The Attack

The Attack

The morning dawned bright and inviting. The young lady made her way down the stairs to the street and on her way to work...greeting her neighbors and the early morning tradesmen. Another lovely lady, well-attired, watched the first lady walk along a quiet boulevard.

"AVADA ... "

The well-attired lady's wand hand was grabbed, and a hand clamped over her mouth as she was hauled back into the alley.

A moment later, the well-attired lady turned to her abductor in fury. "She's going to kill us! She's going to kill us, Jack!"

Her fury built. "Don't you care for us? Do you want to see us dead? Do you want to see me dead? Why don't you just take my wand and kill me? Take my wand and kill me, Jack."

Her fury boiled over. "The Dark Lord was weak. He was weak. Do you hear me? He could have killed Potter a dozen times. A dozen. He could have killed the whole damn trio. But no, he had to play around, playing with petty revenge. He had to send a boy. He should have sent a witch. The Dark Lord threw it away trying to set up pretty scenarios. It's not pretty scenarios. It's them or us."

"Oh, Jack, you're going to kill us," wailed Bellatrix, grabbing his cloak and shaking it in frustrated anguish.

'Damn all the gods, she might be right,' thought Jack. "I don't want to make the mistake the Dark Lord made of not listening to Trixie.'

'But I couldn't live with myself if I let Trixie or Narcy do it,' he thought as he folded Trixie in his arms.

'I'll kill the meddling witch,' he decided.

* * *

"Witch seeking Potions master to stir her cauldron."

"No, no, no," muttered Hermione to herself. "I've got to be more subtle."

She had had the brilliant idea of contacting Severus through the Personal Ads of the more popular newspapers. She had thought it would be easy to place innocuous looking, but identifying, ads in the mundane papers even though doing the same in the wizard publications would be trickier. The whole process, however, was proving more difficult than she had imagined.

'Maybe if I adapted some of the usual ads,' she thought. 'Let's see.'

"Enjoy walks on the beach and candlelit dinners. Appreciate sense of humor."

'There's a start,' she decided. 'All that's needed is a bit of rephrasing.'

"Enjoy dank old dungeons and brooding evening meals. Humor is overrated."

'I think I'm getting the hang of this,' she concluded.

* * *

"You're being careful, aren't you?" she accused him.

'Marvelous,' he thought. 'The first thing in the morning, a squabble.' He sipped his coffee, waiting for more accusations. If he were lucky, they would contain enough information to let him know why he was in trouble.

"You wake up and double check to see who's in bed with you before saying anything. I wouldn't mind if you called me Narcy, and Cissy wouldn't mind if you called her Trixie. You act like you're afraid you'll call us something else."

"Oh, Hermione, you've got to let me get more sleep," he moaned.

"That's carrying humor too far, love. The cream in my coffee curdled."

She showed him her cup. It had curdled. There are disadvantages to being a witch.

He snapped his fingers, and cream appeared in his coffee. He handed it to her and rubbed her shoulders. It was another morning at the Manor.

He showered, thinking he shouldn't appear in front of a bunch of kids reeking of Trixie and sex, but then he remembered she had worn his shirt last night. He borrowed it back, thinking he was lucky the school allowed only cats, owls, and toads...a hound would mean instant exposure. He mentally reviewed the faculty roster. No, no werewolves.

Contrary to his expectations about villainesses, Trixie was a morning person and a gifted and meticulous experimenter. She got the other two moving in the morning and spent the day working on the painkiller potion swiped from Miss Granger's flat.

'The patience of a saint,' Jack had joked to himself.

He occasionally wondered why Miss Granger had not tried to develop such a beneficial potion.

The combination of Trixie and Jack in the lab and Narcy and Jack blocking out lines of investigation had them identifying the compounds in the painkiller within a month. Luckily for them, Severus had been rushed. He had modified a mundane narcotic, and he had not protected his potion from spell-chemistry. Now the three were working on reproducing the compounds and protecting them from both mundane and magic analysis.

The project and the threat of Miss Granger were taking their toll. By the time Jack, Narcissa, and Bellatrix arrived back at the Manor for afternoon tea, the three sought release in action. It was wild broom rides and ferocious spell casting. Jack had obtained a copy of the confidential manual for the law-enforcement division, and they had worked on the counter-spells until they were doing them in their sleep. They expected to face overwhelming odds. In case they couldn't make it to the escape tunnel, they practiced a mobile defense designed to separate and pick off their opponents.

