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ap_aelfwineHarry's New Pets--The Flaming Nargles Version (Part 1) (11,800 words total)
A Harry Potter fanfiction by Andrew yclept Aelfwine
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The characters and situations of the Harry Potter series are copyright J.K. Rowling. They may not be used or reproduced commercially without permission. The use of these characters and situations is not to be construed as challenge to said copyright. They are merely borrowed for this work of non-commercial fanfiction, from which the author derives no financial benefit.
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Harry/Hermione/Fleur/Luna/Ginny
No sex yet, as they're too young, but considerable romance.
This started out as an omake for Rorschach's Blot's fic Pet Compartment, but swiftly spiralled out of control.
Many thanks to Rorschach's Blot for the inspiration, as well as for permission to write this.
This particular version started out as an omake for my own fic "Harry's New Pets--the H/F/Hr/L version" and swiftly spiralled even further out of control. The first 3700 words are the same as the first 3700 words of the original "Harry's New Pets"; the fic then takes a different direction.
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AN: I'm still having trouble with Open Office's html--I thought I'd try posting this with rich text. Can't seem to salvage the italics--I'm debating whether to go through and put them in, or just leave it be.
ETA: I'm going through and re-italicising the italicised bits.
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Hermione Granger had been idly rambling along the strand, enjoying the sea air and the bright early morning. She'd noticed an odd bit of metal lying out on the sand, and knelt down to pick it up. Perhaps it's a Roman coin, she'd thought, washed out from where it lay by the rain last night. A souvenir of the summer holidays would be a lovely thing to have at her new school, something to tuck in with the box of pipestems and potsherds and flints and fossils she'd been keeping since she was first able to walk about and stick things in her pockets. Perhaps it's even magical!
But, alas, the instant her fingers had closed on the little scrap of bronze she'd been pulled away somewhere else. It was as if some invisible hand had seized her below her navel and took her away. Confused thoughts of Star Trek transporters and the Tardis mingled in her mind with the old legends of faeries and the Wild Hunt and folk being swept that she'd read obsessively since first she could read and always secretly thought her Nan should have told her about.
And now here she was, in a grimy back room with cracked plaster walls, and a disreputable looking middle aged man was staring at her. He was bald on top, with thick off-brown whiskers that didn't quite compensate, and dressed in clothes that her grandfather would've called quaint and her great-grandfather would've called out of fashion. "So," he said, "a selkie. Hmm... bit scrawny, but I reckon she'll fetch a good price."
"Excuse me, sir," she said, "but I'm a human, not a selkie. And how did I get here?" Why did he think she was a seal person? Was he mad?
His eyes went wide. "So, you speak English. Hmm, that could add a few sickles to the price." So, he was a Wizard. In the back of her mind, she began to wonder. Could he be right? Was she part selkie? She'd always loved the sea, and always been a bit different. She forced herself to stop thinking about it.
"To what price?" she said. "I don't know what you intend, sir, but I am a subject of the United Kingdom. Even now, I'm sure, my parents will be looking for me. And if they don't find me, well, my dad's got friends at Scotland Yard. If you'll just take me to the nearest constable, I'll tell him it's only a misunderstanding. I'm sure you'll not get into any trouble."
"Misunderstanding? Girl, you picked up my selkie trap. That means you're a selkie."
"I'm sure there's some mistake. I'm a Muggleborn, and I only got my Hogwarts letter this year. I'm sorry if there's something I've not yet learnt. But none of my books said anything about not picking up a selkie trap. I'm very sorry if I've caused you any trouble, sir. I'm sure I can pay you back for anything that's damaged."
He laughed. "Silly little thing! You'd not have even seen that trap if you weren't a selkie, of at least three-quarters blood. Haman Harkness wasn't born yesterday, selkie girl. Stop trying to fool me. Now come along. I'm sure some nice gentleman will buy you in a day or two. Even if you are a bit young to be all that much... fun just yet."
If only she'd had her wand. Not that she knew what she'd do with it, but at least she might could do something. The man seized her by the wrist and pulled her along. She wished she'd at least been wearing something more than a swimming costume and tshirt. Don't be silly, she told herself, at least you didn't take off all your clothes, as you were thinking about doing. Somehow she doubted this unpleasant man would give her anything to cover up with. Don't think about that. Think about how Professor McGonagall is going to show up and rescue you as soon as she hears there's one of her first year students in a pet shop. And how you'll explain it to your parents so they'll still let you go to Hogwarts School rather than taking you straightaway to Aunt Mildred in Australia and not letting you come back home til you're twenty-five and have your doctorate.
He led her out into a big room full of cages. There were rats and cats and owls and jackdaws and creatures she couldn't quite name. And one particularly large cage; in it was a blonde girl, slender and almost birdlike, dressed in a perfectly ordinary loose white skirt and blue blouse. She was a few years older than Hermione, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, and stunningly beautiful. Good heavens, Hermione thought, is slavery commonplace here in the Wizarding World? For the first time, she wondered about her decision to attend Hogwarts. Could this actually be legal? Would Professor McGonagall walk in, pet her through the bars, and say "Nice selkie. What a very clever wee creature you were, making me think you were a Witch." Would someone buy her for a pet? And what did people do with pet selkies?
Hermione thought of something, and pinched herself. Unfortunately, she didn't wake up in her own bed, sweating and resolving never to eat those funny sweets she'd got from the Wizarding shop before bedtime ever again.
The man opened the blonde girl's cage and shoved Hermione through. "All right, you two," he said, "don't fight, there's good pets. This is the only cage I've got that's big enough, so I'll have to leave you both in here for a while. Don't mess each other up, or you'll both regret it, you hear me?"
The girl responded with a burst of French, only a quarter of which Hermione could understand. What she could follow expanded her knowledge of French obscenity by at least an order of magnitude. The man laughed, locked the door of the cage, and walked out.
The girl glared, and Hermione felt her knees weaken. What if she thinks our being sold as pets is perfectly normal? What if she just doesn't like me, because... because she's beautiful and sexy and French and I'm not? For some reason the thought was heartbreaking in a way that made the thought of being sold as a pet to some creepy Wizard–-or Witch–-seem like almost nothing.
"Bonjour," Hermione said, holding out her hand. "Je suis Hermione Granger. Et... je pense que vous êtes vraiment belle.*" She couldn't believe she'd just said that. Her French was failing her. Or perhaps she was simply going mad.
The girl ignored her outstretched hand, embraced her and held her tight. "Ah, chère petite ‘Ermione," she said, "il faut me tutoyer, chérie.** It's so good to have a friend here at last. And one who speaks some French! I will teach you much more, my little one. I am Fleur, Fleur Delacour. And I promise you that when my Papa comes to rescue me we will not leave you here. I'll take you to France and you'll go to Beauxbatons with me. And no English pig will ever put either of us in a cage again. Did that barbarian kidnap you, as he did me?"
"Um, Fleur..." Hermione said, resisting the urge to snuggle closer to the French girl. She'd read some stories about girls in gaol doing naughty things with each other, after all. She wasn't quite sure she wanted to do naughty things with anyone, but she'd been pretty sure she'd rather do them with boys if and when she did do them. Of course, that was before she'd met Fleur, but it was important to try to hold on to one's principles. Or at least she'd always thought so. "I'm so very pleased to meet you. Do... do you mean this isn't legal?"
"Of course it is not legal, darling," Fleur said, stroking her hair. "Even in England, even with that pig Fudge and that sow Umbridge. We will get free, never fear. Just let Fleur take care of you..." They huddled in the corner on a pile of straw and fell asleep.
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Hermione woke to the sound of footsteps, a heavy tread that shook the cage. She heard two voices, a boy’s and a man’s; the man had a West Country accent and laughed often as he talked about owls and jackdaws and hares and rats. She opened her eyes, realising that, one, the business with the coin and the cage and the beautiful French girl hadn't been a dream, and, two, there was a giant in the room. She hoped he wasn't shopping for his dinner.
But no, the huge man in the moleskin overcoat looked and sounded as honest and kind as a friendly countryman in a Famous Five novel. And the boy with him, although badly dressed, looked... very likeable, at least as boys went. He was about her age, with unruly black hair and green eyes behind thick glasses. And he had an odd scar on his forehead. There had been something about a boy and a scar, in one of her new books.
