Brief Hours (June 1980- July 1981)
Mother hadn’t wanted Jeyne to work at Saint Mungo’s. She had insisted that she would find it too difficult, too messy, and too different from her mother’s expectation of what Jeyne should be.
There were days that Jeyne wondered if her mother knew that Jeyne had mostly ignored her advice in the ten plus months she had been at Hogwarts each year.
So Jeyne took the Starks up on their offer of a room, and Robb’s proposal had been accepted with alacrity. (She didn’t care if the world at large had thought of her as easy or pregnant or a gold digger. When he looked at her with that vulnerability, she felt like she was the only other person in the world, that he wanted Jeyne, who played pick-up Quidditch and failed miserably to challenge him in Wizard’s chess.)
And Saint Mungo’s Hospital, despite being exhausting, messy, and bloody, was Jeyne’s favorite place in the world. She was useful there, with praise for her cleverness and explanations on how she could improve doled fairly. In turn, Jeyne took to organizing the patient charts, keeping a mental tally of how many people needed what type of care.
Which is how Jeyne Westerling realized that the Order and Ministry were both missing something.
It started with one of the Clifton boys from the Channel Islands, coming in with what had seemed like a beginning case of dragonpox- not quite as gruesome as grayscale, but still deadly to those weakened by it.
“Have you played anywhere you shouldn’t have?” Jeyne asked the boy, who was still pale and shaky, but still without the scaly splotches that distinguished dragonpox. He was allergic to one of the key ingredients of Pepper-Up Potion, which probably would have masked his symptoms anyway.
He shook his head. “No, miss.” He was probably about eight, poor boy, and prone to huffing at random intervals.
Jeyne grinned at him. “I happen to have brothers, dearie. That’s how I know you’re lying.”
“How?” he asked, green-grey eyes wide. Gerry had been a sweet boy, quiet and obedient, though getting a bit restless after a few days cooped up in a bed.
“Because you can’t keep kids from doing what they shouldn’t,” Jeyne pointed out dryly. Not without a large amount of behavior modification potions in their food, at any rate.
He blushed, and Jeyne ruffled his hair. His family had taken to leaving “little things to keep him busy” every time they visited, and little Gerry was curled under his blanket from home, with a small pile of toys and books on his nightstand.
“So did you go anywhere, do anything that your brothers and sisters didn’t?” Jeyne asked.
He pulled his knees up and curled so his head was resting on them. “…Promise not to tell my mum?”
Jeyne frowned. “I promise to keep as much as I can private. If it was something you found, we may need to send people to clean it up so no one else gets sick.”
“I was playing with some stuff by the shore and I found some old coins,” he said sheepishly. “I put them under my bed so no one took them.”
Jeyne reported her findings to Catelyn Stark, who shook her head and sighed.
“Boys will be boys,” Mrs. Stark said with a rueful grin. “Jeyne, since you made the discovery, could you see if you can find the coins?”
Jeyne agreed, but frowned when she could not find a trace of them, though she saw the clever little hidey-hole they must have been with. There was a trace of some type of magic there, but nothing that even a bemused Humfrey Hightower could use.
“Some variation of leprechaun gold?” Humfrey suggested after a few hours of brain storming. “The sea has been known to do odd things to conjured objects, after all. It might have simply been a coincidence.”
Since Gerry was recovering, Jeyne had no real recourse but to accept.
After a few months, Jeyne noticed that quite a few people were being hit harder than they should by normally mild illnesses. Not everyone, and they came in for different reasons, but still quite a few.
She sighed and waited, gathering information as much as possible.
She just didn’t know what she was missing.
~
Lily paced when she was nervous. And right now…
“Prophecies, by far and by large, are complete foolishness, especially when the seer’s identity is kept in the dark,” Tyene said with a trace of wickedness in her grin. “Though I thank you for making me little Harry’s godmother. I take it this means that you think me more devious than Voldemort and his minions?”
Lily laughed at that. “I know that you’ll keep him safe.” She picked up Harry, who at two months was finally napping long enough Lily could relax and focus a bit more on work. Or at least bouncing theories off of Tyene. “And teach him to take care of himself, as well.”
“My family is very fond of self-sufficiency,” Tyene agreed. “What are you going to do about this prophecy?”
