Bells, Books & Candles
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Part One
1 The Bells
“You got the pages?” Ron asked as Hermione hurried up to the Gryffindors crowded together in the snow-filled courtyard. The mystery of why Granger was making a jingling sound was solved when she pushed a heavy handbell into Ron’s grasp.
“Sure. Enough for everyone, I hope. If not, we can share.”
“Do we have to do this?” Seamus complained as he accepted one of the sheets that Hermione was thrusting around. Dean and Neville waited on the reply as well before either accepted a page.
“It’s worth ten extra points each,” Hermione reminded them. “Professor McGonagall said she would join us.”
“Who are we going to carol to? Slytherin?” Seamus laughed rudely.
“It’s the last night before break. No harm in it,” Neville urged Seamus and Dean. “I can use all the extra points I can get.”
“Where do we start?” Ron asked, staring around.
Hermione scanned around, at a slight loss. Hagrid came dragging a tree across the lawn right at that moment, followed by Professor Flitwick and Harry. Flitwick was floating several lit candles, and Harry was wrapped in yards of tinsel and garland.
“We’ll try it on them first,” Hermione decided, rushing towards them. The other students followed as if tethered to her. “Another voice is always welcome,” Hermione said, pulling Harry to her side and showing him the page.
“I....my....voice...” he squeaked.
You’ve been sounding much better all week,” she told him before he could weasel out of it. Ron quelled a chuckle and poked him in the arm.
“We’ll sound terrible together, and no one will know who to blame,” Ron urged him. “You have to. If you can’t sing, you can ring the bell,” he added, shoving the handbell at Harry. Unspoken in that was Ron’s feeling that if he had to make a fool of himself, everyone should also be obligated. Hagrid unwound the shining silver strands from around Harry’s robes, motioning for him to untangle the garland too. Harry was clutching it very tightly as if he didn’t want to give it up. Hagrid began to tug, and Harry let released it, nearly dropping the bell.
“Go on ahead, lad. Professor Flitwick and I will see that the tree is replaced. I wish we knew who was snatching them though,” Hagrid said.
“Someone who doesn’t want a tree in that particular spot, it would seem,” Harry mused.
“Tell us how we sound, and be honest,” Hermione said. The Gryffindors hummed a single note together and began to sing. Hagrid and Flitwick smiled anxiously but patiently– after all, they were wearing earmuffs. No matter how bad it actually was, and it was perfectly horrendous, they could keep on smiling. Two choruses later, Hagrid put up a hand and waved for them to halt. The singing stopped at different intervals, falling away like lumps of mangy hair.
“That’s lovely. Time to go. You lot should get inside out of the cold. Try the main hall, or the corridors. I think I see a light on in the dungeons,” he chuckled. Hagrid patted Harry on the head before shoving the children along.
It was a dark and snowy night, right before Christmas Break. Alone in his workroom, bent over a table, Severus couldn’t imagine a better way to begin the holiday than with a potion bubbling happily along. He jotted down notes on the color and consistency, and let it continue to brew. His mission was to find a potion that would be able to dull Potter’s charisma spell, but not in any way impede Harry’s other magic, or interact negatively with the rest of the Canis Capellum that Harry needed to take for the remainder of December. So far, the task had eluded him. Potter had been a less-than-cooperative patient as well, so much so that every new potion had to be tested under the watchful eye of the Headmaster. Snape wondered where Potter was presently. Was it took soon in the evening to seek out his company? No, he chided himself. He needed solitude to work. The boy would simply distract him.
The fumes were beginning to take on the desired effect– Snape felt muffled and fuzzy already. If he let this brew much longer, he would need to let the room air in some fashion, channeling wind through the fireplace or through a window mirrored from another floor. With a flick of his wand, the secret hallway door opened. It was then the faintest sound reached his precious lair.
The Angel Gabriel from Heaven came,
his wings as drifted snow
his eyes as flame
All hail, said he, the lowly maiden Mary
most highly favored lady
Glor-or-or-or-or-ia.
Severus paused. Surely he was hallucinating. He questioned his sanity in the half second of silence before another verse began.
For known a blessed mother thou shalt be.
All generations laud and honor thee.
Thy son shall be Emmanuel,
my seers foretold,
most highly favored lady
Glor-or-or-or-or-ia.
