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Гарри Поттер
Кто посмеет, тот победит
Автор:
Олег Гуннарссон
Гарри Поттер, выросший на изучении военной тактики и стратегии,
использует нападение на Министерство как возможность устроить
собственную засаду – только для того, чтобы узнать, что его
родители все еще живы, а также брат-близнец, которого Дамблдор
называет настоящим мальчиком. -кто жил.
И тогда все усложняется.
Военный! Гарри.
Подрывная версия испытания блудного сына DZ2.
Рейтинг:
Художественная литература M
– Английский – Драма/Приключения – [Гарри П., Сьюзен Б.] OC –
Главы: 32 – Слов: 183 705 – Обзоров:
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– Избранное: 9 709 – Подписок: 12 447 – Обновлено:
25.04.2022, 22:23:43
– Опубликовано :
19.01.2019, 10:32:14
- идентификатор: 13182638
1. The Battle of the Ministry
Harry Potter had known that the rescue mission was a likely trap. Sirius
Black had not been seen in the public sphere for months, at that point,
and so no one would know that he had cut his black hair into a short,
almost muggle style. His godson had suggested the change, arguing that
it was one less thing to worry about in a fight. The fact that Harry Potter
kept his hair in the same short style merely hammered the argument
home.
So when Harry began to see visions of his long-haired godfather being
tortured, he knew what Voldemort was trying to accomplish - Sirius was
to be the lure that drew the boy-who-lived into the Ministry.
If there are death eaters at the Ministry, reasoned Harry, then that's where I
need to be. With Madam Umbridge's rather abrupt resignation at
knifepoint earlier that evening, the list of Harry's enemies in the castle
was a small one. It was time for his focus to shift.
He was in his dorm room, putting on his dragonhide boots and checking
the rest of his kit, when Ron and Neville found him. To his surprise, they
were already wearing their basilisk-skin coats. Harry looked up at them,
and they looked back at him - and in that moment, Harry had known that
those two boys…. No, those two men, would never let him walk into the
line of fire alone.
Harry stood, and Neville checked him over. Holly wand at his wrist,
Cherry wand on his thigh. Throwing knives, Combat knife, baton,
expanded bag, first aid kit, potions, darkness powder. Harry was even
carrying a bottle of the phosphorus-based potion that Hermione had
called a 'Pocket Lumos,' and which functioned much like a muggle
flashbang grenade when thrown. With a nod, Neville pronounced him
ready.
The three strode into the common room, and found Hermione and Ginny
waiting for them. Each wore the basilisk-skin coats that Harry had had
made for them, matching those worn by the boys. Only Ginny had not
objected at the time; she figured (correctly) that she was owed part of
that basilisk, seeing how it was part of the darkest year of her life.
Harry checked the girls over, just as Neville had looked over his kit. They
were probably more prepared than he was, but you never went into
combat without checking your gear - and none of them had any notion
that this trip would not involve combat. But this is what they had trained
for, this small group. Today was where all those long hours of work in
the Room of Requirement and the Forbidden Forest would pay off.
Today, Harry Potter went to war.
oOoOoOoOo
The quickest way to the Ministry would be via Floo. None of the six
could apparate, just yet, though Harry had been practicing in secret.
Voldemort's plan was based on angering Harry enough to drive him into
making a mistake and charging into the ministry headlong - and he might
have done just that, if time was of the essence and Sirius was truly at
risk.
But that wasn't the case. Sirius was safe. So, the trip to London was made
on the backs of thestrals, provided through the grace of Miss Luna
Lovegood, who flew in the lead. Their entrance to the ministry would be
through the front door - the last place they were expected.
As they flew, Harry thought back to that summer, so long ago, when
everything had changed. Oh, his training had not begun in earnest until
last summer, to be certain - Colonel Ramsay would not have allowed it.
No, Harry thought about the summer of his ninth year, when he met the
Colonel for the first time.
"You're a little small to be cutting my grass, lad, aren't you?"
Harry looked up from the mower, surprised to see the owner of the house. The
man was wearing some sort of green overalls, with the pants tucked into big
black boots. On one shoulder, the man was carrying what had to be a very
heavy bag, probably big enough to fit Harry.
"Um, sir, I was supposed to cut the grass while you were on vacation." The boy
seemed to shrink into himself, as if expecting to be admonished roughly.
Ramsay had seen the look before, and his eyes narrowed at the implications.
"As I recall," Ramsay said, trying to sound as kind and calm as he could. "I
had asked the Polkiss boy to cut the grass."
Harry nodded. "You did. But Niall made his little brother Piers do it, and Piers
made my cousin Dudley do it because he lost a bet, and Vernon made me do it
for Dudley."
"Who's Vernon?"
"My uncle." The boy's quiet response told Ramsay all that he needed to know.
"Ah," was his reply. "Well, since you're doing the work, you get the reward."
He made a show of inspecting the front yard, as if he were reviewing new
recruits. Harry's eyes grew wide when the Colonel's knife appeared in his
hand, causing Ramsay to chuckle. "Best to do the thing properly," he said, as
he used the knife to pretend to measure the length of the grass. He nodded,
standing up, and noticed that Harry seemed to relax a little at that.
"Very well done, lad. You've passed inspection, and as a reward, you get some
lemonade and a sit down." Hefting his bag onto his shoulder, Ramsay started
walking to the back gate. Pausing, he turned around, looking at a very
confused boy. "Coming?"
Colonel Ramsay's house was his escape, that summer, for it was far
enough away from Durzkaban to be a safe haven from Dudley and his
mates, but close enough to make the walk to and from an easy one.
Ramsay had graciously told Vernon that Harry needed some of "Her
Majesty's Discipline," and that some intensive yard work would not go
amiss. Vernon knew that the Colonel still worked in the Army's training
command, and that he still had the voice of a drill instructor.
The boy could use the discipline, his dear uncle had said. Don't spare the rod,
you hear?
The Colonel had nodded at that. Harry learned later that the nod was
precisely calculated to show proper respect to a civilian while
simultaneously signaling how utterly unworthy of respect this particular
civilian actually was. It was a level of nuance that Harry could
appreciate.
What had started out as the Colonel wanting to help one of the
neighborhood boys quickly became a long-term project. Summer saw
Harry learning how to exercise, and - more importantly - why. When
Ramsay learned about Harry Hunting, he got very quiet, and then began
referring to Dudley and his friends as "OPFOR", or opposing force. He
made Harry think about ways to escape, routes to prepare, tactics to
delay the slower, heavier pursuers. He told Harry that the side that
prepares better will win, ninety nine times out of a hundred.
Harry liked those odds. He soaked up the lessons like a sponge.
As the weather cooled, Harry found himself stopping by Colonel Ramsay's
house in the evenings to go over his homework. It was the lessons after
homework was done that Harry would remember most, during that long
thestral flight.
"Pretend to be weak," said Colonel Ramsay, reading from the small book on
the table. "So that your enemy grows arrogant. If he is relaxed, give him no
rest. Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected."
Ramsay tapped the book. "Do you know what all this means, Harry?"
The boy nodded. "The winner is the one who does what their enemy doesn't
expect, and does it before their enemy can respond?"
The Colonel smiled. "Are you asking me or telling me?"
That got a grin from Harry as well. Never did the drill instructor voice come
out between them - Ramsay was more of a professor than a drill sergeant,
even when they exercised. Harry had come to know the Colonel as a student
of warfare and strategy, almost more than he was a teacher of it - one of his
favorite sayings was that there was always more to learn. The man's job as an
occasional instructor for the Academy at Sandhurst proved that, for he spent
just as much time in the Academy's library as he did in its classrooms.
"Telling you, sir," Harry said confidently.
Ramsay nodded. "Good. You'll find that most battles are won before most of
the people involved even realize that there was a battle. All because one smart
fellow was more prepared than the other guy." He closed the book, sliding it
across the table to Harry. "Your job is to be the smart fellow, rather than the
other guy.
Harry ran his hand across the title of the leather-bound book. "The Art of
War," he said.
oOoOoOoOo
Entering the Ministry was trivial, once they arrived in London. Hermione
had elbowed Harry in the ribs - hard - when he gave their reason for
entry as "Extrajudicial counter-terrorism exercise."
Luna, meanwhile, had simply laughed her airy laugh. Anyone who
mistook her for a weak link on the team needed only look at the
throwing knives on her belt, or the potion bottles ready to be thrown, or
the determined look in her eye. She had trained as hard, if not harder,
than any of the six. She knew exactly how many times Lucius Malfoy had
threatened her father's magazine. She knew exactly how many 'gas main
explosions' there had been since the breakout at Azkaban in December.
When Arthur Weasley had been attacked in the Ministry, it had been
Luna who calmed Harry down afterwards. It had been Luna and
Hermione who took his anger at the blatant attack and tried to channel it
into something productive.
The idea to start their own miniature DA, just the six of them, focusing
on small unit tactics against death eaters? That was Ron, who wanted to
make sure he would be prepared, if and when. Ginny had agreed, saying
nothing - but her hard eyes were focused on Harry, who had lost himself
in thought at that point.
Neville had broken the silence. "Where a Potter goes, a Longbottom follows."
Harry looked up at his friend, before looking across the faces of the others.
"If we do this, we do it all the way." They nodded. "We train like the muggles
do, we fight like the muggles do." They nodded. "No quarter."
Each of them nodded.
"Good." said Harry. Behind him, the Room of Requirement had created a row
of wooden targets, and a table covered with small pieces of metal. Harry
grinned as he picked one up - it was a perfectly balanced, gleaming surgical
steel throwing knife. "Alright, let's start with these." Turning, he threw the knife
downrange.
The five watched with awe as the knife buried itself in the throat of the target.
In the atrium of the Ministry, they found four death eaters waiting at the
floo points, their eyes fixed on the flames. They were probably there in
case some innocent worker stumbled into the office that evening, for if
Harry had planned to floo in he would have done so by now.
Four well placed stunners sent the death eaters to the floor. Neville
collected the wands and incinerated them, while Hermione and Ginny
tied the death eaters up with a variant of the Incarcerous. Instead of
ropes, the spell used razor wire - before disillusioning the bindings. The
idea was to prevent the downed wizards from being freed, or - failing
that - keep the rescuers busy long enough to take them down as well.
And if they struggled and cut their wrists and ankles? "Welp," Harry had
said, with a shrug. He would not cut the throats of fallen enemies,
however richly they deserved it, but nor would he see to their comfort.
To the group's surprise, there were no other death eaters in evidence -
none hiding under cloaks or in shadows, none of the marked employees
they knew had to have infiltrated the Ministry by now, no one.
Down to Level 9 they went.
oOoOoOoOo
When Harry returned to Privet Drive after his third year at Hogwarts, he
visited Colonel Ramsay the next day. To his surprise, he found his mentor
reading a copy of Hogwarts, a History.
"A man from Downing Street came by last week," Ramsay began. "He
mentioned that I was being read into some sensitive projects above Top Secret."
"Oh?" asked Harry, sitting down across from the Colonel.
"Oh, indeed. It seems I had inadvertently befriended a wizard, and not just
any wizard, mind, but one who had some importance to Her Majesty's
government." He smiled at Harry. "Funny thing, isn't it?"
Harry looked uncomfortable. "Sir, normally I'm forbidden from telling anyone
about…"
Ramsay stopped him. "Oh, they told me. No worries there." He leaned
forward, extending a hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet the real you, Mister
Potter." Harry grinned as they shook hands.
Over the course of that summer, Harry told his story. His parents, their deaths,
his relatives, his school. He spoke of his friends, his classes, his teachers.
He was surprised when Ramsay prompted him to speak about Quirrelmort.
About the basilisk. The Dementors. His godfather.
The conversation turned to a more narrow focus. His wants, his goals, his
objectives. Ramsay only grew annoyed once, when Harry said that his highest
goal at the moment was to survive his fourth year.
"No army who fought just to survive ever won anything. You need to do more
than survive, you need to live, perhaps even to love."
Harry had grown melancholy at that point. "The only time I really remember
being loved was before my parents died. Voldemort took that from me. He
took everything from me."
"That he did," agreed Ramsay. "But look, now you have a godfather on your
side, you have friends, you have allies. You're not alone, Harry."
"I know," he said, smiling a bit at the thought of his friends. "But it's taken a
very long time to get to this point. If I lost them, I don't know what I'd do."
Ramsay stood up to refill their tea. "I do." Harry looked up, and met the
Colonel's eyes. "You'd force yourself to keep going. To do what needed doing."
"Would I?" asked Harry, unsure.
Ramsay nodded, holding Harry's gaze. "The guard dies, but never surrenders."
Off harry's questioning look, Ramsay continued. "Harry, you are one of the
most determined people I have ever known, and I've been training soldiers for
close to thirty years, everyone from Generals down to Privates. If you are
fighting for what you believe in, for the people you love, then no force in the
world could stop you." Ramsay's voice grew quiet, as he spoke the words that
Harry would never forget.
"They could never defeat you, not ever. All they could hope to do is kill you."
oOoOoOoOo
The Hall of Prophecies was far more vast than they had expected. Even
with Luna's accounts of the hall from her father, who had learned of it
from her late mother, they were unprepared for the sheer scope of the
place.
It was Hermione who detected the ward across the doorway. It was
Ginny who bypassed it. Just the presence of that ward alone proved that
this was a trap, that death eaters were laying in wait somewhere nearby.
Removing their early warning might buy a few minutes, or so they
hoped.
The correct prophecy was easily found. The tag listed the seer, their
audience, and the subjects of the prophecy. Harry saw that the question
mark was crossed off, with red ink showing the true subjects of the
prophecy.
S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. in re Dark Lord and James Potter and Harry
Potter
Harry looked at the tag, considering what it might mean. Why would my
father be listed? Why not my mother as well? Quickly, Harry took the orb
off the shelf and placed it in his pouch.
"Incoming," said Neville, from his place near the intersection of that row
and the next. Hermione's wards were good, and all six of them had
trained to detect the subtle magic that came just before apparition. As
Harry readied his wand, he saw another orb with 'Potter' on the tag.
Without pausing, he grabbed that prophecy as well, tag and all.
A masked death eater appeared on his left, almost exactly where Harry's
Reducto struck a second later. Two more death eaters met their deaths
that way, as Harry's team took advantage of that split second
disorientation on arrival. This enraged the remaining death eaters, which
was part of why they had done it in the first place. These wizards
expected six weak students, and instead found death.
Harry could hear Lucius Malfoy's voice trying to take control of the battle
- a battle that he had not been expecting. Why give your enemy time to
prepare? Harry could hear the Colonel's voice in his head.
Spells began to strike the shelves, sending shards of glass every which
way. The six began making their way to the rear exit, covering each
other with spellfire. One brave death eater tried to cut them off, and
wound up with a knife in his throat. The mask fell away as the body
crumpled to the floor, revealing Augustus Rookwood - an unspeakable.
That explains the wards, thought Harry. He and Neville were the last two
at the doorway, the others having gone through already. With a grin,
Neville pulled out the Lumos potion. Harry matched his move, and on the
count of three they lobbed the potions at the approaching death eaters.
The flash of light that came under the door would have been blinding,
had they waited for it.
oOoOoOoOo
"The Death Eaters operate on fear," the Colonel had said, probably for the
fiftieth time. "In 1978, a dozen of them walked down Diagon Alley and
destroyed three shopfronts, killing two and injuring seven."
Ramsay and Harry were looking over reports from the Ministry about the first
war. What little information the Muggle government had was in the form of
reports like this one taken by inside agents, or derived from the Prophet. To an
experienced soldier, though, they were a goldmine.
"There were over three hundred people in the Alley that day," he continued. "I
assume most of them were carrying wands?" Harry nodded, that was likely.
"Alright, so answer me this - twelve people versus three hundred, who wins?"
Harry considered that. "The three hundred are civilians," he said.
"True," replied the Colonel. "All of whom can disintegrate a man's head with a
word."
Harry had to concede the point. "Then I would say that the side more prepared
to do what is necessary would win."
"Correct." Ramsay pointed to the report. "If even half of those people had
stood up and fought, the twelve would have withdrawn at best, died at worst."
"So how do we fix that?" asked Harry.
"We don't." was the reply. "But for you, the lesson is this. They walked into
that Alley and expected exactly what they got. Thus, they won. Your enemy
will expect you to act a certain way, behave a certain way. So, don't."
oOoOoOoOo
The six were bruised and sore when they made it to the Death Chamber.
All were on their feet and able to fight, but none were at 100%.
"Potty's going to be in so much trouble!" shouted the voice of Bellatrix
Lestrange. Harry felt Neville tense up beside him, and placed a hand on
his friend's arm.
"Indeed, Mister Potter, Dumbledore would be quite disappointed." came
the drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy. Harry could almost hear the sneer,
moreso now that the masks were off. Luna had summoned them all with
a powerful Accio, not realizing that the death eaters used sticking charms
to secure the masks during battle. Two junior death eaters had found
themselves pulled forward, right into the last curses they would ever see.
"And after all of that running and fleeing," continued Lucius, "You still try
to play the hero. The Dark Lord expected that, and look - he was right,
here you are." Malfoy reached out his hand. "Give us the prophecy, or I
fear you'll come to a sticky end." Another death eater - Crabbe's father,
perhaps? - walked over to Malfoy, as if to guard him.
The other five students had spread out around the room, marking the five
remaining death eaters. Even now, when they were outnumbered, the
death eaters acted as if they had the superior numbers. Did they not
realize how many of their fallen fellows would not be getting back up?
Harry's eyes met Hermione's, and she nodded. She had seen him palm a
second prophecy. "Alright, Mister Malfoy," said Harry. "Please, just don't
hurt us. I'll give you the orb if you promise." He made his voice sound
small - no small feat in the echo-filled expanse of the Death Chamber.
Slowly, he lifted the second orb. He glanced at the tag, filing the
information away for later. It didn't matter now.
S.P.T. to L.E. and A.L. in re James Potter and Harry Potter
The sneer on Malfoy's face told him that the act was working - Harry was
still just a kid. "Here!" Harry shouted, tossing the second prophecy above
Malfoy's head.
"No!" shouted Malfoy, as he reached up for the orb. Crabbe made a try at
it as well. Neither was watching Harry, nor did they see Ron. Two curses
struck Crabbe, taking his left arm off at the shoulder and shattering his
ribs. With all eyes on the prophecy, no one noticed him as he bled to
death.
Harry summoned Malfoy's boots, causing the death eater to topple. He
watched helplessly as the orb shattered on the stone. Spellfire had broken
out in earnest, with curses and jinxes flying everywhere. Harry stepped
forward, his wand on Malfoy. The tail end of the prophecy was fading in
the noise, but Harry made out "...at the hands of the sons…" before the
mist from the orb faded.
No matter. Harry took aim at Bellatrix, sending a Langlock curse her way.
With a snarl, she tried to stun him. His shield was ready, but not needed -
for someone else had shielded him.
"Wotcher, Harry," said Nymphadora Tonks. Beside her, Sirius Black and
Remus Lupin were opening fire on the Death Eaters.
Harry's heart sank. "You know it was a trap, right?"
"We know. Voldemort is upstairs fighting the Headmaster and the others."
That got Harry's attention - Dumbledore KNEW?
"Who told you to come here, Tonks?" Harry asked, as he shot more spells
at Bellatrix. Ginny was giving her a run for her money, and the mad
witch was starting to look worried. Seeing Malfoy on his face didn't help
matters.
"Dumbledore, who else?" she replied. That tears it, thought Harry.
Sirius was now engaging with Bella, and their duel was a fierce one.
Harry saw one curse that would have sent his godfather through the veil,
and shielded it. Tonks was about to move into a better position to help
when Harry grabbed her elbow.
"Tonks, who else is coming down here?" Harry asked.
"Just us." She said, unconcerned. "The others have enough to deal with, it
sounded like." With that, she slid around the chamber, hoping for a better
angle. A year ago, even, Harry would have raged at the revelation - that
Dumbledore had known not only what was happening here, but that
Voldemort was involved. It doesn't matter how prepared we are, Harry
thought, how dare he send children to do his job? It was one thing to sneak
behind his back, but quite another to learn that he knew and approved
all along.
Now, though, he had business. There would be time for anger later.
Harry felt it then, the telltale sign of an incoming apparition. Even if they
were a friendly, from what Tonks had said there was no way they'd be
coming this soon. So it was likely a death eater. Harry levelled his wand,
and bound the wizard as soon as he appeared - the bindings were just in
case it was someone from the Order. The cloaked figure fell over
immediately, just in time for Luna to silence him.
Another had apparated into the room, it seemed. "Stop!" shouted Lucius
Malfoy. "Stop or she dies!"
All eyes went to the blonde wizard, who had a woman by the throat with
a wand at her temple. The cloaked woman was struggling fiercely. The
cloak seemed to match the man he had just dropped, which might mean
that they were someone else. Not Order, then, but not death eaters. Who?
"What a surprise, my dear," Lucius hissed into the woman's ear. Then he
looked up at Harry. "Place your wands on the floor and walk away, and
I'll release her before we get to the floo."
Harry kept his wand on the death eater, but sensed Bellatrix approaching
on his right. Wordlessly, he cast an Accio at her robes, dragging the
surprised witch toward him. Before she knew what was happening, Harry
had her bound and silenced. His knife went to her throat, and she stilled.
Lucius sneered again. "A hostage, Potter? Would you really trade Bella for
this one?"
"I don't know, Lord Malfoy, who is she? I thought she was one of yours."
That got a laugh from the death eater. "No, no, Mister Potter, this one is
most definitely yours." He pulled her hood down, and revealed a red-
haired witch with fair features and haunting green eyes.
He had seen those eyes before. That morning, in the mirror.
Malfoy could not contain his glee. The game had truly changed. "It looks
like your brat is just as surprised as I am, Lily."
oOoOoOoOo
Harry's mind raced, trying to figure the angles here. Polyjuice requires
something of the target. Polyjuice requires something…. "Oh, for fuck's sake,
Snape, you bastard!" exclaimed Harry.
"Snape?" asked Malfoy.
Luna was tending to Neville's wounds, but looked up at that. In a sing-
song voice, she spoke. "Oh, Lord Malfoy, you have no idea what you've
done."
Harry's grip tightened on Bella. With a twist of his wand, he tightened
her bindings, and smiled at the sound of her elbows breaking. The
silencing spell did little to quell the anguish on her face. The madness
was gone, now, replaced with only terror. Her husband Rodolphus,
bound and silenced on the other side of the room, seemed to enjoy her
suffering.
"Your pet spy kept my mother's hair for fifteen fucking years?! Only to try
something this desperate? How DARE you?" Harry had kept tight control
over himself during the battle, but this outrage had been a step too far.
"My dead mother suddenly appears right when Voldemort sets a trap for
me? Pull the other one, it's got bells on."
He did not see the look of terror on the woman's face.
"Nevertheless," said Malfoy, who was fighting the urge to back away from
the angry boy in front of him.
"Harry," said Sirius, in a warning tone. He had stepped over to stand
beside Ron, who was guarding a bound Gregory Goyle Senior. "Be
careful," he said.
"Yes, Harry, be careful," mocked Malfoy. "We both know you will do
nothing except let us go and walk away. Our master knows you, he
knows exactly how your Order will retreat every time." He sneered one
last time. "Walk away."
Harry glanced over at Neville, who nodded slightly. "Speed?" Neville
said, chancing a nonsense word that would sound non-threatening. Harry
nodded in confirmation, as little as he dared.
Malfoy saw the motion, and glared at him. "Well?" the man snarled.
Keeping his knife at Bella's throat, Harry placed his wand in his pocket.
Holding his right hand open, he made eye contact with Lucius. He
maintained that eye contact as he brought his now empty hand across
Bellatrix Lestrange's face. Grasping her chin, he suddenly twisted her
head to the side.
The Death Chamber echoed with the sickening crack of her spine. As
soon as Harry struck, Neville stunned the red-haired woman. Malfoy
dropped her, attempting to defend himself - while forgetting about
Ginny, who stunned him from behind.
The room seemed to freeze for a moment. And then the students began
shouting "Clear!"
Sirius was examining Bellatrix, who was lying still on the floor, her eyes
open and unseeing. "You killed her, Harry."
"Yes I did," he replied. "My job was to get everyone out of here, and fuck
the rest of them." He nodded to Neville Longbottom, who was watching
the pair from across the room. "And besides, I owed a debt to House
Longbottom."
Before Sirius could respond, Hermione called Harry over to the red-
haired woman. The fallen witch could actually have been Lily Potter, if
they made her look older than she had been at the time of her death.
Even the willow wand was accurate, or seemed to be.
"She's not under polyjuice, Harry." said Hermione, worriedly. Harry
stared at the woman, before looking back to Hermione.
"What, you're suggesting that she's actually my mother?" Harry asked. For
the first time that night, a note of concern crept into his voice. But no, he
could not dare hope. It wasn't possible.
Was it?
In the quiet of the Death Chamber, Sirius' whisper was like a cannon
shot. Harry's head snapped around to look at his godfather, who was
checking out that last death eater who had apparated in. The one with
the same cloak as 'Lily'. Oh, no, was about the only thought Harry could
muster before what Sirius had said registered.
"Prongs?"
oOoOoOoOo
Healers were swarming over the remains of the Ministry Atrium, tending
to the wounded aurors and civilians present. The duel between
Voldemort and Dumbledore had been the stuff of legend, the sort of duel
one might tell their children about someday.
The finale, too, would grow in the telling. Just as Voldemort had seemed
to get the upper hand on his much older opponent, a bolt of magic had
struck him from the side. Every eye turned to see…. Harry Potter?
"Ahhhh," Voldemort had hissed. "The substitute."
"I've waited a long time for this," said the boy, before he struck.
Voldemort laughed in his face, shielding and parrying the boy's spells. It
was obvious to all who saw, however, that the boy had some power
behind his magic - and that, combined with Dumbledore's renewed
assault, put Voldemort at risk.
His death eaters were not coming back, he realized. They had failed him.
With a hiss of anger, the Dark Lord vanished.
By the time Madam Bones had made it over to the Headmaster and his
student, the elevator had begun to operate again. Amelia thought nothing
of it, for her mind could not wrap itself around the identity of this boy
who had saved them.
"James Potter?" she asked.
"Yes, Madam Bones," said the boy.
She eyed Dumbledore with no small measure of anger. "And now I
suppose you're going to tell me that James and Lily survived?"
Dumbledore had the grace to look down. That was it for Amelia. "Oh for
fuck's sake Albus!"
"Funny," the three turned to see a bloodied Harry Potter walking toward
them. "That was my reaction as well, Madam Bones."
"Harry, my boy, are you alright?" The Headmaster asked.
Harry nodded. "We're all fine, sir." He turned to the Director of the
DMLE. "Madam Bones, there are at least seven stunned and bound death
eaters in the Hall of Mysteries and the Death Chamber, one of whom is
Lucius Malfoy. You also have probably twelve corpses. All of the dead
bear the dark mark. We secured two additional prisoners as well."
Dumbledore's heart sank at that news. "Who are the two prisoners?"
Harry's eyes seemed to bore into Dumbledore, though his expression was
carefully neutral. "They seem to be Lily and James Potter, but we all
know that that can't be the case, because they died to save my life, right
Headmaster?"
The boy next to Dumbledore spoke up, then. "Oi, that's my mum and
dad!"
Harry turned his gaze to the boy. They were of a height, though Harry
was just slightly taller - possible due to the boots he wore. They had the
same hair, though different lengths. The same eyes, the same build.
Unbidden, Harry's thoughts went to the prophecy - and how perhaps it
hadn't been his father on it after all.
"James Potter, Junior, I presume?" Harry asked. Madam Bones heard the
fatigue in his voice, and realized just how major a shock this must be.
And that didn't even account for whatever took place downstairs, she
thought.
"You must be Harry, then." James said. Harry thought, just for a moment,
that he heard the beginnings of a Malfoy-level sneer work their way into
the boy's…. No, his twin's voice. Merlin, Harry thought.
Harry chuckled, the weariness beginning to take its toll. Perhaps it was
that fatigue, or just the numbness at what he had done that night, but
Harry decided in that moment to lay his cards on the table.
In Parseltongue, he spoke to his brother. {"Are you alright?"} he asked.
James' eyes grew wide at the public display, but he still replied. {"Fine."}
Then he paused. {"Mom and Dad?"}
Harry nodded. "They're fine, just stunned. Sirius is with them."
James nodded at that. "Well, good." He seemed to be considering his next
words carefully, fighting the urge to say something. Had he looked over
at Dumbledore, he would have seen the look of panic on the
Headmaster's face.
"Harry," James began. "Thank you for protecting me while I trained to be
the boy-who-lived." He sounded sincere, he sounded rational. But he also
clearly had no idea that he had just changed everything.
Harry stared at him for a moment, then at Dumbledore. His voice was
low and cold, clearly angry - but not as much as might be expected, all
things considered. "You knew?"
To his credit, the Headmaster looked ashamed. But then Harry saw him
square his shoulders and steel himself for the criticism. "It was for the
greater good, my boy."
Harry shared a look with Madam Bones, one that she interpreted as
something along the lines of Can you believe this asshole? She smiled at
Harry, letting him know that they were on the same page. They would
talk at length about that night, and everything that had happened, but
not now.
"Right, well, we might want to hold off on that coronation, dear brother."
Harry reached into his pouch, producing the prophecy orb. "Being the
boy-who-lived isn't all it's cracked up to be."
James didn't know how to respond, and so didn't. Instead, he looked
intently at the orb. "How can you hold it?"
"Yes, how is this possible?" asked the Headmaster, quietly, though the
worry was plain in his voice. "Only the subject of a prophecy can touch it
without risking madness." He looked at Harry with sadness in his eyes, as
if diagnosing a case of terminal cancer. "A remarkable student you may
be, but I'm afraid you're not as special as you thought you were, Harry
my boy."
Later, Harry would forgive the Headmaster his unfortunate turn of
phrase. In the moment, however, the temperature in the room dropped
ten degrees.
Getting ahold of his anger, Harry sighed, before shaking his head at the
Headmaster. "It seems that your plan is and was fatally flawed, sir." He
handed over the card that came with the prophecy - the one clearly
showing both Harry and James.
With a slight nod, Harry acknowledged Madam Bones. "Madam Bones,
gentlemen, I'm going to go check on my team, and then I plan to sleep for
about a week. After that, we'll want to have a cup of tea and a sit down, I
suspect."
James looked up, his face a mask of confusion, only to see Harry walking
away. Everything he knew, everything he had been told, was laid bare as
a lie. Or, at least, as an untruth. Dumbledore seemed shocked as well,
though, so perhaps there was hope. Mom and Dad will know what to do,
thought James. To Harry, he raised his voice. "Don't you care what it
says?"
Harry shot him a look over his shoulder, the floo powder still in his hand.
"Of course I do, why do you think I made a copy for myself?" Then he
leaned into the floo. "Saint Mungo's!" And with that, he was gone.
James looked up at the Headmaster, who seemed to be having a panic
attack. Every plan, every stratagem, was now obsolete. James gave voice
to what they were both thinking.
"What the hell do we do now?"
A/N: This is a meditation of sorts on DZ2's Prodigal Son challenge,
wherein a Grey or Dark Harry learns that his parents survived the
Halloween attack, only to go into hiding with a sibling who was the
actual Boy-who-lived. They trained for years under Dumbledore's
watchful eye, all while allowing Harry to be abused and mistreated
at Durzkaban, and then later endangered and cast out at Hogwarts.
And then, in either the Ministry or the Graveyard, they swoop in
and pat Harry on the head and tell him good job, now your sibling
can take over.
Suffice to say, that doesn't go over so well.
Here, I took a grey Harry who had taken the Art of War as gospel,
and who had a mentor to guide him. Military!Harry is a trope rarely
seen, and I wanted to take a swing at it. But take that further - if
Lily and James showed up in the middle of a firefight, with a Harry
on a hair trigger? It took quite a bit to keep me from having him
Reducto them on sight, as he simply assumed it was a trick. This
works better, I think.
So, James and Lily survived (along with a very confused Sirius).
Bellatrix didn't - which highlights exactly the sort of pragmatic
mission-focused Harry we're dealing with. Dumbledore, who
deployed James and the Potters specifically for this moment,
believed that James Jr. was the BWL. Whoops.
The challenge presumes that Harry is not actually the BWL, and
thus has to preserve his place and his agency in a world where he is
now superfluous. Here, I reversed that - James and Lily and James
Jr. re-emerge into the world, and find themselves unnecessary. As
Harry said, "Welp."
Regarding Speed: One time, Neville and Harry got to talking about
hostages. That reminded Harry of a muggle film he had seen, where
the man said to shoot the hostage, and well...
(No plans to continue this as such, this was mainly a plot bunny that
came out of the challenge. Perhaps I'll reuse Colonel Ramsay at some
point. If someone wants to adopt this scenario and run with it, feel free
to PM.)
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
2nd A/N 1/24/2019: After multiple comments and messages, not to
mention peer pressure from the LeadVonE Discord, I've decided to
mark this as in-progress. I will be continuing the story, though do
not expect frequent updates. Harry Potter, et al, and the Keystone
Council will remain my main focus for the time being, but keep an
eye on this space. Thank you all for your comments, the response to
this story has been overwhelming.
2. The Hospital
The healers at Saint Mungo's had been prepared to receive casualties.
They had received a notice from the DMLE of a battle at the Ministry,
and had a trauma team on standby. The hospital normally kept the
emergency portkey room staffed, as most aurors would carry a portkey
when in the field. Tonight, however, they had a full team ready and
waiting.
Instead of the expected auror and civilian casualties, what they got were
three witches and two wizards who were awake and alert on arrival.
Each had their wands out, ready for anything. Only when they
recognized their surroundings did the five put their wands away and
allow themselves to be treated.
The teenagers had few injuries worse than cuts from broken glass, though
those cuts had the potential to scar, seeing as they were mostly caused by
the enchanted glass of shattered prophecies. Most of their bruises and
scrapes had already been treated with muggle-style field bandages, to the
surprise of the healers. Ginny Weasley had sprained an ankle in the death
room, when she misjudged her footing - but it was no matter, as she took
down Rodolphus Lestrange from her back.
No aurors were treated that night, nor were any death eaters sent in for
medical care. The healers later learned that there had been no badly
injured death eaters - only captured and dead ones. The team lead, whose
muggleborn wife had been killed the month prior, found it very hard to
feel bad about their fate, despite his oaths.
Hermione was waiting on her official release when Harry arrived. In a
shot, she was across the room, giving him a hug. Harry had seen her
coming, knowing her as he did, and caught her.
"Are you ok?" she asked his shoulder, not breaking the hug.
"I will be," was his reply. It was all still too fresh, too raw. His parents,
his brother, Dumbledore's betrayal. All of it would need time.
"So it's real, then? They were…?" She pulled away to look at him, getting
a read on his reactions.
A nod. "Yep. It's them." He shook his head and chuckled at the reality of
that statement. "My parents are alive, and Dumbledore knew."
Hermione looked just as horrified as he expected her to; so much of his
life was defined not just by the actual loss of his parents, but by the
manner of it as well. That they had died to protect him was part of
everything he did, every decision. Much of what he had done this past
year was his attempt to live up to the Potter legacy.
To then learn that they lived? How is he standing here, composed and calm?
Her eyes must have told the tale, for Harry just grinned at her. "It's the
end of the year, Hermione, of course my life would get upended. That's
how these things work, remember?" That got him a little shove, just
enough to make her point.
"Prat," she said, her eyes wet. He saw that she was smiling, though, which
was good. The anger will come later, he thought.
Her features clouded a bit, and he revised that estimate - her explosion
might be sooner rather than later. Again she looked up. "What do we do
about them?"
Harry let out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. He had
been considering this very question for the last half hour. Ever since his
run-in with James Junior. With my brother, he corrected.
"I need time," he said quietly, after a few moments. "I need to process
this, figure out where I stand, before I do anything." He sighed again,
sadly. "As much as I want answers yesterday, as much as I think I deserve
answers, what happens with them isn't mission critical right now."
Hermione nodded to him, saying nothing. He had just about come out
and said that the 'Potters' and his brother were unimportant, at least in
the short term. When he puts it that way, he's right.
"James was seen fighting Voldemort in the atrium," Harry said. "No one
spoke to me when I got off of the lifts, which makes me think that
everyone assumed I was an auror."
"You went straight to Amelia, didn't you?" Hermione asked. Harry
nodded. "Then you're right, they probably figured you were from the
DMLE. Wearing a long coat, clearly having come from a battle? And you
said your… um, James' hair was different?"
Another nod. "He has my hair, but his was kept long and tied back."
Hermione's eyes went up to Harry's own dark hair, which he had
managed to keep in a short (and obviously muggle) style. The long-
haired look was closer to the standard for the young pureblood heir -
which was part of why Sirius had gotten rid of it.
"Right, then," Hermione continued. "I doubt anyone would make you out
to be twins, then." She looked thoughtful. "And James Senior and Lily
were, um, apprehended away from the public eye."
"It might not be public, then." Harry considered that. "Surely they won't
just go back into hiding?"
"They might not have even been in hiding. Maybe they lived abroad
under other names." Hermione speculated. "Did James have an odd
accent?"
"Not that I noticed." He replied. Reaching into his coat, Harry pulled out
a roll of parchment. "But I'll admit I had other things on my mind."
Hermione's eyes grew wide, even as they locked onto the document.
Harry chuckled at her reaction, before handing it over. She scanned the
words quickly, thankful that the quill Harry had used wrote in a clean,
precise script, rather than his messy scrawl.
They had known they'd only have one shot at a transcript of the
prophecy. She had made sure they would be able to take advantage. This
was critical intelligence, Harry had said.
He saw her look of shock at the words, her mouth hanging open. She
looked up, her eyes again watering. "Oh, Harry." She hugged him again.
"This means…?"
He hugged her back. "Yep." was his only response.
oOoOoOoOo
The healers put up a bit of a fuss when Neville Longbottom insisted on
waiting for the rest of his group. He, Ron, Luna, and Ginny, had all been
released - they were waiting only on Harry and Hermione. Harry had
stopped by while they were being evaluated, and spoken with the four
for a few minutes, before going to find Hermione.
Harry, for his part, had not asked to be treated. With the rumors that he
had fought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named once again just that evening, no
one was going to question him. Not tonight.
So it was that the four were waiting in a small conference room when the
door flew open.
Neville was on his feet before the woman saw him. It took the others a
moment to recognize her, for her appearance was disheveled, as if she
had rushed out of the house when she received word of the battle. She
even lacked her trademark vulture hat.
Any other night, Madam Augusta Longbottom would have died before
leaving the house in anything less than her best. How else to represent
the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom? Tonight, however,
events had taken a life of their own, and she had business more urgent
even than decorum.
Seeing her grandson, Augusta strode across the conference room. Ron
and Luna had stood as well, now, while Ginny remained sitting, her ankle
still healing. None spoke, and thus the room was silent when Augusta's
hand met Neville's cheek with a resounding SLAP!
The Longbottom Scion said nothing, but kept his eyes on his
grandmother. The woman was seething in rage, her magic pulsing
angrily, and Neville would do nothing to make it worse.
"How DARE you!" Augusta almost shouted. She was shaking, such was
her anger. Then Neville saw her eyes, and realized what was really
happening. A year ago, he never would have stood up to his
grandmother. A year ago, he would have cowered, bowing before her
magic and her presence.
Of course, a year ago he would not have been here in the first place.
Augusta punched him in the shoulder, hard. "How could you?" She said,
her voice breaking. Neville stepped forward, wrapping his arms around
her. The anger seemed to drain away from her then, her rage giving way
to weeping, and she began hugging him right back.
"I can't lose you," he heard her say. "Not you too."
"I know, Gran," he said quietly. "I know it."
Augusta realized, in that moment, how tall Neville had become. How tall
he stood now, as he comforted her. She stepped back a bit, collecting
herself, her hands on his shoulders. She looked him up and down, seeing
the black trousers with pockets everywhere, the heavy black boots, the
basilisk skin long coat.
Her thoughts went to the night her son had come home from his first
shift as an Auror, his face glowing in triumph as he showed off his red
auror's robes, the red leather wand holster that his friend James had
given him.
She looked up at her grandson, smiling at him with the same smile she
had given Frank that night. "Your father would be so incredibly proud of
you, Neville." Her voice was still quiet, but everyone in the room heard
her.
Neville's reaction, in that moment, said everything. Stepping forward, he
hugged his grandmother once more, only this time the sobs were his
own.
"Thank you," he said.
Before long, the moment had passed, and Luna brought tea for both of
the Longbottoms. Augusta looked at her grandson's companions, nodding
her thanks to them for helping Neville. Then she sat back in her chair.
They all saw the change. No longer was she Neville's gran, concerned for
the boy she had raised. No, now she was Madam Augusta Longbottom,
the Regent Longbottom, longtime scourge of the Wizengamot.
"Tell me everything," she said, in a voice that brooked no argument.
oOoOoOoOo
"Mister Potter!" Harry and Hermione turned around, only to see an older
wizard rushing towards them from the other end of the corridor.
Hermione saw the pin on the man's drab brown robes, and elbowed
Harry. When he looked at her, she mouthed the word Prophet, and then
inclined her head at the man.
With a sigh, Harry stopped walking and waited for the man to catch up.
"How can I help you, sir?" he asked politely.
The old wizard stopped a few paces away, having seen Hermione's wand
in her hand. Even having identified him as a reporter, she was taking no
chances. Not tonight.
"Barnabas Cuffe, with the Daily Prophet," the man said. "I'd like a moment
of your time, Mister Potter, if you don't mind?"
Again Harry shared a glance with Hermione. She knew that the Prophet's
coverage of Harry and Dumbledore this year had bothered her friend, but
he had repeatedly declined to do anything overt about it. Beyond one
interview with the Quibbler, the magazine published by Luna's father, the
group had deliberately kept quiet. Harry had suggested that being
publicly marginalized helped to encourage others to underestimate him,
which served their goals in the long-term. After his "meeting" with
Umbridge the day before, she had admitted that the strategy had worked
to some degree - at least as far as the Senior Undersecretary was
concerned.
The death eaters had certainly underestimated him, to their great regret.
This man, the actual Editor-in-Chief of the prophet, was the architect of
most of that coverage. The six had decided early on that he must be
receiving information and direction from the Ministry, likely from the
Minister himself, but Cuffe was the one approving headlines. He was the
one who assigned reporters, who approved their sources - or who
approved their pieces whether they had sources or not.
Sirius had, correctly, pointed out that the Prophet had not held a
shareholders' meeting in eight years. Through his solicitor, he had
inquired about calling such a meeting, for the Blacks owned just under
10% of the paper. Not enough to take control, but enough to shake things
up a bit. They had wondered, though - why would the shareholders care?
As long as the paper was in the ministry's pocket, their profits were
assured. The Malfoys, who owned 15%, certainly wouldn't consider a
change in direction.
Being a fugitive, he could not reach out to other part owners, and so he
and Harry had left it alone, knowing it was a card they could play later if
the need arose.
Harry considered Mister Cuffe, who was still catching his breath. He
knew that this might be an opportunity to control the narrative, so to
speak, but he did not want to step on Amelia's toes after she had been so
helpful to them in the past few months. Nor did he want to antagonize
Dumbledore just yet - and speaking to the media would be the surest way
to win himself another "I'm disappointed in you, my boy," speech from
the once-and-likely-future Headmaster.
A grin crossed Harry's face. On the other hand, reassuring the public has
value of its own, doesn't it? Hermione saw that look, and knew what it
meant. Seeing a small office nearby, she walked over and opened the
door.
Harry gestured toward the door. "Of course, Mister Cuffe. Please, step
into my office." Cuffe smiled at the joke, before turning and following
Hermione into the small room. Harry noticed the nameplate as he walked
past and winced. Family Consultation Room.
After fighting his way through the Ministry, and killing several death
eaters, including the notorious Bellatrix Lestrange with his bare hands, he
was now going to speak with the Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Prophet in a
room set aside for the healers to tell families that their loved ones had
died. The coincidence had him shaking his head. Merlin, he thought. This
is my life now.
The room was decorated in colors probably designed to calm and soothe.
A muggle painting of a beach setting was the only decor, likely a
concession to privacy. A small desk sat in one corner, a stack of blank
parchment and a quill the only items on its surface. Cuffe took a seat at
that desk, setting his own parchment down before getting out a
transcribing quill. Harry relaxed a bit on seeing the courtroom-style quill;
it would write down what was said in the room accurately, without the
embellishment of a quick-quotes model.
Hermione was already sitting on one of the couches. Mindful of the
Prophet's speculations about his relationship (or lack thereof) with
Hermione, Harry sat on the other couch, not wanting to give Cuffe any
room to draw conclusions that weren't there.
"Right, well, Mister Potter I've heard a few rumors about your activities
this evening, and I'm hoping you can clear them up." Cuffe had relaxed a
bit, now that he was reporting again. The man had always enjoyed being
a reporter more than sitting behind a desk, and for this story he trusted
no one else.
"I'd be happy to clarify what I can, of course," said Harry, pleasantly.
"That said, you do realize that there will be an extensive DMLE
investigation, yes? I'll need to decline to answer some things as a result."
"Of course, of course," said Cuffe, dismissively. Hermione raised an
eyebrow at the man - had he actually believed his coverage of Harry?
That changes things, she thought. Harry saw the smile on her face, and
resisted the urge to chuckle - Cuffe had no idea what was about to
happen.
oOoOoOoOo
Barnabas Cuffe was frustrated. The obvious draw of an interview with the
boy-who-lived, on the evening that he was vindicated before the eyes of
the Ministry and the world, was fast becoming an exercise in torture.
Honestly, thought Cuffe. How many ways can he refuse to answer a
question?
"So, to confirm, you have no idea who attacked the ministry?"
Harry smiled. "I would have to defer to Director Bones on that, sir."
He did it again! Cuffe shook his head, checking off the question in his
notebook. "Fine, then let's discuss the fight in the atrium. I already have
several witnesses who describe the fight between Albus Dumbledore and
another wizard. Most of them described him as You-Know-Who. Can you
confirm that?"
Another smile. "I expect that the Minister's office will have an official
statement on that in a few hours, you'll want to get the word from them."
Harry leaned back on the couch, clearly enjoying the interview. "If I were
to confirm that it was indeed Voldemort, and the Ministry denied it, well
- you can understand how I might object to that narrative, right?"
"But you fought him!" Cuffe almosts shouted his response, such was his
frustration.
The smile faded from Harry's face. "Your witnesses saw a pale wizard
with no nose and dark robes fighting against the former Headmaster of
my school. I would hope that any capable wizard would aid Professor
Dumbledore in that circumstance." Cuffe did not notice that Harry was
not admitting that he had indeed fought him, for he had not. But the fact
that the question was even asked proved one thing.
He doesn't know about James Junior.
Harry continued. "DMLE investigators will sample the magic used in the
atrium and tell us who that wizard was. They know much more about
confirming that wizard's identity than I do."
Cuffe shook his head at the non-answer - Madam Bones liked him even
less than most Ministry officials. Harry saw the motion, and chuckled to
himself.
"I take it that you and Madam Bones don't quite get along?" he asked.
Cuffe snorted.
"Oil and Water, Mister Potter." was the reply.
"The House of Bones has been an ally of the House of Potter for a long
time, Mister Cuffe, and Madam Bones herself has been most gracious in
her assistance to me over the years." Harry leaned forward, dropping his
voice a bit. "If you like, I can reach out to her office and make sure she
knows about your questions. I don't disagree that the public will need to
know the whys and wherefores, but it would be disrespectful of me to
give that information out before Madam Bones has spoken."
Cuffe's eyes narrowed.
Harry continued. "After all, I am a nutter seeking little more than
attention and fame, right? Anything I say is automatically suspect, isn't
that right, Hermione?"
Hermione nodded. "I seem to recall reading that somewhere, yes."
Cuffe angrily snapped his fingers, and the dicta-quill ceased its
movement. "So, for the record, the only thing of any substance you can
tell me is that there was a battle at the Ministry, Dumbledore was
somehow involved, and that the DMLE and the Minister will have a
statement soon."
"That just about sums it up nicely, yes sir." said Harry, agreeably.
Hermione nodded as well.
"And, off the record?" He saw both teenagers look at the dicta-quill,
before returning their gaze to him.
"Off the record," said Harry, "I don't envy you the job you have this week.
Backtracking a year's worth of coverage painting me as a madman will be
quite the trick."
Cuffe started to put away his parchment, at that comment. Clearly he
would get nothing out of the boy.
"That said," Harry continued, and Cuffe paused in his packing. "Off the
record, of course." The editor nodded. "Voldemort was there. Or, at least,
a wizard who looks exactly like the wizard I fought a year ago at the end
of the triwizard tournament, and whose magic seemed similar as well."
Cuffe's voice grew quiet. "But it was him, then? Him?"
Harry nodded.
"And the death eaters?" Cuffe asked.
"It would seem they chose an appropriate name for their club, sir."
Harry's voice was cold, and it sent a chill through Cuffe.
"Did you kill any of them yourself?" He's only a boy, thought Cuffe.
Harry's green eyes met Cuffe's. "I can neither confirm nor deny that,
Mister Cuffe, as the incident is the subject of a DMLE investigation." And
in saying nothing, Cuffe knew that the Potter boy had said everything.
"Dumbledore won't be happy about that, surely." said Cuffe.
Harry shrugged.
After a moment, Cuffe finished packing away his notes. "Right then,
Mister Potter, Miss Granger, thank you for your time." He shook hands
with both teenagers, before leaving the room as quick as he could.
Once the door closed, Hermione cast a silencing spell on it. Harry sat
back down on the couch, the tension draining.
"Did you notice it?" she asked, not bothering to explain.
Harry nodded. Cuffe had almost given Harry more information than
Harry had given Cuffe - which was part of why Harry had agreed to
speak to the man. "Not one question about James or Lily or James
Junior."
Hermione sat in the chair Cuffe had vacated. "Eventually, some auror will
recognize them, and the word will be out."
Another nod. "I know. As I said, it's not something I need to worry about
tonight."
"What if James… I don't know, tries to take over the house?" She looked
at her friend with no small amount of worry. One of the few things in
Harry's life that he could control was his House - and the past year had
taught him that his status as head of an Ancient and Most Noble House
was a tool he could use.
And use it he had, reaching out to Madam Bones and Lord Greengrass,
both of whom had known his parents and counted themselves as friends
and allies. Or like the Longbottoms, leaning on the long-standing alliance
between their houses to draw Neville out of his shell this year. He was
the Potter, or had been until today.
Harry held up his hand, with the gold Lord's ring revealed. "Legally,
they're dead - or else someone would have noticed. Magic seems to agree.
The Goblins certainly thought so - and if they didn't, it didn't stop them
from installing me as Lord Potter."
Hermione chuckled at that, remembering that day a year ago. "They may
have been thumbing their noses at the Ministry, you know."
Harry shrugged again. "I don't doubt it. But that will teach them to
declare a fourteen year old wizard of-age just so he can dance for the
entertainment of the masses." The Goblins had been thrilled to process
his emancipation, moreso when Sirius Black - the Lord Black in all but
name, even as a fugitive - had signed off as well. The fees Harry had paid
them to keep the whole thing quiet just sweetened the deal.
He hadn't needed to be Lord Potter, certainly not publicly, though having
access to Potter Manor via portkey was useful when he wanted to
practice his spellwork. Colonel Ramsay had made Privet Drive more
tolerable than ever, having convinced the Dursleys to feed him properly
so that he could handle his 'training'. The Colonel had somehow managed
to sell Vernon on the idea that Harry would be good for little more than
enlisting as a soldier, and so Vernon was more than happy to hand him
off to the Colonel for 'training' whenever he could.
