Merlin’s name drew that volatile reaction from Miss Granger?”

“You did,” Harry replied pointedly. “Neville, take a look at Snape’s head, will you? He hit it pretty hard.”

“Er… right,” Neville said nervously. He pulled out his wand and moved toward Snape.

But Snape stopped him. “There is nothing about my head that Longbottom would need to ‘take a look at’. He barely recognizes the bottom of a cauldron.”

“Neville’s been training with a Medi-witch,” Harry replied smartly, ignoring the fact that Cho was actually a Medi-witch trainee. “You might have a concussion—”

Snape, looking vaguely alarmed, waved him away. “Thank you, no,” he drawled. “I believe I would rather risk potential brain damage than the near-certainty of an undignified end at the hands of Neville Longbottom.”

Neville flushed, clearly humiliated—even in the circumstances he was still terrified of Snape. “Fine,” Harry snapped. “Neville, go back and check on Hermione.” He pushed Neville back toward the door, following behind. When he looked back, Snape looked mildly confused—like he hadn’t expected Harry to react the way he did. “You insist on treating us like children,” Harry said angrily. “That’s not very smart considering your life is in our hands.” Neville went back into the basement, but Harry paused at the door. “We made an agreement, Snape. You get a bit of freedom and we get the benefit of your expertise—”

“I made no such agreement,” Snape growled. “I was not consulted before you placed this geas on me!”

“Of course not!” Harry retorted. “You knew we’d never even consider untying you without it, so don’t play stupid!”

“I am untied, but not unshackled,” Snape said smoothly. “You have given me nothing.”

“That’s funny, considering it was your suggestion,” Harry shot back. “ ‘A bit of mobility would not be amiss, in order to prevent my muscles from atrophying…’ Or did you forget you said that?” Snape’s lip curled, and Harry felt a great surge of satisfaction—he’d caught Snape out. It felt good. “We made the first offer—now it’s your turn.”

“I was not exaggerating when I said that Granger was on the verge of an error of Longbottom-esque proportions,” Snape said.

“Yeah, and what about that?” Harry asked. “You could have said something to her before her hand was poised over the cauldron, but you didn’t. You only stopped her at the last possible second.”

“And your point is?”

“Two points, actually,” Harry said with a smirk. “First, you’re testing the boundaries of the geas—you wanted to know if it would force you to prevent us from bringing about harm, or only help us avoid harm once it’s already begun. Don’t think I didn’t notice that. And second, you only helped because you’re forced to—which means you’re not actually giving us anything.”

Harry’s grin slipped away and his jaw set when Snape scowled. “You also said ‘Underestimating an opponent is a sure way to defeat.’ We’re not stupid, Snape, and we’re not children. In less than four months we’ve captured or killed more than a dozen Death Eaters, and destroyed two dozen Dementors—that’s more than the Ministry and the Order combined have accomplished, and we’ve done it without their help or their level of resources! We’ve given you this much freedom as part of an agreement—if you don’t live up to it, I can turn this back into a closet in a heartbeat.”

Harry had turned to go when Snape spoke. “I wish to accompany you on your next mission.”

Harry spun back and gaped. “You what?”

“The next time you leave here to conduct a mission in support of this… group,” Snape repeated, “I wish to go with you. To observe your methods. I have a great deal of experience with subterfuge and secret planning—”

“I said we’re not stupid,” Harry interrupted hotly. “That bump on the head must have made you delirious.”

Snape hesitated. “I believe you may be correct about my injury,” he admitted reluctantly. “I am most likely in need of Healing attention.”

“Well then,” Harry said with a nasty grin, “let me know when you’re prepared to apologize to Neville, and you’ll get it.” He slammed the door behind him.

*****

Luna entered the offices of The Quibbler slowly, taking care not to put much weight on her left ankle; it was still sore from when she’d twisted it upon seeing the pair of Dementors, and it seemed to be swelling a bit too—tears had sprung to her eyes from the pain when she’d tugged on her shoe that morning.

Not that she particularly cared. It was only physical pain, after all, and Luna was practical. Physical pain would fade in time, so she’d resolved not to complain about it. She’d been enough of a burden to the D.A. already.

Thinking of the D.A. made Luna think of George Weasley, as did many things in recent days. Luna still didn’t understand what it was she’d done exactly that had angered George so much. She had, in all seriousness, asked his permission to sleep with Harry and Ginny, and George had said that it was all right—but when she’d actually slept with them, George had become infuriated. Luna realized that George considered whatever had gone wrong her fault. She wasn’t sure what she’d done that she could be faulted for, but George wouldn’t have had the reaction he did without reason.

Luna trudged toward the desk her father had given her to work at, in an out-of-the-way area so she could concentrate. Part of her job at The Quibbler was to read stories that were sent in by readers and decide whether they were the sort of things that the paper should print. It was a very important job, and Luna had been proud that her father had trusted her with it. But she hadn’t read a single story for a long time—she simply hadn’t been in the mood to read about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and Vermicious Knidds. So the stories had been piling up, and Luna hadn’t selected a story to print in weeks.

“Luna!” Luna’s father exclaimed, appearing right at her side as she reached her desk. “Why are you limping?”

“Hello, daddy,” Luna said distractedly. “What limp?”

“That limp!” her father declared, pointing at her foot. “Your ankle looks swollen!”

Luna looked down in surprise at her ankle. “I didn’t think it was noticeable,” she said vaguely.

