Chapter Text
Two weeks into their holiday, Hedwig arrived at the house looking bedraggled, all her feathers askew. She carried a note from Ron, asking whether Harry had gotten his last letter, and if he would be able to visit later in the summer.
Harry had not gotten Ron’s last letter, or any other letters.
“Is someone messing with my mail, do you think?” he asked at breakfast.
“Seems likely,” Liam said. “You’re famous, aren’t you? Have you ever gotten any fan mail?”
“I don’t think I would want to get fan mail,” Harry said, “but I do want to get letters from Ron. Is there a way to check and see?”
Da frowned thoughtfully, “There are a lot of rules around messing about with mail delivery — special laws and so on. I’m not sure what the process is for any of it. I don’t suppose your Ms. Bones could look into it, could she? Otherwise we might ask Mrs. Flanagan.”
They dashed off a letter to Susan, which Liam took into town when he took Harry for his next appointment with Mrs. O’Leary.
Harry was seeing a lot of Mrs. O’Leary. She had found a potion that allowed a person to learn languages quickly, but Maeve supposed she must have been worried about it because she asked him to go back to see her every few days. Liam would escort Harry to and from town, and on those days he would show Harry all the different types of craftsmen and the types of things they made and the magic they did before bringing him home.
Harry was still wearing Liam’s old clothes, and had taken to listening to everything Liam said with the utmost seriousness. Little Cathal had started talking, but was still too young to idolize anyone in that way; Maeve had always looked up to Padraic, and little Brighid didn’t look up to anyone at all, so it was an enjoyable new experience for Liam and he seemed determined to live up to Harry’s expectations.
Each evening after one of his appointments, Harry came back chatting happily about the broomstick maker — his brooms weren’t as fast as a Nimbus, but they were solidly made — or the couple who made enchanted trunks for traveling, or the hag who grew all sorts of strange herbs for potions.
And, of course, Liam had taken him to meet Padraic, who showed him how furniture was made and enchanted and then introduced him to the werewolf family who ran his favorite pub. Harry absorbed all of it with a sense of wonder and joy.
Maeve, meanwhile, had gone back to working for Mrs. Doyle over the summer. While Harry was in town with Liam, she pulled up her courage and asked how one might change an animagus back into a human shape.
“I believe there’s an animagus reversal spell, but you wouldn’t be able to use that,” Mrs. Doyle told her seriously. “Why do you want to know?”
“I was just curious,” Maeve said, but Mrs. Doyle gave her a disbelieving look. “Why can’t I use the spell?”
“Don’t think I’m letting this drop,” Mrs. Doyle warned her. “You should already know why you can’t do the spell — just think about how transfiguration works. And the animagus transformation involves a ritual with a potion.”
Maeve thought about it for a moment. “Transfiguration is intent based,” she said slowly, “so it would be my intent verses the other person’s. But the ritual and the potion… they would shape the person’s magic around the transformation, and make it more stable, wouldn’t they?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“I’m not sure I understand. There is a spell to undo the transformation, but why can’t I do it?”
Mrs. Doyle smiled at her fondly. “Maeve, dearest, you’re a very bright young girl, and I’m quite proud of you, but you’re only twelve. You simply won’t have the intent needed to undo a stable transformation like that.”
At that moment, Maeve felt very much like a twelve year old. “How do you know I can’t do it? I might be able to, if I tried.”
“I suppose that’s true,” said Mrs. Doyle, with that condescending tone that adults often took when talking to children. “But if you really think that an animal is a hidden animagus, then doing the spell and failing will give them a chance to escape. Better to bring it to an adult, I should think.”
Maeve shifted awkwardly. She looked down at her hands. “None of the adults at school believe anything we have to say.”
“And you can’t get the animal away from the school?”
“No, he would realize…”
Mrs. Doyle gave her a serious, searching look, fingers tapping at her teacup. “I’ll have a think about it.”
She did, later in the summer, give Maeve a specially made cage which could contain an animagus if she could get him into it, but Maeve couldn’t exactly sneak into the boys’ dormitory to do that.