He eyed the Lord's ring he wore, considering the essence of Hermione's
question. "I don't know, Hermione. If James does try to take over as Lord
Potter, I don't know what I will do. Maybe I hand it off and walk away.
Maybe I kick him out. Maybe we all become a family." He sighed, and
Hermione heard the fatigue there, along with no small amount of hurt -
too much had happened too quickly.
"You do have other options," she said.
He nodded. "That's true as well." He stood up, offering a hand to help his
friend up as well. "It's not important today, though."
Hermione nodded in turn. Sometime soon, though, it will be, she thought
with no small amount of worry.
Cancelling the silencing charms, the pair went to meet up with the
remaining members of their team.
A/N: This chapter fills in some of the backstory that sets the stage -
details that have little place in a one-shot but will be necessary
moving forward. The fact that everyone seems to assume it was
Harry in the atrium will make things interesting moving forward -
and Harry has little interest in correcting those assumptions. James
Junior's brash "I'll take over now, thanks" reaction to his brother
still stings a bit, however unlikely this Harry is to admit it.
I also wanted to show a Harry who was both politically astute
(making allies with other houses) and strategic in his thinking (in
not taking his Lord's ring and fleeing the Dursleys, for example). He
chose to take a bit of hardship in exchange for keeping his Lordship
under wraps. It was a tool in the toolbox, one he could use when he
needed to in discussions with other houses, but which would only
bring scrutiny from, say, Umbridge - scrutiny he had no interest in.
(That did make his trial for underage magic a bit interesting, as we
will see in a flashback later on.)
Why Harry defers to Amelia will be discussed soon - as hinted at in
the Atrium, and all but confirmed here, there is background we'll
learn soon.
As I said previously, don't expect frequent updates here - but now
that I've got an outline for this story I thought I'd flesh out a bit of
the status quo.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
3. The Debrief
Lily Potter found herself laying on a couch. The lights in the room were
bright, almost glaring, with a stark, impersonal quality that screamed
office. Her head was pounding, probably from the stunner she had taken.
That thought brought her up short. Unbidden, her hand went to her
throat. He had me, she thought. I should be dead.
Then she remembered the sight of her son. Her other son. He had fought
the death eaters, he had gone toe to toe with Lucius Malfoy, and had
even taken down Crabbe. No, she realized with a start. He killed Crabbe.
Took his arm clean off. The powerful cutting spell had startled her when
she saw it - leaving her out of sorts enough to get taken as a hostage by
Malfoy.
The anger in Harry's face when he saw her, though - THAT had
frightened her. For there had been no love in those eyes, no relief, no joy
at a long awaited reunion. No, he had had only anger. Even when he
made clear that he didn't believe that she was really his mother, his
reaction had still hurt.
When she saw James get stunned, seconds after arriving, she had lost
hope. With that, and Harry's reaction, Lily had become convinced that
she was going to die.
And then Frank and Alice's boy stunned her.
"Good," a voice broke the silence. "You're awake."
Lily sat up on the leather couch, and looked around. It was a simple
workroom, good for finishing parchment work or for interviewing
suspects. The DMLE, then, she realized. Sitting across the room, sipping
her tea, was Amelia Bones.
"Amelia," Lily began. The head of the DMLE raised her hand, stopping her
greeting.
"What did I say after I rescued you during our first flying lesson?" she
asked.
Lily frowned. "That wasn't you, that was Edgar. He thought that
gryffindors all knew how to fly before they were sorted."
That got no reaction from Madam Bones. "To which you replied?"
"I told him that he needed to work on his lines if he expected to make it
in Hufflepuff." Lily replied, smiling at the memory.
Now, Amelia nodded, and put her wand back in its holster. Lily realized
that the Director had had her at wandpoint the entire time. What if I had
answered wrong?
"So," said the Director. "You're alive."
Lily could only nod.
"You and James."
Another nod.
"And a son that no one seems to remember you having."
Lily nodded again.
"You understand, I trust, that this whole situation seems absolutely
ridiculous, yes?" Amelia seemed to have relaxed, somewhat, but her
whole demeanor told Lily exactly what she thought of this evening's
events.
"I can see how it might look, yes." answered Lily. "The Headmaster did
warn us that it would take time."
"Time," said Amelia, with a bit of a scoff. "That does bring up an
interesting point, though. Why now?"
"Excuse me?"
"I mean, why tonight? Why here, at the ministry?" Amelia looked intently
at her guest, taking another sip of tea. "The Dark Lord's public return will
take your headlines, yes, but surely you realize that someone had to have
recognized you. Eventually, the word will be out."
"Yes," Lily replied. "Albus said that Harry needed our help. How could we
not come and save our son?"
Lily did not know what reaction she expected from Madam Bones - but a
snort of laughter was not it.
"Did I say a funny thing, Amelia?" asked Lily, with no small measure of
annoyance.
"You did, but the amazing thing is that I don't think you meant to." she
replied, still chuckling. Off Lily's look, she straightened up. "Lily, of all
the times Harry's life has been in danger, tonight was pretty much the
least of them."
"The death eaters were ambushing him!" Lily almost shouted. "Him and
five of his school friends against over twenty hardened death eaters!
What was I supposed to do? They set a trap for my son!"
Amelia's face hardened. "They tried to, yes." She stood, setting her tea on
the desk nearby. "But they walked into a trap instead, and a dozen of
them are dead."
She had seen the end of Bellatrix, but hearing the numbers from Amelia
was horrifying to Lily. "And whose idea was that trap?"
Walking to the doorway, Amelia paused. "Harry's." She allowed herself a
smile as she watched Lily's reaction. "Not the reunion you expected,
exactly." It was not a question.
Weakly, Lily shook her head. My son is more of a killer than I knew.
"Well, be that as it may," said Amelia. "You and your husband are both
who you say you are, as confirmed by witnesses and magic. Try as they
might, the investigators found no crimes for which you could be charged,
though I imagine Albus will need to answer some hard questions about
the whole 'faking your deaths' thing." She noticed Lily's wince at that, and
filed it away for later. "I'll need you to come in later this week for a
formal interview."
Lily nodded. "Of course."
"Good," was the reply. Opening the door, Amelia paused again. Over her
shoulder, she looked back at Lily Potter. "Harry is a good man, Lily. He is
full of surprises. I really hope this was all worth it." And with that, she
was gone.
She was too far down the corridor to hear Lily's quiet "Me too."
oOoOoOoOo
Kingsley Shacklebolt had not been a close friend of former auror James
Potter, having joined the Auror force only days before the day the Dark
Lord fell.
The day this man died, thought Kingsley, with a shake of his head.
Out loud, Kingsley had asked the only question that had really mattered.
"Why?"
James chuckled sadly, sipping his coffee. The headache was still there,
but getting better. "Why, what?"
The auror sat back in his chair. "Why, everything, really. Why fake your
deaths? Why leave Harry behind? Why come back now?"
James sighed. "Even the Goblins, for the right coin, would track us down
- unless we were dead. Sirius had already retrieved Harry before we woke
up, and the world knew he lived - if he disappeared after that, it would
have shattered the peace."
Kingsley said nothing, knowing he would review the concealed
transcribing quill's account later. ""I see. And tonight?"
"Harry was in danger," was the reply. Then a sad chuckle escaped him.
"Seems like he handled himself well, though. Far better than we could
have imagined." Was that pride in his voice? Kingsley wondered. Why? You
never taught him any of those skills.
"He did quite well. Surely, better than we would have done at his age."
That got a nod from James. "Perhaps," he said quietly. He struggled to
keep his thoughts in order, but the worry was starting to seep through.
Albus said he would be helpless. He wasn't. What else have we gotten wrong?
"And your other son," continued Kingsley, this time with just a hint of
annoyance. That revelation would bother a lot of people, as well. Harry
Potter has a twin, one of the aurors had whispered as James passed.
If everything had gone to plan, they'd be saying that James Potter was the one
with a twin, James senior thought. He shook himself from his thoughts -
no use regretting how things had played out now.
To Kingsley, James merely shrugged. "It's a very long story, I'm afraid."
Now Shacklebolt was the one chuckling. "Well," he said, standing up.
"You'll have a chance to tell it. Dumbledore has summoned the Order."
James, too, stood up. "Finally," he said. "It will be good to get back to it."
He did not see the look Shacklebolt gave him at those words. "Indeed,
fifteen years in hiding must have been difficult."
"You have no idea," said James, as he walked to the door.
Shacklebolt brought himself up short. However hard you had it, James
Potter, it was nothing compared to what Harry's gone through. He shook his
head, sadly. This will not go well.
oOoOoOoOo
"So."
James Junior watched his Uncle Padfoot. "So."
"So did they make you someone else's godson when they took my
memories of you?" Sirius Black asked.
"No," Jamie replied. "My godfather is… was Frank Longbottom."
"Ah," said Sirius. "And you're the boy who lived."
A nod. "That's what they tell me, yes sir."
"None of that," snapped Sirius. "You call me sir, and I look around for my
grandfather."
A grin crossed Jamie's face, and he relaxed a bit. "Of course, Lord Black."
He leaned forward in his chair, mockingly attempting a bow while
seated. That got a laugh from Sirius, and broke the tension a bit.
After a moment, Sirius spoke again. "Where have you been living?
Abroad?"
Jamie shook his head. "I can't say, Sirius. Not with the enchantments that
surround the property."
"Ah," he replied. "Didn't think your dad would trust a Fidelius again, even
if it worked out better than we thought last time."
"It's not that," replied Jamie. "I mean, it is, but there's more to it." He
paused. "Have you ever heard of a Faraday enchantment?" Sirius shook
his head. "Well, it's like a ward scheme, only it makes the wards
impenetrable to all magic. Nothing gets in or out."
Sirius nodded, now, seeing the value. But then he realized exactly what
James Junior had said. "Ah, that explains it." he said, nodding.
"Explains what?" asked Jamie.
"The goblins," was the reply. "They have magic that can tell if someone is
alive or not. To them, your parents were both dead." He whistled. "That's
powerful magic, kid."
"It's all mom," replied Jamie.
Sirius laughed, and more tension left the room. "That does sound like
Lily, all right."
They sat quietly for a few minutes. James Junior didn't know quite what
to say to one of his father's oldest friends, the man who was supposed to
have been his uncle in all but blood - and who had literally spent twelve
years in hell because he didn't know that the Potters had survived. Of all
the reunions the Potters would have to endure now that they were back
in the Wizarding World, it was the one between Prongs and Padfoot that
worried James Senior the most.
Both of them looked up as the door opened. They saw James and Lily
Potter walk into the room. Then James Junior saw Sirius Black stand up,
his expression unreadable. Slowly, Sirius walked towards his old friend,
who wisely stood still.
A hand went to James' shoulder. Their eyes met, and both men were
surprised that the other seemed to be moments away from weeping. Then
the dam broke.
Sirius embraced his brother, letting the sobs come. He ignored the sobs
he got in return.
"Prongs, Merlin, it's really you!"
oOoOoOoOo
Lily spoke quietly with her son as the Marauders reunited.
"How's Moony, Sirius?" asked James.
"He's good, drinking his potions and taking care of himself." Sirius
grinned, then, as their prank came to mind. "I hired him as the Steward
for House Black, actually."
James laughed at that. "Old Walburga would come back from the dead if
she found out that a werewolf was the steward of her house."
"Oh, her portrait gave me a stern talking to," replied Sirius. "The old bat
only shut up when I threatened to burn the house down."
"Still in the same old townhouse?" James asked.
A nod. "Turns out it's a perfect location for bird-watching." James and
Lily both chuckled at Sirius' nickname for the Order of the Phoenix. "Ah,
that reminds me." Sirius handed James a slip of parchment. "You'll need
that for the meeting tonight."
James looked at the writing, before handing it to his wife. When it got to
James Junior, the boy looked at it closely.
The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at 12 Grimmauld Place.
As if a switch had been thrown, Jamie realized that he now knew the
secret. He had studied the Fidelius, and knew how it worked - but the
only secret he had ever known was that of his home, and growing up
under a Fidelius had made it hard to think of the secret as a secret.
He knew the secret, in his heart, but could not articulate it. The secret
home of the Potters is at Falcon's Rest. Such a simple thought, and yet he
could not even speak the words. He realized that he couldn't even tell his
brother where their family's home was, where it had been for fifteen
years. Where he learned to fly, where he had learned dueling and studied
from the Master Auror's Manual itself.
His father had told him stories of Hogwarts, of Potter Manor, and even of
Godric's Hollow. As much as he had loved growing up on the coast,
secluded from nearly everyone, he had to admit that part of him longed
to see where his parents had met, where his father had grown up. Those
places were a part of his history, just as Falcon's Rest would always be.
I wonder what Harry will think of Potter Manor? Jamie wondered to
himself.
oOoOoOoOo
Harry Potter woke to sunlight streaming into his bedroom. Opening his
eyes, he looked at the wall across from his bed, and took in the proud
crest of House Potter, with its lions and shields and griffins. He had not
yet studied the heraldry of the crest, nor had he learned the meanings
associated with it - but it had been a symbol to him, nonetheless. He
looked to that crest as a connection to his family and his history.
It was proof that his House had been here long before he had been, and -
magic willing - would be there long after he was gone.
He glanced back up at the crest as he got dressed, considering it. After
the previous night's revelations, he wondered if that crest would ever
have the same meaning for him.
How proud can I be of a house that would abandon one of its sons? He
wondered.
A conversation he had had with Sirius came to mind, then. Harry had
asked about the grand tapestry in Grimmauld Place, showing every
member of the Black family. Two of the faces he found there had
surprised him - Narcissa Malfoy, and his own.
"Cissy is my uncle's daughter," Sirius had said, chuckling at the nickname that
had so infuriated his cousin in their youth. "And your grandmother Dorea was
my grandfather Arcturus' sister. So, even distantly, you're a Black as well."
Harry had thought about that, running his hand over Draco's small portrait,
branching off from his mother. "Seems as if Draco would be a better Black
than I would, if your mother's portrait is any indication."
The Lord Black shook his head. "It used to be that the Blacks stood for pure
blood above all else. I learned that lesson well under my dear mother's wand.
Charming woman, she was." His voice grew quiet as he tapped the still portrait
next to his. Regulus Arcturus Black, it read. "What did that get us? Of the five
in my generation, I was kicked out, Andromeda was banished for daring to
love a muggleborn, Narcissa kneels to the Dark Lord, old Bella is crazier than
a bag of cats, and Reggie…" His voice trailed off, as he looked at the picture
of his brother. "Reggie thought he was honoring his family. And Voldemort
killed him for it."
Sirius stepped away from the tapestry, clearly fighting to control his emotions.
Harry placed his hand on the man's shoulder, trying to offer some small
comfort. His godfather patted him on the hand in thanks.
"They said that blood came first, when really it should be family. In their
stupidity, they nearly destroyed the House of Black, trying to honor its legacy."
He shook his head again. "No more." Looking down at Harry, he placed his
own hand on Harry's shoulder, looking into his eyes. "You, on the other hand,
would do anything to protect the ones you think of as family. I mean, look at
me - you saved my life, when not a day before you would have wished me
dead."
"No, Harry," said Sirius, his voice almost a whisper. "You'd be the finest Black
of us all."
Harry thought about those words as he walked toward the staircase. He
paused at the landing, and looked down at the entrance hall of Potter
Manor. The Potter Crest was worked into the stone floor, taking up much
of the room. It was the first thing most visitors would see. His thoughts
went to his father, laying stunned on the floor of the Death Chamber -
and his mother, crumpling under Neville's stunner.
He kept coming back to the same worry. How proud can I be of a house
that would abandon one of its sons?
oOoOoOoOo
Neville and Luna were clearing their plates from lunch when Harry made
his way to the kitchen. While Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had all decided
to head back to the school, Harry and Neville had chosen to get what
sleep they could at Potter Manor. Luna had joined them, not wanting to
isolate herself in Ravenclaw Tower.
Dobby had set out a few sandwiches and some tea before Harry could
even sit down. When Harry had first started to come to the Manor for
training, Dobby had been delighted to serve his meals - despite all
assurances from Harry that no, that wasn't necessary. Dobby would just
huff and serve his meal anyway, to the great amusement of his friends.
Luna chuckled at the elf's tenacity, even as she continued to write on her
parchment. She caught Harry looking over at her work, and smiled.
"Nothing in the Prophet today, Harry. So I'm working on a statement for
tomorrow, if they get their act together."
"Right," he replied. If his little team had an information officer, she'd be
it. "What do you think of Barnabas Cuffe?"
Luna paused her writing and looked up. "I think that his daughter works
in the Minister's office."
Neville shook his head. "So she feeds him stories from Fudge?"
"Maybe not," Harry said, thinking back to the 'interview' he and
Hermione had given Cuffe the night before. "Might be the other way
around. If he doesn't print what they tell him to print, she's out on her
ear."
"Either way…" began Neville.
"Yeah. Either way, it may still be a problem." He took a bite of his lunch.
"We'll know tomorrow morning."
Luna nodded in agreement. Before she could go back to writing,
however, there was a flash of light. Looking up, the three saw the
brilliant red plumage of a phoenix.
Harry sighed. I should have expected this, he thought. "Hello, Fawkes." he
said. The trill of phoenix song calmed his nerves a little, though not as
much as he expected. Given the events of last night, he wasn't surprised.
"Is that letter for me?"
Fawkes dipped his head, and then set the letter down. Neville was
already scanning it for tracking charms and such. He gave Harry a nod.
They watched as Harry opened the letter and scanned its contents. "I've
been summoned, it seems." Luna slid a sheet of parchment down the
table, along with a muggle pen.
Neville looked over the letter as Harry wrote a brief response. "It's
tonight, then."
Rolling the answer, Harry gave it to Fawkes. With a trill of melody, the
phoenix disappeared in a flash of fire.
"Yep," answered Harry, taking another sip of his tea. "It's tonight." Off her
look, Neville handed the letter to Luna.
Mister Potter,
The Order of the Phoenix invites you to its meeting tonight at Headquarters.
9pm Sharp.
Albus Dumbledore, O.M. 1st Class
"He's scared," said Luna.
"I got that impression last night, though in fairness, he had just fought
Voldemort to a bloody standstill." mused Harry. "The award?"
Neville chuckled. "Wondered about that. No one gives a toss about his
Order of Merlin, but he waves it around here like a beater bat." Neville
rolled his eyes. "Look at me, I'm important, Harry, my boy."
"He has no idea," said Luna, shaking her head. "He's trying to reach out to
the old Harry, not the new one."
"Bully for him," said Harry. "I'm the one he's got."
"I take it you're going, then?" asked Neville.
Harry nodded. "Of course. Dinner in the great hall, probably some threats
from the ferret and his lads, and then another late night." He stood up,
stretching.
"You'll be ready," said Luna. It wasn't a question.
"Of course," replied Harry. "It's not every day that you meet your parents
for the first time in fifteen years."
Harry couldn't help wondering, in that moment. But will they be ready for
me?
4. The Parley
Mail owls were normally allowed in the great hall only during breakfast.
This was done partially to keep what was essentially a dining room from
turning into an owlery, with birds flying in and out at all hours of the
day. It also minimized the distraction that owl post could present, as a
student waiting for some important letter would know that if it didn't
come today, it would come tomorrow.
Truly important messages, or messages with urgency behind them, would
come in via floo to the student's head of house. Occasionally, elves were
used to deliver mail as well - but even then, the wards allowed such
deliveries only via the head of house.
There were only two exceptions - Gringott's official owls, and the owls of
the Ministry.
The first is a legacy of one of the many conflicts between wizards and
goblins - a rebellion, if asking a wizard, or a war, if it is a goblin
speaking. The fact that the goblins even consented to limit deliveries to
the great hall had been a surprise to the negotiators - the goblins were
the ones dictating terms, after that particular conflict.
The second, meanwhile, was the result of a string of ministers in the
1850's who would simply not take no for an answer. Several Headmasters
eventually talked the Ministry into limiting evening deliveries to the most
important letters and documents.
Thus, the seven owls who flew into the great hall carrying black
envelopes.
Ron and Hermione watched as six of the owls landed on the Slytherin
table. The seventh, to their surprise, flew over to an Irish pureblood
named Evan Lewis, one of the seventh year gryffindors. The boy looked
resigned, but not shocked, as he opened the letter. When Katie Bell
reached over to squeeze his hand, Ron remembered that they had been
dating for a few weeks.
"Gran passed," Lewis said quietly. The younger students, many of whom
had not known what the black envelopes meant, now understood.
Someone had died, and seven Hogwarts' students were now heads of their
houses.
It was a heavy thing to learn over dinner.
Harry, Neville, and Luna entered the great hall just in time to see Aaron
Harper jump up from the Slytherin table and shout.
"They're lying!" the fourth year said, angrily. The letter was shaking in his
hands, and Harry could tell that the grief was at least somewhat genuine.
One of Harper's friends stood up and wrapped an arm around the
grieving boy's shoulder, and then hugged him. Harper let the letter fall to
the floor, and Harry saw the sky blue note that fell out of the folds of the
letter - a notice from the DMLE that the death was under investigation.
Glancing over at the Slytherin table, Harry saw two more of those blue
notices - one in front of Ambrose Rookwood, a sixth year, and another
beside Vincent Crabbe, one of Draco Malfoy's bookends. He did not see
who else received notices, for the other three had left the great hall as
soon as they saw the envelopes.
One does not grow up in the home of a death eater without knowing
what those envelopes mean. During the first war, slytherins would
frequently take bets on where each black envelope would fall. In those
days, it was usually one of the Dark Lord's victims getting the notice,
rather than the marked.
In the confusion, no one noticed their entrance. Luna took advantage of
that, making her way over to Ginny's seat at Gryffindor. Neville, seeing
where Harry was looking, stayed nearby.
"Might be easier in the kitchens, Nev," said Harry, quietly. He had
exchanged nods with the other members of his team, as well as Susan
Bones at the Hufflepuff table. She had tapped her ear, getting a nod from
Harry. Her meaning was unmistakable - We'll talk later.
"Maybe." Neville replied. He nodded toward Crabbe, who had stood up at
this point. "You think it'll work?"
Harry shrugged. "I have to try, mate. If they think they have no choice,
they'll fight that much harder." He glanced at his friend. "Think of
Watley." That got a nod. The story of Ellis Watley was one that had
shocked both of them - and Madam Bones, when she had found out.
Crabbe was approaching them now, followed closely by Pansy Parkinson,
of all people. Draco Malfoy, alongside Greg Goyle, did not seem to have
noticed that their friend had left. When the slytherins got close enough,
Harry stepped to the side and gestured them into the entrance hall.
They walked a few paces down the corridor before Crabbe spoke. "Is it
true?" he asked, without preamble.
Harry looked at him, considering how to respond. Then he turned to
Pansy. "Heiress Parkinson, in accordance with the old ways, House Potter
asks you to witness a Parley."
Her eyes grew wide at that, and she paled at the implication. Every
pureblood knew what a parley meant, and knew why it was so rare. They
learned these rules almost as soon as they could read. Her father had
drilled them into her right alongside her lessons on etiquette and magic.
Among all the rules purebloods had to follow, two were more important
than any other. "Never get involved in a blood feud." was one. "Never
make a blood feud worse." was the other.
House Potter was in a blood feud. She realized. Her eyes darted to her
friend, and she saw from his expression that he understood as well.
When? With whom?
Her eyes went to Potter's friend, and she spoke. "Why would you not ask
House Longbottom to witness, Heir Potter?"
"I would be happy to, but for the fact that House Longbottom stands
allied with House Potter." Neville gave her a smile, acknowledging the
suggestion as a compliment, whether it had been meant that way or not.
"It would be improper."
Longbottom and Potter, she thought. Merlin. Draco will be furious. Hell,
Draco's father will be furious too. She looked back at Potter, and realized
that she really only had one choice. Nodding, she said the ritual words.
"House Parkinson will witness the Parley."
Harry smiled at her in thanks, before the smile faded as he turned to
Crabbe. Vincent had taken the chance to calm himself as they talked, but
still felt the anger welling up inside his chest. His eyes met Potter's, and
he spoke again - this time using the formal language of a blood feud he
hadn't even known about until minutes prior.
"I would have the truth of this from you, Heir Potter." He said, holding up
the black letter.
Harry nodded, sighing. "In the early hours of this morning, I and several
others were attacked in the Ministry of Magic. During the fighting, I
struck one of my attackers with a cutting curse, and removed his left arm
at the shoulder. At the same time, another of my comrades landed a bone
breaking curse on the attacker's leg. In the ensuing combat, none of the
attackers chose to provide first aid to their fallen, and the man died."
Harry's gaze held Vincent's. "The man was your father, Heir Crabbe."
Vincent Crabbe had been insulated, somewhat, from the renewed death
eater activity of the past year, as his year was not tasked with anything
important at Hogwarts. He knew that that would change this summer, if
his father's will were to be done. He had been promised to the Dark
Lord's service, after all.
He had not known about any attack. He did not know why Potter had
been at the Ministry, why his father was there, why he had attacked
Potter. To some of those questions, he would never know an answer
beyond Because the Dark Lord willed it. But for others…
"You say there is a blood feud between us, but my father told me
nothing."
Harry and Neville shared a look. "Yesterday afternoon, House Potter
declared a Blood Feud against the House of Gaunt. We swore vengeance
against the sons of that house, and vowed to eradicate it from the Earth,
root and stem. We promised death to all who swore allegiance to that
house, or to its heir."
Pansy spoke up, then. "And the notices?" she asked. She had no part in
this, thankfully, but it was not a question Vince knew to ask.
Neville spoke, then. "The proper notices were sent to the Ministry via
floo, with the required letter going to the heir of the house via sworn
courier. The forms were obeyed." He did not say that the forms were
delivered via Madam Umbridge's floo, nor what had happened to Madam
Umbridge while that was happening - though he knew he would have no
trouble finding a patronus memory after that. That the courier was a
House Elf, chosen because he had once served the Malfoys, did not even
rate a mention.
"I don't know any Gaunts," said Crabbe.
"The last son of the House of Gaunt is the son of Merope Gaunt and a
muggle named Tom Riddle." Harry replied. "His birth name is Tom
Marvolo Riddle, but these days he is more commonly known by another
name."
Pansy understood, now. "No," she whispered. Crabbe's eyes widened at
her reaction, not the name - he didn't know.
Harry nodded again. "The last son of the House of Gaunt is Lord
Voldemort."
Vincent closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "And when you say those
sworn to his service…"
Another nod. "Anyone I see wearing the Dark Mark, I kill."
His eyes went to the notice in his hands. The cold, impersonal language
of bureaucrats the world over told him that he was now the Head of
House for the Ancient House of Crabbe. The pressure from his father,
gone in an instant - things might get better now, if not for him then at
least for his mother. Except for Potter here vowing my death, he mused.
Vincent glanced at Pansy, and saw the shock still etched into her face at
the news that the Dark Lord was a halfblood.
Neville saw Crabbe's shoulders sag, and the boy seemed to deflate. With a
glance between the two gryffindors, Crabbe lifted the sleeve of his robes.
He bore no dark mark, though they had not expected him to.
He watched as Potter looked closely at his arm, before looking up and
meeting his eyes. "Would you like to kill me now, or would you prefer to
have a nice supper first?" asked Crabbe, bitterly.
Potter chuckled at that. "I've got nowhere to be, Heir Crabbe, and it's
been twenty hours or so since I had a good parley. Let's talk, you and I."
Pansy couldn't resist. "Who was that parley with?"
Potter shared a glance with Longbottom. "Malfoy's dad. Now, to be fair,"
he shrugged. "He did kind of have a hostage at the time, so it was lacking
a certain sense of formality." Even with the weighty topics on offer, Harry
could tell that Pansy was amused by his phrasing.
"I see," said Crabbe. He went toe to toe with Malfoy's dad, and lived. He
fought Da, and killed him. "How many others died last night, Heir Potter?"
A heavy sigh. "Twelve in total."
Vincent shared a look with Pansy. They knew where this was going, for
both of them. Crabbe Senior had told Vincent, in no uncertain terms, that
he would be marked before the end of July, and thereby dedicated to the
Dark Lord's service. He knew that Greg and Draco had similar plans, Greg
at the behest of his grandfather and head of house. Draco would take the
mark on his own, even if his parents disapproved. He would have been
marked this year had they allowed it, he thought.
For Pansy, the pressure came from her uncle, a marked death eater who
had tried to recruit her father multiple times. If the pressure grew too
great, he might just agree - and if that happened, she would be marked
herself or given to one who was.
Standing here now, though, in Potter's presence, hammered home the
truth they had always known, deep down, but never dared speak out
loud - if they took the mark, they would die.
Somehow, Potter understood what their expressions meant, what that
glance had conveyed. "Is it your wish to continue this feud between our
houses?" he asked.
Crabbe could not prevent the look of shock that crossed his features. "My
father swore our house to his service, Potter." When Harry did not
respond, Crabbe found himself raising his voice for the first time. "What
would you have me do, Harry?!"
Harry kept his gaze even, and his voice calm. "Walk away."
That, even more than Pansy's gasp, brought him up short. "What?"
Potter shrugged. "My quarrel begins and ends with the Dark Tosser. If
you don't take the mark, and if you - as head of house - agree to remain
neutral, then the disagreement between our houses is at an end."
oOoOoOoOo
After they ate in the kitchens, Neville walked Harry down to the gate,
where he would use his portkey to go to Grimmauld Place and formally
meet his parents and brother.
They hadn't talked about the Parley, but Harry could tell that Neville was
itching to ask a question. "Spit it out, Nev," said Harry.
Neville grinned. "By your leave, My Lord," he said, formally. Both boys
chuckled at that. "I just wondered what you think Crabbe will do."
Harry's pace slowed as he considered that. "I'd bet five galleons that he
walks. You were looking at Pansy when I suggested it, but the look in
Crabbe's eyes when I offered sanctuary for his mother? That was nothing
but relief."
"So he didn't want to be marked?" asked Neville.
Harry nodded. "I don't think so." He smiled, elbowing Neville a bit. "What
about Pansy?"
A snort. "What about her?"
"Heir Longbottom, will you be offering Miss Parkinson sanctuary anytime
soon?" asked Harry, laughter in his voice.
Neville couldn't help but grin. "Where a Potter goes, a Longbottom
follows," he recited. "I'll say the same thing you told Susan - nothing for
me until the war is over."
"Uh huh." said Harry, unconvinced.
The Longbottom Scion rolled his eyes. "Merlin, Harry, just because I've
made commitments to the team doesn't mean I'm dead!"
Harry clapped a hand on Neville's shoulder. "That's my brother," he said
lightly. Then he remembered, and his expression fell. Neville sensed it,
and said nothing. "Shit, I have a brother."
"More than one," said Neville, quietly. "But the one is new, of course."
"Yeah," said Harry, absently. "How the hell do I relate to someone who
was apparently raised to replace me?"
"He wasn't, though, was he?" Neville asked. Off Harry's look, he
continued. "I mean, he wants to replace the boy who lived, right? Fine,
let'em have it." He shrugged. "I'm not standing here because I want to
fight alongside the sodding boy-who-lived. I'm here because my brother,
Harry Potter, asked me to stand here. No other reason."
Harry gave Neville another clap on his shoulder. "Thanks for that, mate.
Thanks for everything. You five, I mean, you got me through this year,
you know that right?"
Neville smiled. "I know, Harry. I know it."
They continued down the path to the gates, and the edge of the wards,
for a few minutes more. When they reached the line, it was Harry who
broke the silence.
"Do you ever think about him, Nev?" Harry asked, quietly.
Neville knew exactly whom Harry meant. "Sometimes." He looked up,
taking in the early evening sky. "Named my toad after him, didn't I?"
Harry chuckled. "Always wondered about that."
"Algie got him for me, you know that." said Neville, his voice thick with
emotion. "He felt bad for dropping me out of a window. So I named the
toad for my long dead twin, to rub his nose in the fact that he almost
dropped the Heir Longbottom on his head from four stories."
Harry had never known that he was a twin, but Neville had grown up
with that knowledge - and with the knowledge that he would never be
with his twin brother, killed the night his parents were tortured into
madness. Killed by Bellatrix, thought Harry, darkly. At least Trevor Lewis
Longbottom got some measure of vengeance last night.
"What do I do with them, Neville?" asked Harry.
Neville's answer was immediate. "What you have to, same as always."
oOoOoOoOo
Sirius Black watched as his old friends and their son - their other son - ate
a light dinner. James and Lily barely touched their food, though Jamie
seemed to be immune to the tension. Sirius had seen Harry eat like that,
despite the drama and heartache of last summer.
When asked about it, Harry's answer had given Sirius a lot to think about.
"Sometimes you never know when you're going to eat next, so you eat
when you can." He had phrased it in the context of soldiers at war, where
they didn't know when battle would come for them and had to get what
rest and food they could.
The reality was that he could just as easily have been referring to the
Dursleys. The thought brought the old anger back to Sirius - for the
thought of what Harry had endured truly sickened the Lord Black.
Sitting in his kitchen, watching James and Lily sit there, fighting their
nerves, made him begin to wonder how necessary those trials had been.
Despite everything, Prongs was his brother in all but blood, and Lily-
flower his wife. Jamie, surely, would be an important part of his life.
But Harry was his responsibility. Harry was his godson.
If Harry reacted as he had every right to do, and rejected the Potters -
what would he do? What could he do? Nominally, he was the Regent
Potter and the Potter Proxy - only nominally, in an effort to keep Harry's
acceptance of the Lord's ring under wraps. James was not the Lord Potter
- Harry still wore the ring, or had the night prior.
He sipped his coffee and considered the ultimate question, stripping
everything else away.
If I have to choose, what do I do?
Across the room, Lily and James were nervously talking about the
meeting to come. They were worried enough about their reintroduction
to the Order, for they knew that there would be some hard questions -
questions that, hopefully, Dumbledore would answer. The existence of
Jamie, and the fact that the prophecy includes Harry somehow, would all
have to be addressed.
"When Harry is here, we'll make sure we're all on the same page." said
James.
"I don't know," said a worried Lily. "You didn't see him, James. I don't
think he's who the Headmaster thought he is."
"Honey, I don't…"
"James, he killed Bellatrix Lestrange. He took her head and twisted it and
broke her neck, right there in front of me." She sighed, rubbing the
fatigue from her eyes. Even after arriving at Sirius' home, she had gotten
little rest. "What could we have in common with him, beyond a name?"
James wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulder. "We stand for the
light, Potters always do. He'll come around."
Lilly shook her head. "We don't know where he grew up, we don't know
what he likes or dislikes, we don't even know who raised him."
James held her closer, glancing up at Sirius - who had been watching him
closely. He saw Sirius' eyes flick up to the doorway, and turned around in
his seat.
"You know, the muggles have a saying," Harry said, taking a seat midway
down the table, between his father and godfather and across from James
Junior, who watched him with interest from his seat next to Lily. "They
say that you have to play the cards that are on the table."
Kreacher chose that moment to pop in with a mug of coffee, which Harry
accepted with a nod.
"So," continued Harry. "Let's lay our cards on the table." He leaned back
in his chair, glancing between his father and mother. "Who wants to
start?"
A/N:Special thanks to the Rigel Black discord, and to stories in
particular, for naming Neville's long dead twin. In addition to the
toad connection, we have Lewis, referring to Matthew Lewis, who
played Neville so well on screen. (We also briefly considered using
the name of the actor who played Frank Longbottom, but sure
enough that was James Payton - so, nyet.)
Vincent Crabbe has always been a bit of an odd character for me.
The traditional thinking goes that he went to Slytherin exclusively
because his family was dark, or because he convinced the hat that
his family would disown him if he went anywhere else. Some stories
have him better suited for Hufflepuff, which - when you consider
how loyal he ends up being to Malfoy, for the most part - might
make sense. I decided to use him here to show Harry taking a tool of
the blood purists - the Blood Feud - and using it as his own tool. It
gives him options he might have lacked otherwise, and allows him
freedom of action - always an important tactical consideration.
James might not be too happy, though, but we'll get there. A
neutral-ish Pansy can be fun as well - she, too, had to be sorted into
Slytherin for something, right?
Notifying students of their parents or grandparents' deaths via mail
owl is exactly the sort of bone dead stupid move we've come to
expect from the Ministry. But then again, this is the Ministry.
As I've said before, the response to this story continues to amaze.
Thank you all.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
Edited 6 October 2020 - Changed the name "Evan Watson" to "Ellis
Watley". No other changes.
5. The Reunion
"So," said Harry. "Let's lay our cards on the table." He leaned back in his
chair, glancing between his father and mother. "Who wants to start?"
Harry looked down at his coffee mug, gathering his thoughts as he
waited. It was a red ceramic cup with 'Royal Navy' on the side. Colonel
Ramsay had given it to him last summer, as both birthday gift and prank.
When Harry explained the joke to Sirius, the marauder laughed long and
hard - Harry had never set foot on a boat (other than a very shaky ride
across the Black Lake, his first year), and (apart from his gillyweed-fueled
excursion for the second task) had never even been swimming. Navy
material, he wasn't.
The mug was payback for Harry's own gift to the Colonel, that previous
Christmas - a Royal Air Force sweater. This was a joke that Sirius got
immediately, having briefly met the man, for Colonel Ramsay was
notorious for his fear of flying.
Lily and James continued to look at each other, neither one wishing to
speak first. For so long they had talked about this moment, about what
they would say to their son, lost so long ago. Just two weeks ago,
Dumbledore had discussed their all-important first meeting with Harry,
and how critical it would be to build trust with the boy. Everything
depended on bringing Harry back into the arms of his family, according
to the Headmaster.
"You're his father, his Lord and Head of House," Dumbledore had said.
"He will have to listen to you."
Now, sitting at the table, it wasn't that simple. The boy sitting there was
nothing like what James had expected. He had somehow tamed the
Potter hair by cutting it in a short, muggle style. He wore an open
burgundy shirt over a white t-shirt, baggy black trousers with many
pockets, and black leather boots. And his eyes, the same green as Jamie
and Lily, seemed to observe everything.
He had an air of calm assurance, a confidence that made itself felt in
every turn of his head, every movement. This was not the tired, weary
son he had been told to expect.
The Headmaster had told them some of what Harry had faced, though
they had clearly not been told everything. What they knew was that
Harry had been given more detentions this year than James had received
in seven, and that he had been banned from playing quidditch in part
due to his intolerable behavior towards his Defense professor. Harry had
been offered lessons in Occlumency, and rejected them after a
disagreement with the professor - which allowed Voldemort to enter his
mind and set a trap for him at the Ministry.
Dumbledore had known that Harry would fail to protect himself, and
visited Falcon's Rest. "It's time," he had said. Jamie would come out from
the shadows and take the mantle of boy-who-lived, giving hope to those
who would stand against Voldemort.
Jamie played his part well, joining Dumbledore in a duel with the Dark
Lord himself, causing him to flee. It was the rescue that went so
spectacularly wrong for James and Lily. Harry, it seemed, had needed no
rescue - for he had seen the trap, and turned it on the death eaters.
The Auror in James was impressed - had it been old Moody putting them
down, he would have had no concerns. But this was his son, his fifteen
year old son, amassing a body count already. What went wrong? He
wondered. Dumbledore had planned everything, surely he did not neglect
a detail like this?
One minute stretched into two, and then three. Presently, Harry set his
mug down on the table.
"Let me tell you a story," began Harry. His quiet voice drew everyone's
attention. The calm in his voice was startling for its lack of emotion, even
though they could all tell how tightly controlled his feelings were. It was
important to him to get this right.
"At midnight, on my eleventh birthday," Harry said, "A giant came to me
and told me the tale. Big as a house, the man was, with hands that could
squash me like a melon. I had never seen anyone like him." He glanced
up at James and Lily, before looking back down at his drink. "He told me
of my family, a story I had never heard before that day. He told me that
they had fought against the darkness, standing firm in the light - but that
the Dark Lord had decided to target them. So they fled, hiding in a secret
place, hoping against hope that the darkness would not find their
hideaway."
"But find them it did, thanks to a brother's betrayal." James noticed Sirius
look down at that, his fist clenching. "The father, he stood tall and proud
in the face of evil. Wandless and weaponless, he fought, he bled, and
quite fearlessly died."
"Then, evil came for the child, for me. And the mother stood in the face
of evil, and begged for the life of her son. Three times she traded her life
for his, and three times she was rebuffed. Then, the pale wand came up,
and green light shot forth, and the mother, too, had died."
Harry looked at them, his expression unreadable. "And then, with that
pale wand, the same wand I see when dementors are near, the same
wand I dueled against last year, the snake faced man cast the killing
curse, and everything went dark."
He paused, taking a deep breath. With his voice barely a whisper, he
continued. "So went the story Rubeus Hagrid told me, the day he bought
an orphan boy some ice cream at Fortescue's and gave him an owl - the
first birthday gift he had ever received, so far as he knew. The day he
spoke the four words that changed my life forever. 'You're a wizard,
Harry.'" Shaking his head, Harry couldn't help but smile.
James and Lily were hanging on every word, their eyes glistening with
unshed tears. Even Jamie was upset. The details that caught his attention,
though, were not the ones that brought sorrow to the faces of his parents.
"Your eleventh birthday?" he asked.
Harry nodded.
"I don't understand," Jamie said. "How could you grow up in a magical
home and not realize you were a wizard?"
For the briefest instant, Harry's face flashed with anger. Just as quickly, it
was gone, but Jamie had seen it - after all, he knew that face better than
anyone.
"We'll get to that," said Harry, his voice betraying nothing. "For now, I'd
like to know what really happened that night fifteen years ago." He
looked to his parents.
Sirius watched the emotions play out across the faces of his old friends.
Their sorrow at Harry's account, their realization that he hadn't known
about magic until he turned eleven, their shame at his question. He could
see how close Harry was to losing it - his godson had had to set the coffee
mug down, his hand was shaking so. That any of them were holding it
together was quite a feat.
When the silence was broken, it was Lily's voice that spoke.
"James was knocked unconscious." she began. "Trapped under debris, and
already a bloodied mess, he looked dead to the world. The Dark Lord saw
that he was out of the fight, and then ignored him. He woke several
hours later when Dumbledore arrived." She wiped her eyes, trying to
steady herself. Her eyes went between Jamie and Harry. "I had set up a
cluster of runes on your cots that would disillusion you from the view of
anyone not of Potter blood. Then I added a shield. I managed to get both
clusters charged with Jamie, but ran out of time - you-know-who was
coming up the stairs." She looked at Harry. "So I charged only the shield
on your cot. But I was too late."
"Maybe not," said Harry. "Whatever you did, it ended up being
supercharged when you seemed to give your life. That sort of sacrifice is
powerful." He lifted his fringe, showing the scar - now that he realized
that it was a rune, the fall of Voldemort made more sense. "I take it you
were armored, then?"
She looked puzzled. "Not enough to stop the killing curse. Honestly, I
have no idea how I survived." She looked thoughtful, trying to remember
the exact runes she had used. "If I was close enough to the cot, and the
sacrifice overpowered the shield... " Her voice trailed off, and Harry
could not help but smile. This was the Lily Evans he had heard about
from Flitwick, McGonagall, and others. She reminded him of Hermione,
in that she had found a problem to which she could give her total focus.
"The shield area might have grown if it needed to bleed that power off,
Lils," said Sirius. Everyone turned to look at him. "What? I took runes for
half a year. I still remember some things." He looked at Lily, who was
grinning at him. "Whatever that shield did, it barely worked - when I
came and got Harry, you certainly seemed dead. Your hands were cold to
the touch, even just a few minutes later."
James spoke, then. "I don't know, Pads. When the Headmaster woke me
up, I went and woke her up. By then, Hagrid had taken Harry to Madam
Pomfrey, and the entire country was learning that he had somehow
defeated the Dark Lord."
Lily's voice was shaking as she spoke. "We took Jamie and went to… our
new home." Harry did not miss that she could not name the place - and
realized that either it was under the Fidelius and she was not the secret
keeper, or that she did not yet trust him with the location. "We planned
to come for you when everything settled down, expecting that to be a few
weeks, maybe a few months at most."
She looked at Sirius, the tears flowing freely now. "The Headmaster did
not allow us to take the Prophet, not once. He said that the owls would
reveal us, that there were magical people living there, even if they didn't
reveal who those people were. It was too great a risk." Lily said. "He
didn't tell us that you had been arrested, that you went to Azkaban."
"It was three months," said James, "before we finally forced him to reveal
what had happened. By then, it was too late. Harry, you were hidden
behind your wards, with your new family, and we could not come to you
without risking Jamie's life too."
Harry looked at him, seeing the anguish on his features. There was
certainly regret there, and the man seemed genuine to Harry's eyes. He
did not ignore the fact that
Dumbledore seemed to have kept tight control on the information given
to the Potters. He glanced at Sirius, who shook his head. He wasn't ready
to discuss the fact that he had spent over a decade in prison accused of
charges for which the Potters - or Dumbledore, for that matter - could
easily have proved his innocence. Instead, Harry turned back to his
parents and asked another question entirely.
"Lord and Lady Longbottom were tortured into insanity by the Lestranges
several days after the attack," said Harry. "Frank's mother, Augusta, was
able to escape with Neville, all the while thinking that Alice had escaped
with Neville's twin brother, Trevor. Alas, she had not." His eyes met those
of James. "Trevor died at the end of Bellatrix Lestrange's wand." He
glanced over to
Jamie. "Neville and Augusta have carried the weight of that death ever
since. Neville, especially, for how else could it be when you lose a twin?"
Jamie saw where this was going. "So why didn't you know about me?" he
asked. Harry nodded. "Well, Mom and Dad already knew they were
targets before we were born; that's why we were delivered at Potter
Manor, where no one would know what happened." He grinned. "Have
you had a chance to wonder why my first name is your middle name?"
Harry eyed him questioningly. "Honestly, it's been a busy day."
Jamie chuckled. "Right, well, if there was any parchment that had a
James Potter being born, Dad figured that having James as your middle
name would confuse people looking for evidence that we made it out, or
that I did. So, you got to be Harry James instead of Harry Charlus."
Harry blinked at that, trying to wrap his mind around it. "There's no way
wizards would be that stupid."
"Oh, my son," said Lily, causing Harry's eyebrows to raise. "Wizards
would be exactly that stupid." Harry gave the line the chuckle it
deserved, not mentioning that - by relying so much on Dumbledore's
assurances, Lily had fallen into that category as well. The whole plan, as
Harry understood it so far, was exactly that stupid.
"Only six people knew that there were twins at all." said James Senior.
"Augusta Longbottom, Sirius, Frank and Alice, Andromeda Tonks, and
Professor Dumbledore." He shrugged. "When it was decided that we
would stay in hiding without you, Augusta and Sirius had their memories
modified to erase Jamie. Frank and Alice, well…" After a moment, he
looked down sadly. Harry thought the motion was off somehow, before
remembering that they probably hadn't known everything about the fate
of Neville's parents.
"Andromeda, meanwhile, was the healer who delivered you two boys,"
James continued. "She stayed our healer while we were in hiding, sworn
to secrecy."
Sirius laughed at that. "You mean Andy knew this whole time?"
A nod. "And you have no idea how many times she begged us to tell you
what had happened, Padfoot. But we couldn't, otherwise everything we
were doing, everything Harry was doing, would be for nothing."
oOoOoOoOo
Harry let that sit for a moment before speaking again. "Right, let's talk
about that for a moment. What, exactly, was I supposed to be doing while
you were in hiding?"
Another look was exchanged between the Potters. It was Lily who spoke
again, her voice still somewhat shaky. "The whole of the wizarding world
knew that you, Harry, had been the one to defeat the Dark Lord. If you
disappeared, it would be noticed. Meanwhile, we had died trying to save
your life - if we showed up, out of the blue, why would your guardians
trust us to take you home? Witches and wizards believe that what they
know to be true is the truth; to tell them, after years, that everything they
knew about that night was a lie? It wasn't an option."
"So, while we went into hiding, you were protected and cherished, taught
about your place as a son of House Potter, and shown the magic that you
would need to protect yourself." James looked confused, as if he was
processing what Harry had said earlier. "Harry, why would Hagrid be the
one to tell you about us?"
Harry stared at him, his mouth open. Then he looked at Lily, who had
also adopted a puzzled look. Jamie, for his part, looked horrified. He
seems to have figured it out.
"Sirius, they don't know." He looked over at his godfather, whose face
was a mask of worry for his godson. "They really don't know." Sirius
reached over and put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.
James watched the exchange, growing annoyed. "Jamie said that you
were friendly with Amelia Bones, did you stay with her? She was our
friend, even though she was in her seventh year during our first. You
would have been well taken care of."
Harry sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I imagine I would
have been, yes. Madam Bones has never played me false." Harry looked
his father in the eye. "The day after the attack, I was taken in a basket
and placed on the doorstep of one Vernon and Petunia Dursley."
James stared at him, gaping, while Lily placed a hand on her mouth.
Jamie looked puzzled. "I'm not familiar with House Dursley," he said,
struggling to remember the names of magical families that he had had to
memorize so long ago.
Harry shook his head. "They are not House Dursley, brother. They're just
the Dursleys, or Aunt and Uncle if you have the misfortune of being in
their presence. Petunia is our mother's sister. They live at 4 Privet Drive,
Surrey - or, as Sirius and I call it, Durzkaban." He looked again at his
parents. "You really didn't know?"
James shook his head, weakly. Lily's face told the tale, such was the
horror etched into her features. She knew exactly the sort of childhood
Harry must have had, for she had gotten a taste of it from the moment
her letter had arrived.
"Well, I grew up as their servant, doing all of the chores in the house, and
getting punished for every failure." His expression grew colder as he
spoke; Harry really hated bringing up his relatives' treatment of him, but
knew that these people, of all people, had to know what had been done.
"I didn't know my own name until I went to school, and politely told the
teacher that my name was "freak" when she asked why I hadn't
responded to the roll call."
"Ten years, I labored, thinking my parents had been drunks who got
themselves killed in a car wreck. But then the accidental magic started
happening. Then they really started to hate me." Harry shook his head
again, before sipping his coffee. "Suffice it to say, those were not good
years."
"I'll kill her," said Lily, quietly. James almost stood up to go handle the
task that instant.
"No," said Harry, shocking James with the strength of the single word. It
was the voice of command, a voice that wouldn't be out of place in a lead
auror.
"We're here now," said Jaime. "We can make them regret their actions,
see that it never happens again." He smiled at his mother, patting her
hands with his own. "Think how your sister would react when you show
up on her doorstep, mom." To his credit, his words did bring a bit of a
smile to Lily.
"We could, yes." Harry agreed. "But we can do that whenever we wish. I,
for one, will never willingly stoop to the level of the Dursleys. Those
people have no control over me."
"Then, why…?"
"Why not go after them? Because, Jamie, my list of enemies is quite long
enough, thank you." Harry smiled at the ones who should have raised
him. "I have years worth of evidence, along with witnesses who live or
lived nearby. All of them will testify if given the chance. When
Voldemort has been dealt with, when the death eaters are in the ground,
then we can give the Dursleys their due. But not before." He sat back,
looking at his mother. "She told me that what I am is freakish, unnatural.
If we use magical means to bring them to justice, they will dismiss it as
more of our freakishness. No, they pride themselves on being perfectly
normal. So we will let the perfectly normal courts and constables handle
them."
