Dysfunctional Equanimity

"Nay, would y' please let tha' ruddy owl in? Honest to God, I'm gettin' me a headache from listenin' to it peck the windowframe away."

Grumbling, the girl called "Nay"-- who was really more of a woman, nearing the age of seventeen-- rolled out of her four-poster bed and out of her early-evening nap. "All righ', Dad, all righ'!" She yawned as she stumbled towards the door.

"Ass, what in ‘ell d'ya do with th' andle, shove it clean up yer arse?"

Nay's voice was rough, gravelly even; its tones and inflections acceeded her mien perfectly. A largish frame, settled on a body of five-foot-four, was always clad in no-nonsense apparel. Even now, at eight in the evening, she was clad in a black hooded sweatshirt and green fatigues. The shuffling of a battered pair of sneakers could have been heard as she made her way to the door.

Any ordinary person watching would have assumed that Nay was simply muttering gibberish in a half-asleep state; however, as was soon revealed, this wasn't the case. As Nay struggled in her search for the doorknob, a gauzy white mass floated through the door.

"Lookin' for this, luv?"

Nay's sleep-muddled eyes glanced up to where the ghost was floating. "Ass, wha're y'doin with tha'? Put it back!"

"Mebbe if you called me by a more ‘propriate name--"

Nay groaned. "All righ', Alastridus, put the bleedin' andle back in."

Alastridus-- affectionately nicknamed "Ass"-- grinned. "O' course, Nay. All y'ad to do was ask." Swooping down, he slipped the knob back in place.

"Tha's a li'l more like it," said Nay, stepping through the door and walking down the hallway to the front window. "If y'adn't let me out, I'dve ‘acked off Dad royally."

"Aye, can't ‘ave Daddy Dearest gettin' ‘acked off, now can we?"

"Sod off, Ass," yelled Nay, opening the windowpane. "'Allo, Limerick. What d'y'ave for me t'nite?"

Limerick hooted softly, offering the envelope to Nay with the utmost care and reverence.

Nay patted him on the head. "Good boy, Lim. Lesse... what's this? Dad, you've got mail!"

"Wha' do I look like, bleedin' America Online?"

Nay rolled her nondescript eyes, a present from her absent mother. "Ha, very funny. Now come ‘ere and ge'cher letter!"

"I'm comin', I'm comin'." A groan and a set of heavy footsteps indicated that her father was on his way down the stairs. Nay placed the letter on the side table and sat down heavily in a threadbare armchair.

"Ah, right then. Lesse what we've got ‘ere..."

Nay watched her father scanning the envelope, smiling. A large man seemingly covered in hair the color of wheat, he worked hard to provide for his daughter-- the only woman in his life since his wife had left some fifteen years before. Years and years as an employee of the Leaky Cauldron in England's Diagon Alley had caused much fatigue, with little money to show for it; his promotion to manager earlier that summer had come as a pleasant relief.

"What is it, Dad?" inquired Nay.

Her father didn't answer immediately. "Here, take a gander a' this." He tossed the envelope to her.

Nay couldn't see anything too outstanding about the paper on first sight. It was addressed as all mail that came to their house was-- "Seamus Finnigan, 800 Everton Way, Ballymoney, County Antrim, Ireland"-- in a typical ink-and-quill script; the paper was of the usual quality. However, upon seeing its contents, Nay understood why her father looked nothing less than confused.

"Bloody ‘ell," said Nay, "what do they think I am, a bleedin' babysitter?"

Her father sighed. "Nay..."

"Don't ‘Nay" me," she retorted. "For Merlin's sake! I've seen the three o'them, plastered all over the papers-- smiling lot, ain't been in the know for a month and already bein' treated like royalty--"

"Nadine Tzipporah Finnigan, woul' ya please shattap for a minute." It wasn't a question. "Chile, ye've got to understand, these are my ol' school friends--"

"--that y'aven't seen in almost two decades--"

"--that are askin' for a favor," said Seamus, ignoring her interjection. "It's simple ‘nough, you're in seventh year, should be watchin' the kids anyhow."

"That's a prefect's job, an' I'm not a prefect." Nay stood up, crossing her arms. "Dad, ye've got to understand--"

"I understand perfectly," he cut in. "I understand that you're goin' t' do as I say, as you're not yet seventeen and still under m' roof. And I say that you're going to watch those three on that train, or so ‘elp me God there'll be an ‘Owler when you get t' that school."