They got an official letter from Madam Bones within a week. Harry did have an owl ward, but it shouldn’t cause any harm to owls, especially his own. It had been set up by Dumbledore shortly after Harry was placed with the Dursleys, filed with all the correct paperwork, and prevented anyone not specifically listed from contacting him. Madam Bones also sent an enchanted parchment which would allow him to add names. Harry promptly added Maeve’s family, Hagrid, all of the Weasleys, the entire Hogwarts first year class — including Malfoy — and the names of all the people he’d met in the túath. It took him a long time to write out so many names, but he smiled the entire time.
And yet, Harry still didn’t receive any letters. Maeve got letters from people saying that they’d written Harry. She had vague, faded memories of a long-eared creature trying to protect Harry, presumably from the basilisk, but she’d decided she didn’t need to worry about it. She would get the evil book, search for the room of requirement, and find a way to revert an animagus. That was enough to be getting on with in one year.
Then one night, near the end of July, the entire house was woken up by the sound of a fight. They rushed outside, all in their nightclothes, and Mam shone a light from her wand on a little puca fighting with another creature who looked just like a puca, except for the long, bat-like ears.
“And what are you fighting about in our yard?” Da asked them. He was clutching a hoe in his hand, and looked quite threatening.
“Thief! He’s a thief! In my village!” yelled the puca. “If anyone’s to steal from you, it’s me!”
The other creature wailed, and cowered, and disappeared with a crack.
“And what was he stealing,” Mam asked.
The puca brandished a handful of letters. “Only some little papers, but perhaps I’ll keep them if they’re so valuable.”
Mam smiled and shook her head. “Why don’t we trade you for them. A bowl of milk, do you think?”
“Whiskey’d be better.”
So they made the trade, the little puca sped off, and the family went back inside.
The letters were all addressed to Harry.
A couple of days later, just before his birthday, Harry came to dinner looking a bit stunned. “That creature that stole my letters came back,” he told them all. “Said his name’s Dobby. He said he’s a house elf, and that I can’t go to Hogwarts this year because there’s a dangerous plot, but he couldn’t tell me what it is. He tried to make me promise not to go back, but then the puca scared him off again.”
They all looked at each other, worried, except for little Brighid, who said, “That’s alright. You can stay here and we’ll go flying every day.”
Harry was used to Brighid by now, and rolled his eyes at her. “I’m going back to school.”
“Did he tell you anything useful about this plot?” Maeve’s mam asked.
But Harry just shrugged. He had said that it wasn’t about You-Know-Who, but that still left a lot of possibilities. “And,” Harry said with a disturbed expression, “he kept hitting himself, and talking about putting his ears in the oven and things like that.”
They all felt disturbed, then. Her da promised to look into it — find out what house elves were and if there were other ways of learning where Dobby was from — but he seemed upset that he couldn’t promise more.
Lughnasadh was a proper holiday. For three days, there were contests, feasting, and storytelling. They went each day to watch duels, races, and even a mock battle, along with the more usual festival games. Filidhe played music and sang the ballads of Lugh, and they ate honeycakes and bilberry pies. They even saw a public hearing over who owed money to whom over a fallen wall; and three couples handfasted.
Brighid had come home for the holiday, and she and Maeve took turns dragging Harry to all their favorite things, and he gratified them by being fascinated with it all. He did seem a little uncomfortable when the bull was sacrificed and butchered there on the green, but Liam just shrugged and said, “You eat beef, don’t you?”
On the third day, Padraic and some of the other apprentices from town dressed up and put on a show. The story was of Lady Celestine, an English woman seduced by an Irish man. Her father wanted to marry her to an English lord, but when the lord came to visit he was seduced by an Irish woman. The crowd roared with laughed when Padraic, playing the old woman who arranged the lovers’ meetings, almost snuck one of them into the wrong room.
Maeve looked around her and saw Brighid with Harry, little Brighid beside them with Liam. Her parents were a ways away, holding Cathal, and everyone was laughing.
It was a very good day.
But then, Maeve had to come clean to Harry about his scar. Cian wanted to meet with him, and she wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret any longer. She berated herself for her cowardice, for keeping such a secret from someone she thought of as a friend. She was certain he would never forgive her.
“Harry,” she said, “I have a confession to make. I’ve been keeping a secret from you.”
“Is this about those newspaper clippings Theo’s been sending me?” Harry asked.
“What?”
