Prudence Charnel, the Hag, was a sad disappointment to her father, well, in the sense her birth had been an unexpected, and unwanted consequence of youthful foolishness. In all truth, her mother had been the most incredible traumatic disappointment to her father's life, too. He probably lost a good twenty years of his life when he realized exactly who and what he had slept with.
It was well known that sex between a wizard and a hag only happened only when a hag decided she wanted a child of her own to raise. A bit unusual, in many respects, since hags atypically preferred dining on children - roast leg tasted a lot like veal - and thought wizards in general were only good for hexing.
Suffice it to say, Grizella Charnel, Prudence's hag-mother, at age eight-seven had for one reason or another decided to start own family. She'd used potions and magical illusions to seduce a young wizard for stud service, and then let the wizard see exactly where his wild seed had been sown. Why her dame, Grizella, thought telling Haron Potter that she was a hag, after conception had been achieved, was beyond Prudence's understanding. Why even admitting to her conception was a bit of a puzzle altogether. Even so, Grizella had outed herself (and Prudence), and her father, being a good wizard he had stayed very involved and supportive in Prudence life. He hadn't stood by Grizella. In his defence, though, what sane man would wed a hag?
Tragically, Papa had only lived to sixty-two. And, as much as Pru would have liked to blame Papa's untimely death on the fright her mother had given him as a young man, the truth was, he went out and dueled a Dark Lord. He'd won the duel, but died from his wounds. Very sad. (Honestly, it was a mystery why Potter men kept taking on Dark Lords, since most times they ended up dead. The Potter men, that was. As a family, it seemed they couldn't learn from past mistakes. Generation after generation, the Potter males always stepped up and took on some of the most malevolent wizards in their history.)
At any road, Pru had been born in the early eighteen hundreds. She sadly, took physically after her mother, but in one way she took after her Papa. Magically, she was more witch than hag. As such, Papa had paid for her to go to a Hogwarts for her first year. Pru hadn't liked it. She hadn't liked all the perfect little witches and wizards with straight backs, and perfect teeth. She hadn't liked their snide comments, and cruel taunts. Nor had she been particularly thrilled when some seventh year students tossed her over a railing. She would have died had Hogwarts not moved the staircase, as it was, she'd broken her tailbone, her right arm, and her collarbone. Papa had been incensed. And, Papa, thinking more of Pru's needs rather than his reputation (which frankly, having a hag-born child had put it in tatters), pulled her out of Hogwarts after the Christmas hols when his little girl wept, and sent her off to a very good hedge-school in Ireland.
Papa was the reason she had bought the Shoddy Inn when old Hepezah Frump had put it up for sale. It had been a notorious place of ill repute - and not for the whores, but for the bar fights, demonic deals, vampires, werewolves, ghouls, and a few zombies. All in all, you had to be of dark bloodlines to want to step cross the threshold.
Still, when Hep had put it up for sale, Prudence had wanted the Inn. And since Papa had wanted his little hag-girl to be financially independent and never lacking coin for the things she wanted, though he had also provided the traditional Potter-trust, and had her half-siblings swear wizarding oaths to never cut it off, he had agreed to finance the buy.
Papa had looked over the financials of the old disreputable inn, he'd stood out like a sore thumb (pureblood wizard amongst the dregs of Knockturn) as he had meticulously examined the property, spent months there teaching his little Pru how to run and business, and a few werewolves how to keep their paws of his baby girl (who frankly at eighteen had been enough of a hag to scare a werewolf off on her own, but Papa was a gentleman like that.) And, when he left her to manage her own business affairs, Papa had gifted the business to her, then told her that he didn't care how full the inn was, or how busy the bar was, she was to be at his table on each New Year Day!
Thus, for one hundred and sixty-four years, Prudence had been the proud proprietor of the Shoddy Inn, and by using Papa's lessons had kept the Inn in the black. Sure, it was dive. Sure, the Shoddy Inn lived up to it's name - it was where the uncouth of society went to hang out (at the bar), where prostitutes brought their clients, and vampires met with goblins to do business. It hadn't mattered to Pru, and it hadn't mattered to Papa - the Inn had been profitable!
