Hogwarts: The Legacy

(c)2005 by Josh Cohen. May not be reprinted, except for personal use. The Potterverse was created by JK Rowling, and remains her property. I\'m just borrowing it for a little while.

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EIGHT: WINTER DISTANCES

Warning: contains questionable parenting, magical travel, and nudity.

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Dina Patil had been asked by her mother to return to their London flat on her own; she’d gone through the Floo network solo before, so it wasn’t as if she didn’t know what to do. But coming back to an empty apartment wasn’t much of a homecoming. Still, at least it was somewhat warm in there, and she quickly shucked her cloak and outer robe. She withdrew her wand from her pocket and cast lumos dispersa; the spell branched off to several lamps, lighting them and filling the room with a warm, buttery glow.

Like many newer wizarding homes, there were two fireplaces. One was the main fireplace, the one people actually lit when they wanted warmth. The other was next to the front door, and it was that one that Dina had come through on the Floo. The apartment wasn’t all that complicated; a large room with a loft up above, and three doors set into the wall next to the kitchen. The far-left door was Dina’s room, the center was her mother’s, and the far-right was Parvati’s. Dina picked her way across the floor and entered the room that she supposed was home for the next couple of weeks.

As she unpacked her small suitcase, Dina reflected that it certainly didn’t feel much like home.

When it became clear that her mother wasn’t going to be home any time soon, Dina had rummaged through the refrigerator and the pantry, eventually finding enough ingredients to make a small meal of tuna steak, rice, and asparagus. It was bland – not nearly as good as what they had at Hogwarts – but it filled her up enough.

For the lack of anything better to do, Dina unpacked her books and started in on her homework. Professor Morrigan, in what seemed a fit of pique, had assigned two feet of parchment on some obscure Transfiguration theory that only she seemed to know anything about.

It was at the dining table that Dina’s mother and aunt found her when they Apparated into the apartment. “Dina, darling,” Padma Patil said, chastising her daughter, “these are your winter holidays. You’re not supposed to do anything school-related until the night before you go back.”

“I was bored,” Dina said, her hands folding together in her lap almost of their own accord. “You weren’t here.”

“Yes, yes, and I’m sorry, but Parvati and I were at the opening of a new club in Paris, and we simply couldn’t tear ourselves away.”

“Oh.” Dina looked more closely at her mother and her mother’s twin sister. Now more than ever they really did look like twins, right down to the outfits that were exact matches but for the color – her mother’s was black, Parvati’s was white. But even when they looked alike, Dina could always tell her mother from her aunt. “How was it?”

“Dina, my dear,” Parvati said, breezing past her toward the door to her bedroom, “it’s gone past two in the morning. You tell us.”

Dina checked her watch; she’d completely lost track of time trying to fabricate some sort of response to the questions Professor Morrigan had posed. And it wasn’t like she could go to the library, not on a Friday night; nor could she find any books on anything other than fashion and etiquette anywhere in the apartment. But she’d come up with almost two feet simply using her Transfiguration textbook and half-forgotten memories of the professor’s more-esoteric lectures.

“Mum, is it going to be like this every night? If it is, then I’d rather stay at Hogwarts next holiday.”

Padma appeared wounded. “Dina, of course it isn’t. I want to spend as much time with you as I can. Now that you’re away for school, we’ll only have summers together. Summers and winter holidays. I miss you, love.”

Dina’s hands unclenched as her mother came round the table and rested her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “I miss you too, mum. And dad. And the way things were.”

“I know, love.” Padma pulled out the chair next to Dina’s and sat in it, crossing her legs carefully – the skirt of her outfit really was quite short, Dina noticed dispassionately; her father would not have approved. “So, how’s school going? You don’t send me very many owls.”

“I know. It’s going all right.”

Padma dropped her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Met any boys?”

“Mother!” Dina half-recoiled, her hands knitting together again.

“What? It’s not like I didn’t meet my share while I was there. I still remember my very first kiss. Second year, in the common room, at the very top. David Goldman, his name was.”

Dina started, her eyes widening. “You used to go up in that alcove?”

“Oh, of course,” Padma said. “Me, David Goldman, and Terry Boot, although after David left Hogwarts, much to my dismay, it was just me and Terry for quite some time. That boy certainly could kiss, although it didn’t have the same sparks I had with David.”

“I know his son, Jason,” Dina said softly. “He’s very nice.”

“You kissed him yet?” This was Parvati, who had exchanged her outfit for a stylishly-cut pair of pajamas, violet trousers with a brief white halter top.

“No, Parvati.” Dina’s voice was resigned. She knew what was coming next. “I have not kissed him yet. Or anyone else.”

Parvati pulled out a chair from the other end of the table and pulled it around to Dina’s other side. Her makeup was still on, although the adventures of the evening had smudged her lipstick beyond repair.

And then it began. Dina spent the next hour listening to her mother and Parvati give her tips on how to pick up boys.

