Turas Fada

Another day, another hotel room, Lavender thought, laying on her back on one of the lumpy mattresses and staring absently at the cracked white paint on the ceiling. Another hotel room with Harry Potter, she added, giggling to herself. I'm such a slut. Parvati was just going to die with envy when she heard about all of this. Snogging Malfoy and sleeping with Harry, what girl wouldn't kill to be in Lavender's shoes right now?

Of course, at the moment Lavender's shoes were sitting in the corner, under the bags, so being in them would not be all that thrilling. And she was only sleeping in the same room as Harry; it wasn't like they were shagging, or even snogging, for that matter. All they had done was hold hands--ooh! Risqué! Lavender sighed gustily, it sounded much better the first time. Maybe she would just leave out the details when retelling it.

...But she had snogged Malfoy...he-he-he.

She rolled over and examined the objects on the nightstand between the beds. They were staying in a dingy Muggle motel in some teeny backwater town. This hopping random trains thing was not going too well. It would be better if they could at least end up somewhere nice, but instead they managed to get these smelly little towns that were only a find if you were a cat looking for a place to die.

In the nightstand drawer, Lavender found an odd wooden stick with a little black point on one end. Intrigued, she examined it, but she could find no apparent use for it. Harry would know what it was; he had grown up with Muggles, hadn't he? He was in the bathroom, doing whatever it was boys did to get ready for bed. She listened and heard the sounds of furious teeth brushing.

"Harry?" she called, reasonably sure that he would be fully dressed if he was brushing his teeth.

"Yeah?" he opened the door and leaned casually against the frame, still brushing his teeth. He was not fully dressed after all. He was wearing only his pyjama pants and Lavender was treated to another look at that nice, tan, Quidditch chest. Oh thank you, Quidditch! She thought, before forcing her mind back to its original, non-lusty, path.

"What's this?" she asked, as casually as possible, hoping that Harry had not noticed she had been close to drooling over his naked torso. She waved the stick around and Harry smiled.

"It's a pencil," he said, sounding amused.

"Pencil," she repeated, trying out the word. "What's it do?"

"You write with it," Harry explained, and now she could tell he would definitely be laughing, if it was not for the toothbrush and large amount of toothpaste in his mouth. "I can't believe you don't know what a pencil is!" he said, and shaking his head he went back in the bathroom, still brushing his teeth.

Lavender considered being offended by Harry's amusement at her ignorance, but she was much too fascinated by this pencil. So you could write with something besides ink and quill? How wonderful! Quickly, she searched the room for a piece of paper, eager to test her new toy. On the nightstand she found a ball of paper from where Harry had emptied his pockets. Smoothing it out, she saw that it was the note he had written in Malfoy Manor. Laying it on the smooth surface of the nightstand she made a little experimental mark in the corner with the black point of the pencil. Sure enough, it made a little grey line. Excited, she began scribbling energetically, determined to cover the entire paper in this wonderful, slightly shiny, grey. It only heightened her enjoyment of the activity to think that she was using a Muggle writing device on Malfoy paper.

Ah ha! Take that Lucius Malfoy, you slimy git!

When she was done, she looked over her work with a satisfied smile. It really was quite pretty; she was going to keep this pencil thing. Suddenly she noticed something odd, there seemed to be something written at the bottom of the page. Looking closer, she could just make out the little white letters. It appeared Lucius had written something on another paper and the words had left indentions in this one that the pencil lead brought out. Squinting, she tried to read the words.

To find the Dark Council:

Lavender's heart sped up with anticipation. The Dark Council! That was where her parents were supposed to be! Maybe this paper would tell her how to find it. She read on.

Turas fada.

Tar trí na stoirmeacha.

Turas fada.

Amharc trí na stoirmeacha.

Disappointment coursed through her. What on earth was that supposed to mean? It did not seem to be directions, and even if it was, she had no clue what language it was in.

The bed creaked as Harry flopped down on his stomach beside her.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing to the piece of paper in her hand.

"I thought it was a clue, but if it is, I'm too dumb to figure it out," she replied despondently.

"You're far from dumb," Harry told her, reassuringly, putting his arm around her shoulders and giving her a little squeeze. "At least you knew how to put out a torch. I've been surrounded by torches for the last six years and I don't even know how to put the things out without magic. I just stand there, luring death eaters towards us with its merry glow, how dumb is that?"

Lavender giggled.

"So can I see the paper?" he asked, and Lavender handed it over to him, explaining how the words had gotten there. Harry squinted at it, but finally shook his head and handed it back to her. "I've no clue. It looks like some kind of spell or something, though."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she agreed. "But I'd say it would probably be a bad idea to try out a spell that we found in a Death Eater's house, without knowing what it is. We might raise an army of zombies that will go out and kill all the Muggles. And I'd feel kind of bad having something like that on my conscience."