Fleur was still holding her. She liked that. "Mmm, ma petite ‘Ermione," the girl murmured, her breath fluttering Hermione's hair. She supposed on some level she should be embarassed to have a boy staring at her while she lay there with another girl hugging her, but at this point she almost didn't care. At least there was comfort--but wait! What if he buys one of us? And only one?
The boy with the scar was supposed to be famous, she muzzily remembered--the giant was presumably an old family retainer. There was only one thing to do, she realised: convince him to buy both of them. He probably had the money, even if his clothes were rubbish... you never could tell what clothes meant with Wizards, anyhow. Especially Muggle clothes. She'd seen an old man dressed in a paisley lavalava, a Jethro Tull tshirt, and blue sandals with pink socks just the other day, walking down the street with an owl on his shoulder. He'd tipped his pointy hat to her, and she'd known she was the only person in the street who could see him. Would he have tipped his hat to her if he'd known she was only a selkie and not really a bright little Muggleborn Witch just before leaving for Hogwarts?
"Hagrid," the boy said, "look!"
"Hmm, I ent never seen critters quite like them twain afore," the giant said. "Right pretty... Yeh like ‘em, ‘Arry?"
"Yes," he said brightly. "But... there's two of them. And the letter said I could only have an owl or a cat or a toad..." His face fell.
"Don't yeh worry yer ‘ead, lad. I'll get ‘em both for yeh."
"But we're not pets," Hermione found herself saying. "I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Fleur Delacour. And--" Fleur covered her mouth, very gently
"Follow my lead, chérie," she whispered, sitting up. Louder, and exaggerating her accent, she said "Ah, most noble ‘Arry, eet would be a pleasure for ‘Ermione and me to be your pets. A--‘ow you say?--very great pleasure indeed."
"Are you sure, Hagrid? They must be terribly expensive." Harry said quietly.
"Course I'm sure. They're a pair, ‘Arry. Ent right ter separate a pair of–-" he paused to read the sign on their cage, his lips moving slightly-- "well, a Veela an' a Selkie girl that likes each other. Besides... well, yeh'll unnerstan when yer a bit older, like." The big man reddened slightly. "It's a mort of yer birthdays I've missed. Don't ‘ave much else ter spend money on, besides. An' yer Dad would want yeh ter have ‘em, wouldn't he ever?"
"I'll call you Hedwig and... Aelgifu?" Harry said brightly.
"Fleur," Fleur said. "And ‘Ermione."
"Are you sure?"
"You know anyt'ing about nous les Vélanes, we the Veelas, ‘Arry? I do ‘ave claws," Fleur said menacingly. She spoilt the effect by giggling. Hermione didn’t quite understand that, but... I trust her. Besides... I don’t think she really wants to frighten him. She was only teasing him. Why? Oh. He was only teasing us. Something inside her felt very funny, realising that. Boys had “teased” her by saying rude things about her books and her hair and horrible things about what they supposedly wanted to do to her or thought she did to her friends or to Miss Marple the English mistress. But Harry was teasing her and Fleur as if they were friends.
Harry laughed. "Okay. Fleur and Ermione it is."
"Hermione, please," Hermione said softly.
"All right. Hermione you are. It’s nice to meet you, Hermione." Their eyes met, and for the second time in less than twenty four hours Hermione felt something warm in her belly, something that made her knees weak. It was if she were sinking into what was either the best dream or the worst nightmare she'd ever had in all her life, except for the fact that this was real. It had to be. After all, pinching herself hadn't worked.
“It’s nice to meet you, Harry,” she said. Then, surprising herself, she grinned and added “Or should I say ‘Master’?”
He sputtered. “Umm, only if you want to.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve always thought it was wrong to keep people as pets. I mean, I grew up as a Muggle and I never even really thought you could. But I suppose things must work that way, here in the Wizarding world. And if you’re mine... well, I can make sure that you’re safe and happy and nobody’s ever mean to you. I promise I’ll take good care of both of you. If there’s ever anything you want, tell me. And if I ever do anything to hurt you, tell me. I’ll make it better, I promise.”
She didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted to beg him to take her out to the Muggle world and let her go back home to her parents. Part of her wanted to beg him to run away with her and Fleur and leave this mad place behind, to run away to France or somewhere else where they could learn magic and be friends and never think about cages again. And part of her, terrifyingly enough, wanted to curl up in Harry’s lap like a cat and be the very best pet she could be. I’m sure he’d let me have books, and Fleur could teach us both French... “Okay,” she said at last, hoping the two syllables could somehow stand for everything she wanted to say.
“T’ank you, ‘Arry,” Fleur said. “I t’ink we can be...”
“Friends?” he said.
“At the very least,” Fleur said. Harry slipped his hand between the bars, and the three of them gripped hands for an instant. Then Hagrid was back, with that awful Haman Harkness and his big ring of keys. Hagrid laughed with Harkness as if they were friends, but, as Hermione couldn’t help but notice, his laugh didn’t sound the same as it had sounded when he was talking with Harry. It was a bit louder, a bit sharper. I don’t think he actually likes him very much, she thought.
It felt unpleasant to have a collar put round her neck, complete with a leash and a little dangling tag that said "Please Return to Harry James Potter," but at least she was with Fleur. And Harry truly did seem very nice, despite being someone who'd just been given two girls as pets by an old family friend. He didn't tug at their leashes, for one thing. "I don't really like this," he said as they followed Hagrid towards the Leaky Cauldron, "but they said I had to. Said I couldn't just let my pets run loose and all that. If you'll promise not to run away, I'll let you off the leashes as soon as we're out in Muggle London again."
"Of course we'll not run away from our ‘andsome Maître ‘Arry," Fleur said, stroking his forearm.
"You can even have the collars off, if you like," Harry said, blushing. "Although... they do look sort of nice on you. On both of you."
Part of Hermione wanted to hit him. The other part wanted to kiss him. He thinks something looks nice on me! She'd never thought a boy would notice her before she went up to Oxford, and perhaps not even then.
At least the people in the street didn't gawk at them. Harry kept his head low and brushed his fringe down over his scar. Hermione didn't know if she should be grateful that they didn't stare, or disgusted that Wizards and Witches apparently thought it was perfectly normal for a boy to be walking along with two girls on leashes. Although perhaps it was simply that Wizards and Witches--these ones, at least--didn't attend to anything at all that didn't concern them. The number of people who were talking to either disembodied spirits or the empty air tended to favour the latter hypothesis.
One girl, perhaps a bit younger than herself, did attend. "Daddy, look! It's Harry Potter, and he's got two girls for pets! Quickly, please, sell me to him!" She bounced up and down, her waist-long blonde hair flying, her radish earrings jingling.
"Now, Luna, really," he said. He was a tall slender man with long disordered grey hair, who looked as if he should be the girl's grandfather, not her father.
"But... your business is failing! You don't know how you'll feed me! I'll only cost a Sickle, and I'll be a very very good little pet."
"The Quibbler's running at a profit, Luna, and Mr. Weasley's Secrets of the Muggles books alone are enough to keep Llanfair Press in business. I promised your mother I'd never sell you into slavery."
"You'd not be selling me as a slave, Daddy. You'd be selling me as a pet. It's not the same thing at all."
"Oh, all right," he said, and walked over to them. "Excuse me, Mr. Potter?"
"Harry, please," Harry mumbled.
"My daughter wants me to sell her to you as a pet. Since you're already keeping two girls, I expect you'll not mind a third?"
"Umm, well... Fleur?"
"Of course, ‘Arry. Buy ze pretty leetle English girl."
"Fleur?" Hermione squeaked.
"Trust me," Fleur mouthed. "But of course, ‘Ermione," she said aloud. "Four sleep–-‘ow you say?--warmer zan t'ree, non?"
"Please?" said the blonde girl. "I'll be ever so good. To all of you. And especially you, Airmionee. I've always dreamt of making friends with a selkie."
"Hermione, please," Hermione said.
"Huzzah! Hermione says yes!" she said. "I'm Luna, and we're going to be friends! More than friends, we're going to be... pet-sisters!" Luna hugged her, hard. She was kind of cuddly. Almost as cuddly as Fleur.
"Please, Harry?" said Luna's father. "I'm afraid she's going to be quite unbearable if we leave here and she's not become your pet. She's only five Knuts."
"Daddy! Surely I'm worth a Sickle?"
"Luna, my little radish, let's not be too greedy."
"Okay. I'm only five Knuts, Harry. Please buy me. Please? Hermione and Fleur said yes, after all." Hermione hadn't really said yes, actually, but somehow the thought of denying this funny blonde girl anything was almost unbearable.