“Dragonstone, at least for now,” Lily admitted. “Rhaenys offered it, as Sirius is remarkably iffy on the thought of living there right now.” The fact that the security there had never been compromised in over five hundred years was something that made Lily feel like she might get a chance to relax and simply enjoy her time with her son. How nice would it be to not have to jump whenever she heard a sudden noise?
“Bit cold in the winter,” Tyene agreed with a straight face. “Though you’ll need someplace different on Full Moon nights- Father, Sarella, and I are still working on perfecting that potion. Damocles Belby is doing fairly well himself, but his potion is prohibitively expensive, and it is too easily tampered with. It’s as much a matter of finding honest suppliers as creating a recipe.”
Lily nodded- they had that problem whenever the Manderlys could not procure some of the more restricted items they needed. It required bullying, contracts with careful wording, and flat out bribery once people realized it was for the Exchange.
Finally, Lily managed to ask the question that had been on the edge of her mind since Rhaenys had made the offer. “Dragonstone… would the library there have protection spells?”
Tyene tilted her head slightly. “They would, yes. Sarella was looking for the legend of a doorway you could build to disrupt the Imperius, or Polyjuice.”
If Sarella could make it work, she would make a small fortune off of it. Lily grinned. “Useful.”
Tyene nodded. “Lily…” she sighed. “Be careful. Many of those old spells fell out of use for a reason.”
“I’ll be careful,” Lily said, wincing as Harry snatched at a loose lock of hair. She needed someone to help her with Harry, truly.
Tyene nodded, reaching across the table to let Harry play with her hands for a moment, before asking her final question.
“I always thought prophesied heros would be slightly more noticeable,” Tyene mused. “No glowing or forked tail or any of that for him, though.”
Lily snickered and wisely didn’t say that Sirius had pretty much said the same thing when told of the Prophecy. It would just make the older witch pout.
~
Elia had taken to hiding herself in Dragonstone, much to the worry of her family and friends. Drifting, was the word Rhaenys had used, playing with her sleeves and biting her lip. Mourning herself into an early grave for a man who didn’t deserve her, Ashara had snarled at him.
While having the Potters at Dragonstone was helping Elia- she enjoyed playing with Harry, and Lily had taken to asking her about Herbology and its effects on potions. Though, officially, Arthur knew nothing of the whereabouts of James and Lily Potter, and had carefully let it slip that he knew nothing of his goddaughter and her fiance’s role in helping them.
But that wasn’t enough to break through Elia’s walls, constructed piecemeal though the early days of her marriage, before Aerys managed to burn himself to ashes and Rhaegar had gotten over the worst of his own issues. It had taken him too much time, which had cooled their friendship considerably. (Elia bleeding, Aegon’s whimpers, and Rhaenys peering out from behind her tangled hair was what he saw whenever he came too close to the dementors, forgetting the regal set of Elia’s face and her steady planning to salvage what she could out of that disaster.)
So Arthur had made plans to coax Elia out into the world again, a step at a time.
“Hello, Arthur,” Elia said from the dining room. Her hair had been piled on top of her head, silver and brown twisted neatly. “All of the children are in the library. Lily and Sarella are apparently both working on their own projects.”
“So we have most of the house to ourselves?” Arthur asked with a pathetic amount of hope.
Elia gave a wicked, wicked twist of her lips that might have been a smile. “Yes, Arthur, we do. Anything in particular you feel the need to discuss?”
Well, he was tempted to yell at her for allowing herself to be put in danger like this, but she was a grown woman who made her own choices and he had to respect that.
Also, Elia had a broad and humiliating repertoire of curses, many of which had been tested on Arthur and Oberyn when they were idiots in school. As what embarrassed a fourteen year old Gryffindor was not all that different from what embarrassed a forty two year old Auror, he was inclined to give her some benefit of the doubt.
Come to think of it, she’d given them the same smile when they were in school.
“I am keeping my sister from killing me next time I land myself in Saint Mungo’s,” he tested. Elia sighed.
“Oh, really, Ashara needs to learn to listen to others sometime,” Elia groaned. “Please tell her I have no desire to throw myself off of one of Dragonstone’s towers.”
Arthur chuckled at that as the door slammed open and his wand was between the eyes of a bespectacled young man whom he recognized after a moment as being James Potter.
