Restitution

"Restitution"

by Paracelsus

Chapter 9: Te Whare Wananga

When Harry awoke the next morning, he was still face-down on his bed, still in his clothes, undisturbed... almost. Someone had come into his room in the middle of the night and removed his shoes, put his glasses on the nightstand by the bed, and carefully tucked a quilt over him.

The same person had also placed a vial of Blood Replenishing Potion on the nightstand, next to his glasses, so he'd be sure to see it when he awoke. Harry's initial feeling of goodwill suffered a stab of annoyance. Subtle, Hermione. Real subtle.

He threw off the quilt and sat up on the edge of the bed. Sat up too quickly, perhaps... a wave of vertigo hit him unexpectedly. Harry made himself sit quite still until it passed. It did so after a second, and he reached out and snagged his glasses from the nightstand. He put them on and glanced at the clock. He was surprised to see that he'd slept over twelve hours. Good, he told himself in satisfaction, probably the best thing for me.

He stood up, took two steps towards the shower, and felt the strength drain from his legs. With an almost ludicrous expression of surprise on his face, Harry collapsed to the floor as limply as a rag doll.

No! What the bloody hell is going on?! This shouldn't be happening, there's nothing wrong with me! I'm fine, dammit!

He could hear That Voice in the back of his mind give an exasperated sigh.

Carefully, Harry got his hands underneath him and pushed off from the floor. Once on his hands and knees, he grabbed the dresser and painfully pulled himself upright. He willed himself to look at his reflection in the mirror.

His skin was white. Not pallid, not ashen, but white. White as alabaster, white as lilies... white as a corpse.

Harry staggered back to his bed and grabbed the vial of potion from the nightstand. Hands shaking, he uncorked it and drank the entire contents without stopping. He tossed the empty vial onto the bed, closed his eyes, and waited for his heartbeat to return to normal.

After a few minutes he decided he was feeling better. Experimentally, he stood up - no dizziness this time, that was good. He walked to the dresser without falling, that was good. He checked his reflection carefully: there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks again.

"You want some sun, bro," suggested the mirror. Harry shot it a raspberry in reply. He gave a moment's consideration to asking the landlord to remove the mirror... but with his luck, that would only spark more rumors of vampirism. Instead he continued to the shower, determined to present a bright and energetic front for all to see.

*

A good shower in the morning works wonders. Harry actually felt refreshed, ready to face the world. He was in the process of dressing in clean clothes when there was a knock on the door. "Harry, mate? You awake?" came Ron's voice.

"Yup, c'mon in."

Ron entered the room and closed the door behind him. Before he could say anything, Harry spoke. "Ron, listen... about yesterday morning..."

"Forget it, Harry," said Ron with a slight smile.

"No, I can't," insisted Harry. "I shouldn't have doubted your word... you, of all people. I'm sorry."

"S'allright, Harry, really. I should apologize too... I should've mentioned when I made the promise that I'd already told Gin and Hermione." Ron raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Besides, you were going to tell them yourself, sooner or later... right?"

"Oh, yeah," agreed Harry. "Just as soon as I found the right words. 'Hi Hermione, hi Ginny. Did you ever wonder where I went after I defeated Voldemort? I went west...' No? Too cute?"

Ron regarded him with that same quizzical look. "You weren't going to tell them. Admit it."

Harry sighed. "There just hasn't been an appropriate moment yet. And now I discover that - once again - they've known all along." He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. "At least it doesn't seem to've changed anything. You're all still the same... I'm still the same..."

"Pity, that. We were hoping for some improvement." Ron's half-smile turned into a full smile. "Nothing huge, mind you... we'd have settled for even a little improvement. Ah well, if even being killed doesn't change you, you're probably hopeless."

"We could try killing you, and see if you improve. Git." Harry put his glasses back on and added, "Now, if you'll let me finish dressing, we can snag some breakfast. I'm starving."

Ron's eyes flicked to the bed, where the empty potion vial still lay. "Glad to see you're feeling better. Maybe you'll be up to telling us more about what happened yesterday. I'm sure Ginny was exaggerating the details for dramatic effect." Ron managed to duck out the door before the flying shoe hit him.

*

They entered the dining room together, to discover they weren't the first to arrive. Ginny and Hermione were already seated at the corner table. (Already, the corner table seemed to have become their personal table, and all the guests knew it.) Someone was seated with them... his back was to them, and for a moment Harry didn't recognize him.

