Four

A Balance of Three

Chap 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I make no money here.

AN: This story was written for the 2010 ss/hg_exchange as a gift for lady_karelia. Many thanks to my wonderful betas, dreamy_dragon73 and Clairvoyant.

The next day, Art brought his sister to meet Severus. If they were at all curious about how Severus had got all of his books and belongings to the cabin, they didn't ask. Art's sister looked as ancient as he; her name was Little Anne. She was a short round woman with a big smile. She had a giggle like a little girl and appeared to find Severus amusing. It seemed she preferred the old ways and usually refused to speak English most of the time, although she understood it well.

Art explained his sister's idiosyncrasies. "When we were young, the government decided that the Indian children should go to school to learn things the 'right' way, but there was no school in our town. So, all the children were required to go away to school, and we had to live there. The school was run by the church, and the nuns there did not like Little Anne much because she did not want to learn their ways. She liked the Anishinaabe ways, and she told the nuns so. That was her mistake," said Art with a sigh.

"A bit of a rebel then, our Little Anne," suggested Severus while arching one eyebrow questioningly.

"Yes, indeed," agreed Art with a laugh. "I tried to tell her: just pretend to follow their ways, then believe what you want. But Little Anne would not. She said she would not deny her gods. She told the nuns that they could worship the great Jesus and that was fine with her, but for herself she would keep the old ways. Her gods were of the earth and the sky: the sun, the moon, the stars, the air, the water, the forests and their plants and animals, too. This angered the nuns, and they were mean to Little Anne."

"Mean to her? What did they do?" Severus asked grimly.

"They tried to make an example of her. They punished her by giving her whacks with a leather strap, or a paddle in front of the whole school. Then, they locked her up in a dark closet. They kept her there for days. They only let her out to go the bathroom twice a day and made her eat on the floor in the closet. But my Little Anne, she was a stubborn girl, and still she would not change for them.

"Then, strange things started happening. The closet door would unlock itself for Little Anne. No matter how many times they locked it, or how many locks they used; as soon as they left the office, the door would swing wide, and she was free. One day, when they tried to spank her, the nun swung the paddle, but when it hit Little Anne, the nun's wrist snapped and broke. The next one who tried to hit her fell and hurt her knee. They quit trying to punish her after that. They sent her home, saying she was a bad influence on the rest of the children, but I think they were afraid of her, although they would not admit it. They thought they were punishing her, but Little Anne was happy. She has lived by the old ways. And in protest, ever since she came home from there, she speaks Anishinaabemowin instead of English almost always."

"That is disgraceful that they treated her so," protested Severus. "I was a teacher for many years. Most of my pupils didn't like me very much. I was very strict, and my teaching methods were rigid, but I always tried to protect them."

Little Anne had sat quietly throughout her brother's tale, nodding occasionally in agreement. She now said something quietly to Art. He translated for Severus, "My sister thinks you were not like the nuns."

"Thank you, Little Anne. However, I'm sure my former students would disagree with you."

She spoke again quietly to her brother and he stated, "She says that she likes you. And Little Anne does not like many outsiders. Truthfully, when I brought her here today, I feared that she would refuse to help you at all. But she says she will teach you what she can of the old ways."

Little Anne said something and Art laughed. "She says that you remind her of the migizi, the eagle, with your black hair, fine like feathers, and your nose like the beak of an eagle."

Severus chuckled. "An eagle, hey? Well, I've been called much worse, believe me."

Little Anne said something to Art, who shook his head and argued with his sister for a moment before capitulating and translated her question for Severus.

"She asks if you are a shape shifter?"

"A what?" asked Severus cautiously. He was startled by her question.

"A shape shifter is a human who can take the shape of an animal. Most outsiders do not believe these tales. They think they are myths and stories told by ignorant Indians, but the Anishinaabe know that these things are real."

Severus considered his reply before answering, not wanting to offend the pair. Then he admitted, "No, I am not a shape shifter. But I have known people who are. I have a very good friend back in Scotland who is one."