Better to just take it than to try and extricate herself. The more she agreed, the faster it would go.

Dina sighed inwardly as she pasted on her best interested smile.

This year, the holidays were to be spent in America, at Jason’s aunt’s house north of Atlanta, Georgia. Jason had been to Atlanta once before, but Aunt Jamie and Uncle Kevin – his uncle was not Jewish, but then, neither was his mother – had since moved to a new place.

Since Jason couldn’t yet Apparate, and since it was extremely difficult to Apparate across the ocean in any case – even Jason’s grandfather could only go about five hundred miles in a single Apparition – the only other choices were airplane or long-distance Floo. The last time Jason had been to America, it had been by plane; this time, though, Aunt Jamie had sent long-distance Floo tickets.

Jason, his father, and his mother – Samantha, an American near-squib who was only about five-three, her hair still lustrous and black and curly, her bright-blue eyes still devilish – arrived at the Ministry of Magic’s Transportation Bureau shortly after eight on the morning of December 23. They were ushered into a staging area that reminded Jason of a Euro-Disney ride, four vehicles that looked big enough to each hold a single person, all of them attached by a complicated series of glowing spells and old-fashioned ironworks.

“Good morning,” said the young man who walked in. He had on dark-blue robes with the sigil of the Transportation Bureau over the right breast. “My name is Sean McIntyre, and I’ll be your Transport Facilitator today.”

“Good morning,” said Jason’s father. “David Goldman. This is my wife, Samantha, and my son, Jason.”

“Hello to you all. I’m going to review the long-distance Floo system before we go, just so you’re aware of what’s going on.”

David grinned tightly; he’d been through this once before, although his memories were less than fond.

McIntyre continued. “The long-distance Floo system operates by means of recorded calls that send you to your destination as you jump between Floo-connected fireplaces on a series of islands, each of them less than two hundred fifty miles apart. Each car has a dome over the top that allows you to see what’s going on around you while also keeping anything you might say from derailing the system.” He pointed his wand at the front of each car in turn. “Each of these continuously dispenses enough Floo powder for your vehicle to pass through the system. They’re topped up before each trip, and they each have enough powder to get you literally twice around the world before they’re empty.”

McIntyre cast several spells in a row, and the family’s luggage moved itself to the rearmost car, locking into place. A clear, solid-looking bubble formed over the top. “Now, if you would all please enter your cars, I will make sure that you’re properly strapped in. The restraints may be a little uncomfortable, but I can assure you that, aside from them, you’ll feel just like you’re going through a normal Floo.”

David led Jason to the center car and made sure he was comfortable before going to the foremost. Samantha, her blue eyes ringed with white at the rigmarole of it all – she’d never been on a long-distance Floo trip, either – clambered into the third car. McIntyre started there, casting “restrictus” at the metal badge attached to the front of the car. It pressed itself to Samantha’s chest, and heavy leather belts lifted from over her shoulders and between her legs, attaching to the badge. The belts tightened with ominous creaks until she was snugly secured.

As the belts tightened around Jason when his turn came, he realized that the next time he took this method of transportation, he would be far more comfortable wearing a specific piece of the protective armor he wore for Quidditch matches.

“You all right back there?” David asked as McIntyre activated his restraints.

“Fine,” Jason managed as he reached down to adjust himself.

“Sam?”

“Oh, just wonderful, thanks. Remind me to never let you make the travel arrangements again.”

David actually laughed, which surprised Jason; he knew that voice, and he knew that when his mother used it on him, he’d better shape up before she did something he’d regret.

“Mr McIntyre,” Jason said, “have you ever ridden one of these before?”

“No. I haven’t. Why?”

He looked up at the man in the official robe. “How do you know what it feels like, then?”

McIntyre blushed, and Samantha whispered, “lay off him. It’s not his fault.”

McIntyre cleared his throat. “I’m going to close the protective bubbles over you now. There’s an air-conditioning system, so you shouldn’t have any trouble breathing. There’s also an internal communication spell that’s running, so you can talk to each other. Your trip to...” He consulted a small piece of parchment that he pulled from his pocket. “Well, you’re going to America. Enjoy. It should take approximately thirty minutes for the entire journey, although when you arrive, you’ll have to set your timepieces back approximately five hours. Your arrival point will be in the M Terminal at Hartsfield-Jackson-Miller-Franklin International Airport.”

He cast the protective spell that he’d put over the luggage car, and the domes formed over the family’s heads. “Have a good journey,” he said, his voice coming through the communication spell. “Thank you for using the LDF Network.”

With a sharp jolt – Jason half-moaned as the restraint between his legs jostled him more than he’d have liked – the four cars started moving on the track below them. “Dad, you’ve done this,” Jason said, slightly strangled. “What’s it like?”

“I can’t say it’s fun,” he told him, “but we’ll get there pretty damn fast.”

“I think I’d rather fly,” Samantha added. “This thing is seriously messing up my boobs.”