"Right," Harry reached into his pocket and took out five Knuts. "There you are, Mr..."
"Lovegood, Harry. Xenophilus Lovegood. Your parents were good friends of my late wife's and mine. I'm sure they'd be delighted to know that you're keeping my daughter as a pet. A pleasure doing business with you, Harry."
"Thank you, Mr. Lovegood."
"Thank you, Harry. Goodbye, Luna."
"Goodbye, Daddy. Do you have a collar and leash for me, Harry?"
"Umm, no. Sorry."
"Oh, that's fine," Luna said. "I've got one right here," she fished in her pocket and brought out a brown leather collar and leash. "It's even got your name on it, as I've always known I'd be Harry Potter's pet someday." She buckled it round her neck.
"There's a strong strain of Seership in my family," Mr. Lovegood was saying to Hagrid.
"Right," Hagrid said. "Ent Madam Trelawny at ‘Ogwarts one of your cousins, Xeno?"
"That she is," Mr. Lovegood said. "A terrible shame, what happened to our Sybill. She's never been the same since--"
But Hermione never got to find out what had happened to Mr. Lovegood's cousin, because she turned to Luna and saw that the girl was nuzzling Harry's face. Her eyes were closed and she looked completely content; his eyes were wide open and he looked as if he wasn't sure if he were delighted or terrified. That looks like fun--wait, is she actually licking his cheek?
"Luna, stop that!" she said.
"What, Hermione?"
"Licking Harry's face out here in the street."
"I'm taking our master's scent, Hermione. It's important to do things like that, if we're to be good pets."
"Not in public, please?"
"We're pets, Hermione. Pets obey the rules of love and affection, not the silly conventional rules of social discourse." Hermione was simultaneously appalled and delighted. Somebody my age who knows words like "social discourse." I love her! Even if she is mad as a hatter.
"Pets like us do, Luna," Fleur said gently, hugging the girl. "It makes Maître 'Arry all nervous if we don't."
"Oh, all right, then," Luna said. "I'll be good. Even if 'being good' means being a bad pet and not licking my master's face. And I suppose, lovely pet-sister Fleur, you're telling me that, even though I'm a pet and shouldn't wear any, I mustn't take off my clothes?" Harry's eyes probably couldn't get any wider. It was cute, actually. Will I ever be able to make him look that way?
"Yes, sweet."
Luna sighed and nuzzled Fleur's shoulder. "Well, I've got two lovely pet-sisters and a wonderful master. That's worth breaking a few rules. And, speaking of rules, here's my leash, Master." She handed the end to Harry. "You mustn't allow a fierce wild creature like me to run loose. Especially when you've only barely had any time to tame me properly." She fluttered her eyelashes alarmingly.
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The Leaky Cauldron held more strangeness, as if the day hadn’t already been strange enough, between being magically kidnapped and put in a cage with a beautiful French girl and sold as a pet and given as a birthday present to Harry Potter and all the rest. It wasn’t the various wizards and witches reading everything from newspapers and magazines with moving pictures to Heinlein’s The Number of the Beast and Hawking’s A Brief History of Time, or idly chatting about incomprehensible sport and business news. Hermione had seen all of that before. It wasn’t folk gawking at the skinny boy in faded Muggle clothes with three girls on leashes. Just as in the street outside, they didn’t.
Instead it began with a red haired boy of about her own and Harry’s age, emerging from the big fireplace. “Come on, Gin,” he called over his shoulder. “We’ve not got all day. If we hurry, we can make it before they open up the new boxes of Frogs. That’s the best way to get a rare card, you know.” Frogs? Oh, right, those sweets. But if the cards are randomly put into the packets and the packets are randomly put into boxes and the boxes are randomly opened and put out in the shop, what difference does it make?
“I’m coming, Ron, I’m coming. Don’t be a git, all right?” A redheaded girl, perhaps about Luna’s age, came through the flames, brushing a bit of ash off the knees of her faded bluejeans.
“It’s bad enough I’ve got to put up with a girl all morning, Ginny. Don’t be a ninny. Or at least not more of a ninny than you must be.”
“Hullo, Ronald, hullo, Ginevra!” Luna said.
“Luna! Hullo!” the girl said. “Why are you... oh!”
“We met Harry Potter in the street this morning, and Daddy sold me to him. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“So, you finally did get to use that collar you’ve had in your pocket for the past two years. How is he?”
“Oh, he’s a wonderful master. Other than him making me walk about with clothes on, there’s nothing I could complain about. And I’m sure he’ll get over that, eventually.”
“Come on, Gin,” Ronald, if that was his name, repeated. “I’ve only got enough for two Frogs. That’s not good odds, so I have to take every advantage I can get, right?”
“Ron, it’s Harry Potter,” Ginevra said. “I’ve always wanted to meet him, you know.”
“Harry Potter, bah. I’ve already got his card,” Ron said. “If it were Agrippa, now...”
“Ronald,” Luna said, “if you had another Sickle you could get another Chocolate Frog, couldn’t you?”
“I suppose I could, but where would I get another Sickle? They don’t grow on trees, Looney.”
“You could sell your sister to Harry Potter for a Sickle, Ronald. I’m sure he’d love to have her.”
“I can’t imagine her being worth that much, but... sure, why not?”
“Ron! Surely I’m worth...”
“He’s Harry Potter, Ginevra. And you’d get Fleur and Hermione and me for pet-sisters, besides. They’re very sweet, and I’m sure you’ll love them. Just look, aren’t they pretty?”
Ginevra blushed. “Well... I suppose you’re right, Luna.”
“Ginevra’s my neighbour from Ottery St. Catchpole, Master. Isn’t she pretty? You’ve not got a redhead, yet. Wouldn’t it be nice to have one? Ginevra is wonderful company, and I can tell you that she’s got freckles everywhere.”
“Luna!”
“Excuse me for talking up your selling points, Ginevra.”
“All right,” Ron said. “Shouldn’t I be handling this? I’m Ron Weasley. Are you really Harry Potter?”
“Yes, I am. Pleased to meet you.” The boys shook hands.
“Could I see your scar, mate?” Harry pulled his fringe aside. “Wicked! Anyhow, would you like to buy my sister for a Sickle? She’s a bit of a pest, and she talks too much, but I guess you’ve got some kind of weird thing for girls so maybe you’ll not mind too much. If you can put up with Looney Lovegood there...”
I’d really like to hit him, Hermione thought. I wonder if pets get in trouble for things like that? Well, they might make Harry put a muzzle on me or handcuffs or something, so I’d best not take the chance. Although it would almost be worth having to go about in handcuffs...
“Girls?”
“I’d love to have Ginevra for a pet-sister, Master. She’s been dreaming about you since we were five years old.”
“She is lovely, Maître ‘Arry. An’ you know what zey say about ze redheads...”
“Hermione?” Harry said. And in his eyes she read a silent plea for help.
She should help him. She really should. But Luna was making the most horrible puppydog faces at her. Hermione sighed, and looked the redheaded girl in the eyes. In the deep, warm, lovely brown eyes. And knew there was only one answer. “Yes, Master. I think she’ll make a wonderful pet-sister.” Nobody deserves having to live with that git she has for a brother.
Harry shrugged. “I can’t say no, then.” He fished a Sickle out of his pocket.
“Pleasure doing business with you, mate. See you at Hogwarts, right? And good luck keeping Gin-Gin from talking your ear off. Don’t worry--if you have to gag her, I’ll understand completely.” The redheaded boy ran out the door towards Diagon Alley.
“Have you got a collar and leash for me, Master?” Ginevra said, blushing horribly. “If you haven’t... well, Luna got me one when she got her own. I could put it on, if you like.”
“Umm, sure. If you want to.”
“Thank you, Master,” Ginny said, with a shy little smile. “And thank you. All of you.”
“Hello,” Hermione said, holding out her hand. “I’m Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you, Ginevra.”
“I’m Ginny Weasley,” she said. “Luna’s the only person who calls me Ginevra. Other than Mum when she’s angry, sometimes.” The shook hands. In an odd way, Hermione was almost disappointed that Ginny hadn’t hugged her, the way Fleur had when she offered her hand this morning. But at least the handshake did go on for about twice as long as an ordinary one.
“And this is Fleur Delacour,” Hermione said.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Ginny,” Fleur said. Hermione had a vague feeling she ought to be jealous when the French girl hugged their newest... whatever she was. But instead I’m happy. How strange.