Until… now. Oh, it hadn't happened overnight. No, it had happened gradually, she supposed, over the course of a year, but regardless, the change in her customer traffic manifested in ink come the end of the first quarter, when her revenues dropped twenty percent. That had brought her out of her office, ready to rip a shiny new asshole in her zombie bartender. (A pointless endeavor. Grog would never realize he had a shiny new asshole, because he didn't use the one he already had.) Walking through her own property, on a night not illuminated by the full moon, it had been quite obvious what was wrong - vampires, hags, ghouls, a few dark wizards - but not a single werewolf was to be seen. What. The. Hell? Like they had anywhere else better to go for a bite and brew? It wasn't like the vampires drunk her ale - her clients yes, her ale, not so much. And ghouls didn't carry much in the form of currency…. She needed those damn wolves and the beer money!
Problem identified, it then took her three damn weeks to track down one single werewolf, one in particular, actually, one Louis Halffang who had yet to clear his six month old tab.
And after three miserable weeks of trawling Diagon Alley and haunting Gringotts she was irritated – and if she had to hear another mother hush her child and whisper "that's a hag, dear", well. Dark Lady Prudence didn't have a nice ring, but it would go down in history when she burned Diagon Alley to ash, people, buildings and all. Auntie Yaga would be terribly impressed if she went that route. At any road, she finally stalked the wolf down, and in her usual way of collecting debts, strung him up by his feet until he paid up – this time with info.
"You've been avoiding me, little fang." She cackled to her prey.
Blue eyes were wide with terror. "No, no, I swear Ms. Charnel, I've not… been working, you see. Busy. Very busy." Louis had babbled. He looked rather more like a baboon than a wizard, hang upside down from the ceiling fan in the centre of the bar. "Honestly, I swear - I thought I'd paid my last bar bill clear, your Hagginess"
She let her wand whip at him – she one of the few hags capable of using witch magic – and hit his nuts with a minor hex. He yelped like a pup.
"Where are all the wolves? Why have my revenues dropped?" She growled.
Louis jaw fell open in a silent 'O'. "Well… that's really unfortunate, Ma'am. But, you see… we've had a turn of luck, it seems. You see, one of us, Jasper Lockwood, found work in the muggle world, and well, you know how it happens - he told a friend, Anton, who told a friend Caspian - and so on, so you see - we all saw opportunity here - and now we've all gotten jobs in the muggle world. Construction. Have to be on the job at half past four in the morning… means we're all getting to bed real early." He told her. "It's not a reflection on your business, Ma'am. No. Nope. Not at all. It's real sad, truthfully -we've been going dry. But, I can pass word that… some of us could come around after work on Friday..."
Prudence frowned, while the wolf babbled. Construction? What the…. "Construction?" She growled. "Explain."
"It's a muggle company - they build large buildings, or many houses in communities. Or roads." The back of Louis' head answered her, seeing as the front of his head was going the other way as he spun around, upside down, in tune with the fan he was tied to.
Prudence blinked. So, it wasn't her beer that was the problem, or her firewhiskey. Nor was it the zombie dropping off bits of flesh into the stew. It was about jobs. Huh. It only went to show, the impossible did happen. The laws that prevented werewolves from getting jobs in the wizarding world were twenty years old, but it was only now that the wolves realized that those laws didn't apply to the muggle world. That still didn't explain why all of them were gone – they had money now, after all - they should be spending more with their limited time! "What about weekends?" She hexed him again, mostly because the yelping amused her.
"It's…. Well -we've got homes, now! Real homes. Houses. Have to do the shop. Cut lawns. Chase cars." He whined. "I mean, it's a really nice neighborhood, well, once we finish chasing out the last of the muggles - it's cozy. We've got two packs there, forming one giant pack."