"Really?" Art asked in surprise. "It is uncommon for someone like you, an outsider, I mean, to admit that. What is your friend's form?"

"She becomes a cat."

Little Anne grunted and commented.

"She says an eagle would be better because then you could fly, but maybe a cat is not so bad. They are very stealthy and good hunters," Art explained.

Severus smiled thinking of Minerva. "Yes, she can be very stealthy."

Little Anne stepped forward and, laying her hand on Severus' cheek, gently turned his face so she could look into his eyes. Shocked, he felt the invasion of her mind in his. As one of the best Occlumens in Britain, he had withstood Legilimency by Voldemort himself, yet this tiny Indian woman rifled through his mind like the pages of a book.

"If you do not shift shape, how do you fly?" Little Anne asked innocently.

Art looked shocked. Severus didn't know if it was due to his sister's actions, or because she had spoken to Severus in English.

"Little Anne, what have you done?" gasped Art.

"He is not like the other outsiders, brother. He is the animikii, the thunderbird. He says he does not shape shift, but I have seen his mind, his memories. He flies like the eagle. He has battled a snake-man. He is one of the chosen ones."

Art turned to Severus, his eyes wide; he appeared to be shocked by his sister's revelations. Finally, he tried to explain, "We believe that some people are chosen by the gods to have special powers. We have spoken of the shape shifters, but there are many other kinds of powers. Little Anne is a chosen one; she can see into people's minds and knows things about them. She is also a powerful healer, a midewikwe or a medicine woman. I have special gifts with animals, and I am also a good mediator among people. It makes me a good choice to lead the tribal council."

Severus considered his response carefully before confessing, but finally decided, what the hell, Little Anne and Art clearly were magical. While they had not been trained in the conventional ways of witchcraft, they weren't normal Muggles; of that he was positive. So, he explained as best he could about his life of witches and wizards and the difference between them and Muggles. He showed them his wand and demonstrated a few simple spells: first, Lumos, and then he levitated a book off the table. He told them about being a Potions master and why he had come there, hoping to find the rare Spiralhorn sprouts; he described them and even showed them a sketch from the journal he had found.

The brother and sister were fascinated by his use of magic and the idea that it was concentrated and focused by the use of his wand. They were surprised to learn that in his world, the chosen ones lived in a completely separate society. In their world magical and non-magical people of the tribe lived side by side in harmony.

Little Anne knew a great deal about the local native plants. She didn't recognize the one that Severus was seeking, but she had heard stories of such a plant. She did, however, agree that she would teach Severus what she did know about herbal healing in return for an exchange of knowledge. Severus felt that the exchange was more than fair, and he was encouraged by their accord.

Before they left, Severus made sure to have Art show him how to set the wood-stove up so he would not wake up freezing in the morning. He learned that he had been leaving the damper wide open. The fire burned hot and fast, but most of the heat was going up the chimney, and the logs burned away long before morning. Hopefully, waking up tomorrow would be a bit better. Severus found it a bit ironic after all their discussion of magic to find that there were some things that it couldn't control, things that were still best done the Muggle way.

~

Hermione had plugged the runes into her formula. Runes that, she now figured, had probably come from Lucius Malfoy; or at the very least Kingsley and Malfoy had collaborated on them. The results seemed undeniable. It was a positive factor, however, it was inconclusive; it needed more. She knew that what was needed were sets of numbers, which would identify the missing two-thirds of the triad.

She'd been working on it since early morning. Unable to sleep, she'd come stumbling down the stairs, calling to Kreacher for coffee at six o'clock. It was nine when the fireplace flared, and Kingsley's face appeared.

"Hermione, may I come by in a bit, so we can have a talk?"

Hermione sighed. She couldn't stay angry at Kingsley forever. He was, after all, giving her what she wanted the most: the chance to prove her theory.

"Yes, that's fine and, Kingsley..."

"Yes, Hermione?"

"I'm sorry for yesterday. I'd like to apologize for taking my anger out on both you and your friend... er, Malfoy."

