Restitution

"Restitution"

by Paracelsus

Chapter 11: Omens and Portents

Harry's morning was discouraging, to say the least.

He'd gone to Cassiopeia Tucker promptly after breakfast, to request access to New Zealand's Beam records. He'd been afraid he would have to explain in detail why he wanted them... but to his surprise, the Minister granted permission readily, no questions asked. It was a pleasant surprise, to be sure. It was also the last time that morning things had gone right.

He'd headed to the Department of Magical Transportation. There he was told that the Beam records were kept at the Apparition Point, not at the Ministry of Magic.

He'd Apparated to New Zealand's Apparition Point. As it turned out, there was just the one: It was located on a tiny island in Cook Strait, within sight of Wellington. There he was told that the Beam records were stored in several locations in the facility, depending on how recent they were.

He'd visited three separate locations, for Beam records up to a month old, a year old, and two years old. Each time, he'd written the surnames of every known Death Eater (after his years as an Auror, he knew them by heart) in fiery letters in mid-air, then sent them through the records with a Quaero spell. It was quite a list of names - he was determined not to miss anything.

And in the end, he'd come up empty.

Feeling a bit depressed, Harry decided to Apparate back to the Rose Cottage and rest before returning to the Ministry of Magic - and thence into the world of Muggle government bureaucracy. He was mildly surprised to find Ron in the parlor, playing wizard's chess with a thin elderly man in a turban. Harry remembered seeing the man at breakfast... another of the inn's guests, he supposed.

As Harry watched, Ron moved a knight, simultaneously opening a discovered check by his bishop and attacking his opponent's rook. "Check," he said.

The turbaned man tipped his king, which sulked and left the board. "I concede," he said smiling. "An excellent game, young man... thank you." He stood and noticed Harry standing close by. "Sir," he nodded courteously to Harry, and addressed Ron again. "Perhaps another game later?"

"I'd like that," said Ron, likewise standing and shaking the man's hand.

As the turbaned man headed up the stairs, Ron and Harry sat down again. "Glad to see you found a fellow chess player to occupy your time," remarked Harry. "Where are the girls?"

"Gone to Whare Wananga again. Ginny's still going through the library - I don't know why, haven't they already found what we wanted? - and Hermione's helping your doctor friend with her Potions again." Ron began to gather the pieces and reset the board. "She's nice. I wasn't sure I'd like her, but she's a nice person."

"That she is." Harry caught a stray pawn that was trying to sneak away from the board, and set it in its place firmly.

"Not bad looking, either..."

Harry glanced at his friend. Ron was bent over the chessboard, setting the pieces in place, but Harry could see the tips of his ears turning red. "Ron," he said slowly, "are you angling for an introduction? I didn't realize you fancied her..."

Ron looked up at Harry. "Huh? I thought..."

"You might want to wait until she's been cleared of these murder charges," Harry continued blandly. "All that emotional stress, after all - bad time to begin a relationship. But I'd be happy to act as a go-between... lunch, dinner, whatever you'd like." He smiled benignly. "I won't even tell Luna."

"Luna and I are just..." began Ron automatically, then caught himself. "Never mind," he said after a moment, his face scarlet. "No, uh... no, you don't need to set me up with Dr. Pohuhu. I wasn't trying to... I mean, that is, never mind."

Harry shrugged. "Whatever."

Ron seemed to decide a change of topic was in order. "So did you find anything in the Beam records?"

"Not a bloody thing. I couldn't find any names of any Death Eaters in any records for the past two years." Harry sighed and slumped in his seat. "Kind of kills my theory, doesn't it? And the alternative explanations..." He shook his head morosely.

"Like what?" prompted Ron.

"Like: Potion Evanescence was discovered independently in Britain and New Zealand. Which means our murderers have no connection to Death Eaters... and we're back to square one. Or: It was discovered in New Zealand and brought to Britain, rather than the other way around. Taught to Voldemort's crew by some local genius. Too many names to search in that case... we'd never find who we're looking for that way."

They fell silent for a moment as two more of the Cottage's guests came down the stairs, glanced quickly at them, and continued out the front door. "Or," suggested Ron once they were alone again, "there's no such thing as Potion Evanescence, so no reason to think Death Eaters came here. It's only Hermione's theory, after all."

"No, that one I'm sure of. It feels right, Ron. And we'll know for certain, once we hear from Lavender's Healer... and once Otimi reexamines the victims' bodies."

Ron finished setting up the chessboard and glanced at Harry. "Time for a game?" he invited. "It might clear your head..."

"Spot me both rooks?"

"Are you crazy?" Ron did his best to look affronted. "If I did that, I'd have to work to beat you!"

"My friend, the chess hustler." Harry grinned and stood. "Make yourself useful this afternoon and find us a place to eat dinner tonight. I'm going back to the Ministry."

*

It felt odd to be coaching someone in Potions again after four years, Hermione reflected. Odder yet to be coaching someone like Dr. Pohuhu, who combined flashes of amazing brilliance with moments of ineptitude worthy of Neville Longbottom.

The doctor had persisted in thinking of Potions in terms of chemistry or pharmacology... mixtures of physical ingredients, combined under specified conditions, and nothing more. It had taken her a while to understand that Potions were a form of magic - that, for example, the concentration paid while stirring was one of the potion ingredients.