Nay stomped her foot. "Not in front of me mates--"

"In front of your mates, especially Aidian Kipper." He was firm.

Nay rolled her eyes, and started for the stairs.

"I take tha' as a yea," he called after her.

She stopped and turned. "Only ‘cause I don't dare be embarrassed in front o' Aidian."

"Good," finished Seamus. "You got y'trunk ready?"

"Unfortunately," she muttered darkly. "School, schmool, wha's the point?"

"The point is for y't'get an education, tha's the point."

Nay continued walking. "And what a point to make."

*

"Linda, let me get this straight. You were kicked off the field hockey team, so you blew up the gym?"

Linda Potter sighed impatiently. "No, Mother, I did not blow up the gym, no matter how much I would have liked to at that particular moment. Actually, come to think of it, I should have blown up the gym. It's not as if anyone in there would grow up and discover the cure for cancer and become the next Mother Teresa and all that -goody-goody bullshit."

"Linda, what did I tell you about that?" asked Hermione wearily, with the air of one who has engaged in the same argument so many times that continued resistance is merely put up as a front.

"Ma," said Linda, "I'm merely quoting Pink Floyd."

"You are not," broke in Joey Malfoy. "The exact line you're trying miserably to quote is, ‘that do-goody-good bullshit'. It's from ‘Money'."

Linda glared at her mother. "He said it, why aren't you yelling at him?"

Hermione shrugged. "Not my kid, not my problem. Joey can stand on the tip of the Seattle Space Needle and expose himself while wearing a fur stole and singing ‘Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me' for all I care as long as he doesn't take you with him."

"And what makes you think I'd do that?" retorted Linda. "For one thing, I don't wear fur. I'd wear a tasteful feather boa."

Bobby Weasley rolled his eyes for what seemed like the millionth time. "Lin, I think you're missing this thing that's integral to your argument... it's called a ‘point'..."

"Shut up." Linda kicked Bobby under the table. "I do so have a point. Mom, pretty please? It's not like anyone's going to care."

"Care about what?" was the unanimous response from all seated at the kitchen table.

Linda looked at them quizzically. "Care if I dye my hair green, of course. Isn't that what we were arguing about?"

Joey groaned. "Malfoy to HQ, Malfoy to HQ, subject Bitchin' Midget is officially a few CDs short of an anthology."

"Huh?"

Hermione laughed at Linda's confused expression. "Linda, I asked you what exactly happened in the gym this afternoon. Then you swore, and we started arguing about that." She patted her daughter's arm. "Obviously, you slipped into Preprogrammed Argument Mode when Joey managed to confuse you, only with the wrong argument."

"Oops," said Linda sheepishly. "Er, just pretend the last five minutes never happened, okay?"

A moan on mental anguish rose from Joey's sector. "Okay, me make very long story very short. We go to gym, Felicia get bitchy, Linda get pissy, Linda do Memory Charm on team, we do Memory Charm on rest of gym. End of story."

"Don't forget ‘Joey turn Radial into goat'," added Bobby helpfully.

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. "Joey did what?"

"Turned her into a goat." It was Joey's turn to be sheepish. "Er... well, it was the perfect opportunity..."

"Mom," cut in Linda, "this is the third time we've had to explain this in the last half hour. Does everyone know about it yet?"

"I suppose so," replied her mother. "All I know was, Ron came haring into the living room, muttering some gibberish about going to Hogwarts and goats and such, and you three. I figured I'd better find out what's up."

"Where is Dad, anyway?" asked Linda.

Hermione sighed. "Sleeping on the couch. Recovering from embarrassment, I think. And if you ask why he was embarrassed, just keep this in mind: I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it."

Linda smirked. "So it's what I think it is, isn't it?"

"I refuse to prolong this conversation," said Hermione, reddening. "But from what I can deduce, Ron went off to send a letter to Hogwarts, asking if they'd take you at such short notice. What? None of you seem very surprised."

"Yeah, we went to him right after we talked about it with each other." Bobby shrugged. "Well, what else would we end up doing? We can't go back to Marple High, that would be an absolute disaster. And where else are we better suited to go?"

"Man, you sound like you've actually thought about this," said Joey in wonderment. "Damn!"

Linda snickered. "Believe it or not, Joey, some people actually do this thing called ‘thinking'."

"Shut your mouth."

"It's the primary function of the brain..."

"Shut up!"