(AN 1)
Snape took the potion off the flames, and immediately winced from the intense heat of the vial. He hadn’t done something that foolish in his workshop since his first year in Potions. He put down his quill and seized up his wand once more. He prowled out into the hallway and to the outer corridor door. Who was responsible for this travesty? Caroling? Here?? In his dark and wonderful retreat? Who would do such an evil thing? Who was ringing that insipid and off-rhythm bell? Little by little, the merry sound grew more faint, and finally stopped entirely. Severus sighed with relief, until he reached the next junction and looked down to the right.
The Potions Master encountered Harry Potter, standing in the middle of twenty other Gryffindors, and an odd Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. The boy was looking anxiously at the others, who were frozen in place with happily-distracted expressions on their vacant faces. A couple of them continued to hum, and seemed to be waiting for Harry to say or do something. They followed him with their eyes as he spun on one heel and faced Snape.
“Mr. Potter?!”
“Professor?” Harry gulped, eyes dropping to the floor. He quickly hid a handbell behind his back.
“Who in HELL is CAROLING in my DUNGEON?” Severus hissed.
“We were, sir, but we...um....I....I’ve done something to them, haven’t I?” he whispered, biting his lip. Severus snatched Harry out of the middle of the crowd and dragged him to the side of the corridor by one arm, jingling all the way. The mesmerized students followed Harry with their eyes.
“Did I or did I not heavily suggest you avoid three things, Mr. Potter, until I could figure out how to dampen your charisma spell abilities?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Refresh my memory, Mr. Potter. What were those three things?”
“Public speaking or singing, or running for political office.”
“The third you may discount, because I was in all honesty kidding with you, but as for the other two---”
“Public speaking or singing?”
“—surely even you can stick to that simple request, can’t you?”
“I tried to gracefully back out, but they said I had to come along,” Harry winced. “Besides, I want to keep the charisma spell. I keep telling you that, and you’re not paying attention to me. Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me? I want to keep the charisma spell! Why can't you teach me to use it?”
“Mr. Potter, whyever do you suppose I don’t want you wandering around with the ability to sway people to your every whim with a mere glance?” Severus asked, getting dangerously close to Harry. Potter tilted his head and remained quiet, though the hint of a smile teased his mouth in a sexy way that made Snape very embarrassed suddenly. He was not so embarrassed that he dropped his usual modes of communication though. “What? Is a thought crossing your mind? Must be a long and lonely journey,” he murmured caustically. Potter pulled the handbell out and pushed it against Snape’s chest in order to make him back slightly away.
“Professor, if I promise to refrain from singing, can I keep the charisma spell?”
“No,” Snape hissed between his teeth.
Professor McGonagall hurried up the corridor. She was drawing off her scarf and raising the flaps on her pointed deer-stalker.
“Oh, Harry,” she sighed when she saw how the other students were standing around, gazing happily towards him. “You were caroling, weren’t you?”
“Afraid so,” he admitted “Everything was going fine until the next thing I knew, I was the only one singing. What did I do?”
Severus slid the sheet of music out of Harry’s grip and gave it to Professor McGonagall. “Mr. Potter, you and your dorm-mates will refrain from caroling in my dungeon,” Snape whispered in an acidic tone. McGonagall gave a small cackle, covering her mouth with one hand as her eyes twinkled. Harry and Snape glanced at her, blinking blankly. She laughed out loudly this time. What the heck was so funny, they wondered.
“Refrain....carol....oh.....the both of you really need to lighten up,” she told them, annoyed as one can be when no one gets their weird jokes. She took out her wand and faced the other students. Her startle spell shook the narrow confines of their corridor like a clap of thunder. The students jumped back to life, shaking their heads in surprise. A silvery shower of pixie dust filtered through the air and settled slowly down on them all.
“What happened?” Ron asked, taking Harry’s arm. Harry gave him the bell.
“Nothing,” Potter lied, putting his hands in his pockets and keeping his eyes on the stone floor.
“Severus, you’re just in time to join us,” McGonagall said sweetly. Snape produced his wand and aimed it at them all. They took a collective step back, and Minerva shielded the students with her arms protectively stretched out from her sides.
“One peep, and the lot of you will be mute till spring,” he threatened. “Be off!”
“Someone’s looking to get nothing but coal in his stocking this year,” Minerva whispered undertone as they all hurried away. McGonagall gave Snape a backwards glance that promised a scolding later. But that would be later, and right now, all Severus wanted some peace and quiet. The further away their merry sounds got, the better he felt. Solitude. That’s what he needed. Solitude. There was one thing standing in the way of his happy solitude though.