"Are they at risk of attack, you think?" asked James. Then his expression
darkened. "You think the death eaters will handle them for you."
Harry shook his head, bothered not by the accusation, but that it had
been made in the first place. "No, I really don't. The idea that they would
have been protected if only they showed me love has a certain poetry to
it, but no I will not condemn civilians to death if it can be avoided."
"Protected?" asked Lily.
"The Headmaster told me that your death via a willing sacrifice had
created a protection over me, one that he used to power a series of
highly-illegal blood wards at the Dursley's home." He sighed, taking a sip
of his coffee. "I was told that I had to remain in that house every summer
to recharge the wards, else they would fall and I would be unprotected."
Lily looked confused as she considered that. "But I didn't die. How could
that work?"
Harry chuckled. "I asked myself the very same thing just this morning.
One of many items I plan to discuss with our esteemed Headmaster, if
and when."
oOoOoOoOo
"The question is this," said Sirius. All four Potters turned to look at him.
Of the four, the only expression Sirius noticed was Harry's quiet nod of
approval. He had been exonerated the month prior, at his godson's behest
and after much discussion between Harry and Madam Bones. The
paperwork had been slipped past the Minister's staff, and he had signed it
without reading it. Not the maneuver one would expect of a Hufflepuff -
which was part of why Amelia did it that way.
It had taken some time for Sirius to adjust to freedom. But adjust he had.
It was not Padfoot sitting there asking for guidance, but the Lord Black
providing guidance of his own.
His question cut to the heart of matters. "What do we do now?"
The words hung in the air, as they considered it. The Order would be
arriving before long, and the Potters would be revealed to their allies old
and new alike. The plan, too, would come out tonight - part of why Harry
had been invited.
After the discussion of this past half hour, though, Lily wasn't so sure
about the plan anymore. Her Jamie, however, was ready.
"We defeat Voldemort." Jamie said, simply.
Harry chuckled. "Just so?"
Jamie shrugged. "He ran last night, we could defeat him if we worked
together."
Harry shook his head. "He was stalling, waiting for the team he sent after
me. When he didn't see Bella and Lucius come out, he knew they had
failed." His eyes got a faraway look. "When he's really fighting, you'll
know."
The question came before he could stop himself. "Why," Jamie asked.
"Have you fought him before?"
Harry again blinked at his brother. "Dumbledore told you nothing, didn't
he?"
James answered that one. "He told us what we needed to know. More
than that, and we would have wanted to come back too soon."
Yes, because keeping secrets works so well for the Potters, Harry thought,
bitterly.
"Right, well," said Harry. "I've fought Voldemort four times. Five if you
count the time he tried to kill me during a quidditch match, which I
don't."
"Really?" asked Jamie, clearly unbelieving.
Harry nodded. "1981, obviously. Then again in first year, when his
wraith possessed our DADA professor. I managed to kill him with my
bare hands and some luck. The next year, a diary with some of his
memories made its way into the school, and I killed it too - after slaying a
sixty-foot basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. Last year, I was kidnapped
and forced to take part in a ritual that resurrected Voldemort in a human-
ish form. After that, I dueled him to a standstill, before escaping via
portkey with the body of the student who got taken with."
Jamie looked at his brother with amazement in his eyes, and surprise. He
had been told that he would be the one trained to protect his brother, but
it seemed that Harry had had training of his own. He looked forward to
showing his younger brother what he could do in the dueling ring.
Lily had paled at the mention of a wraith. Harry didn't notice it, but
Sirius did - and the marauder wondered exactly what she knew.
James Senior, for his part, looked thoughtful. "A diary, you say?"
Harry nodded. "He placed part of himself into it as a fifth year, just after
he killed Myrtle Warren. The diary tried to take over a first year girl, in
hopes of being reborn. I stabbed the thing with a basilisk fang."
"...and it screamed at you with Voldemort's voice, before dying." finished
James. Harry stared at his father - it was the first time he had heard the
man use the Dark Lord's name.
He knew about the scream. Harry's eyes narrowed. "You know what it
was."
James nodded. "The Headmaster and I destroyed another artifact of that
type a month ago. It was an old ring. We found it in a shack owned by
the Gaunts, near Little Hangleton."
"Horcruxes," said Sirius. Everyone turned to him, and saw his look of
horror. "He made horcruxes."
"Three of them, Padfoot." replied James. "If the diary was one, then that's
two down. We just need the third."
Harry's thoughts went back to the days just before Christmas break, and
the vision he had had of the attack on Mister Weasley. Before he even
realized it, he answered the question. "It's the snake," he said. Off their
looks, he explained his role in getting help to the fallen Mister Weasley,
and how he had known what had happened.
"It could be," said James. Again, Sirius' eyes were drawn to Lily and her
troubled expression. Something important was being left unsaid, he
thought. They would have to speak later; with the Potters staying in his
home for now, he would have plenty of opportunity for such a talk.
"So we have to kill his snake, before we kill him," said Harry. Again,
James nodded. "Alright, I can work with that."
"We can work with that, you mean." said Jamie. Harry turned to him,
realizing what he meant.
"Maybe," was his reply. Taking the scroll from his pocket, he laid it flat
on the table. "It depends."
"Depends?" asked Lily. "On what?"
Harry grinned. "On whether you believe this prophecy is a crock of shite
or not."
oOoOoOoOo
James and Lily stared at him. Jamie, having seen him hold the prophecy
orb at the Ministry, knew some of what was coming. He also knew why
his parents were so stunned - much of his life had been shaped by the
notion that this prophecy required him to be the one to kill the Dark
Lord, and none other. His training had been focused on that end. He had
grown up with this heavy purpose never far from his mind.
Now, with two of the three anchors gone, the time was now. Or so he
had thought.
Harry took in the looks on his parents faces, before tapping his finger on
the scroll. "We'll need to go over this prophecy sometime, because it
really does control everything, doesn't it? It's why you came to rescue me
at the Ministry. I thank you for the gesture, by the way, though it turned
out to be unnecessary." His fingers continued to tap lightly on the table.
"Jamie, meanwhile, thanked me for protecting him while he trained to be
the boy-who-lived." His brother seemed suddenly uncomfortable under
the gaze of his parents, who looked annoyed at his comment. Harry
continued. "I'm just wondering where we go from here."
"What do you mean?" asked a very cautious Lily.
Harry looked at her, his eyes narrowing. "There are a few problems we
have to address, I think, if we - the five of us - are to move forward as a
family."
Sirius looked shocked. "Pup?" he began.
"Sirius, until a day ago, you and the Colonel were my only real family.
Any decision about my future, now that my birth family is back in my
life, will involve you. Whatever happens, that's never going to change."
Harry gave his godfather a grin. "You're stuck with me, Padfoot."
The marauder could do little else - he stood up and went to his godson.
Lily and James watched their hug, and saw the emotion there. Both were
genuinely happy that Padfoot had been there for Harry, if only briefly.
Jamie, meanwhile, wondered who the Colonel was, exactly.
Stepping back, Sirius placed his hands on Harry's shoulders. "I'll always
be proud of you, kid." His face went passive for a moment, a look that
Harry knew meant something to do with the wards. "The others are
beginning to arrive. I'm going to take them downstairs. If you'll excuse
me?" With an exaggerated bow, Sirius Black left the dining room. The
click of the locks told them that their privacy would be respected, even if
an order member tried to enter.
"Downstairs?" asked Jamie.
Harry chuckled as he took his seat. "Rather than kicking us out, Sirius
had Kreacher set up a table in the training room we have in the
basement. Plenty of room down there."
James grinned at that. "And a convenient open space, for when your
mother begins hexing Dumbledore?"
Harry nodded. "We may have considered that, yes." he looked at his
mother. "He treated you like mushrooms too, didn't he?" Jamie looked
puzzled, and Harry laughed. "He kept you in the dark and fed you shite."
The grin faded from his father's face. "We owe the Headmaster a great
deal, Harry."
Harry's face fell. After hearing what they had known, and - more
importantly - what they had not, Harry had been hopeful that they might
be objective about the Headmaster. Debts, though, could be powerful
things, and James seemed like the sort of man who would want to pay
his debts. If he felt he owed the Headmaster, he'd do as he was told. Not
good, thought Harry.
The burgundy shirt came off of Harry's shoulders, leaving him in only a t-
shirt. He spoke as he removed the shirt, playing it off as simply being too
warm.
"We have had very different experiences with the Headmaster, sir." said
Harry, his voice cold. "But this is what I know. First, he received a
prophecy that said a child born at the end of July would vanquish the
Dark Lord. It could be argued that this has already happened - the Dark
Lord was indeed vanquished, in part by a child born as the seventh
month dies. Do we dispute that, no. Whether the prophecy is even active
is a topic for another day."
"But, on the assumption that the prophecy was still in force, Dumbledore
caused the Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter to
abandon the Heir Secondary. In doing so, said Heir was placed with
abusive muggles and left to rot for a decade."
"Surely, they were not loving," said James. "But abuse? I doubt
Dumbledore would allow it."
Harry said nothing. Instead, he removed his t-shirt. As the shirt was
pulled over his head, he heard the gasps from his mother and brother -
they saw the scars. Standing, Harry turned slowly, allowing them to see
the evidence of the Dursley's care and concern. The scratches on his
forearms from thorns and thistles while gardening. The scars from
Vernon's belt. The red F and R on his back, where Dudley and his pals
had held Harry down and tried to carve "Freak" into his flesh.
That had been the only time that Petunia actually punished Dudley.
Needless to say, it didn't take.
"Dumbledore had someone watching the Dursleys, and me. Either he was
aware of the conditions in which a son of the House of Potter was kept,
or he was willfully ignorant of the care a child for whom he was
responsible was receiving. Either action is not that of someone friendly to
the interests of House Potter." Harry pulled the t-shirt back on, but
remained standing. His eyes caught those of his mother, and he saw tears
there once more.
oOoOoOoOo
"His conduct as Headmaster has been…. wanting, for lack of a better
term. But let's stick to recent events." Harry placed his right hand flat on
the table, allowing the Potters to see the scar on the back of his hand.
Both had the decency to look appalled. Jamie stood up to see, and
cringed.
The scar was writing, in Harry's messy scrawl. "I will know my place,"
Jamie read quietly. Merlin.
"Dumbledore allowed the Ministry to place an Undersecretary as the
Defense professor. The woman accused me of lying about Voldemort,
despite the fact that I had made no public statements on that subject. She
gave me detention after detention, during which I was made to write
lines with a fucking blood quill." Harry's anger threatened to come forth,
now, and he fought it down.
"The man to whom we owe so much was the one who allowed this. His
staff, acting on his authority, advised me to keep my head down. No
reports were made to the DMLE until Madam Bones saw the seeping
bandage on my hand one day."
"I don't believe it," said James, quietly. Not quietly enough, for Harry let
out a sad chuckle at the phrase.
"These facts are not in dispute, whether you believe them or not." said
Harry, his voice steady once more. "I have been beaten, threatened,
poisoned, stabbed, and made to take part in a dark ritual to resurrect the
man I thought had killed my entire family. Then, after a year of literal
torture, committed by a government agent in her official capacity, and
abetted by the staff of the school, I have that same man try to get me
killed by violating the sanctity of my mind."
Harry shook his head, his voice growing colder still. "My whole life,
Voldemort has done his level best to destroy me, and yet HERE I
REMAIN!" James and Lily jumped a bit at his shouted declaration, and at
the anger behind it, but Jamie just stared at him.
Taking his seat, Harry let out a deep sigh. "Voldemort must die. I can do
little else until that is accomplished." He looked back to his father. "My
question is this - what are your intentions, sir?"
oOoOoOoOo
James, too, stared at his son. "What do you mean?"
"Simply this - I swore an oath to destroy Voldemort, and all who swear
allegiance to him. Root and stem, I believe the phrasing went." He
watched his father carefully, but it was his mother who got it first. They
said she was smart, he mused. To James, he continued. "Will you stand
with me in that fight?"
"Obviously, Voldemort has to die." said James. "The Headmaster says
that…"
Harry cut him off. "I didn't ask about the Headmaster. I asked about you
and your plans." he pointed at Jamie, who was still staring at him,
wondering what would happen next. "Jamie here says that he is to be
declared the boy-who-lived. Personally, he's welcome to it. It's just words
- words, I might add, that appear exactly nowhere in this stupid
prophecy."
"But make no mistake, sir, Voldemort declared war on our House.
Yesterday, I took steps to answer him. The twelve dead death eaters were
just the beginning." Harry watched James intently.
James met his gaze, and tried his best to sound disappointed - but twelve
dead death eaters, even at his son's hand, would never upset him too
much. "The Potters are not murderers, Harry."
Harry stood his ground. "A madman is fighting an armed insurrection
against the rightful government of Wizarding Britain. Killing terrorists is
not murder, under any international standard you choose, magical or
muggle."
"Dumbledore will not approve."
Harry shrugged. "That's unfortunate." He leaned forward in his seat, his
voice dripping with venom. "But Albus Fucking Dumbledore is not a
member of House Potter. If you plan to listen to him above all others, sir,
then I might as well hand him the Lord's ring and have done."
Such was the anger rising in James that he missed that comment. Lily,
however, shared a glance with Jamie, who had also noticed the reference
to the Lord's ring - and who would be doing the handing over of it. Holy
shit, thought Jamie.
"I am your father, you will listen to me." The anger was in James' voice,
now, and Harry's voice rose to match it.
"I will happily accept your oh so learned counsel," said Harry, with only a
hint of sarcasm. "But if your advice is going to be 'do whatever
Dumbledore says,' then I'm going to ask you to fold that advice until it's
all corners, take it in your left hand, and-"
"Alright! That's enough! Both of you!" Lily's shouted warning stopped the
two in their tracks. After a moment, Harry took the opportunity to stand.
Pulling on his burgundy shirt, he looked at James.
"I've sworn to end Voldemort. If you don't plan to assist me in that, then
stay the hell out of my way."
James stood as well. "This is bigger than you," he said, bitterly.
Harry chuckled, letting the tension fall away. "Oh, James Potter, you
have no idea how right you are." With that, Harry walked towards the
doorway. "I'll see you downstairs." And with that, he was gone.
Lily looked at James. James looked back at Lily. Both turned toward
Jamie when he finally spoke.
"Dad?" he asked. "What the FUCK just happened?"
After a moment, James looked at him. "He called me sir, that's what
happened."
"James?" asked Lily.
"He called me Sir." James shook his head, sadly. "Not once did he call me
'father' or 'dad'. Hell, he was distant enough to you that he may as well
have called you 'Madam Potter'." He looked at his son. "Now, Jamie, he
accepted - he called you brother several times. But your mother and I?
No."
"Oh, oh my God," said Lily, her voice trembling once more. Stress,
fatigue, emotion, all of them came out in those four words. Lily Potter
seemed to collapse in on herself. Only James caught her whispered
question, and even then he wished he hadn't - for he had asked himself
the same question.
"What have we done?"
A/N: Many threads here. Some details will be addressed in the next
chapter, with the Order of the Phoenix and their meeting with the
Potters. Others, we'll get to. Many stories of this type have the twin
against Harry, or the Parents against the sons, or what have you. At
this point, I'm not convinced that the Potters themselves are 100%
on team Potter. All of them have had quite a shock, and it will take
time for them to work through everything.
Harry knows what happens when you fight a war on multiple
fronts. That thought will govern a lot of his actions moving forward.
Thank you to Grimjaw for taking a read through this chapter for me.
Your changes were a great improvement.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
6. The Order
Harry Potter fought to calm himself down as he dried his hands. He
looked up at the bathroom mirror, thankful that it was not one of the
enchanted mirrors that offers comments on your appearance and hygiene.
Harry knew that he would have put a fist through one of those mirrors,
such was his mood.
He was angry. Angrier than he had expected to be, and he had known
going in that he'd be angry by the end of the meeting.
Nearly everything he had done - taking up the Lordship (and everything
that came with it), training with his team and with Colonel Ramsay,
working with Madam Bones, even declaring the blood feud - all had been
aimed at giving himself options. Oh, he phrased it as "Strategic Thinking"
but the reality was that he was tired of others directing his life.
James Potter telling him to listen? James Potter trying to control him?
About the only worse thing the man could have said was that he wore
the dark mark. Who the hell does he think he is?
He knew the answer, of course. He thinks he is Lord Potter. No dead man
could be a Lord, however, certainly not of an Ancient and Most Noble
House. So, Harry thought, as he willed his breathing to slow. Did James
assume he remained Lord? Or did someone tell him that he remained Lord?
Without thinking, Harry reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out his
necklace. He ran his fingers over the small metal discs, each engraved by
Colonel Ramsay. Even without looking, he would know the text
backwards and forwards.
POTTER, HARRY J
LORD, A&MNH POTTER
31 JULY 1980
GRYFFINDOR
Colonel Ramsay watched as the young man paced the length of his study. This
boy…. No, this man, had been his student for almost six years now. He had
started as an abused, weak little boy, unsure of himself and cringing at the
slightest provocation - but with a thirst for knowledge and a determination to
bend the direction of his life toward something more.
He had taught the boy as best he could. School subjects, at first, but those
quickly lost their challenge. So he turned to his own discipline, and found in
Harry Potter an eager student. Strategy, tactics, history - he taught them all.
Then, last summer, he had a visit from the PM's office - and suddenly, some of
the details that never added up made sense. Harry didn't go to a secretive
boarding school in Scotland, he went to a wizarding academy of some sort,
hidden away from the rest of the world. He was a wizard, the noble son of a
witch and a wizard.
It had finally come out, the events of June. The tournament he had been
forced into, the duel in the graveyard. If he hadn't known Harry's true
background, then he would have found it impossible to understand his
student's rage. Ramsay tried to focus Harry's attention on what he had done
right - especially his escape - but his mind kept going back to his fallen friend.
"Kill the spare, he had said. And just like that," Harry snapped his fingers.
"Cedric was a corpse." He reached the end of the room, and turned around.
"And I couldn't stop it."
Ramsay's eyes went to the letter on his coffee table - the one with the strange
"G" symbol across the top in gold leaf. A change of subject was warranted,
Ramsay thought. So he brought up the letter that had started Harry's thoughts
down this path. "And this bank wants what from you?"
Harry did not look over. "They said that I need to take my place as a Lord."
He laughed bitterly. "Like they'd let a fourteen year old kid become a Lord."
"They might not have a choice, Harry," said Ramsay. "If this letter is right,
then you've been declared an adult. That gives you options."
The boy scoffed. "The Ministry would never allow it. This is someone trying to
take what little I have. It has to be." He shook his head. "No. I'm stuck where I
am, right up until I hit 17."
"And then?"
"And then I'm gone, sir. There's nothing for me here. Nothing but friends who
won't even write back to me, teachers who won't listen to me, and a dead man
who stole my blood to rise again, complete with a legion of his bootlickers who
will stop at nothing to deliver me to his feet." Harry let out a sad chuckle,
then. "You know, some of them even have kids in my year at school? Who
knows, maybe they'll just tell their children to toss me off a tower?"
Ramsay shook his head, analyzing what he was hearing. "This doesn't sound
like the student I knew last summer."
That brought Harry up short. Then he stood up straight, and addressed himself
to the Colonel. "Sir, I've examined my tactical options, and found them….
inadequate. My best choice is to withdraw, sir."
"Indeed," said Ramsay, thoughtfully. "What does a commander do when he
has nothing but bad options, Harry?"
Harry looked down. "He gets better ones, sir."
"Right." said Colonel Ramsay. Then he held up the Gringotts' letter. "Here the
bank is offering you a better option. Say you go hear them out - hell, I'll even
take you - and it ends up that you aren't emancipated, and can't actually take
up the Lordship. What happens?"
Harry looked at the Colonel, realization dawning in his eyes. "Nothing."
"So," Ramsay continued. "You have an option here that costs you nothing but
a few hours of your time. At worst, I buy you a nice lunch. But at best, you
gain resources that could potentially change the entire strategic picture." He
narrowed his eyes at his student. "I taught you better than that, Mister Potter."
Now Harry was grinning. "Yes, Sir."
Harry chuckled to himself as he thought back to that meeting. The
goblins had shown the Colonel the sort of respect that one soldier shows
to another, which surprised the muggle and amused the wizard. Goblins
respect warriors, as it turns out.
The identification tags ("Don't call them dog tags, Harry," the Colonel had
said) were his birthday gift that year. The Colonel had gone to great
pains to explain the meaning of what he had chosen for the engraving.
"Your Lordship is the closest thing you have for a rank, so it has pride of place
next to your name. You don't have a serial number or anything, so your
birthdate and your school house go next." Ramsay slid each tag onto the thin
metal chain. Then he reached into his shirt, revealing his own tags. "My tags
are a constant reminder of the oath I took, so many years ago, to bear faith
and true allegiance to the crown. And a true allegiance is unwavering.
Whatever my schedule says, I am never off duty as far as my oath is
concerned."
He extended his hands, placing the chain on Harry's neck. The twin metal tags
clinked together lightly as they settled. Harry took them in his hands, looking
closely at the text, as Ramsay continued. "Think back to that oath you took at
Gringotts, when they gave you that gold ring. These tags are a reminder - your
Lordship isn't a uniform that comes off and on. It's always with you. You're
always Lord Potter."
Harry took another steadying breath, before looking his reflection in the
eye. The anger was still there, burning in his chest - but he felt calm
about it, detached. He did not let his anger control him, for he could not
afford to - the mission was more important.
He smiled to himself, putting the necklace on and letting the tags settle
underneath his shirt. He was ready.
Harry heard the handle on the bathroom door jiggle slightly, followed by
a short knock. He had lost track of time. Opening the door, he found his
brother standing there, waiting.
"Jamie," Harry said, quietly. "Room's all yours." He waited for his brother
to step aside and allow him past, but Jamie just stood there.
"Umm, are you alright, Harry?" he asked quietly. It was as if he had no
idea what to say - or how he would be received.
Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of his brother, either. Just now, his
anger was aimed mostly at his parents, and at the Headmaster. Once the
Order meeting began, though? All bets were off.
They looked at each other for a moment, before Harry broke the silence.
"I will be," He said, just as quietly. The house was filling with Order
members, and it would not do to give them cause to whisper.
Jamie seemed to realize where they were, and finally stepped aside.
"Right, see you in a bit then." Harry just nodded as he walked past,
letting Jamie into the loo.
oOoOoOoOo
Harry walked down the stairs to the basement, and saw that Sirius had
outdone himself.
In years past, the expansive space underneath 12 Grimmauld Place had
been used as a ritual room, before being converted into a storage space
after most of the more interesting rituals had been outlawed by the
Ministry. That didn't mean that the House of Black stopped doing those
rituals, of course, merely that they stopped doing them so close to the
Ministry itself. Old Walburga would never have allowed a training room
in her home, and so the space went largely unused.
When he took possession of the house, Sirius cleared out the basement.
He didn't have a firm plan for the space, but just wanted the rubbish out
of his house. At Harry's request, Sirius had had a conversation with
Colonel Ramsay about building a muggle weight room for physical
training while Harry was cooped up in the house at Dumbledore's orders.
That led him to describe the basement - Sirius hadn't known what sort of
space they would need for whatever muggle idea Harry and the Colonel
had cooked up.
When Ramsay had noted that the basement was long enough to house a
small firing range (and, later, after he had explained to Sirius just what
the hell a firing range was), the two had come up with a better idea.
What amused Harry about having the meeting in the basement was that
Sirius had left almost all of their training equipment in place. A rack
along one wall held wooden staffs, bamboo training swords, and other
practice weapons. A display case held several actual weapons, including a
sinister-looking cutlass forged of black steel that had been a gift to some
Lord Black centuries ago. Muggle weights, as well as other exercise
equipment, was tucked into the far corner of the room.
A cooling cabinet was located near the stairs, filled with bottles of juice
and water, as well as butterbeer. The first time Sirius had summoned
Dobby for a drink while Harry was working out, it had taken a whole day
to calm the poor little elf down - he had almost stunned Sirius, thinking
that Master Harry, Sirs, was under attack. Thus, when the two were down
here exercising, Dobby could give them a wide berth, knowing that they
would not lack for refreshments.
The ritual circle etched into the floor had been removed, only to be
replaced with the more common warded circle of a dueling ring. A goblin
artisan had installed ICW regulation dueling wards, and had earned his
substantial fee. Harry chuckled as he saw that the large round table was
placed at the exact center of the dueling area - they would see how
appropriate that was before long.
The wooden dummies at one end of the room still stood, several showing
evidence of knife and spell strikes. No one was brave enough to ask why
one of the dummies was sporting a pink sweater and hat, nor why the
face had been painted a light green.
The table itself was quite a bit more spacious than the Order was
accustomed to, seeing as they did not need to squeeze into the dining
room. Even then, this meeting would be more well-attended than most,
and space was at a premium.
Everyone, it seemed, wanted to know just what the hell had happened at
the Ministry.
Dumbledore was already there, and gave Harry a cautious nod as the
gryffindor walked down the stairs. Harry acknowledged the greeting,
before grabbing two bottles of water. He picked up a wooden stool from
the corner, and walked over to the Weasleys. Setting the stool down, he
had barely had a chance to greet Bill and Arthur before Molly had
enveloped him in a hug.
"We were so worried, dear," she began. Harry patted her on the back,
before pulling away. Molly looked him up and down, as if checking for
injuries. "Saint Mungo's called us, but by the time we got there, Ron and
Ginny had left. Are they...?"
Harry nodded. "Barely scratched, Mrs. Weasley. They're fine. We're all
fine."
Bill watched the exchange, nodding. "Sometime, Harry, you'll have to tell
us what exactly happened last night."
Harry gave a shrug. "I'll bet they get me talking about it tonight. If I don't
answer your question now, I will soon, alright?" Bill nodded. Seeing
another member he needed to speak with, Harry sat his water on the
stool. "Excuse me a moment."
He walked around the table carrying the second bottle of water, past the
Headmaster, who was talking quietly with Dedalus Diggle on his left, and
past three very ominously empty seats to his right. From the next seat
Alastor Moody gave him a nod as well, and Harry returned the greeting
with a hand on the Auror's shoulder. Moody had seen the training room
before, and approved. He had even stopped by a few times and given
Sirius a workout, helping the younger man get himself back into 'fighting
trim', as he had called it.
Harry's target was in the next chair. The distance between Moody and
Severus Snape was noticeably larger than the norm, as was the space
between the potions master and Hestia Jones, on his right. As Snape saw
him approach, his face twisted into its usual sneer. Before the professor
could speak, Harry made a show of setting the bottle of water on the
table in front of Snape. As he leaned forward, he spoke quietly.
"In a few moments, you're going to be very angry." He said, simply.
Snape's customary insults froze on his tongue. Harry turned his head, and
looked Snape in the eye. "You're going to want to either storm out or pull
your wand, or both."
"What are you babbling about, Potter?" asked Snape.
Harry shook his head. "Whatever happens, you must remain seated and
quiet. No matter what."
Another sneer. "What do you know about it?"
Harry leaned closer, one hand on the table, and spoke for Snape's ears
only. "I know that if you leave this meeting in a snit, then you won't be
asked back. And that will only help the Dark Lord's cause."
Snape paled slightly, but kept what composure he had. "You have no idea
what-"
"Yes, I do. And very soon, so will you." Harry stood up, but kept his voice
quiet. "I know where your loyalties lie, Professor. Tonight, they're going
to be sorely tested. Keep your Slytherin wits about you, sir. You'll need
them." Before Snape could respond, Harry was walking back to his stool.
He did not see the Professor's angry glare, nor did he notice the
questioning glance from Dumbledore.
Sitting down, he took a sip of his water. Bill Weasley shared a look with
his father, before leaning back in his chair. "What was that, Harry?"
Instead of answering, Harry gestured with his free hand. "How many
empty seats does the Headmaster have next to him, Bill?"
"Three, why?" Bill said, puzzled.
Harry nodded. "Remember that number." He looked from Bill to Arthur,
who had been listening in on the conversation. "Once summer starts, if
it's not too much trouble, I'd like to come by and have a talk with you
both, if that's alright."
Arthur answered. "Of course, Harry, you're family. You know that, right?"
Harry allowed himself a smile. "I'm starting to, yeah. Thanks, Mister
Weasley." Before Arthur could say anything else, Dumbledore began to
speak.
oOoOoOoOo
After Dumbledore called the meeting to order, he began to talk about the
sacrifices they all had made in the fight against Voldemort. About the
friends and family lost, the scars, the injuries, all of it. To Harry's ear, the
Headmaster could not decide whether to give a pep talk or a eulogy - and
it was clear from the faces of the members that they weren't sure, either.
"Thankfully, some of our absent friends are not as lost as we once feared."
With that, the group heard footsteps on the old wooden stairs, and
turned. Dumbledore gestured to the staircase, a smile on his face. "My
friends, allow me to welcome back James and Lily Potter, and their son
James, Junior!"
Harry, knowing it was coming, had his eyes on the Order, rather than the
Potters. Most of the members were stunned into silence, too surprised
even to question the revelation. That Dumbledore had made the
announcement reassured them that it was no trick - for who could fool
Albus Dumbledore with such a ruse?
At that thought, Harry's eyes went to Moody, who looked unsurprised.
He, and the other aurors, had probably been briefed by Madam Bones.
Severus Snape, on the other hand, was oscillating between shock and
incandescent rage. Lily saw the look on her old friend's face, and grew
worried. That would not be a pleasant conversation, thought Harry. He saw
Snape turn his eyes toward him, and answered the look with a nod.
Snape inclined his own head, before turning away.
When the Potters walked to their seats, they did so by walking past
Snape, who was now carefully examining the wood grain of the table.
James took his seat at Dumbledore's right hand, just as Harry had
expected. Jamie took the next seat, with Lily sitting next to Moody.
In returning the Potters to the wizarding world, Dumbledore had not just
brought in a new Boy-Who-Lived. He had also recruited a new second in
command whose loyalty would be to Dumbledore alone. That he also had
close ties to the Lord Black was merely a bonus. Harry found himself
wishing that he had guessed wrong about the Headmaster's plans.
As the shock of the moment passed, several of the members began
glancing at Harry. Most noticed that he had seated himself apart from his
family, though no one quite knew why. As the Potters took their seats,
Bill leaned back and spoke quietly. "You knew?" he asked.
Harry nodded. "They were at the ministry."
"Ah," was the reply. Bill shared a glance with his parents, who were
looking at Harry with concern. "You alright?"
Another nod. "I will be, yeah." Before Bill could reply, Dumbledore was
introducing the Potters.
"Fifteen long years, these three remained in hiding," he said. "Training
their son, Jamie, for the day when he would come forth and vanquish the
Dark Lord."
"Why did they hide away?" asked one of the members that Harry didn't
know. A few others muttered at this.
He looked around the table. "There was a prophecy given in the summer
of 1980. It said that the one who would vanquish the Dark Lord would be
born at the end of the seventh month, and that he would have a power
the Dark Lord knows not." Dumbledore gestured to Jamie, and then
Harry. "Until that day in 1981, we did not know which boy it would be.
Then Voldemort attacked. And on that day, he was vanquished by Harry
Potter."
Harry raised an eyebrow at that - apparently, Dumbledore had
abandoned the notion of making Jamie the boy-who-lived. But why
mention the prophecy, then?
Dumbledore continued. "The magic unleashed that night was not enough
to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all. There were signs that he would
return, for those who could see. So, James and Lily made the hardest
decision of their lives. They went into hiding, taking the older child and
leaving the younger - Harry - in my care."
"Why not take both of them?" asked Molly. Dumbledore's expression fell
at that, for she had used her legendary "Howler" voice - one that several
of the people in that room had had the misfortune of hearing up close
and in person. She was angry, and Harry could not help but be honored
that she was angry on his behalf.
"The country already knew what Harry had done, and what it had cost.
He was already safely in hiding, protected from any who would wish him
harm." Harry was proud that he did not scoff at that statement. "The
remaining Potters were believed dead. Revealing them - and the
existence of a second son - would have wasted their sacrifice."
Harry saw Professor Snape close his eyes. The hand he had been resting
on the table clenched into a fist. Harry recalled the memories he had seen
in the pensieve, all those months ago, and the argument he had had with
the Professor that night. He glanced at Dumbledore, who had not noticed
his spy's reaction to this news, and shook his head. Dumbledore knows
exactly how cruel it was to drop this on Snape in a public meeting, Harry
thought. Did he even care?
To his left, Harry noticed Remus leaning over to speak with Sirius, and
Sirius give a short, sharp shake of his head. If Sirius had not been ready
to discuss his imprisonment with the Potters, then he certainly wouldn't
want to discuss it here in front of the entire Order. But the glances being
sent his way told Harry that the topic would eventually have to be
addressed. If Dumbledore knew that the Potters lived, and could
communicate with them, determining who their secret keeper had been
would have been trivial.
No one could honestly believe that Dumbledore would not have asked
the question.
Elphias Doge was speaking now. "So who did Voldemort fight in the
Atrium? I was told that it was Harry, but now you're saying it was his
brother?"
Jamie seemed to want to speak at that, but his father beat him to it.
"Jamie went straight to the Atrium, and helped the Headmaster force
Voldemort to retreat." This was said with no small amount of pride.
Doge looked unimpressed. "And Harry?"
"I was busy in the Department of Mysteries, sir, dealing with the death
eaters we found there." Harry kept his tone calm, giving his statement as
a report, as Colonel Ramsay had taught him. Just the facts, he had said.
"Aye, and what did you accomplish down there?" asked Doge.
Harry chose not to answer, instead looking over at Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Being the most senior active auror in the room, the official report would
have to come from him. Shacklebolt saw the eyes of the room turn
toward him, and sighed.
"Harry and his team were able to capture eleven death eaters, four in the
atrium and seven in the Department of Mysteries. These include Dolohov,
Goyle, and Malfoy. The twelve remaining death eaters were killed during
the battle." Kingsley made no mention of Lily and James Potter.
"Twenty-three death eaters," said Dedalus Diggle. "I don't believe it."
"To be fair," said Harry, "We did not engage them all at once."
"And who was we, exactly, young man?" asked another Order member.
"Myself and five students, sir." Seeing the looks of disbelief, he continued.
"We were led to believe that the death eaters would be waiting for us, so
we decided to come prepared. It seems that they did not extend us the
same courtesy."
"You killed them!" the man replied, shock in his tone and anger in his
expression.
"Yes, sir, we did." Harry replied, evenly. "Each of them was a marked
death eater, and each one made a credible attempt to kill us. I will not
apologize for defending myself, nor my team, sir." He did not mention the
blood feud, and would not if he could get away with it. That would be
announced later.
"You think that line will work when they cart you off to Azkaban?" asked
Doge.
Kingsley spoke up, then. "There is another element at work here,
Elphias." Again, the eyes of the Order turned to the dark-skinned auror,
who tried hard not to let his discomfort show. "Two weeks ago, Madam
Bones petitioned the International Confederation of Wizards to declare
the Death Eaters an international terrorist organization. She cited their
activities in Albania, their attempts to recruit werewolves on the
continent, and their involvement in an attack on a British family on
vacation in the French Riviera."
Dumbledore, for once, was surprised. "I recall no such vote, Kingsley."
The auror looked apologetic, but continued. "It was the justice
committee, Albus, voting in a closed session. No one wanted to risk
giving the death eaters any warning."
"How does that matter here?" came the question from an annoyed Doge.
"It matters," answered Harry, "because it is not illegal to subdue or kill a
terrorist when the terrorist is carrying out an act of terrorism. Infiltrating
the Ministry, while armed, in hopes of committing theft at best or
kidnapping, assault, and murder at worst?" He shrugged. "Madam Bones
was thrilled we captured as many as we did." Again, he carefully did not
look at his parents, for he did not see anything to be gained in
antagonizing them by noting that they, too, had been among those
captured.
For the first time that night, the Order was silent, as they absorbed
exactly what Harry had said.
The ICW had given out a hunting license for death eaters, with no limit.
oOoOoOoOo
"So let me get this straight," Elphias Doge said, after a few moments. "You
said that there is a prophecy about the boy-who-lived. But I see two of
them sitting here, Albus. So which is it?"
All eyes turned to the Headmaster. Dumbledore straightened up in his
chair, before taking in the faces of the Order. Now that he knew what to
look for, Harry saw the very subtle manipulations - the inclusive gestures,
the tilt of the head, the eye contact. Dumbledore had decades upon
decades of experience as a teacher, and had had nearly every person in
the room as a student. He knew all the tricks, and used them well.
"We have studied the prophecy in detail," he began. "It says that a boy
born at the end of July would slay the Dark Lord. And he did,"
Dumbledore gestured toward Harry. "In 1981."
"Yet the Dark Lord lives," replied Hestia Jones.
"Yes. And there, with that bit of Dark Magic, comes the reason for the
Potters' seclusion. For you see, the prophecy applies to both Potter sons."
Dumbledore indicated a very nervous looking Jamie Potter. "We believe
that Harry's part in the prophecy has ended, and that it falls to Jamie,
here, to vanquish the Dark Lord once again."
Doge scoffed. "Then why have you been training Harry, over there?"
"My apologies, sir," said Harry. "I've received no training from the
Headmaster. Our study sessions in Defense this year were strictly
extracurricular." He nodded to Jamie. "I suspect, however, that my
brother has received extensive training from experts in the field."
"Indeed," said the Headmaster, calmly. Harry could tell from the
expressions around the table that some members remained unconvinced -
and others outright unhappy. More importantly, Dumbledore's tone of
voice said that he knew it, too, and he rapidly changed the subject.
"Severus, what news of the Dark Lord?"
Snape looked up, his face a mask of disinterest. "Narcissa Malfoy spent
much of the day under the cruciatus curse, as a result of her husband's
failure. I have received no specific orders, nor am I aware of any specific
plans." He glanced at Harry. "He was unprepared for Lucius Malfoy's utter
lack of success at the Ministry, it seems."
As Dumbledore discussed this news, Harry looked to his left and met
Sirius' gaze. His godfather nodded, and Harry raised his bottle of water in
salute. As soon as talking about the Potters got awkward, Dumbledore
had changed the subject as quickly as he could. They had not gotten the
reception that he had expected. What that meant going forward, neither
of them knew.
oOoOoOoOo
Once the meeting ended, the group began to disperse. As the Order
members began to walk up the stairs, Harry got another hug from Molly
Weasley, who freed him only after he again promised to visit over the
summer. Kingsley gave him a nod, which he returned. To his surprise,
Professor Snape did as well. Harry would need to speak with both men in
the coming weeks, and made a note to do so sooner rather than later.
After speaking briefly to Tonks and Remus, Sirius returned to his seat and
lounged back. James and Lily were greeting old friends as they departed,
in each case promising to speak to them soon. Jamie stayed in his seat,
looking more uncomfortable by the minute.
When the room was almost empty, Harry walked over to the cooler and
grabbed three butterbeers. He sat one in front of Sirius, before sliding the
second down one side of the table. Jamie's hand shot out and grabbed the
bottle just as it met the edge of the surface, and Harry gave him an
approving nod. Growing up isolated, his brother had likely never had the
chance to play organized quidditch - but it seemed that he had reflexes
good enough to play seeker.
Another piece of information to file away, Harry thought as he took the seat
next to Sirius. He ignored the eyes of the Headmaster, and focused his
attention on the Potters.
"Are we going to have a problem, Harry?" James asked, without
preamble.
His brusque tone surprised Harry. "I beg your pardon?"
"I mean, we're basically naming Jamie here as the Chosen One." Harry
almost rolled his eyes at the title, for he could even hear the capital 'C' in
his father's voice. "Doesn't that bother you?"
Harry shook his head. "As I said at the Ministry, being the chosen one is
no great shakes, sir." He allowed himself a chuckle. "If you all think that
that is for the best, I have no objection."
"That's fine, now." replied James. "But what about next year, when Jamie
goes to Hogwarts?"
A pause. "My apologies, is that a question? I had assumed he would be
there, yes."
"Will you be jealous of him, Harry?" Lily asked. "Will you let him take his
place in Gryffindor?"
This just gets better and better, Harry thought. "I'm still not sure if you
understand me. Being the boy-who-lived almost got me killed at least half
a dozen times, not counting this year. If you want to place that on
Jamie's shoulders, then you're welcome to do so. It does not bother me
nearly as much as you seem to think it will."
Lily seemed unsatisfied with that answer, but accepted it. The
Headmaster leaned forward, looking intently at Harry.
"Harry, my boy, I was disappointed when I read the report from the
DMLE on your little trip to the Ministry." Dumbledore seemed to be
fishing for a reaction from Harry, and Sirius saw it as well.
After a moment, Harry spoke. "Again, sir, is that a question? I have not
yet read the report, and cannot speak to its contents."
Dumbledore's expression seemed to harden at that, just for a moment,
before the grandfatherly manner returned. "Be that as it may, I want to
believe that our trust in you is not misplaced, Mister Potter."
Oh, Mister Potter? Well then. "Would it satisfy you if I agreed to conduct
myself within the bounds of the appropriate laws and customs, then?"
"At a minimum," said James. Dumbledore glared at him, again just for an
instant. "You need to understand that Voldemort's focus will be on Jamie
now. Anything you do that takes our attention from him could harm the
war effort."
"I see." said Harry. "May I ask why?"
"Jamie is the child of prophecy, Harry," said Dumbledore, as if addressing
an infant.
"Sure, yes, that, but I meant to ask, why would Voldemort not want to
kill me? Why is his focus off of me and on Jamie?" Harry shrugged. "I
mean, it's not like I killed a dozen of his death eaters, or anything.
Usually that tends to make him a little cross."
"And it's unfortunate that you took such action without consulting me,
Mister Potter." said Dumbledore, in his disappointed voice. "Perhaps you
should have considered that before you acted."
"You assume that I did not, sir." Harry said, coldly. "I would argue that I
have a better understanding of the state of this war than some of the
others in this room. Perhaps better than you, Headmaster."
Dumbledore looked at him evenly. "Then you would be wrong."
"That may be," Harry replied, rising as he spoke. "If we're done talking
past each other, I've had a very long couple of days."
"I trust you will take the summer to consider your choices, Mister Potter."
Dumbledore said, his genial manner returning.
Harry looked at the Headmaster, careful to keep a tight control on his
voice. He had kept his emotions in check, and did not want to betray his
anger this late in the game. "Professor, I can assure you that I plan to do
little else, this summer, than consider my choices." Internally, he
chuckled to himself. Little else, apart from training, revealing my lordships,
openly declaring a blood feud, possibly repudiating my parents, getting to
know my brother, hunting death eaters, and trying not to ruin my relationship
with my girlfriend.
Harry grinned at the Headmaster. "I have every hope that it will be a
slow summer, Professor."
oOoOoOoOo
Sirius managed to catch Harry before he made it to the floo. "You okay,
pup?"
Harry turned, and smiled at his godfather. "They have no idea what's
about to happen, do they?"
"No," replied Sirius, chuckling. "No, I don't think they do."
"A year ago, even, maybe I would fall in line." Harry shook his head.
"They abandoned me, Padfoot. Left me with the Dursleys. Of all the
people in the world, surely Lily would know what that meant." His eyes
met Sirius', and the marauder saw that Harry's were beginning to water.
"How could they expect me to trust them? After that?"
Sirius pulled Harry into a hug. "I don't know, pup."
After a moment, they separated. "Perhaps someday, we'll get along.
Maybe. But for now, we have a war to win." Harry took a deep breath,
letting it out slowly. "Did they say when the Wizengamot is going to
argue itself blue over this mess?"
Sirius shook his head. "Probably within the week. Quicker, if Fudge
resigns."
Harry nodded. "Think I might stop by and see the show." He grinned at
Sirius' look of shock. "It's time."
They had discussed the big reveal, but always as a last resort. "You'll
shake things up, that's for sure."
"That's the idea," replied Harry. "Soon, someone will see the notice and
put the pieces together. Why let them have the initiative?"
Sirius nodded. They had discussed just this plan, of course. But knowing
that it might be a possibility and actually implementing it were two very
different things. "If I hear anything, I'll use the mirror."
Harry patted his pocket. "Good." They hugged again. "Thank you, Sirius."
"Always, Harry." was the reply. Then, Harry grabbed the floo powder,
and disappeared into the fireplace.
Sirius Black closed his eyes, allowing himself a deep sigh. "You can come
out, Jamie."
James Potter, Junior, entered the sitting room. "How did you know?"
A chuckle. "This old dog still has a few tricks." He smiled at Jamie, trying
to put him at ease. "Control of the wards helps."
Jamie nodded, sitting on a couch. After a moment, he looked up at Sirius.
"He hates us, doesn't he?"
"You, no." Sirius corrected. "Your parents, I think it's an open question."
He sat down across from Jamie, considering how to respond. "You have
to understand, Harry has been through a lot, most of it because he was an
orphan. This summer will be the first time he can actually stay
somewhere he calls home in his entire life."
"Why wouldn't, I mean…" Jamie's voice trailed off.
"Staying with you would show him everything you had that he didn't."
Sirius replied, simply. "Do you know how many pictures there are of
Harry at the Dursleys' house? None. And he lived there for fifteen years."
Sirius leaned back in his seat, eyeing the boy. "Tell me, truthfully, how
many pictures of Harry are there in your home?"
Jamie's face fell. He didn't need to speak to tell Sirius everything he
needed to know.
"Someday, Jamie, your parents will have to come to grips with what they
did to Harry. Just as Harry will have to come to grips with it." He sighed
again. "Harry believes, correctly, I think, that there are bigger issues to
deal with before that happens."
"Voldemort," said Jamie, quietly.
Sirius nodded. "Voldemort."
"The Headmaster told me that everything is planned out, and all I need to
do is my best." He closed his eyes, fatigue setting in. "I don't think he
planned for all of this, though."
"You know," said Sirius, "I only know two people in the world more
stubborn than the Headmaster. One of them is your father."
Jamie chuckled at that, if only for the obvious truth of the statement.
"And the other?"
Sirius inclined his head at the fireplace. "The other just went back to
Hogwarts."
7. The Just and the Loyal
The events of the past two days had started to catch up to Harry, and he
had not slept well. Getting back to the castle late had helped not at all, of
course. Despite that, he had still gotten up at his usual hour, joined a few
minutes later by Neville and Ron, both of whom had gotten to bed at a
reasonable time.
The three gryffindors were among the first to sit down in the great hall
for breakfast that Saturday morning. There was little discussion among
the group - they had gotten a brief summary of the order meeting from
Harry before they came down, though each knew that there was much he
left unsaid.
Neither of them asked about the Potters. That, too, could wait.
Their focus now was on the Daily Prophet, and how it would spin the
events at the Ministry. Would the headline decry the loss of so many fine,
upstanding citizens? Would it lament the boy-who-lived and his turn to
darkness? Or would it be an honest accounting of the fight with a very-
much-alive Voldemort and his terrorists?
Harry had not heard back from Madam Bones when he wrote to her
about his meeting with Barnabas Cuffe, nor had he expected a response.
The DMLE Director rarely cared about what was said in the paper, but at
Harry's urging she had hoped to play up the ICW declaration and the
terrorist angle. Twenty three terrorists walked into the ministry to cause
mayhem, and eleven were carried out in shackles. The other twelve were
carried out in bags.
And as for Voldemort? Harry knew how badly Madam Bones wanted to
hang the Minister out to dry, but she would be hesitant to use the attack
to remove him directly. In his letter, Harry had agreed with her -
especially seeing as how most of the wizengamot would probably want
him out anyway. Better, he thought, to give the facts of the matter and
let them make their own decision.
He did not tell her that she would be a top candidate for Minister,
especially if she was seen as the steady hand holding things together after
the chaos of the battle. They had not discussed her ambitions much, not
in the few meetings he had had with her. What he did know, and what
was obvious from her demeanor every time she mentioned Minister
Fudge, was that she believed that she would do a much better job than he
had. He also could tell that she did not want to be Minister.
To his mind, that made her the ideal candidate.
An elbow from Neville shook Harry out of his musings. With a nod,
Neville pointed out Hannah Abbott, who was taking her seat at the
Hufflepuff table. Rare indeed was the morning that she went to breakfast
without her best friend, and Harry's eyes went to the main entrance.
There, he saw Susan Bones standing there, leaning against the door
frame, looking right at him.
Ron saw the look, and followed his gaze - and then chuckled. "Time to
face the music, mate," he said, quietly. Neville tried hard not to react as
well, and was mostly successful.
Harry rolled his eyes at his friends, before taking a piece of toast. Rising,
he made a show of straightening his clothing. "Wish me luck, lads." he
said, before walking toward the Bones heiress.
The two watched him go. Neville shook his head, smiling at the sight.
"He crosses wands with death eaters, and doesn't blink. You put him in
front of the Dark Lord, and he's all business. A true Gryffindor." He
nodded toward Harry and Susan, who were speaking quietly. "But when
his favorite Hufflepuff is involved? That's when he gets nervous."
oOoOoOoOo
Harry said little as he followed Susan down the stairs toward the
dungeons. He knew where she was going - there were several empty
classrooms near the Hufflepuff common room, and one had been
converted into a combination lounge and study area by some group of
NEWT students years ago. This early on a weekend, no one would be
there.
When the new term started, and the six began having their own training
sessions, Harry had pulled back slightly from the main DA classes. By this
point, he had several upper year students (beyond his team) who could
reliably instruct the others, either on particular spells or in general. He
and Hermione were clearly stepping back, allowing others to take the
lead.
Susan was not one of those students - she hadn't joined up to become a
teacher. She had joined up because of her parents. She had joined up
because of Cedric. She had joined up because of the kissed death eater
they carried out of the school last year, trailing behind a chuckling
Minister Fudge.
Mostly, she had joined because of the night she found Aunt Amelia
working on a bottle of scotch after a meeting with Lord Malfoy. A
meeting during which Lord Malfoy had asked if there were any marriage
contracts involving her niece.
Susan Bones joined the DA to learn how to fight, and she wanted to learn
from the best. Right now, Potter was it. So why the hell was he stepping
away from the DA? When she saw Harry and Neville leave together one
Sunday afternoon, she decided to find out.
Harry smiled to himself, as he thought back to the first time he had had a
meeting like this with Susan Bones.
"One more round," Neville said, still catching his breath. He was not leaning
on the wooden staff - yet - but it was clear that he was nearing his limit.
Harry's muscles ached as well, even as he gave his own staff a spin. "You sure,
Nev?"
A nod. "They're not going to take breaks, why should I?"
Harry frowned at that. "Death eaters sleep too, Neville. It doesn't help anyone
if we overdo it."
Neville gave his own staff a flourish, shifting it from hand to hand. "I mean, if
you're too tired…"
"Oh, I didn't say that, did I?" Harry was grinning, and Neville seemed to relax
a bit at that. Which, of course, was when he struck.
They fought for a few minutes, during which Harry remained the aggressor.
Neville found himself backed up against the edge of the platform, forced to
dodge left or right and circle back around. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of the
wooden staves was the only sound.
Eventually, Harry stepped inside Neville's guard. "Dead." said Harry, forcing
Neville to look down and see the wooden knife at his throat. After a moment,
they broke apart, each again trying to catch their breath.
"That's a dirty trick," said Neville, without anger.
"Since when do the death eaters play fair?" was Harry's response.
Neville didn't reply, but instead tossed his staff to Harry, who caught it
effortlessly. With a grin, he went off to the showers the Room had helpfully
provided, while Harry returned the staves to the rack along the wall.
"Did you enjoy the show?" he asked the empty room. The quiet gasp that
answered him brought a smirk. "Come on, now, if I thought you worked for
the toad you'd already be waking up in a classroom somewhere, wondering
where your memories went." He idly played with one of the throwing knives as
he spoke. "Might as well show yourself."
