The Revelation

The Revelation

Harry arrived early at the masked ball the Friday following the raid. He was surprised at the disappointment he felt when he didn't see the two sisters. He danced with several girls, glad for the distraction.

As he finished one dance, he saw the two sisters walking toward a table in the back. 'They're not even looking around,' he thought, feeling snubbed. He went to the bar and waited. Surely, they could see him. He was hoping they would approach him. After all, he had approached them last week, and there were two of them...practically a pack. But the only action was an increase in his anxiety level. Another girl approached him and smiled, and he asked her to dance. It reminded him that he had a fallback. 'If the worst happens, I can dance the night away with the available girls,' he thought as he walked over to the two sisters.

"Hi," he said, sitting down.

"Hello," they said coolly.

"I'm glad you came this evening," he said, wondering if it had been a mistake to approach them.

"Thank you," they said, still cool.

He paused to see if they wanted to start a conversation. He was thinking his social skills were not up to this.

"Where's your blonde?" asked the one with a cane.

"She's around," he said. He was annoyed by their coolness. He had tried to be friendly. And there were plenty of other women. "I told you she's not 'my blonde.' I can tell you the story if you like, but you seem to want me to go away. Let me wish you a good evening." He stood.

"You may as well tell us the story," said the sister with the full mask. "We're not doing anything else."

"I'm sure a lot of blokes would like to dance with you," he said, sitting back down.

He told them he didn't know if it was proper to reveal names, but he was Harry Potter. They said they had guessed. He offered that it was his dancing skills that gave him away. They agreed. They were the Patil sisters as he had guessed. The one with the cane was Padma, and the one in the full mask was Parvati. He said he was thirsty. They all decided on apple juice, and he went to the bar.

On the way to the bar a thought occurred to him that would not have occurred to him under ordinary circumstances: the two sisters were jealous of the blonde lady. 'It must be all these girls around that are making me think like that,' he surmised.

"We didn't think you would come back," said Parvati as he placed the drinks on their table.

"Would you rather I hadn't?"

"No. Please sit down," they both said.

He told them about his assignment: keeping watch on Mrs. Malfoy in case her husband, son, or sister appeared. They told him about the family apothecary and potion store. He preferred talking about their store to talking about Mrs. Malfoy. He found himself attracted to them again, and he remembered they were at a ball. Yes, he was dancing, but he was also with one sister at a time and holding her.

"Oh, Harry, we have to open early tomorrow," said Parvati.

"We have to open early every day," said Padma sadly.

"You haven't told us what you're doing at school," said Parvati.

"We'd like to hear," said Padma.

"Will you be here tomorrow evening? We really hate it that we have to rush off," said Parvati.

Harry told them he would be back tomorrow if he possibly could, saw them to the street, and waved goodbye. He resigned himself to waiting until Mrs. Malfoy wanted to leave. This evening she and the bloke had both worn a fleur-de-lis patch. After a few dances, Harry was sitting at a table reminiscing about raven hair, dark eyes, warm smiles, and the calm self-assurance of businesswomen.

He hadn't given much thought to the long hours of retailing. 'It's like teaching, but without the flexibility.'

* * *

Parvati helped her sister limp to the tub and listened to her moan as she sank into the water. "Did milady have one dance too many?"

"Milady could have danced all night," replied Padma. "Did mademoiselle enjoy throwing herself at the young man?"

"Mademoiselle was most restrained," said Parvati as she joined her sister.

Their high-caste thoughts turned the tub steamy and the vapors aromatic.

* * *

Certain incidents of the battle had come back to Jack Higgins, and they were disturbing, especially considering his current circumstances. 'Should I get it out and take the consequences, or should I live with it and take those consequences,' he wondered.

Professor Higgins had been pondering this problem for several days when there was a knock on his office door that he recognized. He pushed the problem to the back of his mind. It was easy to forget the world's problems in the company of Professor Malfoy.

"Jack, I've been thinking about something, but I don't know what to do," she said after she entered and seated herself.