They'd made a discovery this morning, though. If once Dr. Pohuhu could handle a sample of a particular potion - Pepper-up Potion, in this instance - she could thereafter prepare new batches of that potion almost effortlessly. It wasn't that she always knew what steps to follow... but she could tell instinctively when she was about to do something wrong.

"It must be the sensitivity in my hands," Dr. Pohuhu told Hermione as she added the powdered ginseng root to the cauldron. "I can feel when the magic is going in the right direction, and when it isn't."

"Once you know what your final product is supposed to 'feel' like," Hermione noted.

"Mm hmm. I suppose this means I can't do any potion for the first time." The doctor watched the Pepper-up Potion simmer for a moment. "On the other hand, the potions I'd need for medical use are a small fraction of the total possible formulas, I suspect."

"So you're thinking to collect samples of each of them and memorize their 'feel'? Madam Maxwell could help you with that," said Hermione, referring to the school's Infirmarian. "She should be back at school by the beginning of term, surely." She glanced at the cauldron. "It's about ready for the..."

"Salamander scales, right." Dr. Pohuhu sprinkled the scales into the potion and stirred with care. Together, she and Hermione smiled as the Potion turned a flame-red color. "Textbook," she said happily. "Thank you, Hermione, I can't tell you how much this has helped me."

"Glad to help, doctor." And truthfully, Hermione was glad to help. Almost despite herself, she'd come to admire Dr. Pohuhu... so determined to understand and master this new, wondrous power she'd been granted - not for her own benefit, but for her patients.

"Oh please, call me Margaret," Dr. Pohuhu replied. "Otherwise, I'll have to start calling you... well, do you prefer Ms. Granger or Mrs. Potter?" Her smile held only the barest hint of irony.

Hermione sternly told herself she wasn't going to blush... for all the good it did. "I, yes, well... I, um, I suppose I should explain about that. When I first met you, I was, um, trying to get into the hospital to see Harry... and you'd only let, um, family members in to see him, so I, um..." Mortified - and not quite sure why - she found herself fumbling to a halt, unable to continue.

Margaret watched in amusement for a moment before letting Hermione off the hook. "So you claimed to be his wife, and used your magic to provide the proof," she finished. "I guessed as much at lunch yesterday. Nice trick with the passport, I must say... do you still have it?"

Hermione nodded and fished it from her pocket. Margaret took it from her and flipped it open, reading the altered name and contact information. "As I recall, it only took you about five seconds to make this change. Versatile thing, your magic."

"It does have its uses," Hermione said, and couldn't help grinning with relief.

She lost her grin as Margaret continued, "So you're not really married to him, then?"

"Er, um... no." Hermione cleared her throat noisily. "No, Harry and I are very good friends... it's steaming," she added, nodding at the cauldron.

"Oh. Right." Margaret moved the cauldron off the fire and gave its contents one final stir. "How long have you known him?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the potion.

"We first met... let's see, just before my eleventh birthday. My goodness, I've known him for nearly half my life..." Hermione was now sure that Margaret was going to ask her all about Harry... about his likes and dislikes, his habits and history... all the questions she'd been asked so many times over the years by hopeful young witches.

"He really hates admitting when he's sick, doesn't he?"

Hermione blinked. That wasn't a question she was usually asked. "He certainly does. It probably comes of his having been in hospital so frequently. When we were at school, we used to joke about mounting his name plate on one of the hospital beds. And being an Auror isn't exactly a safe career... he's never told me how often he's been injured in the line of duty, but I know it's happened."

Margaret nodded thoughtfully, as if trying to reach a decision. "When I greeted him yesterday," she said slowly, "I caught hold of his arm for a moment... and I could sense..." The sentence faded in mid-word. Margaret glanced at Hermione speculatively, as if waiting...

It came to Hermione that Margaret was - without overtly asking - making the most discreet of inquiries. If Hermione weren't already aware of the state of Harry's health, Margaret would say nothing more.

"You could sense his anemia?" she quietly completed the sentence. "Yes, I know about it."

"Ah," nodded Margaret. "Then yes, I could sense it when I touched him. And at this point in my training, touching someone and knowing they were ill should be enough for my healing magic to begin. But not with Harry. I suppose..." She considered for a second. "I suppose I ought to've expected it. When he was in Christchurch Hospital, he suffered the same blood loss - but my magic couldn't touch it then, even though it healed his burns."

"Are you saying your magic still can't touch it?" Hermione asked, beginning to be alarmed.

"Not yet. Maybe with more training, as I learn what I can do... focus the power... but not yet." Margaret leaned forward to speak in a low voice... Hermione did likewise to listen. "It's as though... It felt almost as though his blood was vanishing as quickly as his body could produce it. Like a... a fire inside him was burning it away."

Hermione's eyes grew wide with shock. Oh no, she thought, choking down her dread, oh no no no... It's happening. It mustn't happen - it has to be reversed somehow! There has to be a way...

Her voice felt as though it belonged to someone else when she replied... she was amazed at how calm, how steady, how rational it sounded. "But as long as he keeps taking his Blood Replenishing Potion, his body will maintain itself, won't it?"

"I would suppose so... it would be like thyroxine supplements for a patient with a defective thyroid gland. As long as a balance can be maintained..." Margaret sighed and leaned back. "But it's... it'd be better if we could convince Harry to deal with the root cause, rather than treating the symptoms."

