Harry Potter and the Gem of Grogonous

"Friends will help you move furniture. Best friends will help you move bodies."

-- Anonymous

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Chapter 7

Old Friends, Old Enemies

After final good-byes from Mrs. Weasley and the boisterous Phiona Love, Harry, Lee, Alexandrea, and the three Weasley brothers gathered their packs, tents, and other assorted camping essentials. The six Hogwartians finally set off down the dusty dirt path, skirting around the small village of St. Ottery Cadpole (which seemed to have more livestock in its population then people). Going up one of the village's only paved streets, Harry took in several of the Muggle shops, which included a tiny flower shop and a hole-in-the-wall pub whose weathered signed claimed it to be the 'Smiling Goat'.

At the end of the road, George motioned everyone into a corner alley right behind a small, make-shift town bakery.

"Right then." George yawned widely while itching the side of his nose. "Who's first in the dumpster?"

"In the dumpster?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean 'in the dumpster'?"

"What do you think he means, Ronniekinns?" Fred threw his pack to the side and began to roll up the legs of his trousers. "We've got to find the Portkey. Should be around her somewhere."

"Well that's simply corking." Alexandrea rolled her eyes. "Knowing our luck, we'll miss the Portkey, get stuck in town, and be forced to sell Lee for some spare quid."

"I'm worth a bit more than pocket change, thank you very much," Lee said confidently.

"I highly doubt that."

"Al," George interrupted as he began sorting through a pile of old newspapers. "Could you stop crushing what's left of Lee's self-confidence for a moment and help look for the bloody Portkey?"

Before Alexandrea could shoot back a retort, Fred popped out of the near-by dumpster. "I think I found it," he announced, brandishing the Portkey out in front of him.

"A . . . brassiere?" Ron took a small step back from the foreign object, his ears tingeing a light red.

"Ooo, very witty." Alexandrea arched an eyebrow, clearly not as amused as her male companions. "Right then, which one of you disturbed blokes has the lingerie fetish?"

"The question is," Fred stepped out of the dumpster, "who doesn't have a fetish?"

The cornered female of the group rubbed the side of her face as Lee chuckled beside her. "I really need to stop associating with you, Fredrick," she muttered.

"Oh, Al." Fred flung an arm around his companion, dangling the Portkey in front of her. "You don't really mean that. We've tolerated each other for this long, so why stop? Can you say 'true friendship'?"

"Can you say 'restraining order'?"

"Touché."

"Well then, if you two are done thoroughly insulting each other," George scoffed, "may I remind everyone that the Portkey is a couple seconds away from leaving with us?"

"Georgie's right," Alexandrea snagged the Portkey away from Fred and held it out in front of her. "Listen up boys, because this is the first and last time I'm ever going to say this: Grab the bra and hold on."

"Oooo, my new goal in life is to make Al say that again!"

"Wank off, Fredrick."

"Love you too, beautiful."

After Fred dodged behind Harry in order to avoid a swat up-side the head, the six Hogwartians crowded around the old piece of woman's lingerie. They stood there in a tight clump for a moment or two, each one pondering how strange this would look if a Muggle came padding down the street. 'After all,' Harry mused with a sight grin on his face. 'It's not every day one could see six teenagers in a tight circle clutching a manky old brassiere.'

Before he had a chance to ponder over the oddity any more, Harry felt that all too familiar jerk in his stomach, pushing him forward with incredible speed. They bolted through the air, wind howling and colours swirling around them. The Portkey was magnetically drawing the little group of Hogwartians onward until suddenly -

Harry's feet slammed into the ground. Before establishing any balance, someone staggered into him, causing both to take a short trip into the dirt road. There were four other loud thumps behind him as extra bodies flew into the make-shift dog pile that Harry was, unfortunately, at the bottom of.

"Did I mention how much I hate Portkeys? Can't wait until I get a permanent Apparating licence."

