Chimaera of Judgement



CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: The Three P's

The morning before Easter Sunday of Albus Potter's fifth year at Hogwarts was the day he discovered how much a person can have to say to someone who has scarcely spoken to you for over a month. He and Jezabel stayed in that room for a long while, not because either of them were scared to leave anymore, but simply that there was nowhere else more important to be. Albus was able to help her understand how things were for he and Rose as children in all-wizarding (or nearly so) families, living in semi-historical buildings and frequenting Diagon Alley, which Jezabel drank in with shameless enthusiasm. Meanwhile, though she wasn't terribly forthcoming at first, Albus also discovered a lot about Jezabel, most of it tragic, some of it funny, and all quite fascinating to him.

"So that's why you got an 'E' in Potions," Albus breathed. "I thought that was weird, you're so amazing at everything."

Jezabel shrugged modestly, falling back on her bed and staring at the ceiling. "It was awful; I wish Professor Nott hadn't poked his head in, he always made me so nervous - I was already beside myself from taking my O.W.L.s as it were!"

"But you were doing all right before the spill, yeah?"

"If I'd been doing any worse, the horrible mess I made would have earned me a Dreadful, I'm certain." A quiet laugh. "That reminds me of the time I was four, and I got fingerpaints all over the sofa. Wow, that was an experience."

"Really? How'd it look?"

"Like sitting on the rainbow," she snickered, and Albus joined her. "Personally, I thought it was beautiful, but Mother and Father were furious, I thought they'd never stop shouting; Mother, especially."

A point of confusion from earlier came back to him. "Hey, is... is your dad fair-haired?"

She nodded. "Everybody wonders about that when they see my sister and me together. Or, anyway, I assume that's why you wanted to know."

"She just looks so different from you and your mother; are you sure she isn't adopted?"

"Even if she were, her and Mother get on so well you'd never know." All at once, she sat up, horrified with herself. "That's not to say I dislike them, though! I don't want you to be under that impression, I love my family, I do!"

"Can't imagine why," he spat. "Your mother said she wasn't even paying for your education. Is that true?"

She shifted uneasily for a moment, then slumped back against the wall. "It is. When Professor McGonagall was discussing the matter with us, Mother announced that she could not afford the school and would never pay for me to attend. The headmistress told her that Hogwarts would take care of everything, and that was that."

"That's... if she can't afford your schooling, then why do they have all those fancy Muggle gadgets downstairs?"

"The telly? Yeah," she sighed, nodding as she tucked a tangled strand behind her ear. "Father bought it last year; he got a big promotion at the office, was all of a dither for weeks. I almost mentioned that we should have repainted the downstairs with the money instead, but... well, they wouldn't have listened to me."

Albus's mind boggled at their complete mismanagement of priorities. "But what about giving that money to Hogwarts, now your dad's got more income? Shouldn't that have come first?"

"Of course not. Why should they when Hogwarts is already paying for me?" Fingers toyed with a fraying corner of her pillowcase for a moment before she continued. "When I'm out in the world, I... oh, but it's silly to think about such things so far in advance, and what if I fail my N.E.W.T.s?"

"It's not silly," he said quietly, folding his arms over the back of her deskchair. "Go ahead."

"Well, when I leave Hogwarts and find my purpose in life, I... I want to compensate. That is, to make up for using their public fund. I'd like to find a way to put a lot more money back into it than I took, you know?"

The broad grin that spread across his face was totally involuntary. "That's a very noble thought."

"Oh, stop," she muttered. "I only want to do what's fair."

He laughed as he picked at the dial on his watch; then he noticed what the watch was telling him. "Holy hippogriffs, look at the - I've been up here for over two hours!"

"Two hou- hours?" Jezabel reached over and grabbed his wrist with surprising speed. "Oh dear, that means-" But then she seemed to become aware that she'd taken hold of his hand and released him, letting both of her own hands fall into her lap, cheeks flushing.

"That means... what?" he prompted.

"Hmm? Oh!" she gasped as he brought her back to her previous train of thought. "Father will be back from golfing soon - he won't exactly be thrilled with finding strangers in his house first thing when he gets home, and he'll really dislike it if he's had a bad day out!"