The Minister cleared his throat. "I spoke with Harry this morning, sweetheart. I'm sorry none of us realized it was Ron's birthday. I know it must have been a rough day for you."

She smiled tightly. "Not your problem, Kingsley, but thanks for that." Quickly changing the subject, she continued, "Oh, hey, these runes you gave me are a positive factor, but I'm going to need the numeric series that go along with them. For some reason I think you already know what it is, or if not you, then Malfoy does."

Kingsley chuckled. "I'll see what I can do. I'll see you in an hour or so."

~

True to his word, he showed up an hour later almost to the minute. Kreacher let him in and went to fetch some tea and snacks. Kingsley entered Hermione's study to find her absent. He took a seat in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the fireplace, but within a few minutes he could hear squeals of laughter from down the hall. Curious, he slipped down the hallway and gently pushed the door open a crack to see James and Hermione hard at play.

They had made a fort of tents by draping blankets and sheets over the furniture and were now sitting atop the back of the sofa which apparently was a dragon that they had just used to escape from Gringotts. Pretending to jump off the dragon, Hermione wrapped her arms around the little boy and rolled off the back of the sofa onto the seat and from there onto the floor. Landing in a heap with James sitting on top of her stomach, giggling as he tried to tickle her, Hermione laughed and began to tickle the little boy right back.

Finally, rolling beside her, James patted her cheek and asked, "Did you really ride a dragon, Aunt Mymee?"

"Oh, yes, Jamie. That's a true story. Your daddy, Uncle Ron and I, we flew away on the back of that dragon. The boys liked it very much but I didn't. I don't really like to fly; I was very frightened that day."

"I wouldn't be scared," the little boy bragged. "I want to fly on a dragon someday."

"Well, perhaps your daddy can take you to visit Uncle Charlie in Romania some day. I don't think you can fly on one of his dragons, but you would be able to see them. That would be exciting, wouldn't it?"

"I don't wanna just watch dragons at the 'purrserv'; I wanna have 'ventures like my daddy and you and Uncle Ron did."

"Oh, Jamie, my love. They didn't seem like adventures to us at the time. Kreacher makes them all sound like grand fun, but, sweetie, it wasn't. Most of the time it was really scary, and we made it through more by luck than anything else. I hope you never have to face the things your daddy had to face. I hope you can just grow up doing the kinds of things normal little boys do. Do you know, I think your daddy would have liked that kind of childhood so much better than the one he had. I know I would have."

Kingsley quietly closed the door and returned to Hermione's study to wait. Even though she would be twenty-six on her next birthday, she'd seemed like little more than a child herself playing with James. Her words had given him pause. He wondered, Are we asking too much of her? Do we even have the right to make such a request? Her childhood was already stolen from her, and now we expect her to make a choice that will unequivocally alter the rest of her life.

Here was a girl who had sacrificed her entire youth to the cause of saving the wizarding world from Voldemort: at only thirteen years of age, petrified by a Basilisk; wounded in a battle in the Department of Mysteries when she was sixteen; on the run with Harry and Ron at eighteen, searching for Horcruxes; a war heroine at nineteen. Then, with the war won and their futures ahead of them, bright and shiny with hope, her happily-ever-after was brutally snatched away from her on her own twenty-second birthday. Kingsley sighed; sometimes he really hated his job.

~

A short time later, Hermione joined him, apologizing for her tardiness.

"It's all right; I peeked in and saw you playing with James," he admitted. "He's a great kid. Harry's really lucky to have him."

"Yeah, he is," she agreed wistfully, thinking of the children she and Ron had dreamed of having someday. "But down to business then. Those Runes were spot on, as I'm sure you already know. I do hope there's more information like that coming."

"That's precisely what I wanted to talk to you about, sweetheart. I've brought a set of numbers for you to play around with. Try matching them to the runes you already have and see what you think." He handed her a slip of parchment that she glanced at before placing it with the rest of her work.

"Hermione, I would really like for you and Lucius to work together on this. As much as I love Arithmancy, I have to admit I'm nowhere near the skill level both of you are. I could be a go-between for the two of you, but I honestly think that you would get so much more accomplished if you could work as a team."

