Back to: Harry Potter » Harry Potter and the Junior Year Abroad
Also available as: Epub | txt | pdf | mobi | lit
Harry Potter and the Junior Year Abroad
The Facts Of Life
By Ishtar
Chapter Eleven
The Facts of Life
Whether because of exhaustion or Mrs. Weasley's chamomile and lemon verbena tea, Harry's sleep was deep and dreamless that night. He slept a little later than usual, and by the time he stumbled down to breakfast, everybody else was finishing up. Mr. Weasley was drinking coffee and reading the Daily Prophet; the younger Weasleys and Hermione were cleaning the last off their plates, and Bill and Charlie, who had both stayed the night, had taken their coffee into the living room. Mrs. Weasley handed Harry a muffin and a glass of milk for starters, before turning to the stove to make a fresh batch of eggs and bacon.
"Harry, my boy … I hope you're feeling a bit more the thing this morning?" asked Mr. Weasley, looking over the rim of his coffee cup. "Hermione said you were feeling a bit … er, over-Weasleyed, as it were?"
"A bit, I guess. I just hadn't realized people outside the immediate family would be coming in."
"This is nothing. Wait until a wedding happens. Nothing but red hair as far as the eye can see. We Weasleys are prolific, but we also love to travel. The Burrow passes to whichever son loves it the most, and the rest scatter to the ends of the earth. But we always come back for the big occasions. And the adoption of a child into the clan is a Big Occasion. Even if your hair isn't the proper colour." His eyes twinkled as he looked at Harry. "Wonder if a bottle of Muggle hair dye would help? I've always wanted to find out how that works. You've certainly the eyes to go with it."
Harry smoothed his hair down self-consciously. "Probably not. My mum was a redhead, though. Does that help any?"
"There's hope for the grandchildren, then," said Mr. Weasley with some satisfaction.
"Grandchildren?" squeaked Harry.
"Certainly. One day, anyway. It's something to look forward to."
"I'm having enough trouble thinking about getting through the next week without thinking about … about …"
"Arthur, stop embarrassing the boy," said Mrs. Weasley. "There's time and plenty for that. And other sons who should be getting about the grandchildren business first."
"Well, that's my cue to leave," said Bill, from the living room.
"And mine," Charlie agreed. They put their cups down and stood up.
"No, don't be silly," Mrs. Weasley said. "I'll stop teasing you. We see you both so seldom these days. Sit back down. Have some more eggs."
"Yes, Mum," they chorused, grinning.
A flurry of wings broke into the morning conversation, and no less than six owls, each straining to carry a large bundle of letters, flew in through the kitchen window. "Gracious, what's all this, then? Fred, George, have you been subscribing to Muggle magazines again?"
George jumped up and untied a bundle from an owl as the others waited impatiently. "No, this is all for Harry. How come you're getting so much mail?"
"Huh. I dunno." Harry was honestly puzzled. This was a lot even for the 'fan club.'
"Oh, that's right," said Mr. Weasley. "When Harry was in hospital, it was in the Prophet, and they got quite a few cards and such for him. I had his mail held until he was better able to deal with it, and then forgot about it until yesterday. So this is all the mail for the last few weeks. Sorry about that, Harry."
"Let's see what you've got here then." Fred joined George at the counter and started opening bundles.
"Hey, don't …" Harry grabbed for one of the bundles, and George held it out of his reach.
"Maybe it's more of that 'fan mail,'" said Ron, an evil gleam in his eye. "You should have enough pictures to be able to share them around a bit, hm?"
"Pictures? This sounds interesting … toss me a bundle, would you?" said Charlie from the doorway.
"Ron, you promised!" said Harry reproachfully.
"I only promised not to tell Fred and George, and I haven't even spoken to them, now have I?"
"Now, now, boys, you just give Harry back his mail …"
"Not more of those pictures?" Hermione asked, confirming that she had, indeed, seen what was in Harry's trunk.
"You saw my pictures?" Harry cried in dismay.
