What It Means To Be

by spinner

7

"I got a postcard from Teddy," Harry said, digging around in his bag from the post office.  

"Have you considered checking your box more than once a week?  Pour that out and we'll run through it together," Severus said, taking the bag from Harry and dumping the contents on the circulation table.  He stopped with a gasp as if he'd run over something sharp in the pile.

"She's gone off exploring the island," Harry read from Teddy's card.  Severus tilted his head to the side to study the jungle and volcano and huge, yellow and magenta blossoms pictured on the oversized 5x8 note.  "The roast pig made her queasy the first night, so she decided to explore the island.  Outside of the resort, about ten miles away, she found a village.  On the far side of the island, another ten miles from the village, she found a run-down school.  No.  It's a clinic, not a school.  Seeing they could use a helping hand, she's staying at the clinic.  She found her luggage this morning, and she's bringing a surprise for Modesto as a thank you."

"She wrote all that on one small postcard?" Severus asked.

"No, silly," Harry laughed, handing him the card.  "All she wrote was, 'It's beautiful here.  Having a great time.  Hugs and kisses from Teddy'." 

"You're reading everything with one touch?" Severus's brows rose. 

"She's working.  She's not supposed to be working.  She's on vacation," Harry huffed, not answering the question.

"Potter, there are people for whom work that they enjoy is a vacation," Severus insisted.  "Here.  You got a Christmas card from Henri and Illumina.  They're still in Venice, I presume, in the inescapable clutches of Nonni Perpetua.  His card is very nearly sacrilegious.  I don't know how he dares, sometimes."

Harry stood up to see the Christmas card from Henri and immediately dissolved into laughter and table-pounding.  The few patrons there were in the library shushed him in unison.  Harry ducked back and down, retrieving his high stool from the floor where it had crashed. 

"This deserves a place of prominence!"

"The Minister of Morality sees that, and he'll have kittens."

"What are the odds Arch Hawkins will see the contents of my bulletin board?" Harry laughed.  "This is brilliant!  Henri is Joseph.  Illumina is Mary.  Raffles is the angel.  Is Nico a wise man?  I thought there were three wise men.  Look at Dezzie!  She's just precious!  Baby Jesus.  How did they get her halo to sit so well?  That's hysterical.  I must owl Henri at once."

"He's asking for a lightning bolt from the blue," Severus warned.  Harry snatched up the card and ran it across the lobby to the board he had hung right outside the line of small offices which were currently filled with the boxed-up clothes waiting Sister Silverthorne and her orphans.  This was the very end of the donations, Harry assumed, having sent two batches to her already.  When Harry returned from hanging Henri's card in a prominent place on the board, Severus carefully broached the topic that had brought him out on Christmas Eve to Grimwood Library, in a heavy snowstorm at that. 

"You said last night that you needed my help with Draco's gift," Severus ventured.  He chanced a glance towards Dumbledore, who was seated in a chair with a stack of books laid out before him.  Albus was pretending to be admiring the gilded fables while watching the snow falling outside, but he was obviously making certain that Harry and Severus didn't vanish upstairs unaccompanied. 

"Whisper didn't mind that I hung those pictures in Mordred's room this morning, did she?" Harry asked. 

"Not at all," Severus shook his head. 

"Are the ones in your room all right?" Harry wondered.  Severus stopped as if he had been hit by a wall.   "You didn't notice them?  I hung them while you were showering.  I assumed you'd see them when you were getting dressed."

"I did not.  I was in a hurry."

"Hope you like them when you see them," Harry added, clearing his throat and ducking down in the shoulders. 

"What sort of pictures?" Severus asked. 

"I found them in the boxes with Dr. Mesarik's pictures of Mordred.  We should really organize those into albums for him.  No wonder he smiles every time he sees a camera," Harry mused.  "There had to be twenty boxes of snapshots.  I'm going to buy a camera immediately and begin again.  It's clear he likes having his picture taken."

"Draco."

"What about him?" Harry said, tilting his head to one side.

"You needed my help with his gift."

"Shhh," Harry cautioned, motioning to the balcony area directly above, where Professor Volkova and Draco Malfoy were tapping rapiers together in a slow-motion walk-through of the beginnings of sword lessons.  If Modesto were here, he would no doubt be offering them helpful hints.   Guido was back at Hogwarts, dead asleep.  Perhaps that was why Volkova was doing this here and now, to guide Draco without Modesto's interference. 

"Well?" Snape demanded. 

"Yes.  I do need your help."

"When?"

"Tonight, if Brim can be there."

"What does she have to do with it?"

