01225 A Chat

 

Mrs. Weasley chattered on, and Bryan, perched on the edge of the platform with the plate balanced on his knees, let her.

The lamb chops had been seared golden at the edges and left rosy at the heart, fragrant with rosemary and garlic, and she had brought a dish of mint jelly and a bit of warm bread besides.

Between bites, he learned how much the Weasleys' lives had changed.

The higher income had made things easier, which hardly needed saying. There were no more patched robes in the Burrow's wardrobes, no more calculations over the grocery list at the kitchen table, no more flinching when an owl brought a bill.

But most important of all, Arthur was now respected.

For years, because of the Weasleys' attitude toward Muggles and half-blood wizards, they had been the disgrace of the pure-blood families.

Even though Arthur had always done work he loved in the Ministry, his standing had never been high. All of it had been a sore spot Molly carried quietly.

Now the problems had been solved.

The Department of Oversight, where Arthur worked, was one of the few departments in the Ministry that everyone held in awe.

Oversight was a powerful sword: it could scrutinize everyone in the Ministry, and even the enterprises and workshops in which the Ministry held shares lay under its looming shadow.

The direct result was that the pure-blood families' gossip about the Weasleys had dwindled to almost nothing. It is a hard thing to sneer at a man who might one day come to audit your accounts.

"And Percy and Penelope are both at your workshop now, aren't they? Oh, it's put a thought in my head, Bryan. If Fred and George have no interest in the Ministry—and goodness knows they've made that clear enough—well, your workshop wouldn't be such a bad home for the pair of them, would it?"

She was straightening the napkin on his knee as she said it, and a loose thread on his cuff, and then the napkin again.

"And Ron… I do love that boy, but with those marks of his, I'm afraid the Ministry might not have him either."

Bryan cut into Molly's reveries about the children's futures, saying with a chuckle,

"In fairness, Mrs. Weasley, I ought to point out that the Learning Machine Workshop isn't mine at all. It belongs to Hogwarts and the goblins—though I expect most of its shares will find their way under the Ministry's management in time—"

"Oh, yes, of course, dear!"

Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to have heard a word of it. Her cheeks were pink with happiness and the warmth of the kitchen she had just left, and she said, beaming,

"What I'm trying to say, Bryan, is that this whole family has been looked after by you. You taught Percy and the others, and Bill and Charlie and Ginny—every one of them has had their life saved by you, and I'll never forget it as long as I live—"

"I only did what I ought to have done, Mrs. Weasley—"

Bryan pressed his lips together and smiled.

"As for being looked after—I'm not sure anyone is really looked after by a single person. We've simply been lucky enough to live in an age when magic is striving forward, that's all. What your family has received is the blessing of the age, not mine."

"You're so sweet, Bryan."

Mrs. Weasley beamed and ruffled his hair, which Fleur and Amelia had left sticking up in a dozen directions, then took away the plate he had emptied.

The emerald brooch at her chest flashed once in the lamplight as she turned, and she disappeared back through the glowing doorway, humming.

It seemed everyone wanted a quiet word alone with Bryan.

Next out of the house came Percy and Penelope, the young couple, picking their way along the carpet between the chairs.

Percy had put on his best dress robes for the rehearsal and had not, it seemed, been able to bring himself to loosen even one button of them.

Penelope's long curls had come half undone from the pins she had put them up with, and she kept one hand tucked firmly through his arm, as if to keep him from marching off to file a report.

"I intend to stay on at the workshop for another two years, Professor Watson, and then return to the Ministry—"

Percy, arm in arm with Penelope, drew a deep breath and said to Bryan,

"I'd like to follow Remus into the International Trade Department. Much of my work at the workshop has touched on it all along, and I believe—no, I know—I can do it well!"

Looking at the Percy before him, a Percy in whom setbacks had settled into a measure of toughness, Bryan saw an immature young man from nearly two years ago flicker hazily before his eyes, sitting stiffly in a corner of the Three Broomsticks with the butterbeer going in front of him, asking for his help in writing a letter of introduction.

Back then, Percy's eyes had had room for no one but himself.

"And Penelope means to carry on at the workshop—"

Percy turned to give Penelope a tender look, his grip on her hand tightening,

"The pay is excellent, as you know. If we're careful, we can afford a house in London within two years—and we'll be married the week after we get the keys."

Percy's tone, rather like that of someone delivering a quarterly work report, made Bryan chuckle.

"There's very little left that I can teach you, Percy…

"Well, perhaps one thing. I believe you will become a wizard who accomplishes great things, Percy. But life is a journey both short and long, and every stage of growing up has scenery of its own, all of it lovely. There's no need to hurry toward the end."

"I think I'm finally beginning to understand that, Professor."

Percy nodded emphatically.

