Author: Amberdulen
Rating: PG for a little scary stuff and some marginally off-color jokes.
Summary: This is a parallel novel to The Goblet of Fire and a sequel to the previous three Serpents' Society novels. Great pains have been taken to make sure that this book doesn't change the story told in GoF or contradict anything in the series. My unbelievably helpful beta-reader Giesbrecht has seen to that. If you get confused, I recommend reading The Serpents' Society and the Quest for the Heir (parallel of CoS), because it's better than the first Serpents' Society novel and lays the foundation for the third and fourth ones.
Spoilers: All four novels and both textbooks.
Shipping: Strictly Canon.
Disclaimer: All the amusing and clever stuff belongs to Ms. Rowling, as do most of the fancy words.
Assumptions: 1-Blaise Zabini is a girl, Morag MacDougal is a boy. 2-Warrington is two years older than Harry. 3-No one is going to pay me for writing this.
Reviews: They rock. I can, however live without them. I'd appreciate it if you left a review at whatever point you stop reading the story, be it the first chapter or the last, to let me know why.
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Chapter One: Friends, Family and Floo
The outskirts of Cerne Abbas, Dorset were silent in a still and stuffy heat. Amid the drooping leaves and exhausted grasses, and the far-spaced cottages with windows wide open begging for breeze, hardly a bird or human stirred under the bold summer sun.
Then there was the Parson household.
"Give it to me."
"Ask nice."
"Give it to me or I'll kill you."
"Hmm, that's not very subtle for a Slytherin. What would Snape say?"
"He'd say fork over the letter, Lycaeon, or I'll poison you with every potion I own!"
The girl who was having difficulty getting her mail was Beth Parson, sixteen, and her twenty-eight-year-old brother was gleefully withholding the letter that had arrived by owl moments before. He examined the return address, carefully keeping it out of Beth's reach.
"Let's see, it's from Richard Shaw ... You really don't need to read it, do you?" He made to put the letter in his pocket.
"Lycaeon Cyrus Parson, you know perfectly well why I want to read that letter!"
"Sure," he said, with a cat's grin, holding it just out of her reach. "It's from Lover Boy."
Beth lunged forward and snatched the letter from her brother's hands. "I'm not in love with Richard," she said sullenly, ripping open the letter.
"That so?" said Lycaeon, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame. "Then why do you blush every time you hear his name?"
"I do not," said Beth, and blushed furiously. The truth was, she couldn't help but remember the last time she had seen Richard: at the train station at Hogsmeade, when he had unexpectedly kissed her cheek.
"Mm hmm," said Lycaeon smugly, and strolled off.
"I hate you," she called after him.
"I know," he called back, and shut the door to his bedroom.
Beth stuck her tongue out at the closed door just for spite, and then broke into a grin. She had never lived with her brother until two months ago, when he had been released from Azkaban on a very strict parole that forbade him from using a wand. She hadn't really known what to expect from the arrangement. But since Lycaeon had moved in, she had been teased, tormented, protected, goaded, and overruled -- and she was loving every minute of it.
A slow shuffling noise from the hallway indicated the arrival of their father. William Parson was not quite seventy, but his arthritic joints and slow motion made it easy to think that he had passed that milestone. "Luke gave you the letter?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye.
"Yeah, eventually," said Beth, with a halfhearted grudge.
Mr. Parson stroked his prodigious chin, a facial characteristic that he had passed on to all three of his children. "Richard Shaw again, eh? He must enjoy talking to you."
"Not you too!" said Beth, exasperated. "He's just a friend!"
"Yes, of course," said Mr. Parson mildly, and went past, whistling to himself.
Muttering loudly about family members who could not keep their noses out of other people's business, Beth retreated to her bedroom and tore open the envelope. As much as she was teased about it, she knew full well that the letter would contain nothing romantic whatsoever -- unless you counted the great love of Richard's life, which was the secret Slytherin organization that he captained.
The letter read:
She could almost hear Richard's proud, cheery voice as she read the letter to herself.
What they had managed to do was prevent Harry Potter and Hermione Granger from being devoured by a werewolf: specifically, their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in rather furrier than usual attire. They had failed to capture Sirius Black, as was their intent, but then again so had the entire Ministry of Magic. Rumor had it that Black had skipped the country.
Beth grinned. Richard was fervently obsessed with advancing Slytherin and impressing Dumbledore, and he was especially serious about --
--the grin fell from her face --
--about keeping the Society's secrets.
Beth darted to the bathroom and hurled the letter into the sink just before it burst into flames.
She let the parchment burn down to ashes before washing it down the drain. "I should know by now," she sighed to herself.