"She has more experience with conduit portal manipulation than I do.  Besides, I mean, don't get your hopes up.  There's no guarantee this is going to work."

"Are you planning on giving Draco a demon for Christmas?" Snape worried. 

"Gods no!" Harry shouted, alarmed. 

"Gentlemen, this is a library," Dumbledore scolded. 

"Here, here," called another patron from another part of the room.  All that was visible behind his stack of books was a tall, pointy black hat and his crow familiar which strutted around the table. 

"Either shush or take your conversation into the lobby," Dumbledore suggested none too gently. 

"Demon!?" Harry said to Severus before piping back down.  Snape would have launched back into Potter for more of an explanation, but Sergei Volkov came hurrying back into the central area, carrying several painting manuals.  He chucked them one at a time up in front of Harry.

"I've selected several styles to choose from," Volkov panted, flipping open the books one by one.  Harry studied the portraits that Sergei uncovered, eyeing the youngster suspiciously.  Sergei was bouncing around with excitement.  His thin blond hair draped down into his eyes, and he pushed it back impatiently. 

"I'm not partial," Harry shrugged.  "Which do you like best?"

"You have to tell me what you want."

"First off, it's not going to be a picture of me."

"Not a portrait?" Sergei puzzled.  "Are you sure?"

"Nothing says 'secret entrance to Harry Potter's apartment' like a picture of Harry Potter, wouldn't you agree?" Harry murmured. 

"I had hoped to do you in a cloak of dragon scales," Sergei tutted, clearly miffed. 

"What a wonderful idea!" Severus whispered.  Playing Devil's advocate suited him, Harry ruefully admitted, even while giving Snape a pained glare.

"Nice bit of imagery.  The forests, a touch of fire, and lots of scales.  I've been practicing," Volkov persuaded. 

"You said it was up to me," Harry countered. 

"It is."

"Then it will not be a portrait of me," Harry insisted. 

"It doesn't have to be dragon scales," Volkov huffed.   "How do you feel about a clairvoyant theme?"

"Like me in a turban with a ruby and a crystal ball?"

"I was thinking more ethereal, mists and a scrying pool, a dark blue robe with covered with alchemic symbols."

"I don't fancy putting myself up on the door.  Can we make this less about me?"

"But it is your entrance," Sergei argued.  Seeing that her son was clearly distressed, Volkova stopped her fencing lessons with Draco and headed down to the central area.

"That would make rather an interesting picture," Severus said as an aside to Harry, who did a double-take and made a motion as if to poke Snape in the chest.

"Shut it," Harry warned him, trying not to laugh.  Severus cackled happiness as loudly as he dared, dodging warning glances from Dumbledore and others. 

"He won't let me paint him," Sergei complained to Professor Volkova as she walked out of the elevator sheathing her thin blade.  

"You can paint me if you want, but not to put up on the entrance to the upstairs," Harry clarified, hoping to avoid annoying Volkova.  Anna looked back and forth between Harry and her son and gave a half-smile. 

"This is your first official commission, Seryoza.  It will be Mr. Potter's picture, and therefore his decision.  Do you want to develop a reputation for being difficult to work with?  That's no place for a respected artist to start.  What your patron commands of you is what you must paint."

"But I've been practicing the dragon scales for weeks and weeks," Sergei frowned.  Anna unsheathed her rapier, bending and testing the blade with her fine fingers.  It gave her time to think.  She always thought better while holding deadly toys. 

"You may paint me a dragon for my office.  Does that suit you?"

"Are you going to officially commission a picture too?" the young boy began to brighten. 

"We will even sign a contract if we must, but you will finish Mr. Potter's picture first, and you will paint what he wants, not what you want."

"All right," Sergei agreed brightly, flipping pages in the books on the counter.   Harry folded his hands together in a sign of blessing and prayer, bending towards Volkova, and she laughed very discretely while sheathing her rapier again.

"Perhaps you'd like to show your gratitude by amusing Seryoza and Draco for an hour or two.  I haven't finished my shopping as of yet," she whispered.   Sergei pretended he hadn't heard what she was saying, or perhaps he was entirely engrossed in what he was studying in the painting manuals. 

"You're going to let me chase Malfoy with a sword?" Harry gleamed with interest.

"Absolutely not," Severus interjected himself. 

"There!  That's what you need!" Sergei exclaimed, shoving one of the books at Potter's elbow.  Harry lifted his arm and glanced downward at the pages.  He nearly fell over himself stepping sideways for a better look.

"What's that?" he asked.

"A holy well," Sergei explained.  "This place is built on a holy well, isn't it?  Nice touch, eh?  I could do that up nicely."