"Golfing, golfing... that's a sort of Muggle game with metal sticks?"

"You should go," she whispered urgently. "I mean - not that I want you to leave, I- I wouldn't want you to misunderstand me, not now, now we've- we've- but you shouldn't be here when he gets in, that could be disastrous!"

"Not a personable fellow; got it," he replied, swallowing hard as they stood. "Guess I'll... I'll see you at school? Promise?"

She flashed him a nervous smile. "Don't worry, I'll be there. The Auror who came before said I'd only missed two days, so there wouldn't be any make-up exams or reapplications or rubbish like that involved if I came back before Easter break was over."

"That's a relief. And about that Auror; do you reckon-"

Both of them froze at the unmistakable sound of knocking on her door. Albus shot Jezabel a desperate glance, unsure whether he should be a bit wary or utterly panicking.

"Yes?" she called meekly.

"Jezabel Skirrow and Albus Potter," said a familiar voice. "The Improper Use Of Magic Office would like a word."

Though the colour drained from Jezabel's face so quickly Albus was afraid she was suffering rapid blood loss, he called out, "You'll never take us alive!"

Jezabel made a sound resembling a baby bird as the voice responded. "Our orders weren't specific about whether or not you be breathing when questioned, boy. Surrender your wands or I'll have to Confringo this room."

"Do your worst!" he shouted, trying not to snort. "I've got a, er... a Divination book, and I'm not afraid to use it!"

The door opened, and in walked Harry Potter, leading the way for Mr Peele and a reedy man he did not recognise. Though both acted as though they were suffering through a dreadful cocktail party, and Jezabel was now visibly swaying, Harry laughed as he clapped Albus on the shoulder and said, "A Divination book? Really, Al, what use is that in a life-and-death situation - or any situation, for that matter?"

o o o

Immense relief settled over both Jezabel and Albus when the Ministry officials informed them that a Colloportus and Alohomora were not sufficiently dire infractions of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery to earn them time in Azkaban. As it turned out, Harry had asked to deal with it personally due to the involvement of his own son; Peele was there because (as Albus had already discovered) he had been assigned to Jezabel's case; and the other bloke really was from the Improper Use of Magic Office and was there to make sure Albus's father wasn't too lenient.

"So until you've turned seventeen, young lady," the crotchity wizard was growling down at her some fifteen minutes later, "we might try using the Muggle locks if you don't want to be disturbed, mightn't we?"

"Y-yes, sir," she whispered to her now-stocking-clad feet. Albus had somehow missed when exactly she put them on; he had probably been sufficiently distracted by the presence of so many people who had the authority to snap their wands in two. "O-of- of course."

"What's that? Speak up, can't make out a-"

"Oh, leave off, will you, Pickering?" said Harry. "She's been through quite enough to be going on with the last few days, according to Peele, here."

Matthias Peele shifted uncomfortably; when he spoke, he directed his attentions to Jezabel. "All true, then? Really, Flagratattooing?"

"Of course it's true," Albus answered for her. "You calling her a liar?"

"No no no, g-goodness me!" he spluttered, mopping his sparsely-covered forehead with a handkerchief. "That is, it's such a ghastly... things like that don't happen every day!"

"They shouldn't happen at all," Harry muttered before clearing his throat. "At any rate, I'd better be getting Al home so he can see to this, er... birthday party, was it? Funny, I don't think any of my friends are having a birthday for at least a couple of weeks..."

For the first time he could remember, Albus's ears mimicked his cousin's.

The five magical folk soon gathered around the fireplace, Peele withdrawing from his robes a silk pouch of Floo powder (Albus smiled to himself when he realised he needn't have stolen any from Professor Longbottom after all). The remainder of the Skirrow family stood well back from them.

"Nice to have met you," said Mr Skirrow bluntly. He was a weathered sort of man, giving off the impression of someone who was severely overworked and underappreciated. His thin blonde moustache came to a point at both ends, the right-hand of which twitched as he said this. Albus had noticed a tall bag now sat upright in the corner of the room with strange, cloth-covered knobbly things poking up from its depths. One of these was bent slightly, as if the owner had thrown it when in a towering temper.