“You know, about Dumbledore — your da really doesn’t like him, does he? And Theo was saying that me staying here was political somehow.”
Maeve stared at him blankly. What had he and Theo been talking about?
“I don’t mind, really, if your family is trying to use me somehow. It’s still way better than the Dursleys.”
“Ah, no. I mean, I’m sure there’s some political, I don’t know, something or another because of you staying here, but I only invited you because your aunt and uncle seem awful, so that’s not…” This was not at all how Maeve expected this conversation to go, and she wasn’t sure she was making any sense.
“Oh, that’s good,” Harry said. “What did you want to tell me, then?”
“It’s… it’s about your scar. It’s. There’s something wrong with it, and I told the druids because I really think you ought to meet with them.” She tried to tell him about the soul piece, but when she opened her mouth her throat closed up, and the words wouldn’t come.
“Oh, I already know about that,” Harry said cheerfully. “Mrs. O’Leary says there’s some bit of a curse left over, and that’s why she needs to see me so often. But how did you know about it?”
Maeve didn’t want to tell him about being reincarnated, and also didn’t want to lie anymore. She shrugged.
“But when did you find out?
“I knew last year,” she dissembled. “I talked to the druids over winter break.”
He looked thoughtful. “I’m not mad at you,” he said. “I’m also seeing Mrs. O’Leary for bone problems. The Dursleys didn’t feed me enough, and my bones are a bit weak. D’you know, I tried telling teachers, but they never believed me. And when I tried to run away, the police brought me right back to them. I thought I’d never get away from them, until you told me I could come here.”
He said all of this in an even, matter-of-fact tone, and Maeve wasn’t sure how to react. He smiled at her and nudged her shoulder gently. “I reckon that’s worth at least one free pass. Maybe two,” he told her.
She was glad he wasn’t mad at her, but she still hadn’t told him everything. She opened her mouth to tell him the rest, but all that came out was a strange croaking sound.
“Is it bad, then, my scar?” Harry asked her.
She nodded.
“Is it going to kill me, d’you think?”
She shrugged, and then said, in a harsh and teary voice, “I won’t let it. That’s why I asked the druids. And if they don’t have an answer, then we’ll ask someone else.”
Harry had started looking a bit grim, but he tried to smile at her anyway. “We can go on a quest,” he said, “like those stories your da tells.”
Harry took her hand, and they sat quietly together until it was time to go in for dinner.
The next day, Maeve and her da walked Harry to the grove. Maeve still couldn’t tell exactly where it began, but she thought she felt a weight in the air as they drew closer. Cian and Tadhg came again, this time wearing thin linen tunics. They took Harry with them, deeper into the forest, and Maeve had to stay behind and wait.
She paced back and forth, sat on the ground, paced some more, and she waited and waited.
When he came back, Harry looked sick. “Did you know?” he asked her.
She nodded.
He shuddered. “I thought it was like cancer, not…” He was shivering, and tears leaked from his eyes. Maeve’s da stepped forward and pulled Harry into a hug. Harry stood stiffly for a moment, but then grabbed the back of her da’s tunic and began to cry quietly.
Maeve stood awkwardly while Harry cried, until Cian pulled her to the side. “There are rituals he must perform on the four holidays, beginning on Samhain. You and at least one other must perform them with him.”
Maeve nodded. They were at school over all of the holidays except Lughnasadh. It would have to be Eamon, although Morag might agree if he refused.
Cian pressed a roll of parchment into her hands. “This is not the sort of thing we would typically write.”
She looked at him questioningly.
“Instructions for the rituals,” he said. “Make sure no one sees it who shouldn’t.”
She clutched the parchment to her chest and nodded.
For days afterwards, Harry was pale and listless. Liam kept bringing him to town and little Brighid dragged him out to fly with her, but none of it cheered him up. He did recover eventually, however. Maeve still watched him carefully, but he regained the appetite he’d lost and resumed telling them about the craftsmen he’d met in town.
One day Harry came home saying that he’d like to get a new trunk — one with enchantments to expand the interior and reduce the weight of it — as well as birthday presents for his friends at school. Maeve’s parents looked at each other.
“We could give you a bit of pocket money,” her da said, “but I’m not sure it’ll stretch to a new trunk.”
“No, you don’t need to,” Harry said. “I have money, only it’s in the bank.”