"Hey, that owl just stole my bacon!" Ginny added to the cacophony.
"Give me back my mail, George!"
"I'm Fred, he's George!"
"This one's perfumed," said Charlie.
Harry whipped his wand out of his back pocket. "Accio mail!" Five bundles and assorted loose pieces of mail leaped into his arms. He grinned and slithered under Ron's waving arms and out the back door into the garden, pursued by a pack of screaming redheads.
An hour later, the young men were all sitting in a circle under a spreading oak tree; Harry was just about finished opening his mail, piling it into stacks of innocuous cards from well-wishers, mail that would need to be answered, and pictures of girls. Including a few more explicit ones. Somehow it was a little easier to deal with now, with a bunch of guys, older guys, but not so old they seemed like adults. They helped him get past being embarrassed about it. About looking, anyway. Beyond that, though, it just got worse.
"This one's as good as the broomstick picture," said Ron, turning one of the photos over as he tried to decide which side was 'up'. "Maybe not as inventive, but a lot more action."
"Keep it if you like, then," said Harry.
"Really? Wow."
"You're giving away a perfectly good wank shot?" That was Fred — or maybe George.
"A what?"
"You know, a picture that's perfect for wanking to. That one is downright inspirational," said the twin, leaning over Ron's shoulder to look again.
"I wouldn't know." Harry suddenly realized that he'd said something wrong when he saw all five of them gape at him in astonishment. "What?"
"You wouldn't know? You mean you've never …"
"What? I … no!" He was honestly shocked. "That's just … I wouldn't …"
"Why on earth not? It's practically the national sport for teenage guys. After Quidditch, I mean," Ron clarified helpfully.
"But it's …" Harry was so flustered he couldn't form a complete sentence.
"Harry." Bill's voice was calm and gentle, cutting through the confusion in Harry's mind. "What exactly were you taught about … about touching yourself? Masturbating?" Harry winced involuntarily and rubbed his right hand with his left, as if massaging an old pain. That told Bill everything he needed to know.
"That it was … something nasty. That I shouldn't …"
"Uh huh. And just who taught you this?"
"Aunt Petunia." Harry's voice was little more than a whisper, and he'd obviously gone somewhere inside himself, not seeing the Weasley brothers any more. "I was six. I was taking a bath, and she caught me … touching … she pulled me out into the living room and told me never to do it again, it was nasty and vile and she … she hit me."
"What did she hit you with?"
"The fireplace poker." Bill inhaled sharply, and Charlie winced and looked away. The twins muttered curses that would have reduced Aunt Petunia, had she been in earshot, to a smoking pile of ash.
"A poker?" Ron could barely believe it.
"My hand swelled up and I couldn't use it for a week."
"Why do you still believe what she told you? Live according to her rules?" asked Charlie.
Confusion was written on Harry's face. This was obviously something that ran so deep he'd never thought consciously about it.
"Have you ever kissed a girl?" Bill asked.
Harry was getting defensive now. "Yeah, I kissed Cho Chang last year."
"That's impressive," said one of the twins, both of whom had had their own fantasies regarding Cho at various points.
"Ask him who started it," muttered Ron.
Harry glared at him. "She did."
"Did you like it?"
"Sort of like being attacked by the giant squid, actually."
"Hmm. That's more of a comment on her technique, then," said Charlie. "Anybody else?"
"Not really."
"Think about it?"
"Some."
"Harry … what do you know about sex?" Bill persisted in his gentle questioning.
"It's … you have to do it when you're married and want to have children. I've got a general idea of the mechanics, I think."
"Any other reason to do it?"
"No. Why should there be? It sounds pretty disgusting, actually."
One of the twins muttered, "Oh my god," and the other went pale.
"This, gentlemen," said Bill, "is why Hogwarts needs a sex ed program. Sounds like Aunt Petunia was trying to make sure Harry never reproduced. Harry, how the hell did you manage to get through five years sharing the Tower with these three maniacs," gesturing at Ron, Fred and George, garnering an outraged "Hey!" from the twins, "without knowing at least … never mind. I think we have just gone beyond my ability to cope with the situation."