Linda settled back into her seat. "My mission in life has been fulfilled. I have irritated Joey Malfoy to the point where he physically cannot do anything about it."

Joey sneered. "Why, you little..."

"Okay," said Hermione quickly. "I'm getting out of here before a war breaks out, or worse. This is a new sweater, and I don't feel like explaining to the dry cleaner's why there are specks of dried blood on it. I'm going to wake up your father and fill him in, all right?"

Joey threw Linda a murderous glare. "Right on, Mrs. P."

*

"But you have."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I have what?"

It was at this point that he actually looked down at himself for the first time since entering the Chamber. The sight that met his eyes fairly frightened him out of his skin. Instead of the tall, lanky frame he had acquired in the years since school, he had reverted back to the physique of his childhood. He had shrunk several inches, lost a great deal of muscle mass, and was back in the school robes and battered red sneakers he hadn't worn in years, since he was about twelve. He felt as if he was about twelve.

Which he was, he realized, when he spoke in the squeaky voice that he'd thought he'd left behind in adolescence. "What is this?"

Harry woke up in a cold sweat. "Huh? What?" He looked around; he wasn't in the Chamber any longer. He was lying on the couch of his living room, with daylight streaming in through the bay window, and with a very confused Hermione sitting on the edge of the couch.

"I think that's rather what I should be asking you," replied Hermione dryly. "I come in here to talk, and there you are, tossing about and muttering about fruit. Are you hungry?"

Harry swallowed. "Er... no."

"Well, it's your own damn fault, then. You forgot that it's your week to do the grocery shopping, and there's a reason that the only food in this house consists of a six-pack of Fresca and a half-eaten box of Ho-Hos."

"It was the elves, I tell you. The elves." Harry smiled, the austerity of his dream washing away like cheap mascara on a summer's day. "They came and ate all the healthy, nutritious food I bought, those damned little pointy-eared bastards."

"Well, those damned little pointy-eared bastards are going to be in hot water if I catch them."

"Are we really that desperate for food that we need to boil elves?" He sat up and stretched. "God. What was it you were going to tell me?"

Hermione smiled, shifting on the couch. "Well, let's see. Your daughter and her friends Memory-Charmed the entire school into believing that they don't exist, and are currently in the process of being accepted to Hogwarts. Ron's sent an owl off to Seamus to see if his daughter-- Sadie or Nadia or something like that-- will be willing to watch the kids on their way there. Oh, and Joey turned his math teacher into a goat."

Harry blinked. "Okay... I think I'll go back to bed now..."

Hermione smirked and pulled him up by the hair. "Oh, no. Although you do need to save your energy for later, though."

He stood up. "Why? What's later?"

She laughed, getting up. "What do you think people do when their kids leave the house, knit scarves and listen to Perry Como?"

He smiled, and kissed her gently. "Got it. I think I'm going to want a great deal of energy for that..."

*

Before anyone says, "Oh, God, American exchange students", the reason they're going to Hogwarts and not an American school will be revealed in the next chapter. Or maybe not, but there is a reason.

Here are the people I've got to thank for reviewing "DE01": Caesar (band geeks rock), Kat Granger, rave (shnoogles to Draco), Franimal, PixyChick (there's famous Coven-wit? Wow), Lizzy, Trinity, Minzzer, Nemo, Coleen, Sierra (I empathize with you, fellow FH player!), Tav, magical*little*me, Meg, Aht (yay, someone thinks I'm almighty!), Rita Skeeter, Krystan, Sapphirerush, Wicky, Portia (I feel immensely flattered that you think I write like Stephen King!), Silvertree (shudders at metion of biology), Jane, Xolfina, Shakira, Virgo (you're the best, too!), la, :?), Diego, Lily Nicole, Hermione Potter, Daphne (I hurried for you, my blond friend), Cloe, Kayara, Mariah (twice a day! Thanks!), ~Angel Padfoot, WeasleyTwinsFan, Griffin, Olive Green, *_Haemoney_*, the theoretical gutter above my head's owner (your review made my day), WildMagic, AngieJ (cheated no more, I hope!), Clara, and Eugenia. Thanks so much! Your consistent hounding and praise made me park my ass in the chair and write this thing. ^_^

Special "gracias" to Cassie Claire (my new idol...), Narri/S.t.F. (the freakishly psychic one), Jess S., Rosalind "Dr. X Will Build A Creature" McClure, and starling, whose pics of Draco-pie make me drool on the keyboard.