Hermione noticed their entrance first. "Good morning," she called pleasantly - but Harry noticed with sour amusement that she was addressing a point halfway between him and Ron. Ginny and the third person turned to greet them, and Harry saw that it was Charlie Weasley.

"Charlie!" yelled Ron, and he rushed forward happily to get an armlock on his brother's head. Harry followed at a more leisurely pace.

"Morning, Ron... Harry," said Charlie with a grin, fending Ron away with the ease of years of practice. "It really is a small world, isn't it?"

"Smaller every day," Harry agreed as he seated himself. He nodded a greeting to Ginny and Hermione, both of whom seemed to have difficulty meeting his eyes - Hermione, indeed, seemed to find her plate intensely fascinating. Fine, then, he thought, a bit disgruntled. He took the platter of scrambled eggs and began to spoon food onto his plate. "When did you arrive, Charlie?"

"In New Zealand? A couple of weeks ago. Here at this B&B? Just this morning. I was surprised to see Ginny and Hermione, let me tell you... I had no idea you were on holiday down here."

"Yeah, Harry," said Ron, taking the platter of eggs from Harry. "So about our holiday down here... I thought this trip was supposed to be dull, boring, routine police work. What the bloody hell happened yesterday? Who attacked you? Did you find out why? Ginny didn't have a lot of details last night..."

"Ron, will you shut up?!" Ginny tried to say, but it was too late.

"Attacked?" said Charlie sharply, his grin vanishing. "Harry, someone attacked you? And Ginny was there? Are you hurt, Gin...?"

"I'm fine," she replied with a glare at Ron. "I was in no danger. Harry shielded me the whole time." Her tone held a slightly resentful undercurrent that confused Harry... wasn't he supposed to have shielded her? He could see by Ron's expression that he'd caught it, too... maybe Harry could get an explanation from him later.

Briefly Ginny described the incident in the crafts shop. "So I came back here," she concluded, "found Harry's ward bracelet, borrowed Mrs. Li's spare Portkey to Whare Wananga, told Ron and Hermione what I just told you, and waited to hear from Harry."

"Which we did," added Ron. "Eventually. Really, Harry, you need to work on your writing style... like, say, including details?"

"There wasn't a lot to add," protested Harry. "The main point is that the man who attacked us in the shop was the brother of the guy who took a swing at me in Christchurch."

"Wait wait wait... someone took a swing at you in Christchurch?!" Ron asked incredulously. "Ginny, you didn't say anything about that!"

"It seemed so minor compared to the attack that came later," shrugged Ginny. She turned to Charlie. "Fortunately, someone was smart enough to insist that Harry not go alone yesterday."

Hermione looked up from her plate and likewise turned to Charlie. "But unfortunately, that same someone was so stupid as to try to shove it down Harry's throat."

"Possibly," said Ginny, still speaking to Charlie, "that's exactly what it takes to get through Harry's thick head sometimes."

"Possibly," Hermione told Charlie, "Harry would listen more readily if someone were more considerate."

"Harry would like to remind everyone that he's sitting right here at the table," Harry snapped in irritation.

"And Ron would really like everyone to stop talking in the third person," put in Ron with a smirk.

It only took a moment for Ron's remark to provoke laughter around the table. Hermione was the only one who didn't join in the merriment. Her unhappy gaze had returned to her plate.

Watching her, Harry felt his annoyance begin to soften. She looked so miserable... and after all, she had been right yesterday morning. The thought came unbidden to him: Hermione Is Always Right...

Hearing the well-worn maxim in his mind dispelled the last of Harry's ill humor. Almost without thinking about it, he reached out and lightly touched the back of her hand. When she looked up, he met her eyes and gave her an apologetic half-wince, half-smile.

She immediately looked back down at her plate... but she now wore her own half-smile. "So, Charlie," she said after the laughter had subsided, "what brings you down under?"

"I've been down at Awamotu - the local dragon reserve - on the South Island," Charlie explained. "Their dragons have started getting wilder, even more dangerous. This hasn't happened in over twenty years... so I was hired to come and help find what's causing the problem." He described with a specialist's enthusiasm the excited states of the dragons, the tracer spells he'd prepared to monitor them, and how he'd applied them to a flight of mostly-uncooperative Opaleyes.