A quick Finite would end whatever disillusionment their visitor was using, but
Harry had found himself curious who had followed them. Was it a slytherin?
A younger student hoping to learn more about the boy who lived? He had not
expected to see the girl who revealed herself, a sheepish expression on her face
at having been caught out.
"Hello, Susan."
oOoOoOoOo
When they entered the study room, Susan quickly locked the door. Before
Harry could add privacy charms, the red-haired witch had him in a hug.
He could do little more than hug her back - relieved that she was not
angry with him, but concerned that she had worried.
After a few minutes, she pulled back, almost dragging Harry to a nearby
couch. Once he was seated, she took a seat on the other end, putting her
feet up on his lap. Without prompting, Harry told her about the events at
the Ministry.
Susan barely reacted to the news that Harry and the others had killed
death eaters. She shared her aunt's view on the matter - while she hated
the loss of life, she hated allowing the death eaters to escape even more.
That had actually been one of Susan's arguments, when she convinced
Aunt Amelia to support Harry's efforts - and, by extension, Harry himself.
Death eaters who escaped were responsible for a known number of
additional deaths and injuries - stopping them prevented those deaths. It
was a strict cost-benefit analysis, straight out of one of Harry's muggle
books.
As it turned out, Aunt Amelia had not required much convincing, to
Susan's surprise.
The longer Harry spoke, however, the more convinced Susan became that
he was leaving something out. Something big. They had gotten to know
each other well enough over these past few months, much to both of
their surprises, and she could tell that he was hesitant to complete the
tale. Moreover, he could tell that she knew - her eyebrows furrowed in
exactly the same way that her aunt's did when she was judging evidence.
After a quiet few minutes, he sighed. "When we were in the Death
Chamber, we also caught a witch and a wizard who weren't death eaters.
Your aunt confirmed their identities as James and Lily Potter."
Susan's hand went to her mouth, stifling her gasp. "Your parents?" She
said quietly.
Harry nodded. "They survived and went into hiding." His eyes met hers,
and she saw how upset he was, how raw his emotions were when his
parents came up. He continued, his voice barely a whisper. "They had to
train the boy-who-lived, you see."
"The boy who…. Oh, for fuck's sake, they didn't." Susan was startled
when Harry laughed at her reaction. Off her annoyed look, he gave her a
smile.
"I'm sorry, it's not funny, really," he said. "But that's exactly what your
aunt said when Dumbledore told her about my secret twin brother, James
Junior."
"James Junior?" she asked, incredulously. "You're a twin?"
Another nod. "They hid behind a charm that blocks all magic, in or out.
And, apparently, they plan to announce him as the chosen one soon."
She was shaking her head in disbelief, stunned at the unmitigated gall of
the plan. "Whose idea was that?"
"Professor Dumbledore."
Susan stood up at that, and began pacing. It was fortunate that they were
in what amounted to a classroom, for had they been in the Room of
Requirement, she likely would have started blasting training dummies.
There was nothing, however, that prevented the stream of profanity that
came out of her mouth.
Presently, she calmed down, a look of intense concentration coming over
her features. Harry had teased her at one point, calling that look her
'Auror mode', for he had seen the same look on the face of Amelia Bones.
Susan's aunt was a loving parental figure, a consummate politician
(despite her distaste for politics), and an exceptional administrator - as
the Director of the largest department of the Ministry would have to be.
Above all of those roles, however, Amelia Bones considered herself an
investigator - and she had been one of the best in her day, which was
part of why she was Director in the first place.
Susan had learned quite a bit from her aunt. Putting the pieces of a
puzzle together quicker than anyone else? That ran in the family.
Her words cut right to the heart of the matter. "He's going to take up the
Lordship. He's going to be your Head of House."
Harry held up his hand, displaying the golden Lord's ring for House
Potter. "He can try."
Susan's eyes grew wide. "You still have it? How?" She knew he had taken
up his Lordship, but thought that the ring would revert to James Potter,
now that he had been revealed as alive.
"Magic declared me the Lord Potter, and I sealed it with the oath," replied
Harry. "James Potter, meanwhile, is legally dead. He's in no position to
take up anything." His voice grew cold and hard, as the anger started to
return at the thought of his parents. "There's also the small matter that
they abandoned a member of their house without cause."
She heard the pain in his voice, and moved to sit next to him. He leaned
against her as she put an arm around him. "Did they know about the
Dursleys?" she asked, quietly.
He shook his head. "They had no idea where I had been staying." He
closed his eyes, sighing heavily. "Even if they had bothered to find out,
would they have done anything? I very much doubt it. It would have
ruined Dumbledore's great plan."
"Fucking animals," she muttered, causing Harry to laugh.
They sat there for a few minutes, simply comforting each other. Despite
their circumstances, and their agreement, she wanted to be there for him
- and knew that he needed her there.
Her own parents had died at Voldemort's wand, which is why she had
been raised by Aunt Amelia. There had been many days over the years
when Susan found herself wishing that she could speak to them, just
once, that she could spend a day with them and tell them how much she
missed them. Today, however, after hearing about Harry's 'reunion', she
found herself thankful that her parents had been confirmed dead, and
their bodies found and later buried in the Bones crypt.
She shuddered. "How dare they," she whispered.
Harry responded with a deep sigh of his own, his arm pulling her closer.
"I knew you'd understand."
oOoOoOoOo
The Room of Requirement had provided several low couches and a table, on
which Harry Potter was now propping his boots. Susan, still nervous about
having been discovered, had taken a bit of convincing before she took the seat
across from the gryffindor.
"Dobby?"
Susan heard the pop of a house elf, and saw what had to be Dobby laying out
a tray of biscuits and tea. The elf was wearing dark green pants and a small
grey T-shirt. As the elf turned and looked at her before popping away, Susan
saw that the shirt said "ARMY" in black letters. It was the strangest outfit she
had ever seen an elf wear.
"Anything for you, Neville?" Harry asked, raising his voice.
"No thanks," was the reply from the showers, as Neville Longbottom entered
the room, toweling his hair off. He stopped a few paces away when he saw
Susan. "Harry?"
Harry took a biscuit, smiling at her. "The Heiress Bones decided to see what
we were up to, Heir Longbottom." He did nothing to keep the amusement out
of his voice, which annoyed her.
"This isn't funny, Harry," she began. "I thought you were leaving us to fend for
ourselves."
She saw Harry and Neville share a look. "No, Susan, we wouldn't do that to
you." Harry paused, considering how to respond. "I never planned to teach
every class, you knew that."
"I know, but when you asked Cho and Hannah and the twins to start teaching,
I thought you'd be helping us." Susan's frustration was obvious. "I wanted to
know what was so important that you had to stop showing up."
"And what did you find out?" asked Neville, quietly.
"That you and Harry are exercising on your own, and that you're both hiding
something from the group." Her brown eyes met Harry's green ones, and he
could see the drive behind them. There was intensity there, more than even he
had expected. "And that you're planning something to do with the death
eaters."
The boys shared another glance. Harry then took a sip of his tea, before
quietly answering her unspoken question. "I'm just a fifth year, Susan, what
business do I have fighting a war?"
Susan shook her head. "Why bother with the DA, then? You said we needed to
be prepared for anything. You said that we had to protect ourselves, that we
had enemies inside and outside of the castle." She leaned forward, piercing
him with her gaze. Despite her passion for the topic, her voice remained low
and even - but both gryffindors could hear the steel her calm demeanor
concealed. "Who else would you be preparing for?"
Harry matched her move, leaning forward in his seat. "An underage wizard
seeking out a fight with adults, many of them titled lords, would quickly fall
afoul of the DMLE, Miss Bones." He took another sip of his tea. "As I'm sure
you heard from Director Bones, even the slightest step out of bounds will bring
the Ministry down on my head. I cannot risk that."
Susan had to concede the point. But something he said gave her pause. She
met his green eyes once more, and gave him a grin.
oOoOoOoOo
When Susan and Harry entered the corridor, they heard footsteps coming
from their left. Angry, hurried footsteps. Harry was pleased to see Susan's
wand already in her hand, ready to back him up.
"Potter!" Draco Malfoy looked as if he had been searching for him, and
the Daily Prophet clutched in his hand explained why. The slytherin
stopped about ten paces away - about the right distance for a duel.
Curiously, he did not have his wand out.
"Heir Malfoy," Harry said, inclining his head slightly in a mockery of
Pureblood traditions. It would not do to step out of bounds when a blood
feud is in play, after all. "I see you heard the news."
"What did you do to my father?" Draco spat. Harry felt Susan tense, and
fought to keep his voice calm. He would only have one shot at this.
"As I recall, Neville Longbottom relieved him of his hostage before I
stunned his arse and handed him over to the DMLE," Harry said, evenly.
Draco sneered. "You know he'll be released before the week is out, right?
Surely you're not that stupid."
Harry gave him a smile of his own - a smile that told Draco that Harry
knew something he didn't. "You might be right," Harry replied. "And if
they were held by the Ministry, I'd agree."
Draco frowned at that. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, it seems the ICW isn't very happy with your Dark Lord, Heir
Malfoy. As we speak, your father and ten of his pals are enjoying the
hospitality of the ICW's new prison in the mountains of Northern
Hungary." Harry allowed himself a bit of a sneer, just to rattle the
slytherin. "I'll bet that by the end of the day they'll be filled with so much
veritaserum that their bollocks will float out their ears."
"Oh, I'll bet the Dark Lord won't like that," said Susan. Draco paled, not
sure how to respond.
Harry grinned. "No, I don't imagine he will."
"He'll kill you all, along with the blood traitors and the mudbloods!" Now
Harry knew he had gotten into Draco's head, if all he had was the same
tired old lines.
"Doubt it." Harry replied.
Draco pulled his wand out of his robes, only to have it fly into Susan's
waiting hand. Her wordless expelliarmus had caught the slytherin entirely
by surprise. So stunned was he at the loss of his wand, that he did not
keep his eyes on Harry. It took the metallic noise from Harry's right hand
to get his attention, and even then he failed to react to the piece of dark
metal he saw there.
Unfortunately for Draco, that dark metal was a telescoping steel baton.
With a CRACK, Harry brought the weapon to Draco's knee, sending him
sprawling to the floor. Before he could even react, Harry had him pinned
down, one of his heavy combat boots on Draco's chest. Try as he might,
Draco could not get free.
Without speaking, Harry lifted the sleeves of Draco's robes, checking the
boy's arms. Bare skin showed that, for the moment, Draco Malfoy
remained unmarked.
"Get off of me, Potter!" Hissed Draco.
Harry ignored him. "Here's what's going to happen. You're only going to
hear this once, so listen well, Heir Malfoy." He leaned down, bringing his
face closer to Draco's. His voice was calm and even, but that much more
menacing for all that. "If you show up to school with the Dark Mark next
term, you will die. If you take the Mark, and I find you over the summer
holiday, you will die. If I find that you've gone on any raids or revels, as
your master calls them, then marked or unmarked, you will die."
"You think Dumbledore will do anything to me? You think he can?"
The amusement on Harry's face chilled Draco to the core. "Honestly, no I
don't."
"Then what do you think will happen to me?" Draco, despite the boot on
his chest, tried his best to sneer.
Harry shrugged. "I think that I'll find you on the train and check your
arms. If you've got the Dark Mark, then I'll kill you."
Draco paled again, but spoke without thinking. "You wouldn't dare," he
spat.
Putting more weight on Draco's chest, Harry glared at him. "Ask your
Aunt Bella exactly what I would dare, Draco Malfoy. And then speak to
your mother." He stepped back, allowing Draco to scramble back along
the stone floor. "I think you both have a lot to think about."
Draco just stared at him, before getting to his feet and fleeing down the
corridor.
Susan walked over to his side, idly twirling Draco's hawthorn wand in her
hand. "I'm still wondering why you warned him?"
Harry leaned against the wall, collapsing his baton and putting it away.
"His mother was a Black, once upon a time. Sirius wanted me to give her
and Draco a chance to escape."
"Why, though?" she asked, frowning.
"With Lucius gone, Draco becomes head of the house - meaning that if he
flees, Voldemort loses his galleons. It hurts the enemy, and costs me
nothing." He shrugged. "Besides, Sirius always liked Draco's mother,
when they were kids. He wanted to give her one last chance." Harry
sighed. "Unfortunately, Draco comes with the package."
"I see," she said, and he knew that she did. Then she chuckled. "Perhaps
you can get rid of him later."
Harry laughed at that. Offering her his elbow, the pair began walking
toward the kitchens. Susan had not eaten, after all, and they had had a
busy morning. That neither of them had to ask where the other was going
just spoke to how well they got along by this point.
"Maybe I'll take out an ad in the Prophet," Harry mused. "One Ferrett,
pale oily fur. Loves hair products, spends its time putting its feet in its
mouth. Mostly harmless. Free to a good home. Owl Lord Black for
details."
Susan's laugh was infectious, and soon both of them were giving the joke
much more of a reaction than it deserved. Harry glanced to the side, and
saw her smile back at him. Maybe I'll be alright after all, he thought.
She did have one question, however. "Auntie never mentioned anything
about any new Hungarian prison, Harry."
Harry chuckled. "I hear the mountains are beautiful, this time of year."
They arrived at the entrance to the kitchens, and he paused before
tickling the pear that would open the doorway. "They also have the
benefit of being about as far away from The Hague as you can get."
Susan nodded. "A trap, then?"
Harry shrugged. "Let's call it misinformation." Opening the door, he
gestured toward the kitchens with a flourish. "After you, Miss Bones."
oOoOoOoOo
Harry escorted Susan Bones out of the Room of Requirement, before returning
for his bag. Neville, having already packed his things, was waiting.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked. Harry sighed, grabbing the last biscuit
while he considered his response.
"Yeah, Neville, I think I am."
"I mean," Neville continued, "We agreed to keep our team a secret from
everyone. Even cute Hufflepuffs."
Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not like that."
"Harry, do you know how many times Susan Bones gets asked to Hogsmeade?"
"I can't say that I do, Nev."
Neville shook his head. "Well, it's quite a lot, I assure you. And she always
says no." He gestured toward the door. "Until today, when she asks you to go,
and you - the Warrior Monk of Hogwarts, give her an immediate yes!"
Harry sputtered into his tea. "The what now?"
Neville chuckled. "Cho may have spread the rumor last term, after you turned
her down. Something about not wanting to put her at risk when the fighting
starts, I think?"
"I never said that," muttered Harry. "I said it was too soon for her, after the
third task."
"Well, that's not how she told the tale, Lord Potter if you please," answered
Neville, clearly enjoying himself.
"Besides," Harry continued. "This isn't a date."
"Oh, it's not?"
"No, of course not, Susan just wants me to have lunch with her aunt."
"Yes, I caught that bit. Her aunt, the Honourable Madam Amelia Bones, the
Regent Bones, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and
member of the ICW's task force on International Terrorism. Not to mention a
long-time ally of your house." Neville raised his hand, as if offering a toast.
"You sure know how to pick'em, mate."
Harry waved his hand at Neville, in clear dismissal, and earned a laugh for
his trouble. Picking up their bags, the boys made their way to Gryffindor
Tower. As they walked, Harry thought about Neville's comments - and about
their talk with Susan.
That night, Harry entered the dorm to find Ron and Neville looking at him
expectantly. He paused in the doorway.
"Gentlemen?" he asked, hesitantly.
Ron's face broke out in a grin. "I hear you have a date with Susan Bones?"
"Oh, for - Neville!" Ron and Neville laughed at Harry's reaction, clearly
enjoying a light moment. Those had been few and far between, lately.
"It's alright, Harry, I understand. I do. We're just having you on." Neville
wasn't going to apologize, but he didn't want to anger Harry, either.
"I know, I know, it's just… I mean, I don't want to make her a target, you
know? I don't want to get her hurt." Harry looked at his friends, now his
brothers-in-arms. "After this is done, I'll have all the time in the world for
dating. Until then, I need to focus."
If anyone would understand, it would be these two. Judging by their reactions,
Harry knew that he was right.
oOoOoOoOo
Senior Accounts Manager Twinblade looked up from his parchmentwork
when he heard the knock at his door. He had no appointments today, nor
were any expected before next week. It was his honour to serve one
family and one family only - a proud family, and a wealthy one, but still
just one family.
When that family had but one member, and that member was attending
Hogwarts, it became a trivial exercise to plan one's schedule.
"Come!" The old goblin stood, wondering who wanted to conduct
business with the House of Potter. The oaken door swung open,
admitting a tall, hooded wizard and a very annoyed Griphook.
/"This one claims to be of your house, father,"/ said Griphook, in the
Goblin tongue. Twinblade could hear the anger in his son's voice, and
wondered at it.
/"Indeed,"/ replied Twinblade. /"Does this wizard have a name?"/
Griphook glanced at the wizard, who had been following the exchange
but clearly didn't understand the language. Of course, human names were
not translated into the Goblin tongue, so Griphook improvised.
/"Father, he claims to be the previous Lord, father of the current
Lord."/ Griphook was clearly uneasy with the situation.
Twinblade's eyebrow raised in surprise. It was a bold claim, all the better
for proof though it may be. Such things were easily proven, however. But
not yet, he thought.
"I am told that you claim to be James Potter, wizard." Twinblade said,
pitching his voice to convey just the right amount of annoyance. "Remove
your hood and show yourself."
James Potter lowered the hook of his cloak, a polite smile on his face. "It
is good to see you again, Twinblade."
Twinblade looked at him closely, his eyes narrowing, as if appraising an
antique. Presently, he sat down at his desk, almost glaring at James.
"I will concede," began the Account Manager, "that you could be James
Potter, son of Charlus. But that man died long ago. Yet, here he claims to
stand before me." He sneered at James, exposing his sharp teeth. "Why
should I believe you?"
James remembered well the day his father had reminded him about the
Goblins - and that one should never relax in the presence of a smiling
Goblin. "Albus Dumbledore secreted us away from harm, Twinblade. We
have lived in secret all this time."
"And by we, you mean… who, exactly?"
James seemed to catch himself before responding. It was the briefest
moment, easily dismissed - but for the fact that Twinblade was
discounting nothing, at this point. Every word, every movement, all of it
was information he needed. More importantly, it was information his
client needed.
"My entire family went into hiding, Twinblade." said James.
Griphook, from his place near the door, spoke up. "Manager Twinblade, I
had the honour of escorting one Harry Potter to his trust vault before his
first year at Hogwarts. Am I to believe that that one was an impostor?"
James' eyes grew wide, as he realized his slip. "My apologies, Twinblade.
Harry, of course, remained in the wizarding world."
"Yes, yes he did." replied the old Goblin. "And you, your wife Lily, and
your other son James Junior, all were declared dead by the Ministry. Our
own tests of your magic confirmed it." He leaned forward, filling his
voice with all the contempt he could. "As far as Gringotts is concerned, I
am speaking to a dead man."
James' face clouded in anger. "I am the Lord Potter, by right of blood and
law. I would take up the ring, and restore myself as Head of House."
Twinblade stood, staring at the man. Then he snapped his fingers,
summoning two guards. "As I said, sir, you are a dead man. Dead men
cannot take up the Lordship, certainly not of any house to whom I owe
my service."
"I will take the inheritance test!" James shouted, angrily, as the guards
reached him. They made no move to threaten him, and waited quietly at
the gesture from Twinblade.
Again, the Account Manager sneered at his former client. "Dead men
inherit nothing, sir. Go to your Ministry, plead your case to them. If they
see fit to recognize you as a living wizard, then perhaps we will have
business." With a nod, he sent the guards out. James, wisely, did not
choose to object, but the anger on his face was plain.
After the door closed, Griphook looked to his father. Twinblade met his
son's eyes, and grinned. Then he handed his son a galleon. /"It would
seem that Lord Potter was correct, after all."/
The two spoke for a few more minutes, as father and son, before
Griphook went to return to his duties. Twinblade, meanwhile, began
writing a letter to his client.
A/N: Life, as happens on occasion, has been a dumpster fire.
Hopefully we'll get back into the swing of more regular updates
before too much longer.
As anyone who saw the tags update a few weeks ago might guess,
Susan Bones will play an interesting role moving forward. I don't
like Harry/Susan stories where she exists as a way to get Amelia
involved and fixing whatever needs fixing, but in this case, with this
Susan, that's how it started off - for her. Harry's motivations, as we'll
see throughout, are more complex. Both Susan and her Aunt will
have an enormous amount of influence on Harry's strategy, and
already have in the case of Amelia.
James has spent close to fifteen years with one son - the fact that he
doesn't include Harry in his thoughts when speaking of his entire
family is telling. Even if it's just a slip of the tongue, it's pretty
damning. Twinblade, who knows exactly how likely he'd be to
abandon his own son, is quite right to be horrified. That Harry
called it should surprise no one. Twinblade, for his part,
remembered the young auror who held the Lordship for so brief a
time - and had hoped that James was not the man Harry expected
him to be. Griphook never knew James, but knows Harry - and
trusted his instincts when betting with his father.
Next: The Term ends, and Summer begins.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
8. The Plan
Ambrose Rookwood watched from the Slytherin table as the students
filtered in to get their breakfast. It was the last day of the year, and soon
he would be on the train back to London. His day would not end there, of
course, for he had an appointment to keep at the Ministry.
The sixth year had known that his summer would be a busy one, but
rewarding for all that. The Unspeakables had accepted him as an
apprentice, and would work him to the bone. From the account in the
Prophet, it seemed that there would be a great deal of work to be done to
repair the damage done to the Department of Mysteries.
He was eager to take these first steps toward following his father's path
and becoming an unspeakable in his own right. The Rookwoods had
served the Department of Mysteries for over a century, and Ambrose
would be the fifth generation to walk those halls. If ever there had been a
chance that Ambrose would choose some other career, it was gone now -
for his father was dead, and he found himself as the last of the
Rookwoods.
The notice from the Ministry had said only that he was now Head of
House, due to the death of his father. That the DMLE was investigating
the death offered no comfort, for Ambrose knew that his father had been
a death eater. What he did not know was what his father had been doing
when he died. More importantly, who had killed him?
Two seventh years wore the dark mark, though Ambrose suspected quite
a few more of his housemates would enter the Dark Lord's service before
summer's end. He did not plan on taking the mark himself, as his father
had wanted him to be able to plausibly deny involvement in the war. He
also knew that the mark would not escape the notice of the unspeakables,
and that would jeopardize his career options.
Neither of the marked death eaters knew what had happened to his
father. When Ambrose approached Professor Snape, he got the same
answer, along with an admonishment to keep his head down and stay out
of trouble.
So, after meeting with the unspeakables and setting his schedule for the
summer, Ambrose planned to visit the DMLE and find out what he could.
He also had to make arrangements for his father's remains to be returned
home.
Ambrose looked up and down the table, taking stock of which
housemates were present. Several of the other slytherins who had had
parents killed that night had taken it poorly, raging and lashing out and
shouting about revenge and death - as subtle as gryffindors, they were.
Others reacted differently, like the fifth year boy who seemed relieved at
the news.
For his part, Ambrose Rookwood leaned into the lessons his father had
taught him. The man had been an unspeakable almost since the day he
graduated Hogwarts, and had possibly been one of the wisest of the death
eaters. His father had always told Ambrose to never sit with his back to a
doorway, to always work hard to be the smartest man in the room, and
to never allow his enemies the element of surprise.
For one brief moment, someone or something had surprised Augustus
Rookwood, and it had resulted in his death. The first step toward
whatever would happen next, for Ambrose, was to find out how that
happened - and who was responsible.
"Know thy enemy," he said to himself, the noise of the great hall ensuring
that no one else heard.
oOoOoOoOo
Just as the train began moving, Susan Bones found the compartment
where Harry should have been. She did not see him, but did see Ron,
Neville, and Hermione sitting across from Luna and Ginny. Each saw the
hufflepuff smile to herself, before stowing her trunk in the rack. When
she saw that there were already six trunks in the compartment, she
smirked.
"Mind if I sit here?" she asked, indicating the empty seat beside Luna,
near the window. Before anyone could answer, she made a show of
dropping into the seat. The seat made a sound remarkably like "Oof!"
before she felt arms wrap around her waist.
"Hello, Harry." She said, trying hard not to laugh.
Harry Potter's head appeared, floating behind her shoulder. "You're
sitting on the cloak, Susan," he said with a grin. She stood, allowing him
to pull the invisibility cloak off and stash it in his bag.
After she had settled in between Harry and Luna, Susan listened as the
group chatted about the usual end-of-term nonsense - summer
assignments, their OWLs, travel plans, and the like. It did not escape
Susan that there was no discussion about the battle, the Ministry, or the
war.
The fact did not bother Susan overmuch, as she could be required to
report anything she learned to her head of house - who, in this case, was
the Director of the DMLE. She had discussed this with Harry, and both
agreed that they did not want to put her in that position. Susan knew
that her aunt was aware of Harry's group, and what they planned - but
most of the details were kept intentionally vague, which was how Madam
Bones wanted it.
The conversation did wind its way to the newly reinstated Headmaster
Dumbledore, after a while. Harry did not do a very good job of hiding his
scoff at the man's title, earning chuckles from the group, and a raised
eyebrow from Susan.
"So," she remarked. "That's why you used the cloak this morning?" Harry
shrugged in response.
"He didn't want the Headmaster to try and tell him where to go for the
summer," said Luna, her eyes still on her copy of the Quibbler. "He can't
disobey if he's not told what to do."
"I see," Susan replied. "And where will you be this summer, Harry?" She
wanted to ask about sending owls, but decided that that could wait.
"Oh, I'll be a good boy, for now," he said. "The Headmaster wanted me to
stay in Surrey for all those years, so in Surrey I shall be." Then he smiled
at her. "At least, until the Wizengamot meets, that is."
Hermione looked up from her book, a wistful look on her face. "I wish I
could be there when you make the announcement," she said.
"I'll let you view my memory, Hermione," said Neville. "The Longbottom
seat is near the top row, we can see pretty much everything."
"Including the visitor's gallery?" asked Luna.
Neville raised an eyebrow at the question. "Of course, why?"
Luna gave him a soft smile. "Because that's where the Potters will be
sitting."
Ginny shook her head. "I heard Professor McGonagall mention that the
Headmaster was working on important parchmentwork in his office, and
that that's why he skipped breakfast this morning."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Probably my esteemed father," he sighed. "It takes
a lot of parchment to change someone from 'dead' to just 'missing'."
"Wouldn't the DMLE have updated their file when they were caught alive
in the Ministry?" asked Hermione.
It was Susan's turn to scoff at that. "It's not Auntie's job to help people
with their records. At most, she'd just confirm their identities if asked -
and the records office will ask, once the correct forms are filed, of
course."
"With so much parchment going through that place," Harry said, "It's a
wonder anything gets done at all."
"Yes, well, with the Headmaster shepherding it along, it won't be long
before the Potters are officially alive." said Neville. "And then, the real
fun begins."
"Speaking of which," said Hermione. "Harry, did Director Bones tell you
why there were no charges against your parents? Nothing about
trespassing in the Ministry or faking their deaths or anything like that?"
She looked uncertain as she asked her question, and Harry knew why.
There was quite a bit left out of that list of crimes - most of them
involving his being left with the Dursleys, and the scars that resulted.
Susan saw Harry's expression darken, and decided to speak up before he
could respond. "I think Aunt Amelia wanted to see what the Potters did
next, now that they are back." She reached over and grabbed one of
Harry's hands, giving it a squeeze. "Even knowing that they are really
who they say they are, she knows nothing about their true reasons for
going into hiding - or for coming back now."
"They left him with those muggles, though." said Ron, speaking up for the
first time. "Fred and George and I had to pull bars off of a window to get
him out that summer."
Susan shrugged. "They would argue that that was Dumbledore's decision,
and they didn't know." She looked thoughtful. "Assuming, of course, that
they even try to blame Dumbledore."
"They might," said Neville, "If they thought he could get away with it,
and they couldn't." He shook his head in disgust. "Any other wizard who
tried a plot half as complicated as this one, they'd be in Azkaban before
you could say 'puffskein'."
"And that brings us to reason number two, Hermione," Susan continued,
dropping into the courtroom voice she had heard all her life from her
Aunt Amelia. When the Director had had complex arguments or speeches
to give before the Wizengamot, she frequently practiced her delivery
before her favorite audience - her niece. Amelia later teased that Susan
would end up as a gifted advocate, since most witches and wizards do
not begin their legal training at the age of five.
Hermione might study the laws, but books of decisions and precedents do
little to demonstrate why the laws are enforced as they are. Neville's
lessons from his gran, meanwhile, gave him a firm understanding of the
politics of the Wizengamot - but little knowledge about the laws that
body sought to enforce. Having her guardian be both the top law
enforcement official for Wizarding Britain, and at the same time the
Regent Bones, left Susan with an almost instinctive knowledge of what
the laws were, how they were enforced - and, most importantly, why it
was so.
In that light, interpreting the Director's actions, or lack thereof, towards
the Potters was simple. It helped that she knew the Director so well, of
course.
Susan seemed to relax into the role of analyzing her aunt's decision, even
as her tone took on the careful neutrality of the courtroom. "If Director
Bones accused the Chief Warlock of the crimes of this nature, she would
need to make sure she could convict him. Even with hard evidence
beyond the testimony of the Potters, there would still be a large portion
of the Wizengamot who would vote not guilty. Her evidence would need
to be unbeatable." She looked at Harry, whose expression was
unreadable. "As for the Potters, they could truthfully say that they were
following the instructions of the Chief Warlock, acting in a time of war.
That they were sequestered and out of contact meant that they were not
given the ability to prevent harm to Harry, which they would argue
absolves them of guilt."
"So they get off, then," said Hermione, sadly.
"Oh, I didn't say that at all." Susan said. She held up Harry's hand,
displaying the Lord's ring. Everyone in the compartment knew of his
Lordship, and so the ring was visible to them - the glamours would only
kick in if someone not in the know was nearby. "How did that oath go
again, Harry?"
Harry smiled at her, seeing where she was going with that line of
reasoning. "I swear on my life and magic to devote myself to the House of
Potter. I swear to defend the House and its members, together with all
who find themselves under our protection, against any and all enemies,
magical and mundane. I swear to uphold both law and custom as befits
our ancient lineage. I swear to uphold the honor and nobility of my
house. I pledge my wand and my blade, as Lord of the Ancient and Most
Noble House of Potter, to see these things done, or to die trying. As I say,
so I swear." There was no glow of an accepted oath, which surprised a
few of those present, until they realized that there wouldn't be - he had
already taken the oath, and bound himself to the magic of it through the
Lord's ring. This had merely been a recitation.
Susan patted Harry on the hand, smiling at Hermione. "Consider what we
know of James Potter, and his actions with regard to Harry."
Hermione looked from Susan to Harry, before looking over at Neville. "I
don't understand."
Neville's eyes were wide as the implications hit him. "The Potters are an
old family, Hermione. Every line of that oath could be given on its own,
and you'd still be bound to it. That's why it's written the way it is, you
see? It's not one oath, but several. And each one is tied together into a
binding commitment on Lord Potter's life and magic. If Harry
unknowingly violates one of those oaths - say, by violently attacking
someone he didn't know was a Potter, for example - his magic would let
him know. Probably painfully."
"And knowingly?" asked Ginny. She knew the answer, but needed
Hermione to understand as well.
Neville's voice was grave. "If Harry knowingly went against his oath, he
could die. The family magic could literally rip the life or magic from
him." He looked over at Hermione. "By abandoning Harry all those years
ago, James Potter violated every line of that oath."
Hermione looked stunned. Then, she looked puzzled again. "But he
hasn't, has he?" Off the looks from the others, she kept speaking. "He still
has his magic, and he's obviously still alive, so why didn't the oath
work?"
"Because he was dead."
Everyone turned to look at Harry, whose quiet voice seemed to command
their attention.
"I don't know what the hell was going through James Potter's mind when
he decided to leave me at the Dursleys," Harry said. "If I was in hiding,
thinking my son was being cared for, and I learned that he was not, I'd
move heaven and earth to rescue them. If I left my son in the care of
someone I trusted, I would demand to know the details of how they were
cared for, how they were living and thriving and growing." He sighed.
"The Potters didn't even realize I had grown up with the Dursleys before
we met two nights ago. They assumed I had been raised by a wizarding
family, which makes sense I guess, but they never even bothered to find
out WHO exactly had their son."
"You mean…. Oh, Merlin." Ron's look of horror was shared by the rest of
the group.
"Yeah," replied Harry, bitterly. "I was so important to them that they had
no idea where I was. Dumbledore didn't even need to come up with a
plausible lie for them, because they never fucking thought to ask." He
shook his head, fighting hard to control his anger. Susan's hand on his
helped immensely, he found. "As far as I'm concerned, the only reason
the family magic hasn't already ripped the magic from James Potter is
that he was 'dead' when the harm was committed."
"And now that he's alive?" asked Hermione, almost in a whisper.
"Now that he's alive, he can be called to judgment by Lord Potter." Harry
gave Susan's hand a squeeze, before leaning forward and looking
Hermione in the eye. When he continued, his tone gave her a chill, for it
was filled with more malice than she had ever heard from her friend.
"If and when that happens, I suspect that James Potter will be found…
wanting."
oOoOoOoOo
When Neville and Ron began trading looks, Susan took it as her signal to
leave the team to their meeting. Before she left the compartment to visit
with Hannah and some of the other hufflepuffs, she made sure to invite
the group to Bones Manor for a party. Her birthday was on July the 19th,
less than two weeks before Harry's, and she wanted to have some sort of
joint birthday party.
The fact that Harry had never had a birthday party at all weighed heavily
on her mind. She hoped to at least give them a break from the war. The
six each knew exactly what she was doing - and approved
wholeheartedly. All of them promised to attend.
Harry walked with her into the corridor. Susan was only partially
successful at hiding her blush.
"You know I'll be coming back later, right Harry? My things are still here,
after all."
"I know," responded Harry.
Susan looked up at him, meeting his eyes. There was a bit of worry there,
now that they were alone. Uncertainty, perhaps - but whether it was
about them or about the war, she could not tell.
Deciding to shake him loose of it, she poked him in the shoulder. "Now
see here, Potter, I seem to remember you and I coming to an agreement.
Don't you dare think about backing out now, My Lord Potter if you
please."
He could not help smiling at that, in spite of himself. "I would not dream
of it, Heiress Bones." With a flourish, he made a show of kissing her hand.
She almost giggled at the exaggerated gesture - almost.
"Careful, My Lord," she said, grinning. "If you keep that up, I might have
to have Auntie write up a contract." Stepping forward, Susan wrapped the
gryffindor in a tight hug - and did not see how his eyes had widened in
shock at the mention of a contract.
In his ear, she whispered. "Stay safe, Harry." Then she kissed his cheek,
and walked up toward the front of the train, and her housemates.
Harry watched her go, a hand on his cheek. Lost in his thoughts, he did
not hear the compartment door opening.
"She doesn't know, does she?" asked Neville in a quiet voice. Harry's eyes
remained on the door at the end of the carriage, but Neville could hear
his friend's sigh.
"Nev, I don't even think Madam Bones knows."
Neville placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "May I suggest telling her
first?"
Harry chuckled at that. "I think that's about the only way I'll live through
it, honestly."
oOoOoOoOo
The six decided to meet in eight days at Potter Manor. That would give
each of them time to relax a bit and decompress from the stress of the
past few weeks, as well as a chance to spend time with family. For Harry,
it meant a chance to meet with Sirius and others about the Wizengamot
meeting that had been called for Thursday.
With the exception of Hermione, each of them had been added to the
wards at the manor, and could arrive via floo once Harry opened access.
He had also added Susan and Amelia Bones, as well as Sirius. For
Hermione, he planned to provide a portkey - he did not want to advertise
her location by having her connected to the floo network, nor was that a
conversation he necessarily wanted to have with her parents.
No other names were added to the wards, regardless of how long they
may or may not have lived at the manor. Harry had summoned a Potter
elf to make sure that the wards were locked down tight - he would take
no chances, especially now.
When the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, Harry was already
under his cloak. He said his goodbyes to the group, including the gift of
another kiss from Susan, and made his way through the crowd to the
muggle side of the platform. There, he wove through the late afternoon
crowds to a small cafe near the station. In the cafe's loo, he took off the
cloak and stashed it in his bag. The crowd was beginning to pick up with
travellers returning home after a weekend's stay in London town. Even on
a Sunday, there was no shortage of weary travellers hoping for a cup of
tea and some scones.
Fortunately, he had a table reserved already. Taking his seat, Harry saw
that tea and snacks had already been served.
"Thank you again for coming all this way, sir," he said, taking a much-
needed sip from his cup.
Colonel Ramsay chuckled at the teenager. "Long day, was it?"
"You have no idea," was Harry's reply, as he reached for a scone.
Ramsay raised an eyebrow at that. "At least tell me there were no
dragons involved this time?"
Harry briefly had the mental image of his father's angry features on little
Norbert, the baby dragon Hagrid tried to raise in their first year. Perhaps
it was the long train ride, or the release of tension after (temporarily)
leaving the wizarding world, or simply the knowledge that he was
speaking to the closest thing he would ever have to a true mentor.
Whatever the reason, Harry found that he couldn't stop laughing.
oOoOoOoOo
The Rookwood family had lived in the west country for centuries. They
did not have nor need a large manor house, preferring a simple mansion
on a hill. A large house was a noticeable house, the patriarch had said at
the time. That line of thinking was also part of the reason why the
Rookwood family, despite a long enough history to qualify, had never
been elevated to an ancient house. Where the Rookwoods went largely
unnoticed, the Ancient House of Rookwood would not.
One could not discover secrets by getting noticed. It was a lesson
Ambrose Rookwood had learned well.
Even with an old house on a hill, Augustus Rookwood had been
overzealous with his wards. "Anything that can be done, can be
overdone," he had said with a grin, when his son asked about the ward
scheme.
Now those wards were in lockdown, having detected through magic the
death of the head of house. Ambrose stood at the gate, his brown hair
almost standing on end with the magic crackling in the air.
"I am Ambrose Rookwood," he said, addressing the family crest worked
into the metal of the gate. "I am the head of house. Grant me entry!" The
moment stretched out, and for an instant Ambrose wondered if it had
worked. The grinding of metal answered his thought, and the old gate
parted for him. Twenty minutes later, Ambrose had taken control of the
wards, and could tell that the house had accepted him. The final step had
been gaining entry into his father's study.
No, he thought. It's my study now.
With a sigh, he sat down at his father's desk. From his robes, he took the
letter he had gotten from Director Croaker of the Unspeakables. He
tossed it onto the desk, dismissively, before leaning back in the old
leather chair and closing his eyes.
The Director had been much more pleasant to him than he had any right
to expect, after the way their meeting had gone.
"I know you're exactly the sort of student we want in the Department of
Mysteries, lad," the Director had said. Then came the hand on the shoulder,
and the older man's face got that kind look - the sort of look one gets when
they deliver bad news. "The truth is," the Director continued, "Your father
betrayed several of his oaths by leading a group of death eaters into the
Department, and then compounded the breach by actually attacking a group
of Hogwarts students. If he hadn't been killed in the attack he helped stage, it's
likely that his oaths would have done the job once his involvement was
revealed."
"I'm not my father, Director Croaker, sir." Ambrose had replied, not sure what
else to say.
"I know that, and you know that. Augustus always spoke highly of you, and
personally I was really looking forward to putting you through your paces."
Croaker sighed, before continuing. "The reality of the situation is that I can't
bring in the son of a death eater who was killed in the department he betrayed
during the first war. Even though you deserve a place here, and would excel if
given the chance, I'm afraid the Ministry will not allow it."
"I was under the impression that the Ministry had no direct say over your
staff, sir." said Ambrose, working to keep his tone as polite as he could. No use
in angering the Director.
Croaker looked conflicted - he clearly did not like the idea of any sort of
interference. "Any other time, you'd be right. But for now, while Voldemort is
active…" Croaker reached out, offering his hand. "Well, I'm sorry, kid. Let me
know if there's anything I can do."
He shook Croaker's hand automatically, excusing himself with empty phrases
and polite words he needed no thought to produce. His feet carried him to the
DMLE, where he filled out parchment to claim his father's remains. He would
have to wait until the investigation was wrapped up, of course - probably
several weeks, according to the clerk.
Looking around the study, Ambrose took in the knowledge his family had
gathered over the years, the leatherbound tomes and journals and ledgers
threatening to overflow the bookshelves that lined the room. His eyes
went to the small, leather book sitting on his father's desk. Ambrose
could detect the magic of it, the simple wards against intrusion that
would prevent anyone but the head of house from reading what his
father had written.
Ambrose placed his hand on the journal, and felt the magic accept him.
More than anything else, that drove home that this was real. His father
was truly gone.
"What do I do now, Da?" he asked, sadly. The answer was obvious, of
course, when Ambrose took the time to think it over.
What do Rookwoods do best? Ambrose asked himself.
Out loud, his voice barely a whisper, he gave the only answer he could.
"We plan." His decision made, Ambrose reached for parchment and a
quill. He needed information, and knew just how to get it.
A/N:Ambrose Rookwood is an OC, seeing as much of what we know
about the Rookwoods, and even Augustus Rookwood, is speculation
at best. His role in the story will be an interesting one, I think.
My beta on Keystone Council is in the midst of starting a new job, so
that story will be slow in updating while she gets her feet
underneath her. So, we'll just keep things moving toward the
inevitable Wizengamot throwdown, which should be fun for the
whole family.
If you're reading this and left a review, thank you - I've been lax in
responding, but I do read every comment and take them to heart.
The discussion about the lack of criminal charges against the Potters
(as yet) came from several review comments, asking about that very
topic. Your feedback makes this story, and my other works as well,
that much better. So, again, my thanks.
9. The Wizengamot
Not for the first time that day, Lily Potter found herself looking at her
right hand, and the bare ring finger she found there. She had become the
Lady Potter on her wedding day, just over two years before the attack at
Godric's Hollow. When the Potters went into hiding, they had left the
Lord and Lady's rings behind - the goblins would notice if the rings did
not return to the family vault on their 'death'.
In all the years since, she had never really felt the absence of the Lady's
ring. Not until today.
Her left hand still bore the ruby-encrusted heirloom ring James had given
her on their wedding day. She remembered her surprise at how much the
wedding vow mirrored the usual muggle version, and how that fact had
helped calm her parents' fears about losing their daughter to this strange
world.
It was not her wedding vow that ran through her thoughts this day.
I vow to support the House of Potter, the Consort's oath went. I vow to serve
the sons and daughters of my house, to teach them all that they must learn, to
guide them in the family magics, to safeguard them with my magic and my
life. I vow to offer wise counsel to the head of my house, to stand beside them
in times of peace, and to guard their backs in times of war. Lily closed her
eyes, as the memories of the ceremony ran through her mind.
"As I say, so I swear," she whispered.
When the time came, it would be Jamie's betrothed who would wear the
Lady's ring, just as Jamie would be the Lord. Thankfully, they had a long
time before that became a concern. Had they had a daughter, she would
have taken the oath James took, and her husband - if and when - would
take the same oath Lily had taken. The Lord and Lady of the house had to
support each other, to stand together in all things.
There was no magical compulsion forcing her to stand with her husband.
It was just what had to be done.
Lily looked up at the vanity Sirius had placed in their room, and
examined her features. Her robes were simple and elegant - ideal for
being presented to the Wizengamot as the Lady Potter. She had none but
the simplest jewelry, for this was not an occasion where a show of wealth
was required. Instead, she was dressed as if she had business before the
Wizengamot - which she did.
The war had begun in earnest, and Dumbledore needed every ally beside
him if they were to win. That meant an active House of Potter, as a proxy
could only go so far. He needed a forceful presence to speak with the
voice of the Light. James was to be that voice.
It was more than a junior auror had expected to be, all those years ago.
Dumbledore's plan, even then, had not accounted for the Wizengamot,
and the politics of the war were never of great concern. His removal as
Chief Warlock last summer had changed everything, however. Now, they
needed to get him back into that position, and quickly, before Minister
Fudge could be removed from office. Otherwise, the fear was that Fudge
could put one of his own allies in as Chief Warlock, thus ensuring that
the following Ministerial election would also go his way.
The only worse result would be electing Voldemort himself as Minister.
Lily worried about the speed of everything. Dumbledore would be
revealing their return from exile, then minutes later calling them to take
the Potter seat. It was Dumbledore who held the Proxy for the Potter
vote, and thus could handle the change as a simple announcement -
which prevented objections from anyone except the Potters or their
Proxy. Then, James would stand before the members and rally them to
Dumbledore's side.
If all went according to the Headmaster's plan, he would be voted in as
Chief Warlock by acclamation. The fact that several members of the dark-
aligned families remained in custody helped, as their votes could not be
cast against Dumbledore. It was all happening quickly, only a week after
the battle and their return - but Dumbledore said that they had no choice
in the matter if they wanted to prevent Voldemort's latest attempt at
gaining control.
She had been uneasy about the pace of events ever since their meeting
with Harry. The way he spoke, the confidence he seemed to exhibit, told
her that there was more going on than she knew. They had used the
prophecy to guide their family for all this time, only to find that their
younger son did not believe that it was a true prophecy? How could
Dumbledore allow that?
Clearly, they had to reach out to their wayward son - Petunia could
hardly have been expected to teach him about his place in the world. He
hadn't even deferred to James - which worried her as well. James naming
himself as Lord and Head of House should have forced Harry to comply,
for the family magic would demand it. Instead, Harry had almost
threatened his father. They had all been angry that night, but that
moment was the one she played over and over in her mind.
Once James had the Lord's ring, and Jamie the Heir's, they could bring
Harry back into the fold. Perhaps he would want to stay at Potter Manor
this summer? Jamie needed to meet his soon to be housemates, so that he
could start to build relationships. What better opportunity than their
birthday? A joint party was just what the twins needed to reconnect.
Lily looked at her reflection in the mirror, and nodded to herself.
Everything would be fine.
oOoOoOoOo
It was Sirius Black's third meeting as the Lord Black. His installation in
April, shortly after his surprise exoneration, had been a whirlwind of
handshakes and congratulations and well-wishers. The meeting in May
had settled down somewhat, with polite greetings and a bit of
conversation from members who wanted to get a feel for his positions on
that day's agenda.
Today should have just been another routine meeting, but the agenda
guaranteed that it would be anything but. The main business of the
meeting was a briefing about the events of the previous week's battle,
followed by a discussion ominously titled "Response to International
Terrorism in Wizarding Britain". Most of the members did not associate
one with the other, and focused their attention on Voldemort's
appearance and subsequent retreat.
Sirius knew differently, of course. He glanced over at Madam Bones, who
caught his eyes and gave him a slight nod, before returning to her
conversation. It was all the confirmation he needed - Amelia planned to
grab control of the war with both hands, and she was using the threat of
the ICW to do it.
About time, he thought.
Tiberius Ogden, the Interim Chief Warlock, walked up the stairs to his
place at the center of the room. When Dumbledore was removed from his
position as Chief Warlock, Ogden had been the only member on whom
both light and dark could agree. Unfortunately, he had planned on
retiring that very day, and angrily told the members exactly what he
thought about their nonsense. In one of the wisest political moves of his
career, Cornelius Fudge had talked Ogden into taking the position on an
interim basis, just until the summer began.
Fudge reasoned that Dumbledore would be thoroughly discredited by
then, allowing him to pick anyone he wanted as Chief Warlock. Had the
still-missing Umbridge done her job, it might have worked, even with
Voldemort's public return. Now, of course, he would be lucky to survive
the day.
Sirius watched the Potters slide into their seats in the visitor's gallery.
They sat in the front row and kept their hoods up, giving no one a chance
to get a good look at the newcomers. He saw James look up at him and
give him a polite nod, which Sirius returned. Even after their argument
that morning, James was still his friend. Would that be true after today?
As soon as James walked into the kitchen wearing robes fit for a Lord, Sirius
knew it would be today.
"James," he began. "Tell me you're not doing what I think you're doing?"
"Padfoot," replied James, patting his friend on the shoulder as he walked past
to get a cup of coffee. "Dumbledore needs me in the Potter seat, so that's what
I'm going to do." He looked up, and saw the expression on Sirius' face. "Why,
what's wrong?"
Sirius considered his response for a moment, before sighing. "I'm bound by an
oath not to tell you everything, James, but what I can tell you is this - quite a
lot has happened since you were gone and legally dead. For your own sake,
for that of your family, you had better be absolutely sure you are doing the
right thing."
James' expression hardened. "Sirius, my family is why I'm doing this.
Dumbledore needs me in the room, working to stop the death eaters in the
'gamot. Jamie deserves to wear the Heir's ring he's never had the chance to
hold. Lily deserves to wear the Lady's ring once again, as is her right."
Sirius gave his friend a sad smile. "And Harry?"
"I want my son back. As Lord, I can bring him home." He sat his mug down,
his features softening. "Sirius, I know you've done the best you could with him,
but this is a bridge we need to build together. He needs to be home."
Sirius took a sip of his tea, steeling himself for the nundu in the room. "I could
have done better with him if I hadn't been in prison, James."
James winced at that. "I know, mate. I wish I could take that all back, and I
would if I could."
"Would you?" Sirius asked, quietly. James clearly looked pained, but said
nothing. "Can you at least tell me why you didn't say anything? Once
Dumbledore knew, surely he could have done something?"
Another pained look crossed James' face. "Dumbledore told us that he'd take
care of it, Sirius."
"I see," was the reply. Then Sirius looked into James' eyes, trying to will his old
friend to understand where he was coming from. "Doesn't that bother you?
That he told you he'd get me out of prison, and he never did?"
"Maybe he tried and was stopped…" James began, but Sirius' expression
stopped him.
"Do you honestly believe that?" Sirius asked, his voice rising. "He lied to you,
James. And I paid the price."
"He's Dumbledore," James said, as if that explained everything. And perhaps it
did.
Sirius stood, setting his cup on the table. "I think he's giving you bad advice,
James. And I really hope that you don't end up paying the same price that I
did." His hands on the table, Sirius leaned forward. "Because I guarantee you,
it won't be Harry suffering anymore for the Headmaster's plots and plans."
James' voice grew cold as his anger rose. "Harry will do as his Lord
commands, if he knows what is good for him."
Sirius shook his head. "If you don't know by now, then there's nothing I can do
for you. All I can tell you, old friend, is that you'd better be sure you know
what you're doing. Because some things simply can't be undone." Turning, he
walked out of his kitchen, leaving a gobsmacked James Potter in his wake.
Neither of the men noticed Jamie Potter sitting in the corner.
oOoOoOoOo
Percy Weasley took the ceremonial gavel in his hand, and rapped it
against his desk. He had opened meetings of the Wizengamot before, but
the energy in the room made it clear that this would be no ordinary
meeting. Placing his hand on the desk, Percy felt the magic of the
chamber take hold - as the Clerk, he needed no sonorus charm, for the
chamber provided its own magic to make his voice heard.
"All rise!" The scattered conversations quieted amidst the shuffling of
robes and chairs, as the members of the Wizengamot rose. "This session
of the Wizengamot of Great Britain and Ireland is called to order, the
Right Honourable Tiberius Ogden presiding. May Magic guide these
deliberations."
"So be it!" answered the members, responding out of long habit.