"We tried that before, Lee. Remember? The big hole in the disgruntled Muggles' roof? The plunge that could have served out our untimely demise?"

"I'll give the both of you an untimely demise if someone doesn't stop elbowing me in the stomach!"

"There you go, George. Stomach minus elbow. Now, where the hell do we go from here?"

"I'd suggest you all get you your feet and stop making complete fools of yourselves. This is a living disgrace of Hogwarts."

Harry shifted, still planted firmly into the ground, and straightened his askew glasses. Right in front of him stood a large pair of black tie-up boots shrouded in a midnight blue cloak. Looking up, Harry saw that both the boots and cloak belonged to Hogwarts' own Potions Master, Severus Snape. The professor looked down at Harry, an expression of utter disgust curling over his pale face.

"Get up," the Potions Master repeated.

In a massive wave, all six Hogwartians untangled themselves form each other and struggled to their feet. Eyeing them all closely, Snape walked down the line of his students.

"Of course, it takes the very bottom of the Gryffindor barrel to cause this much commotion," Snape shook his head in acute revulsion. "Potter and Weasley, the Lion's dream team. Jordanand the . . . ah . . . . colourful Weasley twins. And who -" the Professor's eyes finally fell on Alexandrea, who had just picked the brassiere off of her head. "Why, if it isn't Miss McKay? Still tagging along with the red-heads like a little homeless puppy?"

Alexandrea kept strait faced, but her fingers shook with a slight spasm, just itching for her to reach for her wand. Seeing the impending disaster which was about to be played out before him, Lee caught his friend's wand hand in his grip before it had a chance to do any damage.

"With all due respect, Professor," Lee said through gritted teeth, "we've got a week before you take back full control of our lives."

"I'm counting down the days, Mr. Jordan," Snape sneered. With a final warning glare, the Potions Master turned on his heel and stormed down the dirt road into the town of Hogsmeade.

"Just where does he get off saying that?" Alexandrea demanded, finally wrenching her hand away from Lee. "Homeless puppy, my arse."

"Easy there, Al. You know perfectly well that Snape gets his jollies by batting around his students' self-esteem." George nodded down the path the professor had just exited down. "Besides, this is our last year with him and his last chance to suck our souls dry."

"On the bright side," Ron said dully. "Snape's still got Harry and I to bugger when the lot of you take off."

"And, at this rate, this year's going to be living hell." Harry adjusted his pack onto his shoulders. "I wonder why Snape is wandering around Hogsmeade, anyways. I thought all professors would be up in the castle by now."

"Who knows?" Fred rolled his eyes. "Let's go set up camp, mates. All this talk about Snape is making me feel a bit queasy."

Grumbling in agreement, the other five Gryffindors marched forward, Fred taking the lead and Alexandrea bringing up the rear with a small scowl still plastered over her face from the unfortunate encounter with Snape. The fired-haired Weasley led his companions a little ways off the Hogsmeade path into a field lightly peppered with full trees. They set up two weathered tents, one monstrous and one not nearly so. Swiftly afterward, the males of the tribe proposed a barbaric and hostel take over of their female counterpart's tent since their own smelt of wet dog. After much deliberation (mixed in with loud spurts of yelling and harsh curse words) the five boys decided to stick to their own putrid-smelling tent.

Right then, let's toss out of here," George threw the rest of his pack into the boys' tent and fished out a bag of quid from his pockets. "I suggest we go stock up on Zonko supplies before it gets pitch black."

"I totally agree, o' brother of mine." Fred rubbed one of his shoulders, sore from carrying his heavy pack. "We've got to make a Honeydukes run too. Chocolate frogs on Lee's budget."

"What?" Lee raised an eyebrow. The Weasley twins began leading him down the path towards the town before the dreadlocked boy had a chance to retort.

Alexandrea turned to follow, but stopped when she saw that the younger Gryffindors didn't follow their lead. "You two coming?"

"Harry and I haven't unpacked yet," Ron said.

