The Forging of the Bonds

Chapter 16. Glimpse of the past.

Elizabeth was spending her detentions organizing books. The first four days were spent in the Hogwarts' main library, but today, Potter left her in his office, and told her to organize his private bookcase. That didn't look like much, until she realized that Potter used a classification system completely different from the standardly accepted one. The books were sorted fist by era in which they were published, each era's boundary marked by significant events. Some events were from the Muggle world, and Elizabeth, for the first time, regretted not knowing more about Muggles. Within each era, books were sorted alphabetically by author, irrespective of what language they were in. Since she didn't know any foreign languages besides French, that wasn't easy either. Finally, some of the books were really, really heavy, and, as usual with Potter's detentions, she wasn't allowed to use magic.

The door suddenly screeched open. Elizabeth turned and gasped in surprise. It was Michael Weasley."

"Michael!" she practically yelled. "What're you doing here?"

"I wanted to see Potter," he said. "Aren't you supposed to be in detention?"

"This is my detention, Weasley," she said angrily. "Sorting Potter's books. According to his bizarre system." She thrust the small roll of parchment--the details of the system--at him.

He opened it, read a few lines. He gave a small laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"First of all, it's not Potter's system. This is known as the Clather-Bodd Extensible system, and it's been in use, with only slight modifications, since the late eighteenth century."

"Where? In the libraries of insane asylums?"

"No. Many wizards with private collections use it. Including," he said significantly, "my mother."

"You know about it?"

"It's not that hard once you get the hang of it. Back in my second year, I got tired of always asking my mother to find books for me... so I learned it."

"This isn't a joke, Weasley? Because I have no idea--"

"It's not a joke. Here, let me help you." He approached and began shelving the books. Fifteen seconds of watching him work was enough to dispel Elizabeth's doubts. Unlike her, Michael didn't have to think for a while about where each book would have to be placed. In fact, he didn't seem to need to think at all.

"My mother is adamant that we place books in the correct order. 'If you don't know where it goes, leave it off the shelf'," he said as he worked. "Now, Potter uses a somewhat different era distribution to my mother, so I have to work at it a bit. If it was her distribution, I could do it with my eyes closed."

With Michael's help--well, with him doing most of the work, if she had to be honest--they finished almost an hour ahead of schedule. "Ugh," she said, as the last book was put in its place.

"Shouldn't I be saying that?" Michael asked.

Elizabeth grunted. "Try doing that five nights in a row," she said.

"So, do you have a date for the Yule Ball?"

"Yes, Weasley, I do. What? You were hoping to go with me?"

"No, just curious. I've got a date too. Who're you going with?"

"You expect me to just tell you? I like surprises."

"Come on, Elizabeth."

"Okay. He's in Slytherin. And that's all you're going to get. Who're you going with?"

Michael grinned. "She's in Gryffindor."

"Touche. So what did you want to ask Potter about?"

"Just some stuff about the essay he assigned us... and maybe to ask him some things about his

time at school."

Elizabeth was apparently no longer listening. Instead, she was standing behind Potter's desk. "Michael, take a look at this!" she said.

"What?" He went over to her. Elizabeth pointed out one of the three photos on the professor's desk.

"Yeah, what--" Michael stopped as he saw the photo. Sure, it was from a long time ago, but there was no doubt about it. The photo showed the younger versions of his parents with Professor Potter.

"When was this?" Elizabeth asked.

"I'm not sure. I'd say... their fifth or sixth year... which would put it twenty-three or twenty-four years ago."

"Wonder who took the picture. It looks really good."

Michael nodded. "My parents don't have any photos from their school years around our house," he said.

"Here, look at this." Elizabeth pointed at the second photo.

It was a wedding picture. Potter was in magnificent dress robes, and had obviously made a titanic but futile effort to tame his hair. The bride was practically beaming happiness, dressed in a flowing white dress, as (thanks to the photographer's skill in capturing the moment) Potter was slipping the ring on her finger. She was slender, had a freckled face, and long, straight red hair. "She looks like you," Elizabeth said.

Michael looked at the photo. "What? No way!"

"Something wrong?"

"No... that's Aunt Ginny. We have lots of pictures of her."

"Aunt Ginny?" Elizabeth prompted.

"My dad's little sister." He frowned. "She died during the war."

"Potter said something once, in fencing club. I asked him if anyone had ever beaten him in a fencing tournament. He said two people had. His first wife and my father.

"First wife?"

"Here." She showed him the final picture.

This was taken somewhere in the mountains, in the winter. The photo showed a woman--presumably Potter's second wife--and two small children. The woman had very dark auburn hair and blue eyes.

"They don't look much alike," Elizabeth commented.

"I should have known... at least after that row they nearly had at the lake."

"What was that thing with the spider?" Elizabeth asked.

"My dad's afraid of spiders. Don't know why, he never told me. Not many people know, actually. Obviously, Potter's one of them."

"Oh." Elizabeth nodded. Michael was thinking intensely. "But I don't know why my dad would blame Potter for his sister's death. Look at that--" he pointed at the photo. "They obviously loved each other."

"Speak of the devil," Elizabeth said. Professor Potter walked in. He glanced at the shelf. "All done, Miss Malfoy? Very well. You may go."

She didn't move. "Go on," she said, nudging Michael.

"Professor Potter?" he said.

"What is it, Mr. Weasley? You're not supposed to be here."

"Why didn't you tell me you were married to Aunt Ginny?" he said, his tone almost accusing.

"You never asked," Potter replied. "I suppose your parents didn't tell you."

"No..." he admitted. "Unless you count what my father said to you at the task."

Potter frowned. "I see. Well, I suppose I do owe you the story. And since it involves Miss Malfoy's parents as well, she should probably hear it too. However, I won't have time till after New Year. And this will take some time," he said. "But," he turned to Mike, "no matter what your father may have told you, I did love your aunt. I loved her very much." Elizabeth could see that whatever Potter was remembering, it was painful for him.

"Goodnight, Miss Malfoy," he said. "And, Mr. Weasley?"

Michael looked at him.

"You're not supposed to help a fellow student in detention. Twenty points from Gryffindor."