The exercises were followed by showers and Jack giving a massage to the two women. There usually wasn't much left in Jack, and the massages were occasionally perfunctory, but he dared not skip them. What he had told Potter was true: it was a chaste way to pay attention to both of them, and it contributed to a harmonious evening. It relaxed them enough that they usually decided who was going to spend the night with Jack while getting their massage. Not that there was much to decide. It was almost always an every other night arrangement. The ladies thought that a bit unromantic, but neither wanted to give up her night. After years alone or estranged, they were beginning to like sleeping with their lover and greeting him the first thing in the morning.

Their tolerance for a threesome, their dedication to the task at hand, and their enthusiasm for the world around them had Jack enamored as never before. Every night he participated in the transformation of a professional companion into a loving companion.

Not for a single second did he believe it would be okay to begin the morning with a wrong name.

* * *

Several weeks later, Jack was in his office reviewing what Trixie had said after she returned from a trip to Canada. The Quebec wizards had settled around Montmagny, a village on the St. Lawrence River, and the Quebecois had no interest in the recent Brit civil war. The district shop had offered Trixie a position as a Potions mistress, and it would like to market the painkiller developed by her research-oriented husband, Jack Holt.

Jack thought about the next two years as planned by Trixie and Narcy. Trixie was certain she could set aside her aristocratic habits and play the part of a professional for two years. It was better than being a fugitive...and she was an early riser as she reminded them. Narcy thought that in two years she could regain active control of the Malfoy assets and transfer them to the Americas. Jack could spend a month in Quebec brewing potion for Eastern Canada and the Northeastern United States while continuing his potion research. Then he could spend a month in Great Britain helping manage and transfer the estate while continuing his potion research. The two women were certain he could handle all this and keep two witches with a growing amorous appetite happy.

"You're very capable, Jack."

Narcy had smugly informed him that Trixie had February.

'Two sisters,' thought Jack. 'Trixie is gentle and loving, and she likes her sex life, her new-found sex life. Narcy is more tightly wound, but when she lets go, it's like a coiled spring.'

There was a knock, and Narcissa entered. The approaching major change in her life had her in a serious mood.

"Do you love me?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Do you love my sister?"

"Partly. Somewhat."

"That's what my sister thinks. You're treating her very well. She really likes you."

"If this goes on much longer, I won't be able to leave either one of you. Perhaps things will change when we get to Quebec. Your sister will have a chance to meet people."

'Yes, things might change,' thought Narcissa. 'You could fall in love with my sister instead of me.'

"If this goes on much longer, Bella and I will never want it to change," she said.

'I'm being drawn into a long term relationship with them,' thought Jack. 'I know better. I know they're aristocrats who'll never accept me, but I can't resist them.'

* * *

"Is he practicing again?"

"Yes."

Even the Black sisters had to suppress a shudder. They had checked the storeroom and discovered Grandfather Vogel's wand was missing. The two sisters assumed the wand had called to Jack when he entered the storeroom in his current state of mind. Grandfather Vogel had often been called 'The Bird' because he had sent many souls flying.

One misty Friday evening, Jack announced that he was restless, he would take a short walk, and he would be back soon.

Two sisters, fully cloaked and determined, met him in the foyer. "You're not going alone, love."

* * *

Hermione, giving up on romantic relations, was being one of 'the boys.' This Friday evening, she had gone bar-hopping with Edmund and Rogers, two new members of the Ministry.

The mist and a cloak swirled out in front of her.

"Hermione Granger."

"Huh?"

"Fill your hand, you Gryffindor witch."

"What?"

Time slowed for Hermione. She saw Edmund step in front of her and be knocked aside. She saw Roger step in front of her and then land unconscious. She hurled her strongest defensive spell and then went flying backwards to land temporarily stunned.

* * *

Casting the three spells had brought him to his knees.

At the last moment, Jack could not bring himself to kill. The first two curses hurt him as he fought to restrain their lethality. He was empty when the third curse tore out of him and tore him up.

His two ladies lifted him from where he knelt and took him home.

"Say something, Jack"

"That wand must be taken back to the Manor and cast into the abyss from whence it came."

"Yeah, right," said Trixie, checking his pulse.

"Sure," said Narcy, shining a light into his eyes and looking for movement.

"Jack, are you there?"