"Don't want to paint the village red with a bunch of psychopathic seventeen year olds?" Alexandrea rephrased her question.

"Spot on," Ron replied bluntly. "We know perfectly well what the lot of you are capable of. I certainly don't want to spend tonight sitting in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"See you soon with the bail money," Alexandrea shrugged and then quickly rushed towards the path to catch up with the boys.

"They're really that dangerous?" Harry arched an eyebrow, bending down to unload his pack.

"You'd be surprised, Harry," Ron shrugged half-heartily. "I think it's smart to stay back at least once. They'll be dragging us along for several acts of petit vandalism soon enough."

Harry chuckled, throwing a ball of socks into the boys' tent. Before he could unload another pair, a loud bark sounded across the campsite. A second soon echoed through the trees, quickly followed by a third and forth.

"Harry . . ." Ron's eyes went wide, transfixed on something behind his friend. "We've got company . . ."

Dropping the remainder of his socks, Harry slowly turned around. Standing on the edge of the campsite was a massive black Labrador. Shaggy fur heavily matted across its thick body, the dog seemed as though it had been stray for quite a while.

But this creature was not a dog.

"Sirius?" Harry said slowly, as if he was unsure, or simply refused to believe what was standing on four legs in front of him.

Trying to confirm Harry's suspicions, the canine gave a soft growl in the back of his throat and a quick swish of the tail. It then turned towards the way it had apparently come from and trotted back into the woods.

Ron exchanged a quick, panicked glance with Harry. "Follow him?" the red-head predicted.

"We have to," Harry confirmed.

The two Gryffindors took off after the familiar canine, weaving through trees and bounding up over hills. As a stitch began to work its way into Harry's side, the black dog stopped, looking over its shoulder at the boys expectantly.

"We're following you," Harry reassured between brisk breaths. "But where are you taking us?"

The dog gave a short bark, and then led the boys the rest of the way up the crumbling hill. At the top sat a large granite grotto, the entrance shrouded by a thicket of thorn bushes. Without a second thought, the dog leaped through and disappeared into darkness.

"Knowing out incredible luck," Ron muttered as he and Harry navigated the thick bushes, "it'll turn out that we've just been following a stray that's gone absolutely starkers . . . er . . . never mind."

A pitiful excuse for a living room appeared from deep in the very back of the cave. A dank old chesterfield sat moulding in the corner. A three-legged table was placed besides it, barely able to support the weight of several vintage newspapers which had been piled on top.

A sudden pop came from the corner of the cave. The sound of joints shifting back into place reached Harry's ears, as if someone was stretching for the first time in months.

"I may be a stray," a voice echoed through the grotto. "But I'm not crazy - through many people would dispute that . . ."

A tall, wiry man slowly edged out of the darkness. Light hit his clear blue eyes, sending off sparks of life. His robes had been reduced to rags, which clung to his dangerously thin body. Black hair was thrown back haphazardly and was barley touching his shoulders.

"Hello, Harry." Sirius Black gave a wisp of a smile. "Cheers, Ron."

Ron nodded and grinned, but Harry reflected no such emotion. "Sirius," he said harshly to his godfather. "What the hell are you doing here? Don't tell me you honestly want to get caught?"

The smile quickly vanished from Sirius's unshaven face. "Can't I check in on my favourite godson now and again?"

"I'm your only godson," Harry replied sharply.

"Hence, my favourite." Sirius stepped closer to the two Gryffindors, bringing the sent of dog and pine with him. "Don't worry about me, Harry. Dumbledore sent me an owl a week ago. Told me to wait around here for a while - said he might be needing me."

"Needing you for what?" Harry raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"Damned if I know." Sirius shrugged the question off, though he didn't make strait eye contact with his godson. "He has his reason and I'll respect them . . . so then, don't I at least get a 'Nice to see you again, Sirius'? I'll even settle for 'Hello, I tolerate your existence, you psychopathic bastard'."