Hagrid chortled. “Yer dad would be cryin’ with joy, ‘Arry. Not sure about your mum, but she did say she wanted heaps of gran’children some day, like. Anyhow, let’s get yeh back t’ yer family, right?”
They followed him out the door and out into the streets of London. “Wait a mo’,” Harry said. “You can’t be walking about in collars and leashes out here.”
Hermione took hers off, and rubbed her neck. Not that the collar actually itched or rubbed, but it felt nice to be rid of it. It does, it really does, she told herself, pushing down the little part of her that actually sort of liked having it on. Not knowing what else to do, she stuck the collar and leash in her pocket.
Fleur had hers off. Ginny, on the other hand, looked reluctant. And Luna said “Master, I’m a wild ferocious Luna. You can’t let me run about loose. Especially when you’ve scarce had any time at all to tame me in.”
“Luna. People will look at us very strangely. And we’ve already got too much to explain as it is.”
“But before you can let me off the leash in public, Master, you’ve got to tame me. You’ve got to teach me to heel and to roll over and to play fetch and everything.”
“Could you please take off your leash? And call me ‘Harry,’ not ‘Master’? Please, my darling Luna?”
“All right.” Luna unsnapped the leash and handed it to Harry. “If you’ll not leash me, the least you can do is hold my hand.” Seconds later, Ginny gave Harry her leash, and latched on to his other hand.
“Good luck there, ‘Arry,” Hagrid said. “I reckon yeh’ll need it.” A few minutes later, he left them on the Underground platform, saying something about stopping into the Cauldron for a pick-me-up.
“Should we run, Fleur?” Hermione said in her best French.
"No, chérie," Fleur said. "Do you not feel it? Our ‘Arry is a good man... well, boy, for the moment. There is a destiny on him."
"Okay," Hermione said. Harry was looking at them, and very politely not asking anything. "We were just talking about going home, Harry. Where do you live?"
"In Surrey," he said. "In Little Whinging. But... I don't want to take you back there. You're all so nice. I've never been allowed pets before. And Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia will probably make me let Dudley play with you. I can't..." Hermione didn't know why, but the name "Dudley" seemed as dreadful as "Dracula" or "Thatcher" when Harry said it.
“I suppose I could ring my parents,” Hermione said. “But I can’t believe they’ll let us stay together.”
"How much money ‘ave you, ‘Arry?" Fleur said.
"Ten quid, fifty p," he said. "And four galleons, five sickles, and one knut."
"Do you trust me?" Fleur said.
"Of course," he said. "You're my pet."
"The sad thing," she whispered in her own language, "is that you're right on all counts." Louder, she said "We’ll need a few galleons, ‘Arry, if you please. We're going to France. All of us."
“But... we haven’t got our passports with us,” Hermione said. “At least I haven’t.”
Fleur smiled gently at her. “That is no problem.”
“We could take the Knight Bus,” Luna said. “But I don’t think it goes all the way to France.”
“Good thinking, sweet Luna,” Fleur said. “But there is a better way. May I summon the Veela Packet, Master?”
“Of course, Fleur.”
“Hold hands, everyone. There may be a bit of a shock.” Fleur took Hermione’s hand in her own left, and held up her right in a claw-like shape that might have been a rude gesture from some foreign culture. For a moment, it was as if a half-visible bird shared the same space as her body. She sang a short phrase that sounded like a bird call, full of trills. It felt as if there were words in it, but Hermione couldn’t make any sense of them. They weren’t French or English or any other language she recognised. The ground trembled; perhaps it was slightly stronger than a train’s passing.
And then there was a ship, something like a small Victorian steam-packet, standing there improbably beside the platform, as if the Tube were the ocean and the platform a quay. Hermione glanced about, but none of the other people seemed to notice. Even the man in leopard print pyjamas and motorcycle boots with a creature like a cat-monkey clinging to his shoulder.
There was a gangplank, and a stunningly beautiful woman in what might have been a Napoleonic-era naval officer’s uniform from some country Hermione had never heard of. She made bird-noises at Fleur.
“Might we speak English, please, Captain?” Fleur said. “My friends don’t speak ze Language of ze Birds yet.”
“Very vell,” the woman said, in what sounded like some strange variety of a Scandinavian accent. “So, ve have vun lovely quarter-Veela, vun cute young master, vun pretty part-Selkie, and two adorable human pets, yes? Dat vill be vun Galleon, t’ree Sickles. Five Sickles extra for luncheon, ten if you vant pyyamas as vell.”
“Oh, we don’t need pyjamas, thank you very much, Captain,” said Luna.
“Luna!” Ginny said. “Don’t forget that Harry’s a boy!”
“And our Master, darling pet-sister Ginevra. It’s completely appropriate. Look it up in any etiquette book.”
“Yes, we do,” Fleur said.
“Are you sure?” said the captain.
“Yes.”
“Very vell, den. Vun Galleon, t’irteen Sickles. T’ank you very much, Miss Delacour. Or should I say ‘Mrs. Potter’?” Fleur blushed, and looked as if she wanted to say something, but couldn’t think what. “Velcome aboard, my dears,” the captain said.
“Thank you, Captain,” Harry said.
“You’re most velcome, Mr. Potter. Oh. It yust occurs to me that England has had recently an outbreak of de Flibbering Flumbledees. Boys and Veelas are, of course, not suitable hosts, but I’m afraid I must inspect your human and part-human pets.”
“If you have to,” Harry said. Hermione had a very bad feeling about this. Perhaps we should have taken our chances with my parents, after all? Even if they did ship me off to Aunt Mildred’s sheep station, I’m sure Harry and Fleur would find a way of rescuing me.
Fleur broke into impassioned trills and chirping. The captain chirped back at her. “Oh, all right,” she said at last, dropping back into English. “It vas only a little yoke. I yust vanted to see your handsome master and de Veasley girl and dat pretty little brunette blush.”
“Are you sure?” Luna said. “I’m very careful to avoid catching them, but you can’t know that, so you should make quite certain. They can cling to the most improbable places, after all, and they love to hide under clothing. Especially underclothes.”
“Do you see what I mean?” Fleur said.
“All right,” the captain said. “I only vas yoking, little Lovegood.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.”
“But... you shouldn’t joke about important things like Flibbering Flumbledees, Captain. Why, that’s just like joking about Nargles.”
Hermione finally thought to look out over the side. They were moving now. Would she see the Tube tunnel? Or earth and rock? Or some marvelous underground sea, far below the knowledge of humankind? Unfortunately, there was only a faintly violet-tinged mist. “Oh, wait,” she said, “is that something? Why, it’s the Taj Mahal! But why go from London to France by way of India?”
“It’s only a picture, Miss Harry’s Pet,” the captain said. “Ve proyect them so passengers don’t get so bored vit de scenery.”
“Why don’t you know my name?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You knew Fleur’s name, and Harry’s, and Ginny’s and Luna’s. Why not mine?”
“I only have memorised de books of Vizard and Veela bloodlines, Miss Harry’s Pet. Selkie and Muggle, dese I have not. You might have some Black in your family tree, but I vas not sure. Have you?”
“I don’t think so. I’m Hermione Granger,”
“Very pleased to meet you, Miss Granger. So, vill you and your Master and your pet-sisters allow me to show you to your cabin?”
“Thank you, captain,” Hermione said. “Although... shouldn’t you be steering your ship or something?”
“Dis is a flock-run company, Miss Granger,” the captain said. “Vun of my vives does dat, right now. And dis is my yob, dis vatch.”
“Oh. And what does your husband do?” Hermione said. Oh no, she thought, seconds too late. What if that’s a rude question? Or what if she has a sense of humour like Luna’s, only more grown up, and she tells us all sorts of things about what Veelas like to do in bed?
“He runs de galley, of course. Dat’s de male’s vork, no? Is it not de same on de human ships?”
“I’m not sure,” Hermione said. “I’ve hardly ever been on them. And never on one as nice as yours.”
“T’ank you,” the captain said. She led them belowdecks. They passed through a lounge where everyone seemed to be either a large brightly-coloured bird, a pale lovely woman, or something inbetween and into a corridor lined with cabin doors. “Here ve are,” she said. “Ve dock at Château Delacour in seven hours. Your luncheon is laid out in your cabin; tea and coffee vill be brought round vun half-hour before landing.”
*"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger. And I think that you are truly beautiful."