"Likewise," said Harry politely, offering his hand. The man seemed to consider whether or not their magic would come off on him before shaking it. "We'll have to have you around for tea."

"Why not now?"

Everyone stared down at Albus, and he suddenly felt as if he should have posed this question in a more tactful manner. "Er... I, uh... well, all I meant was that you're welcome anytime."

"We've a busy evening," Mrs Skirrow lied through her teeth. "Thanks."

"Another time," laughed Harry. Albus had heard him use this false, over-hearty laugh at frivolous social affairs, and usually just before he made his escape. Sure enough, he was edging toward the fireplace, but before he could reach it Adora spoke up unexpectedly, trying her best to sound as if she were merely being kind and helpful.

"Jezabel, would you like to go with them? We may be tied up, but I don't expect you have other plans."

"What?" she replied in noticeable alarm. "Oh... well, er, that is I- no, but I couldn't impose, that's- rather rude of-"

"Nonsense!" Albus's father beamed. "Our dank old hovel is your dank old hovel! I believe Ginny's making a strudel for pudding tonight if you're staying, and you really shouldn't miss that."

For some reason, the mention of his mother caused him to realise all at once that if Jezabel came with them, she'd be forced to spend at least a few hours with his family - or his parents and their house-elf, at least. That was a sort of cruelty you did to your fiancée a few weeks before the wedding, and here he was asking her to do it for no reason at all, moments after his father had barged in on their first real, non-strained conversation. She must have been thinking along similar lines, because her face reflected that of a small animal caught in the headlights of a much larger automobile. But how to uninvite her without sounding like he didn't want her to come?

Then Albus's heart sunk like a stone, because Adora wasn't finished twisting the knife. Her hands came to rest on her sister's shoulders, eyes unmistakably lit up with an malicious glee. "There you are, Jezzy! Avoided another night of reading alone, now, haven't we? Do behave yourself!"

That, it seemed, was that. He tried to flash Jezabel a reassuring smile, but she was staring determinedly at the fireplace as Peele tossed a pinch of Floo powder into it, turning the low-burning flames green as they leapt higher. The Muggle family behind them made nervous noises.

"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!" shouted Matthias. Were they going to stop by, as well? But he was gone before Albus could ask, and moments later, the man named Pickering had also said the same and disappeared.

"After you," whispered Harry pointedly; it appeared he presently trusted Albus no further than he could throw him, and he found he couldn't blame his father for those misgivings. With one last glance back at the unpleasant family, he stepped forward into the fire and announced his destination. He was again spinning through the ether, feeling nauseous as he watched swatches from the great patchwork of the human race flash by. Then, almost too soon, he found himself being chastised in a familiar old kitchen.

"There you are," his mother snarled the moment she laid eyes on him. "Taking a bit of a holiday, are we? Lucky for us Neville is professional enough to ask the Floo Network to make sure students end where they're supposed to, or you might still be lost out there!"

"I wasn't lost, exactly," he muttered as he moved toward the scrubbed table.

Her smile was poisonous. "Oh, that's right. You'd planned this from the beginning, hadn't you? Don't know how you would have ended up at a friend's house otherwise! Did your plans include letting the school and your family worry over you until you saw fit to reappear? I ought to take that flippant attitude of yours and stick it in- oh!"

Jezabel had just fallen out of the hearth. Albus couldn't help but think a fresh coating of chimney soot only made her look more pitiable and sad, and the fact that she hadn't put any shoes on over her socks didn't help, either.

"W-well," Ginny Potter began, at a complete loss as to why an unfamiliar youth had wandered through her fireplace. She began working from the most likely explanation. "Er, Albus, aren't you going to introduce me to your... friend?"

"Of course," he said hastily, glad of any reason for her to stop yelling at him. "Mum, this is Jezabel Skirrow; Jezabel, this is my mother."

"Ah," she said simply, shooting a glance back at the table where the Auror and Improper Use wizard had already seated themselves. "Hmm, I think I'm beginning to see the larger picture. Albus thought the Ministry hadn't made a proper go at convincing you to go back to school?"

When Jezabel only gave her a frightened nod, his mother rubbed Albus's cheek with her thumb affectionately. He wished she wouldn't do anything so embarrassing in front of a schoolmate, but he was in no position to protest if he didn't want to be grounded over the entire Summer.