"It's been a bit of a chore, really," he finished. "So I've come here for a weekend off. Because as it happens, children..." He smiled broadly. "As it happens, at noon today the Moutohora Macaws take on the Timaru Terrors."

"Pro Quidditch teams? Playing today? Here?" Ron had forgotten his breakfast. He was staring at his older brother with an avid, almost desperate expression.

"No, not here per se - they tell me the Quidditch pitch is outside Hamilton. Carefully hidden, of course." Charlie rocked his chair onto its back legs and examined the ceiling as he casually added, "A whole block of seats was reserved for the Awamotu staff, but I seem to be the only one who's taken advantage of them. I suppose that means I could bring guests..."

Any further words were drowned out by war-whoops from Ron and Ginny, and even Harry was applauding. Hermione watched them all tolerantly, not cheering but obviously pleased for their sakes.

"Right, then," announced Ron as he jumped to his feet, "we need to get ready. With any luck, this'll be a great game, it'll last for hours, so we need to bring..." He stopped in dismay. "Oh hell, I didn't pack my omnioculars!"

"I did," smiled Harry. "You can borrow them if you like. And take copious notes on the Macaws' Keeper tactics."

Ron flashed Harry a grin. "Brilliant! So come on then, tell me about these Macaws..." he said to Charlie, as the three Weasleys exited the dining room.

Harry shook his head in amusement at the outburst of enthusiasm. "They do know the match doesn't start for hours, don't they?" he asked Hermione.

"I imagine they'll force us to go to the stadium early, to get the best seats," Hermione replied absently. She rose from her seat and stepped away from the table, but made no move to leave. Automatically Harry rose as she did, his face growing serious. Time crawled to a halt as they stood together in awkward silence... neither of them looking directly at the other, and neither of them willing to speak first.

"I'm bossy," she said abruptly.

"I'm pig-headed," he said at the same moment.

"I'm sorry," they said in unison.

They did look at one another then: his eyes were dancing, her lips were quirking. A photograph taken at that moment would show that they did not, in fact, embrace. Not physically, at any rate.

*

Monday morning found Hermione alone in the dining room, jotting memos to herself in a spiral-bound notebook. She was sipping her morning coffee, lost in thought, as Ron arrived at the table. He was bleary-eyed and looked barely conscious. "Well, well," commented Hermione, "look what the cat dragged in."

"Have I ever mentioned how much I hate morning people?" grumbled Ron, as he took a seat and poured himself some coffee.

"I'm not a morning person, I just made sure I got a full night's sleep," replied Hermione smugly.

He yawned enormously. "How often d'we get to see Charlie? I'm sorry he had t'go back to his dragon place, though... we must've talked 'til, I dunno, three in the morning." He took a large swallow of coffee and waited for it to take effect.

"You had the entire Quidditch game together, and that must've gone on until midnight."

"We had more important things to do than gabbing. We were watching the game, Hermione."

"I know," she said gently. In some ways, it had been painful to be with her friends at the game Saturday. Charlie and Ginny had been typical Quidditch fans, but Ron... Ron had been a fanatic, shushing them if they talked of anything other than the game, recording plays in Harry's omnioculars, memorizing every move of the two teams' Keepers.

While Harry... Harry hadn't said a word throughout the entire game. He'd watched the players intently but silently... almost hungrily. His face had reminded Hermione of a child locked in a confectioner's shop but forbidden to touch any of the sweets on display. Harry had once been one of the finest Seekers in decades... but he hadn't played for four years. Aurors didn't have the luxury of playtime.

And she herself... Her enthusiasm for Quidditch, such as it was, didn't come close to that of her friends. But she'd enjoyed herself well enough Saturday... until the Macaws' mascot, Sparky the Phoenix, came out onto the pitch to lead the cheers. Seeing Sparky (who looked nothing like a phoenix!) had reminded her of that crazy notion she couldn't shake. Maybe she could research it today, under the guise of researching something else...

"So what'cha writing?" asked Ron, pouring a second cup of coffee and reaching for the muffins.

"A few ideas for Harry... ways to kill without leaving curse residues, remember? None of these are foolproof, unfortunately, so I need to research them today. I thought I'd return to Whare Wananga while the rest of you relaxed. There's lots to see in New Zealand, the museums, the caves, the geysers... did you know that New Zealand is tectonically active..."

