To London We Will Go

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to JKR. The original plot and story belong to Velvet Song. Any resemblance to anything living or dead is purely coincidental.

Author’s Note: This is a continuation of Velvet Song’s story “Damsels & Dragons”, which she has graciously allowed me to adopt. You will find the first thirteen chapters of her story here: http: //www. thepetulantpoetess.com /viewstory.php?sid =18337 (remove the spaces first). I might suggest you read her story first in order to understand what has been happening.

Virtual hugs to Fizzabella and writermerrin for the beta of this chapter. The story is now complete and will be posted as each chapter is beta’d. Thank you for all the lovely reviews.

To London We Will Go

“This is ridiculous,” Hermione protested once again, standing in the courtyard of the British Wizarding Library. “I am perfectly capable of coming to London and talking to this Mr Phelps by myself.”

“That’s not the point, Hermione,” Remus said with a conciliatory air. “We don’t know this fellow at all, and despite what Severus told you—“

“—far too many people already know about him.” Lucius interrupted. “It is expedient to have someone along as a witness in case somebody needs to be Obliviated.”

“There will be no Obliviating done to anyone,” Hermione insisted. “I trust Severus to know what he’s talking about. He says Mr Phelps can be trusted and I will act accordingly.”

Excellent. Someone needs to stand up to Lucius occasionally or he’ll roll right over you.

“Severus?” Hermione twisted, looking around the courtyard, which seemed empty of all but her and the two wizards who had insisted on accompanying her. “Where are you?”

Here. The black dragon darkened into view for a few seconds, then disappeared into the shadows once more. Phelps may need more convincing than you are capable of. I can help.

“Hmmph,” she said, clearly miffed. “He’ll think I’ve gone insane if I suddenly start talking to myself.”

Lucius laughed. “Hence the benefits of a good Obliviate,” he said. “Of course, if I had known we would have other company…” His words trailed off suggestively.

“Let’s get this over with,” Remus growled. “The moon will be full in a few days, and I would prefer to be back at Hogwarts before it is.” He started forward, only to stagger as the invisible dragon shoved him.

Tell him the Forbidden Forest is not his personal playground.

“I’ll do no such thing,” Hermione protested hotly. “He has as much right there as you do.”

TELL HIM!

“Okay! Don’t yell.” Hermione turned to Remus. “Severus says the Forbidden Forest isn’t your personal playground,” she said. “What have you been doing in there, Remus?”

He grinned. “Playing hide and seek with a dragon, apparently.” Sobering, Remus continued, “Even with the Wolfsbane you’ve been brewing for me, the Forbidden Forest is the safest place for the nights when the moon is full. Sometimes I don’t remember what happens, but apparently he does.” He pointed to the deepest shadows, then tapped the side of his nose. “And, yes, I know where he is. I can smell him even when I can’t see him.”

Oh, for Merlin’s sake.

Hermione had to laugh at the disgruntled tone of the voice in her head. “Frustrated because you can’t hide from everyone?” she asked.

No. Go talk to Phelps. That was decidedly petulant.

“We’re going.” She smiled indulgently and turned to the brass-bound oaken doors of the library. “Gentlemen, I believe we have a translator to find.”

Lucius reached out and grasped the handle of one door, pulling it open while Remus copied his actions on the other side. “After you, my dear,” he said, bowing her through and into the foyer.

***

Hermione walked through the open doors and froze, almost causing Lucius and Remus to walk into her. It was her first visit to the august institution, and she gazed in wonder at the seven-story foyer with its skylight of stained glass filtering the afternoon sunlight. A wide set of stairs directly in front of her led from the ground floor to the first floor, and galleries split off from there in every direction. The foyer walls were covered with portraits of great witches and wizards, some of whom nodded a greeting at the three visitors.

A rotund wizard poked his head out of an almost invisible door to their left. “May I help you?” he asked superciliously, as if they were beneath his notice.

“We were looking for a Mr Phelps,” Hermione said. “He was recommended to us as a translator of Gothic.”

The wizard sniffed. “Upstart language. You’ll find Phelps on the sixth floor in the Germanic stacks.” He turned back to his office as Lucius spoke.

“If you consider Gothic to be an upstart language,” he drawled, “then might I inquire as to what languages you consider worthy of your time?”

“Babylonian,” the wizard answered, turning back with a sneer. “It is the very beginning of our language, customs and traditions. Phelps is that way.” He gave a wave that encompassed the stairs and subsequent galleries on the upper floors. “We close at five. Don’t shilly-shally.” He turned back into his office, shutting the door with a quiet slam.

ASS!

“Indeed,” Hermione agreed.

***

Seven flights of stairs later, the trio found themselves facing a bewildering maze of corridors and galleries. “Which way?” Remus asked, looking around in confusion. “They really do need to put up signs in order to direct people to the proper galleries.”

“If we did that, then anyone could find us,” a middle-aged wizard said, popping out of a side corridor. He held up his hands as three wands suddenly pointed at his face. “No need for hostilities,” he said with a chuckle. “I offer my apologies for startling you, but I couldn’t resist. Who or what are you looking for? Perhaps I could help?”

Hermione slipped her wand back into its sheath beneath her sleeve, and indicated to her companions that they should do the same. “I’m sorry about that,” she said apologetically. “We haven’t seen anyone about since that wizard greeted us at the door.”

“Short? Heavy-set?” the strange wizard asked. At her nod of agreement, he chuckled again. “Dobbs. Thinks the wizarding world should still be speaking Babylonian. How may I help you?”

“We were sent here by a friend,” Lucius said cautiously. “He told us that a wizard named Phelps could help us. Do you know where he is?”

The wizard bowed. “Thaddeus Phelps, at your service. I’m surprised anyone would even know my name, much less make a recommendation. Come. My office is this way.” He bowed them through an archway and into a room whose shelves seem to stretch to infinity. Books rustled and strained toward him, like small dogs wanting to be scratched. “Now, now, my pretties,” he intoned, stroking random bindings absentmindedly as the small group passed. “I’ve business to discuss with these fine people just now, but I’ll be back. Oh yes, I’ll be back.”

Hermione could only gaze in awe at all the books as Phelps led them through the stacks to a small office in the back of the room. She wanted, almost more than anything, to sort through and see what knowledge was hidden between the covers of each one. She started as Lucius cleared his throat, bringing her attention to the fact that she had fallen behind and they were waiting for her to join them in Phelps’ office. Blushing, she scrambled to catch up, Severus’ deep chuckle resounding in her ears.