Ron was looking at Harry with a puzzled expression. "Harry … down at the pond yesterday … you were looking at Ginny and said something about 'the things that went through your head after she took her shirt off.' What exactly did you mean?"
Harry looked at him, aghast. "I can't tell you that! With all of you here? You're her brothers, you'd pound me into mince!"
Ron rolled his eyes heavenward, as if to say "I am going to regret this," got to his feet, and dragged Harry to his feet and around to the other side of the massive oak, pushing him up against it. "Harry, tell me. We're not going to do anything to you. Promise."
It took a bit more cajoling before Harry whispered a few things in his ear.
"That's it? That's what you were thinking about?"
Shamefaced, Harry nodded.
"All you wanted to do was cuddle and maybe kiss her? You know, I didn't think they made people like you any more. You know what I thought you might be thinking about?"
Harry shook his head.
Ron pulled the "wank shot" out of his pocket. "Stuff like this."
Harry got a 'rabbit in the lumos' look on his face. "With Ginny?"
"It's called a fantasy, and it's perfectly normal. It's like … I cannot believe I am even having this conversation! And it's a damn good thing we found out about it before Ginny actually got her hands on you! Bill's right, this is something for Mum and Dad. Come on."
"No, I can't talk to your folks … not your Mum …"
"Who do you think told us about it? And how do you think they wound up with seven kids? They know what they're doing. If there's anybody that can get you straightened out about this, it's them. Come on."
They collected the stacks of Harry's mail and took him back up to the house, shoving gently when necessary to overcome his reluctance. What followed was the most embarrassing two hours of Harry's life, spent with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. When he came out of the den, he took one look at Ginny and Hermione, who were at the kitchen table working on something for school, turned bright red, and fled up the stairs to his room. The sound of the door slamming echoed throughout the house. "Well," said Ron to the room at large. "That went well, I think."
Hermione tried to follow him up the stairs, and Ron stopped her. "I don't think so. If he's anything like I was when I first got The Talk, he's not going to be able to look at anything female for a few days, much less carry on a conversation. Especially with one of the girls he thinks he might like."
"Do you really think it was a good thing to stress him with this, with all the other stuff he's got on his plate right now?"
"Look, it's at least going to distract him from worrying about You-Know-Who for a while. Give him something normal to chew on for a change."
0o0o0o0o0o0
True to Ron's prediction, Harry did not come down for lunch, and Mrs. Weasley brought dinner up to him on a tray.
He did come down the next day for breakfast, ate quickly and left the house without saying a word to anyone. When he didn't show up for lunch, Ron went looking for him, taking a sandwich with him. He found Harry out in the meadow by his tree. The little sapling had already grown appreciably, and had new leaves. "Hey," he said.
Harry reached out and touched a leaf, gently. "Hey, yourself."
"Missed you at lunch."
"I didn't need it. Three meals a day is more than I'm used to, remember? Especially the way your mother cooks."
"Then you won't mind if I eat your sandwich?"
Harry sighed. "Give it here." Ron grinned and passed it to him, and they sat in companionable silence for a while.
"You can't spend the next two weeks hiding from everybody, you know."
"Try me. I learned how to be invisible before I ever got my father's Cloak."
"Are you angry at us? At me? For telling?"
"No. Not really. You were just trying to help."
"Did it?"
"I don't know. At least embarrassment isn't fatal. I just … felt so stupid. For not knowing something everybody else knows. And now everybody knows I didn't know."
"Not everybody. Just us. And we'll keep our mouths shut."
There was more silence. "Did Ginny and Hermione … laugh when you told them?"
"No. They both cried a little. And Hermione got angry. She thought we were putting too much stress on you."
"Did she now? That's kind of weird, given this is a problem that can actually be solved by her specialty — a little information. I'm surprised she hasn't trotted off into town and got me a self-help book on it and considered the situation dealt with."