"Be seated," came the deep voice of the Chief Warlock, who remained
standing at his podium. As the members took their seats, Ogden began
his remarks. "Thank you, Mister Weasley. Members of the Wizengamot,
we have been called here for an emergency session to deal with matters
vital to the security of Wizarding Britain. Accordingly, the chair will
entertain motions on the rules at this time." Seeing a signal to his left,
Ogden nodded. "Lord Greengrass."
Lord Trevor Greengrass leaned forward in his seat, one of the few
members who could get away with not standing to address the chamber.
Despite his advanced age, his cane and wand were both as quick as ever,
and the last member who had tried to call him out on his lack of decorum
got hit with both. His son, Daniel, was busy running his import business,
and his two granddaughters were still at Hogwarts, so the venerable Lord
Greengrass continued to show up at the Wizengamot and make a bloody
nuisance of himself, as he phrased it.
His sometimes cranky attitude had its fans among his colleagues,
including Augusta Longbottom. Like the Lord Greengrass, the Regent
Longbottom had little patience for ministry officials who thought they
knew better than she did just because they had a title that she did not.
The Greengrasses and the Longbottoms had long been close, and the
genial working relationship between the two heads of house only
reinforced that bond.
"Lord Ogden," began Lord Greengrass, "I move that we dispense with the
reading of the minutes and notices, and proceed straight to the Minister's
report on whatever the hell happened in the Ministry last week."
Ogden looked around the room, seeing nods from most of the members.
"Any objections?" he asked.
Sirius stood, drawing looks from James Potter and Albus Dumbledore,
neither of whom looked comfortable with the interruption. "Chief
Warlock, at least one of the notices you will have received on Thursday
last will be relevant to the reason for today's meeting, and House Black
reserves the right to bring the matter up at that time." With that, he sat
back down.
"Lord Black's point is noted," said Ogden, giving Sirius a look of his own.
He had not reviewed the notices submitted to the Wizengamot, as they
usually consisted of marriages and births and the like. In years past,
families would announce feuds and contracts with a notice, but that
practice had long fell into disuse. When no one else spoke, Ogden banged
his gavel. "Without objection, so ordered." He turned to Minister Fudge.
"The Minister of Magic has the floor for a briefing on the events of last
Thursday. Minister Fudge."
Fudge rose, stepping to his own podium. His hands were shaking, and he
fought hard to keep the nervousness out of his voice. His entire career,
everything he had built, was riding on this meeting and this speech. As it
had with Percy, the magic of the chamber amplified his voice, and he
began to speak.
"Thank you, Chief Warlock. You will all receive a copy of the DMLE's
report on last week's battle, so I will be brief. Twenty-three death eaters
infiltrated the Ministry of Magic last Thursday, intending to set a trap for
Harry Potter. Mister Potter arrived at the Ministry several hours later,
along with five of his fellow students from Hogwarts. They were led to
the Department of Mysteries, where the death eaters attempted to
retrieve a prophecy involving the Dark Lord. During the fighting, twelve
death eaters were killed, and eleven more were captured and taken into
custody."
"During the battle, more death eaters appeared in the atrium, and did
battle with the aurors who first responded to the incident. Among them
was a pale-skinned wizard with red eyes and a yew wand. The man's
magic was later identified as that of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
Despite the reporting in the Prophet, despite the appearance of Lord
Voldemort being all anyone could talk about for the past week, hearing it
confirmed from the Minister's lips was still a shock, and the gasps from
the audience were proof.
"Albus Dumbledore engaged You-know-who in a duel in the atrium,
during which another wizard came to his aid. When the Dark Lord found
himself outnumbered, he fled." Fudge turned and looked at Dumbledore.
"I'll defer to the Headmaster in a moment, as there is more of the story to
tell, but I see there are questions?"
Ogden recognized Lady Ashbrook, who asked how the death eaters made
it into the Department of Mysteries.
Fudge winced at that. "Augustus Rookwood was among the death eaters,
and was one of those killed in the attack. He had served as an
unspeakable during the first war, and took the dark mark in an effort to
infiltrate that group - as confirmed by Director Theobald at the time.
After the fall of the Dark Lord, he resigned from the department, though I
am told he consulted on and off over the years."
"So he was a spy, but obviously not for us," she said, angrily.
Fudge sighed. "So it would seem." Ogden then recognized Narcissa
Malfoy, sitting in the Malfoy seat as its proxy.
"Twelve witches and wizards are dead, Minister. Are there to be any
charges against their killers?" Narcissa's voice was emotionless, and she
was clearly exhausted. Her face was gaunt, and her hands were visibly
shaking. Sirius' eyes narrowed at her, and he wondered if she was here
voluntarily or if she had been given no choice in the matter.
"Madam Bones will speak to that in her report," said Fudge, happy to not
be the one to talk about that. When several members objected, Ogden
had to bang his gavel to restore order. Narcissa looked around the room,
cringing from the angry shouts from her side of the chamber. Eventually,
Lord Flint managed to get recognized by the chair.
"Lords and Ladies, are we about to let the Ministry of Magic finish what
they tried to start fifteen years ago?" Flint banged on his desk,
punctuating his words. "No we will not!" He held up a sheet of
parchment, and Sirius recognized part of the DMLE report. "It's no secret
that those of us who were branded by the Dark Lord bear the stigma of
guilt even today, years later, when no evidence was ever presented
against us apart from the mark. Look at the list of the dead and the
'captured'. Each one bore that same mark. Some, like Rookwood, may
have had divided loyalties, but others were cleared of all wrongdoing.
These wizards were caught up once more under the imperius curse, and I
say they should be released immediately!"
The shouting resumed at that - not all of it against the idea. Sirius
wondered if they would try to place the blame on Rookwood, who
undoubtedly could have held several in his thrall. That they had a
marked death eater making the request seemed to be a bold move, at first
glance - but only if you did not know what was coming.
Flint did not stop there. "Furthermore, Minister Fudge, I demand that
whoever killed these fine upstanding witches and wizards be brought
before this body, so that we can hold their trial and sentencing without
delay!" More shouts answered him, and some members seemed that they
might come to blows.
It took the aurors several minutes to calm the room, and then only after
they threatened to start removing the troublemakers. When Ogden
restored order, he deferred to Madam Bones, who stood.
Dumbledore and James shared a glance, neither one knowing how a trial
would change the situation with Harry. Dumbledore wondered if James
would make an attempt to protect his son, even though Harry seemed to
take every opportunity to antagonize his Lord and Head of House. James,
meanwhile, was wondering how Madam Bones would frame the charges
against Harry. Shack had mentioned that the ICW might have something
to say about the battle, but surely they wouldn't protect Harry, not after
he killed Bellatrix Lestrange in cold blood.
The Amelia Bones he had known would not let Harry off without some
consequence. The only question now would be how bad it got. As she
took her podium, James saw the look of satisfaction on her face - and
realized that Flint had said exactly what she was expecting.
"Lord Flint," Madam Bones began. "The eleven marked death eaters
captured last Thursday were all conducting an attack on the seat of our
government. During this attack, they injured several ministry workers,
stunned and restrained others, and attempted to use deadly force against
six students, one of whom they tricked into coming to the Ministry. In
short, Lord Flint, the eleven we captured, along with the twelve who
died, were all terrorists."
"There's no proof of that!" Flint snarled. "And even if there were, prove to
me they weren't under the imperius! You can't, can you?"
"As a matter of fact, I can't, Lord Flint," said Madam Bones, with an
unnerving smile. Sirius shook his head at that look - it was the look she
got when she was closing a case. She had set a trap, and Flint walked
right into it. "You see, the International Confederation of Wizards
declared the death eaters as a terrorist group three weeks ago. All eleven
captured death eaters are under ICW jurisdiction now, far from these
shores."
"Outrageous!" Flint shouted angrily. "Where are you keeping them?"
"I'm sure I have no idea, sir." was the calm reply. As if we'd lead you to
them, she thought.
oOoOoOoOo
"What about Potter?" an older wizard asked, from the back row.
Madam Bones' eyes narrowed at the question. "What about him, Lord
Avery?"
The white-haired wizard stood, leaning heavily on his cane and placing
his other hand on his desk. His deep voice came out in an angry rasp, but
it commanded the attention of the members even so. Lord Robert Avery
looked every one of his hundred and twenty years, but Sirius could see
that the man's eyes were still as sharp as ever.
"My son is dead," Avery began. "He apparated into the Department of
Mysteries to assist in the defence of that part of the Ministry, as any
capable wizard might. Within seconds of his appearance, Harry Potter
cast a reducto that nearly took off his head. He drowned in his own blood
on the floor of the Ministry." With a growl, Lord Avery struck his desk
with his fist, the sound reverberating around the now quiet chamber.
"House Avery demands justice!" He shouted. "We demand that the liar
and coward Harry Potter be brought here to stand trial for the cold
blooded murder of my son. And when that's done, I want him kissed!"
Sirius rose to his feet. "Madam Bones, I'd like to respond to Lord Avery, if
I might." Amelia found his eyes, and saw his slight nod. It's time, she
realized.
"By all means, Lord Black," she responded, gesturing to Sirius. The room
grew quiet once again, as the members looked to Sirius.
Here goes nothing, he thought.
"Lords and Ladies, Harry Potter will not submit himself to this body for
judgment over his actions in the Department of Mysteries, nor will any of
the other five students who fought at his side."
"Is your precious boy-who-killed above the law?" shouted Avery in
disgust.
Sirius turned his gaze to the older wizard, and smiled at him. "No, My
Lord, Harry Potter is fully aware of the law. That is why he will not stand
trial, you see." He held up the DMLE report. "You just heard Madam
Bones tell us that the ICW has declared the death eaters as nothing more
than a group of terrorists, but what you did not hear is that it is perfectly
legal to stun, capture, or even kill a terrorist if you catch them
committing an act of terror."
Flint scoffed. "What business does the ICW have telling us how to enforce
our laws?"
"Quite a lot, Lord Flint," answered Madam Bones. "Seeing as how we are
unable to do anything to prevent these attacks, they have made it clear
that they will do what we cannot."
Avery and Flint shared a glance, as did several over members on their
side of the room. "Fine," said Avery. "But what of Potter? He's not some
foreign busybody, now is he?" He pointed at Sirius, as his voice grew
louder. "He killed a bound and silenced witch, just to watch her die. The
boy is a criminal!"
Sirius almost thanked the man for setting up his speech so well. "Harry
Potter had absolutely every right to act as he did last week, under this
body's own laws."
"We never permitted schoolchildren to commit murder!" shouted Flint.
"Lord Ogden, I would like to read a copy of the notice from Thursday
last, in accordance with the old ways." Sirius lifted the parchment and
looked at the Chief Warlock, waiting.
A few of the members knew what the old ways entailed, and busily tried
to figure out who had found themselves in a feud with Sirius Black. Flint
angrily objected, thinking that Sirius was delaying the trial. Ogden
quieted the room, and then told Sirius to proceed.
Nodding his thanks, Sirius made a show of reading from the parchment.
"Whereas the last son and heir of an ancient house has repeatedly
attempted to slay the last son and heir of my house, and whereas the heir
to my house has fought off these attacks on multiple occasions, and
whereas the sworn allies of that house have also made attempts on the
heir of my house, even forcing their children to engage in physical and
magical attacks, and whereas the Minister of Magic has seen fit to
abdicate his duty to remove this threat to Wizarding Britain," Here, Sirius
paused, taking a moment to make eye contact with James, who had a
puzzled look on his face. I did try to warn you, Sirius thought to himself.
Clearing his throat, Sirius continued. "Now Therefore I, Harry James
Potter, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, do hereby
declare that a blood feud exists between my house and the Ancient House
of Gaunt. In accordance with the old ways, House Potter vows to remove
the threat to its peace and safety by any means necessary."
Sirius looked up at Lord Flint, who glared angrily back at him. Without
looking away, Sirius recited the notice from memory. "Given the actions
of the marked followers of the heir to the House of Gaunt, the House of
Potter extends the feud to all who swear allegiance to Tom Marvolo
Riddle, the son and heir of the House of Gaunt, also known as the coward
Voldemort."
Silence filled the chamber. Any other mention of the Dark Lord would
have resulted in gasps, at the very least - but not today. At the mention of
a blood feud, the room remained silent. It had been many years since a
dispute had escalated in this fashion, and only the oldest among the
members remembered the last such feud. That feud had been called over
a broken engagement, and ended with a duel and two maimed but living
heirs.
This one would be worse, by far - and already was, if the twelve dead
from the battle were any indication.
The light families were troubled that Harry had taken this big of a step,
particularly without consulting Dumbledore. The Headmaster's look of
utter shock told the tale - this had been a surprise, and an unwelcome
one. Despite being at the Ministry, despite participating in the battle,
Dumbledore had known nothing of a blood feud. Before he could even
respond, he heard Sirius revealing Voldemort's true name before the
Wizengamot. Revealing Tom Riddle as the name of the Dark Lord was
not a step to be taken lightly, and Dumbledore had planned to delay the
revelation until a time when the reveal could be used for maximum
effect, and here was Sirius blurting it out almost as an afterthought.
Then Dumbledore heard that the sworn allies of the Dark Lord were
included in the feud. Harry Potter was declaring war on the death eaters -
and Dumbledore could do nothing to stop it, not after it had been
announced and formally declared. How could Harry have taken up the
Lordship? How is this possible?
It was then that Dumbledore's eyes caught those of James Potter - and he
realized that James was as shocked as he was. James Potter had heard his
youngest son named Lord Potter, and had fought hard not to shout at
Sirius. This was not the reveal they had planned, of that he was certain.
Ogden had seen Dumbledore's reaction, and leaned over to a shaken
Percy Weasley, quietly asking him to verify the name of the current Lord
Potter. Percy tapped his desk with his wand, and examined the
parchment that appeared. Wordlessly, he looked up at Ogden and
nodded.
"The notice from the Proxy for the House of Potter is recognized," said
Ogden. That statement seemed to shake the members out of their shock,
and the shouts began again. When Ogden had the chamber in order, he
saw that Dumbledore had risen to speak.
"Chief Warlock, I must object!" Dumbledore said, still raising his voice to
be heard. "Allowing this feud would lead to open warfare and even more
senseless death, we cannot let it stand."
Sirius did not wait for Ogden to recognize him before replying. "I beg
your pardon, Headmaster, but House Potter is not asking for permission,
they are openly declaring their intentions. Why should an ancient and
most noble house not defend itself, sir?"
Dumbledore put on his best 'disappointed' voice, giving Sirius a pitying
look. "Some of those sworn allies you plan to hunt down and murder are
guilty of no crime, Lord Black." He shook his head. "Surely you, of all
people, would recognize what it means to pass sentence without a trial."
"I know all too well what you mean, Headmaster." replied Sirius.
Flint stood at that. "So your boy is just going to kill the death eaters he
doesn't like? How can we allow that?"
"He's not my boy, Flint. He's the Lord Potter." Sirius leaned on his desk,
pointing at Lord Flint. "Look, if you're so bloody worried about getting
targeted unfairly just because you happen to be marked as a member of
an active terrorist organization, then today has all the makings of your
lucky day." He gestured at the floor of the Wizengamot chamber. "Stand
forth and swear on your magic that you do not support Voldemort." Sirius
ignored the gasps at the name, and stared Flint down. "Swear an oath
that you are not a supporter of the death eaters, that you do not support
their efforts to subvert the Ministry." Sirius punctuated his speech with a
fist on his desk. "Swear an oath, and you have nothing to fear from House
Potter or House Black."
Flint seemed to turn white, as all eyes in the chamber turned to him. His
fellow death eaters knew exactly what he was thinking - if he failed to
swear the oath, he would be suspect. If the Potter boy was serious, then
Flint would now be a target. On the other hand, publicly taking an oath
repudiating the Dark Lord was an even riskier proposition.
Lord Flint panicked. He knew what the Dark Lord would do, and did not
think the Potter boy could make good on his threats. Without saying
another word, Flint sat down.
Lord Greengrass shared a look with Madam Longbottom, who nodded.
They would have quite a lot to discuss after today's meeting.
Exasperated at the display, Dumbledore looked to Ogden. "How can you
allow this, Tiberius?"
Ogden looked down at the Headmaster from the Chief Warlock's seat he
had once held, and shook his head. "You will address the chair as Chief
Warlock or My Lord, Mister Dumbledore," said the Chief Warlock. It was
the first time Dumbledore had been so publicly scolded in decades, and it
did not go without notice. Ogden glanced at Sirius, and saw the Lord
Black nod in response. "I believe a recess is in order at this time, to allow
the Potter Proxy to bring the Headmaster up to date. Thirty minutes!"
And with that, Ogden banged the gavel.
oOoOoOoOo
It did not take long to reach the offices of the House of Potter. As with all
members of the Wizengamot, Lord Potter had been given an office near
the chambers. It was a space that allowed the member to floo to and
from the Ministry as needed, or to change into official robes without
going home first. The office was also useful for meetings, meals between
sessions, or the usual politicking that members had engaged in for
centuries.
Dumbledore had been to these offices many times over the years. James,
too, had been there on occasion, as had Lily. For Jamie, it was his second
time in the Ministry ever, the first being the battle.
Today, it would be where the group met Lord Potter.
Sirius paused at the doorway, his eyes turning to James. "Just remember,
I tried to warn you." Before he could get a response, Sirius pushed the
office doors open, revealing Lord Potter in his official robes of office.
James wasted no time. "You!" Only Lily's hand on his arm kept him from
drawing his wand. "How DARE you!"
Harry watched his father's rage, his arms folded across his chest. Lily
seemed more focused on controlling James, which simply meant that
Sirius didn't need to do so. Jamie did not look as surprised as he might
have, and Harry made a mental note to discuss that with him sometime -
it hinted that he was smart, which made sense if he was Harry's twin, but
was not a given.
Dumbledore was furious, to no one's surprise. What did catch Harry's eye
was that the Headmaster was making no effort to hide his emotions,
which was quite unusual. I didn't think we'd shake him this badly, Harry
thought to himself.
"Let's have a seat," Harry said quietly, indicating the couches in the center
of the room. "We have a lot to discuss."
A/N: This chapter grew in the telling, to the point where I had to
split it into two to make it work. Even then, both will be longer than
the other chapters to date. While this largely follows my outline,
there are details and elements included that were (correctly!)
pointed out in reviews. In short, your feedback continues to
improve this story, so thank you again for your reviews and notes.
Special thanks to Grimjaw and Leyrann, who gave this chapter a
read through and a sanity check before it was posted. Leyrann is the
author of the excellent "The Advantages of Being Sane", here on ffn.
Absolutely worth a read.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
10. The Fallout
As Sirius Black, Headmaster Dumbledore, and the others made their way
out of the chamber, Augusta Longbottom leaned over to Neville, who sat
on her right in the heir's seat. "Quite a show, isn't it?"
Neville could only nod at the understatement. "It was bad enough now,
think of how it would have gone with Harry making the announcement."
"True," she conceded. She glanced over at her grandson, thinking back to
the stories he had told about the previous Thursday's events. She knew,
and he knew that she knew, that what he didn't say was almost as
important as what he did. Now, having heard the notice, another part of
the story clicked into place.
"Whose floo did you use to file the notices last week?" she asked. Neville
sighed, before looking back at his grandmother.
"We used Madam Umbridge's, Gran."
"I see," Augusta said. "You know, the Minister was quite put out when she
resigned. He said it was unlike her."
"Was it, now?" replied Neville, his expression unreadable.
"So he said," she allowed. "The woman didn't even come back to clear out
her office."
"Serves her right," came a voice on Augusta's left. Turning, she saw Lord
Trevor Greengrass approaching. "Hello Augusta, Neville," he said in
greeting.
"Trevor," answered Augusta, indicating the visitor's seat, which the
elderly lord took gratefully. "What does House Greengrass think of all
this?"
Greengrass gave her a grin. "House Greengrass thinks that it's about damn
time someone stepped up and fought back." He pointed at Neville with
his cane. "I hear it isn't just Potter who's decided to take a stand, is it
lad?"
Neville straightened in his chair, ignoring the raised eyebrow from his
gran. "No, sir, it's not."
A look of worry crossed Augusta's features. "Neville?"
"He's my brother, Gran, the closest thing I'll ever have to one," Neville
replied, quietly. "He killed Bella for me, for us." He looked over at Lord
Greengrass. "For Trevor." Greengrass closed his eyes at the mention of his
namesake, the poor murdered twin of the Longbottom heir.
Neville kept his voice firm, lest his emotion creep in. "I would follow
Harry Potter into hell, if he asked me. Because I know he'd do the same
for me."
"No small thing, being involved in a blood feud." Greengrass remarked,
quietly.
"No, sir, it's not." agreed Neville. "And if it's just me standing there next to
Harry, then that's how it will be." He looked evenly at his grandmother,
the Regent Longbottom, willing her to understand his unspoken request.
After a long moment, she nodded. "That will be unnecessary, Neville."
She smiled at Neville's grin. "Far be it from me to say no to the future
Lord Longbottom."
Both turned at the laugh from Lord Greengrass. "Daphne was right about
you, young man." It was Neville's turn to raise his eyebrow, which
amused the older wizard even more. "She told me years ago that the
Longbottom Heir was a lion in sheep's clothing. I'm glad to see how right
she was."
Neville nodded in response, acknowledging the compliment. He and
Daphne had hardly interacted this past year, barely finding time to study
together. She tutored him in charms, sometimes reinforcing the lessons
with Harry, while he helped her in Herbology. I'll have to find time to write
to her this summer, he mused.
Lord Greengrass seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for he
chuckled at Neville's reaction. "Come visit me this summer, Neville," he
said casually. "Before your birthday, if you can." The boy will be turning
sixteen, after all, thought Lord Greengrass. As will Daphne. It's time.
Another nod from Neville. "Of course, sir." He did not see the knowing
smile on the face of his grandmother.
oOoOoOoOo
The tension was thick in the air in the Potter offices, as father glared at
son. Harry remained next to the Lord's desk, leaning casually against the
wooden surface, his arms folded across his chest.
"Let's have a seat," Harry said quietly, indicating the couches in the center
of the room. "We have a lot to discuss."
"I have NOTHING to say to you, boy!" snarled James. How dare this boy
presume to take over the Lordship - he was the youngest son, he had no
rights here but those that James granted him, how could this be?
"Yes, well, I have quite a lot to say to you, sir, so you will sit down and
be silent." Harry did not raise his voice once, but James felt a chill go
through him at his younger son's tone. Then his eyes grew wide, and he
realized where he had felt that before - long ago, when his father had
been Lord. It was not a compulsion, nor was it anything like the imperius
- but when the Lord of your house gave you a command, in his official
capacity as Lord, you felt it. The effect was unmistakable, and he had felt
it in his core when his son - his youngest son - ordered him about.
James' hand came to rest on the leather of the couch, and he found that
he had seated himself without noticing it. His eyes met Harry's, and if he
could have killed with his glare alone his son would be a dead man. He
ignored the others as they, too, took seats.
Harry had the gall to chuckle at his father's reaction. "You see that I'm
not just pretending, don't you?" He held up his hand, displaying the
Lord's ring. "The Lord of my house was legally dead, and magic
confirmed it. The Lady of my house was legally dead, and magic
confirmed that. The Heir to the House was dead, and in point of fact I
never knew he existed, so magic was never asked to confirm that - but it
did anyway. There are no others." He kept his eyes on his father. "I was
the last son of the House of Potter."
"You're only fifteen," began Dumbledore. "This responsibility is beyond
you, my boy."
"Ah, yes, signing paperwork to assign Sirius as my proxy was quite
overwhelming, you're right about that." Harry said, pleasantly. "Almost as
much as having to fight a dragon, for example."
"What are you talking about?" asked Lily.
"The Headmaster, on behalf of the Ministry and in his official capacity as
Chief Warlock, declared me as one of the Champions of the Triwizard
Tournament during my fourth year. The Headmaster, acting in place of
my guardian, the Lord Black, accepted my entry into the tournament.
Barty Crouch, on behalf of the Ministry, confirmed my selection. Thus, I
was forced into a tournament for of-age wizards despite being fourteen
years old at the time."
"I told you, my boy, that you had no choice in the matter," said
Dumbledore. He was frantically trying to find a way out of this mess, but
talking Harry into giving up the Lordship would be difficult - especially
since it seemed he had been Lord for some time.
"That may be, but there were any number of ways I could have gotten
out of it, had you truly been an advocate on my behalf. You could have
held simple tasks to get the three required tasks out of the way, and then
have a new tournament with the three actual champions." Harry shook
his head. "You could have simply done your job and declared me
ineligible, but you didn't. Instead, Cedric Diggory died and Voldemort
came back."
"I don't understand," said Jamie, trying to calm things down. Harry
looked at his brother and shrugged.
"Through indifference, intrigue, or sheer malice, or maybe all three, I was
declared to be an of-age wizard. And, if you'll recall, all of the other
members of my house were dead." Harry held up his hand, showing the
ring. "So the family magic allowed me to take up the Lord's ring."
"You can't be Lord Potter," said James, menace in his tone.
Harry considered him for a moment. "Who else, if not me?"
James fought down his anger. "I am the Lord Potter, I am entitled to lead
my house."
Harry again shook his head. "You abandoned me to a life of torture and
deprivation, sir. You ensured that I would receive no instruction in the
ways of our house, that I would not even know about magic itself until I
was 'rescued' by the Headmaster - and then I was placed in even more
danger than I had been in before!" Harry's anger was beginning to
surface, now, and Lily realized just how badly they had underestimated
the depth of their son's feelings about his fate so far.
"Think back to your oath, James Potter, and tell me why I shouldn't strip
you of your magic right now, as an oathbreaker and a coward." James,
stunned, looked at Dumbledore - which only enraged Harry further.
"Don't look at the Headmaster, goddammit, look at me! NOW!" His angry
shout seemed to shake the room, and Sirius' eyes grew wide at the feat.
A wandless, wordless sonorus? Merlin, he thought.
James felt the magic work on him, and he turned his gaze to his son - to
the Lord of his House. Harry stood there, leaning against the Lord's desk,
fury in his green eyes. James wanted badly to reach for his wand - not to
hex Harry, but because it looked like Harry was about to hex him.
"I don't know what the hell you thought you were doing when you
abandoned me, James Potter, and right now I don't particularly care. The
fact of the matter is that you can't be trusted to guide the Ancient and
Most Noble House of Potter. Simple as that." Harry heard a whimper, and
turned to look at Lily, who seemed as if she wanted to cry. Jamie, for his
part, simply watched his brother with his mouth open and shock in his
eyes.
oOoOoOoOo
Sirius could see the Headmaster trying to work out how he might take
control of the situation. Too late, Albus, he thought.
"Harry," Dumbledore began, but a raised hand cut him off.
"Headmaster, you've done quite enough, I think." Harry replied, coldly.
"May I attempt to explain?" He asked, not wanting to allow Harry to
control the conversation.
"So sorry," said Harry, turning his gaze to the Headmaster. "But no, you
may not." He looked at Sirius. "We're short on time, aren't we?"
Sirius nodded. "We should be heading back soon, yes."
"Alright," Harry replied, before looking back at his parents. "Here's what's
going to happen. Madam Potter, I'm holding you to your oath, for the
moment. For now, stay out of my way."
Gathering herself, she nodded to her son. Her response scared her, even
as she spoke the words, for it meant that everything had changed. "Yes,
My Lord."
"Lily," hissed James, when he heard her acknowledgement.
"James Charlus Potter, Junior," continued Harry, ignoring his father. "All
of this was decided for you years ago, and you have done nothing of
which I am aware that might be a betrayal of the House of Potter." Harry
watched as the tension seemed to leave Jamie at that pronouncement -
he had worried when he heard how angry Harry had been. "Enjoy your
summer, Jamie. We'll talk before long, I suspect."
Jamie nodded, following his mother's lead. "Yes, My Lord."
James sputtered in rage, but said nothing. Harry turned his attention to
his father.
"James Charlus Potter, Senior," he began. "As Lord of the Ancient and
Most Noble House of Potter, you abandoned, or caused to be abandoned,
the Heir Secondary of your house, leaving them to a life of abuse and
neglect. I could, if I so wished it, declare you to be in violation of the
Lord's Oath."
"Harry, you can't do this!" Dumbledore's shouted admonishment drew
Harry's focus to him, which had been his intent. Harry cannot be allowed
to destroy everything, Dumbledore thought. He cannot take James' magic!
"I am the Lord of my House, Professor Dumbledore," Harry said. "And all
week I've tried to come to grips with the fact that I have a brother and
parents, a true family. A family that was kept secret by you, sir." His
voice dripped with disappointment as he spoke, so much so that Lily
almost began crying again. "And then I thought to myself, going over all
of the events of the past five years. The tests, the lies, the abandonment,"
Here, Harry raised his scarred hand, displaying the wounds left by
Umbridge's blood quill. "The tortures."
He ignored the reactions of his 'family', and the renewed anger on Sirius'
face, and kept his gaze on the Headmaster, who remained defiant. "You,
however, have never taken an oath to defend the interests of House
Potter, have you, Headmaster? So, it seems - for the moment, that I'm not
in a position to take any action toward you."
"I have never sought to harm your family, Harry," Dumbledore replied.
"Yet he trusted you," Harry said angrily, indicating with a nod toward
James. "He trusted you, and you somehow convinced him to break an
oath on his life and magic. Do you even realize what you've done?" Harry
pointed at his father, and his voice grew in volume and intensity. "That
man trusted you, and at your direction he fucked up badly enough that I
could demand his very life for the offense!"
"Harry," said James. Harry turned to him, his eyes full of the anger he
felt. James saw it, but continued anyway. "I had no choice in the matter,
son." He tried to sound regretful, with little success. "Everything we did
was for the cause of the light."
Harry stared at him. If he had expected a justification, that wasn't what
he got. "The Lord of an Ancient and Most Noble House can have but one
priority - guaranteeing the safety and security of their family. Every
decision, every word, every deed, must be focused on that singular
purpose." He looked from his father to his mother, and then to his
brother. Turning back to James, he saw that the man was looking down
at the rug, his fists clenching and flexing as if he was fighting the urge to
lash out.
Dumbledore said nothing. He simply stared at Harry, at the young Lord
Potter. How Harry had learned so much in so short a time was beyond
him, though he began to understand when Harry spoke about the priority
of a Lord - for that was a quote from a speech on the floor of the
Wizengamot by none other than Charlus Potter. Harry, it seemed, was at
least taking his role as Lord Potter seriously.
After a moment, Harry spoke again. "Fortunately for you, sir, it would
seem that we're now in an open conflict against the forces of Lord
Voldemort. So, you get a break."
James looked up. "I beg your pardon?"
"You will work against the death eaters as a member of the Order of the
Phoenix. You will see to the safety of yourself, your wife, and your oldest
son. You will take no action against myself or Sirius as a result of today's
revelations." The air seemed to cool noticeably as Harry set his
conditions. James listened intently, his expression unreadable. "You will
consider yourself under probation for the duration of the war."
James Potter wanted to vomit, such was his disgust with the situation.
Even if it was just temporary - and he was, in his heart, convinced that it
was but a temporary setback - the idea of obeying his youngest son as if
he were Lord was offensive. But the Lord's ring commanded respect, and
he replied to his son in the only way he could.
Nodding, James said the words. "Yes, My Lord."
"What if he fails?" asked Lily, in a deceptively calm voice. "What if he
does something not to your liking?"
Harry raised an eyebrow at the question. "If he wishes to keep his magic,
he won't."
James rose, walking slowly toward Harry. All eyes in the room went to
him, and Lily's breath caught in her throat. "I just agreed to everything
you asked of me, Harry, despite the fact that you have no right to ask it."
He took another step, continuing to speak quietly. "I allow your godfather
to humiliate the Headmaster on the floor of the Wizengamot chamber,
clearly at your behest, because we share the goal of fighting the death
eaters." Another step. "We could have stayed hidden, you know. We could
have kept Jamie in solitude, away from all of this, and just watched as
you all burned. But no, we came back." Another step. "We came back for
you, my son."
James stepped forward one last time, stopping only a meter away from
Harry. For his part, Harry watched the man approach, seeing no tension
in his movements, hearing no violence in his tone.
The sharp crack of James backhanding Harry across the face shocked
them all, Harry more than anyone.
"We gave up EVERYTHING!" James shouted. "And you speak to me of
BETRAYAL?"
Harry stared into the angry eyes of his father. His left hand went to his
now bleeding left cheek, coating his fingertips with blood. Looking down,
he saw his father's wedding ring, with its understated diamond stones
now tinged red. He turned his eyes to his father's, and Lily gasped.
She had seen that look in his eyes, for just an instant - but it was the
same look, the same glare. It was the same utter hatred in his features
that he had shown moments before executing Bellatrix Lestrange with his
bare hands. That was the look he gave his father, and that fact - more
than anything else that had happened - chilled her to the core.
It seemed as if the others in the room held their breath. His hand still on
his cheek, Harry Potter spoke.
"I never really believed it, you know. Not once. Not until today." He let
out a sad little chuckle, rubbing his fingertips together, as if to wipe away
the blood.
"Harry," began James, his expression softening, as if he had realized that
he had gone too far.
"The Dursleys were right after all," Harry said, as if to himself, his eyes on
his fingertips. "Who would have thought that?" Without looking at
anyone else, Harry Potter turned and left the room.
James Potter remained where he stood, the magnitude of his error
dawning on him. He looked to the one person present who might
intercede with the Lord Potter on his behalf. "Padfoot?"
"No, James," Sirius replied. "Not this time." No one missed the fact that
the marauder did not call James by his marauder name - a clear sign of
the Lord Black's disapproval. The only comfort James took was the fact
that Sirius remained in the room at all.
Dumbledore looked over at Lily, as her sobs broke the silence that
followed Sirius' dismissal. Jamie was sitting next to her, an arm around
her shoulders. He looked up at his father, worry etched into his features.
"What did he mean, Dad?" asked Jamie. "What did the Dursleys say?"
James looked at his son, and said nothing.
It was Sirius who answered, as he leaned against the arm of the couch he
had vacated. "When Harry was growing up, Jamie, he was told that his
parents had been killed in a car accident." He looked at his friend's son,
his godson's brother, and sighed. "He grew up thinking that his father was
a shiftless layabout. Petunia told him that his father probably beat his
mother, her sister, and that that was the only reason she would stay with
such a worthless husband."
He looked over at his friend, who stood there aghast at what he had
done. Sirius shook his head again, before continuing.
"And in one instant, one solitary moment, your father proved them right."
11. The Healers
When the Wizengamot resumed its meeting, Augusta Longbottom was
surprised to see that only Sirius Black had returned to the chamber. She
suspected that Neville had been right about their purpose here -
Dumbledore had planned to reinstate James as Lord Potter, and then
have Lord Potter lead the vote to return him to the Chief Warlock's post
before anyone could get their head around the fact that James Potter was
alive, somehow.
It wasn't an awful plan, as such things go, if one ignored the sheer
ruthlessness of hiding the Lord of an Ancient and Most Noble House for
fifteen years.
With Harry as Lord Potter, of course, that plan was out the window - and,
thus, they no longer had any reason to return to the chamber. What truly
caught Augusta's attention, though, was the fact that Dumbledore didn't
return, either. Nor was she the only one who noticed his absence.
Madam Bones took the floor once the meeting resumed, and went over
what they knew about Voldemort's return. Fudge, wisely, said nothing,
hoping that no one noticed his presence. With everyone's attention on the
DMLE Director, and on the newly-declared blood feud, it was possible
that he would escape with his job.
Augusta watched the faces of the members as Madam Bones continued
her prepared remarks. It was clear, just from the expressions, which
members had read the DMLE report on the battle, and which had not. For
all of them, the reality was starting to sink in - the Death Eaters had
attacked the Ministry, in force. The members who believed the
propaganda of the past year were stunned to learn that Dumbledore had
been right, after all, and that the Ministry had lied to them. The ones who
had believed the Headmaster, meanwhile, did not feel vindicated.
Who rejoices at the start of a new war?
Amelia Bones knew how to read the room, and knew exactly what she
had to say to reassure the chamber. No one, on either side, could mistake
the fact that her demeanor had shifted at a fundamental level. Augusta
knew the reason - it was obvious, when you took the time to think about
it.
Director Bones was giving a wartime speech - likely the first of many. It
shook people, when they figured it out. It would have shaken Augusta,
had she not expected it. The older members, the ones who had been here,
all recognized the shift in tone - they remembered these speeches, in the
dark days of the first war.
Augusta sighed at that thought - the first war. That they even needed a
qualifier to distinguish the first war from the second was appalling, and
yet here they were.
When the session was adjourned, Augusta noticed several of the dark-
aligned members rushing out of the chamber, led by Lord Flint. Clearly,
they had much to discuss. She wondered if Madam Bones or Lord Black
would be receiving owls from some of those who bore the dark mark,
begging for mercy. Neville had told her about the parley with one of his
year mates, the Crabbe boy, whose father died in the battle - and had
hinted that the Parkinson family might also consider their options
carefully. Would other families follow their lead? Only time would tell.
"It's not even two in the afternoon," Neville said to himself, as he watched
the chamber empty. He turned to Augusta. "Gran, would you care if I
went and saw Mom and Dad for a bit?"
In all the excitement of the past week, the Longbottoms had not yet made
their usual trip to Saint Mungo's to visit Frank and Alice. They had talked
about going the next day, but Neville was correct - it was early enough in
the day to make the trip possible. Augusta, however, needed to meet with
Lord Greengrass and others to discuss the day's events.
Smiling at her grandson, she nodded. "Do not be there too long, Neville.
Straight home afterwards."
Neville grinned. "Of course, Gran. Thank you!" And with that, he was on
his way out of the chamber.
oOoOoOoOo
James Potter hissed as the healer worked on his hand. His left hand sat in
his lap, still tinged red with his son's blood. It was his right hand that
required attention, for after Sirius had left the office James had slammed
his fist onto the oaken desk. He left no mark on the desk, and earned
himself a sprained wrist for his trouble.
Fortunately, Headmaster Dumbledore knew how to summon one of the
Ministry's healers. Fiona Martin was a little older than the Potters, with
dirty blonde hair kept quite short and a kindly manner that put patients
at ease.
Jamie Potter sat quietly, watching his parents from his place on the
couch. The argument his father had had with Sirius that morning made a
lot more sense now, with Sirius revealed as the proxy for House Potter.
Even constrained by an oath not to reveal secrets, Sirius had tried to
warn James that he was making a mistake. Jamie had seen it, clear as
day - everything that Sirius didn't say made it obvious what he was
getting at.
Dad just went on ahead, Jamie thought. His dad had always been a
Gryffindor's Gryffindor, but even that didn't justify the lack of caution he
had seen from his father. He had known, from the moment he and Harry
spoke in the atrium, that the situation wasn't what they had been told -
but it was almost as if James was ignoring everything he heard and saw,
and just sticking to the plan. Why?
Lily, too, was concerned about her husband's actions - but for vastly
different reasons.
"I need to fix this," James said, almost to himself. "I'm just glad Harry
didn't try to force the issue about the oath." He looked over at the
Headmaster. "I don't think it would have worked, but then again, I'm not
eager to find out."
Before Dumbledore could respond, Lily snorted. "You didn't see it at all,
did you?" Off the confusion on her husband's face, she continued. "James,
he walked out because if he stayed, he would have fought you."
"He wouldn't dare," began James, but the look on Lily's face stilled the
rant before it began.
"James Potter, you didn't see him in the Ministry. I did. I was looking at
him as he killed Bellatrix Lestrange, and he was giving you that same
look." She shivered in spite of herself. "For just a moment there, he
looked at you with pure hatred."
"That doesn't mean he would attack me," argued James.
"Oh yes it does," snapped Lily. "Jamie does that exact thing, if you'll
remember. He storms off and fights a training dummy, or goes off to the
cottage, rather than venting his anger on us." She looked her husband in
the eye. "How can you not see it?"
James chose not to answer.
"Well," began Dumbledore, "At least we will have a chance to discuss how
to calm the situation down, and perhaps bring Harry back into the fold."
"Not really," said Jamie, quietly.
"I'm sorry?" asked Dumbledore, not sure if he had heard Jamie correctly.
Jamie knew that he had never questioned the Headmaster before,
certainly not since he began visiting their home regularly in preparation
for their return. But as he watched the conversation, he realized that the
Headmaster was making the same mistakes his father had - sticking to
the plan after the plan was proven to be flawed.
"We came back, thinking we'd welcome Harry home - and that he would
welcome us. But we have nothing to offer him." He looked at his parents,
before returning his focus to the Headmaster. "We planned to offer him a
home, but he has one with Sirius. We planned to offer him our support,
but he has a Lordship - he needs no support from us. Not our galleons, of
which we have none, nor our home, of which we seem to have none
other than Falcon's Rest - which he can't even see because of how it's
hidden."
Jamie sighed as he saw the look of confusion on the face of his father.
"The only thing we can give him is a family, but I doubt that's going to
happen anytime soon, now." He gestured at his father's hand, still
bloodied. "Harry offered us a beginning - live and let live, or something
like it - and you slapped him in the face."
"Jamie," began Dumbledore, but the boy cut him off.
"No, sir," Jamie said. "You keep talking about bringing Harry back into
the fold, but there's literally no reason he would ever agree to that.
Especially now."
"How would you know?" asked James, bitterly.
Jamie shook his head. "Because if I were in Harry's place, I'd probably
want nothing to do with you, after today." He sighed again. "I'm honestly
surprised that you do still have your magic."
The group sat quietly after that, digesting what Jamie had said. Healer
Martin was packing her bag and preparing to leave when James
screamed in pain. As they watched, he clutched his chest and fell out of
his chair.
oOoOoOoOo
Harry did not have a destination in mind as he walked down the
corridors of the Wizengamot offices. All he knew is that he couldn't be
around his parents right now, or he'd do something he'd regret.
One of the hardest lessons he had learned from Colonel Ramsay was that
angry commanders were rarely effective commanders. War is exertion
and deprivation and pain and hunger and death, and it is impossible to
remove emotion from the equation entirely. And in the heat of battle,
with boots on the ground, it was not always wise to do so. When
considering the overall strategy of a campaign, however, you had to do
exactly that.
Harry knew that if he had stayed in that room, his father would be dead
or squibbed.
It might be that that is what has to happen, eventually, to ensure his own
safety. If James Potter could not live with his other son, his discarded
son, as Lord Potter, then that was unfortunate. If James Potter tried to
force the issue, then Harry would raise the Lord's ring and say the words,
and James Potter would be judged against his oath, and that would be
the tale of him.
He did not want to execute his father. Despite everything, part of him
really did want to reconnect with his family. But that part was overruled
by his commitment to protecting his house - and that meant dealing with
Voldemort once and for all. If James Potter was a hindrance toward
accomplishing that goal, then James Potter would have to be dealt with.
All of that is to say that Harry had thought long and hard about how to
handle the situation with James Potter. But right then, in that moment,
as he stormed out of his own office and down the corridor, Harry Potter
wanted to take his father's magic and have done.
He saw an open office as he turned the corner, and realized that it was
the office of the Regent Bones. The Bones office was rarely used, since
Madam Bones preferred to work out of her office at the DMLE, but this
day Harry saw Susan waiting for her aunt.
She was sitting on one of the couches in her aunt's office, reading a book.
Her light red hair was tied back and intricately braided, and she wore
finer robes than her usual garb. She had not attended the session, nor had
she planned to do so, but she was still in the halls of the Wizengamot -
she had to dress the part of an heiress if she was to be taken seriously.
And as Harry well knew, she would want to be taken seriously. So she
played the game, despite her distaste for it.
When Harry saw her, he immediately began to calm. Her presence meant
safety, it meant acceptance - and that was what he needed in that
moment. He trusted her - and with that thought came a twinge of guilt.
He remained shocked that she was interested in him, enough to get him
to agree to date after the war.
The irony is real, he mused. Betrayed by my parents, and it brings me closer
to her than she realizes. Despite himself, he smiled at the thought. Here's
hoping I don't screw it up.
She looked up as he entered the office. "Harry?"
"Hey, Susan," he replied.
"Auntie said that you were meeting with your parents and the
Headmaster…" She trailed off as she took in his expression, her eyes
locking onto the glistening blood on his cheek. "Merlin, what happened?"
She practically dragged him over to the couch, forcing him to sit down.
She was next to him, dipping a handkerchief in her glass of water. As she
wiped off the blood, he explained what had happened.
Susan looked him in the eye. "Are you alright?"
"No," Harry replied immediately. His features seemed to cloud over, as he
put his feelings into words - or tried to. "I offered James a way for us to
co-exist, basically told him to leave me alone and I'd leave him alone."
His hand went up to his cheek, his fingertips tracing the cut. "And he
gave me this for my trouble."
She took his hand, pulling it away from the cut - partially so she could
get a better look at the injury, and partially because he seemed like he
needed her to hold his hand, right then. "Oh, Harry," she said.
He closed his eyes at the contact, sighing deeply. "I called him an
oathbreaker, Susan. I all but threatened to take his magic."
She said nothing, preferring to let him talk.
"They left me," he whispered. "He left me," he repeated, anger growing in
his tone. She squeezed his hand, and he gave her a squeeze of his own.
"Why didn't I take his magic, Susan? I have every right to do it, every
justification."
"I know," she replied. "And he has to know it, too."
"No, see, I don't think he does." Harry said. "I don't think he understands
at all."
"Harry?" she asked, seeing the growing anger in his features.
"Seven words," Harry said, almost in a hiss. "All it would take is seven
words."
As she watched, he raised his right hand. The red jeweled ring she saw
there began to glow.
oOoOoOoOo
Lily, Jamie, and Dumbledore were all standing, watching in horror as
James Potter lay on the floor, moaning. Healer Martin was kneeling
beside him, waving her wand, muttering to herself.
"His magic," she began, eliciting a gasp from Lily. "It's being bound."
"No," whispered Dumbledore in horror.
"Can you…?" Jamie began to ask, trailing off as he saw the look of
confusion on the healer's face.
"I can't do anything until the process completes," she said. The healer
looked up at the boy, seeing the sorrow on his features. Such a kind boy,
she thought. Just like the Headmaster described.
oOoOoOoOo
"Harry?" Susan asked, as the anger on Harry's face shifted into rage.
"He struck me, Susan, he struck the Lord of his House," Harry almost
snarled. "He probably left a scar."
Susan squeezed his hand, looking into his eyes. "I know, Harry."
Harry seemed to pause, as if he had expected her to try to talk him down.
"He deserves this," he said.
"Probably." Susan agreed.
Harry tilted his head, watching her. The words were on the tip of his
tongue, simple as could be. James Charlus Potter, I call for judgment.
Simple. Magic would do the rest. But as he looked down at the Hufflepuff
sitting next to him, holding his hand, he found himself hesitating.
Part of him growled in frustration. This is why we agreed to wait until the
war was over, he thought to himself. She didn't want me to hesitate out of
worry for her.
Susan sensed his turmoil, and as she always had, cut through it like a
knife through butter.
"What would James do, if the roles were reversed?" she asked, quietly.
Harry closed his eyes, ignoring the tear that fell. "He'd take my magic,
and probably my life, without a second thought." The answer was as
obvious as it was horrifying - but Harry had no illusions about how well
liked he was in the eyes of his father.
He looked at the glowing ring on his hand. Then he looked into Susan's
eyes. He saw her watching him, no trace of disappointment in her
expression, no judgment. The support she seemed to be giving him, the
comfort of her touch, was everything - it told him that she would have
his back whatever he did. That she knew he could do this, take his
father's magic, and that she would support him if he had to take that
step.
She would understand if he didn't, too.
That was what did it, in the end. Susan would be there, whatever he did -
she accepted him for him, not as a tool or a scapegoat or a leftover. She
was there for him, not for Lord Potter or the discarded heir or the boy-
who-lived. He could not shake the feeling that it was more than he
deserved.
"I should take his magic," Harry said, weakly. Susan again squeezed his
hand, keeping her eyes on his. She saw a tear roll down his bloodied
cheek. "But I don't want to be like him," he whispered.
"Then don't, My Lord," she said, smiling as her heart broke for him. "Be
who you are."
She saw the pain in his eyes, the turmoil. Then she felt his hand squeeze
her own.
The Potter ring stopped glowing.
"Who am I?" he asked, as he brought his right hand down.
"Harry," she replied, sitting back on the couch. She reached out to him,
and he allowed her to fold him into her arms. She said nothing as he
began to weep softly.
oOoOoOoOo
When the convulsions stopped, James opened his eyes. He was still
catching his breath, sweat dripping off of his forehead from the ordeal.
"Fucking hell," James moaned, before he drifted off into unconsciousness.
Healer Martin continued her diagnostics, her brow furrowing at the
results. Lily, kneeling on the floor near James' head, saw the concern on
the healer's face.
"What is it? Is he alright?" she asked.
Martin looked up. "Whatever was binding him stopped. He still has his
magic," she replied. "Give him a day to rest, and he will be fine."
Lily and Jamie seemed to sigh together at the news, letting out breath
they hadn't realized they were holding. Neither of them noticed the
shared mannerism.
Dumbledore sat back in his chair. He, too, was relieved, but he also knew
that this was not over. Harry could take his father's magic at will, he
thought. This won't do.
"Is there any permanent damage, Healer Martin?" Dumbledore asked the
healer. Martin's eyebrows rose at the inquiry, and her eyes met the
Headmaster's.
"I don't believe so, sir," was her reply. Holding his gaze, her tone grew
serious. "What should I do if there are side effects?"
"Then I would suggest, Miss Martin, that you look into alternative
treatments." The Headmaster's smile returned when the healer nodded to
him in acknowledgement.
oOoOoOoOo
What had been a cloudy midday in London gave way to sun by the time
Neville arrived in the long-term spell damage ward at Saint Mungo's. His
mother was still asleep in her bed, and the rays of sunlight were shining
on her face. As Neville took in the sight of his parents, he saw his mother
lazily raise an arm to try and block the light.
Alice had joined the DMLE shortly after graduation, just as her future
husband Frank Longbottom had. Where Frank and his friend James
Potter were skilled at apprehending criminals and fighting death eaters,
Alice had bent her talents toward the investigative end of the DMLE's
work. It was her efforts that broke up a potions smuggling ring that
financed the death eaters, for instance, almost landing several
Wizengamot members in Azkaban.
All she had done, according to her, was to follow the galleons - though
Frank was quick to point out how brilliant she was, at every opportunity.
Alice and Lily Evans had routinely found themselves at the top of the
class lists during their time at Hogwarts, to the surprise of no one.
Smiling to himself, Neville walked across the room and closed the blinds.
Returning to his parents' beds, he looked from one to the other. Alice had
returned to a somewhat fitful sleep, now that the sun was out of her eyes.
Frank, meanwhile, was snoring peacefully. Neville chuckled at the sight -
the man could easily have been lounging in a recliner on his day off.
"Hello, Mom," he said to the woman on his left, closest to the door.
Turning, he addressed the man on his right. "Hello, Dad." Pulling up a
chair, he seated himself between the two beds. Reaching out, he held
hands with his parents, taking comfort in their presence. The feel of a
candy wrapper in his mother's hand made him smile, as it always did.
Both of his parents seemed to be having one of their good days, which
pleased him - even after close to fifteen years of convalescence, both
Longbottoms seemed to be healthy and hale, apart from their inability to
function mentally.
"Have I got a story for you," Neville began. "It started during our OWLs…"
As Neville told his parents about the battle, and about the events that
followed, he found himself hoping that his grandmother had been right.
Would his father have been proud of the man he had become?