“Sorry, sorry, Lily realized that she left her notebook here, and she needed it...” He was babbling, and Elia was trying very hard not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
A redheaded witch who must have been Potter’s wife followed him in, looking a bit amused and holding an infant. “I would apologize for James, but if I did that every time he did something stupid I’d never stop.” Despite her words, the tone was fond, and she pulled a battered muggle notebook from one of the chairs. “We’ll leave you alone now.”
“I was just sort of threatened by Arthur Dayne, Evans,” James said in an awed tone as her followed her.
“I haven’t been Evans in over a year, Potter,” Lily smirked. “And I’m sure this was an important moment for you.”
As soon as the door closed again, Elia started laughing silently, doubled up over the cup of tea she had been drinking.
“Happens more than you think,” Arthur said dryly. “Apparently I’m a legend now.”
~
“Are you sure about this, Lily?” Rhaenys asked. Lily had been researching in the library for months before finding her latest source.
The book was disturbingly simple. The leather bore no resemblance to human skin, or dementor skin, as Sirius had charmingly guessed of another volume that Dany was currently devouring. The ink was a faded purple, not the color of dried blood.
But it was the words, not their trappings, which prompted doubt.
“It seems like it would work,” Lily pointed out. James and Sirius were off looking at recipes for various wizarding explosives, safely out of earshot.
Rhaenys slumped over the table, tapping out something on the wood. “It probably will- the Lyseni, for all of their many, many quirks, were very good with rituals. It’s just rather finicky, and trusting the workbooks of one of Aegon the Unworthy’s mistresses probably isn’t the best idea.”
Lily continued ruthlessly. “But it’s the only thing that could work. And yes, I know this is a long shot, but if the worst happens…”
“You want to be prepared,” Rhaenys sighed. She really hoped Lily didn’t expect her to keep this a secret from Sirius.
“James won’t like it either,” Lily admitted, “but I’ll feel better knowing that there’s some safeguards in place to protect Harry, and you have to admit this would be a brilliant one.”
“Unexpected, to be sure,” Rhaenys agreed, darting a glance at the small study room Sarella had practically moved into. No one knew what she was doing these days, not even Uncle Oberyn. She supposed that was part and parcel of being an Unspeakable, but it didn’t mean that Rhaenys had to be comfortable about it.
~
Springtime was supposed to be hopeful, in theory. Remus’ mother had read poetry about it, sometimes, when he was ill and they had exhausted the children’s books they owned. It had also been when night got shorter, and it stopped being quite so cold.
It was also wet, muddy, and still chilly.
And utterly without hope, at this rate.
“Myranda’s still alive, though?” Remus asked. The woman had danced through the war, practically, and was a friend of Arianne, both bright and slightly off-kilter to Wizarding society, enjoying playing by their own rules. There had been near misses, but she’d never needed more patching up than dropping in on Riverrun to bother Roslin Tully.
“Barely,” Peter answered. He looked exhausted as all the rest of them, eyes darting all over. “And Bronze Royce is dead. Bellatrix managed it, finally.”
Peter needed to get out of the country, maybe, relax before he wound up so tightly he broke.
“No one’s seen Caradoc Dearborn in a week,” Remus added quietly, seeing Peter flinch.
“Wasn’t he working with Sirius on something?” Peter asked.
Remus frowned. “I think so. You would need to ask Myranda.” Sirius had been working with the Prewitt twins on something, he knew, from Rhaenys’ dry comments on how Dragonstone wasn’t a hotel, and Sirius had his own home.
“There’s been too many problems lately, you’d think You Know Who had a seer or something,” Peter muttered, slumping on the park bench.
Remus absently ran through the people he knew with some strain of the talent- Bran and Jojen were safe for now, Varamyr Sixskins was dead after trying to kill Jon and Rhaenys on the younger man’s birthday. There was the odd seer who had been mentioned by Shireen Baratheon as having been taken in by her grandparents. He might mention it to Dumbledore, but Shireen said he was being kept at the Department of Mysteries, as was the Red Priestess who had been friends with Mister Targaryen.
(And possibly Dany and Rhaenys, considering the Targaryen talent for true dreaming, but that was utterly useless, they both agreed, and only tended to come about with some form of unpleasant aid.)
“I think it’s a sign of how bad things are getting that I actually think it’s possible,” Remus groaned. Peter gave him a watery smile.