"Hey, I had an idea," interrupted Ron. He seemed to be a bit more awake now. "Didn't you say that curses that affect the mind don't leave traces?"

Hermione nodded, accepting the change of subject. "Which is why, when Voldemort's followers claimed to have been under the Imperius Curse, nobody could disprove it."

"Right. So here's my idea: what'd happen if you put someone under a really deep Imperius Curse... and then ordered them to drop dead?"

Despite herself, Hermione was impressed. "I'd never considered that, Ron. It certainly wouldn't leave residues. Let me think..." She turned to the back of her notebook and doodled some Arithmantic symbols. After a moment, she looked up at Ron. "What would happen if someone put you under Imperius and ordered you to flap your arms and fly like a bird?"

"I'd flap my arms and... oh." Ron seemed deflated. "Right. The Imperius Curse couldn't make me fly. I'd try my best, but... Hold on, though, the cases aren't the same. I mean, heartbeat and breathing and all that are controlled by the brain, aren't they? Imperius ought to be able to get to those. And aren't there some Eastern mystics who can stop their hearts by sheer willpower?"

"Yes," conceded Hermione. "If you put one of them under Imperius and told them to drop dead, they could do it. But for the rest of us, Imperius can't grant abilities we don't already have. And I hardly think all the murder victims were Eastern mystics, anyway."

"Okay, okay. It was just an idea."

"It was a good idea, Ron. It just wasn't the one we want. We'll find it, don't worry."

The discussion was interrupted by Ginny's appearance in the dining room. She walked to the table like an automaton and sat down opposite Ron. She poured herself a cup of coffee, drank it quickly, made a face, and poured another. "Good morning," she finally grumped.

"I expect this of Ron," Hermione commented. "But you were always so perky in the mornings..."

"Don't make me hurt you." Ginny finished her second cup and seemed to shake off some of her lethargy. She looked around the table. "Where's Harry?"

"Still in his room," replied Ron, working on his second muffin. "Said something about reviewing police files. Told me we should go see the sights and that he'd meet us tonight."

Hermione regarded Ron thoughtfully. "Ron... you wouldn't cover for Harry anymore, would you? I mean, if you knew he was planning to do something incredibly stupid... you wouldn't..."

Ron tried to look insulted. "I am shocked, shocked I say, that you would think such a thing of me." He shook his head and smiled ruefully. "I think we've all gotten past that, Hermione. And after being attacked on his first day here, he ought to know not to take unnecessary risks... Besides, Harry knows better than to risk your royal displeasure."

"Har de har har." Hermione closed her notebook with a snap. "I think I'll just go... offer my help." Ron and Ginny dutifully followed her out of the dining room (Ginny with a longing glance at her coffee cup), up the stairs to Harry's room.

Harry opened the door at her knock. He's dressed at any rate, Hermione noticed... then realized he was still wearing yesterday's clothing. "Did you stay awake all night?" she demanded as she bustled into the room.

"And a jolly good morning to you too," Harry replied in an affected drawl. "Do please come in. Frightfully sorry for the state of the room, but I wasn't expecting callers this early..." He winked at Ron and Ginny and closed the door behind them.

"Harry..." Hermione began sternly, then caught herself. "All right, I'm not Mrs. Weasley; I'm not going to nag you to take care of yourself. But that won't stop us from being concerned about you."

Harry stretched. "Didn't you know that staying awake for extended periods is part of an Auror's training? I'm all right, honest. I just..." He shook his head in frustration. "I'm trying to see a pattern among the murders so far, and I'm just not getting it. Questions, but no answers." He saw their looks of interest, and continued, "For instance... Hermione, you were telling me a little yesterday about your trip to the Whare Wananga library..."

"Yes, and I'm sorry we haven't found anything yet. I was planning on going back today..."

"But you mentioned they were short-handed?"

Hermione looked puzzled by the non sequitur. "Yes, they're short one librarian."

He nodded. "Madam Lacroix." He picked up one of the dossiers from the small table by his dresser. "One of the first three murder victims. Practically lived at Whare Wananga, according to this." He picked up another dossier. "Then there's Mr. Sigurdson, civil servant. Lived and worked in the capitol. Didn't work for the Ministry of Magic, as it happens, but for the perfectly Muggle Ministry of Economic Development - though he reported regularly to Tucker. Not a bad idea, actually, having a wizard in each Muggle government department... sort of an inside source, as it were..."