Houses? They had homes? NICE homes? So, shacks with roofs? Just how lax was the muggle world if they were selling homes to werewolves? Her eyes narrowed. More importantly, could a business savvy hag profit off of this, somehow. How?
She mused this idea, watching Louis spin, her wand tapping thoughtfully against her extended chin. Was it a werewolf that owned the company? What happened on full moons? What about, when their families came to visit, or their friends… the Crone knew that wolves were were pack animals. They had friends. And, half the reason her bar was so successful was that they came there to drink, where their significant others and families weren't watching.
But, the biggest plus – it wasn't in Knockturn Alley. The Alley had taking a bad turn since Albus–has-too-many-names-Dumbledore became Chief Wizard, before, it had been a clean area for werewolves, vampires, hags, zombies, demons, gargoyles and the like to hobnob. They had respectable businesses like potion shops, herbalists, clothing stores that did custom work for the type of clientele, runemasters, and a small banking exchange from Gringotts. Nowadays, her business, a few other shops with dark arts trinkets, and derelict properties was all that remained of the alley, thanks to the ridiculous taxes the ministry was levying in them.
"Uh? Madame Charnel? Can you let me down?" Louis whined. "This is real fun and all, but I really need to pee."
With her luck, he'd piss on her ceiling. Eyes narrowed. Wait a tick….why should she care? She could sell, and move into a new property… get that old Runemaster Heinrich to put up an arch, or run it by portkey-invite only, and then people could portal in. Oh! Papa would have been so proud to see her migrating out of the alley!.
"Madame?"
"Piss on the ceiling. It's fine." She muttered absently, turning around to pace as her brain raced. She needed to check her books, see how in the black she was. The money would make it a question of whether she kept the Inn, or downsized for just a portal. Oh, the potential!
"On the ceiling?" Louis squeaked. "Please, no… I'll end up pissing all over myself… and then my wife will be mad, because this is my best suit! Please, I'll give you everything in my wallet, only, it's all in pounds sterling, but please let me down."
But, where to start in the muggle world. She'd be the first hag to ever establish a business there. A revolutionary. How exciting. Oh- "Where are all these wolves living?"
"Surrey, Little Whinging." He squeaked. "Look, I really, REALLY, need to go potty!"
Where the hell was "Little Whinging? And wow, she hadn't realized how appropriate a place the wolves had to settle in, though there was nothing little about their whinging. She cancelled the sticking charm and let him fall to the ground. "Piss, but don't you dare leave - I'll cook your gonads if you do!. You're going to take me this 'Little Whinging.'"
'- -'
Ally Lockwood adjusted the silk scarf around her neck, positioning it so that the black diamond and gold broach she'd used to tie it was shown off properly. With her hat tilted to sit perfectly on her french twist up-do, and the smart french-cut day-dress with matching coat, she looked like a true noble lady. A lady of good breeding. From high society. A lady who never committed any mischief.
Which was good, because she was in dire need of visiting Mrs. Petunia Dursley, who, in Ally's firm opinion was in desperate need of yet another well administered heart-attack.
Giving her appearance another one over, she stepped back into her kitchen, gave her darling husband Jasper a quick peck on the lips, and then brushed her lips over wee Harry Potter's forehead. "Now," She said briskly, pulling out her dainty white gloves and slipping them on. "You boys behave. I don't expect to be long. But, if I should run over time, Jasper, there's a new vid sitting atop of the machine - you and Harry might enjoy it." Both lads, one a grown man the other a wee slip of a four year old, perked up immediately like pups smelling steak. She knew that the telly would be on nearly the second after the door closed.
Well. There was nothing left to dawdle at, she decided, taking leave of her boys. She fetched her purse (a lovely and smart looking Louis Vuitton that Mummy had bought her), and set herself out to cause bodily harm to another. Honestly, no one had told her being a grown up would involve the sheer amount self sacrifice that she endured. It was utterly ridiculous. Beyond her job as a nurse, and her role as a loving young wife, it was rather unseemly that she, a girl of twenty-four years, should have to play the role of social conscience to a rather vile, giraffe-like middle aged housewife.