“Didn’t think—” Luna’s father looked bewildered—not a surprising look when he was around her. “Didn’t you say one of your friends was a medi-witch trainee?” he asked. “Why didn’t you ask her to look at it?”

“Oh… I didn’t want to be a bother,” Luna replied, avoiding her father’s eyes as she sat down.

“Didn’t want to be a bother?” Mr. Lovegood repeated incredulously. “Why in Merlin’s name would your friends consider it a bother to help you if you’re hurt?”

“Some of them would,” Luna said in a tiny voice before she could stop herself. She wasn’t good at lying to her father—she’d have to avoid telling him about George, because she knew he wouldn’t likely approve and she didn’t think she could tell him even a half-truth. Besides, she didn’t think lying to her father was right, anyhow.

Her father was silent for a long moment, so Luna looked up and found him gazing at her concernedly. She recognized the look—it meant he was about to do something that was for her own good. He didn’t get the look very often, usually leaving Luna to make her own choices, but he was still her father and sometimes felt the need to assert his opinion. Luna understood that, although she only sometimes went along with what he said—she respected her father’s opinion, even if she wasn’t always inclined to follow it.

Mr. Lovegood squatted down next to Luna, so he was looking slightly up into her eyes. “LuLove,” he said fondly, “you aren’t happy.”

“Well… no, not right now,” Luna admitted. “But I’m hoping it will pass soon.”

“How soon?” Mr. Lovegood asked. “A day? A month? A year? You’ve been unhappy for weeks now, and it’s been killing me watching you.”

“I didn’t know you’d been watching me,” Luna said, shocked.

“Of course I have been; you’re my daughter and I love you more than anything,” her father answered. “I’ve been waiting, hoping it would pass, but now I can see it’s not going to. I think I made a mistake in letting you go live with your friends, LuLove. I think it’s time for you to come back home with me.”

“What?” Luna said, certain she’d heard wrong. “No, I’m happy where I am.”

“No, you’re not,” Mr. Lovegood responded. “You just admitted it. I only let you go in the first place because you were so happy to be going. But it hasn’t worked out, so I want you to come back home. You can still see your friends, but I don’t think you should live with them any longer.”

“But—but I have to,” Luna said. What her father was telling her was starting to sink in, and she could feel panic building. “I have to stay there, daddy.”

“Why?” her father asked. “What’s so important that you want to stay where you’ll be unhappy?”

“I—I can’t tell you,” Luna responded, feeling ashamed even as she said it. But she couldn’t tell him the truth—she’d sworn to keep the secrets of the D.A., and her father wouldn’t know what a Horcrux was anyway. “But I promise, I’ll be happy again very soon.”

“I’m sorry, Luna,” Mr. Lovegood said, looking deeply hurt, “but if anything that’s the best reason to not allow you to stay there any longer—you’ve always been able to tell me anything. If you can’t now, it must be the influence of those ‘friends’ of yours. No, you’re going to have to come home.”

But I can’t! Luna thought, the full weight of what was happening hitting her. I have to help the others figure out how to destroy the Horcruxes, and I told Neville I’d help him some in the greenhouse! There’s far too much to do to leave now! “But—”

“No more buts!” Mr. Lovegood said, standing up. He sounded sterner than Luna could ever remember. “You’re to come home with me right after work!”

“No!”

Mr. Lovegood practically reeled with shock. “What?”

Luna could hardly believe it herself. Sure, she had circumvented her father’s wishes in the past when it had been necessary, but she had never flat-out defied him. But there she was, having leapt to her feet, ignoring the throbbing of her ankle, and saying no to her father. “I can’t leave now,” she insisted. “Kismet, daddy. I have to stay.”

“Kismet? Fate?” Her father replied skeptically. “It’s fate for you to room with a bunch of your school friends? That doesn’t—” He stopped, and his eyes widened. “Is it a boy? Is that it, Luna? You’ve fallen for some boy?”

Luna experienced an autonomic physical response to emotional embarrassment. “Yes, there is a boy involved, but that’s not why—”

“I think I’ve heard enough,” Mr. Lovegood said, completely flustered. “A crush isn’t kismet, LuLove, and my mind is made up. In fact, I think it might be best if I go over and collect your things myself. You can write to your friends later.”

Luna could tell that her father was serious—it was an unusual thing to see on his usually calm, jovial face, and it made her feel horribly that she’d brought it about. On the other hand, she’d had a number of long talks with Ginny about Mrs. Weasley’s reaction to Ginny and Harry’s marriage, and felt suddenly that she had a better understanding of what Ginny had meant about parents meddling in their children’s lives.

“I think I’ll go and look at my ankle,” she said startling her father with her change of subject. “It does hurt rather a lot from when I got up quickly.”

Luna began limping slowly towards a hallway. “Where are you going?” Mr. Lovegood asked.

“To the bathroom, of course,” Luna said, sounding surprised that her father hadn’t thought of it. Her father left her alone as she hobbled to the bathroom. But once through the door, Luna pulled out her wand and cast a quick locking charm on the door, and a Silencing Charm. I have to go back to the house, she thought desperately, searching her pockets and tossing aside random objects that she’d collected. I don’t know what to do—I only know I can’t leave until the Horcruxes are destroyed, Voldemort is defeated and George likes me again!

Finally Luna found it, stuck in a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans—the Galleon that Harry had given to her. It was a Portkey that only Luna could activate, that would take her directly to the House of Black. I do hope daddy doesn’t worry too much when he realizes I’ve gone, Luna thought, and tapped her wand to the Galleon. “Portus!”