"I don't see the problem, Harry," said Ron.

"They lived on the North Island. They worked on the North Island. They were murdered in Christchurch, on the South Island." Harry tossed the dossiers back onto the table. "Why? What were they doing there?"

"They were magical. They could Apparate anywhere in the country if they liked," Ginny pointed out.

"But what brought them to Christchurch? Neither had relatives there, neither had business there... It's an irregularity in their patterns of behavior. I can't help thinking they were lured there... but why? What's the common thread?"

"Well," said Ron, trying to come up with a practical answer, "go to the Ministry and talk to Otimi. See if he has any leads."

"And that brings us to my other problem," said Harry grimly. "Ginny, you were there at Dr. Pohuhu's flat. When Kupe attacked me, what did Otimi do to stop him?"

"Um... nothing. But it happened so quickly... I mean, I didn't do anything to stop him either."

"Still, the whole episode bothered me. Picture it: this big bruiser claims to be upset that unknown forces are harassing his people - and so he attacks a total stranger? Instead of the oppressive authority figure? Oh, who happens to be a police officer. He attacks me right in front of a police officer, without provocation or proof?"

Ginny concentrated on recalling the scene to memory. "I suppose... I remember thinking at the time that he seemed to be working himself into a frenzy... as though he wanted an excuse to hit you..."

"And it was Kupe who suggested that he and Nana's followers check Dr. Pohuhu's flat that morning." Harry sat on the bed. "When he failed to put me out of action, his brother took over - a lot more forcefully."

"So you think they were after you, personally?" Ginny looked thoughtful... then worried. "But to be at the flat to get at you... Kupe would had to have known that we'd be there - and when we'd be there."

Hermione gasped. "And the only source for that information would be..."

"Inside the Ministry of Magic," finished Harry. He smiled unpleasantly. "Now do you see why I'm a little hesitant to ask Otimi for more help than I must?

*

Harry's words haunted Hermione for the rest of the day. When Tuesday came, she resolved to question the remaining librarian at Whare Wananga, and discover what she could about her murdered co-worker.

The Trio-plus had finished breakfast, and Ron and Hermione had headed up the stairs for their rooms, when Ginny caught up with them at a run. "Otimi's downstairs talking to Harry," she said breathlessly. With no more words, the three returned to the Rose Cottage's front parlor.

Harry was sitting in one of the plush armchairs, deep in discussion with a stocky Maori wizard whose robes and deportment all cried 'police'. Harry invited them all over with a wave. "Ron, Hermione, this is Rewa Otimi. He's the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Otimi greeted them with a distant nod. "More of your 'colleagues,' Mr. Potter?"

"My left and right hands, and two-thirds of my brain," replied Harry in all seriousness. Hermione had never heard Harry describe his friends in those terms. She wasn't sure if it had been for Otimi's benefit... or theirs.

Harry continued, "Mr. Otimi's asking me to come with him this morning. There were some items taken from Friday's attacks that he'd like me to know about."

Hermione got the impression that, if he could've found a way to justify it to Otimi, Harry would have included them in his party. "Don't worry about us... we were planning on going back to Whare Wananga today," she assured them. "Another day in the library. With any luck, we can finally figure out if those traceless curses would work." Among other things, she told herself.

Otimi raised his eyebrows. "An interesting coincidence," he said slowly. "As it happens, we're going to Te Whare ourselves."

"Oh? Well, perhaps we'll run into each other there," smiled Hermione.

"I see. Are all three of you involved in this... library research?"

"Oh yes," Ginny piped up. "We're quite keen on it. This is more than a one-person job."

"Yeah," agreed Ron. "And libraries are great, y'know. Some of my fondest memories involve libraries."

Behind Otimi, Harry made a slicing motion with his hand while beetling his brows. In their private non-verbal language, he was clearly telling them not to lay it on too thick. He quickly assumed an innocuous expression, however, as Otimi turned back to him. "Well then, Mr. Potter, shall we be on our way? I have a Portkey right here..."

*

Harry had formed a mental image of Te Whare Wananga, basing it on his experience at Hogwarts: large stone buildings with turrets and flying buttresses, perhaps not as chaotically designed as Hogwarts but still strange. Instead, the Portkey set him and Otimi down in the courtyard of a large wooden building: tall, with a steeply pointed roof whose eaves reached nearly to the ground. The peak of the roof was mounted by an elaborately carved pole, which appeared to be a human figure. More carvings and painting adorned the front wall.