Hermione looked doubtful. "I don't know, Kingsley. This is Lucius Malfoy we're talking about after all. I know that you two were friends years ago, but still..."

"He's not the same man you remember, Hermione. I swear that to you. I'm not making excuses for him, please believe that, but I do know that his family was the most important thing in the world to him: more important than all his family fortune, more than his pure-blood principles. He would have done anything to protect Narcissa and Draco. I'm sure that he did many of the things he did in an effort to keep them safe."

"Maybe later in the war. But in the beginning? Are you trying to say he didn't join Voldemort willingly the first time around?" She sounded disbelieving.

Kingsley took his time before finally offering his opinion to Hermione. "I think he and many others were a product of generations of pure-blood conditioning. Many of the pure-blood families, the Malfoys included, were actually around during the time of the Inquisition, the witch hunts; those stories were passed down from one generation to the next. As a child, it was drummed into him that Muggles were a threat to the wizarding world and the burning times could return; he was taught that Muggle-borns were something abnormal and unnatural. When Voldemort came along, he re-enforced all these things that the pure-bloods had been taught, and he fed on their fears. I'm certainly not justifying anything they did, Hermione, but if you honestly analyze it, you can see how they were enticed to join him. He promised them all the glory of the perfect pure-blood race, to protect the old ways and prevent Muggles from bringing harm to the wizarding world.

"Lucius might have joined willingly; I won't deny that, but I believe he didn't have any idea of the methods that Voldemort planned to use to achieve his goals. And I'm not saying that everyone on their side was an innocent dupe either. There were a great many truly evil, vile, vicious people on the Death Eaters' side, but there were also people who just got sucked into the maelstrom and simply could see no way out."

Hermione sat and considered everything Kingsley had just said. She didn't really want to give Malfoy a chance. She wanted to dislike him, to blame him for his poor life choices. She didn't want to think of Draco and Lucius as victims of their upbringing. But she did know that he had loved his wife dearly. She also knew that his only concern during the final battle at Hogwarts had been to find his son and keep him safe, not to help Voldemort win.

"Damn you, Kingsley," she grumbled. "I don't want to think rationally about Lucius Malfoy. I want to just continue to hate him blindly."

"But you won't. Because then you'd be no better than they were. Wouldn't you?" he said gently with a knowing smile.

"You bastard," she accused him good-naturedly. "All right then, send him over tomorrow, and we'll review what we've already got. But I swear, Kingsley, if I hear the word Mudblood out of his mouth one time...even one single time...I'm going to hex him to kingdom come!"

"I'll make sure he's duly warned, sweetheart."

tbc

AN: I just want to mention that many of the things I have written of the Anishinaabe, which means The People or original people (also known as the Ojibewe or Chippewa), are true.

* At one point in history, there were Indian schools, and children were often sent far away from their families to be educated "properly." Sadly, there were also documented cases of abuse in some of these schools.

* The legend of the shape shifter is present in many cultures, including the Anishinaabe. The best known shape shifter is Nanabozho. He most often appears in the shape of a rabbit and is characterized as a trickster. He is able to take other shapes as well.

* The eagle is a sacred bird and is believed to be a messenger of the Great Spirit. The eagle is a symbol of truth, power and freedom. Eagle feathers are sacred. When one receives an eagle feather, that person is being acknowledged with gratitude, love and ultimate respect. To be given an eagle feather is the highest honor that can be awarded within aboriginal cultures.

* They have powerful healers. A male practitioner is called a midewinini ("midew man") which sometimes is translated into English as either "shaman" or "medicine man," and a female practitioner is a midewikwe ("midew woman").

I have also created things that are purely fictional, such as the chosen ones. In my pretend world, unlike Harry Potter's world, amongst the Anishinaabe the magical and non-magical folks live side by side, but the magical folks are known as the chosen ones. (I kind of like the concept of them co-existing rather than being separated).

The Spiralhorn sprouts are purely my imagination as well. :)