Lycaeon strolled by, hawk nose sniffing the smoky air. "What'd he do, douse it in cologne?"
"A self-destruct spell," Beth told him. She leaned against the sink. "Doesn't Jules Rothbard do the same for you, with the alumni letters?"
"Our President," said Lycaeon, "unlike yours, is not insane." He put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the door frame. "So now that you've got your little love note out of the way --"
"Hey!"
"-- I need a favor from you."
Beth crossed her arms and grinned. "Just why should I do you a favor?"
"'Cause I'm cute," said Lycaeon promptly. "Anyway," he went on, over Beth's good-natured refutation, "can you do the cooking tonight, instead of Dad? I want it to be edible. I've got a friend coming over for dinner."
"Oh ho!" Beth raised her eyebrows. "Who is she?"
"Dave Gudgeon."
"Really!" Beth was delighted. "Why didn't you say something! I'll make a pot roast, it's my specialty. And the asparagus is ripe. Go harvest me some asparagus," she ordered. "Not the big thick stuff, the little thin shoots that aren't to seed yet. Go!"
"You make us eat the big thick ones," Lycaeon pouted good-naturedly.
"You're family," said Beth pointedly. "I don't have to be nice to you. Now get going!"
Lycaeon surrendered and headed outside. Beth smiled. Having -- and being -- a sibling was turning out to be quite agreeable.
Their company arrived by broomstick. He drifted down in the front yard and parked near the birdbath, frightening away a flock of skylarks.
Dave Gudgeon had a long scar running vertically down his left eye. Back at Hogwarts, he had gotten kicked in the head by a centaur, although he let out the story that it had been done by the Whomping Willow. He was also an S.S.A. member, and in Beth's opinion, a pretty great guy.
Dinner passed pleasantly. Beth couldn't help but notice the way her father sat straighter, and looked at Lycaeon with such pride. She'd never known Luke before this year -- she couldn't imagine what it was to lose a son and then have him back again.
Dave Gudgeon filled his plate with some more mashed potatoes. "Don't suppose you lot went to the World Cup, did you?"
"Oh no," said Lycaeon easily. "D'you know what the price of tickets was by the time I ... eh ... moved in?"
"Far too much," said Dave. "I should know, I paid it. And then you had to put down another ten galleons for Omnioculars, just so you could see what was going on."
"We stayed home and listened to the game on the wireless, didn't we, Beth?" Mr. Parson smiled his slow, sweet smile.
"Yeah," said Beth. "We had a cookout on the front lawn and listened to the game outside."
"It sounds lovely," said Dave. "Me and my mates had to show up twelve days early, our tickets were so cheap. Good thing one of them knew how to cook. He could do things with baked beans like you'd never believe. The game was worth it, though."
"It sounded fantastic," said Beth.
Dave reached for a third helping of pot roast. "It was. Aidan Lynch -- Irish Seeker, you know -- got ploughed into the ground twice. He was a real mess, but the Bulgarian Seeker got hit in the face with a Bludger, and he looked worse."
The meal was a rousing success. Beth was rather proud of herself that the pot roast had turned out so well (and been devoured so heartily). She had just finished clearing the dishes when there was a quick whooshing noise from the living room. It was followed by a loud pop, a louder cry of surprise, and a thud that was even louder yet.
They all rushed to the living room.
Mrs. Scamander sat spread-eagle on the floor across from the fireplace. Her wrinkled face was smudged with ash and her eyes were wide with surprise. Little shards of porcelain dotted the floor around her. She held a large chocolate cake in one ancient hand.
"Porpentina --" Mr. Parson said, and hurried to help her.
"Oh, hello dears," Mrs. Scamander said, struggling to her feet. "You'll want to have that looked at, Bill ... blew me out like a bezoar from a goat! I do hope Mr. Scamander comes through all right ... he was right behind me ... here you are, dear," she said fondly, handing the chocolate cake to Lycaeon.
"I'm fattened up already --" Lycaeon protested.
"Don't be silly," said Mrs. Scamander, "you're skin and bone. Now, what was it I broke? ... oh, your little lighthouse figurines. Bill, I'm so sorry ..." She flicked her wand and the shards reassembled and flew back onto the shelf. She turned back, beaming, and caught sight of Dave Gudgeon for the first time. "Oh," she said, flustered. "You have company."
"Don't worry, Porpentina, he's one of us," Mr. Parson said kindly, as Mrs. Scamander cast a worried look over her shoulder at the reassembled porcelain lighthouses. "Dave Gudgeon, he's a school friend of Luke's. We were just having him over for dinner."
Dave bowed politely. Mrs. Scamander adjusted her hat. "How do you do, Mr. Gudgeon?"