"Okay," he said, thinking it must be serious. She had been entering and giving him a discrete embrace since their escapade at the masked ball.

"Can I trust you, Jack?" she asked. "I mean really trust you. Can I tell you something bad about myself?"

"I already know you have something of a past. Just being a Black sister and married to a Malfoy guarantees that."

"This is not a past problem," she said. "And it's serious."

"How serious? At one end of the scale, would it put you in prison?"

"Yes," she said.

"I couldn't put you in prison. You know that." He wondered if he could approach her problem carefully. "Does it have anything to do with the battle with the Dark Lord?"

"Yes," she said.

"Let me guess. I may be wrong, but let me guess. You were at the battle."

She sat silent.

"The Ministry is being punitive," he said. "I admit that if they released everyone from prison, some of them would cause trouble, but the Ministry is creating more problems by keeping everyone in prison." He paused. "There were many reasons for fighting for one side or the other."

"My husband and son were there," she said.

"Then you were brave," he said.

'If it's confession time, then it's time for me to speak,' he thought.

Narcissa stood. He thought she was going to approach him, and he motioned for her not to, but instead she said, "I have to show you something."

She removed her cloak and unbuttoned the bottom of her shirt to show him part of the scar. "I'm disfigured, horribly disfigured."

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Sometimes. Potter used to swipe potions from the school infirmary for me."

"Hell's bells, I'll have to follow his good example."

'There was no reason for her to show me that scar unless she wants us to be close,' he thought. 'Damn, things are going well, things are promising, and I'm going to ruin everything.'

"I have something even worse to tell you," he said. He waited till she was dressed and seated before saying, "I was at the battle, and I remember part of it that is going to make you hate me."

"I know we were on opposite sides, love."

"This is worse than that. This is personal."

Narcissa turned pale from his tone of voice.

"I remember your husband," he said. "He was in a cone of light. He raised his wand. I threw two hexes...one to his chest and one to his head."

Professor Malfoy left his office, strode down the corridor, entered the lavatory, and was violently ill.

* * *

Two mornings after the ruckus at the masked ball, Hermione Granger stepped out her front door to discover four bottles of wine and a note suggesting a small glass morning and evening.

She spent the next two days greeting people at work and noticing everyone recoil from her. 'I don't bite,' she thought. 'I have been biting,' she realized.

During the two days of clarity, she connected the dots: her rescuer at the masked ball, the appearance of the miraculous potion, and the disappearance from the wizard world of a chemistry genius.

Several evenings later, Hermione Granger stood in front of her kitchen sink. She was full of determination. She was determined to do what was right, not what was easy. "I. Will. Not. Be. A. Drug. Addict. I. Will. Not. Be. Beholden. To. The. World's. Foulest. Traitor."

She poured the contents of the bottles down the drain.

* * *

'Everything was going well, and I ruined it,' thought Jack Higgins. 'Everything was going well, and I ruined it.'

He was on his way to his first class of the day, repeating what he had told himself this morning and all last night. 'I didn't have to say what I did. There was no reason for me to tell her I killed her husband. If I had kept quiet, I could have had a wonderful relationship.'

He couldn't stop comparing his wife to a companion who would fight by his side...who had fought by his side.

'Everything was going well, and I ruined it.'

* * *

'It's such a simple thing,' thought Harry.

All Monday and Tuesday he had wrangled with the impulse to visit the Patil sisters at their store. 'I'll be bothering them while they're working ... I'll just poke my head in and greet them ... They didn't invite me ... They might like it that I took the trouble to see them ... What makes me think they want to see me? ... I'll be a customer; I'll buy something.'

Wednesday he decided that it was perfectly okay to drop in as a customer, but then he lost his nerve. He decided to go Thursday. 'This is ridiculous. I'm going to see them tomorrow at the Ball. This is terrible. They'll be angry I'm bothering them. They'll be angry I waited till Thursday to see them.'

After lunch on Thursday, Harry arrived at the Patil store, entered, and found Padma on her knees cleaning a shelf. "Hello, Padma."

She looked up in shock.