**"Ah, my dear little Hermione. I must be thou to thee, darling."
Part 2
A Harry Potter fanfiction by Andrew yclept Aelfwine
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The characters and situations of the Harry Potter series are copyright J.K. Rowling. They may not be used or reproduced commercially without permission. The use of these characters and situations is not to be construed as challenge to said copyright. They are merely borrowed for this work of non-commercial fanfiction, from which the author derives no financial benefit.
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Harry/Hermione/Fleur/Luna/Ginny
No sex yet, as they're too young, but considerable romance.
This started out as an omake for Rorschach's Blot's fic Pet Compartment, but swiftly spiralled out of control.
Many thanks to Rorschach's Blot for the inspiration, as well as for permission to write this.
This particular version started out as an omake for my own fic "Harry's New Pets--the H/F/Hr/L version" and swiftly spiralled even further out of control. The first 3700 words are the same as the first 3700 words of the original "Harry's New Pets"; the fic then takes a different direction.
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AN: I'm still having trouble with Open Office's html--I thought I'd try posting this with rich text. Can't seem to salvage the italics--I'm debating whether to go through and put them in, or just leave it be.
ETA: I'm going through and re-italicising the italicised bits.
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Hermione Granger had been idly rambling along the strand, enjoying the sea air and the bright early morning. She'd noticed an odd bit of metal lying out on the sand, and knelt down to pick it up. Perhaps it's a Roman coin, she'd thought, washed out from where it lay by the rain last night. A souvenir of the summer holidays would be a lovely thing to have at her new school, something to tuck in with the box of pipestems and potsherds and flints and fossils she'd been keeping since she was first able to walk about and stick things in her pockets. Perhaps it's even magical!
But, alas, the instant her fingers had closed on the little scrap of bronze she'd been pulled away somewhere else. It was as if some invisible hand had seized her below her navel and took her away. Confused thoughts of Star Trek transporters and the Tardis mingled in her mind with the old legends of faeries and the Wild Hunt and folk being swept that she'd read obsessively since first she could read and always secretly thought her Nan should have told her about.
And now here she was, in a grimy back room with cracked plaster walls, and a disreputable looking middle aged man was staring at her. He was bald on top, with thick off-brown whiskers that didn't quite compensate, and dressed in clothes that her grandfather would've called quaint and her great-grandfather would've called out of fashion. "So," he said, "a selkie. Hmm... bit scrawny, but I reckon she'll fetch a good price."
"Excuse me, sir," she said, "but I'm a human, not a selkie. And how did I get here?" Why did he think she was a seal person? Was he mad?
His eyes went wide. "So, you speak English. Hmm, that could add a few sickles to the price." So, he was a Wizard. In the back of her mind, she began to wonder. Could he be right? Was she part selkie? She'd always loved the sea, and always been a bit different. She forced herself to stop thinking about it.
"To what price?" she said. "I don't know what you intend, sir, but I am a subject of the United Kingdom. Even now, I'm sure, my parents will be looking for me. And if they don't find me, well, my dad's got friends at Scotland Yard. If you'll just take me to the nearest constable, I'll tell him it's only a misunderstanding. I'm sure you'll not get into any trouble."
"Misunderstanding? Girl, you picked up my selkie trap. That means you're a selkie."
"I'm sure there's some mistake. I'm a Muggleborn, and I only got my Hogwarts letter this year. I'm sorry if there's something I've not yet learnt. But none of my books said anything about not picking up a selkie trap. I'm very sorry if I've caused you any trouble, sir. I'm sure I can pay you back for anything that's damaged."
He laughed. "Silly little thing! You'd not have even seen that trap if you weren't a selkie, of at least three-quarters blood. Haman Harkness wasn't born yesterday, selkie girl. Stop trying to fool me. Now come along. I'm sure some nice gentleman will buy you in a day or two. Even if you are a bit young to be all that much... fun just yet."
If only she'd had her wand. Not that she knew what she'd do with it, but at least she might could do something. The man seized her by the wrist and pulled her along. She wished she'd at least been wearing something more than a swimming costume and tshirt. Don't be silly, she told herself, at least you didn't take off all your clothes, as you were thinking about doing. Somehow she doubted this unpleasant man would give her anything to cover up with. Don't think about that. Think about how Professor McGonagall is going to show up and rescue you as soon as she hears there's one of her first year students in a pet shop. And how you'll explain it to your parents so they'll still let you go to Hogwarts School rather than taking you straightaway to Aunt Mildred in Australia and not letting you come back home til you're twenty-five and have your doctorate.
He led her out into a big room full of cages. There were rats and cats and owls and jackdaws and creatures she couldn't quite name. And one particularly large cage; in it was a blonde girl, slender and almost birdlike, dressed in a perfectly ordinary loose white skirt and blue blouse. She was a few years older than Hermione, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, and stunningly beautiful. Good heavens, Hermione thought, is slavery commonplace here in the Wizarding World? For the first time, she wondered about her decision to attend Hogwarts. Could this actually be legal? Would Professor McGonagall walk in, pet her through the bars, and say "Nice selkie. What a very clever wee creature you were, making me think you were a Witch." Would someone buy her for a pet? And what did people do with pet selkies?
Hermione thought of something, and pinched herself. Unfortunately, she didn't wake up in her own bed, sweating and resolving never to eat those funny sweets she'd got from the Wizarding shop before bedtime ever again.
The man opened the blonde girl's cage and shoved Hermione through. "All right, you two," he said, "don't fight, there's good pets. This is the only cage I've got that's big enough, so I'll have to leave you both in here for a while. Don't mess each other up, or you'll both regret it, you hear me?"
The girl responded with a burst of French, only a quarter of which Hermione could understand. What she could follow expanded her knowledge of French obscenity by at least an order of magnitude. The man laughed, locked the door of the cage, and walked out.
The girl glared, and Hermione felt her knees weaken. What if she thinks our being sold as pets is perfectly normal? What if she just doesn't like me, because... because she's beautiful and sexy and French and I'm not? For some reason the thought was heartbreaking in a way that made the thought of being sold as a pet to some creepy Wizard–-or Witch–-seem like almost nothing.
"Bonjour," Hermione said, holding out her hand. "Je suis Hermione Granger. Et... je pense que vous êtes vraiment belle.*" She couldn't believe she'd just said that. Her French was failing her. Or perhaps she was simply going mad.
The girl ignored her outstretched hand, embraced her and held her tight. "Ah, chère petite ‘Ermione," she said, "il faut me tutoyer, chérie.** It's so good to have a friend here at last. And one who speaks some French! I will teach you much more, my little one. I am Fleur, Fleur Delacour. And I promise you that when my Papa comes to rescue me we will not leave you here. I'll take you to France and you'll go to Beauxbatons with me. And no English pig will ever put either of us in a cage again. Did that barbarian kidnap you, as he did me?"
"Um, Fleur..." Hermione said, resisting the urge to snuggle closer to the French girl. She'd read some stories about girls in gaol doing naughty things with each other, after all. She wasn't quite sure she wanted to do naughty things with anyone, but she'd been pretty sure she'd rather do them with boys if and when she did do them. Of course, that was before she'd met Fleur, but it was important to try to hold on to one's principles. Or at least she'd always thought so. "I'm so very pleased to meet you. Do... do you mean this isn't legal?"
"Of course it is not legal, darling," Fleur said, stroking her hair. "Even in England, even with that pig Fudge and that sow Umbridge. We will get free, never fear. Just let Fleur take care of you..." They huddled in the corner on a pile of straw and fell asleep.
#
Hermione woke to the sound of footsteps, a heavy tread that shook the cage. She heard two voices, a boy’s and a man’s; the man had a West Country accent and laughed often as he talked about owls and jackdaws and hares and rats. She opened her eyes, realising that, one, the business with the coin and the cage and the beautiful French girl hadn't been a dream, and, two, there was a giant in the room. She hoped he wasn't shopping for his dinner.
But no, the huge man in the moleskin overcoat looked and sounded as honest and kind as a friendly countryman in a Famous Five novel. And the boy with him, although badly dressed, looked... very likeable, at least as boys went. He was about her age, with unruly black hair and green eyes behind thick glasses. And he had an odd scar on his forehead. There had been something about a boy and a scar, in one of her new books.
Fleur was still holding her. She liked that. "Mmm, ma petite ‘Ermione," the girl murmured, her breath fluttering Hermione's hair. She supposed on some level she should be embarassed to have a boy staring at her while she lay there with another girl hugging her, but at this point she almost didn't care. At least there was comfort--but wait! What if he buys one of us? And only one?