"Ever onward," Dave smiled. "Your cake looks absolutely gorgeous."
"D'you think so?" Mrs. Scamander tried to pat some of the ashes from her shoulders and cheeks. "You're welcome to try some ... Lycaeon is right, he's quite fattened up already ..." Taking Dave's arm, she whisked the cake away from Lycaeon and led him into the kitchen.
The Parson family exchanged glances and tried their best to smother their laughter.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Scamander had seated Dave Gudgeon and was delivering him an admirable slice of cake. "Now you just finish that right up," she cooed. "My Newt, he loves the marshmallow frosting ..."
"Didn't you say your husband was on the way?" Dave said, an overloaded forkful already on the way to his mouth.
"Oh, don't worry about Newt," Mrs. Scamander said fondly. "He probably got distracted playing with the Porlock again ..."
Boom.
The front door flew open. There stood Mr. Scamander, looking as cranky as usual, covered from tip to toe with inky black soot. A few charcoal briquettes clung tenebrously to the hem of his robes.
"Newton!" cried Mrs. Scamander. "You haven't been hunting Ashwinders again, have you?"
Mr. Scamander reared up indignantly. "Ashwinders? The blasted Floo spat me out in the barbecue pit!" He turned on Beth's father. "You get those do-nothing Floo fellows in here first thing and have your connection realigned. You've been scammed! Ashwinders, indeed," he added, shooting a look at his wife.
"He's been trying all summer to catch one," Mrs. Scamander confided, flicking her wand at her husband. The soot and charcoal rose off of his robes in a cloud and vanished. "Lighting magical fires all over the place and letting them burn down. He'll get his Ashwinder one of these days, just you wait -- it'll burn the house down, you mark my words. Sit down, dear, have some cake."
Grumbling, the old writer obliged.
With the new company, the conversation crawled to more adult topics: the International Confederations of Wizards meeting that had been held in July, a new policy at Gringott's (Beth didn't pay very close attention to that one), and the international ban on dueling. Mr. Scamander was incensed that the Transylvanians wouldn't sign it. Dave thought that Britain should have never signed it. Mrs. Scamander deftly sidelined the argument by serving up second helpings of her fabulous cake. Nothing, she whispered to Beth, distracted a man like a plate of good food.
Mr. and Mrs. Scamander Apparated off to bed by ten o'clock, but it was late at night when Dave stood up, stretching, and declared that he had to be off. Beth made him a Tupperware full of leftovers (Dave was fascinated by the rubber lid with "burp" technology). Beth chucked the dirty dishes in the sink for the next morning and went upstairs to her bedroom, while Luke followed Dave out to the porch to see him off.
It was a hot, sticky night, especially upstairs. Beth crawled across her bed and opened the window that overlooked the porch. She intended to go to her desk and pound out part of a long-neglected Transfiguration essay ... but the sound of her own name stopped her.
"You're lucky to have her, Luke."
"She's sweet ... when I was in Azkaban, I kept hoping she'd never find out ... about us ... but now I'm glad she did."
Luke and Dave were still chatting on the porch beneath the window. A surprising warmth spread through Beth's chest and she smiled.
"You're coming to the Society meeting next month?"
"Yeah." Lycaeon chuckled. "I spent all my first months' wages getting a fireplace installed so we could hook up to the Floo." Beth muffled her giggles. It had been a fiasco: brick, mortar and greenish powder had strewn the living room for a week. Still, since using the Floo network didn't require a wand, it was one of the few things still connecting her brother to the wizarding world. "Dad never needed it before ... daresay they'll all be surprised to see me."
"No doubt ..." Dave's voice trailed off. He cleared his throat. "Luke. I've been meaning to talk to you."
There was a questioning silence.
"You read the Prophet -- about the World Cup? The riots?"
Lycaeon let out a sound of anger. "Stop right there, Dave, I know what you're going to say."
Dave forged ahead. "The Dark Mark in the sky ... the Death Eaters on the prowl ..."
"Not listening ..."
"I know what it must've been for you to read about it ..."
"Nothing, I felt nothing when I read about it ..."
"Listen, all I'm saying is --"
"-- I know what you're trying to say, Dave --"
"No, just shut up for a minute, will you!" Dave's voice grew sharp. "He's still trying to come back and everybody knows it! Just -- Luke --"
"--I don't have to listen to this --"
"Lycaeon --"
"Ought to walk away --"
"Luke!"
Lycaeon fell silent.
"Don't forget what it was like in Azkaban!" The night seemed quieter. Beth's heart leapt nervously. "Think about what it was like then, and what things are like now."
"I know what it was like." Lycaeon was sullen.
"And never forget it."
A cricket sang from across the field.
"D'you think I ever could?"