More Conversations
19 September 1994
Roanapur
3:22 P.M.
For Harry, he tried to spend his Sundays doing something quiet and relaxing. Whether it was reading a novel, assembling a model kit, or working on getting the rune clusters on his broom project to function together, he at least tried. It didn't always work out.
This day, he was in the middle of painting a scale model of a car while mentally discussing with Salim over the finer points of temporal magical theory (like the Sleep Compression spell) when his phone rang.
"Hello, Harry Potter."
"Harry? It's Neville," came the slightly crackly voice over the line.
"Neville? Hey, how're you doing? Wait, how are you calling me? Shouldn't you be at Hogwarts?"
Neville chuckled at that. "Actually, it turns out that a Head of House is almost free to come and go as they need to," Neville explained. "It happened quite a lot in the Seventies, you know. Dumbledore just asked that I try not to let it get in the way of classes. I also got my own quarters; no more snoring Ron!"
"Huh. Did not know that," Harry admitted. "But it does make sense."
"Uh-huh. So I came home for the weekend, sent Dobby an owl, and he let me borrow his phone. How've you been managing in Foreign Lands?"
Harry laughed at the comically lurid tone that Neville had taken. "I'm pretty good. Been keeping busy, lots of sun, sea air, and fresh food. Working on a new broom; my Firebolt got shot up, so I had to send it in for repairs. Not a great loss, since I can't really fly here.
"Let me see... I have three girlfriends, their idea to do it, a cool older sister that I informally adopted, I'm apprenticed with the International Healer's Guild, and I've taken up a few small hobbies."
There was a pause, before Neville let out an admiring whistle. "Wow. That's... That's a lot, Harry. But Dobby told me you almost died?"
Harry sighed at that. "On Yamatai, yeah. I took some arrows, some bullets. A couple of blood vessels in my eyes ruptured for a bit. A lot of running. Dodged some lightning. I only came actually close to death once, and I'm pretty sure that it was just the adrenaline keeping me up from the arrows in my chest."
"Damn. That had to be horrible."
"Eh, it was a thing. Not nearly as bad is feeling myself dying from a basilisk bite, at least. Anyways, I got Yamatai under my control, and now I've been talking with a historian team; I had them hired to dig deep into the full history of the island, now that I've got it mostly settled down. What about you? You were awfully vague in your letter."
It was Neville's turn to sigh. "Well, you sent Healer Morgan to see Gran, right? That didn't go so well. Gran got angry, told her to leave. I got lucky and caught her on the way out. Talked to Gran, and she said that if it could be done, St. Mungo's would've already done it, and that I needed to trust her and let it go.
"I got to thinking about it, and Dobby helped me get in contact with Morgan. And now I know exactly what you mean by God Bless Dobby, mate. I really couldn't have gotten any of this done without him.
"Morgan told me that she needed the Head of House to give the legal permission to let her examine my parents. So I went and did the trial for headship. No details, but I got it, and came out of it with a broken leg and a concussion. Dobby helped me out again; turns out he knows a lot about basic medicine, just not real healing. So he got ahold of Morgan, she patched me up, I hit the Ministry to get all of the parchment-work done, gave her the permission. And then I went home. Gran was livid that I'd done all that. Livid and fearful; I'll get to that in a bit.
"Morgan's husband, Doctor Fulsom, had to explain the whole thing to me. As he put it, 'My wife is intense, and speaks precisely. I've been explaining things to families for a while, so I know how to make it make sense.'
"Once my parents were gotten to a separate clinic, they started running scans of their brains to see what the Cruciatus did. Once they figured out that there wasn't any nerve damage, they started scanning something called brain waves."
"I know a bit about that," Harry interrupted. "Basically, depending on circumstances, different sections of the brain are more heavily active at different times."
"That's pretty close to what Doctor Fulsom said. Anyways, they figured out that my parents were in a long-term dream state, and that their magics were intertwined to make it happen. Doctor Fulsom's theory was that, during their torture, their magics reached out to each other through the marriage bond, allowing them an escape. From there, he said it was mostly like dealing with Spellotape; he just had to find the end of the roll, and then pick at it until it started coming free. A few hours later, and my parents were awake."
"Congratulations, Neville!" Harry cheered. "That has to be a huge relief for you."
Harry heard Neville groan at that, before he said, "I would think that, sure. Until my father got home and demanded I give him back the Headship. That went well," he continued sarcastically. "Of course, after he failed his own trial at the hands of the Longbottom ancestors, he started berating me, telling me I was going to 'drive this great House into ruin'. I basically told him to grow up and stop whining.