"It's very nice," Harry agreed.  It was peaceful and serene—a pastoral meadow bounded by trees and a pile of carved stones around a tiny basin of gurgling water.

"You need at least one person in the picture that will cover your apartment door," Severus interjected.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"I'm surprised I should have to explain this, but to whom will you deliver your password if no one is around to hear you?"

Harry stopped dead in his tracks.  "That's logical," he agreed with incredible composure. He studied the holy well picture and tried not to blush under Severus's smirking gaze.  "Can you paint anyone I ask in the picture?" Harry said to Sergei.  Volkov's head bounced wildly.

"Historical.  Modern.  Factual.  Fictional.  Muggle.  Wizard.  Clothed.  Unclothed."

"Sergei!" Volkova exclaimed. 

"Mum, I'm eleven.  I've seen naked people."

"Shush," Volkova whispered to Harry, who was biting his mouth to keep from laughing. 

"There's a whole chapter on doing nudes, right there," Sergei explained, turning the manual to Harry's right.  Volkova snatched it off the counter and closed it tight.   

"Shocking that you should include such immoral materials in your library collection, Mr. Potter," she chided, only half kidding.  "I might have to picket your establishment until you remove all obscene material from your shelves."

"In that case, I might have to install a moat with flesh-eating crocodiles."

"A moat?" Volkova rolled her eyes. 

"A moat," Harry repeated.

"Realistically, Mr. Potter, crocodiles would never survive in this dreary climate," Volkova huffed playfully.

"I'll put a warming spell on the water," Harry answered. 

"Nonsense," Volkova scoffed.  She and Harry shared a smile. 

"If I give you a mental image of someone, can you paint her?" Harry asked Sergei. 

"So help me," the Dark Arts instructor pointed a finger at Harry.  Potter took her hand, and they shared an image between them.  Volkova's anger melted with softness.  "Oh.  That's so nice.  What a lovely boy.  I quite agree.  Sergei, give Harry your hand."

Severus winced, hoping that he wasn't going to have to face James and/or Lily Potter or worse, have to ask permission from Sirius Black every damned time he wanted entrance into Harry's Grimwood living quarters.

"Isn't she the psycho who was trying to kill you?" Sergei asked his mother, yanking his hand back out of Harry's reach. 

"No.  That's Madam Modig Grimwood, a very sweet, kind, and wonderful woman with a wicked sense of humor after whom this lovely place is named."

"But she chased you with a poisoned dagger.  She pushed me in a dark room and locked the door.  Are you sure?" Sergei asked Harry, clearly questioning Potter's sanity. 

"I'm sure."

"Such a nice boy," Volkova commented again, reaching over the counter to give Harry a small hug and a peck on the cheek. 

"But she's not even five feet tall."

"What's wrong with that?" Anna demanded of Sergei. 

"I planned a ten foot by four foot frame.  What am I going to do with all that space?  She's not the sort I picture frequenting holy wells."

"Fill it with other scenery then.  Madam Grimwood was very fond of travel," Volkova offered helpfully.

"She liked to travel very much," Severus agreed. 

"Was she ever in Venice?" Sergei asked.

"That is in fact where I met her.  Papa Vasili, your great-grandfather, took me and the other cubs of my den to her bookshop.  We had tea and cookies, and we read scary tales by firelight.  I shall never forget that day," she beamed.  She caught herself quickly.  "Ah, nostalgia.  Stop me when I begin to reminisce.  I'm becoming one of those old ladies filled with nothing but memories."

"Would you like a pensieve for Christmas?" Harry asked her. 

"I suspect I already received your gift," Volkova murmured to Harry.  Potter put on a face of unimpeachable innocence.  "Some evil creature has sent me a ten pound box of piscari-osculari.  The Big Aquarium, I believe it's called."

"Did they really?" Harry continued to play dumb.  Sergei smiled, and began collecting his books once more.  Anna reluctantly released the one she was holding. 

"I shall return soon with a rough draft.  But for now, I must have time to think," Volkov announced, giving them all a slight bow before hurrying off.  The Dark Arts instructor's usually-cold eyes gleamed with motherly pride as her son vanished up the staircase.  Draco was descending in the elevator.  He stopped on the second floor and went back up when he saw Sergei racing the stairs like a demon was on his tail.

"You won't have to occupy him," Anna said, facing Harry once more.  "I'll be surprised if he emerges before tonight.  Once he's working, he's self-sufficient.  So like his father," she sighed.  "I won't be long.  Back in two hours, tops," she added. 

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