Harry chuckled. "I have a feeling we'd definitely get expelled then. How do you think Lucius got out of Azkaban, anyway? Surely the Ministry didn't release him. I wonder if the Or--um... anybody knows about it. Maybe I should write Ron or Hermione and tell them."

"That might be a good idea..." Lavender said, thoughtfully. Her little secret jealous self was about to suggest Ron, but then another thought occurred to her. "You should write to Hermione, and then you can ask her if she knows what that spell means."

"That's a great idea!" Harry agreed, enthusiastically. He beamed her a wide grin, and she flushed with pride. Suddenly, she realized how very close their faces were, lying next to each other like this. Unconsciously, she began to lean closer to him, but Harry, completely oblivious, sat up. Biting back a moan of frustration, she followed suit.

*****

Harry read quickly over his letter to Hermione, to make sure he had not forgotten anything. Then, after adding a quick P.S. ("Say hi to Ron for me!"), he tied the letter to Hedwig's leg and sent her swooping out of the window, into the night. It had just occurred to them that they had no owl, and no means of getting one since they were staying in a Muggle town, when Hedwig had landed on the sill of their open window. It was almost creepy how that owl always knew when he needed her and where he was.

"That was an awfully long letter," Lavender remarked from the opposite bed.

Harry looked up at her. She was lying on her side, her cheek pillowed on her arm and her long hair unbound and fanned out behind her. Her large blue eyes were looking at him with an expression he didn't recognize. She was beautiful.

"What are you smiling at?" she asked, suspiciously. "You didn't write anything mean about me in there, did you? Like, 'I'm fine, but I'm stuck with this incredible ditz, Lavender, and have to constantly fight the urge to stab myself with my wand and end my misery.'"

"Oh no!" he said, in mock horror. "You read it, didn't you?"

She glared at him, and threw a pillow, hitting him squarely in the face. "Very funny."

"You know, Lavender, you've got a pretty good arm, and excellent aim. Ever thought about playing Quidditch?"

"Are you kidding? It would ruin my nails!" she waggled her long, metallic purple fingernails at him. "That would be an absolute travesty. Surely you weren't serious."

"Of course not!" Harry told her, grinning widely. "Your nails are always my top priority. Sadly, I had to give up painting mine years ago. Oh, the things I've sacrificed for Quidditch!" The other pillow from Lavender's bed came sailing over.

*****

Hermione's answer to Harry's owl came bright and early the next morning, at least Lavender supposed morning was what you called this miserable time of day when the sun was just breaking over the horizon. She had been rudely awakened by Harry's owl, Earwig, or whatever the freak its name was, nipping at her ear--Harry had already been awake and shut up in the bathroom. What was wrong with that boy?

Once she had reached something vaguely resembling consciousness, it took all of Lavender's self control to keep from reading the letter. An irrational jealousy filled her with the mere thought of Hermione--Harry's best friend, the smartest witch in her class, blah blah blah. Okay, so maybe she was starting to like Harry. Just a little. Or possibly a whole lot. Dang him! And dang that slut Hermione, who he was obviously sleeping with!

Lying back with her hands over her eyes, Lavender took several deep, calming breaths. It was early. She wasn't thinking straight. She liked Hermione just fine, who cared if Hermione and Harry had a thing. Oh, who was she kidding? If Harry liked Hermione, then Lavender hated her.

Stress and lack of sleep were a horrible combination. That was the only excuse for this kind of thinking.

Before she could lose what little self-control she had and rip open the letter, Harry came out of the bathroom, dressed in his usual worn T-shirt and scruffy jeans, sadly, no partial nakedness this time to cheer her up.

"Oh good! Hermione's letter!" he said, his eyes alighting on Hedwig, with the note still tied to her leg (Lavender hadn't trusted herself to remove it).

"Oh. Yeah," Lavender agreed, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

Harry tore the letter open eagerly, after giving his owl a fond pat on the head. "Good girl, Hedwig."

Lavender wished idly that she were Hedwig. Then she stopped herself. This was getting absolutely ridiculous.

"Are you and Hermione going out?" she asked suddenly. Harry looked as shocked by her question as she felt. What had possessed her to say that?

"Nooo," Harry answered slowly, giving her an odd look, obviously wondering how one of the Queens of the Hogwarts Gossip Chain (a title she shared with Parvati) would not know such a vital piece of information.

"Do you like her?" she persisted. The logical part of her brain seemed to be floating out of her body, watching in horror as her traitorous mouth kept up its incriminating string of questions. Soon she would be asking Harry to marry her, and there didn't seem to be anything she could do to stop herself.

"Um, no..." he said, looking thoroughly confused by this sudden interrogation. "Why?"