"Mum has been wanting to get caught up, thankfully. She was right brassed off when she learned that Gran broke me of being left handed. Apparently it can cause a lot of problems."
"Your mum's right," Harry spoke up. "It's less well known in the Muggle world, but in the magical, it's known to cause an increase in anxiety and socialization issues. It's a subtle bit of long-term neurological distress."
"That... would explain a lot," Neville mused aloud. "Now that I think about it, it could be a part of why I didn't show accidental magic, why I have issues with groups.
"But yeah, I have my parents back, and it kinda sucks, what with Dad constantly whinging. Mum's doing okay, but she came up as a Fortescue; she was raised to be social, to notice and move with changes in trends. And then there's Gran."
"Let me guess," Harry began. "She deliberately kept your parents asleep to keep the Regency, and gloried in her political might?"
Neville huffed at that. "Close, actually. She didn't deliberately keep my parents from getting treatment. Doctor Fulsom told me that St. Mungo's refuses to update their facilities to be able to do what he and his wife did, namely figure out what wasn't wrong. But she surely took little chance in getting more experimental treatments for them.
"But the politics is more in line with what you said. 'The Dragon of the Wizengamot' is her title, and she fiercely protects it. She makes deals, bribes, blackmails, and so on. As much as Malfoy Senior, just with more socially positive goals. I dread to imagine what she might have been able to do if she had the Potter Regency as well. Actually, if she'd had access to the Potter fortune, she might've been able to get all of the bribing Death Eaters put away. Hm.
"So yeah, there it is. Mum wants to get caught up, Dad is being a whiny shit, and Gran has been somewhat hobbled; I kept her as my proxy in the Wizengamot, but limited her access to the money. While money makes the world go 'round, it's my money."
"I get you. Shit, man. That's a lot going on."
"And then there's school," Neville continued. "We're hosting the Triwizard Tournament, and contingents from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be coming at the end of next month. Three contestants, three competitions, one prize. Adult witches and wizards only, so there's that.
"This year's Defense teacher is a retired auror, Alastor Moody. The man is a total nutter, but knows his stuff. We got a lesson on the Unforgivables that was harsh, but enlightening.
"Funny story. He said he was going to teach us how to resist the Imperius Curse. He made Crabbe and Goyle dance together, had Ron offering his undying love to Millicent Bulstrode, and Seamus was doing pressups.
"His wand swung to me, and I already had my new wand pointed at him. When he asked me what I thought I was doing, I told him that I was getting ready to paint the wall behind him with his guts. That made him pause before he laughed and swung to someone else. He held me back and congratulated me on having some iron in me."
"Fuck. That's just... How the fuck is Dumbledore allowing this shit at Hogwarts? How is he getting away with it?"
"Dunno, mate. I asked Gran about it, and apparently the Board of Governors is in an uproar, but can't really do anything since it is educational. Gran's been trying to get Dumbledore publicly called out for it, but the Hogwarts Charter is backing him on this."
"Son of a... Fine. I'll deal with that when I get back. The plan is early to middle November. I could take a portkey from Hong Kong, but I ended up deciding to take a little tour through Japan to do a bit of sight-seeing and wrap up a few business things."
"Sounds like a good way to end the holiday," Neville admitted. "I'm going to send you some books, Harry. I'm guessing that you still don't know anything about British Magical Society, so I've pulled out some books that I think you should read. Customs, general behavior, and some stuff on internal family stuff among purebloods and old families. There's some spells in them too; nothing proprietary, but they're generally accepted among the Old Money families."
"Thanks, Neville. I really appreciate it. Do me a favor? If you have anything you can lend me on Life Debts, I'd really appreciate it. I'll fill you in later, but for now I need to do research."
"Sure thing, Harry. So, three girlfriends, huh? How did that come about?"
Harry rolled his eyes at the audible smirk. "It all started when I was on the beach roasting some fish..."
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19 September 1994
Roanapur Docklands
11:15 P.M.
"So, I heard that you had to have your ass saved by a kid."
Balalaika sighed at she took a puff of her cigar, the shadow of the shipping container keeping her and Chang out of the view of potential snipers. "I'm not surprised you heard that," she idly noted. "I'm surprised you didn't come back from Hong Kong the moment you heard it."
Mr. Chang smirked at he lit his own cigarette, leaning against the container. "Well, I did have to appease the upper management," he admitted. "That mess with the CIA paperwork delivery wasn't exactly well received, and that I'd hired Dutch to get it done was worse. So no, I just made it back a week ago, just in time for us to get together on dealing with the snitch. I'm glad that Johnny managed to find a solid crew so fast."