Only time will tell, thought Neville, as he continued the story.
oOoOoOoOo
As he walked out of the Thickney Ward an hour later, Neville ran into a
witch carrying a rack of potions. Startled, the blonde witch fell
backwards onto the floor. The potions made quite a bit of noise as they
rolled on the tile floor, but none of the bottles seemed to break.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she said quickly, gathering the potions and placing them
back in their carrier. Neville, who had kept his feet, reached down and
picked up a bottle that had rolled towards him. The glass was clear, and
showed a thick, red potion of some sort. Carefully, Neville handed the
potion over.
"Nothing to be sorry about, I should have been paying attention." Neville
offered his hand, and the witch allowed him to help her up. After she
brushed herself off, she looked up at his face - and paused, looking
thoughtful.
"Have we met before?" she asked.
Neville shrugged. "I'm not here all that often, but I do know some of the
patients in the Thickney ward. You may have seen me on a previous
visit?"
"Could be," she agreed. "Well, thank you again. Have a nice day!" With a
bright smile, she turned and hurriedly walked into the Thickney ward.
Shaking his head at the odd incident, Neville turned and walked toward
the public floo.
oOoOoOoOo
When he arrived at Longbottom Hall, he was surprised to find his
grandmother speaking with an older, male healer. The man's robes
showed him to be a healer from Saint Mungo's, and the hat he wore was
that of a hospital administrator.
"Gran?" Neville asked, confused.
Augusta turned to her grandson. She seemed to be on edge, and Neville
did not know why. The only time he saw her agitated in this way was
when something happened with his parents, but that couldn't be the case
now - he had just been there.
"Neville, this is Mister Breckenridge. He is in charge of the Thickney
Ward at Saint Mungo's." She was putting her travelling cloak on as she
spoke. "Did you speak with anyone at the hospital? About your parents?"
He shook his head, looking from his grandmother to their guest. "No,
there was no one with them when I stopped by. I saw a healer as I left,
but she could have been treating anyone."
"Ah, very good," said Breckenridge. "Then I get to bring you the news.
How exciting!"
The man's enthusiasm bothered Neville, in a way he could not
immediately identify. There was clearly no threat here, or none that
Neville could identify, but there was still something…. off… about the
man.
"What news, sir?" asked Neville, cautiously.
"Why, that would be telling, young sir!" was the answer. "Tell you what,
let us go to the ward, and I will tell you both everything that I know."
"Come, Neville," Augusta said. She was clearly worried, as she had been
when other 'cures' had presented themselves, only to later feel the
disappointment of another dead end, another false chance. But even
against her formidable judgment, Augusta Longbottom would grasp at
any possibility of bringing her son and his wife home, finally, after all
these years.
Neville answered in the only way he could. "Yes, Gran." As he pulled his
traveling cloak back on, he noticed a red spot on the sleeve of his robe - a
drop of that healer's potion, probably, he thought. He gave it no mind, for
the others had already stepped through the floo.
oOoOoOoOo
Neville had to rush to catch up with his grandmother, as she followed
Breckenridge to the Janus Thickney Ward. When they reached the room
assigned to his parents, Augusta and Breckenridge walked straight in.
Neville, however, paused in the doorway.
On the right, he saw his mother, still sleeping soundly. From the
doorway, he heard her softly snoring, and smiled in spite of his anxiety -
even as alarm bells rang in his mind.
On the left, in the bed closest to the door, was his father, a candy
wrapper clutched in his hand.
The blonde healer he had encountered in the hallway smiled at them as
they entered. "Welcome! My name is Healer Martin." She bowed to
Augusta, greeting her formally. She gestured at his parents.
"Tell me, Madam Longbottom," she said with a smile. "Do you believe in
miracles?"
A/N: The response to this story has been remarkable - both in terms
of favorites and follows (where this has more in four months than
any other story I've posted here), and in terms of reviews. A good
portion of the reviews seem to demand the blood of James Potter,
and I get that - but that's not the story I want to tell, just yet. Have
no illusions that James will escape this tale unscathed, of course,
but we have a ways to go to get from here to there.
Of course, James does not act in a vacuum. How Dumbledore (and
others) react matters as well. It's going to be a long summer. Let me
put it this way - Sirius' line about the three most stubborn people
he's ever known is probably one of the more important and telling
lines in the fic so far, for those who want to know how things will
play out. Stay tuned.
Special thanks to DZ2, Grimjaw, and Leyrann for their support and
advice as this story progresses.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
12. The Move
For a Thursday afternoon, the Leaky Cauldron was busier than Marcus
Flint had seen it in quite some time. Today was not an ordinary
Thursday, of course, given the emergency session of the Wizengamot that
had just ended. Even now, the rumors and half-heard stories were
filtering through the pub, and probably further still.
It was said that you could grumble about politics in the Leaky, and have
Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks scoffing at your complaint before you
closed your mouth. No spell could match the speed of a rumor in
Wizarding Britain.
Of course, Marcus' father wanted nothing to do with rumors today. He
and his associates had taken out a private room upstairs, where they
were busily planning how to respond to the day's events. Marcus was
tasked with keeping an eye on the comings and goings below, on the off
chance that something happened.
The early summons had been a surprise, as had the hastily scrawled note.
When Marcus learned what had happened, it made sense. House Flint
had not been involved in a blood feud in centuries, but now they were in
the thick of it. His father was taking the threat seriously, at least, and
Lord Flint was never one to be overly cautious - which told Marcus
exactly how worried his father actually was.
"Quite a session, wasn't it?" Marcus looked up to see Ambrose Rookwood
taking a seat in his booth, a butterbeer already in his hand.
Flint shook his head. "You never get tired of doing that, do you?"
Ambrose gave his friend an innocent look. "Doing what, exactly?" The
former housemates chuckled at the old joke, and shook hands.
"Good to see you, Rookwood," said Marcus. His face fell, as he
remembered what had happened the week prior. "Sorry about your
father."
"Thanks, Flint," Ambrose replied, sincerely. "I take it things didn't go well
today?"
"Not sure," Marcus replied. "Harry Potter declared a blood feud on the
Dark Lord - and his allies."
"Did he?" Ambrose's eyes narrowed as he considered the ramifications of
such a declaration. Flint smiled at the expression - for it told anyone who
knew Ambrose Rookwood that he had sank his teeth into a problem.
Many a snake had teased Ambrose about belonging in Ravenclaw, but
only until they got to know him.
Marcus knew that Ambrose Rookwood was as cunning as they came.
Which was part of why they were meeting today, after all.
"That's why they went to the Ministry," Ambrose said, almost to himself.
"How'd Potter know that they'd be there?"
"Above my level, Rookwood," replied Marcus. "Malfoy was supposed to
retrieve something from the Department, and didn't come prepared for a
fight."
Ambrose frowned at that. "Malfoy, I get, he's always been overconfident.
The Lestranges too, according to Father. But it's not like dad to go
unprepared."
"I don't know," Marcus said. He hadn't been aware of the operation until
it was all over, and he was tasked with cleaning up afterwards. That task
was part of why he was here, now, sitting at this table.
The faraway look remained on Ambrose's face, and Marcus smiled in
spite of himself. Rather than interrupt his friend's train of thought, he
pulled an envelope from his robes. Setting it on the table, he slid it over
to Ambrose, who looked at it closely. The fine parchment was sealed with
green wax, the snake motif as obvious as it was subtle.
When Ambrose made no move to pick up the letter, Marcus decided to
give his pitch. "There is a place for you, Rookwood. There is work to be
done. And I know you want to help us get back at Potter for killing your
father."
There it is, thought Ambrose. He placed a hand on the envelope, but did
not open it.
"You know our house will always stand with the Dark Lord, Flint,"
Ambrose said.
Marcus nodded. "I wouldn't be here if that weren't so." He leaned
forward, bringing his voice as quiet as he dared. Even behind the secrecy
charms on the booth, he felt the need to be cautious. "Will you take his
Mark, Ambrose Rookwood?"
Ambrose looked up, and met Marcus' gaze. With a heavy sigh, he gave
the only answer he could. "With all my heart, no."
That was not the answer Marcus had expected. "I'm sorry?"
It took a moment for Ambrose to decide how to explain - and explain he
must, for it was rare indeed to find a wizard who would refuse the Dark
Mark when it was offered. Most anyone who got to that point did so
knowing where their path would lead. Ambrose, of course, never did
anything without thinking it through, and so Marcus was content to wait
for his friend's explanation.
After a few moments, Ambrose spoke. "My father took the Mark," he
began. "When the first war ended, he was exposed and kicked out of the
Ministry. Out of the Department our family has served for generations."
He sighed, keeping his eyes on the envelope. "Dumbledore spoke up for
some of us, he even rescued Professor Snape by saying he was a spy. So
where was he when my father said the same thing? Where was his
forgiveness then?" He shook his head. "No, there was never a question as
to which side of this war I would be on. Even before Father died, I knew."
His eyes met Marcus', and the conflict in them was obvious. "It would be
the greatest honor to take our Lord's Mark, but if I did that - so soon after
my father was killed, and especially considering how and when he was
killed - then I would immediately become suspect." He shook his head
again, almost regretfully. "If I become a marked Death Eater, then I can't
do what I need to do to support the Dark Lord. I won't be able to gather
information, I won't be able to answer his questions or discover the
secrets he wishes to know. I'll certainly never set foot in the Department
of Mysteries, not with the Dark Mark, not after last week."
Marcus sipped his drink as he considered that answer. When he thought
back to the quiet firstie he had met in the den of snakes years ago, it
made sense. That didn't mean that the Dark Lord would approve, of
course.
Ambrose saw the frown on Marcus' face, and continued. "The Dark Lord
is wise and powerful - that's why Father took his Mark in the first place.
If he truly needs me to join his ranks officially, then I will." He inclined
his head, as if searching for the right phrase - difficult, when he had
rehearsed this speech all week. "He would not be recruiting me if he did
not want my counsel, and I have to give him what I think is my best
advice. I am more useful to the cause if I remain unmarked."
"I see," said Marcus, quietly. "I suppose you've given this a lot of thought,
haven't you?"
Ambrose rolled his eyes. "Have you met me, Flint?"
The tension broke at that, as Marcus grinned. "True, true." He left a few
galleons on the table to pay for his lunch, and stood. Ambrose stood as
well.
"Where are you off to now?" he asked. The look of surprise on Marcus'
face was worth it.
"How did you know?"
Ambrose returned the grin. "You did say you were on the team cleaning
up after the battle. That tells me you're on a rescue mission."
An exasperated sigh escaped Marcus, telling Ambrose that he was right
again. "We have brothers in arms wasting away in a new prison in
Hungary, according to our source. Our task is to break them out."
Ambrose was thankful that the silencing charm was still in place; he had
not expected that much detail. But something Marcus said rang false, and
he couldn't let his friend go unprepared.
"Marcus," he said. "There are two threats to the Dark Lord, as I see it. One
is Potter and those who follow him. The other is a motivated ICW. Both
are firmly within Dumbledore's influence." He leaned closer, covering the
motion by shaking Marcus' hand. "Father had extensive contacts on the
continent, Marcus. None of them - not one - knew about a wizarding
prison anywhere in Hungary."
"What are you telling me?" asked Marcus, noticing the worry in his
friend's voice.
"I'm not sure," Ambrose replied. "I guess, just be careful, Flint."
Marcus nodded to his young friend. "Will do, Rookwood."
oOoOoOoOo
Twenty minutes after the Granger family arrived at their new home in
Eastbourne, Michelle Granger was forced to drag her daughter away to
go get lunch. Had she delayed any further, Hermione would have begun
emptying boxes and filling bookshelves - even as her father, uncle, and a
team of movers were still unloading the large truck outside.
The Grangers decided to move on Friday to give themselves the entire
weekend to get settled. Once the following Monday came around, the
Doctors Granger would be setting up their new clinic. The town of
Eastbourne was a growing community, with over a thousand new homes
planned over the next few years - and a marked lack of dentists. Between
the (very high) offer on their old house in Crawley, the retirement of one
of the other dentists in their practice, and the opportunity to start fresh,
the Grangers couldn't say no.
What they had not mentioned was that Tom Granger had grown up in the
nearby city of Brighton, and felt like he was moving closer to home.
Crawley was not that far away, if one took the highway, and Eastbourne
was not that much closer, when you thought about it. But the feel of
living in a coastal town again - that was what finally made the decision
an easy one.
So it was that Michelle and Hermione Granger drove off to explore their
new town a bit, before bringing back lunch for themselves, Tom Granger,
and Michelle's brother Graham, who had come to help unload the truck.
When they returned to the house an hour and a half later, they found the
last of the movers locking up an empty truck. They were gone before
Hermione made it to the front door. Inside, she found her father and her
Uncle Graham sitting in the dining room, each drinking a beer.
It did not escape Hermione's notice that the dining room table had
already been assembled. Surely, she had not been gone that long?
Then she paused. The boxes with her books had been stacked in this
room, hadn't they?
"Dad?" she began. "Where are my books?"
Her Uncle Graham chuckled to himself, and held out his hand. Tom
Granger sighed, before handing over a five pound note. "The movers put
them up in your room, sweetie."
"Already?" she said. Turning, she made her way up the steps and down a
hallway to the room she had picked out. As she approached, she heard
voices - the movers were in her room, it seemed. I thought they had left?
"How many books could one person need?" It was a man's voice, but the
accent was familiar somehow.
"How many do you have?" came a light, female voice. Now, that one,
Hermione definitely recognized. But that's impossible… She stepped
forward and opened the door.
Ron Weasley looked up as she entered, an old textbook in his hands.
Harry and Neville were sitting on boxes, unpacking stacks of books and
sorting them into piles. Luna and Ginny were sitting on her bed,
attempting to assemble her new night table.
Hermione looked from friend to friend, not sure how to react. Finally, her
eyes fell on Ron once more, and she spoke without thinking.
"What are you doing to my books?" she asked.
Harry stifled a laugh, just as Neville groaned and began fishing in his
pockets for a galleon. Before anyone could answer her question, her eyes
fell on the far wall of her bedroom - and the four oaken bookshelves that
stood against the wall. Hermione looked at the shelves, and then turned
and looked at the door, realizing that none of them would have fit into
the room. When she looked at Harry, he was grinning.
"Explain," she said, pointing at the shelves.
"Hi, Hermione." Harry replied. He spread his hands and gestured at the
room. "Surprise."
"Did you use magic to put those shelves up, Harry Potter?" she asked. The
last thing they needed to do was give the ministry an excuse to get Harry
in trouble. Even emancipated, even having taken up his Lordship, some
busybody at the Ministry could still question whether he was technically
still underage, and questioning that might lead to other questions - ones
that James Potter would be all too eager to raise.
Harry clutched his hand to his heart, in mock injury. "I'm hurt, Miss
Granger." Then the laugh escaped him. "Lord Black sends his regards -
and his shrinking charms."
"Sirius, really? Wow," she said, reminding herself to thank him for the
gift. "And you lot, what are you doing here?"
"They knew that if you had to unpack, you'd end up sitting and reading
instead," answered Ginny. "And then we'd never see you again."
Hermione wanted to protest, but found herself conceding the point. Her
friends really did know her too well.
"Right," she said, taking the book from Ron. "Let's get started, then."
oOoOoOoOo
Later that afternoon, Neville pulled Hermione aside and showed her the
robes he had worn to Saint Mungo's. The potion stain on the sleeve,
though dried, still held its bright red color.
"The color isn't much of a clue, though," Hermione said, looking closely
at the stain. "Some potions change color depending on the purpose, or the
recipient, or even the phase of the moon." She looked up. "What did the
potion look like in the bottle?"
Neville sat back in his chair and thought for a moment. "If it's the one I
picked up, it seemed thick and, I don't know, gloppy?" He almost winced
at his own description, but couldn't think of a better word.
"A red, gloppy potion," muttered Hermione. "What happened with your
parents, exactly?"
"They switched places," he said, his frustration at the situation clear in his
tone. "Mom was on the left, and had a candy wrapper in her hand. When
I came back an hour later, she was on the right, and dad was on the left
with the wrapper in his hand."
"Hmmm," said Hermione, taking another look at the stain. Neville was
content to let her gather her thoughts, for he knew exactly how limited
his knowledge of potions was. Potions ingredients, especially the ones
that came from the greenhouses, those he could handle. Their
interactions, their properties, and what exactly made a potion red and
gloppy, all of that was beyond him.
Neville almost jumped when Hermione spoke again. "How did your
parents look, Neville? I mean, before, when you visited with them?"
"How did they look?" Neville repeated, confused. "I don't know, they
seemed fine."
"Compared to the last time you visited?" Hermione pressed.
"About the same, probably," Neville answered. "Why?"
Hermione ignored his question and continued with her own. "Are they
able to walk around the hospital and exercise? Even with help?" Off his
bewildered look, Hermione sighed. "Neville, if your parents have laid in
hospital beds for fifteen years, they would look like it. Even laying down
and moving your legs or your arms won't give you enough exercise to
stay in proper shape." She looked at him intently. "So, did your parents
look like they had been laying in a bed for fifteen years?"
Neville thought back to the previous day's visit, and to the feel of his
parents' hands in his own. He did not have enough experience with life to
know what a woman's hand should feel like when held, so the only thing
he knew about his mother was that she seemed physically healthy. His
father, though, had closed his hand around his son's when Neville
grasped it.
His father's hand had felt strong, his grip sure. Even if it had been a
reflex, and not some hint of his father in there somewhere, it was a relief
at the time. Now, though…
"They seemed healthy." Neville said, quietly. "Dad's grip was strong. Too
strong." He shook his head. "How did I miss something like that?"
"Don't feel bad, Neville," Hermione said, taking his hand. "It's not your
fault."
"I know," he agreed. "But, still, someone should have noticed something,
right?"
"Possibly," said Hermione.
After a moment, Neville sighed again. "So, what does this mean?"
Hermione looked at her friend carefully, seeing the determination on his
features. As she watched him, he stood up and walked to the window.
His fists were clenching, as if he was fighting the urge to hit someone.
She had seen that look in the Room of Requirement many times, and
knew what it meant. The Heir Longbottom was angry.
"We start at the most basic question." Hermione said. She held up the
robe. "Why was a nurse walking around with polyjuice potion?"
Neville shook his head. "That's not the most basic question, Hermione."
He turned and looked at her. "Polyjuice requires a source for the hair. As
an auror and a Gryffindor, there's no question that a polyjuice potion for
my father would be red. So somewhere, somehow, they are getting hairs
for their potion." He folded his arms across his chest, looking angrily at
the discarded robes in her hand. "They can't fake it, not well enough to
trick Gran. So, it's real somehow."
"No, Hermione," Neville continued. "The real question is this. Where the
fuck are my parents?"
A/N: A shorter chapter, to keep things moving. Thanks again to
Grimjaw for the beta work - as usual, the chapter is much improve
through their input.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
13. The Confidence Course
A/N: Trigger warning for ritualized executions.
Lily Potter stood on the street corner, taking in the quiet neighborhood
that surrounded her. Hundreds of homes, stretching in all directions,
each looking like a copy of the same post-war template. But for the
numbers mounted next to the front door - the same numbers, the same
font, the same metal on each home, she noticed - it would be impossible
to tell which home was which. Even the street names were cold and
impersonal.
What engineer, decades ago, thought it wise to name a street 'Privet
Drive'?
James and Jamie were in Wales, setting up their new home. The
atmosphere at Grimmauld Place had grown cold, especially after the
Wizengamot meeting, and the Potters had decided it was time to
establish a home of their own.
They did not consider returning to Falcon's Rest, at Lily's insistence. She
would not dismantle the protections on that property, not ever, not after
the past two weeks. If they did need to flee, she knew that they would be
safe in their old home, even if it meant the appearance of 'death' once
again. Better, she thought, to preserve what family she could.
She did not consider whether Harry's command of the Lord's ring could
reach James under a Faraday charm. The question fascinated her from an
academic standpoint, being exactly the sort of thing she would want to
know about the secrecy charm she had helped create. On the other hand,
testing the protection meant risking James' magic, and that was a step
she was not prepared to take.
James, meanwhile, had not taken the possible loss of his magic very well
at all. Knowing that he keeps his magic - and his life - under the
continued mercy of the Lord Potter was galling indeed. Dumbledore's
assurance that it would all work out was little comfort. None of the
Headmaster's assurances had comforted her, recently, and she saw the
same uncertainty in her son's eyes.
The financial control Harry had over them was problematic as well. After
James raised his voice to Sirius about the indignity of their situation -
forced to essentially beg their son for help - Sirius had not raged back at
them as he would have in his youth. He did not laugh and respond with a
prank. No, instead the Lord Black had gone to his study.
Thirty minutes later, he returned with a letter. James' hands had shaken
as he read the parchment, and Lily understood why when she saw what
Lord Potter had done. They were being given a hunting lodge in the
north of Wales, an old Potter property James had never visited. A vault
had been set up for their use, and Lily noticed that the amount was what
would have been given to a widow. Or, she realized, to the Dowager Lady
of the House.
Neither remarked on the trust vault established for Jamie, nor on the fact
that their son's Hogwarts expenses would be covered.
It was the handwritten postscript that really set James off, though.
Mister Potter, my conditions from our meeting this past Thursday stand. Your
continued place in the Household is contingent on your compliance with those
conditions. Prove that you are no longer a risk to me and mine, and you have
nothing to fear from me. Act against me, or against House Potter, and that
will be that.
It would take me all of five seconds to strip you of your magic. Do not make
the mistake of believing me incapable of taking that step.
See to your family. I will see to mine.
Harry Potter, The Lord Potter
To add insult to injury, the hunting lodge Harry had given them was
north of a Welsh town with the strangest name Lily had ever heard -
Llanfair something or other - and lacked any public floo or apparition
points. As a security measure, though James was convinced it was a
personal slight, Harry had not given them a portkey. Instead, he gave
them a series of numbers and called it a grid reference, forcing Lily to
explain how the muggle system of latitude and longitude worked. Armed
with a map and a pair of brooms, James and Jamie would need to find
their new home the hard way.
When James stomped off after receiving the letter, Lily had asked Sirius
when he wanted them to move out. Her old friend gestured toward the
foyer, where Kreacher and two other elves were standing next to a stack
of the Potters' trunks and other possessions.
Today was moving day, it seemed.
One of the elves was dressed in the oddest costume. As Lily approached,
she saw that the elf was wearing combat fatigues and tiny black boots.
What a strange elf, she thought. The other elf was wearing a simple yellow
dress, however, and seemed to look at her with disgust.
"Hello, I'm Lily," she said. "Thank you for gathering our things."
Kreacher looked as if he was about to respond with another nasty
comment, as had been his usual mode of address toward the Potters, but
a look from Sirius quieted him. The uniformed elf simply nodded curtly,
his expression unreadable. It was the female elf who spoke.
"Dixie knows who you is, Missus Potter." The little elf's voice dripped
with contempt.
Lily looked closely at the elf. "Have I met you before, Dixie?"
The scowl deepened. "Dixie is a Potter elf, Missus. Dixie knows what you
did to good Master Harry."
Lily's face fell. "We didn't have a choice, Dixie," said Lily, quietly.
Dixie looked like she was about to step forward, but thought better of it.
"Wes all be having choices, Missus." The uniformed elf placed a hand on
Dixie's shoulder, and the two elves popped away silently. Kreacher
grumbled about mudbloods, before shuffling off to attend his duties.
When she turned to look at Sirius, aghast at the venom in the little elf's
tone, she saw Lord Black standing there.
"Sirius," she began, but he held up his hand.
"Twelve years, Lils," he replied. "And the hell of it is, Harry once told me
he was jealous of me." Off her look, he sighed, turning to leave the foyer.
In the doorway he paused. "At least in Azkaban, they fed me every day."
Then he was gone.
So it was that Lily Potter found herself standing on a street corner in
Little Whinging, Surrey, steeling herself for a reunion she had not
expected to need to have. Her hair was glamoured to be a short, sandy
blonde, and her features were a blend of her own and her friend Alice
Longbottom - a woman her dear sister would never have met.
She had deliberately given herself a few blocks to walk, hoping that the
time would give her a chance to calm. A small stone had been
transfigured into a clipboard, and some parchment turned into official
looking forms. Did the muggle government do home visits for foster
families? She didn't know. At the moment, though, she didn't really care.
The ruse only had to be good enough to get her inside the house.
Even hearing the story from Harry, she had a hard time believing that it
was the truth. Then again, it had been a very long time since she and
Petunia had spoken. The crux of the matter was that her son hated her,
and her sister was a large part of why.
It was time to find out what they had done to her boy.
oOoOoOoOo
As Lily Potter was walking past Number 17 on Stanley Drive, the
homeowner was getting his first lesson in runes at Potter Manor.
Colonel Ramsay had travelled via portkey with Harry, and the experience
was one that he didn't think he'd ever get used to. He kept his calm,
relying on decades of training in discomfort, but that didn't make him
eager to repeat the experience.
Then, when he set eyes on Potter Manor, he found himself angry on
Harry's behalf. He knew exactly how well treated Harry had been at the
Dursleys, and how little of their more-than-adequate income was used to
feed and clothe him. He was well aware how much Harry had relied on
his home as a sanctuary, and later as his own miniature academy, over
the years. It did not bother him to help the boy - Ramsay had always
been a bachelor, devoting himself to Queen and Country, and had the
time and patience to accommodate the mistreated young man he found
cutting his grass one day.
Ever since the previous summer, he had known that Harry had access to
a manor house and other properties. That development was one of the
main reasons he had urged Harry to meet with the goblins and (if
possible) take up his Lordship. But knowing that there was a family
estate, and then seeing it, were two very different things.
No child with access to a home like this should have spent a decade in a
cupboard.
Harry led him through the manor, past a well-appointed kitchen, and into
a back room. When Ramsay saw the space they would be using, he
grinned. "This will work perfectly," he said.
The room was clearly the wizarding equivalent of a man-cave. A rack of
brooms lined one wall, and nearby sat a table with what looked like tools
for maintaining those brooms. Posters for sports teams decorated the
walls, and though Ramsay recognized none of them, their tone was
unmistakable. Some things were universal, as a poster for the 1970
English National Team demonstrated. That the team was flying through
the air, or indeed that the picture was moving at all, just proved the
point.
Most of the room had been cleared and cleaned. In place of the boxes and
chairs they had found littering the room, Harry had set up a semi-circle
of eight chairs with desks attached. Anyone who had walked the halls of
an academy like Sandhurst would recognize the type. Each desk had a
small notebook and a pen, and Harry had been clear that he wanted his
team to be taking notes, to get into that habit.
It was an exercise they were not to be told about. Harry would have them
write down questions and observations, getting them in the mindset of
watching everything. They had worked on situational awareness in the
Room of Requirement, but having the Colonel here gave them a chance
to take it to another level.
Ramsay had asked him if he just wanted to show off his team. Harry did
not deny that, either.
In the center of the room stood what looked like a large sandbox set up
on a table. Ramsay had seen these before, any commander had. The sand
could be shaped to mimic any terrain, allowing an instructor to let their
students work out for themselves how best to accomplish (or defend)
their objective. Here, they would be simulating the layout of the Ministry
for their first lesson as a group - an after-action review of the Battle of
the Ministry.
A young blonde girl was sitting at one of the narrow ends of the sand
table, manipulating some sort of controls. She looked up when they
entered, smiling brightly.
"Hello Harry, hello sir," she said. "I think it's ready for you."
"Brilliant," said Harry. "Luna Lovegood, allow me to introduce Colonel
Mark Ramsay, of Her Majesty's Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst.
Colonel, may I present Miss Luna Lovegood, Associate Editor of the
Quibbler and Ravenclaw extraordinaire."
"Good morning, Miss Lovegood," Ramsay said, earning a giggle from
Luna.
"Welcome to the Wizarding World, Colonel," she replied.
Setting his bag down, Ramsay walked over to the sand table. The sand
had already been arranged to show a small hill, on which was situated
some sort of archway. At the base of the hill, a large flat area extended
toward the walls. What looked like small chess pieces were arranged in
various places around the hill, though the pieces came in four colors
rather than two.
"You were able to get video, then?" asked Ramsay, as he examined the
layout. He looked up when Luna chuckled again. Harry was stifling a
chuckle of his own.
"Not, exactly, no." Harry said. "We may have used a magical device to
directly review our memories of the battle."
"Oh," said Ramsay. He indicated the figures on the table. "And we use
these to represent the units on the field?"
Luna nodded. "We're the white team, of course. The Death Eaters are in
black, the Order is in yellow, and, well…" She trailed off at that point,
looking at Harry with an uncomfortable expression.
"My parents are in bronze." Harry finished. Ramsay could hear the
quotation marks around 'parents', and knew exactly where Harry's
feelings were about them. But they had been present, and could not be
ignored.
"Right, ok then." Ramsay reached into the sand table to pick up a
figurine, only to have Luna stop him.
"Just a moment, sir," she said, politely. She reached down and tapped a
few glowing stones mounted into the side of the table. As she did so, the
figurines began moving on their own. Ramsay noticed that they were not
just small statues representing wizards and witches - they actually began
exchanging spell fire and dodging curses.
"Wizard's chess uses pieces like these," began Luna. "Each one has a
script, like the knight that can only jump to certain squares, and so on.
We used that to give each figure a script based on the battle."
Ramsay watched, fascinated, as the battle played out before him. "And if
you want to go back?"
Luna grinned. "Then we go back." She tapped another control, and the
pieces backed away to the edges of the table. The hill and surrounding
floor melted into the sand, making way for a larger series of pathways
between large shelves.
"Amazing," Ramsay said, half to himself.
"Magic," replied Luna.
"Walked into that one, didn't I?" Ramsay said, amused. He leaned in
closer to the table, trying to get a better look at the scene. "How did you
get this level of detail?"
"I went through my memories a few times," answered Luna, "Then I made
adjustments to the runes worked into the table. We based them on a
chessboard, just like the pieces."
"Luna misses nothing, I've learned," said Harry. "I added some touches
from what I saw, but almost every significant detail came from her."
"I see." Ramsay said, glancing over at the pair. Luna must have seen the
question on his mind, even if he wasn't sure whether to ask it. She
shrugged, apologetically.
"Muggles can't use a pensieve, you see," she said. "And it wouldn't be
much of a briefing if you couldn't see what we were talking about."
Ramsay looked at the sand table, and then back at the blonde girl who
kept surprising him. "Miss Lovegood, are you telling me that you built
this, designing much of it from scratch, just for my benefit?"
"No, of course not," scoffed Luna. "That would be silly." She grinned at
him again. "You're coming here for our benefit, so the least we can do is
help you help us help everybody."
"I see," Ramsay lied. "Well, thank you anyway, Miss Lovegood, for
making me feel welcome."
"No, Colonel," she said, her voice growing more serious. "Thank you, sir."
oOoOoOoOo
Ambrose Rookwood had delayed this as long as he could. He had sent out
letters, making contact with anyone he could, seeking information. He
had made arrangements for a small burial service, inviting old friends of
his father - those who were unmarked, at any rate.
The marked friends would remember him in their own way. Father
would never let him forget it if he wasted an opportunity, even if the
opportunity was his funeral.
Unfortunately for Ambrose, he had run out of excuses. He was the head
of House Rookwood, and even if House Rookwood was not involved in
the Wizengamot or in the goings on of the old houses, it still had duties
to fulfill.
Ventum ab scientia was his house's motto. From the wind, Knowledge. The
Rookwoods listened, they learned, and they remembered. Ambrose had
to do the same, now. And he had to get started quickly, if he planned to
remain unmarked. Declining the invitation of the Dark Lord had been a
risk, but a calculated one. His father had served the Dark Lord well, in
both wars - hopefully, that service would buy him some leeway now that
his father had given everything to the cause. Only time would tell.
For now, it was his father's journal that troubled him. Once he read those
entries, and learned what his father had known, it would be real.
Ambrose knew he had to take this step, and knew why - but for just a
moment, he didn't want to be the Head of House. He just wanted to talk
to his father again, seek his advice.
"I'm sorry, Da," he said, quietly. Placing his hand on the journal, he
opened it to one of the first few pages.
July 12, 1972
David Flint brought me an invitation today. A man known as Lord Voldemort
seeks my aid in overthrowing the corrupt ministry and installing a government
that will protect Wizarding Britain from all threats.
If I agree, I will take the Dark Mark and join his Death Eaters, thus taking my
first step toward a place in the new order. I've signaled my tentative
agreement, subject to Father's approval, of course. I doubt he will want to take
the mark, nor is he likely to be offered the chance. Flint said that they are
actively avoiding the Unspeakables, for now at least, until they are more
established.
With enough sympathetic wizards in the Ministry, it will not matter whether
one bears the mark or not - which is why I feel comfortable taking it now. If
the choice were between working in the Department and taking the mark…
well, let's just say I'm glad I don't have to make that choice.
July 21, 1972
I knelt before our Lord today, swearing my allegiance and taking his mark in
return.
The mark is given as part of a blood ritual, and as with most blood rituals a
sacrifice is required. Most of the Death Eaters do not choose to learn much
about the ones they execute - for an execution it is.
I am a Rookwood, however. I cannot not know.
Lee Gregory, 41, an accountant from Edinburgh, stared at me with anger as I
approached him with the knife. He sputtered curses at me as I performed the
incantation, swearing that I would pay for this. As the knife bit into his chest,
his anger turned to sobs as he begged for the life of his son. The blood was hot
on my hands as I traced the mark's location on my arm. As the Dark Lord
spoke his part of the incantation, and my arm began to burn, I heard the
muggle whimper the name of his wife, Sandra. He died as the Mark was sealed
with a hissed phrase from our Lord.
What Lee Gregory did not know is that his wife Sandra had been executed
twenty minutes before, when a man named Yaxley took the mark. When I was
done, I saw them drag the corpse away, only to return with a weeping
teenager, pissing himself and begging for his parents.
I did not remain to witness his end.
I will not say, even here, that it was a pleasant experience. But was it
necessary? Yes. I cannot and will not support a Ministry that favors outsiders
over its own people. And make no mistake, supporting the rights of muggles
who happen to have magic over those of us who have had it for generations?
That way lies madness.
They will call us traitors. So be it. We will save them from themselves. And if
it costs the blood of Lee and Sandra Gregory, and their son, then it is what it
is.
Morsmordre.
Ambrose closed the journal and set it back on the desk. This was the
choice he had made last week, one that still weighed on his mind.
"Fucking hell," he said to himself. What have I gotten myself into?
oOoOoOoOo
The team had taken to the makeshift classroom far more easily than
Colonel Ramsay had expected. They were asking questions and making
observations that wouldn't be out of place from his usual students, and
those were professional soldiers and officer candidates.
Colonel Ramsay was impressed.
After the morning session, when the rest of the team went to the kitchen
for lunch, Harry and Luna stayed behind with Colonel Ramsay.
"We'd like to get your advice on another scenario, sir," began Harry.
"Of course," said Ramsay. "I told you, I'm here to help you and your team
in any way I can."
Harry nodded, and then paused. "I know your superiors know what
you've been doing with me, working with me over the summers I mean,
but..." His voice trailed off.
Luna picked up the thread of the question. "Harry worries that your
involvement is the first step to bringing the muggles into the war," she
said. Ramsay noticed that the humor she had displayed throughout the
morning was gone, now.
"I've been instructed to tell you that Her Majesty's government is
monitoring the situation closely." Ramsay gave the only answer he could.
"There's a but in there, I think," Harry said, attempting to lighten the
mood.
"There is, yes. But, if the muggle government has to intervene, it will be
because the Ministry violated the Glasgow Accord, the treaty that
separated Wizarding Britain from Muggle Britain." He frowned. "If that
happens, all bets are off. There isn't a way to be a little involved, beyond
what I'm doing here."
"Hopefully, that won't be necessary."
"Said the child soldier," added Luna. Harry winced at the description, and
could tell that Ramsay didn't like it either.
"I didn't start this war," said Harry, after a few moments.
"No," agreed Colonel Ramsay. "But I get the feeling that you'll be the one
to end it." He gestured at the sand table. "And you won't be doing it
alone."
"No," Harry said. "Thank you, again, sir." Off Ramsay's nodded
acknowledgement, Harry turned to Luna. "Go ahead and show him."
Luna tapped a few controls, and the sand table changed. When the sand
had stopped shifting, Ramsay was looking at what had to be a muggle
house. He raised an eyebrow, looking at Harry.
"This is what we were thinking…" began Harry, as he laid out the
preliminary information about his proposal. By the time the discussion
was over, Harry and Luna had a plan to prepare, and Ramsay had a few
calls to make.
So much for advice and instruction, Ramsay thought. Now I'm an arms
dealer. Then he looked at Harry, speaking quietly with the younger
blonde, and decided that he was alright with that.
oOoOoOoOo
Lily's reunion with her sister began when she was greeted at the door to
Number 4, Privet Drive, by a large man with a simple-looking face.
"Ah," she said, making a show of looking at her clipboard. "You must be
Vernon Dursley, then?"
The man just stared at her, before leaning back into the house. "Mum!"
Then he stepped forward and walked down the street, completely
ignoring her and leaving the door standing open.
"Dudders?" came a familiar voice from inside the house. Before Lily could
react to the sudden departure of the boy she now knew was Dudley, her
sister appeared.
Petunia had not changed a bit. She was still as skinny as could be, and
probably wore the same clothes she had a decade prior. Her face was
perpetually scowling, to the point that Lily wondered if a grin would kill
the woman. She wore an apron, and Lily noticed several stains on it -
suspecting, from Harry's account, that her dear sister had been quite
unprepared to keep up with the cooking once summer began.
"Yes?" asked Petunia, impatiently.
"Ah, yes, I'm following up on some of our records for a child you fostered
a few years ago. Could I have a few moments of your time, madam?" Lily
glanced at her clipboard, to keep up the pretense.
Petunia's face darkened. "We've never fostered a child before."
"Oh? I have a record for one, let me see, ah - Harry James Potter? Was he
a resident at this address?"
The scowl deepened. "He may have been, but he isn't now."
"Oh, I see. Well, do you have his new address? I'd like to meet with him
about his time in the system." Lily didn't know if Harry had actually been
in the system, or if he had just been left here. She had expected that he
had been raised by one of their friends, or at least an Order member, but
that illusion had been brutally shattered that day at Grimmauld Place.
"I don't know where he is, and I don't care. That boy was nothing but
trouble." The venom in Petunia's voice seemed to match that of the elf
from earlier, which startled Lily. Clicking her pen, she made as if to take
notes.
"Was the boy a troublemaker, then?" Lily wanted to see what Petunia
said, not expecting the shock she got.
"He was a freak and a criminal, honestly, and if he doesn't end up dead
within a year I'll be amazed," spat Petunia. "The country would be better
for it, if you want my opinion."
"I see," said Lily, fighting to control her reaction. "I have listed here that
he attended a boarding school in… Scotland, I believe?"
"So he said," Petunia replied. "If you want to call Saint Brutus' Home for
Criminal Boys fancy, then I guess that's your choice."
"Right," Lily replied, pretending to make a note. "His parents, what
happened to them?"
"Died," Petunia said. "And to hell with them, getting blown up and
leaving us to clean up their mess."
Lily sighed. "Right, one last question, then, and I'll be out of your way."
She looked into her sister's eyes, and barely avoided recoiling at the
hatred she saw there. It was truly a wonder Harry had not died, she
thought. "If you and your husband had died, would Mister Potter's
parents have cared for your son?"
Petunia scoffed. "Such people shouldn't be allowed to have children," she
said.
Funny, here I am thinking the same about you, Lily thought. "Nevertheless,"
she said.
Petunia sighed. "If that were to happen, I would hope that my Dudders
died with us, so that my dear sister couldn't taint him with her
freakishness."
Lily allowed her voice to revert to its normal tone, keeping the rest of the
glamour in place. "Thanks, 'Tuney." She clicked her pen and put it away,
watching Petunia's reaction.
She was not disappointed. Petunia grew pale at Lily's words, and
especially at the childhood nickname this stranger just used. Only one
woman would ever call Petunia by that name.
"No," she said quietly, taking a step back. "You're dead."
Lily allowed the glamour to fall entirely, revealing her shoulder length
red hair and green eyes. The notice-me-nots she had placed before
walking up were still there, allowing her to make the transition while still
on the street. Under wards, she may have had an issue, but Petunia's
house was fully muggle - no wards to worry about here, or none that Lily
could detect.
"Not at all," said Lily, coldly. "Just thought I'd stop by and say hello to my
favorite sister."
Petunia stood there, stunned. Then her face turned to a cold rage. Before
Lily could react, Petunia had slapped her in the face.
"Your lot, how DARE you? You ruined my family!"
"I did what?" asked Lily, her temper flaring as well.
"Everything that has happened to us is a result of your FREAK son! He
nearly cost us everything, and here you stand. Why did you do it?"
Petunia's sneer had returned, and she stepped forward to stab her finger
into Lily's chest. "Couldn't handle a toddler so you faked your death to
unload him? That's pretty cold, even for you, sister mine."
Lily didn't have words. The hatred she felt from her sister stunned her. "I
didn't…"
"Oh, yes you did. The instant you walked into that world, you knew, and
still you managed to get in over your head." Petunia shook her head. "I
hope it was worth it."
Lily was shocked. Everything she had done, and Petunia was angry with
her? "Tuney, I…"
"No. Stop right there," Petunia said. "Don't you say a word, Lily. You get
exactly what you give, and deserve every day of it." She stepped back,
placing her hand on the doorway. "Now, get off my property."
Lily didn't know what to say. "'Tuney," she said weakly, repeating her
sister's nickname.
"No. Go away." Petunia pointed at the sidewalk, as if willing her sister to
disappear. "Never come back."
With that, she slammed the door in Lily's face. As Lily stood there,
dumbfounded, she learned why there was so much gossip on Privet Drive
- the doors are thinner than any others.
"Bitch should have stayed dead," Petunia's words, angrily spat at no one
in particular, stung Lily as nothing else said that day could. A
disappointed elf, an old friend cutting ties, and now her sister. What
bridges hadn't they burned today?
What have we done? Lily would spend a long night that night trying to
answer that question.
The tears were starting to come just as she apparated away to Grimmauld
Place, there to await word from her husband. Besides, she still had her
worldly possessions to collect.
A/N: We don't need multiple chapters of Harry and the team getting
put through their paces by Colonel Ramsay, but I thought it
important to show how he is involved - and how he is not. It's a fine
line, here - his superiors, and Number 10, are aware of the
wizarding world, and that he is connected to it via Harry. They
know of the war, and that Harry is involved. They are constrained
in how they can be involved by a treaty I made up, and so can't
intervene directly unless everything goes to shit.
The thinking is this - if the muggles can drop a few bunker-busters
and end the war, then it's not much of a story. Similarly, if their
goal is to not have wizards attacking muggles indiscriminately, then
not antagonizing the wizards would seem wise. Sending special
forces units into Diagon Alley might be effective, but it's an
escalation - and it invites escalation in turn.
Several excellent stories have explored the idea of Muggles applying
their military might to the task of fixing (or tearing down) the
Wizarding World. This isn't that sort of story - but involving an
active duty soldier has to be dealt with somehow. Thus, the Glasgow
Accord, which handwaves the whole issue.
Some reviewers wonder where Ambrose Rookwood is going. I'm
hopeful that his role in the story brings a fresh take on... well, we'll
see. Stay tuned. As for the Longbottoms, I really wish I could tell
you if any reviews guessed the situation correctly - and congratulate
those who did. If any. Again, Stay Tuned.
Petunia is a bit nastier than canon, but then again we knew that
from Harry's description earlier in the story. Lily probably should
have picked a different day to visit, one where she was up for the
emotional shock it turned out to be. Then again, Petunia is gonna be
Petunia. That Lily did not anticipate such a reaction is telling of
how off her game Lily is, given what she's been through these past
few weeks. For her, and others, it should be a very interesting
summer.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
14. The Barbeque
The first thing Harry Potter had done to impress his account manager at
Gringott's was nothing.
Twinblade was not just the Potter accounts manager. He also handled a
number of smaller houses, families that might not have much business to
offer the bank. As with the other senior managers, he also assisted
customers who had no assigned manager.
He had seen young witches and wizards inherit large sums before. He
had also seen them return to the bank before long, seeking loans and
assistance. It was easy to spend through a windfall, harder to exercise
restraint. The muggles had seen this as well, or so he was told, with
sweepstakes and lottery winners. Many such ended up impoverished
when the galleons ran out.
Harry Potter was not going to fall into that trap.
When he ascended to the Potter Lordship, and gained access to his
family's property and funds, he asked for ledgers and account statements.
He reviewed them carefully, asking insightful questions as he went. When
Twinblade reminded him that time was money, Harry nodded and asked
if he had more time available for the usual fee.
Twinblade had grinned at that. Harry and Colonel Ramsay had been in
his office for all of half an hour at that point. He had no reason to know
what the 'usual' fee was. It was a sign of trust in his account manager,
and one that the old goblin appreciated. Now, he wasn't going to raise
the banners and declare Harry Potter a Friend of the Goblin Nation over
a moment of common courtesy - but he was going to remember the
gesture, and make sure that his colleagues knew of it as well.
Gringott's liked to know who they were working with when they gained a
new client, especially a prominent one. Few clients were as prominent as
Harry Potter.
When Harry had a good understanding of his finances and holdings, he
took out a sheet of parchment and made a list. Twinblade expected it to
be a series of extravagant purchases, as any teenager might make with
unlimited funds. A new broom for Quidditch, perhaps, or a new
wardrobe. An older client might start buying up businesses or artifacts or
the like. If Harry wanted, he could probably buy a modestly-priced
Quidditch team.
No, Harry only had an interest in one business - the Daily Prophet. He
also wanted to increase the limit on his trust vault to free up resources,
but the amount he asked for was not unreasonable. He also set aside
some money for a shopping trip, but this was in pounds - and again, the
amount was nothing extravagant.
It was an impressive list, in that Harry Potter seemed to be handling his
newfound wealth with wisdom, which would surprise the other
managers. When he got to the bottom of the list, Twinblade let out a bark
of laughter. Harry had indeed added one luxury item, at the insistence of
the muggle soldier who came with him to the bank. The older man had
argued that Harry deserved at least one gift to himself, and Harry had
agreed.
When Harry explained what he was looking for, he finished by inviting
Twinblade over to enjoy the result, once the work was complete. That,
too, was a surprise to the old Goblin - but, again, it was a welcome one.
The new Lord Potter would be one to watch, Twinblade was certain.
oOoOoOoOo
Susan Bones was not surprised by Harry's invitation to Potter Manor,
though her aunt was. With the beginnings of open warfare, many families
were keeping to themselves as much as possible, in hopes that they don't
become targets for death eaters.
When Amelia commented on it, Susan relayed something that Harry had
told her when they first met in Hogsmeade. "Harry said that if we stop
living our lives, the death eaters win."
That Harry asked them to "Dress casually" was unusual as well. Amelia
thought that, whatever Harry had planned, it would be a welcome
change from the usual social events inflicted on her by wizarding society.
Her niece had chuckled at that. "With Harry, nothing is ever ordinary."
Amelia could do little else but agree.
When they exited the floo at Potter Manor, an elf directed them to the
back patio, where the other guests were relaxing and watching as the
meal was cooked. The way the elf phrased that statement drew
questioning looks from both witches, for guests rarely watched the
cooking.
Susan could see a few people through the window as they approached.
Molly and Arthur Weasley were there, speaking with Xenophilius
Lovegood and an older man she did not recognize. Arthur was trying very
hard to not be noticed as he looked off to the side, watching something
intently. Out in the yard, Susan could see Ron and Ginny playing some
sort of game with Luna and Hermione, as well as an older redhead who
must be one of Ron and Ginny's brothers. She saw Luna fling her arm
forward, and a white disc of some sort flew away from her. Ron jumped
up and caught it in the air, before throwing it back toward Hermione.
As they stepped out onto the back patio, Susan understood. Harry had
mentioned his gift to himself, but she had not yet had a chance to see it.
Nor had Neville, apparently, for he was standing next to Harry asking
questions.
"It's a grill, Neville." Harry said, no trace of annoyance in his voice. "It's
too nice a day to be cooking indoors, and I haven't had a chance to try it
out properly yet."
The grill was almost five feet in width, and had been built into a stone
wall along one edge of the patio. Susan had never seen a muggle-style
grill, and had only Harry's vague description to go on at all. Even then, it
was clear that Harry had spared no expense in setting up his dream grill
at the family manor.
"Muggles cook indoors, though… right?" asked a confused Neville. Harry
chuckled as he turned one of the steaks over, causing flames to leap out
of the grill with a sizzling noise.
"That they do, Neville, that they do." He flipped another steak as he
spoke. "But if I wanted to cook for you all, then I'd have to be inside,
instead of out here enjoying this beautiful day." As he said this last, he
gestured at the group sitting on the patio, and his eyes fell on Susan. She
smiled at him as his face lit up. "Speaking of which. Welcome Susan,
Madam Bones."
"Mister Potter," said Amelia, though she was smiling at his reaction - and
at Susan's. "Thank you for your invitation."
Harry nodded in acknowledgement. "It was my pleasure. Everyone has
been working hard this week, and I wanted to give everyone a relaxing
afternoon before we get back to work."
Amelia raised an eyebrow at that. Harry's meaning was clear, for she
knew exactly what sort of work he was preparing to get back to. "You'll
have to show me later on," she said. "I have to admit to some curiosity."
Another nod. "Of course," Harry replied. "I'd be happy to."
As Amelia walked over to sit with the other adults, Susan walked up to
Harry. He was wearing shorts and a grey t-shirt, over which he had put
on a red apron. With both of his hands busy attending to the meat, Susan
hugged Neville first. Then, she found an arm wrapping itself around her
shoulders as Harry pulled her into a one-armed hug of his own.
"Hello, Susan," Harry said. "Thanks for coming."
"Wouldn't miss it," she answered. "So, this is it, eh?"
Harry grinned, earning an eyeroll from Neville. "Yep, this is it. What do
you think?"
"I think it looks like a lot of work," said Susan. Cooking had never been
anything she had an interest in pursuing, but she could tell that Harry
was enjoying himself. "I did promise I'd try it, though, and had a feeling
today would be the day."
"All week, he's been going on and on about today," said Neville. The grin
on his face belied his false annoyance with his friend. "It got to the point
where the Colonel threatened to cancel the barbeque if we didn't get our
work done to his standard."
"Oh?" Susan looked up at Harry, wondering if he would explain.
Instead, he took a sip of his butterbeer and shrugged. "A little motivation
can work wonders."
Before he could set the bottle down, Susan took it out of his hand and
stole a sip for herself. "You're not wrong, Mister Potter." Neville snorted
in amusement as Susan nonchalantly handed the bottle back to a
surprised Harry, before walking off to get one for herself.
When she walked into the kitchen, the older man she had seen earlier
was already standing in front of the cooling cabinet. He smiled at her,
before handing her a butterbeer.
"Miss Bones, good afternoon. I've heard a lot about you from Harry." He
held out a hand. "My name is Mark Ramsay."
"Oh, hello!" Susan said, shaking his hand. She was unable to keep all of
the surprise out of her voice, for the Colonel chuckled at her response.
"Grilling out on an off day is an old Army tradition, Miss Bones," Colonel
Ramsay said, still smiling. "When Harry told me what he wanted to do, I
told him that I had to make sure he did the thing properly." As he spoke,
he pulled a metal tool out of his pocket. Susan watched as he took his
own bottle - not butterbeer, but something called lager - and used the
tool to remove a small metal lid. The discarded cap fell to the kitchen
counter with a clatter, next to a small pile of butterbeer corks.