"I agree. Oh, how I agree." A small, shaky laugh escaped Hermione as she struggled to regain some composure.

"We can make it right," said Margaret, leaning forward again. She seemed slightly anxious at Hermione's distress. "Talk to him - he listens to you if no one else."

She shook her head in frustration. "We've already butted heads on this, a little. It's hard to compel Harry to do anything... it only makes him more stubborn."

"Er, yes, I've noticed that... I went toe-to-toe with him myself yesterday." Margaret considered. "Gentle pressure, perhaps... rather than a direct confrontation?"

The observation gave Hermione pause. Gentle, steady pressure... yes, that had been exactly how she'd convinced Harry to start the D.A. in their fifth year - as opposed to her other attempts to sway Harry that year, all of which were pushier and all of which failed. Trust a newcomer to see what she herself had never noticed.

The 'newcomer' is Harry's concerned friend, she reminded herself firmly, and I should start treating her that way.

"I'll see what I can do," she said. "Thank you for telling me..." She shot Margaret a suddenly suspicious glance. "Should you be telling me this?"

Margaret kept her voice factual, but her twinkling eyes gave her away. "Patient confidentiality is important, but it only goes so far. It's always been understood that some things aren't secret between family members. Spouses, for instance..." She held up the passport and added, "As listed herein."

She tossed the passport back to a red-faced Hermione. "And if anyone ever asks," she finished, "you didn't hear this from me, all right?"

"Whatever you say." Hermione would have willingly agreed to anything at that point. She was simply thankful that Margaret, whatever else she might be, was an ally in her efforts to Keep Harry Safe.

*

When he'd faced Lord Voldemort at Druid's Dolmen, Harry had expected to sacrifice everything - literally everything. He'd never expected to miss anything... he'd expected to be dead. Now for the first time he found himself missing one item in particular: his invisibility cloak. Disillusionment Charms were useful in their way, but they didn't conceal nearly as well.

Still, as he left the Ministry of Magic through its visitors' entrance and made his foray into the Muggle civil service of New Zealand, Harry was very glad to have even that much. Disillusionment allowed him to slip along the corridors unnoticed, blending in perfectly with the wall.

Sigurdson's dossier had included his room number in the Beehive, the dome-shaped office building adjacent to Government House in Wellington. Harry felt sure that by this time, three weeks after his death, someone would have cleared out Sigurdson's desk and taken it over - so searching it now would probably be futile. There were, however, other ways for Harry to learn what he wanted to know.

He arrived at Sigurdson's desk to find a beefy red-faced man sitting there. He had papers strewn haphazardly about the desk and a cup of tea next to him. Harry stood near the desk, magically camouflaged, and waited for the man to make a phone call. When he did, Harry reached into his belt pouch and brought out a small vial of colorless fluid. He felt uneasy about using it here... slightly guilty... but he firmly told himself time was of the essence.

He tipped two drops of Veritaserum into the man's tea while he talked. As soon as he'd hung up the phone, he took a thirsty gulp from his teacup - as Harry anticipated he would. Harry gave the Veritaserum a moment to take effect, then leaned near the man's ear. "Was this Eric Sigurdson's desk?" he asked very quietly. Harry liked to start any grilling with questions to which Harry already knew the answers.

"Yes," said the beefy man to the empty air. His eyes had the glazed look typical of Veritaserum's effects.

"When and how did he die?" Harry continued.

"He died of a heart attack three weeks ago."

Heart attack - good cover story, that. "Who was he working for?"

"Crown Minerals."

Harry paused. That wasn't the answer he'd expected. "Not the Ministry of Economic Development?"

"Crown Minerals is a division of the M.E.D."

Oh bleeding hell, this is it! Harry strove to keep his voice low and calm. "What exactly does Crown Minerals do?"

"Regulates mining, quarrying, and extraction. Works with environmental groups to minimize impact. Issues permits for..."

"Stop. What was Sigurdson working on just before he died?"

"Reviewing permit histories."

Hmm? That doesn't sound like something that would get him killed. "Where are his files?"

"Storage cupboard. Boxes marked E.M.S."

"Great. Um, thank you," said Harry. "Sorry for the inconvenience." The man wouldn't remember it, but Harry felt he was owed thanks and apologies nonetheless. He raised his wand. "Obliviate. Stupefy."

He caught the beefy man's body before his head banged against the desk. Furtively Harry drained the potion-doped tea into a nearby potted plant and left the man snoring... when he awoke, the small dose of Veritaserum would have worn off and he'd only remember drowsing after a heavy lunch. In the meantime, Harry went off in search of the storage cupboard.

*

"On the one hand, Sigurdson worked in a department that dealt with mining and geology," Harry reported that evening. "On the other hand, I did a quick Quaero of his working files and didn't find any mention of greenstone or pounamu."

They were sitting in a Japanese restaurant in Courtenay Place, daring one another to try new varieties of sushi. True to their discussion earlier, Ron had chosen the venue. His choice had surprised the girls; Harry had simply shrugged. (He knew Ron well enough to understand the appeal of watching others eat raw fish. Nor had it escaped his notice that Ron had ordered the teriyaki beef.)