“Mr. Potter? Why are you still here?”
“You said I shouldn’t sing, remember?” Potter whispered, hands buried deep in his trouser pockets.
“Surely you have something better to do with your time than stand around. Harry, don’t slouch,” Severus chided, manually straightening Potter’s shoulders and emptying his hands from his pockets with a quick tug on his elbows.
“What are you doing down there that’s so important?” Harry asked.
“I’m working on a dampening potion for you.”
“May I tag along? See if I can talk you out of it? Perhaps distract you from your work?”
“What?” Snape murmured dryly. Harry motioned in the direction of Snape’s secret lair. Severus ground his teeth, but he nodded. Harry led the way.
“How do you feel about humming?” the boy asked softly. Severus needled him with a sharp look and gave him a small shove in the back.
“How do you feel about being imprisoned in a glass jar for the rest of your days?”
“Would I get a shelf with a view?”
“No humming, Mr. Potter.”
“Your Christmas spirit could use some exercise,” Harry teased.
“Don’t toy with me,” Severus whispered. Harry gave a serious, thoughtful frown and went inside the workroom.
Harry sat on a high-backed chair, trying to stay as much out of the way as possible. Snape moved around him left and right, having abandoned the first version of the potion in favor of starting a second batch with fresher ingredients.
“I was wondering,” Harry began. The silence was getting to him, and he had to say something. Snape raised his eyes from the potion and waited for him to go on. “Hermione and I are going to Hogsmeade in the morning for Christmas shopping. Ron’s got quidditch practice or he’d come along too. I’m after books, in particular, and knowing you’re looking to replace some of the ones that I accidentally damaged, I was going to suggest if you have a list, I could search for your titles if you like, if that isn’t too assuming of me.”
“I will give you a list by morning,” Snape promised, nodding his approval. “Hagrid is going with you, isn’t he? You do remember that both the Headmaster and I cautioned you about leaving school grounds alone.”
“Hermione will be there with me.”
“In spite of the high regard in which you hold Miss Granger, when we said you should not travel about alone, we meant you should have an adult with you at all times.”
“Hagrid is going to be busy tomorrow morning,” Harry said. “I asked him while we were getting out decorations. Someone keeps snatching the holiday trees from the Potions classroom. I’m surprised you haven’t reported them missing.”
“I didn’t report them missing because I don’t want one there, as I have told Hagrid when approached for my opinion. Yet what keeps appearing in my classroom every day? Another one of those trees. Why is he putting another one there? Classes have ended. There is no point to having holiday trees in all the classrooms if we’re not having classes.”
“What are you doing with the trees?” Harry worried.
“I’m taking them back into the forest and reattaching them to their stumps. But you may tell Hagrid for me that the next tree I find in my classroom is going to be shoved into a much darker and deeper place than the Forbidden Forest. I’m sure he’ll understand what I mean.”
Harry gave Severus a demonic elf smile.
“What?” Snape grumbled.
“I’m mentally picturing you versus Hagrid, trying to insert that tree where I suspect you might mean. I don’t want to upset you, but you’d be on the losing end of that venture. I’m guessing you’d be occupied a long while, retrieving all those pine needles out of your own arse.”
“Don’t be cheeky.”
“What do you have against Christmas trees?” Harry asked.
“First of all, it’s the Yuletide. It’s the Winter Solstice. It is the Saturnalia. Don’t call it Christmas. The holiday has precious little at all to do with Jesus Christ.”
“Thank you. I’ve had that speech already from Hermione. I understand the holiday has got roots much farther back than Christ, and is based on pagan holidays in several cultures, marking the winter solstice. Hermione said the Christian Romans incorporated the holidays of the cultures they conquered into their own religion, in order to make Romanization more palatable to the people they were trying to control. I get it. I’ve had that speech. I’m okay by whatever you want to call it, either of you. Yuletide Season. Can we call it that?”
“Yes, please, thank you,” Severus growled.
“Hermione is willing to go around caroling, and she’s a non-believer. It’s the spirit of the season, Professor, whatever you want to call the holiday.”
“Fine.”
“Now, why don’t we go back to the beginning, and you can tell me why you hate this holiday season so especially, Mr. Snape?”
“I don’t hate the Yuletide. It’s a time of great celebration.”