Her da’s face cleared. “Well that’s alright then. We’ll find a time to go to Dublin. We can see how much you have and have a chat about budgeting, as well.”
“Brilliant. I’ll write to Hagrid to have him send me my key.”
Mam’s spoon clattered as she dropped it into her bowl “Who is Hagrid, and why does he have your key?” she asked.
“He’s the gamekeeper at Hogwarts, and I don’t know. He had it last year when he took me to Diagon and I suppose he kept it afterwards. I didn’t think to ask for it.” Harry started looking nervous. “Is that bad?”
“Well,” Maeve’s mam said slowly, “it’s usual that a child wouldn’t keep their own key, but normally your guardian would have it.”
Harry shrugged. “If my aunt and uncle did have it they’d have taken all of my money, so it’s really better they didn’t.”
Mam nodded. “All the same, I think it’s best you go to Dublin tomorrow to get a new key made, just in case someone other than Hagrid has had yours.”
Harry still looked a little nervous, as though waiting for someone to start yelling at him, but was quickly distracted by little Brighid. “I want to go to Dublin, too,” she said. “Can I?”
“We’ll only be going to the bank,” Da told her. “You’d just end up sitting in a little room, and wouldn’t get to see any of the city.”
But Brighid was undeterred. “Maeve gets to go to London and Scotland and all over. I only want to go somewhere,” she said.
Mam sighed. “If you behave yourself, we’ll let you go to London with Harry and Maeve when they go for their school things, but you aren’t going to Dublin tomorrow.”
The next evening, Harry returned home several books heavier and wearing a bewildered expression.
“Did you know,” he asked Maeve, “that people left me money and things in their wills? I didn’t know I had anything at all until last summer. It’s not just money, either. There are houses and a farm and… I didn’t even get all the way through the list. I don’t. I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Well, you don’t need to do anything right now,” she said.
“That’s what your da said. It just feels weird to have this much, when I thought I didn’t have anything.” He clutched the account book he had propped on his knees and looked out into a middle distance. “Last year, I learned I was a wizard and I could go to wizard school and it was…” He waved his hands around, filling the space with the words he couldn’t find. “And then I found out my parents weren’t drunks and they didn’t die in a car crash, and also I’m famous, and there was a whole war I never knew about.” His hands went back to the account book, and he looked down at the neatly written pages.
“And now,” he continued, “there’s my scar, and this bank stuff. It’s all…”
“Overwhelming,” she said.
“Yeah. That. And it keeps happening. And I know there’s more — stuff I haven’t found out yet.”
He looked her in the eye, and Maeve, suddenly feeling guilty, ducked her head to look at her hands. When she looked back up, his face held the same dead expression that it had at the end of the school year. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say until she opened her mouth and started talking.
“I know things,” she said, “and I can’t say how. I mean, I don’t really understand it myself, but—” She told him, then, about how Voldemort had split his soul apart in order to become immortal and put the pieces in different objects and that she knew where she might find some of them. The words spilled out in a jumbled heap, and she was sure she hadn’t made any sense at all.
“There’s more,” she said at the end. “But I can’t tell you yet.”
He nodded. He was frowning thoughtfully, eyes unfocused, and his fingers were tapping against the book in his lap.
“Please don’t tell anyone. Not Susan, or Ron, or Theo, or anyone,” she said.
“You don’t want to tell Madam Bones?” he asked.
“I trust her, but I don’t know about the rest of the aurors. It only takes one person to take one of the objects and protect it, or use it to bring Voldemort back.”
He nodded; and then, to her shock, he started to cry. It was only a moment before he stopped and roughly scrubbed his face with his sleeve. “I was so happy to be a wizard and go to magic school, but so much of it is terrible. Last year Quirrell was trying to kill me, and now Dobby says there’s something else, and then all of this.”
“You don’t have to go back to Hogwarts,” she said. “There are other schools.”
“I know,” he said. “Both of your parents told me that. Liam, too. And Padraic’s offered to get me an apprenticeship like he has. But I do want to go back, I think. My parents went there. And you’re there, and Hermione and Ron and all of our other friends.”
She wrapped her hand around his and gave it a squeeze. It was all really stressful right now, but everything would turn out well.
She would make sure of it.
She had to.