Harry finally let a grin of happiness run rapid across his face. All during the summer, he had been wishing to see Sirius again. He need contact with that special part of his blurred past; a need that could only be resolved by the appearance of his grinning godfather. No matter how furious he was at Sirius for risking his freedom so recklessly, Harry was relieved to see that familiar face once again."

"Nice to see you again, Sirius." Harry smiled.

"Good." Sirius grinned, crossing his arms causally. "If you used the bastard line, I would have tied you to a tree and leave you for the doxies."

"Doxies, eh?" Ron raised an eyebrow, carefully taking a seat on the moulding sofa.

Sirius nodded knowingly. "Those buggers can pluck your eyes right out from your sockets and then proceed to play croquet with them. Just the other day, a few of 'em made a nest under that sofa. Got a nasty bite when I - er - discovered them." As if wanting to prove is point further, he gave his behind a quick scratch. "Leave's a nasty rash, doxy venom does. Makes me wish I still had Buckbeak around - those little berks would think twice if Beaky was --"

"Where is Buckbeak, anyways?" Harry asked as Ron slowly and carefully slid away from the tainted chesterfield.

"Unfortunately, travelling with a full-grown hippogriff isn't so easy." Sirius fished out an old, half-eaten sandwich from one of his side pockets and took a large bite out from it. "Dumbledore wanted me to move quickly. Too quick for me to herd a one ton animal with me. So, I had to call in a few old favours."

"Old favours?" Ron questioned. "Don't tell us that Buckbeak is rotting in some slaughter house in southern Worcester."

Sirius shook his sandwich at Ron in a somewhat threatening gesture. "And have Hagrid rip out my liver and cook it in brandy? No thank you. Buckbeak's frolicking happily in a dragon sanctuary in Northern Ireland. He'll be fine until I get back. Now then, what are you lot doing around here? I heard the six of you coming from yards away."

Harry and Ron exchanged short glances and then set off in a fit of chuckles. They told Sirius the tale of their last hurrah of the summer celebrated in the form of a camping trip at Hogsmeade. Ron went into great detail about their scandalous Portkey and Harry finished it all off with the unwanted run-in with Hogwarts' Potions Master.

"Snape wasn't exactly pleased about seeing us," Harry said. "The feeling was completely mutual, though."

Sirius blinked, slowly taking the last bit of the story in. "Hold a moment. Severus Snape . . . he's here?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed carefully.

"I knew it!" Sirius snarled, throwing his sandwich against the far wall. "I knew he'd come around, that little piker. Always sticking his fat nose in -" he suddenly stopped, ran his fingers through his long hair in deep thought, and turned back to Harry and Ron. "You're sure it was Snape?"

"Of course it was. Nobody else could be that greasy," Ron answered. "Is something wrong?"

Ignoring Ron's question, Sirius continued to fume. "That unbelievable bastard," he swore sharply. "He has no idea what he's stepping into. If I ever see him around here, I'll -"

Abruptly, a loud explosion sounded, and one of Harry's side pockets blew clean off. Sirius stopped in mid-sentence, eyeing his godson carefully.

"Sorry 'bout that, Sirius," said Harry sheepishly as he and Ron tried desperately not to laugh. "They're . . . erm, they were Cortemanch seeds. They blow up when people around you are thinking non-trustworthy thoughts. Phiona Love gave them to us right before we left for Hogsmeade and I forgot -"

"W - what did you say?" Sirius's face went limp, his mouth hanging open in acute shock. "Who did you say gave those to you?"

"Er . . . Phiona Love. Our friend Alexandrea's mum. Why? Do you . . ." Harry trailed off, seeing that his godfather wasn't putting forth any effort to listen. Sirius's face was slowly going pale and he ran a shaky hand through his tangled hair.

"She's back," he murmured, his lips barely moving.

"Are you, erm . . . okay, Sirius?" asked Ron as he got to his feet.

Sirius nodded, though Harry could have sworn he saw his godfather shiver. "Sure. It's nothing. Don't think twice about it, boys."