Ron grinned. "Who says she hasn't? I haven't seen her this morning, either."
"I'm doomed," Harry moaned.
"Hey, at least this is just a little growing-up thing, not the godawful monster of the month."
"The godawful monster of the month was Dudley, I think. Which leaves me the rest of the month free to wonder what they've got waiting for me in Minnesota. Somehow I don't think this is going to be a nice quiet trip. My life doesn't seem to work that way."
"I wish I could go with you. Or Hermione. So you'd have somebody with you to help."
"I wish you could, too. I don't even know who I'll be stuck with on this trip — fifty/fifty chances on Lavender or Parvati from our House, who knows who from the others. I just hope I don't get stuck with Malfoy for a year."
"They wouldn't!"
"I don't know what they would or wouldn't do. I don't know who did the choosing or how they chose. I'll find out soon enough, I guess."
"I guess you will. I wonder what these Americans are like that will be staying with us? And will they be staying in our dorms? It would be really weird having someone else sleeping in your bed."
"I hadn't thought about that. That probably will be strange. But at least they'll be staying in one place all year. I'll be bouncing all over."
"You're going to be going by plane each leg?"
"No, just to Minnesota and home from San Francisco. I think the rest of the hops are going to be Floo or Portkey."
"I wonder why they're bothering with the plane at all, then? They could probably get you from Hogwarts to Minnesota by Portkey, too."
"Probably for the 'experience.' Or so there's an official record of our being in the country if there's a problem."
They were silent for a while, relaxing in the sunlight and listening to the sounds of summer in the country.
"I'm going to miss you guys."
"There's still two more weeks."
"I learned fourth year just how fast two weeks can go. It seemed like one minute I had plenty of time to work on how to function underwater, and then the next thing I knew they'd taken you away, and Dobby had to give me a kick in the pants about what to do. Once I got started, it was easy enough, though. It's a good thing I think best on the fly."
"True. You're a tactical genius, but your strategy stinks. I'm the other way around. Give me long-term planning any day; throw me in an emergency and I panic."
"What do you mean my strategy stinks?"
"How many times have you ever beaten me at chess?"
"Umm. None."
"Right. Your strategy stinks. I'll demonstrate again tonight after dinner, if you want."
And sure enough, after dinner Ron got out his chessboard, and soon his queen was rampaging through Harry's pawns. After quite a tussle, Harry finally and triumphantly took her down with his bishop, only to discover that one of Ron's knights had got through and checkmated his king without him knowing it was there until it was too late. "How did that happen?" Harry puzzled.
"I told you, your strategy stinks," said Ron, leaning back in his chair and looking smug. "You're too worried about what's going on right now, or in the next few moves, to think ahead to the end of the game. Plus you're not willing to sacrifice when you have to. You really really hate losing any of your pieces, but especially your queen. Sometimes you're better off losing her and doing something unexpected."
"Knight to H3," said Harry quietly, toying with the little black knight.
"Don't remind me," said Ron. "My shoulder still hurts sometimes where that white queen hit me. I wasn't as good at thinking ahead then as I am now. But I keep replaying that game in my head and I still can't win without losing that knight." He shrugged. "You just have to do what's necessary sometimes, even knowing the cost."
"Did you know you'd only be knocked out?"
"No. The chessmen were designed to be 'killed' and then reactivated for the next game. I wasn't. I had no idea what would happen. Sometimes you plan …" he reached out and toppled the knight. "And sometimes you take the leap of faith and hope for the best. At that point, whatever happened to me was irrelevant to the final outcome."
"It wasn't irrelevant to me."
"Nor to me personally, but as far as the ultimate goal was considered, it was. And that's why you lose at chess. You look at the pieces. You don't look at the game."
Late that night Ron woke to hear choked moans coming from Harry's room, but by the time he got to the door, they'd stopped. He listened for quite a while and heard no further noise, and eventually went back to his own bed. The next day, Harry would only say that he'd dreamed of chess pieces and snakes in the grass.