“He says while stabbing those bits of holly root with the point of the blade until they are screaming for mercy,” Harry persisted. Severus stopped mutilating his potion ingredients, and put the knife down. “I didn’t like Christmas, sorry, Yuletide, until I came to Hogwarts. I look forward to it now though. Ron’s mom sends me these really warm jumpers. I think my favorite part about Christmas is how embarrassed Ron is about his mom’s gifts. I love them, but he’s completely appalled when she sends them. Hope he doesn’t find out I send her yarn sometimes. Be careful, sir. You’re on the verge of smiling.”
“I don’t hate Yuletide. I’ll have you know, when I was a boy, it was my favorite holiday.”
“Was?” Harry ventured. Even the most inattentive person would have read the pain that went across Severus’s face. Perhaps Potter had struck on something after all. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Snape. He was wanting to make conversation, and, admittedly, was trying to distract him from the charisma-dampening potion. “When were you a boy?” Harry grinned. Snape forgot all about his sadness, narrowing his eyes.
“Potter, make yourself useful as well as ornamental. Get a sheet of parchment, an ink well, and a quill from the desk in the living room,” Severus murmured, picking up the knife and pointing with the blade tip. Harry climbed down from his chair and quickly returned with the specified items. “Start a list. No, start two lists.”
“All right,” Harry said, dipping the quill and bisecting the parchment page with a curvy line that ran from side to side instead of top to bottom.
“The first list is “Books that Snape Would Like Replaced If Possible”.”
“All right,” Harry smiled, writing the words large enough that Severus could read them from the other side of the table.
“The second list is “Books that Snape Would Sell Body Parts to Possess.”
“Any parts in particular?” Harry replied, writing the words nonetheless.
“On the first list, put Nighttime Brews for Ones and Twos, Second Edition.”
“Done.”
“On the second list, put the same title, First Edition.”
“Why two editions of the same book?” Harry puzzled.
“The first edition has an error in one of the potions that makes it not a sedative to cure night terrors, but rather an anti-depressant that invokes night terrors. Caused quite a stir,” he mused, giving a wicked smile. Potter of course did not get the potions joke. Dull boy. Nice eyes though, Snape mused to himself. They were so easy to fall into, so easy to get distracted by. Like the finest silk, or the softest velvet. Soft like his skin. Soft like his mouth. Harry moved a particular bottle closer to Snape’s reach and went back to his lists, smiling to himself. Severus forgot briefly what he was working on, why he was even in the private lab. He shook his head, and stared accusingly at Potter, who quickly averted his eyes.
“You’ve got a teacher’s compulsion about correcting everyone’s mistakes, haven’t you?” Harry stammered.
“Potter.”
“What?”
“Stop it,” Severus warned him.
“What?” Harry defended, shrugging helplessly.
“How have your meetings with Doctor McGonagall been?” Snape asked. “You see her twice a month, I believe?”
“She wants to talk about all sorts of personal things. I’ve decided my job appears to be avoiding these topics with her, because no matter what I say, she’s going to read into it what she thinks she ought to be able to discern about me, if you know what I mean.”
“Not really,” Snape’s brow furrowed.
“Let’s take my socks, for example,” Harry said, pulling up one trouser leg to reveal a black wool sock and part of a bare shin with a few dark hairs. He pulled up his other trouser leg to reveal a red sock with golden snitches on it. As Snape stared at the sock, the snitches raced around in the pattern. “What do my socks tell you about my state of mental health?”
“I’m not sure I should guess,” Severus replied. Harry sat back down, straightening his clothes and robe.
“Well, I’ll have you know I wore a very similar pair to my meeting with Doctor McGonagall last week, and she decided it meant I have a dark side, that I’m highly competitive, that I’m unconventional, that I have a problem obeying authority, that I believe I can make my own rules.”
“Hm,” the Potions Master said judiciously. Harry waited for Snape to further respond. When he didn’t, Harry’s face clouded with anger.
“You don’t agree with her, do you?”
“On certain points, yes.”
“Just once, couldn’t you lie to spare my feelings?” Harry sulked.
“I’m sorry, but my job is to tell you the truth, however unpleasant it might be.”
“You quite enjoy it too, being unpleasant.”
“Yes,” Snape admitted, glowing with a quick grin.