Parvati stepped out of a storage room.

"Hello, Parvati," said Harry.

Parvati gasped, covered her scar with her hand, and backed into the storage room.

Padma was flustered enough that she had forgotten how to get to her feet with her lame leg. Harry helped her up. He was thinking his visit was ill-considered.

"You caught us without our disguises," said Padma.

"I'm sorry," said Harry. He noticed Parvati had come out of the storage room. "Wait, you see other people as you are now. What's wrong with me?"

Parvati spoke up. "I suppose we wanted you to think we were pretty. We wanted to hide the fact that we're scared."

Parvati had touched a sore spot. He said, "Has it ever occurred to you that I might feel bad that I don't have one?"

"You do have one."

"I was a baby and had no choice."

The three looked at each other.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought I'd drop in and see you."

He stood looking at the floor, not wanting to leave, not wanting to stay.

"Harry," said Parvati.

He looked up.

"I'd ...." Parvati looked at her sister. "We'd like you to stay ... please."

"Yes," said Padma, "but we might be busy."

The two sisters brightened. "Can you work the cash register for us?"

* * *

Jack Higgins was thinking of ending his marriage. The gap between them was growing, and his in-laws' bitterness wasn't helping. A week ago, he had discovered he could have his wife whenever he liked. The influence of her parents had her acting like a conquered lady. The first several times it had been spicy, but it wasn't what he wanted.

His thoughts turned to Professor Malfoy. She was a member of a defeated army, but she was not a conquered lady.

Professor Higgins and Professor Malfoy were polite and professional towards each other, but that only reminded Jack of how much he had lost.

Jack Higgins tried to stop his thoughts, but they kept coming. 'I was weak. I wasn't strong enough to keep my mouth shut and live with what I did. I can tell myself she would have found out eventually and that would have been worse, but I don't know that, and being willing to risk eventual discovery is part of being strong enough to live with an aristocratic lady. Everything was going well, and I ruined it.'

* * *

'I've got the easiest job,' thought Harry as he sat at the cash register and watched the two sisters stock the store. He was surprised when they closed the store for afternoon tea. "I thought retailers never quit."

"We usually close for tea," said Padma. "We need a break, or we would collapse."

"But today went much better," said Parvati. You really helped, Harry."

He sent a message to the school. The reply came back amazingly fast from Professor Malfoy that there was no problem: She had been invited to stay for dinner. 'Are Flitwick and Higgins flirting with her, or are the old Herbology professor and the coach watching her like a hawk?' wondered Harry. He told the sisters he was free.

"You've helped so much we should fix you dinner," said Parvati.

"We're getting a lot more done since we don't have to stop and take care of customers," they told him.

"Do you like Indian food?" asked Padma. "We can make it mild."

"Would you like a little spice in your life?" asked Parvati.

The shop took up most of the ground floor; the next floor was storage; and the top floor was the living quarters. It had retained the rugged qualities of their uncle, a bachelor businessman. Harry sipped his tea and appreciated how the simple furnishings complimented the gentle curves of the two young women. They told him they had to come up here for tea. If people saw them in the store, they would bang on the door even if the shop was closed. "People may be banging on the door now," they told him.

After tea, Padma went back to stocking and arranging the shelves, occasionally checking to see how Harry was doing. He found himself fascinated by the aristocratic curves of her face and her bright eyes. "Don't stare," he reminded himself. Parvati, warm from shifting inventory, was also thoughtful enough to regularly see if he had any questions. Her perfumed aroma, patrician face, and sharp eyes had him struggling to maintain decorum. 'I don't get out often enough,' he concluded.

They closed at seven. "Dinner at eight," announced Parvati.

"It'll be simple," said Padma.

Padma looked at Parvati. "Should we show him our uncle's old room? It has a separate bath, and there are still some casual robes that our uncle liked to wear in the evening."

A half-hour later, freshly scrubbed and wearing a silk robe, Harry lounged in front of the fireplace with a glass of wine. He would have to fake his way through tomorrow's lectures. Reflecting on his current surroundings, he reviewed the Defense courses. No, they didn't include keeping your mind from going wild in the presence of friendly women. The curriculum had a huge gap.