"Hullo, Gin," said Harry as he joined them in the kitchen. "Hope you don't mind an extra mouth!"

o o o

By the end of a hastily-assembled afternoon tea, Albus was kicking himself under the table for rushing Jezabel's visit. He was surprised she wasn't kicking him, also; her supreme discomfort was so obvious he began to try to think of some clever way to distract everyone while she made a run for it. Nothing feasible came to him.

Albus listened carefully to what the two Ministry officials had to say about their involvement with Jezabel's plight, but learned far less than he'd done outside the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom. Pickering, it seemed, had no personal stake in things whatsoever, and scarcely knew anyone in the Auror department other than by name or deed only. His sour disposition left no room to question why this was the case. Matthias, on the other hand, hinted that he'd been involved in the newest Gryffindor's life for quite some time, but why? Perhaps he'd been called in to assist with acclimating her to wizarding culture, but that sounded like a task best left to some sort of Muggle liaison officer.

At long last, the apple strudel was sitting comfortably in their stomachs and his father's co-workers were preparing to Disapparate. The Improper Use wizard was gone almost before he finished bidding them farewell, but Peele hesitated. After an awkward moment, he spoke to Jezabel.

"Young lady, I... that is, I hate to be a bother, sounding like a broken record, but-"

"I'm going back to school," she said with a patient smile. "It's all right."

"No, I only- oh, nevermind. You're not leaving Hogwarts prematurely, that's what matters." He beamed down at her before tipping his hat to Ginny politely, thanking her for the meal. Then, he turned on the spot and vanished.

"Twitchy bloke," Ginny sighed, wiping her hands needlessly on her robes. "Always thought so. Anyway, Albie, why don't you show our guest around the house?"

Albus smirked. "In other words, you want to get rid of us so you can have an adults-only discussion."

Harry laughed a little too loudly. "Right the first time; we need a moment to conspire. Go on, then."

He shrugged at Jezabel and led the way up the steps and onto the ground floor. Once there, he apologised sincerely, but she cut him off.

"Don't worry about it," she whispered, taking her cue from his low tones. "It's not your fault they need to discuss what a bother this whole situation is."

"I don't think they think that," he said uneasily. Did they? He'd like to think otherwise, but it was a distinct possibility.

"Irrelevant," she insisted. "Anyway, um... what's behind this curtain?"

The various rooms and related stories took the better part of three hours to get through. Jezabel listened intently, the same look of transported contentment present as had been in her room when he was babbling about his childhood. Though he was loathe to admit it, even to himself, it felt quite good to have someone pay this much attention to him.

"And here we have my room," he said flatly as they crossed the threshold. He'd been putting it off for last, hoping he'd never have to let her see it. "It's rather ugly."

"No, it isn't," she breathed, eyes wide with wonder as she stared into every corner. "It's brilliant. I only wish my room were like this."

"Yeah, I noticed it was kind of... well, it's-"

"White."

"Yeah, that."

Jezabel's lips pursed as she examined the hideous rosebud cap he'd been given for Christmas. "Mother won't let me decorate it at all; says it's best to keep it pristine so if we sell the house, they won't have to repaint it or anything. She goes berserk if I leave a mess about, also, but I wouldn't want to in the first place. I like a tidy room, just not..."

"Not one so empty. Wow, that sounds-"

"What's... Albus, what is this?"

He was pulled from thoughts of how maddening it would be to live in a plain white room to find her staring at the serpentine chandelier hanging in the centre of the ceiling. Her eyes wandered to the silver-and-green curtains on the window, then back to him, wide as saucers behind her hair.

"Oh, that. Er, well-"

The urgency and excitement in her tone confused him. "W-were your parents in Slytherin, too? Is that why you didn't dismiss me when I was in a different House, because you- you knew firsthand they don't always go wrong?"

"It's only from-"

"My God, Albus!" She glanced again at the chandelier, breathing troubled. "Maybe... did the Sorting Hat think about putting you in Slytherin, too?"

"No! This stuff was here before I was born, it belonged to a- a sort of great-uncle of mine!"

