Hlp O Brgg

How are you feeling, Hermione?

She pulled the comforter closer about herself and peered hard at James Potter's ghostly form. It was a constant surprise to her how very much Harry looked like him. She found it a comfort actually. "I'm all right, apart from being mad enough to want to wring Narcissa's bloody neck. I'm just a little depressed is all."

He gestured at the walls of her marbled gaol. It must be hard having to live here, apart from your parents... and friends.

"It's worth it though. I'd do anything to save the Headmaster. But that's not why I'm down." She pointed her wand at the teapot which was brewing her favorite Darjeeling and Accioed it to her cup. "It seems so unfair...how some people have to struggle their whole lives to make their way, while others get all the breaks, have all the money..."

You mean the Malfoys.

She nodded and sipped the hot, fragrant tea.

Perhaps I can put it into perspective for you. It may seem as if they have it all now, but the day of reckoning is coming for them. I would say it has already come, in fact. And Narcissa, at least, knows it. Fortune swings the pendulum of prosperity and health with a blind eye, and those who are well-fed and clad now, the pampered and cowardly, become the beggars of the next generation. We have no say in this. The only power we have is what kind of people we will be ourselves: the decisions we make, how we carry ourselves, how we treat others. But that, I think is a very important power.

"But if there's no reward..."

Virtue is its own reward, Hermione. Never forget that. To be able to go to sleep at night, knowing that you've done a good day's work, used your talents wisely, cared for the good of the earth, helped people where you can, isn't that something worth having?

"A clear conscience and a decent night's sleep...yes, I suppose so."

And the knowledge that you're building up the world, not contributing to its demise.

"Yes, I see what you mean. Thanks, James."

I'm not sure you'll be so grateful when I tell you what the next task is.

She rubbed her hand over her old chest-wound. "After that last close call..."

I'm sorry about that. It was a lucky thing that Time-Research fellow was wearing body armor, wasn't it?"

"Where were you, James?"

Like I said, watching your back. About five minutes after you went into the time lab, I sensed Dolores Umbridge steaming down the hall towards the Department of Mysteries, and I thought I'd better head her off.

"You didn't conjure a centaur to scare her away, did you?"

No, although it would have been fun to see her reaction. I just whispered in her ear that she had a big ladder in her stockings. Lily says that's just about the most embarrassing thing you can say to a middle-aged witch. She turned tail and headed for her office. But I thought I'd better follow her at least part way to make sure she didn't change her mind. Then I got involved eavesdropping on Ministry gossip on the elevator. The old Auror habits never quite go away, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Hermione. I let you down. It won't happen again.

He looked just like Harry did when he needed help on a particularly difficult Potions essay but didn't want to ask. She smiled. "That's all right. So what's the next task?"

He clapped his hands. I like your spirit, young lady! We had a lot of trouble deciphering the next several items on Dumbledore's list, but when Sirius got back from his first set of tests...

"Set of tests?"

The heavenly powers are being rather hard on him, I admit. All those old misdemeanors, you know, especially the... erm... hanky-panky... and pranking."

"Yes, I understand there was quite a lot of that."

Anyway, when Sirius got a chance to study the list, he recognized this name. Apparently, he had told Dumbledore about the case, hoping the Order could find evidence to prove the innocence of this fellow who had been wrongly sentenced to Azkaban.

Hermine brightened. "Was it Stan Shunpike by any chance?"

No, that wasn't the name. Is Shunpike a victim of Ministry injustice too?

"Yes, he's a... friend... of Harry's. But, please, go on."

Well, about a year before Sirius escaped from Azkaban, there was a fellow brought in to the cell next door...name of Ovid Bragg. He'd been sentenced to three years for Snidget poaching. Every night, Sirius heard him repeating happy memories to himself...to stave off the bleak ones, you know...and pieced together that he had small daughter whom he loved very much and that his wife was very sick. By the time Sirius escaped, he was so convinced of Bragg's decency that he vowed that he'd try to get proof of his innocence or, failing that, extenuating circumstances for the crime.

"What did he find out?"

Not a whole lot. When your name is on the Ministry's Most Wanted List, you don't have a lot of options. But he managed to find out where the little girl and the mother, who was in remission from a deadly illness, were staying. He acted the loveable stray around their yard for some months and became quite fond of Little Lu, as the family calls her.

"I'm sure the feeling was mutual. How old is Lu now?"

Around five or six, I'd guess. She's been living with her mother's sister...one Modesty Collins...since the mother died. Aunt Modesty wants to formally adopt her and is trying to convince the Wizengamot that Ovid is not a fit father.

"Well, it's not like he's a child molester or anything."

But the Aunt is a rabid animal lover. When she heard that Ovid had tried to smuggle those little birds out of the Rabnott Sanctuary, and had the child with him at the time, well she about went ballistic.