“Better that than a turncloak,” he pointed out. Remus snorted.
“’Arianne insists we have one. She says we should insist on loyalty oaths and so on,” Remus sighed. “Moody agreed, and Sirius, but I’m not sure we can push it through the rest of the Order.”
“Probably not,” Peter squeaked. “Can you imagine asking Leyton Hightower for a loyalty oath?”
Remus burst out laughing. He’d need to bring up that point to Arianne.
~
Sansa had always dreamed of a fairy tale wedding, with a lovely white dress and flowers in her hair, with a dashing prince waiting for her. (And since she was eleven, the prince had always been Willas Tyrell.)
She had not, however, dreamed of having her wedding during a war.
Oh, they were discussing flowers and gowns, but that wasn’t all. They were discussing security and who could be spared from the Auror’s office and who might be too injured to attend normally.
There was talk of a wedding at the end of August, then Christmas, then “perhaps next summer, when your siblings can attend.”
Sansa was fairly certain that she wouldn’t be married until she was completely grey. She was bemoaning this fate to an amused Rhaenys, who was plying her with whisky tea.
“Why don’t you just elope?” Rhaenys asked, sipping her tea as if she was being completely reasonable. “It isn’t uncommon, nowadays- I wonder if the main problem isn’t so much fear as no one being able to pull off a large wedding. Rather depressing to see holes from your losses.”
“Why haven’t you eloped, then?” Sansa asked, a bit more sharply than she intended.
“Arianne and Tyene would kill me,” Rhaenys gave her a look of comical misery, showing her the discreet diamond ring she’d been wearing for over a year and a half. “So we’re waiting until something forces our hand- we’ve made it clear we’re in love, living together, and intend on staying that way. All the marriage license would mean is that I take his last name.”
It was a bit more complicated than that, but Sansa didn’t say anything.
“Elopement could be romantic,” Rhaenys coaxed her. “Willas sweeping you off your feet and having a secret adventure, rose petals on the bed of an old fashioned inn…” She wrinkled her nose. “Now I’m imagining Willas as a pirate. Well, trying to. I can’t see it.”
Sansa blushed at the thought of Willas in one of those lace-up shirts and knee boots. Her friend raised her eyebrows at that, but Sansa was grateful she didn’t tease her.
The idea might have some merit…
~
Arya wanted to run away. Just because Sansa was an idiot about her wedding didn’t mean that Arya had to be as happy about it. She didn’t want to wear the stupid dress- which was in a color that made Arya look stupid, and was fluffy.
It was bad enough to wake up early in the summer, get poked and prodded and have Mother and Sansa give her sad looks for not doing everything right, but Margaery Tyrell was getting downright catty. Sansa was Arya’s sister, not hers.
The door opened, and an… impish looking Sansa snuck in.
“Arya, I am about to do something that is probably very stupid, could you come with me?” Sansa was bouncing on her toes and practically glowing.
“What is it?” Arya asked suspiciously.
“Well, you know how everything with the wedding has been incredibly bogged down, obviously, since you’ve been there providing commentary- are you going to try out for Seeker this year or are you going to be commentator? McGonagall might have a heart attack if you do it, though…” Sansa trailed off with a curly strand of hair wound around her finger.
“I’m going to try out- Gendy and Elia are going to be Beaters, and the slot’s open,” Arya shrugged, pulling out a grey blouse from her open dresser. “What do you want?”
“I’m going to elope- Willas and I are going up to Gretna Green, his uncle has provided the portkeys, but we need witnesses, so I’m taking you and Bran,” Sansa confessed sheepishly.
“Where’s Gretna Green?” Arya asked, looking for nicer trousers than she’d been planning on.
“Scottish border- it’s actually an oldish tradition, with elopements, given legal standards. The laws have changed, but it’s mentioned in so many stories… and they recently removed the residency requirement, for tourism. Willas thought it would make me happy,” Sansa concluded with a blush.
Willas Tyrell had gotten that idea right, Arya had to admit. Sansa had been looking gloomy lately, sliding back into her pre-Hogwart’s snappishness. Anything was better than that, even the idea of a town that drew people in so they could get married.
Arya only had one question left. “I don’t have to wear the dress?”
Sansa giggled. “No, you don’t.”
“Then hurry up, stupid, you don’t want to be late for your own wedding,” Arya retorted.