"He might have been researching it on his own time, I suppose, and enlisted Lacroix's help," suggested Ginny thoughtfully.

"What exactly did the files say, Harry?" Hermione inquired.

"I didn't have time to look at them very closely," Harry admitted. "I only did the Quaero. I used Pinxio to make copies of some of the more recent files... I brought them back with me. I thought maybe I might look them over in more detail tonight."

"Instead of sleeping?" asked Hermione, mildly enough.

"It's got to be done," he shrugged. She didn't reply... somehow, Harry had expected her to put up more of a fuss. A minute went by, and she still didn't reply... and he began to feel guilty for some obscure reason. "If you like," he added, "you can take some of the files yourself. If we both look at them, it'll go twice as fast."

She smiled and nodded acceptance. Harry turned his attention to his meal. "You can't tell me that's fish," he muttered.

"Roe," corrected Ginny in the tones of an experienced sushi diner. "Fish eggs." She put her own sushi in her mouth, chewed and swallowed, and gave Harry a satisfied smile - which might as well have been a gauntlet thrown at his feet.

With enough soy and wasabi, Harry reminded himself, it all tastes the same. He dipped it in the sauce, closed his eyes, and choked it down quickly before the taste had a chance to pollute his mouth.

Ginny's superior air was fast becoming insufferable. "Considering some of the truly disgusting things they put in everyday potions," she said, "a little sushi isn't going to hurt you."

"Oh, and speaking of potions," said Hermione quickly, forestalling Harry's reply, "we've been invited to dine with Dr. Pohuhu and her grandmother at Whare Wananga tomorrow." She took a bite of pickled ginger. "They've gotten into a habit of eating together on Thursdays, you see, and Margaret didn't want her studies to interfere with that. I imagine someone in the Ministry'll be providing a Portkey."

"I've no objections," said Harry. "And I rather think you'll enjoy meeting Nana." He glanced at Ron, expecting a response, but Ron was staring at his food distractedly. It came to him that Ron had said little throughout dinner. "Ron? You're very quiet..."

Ron started and focused again on his table companions. "Oh. Sorry, I was thinking about chess."

"Ah yes." Harry turned to Ginny. "Did you know your brother has spent the day hustling chess in the parlor? It's uncanny. First he ropes them in, then..."

"Knight's Tour," interrupted Ron, snapping his fingers. "It's like a Knight's Tour."

"What's like a Knight's Tour?"

"We were talking earlier today about the New Zealand Beam records... how you couldn't find any names there. Names of Death Eaters," he added in an aside to Ginny and Hermione. "But there's a possibility we didn't consider. What if Death Eaters came to New Zealand without using the local Apparition Point?"

"You think Ginny's wrong, then?" asked Hermione. "That Death Eaters would travel on Muggle airplanes or boats?" Ginny gave Ron a scornful look.

"No. But if they were skilled enough Apparators... if they knew exactly where they were going... they might've bypassed the local Apparition Point and gone straight to their destination."

"Bypass the Apparition Point?" snorted Ginny. "Ron, wouldn't that sort of defeat the whole purpose of the Beam? Without precise Apparition coordinates, the chances of splinching..."

"Not bypass all the Points on the Beam... just the last one, the local New Zealand Point. They could've taken the Beam to the next-to-the-last Point, then Apparated straight to their destination. It wouldn't be that much farther than jumping to the local Point."

"Um... I suppose..." said Harry slowly. "But... if they did, we're still out of luck. I mean, if they didn't use the local Point, we'll never be able to track them. How many possible routes could you take on the Beam between England and here, after all? We could never check all the Beam records. And if they used other countries' Apparition networks, it gets even worse."

Ron began to dig through his pockets. "And that's where the Knight's Tour comes in. You remember when I told you about it? Aha!" He drew from his pocket the electronic chess game Harry had given him. With a few practiced touches, he brought up a chessboard display with a single knight near its center. "You have to find a path that takes the knight to every square of the board, without landing on any square twice. From here, there are eight possible moves." The knight moved to another square. "From any of those eight moves, there are seven more moves... and so on. A huge number of possible paths... and the challenge is to find the right one.

"But..." He cleared the display and set the knight near a corner of the board. "Once the knight lands here, at b3, it has to go into the corner square at a1 - and then it has to go to c2. It's a forced move, Harry, a sort of bottleneck - see? No matter how the knight got to this point, it has to go through these two next."

Harry watched in puzzlement. "I see that, Ron, but..."

"There are scores of Apparition Points on the Beam between England and here," Ron went on, "hundreds of routes an Apparator could take. But they all have to go through one Apparition Point to end up here." Ron grinned triumphantly. "Sydney, Australia. That's where the Beam records need to be checked, Harry! They had to go through the Sydney Point to get here, even if they bypassed the New Zealand Point!"

Slowly, the three others began to match Ron's triumphant smile. "Well done, Ron!" said Hermione in impressed tones. Ginny leaned over and gave her brother a proud kiss on the cheek.

Harry's smile faded abruptly. "Blast! Minister Tucker can't grant me access to Australian Beam records. We'll have to request them through official channels, get proper authorization... it'll take weeks at best."

"Not to mention we really don't want anyone in the Ministry to know we're interested in Beam records," Ginny reminded him. She was now as grim as, moments before, she'd been elated.