Harry and Ron exchanged doubtful glances. Sirius quickly caught on and immediately plastered a large, false grin across his face. "Come on, you two. I reckon you better get moving if you want to make it back to your campsite before dark." He quickly shoed Harry and Ron forward and out of the cave. "Send me an owl when you get to Hogwarts!" With a quick closing remark and a short wave, Sirius disappeared back into his cave, leaving both of the young Gryffindors utterly dumbfounded.

"Well, that was all a bit wonky," Ron muttered as he and Harry headed back down the hill. "What the hell set Sirius off like that?"

Harry shrugged. "I have about as much idea as you," he said. "He was sort of nervous when we mentioned Alex's mum, though."

"You're right." Ron ducked under a low tree branch. "Maybe he knows her from Hogwarts. Or maybe - Harry, what if Phiona's trying to catch Sirius for the Ministry?"

"I thought she was a dragon keeper," Harry raised a questioning eyebrow, though the thought of Phiona on the Ministry's pay-roll made his stomach sink a bit.

"Blimey! She could be working under-cover!" Ron began to talk faster, a mixture of nervousness and excitement overthrowing his speech pattern. "She's after Sirius, Harry! Probably right on his trail. We better go back -"

"Hold on, Ron. That doesn't make any sense." Harry shook his head. "Sirius would have told us something like that so that we could help him. Anyways, Phiona Love doesn't really seem to fit the part of an Auror. She hides silverware in manure piles and tosses around illegal pranks."

"Yeah, well . . ." Ron sounded a bit deflated. "Maybe we could mention it to Alex. You know, just in case . . ."

The sky began to darken as the sun hid behind the horizon. It started to get colder as the head-wind came back with vengeance. The two boys made their way back to the campsite as the last light disappeared over the trees. As they got closer to their clearing, Harry and Ron felt a brisk warmth pelt though them. The older Hogwartians had created a huge bon-fire that would suit even the most malevolent of pyromaniacs.

"Oy! Where have the two of you been?" Lee called out as he and George caught sight of their wandering companions. "Fred and Al went out looking for you hours ago."

"Er, we went out collecting firewood and got a little turned around," explained Ron as he and Harry sat down on a log across from George.

"So then," the blue-haired Weasley twin said airily. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?" Ron raised an eyebrow.

"The firewood, you dolt."

"Oh, erm . . ." Harry bit his lower lip, thinking fast. "We lost it."

"I'll say you lost it." George shook his head in disgust and unearthed a banger from his pack. "We reckoned that the two of you got mauled to death by a gang of doxies."

Ron snorted abruptly, almost choking on the marshmallow he had stuffed into his mouth. "Beautiful picture, that is. Harry and I strapped down to a tree as a lot of peckish doxies pluck out our eyeballs."

"Thanks for the description, Ronniekinns," George mused, turning his now flaming banger back into the fire. "I was just to say the doxies would pelt you to death with rocks. But, hell, if you want to go with the eyeballs, that's perfectly corking with me . . ."

"Fred and Alex better beware," Lee's face twisted into a wild, psychopathic grin. He didn't even seem to notice that the marshmallow he was cooking over the flames had caught on fire and was burning out of control. "For, behind any given bush or tree may be lurking -"

BANG!

The four Hogwartians' heads jerked towards the edge of the forest. Thousands of red sparks were floating up from amongst the trees, intermingling with the stars. Harry stood up and took his wand out from his robes, everyone else following his lead. There was a silent whisper of "What the hell?" from the general vicinity of George and Lee.

Suddenly, Fred Weasley came stumbling out of the forest. His fiery hair was stuck down to his pale forehead with a line of sweat. He was liberally covered in mud and a deep rip was flapping on the side of his robes. It was not the site of the dishevelled Weasley twin which Harry and the others focused on, however. In Fred's arms, face reflecting a pale blue, lay the lifeless body of Alexandrea McKay.