“All right, maybe some of those things are true,” Harry conceded begrudgingly. “But you have known me for how many years? You have a lot of personal experience on which to base your, may I say, utterly incorrect opinions of me. She has spent about six hours with me total, and she looks at my socks and tells me these things.”
“Harry, that’s her job to read signs you may not realize you’re sending.”
“Do you know why I’m wearing these socks?”
“I wouldn’t presume to guess.”
“I decided that life is too short to spend time matching socks and folding socks and sorting socks and stacking socks neatly in my sock drawer. Now, when the house elves bring me back clean clothes, I unfold all the socks, stuff them individually into the correct drawer, and draw out two per day, regardless of color, and put them on. Most of the time, I just stick my hand in the drawer and feel for two of them. I don’t even look.”
“All right,” Severus nodded, puzzling over the rising anger in Harry’s voice.
“I mean, if I’m going to die saving the world from Voldemort, do you really think he’s going to take one look at my socks and forget about killing me? I warrant he’s not even going to notice I’m wearing socks. He wouldn’t notice if I was wearing those rubber fishing pants that go up to there,” he said while he motioned to his waist.
“Hip waders,” Snape supplied helpfully. The mental image of Harry Potter in said hip waders and nothing else went straight through Severus, and he was in turns both turned on and turned off.
“I don’t care how good you are, you can’t tell me you can read my psychological make-up by looking at my socks. That’s nothing but bollocks.”
Severus reached over and patted Harry gingerly on top of the head. The boy drew in a calming breath, dropping his anger mid-thought.
“What were we talking about before you got us off on this tangent?” he asked.
“I don’t remember,” Severus said.
“Did you know there’s a new bookstore going up across the street from Remy and me in Hogsmeade?” Harry smiled, his anger forgotten.
“Remy? Such familiarity,” Severus tisked.
“He said to call him ‘Remy’. It will make us better friends. More like peers.”
“Who is the proprietor of this new bookstore to be?”
“Can I call you ‘Snivs’ like he does?”
“Only if you want to be vivisected with a knife and fork. Who is the proprietor?”
“The sign on the door said Madam Grimwood,” Harry said. Vivisected? Yet another word he’d have to ask Hermione about.
“Modig Grimwood?” Snape stopped, putting down the knife for fear of slicing off a fingertip.
“Funny. Hermione had the same reaction. I believe she even began to slobber, but I told her over dinner, so it might have been the pot roast.”
“Modig Grimwood is back?”
“I’m not sure. The sign said Madam Grimwood. What’s the big deal?”
Severus took the potion off the fire, swept the holly root remains into a clay cup, and blew out the fire with a quick puff of air. He grabbed a waiting cloth and made quick work of cleaning his hands.
“Gather your notes.”
“Where are we going?”
“Hogsmeade. Grimwood’s Place.”
“It doesn’t open for another twelve hours,” Harry said.
“We’ll wait outside until she unlocks the door,” Snape decided, capping the ink well, and pulling Harry off the tall chair. “She will have a book with a potion that I can use to dampen your charisma spell. She will know what to do. She always does. I’ll be a moment. Wait here.”
“But I want to keep the charisma spell,” Harry said dully. “Are you not listening to me?”
“No.”
Harry watched, burning with curiosity, as Severus raced into his living quarters, scanned the currently neat and tidy bookshelves, and pulled five or six books off. He spelled them to fit into his cloak pocket, and rejoined Harry.
“I like the charisma spell. Why can’t I keep it?” Harry asked.
“Don’t just stand there!” Snape bellowed, grabbing Harry’s arm and rushing out of the secret workroom.
“So there we were, standing outside Grimwood’s new store,” Harry was telling Hermione the next morning as they walked through Hogsmeade with Dumbledore three steps ahead of them. Ron was trailing a few feet behind, flipping through a Quidditch magazine. Snow was falling, and drifts were swept about by a prevailing northerly breeze.
“Yeah?”
“He knocked on the door. It was like eight at night, pitch black and snowing, and I was worried no one would come to the door at that hour. What was he playing at?”
“Snape had his nose stuck in a book at breakfast, so I’m guessing you got in,” Ron called out from behind. Weasley had had a sudden change of plans this morning after learning where Harry and Hermione were headed and why.
“He was reading, and he had a stack of them next to his plate,” Hermione added. “They didn’t look like potions texts though.”
“This tiny woman came to the door. She had to be a hundred years old. She peeked out the key hole at us. I assumed she was stooping over. No. She’s that tall. I swear to you. That tall,” Harry motioned waist-high. Hermione shook her head at him.