'Oh, Jack,' they thought. If he did not recover, that Hermione bitch was dead, her family was dead, her friends were dead. Everyone would rue the day that Hermione bitch had not received a fatal curse.

The two witches placed Grandfather Vogel's wand on a bed of charcoal in a circle of stones. They aimed their wands by looking in smoky mirrors as the wand and charcoal were utterly consumed and the rocks turned to slag. Then they brought Jack to his room. Trixie held his head in her lap, and Narcy sponged his brow.

"We did not finish off the Granger," they told him. "We did not think you would want us to."

"Yes, yes," he said, squeezing their hands in gratitude. "I am very proud of you."

"I wanted to poke her in the eye," said Bellatrix.

"How are you?" they asked.

"I'll recover. I should not have tried to use that wand or those curses."

His two ladies felt relief. He would be okay, and he had not stained his soul. They brought him several brandies and then snuggled around him to make certain he slept peacefully.

* * *

There were nine people in the room for the four-way contract on the painkiller potion. Padma, Parvati, an uncle on their father's side, and a nephew on their mother's side were the four co-owners of the Patil Potion and Apothecary Shop. There was a Ministry official from Social Services, one from Contracts and Records, and one to preside and witness. Harry Potter and Jack Higgins represented themselves.

Each of them had checked and double-checked the projections and agreements. A week's supply of the potion would sell for one Galleon. There were at least 200 private individuals who needed and could afford the potion. In addition, the Social Services Department would agree to buy at least 100 units a week with the contract to be renewed each year at the discretion of the Department. The Shop would agree to supply at least 100 units a week for the Social Services Department and agree to let the Department renew for four more years with no increase in price. Harry Potter would immediately pay 20,000 Galleons to Jack Higgins and receive half the profits. The Shop would produce the potion and receive half the profits. For the next seven years, the Shop would send 30 Galleons a month to his ex-wife or to the guardian of Jack Higgins' daughter and place 100 Galleons a month in a trust fund for his daughter. She would inherit the trust fund when she completed school or when she was eighteen, at her preference.

Jack was satisfied that he had severed all ties. There was no reason for his ex-wife or anyone else to pursue him. The money from the rich Potter would give him a good start in his new life. The only person seriously pursuing Narcissa and Bellatrix had been Miss Granger, but she had been neutralized

Jack remained fairly certain the original potion belonged to Snape. He fought down his feelings of guilt by reminding himself that Snape was making millions selling an illicit drug to mundanes. Snape, the fugitive, could not risk selling to the wizard world...just the kindhearted act of supplying Miss Granger had placed him in danger. 'In danger from Granger,' thought Jack. 'That lady's a menace. I did society a favor.'

Although outwardly calm, Padma and Parvati could barely contain their excitement. Their parents and others in the family had examined the projections and concluded this potion would be the Shop's mainstay for the next decade. And the family's attitude toward Harry had changed. It was more than his money; his investment had been one of trust and commitment.

Padma and Parvati were taking the trust and commitment personally. It was more binding than the sex they had been having since Harry was temporarily banned from the store. That Friday evening, Padma had appeared at the grim old place to reassure Harry. She was in his arms, clutching him and crying. She was in his bed, clutching him and moaning. Parvati had appeared the next evening, expecting equal treatment. Harry had been hesitant about having an intimate relationship with both sisters, but Parvati had convinced him it was what they wanted. She had been understanding, gracious, and irresistible.

* * *

"Awk,' went Bellatrix as she jumped back.

The three were exploring more of the Manor's dungeons.

Jack had his wands out in a flash. What could have possibly frightened Bellatrix? He held his first wand ready and used his second to illuminate the storeroom. He could see nothing. That made him more apprehensive.

"There," pointed Bellatrix.

"Yes, right there," said Narcissa.

Jack saw nothing. He gripped his wands tighter. Then he saw it...a small brown furry creature.

"It's a mouse," said Bellatrix.

He must have been giving the two of them an incredulous look because Narcissa confirmed the sighting. "Mouse," said Narcissa.

They were looking at him expectantly. It slowly dawned on him that mice were the province of wizards. He turned manfully to the task at hand. Boy, could that little devil scurry.

Zing. A near miss.

Zing. Almost got him.

The mouse squeaked and jumped.

The two women squeaked and grabbed Jack. "Oh! Don't hurt him! Don't hurt him!"

'Situation equals delicate,' thought Jack.