"Snitches are quite valuable, aren't they? I read somewhere that their eyes and feathers are highly prized on the Dark Market."

Yes, but what you may not know is that the means poachers use to extract them are very cruel. Pictures of plucked and blinded Snidgets have been circulating in Beast Rights circles for years.

"That's horrible."

Yes. Bragg was lucky to get only three years.

"What was his story?"

That he took his daughter to the Sanctuary because the mother had worked there before she got sick, and he wanted Lu to know her through the things she loved. When they left, he was caught red-handed with the birds...three of them.

"But he doesn't sound like a poacher... unless he needed the money badly for something important. Not that I'm excusing him..."

James looked at her reproachfully. Sirius is quite sure of his innocence.

"All right. If I interview to him, hopefully I can find some exonerating evidence, and the Aunt will forgive him, and he gets his daughter back."

It won't be quite that easy.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Why am I not surprised to hear you say that?"

As you may know, Azkaban warps a prisoner's thought processes and emotions terribly. Most inmates, when they come out, are more than a little bonkers and spend time at a half-way house for re-hab. Then they are helped to find a job and a place to live. Sirius thinks the only thing that kept Bragg from going completely round the twist was the thought of being reunited with his daughter. But the Aunt wouldn't let him see Lu, and he lost it. His social worker found him in his flat, smelly and starving, clutching Lu's picture, babbling like a brook. He's in St. Mungo's now...completely catatonic. All his personal belongings...what few there are...are there with him.

"So, if you'll send me there, I can get started looking for evidence."

He waved his hand. I'll be right behind you. Honestly.

~*~

They were in a waiting room at St. Mungo's with several groups of people...patients' families, surely...seated on cheap plastic sofas arranged in rows facing each other. The room was uncomfortably warm and smelled of unwashed bodies and incompletely cleaned messes.

"I'd like to see Mr. Ovid Bragg," Hermione said to the receptionist.

"Take a seat," the witch answered. "His family is here too, so you'll have to wait a while." She gestured to a woman and a girl seated in a corner. The little girl had long hair in brown, tightly woven plaits. She was wearing a cheery pink robe and had a Mad Muggle lunch box in her lap.

Hermione edged towards the pair. The child was amusing herself, swatting at flies with her small hands. There seemed to be quite a few in the room. She sat down; the seat crackled under her weight; it had been repaired many times with Spello-Tape.

She cleared her throat and asked, "Are you, by any chance, Mrs. Collins?"

"The woman frowned. "Yes. Do I know you?"

"No, my name is Hermione Granger. I know a little about Mr. Bragg... Lu's father," Here she smiled at the little girl. "From a... friend of his. Erm... they were in prison together."

Modesty Collins stared at her. "Oh. One of that thieving lot."

"Papa's not a thief, Aunt Tee," said the little girl, softly but firmly.

A man in green robes approached. "Mrs. Collins. Your daughter can see her father now.

The aunt made to rise, but the girl shook her head. "No, Aunt Tee. I want to see him by myself. You scare him too much." She got up and strode over to a wastebasket which was overflowing with refuse. She brushed off her hands, and a collection of small, dark objects fell into a half-eaten sandwich on the top. She wiped her hands on her robe and followed the man through a door he had just opened. The smell intensified, and loud noises...cries, jeers, thudding and scraping...flowed out. It reminded Hermione of an ill-kept zoo.

Lu's aunt pulled up a ragged copy of Witch Weekly from the empty space next to her. Hermione tried to think of a way to restart the conversation. She had begun badly; she knew that. She should not have mentioned Azkaban.

"Lu seems a bright little girl," said Hermione.

"That she is." The aunt turned a page.

"She'll be going to Hogwarts, I imagine."

"Mmm-hmm." She pulled the magazine closer to her face.

"I go to Hogwarts too. Have you... erm... heard of Harry Potter?"

"Who hasn't?"

"He's a good friend of mine."

"Really?" Modesty Collins looked at her. The look said, I don't believe you. The aunt murmured, "I hear he's quite a Quidditch player."

Hermione wondered if this was meant to test her boast. "Oh, yes. He's Seeker for Gryffindor. Has been for six years. The youngest player in..."

"...in a hundred years. Yes, I know." The magazine lowered a bit. "Did you watch him play much?"

"Every game."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "I hear he once caught a Snitch with his mouth."

"That's right. And another time he had a broken arm but still managed to get it, and once his broom wasn't working right and he was way up over the pitch, and he almost fell off..."

"Hmmph. Did he ever do the Wronski Feint?"

"That move Viktor uses?"

"Victor who?"

"Viktor Krum."

The woman leaned forward. "The Viktor Krum? You know him?"

Hermione affected nonchalance. "Well, yes. Actually, we went together... for a time..."

"Ohhhhh, you're that Granger."

"What do you mean?"

"Rita Skeeter wrote about you two-timing Potter..."