"Same. That the man was intact to interrogate was a bonus. And before you ask, the boy with the dark hair in that group was the one who came to my rescue. Well, he actually came to Revy's but it came out to the same thing, really."
"Interesting," Chang mused aloud, remember the little crew that had hauled a bound-and-gagged rat into the warehouse. He regularly hired Shenhua for hit jobs, and Sawyer for cleanup. Lotton was relatively unknown, having come to Roanapur only a few months prior. The boy was an unknown, yet somehow slightly familiar. "Tell me."
Balalaika exhaled a plume of thick smoke, saying, "We were meeting with a group who'd claimed to have liberated a remote supply warehouse in the now-former Soviet Union. Weapons, ammunition, the works. All of the Bratva above me said that this was a solid deal, so I had little fear of anything going wrong. Roanapur is sufficiently neutral that both negotiators agreed to it without a fuss.
"We got there, with Two-Hands as a bit of randomized insurance. It turned out to be a masterful ambush. Cars blocked off the streets and alleys, men poured out of prepared sewer manholes and rappelled down buidlings from rooftop maintenance sheds. Of course, a firefight ensued. Imagine my surprise when Two-Hands was seen shooting with one hand, and making a phone call with the other.
"Several minutes later, the fight was done. We'd taken down several of their numbers, but they had us surrounded and wounded. And then the boy does a spinning poledance down a streetlight, firing at them with a heavy automatic rifle. When he landed, he threw a pistol at Two-Hands and the rifle to Boris, calling out the magazine counts before he pulled out a stick and began fighting.
"I wasn't sure of how he was doing it, but he was punching holes through cars, remotely throwing men around, and kicked a car with enough force to not only send if flying five meters, but also crush the three men hiding behind it. And then he did something to pull the runners back to the site and knock them out.
"From there," she continued, flicking away her spent cigar, "he asked who was wounded and began treating them like a decorated field medic. I lost none of my men, and even Revy had her shoulder rebuilt by him; lucky hit with a bat.
"Once he left I asked Revy what that was all about. Apparently he and Revy adopted each other as brother and sister, and the young man is magical. She became adorably defensive and protective over him; I honestly thought for a moment that she was going to threaten me over my ideas on the young man."
"That's hilarious," Chang laughed out. "I never thought I'd hear of the day where Revy would threaten you, but here we are. Did you get anything else out about the kid? And how did he react to your burn scars?"
"His name is Harry Potter, and he apparently goes to school for magic in Britain. 'Magic wand, goblin banker, uses potions, the works' was Two-Hands' expression, I believe. And other than determine that I wasn't injured, he barely paid me any mind at all. Very professional."
"Potter? Shit, that changes things," Chang replied, flicking away his own cigarette butt before pulling out a flask.
"How so?" Balalaika asked, pulling out a pair of shot glasses.
"My youngest daughter is magical," Chang admitted, filling the two glasses with something green. "She attends the same school. Thanks to international magical law, non-magicals aren't allowed to know about magic, with the exception of immediate family.
"When I was still in Hong Kong, among the magicals there was something of a legend. Some evil wizard was taking over Magical Britain, and a toddler cut him down. Harry Potter, known as the Boy-Who-Lived. Only person to ever survive some kind of curse that's always fatal. And then he disappeared. A lot of people wondered if the higher-ups made up the whole thing, until a few years ago when the kid reappeared. He ended up at the same school as my daughter, a year below her. According to her, he's a nice, polite kid. Sweet tempered, but with an angry streak. Shorter than he should be, thinner than is healthy."
"That doesn't fit what I saw," Balalaika admitted with a scoff. "An inch shorter than Revy, and I'd put him at just shy of 150 pounds. Lean, but solid. And in the fight he was ruthless, with green flames like small wings extending from the sides of his eyes. Those went out as soon as he was done fighting."
"Wierd. Still, magic. Who knows anything about it, right?"
"Still, he was quite useful," Balalaika admitted. "And now Hotel Moscow owes him a significant favor. I wonder what he'll ask for..."
"Hard telling," Chang replied, shrugging. "My daughter is on one of the school's sporting teams, and he's on a different one. They haven't actually talked outside of the sport; most of what she's learned is from rumor."
"Hm. See what else you can get," Balalaika mentioned, tossing back the shot of something fruity that burned. "Revy is astoundingly uncooperative on the matter. Shocking, all things considered."
"True," Chang mused aloud. "She's usually more open with us. I guess this brother-sister thing is really important to her; I can't think of anything that would drive her to confronting you otherwise."
"Exactly. So, tell me what your people got from the rat," Balalaika purred out, lighting another cigar.