Fairy Godmother
1995
I did it!
The empty black frame falls from the wall with a satisfying clang. I vanish the frame and look at the blank wall. In a sudden stroke of genius, I wave my wand and conjure my portrait from Fawley Manor.
Before anyone comes to see I cast a permanent sticking charm, just as strong as Walburga’s and rehang the black curtains in front of the portrait.
Cackling to myself, I pocket my wand and head downstairs, prepared to wait as long as it takes to see my plan succeed.
I don’t have to wait long. Ronald Weasley is the first to come down from working upstairs. He is grumbling to himself about doxies when he trips over the metal pail I left there. A loud banging noise makes him curse as it is kicked all the way down the steps, clanging the entire way. Walburga would already be screaming about blood traitors if she were still the occupant of the portrait at the top of the stairs.
“Watch out Ronald, you are looking very pail,” I hear myself say.
Laughing I dash to the bottom of the stairs in time to watch Ron’s face as he realizes Walburga is no longer occupying the wall.
When he hears me, he turns, his face red.
“You did that on purpose!” he says descending the steps.
Other pairs of footsteps come down the stairs to the landing.
“You did it!” Hermione says, looking at the new portrait I have hung. It’s me at 12 years old. The year the ministry released Fawley Manor into my possession.
Sirius emerges from the sitting room and looks up, groaning at it.
“Connie, did you have to?” he asks.
I just chuckle as everyone comes to see what the fuss is.
Vindication comes when Remus sees it and bowls over with laughter.
“Brilliant! How did you manage it?” he asks when he can breathe again.
“Walburga agreed to go find her sister’s portrait. Not the one at my house. The one in Malfoy Manor. Let her be Lucius’s problem now. They have a lot in common.”
“Well, you have certainly proven yourself to be the smartest Slytherin in the house. Come on, take it down,” Sirius commands.
“Take it down yourself if you hate it so much,” I cross my arms and walk away, a smirk on my face.
An hour later, everyone has tried to get my portrait down from the wall. Hermione even attempts to coax 12-year-old me into going home, but it doesn’t work. The satisfaction from annoying Sirius is too sweet. 12 year old me has even less patience for Black and his idiot friends than 19 year old me does.
“You could at least have told her not to make fun of Remus,” Sirius says, like a prat, when they all sit down to supper.
“Remus can take it,” I stab a noodle with my fork. “Can’t you?”
Remus nods, still grinning like the Cheshire cat. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he saw the portrait. I give myself a mental pat on the back.
My boys will not be so somber anymore. Any of them.
“Besides, Harry thinks it is brilliant.”
Harry nods in agreement.
“Come on Harry, can’t you be on my side? You’ve known me longer,” Sirius tries, a small tug at the corner of his mouth giving away his secret joy at the prank.
“Connie deserves a reward for getting your mother down off that wall,” Harry says.
Everyone at the table agrees.
A moment later, Arthur Weasley apparates into the room.
“Hello everyone!” he calls jollily as he kisses Molly on the cheek.
As everyone greets him, I notice a letter in his hand.
“What have you got there, Dad?” Fred asks.
He walks around the table and hands it to me.
Everyone looks at me expectantly.
Opening the small note, I frown.
Ms. Fawley,
The news of your discovery brings me unbridled joy. I understand you would like to meet. Assuming you have not yet found something to keep you busy, how about afternoon tea- Saturday. I shall open the floo between my office and 12 Grimmauld Place.
I look forward to catching up.
It is signed from Dumbledore.
“Who is it from?” Harry asks.
“It seems the headmaster would like to have tea on Saturday.”
Chatter breaks out once more.
I overhear Hermione whispering to Ron about Harry staying here with Sirius. Glancing at the man who was meant to raise Harry following his parents' deaths, I can sense he wants to talk to me.
Except I have no desire to hash out what I should say to Dumbledore. I plan on telling him exactly what I like and damn the consequences. What’s the worst he could do? Put me in a box?
Arthur Weasley launches into a rather interesting story about a raid his office had led that morning.
The Weasley twins, sitting on either side of Ginny, take turns stealing noodles off her plate and throwing them at Harry and Ron who are holding up makeshift quidditch hoops.
“Thank you,” Remus says quietly.
I turn in my seat and look at him confused,
“For the book. You went back for it, didn’t you?”
“Stole it actually,” I lie. “You know us snakes, always up to no good.”
“I don’t believe you. You can have it when I finish it,” he offers.
I shake my head. “How about I just borrow it and then we can talk about it.”
His face lights up. Lily and Remus used to have their own sort of book club. I never had enough patience to keep up with whatever they had decided on reading. There were dozens of half finished books in my trunk at any given time.
“Deal.”
Stepping into Albus Dumbledore’s office feels a bit like stepping back in time. Nothing has changed since I was here last.
“Connie,” the old wizard stands from his desk greeting me.
We don’t hug. Instead, I grab an acid pop from his desk and sit down.
He follows suit, grabbing a handful of licorice snaps.
An awful candy in my opinion.
“How are you?” he asks, the twinkle in his eye reminding me of the conversation we had when I decided to leave Hogwarts before finishing my studies.
“Adjusting. Headmaster, I want to discuss Harry.”
“In good time. First, I want to discuss what happened prior to your confinement.”
“Fine. Why did you let Eddie come looking for me?” I can’t help the anger in my tone.
“Mr. Davies was going to try and find you with or without my consent. I did not anticipate what happened to him.”
Anticipate. Right. Except he anticipates everything. He’s seen every possible outcome. I get a sick amount of satisfaction from the idea that he didn’t see me coming. Didn’t anticipate my survival.
“Harry won’t be going back to his aunt’s,” I change the subject.
“Mr. Potter is protected in that house. His mother died to provide him that protection. He cannot simply-”
I can’t help but stand up. He stops talking.
“He can and he will. Harry is 14 years old. He is just a child. I will not send him back to a place where he is looked down upon. Where he is harmed. There is no reason for it. Look back far enough, Sirius or I are related to Harry. Find a way for that to be enough. Otherwise, I’ll have to eliminate the Dursleys as an option,” I bite out, making it perfectly clear that I won’t just nod and agree anymore.
Listening to him got everyone I care about killed.
He sits silently, his hands folded in front of him. I resist bouncing my knee, anxious.
“Ms. Fawley. I am choosing to ignore your implication that the Dursleys may arrive at some ill fate should Harry return to their care. However, I acknowledge that it is possible that Mr. Potter may not be required to return at the end of his Fifth year. I will do everything in my power to find a solution we can all live with.”
Emphasis on live. I am aware that harry needs to be protected. I reassure myself this is me doing that.
“I do have to ask that you refrain from telling Mr. Potter that he does not need to return. It is imperative that he believe that is his home.”
“Fine. If you agree that he can stay at Grimmauld Place until the start of term.”
The twinkle in his eye goes away as he narrows his eyes at me.
“Very well.”
“Good.” I stand up.
“Aren’t you staying for tea?” he asks.
With a wave of his hand a rather battered teaseat appears in front of him.
“There is still quite a bit I would like to discuss,” he picks up the kettle, looking at me over his half moon spectacles.