“She’s a midget, Harry. Like Professor Flitwick. What happened next?”
“Professor Snape lit up like you plugged him into the wall. She lit up too. Hugs and greetings ensued.”
“Snape hugged her?” Ron gasped.
“Kissed her on the cheek even,” Harry mused. “She brought us inside, set us down, gave us tea. It’s like she was expecting us. Then she shoved a book at me.”
“Yeah?” Ron said.
“Clairvoyant Techniques For Absolute Beginners,” Harry divulged. “She told me to make myself comfortable next to the fire, because Severus Snape was going to need two hours and forty eight minutes to find the books he came here to find, and I was not to interrupt him with meaningless, time-consuming chatter.”
“What did you do?” Hermione wanted to know.
“I started reading and kept my mouth shut,” Harry answered. Dumbledore paused to let a horse sled go by, and smiled patiently back at the children.
“I mentioned the store to Professor McGonagall. Grimwood has been in Hogsmeade before, keeps the store open a year, maybe two, but disappears without notice for years and years. Without much notice, she reappears, opens another store, and so on,” Hermione revealed.
“Brigadoon Library, at your service,” Ron laughed, closing his magazine.
“How long were you there?” Hermione asked Harry.
“Two hours and forty eight minutes.”
“What did Snape buy?”
“He didn’t buy anything.”
“He had a stack of books this high,” Hermione said shrilly.
“You don’t use money in the store.”
“What? No money?” Ron puzzled.
“He brought books to her, and traded them for the books he wanted.”
“I didn’t bring any books,” Hermione paled.
“Don’t worry. You can go in and read them there, free of charge. Tea and biscuits provided to every customer.”
“I don’t care about tea and biscuits. You didn’t tell me I needed to bring books!” Hermione exclaimed.
“Relax, Miss Granger,” the Headmaster said, patting her shoulder. “Madam Grimwood will make allowances. The currency in her store is knowledge, written or spoken.”
“Oh,” Hermione calmed visibly. “Okay,” she smiled brightly.
“How does she make money doing business that way?” Ron asked.
“Dunno,” Harry replied. “Maybe she doesn’t need the money?”
“Everyone needs money,” Ron laughed.
“Maybe she married rich,” Harry shrugged.
“Maybe she made the money herself,” Hermione said sharply to Harry.
“Maybe she prints it in the basement,” Harry retorted. “I don’t know. Lighten up, Hermione.”
“Snape kept you out till almost midnight to get books?” Ron said, raising a brow at Harry.
“We had a cup of tea at the house, and came back by Floo,” Harry said. “Weren’t you asleep when I came in?”
“Mostly,” Ron evaded. “You got to the bookstore at eight, where you stayed almost three hours. Why did it take you an hour to have tea at your house and Floo back to Hogwarts?”
Harry stared blandly at Ron, and let the question go unanswered. Really, if Harry told Ron that he and Snape had sat at the kitchen table, drinking their tea, discussing why Lupin had bought the house, and how they had gotten their things inside, and why they were saving a bedroom for Sirius, Ron would have never believed him. Severus had very delicately handled the question that no one had yet asked Harry-- What if Remus never returned? Would Harry keep the house? Would he consider other living arrangements? What was he going to do after he graduated Hogwarts? Although Harry had no snappy answers, Severus hadn't been disdainful or sarcastic about Potter's lack of planning. Snape had toured the house with Harry, asking about the wards, giving suggestions about what to do with the pie-shaped four-story place if, goodness forbid, Harry was left to make the decisions on his own. Harry had enjoyed that talk last night. He had really enjoyed riding back in the Floo with Severus, coiled up inside the Potions Master's cloak, nestled against his side.
“Look at that line!” Hermione exclaimed as they rounded a corner.
“Lots of anxious bookworms?” Ron asked, hurrying her around so he could see.
“No. There’s like three people,” she replied. “Oh! They’re going inside! Hurry!”
“She said last night that the first day is by appointment only,” Harry smiled. Hermione went pale again, and her knees wobbled.
“We’ve come all this way, and we won’t be able to get in?” she fretted.
“Don’t worry,” Dumbledore said as Harry and Ron supported their friend, one with each arm. “I have our invitation right here. You’ll be happy to note she mentioned each of you by name,” he added, handing the ivory notecard to Hermione. “Right there. In red letters. Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter.”