Her face fell. "Oh, I- sorry, I d-don't know what came over me. I must have sounded quite scatty."

"It's okay," he said hastily. What just happened? "My... well, it's complicated, but my father's godfather's family were all Slytherins. This was his brother's room."

Albus noticed her tone was rather flat now, as if she'd used up the rest of her emotions moments ago. "So this isn't the Potter family home?"

"Only for about twenty years. Before that, it belonged to the Blacks for ages and ages."

"Is that what this is about?" She indicated the coat-of-arms on the wall behind his bed.

"Yeah. Er, I don't know a lot about him; only that he was a Death Eater, but he turned traitor for us and it cost him his life. Dad says Kreacher's locket came from him, and Kreacher-"

"Yes, Master Albus?"

They both turned to see the house-elf staring in at them from the doorway, and Jezabel gasped at his sudden presence. Albus was saddened to see he looked yet more pale and thin than at Christmas. "Oh, I- sorry, Kreacher, we were just talking about Regulus."

"Master Regulus?" His large, half-blind eyes were suddenly curious and expectant. "What of him?"

Albus squatted down to look at the elf on more even footing. "That's right; you were around when he was still alive, weren't you? What was he like?"

"A true Black!" said the elf with fierce pride, straightening as much as his elderly spine would permit. "Noble and honourable and always looking after Kreacher, not like that blood-trai- ahh, Master Sirius. Master Regulus was a fine wizard."

"Kreacher," Jezabel began in gentle tones, crouching next to Albus. "Are you... was the family you served in Slytherin? All of them?"

His thin chest puffed out indignantly. "Of course! All but Master Sirius; he was in Gryffindor, and rightly so, not much of a Black in my Mistress's opinion. But he was at least a skilled wizard - the pure blood in his veins was not entirely lost on him, no." Then his eyes squinted up at Jezabel for a long moment; eventually, she gulped noisily, which seemed to snap him out of it. "Hmm, you're nearly pureblood, you are. Kreacher knows. A fine choice, Master Albus."

"No," she whispered meekly as Albus groaned inwardly at Kreacher's last comment, thankful that Jezabel had apparently missed the insinuation. "N-no, I'm a Mudblood. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not at all pure."

"Kreacher doesn't believe you," he croaked dismissively, as if she were trying to play an absurd joke on him but he was too swift for her. "You're very like young Master, here. It's in the eyes, in the jawline and cheekbones. Yes, yes, you have the nobility."

"Can you tell I'm not pureblood just by looking?" Albus asked, interested in this sudden proclamation from the elf he'd been living with for sixteen years. "That Dad's mother was Muggle-born?"

Kreacher hesitated. "A recent dilution, but mostly pure, yes. Of course, Kreacher knew that already, he knew, but Kreacher can still tell, plain as the nose on young Master's face."

"But how can that be?" said Jezabel, almost to herself. "Both my parents are Muggles, I- I can't have any sort of magical blood, that's impossible."

"Kreacher knows what he sees," he repeated adamantly as he shuffled away.

Albus gave her a few moments to stare blankly at his wardrobe before offering up a tentative question. "Are... are you okay?"

"But Al, it doesn't make any sense!" she squeaked as she sprang to her feet, sending Albus reeling backward into a bedpost. "Me, a pureblood? I-I'm not even half-blood, yet he made it sound like I had more than that in my veins! Is... is he mad, or does he usually only say things like this if he's absolutely sure, or- or-"

"Shh," he soothed, rubbing a budding bruise at the small of his back. "Kreacher may be, er, getting a bit senile, but... I don't think he's lying on purpose, especially not to be hurtful or anything. He might be on to something."

Stocking feet that were now very grimy from walking through their house began to pace across his floor. "If that's true, then my parents have a lot of explaining to do. Is my mother a witch? Is it my father? Or are they both Squibs? Oh, I can't believe they kept this from me!"

"Yeah, and there's something else important that I just heard."

"What? What is it?"

He grinned at the way she glared over at him, eyes popping at the possibility of any more earth-shattering news. Chuckling, he said, "I don't think you've ever called me 'Al' before."

Her pale cheeks pinkened as she stifled a nervous giggle.

END Chapter Thirty-Four