Not sure what else to say, Susan nodded toward the patio. "He seems to
be having fun with his new toy," she remarked.
"That he is," agreed Ramsay. "Sometimes I forget that he's still just a
teenager. Then I see him sitting in the kitchen, reading cookbooks and
talking to his elves about what to cook."
Susan shook her head, still smiling at the idea. "We're planning a birthday
party at my home in a couple of weeks," she said. "I hope he doesn't plan
to cook for that as well."
"Oh, not much chance of that," said Ramsay. "He'll probably spend too
much time being overwhelmed."
"Really?" Susan looked over to the Colonel, who seemed to have a
contemplative look on his features. Ramsay saw her glance over, and
shrugged.
"Harry's never had a birthday party, you see." Ramsay said, his voice
becoming quieter. "Other than a nice dinner at my house, his relatives
never celebrated it. So this will be the first time he gets to just enjoy the
day." He looked back at the patio, where Harry and Neville were
speaking animatedly with Ron at the grill.
"Oh," said a quiet Susan.
"Yes, oh." replied the Colonel. "I doubt you could get Harry any gift better
than throwing a party for him. So," Ramsay raised his beer in Susan's
direction, causing her to raise her butterbeer in return. "Thank you,
Susan, for helping take care of our boy."
oOoOoOoOo
Had he been so inclined, Harry could easily have fed twice as many
people as he had at his home that afternoon. He had prepared a few
steaks to go with burgers, bratwurst, and even some grilled chicken
breasts. There were also salads, steamed vegetables, and a tray of fruit.
Luna insisted on helping him cook potatoes, and in return Harry very
carefully did not notice her keeping the unused foil for herself.
When Hermione asked her about it, Luna had just laughed. "I think it
might make a nice hat, don't you?" Hermione just stared at her for a
moment, wondering where she had heard the muggle phrase about tin-
foil hats - before the snickering from the boys told her that Luna was just
messing with her.
Molly Weasley had gotten up to help with the food, but sat back down at
Harry's insistence.
He was polite, but firm. "You've cooked how many meals for me over the
years? Let me at least do this one for you in return."
She reluctantly agreed, but still felt the need to comment. "You must have
put a lot of time into making all of this food, Harry. It looks amazing."
That had gotten a grin from Harry. ""I can't take all of the credit, Mrs.
Weasley. When I told Dobby that I planned to cook for you all, he
immediately told me that I was not allowed to do an elf's job." Harry
chuckled as he ignored the sudden look he got from Hermione. "I almost
had to ask the Colonel here to conduct negotiations."
Ramsay took a sip of his beer and nodded. "They agreed to let Harry
work the grill, if he let them do the rest." He grinned as he thought back
to that discussion, and to the work the elves had done over the course of
the past week of training. "Harry told me that the elves worked for him,
but I had a hard time telling who was in charge at first - Harry or the
elves." Most of the group laughed at the comment.
Amelia spent most of the meal listening to the conversation around her.
It was very carefully kept to light topics, avoiding all mention of the war,
the Ministry, and - perhaps most noticeably - the Potters. This entire
event was intended to allow all present to just relax for a while, and it
showed.
Susan's easy banter with Harry was hard to miss. Amelia could not keep
her eyebrow from raising when she saw her niece stab a piece of Harry's
steak with her fork, deftly stealing it from his plate. Her smile grew when
she saw him reach over and take a bite of her grilled chicken sandwich.
"Hard to believe there's a war on, isn't it?" asked Colonel Ramsay.
Amelia turned to look at the muggle soldier sitting on her left. "They look
like teenagers," she replied, softly.
"They are," he said. "But they've had to grow up fast." He nodded toward
Harry. "I'm told that he has briefed you on his history?"
A nod. "Susan introduced us during winter, and he spent quite a bit of
time telling me his story."
"Then you know why he's doing all this. Not just taking control of the
manor and his House and his team, but his life."
Amelia nodded again. "I got the impression that very few people had
given him reason to trust them."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Director," said Ramsay. He gestured with his
beer, indicating the thirteen people sitting on the patio, laughing and
chatting and eating. "If that were the case, this party would be much
smaller."
oOoOoOoOo
As the party continued at Potter Manor, Sirius Black walked up to a
nondescript house in a small muggle town.
He regretted missing the event. It was the sort of afternoon he sorely
needed - a chance to sit back and relax and enjoy good food and friendly
company, without worrying about the war or anything else. In reality,
however, he knew that he wouldn't be much of a guest, after the week he
had had.
It was a virtual certainty that someone would say something, or ask
something, and Sirius knew that he would start talking about the Potters.
Then he would start talking about how one of his best friends in the
world left him in prison for more than a decade. And then he'd probably
say something he'd really regret.
No, it was better for everyone if he took some time to himself. So Sirius
Black threw himself into his work, both as Lord Black and as the Regent
Potter.
As Lord Black, he had little to do apart from keeping his ears open. With
his seat in the Wizengamot only recently taken, he was not beholden to
any of the usual alliances the Blacks may have joined in the past. Nor
was he on any committees or other bodies that might take his time - for
despite the long history of the Blacks, he himself was considered a new
member, and new members were never assigned side duties until they
had served for a year.
The work that kept him busy all related to House Potter. Already his
challenge to Lord Flint on the floor of the Wizengamot had gotten results,
much to Sirius' surprise. The offer to call off the blood feud for anyone
who would swear an oath against Voldemort had been little more than a
jab at Flint, but it got results nevertheless. Three different Lords and one
Heir apparent ended up inquiring via owl if that offer still stood.
The next Wizengamot meeting would be just as lively as the previous, it
seemed. Sirius found himself looking forward to it. Of course, he had
business to conduct before that could happen.
The door to the house opened before Sirius could knock, and the owner
greeted him with a glare. They had not spoken since the Order meeting
where the Potters were revealed, though Harry had insisted that the man
could be trusted. Despite their history, Sirius was willing to give him the
benefit of the doubt. He only hoped that the sentiment was mutual.
"Snape," said Sirius in greeting.
"Black," replied Snape. He then stepped to the side, inviting Sirius in.
Once they were in the living room of Snape's home, Sirius turned to face
his host. Snape was standing in the doorway, arms folded across his
chest, tension in every movement. Sirius could tell that Snape was angry,
but whether it was about Sirius himself or about the situation overall was
unclear.
They had had almost no direct interaction over the course of the past
year, even during Order meetings. Sirius had taken Harry's advice to
heart, and tried to listen to what was said - and what was not - during
each gathering. The result was that he often found himself in the back of
the room, observing, just as Snape was wont to do.
After one such meeting, Snape had cornered his host in the kitchen at
Grimmauld Place, and demanded to know what had happened to cause
the prankster to stop acting the fool. Sirius had looked Snape in the eye
and said, calmly, that "Harry happened." He went on to explain to the
Potions Master that he had spent long enough ignoring what was
important, and that right now he was all that Harry had. He would be
damned if he walked away from that.
Snape had nodded in grudging respect, and they had been cordial ever
since. Neither man knew how prophetic those words would be when the
Potters emerged from hiding.
It was obvious to Sirius that the Potters remained the focus of Snape's
anger, even after close to a month since their return. The topic was
sensitive enough that Sirius refused to bring it up. Instead, he took a
piece of parchment and set it on the coffee table.
"What is this?" asked Snape.
"It's troubling how easily one can learn the most recent home address of a
young muggleborn witch these days," Sirius said. What he did not
mention was how quickly Madam Bones had acted when she learned
what a young witch in the records office was doing for extra galleons.
Selling information to the death eaters was not something she was willing
to allow.
"Why would I care, Black? I can look up the records at Hogwarts if I so
desired - which I don't."
"Ah, but that's the trick. You don't care, but I'll bet the Dark Lord does."
Snape stared at him. "Why would I give him this information, if he hasn't
asked for it?"
Sirius leaned forward. "There's a certain young muggleborn witch we
both know, who recently helped put a dozen of the Dark Lord's finest in
the ground. You're telling me that he wouldn't want to get some
payback?"
The Potions Master's eyes narrowed. "What's really going on here?"
Rather than answer the question, Sirius met Snape's gaze. "Every battle in
which death eaters are killed or captured brings us one step closer to the
day when the Dark Lord gets angry enough to lead an attack in person."
He tapped the parchment on the table. "I suspect that this particular
muggle home will be quite well defended, should the death eaters
attempt to enter uninvited."
Snape gave Sirius a hard look, appraising him. "Why does Potter want
Miss Granger's home to be attacked?"
Sirius grinned. "Did I say that this was the most recent address? My
apologies, Professor, but that's not strictly true…"
OoOoOoOo
After the meal, Colonel Ramsay introduced Bill and Arthur Weasley to a
muggle game known as darts. When Bill asked why the Colonel wasn't
playing, Ramsay said that he wanted them to have an enjoyable first
game.
"Don't listen to him, Bill," said Harry. "Ron beat him just a week ago, and
he's been nursing his wounded pride about it ever since."
"Mister Potter," Ramsay said in a serious tone. "I'll have you know that I
was throwing bullseyes long before you were born. That one of your
teammates managed to get lucky doesn't change that undisputed fact."
The amusement in his eyes told everyone that he was kidding, but Harry
- who had turned to say something to Susan - very nearly snapped to
attention.
"Sir, yes sir!" He responded cheekily, getting laughs from the group.
"So, this game is part of the training you all were doing this week?" asked
Arthur.
Harry nodded. "It helps with precision casting, and getting in the habit of
tracking a target with your wand arm."
Bill chose that moment to throw, ignoring the groan from his father when
the dart struck the triple twenty. Turning, he looked at Harry.
"I think I get it," Bill said. He looked thoughtful for a moment, before
continuing. "Was there anything you do for fun around here that doesn't
involve training in some way?"
Amelia watched as Harry placed a hand on his chin, as if considering the
question. To her amusement, she saw Susan cover her mouth to stifle her
laugh. Harry looked over at her, and seemed to get the joke immediately,
for he too looked as if he were about to laugh.
Colonel Ramsay saved him. "Be very careful how you answer that
question, Mister Potter."
Harry acted sheepish at the rebuke. "Aye aye, sir." The navy-style
response caused a chuckling Ramsay to throw a bottle cap at him. Harry's
seeker reflexes did not fail him, and he snatched the cap out of the air.
The act did its job, and again the group found itself laughing.
As the conversation moved on, Harry noticed a dark brown owl sitting on
one of the eaves of the manor. It looked at him expectantly, and he could
see a note attached to its foot.
oOoOoOoOo
The only real mention of the battles to come was made by Arthur
Weasley, shortly before he and his wife departed.
"I want you to know that we're proud of you, Harry," Arthur told his host.
"I know you're way to young for all of this, but if there's anyone who can
handle it, it'd be you."
"Thank you," Harry replied, quietly. "I knew it would upset some people
when I started fighting the death eaters on their terms, deadly force
against deadly force. But I probably still would have done it."
"If the Ministry could handle the problem, then you wouldn't need to."
Arthur said. "Capture them, and they escape or just buy their way out.
No, I understand."
Harry sighed. "That's just it, isn't it? And the rub is that if it gets much
worse, the ICW will swoop in and settle things once and for all." Harry's
eyes met Arthur's. "Can you picture the response from the Ministry if a
team of foreigners came in and waged the war they should have been
waging?"
Arthur could indeed picture that response, and he knew exactly how bad
it would be - for the Ministry. "Their patience is gone, isn't it?"
Harry nodded. "And on the other side, we have the Muggle government.
They, too, could easily run out of patience."
Again, Arthur knew how bad things would be - for the Ministry - if that
happened.
"So," Harry continued. "This isn't a great option, but it's the only way we
saw to thread the needle."
Arthur really had no response to that. He should be angrier, for his son
and daughter were following this boy - no, this man - into danger. Harry
Potter was leading them into a war. But then he thought about the cane
he had so recently put away, and about the burning pain he still had in
his right knee whenever it rained. He thought about the scars he carried,
and would carry for the rest of his life, both from the bite and the venom.
Then he realized that he had this man to thank for that life.
No, instead of telling this teenager to run to safety, to hide, to do anything
other than rush into battle, Arthur Weasley found himself shaking Harry
Potter's hand.
"Keep them safe, son."
Harry nodded again, touched by Mister Weasley's acceptance. "I will, sir."
oOoOoOoOo
After escorting Susan to the floo, and giving her a lingering hug in
farewell, Harry escorted Amelia Bones to the training room.
When they entered, Neville and Colonel Ramsay were already discussing
the plan for the evening's engagement. In the sandbox that dominated the
center of the room, Amelia saw a muggle house and its surroundings. The
front and back yards were displayed, including the sidewalk and roadway
in front of the house. At the edges of the model were the sidewalls of the
two adjacent houses. The backyard was deep enough to prevent whatever
house was behind this one from showing up. Whoever had prepared the
model even included the three trees in the backyard and the one out
front.
"Thank you for staying, Amelia," Colonel Ramsay say by way of greeting.
"I suggested that the lads here brief you on their plans for this evening, so
that they can plausibly say that their actions were in self defense."
Amelia had known for months that it would come to this, and had
welcomed it. Once she met with Harry, it was obvious how serious he
was about preparing himself and his team for the battles to come. Her
maneuvers with the ICW, and her off-the-books support through the
DMLE, had all been intended to help while keeping the team at arm's
length. Harry had insisted on that, not wanting to compromise her then-
precarious position within the Ministry.
Now that the war had been declared, and the team was moving on the
offensive, Amelia found that she had mixed feelings. This was no longer
her assisting Lord Potter, so that he could do what he was going to do
anyway. Now, this was watching her niece's boyfriend, or prospective
boyfriend at least, as he went off to pick a fight.
It was so much easier before I saw how Susan looked at him, thought Amelia.
Stepping up to the sandbox, she gestured at the model.
"Walk me through your plan, Harry." It was not an order, but Harry
treated it as such - another sign of the respect he showed her at every
turn, despite not being under her command.
Harry handed a small parchment over to Amelia. It read simply "Potion
came out a lovely shade of green. Expect it to cool tonight."
"We've arranged for the death eaters to learn the home address of one
Hermione Granger and her parents," began Harry. He ignored the look of
anger on Amelia's face, and worked the controls of the sandbox. Eight
small figurines emerged from the sand, each wearing black robes and
masks.
Amelia leaned closer, and saw that the masks were not death eater
masks, but muggle clown ones instead. She looked at Harry, who
shrugged.
"It seemed appropriate," was his only response.
"I see," she answered. "Go on, then. You were talking about endangering
Miss Granger's family, I believe?"
Harry almost cringed at her tone, for the disapproval was clear. "No,
Director, the address they received is for a house I recently purchased in
Crawley. It turns out a pair of dentists had the chance to start a new
practice in another city, and took advantage of the opportunity. Their
muggleborn daughter moved with them, just last week." He smiled at her,
attempting to look innocent. "Remarkable coincidence, that."
"Quite," replied Amelia.
"The house is mostly empty, but enough furniture remains to maintain
the illusion of a typical muggle home. The only difference is that we've
added a ward scheme." As Harry spoke, a faint dome of magic appeared
over the house.
"Why would you ward an empty house?" Amelia asked.
Neville answered that one. "The ward is about as weak as it can be
without collapsing on its own, Director. I could probably breach it with a
few rocks and a stiff breeze."
Amelia frowned. "Then why bother with the wards at all?"
"Two reasons," answered Colonel Ramsay. "First, it will focus their
attention on the correct house, since this house is the only obviously
magical one anywhere nearby. Second, these wards are the only ones
they will detect, so when they fall the death eaters will believe that there
are no further defenses. They will congratulate each other on breaching
the defenses, and charge into the home."
At this, Harry changed the model to show the first floor of the home. At
the center was an opaque sphere, which seemed to show a much more
powerful shield charm.
"Once they are in the house," said Harry, "They will find what looks like
three muggles hiding in the dining room behind a shield." Harry pointed
out small lines across every path to the dining room as he spoke. "When
the death eaters cross these lines, the shield will fall and the illusion will
disappear."
"The death eaters will wonder what happened, thinking that the muggles
are still hiding behind a disillusionment charm or something similar.
They will enter the dining room." Neville handed a small object over to
Amelia, who took it without looking. "All they will find is a dozen of
these."
Amelia looked down at the small object. It was a rectangular object made
of a material she did not recognize, though she was sure that she had
seen it elsewhere. The object was light green in color. What drew her eye
was the message written in bold letters across one side.
"Front toward enemy," she said quietly.
"These are called Claymore mines," said Ramsay, off of her look. "When
the death eaters are in or near the dining room, these mines will be
triggered. The resulting explosion will incinerate the house and anyone
who happens to be inside at the time."
"You're slaughtering them," said Amelia. It was not a question.
"They broke through the wards on a house that I own, intending to do
harm to people under the protection of House Potter," Harry said. His
voice was calm, for he knew that Amelia's statement had not been
criticism. But this was how he had to phrase the legal argument, the one
he would give if questioned about the night's events. "No one will
question a wizard defending his property."
"And if they are actually under the imperius?" Amelia did not seriously
believe that that would be the case, but she, too, was considering the
legal ramifications. Harry would be attacked for this, of that she was
certain.
Harry shrugged. "Then I will mourn them. But Hermione and her parents
would have been just as dead, imperius or no."
Amelia had to concede the point - for, in truth, Harry was right. From a
legal standpoint, defending one's home against an invader did not require
checking each attacker for compulsions or the imperius. That was part of
the horror of the curse, especially in the first war. The DMLE had learned
of several wizards who had been imperiused into making suicide runs on
the Ministry. Unfortunately, they were discovered after the fact.
Amelia pointed to the back yard, still visible on the model. "What if they
have lookouts?"
Harry gave her another smile - one that looked eager. "Then, Madam
Bones, you'll have prisoners to interrogate tonight."
oOoOoOoOo
"You there, come here." Severus Snape did not know the name of the
death eater who walked past his potions lab at Malfoy Manor, but at that
moment he simply didn't care.
The man walked over. "Yes, Professor?"
Had I taught him at some point? Snape wondered. I hope not, poor bastard.
The death eater did not see Snape's wand until it was too late.
"Imperio."
oOoOoOoOo
Luna had decided to stay over at Hermione's new house that night,
mostly to keep her distracted. It had initially been Hermione's idea to use
her old house as bait for death eaters, once her parents talked about
moving. That didn't mean that she liked seeing the house she grew up in
blown up. Besides which, the job really didn't need six people.
So it was that Harry and Neville found themselves sitting under
disillusionment charms on the front step of the house across from
Hermione's old one. Ron and Ginny would be perched in a tree at the far
end of the spacious backyard. They were there to catch any death eaters
who didn't make it into the house, and make sure that no one came back
out again after the fun began.
Harry was glad that they had thought to take a potion before coming out,
for the stake out was much more boring that he had anticipated. Nor
could he chat with Neville, lest they risk tipping off a lurking enemy. So
they sat their silent vigil, waiting and watching.
Just after two in the morning, they heard multiple pops of apparition. A
group of black-robed figures brazenly appeared in the middle of the
street. They didn't even bother to keep quiet, allowing Harry and Neville
to listen to their excited chatter.
When Neville recognized one of the voices, he shared a look with Harry.
Tonight, apparently, was being used to initiate some new death eaters, it
seemed. There was at least one sixth year slytherin that Neville thought
he knew, though the name escaped him.
Harry very carefully did not think about how many empty seats there
might be at the Slytherin table next term.
Neville used his hands to signal a one and a four, getting a nod from
Harry. Fourteen, he translated. Quite a few more than we expected, with the
short notice they must have gotten from Snape.
Harry felt the coin in his pocket vibrate three times, a signal from Ron
that they had gotten the message. It was unlikely that anyone would try
to get out the back door, but then again, Harry had not expected them to
just wander up to the property, either.
The wards fell at that point, and all but one of the death eaters walked up
to the house. None of them checked the perimeter, none of them
attempted to circle the house and prevent an escape. They just walked in,
bold as brass, under the assumption that there was nothing muggles
could do to them.
If only they knew, thought Harry.
Harry's coin buzzed again when the death eaters got close enough to
collapse the illusion, and Harry shared a glance with Neville. Nodding to
each other, they covered their ears.
The early morning silence was broken by an earth shattering BOOM.
Looking up, Harry and Neville watched the remains of the former
Granger home fall to the ground. Only the outer walls remained standing,
and those would not last long against the heat. The death eater who
remained outside had been knocked down by debris, and was not
moving.
"Neville?" Harry asked, quietly, not taking his eyes off of the wreckage.
Neville had the grace to look sheepish, as he kept his eyes on the downed
lookout. "You know how they blame death eater attacks on 'gas main
leaks', like Luna said?" Off Harry's nod, Neville grinned. "Well, this time
they won't be lying about it."
As a cover story, it worked - Harry just wished he had been prepared for
that large of a blast.
Harry and Neville walked cautiously forward, toward the street. Harry
moved to the fallen death eater, applying one of the DMLE portkeys
Madam Bones had given them. When the death eater disappeared, he
would end up in a secure holding cell, much to his surprise.
Neville held position just off the sidewalk, covering Harry in case the
death eater wasn't as down as they thought. It was a fortunate decision,
for it meant that he was able to see another death eater running toward
them from further down the street. Neville's shield sprang to life just as
the portkey activated, defending Harry.
The death eater attacked with a vengeance, enraged at the cowardly
attack he had witnessed, and fearful of the fate that awaited him when
the news reached the Dark Lord. If he could bring back the body of one
of the lions, he reasoned, perhaps he would be spared a cruciatus.
Neville took the lead on offense, having seen that the attacker was
focused on Harry. Harry saw the shift, and went into a defensive mode,
shielding Neville as he attacked. The death eater, unprepared for the
change, kept firing at Harry while trying to shield against Neville. He was
mostly successful, to his credit, but that success didn't last long.
Only one of his spells hit, a weak bone breaker that resulted in a sprained
shoulder on Neville. Annoyed at himself, Neville tagged the death eater's
foot with a flipendo, causing his feet to shoot out from under him. The
motion had the effect of slamming the man's head into the pavement,
knocking him out. A stunner from Harry ensured that it would stick.
Once the attacker was portkeyed away, Neville and Harry stood there,
catching their breath. Ron and Ginny had already portkeyed to the
Burrow, once it was clear that there were no further attackers.
After a moment, Harry and Neville looked at each other. Harry spoke
first, in what would become a small tradition for the pair.
"Want some coffee?" he asked.
oOoOoOoOo
Dobby grumbled at the "Grimy Master Longbottomses and Filthy Master
Harry Sirs," when he saw the two standing in the kitchen of Potter
Manor, coffee cups in hand, laughing about something or other.
Both had been too wired to go to sleep, and so they had spent the
remainder of the night talking about nothing of consequence. Their cups
of coffee had been replenished several times, and a tray of leftovers from
the party had been put to good use. Neither of them minded that they
were still in their battle gear, though their longcoats had been set aside
in the interests of comfort.
They both needed the down time, as it turned out. Neither noticed the
light beginning to stream into the windows as the sun began to rise.
Harry's face was still covered in soot from the fire, but cleaning it off
would require either magic (which he didn't feel like using), or a
washroom (which would have required getting up). Neville mixed soot
and a small amount of blood from a tumble on the pavement during his
brief encounter with the last death eater. His shoulder had been healed,
though the longcoat would need repair. As it was, Neville looked like he
had been in a battle.
Which, of course, made it a brilliant moment for a vulture patronus to
appear on the kitchen counter.
Harry could not hear the message, as it was just for Neville's ears. The
look of shock on his friend's face, however, told Harry all he needed to
know. That, and the fact that he knew of only one witch who had a
vulture patronus.
What would Neville's gran want at seven in the morning? Harry wasn't sure,
but knew that he probably wouldn't like the answer.
Standing, Neville looked angry - and Harry was reminded of the look on
his friend's face during the battle several hours before.
"I need to go," said Neville. "They're home."
"Oh," was all Harry could say to that. "Rubbish timing, that." He gestured
at his friend. "Nev, you want to grab a shower before you go?"
Neville gave him a grin. "Nope."
oOoOoOoOo
Daphne Greengrass was annoyed.
She knew her grandfather was friends with Augusta Longbottom, and had
been for decades. She knew that her family had been close with the
Longbottoms. She knew that she got along with Neville, but that their
interactions were strictly related to classwork.
She also knew that her father had dragged her out of bed and made her
get dressed before sunrise, so that she could accompany her grandfather
to Longbottom Hall. When they arrived, she learned that Neville's parents
had somehow been healed of their debilitating cruciatus exposure, and
were scheduled to come home this morning. Daphne and her grandfather,
the Lord Greengrass, were to be part of the welcome home party.
What annoyed her was that Neville Longbottom, the Heir Longbottom
and only son of the returning Lord and Lady Longbottom, was not there.
It wasn't that he hadn't gotten out of bed yet, but that he had not come
home the night prior.
Where the hell would Neville Longbottom, of all people, have been last night?
Daphne had no idea.
For some reason, the missing heir seemed to bother her grandfather as
well, though she had no idea why.
Frank and Alice Longbottom, accompanied by one of their healers from
Saint Mungo's, had arrived via floo just after eight o'clock. Augusta, who
had seen them the day before, had almost wept at the homecoming.
Daphne's grandfather had offered his heartfelt congratulations, as had
Daphne, with her polite curtsey. Alice had scoffed at the formal gesture,
and grabbed her for a crushing hug.
The hug nagged at Daphne, somehow. As she understood it, the
Longbottoms had been essentially locked in their own minds, and would
have experienced the years as if it had been some timeless interval. This,
though, felt to Daphne as if Alice was greeting her after a long absence. It
was the gesture of someone who knew how long they had been gone,
rather than someone who had fallen during an attack and woke up in
hospital, some fifteen years later.
She couldn't put a finger on it, but the gesture troubled her.
As Augusta was explaining that Neville was not home for some reason,
the oaken doors of the entrance hall slammed open. There, silhouetted by
the morning sun, was Neville Longbottom.
Daphne was startled by his appearance. The Heir Longbottom was
wearing what seemed to be a basilisk skin longcoat, and one that had
seen battle if that shoulder was any indication. His face was covered in
blood and soot, and his hair was dirtied with ash.
What in Merlin's name had Neville been up to?
The detail that grabbed Frank Longbottom's attention was the wand in
Neville's hand. The wand that was aimed at his heart. The wand that
seemed to be glowing with magic just waiting to be released.
Neville spoke quietly, but his words echoed throughout the room.
"Who the hell are you?"
A/N: It amuses me to publish this chapter, involving (arguably) two
successful barbeques orchestrated by Harry Potter, just after I
published a chapter of The Prisoners' Tale, where that version of
Harry Potter utterly ruined a simple meal cooked over a fire. Here,
Harry firmly believes that the death eaters win if people stop living
their lives. It's an idea that became prominent in 2001, following
the September 11th attacks, but predates them as well - and is
exactly the sort of maxim that a man like Colonel Ramsay would
live by.
I also wanted to give the group a bit of down time. This version of
the Ministry Six is a much more tightly-knit group than in canon. If,
for example, this Ron and Hermione were asked to not correspond
with Harry, they would ignore the request - after they stopped
laughing, of course. For Harry, having access to Potter Manor isn't a
show of wealth or status, it's simply a home.
This story, as of this writing, has 1,058 favorites and 1,605
Followers, with over 125,000 views. It's one of the top ten Harry/
Susan stories on FFN, which is itself mindblowing to me. So, to all
who continue to support this story, thank you.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
Edited 3 July 2020 - The Black Account Manager from Keystone
Council inadvertently made a cameo as the Potter Account Manager
here. So, Sharpclaw has been removed in favor of Twinblade.
Apologies for the confusion, and special thanks to Dannyboy2k for
pointing out the error.
15. The Homecoming
"Who the hell are you?"
Daphne Greengrass stood frozen as she watched one of her classmates
threaten his own father and head of house. She had never seen Neville
Longbottom as angry as he was in that moment, nor had she ever
expected to see him so prepared for a battle. A basilisk-skin longcoat,
boots that were clearly made for combat despite their muggle style,
visible knives on his belt. He was every inch a warrior, and right now it
was his father that faced him down.
"Neville?" Frank asked, cautiously. The former auror was not going to
make a sudden move and inflame the situation. Even his hands were
open and out from his sides, despite the fact that he was not carrying a
wand. As he took in the appearance of his son, Frank Longbottom's
features seemed to soften, though Daphne could see the effort it took him
- the stress of the situation obviously made it hard to have an emotional
moment.
Neville, meanwhile, was having none of it. "A week ago, I visited my
parents at Saint Mungo's. As I left, a healer bumped into me and spilled a
potion I later identified as polyjuice. When I returned here, Gran said
that we needed to go back, and we did - only to find that my parents had
switched places, as if one had been given the polyjuice for the other."
Neville's eyes remained focused on Frank, and his wand never wavered as
he spoke. "So I followed my instincts, and placed a tracking charm on my
father's wedding ring."
Alice Longbottom gasped at that - a reaction that struck Daphne as odd.
Was she upset that some sort of potions mixup had happened, or that
polyjuice was involved somehow in her treatment, or perhaps that her
son had felt the need to use tracking charms to reassure himself that his
parents were safe. Then she understood. If he had a tracking charm, and it
worked, he wouldn't be confronting… oh, Merlin. Daphne's thoughts were
interrupted when Neville cast a spell with his second wand - a wand she
hadn't seen him draw.
The spell he cast was the spell used to follow a tracking charm. Like a
Point Me spell, it would direct the caster to the target. Unlike the simpler
version, however, this spell would make the charmed item or person
glow briefly. It was useful for verifying that the charm had been cast
correctly, or for calibrating enchanted devices that used the charm.
Neville's expression hardened when no tracking charm was revealed.
"Whoever was in that hospital, whoever that healer took us to see,
whoever they've been parading about as Frank and Alice Longbottom, it
wasn't you." Neville's voice was low and cold, and Daphne could hear the
anger behind it. Now his reaction made sense - he knew, or thought he
knew, that these people were impostors.
Daphne saw Alice's hand reach into her robe, only to stop suddenly. Her
eyes grew wide as a voice came from behind her.
"I'd prefer it if you didn't do that." The air behind her shimmered, as if
someone had pulled away an invisibility cloak. There, standing behind
the woman who said she was Alice Longbottom, wand aimed at the base
of her skull, was Harry Potter. The fact that he was just as prepared for
battle as Neville was the least surprising thing about this newest reveal.
Daphne almost gasped at the sight. Harry Potter, the Lord Potter, was
here supporting Neville - and doing so when Neville was basically calling
his father an impostor. Again, she wanted to shake her head. Merlin, she
thought. The political implications alone were staggering.
"Perhaps we should all calm down," said the strong voice of her
grandfather. Lord Trevor Greengrass was sitting next to his old friend
Augusta Longbottom, watching the action with narrowing eyes. "Frank, if
Neville is telling the truth, it does raise some concerns that should
probably be addressed." Lord Greengrass kept his voice calm and polite,
but it was clearly the voice of authority he always used - people listened
to him and heeded him for a reason.
"I don't know what to say," Frank said, his eyes locked on Neville's. "I am
your father, the Lord Longbottom." He held up his hand, showing the
Lord's ring.
"That does look like the ring, Neville," observed Trevor Greengrass.
Neville took a step forward. "Either he is lying, or Saint Mungo's has been
lying for fifteen years. Which is more likely, Lord Greengrass?"
Trevor looked thoughtful. "An oath would clear things up, I believe."
Frank Longbottom was not going to wait for something to set Neville off.
"I swear, on my life and magic, that I am Franklin Charlus John
Longbottom, son of Johannes and Augusta Longbottom, Lord of the
Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom, and that I have spent
most of the last fifteen years hidden away in a keep of waking nightmares
as a direct result of exposure to the cruciatus curse." His voice rose in
anger as he gave the oath, and to Daphne's ear it sounded like the
righteous anger of the wrongly accused. It carried with it the
undercurrent of How dare you question me?, something she heard often in
the Slytherin common room.
The soft glow that sealed the oath was met with utter silence.
Daphne saw the look of shock on Neville's face, as well as the look of
anger on Madam Longbottom's. Neville had clearly not expected a
successful oath, and did not have his next move ready. Typical Gryffindor,
Daphne thought to herself. The Regent Longbottom's anger was easily
explained, as well, once Daphne understood that it was not directed at
Neville. She was just now realizing that there had indeed been some sort
of coverup at the hospital, and she had not been informed.
Harry Potter's reaction drew her gaze across the room, where he still
stood behind Alice Longbottom. His eyes were narrowed, and he was
clearly thinking through the implications of the oath. He glanced at Alice,
who seemed to sense the movement.
She, too, had no wand in hand, but could give an oath just as easily as
her husband. "I swear on my life and magic that I am Alice Longbottom,
the Lady Longbottom, and that I gave birth to the wizard before me,
Neville Franklin Longbottom, at Longbottom Hall on July 30th 1980."
Again, magic glowed softly around her, sealing the oath and proving the
truth of her words.
The specificity of the oath caught Daphne's attention, even as magic
accepted it. She had directed the oath at her son in two ways, and had
either one been false the oath would have failed. By identifying Neville
using his name and the fact that he was standing in front of her, it meant
that the oath could apply only to him. No chance of word games here -
only the wizard before her would satisfy the oath, if indeed she had
birthed him, and then only if his name was as she said it.
Oaths were powerful, and widely trusted. But anyone who had spent five
years in Slytherin knew how precisely they had to be worded, or else
they were worthless under scrutiny.
Everyone in the room seemed frozen, waiting for Neville's reaction.
Slowly, ever so slowly, his wand lowered. He remained focused on his
father, clearly trying to come up with something to say. Frank beat him
to it.
"Well," he began, trying very hard to ease the tension. "That's not quite
how I thought this would go." He smiled at Neville, trying to calm him,
though Daphne noticed his eyes go to his wife as he spoke. He was
speaking to both of them, it seemed.
For the first time, Neville glanced away from his father, making eye
contact with Harry. Daphne saw that Potter had already stepped back,
away from Alice, and was nodding to his friend. That was enough for
him, it seemed, for Neville took it as a signal and lowered his cherry
wand. Looking from his mother to his father, he actually smiled.
"Mum?" He said, tiredly. "Dad?"
Alice could wait no longer. She stepped forward, wrapping her arms
around her son. Neither of them noticed when Frank joined the embrace.
The only words Daphne could make out from the Longbottoms were the
words of Alice, spoken with a sigh of relief. "At last."
oOoOoOoOo
Ambrose Rookwood sighed as he walked back into his study, as his eyes
swept across the stack of journals still sitting on the desk. He had finished
two of his father's journals, and found himself no closer to understanding
the man.
What he had learned did little to reassure him that supporting the Dark
Lord was the wisest course. He had told Flint that his house would
support Voldemort, and that had seemed to be the safest option at the
time. Ambrose knew he could not support Dumbledore, and the Ministry
was the result of decades of the Headmaster's influence. No, Voldemort
was the only real option
But then he read about the Dark Mark, and the blood sacrifice - the literal
human sacrifice - that it required. Could he execute someone and watch
them die, just to tie his magic to the Dark Lord?
He thought back to that envelope, and the green seal, that marked his
invitation to the Death Eaters. Such things are not given lightly, and to
decline it was not without risk. If asked again, could he afford to say no?
Lifting the next journal in the stack, Ambrose seated himself on the
leather couch by the fireplace. The previous journal had detailed
conversations between his father and the Dark Lord, who had at that
point been at the start of his insurgency. The elder Rookwood had
quickly proved himself to be the most intelligent recruit they had had in
some time, and his insight into their activities turned the course of the
war in their favor.
On several occasions, Augustus Rookwood had planned operations that
resulted in no Death Eater losses - something that could not often be said
before his arrival. Voldemort had been impressed, and soon began taking
the young unspeakable into his confidence.
Ambrose was shocked to read about one occasion when the Dark Lord
had played wizard's chess with his father. It was hard to picture such a
scene, given what he knew of both men.
He found his place in the latest journal, and continued to read.
8 December 1976
To the wizards of House Rookwood, there is no bad source of information.
Let me put it another way. Even the lies we are told can give us insight into the
liars. Take the latest drivel printed in the Prophet - the important part is not
what the articles say. No, the truth of the matter is what the articles do not
say, or the facts that they take great pains to avoid.
A Ministry official telling the paper that everything is under control is
worthless. When the people see that the aurors never respond until after we
are gone, when the mudblood-owned shops are the ones that continue burning
long after the pureblood-owned shops have been put out? The people know
which way the wind is blowing.
The entire Ministry house of cards would collapse in on itself if the reporter
looked up at the Ministry official, smiled politely, and then said two words.
Just two little words, that would be all it would take.
"Prove it."
When we control the Ministry, there will be no empty words. No, when the
Dark Lord speaks, the world will listen, for His words will be backed by his
overwhelming power, and by the manifest rightness of his cause.
Magic demands that we win. I just wish we could win faster. The Dark Lord is
playing chess, while the Ministry is fumbling about with gobstones. Caution is
rarely a mistake, but I worry that we are missing opportunities by taking the
slow path.
In this, though, I must trust my Master. I would not wear his Mark if I did not
know with certainty that His path was the right one.
"Rookwood! Are you there?"
Ambrose looked up as the voice came from the fireplace. He smiled as he
recognized the voice of one of his housemates in the year below his. The
boy had had trouble reading when he came to Hogwarts, and Ambrose
had tutored him during that long first year. They had been friends ever
since, which gave Ambrose a means of keeping an eye on the Malfoy
heir.
"Rookwood!" came the voice of Vincent Crabbe, and now Ambrose could
detect the urgency in the call.
"Crabbe?" Ambrose answered, frowning. "What's wrong?"
"Can we come through?" Vincent Crabbe asked, ignoring the question.
"Of course," replied Ambrose, opening the wards to allow floo travel.
When the flames turned green, his friend stepped through - along with a
sobbing witch. She had short, dark hair, and her robes were torn and
dirty. The left sleeve had been ripped off, and Ambrose could see blood
on her forearm. He caught only a glimpse of her face before she turned it
toward Crabbe, but it was enough to identify her.
"Miss Parkinson, welcome to House Rookwood." When she didn't reply,
Ambrose looked at Crabbe. "What happened?"
oOoOoOoOo
Barnabas Cuffe looked down at the note from his daughter, and knew
that he had a decision to make.
ICW refuses to release DE prisoners, MF livid. DE rescue attempt saw 4
more captured.
DMLE investigating explosion at muggleborn house in Crawley, 14 dead
- all with dark mark.
MF in meetings with Flint and Parkinson before dawn Sunday.
Everyone is worried. Not sure who to trust. Be safe. -Elle
Usually, Eleanor's notes were hints at policies or meetings out of the
Minister's office. At best, they might point him toward a question to ask,
or a source to contact. He knew that Fudge had given his daughter
information at times, knowing full well that it would make its way to the
Prophet's editor in chief. Everyone accepted that as part of the game, and
Cuffe even preferred it to the heavy-handed Ministry directives of the
past year.
Now, though, he could almost feel his daughter's concern coming up out
of the parchment. Any one of these stories was a game changer, and to
have all of them published in one edition just highlighted that the war
had begun in earnest.
The ICW story followed on from the revelations before the Wizengamot,
where Madam Bones categorically refused to release prisoners she had
already handed over. The darker families - those who still attended
meetings - had been livid. Then, Sirius Black challenged them to
repudiate the Dark Lord, and all of them refused. They might as well
have revealed their dark marks to the world - and everyone in the
chamber knew it.
It was not a surprise that Voldemort had sent his death eaters to attempt
a rescue. It was an escalation, but some of the governments on the
continent could probably be convinced to look the other way, even when
the target was the ICW. With most of his inner circle in custody, the risk
may have seemed worth the reward.
The result, however, proved otherwise. Four more death eaters captured,
two killed, and several others injured before they were able to escape.
What's more, Cuffe had a source at The Hague who revealed that the
prisoners had been nowhere near the site of the battle - someone had fed
the death eaters a false location, and led them into a team of ICW
hitwizards.
An article that showed the death eaters as fools stumbling into a trap
might reassure a worried public. On the other hand, it might anger the
Dark Lord enough to target the paper.
Of course, if the ICW article didn't get a rise out of You-Know-Who, then
the Crawley article definitely would. Death eaters attacked the home of a
muggleborn, only to find that the home was warded. When they broke
through the wards and entered the house, something they did caused a
massive explosion. His source in the DMLE told him that there were two
other wizards who had been there that night, and both were in custody.
He thought back to the letter he had gotten the week prior. The number of
muggleborn homes with wards is increasing, according to a specialist at
Gringott's. We expect that the newest members of our community will not be
the soft targets they were in the last war. Crawley proved that, certainly.
The purebloods would probably object, but when the death eaters prove
that the concern is a valid one, who can really object to muggleborns
defending themselves? Perhaps he would wait on the list of the dead, and
then publish one article.
It was the third note that worried Cuffe. Lord Thomas Parkinson had
been one of the stalwart neutrals in the Wizengamot, even though his
brother John had been a rumored death eater. Indeed, John Parkinson
was one of the few wizards arrested at the Quidditch World Cup in '94,
getting off with a fine and a slap on the wrist.
The current Lord Parkinson would not be meeting with Lord Flint and the
Minister at all, if he could help it. Certainly not in the wee hours on a
Sunday. Cuffe suspected that something had changed - but what?
It was early in the day, he had plenty of time - perhaps the DMLE could
give him something more. With enough of an anonymous tip, any one of
these articles could lead the Monday edition. But which one?
oOoOoOoOo
Once the newly reunited Longbottoms had calmed themselves, Harry
Potter had offered his greetings to Lord and Lady Longbottom in the
traditional manner. Frank had not expected his son's friend to greet him
as Lord Potter, but quickly stepped back into the formal mode of one
allied house addressing another.
Harry had then begged off, saying that he did not want to intrude on
what was clearly an important family conversation. He offered the excuse
that he had not slept yet, and it had already been a long morning. After
giving his regards to Madam Longbottom and Lord Greengrass, he shook
Neville's hand. For Daphne, he offered a bow far more formal than
circumstances required, before giving her a jaunty little salute as he
walked out of the hall.
"Where were you all night, Lord Potter?" Daphne found herself asking,
unable to hide her curiosity.
"Crawley," was his only answer, before he stepped out into the morning
sun. Neville's eye roll at that response told her that she would find out
more before long.
The Longbottoms, along with the Greengrasses, sat down for a light
brunch, during which Alice and Frank caught up with Neville's life so far.
It seemed that Madam Longbottom, who had spoken with them briefly at
the hospital, had given them the broad outlines, but now they wanted
details.
"I don't care about your grades, Neville," said Alice. Off Neville's look of
surprise, she smirked. "Not yet, anyway! Plenty of time for that later.
What I want to hear about are the little moments, things that we've
missed after all this time."
So, Neville told them about himself. How he had tried to use his father's
wand, only for it to perform no better than a stick of wood in his hands -
and the meltdown that had resulted, when he convinced himself that he
was a squib. When they met with Ollivander, he had been shocked to
find his cherry wand on the very first try - a life changing moment.
The stories continued for more than an hour, and Daphne was not spared
her own questioning - their families had long been close, in part due to
the close friendship between her grandfather and the Regent Longbottom.
Former regent, now, thought Daphne.
Eventually, Lord Greengrass suggested that Neville escort Daphne on a
walk around the property, as he wanted to bring Frank and Alice up to
date on the happenings in the Wizengamot. Neville looked amused at the
request, and offered his arm to his guest as they walked out onto the
grounds.
Neither of them said a word as they walked down the stone path, across
the front of Longbottom Hall, before going up a gentle slope. At the top,
they found a small gazebo that overlooked the front gate and the path
leading up the hill toward the manor.
Daphne walked to the railing, and looked out on the countryside. It was a
clear day, and the midmorning sun seemed to make the vista that much
more impressive. "It's beautiful," she whispered.
"When I need to think, I either end up out here or in my greenhouses,"
Neville admitted, taking a seat on one of the benches. "With the right
amount of breeze, this spot is perfect for meditating."
"I can see that," she agreed. After a few moments, she seated herself
across from Neville, and her expression shifted from pureblood heiress to
consummate slytherin.
Neville saw the questions forming, and knew exactly what they would be.
Deciding to surprise his friend, he gave her a disarming grin.
"Did you know that James and Lily Potter are alive?" Neville's words had
the desired effect, and he could not stifle his laugh at Daphne's look of
utter shock.
She was not amused at his laughter. "Explain," she ordered.
So Neville told the tale. James and Lily - and their other son, Harry's twin
- had been sequestered for close to fifteen years, with the full knowledge
of the Headmaster. Harry had been left to live with muggles, and awful
ones at that, while his family lived in comfort and safety. And then, after
everything he had dealt with, they came back and told him that his twin
was actually the boy-who-lived.
"Merlin," Daphne whispered.
"Exactly," said Neville, with a nod. "So they tried to install James Potter
as Lord Potter, but Harry had already taken up the ring, since the
Ministry screwed him into the tournament last year. About the only good
that came of that farce, I think."
"No surprise that he didn't hand it over," Daphne remarked. "I take it that
didn't go over well?"
"No, no it did not," said Neville. "Did you see the cut on his cheek? That
didn't come from last night, he got that from his father backhanding
him."
Daphne shook her head. "Gryffindors," she muttered.
Again, Neville chuckled. "I'd like to think we're more complicated than
most of our housemates, Heiress Greengrass," he said.
She smirked in turn. "That's as may be, Heir Longbottom," she replied.
"It could be part of the reason your grandfather threw you at me this
morning," he remarked.
Daphne sighed. "You noticed that too, then?"
A nod. "Subtle as a nundu, your grandfather."
"He has his moments," she conceded. "Neville…" she began, but trailed
off when he raised his hand.
The amusement on Neville's face was gone, replaced with a look of
kindness and concern. "Whoever ends up married to you will be a lucky
bloke. But it won't be me." He saw the look of relief on her face, and
smiled kindly at her. "Daphne, you're a friend. We study together, and see
each other socially once or twice a year. Perhaps someday we'll be good
friends. But I don't see a relationship working between us, do you?"
"No," she agreed. "I respect you, and I do enjoy our study sessions, but
dating? Courting? No, I don't think we would work out at all."
They sat in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the beautiful
day, before Daphne asked the question that had bothered her since that
morning.
"You told me about the Potters, but why does that matter to how you
handled this morning?" She looked thoughtful, her eyes focused on her
host. "I know your father was shocked when you walked in, as was your
gran."
Neville sighed, and suddenly seemed exhausted. "Look at it this way.
Dumbledore tried to elevate a Lord Potter that he could control, someone
to sit at his right hand and conduct the war between the dark and the
light. In one move, Harry ruined that plan." He glanced back at
Longbottom Hall, before continuing. "Then, that very day, we learn that
two patients at Saint Mungo's had been polyjuiced to look like my
parents, and that an experimental treatment had had promising results.
It's a miracle, Lord and Lady Longbottom are going to wake up!"
Daphne saw it immediately. "You thought it was a play for the
Longbottom seat."
A nod. "I thought it might be something like that, yeah. So I tagged 'Dad'
with a tracking charm - one that doesn't show up here." He shrugged,
rolling his shoulders as if to work out stiffness. "I bet Luna and Hermione
will be researching that question before the week is out, trying to figure
out what happened - and why."
The slytherin's eyes narrowed. "The plan with the Potters was ambitious,
probably overly complicated, and doesn't seem to gain them anything."
"Right in one," Neville agreed. He was not going to tell her about the
prophecy, even though that weighed heavily on Dumbledore's strategy
with the Potters. He trusted her, but not that far - not yet, anyway. "But
this is the Headmaster we're talking about. Any plan that can be done
once can be done twice."
Her eyes grew wide. "You thought he had your parents hidden away
somewhere?"
Neville's fatigue seemed to be catching up with him, and he stifled a
yawn. "If you had asked me in April, I would have denied the possibility.
But after the Potters... " He shook his head. "I wouldn't put anything past
him at this point."
oOoOoOoOo
Vincent Crabbe was on his second coffee when Ambrose Rookwood
walked into the kitchen. He almost stood, before Rookwood waved a
hand to stop him. Taking a cup for himself, Ambrose seated himself
across from Crabbe.
"How is she?" Crabbe asked.
"She's sleeping, for the moment." Ambrose answered. "What did she tell
you?"
Crabbe shrugged. "Nothing. She flooed over to my house this morning,
screaming. Not a great way to wake up, I can tell you."
"No, I don't imagine it would be." Ambrose replied.
"So, what happened?" Crabbe's voice was more insistent now. Ambrose
reminded himself that Pansy had been one of the only slytherins in
Crabbe's year to befriend him. Greg Goyle and Draco Malfoy were more
of associates than friends, and that only because of relations between
their houses. Relations that were now moot, Ambrose realized, as his
eyes noted the Head of House ring on Crabbe's finger.
She would want him to know, Ambrose told himself. He needs to know.
"Lord Parkinson was killed last night." Ambrose said.
Crabbe's features grew hard. "Who?" he asked, an edge to his voice that
had not been there before.
"She doesn't know who exactly, just that it was death eaters." Ambrose
said, quietly. "What she does know is that her uncle took up the regency,
even going so far as to get a dispensation from Minister Fudge to bypass
the Wizengamot. Troubling times and all that, I'm sure."
"Oh, obviously," Crabbe said angrily. "And this morning?"
Ambrose closed his eyes. "Pansy woke up to her uncle ordering her to
take the dark mark. She refused, saying that it was a death sentence." He
opened his eyes and looked at Crabbe. "That was the wrong thing to say,
apparently. The man carved a skull into her arm, saying that she would
be marked whether she liked it or not."
It was Crabbe's turn to close his eyes, before shaking his head sadly. "Her
uncle's going to get himself killed, if Potter has anything to say about it."
Ambrose stiffened at the mention of his father's killer. Crabbe did not
notice the response, thankfully. "How do you mean?"
"It's the blood feud," replied Crabbe. "He doesn't care about going after
anyone other than the Dark Lord and his followers. If anyone wants out,
they just have to swear neutrality and walk away."
"Right into Dumbledore's arms?" asked Ambrose, a bitter tone in his
voice. Crabbe noticed the shift, and raised an eyebrow.
"I don't think so," Crabbe responded. "Potter didn't say that Dumbledore
would offer protection, but that he would. Personally." He looked up at
Ambrose. "That's not what we expected to hear. It sure surprised Pansy,
and she doesn't surprise easily."
Ambrose's eyes narrowed. "When was this?"
"The night we got the notices, in the great hall. I stormed up to Potter,
itching for a fight, but then he called a Parlay. It stopped me dead in my
tracks. Pansy was asked to witness, and that scared her more than
anything. I mean, a for reals blood feud? Who does that?"
"A Parlay?" Ambrose echoed, shocked at what that meant.
"Yep." replied Crabbe. "He offered sanctuary for Mum and I, if I swore
neutrality as Head of House. Then he made the same offer to Pansy."
"Why?" asked Ambrose, more to himself than anything. This was not
what he expected Potter to do, and it concerned him that he had not
anticipated the move.
"Ever hear about Ellis Watley?" asked Crabbe.
"No," replied Ambrose, though the name sounded vaguely familiar.
"Look him up," Crabbe said, enigmatically. "Then you'll understand why
Potter is willing to agree to Sanctuary, rather than handing us over to the
Ministry or the Headmaster."
"I see," said Ambrose. After a moment, he looked at his friend. "So, what
will you do?"