"And what about me, Professor? Haven't I earned a word of wisdom too?"

Penelope wrinkled her nose in slight displeasure, which made her look as though she were being playfully petulant with Bryan.

"As for you, Penelope—"

The smile never left Bryan's face,

"The moment you resolved to break free of your parents' interference in your life, to leave home and come to London on your own—that was the moment you had already broken through.

Only don't ever forget that courage, in the life ahead—"

Penelope said nothing for a moment, and the colour crept up into her cheeks.

The two young people walked back toward the house hand in hand, looking content.

But before they pulled the door open, they turned back as one and looked at Professor Watson, who stood leaning on the oath platform, gazing up at the endless stars.

His gaze kept moving, sweeping back and forth across the vast night sky as if he were searching for something.

The starlight picked out his profile in cool silver, and the contours of that face were as sharply defined as ever. Only the slender back, outlined against the pale glow of the canvas, looked a little lonely.

"Whenever I speak with Professor Watson, I get the oddest feeling… as if…"

Percy frowned and murmured.

"As if you're talking to a wizard as old as Professor Dumbledore. Is that it?"

Penelope said.

Percy was silent for a few breaths, then his brow cleared and he shrugged,

"Someone destined to become a legend must endure more than most of us, I suppose—to earn the kind of wisdom that sees all the way through life."

Then Penelope pulled the door open, and the warm yellow light and the chatter of the house swallowed them both.

The night deepened.

Above the dark fields the stars had come out in their thousands, a bright river of them spilling from horizon to horizon, so bright and so thickly sprinkled that for a moment it felt like standing in the middle of summer. But the chill of early winter crept in over the grass and dispelled the illusion, and the reeds beyond the tent rattled dryly in the cold.

Amelia, who had come up behind Bryan on soft steps, drew in a sharp, cold breath, wrapped her arms around herself, and shivered. The pale celadon dress was lovely, but it had not been made for standing in a field in November.

Bryan turned, took off his jacket, and draped it over Amelia's shoulders, then ruffled the top of her head.

Nor did Amelia find anything out of place in it; she pulled his jacket tighter around her. She leaned against his shoulder.

"Something's on your mind, isn't it, Bryan?"

Amelia asked.

"Oh, how to put it…"

Bryan chuckled a couple of times,

"A wizard in my position goes on turning things over even in his sleep."

Amelia curled her lip, careful not to let him see, and said nothing.

They leaned on each other in silence while the wind combed through the reeds and, somewhere inside the house, a burst of laughter rose and fell.

They stayed that way until the bright moon had crossed the night sky by the span of one hour-mark on a clock face, and only then did Amelia say softly,

"Fleur likes you, you know. Very much."

"Ah, that's hardly a secret."

Bryan replied, but his tone displeased Amelia a little. Her eyelashes fluttered; she turned her head sharply to look him in the eye,

"She's a good girl, Bryan. And brave."

"I agree with you—"

Bryan gave a slight nod,

"Beauxbatons chose her as their champion, after all. Courage is hardly something she lacks."

"You know perfectly well that's not what I mean, Bryan—"

Amelia shook her head and probed, "Even Sirius has noticed that you steer clear of matters of the heart… but why? Did what happened to my sister and brother-in-law hurt you that deeply?"

"Oh, I don't think that has anything to do with it, Amelia."

"Then—"

After hesitating a long while, Amelia went on,

"There are rumours going round the magical world… that you and Cliodna were lovers once. That you belong to the light and she chose to fall into the dark, and so the two of you went your separate ways?"

"There's a rumour like that going around?"

Bryan was genuinely a little surprised.

Amelia nodded earnestly, her brown eyes gleaming in the light the countless stars cast down,

"Do you… like her? Cliodna, I mean."

"Perhaps—"

Bryan rubbed his hands together against the cold and, seeing Amelia still staring at him, laughed despite himself,

"I honestly had no idea so many people were discussing my love life. I'd have thought they had more pressing things to gossip about—the current situation, for one—"

"I'm your family, Bryan. Of course I care—"

Amelia said, as if stating the most obvious thing in the world.

'Family.'

Bryan lowered his gaze and turned the word over in his heart. His expression softened, and he ruffled Amelia's head once more,

"I don't want to lie to you, Amelia, and I don't want to dodge the question either… nor hide behind the excuse that it's a very complicated matter."

"You know how it is when you've stayed awake past the point of sleepiness—after a while you can't fall asleep at all, however hard you try. I'm afraid I'd find it much the same with accepting anyone's love again—"

Bryan's answer was somewhat obscure. Amelia knit her brows, turning the meaning of his words over, but Bryan broke in before she could pin it down,

"Let's talk about you instead, Amelia. I've heard… ahem, a few whispers of my own. About you and Sirius, now…"

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