The boy with the scar was supposed to be famous, she muzzily remembered--the giant was presumably an old family retainer. There was only one thing to do, she realised: convince him to buy both of them. He probably had the money, even if his clothes were rubbish... you never could tell what clothes meant with Wizards, anyhow. Especially Muggle clothes. She'd seen an old man dressed in a paisley lavalava, a Jethro Tull tshirt, and blue sandals with pink socks just the other day, walking down the street with an owl on his shoulder. He'd tipped his pointy hat to her, and she'd known she was the only person in the street who could see him. Would he have tipped his hat to her if he'd known she was only a selkie and not really a bright little Muggleborn Witch just before leaving for Hogwarts?
"Hagrid," the boy said, "look!"
"Hmm, I ent never seen critters quite like them twain afore," the giant said. "Right pretty... Yeh like ‘em, ‘Arry?"
"Yes," he said brightly. "But... there's two of them. And the letter said I could only have an owl or a cat or a toad..." His face fell.
"Don't yeh worry yer ‘ead, lad. I'll get ‘em both for yeh."
"But we're not pets," Hermione found herself saying. "I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Fleur Delacour. And--" Fleur covered her mouth, very gently
"Follow my lead, chérie," she whispered, sitting up. Louder, and exaggerating her accent, she said "Ah, most noble ‘Arry, eet would be a pleasure for ‘Ermione and me to be your pets. A--‘ow you say?--very great pleasure indeed."
"Are you sure, Hagrid? They must be terribly expensive." Harry said quietly.
"Course I'm sure. They're a pair, ‘Arry. Ent right ter separate a pair of–-" he paused to read the sign on their cage, his lips moving slightly-- "well, a Veela an' a Selkie girl that likes each other. Besides... well, yeh'll unnerstan when yer a bit older, like." The big man reddened slightly. "It's a mort of yer birthdays I've missed. Don't ‘ave much else ter spend money on, besides. An' yer Dad would want yeh ter have ‘em, wouldn't he ever?"
"I'll call you Hedwig and... Aelgifu?" Harry said brightly.
"Fleur," Fleur said. "And ‘Ermione."
"Are you sure?"
"You know anyt'ing about nous les Vélanes, we the Veelas, ‘Arry? I do ‘ave claws," Fleur said menacingly. She spoilt the effect by giggling. Hermione didn’t quite understand that, but... I trust her. Besides... I don’t think she really wants to frighten him. She was only teasing him. Why? Oh. He was only teasing us. Something inside her felt very funny, realising that. Boys had “teased” her by saying rude things about her books and her hair and horrible things about what they supposedly wanted to do to her or thought she did to her friends or to Miss Marple the English mistress. But Harry was teasing her and Fleur as if they were friends.
Harry laughed. "Okay. Fleur and Ermione it is."
"Hermione, please," Hermione said softly.
"All right. Hermione you are. It’s nice to meet you, Hermione." Their eyes met, and for the second time in less than twenty four hours Hermione felt something warm in her belly, something that made her knees weak. It was if she were sinking into what was either the best dream or the worst nightmare she'd ever had in all her life, except for the fact that this was real. It had to be. After all, pinching herself hadn't worked.
“It’s nice to meet you, Harry,” she said. Then, surprising herself, she grinned and added “Or should I say ‘Master’?”
He sputtered. “Umm, only if you want to.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve always thought it was wrong to keep people as pets. I mean, I grew up as a Muggle and I never even really thought you could. But I suppose things must work that way, here in the Wizarding world. And if you’re mine... well, I can make sure that you’re safe and happy and nobody’s ever mean to you. I promise I’ll take good care of both of you. If there’s ever anything you want, tell me. And if I ever do anything to hurt you, tell me. I’ll make it better, I promise.”
She didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted to beg him to take her out to the Muggle world and let her go back home to her parents. Part of her wanted to beg him to run away with her and Fleur and leave this mad place behind, to run away to France or somewhere else where they could learn magic and be friends and never think about cages again. And part of her, terrifyingly enough, wanted to curl up in Harry’s lap like a cat and be the very best pet she could be. I’m sure he’d let me have books, and Fleur could teach us both French... “Okay,” she said at last, hoping the two syllables could somehow stand for everything she wanted to say.
“T’ank you, ‘Arry,” Fleur said. “I t’ink we can be...”
“Friends?” he said.
“At the very least,” Fleur said. Harry slipped his hand between the bars, and the three of them gripped hands for an instant. Then Hagrid was back, with that awful Haman Harkness and his big ring of keys. Hagrid laughed with Harkness as if they were friends, but, as Hermione couldn’t help but notice, his laugh didn’t sound the same as it had sounded when he was talking with Harry. It was a bit louder, a bit sharper. I don’t think he actually likes him very much, she thought.
It felt unpleasant to have a collar put round her neck, complete with a leash and a little dangling tag that said "Please Return to Harry James Potter," but at least she was with Fleur. And Harry truly did seem very nice, despite being someone who'd just been given two girls as pets by an old family friend. He didn't tug at their leashes, for one thing. "I don't really like this," he said as they followed Hagrid towards the Leaky Cauldron, "but they said I had to. Said I couldn't just let my pets run loose and all that. If you'll promise not to run away, I'll let you off the leashes as soon as we're out in Muggle London again."
"Of course we'll not run away from our ‘andsome Maître ‘Arry," Fleur said, stroking his forearm.
"You can even have the collars off, if you like," Harry said, blushing. "Although... they do look sort of nice on you. On both of you."
Part of Hermione wanted to hit him. The other part wanted to kiss him. He thinks something looks nice on me! She'd never thought a boy would notice her before she went up to Oxford, and perhaps not even then.
At least the people in the street didn't gawk at them. Harry kept his head low and brushed his fringe down over his scar. Hermione didn't know if she should be grateful that they didn't stare, or disgusted that Wizards and Witches apparently thought it was perfectly normal for a boy to be walking along with two girls on leashes. Although perhaps it was simply that Wizards and Witches--these ones, at least--didn't attend to anything at all that didn't concern them. The number of people who were talking to either disembodied spirits or the empty air tended to favour the latter hypothesis.
One girl, perhaps a bit younger than herself, did attend. "Daddy, look! It's Harry Potter, and he's got two girls for pets! Quickly, please, sell me to him!" She bounced up and down, her waist-long blonde hair flying, her radish earrings jingling.
"Now, Luna, really," he said. He was a tall slender man with long disordered grey hair, who looked as if he should be the girl's grandfather, not her father.
"But... your business is failing! You don't know how you'll feed me! I'll only cost a Sickle, and I'll be a very very good little pet."
"The Quibbler's running at a profit, Luna, and Mr. Weasley's Secrets of the Muggles books alone are enough to keep Llanfair Press in business. I promised your mother I'd never sell you into slavery."
"You'd not be selling me as a slave, Daddy. You'd be selling me as a pet. It's not the same thing at all."
"Oh, all right," he said, and walked over to them. "Excuse me, Mr. Potter?"
"Harry, please," Harry mumbled.
"My daughter wants me to sell her to you as a pet. Since you're already keeping two girls, I expect you'll not mind a third?"
"Umm, well... Fleur?"
"Of course, ‘Arry. Buy ze pretty leetle English girl."
"Fleur?" Hermione squeaked.
"Trust me," Fleur mouthed. "But of course, ‘Ermione," she said aloud. "Four sleep–-‘ow you say?--warmer zan t'ree, non?"
"Please?" said the blonde girl. "I'll be ever so good. To all of you. And especially you, Airmionee. I've always dreamt of making friends with a selkie."
"Hermione, please," Hermione said.
"Huzzah! Hermione says yes!" she said. "I'm Luna, and we're going to be friends! More than friends, we're going to be... pet-sisters!" Luna hugged her, hard. She was kind of cuddly. Almost as cuddly as Fleur.
"Please, Harry?" said Luna's father. "I'm afraid she's going to be quite unbearable if we leave here and she's not become your pet. She's only five Knuts."
"Daddy! Surely I'm worth a Sickle?"
"Luna, my little radish, let's not be too greedy."
"Okay. I'm only five Knuts, Harry. Please buy me. Please? Hermione and Fleur said yes, after all." Hermione hadn't really said yes, actually, but somehow the thought of denying this funny blonde girl anything was almost unbearable.
"Right," Harry reached into his pocket and took out five Knuts. "There you are, Mr..."