But needs must, and Petunia Dursley certainly pushed the envelope of Ally's tolerance. The nerve of Dursley, sending wee Harry off to playschool unprepared for the weather outside! That woman had dressed the boy in naught but a worn thin t-shirt that hung to near his ankles, ratty trousers held up by twine, and a pair of trainers meant for an adult, riddled with holes in them. It was just a scarce few degrees above freezing - and the child had been shivering himself silly. Plus, there were puddles EVERYWHERE for a boy to soak his feet in. It was like they were trying to kill the lad again.
Just thinking of it got Ally's dander up all over again, and set her resolve to induce yet another coronary in Petunia Dursley. With long strides taken in three inch heels, Ally stomped along the sidewalk and up the drive to Number Four, Privet Drive, and in very short order, an index finger tipped with a pink manicured nail daintily pressed the doorbell.
The Orca, as always, answered the door. "Oh." Blinked the overlarge four year old. "Mommy doesn't like talking to you." He told her, his face flush, and mouth messy with what looked like caramel sauce.
Good gravy, it was scarcely seven in the morning – and why was it the Orca wasn't walking off to school like wee Harry had been? "Lovely. Where is your mother?" she asked, voice tart.
The Orca stared, confused, and then shut the door. She heard a howled "Mummy! It's the dragon lady!"
Well, honestly!
Petunia shortly reefed the door open, shooing her son behind her. "Listen, missy, I've not time for you." Said the Mrs. Dursley with great hostility. "I've got to clean up my little Daddykins, and get him dressed in coat and boots before I drive him to primary. And, frankly, that doesn't leave me any leeway of time to deal with you and your nonsense."
Ally gifted her with her best smile, she thought it a stunning smile full of white straight teeth, so she had no idea why Petunia paled so dramatically. It was a little early in the conversation for Petunia to have her regular bout of cardio-attacks. "My Jasper bought me one of those wickedly expensive new cameras. And, when I saw wee Harry this morning, I said to myself, this would be the best time to take some pictures, Mrs. Dursley." She said oh-so sweetly.
(In Petunia's point of view, it should be noticed, that she likened Allison Lockwood's smile to that of a hungry shark, and her sweet tone of voice to that of a serial killer.)
"Pictures?"
"Oh yes, I took many snaps of wee Harry when I spotted him walking to primary this morning; pictures of the lad with his arms wrapped tightly around himself for warmth. A scrap of a four year old, walking ALONE, at half past six in the morning, the three and a half miles to primary. Dressed in nothing more than a ridiculously oversized and threadbare t-shirt, and trousers that would be best condemned to the rag bin. I took especially careful pictures of the goosebumps on his arms, and the trainers that don't fit him - adult trainers full of holes." Ally lifted her chin imperiously. "I'm getting copies of my photos, Mrs. Dursley. After I finish sending them to the Children's Welfare Association with a complaint, I'll send them onto the Ministry of Magic Aurors division."
Petunia's eyes shot wide. "YOU! You're one of THEM!" She gasped, clutching at her chest.
"Oh, don't be a ninny. Your heart is fine." Ally scoffed at the feigned signs of heart pains. "I'm not one of 'them'. I'm a squib, and a nurse - and a squib can not serve as an Auror without magical training. My husband, however, is a wizard - and a werewolf, so he too is not an Auror." She tilted her head. "Frankly, given your gossipy nature, I thought you'd be more frightened of what the neighbors will think when the Children's aid group come calling with the police in tow… what with PHOTOS to back it all up this time." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I think I shall send copies of the photos around in a newsletter to the gardening association ladies."
Well, there went the rest of the colour in Petunia's face, and she gave a strangled gasp, before falling backwards and striking the ground.