"That, too." Unconsciously Harry touched his left wrist and felt the reassuring presence of his anti-Clairvoyancy bracelet. Constant vigilance... He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Maybe... maybe I can go there and talk them into letting me see the records without an official order... flash my Auror's badge at them..."

Hermione couldn't stop herself from saying, "Harry... I thought you weren't strong enough yet to Apparate internationally."

He gave her the same answer as before, in duller tones: "It's got to be done." And as before, she didn't reply... but the misery in her face this time was eloquent.

Ron watched them for a moment, then said, "Y'know, I'm not doing anything right now. I could pop over to Sydney for you. I know where the Apparition Point is, after all... we brought you home that way last month. You'll have to show me your trick for searching the records, of course..."

Harry managed a tired smile. "Thanks, Ron, but we still don't have permission to go through their records... and Tucker still can't give orders to Australian officials."

"I thought I'd chat up that cute little welcome witch. You remember her, don't you Harry? I'm pretty sure she'd remember us. Maybe I can persuade her to let me look through the records." Ron shrugged. "What've we got to lose?"

"Quite a bit, depending on how 'persuasive' you try to be." Harry fixed his friend with a hard stare. "Of course you know, as an Auror, I could never condone bribery or coercion, or even creating a diversion and sneaking into the records room..."

"Good thing you're not an active Auror then, isn't it?"

Hermione intervened. "And we're under time pressure, as you said yourself... it's the best solution, Harry."

Harry sighed. "Fine. Fine, I'll write down the names you should search for... and you can use the famous Weasley charm to get into the Beam records. And if you're planning on using anything else, try not to get caught, okay?"

*

An afternoon dinner, Harry reflected as he prepared to leave his room at the Rose Cottage on Thursday. I reckon Nana's like a lot of elderly folk, eats dinner early, goes to bed early... He wasn't sure how he'd spend the rest of his evening, but his own bed was starting to look inviting.

He quickly checked the carefully sorted vials on the dresser and placed them one by one into his belt pouch. Two vials of Blood Replenishing Potion, a dose of Invigoration Draught, Veritaserum, other assorted potions and powders... Harry didn't know if he'd need them all tonight, but it wasn't as though the Carryall Charm couldn't handle them.

Satisfied, he gave one final tug to his robe collar and left his room. Walking down the stairs into the parlor, he was surprised to see Charlie Weasley at the front desk chatting with Mrs. Li, the landlady. "No sir, I'm sorry. The Rose Cottage is full this week," she was saying as Harry approached.

"Hi, Charlie... Mrs. Li," he greeted them. "Is your spare Portkey still available, ma'am?" He handed her a sealed roll of parchment, addressed to Ron.

"Going to Te Whare again? We should see about getting you your own Portkey," Berenger Li smiled. "Back in a moment." Note in hand, she disappeared into a back room. Harry turned to Charlie. "What brings you out of your den?" he asked.

"I was hoping you could tell me," said Charlie. "Got an invitation this morning from the Headmaster of, uh, Whare Wananga - did I say that right? - asking me to dinner this afternoon. I thought I'd hitch a ride with one of you." He smiled. "Everyone else seems to've already gone, so I reckon I'm stuck with you."

"An invitation?" murmured Harry. "The Headmaster must want you to meet Dr. Pohuhu... I wonder why..."

"Pohuhu?" said Charlie sharply. His smile had vanished, his expression gone dark... almost angry. "Isn't she the one who was arrested for murdering Roark Haldane...?"

"She's the one who was falsely accused of murdering Roark Haldane - yes," Harry replied icily. "The Enforcers are looking for the true murderers right now." He glared coldly at Charlie, who pinched his lips together and looked away.

"Here we are," said Mrs. Li, reappearing with a silver teaspoon. "You're lucky third term doesn't start until next week - otherwise I couldn't spare this." She cast a level glance at Charlie and Harry, as though sensing the frost in the air between them. "You'll leave it here at the front desk when you return, eh?"

Harry nodded his thanks as he accepted the teaspoon. "Shall we?" he asked Charlie with an attempt at lightness. Charlie scowled back at him. "Will you at least give us a chance to convince you?" Harry added softly. "You're not going to do a Percy on me, are you?"

Charlie rubbed his nose and sighed, looking chastised and a bit embarrassed. Together they held the teaspoon as Harry said, "Nunc portus," activating the Portkey.

He felt the familiar tug from behind his navel as the Portkey whisked them to Whare Wananga. Seconds later, they arrived in the courtyard in front of the whare whakairo, a bit dizzy but none the worse for wear.

"This way," he told Charlie, who was looking around the courtyard at the carvings on the buildings. They entered the hall and were nearly bowled over by a running student, who barely spared a second to apologize before bolting away. Looking around, he saw three or four students - along with a delightedly laughing Ginny- all running around the room in random directions, occasionally jumping up, trying to catch...

"Ah," said Charlie with a grin, pointing upwards. Harry spotted a glint of gold streaking up to the rafters, hovering for a second, and flitting down again. Charlie immediately went over to Ginny to offer his assistance. Harry considered, then walked to the tables to meet Hermione and Margaret. They were watching the running students with remarkably similar expressions, a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

"Cleaning their Quidditch gear!" snapped Hermione as Harry approached. "It accidentally got loose! Oh Merlin, and we're trying to prepare the hall for dinner..."