“She knows who we are?” Hermione gasped.
“Naturally,” Dumbledore replied. “Relax. Please.”
“How did Snape get in before us?” Hermione wanted to know.
“He told her it was an emergency situation,” Harry said. “But she was expecting us, I tell you. She was expecting us.”
“Headmaster Dumbledore, wonderful to see you,” the tiny, portly woman said, opening the door with a beckoning smile. “Mr. Potter– my first repeat customer.”
“Good to see you as well, Madam Grimwood. How was China?” Albus asked.
“Splendid.”
“Tunisia?”
“Arid.”
“New Zealand?”
“Mountainous.”
“Mexico?”
“I learned a terrific recipe for chicken molé.”(AN 2)
“Alaska?”
“Peaceful.”
“St. Petersburg?”
“I haven’t had good vodka since.”
“Sweden?”
“Lots of requests for warming spells.”
“Here you are again, in our corner of the world. So nice to see you. Seems like just yesterday.”
“No time for reminiscing. Bring the children in before they freeze. Tea and biscuits are by the fire in the Modern Era Room. Books are divided by topic into different rooms. Rooms are divided by centuries on each floor. The further up you go, the farther back you’ll be. If you need the Headmaster or myself, you’ll find us on the top floor, in Ancient History.”
“Why is Ancient History on the top floor?” Harry asked.
“You get a better view from there,” Grimwood answered.
“Where is Science Fiction?” Hermione asked. The others gasped as if she had used dirty words, except Harry, who snickered behind his hand.
“In the basement,” Grimwood told her. “A word of caution, Mr. Weasley. Do take care where you step in the Dark Arts Room.”
With that, the Headmaster and Madam Grimwood vanished up the winding stairs and onto the second floor landing. Their feet could be heard as they progressed higher and higher. Hermione took off her coat and put it on the hall tree next to a reddish-plaid coat, a gray trench coat, and the black velvet cloak which were already there. Footsteps sounded directly overhead. There were other people in the store clearly.
“How many rooms are there, do you suppose?” Hermione whispered reverently.
“How many topics can you imagine?” Harry asked. Hermione absolutely sparkled with sudden happiness.
“We’ll never leave the store, will we?” Ron moaned. Hermione shot him a dirty look. It could have been the start of another fight if Harry hadn’t paused in the process of taking off his coat. He ran one hand experimentally over the black cloak.
“Is Snape back already?” Hermione asked, vibrating with jealousy. Harry knew it was completely a matter of worrying that Snape would find a book she wanted to read first. He hadn’t realized before now how very similar in personality his best female friend and his Potions Master were. He wondered who would be more insulted by the comparison.
“Not his,” Harry said.
“Good,” Ron muttered. Harry ignored the ice in the word.
“Whose is it?” Hermione wanted to know. Harry lifted the cloak, savoring the feel of it between his fingers.
“You don’t believe in clairvoyance. A wooly discipline, you said once,” Ron commented to Hermione. Granger hushed him.
“That was different. It wasn’t Harry,” she said.
“The cloak is Volkova’s,” Potter smiled wickedly.
“Are you sure?” Weasley whispered, leaning in closer. Harry pulled the cloak inside his own coat, and headed for the front door.
“Where are you going?” Hermione whispered nervously. Ron took hold of Harry’s arm.
“Is that such a good idea?” Ron asked.
“I’ll be right across the street,” Harry defended.
“You’re not supposed to be out alone. The Headmaster said,” Hermione reminded him.
“Go have some tea and biscuits,” Harry urged them. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, you can run across the street and bust into the house.”
“What are you going to do with Volkova’s cloak?” Ron smirked. “Should we wait longer than ten minutes?”
“It’s not going to involve nudity or body fluids,” Harry fussed, heading out into the snowfall. Ron and Hermione watched from the open door until Harry reached the front entrance of his house across the street. He had had to push his way through the growing crowds headed for the stores. Ron closed the door to Grimwood’s shop, assured that Harry had reached his destination.
“What should we do?” Hermione worried.
“Go have tea and biscuits. He’ll be right back,” Ron said.
“What do we do if Professor Volkova comes looking for her cloak?”
“We tell her someone must have taken it by mistake,” Ron shrugged.
>Author's Note 1: The carol lyrics are from Sting's "Gabriel's Message".
copyright ©2004 Polliwog Press