There was murmuring from the kitchen. "Not that much," he thought he heard Parvati say. "You'll burn his tongue."

"I thought I'd melt a little cool exterior," said the other sister.

"Okay, you're right, add more," said the first sister.

He thought he heard some giggling.

Parvati appeared in the kitchen doorway with a big spoon in her hand. "We have some really spicy, I mean really spiffy, leftovers."

Padma appeared beside her. "We're going all out in here."

The sisters decided to arrange the dishes on a low table in front of the fireplace. Parvati sat on his right with her scarred side towards him, but with her hair down, it was not visible. She noticed him looking and parted her hair to show him the scar. "I think it's slowly healing," she said, "but half of it is always going to show, and the hair over the other half is going to grow back white." She sighed. She recovered and looked at him. "Want a little burlesque?" She looked at Padma. "Show him yours."

Padma lifted her robe past a shapely calf to her ruined right knee. "It doesn't bend very well, but I'm lucky I can limp around with a cane."

"We usually hide our scars," said Parvati.

"Not show them off," said Padma.

"You didn't mind, did you, Harry?" they both asked, concerned about his opinion.

Harry shook his head and looked into the distance.

Padma cocked her head. "Are you still thinking about not facing the Dark Lord?"

He nodded.

"Let's see the palm of your right hand," said Padma.

He held it out.

"Confused," said Parvati.

"It's really complicated," said Padma.

Padma took a breath. "We had to have an army to face the Dark Lord's forces. It's not your fault the army did better than expected." She paused before saying, "It would have been personal for you to have killed the Dark Lord. It wasn't personal for the army. It was kill or be killed to protect their families."

"You may have avoided a great evil," said Parvati, thinking about what she had seen in his palm.

"I'll think about that," said Harry.

'Yes, that's worth thinking about,' he thought, 'if I can stop obsessing about Padma and Parvati.'

"I propose a toast," said Padma, raising her glass, "to avoiding great evils."

"To avoiding great evils," echoed the other two.

* * *

Hermione stumbled into the women's lavatory and gripped the toilet bowl. She was sorry she had eaten breakfast. Then she was sorry she didn't have more breakfast to give back. She sank to the floor. If she vomited on the tiles, that was just too bad. She wrapped herself around the cool porcelain. She reached up and flushed the toilet to keep the porcelain cool. She clutched the cool porcelain.

An hour later, she was still dizzy but coherent enough to be glad she was a witch with cleaning spells. She took the rest of the day off and went home.

Two mornings later, she stepped out her front door to discover four more bottles of wine.

"I'm bad," she said as she violated all the rules and had a glass of red wine with an omelet.

'Good job, Severus, you evil genius,' she thought as her throbbing pain began decreasing at the first sip.

'With a sound body and a clear mind, I can track down the traitor,' she thought. 'I know he has weaknesses: he wants social interaction, he will rescue the brave, and he has compassion for the afflicted. And I know where to look for him. The wine is a superb vintage that makes me dissatisfied with anything I can afford. He is providing pain relief to the wealthy.'

She was resolute. 'It would be easy to let him continue providing pain relief to the unfortunate. It would be easy to ignore him and let his fertile mind concoct more beneficial potions for mankind.'

She raised her glass for a toast. 'We must be brave and strong in these troubled times.'

She washed the breakfast dishes and cleaned part of the flat she had been neglecting.

She was counting the feathers in her cap. 'I will hunt down the nemesis of the witch world as befits the most brilliant witch of my age. I only have to locate him: both sides will kill him on sight.'

As she set out for work with a light step, she thought, 'But not so fast.'

* * *

"I'm having lunch with an old student of mine tomorrow," said Flitwick. "Well, not that old. Why don't you join us?"

"I may as well," said Jack. "Do I know him?"

"Her. Hermione Granger, a brilliant student. But I should warn you she was injured in the battle. She's often in pain, and it's made her abrasive."