"Lovegood, Harry. Xenophilus Lovegood. Your parents were good friends of my late wife's and mine. I'm sure they'd be delighted to know that you're keeping my daughter as a pet. A pleasure doing business with you, Harry."
"Thank you, Mr. Lovegood."
"Thank you, Harry. Goodbye, Luna."
"Goodbye, Daddy. Do you have a collar and leash for me, Harry?"
"Umm, no. Sorry."
"Oh, that's fine," Luna said. "I've got one right here," she fished in her pocket and brought out a brown leather collar and leash. "It's even got your name on it, as I've always known I'd be Harry Potter's pet someday." She buckled it round her neck.
"There's a strong strain of Seership in my family," Mr. Lovegood was saying to Hagrid.
"Right," Hagrid said. "Ent Madam Trelawny at ‘Ogwarts one of your cousins, Xeno?"
"That she is," Mr. Lovegood said. "A terrible shame, what happened to our Sybill. She's never been the same since--"
But Hermione never got to find out what had happened to Mr. Lovegood's cousin, because she turned to Luna and saw that the girl was nuzzling Harry's face. Her eyes were closed and she looked completely content; his eyes were wide open and he looked as if he wasn't sure if he were delighted or terrified. That looks like fun--wait, is she actually licking his cheek?
"Luna, stop that!" she said.
"What, Hermione?"
"Licking Harry's face out here in the street."
"I'm taking our master's scent, Hermione. It's important to do things like that, if we're to be good pets."
"Not in public, please?"
"We're pets, Hermione. Pets obey the rules of love and affection, not the silly conventional rules of social discourse." Hermione was simultaneously appalled and delighted. Somebody my age who knows words like "social discourse." I love her! Even if she is mad as a hatter.
"Pets like us do, Luna," Fleur said gently, hugging the girl. "It makes Maître 'Arry all nervous if we don't."
"Oh, all right, then," Luna said. "I'll be good. Even if 'being good' means being a bad pet and not licking my master's face. And I suppose, lovely pet-sister Fleur, you're telling me that, even though I'm a pet and shouldn't wear any, I mustn't take off my clothes?" Harry's eyes probably couldn't get any wider. It was cute, actually. Will I ever be able to make him look that way?
"Yes, sweet."
Luna sighed and nuzzled Fleur's shoulder. "Well, I've got two lovely pet-sisters and a wonderful master. That's worth breaking a few rules. And, speaking of rules, here's my leash, Master." She handed the end to Harry. "You mustn't allow a fierce wild creature like me to run loose. Especially when you've only barely had any time to tame me properly." She fluttered her eyelashes alarmingly.
#
The Leaky Cauldron held more strangeness, as if the day hadn’t already been strange enough, between being magically kidnapped and put in a cage with a beautiful French girl and sold as a pet and given as a birthday present to Harry Potter and all the rest. It wasn’t the various wizards and witches reading everything from newspapers and magazines with moving pictures to Heinlein’s The Number of the Beast and Hawking’s A Brief History of Time, or idly chatting about incomprehensible sport and business news. Hermione had seen all of that before. It wasn’t folk gawking at the skinny boy in faded Muggle clothes with three girls on leashes. Just as in the street outside, they didn’t.
Instead it began with a red haired boy of about her own and Harry’s age, emerging from the big fireplace. “Come on, Gin,” he called over his shoulder. “We’ve not got all day. If we hurry, we can make it before they open up the new boxes of Frogs. That’s the best way to get a rare card, you know.” Frogs? Oh, right, those sweets. But if the cards are randomly put into the packets and the packets are randomly put into boxes and the boxes are randomly opened and put out in the shop, what difference does it make?
“I’m coming, Ron, I’m coming. Don’t be a git, all right?” A redheaded girl, perhaps about Luna’s age, came through the flames, brushing a bit of ash off the knees of her faded bluejeans.
“It’s bad enough I’ve got to put up with a girl all morning, Ginny. Don’t be a ninny. Or at least not more of a ninny than you must be.”
“Hullo, Ronald, hullo, Ginevra!” Luna said.
“Luna! Hullo!” the girl said. “Why are you... oh!”
“We met Harry Potter in the street this morning, and Daddy sold me to him. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“So, you finally did get to use that collar you’ve had in your pocket for the past two years. How is he?”
“Oh, he’s a wonderful master. Other than him making me walk about with clothes on, there’s nothing I could complain about. And I’m sure he’ll get over that, eventually.”
“Come on, Gin,” Ronald, if that was his name, repeated. “I’ve only got enough for two Frogs. That’s not good odds, so I have to take every advantage I can get, right?”
“Ron, it’s Harry Potter,” Ginevra said. “I’ve always wanted to meet him, you know.”
“Harry Potter, bah. I’ve already got his card,” Ron said. “If it were Agrippa, now...”
“Ronald,” Luna said, “if you had another Sickle you could get another Chocolate Frog, couldn’t you?”
“I suppose I could, but where would I get another Sickle? They don’t grow on trees, Looney.”
“You could sell your sister to Harry Potter for a Sickle, Ronald. I’m sure he’d love to have her.”
“I can’t imagine her being worth that much, but... sure, why not?”
“Ron! Surely I’m worth...”
“He’s Harry Potter, Ginevra. And you’d get Fleur and Hermione and me for pet-sisters, besides. They’re very sweet, and I’m sure you’ll love them. Just look, aren’t they pretty?”
Ginevra blushed. “Well... I suppose you’re right, Luna.”
“Ginevra’s my neighbour from Ottery St. Catchpole, Master. Isn’t she pretty? You’ve not got a redhead, yet. Wouldn’t it be nice to have one? Ginevra is wonderful company, and I can tell you that she’s got freckles everywhere.”
“Luna!”
“Excuse me for talking up your selling points, Ginevra.”
“All right,” Ron said. “Shouldn’t I be handling this? I’m Ron Weasley. Are you really Harry Potter?”
“Yes, I am. Pleased to meet you.” The boys shook hands.
“Could I see your scar, mate?” Harry pulled his fringe aside. “Wicked! Anyhow, would you like to buy my sister for a Sickle? She’s a bit of a pest, and she talks too much, but I guess you’ve got some kind of weird thing for girls so maybe you’ll not mind too much. If you can put up with Looney Lovegood there...”
I’d really like to hit him, Hermione thought. I wonder if pets get in trouble for things like that? Well, they might make Harry put a muzzle on me or handcuffs or something, so I’d best not take the chance. Although it would almost be worth having to go about in handcuffs...
“Girls?”
“I’d love to have Ginevra for a pet-sister, Master. She’s been dreaming about you since we were five years old.”
“She is lovely, Maître ‘Arry. An’ you know what zey say about ze redheads...”
“Hermione?” Harry said. And in his eyes she read a silent plea for help.
She should help him. She really should. But Luna was making the most horrible puppydog faces at her. Hermione sighed, and looked the redheaded girl in the eyes. In the deep, warm, lovely brown eyes. And knew there was only one answer. “Yes, Master. I think she’ll make a wonderful pet-sister.” Nobody deserves having to live with that git she has for a brother.
Harry shrugged. “I can’t say no, then.” He fished a Sickle out of his pocket.
“Pleasure doing business with you, mate. See you at Hogwarts, right? And good luck keeping Gin-Gin from talking your ear off. Don’t worry--if you have to gag her, I’ll understand completely.” The redheaded boy ran out the door towards Diagon Alley.
“Have you got a collar and leash for me, Master?” Ginevra said, blushing horribly. “If you haven’t... well, Luna got me one when she got her own. I could put it on, if you like.”
“Umm, sure. If you want to.”
“Thank you, Master,” Ginny said, with a shy little smile. “And thank you. All of you.”
“Hello,” Hermione said, holding out her hand. “I’m Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you, Ginevra.”
“I’m Ginny Weasley,” she said. “Luna’s the only person who calls me Ginevra. Other than Mum when she’s angry, sometimes.” The shook hands. In an odd way, Hermione was almost disappointed that Ginny hadn’t hugged her, the way Fleur had when she offered her hand this morning. But at least the handshake did go on for about twice as long as an ordinary one.
“And this is Fleur Delacour,” Hermione said.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Ginny,” Fleur said. Hermione had a vague feeling she ought to be jealous when the French girl hugged their newest... whatever she was. But instead I’m happy. How strange.
