Routine
The Black Hole residence, Kent, England, the United Kingdom
3rd July 2000
The first day of our agreement, I enrolled in a study-by-correspondence at a good school in London, for once using the goodwill of Interim Minister Shacklebolt to arrange it, and took pleasure from the fact that Hermione had also been catching up with her non-magical studies like this, at the same school at that.
The second day, Andy locked me in the small room overlooking the front lawn – the one that she had designated as my study – only with the accompaniment of a communication mirror linked to the one that she carried on her person, the books and ledgers pertaining to the Houses Potter and Black, a never-full notebook, an array of magical and non-magical writing tools, a pitcher of ever-chilled lemonade, a plate of various breads and/or pastries, an enchanted chamber pot, and the order for me to begin chipping away at understanding the estate of my own birthright. Enough said, that.
The third day, wearied from the day before, I approached my non-magical study for the O-Levels with half the enthusiasm I’d thought I’d have. To battle this, I skedaddled to the nearest café and brought my study materials there.
Being locked in the small room in the house for the second time on the fourth day didn’t get any easier. I guess the hatred and fear of being locked in small spaces for long stretches of time might never fade. I told Andy that, via the communication mirror, half-way down the day, but she just gave me an unimpressed look in response and a firm, “Get on with your work, Mister Potter.” – She could be a damn cold, heartless bitch,sometimes.
The fifth day ran just as the third. But on the sixth day, I ran away from the house before Andy could lock me in my “study,” which was more aptly my prison, and brought all the materials needed to the same café. Not surprisingly, I managed to do much better there.
Sunday, which happened to be the seventh day, was spent without any of the materials I was to study, whether magical or non-magical. It was the day for answering letters, playing with Teddy and strolling down a non-magical shopping centre with Andy, briefly visiting with the Weasleys, and getting on with my new hobby of trying my hand on moulding things with raw magic, which was – surprisingly or not – pretty chancy, taxing and dangerous.
The cycle continued on in the next week. In fact, it has been going on for close to two years, now, minus my overly negative feeling of the small room overlooking the front lawn that Andy calls my study. – I am long finished with my O-Levels, since my knowledge only needed some refreshment and addition to catch up with what I forgot from my primary school days. By now, I am well into my A-Levels in ancient literature, geography, biology and economics. Magical-study-wise, I have taken my OWLs in ancient runes and arithmancy and retaken those in astronomy and magical history. And currently, I am embroiled in frantic studying in preparation to take the NEWTs of those subjects plus potions, charms, transfiguration and defence against the dark arts.
Considering the intensity of my formal studies, Andy’s order for me to visit each and every holding listed under my name at the end of each month and interact with the workers there – from the collective army of house-elves to a pack of werewolf guard retainers – has been quite the delightful change of pace, scenery and topic. Given how the Potter and Black properties – plus a handful of bequeaths from some grateful deceased – are spread literally all round the globe, it’s been a great opportunity for me to learn new magics, new places and new cultures with all the stories and customs they hold, as well. With how I’m beginning to know the workers personally, learning about and keeping up with the more stationary and unexciting parts of estate management has also lightened up considerably; and, lately, I don’t even run away anywhere anymore during my so-called “prison days”.
Teddy has grown in leaps and bounds during the interveening years, and Andy has also grown brighter in both outlook and demeanour, although she has her bad days, same like me. Unfortunately, however, with how preoccupied Ron and Ginny have been with their Quidditch careers, with how George is still deeply mourning Fred all the while, with how Mrs. Weasley has been innundated with offers to care for new little Weasleys from the elder Weasley children, and with how Mr. Weasley and the aforementioned elder Weasley children are trying to help rebuild the Ministry, my ties with the whole Weasley family have grown looser by the year. Letters exchanged with Hermione have grown shorter and absent-minded, too, and we haven’t met each other even once all these twenty-two months, which is actually pretty alarming and upsetting.
Neville and Luna have somehow grown closer to me, instead, with all their anecdotes about their beloved plants and animals, respectively, and also the stories the three of us share about the same places we happen to have been to. Neville didn’t take long past the death of his grandmother last year to get out of the Auror programme and join Luna in most of her globe-trotting expeditions, apparently.
In fact, both are rarely seen without each other, nowadays.
And, well, I often join them for one or two days somewhere outside Britain, dragging Andy and teddy along with me, oftentimes acting as the whole group’s cook, tour guide and/or host.
It, oddly enough, truly feels like a family, like I have my own family.
Like I have a home, which I lost when I prematurely finished my education at Hogwarts, when Hedwig died so senselessly, when Hogwarts castle and the people in it were mostly destroyed during the last battle with Voldemort.
When I grew apart from Ron and Hermione, and Hagrid moved to France to be closer to Madame Maxime….
Oh well. Damn. Nope, I am not going to spoil today with dark reminiscences again. Things like this are never conducive for thinking on a “prison day,” and today is one such day.
Nope; no, no, no, no; I’ve got to churn out reasonable investments for my combined estate right now and the number crunching is already tortuous enough with how boring it is. No need to torture myself any further.
It’s better to wonder what vehicle I’m going to learn to drive next, after I’ve gotten my motorcycle and car international licences last autumn and this autumn, respectively. I never knew that intense scheduling and productivity like this could be so worth all the hard work and fun!
Hmm, I wonder if Teddy would like it if I drove him through the countryside, with the promise of a sleepover in the field somewhere, in a caravan truck…. Next year I could even drive him and his nursery-school classmates plus all their families in an outing with my bus!