"Oh. Brother!" muttered Ally. "I hadn't even gotten to my demands, yet." She stepped over the fallen woman, checked her pulse, and 'tsked' in disappointment to find one. She made for the kitchen phone, her eyes rolling. The Orca was sitting on the floor with a fist deep in a jar of caramel sauce. Really? Poor wee Harry didn't even get crust off a toast, and this beached whale was eating caramel sauce for breakfast? It boggled Ally's mind on how Petunia could ever consider this an example of good parenting.
"Oh, stop that." She told the Orca. She hefted him to his feet - and goodness, he weighed a TONNE - and pushed him into a corner. "Stay there, and don't you move an inch!" It was galling how often she had to step up and to do herding of Petunia's beastly child. Really, quite vexing - if the woman would just quit dropping every time she heard something she didn't like - or even better, stopped doing things that Ally would have to come and rub her nose in - then the giraffe could herd her own whale.
Eye watching Dudley with prejudice, she picked up the phone and quickly made a call for the ambulance. Frankly, Ally couldn't even imagine what the Dursley's medical bills were like. That task done, and off her plate, she grabbed up the tea-towel, dampened it and scrubbed the squirming orca clean. He fled willingly to fetch his coat and boots when she told him to, apparently fearing more of the dreaded cleaning cloth.
Task done, she checked on Petunia - still not dead. The amateur. Still not conscious either. The shame. Mercifully, Petunia did rouse when the ambulance arrived, and with hysterical wails about he Duddlikins was whisked off to hospital.
"The children will need minded." Ally informed the two constables who looked like they were fit to flee, as well.
"Children?" The one, a tall dark skinned man, with brighter teeth than Ally's. She was dreadfully envious.
"The Orca." She pointed to Dudley. "And her nephew, who is at my house."
A quick game of rock, paper and scissors happened, and one constable returned to the car, the other stepped back up to the front door with rounded shoulders. "Uh, why is the nephew at your house? Are you the Auntie?"
Ally's lips thinned. "No. Petunia Dursley is. I'll have you know, when I came over here this morning, it was to give that woman a piece of my mind. You should see the way she dressed her nephew! And then pushed him out the door and told him, a four year old, to walk to primary! Without an adult accompanying!"
The constable gave a cluck of his tongue, clearly disapproving.
"I know!" Ally crooned. "So, I took pictures. Many pictures. I'll have the film developed today. And I wanted Petunia to know this was the last straw - she locked the lad outside this winter on two occasions. If my my husband hadn't found him, he would have frozen to death!"
Again, the constable clucked, but this time, he pulled out his notepad and started writing things down. "I see."
"I can't see how I can be held responsible for Petunia's poor heart, if that's what you're thinking," Ally informed him "If she wasn't exercising such poor decisions in caring for that child, poor decisions that need to be called to the carpet." She frowned. "Frankly, she should listen to her conscience, it's clearly the cause of her medical issues."
"I agree, ma'am." The constable nodded.
"Oh." Ally blinked. "Well, good." That cleared up, she started pulling on her gloves, which she'd taken off initially to wipe up Dudley's filthy hands and face. "Well, I'm off to make a snack for wee Harry - the nephew -and you have a nice day." She paused. "Uh, do you have ear-plugs? Might I suggest you get them, Dursley, the father, is not a quiet man."
The constable huffed. "You'd think they'd kit us with those, but no. Look, ma'am, don't leave me here alone with that unholy spawn. It's bad enough my partner's escaped."
"But…"
"I'll take your film off your hands, develop it for free and put pictures into evidence." He offered.
"I need copies - I was going to submit these to the children's advocate, and well, the garden society's newsletter." She told him seriously, smirking. "I want to make sure they understand that Harry's the victim here."
The constable brightened. "I'll have three additional sets run."
Ally pursed her lips, and considered. "Done." Holding out a gloved hand, they shook on it. And she pulled the roll of film out of her purse, and handed it straight over.