"Is this part of that great wizarding game all of you rave about?" Margaret asked skeptically. There was a burst of laughter from behind Harry... he heard a tiny flutter of wings, growing louder...

"It's called the Golden Snitch, and yes, it's part of Quidditch," said Harry easily. "They shouldn't have let it loose indoors, of course. Once it's been released, it's something of a..." Without looking away from Margaret and Hermione, his hand suddenly darted out and was back at his side almost faster than the eye could follow. "...challenge to catch," he finished without skipping a syllable.

Behind him, he could hear sudden cries of "Hey! Where'd it go?" "Did it get outside?" "Can you see it... wait, that's not it..."

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "Harry," she said with a severity that didn't last to the end of the sentence, "you are showing off."

He blinked innocently. "Now why would I do that?" Harry turned as Charlie and Ginny - like him, once Seekers for Gryffindor - trotted up with Ngaire. His saintly expression and casual air didn't quite say "You ham-handed trolls couldn't catch a turnip if it was nailed to the floor," but they came close.

With a slight bow, Harry offered Ngaire the captured Snitch. "I believe this is yours. Please tell me you're handling the Bludgers with more caution, Miss..."

"Naivalurua," she said as she took the Snitch from Harry's hand.

"Um... I'd better stick with Ngaire."

Ngaire laughed. "Y'know, we're trying to get together a game later... it'd be really awesome if you could join us! You could borrow one of our brooms... Please?"

It was very odd - Harry was quite sure he could feel three sets of brown eyes drilling into his back like so many little lasers. He gave Ngaire an apologetic smile. "I'm feeling a bit under the weather today... I'm sorry. Another time."

Ngaire smiled and nodded, then ran to rejoin her friends. Harry turned to face the collective glare of Ginny, Hermione and Margaret. "I'm being good," he protested.

"Only under duress," snorted Hermione.

"That counts."

"You should've let him play a game with them," put in Charlie with an evil smile. "That way they'd learn that being Harry Potter's no big deal..."

"Need I remind you," Harry said airily, "that we're in New Zealand? She's got no idea who I am. Nobody down here's even heard of Harry Potter..."

A sudden loud "Squeeeeeee!" drew their attention to the students at the door of the hall. They were jabbering excitedly, nearly bouncing with glee, as they huddled around Ngaire - who was holding the Golden Snitch as if it were a holy relic. Harry couldn't suppress a groan as he watched.

"Gee, Mr. Potter," said Ginny in a little-girl voice, all wide-eyed and worshipful, "can you come out and play with me? Can I have something you've personally touched? Would you please call me by my first name? Pleeeeeease?" She clasped her hands beseechingly and batted her eyelids at him.

"Sod off," grumbled Harry.

*

Sitting around the table at dinner, it was evident - maybe inevitable - that the party would coalesce into smaller groups. In this case, the grouping was by age. Te Matorohanga and Nana, by far the eldest of the party, were at one end of the table, in fierce debate over something that they'd done together half a century ago. Ginny, Harry and Hermione were at the other end of the table, with Hermione and Ginny taking turns ribbing Harry for some imaginary offense.

This left Margaret at the center of the table, sitting across from a wizard her own age... a man who, by all accounts, was following in her father's footsteps.

And a man who, by his expression, didn't like her very much.

After enduring several minutes of stony silence, Margaret tried to start a conversation. "So where is your brother tonight?"

He raised his eyebrows. "My brother?" he asked coolly.

"Ron. I assume you're related to him and Ginny." She gestured with her fork. "The hair is a dead giveaway. And I'm a little surprised he's not here today... lately he's been here at the school quite a bit." And he didn't find anything wrong with me, she added silently.

He flushed slightly. "Dunno where Ron is... probably out on some mission."

"Helping Harry?" Helping him to help me?

"Probably." He gave a repentant half-smile, as though he'd heard her thought, and extended a callused hand across the table. "Do you mind if we start over? Charlie Weasley."

"Margaret Pohuhu," she said, taking his hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"Oh, we've met before - though you might not remember me." At her puzzled look, he continued, "Awamotu? The day you visited Roark Haldane? I was..."

"I do remember now! You were teaching Roark a... a charm of some sort to use on Duchess!" She stopped, suddenly somber as memories of that day - and its aftermath - came back to her. "I'm very sorry about Roark," she said after a moment.

Her regret was unmistakable. "Me too," said Charlie in a low voice. They continued their meal in silence - a more companionable silence than the earlier one.

"Margaret!" Nana's autocratic voice echoed from the end of the table. "What is this story Moihi tells me, child?"

"I don't know, Nana," said Margaret patiently. "What did the Headmaster tell you?"

"This story about pounamu. He says your hands can sense it as though it were alive!"

She hadn't considered that interpretation, but... "No, it isn't exactly the same as mauri, Nana... but I can sense it. I can show you, if you like... Master Torohanga, do you have a sample of greenstone at hand?"

"Yes indeed," he replied, and drew from his pocket the carved wand and the true greenstone hei tiki. "I've not let this wand out of my keeping... not since we learned how dangerous it is. But the tiki you may have." He handed it to Nana, who inspected it for a moment before handing it to Margaret.