This was obviously their equivalent of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Looking around, Harry could see perhaps a dozen two-storied wooden buildings ranged behind it. The campus had trees, shrubberies, and flower beds between the buildings. Harry noticed some carved faces mounted on the walls, but other than that it seemed very... Muggle.

He revised his opinion immediately when one of the mounted carvings stuck its tongue out at him and grinned.

"This was based on a traditional marae - a ceremonial meeting place," explained Otimi, seeing Harry's interest. "This is the school's whare whakairo, where the students gather for meals and other times. That," and he pointed at the human figurine at the peak of the roof, "is the tekoteko, who guards the school."

"And the other faces?" Harry asked, pointing. Two or three of the carvings had noticed him now; one was waggling its eyebrows at him suggestively.

"Well, if this were a true marae, those would be the family ancestors," said Otimi. "Since Te Whare Wananga isn't restricted to a single family... the builders decided to display past tohunga instead. Don't worry," he added, as yet another of the carved faces took notice of Harry, "they're harmless unless someone tries to hurt the school or the students."

They walked up to the veranda of the whare whakairo. The door opened as they approached and a teenaged boy stepped out... sandy-haired, about seventeen by the look of him. He was dressed in "usual" black wizard's robes, such as Harry had worn at Hogwarts - Harry was startled when he realized that he now considered such garb normal.

"Mr. Otimi? The Headmaster is expecting you," said the youth with a motion for them to follow him, and Harry was reminded of Percy as a prefect. He led them through the meeting house - where, Harry noticed, virtually every wooden surface was floridly carved - and outside again and into the largest of the buildings.

"So," said Harry, attempting to make small talk with their guide, "are you training to be a tohunga, then?"

The youth gave Otimi a quick glance before stiffly replying, "That'd be difficult. The government outlawed tohungaism back in the early 1900s. No," he continued, either ignoring or not seeing Harry's surprised look, "no, I'm just trying to pass my T&P's like everyone else."

"T and P's...?"

"Theoreticals and Practicals... our exit examinations," explained Otimi. "Like your O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, only not." Something in his face warned Harry not to inquire about why tohunga had been outlawed - or why the title was still used if it had been...

Ah, thought Harry, as the penny dropped. Outlawed. Not abolished.

The youth brought them to a door with the sign "Infirmary" above it. "If you'd wait here...?" he asked politely. "The Headmaster said he'll be right with you." He left them standing in the corridor.

Harry hesitated, then knocked on the door. When no one answered, he asked Otimi, "Should we go in? It doesn't seem to be locked..."

"We were asked to wait here," said Otimi stoically. "Probably better that we do."

They didn't have long to wait, as it turned out. It was only a few minutes later that the door opened and two people emerged. One was an elderly man, white-haired and dignified. His face was covered in moko, more intricate and elaborate than the Umaga brothers'. His wizard's robes were like none Harry'd ever seen: instead of cloth or fur, the robe was completely covered with hundreds of tiny feathers. It was a plush, colorful, comfortable canopy, which seemed to suit him perfectly.

And the other person...

"Harry!" exclaimed Margaret Pohuhu in delight. "Oh, it's good to see you!" She wore a Healer's green robes as though she'd been born in them. She squeezed his arm in greeting before turning to address the old man. "Master Torohanga," she said respectfully, "this is Harry Potter, my pakeha tohunga of whom we've spoken. Harry, this is Moihi Te Matorohanga, Headmaster of Te Whare Wananga."

Te Matorohanga bowed his head in greeting. The Headmaster's age and white hair might have been the only things he had in common with Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. His dark eyes didn't twinkle at Harry... they seemed to measure him. Where Dumbledore was often whimsical, Harry sensed this man to be more reserved. But when he extended his hand to Harry and gravely said, "Welcome to Te Whare Wananga, Mr. Potter," Harry felt a flicker of magical power also extend... touching Harry gently, reading his aura.

Otimi's attempts to define the Maori word tohunga came back to Harry. He understood now why Otimi said it was difficult to translate. The true meaning of the word was intangible, hard to put in concrete terms. Yet now that Harry was here, he understood perfectly:

Rewa Otimi was a Maori wizard. Moihi Te Matorohanga was a tohunga.