The constable extracted a plastic baggy, and inserted the film, labelling it carefully.
Hopefully, having the police looking in on the situation would give Petunia cause enough to stroke out, the silver lining in the proverbial grey cloud. "Oh." She pointed at the sedan coming up the road. "That's Vernon."
Typically, Vernon arrived with a head full of irate steam. And he verbally went at the constable first, for calling him out of work.
Ally just sank down to sit on the front step of Number Four, Privet Drive to wait out the tirade, when she spotted the strangest thing walking up the road. So strange, she had to rub her eyes (and thankfully, she'd used smudge-proof mascara), and stare again.
In one of the bizarrest moments of Ally's life, and there had been a few such strange moments since moving to this blasted street, she watched a honest-to-Merlin hag walking down the sidewalk of Privet Drive. A real life, true, child-eating hag - or so Grandpapa had always said of hags and their dietary habits. Good. Gravy. Ally looked up to the clear blue sky of the lovely spring day, and frowned. Where was lightening to strike the child-eating hag down, when you needed it; a little divine wrath and all that rot? In a street full of preternatural creatures (being werewolves), why was it always she, the squib, that had to deal with these problems? Bugger. She squared her shoulders, reminded herself not to be prejudiced, and left the good bobby to his fate with the walrus and the orca.
"Excuse me, Miss…" she called, waving a white gloved hand. "I have to ask, Miss, are you completely lost?"
The hag turned slowly, and Ally ran again through the 'hag' checklist. Grey-ish green skin, check. Straw-like wiry hair? Yep. Pointed witch's cap? Check. Moles, warts, hooked nose and yellowed teeth that had never seen an orthodontist? Check, check, check. Evil black beady eyes? Yup. She had an honestly real hag in front of her.
The hag gifted her with a narrow eyed gaze. "You are?"
"Allison Dorea Black-Lockwood" Ally promptly answered. "Resident of this lovely street."
The gaze narrowed more. "Hmm. Which part of the Black family? The insane, the drooling, or the merely inbred?" She barked with a voice like sandpaper.
"The Squib side." Ally snarked back.
The gaze relaxed. "Ah. Well, if you were of Cygnus' line, I'd have to hex you on principle." She tilted her hat back so that the brim didn't shadow her face so much. "Prudence Charnel. I own the Shoddy Inn in Knockturn Alley."
Ally blinked. Well. This was a fine how-do-you-do. No wonder children got eaten by hags – they were so well mannered! "Ah. I'm afraid I've never been. Sheltered upbringing, you understand."
"Quite." The now named Prudence agreed. "Tell me, Mrs. Lockwood, would there be a number of werewolves living in this area?"
Ally sighed, this was happening far too often of late, her representing the werewolf community. It wasn't as if she was a professional in the field of public relations, she changed bedpans for a living. "Yes. Three packs, presently." She pointed to a series of houses, all in the process of being repainted, gardens ripped up and re-done, amongst other work being done on the properties – like secure cellars. "This street, and the two over."
"Hrm." Prudence nodded, stroking that very prominent chin of hers. Ally was dying to suggest waxing for the small beard she seemed to be growing. "And, I understand there have been no maulings, or other such untowards behaviour during the last full moon, here?"
Ally nodded. "Quite." It went without saying, the last full moon the wolves had played fetch and tag with Harry. She'd been livid, those idiots keeping that boy out of his bed so late into the night, and on a school-night.
"Ah. No problems then, with their shifting? No screams, or howls?" The hag asked, numbering things off on gnarled fingers.
"Well, some howling does occur," Ally admitted.
"Ah. Well. Isn't that interesting. You see, werewolves are dark creatures, my dear. In a typical muggle environment they should suffer more for lack of darkness. It's why they rarely leave the magical world... "
Ally arched an eyebrow. "Is that so?" She murmured faintly.