It took a moment for Lavender to register his question. Her mind was full of a warm happy glow from his answer that temporarily wiped out all other thought. "Just curious," she said, trying for nonchalance, but suspecting she'd screwed it up with a grin so wide it was bordering on manic.

"Do you like Malfoy?" Harry asked, turning the tables on her.

That wiped the smile off her face.

"No! Ew! He's a Malfoy!" she cried indignantly.

"But you snogged him," he persisted.

"That was purely for distraction purposes," she told him, but she could feel a guilty blush rising in her cheeks. Maybe she had enjoyed it, just a little...

"Oh," Harry said. He opened his mouth as if to add something else, but then seemed to think better of it, and shut it with a snap. They stared at each other, teetering on the edge of ...something, but neither willing to be the one to take that leap into the unknown.

"Um...I...need to...do something," he said. He looked down uncomfortably at his bare feet and shuffled over to a pile of clothes on the floor, which he began to shift around busily.

Lavender closed her eyes. That had been a close call, much too close for comfort. Maybe she should just sew her mouth shut, it obviously could not be trusted to stay shut on its own, and who knew what she would say next? Suddenly she remembered what Hermione's letter contained and all other thoughts flew from her head--this could be the key to finding her parents!

"Harry, what did Hermione's letter say? Did she know what that meant?"

"I forgot to read it! Here, I'll get it!" Jumping up from his place on the floor, he scrambled over to where he had dropped the letter on the bed, grasping desperately at this chance to return to normalcy.

He picked up the letter and Lavender got up to read over his shoulder.

Dear Harry,

Where are you?? Are you all right? What are you doing? I've been worried sick about you!

Lavender suppressed a growl at this.

I don't know what you're thinking, running away from the Order like that! And how did you find out about Lucius? There haven't been any reports of escapes in the Daily Prophet (and it's become much more reliable of late). That spell fragment you sent was part of a scrying spell to find a location. It was in Irish Gaelic and translates into:

A long journey.

Come through the storms.

A long journey.

Look through the storms.

I don't know what you're on about Harry James Potter, but you had better get back here soon or I will tell someone that you have contacted me. Be careful.

Hermione

"A scrying spell?" Harry said, blankly, after finishing the letter.

"Of course!" Lavender cried, gleefully. "Why didn't I think of that?" She noticed the confused look on Harry's face. "Don't you remember when we learned about scrying last year in Divination?" Harry shook his head. "It was sometime in February, I think," she added, trying to jog his memory.

"Nope, no clue what you're talking about. I've never been that crazy about Divination myself."

Lavender was shocked. "How could you not like Divination? It's my favourite class!"

"Well, I don't usually fancy centaurs, so I guess I didn't have quite as much incentive to pay attention as some people," Harry said, grinning wickedly.

"I did not fancy Firenze!" Lavender spluttered.

"On a first name basis are we?"

"You--you--ARG!" she grabbed a pillow off of the bed beside her and hurled it at Harry's head.

Laughing, Harry, who was now prepared for this reaction, ducked just in time, so that the pillow sailed harmlessly over his head to smack into the wall. "Okay, okay, you win," he said, holding his hands up in defeat. "You didn't fancy Firenze."

He made no effort to hide his crossed fingers, but the other pillow was out of reach. "Anyway," she said, drawing herself up with dignity, "I liked Divinations before Firenze even started teaching, and surely you're not going to suggest I had a thing for Professor Trelawney."

"Well..."

"Do you want to know what a scrying spell is, or not?"

"I'm sorry, what's a scrying spell?" he asked meekly, the corners of his mouth barely twitching.

Lavender decided it was the best she was going to get from him. "You scry with a crystal ball to find people or places. Some Unplottable locations have special spells so that people who need to find them can scry to see the location to Apparate to. Too bad this is only part of a spell, it won't show us the exact location, but it's a start. What?" she said, at the impressed look on Harry's face. "Did you really think the only thing I paid attention to in Divination was Firenze's biceps?"

Harry had the grace to look embarrassed. "No, of course not. It's just, I've never even heard of scrying and you sound like a textbook. How long did we spend on this in class?"

"Several weeks. Now, the first thing we need to do is get a crystal ball. I didn't even think to get one in Diagon Alley!"

*****

After a great deal of searching through the Wizarding Yellow Pages, which Harry was amazed to find Lavender carried with her at all times (she had never seemed like the overly-prepared type), they had found a crystal ball shop just a couple of miles outside the little Muggle town where they were staying. They had decided to walk, mainly because public transportation in a town this size seemed to be nonexistent.

Twenty minutes of walking on the blacktop in the sweltering sun and Harry was thinking that hitching a ride with a large, smelly, child-molesting Muggle would be a viable alternative. Unfortunately, not a single car had passed them. Sweat was pouring off of him in torrents, his hair stuck to his face and neck, and his shirt clung to his back. He thought he might die. Lavender did not look to be in any better condition. Occasionally she would stagger around, and Harry was afraid she might be about to have a heat stroke.