"Yes, here," said Margaret. "It's not the same tingle as from a person... it's, well, warmer. But I can feel it the same way. And see the golden light from inside the stone?"

Nana shook her head. "I must take your word for it, child." She smiled at Margaret. "You've come a long way in a short time." Turning to the Headmaster, she continued, "I don't see why this worries you so, Moihi."

"The tiki doesn't," said Te Matorohanga. "The impure greenstone doesn't. This wand worries me greatly." He held it out for her inspection; Nana eyed it suspiciously. "See here, Mahina, this tiny chip of pounamu - a purified crystal of it, such as I've never seen."

"A thing of great potency, then." Nana took the wand from his hand and examined it cautiously. "A small thing, but filled with power. The strength of Papa captured in a tiny stone."

Charlie looked sideways at Margaret and raised one eyebrow. "Papa?" he asked quietly.

"Papatuanuku." The reply came unexpectedly from the other end of the table. Harry was staring at Nana, shaken, as she handed the wand back to the Headmaster. He continued hoarsely, "She is the Great Mother. The Earth Mother. The Mother of All."

"Harry, what are you on about?"

"I'd forgotten it. I put it from my mind, and now..." Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, a look of pained guilt on his face. He opened his eyes again and resolutely faced his friends. "I had a dream before we left England - the day the Order met. I'd forgotten it until now... I should've said something, I'm sorry..."

"A dream?" Charlie sounded amused. "And you've just now remembered it? Harry, I really don't think..."

"Ssssh!" Ginny and Hermione silenced him fiercely and turned to listen to Harry. It was obvious they took Harry's dreams very seriously indeed... almost like they've had plenty of experience with them, Margaret realized.

Quickly, Harry told them about his dream of the previous week: the great shining chamber, and the image of his mother asking for his help. By the time he'd finished, he had the full attention of everyone at the table.

"They would strike at her heart?" asked Hermione. "That makes no sense, Harry. Your mother's been dead for twenty years... how could anyone hurt her? Unless... unless maybe she's not really dead?"

Harry shook his head. "She looked like the pictures of my mum - but I think that was just my dream interpretation. She wasn't Lily Potter... but she was still my mother, in a sense. Everyone's mother... the Mother of All. You know what I'm talking about, Nana."

"I ought to, tohunga. I told you when first we met." Nana's eyes blazed as she stood and marched around the table to confront Harry. "She has called upon you for aid, and you have only now acknowledged her?! She has appeared to you in her person, and you have just now remembered?!" Margaret had never seen her grandmother so furious.

For just an instant, Harry's eyes blazed back at Nana, and Margaret was sure he'd shout back at her as well. Then he wearily bowed his head, as though he couldn't face the thought of another row... or another burden. "It's not fair," he told the floor quietly.

Slowly, the lines of Nana's face softened somewhat. She reached out her hand and gently stroked Harry's hair. "A child expects life to be fair," she replied, not without sympathy. "You and I, we know better, do we not?"

"Margaret?" Charlie whispered to her... he seemed totally at sea. "Are they saying that... that Mother Earth - your Earth goddess, Papa, Gaea, Anu, whatever you want to call her - that she came to Harry in a dream and asked him for help? Are they seriously saying that?"

"They are saying that," Margaret whispered back, "and they're very serious."

"We are indeed," announced Te Matorohanga in a strong voice that startled them. "And if we can assist you in any way, my brother, we will. Look to your sides, your ladies wait to help you." Hermione and Ginny were indeed watching Harry anxiously. They glanced at the Headmaster as he spoke, then returned their gazes to Harry. He continued to slump in his chair, his dejected eyes fixed on the floor... he gave no sign of having heard anything.

"Mr. Potter, we need to know what else Papa told you," the Headmaster pressed. "She must have had a purpose when she sent you this vision." He waited patiently.

"We know her purpose," replied Harry at last. "'They,' whoever they are, would take the strength of her and pervert it. It didn't make any sense at the time, but now it's obvious. If pounamu uses the magic of the earth... and if that power is like life force..."

"It isn't exactly..." Margaret began.

"... then using it against life is a perversion, a corruption of Papa's strength." He raised his head to meet the Headmaster's eyes. "And we know how great that strength can be... we all saw what that wand can do."

"Pounamu crystals may be powerful, Harry," said Ginny doubtfully, "but are they really such a threat? It's like Ron said, they'd be hard to find... they're so tiny, and probably really rare..."

"I know, Ginny, I know... but..." Harry fell silent. He was thinking hard... trying to recall all the dream's details... what else had Papatuanuku shown him? What was he missing...?

"The walls," he whispered. "The walls of the chamber... they glowed with light. With power... Headmaster!" he shouted. "Didn't you say that nobody knows where pounamu comes from - that nobody ever found the source?"

Te Matorohanga was taken aback at being so addressed. "That's correct. The finds to date have been scattered across the South Island, but there's been no pattern..."

"Only the South Island? No finds on the North Island?"

"The geology is different," Hermione started to explain. "The North Island mountains are more volcanic in nature, while the South Island mountains are the result of tectonic uplift..."

Harry cut off her lecture with a slicing gesture. "That's what they're looking for. That's what Papa was trying to tell me. Her chamber - its walls were pounamu! And they're trying to find it... the original source of pounamu - an unlimited supply of pure crystal!" Harry looked appalled as he stood and began to pace. "If that little chip in the wand could do what we saw it do... what could a big crystal do? One as big as your hand, say? As big as your head? As big as you?"