"Oh yes. They are dark creatures, after all, and dark creatures are naturally attuned to dark magic. We need to be surrounded in it to be at our peak. Otherwise, it's like having a dreadful itch you can't scratch." Prudence scratched the side of her long beaky nose. "Rather makes a wolf irritable."
"Huh." Ally let it go unsaid that the wolves here were far from uncomfortable. The entire pack had a lottery going to see who got to spend the moon being closest to Harry. And the lottery was her fault - if she hadn't put her foot down, and insisted that only five wolves could be in her husband's basement den at a time, she'd likely have had nearly eighty crammed in her backyard on the moon. Now wouldn't that cause a rise in noise complaints?
"But, the wolves here aren't, are they? And small wonder. This neighborhood is utterly steeped in such delicious darkness, you can taste it in the air. True wild magic saturates the earth and air… not that wishy washy magic that Dumbledore would like wizards and witches to think was all there was." She pursed her lips, and gazed thoughtfully at each house. "It's coming from there." She said, pointing to Number Four, Privet Drive, just in time to see Vernon Dursley, face all shades of puce,still roaring at the poor constable, and flapping his arms like he was about to take flight.
Ally chose to stay with the hag rather than getting involved . The odds of being pissed off were lesser here. "Dursley?" She asked incredulously.
Prudence smacked her arm with her walking stick. "Don't be daft, lass. That muggle idiot has less magic than a lump of coal. But, be that as it may, I can smell the darkness that dwells in that house. There's a dark lord living on this street, and in that house!"
Ally's lips twisted and eyes narrowed. Frankly, she felt Prudence needed a visit to a good doctor. She wasn't sniffing darkness, she was smelling the wretched stench of child abusers. Still, she was slightly wary, seeing that only one magical child lived in that house. And little Harry was anything but a dark lord. He'd kicked the arse of the last dark lord using some nasty contagious nappy; so obviously he couldn't be Prudence's source of darkness. REGARDLESS of what Anton said about Harry..
It would be best for everyone if they just burned number 4 down. Then Harry wouldn't live there, and the Dursleys would be forced to move. Not with Harry, of course. Ally had ever intention of blackmailing Petunia to letting her and Jasper keep Harry – if the police weren't capable of containing the situation.
"Auntie Ally! Auntie Ally! Auntie Ally!" Little Harry's young voice called out, triumphant and joyous. "Uncle Jasper says we can go to the market, and see about getting the next movie! Can we go? Can we? Are you done making Aunt Tunia's heart stop?"
The hag snorted, slanted a look her direction. "Ah. So, training up your wee dark lord in the traditional Black family way, are we?"
"That's presumptuous, I believe. The Black's don't have a dark-lord training method. From what I can tell, my distant kin like to kneel and drool on the hem of dark lords." Ally demurred with a haughty sniff. "Having said that, I don't kneel and drool, but should consider dining on that boy, my dear Ms. Prudence, let me advise you, I am indeed a Black to the core of my soul. And my wrath will make your magic wither."
The hag barked a laugh. "Indeed. Well, since I'm basking in his presence, and he's off the menu - do Introduce me to the young dark lord."
Ally pressed her lips into a firm line, even as Harry, mindful of the road, stopping and looking both ways overly carefully, before darting across. "Harry James Potter is not a dark lord." She hissed.
Prudence's eyes went wide. "Potter?"
Again, Ally's lips thinned, dangerously giving her a resemblance to Cassiopeia Black in that moment. "Mine!" She told the hag.
"Yes, yes…" The hag patted her arm. "But, if he's a Potter, then he's also my great-great…" Prudence paused, lifted a knobby hand, and started counting quietly. "Great, great great grand-nephew." She rolled her eyes. "We hags are terrible predators, yes, but we don't eat kin. Your own blood never tastes quite right."
Ally sighed. Well, really? She wasn't in a position to preach - she was related to the likes of Bellatrix LesStrange, after all - now there was a whack-job. So Harry had a hag in the family, on top of the giraffe, walrus and orca. It was sad, but things like that happened. Speaking of which, "Don't eat the orca, either. It's fat content would give you a coronary." She advised, as the orca came outside to see what his father was howling about. "He's also Harry's maternal cousin."