Meanwhile, the Headmaster was addressing Otimi. "I have the wand in one of our study rooms - it's quite extraordinary. If you'll come with me, I can show you what I mean... Ah." His gaze lifted as he looked down the corridor. "More visitors? We're fortunate today..."

Turning, Harry saw Hermione, Ginny and Ron coming to meet them. "These are friends of mine," he explained. "They've been using your library for the last few days... Hey guys," he added as the three joined them. "This is the Headmaster, Te um..." He faltered momentarily, certain he was going to mangle the name.

"Te Matorohanga," supplied Margaret, amused. "It takes practice. Don't worry, she'll be right." As she squeezed his arm again in reassurance, Harry realized that she'd never let go of it.

"Te Matorohanga," he said, and to his credit he pronounced it correctly. "Sir, these are Ginny, Ron and Hermione... Ginny, this is Dr. Pohuhu, who treated me when I showed up in Christchurch last month. And Ron, Hermione, you remember her...?"

"Yes indeed," smiled Hermione graciously, extending her hand to Margaret. Margaret had to release Harry's arm to shake hands with her. "We can't thank you enough for helping Harry when he was hurt. You restored him to us, and we're grateful." Harry thought her words sounded a bit stilted, but it was an unusual situation, after all.

"Margaret," the Headmaster said gently, and all eyes turned to him. "The wound-cleaning potion will be ready soon. Will you watch it for me? It will turn a clear purple - the moment it does, please take it off the fire and cover it, then come find me. Don't let it turn black, or we must begin again."

She nodded acquiescence and, with a final smile for the Trio-plus, went back into the Infirmary. Te Matorohanga turned to Ron. "Since you are here on Mr. Potter's behalf, you might wish to come with us now. I would be honored if you can spare a few minutes from your researches."

Otimi looked as though, if the Headmaster had been anyone else, he would have argued against the invitation - forcibly. In the end, all he said was, "Master Torohanga, is this wise?"

"My grandfather said to be sure and include all our visitors in our discussion," said Te Matorohanga, as though that explained everything. He started down the corridor, and after a moment Otimi, Harry, and the others followed.

"Was that the doctor we came here to help?" Ginny whispered to Hermione. "I was expecting a doctor to be... well, older than that..." Harry pretended not to hear.

They were ushered into a room whose walls were lined with glass display cases. The Headmaster opened one of these as everyone else took their seats around a table. He brought back to the table four or five small human figurines, such as Harry had seen in the crafts shop -- "Hei tiki," he volunteered.

"Indeed they are, Mr. Potter. Each of these hei tiki is some three centuries old. Can you see anything unusual about any of them?"

Harry looked carefully. The figures were Maori representations of people. They were all carved of an opaque green mineral; the edges of the carvings were well worn with age. They were all about the same size, and they all had cords attached for use as necklaces. He couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

Hermione picked one up and examined it more closely. "Jade?" she asked.

"Technically, a variety of jade known as nephrite," said the Headmaster. "We commonly refer to the material simply as greenstone." At his gesture of invitation, everyone at the table picked up one of the figures. "None of you can see anything? Feel anything? Unsurprising... neither can I."

Placing a sheet of parchment on the table, he added, "But each of you, try using your hei tiki as though it were a wand. One at a time, try to levitate this parchment."

Feeling a bit foolish, Harry tried to swish and flick his hei tiki. "Wingardium Leviosa," he muttered. Nothing happened. Likewise, nothing happened when Ron tried, or when Hermione tried. When Ginny tried, however, the parchment began to slowly drift towards the ceiling.

"Ah, thank you. Forgive me, but the demonstration was necessary." Te Matorohanga settled himself into a chair. "As is the fact that I must lecture for a bit. Forgive me again." He plucked the parchment from mid-air and set it back down on the table. He considered for a moment, his dark eyes looking deep inward, before he began to speak.

"When the ancestors of the Maori came to these islands in the time before time, they had no expectations of what they would find here. They found many new plants and animals - including some wondrous magical ones - but above all, they found greenstone. Carvable, beautiful and useful. Over the years, my people discovered that weapons of greenstone were more fearsome, that amulets of greenstone more protective. They had learned of greenstone's magic.