Sunday brought three new batches of Weasleys, but Ron dragged Harry away from the house to do a little "fishing" — really an excuse to drift on the river in the old rowboat and talk about nothing in particular — so he only had to actually meet one set, a second cousin of Mr. Weasley's with his wife and two sons, one a little bit older than Ron and one a little younger than Ginny. They had Portkeyed in from Australia and were extremely sunburned, and did not seem to regard a Dark Wizard as anything to be worried about. "Now bunyips, those are something to worry about," said the older boy, grinning and looking an awful lot like Charlie.
When Harry took them out to the tree, instead of leaving something there, each of them took a stick and drew a figure of an animal of some kind in the soft earth: a bird, a lizard, some kind of four-legged creature Harry didn't recognize, and a snake. The youngest son carefully put pebbles in to be the eyes of each creature, and the outlines flared briefly in coloured light. "Abo protective totems," the boy explained proudly. "The oldest known magical system in continuous use. About 10,000 years or so. I learned them from an old blackfeller on walkabout. Scary old guy. Great teacher. They'll keep watch over the tree and over you."
"Snakes again. They seem to be popping up all over the place suddenly," said Harry.
"That one's the Rainbow Serpent. Creator god, in charge of fertility, growth, rain, all that sort of thing. Very powerful. Keep an eye out for them; snakes are dangerous if you don't handle them right, but they won't steer you wrong if you respect their power."
Monday, thank God or whoever, brought no visitors, but Mr. Weasley came home early from the office to have a word with Harry before dinner.
"A couple of things have come up. First, Ms. Stone wants to see you in her office Thursday morning. She says she'll have the paperwork drawn up by then and you can sign off on everything, and so will I, as your temporary guardian, and then your funds can be made available to you. She says that there's a solicitor who's willing to see you in the afternoon about the other matters you needed to discuss. Very interesting woman, Ms. Stone. I almost got the feeling she was looking right through her telephone and seeing into the fire at my office. Very odd. I wonder if there's any wizard blood in her family. However. I also heard from the police, who want to talk to you again and get a detailed statement from you before you leave, since you won't be around for the trials of your cousin and his parents."
"Dudley … and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon?"
"Oh, yes, the investigation is still underway, of course, but they're being charged with child abuse, neglect, even involuntary servitude — and Dudley for assault, of course. He's still hospitalized, though, and may never actually stand trial if he's found incompetent — but since you'll be away when the trials are likely to happen, the police need your full statement now. So they've asked me to bring you in tomorrow and Wednesday. I talked to Ms. Stone again after I talked to the police and she said she'll sit in on the depositions with you if you think you need it. It's going to be a rough couple of days, Harry. And unfortunately I can't take the time off right now to go with you for more than the one day, so having Ms. Stone accompany you would be a good idea. I already made the arrangements on that assumption."
"All right."
"Good, then we'll go in together tomorrow and I'll drop you off before I go in to the office." Mr. Weasley looked down at his hands, almost as if he were embarrassed. "There's something else I want to talk to you about … it's this whole O'Dwyer situation." Harry had managed to almost forget about the incident with the unscrupulous wizard; it was an incident that he wanted to put behind him. He had a nasty feeling, however, that he was not going to be allowed to. "I made the initial report of O'Dwyer's activities the same day you gave me the samples and your narrative about what had happened. That was on a Tuesday. Dudley snapped and the attack on you happened in the wee hours of Thursday morning, less than forty-eight hours later. There was a lot of magical activity going on in Surrey that night, and for several days after; we're still cleaning up the mess, and that's why I've been working late so many nights. We suspect that O'Dwyer had a number of his Muggle victims under direct magical control, and when he sent Dudley off to kill you, a goodly number of others also went right off the deep end. Not all of them went off immediately; it depended on how many of those potion-laced pills of his they'd taken. Oh, yes, there were all sorts of unfortunate things in those pills — O'Dwyer — or whatever his real name is - was working Dark, very Dark indeed."