Hagrid chortled. “Yer dad would be cryin’ with joy, ‘Arry. Not sure about your mum, but she did say she wanted heaps of gran’children some day, like. Anyhow, let’s get yeh back t’ yer family, right?”
They followed him out the door and out into the streets of London. “Wait a mo’,” Harry said. “You can’t be walking about in collars and leashes out here.”
Hermione took hers off, and rubbed her neck. Not that the collar actually itched or rubbed, but it felt nice to be rid of it. It does, it really does, she told herself, pushing down the little part of her that actually sort of liked having it on. Not knowing what else to do, she stuck the collar and leash in her pocket.
Fleur had hers off. Ginny, on the other hand, looked reluctant. And Luna said “Master, I’m a wild ferocious Luna. You can’t let me run about loose. Especially when you’ve scarce had any time at all to tame me in.”
“Luna. People will look at us very strangely. And we’ve already got too much to explain as it is.”
“But before you can let me off the leash in public, Master, you’ve got to tame me. You’ve got to teach me to heel and to roll over and to play fetch and everything.”
“Could you please take off your leash? And call me ‘Harry,’ not ‘Master’? Please, my darling Luna?”
“All right.” Luna unsnapped the leash and handed it to Harry. “If you’ll not leash me, the least you can do is hold my hand.” Seconds later, Ginny gave Harry her leash, and latched on to his other hand.
“Good luck there, ‘Arry,” Hagrid said. “I reckon yeh’ll need it.” A few minutes later, he left them on the Underground platform, saying something about stopping into the Cauldron for a pick-me-up.
“Should we run, Fleur?” Hermione said in her best French.
"No, chérie," Fleur said. "Do you not feel it? Our ‘Arry is a good man... well, boy, for the moment. There is a destiny on him."
"Okay," Hermione said. Harry was looking at them, and very politely not asking anything. "We were just talking about going home, Harry. Where do you live?"
"In Surrey," he said. "In Little Whinging. But... I don't want to take you back there. You're all so nice. I've never been allowed pets before. And Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia will probably make me let Dudley play with you. I can't..." Hermione didn't know why, but the name "Dudley" seemed as dreadful as "Dracula" or "Thatcher" when Harry said it.
“I suppose I could ring my parents,” Hermione said. “But I can’t believe they’ll let us stay together.”
"How much money ‘ave you, ‘Arry?" Fleur said.
"Ten quid, fifty p," he said. "And four galleons, five sickles, and one knut."
"Do you trust me?" Fleur said.
"Of course," he said. "You're my pet."
"The sad thing," she whispered in her own language, "is that you're right on all counts." Louder, she said "We’ll need a few galleons, ‘Arry, if you please. We're going to France. All of us."
“But... we haven’t got our passports with us,” Hermione said. “At least I haven’t.”
Fleur smiled gently at her. “That is no problem.”
“We could take the Knight Bus,” Luna said. “But I don’t think it goes all the way to France.”
“Good thinking, sweet Luna,” Fleur said. “But there is a better way. May I summon the Veela Packet, Master?”
“Of course, Fleur.”
“Hold hands, everyone. There may be a bit of a shock.” Fleur took Hermione’s hand in her own left, and held up her right in a claw-like shape that might have been a rude gesture from some foreign culture. For a moment, it was as if a half-visible bird shared the same space as her body. She sang a short phrase that sounded like a bird call, full of trills. It felt as if there were words in it, but Hermione couldn’t make any sense of them. They weren’t French or English or any other language she recognised. The ground trembled; perhaps it was slightly stronger than a train’s passing.
And then there was a ship, something like a small Victorian steam-packet, standing there improbably beside the platform, as if the Tube were the ocean and the platform a quay. Hermione glanced about, but none of the other people seemed to notice. Even the man in leopard print pyjamas and motorcycle boots with a creature like a cat-monkey clinging to his shoulder.
There was a gangplank, and a stunningly beautiful woman in what might have been a Napoleonic-era naval officer’s uniform from some country Hermione had never heard of. She made bird-noises at Fleur.
“Might we speak English, please, Captain?” Fleur said. “My friends don’t speak ze Language of ze Birds yet.”
“Very vell,” the woman said, in what sounded like some strange variety of a Scandinavian accent. “So, ve have vun lovely quarter-Veela, vun cute young master, vun pretty part-Selkie, and two adorable human pets, yes? Dat vill be vun Galleon, t’ree Sickles. Five Sickles extra for luncheon, ten if you vant pyyamas as vell.”
“Oh, we don’t need pyjamas, thank you very much, Captain,” said Luna.
“Luna!” Ginny said. “Don’t forget that Harry’s a boy!”
“And our Master, darling pet-sister Ginevra. It’s completely appropriate. Look it up in any etiquette book.”
“Yes, we do,” Fleur said.
“Are you sure?” said the captain.
“Yes.”
“Very vell, den. Vun Galleon, t’irteen Sickles. T’ank you very much, Miss Delacour. Or should I say ‘Mrs. Potter’?” Fleur blushed, and looked as if she wanted to say something, but couldn’t think what. “Velcome aboard, my dears,” the captain said.
“Thank you, Captain,” Harry said.
“You’re most velcome, Mr. Potter. Oh. It yust occurs to me that England has had recently an outbreak of de Flibbering Flumbledees. Boys and Veelas are, of course, not suitable hosts, but I’m afraid I must inspect your human and part-human pets.”
“If you have to,” Harry said. Hermione had a very bad feeling about this. Perhaps we should have taken our chances with my parents, after all? Even if they did ship me off to Aunt Mildred’s sheep station, I’m sure Harry and Fleur would find a way of rescuing me.
Fleur broke into impassioned trills and chirping. The captain chirped back at her. “Oh, all right,” she said at last, dropping back into English. “It vas only a little yoke. I yust vanted to see your handsome master and de Veasley girl and dat pretty little brunette blush.”
“Are you sure?” Luna said. “I’m very careful to avoid catching them, but you can’t know that, so you should make quite certain. They can cling to the most improbable places, after all, and they love to hide under clothing. Especially underclothes.”
“Do you see what I mean?” Fleur said.
“All right,” the captain said. “I only vas yoking, little Lovegood.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.”
“But... you shouldn’t joke about important things like Flibbering Flumbledees, Captain. Why, that’s just like joking about Nargles.”
Hermione finally thought to look out over the side. They were moving now. Would she see the Tube tunnel? Or earth and rock? Or some marvelous underground sea, far below the knowledge of humankind? Unfortunately, there was only a faintly violet-tinged mist. “Oh, wait,” she said, “is that something? Why, it’s the Taj Mahal! But why go from London to France by way of India?”
“It’s only a picture, Miss Harry’s Pet,” the captain said. “Ve proyect them so passengers don’t get so bored vit de scenery.”
“Why don’t you know my name?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You knew Fleur’s name, and Harry’s, and Ginny’s and Luna’s. Why not mine?”
“I only have memorised de books of Vizard and Veela bloodlines, Miss Harry’s Pet. Selkie and Muggle, dese I have not. You might have some Black in your family tree, but I vas not sure. Have you?”
“I don’t think so. I’m Hermione Granger,”
“Very pleased to meet you, Miss Granger. So, vill you and your Master and your pet-sisters allow me to show you to your cabin?”
“Thank you, captain,” Hermione said. “Although... shouldn’t you be steering your ship or something?”
“Dis is a flock-run company, Miss Granger,” the captain said. “Vun of my vives does dat, right now. And dis is my yob, dis vatch.”
“Oh. And what does your husband do?” Hermione said. Oh no, she thought, seconds too late. What if that’s a rude question? Or what if she has a sense of humour like Luna’s, only more grown up, and she tells us all sorts of things about what Veelas like to do in bed?
“He runs de galley, of course. Dat’s de male’s vork, no? Is it not de same on de human ships?”
“I’m not sure,” Hermione said. “I’ve hardly ever been on them. And never on one as nice as yours.”
“T’ank you,” the captain said. She led them belowdecks. They passed through a lounge where everyone seemed to be either a large brightly-coloured bird, a pale lovely woman, or something inbetween and into a corridor lined with cabin doors. “Here ve are,” she said. “Ve dock at Château Delacour in seven hours. Your luncheon is laid out in your cabin; tea and coffee vill be brought round vun half-hour before landing.”
*"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger. And I think that you are truly beautiful."
**"Ah, my dear little Hermione. I must be thou to thee, darling."
Part 2
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Date: 2009-06-23 06:40 pm (UTC)And Ron really _is_ a git, isn't he?
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