Margaret could only vaguely see the implications. Those with more experience in wizardry and witchcraft saw them at once...

"Put the Imperius Curse on an entire city," breathed Hermione. "Destroy whole armies with a single Avada Kedevra."

"Conjure a Muggle Repelling Charm that would drive every nonmagical person into the sea," gulped Ginny.

"Transfigure mountains," concluded Harry grimly. "Control every thought of every wizard left alive. Anything's possible when you've got the power of a planet... or a goddess."

The silence that greeted Harry's pronouncement was absolute. No one at the table was willing - or able - to find anything to say to it. Margaret looked from her Nana to her Master, and back to her pakeha tohunga... waiting for one of them to break the oppressive silence...

"They haven't found it," said Charlie.

Everyone's eyes turned to him as he continued, "I mean, think about it. Wouldn't the sort of people who want power like that... be the sort who'd use it if they had it? No point in being shy with that level of magic. No... if we're not seeing anything like you just described - if they aren't using these crystals - it can only be because they haven't found the source yet."

"Yet being the key word. We can't become complacent," said Hermione.

"But we still have time. Time in which to act." Nana pursed her lips as though she'd eaten a whole lemon. "Good thinking, boy," she told Charlie sourly.

He looked to Margaret in confusion. Margaret winked at him. For Nana, that was high praise.

"I will do my part," Nana went on. "Though I haven't the skills others have..." She frowned at Harry. "...I do have many friends... and I have my students. We can inquire in places where you would not be welcomed."

"We will all do our parts, every one of us," replied Te Matorohanga. He seemed to mantle himself in power and authority as he spoke. His dark eyes gleamed as he surveyed the table. Watching him, Margaret could easily believe the stories told of him: stories that spoke of a mighty tohunga, and a master wizard.

On impulse, Margaret turned her head to the other end of the table. Hair, skin, clothes, age - there was nothing about Harry that should have reminded her of the Headmaster. But his green eyes shared the same gleam as Te Matorohanga's black eyes, and he wore the same unseen mantle.

*

Nana had long since Portkeyed home, after saying goodbye to everyone at the table. She'd fussed over Margaret, told her to be a good girl, and kissed her cheek... then in typical Nana fashion she'd taken each person's hand and whispered privately in their ear, before going on to the next person. It had been fun to watch their reactions to the tart old woman: Charlie had chuckled and thanked her, Ginny had gaped like a fish, and Hermione had blushed furiously.

(Harry had been last. She'd given him a cryptic bit of advice: "You see patterns, tohunga - it's your gift. But if you look with a newcomer's eyes, you can see new patterns." She'd then pecked him on the cheek and added, "We'll speak again soon, tohunga." Harry had responded whimsically with a hongi and a hug, and let her go.)

Now the Headmaster had retired to his office, claiming the need to prepare for the next term of school. It was still early in the evening, though, and nobody felt like leaving the whare whakairo. It wasn't that they felt like relaxing, exactly - though Charlie had vainly requested a round of butterbeer for the table. ("At a school?" asked Hermione, scandalized.) Rather, they were glad that the need for action seemed imminent - once they could determine what had to be done.

Ginny and Margaret were telling Charlie about pounamu: its history, its similarity to Muggle jade, its magical properties. Harry was sipping hot tea, trying not to fidget or drum his fingers. A feeling of unease had crept up on him over the last few minutes, for no reason that he could see. It now had a firm grip on him, and he couldn't shake it. The best he could do was to not allow himself to communicate that unease to the others.

Hermione sat with him quietly, for which he was thankful. Her mere presence was a great comfort... he didn't ask himself why, but simply accepted it and was glad of it.

"I wonder where Ron is," he murmured. "I left him a note to meet us here when he got back..."

"I'm sure he's fine," Hermione assured him. She hesitated as a possibility occurred to her. "Unless, of course, he's tried something stupidly illegal to get into the Sydney Beam records..."

"Gosh... the words 'Ron' and 'stupidly illegal' in the same sentence. That's never happened before."

"Oh honestly, Harry. If he was arrested, we'd've heard about it by now."

"Yeah." Harry took another sip of tea. He didn't mention how Ron could have fallen into other kinds of trouble - where they might never hear about it.

There was a sudden commotion from outside the hall. The door burst open, and Rewa Otimi came running inside and straight to their table. "Mr. Potter... I have to ask you... please come at once," he panted.

"What is it, Mr. Otimi?" asked Harry, alarmed at his haggard appearance. "What's wrong?"

"You were right," said Otimi, struggling to catch his breath. "All along... you were right. Another murder... in Christchurch... less than an hour ago. And this time..." He gestured over his head with both hands. "This time... they left their Mark. A huge glowing skull... with a serpent coming out of its mouth."

"WHAT!!" Harry stood so quickly that his chair toppled behind him. "The Dark Mark here?! Dear God, it's started again...!" He stopped, his stomach sickening, as he read the regret on Otimi's face. "Otimi... man, who's been killed?" For one horrible second, he was afraid it was Ron...

Otimi hesitated, then turned to Margaret. "I'm so sorry, doctor... it was Mahina Pohuhu. It was your Nana."