"But as it turned out, the magic wasn't uniform. Some greenstone was magical, but most was not. Most of it was simple jade - still beautiful, still useful, but not magical. There's no way of telling the magical stone from the non-magical... except by trying it as you did." The Headmaster gestured at Ginny, who still held her hei tiki. She set it on the table as he continued, "In time, those of us who were wizards spoke of ordinary greenstone and the true greenstone... what we call pounamu." He smiled wryly. "Muggles know nothing of this, of course... to them, there's only greenstone."

"And it's rare," offered Otimi. "We have some greenstone artifacts on display at the Ministry, and most of them are ordinary greenstone. Only one is true greenstone."

"Yes. Of our own collection of hei tiki, only the one you held," and he nodded at Ginny, "was pounamu. There have only been the odd finds of pounamu - no source was ever found - and it became rarer and rarer. Eventually, it was thought that all the pounamu had been depleted. I didn't believe there existed a single artifact of the true greenstone that's less than a hundred years old." The Headmaster turned away from the table and picked up something from the nearby display case. "Until I was brought this."

It was the small wooden wand Taine Umaga had used to attack Harry and Ginny. Te Matorohanga handed it to Harry, who took it gingerly. "I don't feel anything unusual," he said after a moment.

"You don't feel anything unusual when you handle another wizard's wand," the Headmaster pointed out. "But you can still use it. Look again, look carefully..."

Harry did, and drew in a breath. The lizard's eye was a tiny transparent green gem, barely larger than a pinhead. "True greenstone?" he asked, handing the wand to Hermione.

"Purified greenstone! Pure pounamu! A transparent crystal, rather than an opaque mass like that." The Headmaster gestured at Ginny's hei tiki. "Don't you see? I never realized it before, but what we've called the true greenstone must be a mixture of jade and this pure crystalline form! We've lived on Aotearoa for centuries, and we've never seen this - never known about the pure pounamu. I am ashamed." He shook his head in frustration - he seemed to take the discovery as a personal affront.

Hermione had handed the wand to Ron, who'd looked it over and handed it to Ginny. Experimentally she swished and flicked the wand at the parchment on the table. "Wingardium Leviosa," she said.

The entire table zoomed upwards and crashed into the ceiling, where it split into two pieces. The halves of the table rushed back downwards, threatening to smash the glass display cases. Everyone dove to the floor trying to avoid the impact - everyone but Harry, who reflexively rolled to one side and quickly stood with his wand at the ready. "Impedimenta!" he cried, and the table parts froze in mid-air.

Fast on his heels, Hermione had her own wand out. "Mobilimensa!" Under her guidance the table halves returned quietly to the floor, where a Reparo charm reassembled the pieces again.

"Thank you," said Te Matorohanga. He climbed to his feet and delicately took the wand from Ginny's hand. "You see the importance of this little lizard, now? It amplifies and focuses magic to a far higher degree than the cores of our wands. It allowed a minor practitioner to cast the spells of a Master Wizard. Your simple spell, calibrated for a piece of parchment, was enough to raise and damage the whole table." He raised the wand. "How many more wands like this exist? Rewa?"

Otimi was too staggered to answer immediately. "I don't know," he finally admitted, "but I will."

The door to the study room opened and Margaret Pohuhu entered. "Headmaster, the potion...?" She looked around the room in surprise; although the table had been repaired, the furniture and display cases were covered in dust and debris from the broken ceiling. The floor was littered with items, including Otimi, Ron and Ginny.

"It is purple? Very good, I'll come. If you'll all excuse me?" The Headmaster left the room.

Margaret lingered a moment, surveying the debris. "So... did you have an accident in here?"

"Um. Yeah. We got a little carried away with our magic," said Ron awkwardly. "It happens."

"Mmm." She looked at him skeptically for a moment, then knelt on the floor and began to pick up the pieces. "Let me help you clean up..."

The rest of them, abashed, began to help her clean. Ginny used her wand to remove the dust from the cases; Ron caused the bits of ceiling tile to return to their places. Margaret continued, "I've heard stories about students getting 'carried away' with their magic - the Infirmarian was very graphic in her descriptions. Whoa, that's odd..."

She held one of the fallen hei tiki in her hand and was regarding it with a puzzled expression. She juggled it in her fingers, as though it were warm to the touch. "What's wrong?" Ron asked.

"It feels... tingly. Very strange." Margaret set it atop the table and continued to pick up objects from the floor by hand.

Harry quickly looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. Everyone had. Without prompting, Margaret had detected the true greenstone tiki.