“Mom!”

“Sorry,” Samantha said, and chuckled.

There was a clank, and the wall in front of them opened onto a massive room. There were at least twenty tracks, each of them leading to a Floo-enabled fireplace. A gentle green spell misted over the four cars and the Floo dispensers started puffing as the cars picked up speed. Jason could barely hear the words “M Terminal, Atlanta, Georgia, America, Gate 7\" repeating over and over as they grew closer to the huge fireplaces.

“Dad?”

“Yes, Jason?”

“This blows.”

His mother’s chortling laugh was the last thing Jason heard before his car passed through the fireplace and the race was on.

“Well, that sucked.”

“Well put, mom.”

“You win. We can fly back.”

The owl arrived on Boxing Day. Hermione and Draco had attended the Weasleys’ Christmas party the day before – they weren’t high on the list of wizarding society’s best-known families, but after Voldemort’s fall, they Weasleys had all but adopted Hermione and Draco. The party had gone into the late hours, Bill and his wife Fleur and Hermione and Draco all sitting round the table, joking with each other. Of all the Weasleys, Bill seemed to get on best with Draco, probably because he refused to take any crap from the younger wizard.

Hermione shoved Draco amiably in the shoulder. “Go let that in, would you?” she mumbled, her eyes still slammed shut against the mid-morning sun as it streamed through the windows.

“Let what in?” Draco’s early-morning voice was a rough whisper; it triggered something primal in Hermione, and despite herself, she felt a twinge between her legs.

“There’s an owl... oh, fuck it, I’ll get it.” The witch rolled out of bed and stumbled across the room, throwing open the window. Draco cracked an eye half-open and watched his wife’s nude form shine in the wintry sunlight; Hermione was so tired that she hadn’t even realized it was nearly freezing outside. “I don’t know this one. Any thoughts from the peanut gallery?”

“The what?” Draco struggled to a sitting position and wiped his palm across his face.

“Muggle phrase. Never mind.” Hermione closed the window and drew the curtains halfway; her pupils met her coming in the other direction. She pulled her robe down from its hook and belted it around herself, then snapped three times.

There was a sharp pop, and a house-elf appeared. He was small, and his skin was an alarming shade of puce. He was wearing a well-maintained tea towel with the Malfoy crest on it. It had taken some time for Hermione to come to terms with her husband’s ownership of house-elves; fortunately, the elves understood her position and offered to accept wages, even though they knew in their hearts that Draco and Hermione would always treat them well.

“Yes, Mistress Malfoy?” the elf, whose name was Auga, said quietly.

“Could you bring some food for this owl, please?”

“Certainly, Mistress Malfoy.”

“And coffee,” added Draco from the bed.

“Yes, Master Malfoy.” There was another pop as Auga disappeared.

“Now,” Hermione said, “let’s see what you’ve got for us.” She made her way over to the owl, who obediently held out its leg. She unwrapped the message and handed it to Draco as she ran her fingers over the owl’s head and back. It hooted at her, pleased.

“Hermione.”

Draco’s voice was utterly awake, and utterly serious.

“What is it, Draco?”

His eyes were actually glistening. “It’s Dumbledore. He’s dying.”

Caroline looked at herself in the mirror, her eyes narrow and critical. She had, at Grandfather’s behest – not her real grandfather, she knew, but that was the name he’d asked her to give him, since he was childless himself – put on her best dress and a pair of uncomfortably-fancy shoes. Her ice-blond hair was brushed out, waves of it falling over her shoulders. She’d applied some makeup as best she could, although without a woman to teach her the finer points, she’d chosen to stick with easy things – a little blush, a little lipstick, a little mascara.

Her eyes, so dark-gray they were nearly black – and, in fact, looked black when she wore dark clothing – seemed to be avoiding their reflection in the mirror. But it didn’t matter. She was as ready as she was going to be.

As ready to meet her new guardians as she would ever be.

Grandfather was dying. There was no way around it. Someone else, Grandfather had said, would take care of her. Someone else would watch over her. And in January, she would be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where Grandfather had once been a professor and the headmaster.

She didn’t want to go to Hogwarts. She wanted to stay with Grandfather, or go to one of his contemporaries; perhaps that nice Master Delgado who had taught her the finer points of potion-making when Grandfather’s hands grew too weak to perform even the most rudimentary of potion-making tasks.

Caroline knew this day would come. She’d just hoped she’d have more time.

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Notes: And now you\'ve met the entire dramatis personae. All five main characters have been introduced.

Master Delgado comes from a story that I think was called \"Much Ado About Nothing\", a Dumbledore/Hermione piece, but I can\'t find it just now. If you can, let me know.

Chapter 9 contains sex. It\'s coming in a few days. But this one\'s more important to the story and the characterization, so I figured I\'d post it today.

*looks disapprovingly at \"Reviews: [0]\" and taps foot while folding arms*