Flitwick had chosen a mundane village restaurant that was an unusual combination of rustic and sophisticated. The specialties were several stews, but Flitwick assured him the broth was nicely seasoned and the meat was braised, not boiled. The aroma of frying onion and garlic wafted out of the kitchen. The wines were decent. The two had arrived early and were having a glass to brace themselves for the abrasive Hermione Granger.

"Hi," she said pleasantly, appearing behind them. Flitwick introduced them.

"I'm glad you didn't wait for me," she said. "It feels like I'm dropping in on friends. How many glasses have you had?"

"This is our first," said Jack.

"Then it won't take me long to catch up," she replied. The menus arrived. "The stews are great," said Hermione, "but if you don't mind waiting, I was thinking of having the grilled chicken." She looked at Jack. "It comes with flat bread, humus, and tabouli."

"The owners came from the Near East by way of France," explained Flitwick.

"The grilled chicken sounds good," said Jack.

"Flitwick says you're teaching part time," said Hermione.

"A number of people volunteered," he said. "I'm surprised you're not teaching."

"Maybe someday," she said. "I hear they even drafted Mrs. Malfoy and she and you are friends."

"Just acquaintances, really," he replied.

He must have given away something by the way he said it because Hermione was looking closely at him.

Flitwick intervened. "Jack and Narcissa were on opposite sides. It takes time to forget all the old wounds." He looked at Hermione. "Is your group at the Ministry still active?"

"Don't tell anybody," she said, "but they have me going to the masked ball in case some ex-disciples are lurking there."

"There was a raid several weeks ago," said Flitwick. "Were you there? How did you get out?"

"It's all pretty confused," said Hermione, looking into the distance and tossing her hair. She wanted to change the topic. She addressed Jack. "Are you still in the Department of Mysteries?"

Jack felt as though the ball had been tossed into his court. "I've done several things. Eight years ago, there was a movement to revitalize Potions."

"Revitalize?" asked Flitwick.

"Our name for the school Potions course was 'kitchen-aid,'" said Jack. "'Stir twice clockwise; stir once counter-clockwise.' There's no information in those instructions."

"What did you do?" asked Hermione.

"We spent three years putting making potions on a conceptual basis," said Jack, "then we asked ourselves how one would reconstruct how a potion was made. We spent three years on what we called 'Analytical-Potions.'"

"I never heard about any of that," said Hermione.

"Sometimes, Jack's department is too mysterious," offered Flitwick.

"We wrote it up," said Jack, "but by that time we were burned-out on potions and the school was in turmoil. We took a rest break. I went into examining unusual artifacts."

* * *

Reflecting on the luncheon later, Hermione decided that Jack Higgins was aloof, distant, and arrogant. She considered a witch in a relationship with him. 'She would spend her life looking into those bright, shining eyes and wondering what he was thinking,' thought Hermione.

'I've got to write a nice note to Flitwick,' she thought, 'that thanks him for inviting Jack. If I offer to treat them, the three of us can meet for another lunch. Maybe something informal...we can fly out of the village to a picnic spot. I'm sure it's part of my job to learn more about the Department of Mysteries, and I'm certain Jack is a good source.'

* * *

Jack, his senses heightened because of his encounter with Mrs. Malfoy, had noticed that Hermione had been unconcerned about her scar and had been pain-free. She had been vivacious and sensitive to other people. Despite her joke about catching up, she had only sipped at her wine. She had been evasive about what happened during the raid and had given a flirtatious hair flip.

'Romance,' thought Jack, 'or drugs or both.'

Later, he mentioned having had lunch with Hermione Granger to people at work, and one co-worker responded that the holy terror of law enforcement had undergone a transformation during the last two weeks.

'Definitely drugs,' thought Jack. 'Probably pain relief. And romance, too, I think.'

Other ideas occurred to him. 'It has to be an illicit drug because other people are suffering without relief. Hermione must be getting the drug from someone else because she's not the type to keep a painkiller secret. What is this drug, and why is it a secret? Are the drug and the romance connected?'