Curses, Spoiled Again

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to JKR. The original plot and story belong to Velvet Song.

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 can only hope I do her ideas justice.

Thanks to Fizzabella and writermerrin for the beta of this chapter.

Curses, Spoiled Again

“Thought of your version of the truth yet, Lucius?” Minerva’s smile was smug as they sorted through the books, parchments and scrolls that had been reduced and packed into the box, along with potions equipment and other items from Scrimgeour’s former vault at Gringott’s. Once enlarged to their former sizes, the contents covered the long table in the middle of the staff room.

“Father, this is one of ours,” Draco suddenly exclaimed, holding up a book. “Look, the bookplate’s still intact. What gall!”

“Are there any more?” Narcissa asked, pawing through the stacks. “Bella probably had a hand in their acquisition,” she said in accusation. “Here’s another one.” She held up a smaller book and looked at the title. “Journeys of Discovery,” she read out loud. “This is one of the books I was looking for earlier.”

Minerva looked at the stacks of books and parchments in front of them. “We’ll sort them out,” she said. “Put your books and such over there by the hearth.” She indicated a study table sitting against the wall. “Anything that has a bookplate or any way of identifying the owner, put over by the door.” She pointed at another table. “Mr Phelps, if you see something that belongs to your library, speak up so we can set it to one side. Those are to be returned to your institution forthwith. Anything else that has an identifying mark or bookplate will be returned to its proper owner if possible.”

“What about what we can’t identify, Minerva?” Hermione asked, stroking the rare volume she held in her hands. “This doesn’t have any marks at all.”

“Has it anything to do with the Dark Arts, dear?” Minerva asked gravely, trying to see the title.

“I don’t think so,” Hermione answered. “Narcissa, would you know?”

“The Proper Place of Witches?” Narcissa read the title and wrinkled her nose. “I remember that book. My mother made me read it before I married Lucius. She thought it would remind me that my husband owned me once our vows were said.” She smiled at her husband. “I don’t think it worked out as she thought it would.”

Lucius grinned. “If anyone owns anyone else, my love, you definitely own me.” He reached out and took her hand, dropping a kiss on it before letting go. “Do you want that book, Hermione?”

Hermione frowned. “Definitely not. But what would Voldemort have been doing with it?”

“He believed greatly in the moral superiority of wizards over witches among his other beliefs,” Lucius said dryly. “He was probably using it to help form his doctrines for when he won the war.”

“Well, we know how that turned out,” Harry said with a snort as he picked up a piece of parchment. “This is a weird language. Hermione, do you know what it is? Looks a little like runes, maybe?” He held out the parchment for her to look at.

She frowned over the marks on the parchment. “They do look like runes, don’t they, Draco?” She passed the parchment over her shoulder, where he stood trying to read them as well.

Taking the parchment, Draco looked closer. “Some of these could almost be Old Norse, but they’re formed a bit differently,” he ventured. “Mr Phelps, could you look this over, please?”

Phelps looked up from the books and scrolls he was collecting to return to the British Wizarding Library. “What’s that?” he asked. “Runes?”

“Or letters,” Hermione said. “We’re not certain what it means.”

“Indeed. Indeed. Why don’t I take a look?” He took the parchment and laid it in a clear spot on the table, then pulled out his reading spectacles and placed them on his nose. “Hmmm. Yes. Of course.” He removed his spectacles, holding them in his hand, as he looked towards Minerva. “Headmistress, I believe these young people have found your counter-curse.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione yelped, making a grab for the parchment.

Draco beat her to it by seconds, picking up the sheet and trying to read the contents. He grimaced at the garbled sounds he made, then handed it back to Phelps. “What does it say?” he demanded.

“Draco, manners!” his mother scolded.

“My apologies, sir,” he responded. “What does it say, please?”

“Quite all right,” Phelps said and proceeded to read the spell in its original Gothic.

“In English, if you please, Mr Phelps,” Minerva chided him. “Please remember that, with the exception of your friend, Mr Coombs, none of us speak or understand Gothic.”

“Of course, of course,” he agreed readily. “Old habit, don’t ya know. This is just a rough translation, certainly not word for word.”

“From dragon to man,

Be man again.”

“‘Speak this fair’?” Harry repeated. “What does that mean?”

“I’m more interested in the first part of that verse,” Bill mused. “Would you agree with me, Filius?”

“Oh, most definitely,” the little wizard said. “That could pose a problem.”

“Why?” Harry demanded. “If this is the counter-curse, then all we need to do is learn how to say it.” He looked around at the other teachers, then glanced at a frowning Hermione. “What? What did I say?”

“Professor Flitwick—” Susan started to say.

“Dear me, yes,” Filius said, giving into his old habit of lecturing. “It’s all very well and good to say ‘learn the words and swish the wand’, but it isn’t that easy.”

“If I understand that last verse correctly,” Bill explained, “someone is going to have to repeat the spell eight times—”

“Eight times!” Hermione gasped. “That’s—”

“—once for each year Severus has been a dragon,” Bill concluded. “Wouldn’t you say, Filius?”

“Oh, yes. Indeed.” Filius closed his eyes and shook his head. “If there was pain in the first Transfiguration, imagine how much pain there would be times eight.”

It would be worth it.

“Severus, you could be driven insane!” Hermione gasped. “Nothing’s worth that!”

My life is.

“What’s he saying, Hermione?” Lucius asked. “If I were to guess, I’d say he thinks the pain is worth being human again?”

Hermione nodded numbly. She turned to the window facing the Forbidden Forest and, chewing on her lower lip, stared outward, seeing nothing.

“As for your question, Mr Potter,” Filius said. “Speak this fair is an old way of saying you must speak the spell properly for it to work. Say one word wrong and the entire spell is negated.”

Harry winced. “That leaves me out, then,” he said, half joking. “Languages were never my best subject.” He grinned in a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood. “I’ll just stay back and watch.”

“I’ll do it,” Hermione suddenly said, turning back to the room. “I’m the one he left all his possessions to. I’m the one he talks to. I’m the one—”

“—who’s too close to the problem,” Lucius broke in. “You’re liable to stop in the middle if you think he’s in too much pain. As his best friend, I believe I should do it.”

“That won’t be necessary, Lucius,” Minerva said. “I can handle it just as well as you can.”

“And you have the same problem as Hermione,” Remus pointed out. “You’re too close to him. I think—”

Severus’ roar shook the castle’s windows. I think I am the one to decide!

Hermione winced as his shout reverberated in her head. “Not so loud,” she complained. “I’m the only one who can hear you, and that hurt.”

My apologies.

“So, Lucius,” Minerva said with a smirk, changing the subject. “Have you figured out which version of the truth we will give to the Wizengamot yet?”