"What was he up to?"
"A deep con of some sort. As far as the Muggle police know, he was collecting 'donations' from his victims, overcharging for the herbal stuff, getting people to fund his 'educational institute,' which mostly seemed to exist for the purpose of paying him a very large salary, stuff like that. Apparently he'd decided that Muggle money was as good as Wizard money, and easier to get. But the potion was one to increase people's susceptibility; it gave him an effect very like an Imperius from a much less dangerous suggestibility spell. Mind control. It wouldn't have worked on a wizard for much the same reason it didn't work on you — too slow, too mild. A wizard would notice it happening to him. But a Muggle, and particularly one who's already in a delicate state of mind? Most of the people he was fleecing were recovering from recent mental or emotional trauma."
"Like Dudley?"
"Like Dudley. Your cousin was desperate to find something to give him a sense of reality again after the dementor attack. Your aunt and uncle were denying that anything was wrong, and wouldn't bring him to see one of the Muggle mind healers for fear Dudley might say something about you, or about magic in general. And of course they wouldn't dream of taking him to a wizard Healer. Dudley, it seems, is not unintelligent, he's just never had anything to exercise his brain before. When faced with the puzzle of needing help, he sought it out for himself. How he came to a wizard con artist, however, is beyond me. It's just a bit too coincidental for my tastes. And, apparently, O'Dwyer's." Mr.Weasley frowned ferociously. "In any event, Dudley was drawn into his net like so many others. And O'Dwyer was using them for his own purposes, exerting direct control over those most open to it, we think establishing connections with their sleeping minds through projected dreams."
"Like what Voldemort did to me to get me to go to the Ministry last June?"
"Just like that. In this case, O'Dwyer sent a dream to Dudley aimed at sending him after you in a berserk rage. The dream leaked over into a number of his other victims, though, and that's what caused all the mayhem that night. He knew you wouldn't be able to work magic during the summer and were no match for Dudley physically. He also knew you had some of the sleeping pills, and may have thought you might have taken some of them. In which case," Mr. Weasley said grimly, "Dudley could have easily killed you in your sleep. He also knew that an attack on you would keep the attention of quite a few of the Aurors focused on you for some time, and the rest would be kept busy dealing with the other victims, many of whom assaulted friends or family, or turned their rage on themselves. All of these incidents had to be carefully evaluated, obliviations done, paperwork destroyed. It's been very difficult, very slow going because they have everything on computers now, you see, and we don't have anyone who's good at those. We may not be able to get all of it. The Minister has been hopping mad about it, let me tell you. This has the potential for being the biggest violation of the International Secrecy Statutes ever. And we've all been working so hard to control the side damage that, well …"
Harry suddenly realized where this was going. "He got away, didn't he?"
"Yes. He got away. It was the Muggle police, of all people, who managed to track down his base of operations, although they didn't find his potions lab. That was our boys. We also found a series of illegal Portkeys leading to other bases. But no trace of O'Dwyer himself. He may have taken another Portkey to another base and gone to ground, or he may have left the country. We don't know. We're going to keep looking, but … we don't know. And of course there was no way to keep your name out of it. The Prophet was running regular reports on your condition while you were in hospital, and now that you've been taken to 'an undisclosed location for rest and recuperation', they're going a little bit spare."
"Has the Ministry at least alerted the authorities in other countries?"
"Oh, yes, Fudge did that himself right away."
"Maybe he'll show up in Australia and a bunyip will eat him," said Harry, with grim humor.
"That's my boy! Don't worry, it will all work out in the end."
"You know, I used to believe that when I was growing up. Even when the Dursleys were at their worst. 'It will all work out in the end.' What they don't mention is that the ending may not be happy at all."
Mr. Weasley had nothing to say to that, and they sat in silence until Mrs. Weasley needed Harry to help set the table for dinner.