Hermione lost it. "That's not true! I was never Harry's girlfriend. Never. I'm just one of his friends. That's all."

"I wondered what the real story was. When I saw your picture... well... you looked too... sensible... and wholesome to be just a... a flirt."

Or a whore, thought Hermione, which was the reputation the Skeeter hag had tried to hang on her.

Modesty Collins seemed embarrassed, as if that very word was in her own mind. In lieu of apology, she changed the subject. "Do you play Quidditch yourself?"

"Me? Oh no. I can barely get up on a broom."

Modesty snorted. "That's me too. No sense of balance. But my sister...Lu's mother, you know...played pro for a while."

"Really?"

"Yes. She was a Seeker too. For the Appleby Arrows. Ah, how she could ride! The Wronski Feint was her favorite maneuver. And quick? No one in the league had faster hands. That's where Lu gets it."

"What?"

"Her quick hands. You saw what she was dumping out in the waste can? Flies. She just snatches them out of the air. Quickest hands I've ever seen. She can ride very well too, as young as she is."

Hermione smiled. "You're a Quidditch fan."

"Yes, we still follow the Arrows. I'll miss going to games."

"Why? Are you going away?"

"Yes, and soon, thank the stars. This is the last time we'll ever have to visit this place." She glanced about the room, her mouth a thin line.

"You're moving?"

"Yes, Lu and I, as soon as the adoption papers come through. We'll be living in Cornwall, as far as we can get away from this place. Then maybe she'll forget him. I promised her one more visit so she could try to jog him out of this funk he's in, but I think she knows it's no good. But she has to try, doesn't she?"

"I heard about his...her father's crime. Do you know what actually happened at the Sanctuary that day?"

"His story is they just walked around all morning... had lunch in a mulberry grove... then they took a nap. When they woke, they started for the front gate. The guard heard a buzzing sound coming from the lunch pail he was carrying, and when they opened it, out flew three Snitches. He confessed pretty quickly afer that. So he got the minimum sentence, one year per bird."

Just then, the door burst open, and the little girl ran to her aunt. Her face was glazed with tears. "He doesn't know me, Aunt Tee," she cried. "He didn't even look, no matter what I said." She wrapped her arms about her aunt and pressed her face against her tailored brown robes.

Modesty Collins squeezed her niece gently and patted her back, then held the little girl at arm's length. "I told you, Baby, he's very sick. That's why he's here. You can't do him any good any more." She shouldered her purse in a gesture of finality, but Little Lu just sank down on the sofa and buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

Hermione saw a vending machine in a corner and sidled over to it. "James, she whispered, "I don't have any money. Can you...?"

I'm way ahead of you, Hermione. This used to be a specialty of mine. The machine rumbled and shook, and a pack of Drooble's Best Blowing gum fell out of the slot. Heh-heh. I used to stop Harry's tantrums with this stuff. It's hard to cry when your mouth's working that hard.

Hermione brought back the pack and offered a piece to Lu as her Aunt went out for water. Soon they were both chewing away. Ron once told her that the beauty of Droobles was that you could blow such big bubbles that it pretty quickly started everybody in a contest to see who could make the biggest. It took Lu away from her troubles quickly, and as she calmed down, Hermione asked questions, seemingly just to pass the time.

"Your aunt was telling me, you've been to the Snidget Sanctuary."I've always wanted to go. What's it like?

"It's the beautifullest place I ever been."

"What did you do there?"

"Papa and me, we walked about and saw skillions of these teeny birds all flying around the trees eating berries...cute and little..."

"And fast?"

"Not very. I cotched a couple, but Papa made me let them go."

Hermione goggled at the child's innocent boast. She must indeed be gifted if she could snatch a Snidget, the fastest of all birds, out of the air. "And then you had lunch and took a nap."

"No, I din't. Papa did. I just watched the birds and then I cotched some more and gave them a ride."

"How did you do that? How did you give them a ride?"

"I put 'em in my lunch pail, but then, when we were going home, a man came and let them go."

Hermione sensed a presence at her side. It was Aunt Tee with two cups of water in her hand. Her face was white. She put down the cups and pulled Hermione over to a corner. "We never told Lu what her father was arrested for. He wouldn't allow it. But... she must be making this up."

Hermione had an inspiration. "That lunch box, is that the one she took to the sanctuary?"

"Yes, she always carries it around. She keeps some mementoes in there: her mum's watch, a letter from her father. Of course she can't read..."

"A letter? Have you ever read it?"

"No."

"May I...?"

"You'll have to ask her."

Hermione took a deep breath and went back to the little girl. "Lu, that box of yours is so pretty. Do you mind if I look at it?"

Lu just nodded, her mouth at work on the biggest bubble yet.

Inside, among oddments of jewelry and small toys was a grubby envelope with a much folded and refolded bit of paper. It read:

My darling Chastity,

Ovid.