The incredulous look on Prudence's face gave Ally a bad case of the giggles. It was just so hypocritical of the hag to condemn the orca, when she herself was a hag.
"Auntie Ally!" Harry gasped as he ran up to her, eyes glowing and face alight.
"Are those your indoor slippers?" Ally asked, head tilted.
"Uncle Jasper said I could wear them outside, because…'the shit that the Dursleys gave me was ruddy crap and fit only for the bin.'" The dark-hair parroted Jasper's tone perfectly. He was also wearing one of Jasper's old hoodies, and the damn thing came down to Harry's ankles. Certainly it was warmer than the t-shirt, but fit as poorly.
"I see." said Ally, casting a baleful eye towards the twitching curtain in her front window of her house.
Prudence, beside her, coughed.
Ally rolled her eyes. "Harry James Potter, I'd like to introduce you to a hag -hags eats small children, Harry, do keep that firmly in mind - Prudence Charnel."
"Prudence Potter-Charnel." The hag interrupted, beady eyes studying the little Potter closely. "A distant cousin of yours, young Harry."
Green eyes shot wide. "Oh. Nice to meet you." He twisted fingers in the fabric of the hoody, and forehead furrowed. "Does that mean I have to live with you?"
"No." Prudence replied slowly. "Would you want to?"
"I want to live with Ally and Jasper." Harry replied, earling a soft stroke of his dark hair by his Auntie Ally. "But, if I can't, anywhere that isn't Aunt Tunia's house would be better."
"Even with someone that might eat children?" The Hag queried.
The child shrugged, then cast hopeful eyes up at Ally. "Did Aunt Tunia have another heart attack?"
"She likes them." Ally replied drolly.
Prudence snorted, her eyes catching on the famous scar on the boy's head. One twisted finger with a blackened claw of a nail came out to stroke the lightning-bolt scar on the lad's forehead. "Hrm." The grimace was ugly. "That doesn't seem right. Does your scar ever hurt, little wizard?" She asked.
Harry blinked up with big green eyes. "Nope." He said, turning again to look hopefully at Ally. He was done with the meeting new people.
"Fine." Ally said, as the puppy-dog eyes got too much. "Scurry home to Jasper, my heart, and let my darling husband know that we will be indeed going out, and taking you shopping for proper fitting clothing and shoes. If time permits, we will stop for the second film."
The beaming joy in the boy's eyes at the thought of new shoes was heart-breaking, but, like the good lad he was, he turned around, and gifted Prudence with a sweet smile. "Bye, Ms. Prudence!" he said, before racing back to the house.
Ally turned on Prudence, "Now, do you see? That sweet boy is sunshine and joy. There's nothing nasty or evil about him."
The knobby hand waved airily. "Oh, of course not, dearie. He's dark magic, not evil. Two very different things, entirely. Now, that bit of soul trapped in his scar that's evil. Darkness is an affinity to wild magic, and the wealth of his darkness, well – I'd not be surprised if he wouldn't become a dark lord outright, although nothing shameful about having a runelord, or a dark necromancer in the family, either – they use their own blood and personal sacrifice - a far nicer bunch of wizards than white necromancers who sacrifice anything with a beating heart." She counselled. Turning around, she surveyed the neighborhood with new eyes. "Well, now, doesn't that explain so much." The hag continued, conversationally. "I think I shall roust the people out of that home at the end of the boulevard, and set up a new Bed and Breakfast. There will be visitors. Many visitors who wish to court the new dark lord."
"Oh, you can't be serious…" sighed Ally, seeing no good to come of this situation. "Honestly! This street would be the worst to have a rooming house in - we have howl-alongs on full moons, now. And the garden society - those women are a nightmare. I can't see their harping and wailing about the state of their roses and whatnot being a good thing towards a successful magical business venture."