At long last, a building emerged like a mirage from the heat waves in front of them.

"Look," Harry said, pointing weakly. Lavender nodded, too drained to answer. A few more dragging steps and they could read the sign: Pitts' Ball's--All sizes.

"Well, we've either found it, or we've found a very disturbing porn shop, in which case, we'll probably run into Lucius Malfoy again," Lavender said, a bit of her energy seeming to return at the sight of shelter from the sun.

Luckily, the display window was filled with glowing crystal orbs. They pushed through the door and a small bell tinkled, announcing their arrival. The first thing Harry noticed was the wooden bench stretched along the far wall of the shop. He and Lavender both rushed over and collapsed on to it. He closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the cool wood against his sweaty skin.

The sound of someone clearing their throat in front of him, made his eyes fly back open. A short round man stood in front of him, smiling with amusement. He was balding, with brown hair and a thick brown moustache. His clothes might have labelled him as the smelly, child-molesting type--a stained white tank top and old ripped jeans that needed a belt--if it hadn't been for the shop's logo emblazoned on his chest. The man held out his hand to Harry.

"Pitts, Edmund Pitts," he introduced himself, jovially. Harry took the proffered hand, and almost lost his arm in Pitts' hearty handshake. "Sorry about the get-up," Pitts apologized, gesturing down at his clothes. "I was in back at the kiln--make all my own balls--don't usually get any customers this time of day. Now, what can I do for you?"

"We need a crystal ball for scrying," Harry explained.

"Right this way, right this way," Pitts said, gesturing for them to follow him down an isle. They followed him to a shelf full of, what looked like to Harry, identical crystal balls at a wide range of prices. He was prepared to grab the cheapest one and go, since he could see no difference in any of them, but Lavender examined each ball carefully, asking Pitts questions about their range and clarity, and many other things Harry didn't understand. Finally she decided on one and they went to pay.

"It's good to see someone who knows their stuff when it comes to crystal balls," Pitts told Lavender with approval, as he was ringing them up. "Most young people these days think Divination's just a joke."

"I know what you mean," Lavender said, taking the bag from him and shooting Harry a look. "It's so sad. Thank you very much, Mr. Pitts. You make wonderful crystal balls, the next time I need one, I'll know where to come."

Pitts beamed at her. "Happy scrying!" he called after them, as they left the shop to re-enter the oppressive heat.

"He was so nice," Lavender said, clutching their purchase protectively to her chest (she had not allowed Harry to touch it, claiming he did not show it the proper respect). "And he has excellent balls."

Harry looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

"You know perfectly well what I meant," she said, frowning reproachfully at him.

"I don't know," Harry said, "you seemed to have rather taken a liking to him."

"You, Harry Potter, are a sick, sick boy. You were probably really enjoying being alone in Lucius Malfoy's bedroom yesterday before I came in and ruined your pervy fun."

Harry made retching noises. "That was going too far, Lavender!"

"That's what you get for suggesting that my love for Divination is anything less than pure," she said, smiling smugly.

*****

Back in their hotel room, Harry and Lavender sat opposite each other on the edges of their beds. Lavender had pulled the nightstand in between them, and sat the crystal ball on top of it. They were supposed to be staring into the depths of the crystal ball and clearing their minds, but Harry found himself examining Lavender's distorted features through the glass instead. At this angle all he could see were her eyes, magnified so that he could see the little flecks of green around her pupils, swimming in the sea of indigo. He had never seen eyes quite that colour, it was mesmerizing. They had to be the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. He was not really the type of boy to notice people's eyelashes--in fact, he doubted many boys were--but surely he would have noticed if another girl had had such long, thick black lashes.

"Are you ready?" Lavender's voice startled him from his minute examination of her eyes. He made an affirmative noise, which seemed to satisfy her. She began to chant the spell fragment. "Turas fada. Tar trí na stoirmeacha. Turas fada. Amharc trí na stoirmeacha."

To Harry's surprise, the ball became a globe of the world. This was the first time he had ever seen Divination actually work--well, apart from that prediction of Professor Trelawney's in third year and the Prophesy, but he was inclined to regard those as flukes. Then, as Lavender continued to chant, the image in the globe began to zoom into Europe, then up to the British Isles, and finally, with the end of the chant, came to rest, and a picture of Ireland filled the globe. Lavender sat back with a sigh.

"Well, I could have hoped for something a little more specific, but this is definitely a start. It appears the Dark Council is in Ireland, guess that explains the Irish Gaelic, doesn't it?"

Harry didn't answer; he was too busy blinking at the picture of Ireland in shock. "It actually worked," he said, in amazement.

"Of course it did, what'd you expect?" she told him crossly. "Now pack up your stuff, we're going to Ireland."