Crabbe met his gaze, and in that moment Ambrose did not see the Head
of House Crabbe, nor did he see someone who was contemplating going
against the Dark Lord. No, in that moment he saw a teenager whose
friend was sleeping upstairs after being brutalized. A kid who should be
worrying about classes and girls, not how to protect his mother from
harm.
Ambrose did not think about the fact that that harm would likely come
from people he had already allied himself with, if unofficially. He very
carefully did not think about that.
Crabbe sighed, giving the only answer he could. "I don't know."
oOoOoOoOo
Neville Longbottom had politely excused himself when Daphne remarked
on the soot that still clung to his hair. His argument that cleaning charms
only went so far was poorly received, as he had expected it would be. So
he stood up and excused himself, asking a house elf to bring their guest
some refreshments.
"Give me ten minutes, Heiress Greengrass," Neville said, formally.
"Heir Longbottom," Daphne replied, "if you take less than half an hour to
make yourself presentable, I will take it as a grave insult. Whatever you
and Mister Potter got up to in Crawley last night, it has left you a mess."
Her eyes narrowed at him, and she fought hard to keep the grin off of her
face as she laid into him. "Would you risk the alliance between our
houses so cavalierly?"
He grinned right back at her. "When you put it that way…"
"I do indeed," she confirmed, returning his grin with a smirk of her own.
"Off with you!"
"Yes, Daphne," he quipped. Before she could respond, the house elf had
popped him away.
She sighed, shaking her head. "Prat," she remarked to herself.
After a few minutes, she did ask for some tea and biscuits. The shade of
the gazebo, coupled with the light breeze and the cool weather, meant
that she was in the perfect place to wait for Neville. Add to that the fact
that she did not want to wander the grounds alone, and her choice was
clear.
Another elf brought her a book, and she spent a pleasant twenty minutes
or so just relaxing.
The crunch of boots along the path up the hill drew her attention. When
she saw the wizard approaching her, she had to roll her eyes.
Neville had taken her instructions literally. He was wearing a clean white
shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and comfortable jeans. There were
no robes, but he was carrying a backpack of some sort.
He does clean up nicely, Daphne mused. Whatever he had done, it seemed
to make his skin that much lighter. Perhaps Neville had been dirtier than
she had realized.
She rose to meet him at the main path. When he caught sight of her, he
seemed to stiffen slightly, before giving her a smile and proceeding up
the path. What was that about? Daphne wondered.
It would not do to let him have the first word, and so she did not. "I'm
glad to see you took my wishes seriously, Mister Longbottom," she said,
amusement in her tone.
"You know me," a voice said from behind her. "Impressing witches is
my…." the voice trailed off, as if the speaker had seen something
shocking. And, perhaps they had.
Daphne turned toward the manor, and saw Neville Longbottom, wearing
traditional robes with the Longbottom crest. Nothing fancy, nothing
ornate or extravagant - just simple, everyday robes. They were the sort of
clothing well suited for just about anything, really.
She could not help but note the shock on his face.
Turning back, she saw Neville Longbottom standing there, the exact same
expression of shock on his features. His hair was the same brown, his face
the same shape. Everything the same.
"Neville?" Daphne said, uncertainly. Was this an attack? Someone trying
to impersonate Neville? No, that couldn't be, he had clearly passed the
wardline. The front gate had admitted him, after all. How was that
possible?
The boy in the white shirt spoke. His voice was the same as Neville's,
down to the accent.
"No," he said, his demeanor calm but uncertainty in his eyes. "My name is
Trevor."
The world seemed to grow still in that moment, as Daphne stared wide-
eyed at this boy who claimed to be Neville's long-dead twin. How?
Neville's voice broke the silence only a moment later.
"Oh, for fuck's sake!"
Edited 6 October 2020 - Changed the name "Evan Watson" to "Ellis
Watley". No other changes.
16. The Testimony
Neville Longbottom stood in front of his home, staring at the wizard
before him. A wizard with his hair, only slightly longer. His eyes, gazing
evenly back at him. His features, down to the tiniest detail. His clothes
were muggle in style, but unremarkable besides that. His skin was
slightly less tan than Neville's, and that was only due to the past week of
training that kept Neville outdoors for most of the day.
It occured to Neville that someone really wanted to make this person a
plausible version of Trevor. He decided, in that moment, that he would
have to have a talk with that person.
The possibility that this person might actually be Trevor did not occur to
Neville at all.
Daphne Greengrass, sensing the tension between the two wizards, quickly
stepped back and away from them. Neither pair of eyes followed her
movement.
After another minute's silence, Daphne spoke. "Neville?" she asked,
uncharacteristic worry in her voice.
That was when Neville snap-fired a stunner at Trevor.
Trevor stepped to the side, even as his wand cast a shield. The result was
that the spell struck only a glancing blow against the shield, preserving
its energy and keeping the shield up longer - which was fortunate, as it
was then able to block Neville's next spell. The flare of the impact on his
shield had barely faded before Trevor returned fire.
Neville dodged Trevor's stunner, returning one of his own, before rolling
to his left to avoid another spell. Both were casting rapidly, though
neither had begun to use combinations or spell chains.
Trevor was at a slight disadvantage, for he had not made it to the top of
the hill when he stopped. The relentless attack from Neville now had him
backing downhill, which gave him that many more chances to lose his
footing. Every time he made a move to the side, Neville's spellfire penned
him in, forcing him back to the path.
The spells Trevor was using seemed to be auror standard, and he had not
used anything that Neville had not seen before. Neville did notice that his
opponent's shields were efficient and quick, letting Trevor get the most
protection for the least amount of effort. It was an active defense, not
easily countered without backup.
Neville allowed himself a grin, before casting a spell directly to his right.
Trevor spared it only a glance, and saw that the blue spell had shot
straight into the trees that lined the path. Giving it no more thought, he
fired off an expelliarmus.
The disarming charm seemed to arc slightly through the air, and Neville's
dodge to the right actually caused him to step into its path. The cherry
wand flew out of his hand and toward Trevor, who now wore a look of
triumph. With his off hand, he caught the wand and held it up high. Only
a second passed before his eyes grew wide and he spun to his left.
"Protego!" Trevor shouted, and a powerful shield sprang to life - just in
time to intercept the blue hex that Neville had fired earlier.
With his attention focused on the side of the path, Trevor never saw the
stunner that came from Neville's second wand. The boy fell down in a
heap, a look of surprise still etched onto his features.
Catching his breath, Neville walked slowly down the hill, the crunch of
his boots the only sound. Daphne followed close behind, her wand out
and ready. When they arrived at the fallen wizard, Neville reached into
his robe and produced some sort of metal rings.
"Neville?" Daphne asked again.
"Harry knew nothing about his parents until he was eleven," said Neville,
as he rolled Trevor onto his stomach and pulled his arms behind his back.
"Until last month, he never knew about his brother." The metal bracelets
snapped onto Trevor's wrists, and Daphne could see now that they were
chained together. A muggle version of shackles, apparently.
Neville picked up his wand, and the walnut wand of his opponent, as he
continued speaking. "I resigned myself long ago to the fact that my
parents would never leave the hospital. I accepted that." He paused,
closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Harry is the Lord Potter, and
he has the resources to deal with his parents. As for mine, well, I don't
know what happened just yet, but I know we will handle it when we find
out what needs handled. If my parents are well and healthy, I'll take it.
But I will not accept being treated like a mushroom."
Daphne's eyes narrowed. "A mushroom?"
Neville looked up at her, a small smile on his face as he remembered the
explanation Colonel Ramsay had given when explaining the phrase. "It's
an old muggle army joke. It's what happens when people keep you in the
dark and feed you shit."
In spite of herself, Daphne chuckled. "I see," she said.
"So, we can deal with all of that." Neville continued, looking back at the
stunned wizard before him. "What I will not accept is some piece of filth
walking up to my house and claiming to be MY DEAD BROTHER!" His
voice raised, to the point that he shouted his last words. Daphne briefly
wondered if Neville might kick the downed wizard in the ribs, such was
his anger.
"What are you going to do, then?" asked Daphne, suddenly worried at his
reaction.
Neville stood up, and took another deep breath, visibly reining in his
rage. "I'm going to take him somewhere and get some fucking answers."
He removed a coin from his pocket and tucked it into the hands of his
prisoner. "If anyone asks, Daphne, tell them that Harry needed
something. I'll be back later."
Turning toward the bound wizard, Neville placed a hand on his wrists.
Then, he spoke the activation phrase for the portkey.
"Gemini."
As the portkey took hold of him, he felt hands on his shoulders, before
the world spun away.
oOoOoOoOo
The finishing touch to Hermione's new bedroom had been a large white
board mounted on the wall next to her desk. Luna had helped her mount
it the night before, and was unsurprised to find it filled with notes the
following morning.
At the center of the board was a rough chart of House Longbottom.
Luna had said nothing that morning, and Hermione had not brought the
topic up. After going out to brunch with the Grangers, the two witches
planned to spend the afternoon relaxing. For Luna, that meant reading
some muggle newspapers and magazines that Hermione had gotten for
her.
Hermione, on the other hand, was staring at the Longbottom problem, as
she had put it.
It was easy for Luna to sense Hermione's frustration with the facts, as
they understood them. It was equally easy to figure out that they were
missing some major piece of the puzzle.
"Why now?" asked Hermione, more to herself than anything.
Setting down her newspaper, Luna looked up at the board. "Not just now,
Hermione. The exact day that Dumbledore tries to get Harry's father
named Lord Potter. That evening, in fact."
Nodding, Hermione made a note of the date beside the relevant
information. "So, someone could bring Frank and Alice back at will. So,
were they at Saint Mungo's the whole time?"
Luna frowned. "What was it Neville said about his father?"
Hermione's eyes grew wide. "His hands were strong, like he exercised.
Which, of course, couldn't be the case if he was in the hospital."
"Right," agreed Luna. "Unless the source for the polyjuice wasn't in the
hospital."
It was Hermione's turn to frown, as she considered that.
"If one family could go into hiding," Luna continued. "Why not two?"
With a sigh, Hermione sat down on the end of her bed. "Oh, Neville…"
Luna raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Hermione noticed the motion,
and rolled her eyes again.
"I just mean, you saw how much the issue with his parents has affected
Harry," said Hermione. "But Harry didn't spend every holiday visiting his
parents in hospital. He has never seen his parents, never held their hands.
Neville has." Hermione looked back to Luna, and the ravenclaw saw that
her host was close to tears. "Someone put Neville through fifteen years of
lies. I want to know how someone could do that."
"Who benefits?" Luna said, quietly.
"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "Who gains from the Longbottoms coming
back now?"
Again, Luna said nothing.
Hermione wiped her eyes, and took a deep breath. "I wonder if we could
visit Neville tonight?" she wondered.
Luna smirked at her friend. Before she could reply, a pop signaled the
arrival of a house elf.
Both girls looked over to see Dobby. The elf was wearing dark green
camouflage, with an army beret and black combat boots. In his hands
was a piece of parchment, which he offered to Hermione. Once she took
the parchment from his hands, Dobby offered a salute and popped away.
"Neville wants to know if your playroom is available. He wants to
introduce us to a friend of his."
Luna and Hermione shared a look of surprise. Neville had captured an
enemy, and wanted to question them. But who?
oOoOoOoOo
The Lovegood family home, known affectionately as the Rookery, had
several smaller outbuildings in addition to the towering main house. One
of these was an old storage shed where Luna's mother would keep old
ward stones, cauldrons, and other miscellaneous items.
Underneath that shed was a large basement area. It had been designed as
a potions lab, and had its own ventilation and storage spaces for that
purpose. Now, however, Luna had converted it into a small safehouse. In
addition to beds and food, there was also a cell that could serve as a
temporary prison for captured death eaters.
It worked quite well for interrogations, by design - which was one of
several reasons why Neville picked it for Trevor's questioning.
Luna and Hermione had the room ready when the portkey arrived. Just
as the Weasleys had been, the girls were surprised when they saw Ron
and Neville, along with an unconscious wizard and a tall blonde
slytherin.
The group had first gone to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes to gather Ron
and Ginny, who had been there having lunch with Fred and George.
Neville had not wanted to linger at Longbottom Hall with a stunned
Trevor, not when he didn't know what involvement - if any - his parents
had in everything that had happened. He had to figure out what they
knew. So, with Ron in tow, they made their way here. Ginny had gone to
Potter Manor, and would join them separately.
Hopefully, Trevor would provide the answers they needed.
"Now, where are we?" Daphne asked.
Neville and Luna made eye contact, and he nodded to her. Daphne would
be giving an oath of secrecy before they left, or she would be obliviated.
Luna found herself wondering if they had told Daphne that yet.
"This is an old shed, Heiress Greengrass," Luna said, smiling at her
unexpected guest. "Where it is isn't important, as long as we are all
friends."
Daphne looked at the ravenclaw, not sure how much was serious and
how much was misdirection. "The Greengrasses have always been friends
with the Longbottoms, Miss Lovegood," Daphne answered carefully.
"Ah, but the Longbottoms aren't here." Luna replied, still smiling. Her
eyes went to the stunned wizard on the floor, and she frowned as she got
a good look at his face. "Neville, I must say, this is weird even for me."
Neville couldn't help but smile at her comment. "You're not wrong."
"He claims to be Trevor," said Daphne.
Luna looked up at Neville. "Is he?"
"That's what I plan to find out," Neville said, as he lifted the wizard into a
waiting chair. With a flick of his wand, ropes appeared and bound the
prisoner to the chair.
Once Trevor was secured, Neville leaned against the wall and looked him
over. Daphne watched him, frowning. Hermione walked over and spoke
to him quietly. When they hugged, Daphne realized how much this must
be affecting him. He claimed to have been up since yesterday, had been
reunited with people who claimed to be his parents, and fought a duel
against someone purporting to be his dead brother.
And still, he pressed on.
Neville gave Luna a nod, and she set a dictaquill in motion. Neville drew
his wand and looked around the room. When he got nods in return, he
spoke.
"Interrogation of the wizard claiming to be Trevor Longbottom. Neville
Longbottom as lead interrogator." His tone was cold and businesslike,
though there remained an undercurrent of anger that was obvious to
everyone in the room.
"Hermione Granger as interrogator."
Neville raised his wand. "Rennervate."
Trevor snapped awake, looking around as if in a panic. When he realized
he was tied to a chair, he seemed to grow even more anxious, before
freezing when his eyes met Neville's.
Hermione spoke first, as they had agreed beforehand. "What is your full
name, for the record?"
Trevor shot her a look, before turning back to Neville. "I grew up as
Trevor Barclay."
"Where did you grow up?" she asked.
"Wales," he answered.
"Why did you come to Longbottom Hall this morning?"
Trevor looked uneasy. "I was visiting with friends this weekend, not far
from that house. This morning, I received a vulture patronus telling me
that my grandmother needed me home to meet my parents." He
shrugged. "So I used a point me spell and got on a broom. It took me a
few hours to find the place, but when I got there the wards accepted me."
He looked at Neville, anger flashing in his eyes. "And then I got attacked
by someone who looks like me."
Neville almost replied to that, but Hermione's hand on his arm stopped
him.
"Do you know your birth name?" Hermione asked.
Trevor rolled his eyes. "Never have, no. If a Longbottom calls me her
grandson, though, I can take a fucking guess, now can't I?"
Hermione ignored the remark. "Do you attend a magical school?"
Trevor shook his head. "Homeschooled. My parents said that I needed to
stay hidden."
"Why is that?"
"Beats me. They never told me that."
"I see," she replied. "Do you have any siblings?"
"I have a friend who is as close as a brother to me, but that's it." Trevor's
eyes again focused on Neville as he spoke.
"Right," said Neville. A pop from the other room startled Trevor, who
began looking around.
As the footsteps approached, Trevor blinked. "What now?" he asked.
Neville grinned at him, the light in the room making the grin look
sinister. Trevor shied back a bit in his chair, despite the ropes holding
him in place. Behind him, Ginny Weasley entered the room.
"That would be the veritaserum." Neville said, as Ginny handed him a
small vial.
"Oh," Trevor replied, seeming to deflate. He closed his eyes with a sigh.
"Well, shit."
Everyone's eyebrows raised at that comment.
oOoOoOoOo
Ginny and Ron stood at the back of the room, watching Neville as he
asked question after question. It seemed that every answer Trevor gave
challenged what they thought they knew about… well, very nearly
everything, at this point.
Neville had been close to losing his temper at Longbottom Hall, once the
duel had ended, and he regretted that. He especially regretted the look
on Daphne's face when the rage came out in his voice, just before they
portkeyed away. Now, though, the Longbottom Heir was all business - his
voice was cold steel, as emotionless as that of his brother's veritaserum-
sodden answers.
The frustration began almost at once, for Neville and Hermione realized
that they had no idea what questions to ask to start the session. It is
standard practice to ask known questions, to verify that the drug had
taken effect, but here they knew absolutely nothing with certainty. It was
Luna who cut through the confusion, as usual.
Neville agreed with her suggestion, and began the questioning.
Neville: What is your full name?
Trevor: Trevor Lewis Longbottom, Heir Secondary to the Ancient and
Most Noble House of Longbottom.
Neville: When and where were you born?
Trevor: July 30, 1980, Longbottom Hall.
Neville: Who are your parents?
Trevor: Frank and Alice Longbottom.
Neville: Why did you come to Longbottom Hall today?
Trevor: I got a patronus from Augusta Longbottom telling me to come
home. I came as soon as I could.
Neville: Did you expect a patronus from Augusta Longbottom?
Trevor: No.
Neville: What did the patronus say?
Trevor: My grandson needs to return to Longbottom Hall immediately to
welcome his parents home.
Neville: Have you seen or spoken with Augusta Longbottom since the
attack in 1981?
Trevor: No.
Neville: Before that patronus, what was your plan?
Trevor: My story was that I had been found and raised outside the
wizarding world, but that I wondered who I had been. I was to make
contact with you in Diagon Alley, after news of Mom and Dad's return
broke. You would bring me to our parents, and we would be reunited as
a family.
Neville: Why?
Trevor: So that we can stand against the Dark Lord.
Neville: No, I mean why contact me?
Trevor: I don't know.
Neville: You planned for me to bring you to our parents… Trevor, when
did you last see Frank and Alice Longbottom?
Trevor: July 5th, 1996.
Neville: Are you fucking kidding me?
Trevor: No.
Neville: I WASN'T ASKING YOU!
Trevor: ...
Neville: Were Frank and Alice Longbottom ever long-term patients at
Saint Mungo's?
Trevor: No.
Neville: And you lived with them somewhere?
Trevor: Yes.
Neville: For how long?
Trevor: Fourteen years, eight months.
Neville: Fourteen… Are you telling me that my parents lived in hiding
with my twin brother since the day of the attack on Longbottom Hall?
Trevor: Yes.
Neville: The attack where Gran barely escaped with me, and thought she
had left you to die?
Trevor: Yes.
Neville: The attack where your body was found?
Trevor: Yes.
Neville: How do you explain the body?
Trevor: I don't know.
Neville: Right, of course. I suppose the aurors who responded were in on
it, and exaggerated the injuries on Frank and Allice.
Trevor: …
Neville: Is that a fair statement?
Trevor: I don't know.
Neville: Fine. Where did you live with your parents?
Trevor: Hunllef Deffro Cadw.
Neville: Excuse me?
Trevor: Hunllef Deffro Cadw.
Luna: That's a Welsh name. It means Castle of Nightmares or something
like that.
Neville: Oh for fuck's sake. The oath. Frank swore an oath that he had
lived in a Keep of Waking Nightmares for almost fifteen years. Well, he
did, didn't he? His house was called that, and he was there fourteen years
and eight months.
Trevor: Yes.
Neville: And where is Hunllef whatever?
Trevor: I can't say.
Neville: I'm sorry?
Trevor: I can't say.
Hermione: Trevor, is the location of your home under the fidelius?
Trevor: Yes.
Neville: Fine. Do you know why you went into hiding?
Trevor: Yes.
Neville: ...
Hermione: Neville…
Neville: He's drugged, Hermione. One hex won't hurt him.
Hermione: Put your wand away, Longbottom.
Neville: ...
Hermione: Why did you go into hiding?
Trevor: To stand against the Dark Lord.
Neville: It's just like the Potters, isn't it? Merlin.
Hermione: I don't…
Trevor: Yes.
oOoOoOoOo
All eyes snapped to the bound Longbottom brother, whose simple one
word answer had changed everything. Hermione's speculation died in her
throat, as the import of the word came to her.
Neville had just been muttering to himself, comparing his parents'
betrayal with that of the Potters. His mind was already turning to next
steps - how the hell does he deal with this? How does he look Frank and
Alice in the eye now that he knows?
Veritaserum is powerful, which is why it is so restricted. Any question in
the subject's hearing, and they are compelled to respond.
"It's just like the Potters, isn't it?"
"Yes."
Seven pairs of eyes looked on in shock. Neville and Hermione stood in
front of the bound teenager, while Luna sat next to a small table,
watching the enchanted quill write out the transcript. Ron and Ginny
stood at the back of the room, quietly discussing what they had heard.
Daphne Greengrass, who had tagged along on Neville's portkey, was
looking from Trevor to Neville, working out the impact that this could
have on her friend. The dynamic between these five was clear, now that
she had a chance to observe them outside of Hogwarts. They had clearly
worked as a group for far longer than any secret training class Umbridge
claimed to have discovered. They seemed more like a squad of aurors,
rather than a group of teens.
A deep sigh drew her attention to the doorway, where she saw Harry
Potter watching the questioning. She had not heard him approach, and
from the reactions in the room, she knew that no one else had noticed
him either. His face held none of the anger she expected, and it took her
a moment to realize when she had seen that face before.
It matched the expression Neville had as he took his first look at his
brother - just before he started casting.
It was Harry's voice, his tired sounding voice, weary and disappointed all
at once, that broke the silence in the room.
"Tell me," said Harry. "When did you last see Lily Potter?"
Trevor's response was immediate. "June 18th, 1996."
Another bombshell. Daphne Greengrass was the only one who didn't
know the significance of the date, and said so.
"It was the day of the battle at the Ministry," Ginny said.
"The Potters and the Longbottoms, off in hiding, waiting to be
summoned," Harry said, quietly. He looked up at Neville.
"Dumbledore," said the Longbottom Heir.
"Dumbledore," agreed the Lord Potter.
A/N: Special thanks to Leyrann and Grimjaw for the Beta work on
this chapter and the next.
This chapter got away from me a bit, and thus has been split in two
- improving both halves, I believe. It's been quite a busy two days
for our team, as it turns out.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
17. The Intent
When Lord Greengrass excused himself to send an owl to his son,
advising him of the day's events and letting him know that he and
Daphne were staying at Longbottom Hall for dinner, Frank took the
opportunity to excuse himself as well. His mother and Alice were deep in
a conversation about the Wizengamot, and Frank had no patience for
politics today.
Frank knew that there would be pressure to take up his seat, but he saw
no urgency. His mother had held the Regency since before he had left
Hogwarts, and had quickly earned the respect of her peers. It was a rare
proposal that passed through the Wizengamot with Madam Longbottom's
active opposition. Hers was a voice to which others listened. Were he to
take up the seat, he would be starting out fresh, with only his allies and
the Headmaster to back him.
Dumbledore had hinted that such a move might be necessary, which
meant sooner rather than later. So he would take the time and catch up
with recent events, and then stand next to James in the big chamber, as
House Longbottom and House Potter had done for centuries.
Though it'll be Harry I'll have to stand next to, Frank thought as he walked
toward his study. And isn't that the strangest thing to come out of all this?
He had not spoken to the Headmaster since the decision to 'wake up'. The
past week had been spent at Saint Mungo's, playing the role of patients
undergoing rehabilitation. Limited visits with Augusta - enough to
reassure her that he and Alice were properly awake - were about the only
contact they had had with outsiders.
It would be hard to explain an hours-long political briefing from the
former Chief Warlock.
He stood next to the old desk in his study, running his hand over the
wood. He remembered playing under this desk as his father worked on
'Merlin-be-damned parchmentwork'. Did Augusta use this space to
educate Neville? He didn't know.
In fact, there was little he knew about Neville's childhood, despite the
earlier conversation. An hour over brunch, in the presence of guests, was
not the best way to get an in-depth feel for fifteen years of your son's life.
The only think Frank could say with certainty was that Neville's
upbringing would have been vastly different from Trevor's.
Neville at least had Harry Potter as a best friend. It was a remarkable
parallel to Trevor's long friendship with Jamie Potter, and Frank was glad
to know that Neville wasn't going to face this alone.
His hand ran across the bookshelf as he took in the photographs. All of
them were from before the attack, and showed a much younger Alice at
his side, each holding one of the twins. The boys seemed to
unconsciously match each other, even when they didn't need to. One
photo of them sitting in matching high chairs depicted nearly identical
grimaces as their parents fed them. The babies in the picture shared a
glance, before spitting up the food - again, almost in unison.
The distance had always weighed on Trevor, who knew that Neville was
out there somewhere. How hard would it have been for Neville, who
didn't have that reassurance? With the boys together again, Frank knew
that their family would be fine.
Turning, Frank saw the ornate gold display above the fireplace. Mounted
in a place of honor was his wand. Augusta had apologized at first, saying
that she had wanted Neville to carry it as a reminder of him, but that the
wand did nothing for the boy.
Smiling, Frank triggered his wrist holster, and his wand - his true wand -
came to his hand. Lifting the piece of wood that had been found with 'his'
body after the attack, he considered it. He did not know how Dumbledore
had faked his and Alice's presence at Saint Mungo's for all these years,
except that polyjuice had been involved. What he did know is that they
never would have believed that the victim was actually Frank
Longbottom if his wand had not been present.
So, he had left them a wand. That O in Transfiguration had come in
handy.
His eyes went, once again, to a picture of the family. Frank and Alice,
Neville and Trevor, Augusta, her brother Algie. All of them smiling on a
summer's day - the twins' first birthday, if his memory served.
Frank's smile faded, and his thoughts went back to the same worry he
had felt for close to a year now, ever since Voldemort returned.
Is this all worth it? Is it worth the pain that Neville and Augusta will feel when
they learn the truth?
With a grimace, Frank tossed the false wand into the fireplace, and
watched as the flames consumed it.
"Time heals all wounds," he said quietly to himself, hoping that it was
true. Turning, he walked out of his study.
oOoOoOoOo
Trevor felt the moment when the veritaserum wore off. While the numb
feeling had passed, he still found himself a little lightheaded, likely from
the duel. The duel where Neville kicked my arse, he groused to himself.
Looking around, he saw only the blonde girl from earlier. Everyone else
had left the room, presumably to discuss his fate. This girl, however, was
sitting in a chair against the wall, watching him, her expression
thoughtful. There were only two families close enough to the
Longbottoms to be invited to something like this morning's reunion, and
she was definitely not a Potter, which meant…
"I apologize for not properly introducing myself earlier, Miss Greengrass."
He said, trying to shrug. He nodded toward the ropes binding him to the
chair. "I seem to have miscalculated, somewhat."
She smiled a little at that, one eyebrow raised. "Somewhat?"
He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Maybe a little."
Daphne shook her head in amusement, for that was clearly a massive
understatement.
After a few minutes, Daphne spoke. She had considered the wizard before
her, and could not decide what to think. Not being one to leave a
question unanswered, she decided to take advantage of her captive
audience, and satisfy her curiosity.
"When Neville went to Hogwarts, he brought a toad." Daphne began. "He
named it Trevor, as a way to remember you."
Trevor's face fell. "Did he?"
She nodded. "Everyone always talks about the day the Potters died, and
how Harry defeated the Dark Lord that night and became the boy-who-
lived."
"Jamie," Trevor said, automatically.
She blinked at him. "I'm sorry?"
"Jamie Potter is the boy-who-lived. He is the one who has to defeat
Voldemort."
"Is he now?" Daphne asked, her eyes narrowing. That explains
Dumbledore's involvement, it would seem.
Trevor nodded. "He is."
Daphne let that sit for a moment, before shrugging. "Well, Neville didn't
know that. All he knew was that his parents were crippled and his
brother was killed a few days into November. So, every year he would go
and plant flowers for all three of you, out by the greenhouses." Her eyes
met Trevor's. "He mourned you, Trevor."
Trevor closed his eyes. "I know."
"And now you come back," she said. "Why?"
He took a deep breath, his eyes still closed as if in thought. Then he
looked at her, sadness on his face. "If you were told, by a wizard you
knew and respected, that by going into hiding, your family could help
stop an unimaginable evil, would you do it?" He continued before she
could reply. "Even if it meant leaving one of your twin sons behind,
letting your family and friends think you the victim of a horrifying
injury, faking the death of your other son? If it meant saving lives,
perhaps hundreds or thousands of them, would you do it?"
Daphne's eyes grew wide. "To abandon my son, to leave him to mourn for
fifteen years?"
"If necessary."
"Was it necessary, Trevor?"
Trevor kept his gaze on her, saying nothing.
She frowned. "If all of the information pointed toward this option, and
there was no other way, then perhaps I would make that choice." She
sighed, shaking her head. "But you'd better believe I would need more
than just the say-so of the Headmaster before I split my family like that."
"Would you?" Trevor said, tilting his head as he looked at her.
"I'm a Slytherin, Mister Longbottom," she said, in a formal tone. "It means
that I keep my options open. So yes, if this were really the best plan we
had, I'd consider it." She stood, smoothing out her robes as she spoke.
"But if you think that I'd let things get to that point, you know nothing
about House Greengrass or Slytherin."
Trevor smiled, in spite of himself. "On that, at least, we can agree." His
smile broadened when he saw the corners of her mouth twitch up as
well.
oOoOoOoOo
Meanwhile, the team was in the next room, discussing their options.
Ron almost seemed angrier about what had happened than Neville, when
it came to it.
"Harry's parents abandoned him, left him to the muggles, I get that. But
he didn't know anything about that until years later." he nodded at
Neville, who was almost pacing the length of the room. "Neville's parents,
on the other hand, made it so that he thought they were alive but… I
don't know, gone. They made him think that his twin was dead."
Ginny's gasp told them exactly when she figured out where Ron was
going. Luna was not far behind. It made sense, as both had known Fred
and George longer than the others.
Off Ginny's reaction, Ron nodded grimly. "If Fred died and left George
behind, George would be a wreck. Fred would be, too, if it happened the
other way."
"What about Jamie?" asked Harry.
"You never knew about Jamie, Harry." Neville responded, drawing the
eyes of the others to him. "It's like an itch, you know? Or better, it's like
someone who has their leg cut off, and even years later they would swear
up and down that the missing leg still hurts." He looked at Harry.
"Magical twins share a bond. You never knew to look for yours, and so
you never missed it."
"I wouldn't say that," replied Harry. "Now that I know about it, I can tell
there was always something… wrong, you know? Just a little bit off. It
might have been the twin bond."
"Might have been," agreed Neville.
"Right, but that's my point, mate," continued Ron. "Neville's parents knew
that their twins were magical. They knew that there would be a bond
there. And they separated you anyway." He shook his head. "And that's
not even getting into the fact that you visited some fake version of your
parents at hospital during holidays. Who would do that to a kid?"
"Who, indeed," remarked Luna. She held up the transcript of Trevor's
interrogation. "There's at least one bright spot, Neville."
"What's that?" he asked.
She grinned at him, holding up the parchment. "You won't have to kill
your parents over this. Once Augusta finds out, she'll probably do it for
you."
Neville's eyes grew wide as the mental image of Augusta Longbottom
duelling his parents came to him. "Merlin," he whispered. "You might be
right."
Harry looked over at him. "Want to find out?"
Neville looked surprised. "What, now?"
That got a huff from Hermione. "We're not set up for prisoners, Neville.
Not yet, anyway."
"And he is your brother," said Luna, still smiling. "Did you hear some of
his answers? The Headmaster fed him some of the same lines as Jamie."
"True," said Neville. "On the other hand, he did plan to hide his true
history behind a made up foster family."
"Also true," Luna conceded.
"It's your operation, Neville," said Harry, in the voice of command they
had come to know so well over the past months. "How do you want to do
this?"
oOoOoOoOo
Augusta Longbottom felt the wards as eight people crossed onto the
Longbottom estate. She had noticed someone entering the front gate
several hours ago, but when they had left with Neville and Daphne, she
had assumed it was Harry Potter who had come to take the pair
somewhere. With a portkey being used, that narrowed their destinations
down to just Potter Manor, since the Greengrasses did not allow portkeys
onto their land. Of all the places they could go, Potter Manor was one of
the safest, and so she had not worried.
It had not even crossed her mind to mention it to her son, so used was
she to being the voice of House Longbottom.
She had not yet handed the wards over to her son. It wasn't something
one did in front of guests, no matter how close they may be. Nor had she
seen any urgency. Only herself, Neville, Algernon, and Trevor Greengrass
were allowed through the wards at will, and each could bring guests if
necessary. Frank and Alice and little Trevor remained in the ward book
as well, for Augusta had been loathe to remove them after the attack.
This past winter had seen Harry Potter added, once he began seeking her
counsel on House matters.
All of that is to say that one arrival did not even merit discussion, such
was her trust in her grandson. Eight, however - that was unusual.
"Frank," she said, and her son looked over. "Are we expecting more
guests?"
Frank stood from the table, his wand already in his hand. "Not that I
know of," he said warily.
As the manor was not under attack, only the perimeter wards were active
- which meant that Augusta had no warning when the front doors banged
open for the second time that day. Alice and Frank did not look toward
the entrance hall, however, but to each other. Lord Greengrass, his cane
in hand, had seen the look and frowned at it.
A booming voice came from the entrance hall, ending all speculation as
to the identity of their visitors.
"LORD LONGBOTTOM!"
The four quickly made their way to the entrance hall, Augusta following
close on the heels of her son and daughter-in-law. Lord Greengrass
brought up the rear, slowed by age.
When Frank and Alice saw who their visitors actually were, they froze.
There, in the entrance hall, just inside the doorway, was their son Neville
- standing shoulder to shoulder with Harry Potter and a red-haired
wizard who could only be one of Arthur Weasley's boys. Three witches
flanked them, and it did not escape Frank's notice that the three were
taking overwatch positions. Between them, they could cover any corner
of the room with their wands, if the need arose.
All six had their wands out and ready. Of the other two, Daphne
Greengrass had stepped quickly to the side, not wishing to place herself
in any crossfire.
The eighth person, kneeling in the entrance hall, hands bound behind
him, was his son Trevor.
Neville stepped forward, coming alongside his brother. "I would have the
truth of this from you, Lord Longbottom." He had deliberately chosen the
words that signaled a parley, hoping that the formalities of a blood feud
might hammer home exactly how enraged he was. It was a message that
was not lost on his parents, or on Lord Greengrass, who stood behind
them and watched everything.
On any other day, Augusta Longbottom would have scolded Neville for
his disrespect. Now, she had eyes only for the wizard kneeling on the
floor. Her mind raced with the possibility that this was who it appeared
to be, despite all logic or reason. It couldn't be, could it?
"Neville," Frank began, still shocked at the entourage that had
accompanied his son - no, his sons. Straightening, he squared his
shoulders. "Heir Longbottom, I see you have met your brother."
"Yes, he wandered up to Daphne while I changed out of my battle robes,"
Neville said, a hard edge to his voice. "He says that he has lived with you
for close to fifteen years, hidden away." He shifted on his feet, a move
that Frank recognized as an auror's stance. That particular movement,
setting his feet angled just so, is what one does right before spells begin
flying.
"We would have seen him if he were at Saint Mungo's," said Augusta,
confused.
Harry looked at Augusta, sadness in his eyes. "Frank and Alice hid out
with my parents and my brother, Madam Longbottom. Trevor here is
apparently best friends with my brother Jamie."
"But, Frank…" Her eyes turned to her son, who stood in front of her.
Frank did not turn to meet her gaze, keeping his sights on the wands in
front of him instead.
"It was all fake, Gran," said Neville. "Every visit, every treatment. All
those donations, all that research, everything."
"Fake?" Augusta's voice was barely a whisper, by this point.
Lord Greengrass stepped forward, placing an arm on Augusta, steadying
her. He looked over at his granddaughter. "What is your role in this,
Daphne?"
For the first time since Neville had known her, Daphne seemed unsure
what to say. She looked from him to Trevor, and then to her grandfather.
"My Lord, it is as they say it," she said, formally. "Trevor approached us
from the front gate, and Neville engaged him in a brief duel, thinking
him some sort of impostor. Once stunned, we took him to Luna
Lovegood, where Neville and Hermione Granger questioned him. The
truth of the matter was confirmed in my presence by way of
veritaserum."
"You gave my son veritaserum?" There was fear and outrage in Alice's
voice, and it was unclear how much of it was simply a mother's wish to
protect her son, rather than fear at what might have been revealed.
Neville eyed his mother, shaking his head sadly. "Would you have
revealed the truth to me without this? Ever?" He inclined his head
toward his brother, who was still looking down at the floor. "He said that
he wasn't even supposed to come here today, but he got Gran's patronus.
She summoned her grandson home, and home he came." He sighed.
"Intent is everything, isn't it?"
"But, I didn't…" It was a strange thing, to see Augusta Longbottom so out
of sorts. Harry knew it would not last long.
"I know, Gran," Neville said. "We know everything. You were kept in the
dark just as much as Harry and I were." He turned back to his father,
freshly angry at his grandmother's reaction. "Do you have an explanation,
Lord Longbottom?"
The contrast between his address of his father, and Daphne's
acknowledgement of her grandfather as my lord was striking, and a signal
that no one failed to hear.
Frank glared at Neville, completely unprepared to account for his actions.
So much of the rationale behind their choice to go into hiding relied on
secrets that were not his to reveal. The prophecy, the secret of the
horcruxes, all of it had been hidden for a reason.
Before he could respond, Lord Greengrass spoke. "I believe House
Greengrass would like to hear that explanation as well, Heir
Longbottom," he said. The cold tone of his voice seemed to drop the
temperature in the room by several degrees.
"Trevor," Frank began again, only to be interrupted by his guest.
"Frank, we would have helped you if you had asked us, you know that."
Lord Greengrass said. He stabbed a finger at the door to the dining room,
anger crossing his features. "Not half a bloody hour ago you and I talked
about betrothal contracts for Daphne and your son. Which one? You
seem to have an extra."
Neville did not look over at Daphne at that news, nor did he see Trevor's
brief glance in her direction.
Harry was stunned. "You would sign a contract like that without
disclosing this?"
"We would have explained everything, in time," said Frank. It was a weak
excuse, and he knew it was even as he said it. But until he could consult
with the Headmaster, there was little he could do.
Neville was having none of it. "Here's the problem, sir. Even if you stand
there and swear an oath that your actions toward myself and Madam
Longbottom were justified and honourable, I can't accept that. You stood
there this morning and swore an oath like that, but your son revealed
that oath to be a lie. I asked you if you were truly my father, who had
spent a decade and a half convalescing, and you instead gave me an oath
full of half truths and trickery. Keep of Waking Nightmares, indeed, who
the HELL do you think you are?"
"I'm your father," Frank said, weakly. The vitriol coming from Neville had
floored him, and he could tell that Alice was as unprepared for this
conversation as he was.
"So it would seem," said Neville.
Frank felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to his right. He did not see
Augusta's hand until it had already struck him in the face with a
resounding slap. When he looked down at his mother, he saw the woman
more furious than he had ever seen her before.
She glared at him, rage in every movement, and seemed on the edge of
speaking. Then she shook her head in disappointment. Without a word,
she turned and made her way toward Neville. She placed a hand on his
shoulder, and nodded to him, before walking out of Longbottom Hall.
By wordless agreement, Daphne fell into step beside her grandfather,
who was following Augusta to the outdoors. As she passed, she nodded
an acknowledgement to Harry and Neville. Then, they too were gone.
Frank and Alice watched as the three witches flanking them began to
move toward the door. They moved in unison, as if it were a planned
maneuver - which, they would learn later, it was.
Neville knelt behind Trevor, and removed the handcuffs. Trevor brought
his hands to his front, rubbing his wrists. When he looked up, Neville and
Harry, joined by Ron, were near the door.
At the threshold, Neville turned back to the entrance hall of his
childhood home. He ignored Frank and Alice, instead making eye contact
with his brother.
"Welcome home, Trevor."
And with that, Neville was gone, leaving Frank and Alice standing in the
hall, staring at the open door, while their other son knelt on the floor and
wondered how everything had gone so completely wrong.
A/N: As I said previously, this chapter was at one point the second
half of the last one. I believe the split helped both chapters, as the
whole thing together is just a monster. Thanks again to Leyrann and
Grimjaw for the assistance on Beta.
So, let's review. The Potters and the Longbottoms both planned to
go into hiding. After each family was attacked, one of their twin
sons was left behind. They accepted this state of affairs, spending
the intervening fifteen years training Trevor and Jamie, so that
Jamie (whom they were told is the true boy-who-lived) can
eventually end Voldemort, if and when.
The theme, from the very beginning, has been that Dumbledore's
plan was unnecessarily complex and fatally misguided, and the tale
of the Longbottoms proves the point. It's worse here, though - James
and Lily had a good idea of what was happening before they
reappeared, and Jamie had been briefed in detail before his
appearance. Poor Frank and Alice have spent a week pretending to
rehab, and so haven't been caught up on everything that has
happened so far. One errant patronus, and their piece of the plan
crumbled, thanks to an overeager Trevor. As Harry said earlier,
"Welp."
The little counter on FFN just ticked past 200,000 views on this
story, which - when coupled to the 2,110 followers and 1,415
favorites that this story has received - just floors me. Thank you all
for the response this story has gotten.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
18. The Courtship
The following Saturday, guests began arriving at Bones Manor for the
16th Birthday Party of Susan Bones. It was early afternoon, and the large
sunroom at the back of the residence was filled with snacks, courtesy the
Bones elves. The back patio had seating for all who wanted to relax and
enjoy the day, and already a dozen of Susan and Harry's classmates were
there.
No one had yet noticed the absence of Susan Bones herself - nor of Harry
Potter.
The group was strangely quiet, for a group of teenagers. All eyes were on
the chess match playing itself out between two soon-to-be sixth years,
and the tension was growing rapidly.
Hannah Abbott leaned forward in her chair, and intense look on her
features. Without taking her eyes from the board, she reached a delicate
hand out and moved her knight.
Ron Weasley's brow furrowed. Whatever move he had expected from the
Hufflepuff, that hadn't been it. They were playing with an old muggle
chess set gifted to Amelia by her Uncle Darren, a squib who taught her
the game. It was not the first time that Ron had played with a muggle set,
but now he found that the stillness of the board was putting him off of
his game.
They were not playing with a clock - it had started as a friendly game
between houses. Hannah was known as one of the better players in
Hufflepuff, while Ron had a reputation as the best player in Gryffindor.
Seeing the board set up, Hannah couldn't help but ask for a game. Ron,
eager to face an opponent he had never played, couldn't say no.
Now, an hour later, the others who had filtered out onto the patio sat and
watched in near silence.
Michael Corner leaned over to his girlfriend, Lisa Turpin, and whispered.
"I thought Susan said there wouldn't be any dueling?"
Lisa chuckled. "Who needs it? This is much more intense."
Justin Finch-Fletchley stood up, careful not to disturb the players.
"Anyone want anything?" he asked, quietly. The others present shook
their heads.
"Not hungry, mate," said Ron absently, his eyes fixed on the board.
Justin, who had already began to walk to the sunroom, froze. Turning, he
made eye contact with Ginny, whose eyes were as wide as his own.
Ron Weasley had just refused food. Now they knew that he was playing
for keeps.
oOoOoOoOo
When Harry stepped out of the Floo, he saw Susan Bones looking at him
with wide eyes. She was greeting her guests, as tradition required, but
didn't seem to know what to say to him at that moment. Her uncertainty
brought him up short.
"Everything okay, Susan?" Harry asked.
Susan shook her head slightly, before closing her eyes as if getting herself
under control. Before Harry knew what was happening, Susan had
summoned a Bones elf and directed her to continue to greet guests. The
Bones heiress then grabbed Harry by the wrist and dragged him into a
nearby sitting room.
Once there, after securing the door and casting a privacy charm, Susan
began pacing. Harry wanted to reach out and comfort her, but knew that
that was the wrong move just now. Whatever had her upset had been
triggered by his arrival. So, he waited.
After a few moments, Susan took a deep breath and gathered her
courage. Then she turned to Harry.
"We can't date, Harry."
Harry leaned against the back of a couch, staring at the Hufflepuff. "I'm
sorry?"
Susan resumed her circuit of the room, gesturing with her hands as she
spoke. "When you turn sixteen in the wizarding world, Harry, you start to
enact betrothal contracts. Sometimes you know about them before,
because your parents or grandparents negotiated them. Sometimes you
know the person you're supposed to marry. But whatever happens, most
contracts become active on the older partner's sixteenth birthday."
"Yes," said Harry, simply.
She did not look over to see the look on his face, fearing what she might
find there.
"Mom and Dad must have had a contract for me before they died," she
continued, her voice growing more quiet. "They signed me away to
someone I don't even know, and I can't do anything about it."
"Have you read the contract?" Harry asked, his voice deceptively calm.
"I'm going to make Auntie take me to Gringott's tomorrow."
"I see," he replied.
Susan looked at him, now. "You're not mad." Tilting her head, she
examined him closely, stepping forward as she did so. "You should be
mad."
"Maybe," Harry allowed. "As it happens, I also have a betrothal on the
books."
Susan's face fell. "You what?"
Harry nodded. "Fortunately, as Lord Potter, I could choose which
provisions to accept and which to disregard." He smiled at her, the same
smile he had given her in Hogsmeade so long ago, the same smile that
first won her heart. "If, as is likely, she decides I'm not worth the trouble,
she need only say the word, and the contract dissolves. No muss, no fuss."
Susan could not keep the hurt out of her voice. "So, you knew about a
contract but talked about dating me anyway?" She shook her head, more
in disappointment than anything else. "What would your betrothed think
about that?"
Harry stepped closer. His hands remained at his sides, and he fought
against the urge to take her hand, to hug her, to wipe away her hurt. "I'm
hoping she still gives me a chance, even though I never told her about
the contract." Harry's eyes focused on hers. "If she'll have me, that is."
Susan scoffed. "And if she doesn't?"
Another step. "Then, she walks away and I dissolve the contract."
"You think she'd enjoy being your second choice?"
Harry smiled at her, despite the tension in the air. "I'm hoping she
understands that she's my only choice."
Susan's eyes grew wide at that. "Only choice… Harry, who is she?"
Another step, and he was close enough to take her hands in his own.
Susan did not resist, keeping her wet eyes on his.
"There's a Hufflepuff in our year. Beautiful smile, gorgeous eyes, and one
of the kindest souls I've ever known." His smile brightened as she realized
what he meant. Then she was hugging him, and he wrapped his arms
around her.
"Prat," she grumbled against his chest. "You scared me."
"I know, Sue, I'm sorry." He carefully led her over to a chair, where she
seated herself on his lap.
"Why didn't you say anything, then?" she asked, wiping her eyes.
"I couldn't, it's part of the contract. One betrothed cannot open
discussions with the other on contract matters." He shrugged. "It's
standard language, so that the parents are the ones deciding how things
work under the contract. They have to be the ones negotiating."
"But… you're Lord Potter."
He nodded. "Which means I knew from the start." He gave her forehead a
kiss. "But I didn't want to force you into anything. Never that. If you and
I went nowhere, I'd quietly dissolve the contract and that would be that."
She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his chest. "No muss, no
fuss."
"Exactly."
"What an odd expression," she mused.
That got a laugh. "Blame the Colonel. It's one of his."
Susan smiled at that. "I should have known." Then she looked thoughtful.
"Is this what Auntie was mad about earlier?"
Harry winced. "A bit. She accepted my explanation, but didn't like that I
had held out on her. She didn't know there was a contract at all, seeing as
her brother negotiated it with James."
"Ah," repled Susan.
After a comfortable few minutes, Harry sighed. "We should probably get
you to your party, Miss Bones."
Susan returned the sigh with one of her own. "In a minute."
Harry grinned and gave her forehead another kiss. "As you wish."
oOoOoOoOo
When Harry and Susan arrived in the entrance hall, holding hands, they
found Neville Longbottom brushing the dust off of himself. Straightening,
Neville looked up and saw them, and then broke out in a wide grin.
"About time you 'fessed up, Lord Potter if you please," he said with a
laugh. Both Harry and Susan rolled their eyes at their friend, which only
made him laugh harder.
The three chatted for a few minutes, making every effort to play the part
of carefree teenagers. That was how Amelia found them when she came
down the stairs from her office.
Harry saw her first. "Good afternoon, Madam Bones," he said in greeting.
Neville followed suit.
Amelia smiled at the boys. "Today, at least, you can call me Amelia. This
is supposed to be an informal event, is it not?"
A shrug. "That is true enough," Harry conceded. "I'd call you Madam
Amelia, but then I'd sound like a house elf!"
Susan and her aunt both chuckled at that. "Better than nothing, Lord
Harry Sirs," Amelia retorted, doing her best imitation of Ursula, one of
the Bones elves.
The elf in question, still at her place near the floo, gave her mistress an
annoyed look. "Ursula does not sound like that, Mistress Amelia," she said
sternly. That, of course, set the four laughing.
Harry and Susan soon made their way to the backyard, to visit with their
friends. Neville stayed back, and asked Amelia for a word.
"Gran would like to know if you're available for tea this week," Neville
said.
"Of course," replied Amelia. "Is she still staying with the Greengrasses?"
Augusta Longbottom had taken the news of her son's betrayal rather
hard. And a betrayal it was, in her mind, for she had spent fifteen years
carrying the guilt of that night. To mourn a lost grandson, to grasp at any
hope for a crippled son and his wife, only to learn that all three had been
alive and well? It had nearly broken the unflappable Regent Longbottom.
"Yes, she is." Neville said, frowning. "There's no way she would set foot in
Longbottom Hall while they're there. Not yet, anyway."
Amelia nodded. She could understand Augusta's reaction. Susan had
raised a similar thought when they learned about Frank and Alice and
Trevor - what if Edgar had come back in the same way? How would she
react to her long dead brother, to Susan's father, after a deliberate and
planned deception of this sort?
She knew the answer. Not well.
"In that case, Tell Augusta that I am available whenever she is. Perhaps
we will include Lord Greengrass as well." Amelia knew how that might
look - and it was a far cry from her usual careful neutrality. But the
reality was that House Bones had long been on good, even friendly, terms
with both the Longbottoms and the Greengrasses. Declining an invitation
to tea would say more than accepting one.
Neville inclined his head. "I will convey your message, Madam Bones."
Amelia smirked at the formality, but before she could comment, the floo
sprang to life. Neville and Amelia turned to watch as a teenager stepped
from the flames.
"Well," Neville muttered quietly, as the newcomer brushed off his robes.
"This is a surprise."
"To me as well, Neville," Amelia said, just as quietly. Stepping forward,
she regarded her guest. "Welcome to Bones Manor, Mister Longbottom."
Trevor looked at his host, and smiled politely. "Madam Bones, thank you.
The others should be right behind me." With that, he stepped to the side,
toward Neville.
"Trevor," said Neville, his expression carefully neutral.
"Neville," replied Trevor.
"What are you doing here?" Neville asked, skipping any sort of
preliminaries.
"Me? I'm the moral support." With that, Trevor's eyes went to the
fireplace, which had once again turned green.
"Oh, you're kidding me," said Neville, as Lily Potter and her son stepped
out of the floo. Both wore nice robes in a more formal style - the sort one
might wear to an important business meeting. Far more formal than you
would expect at a teenager's birthday party. It was a sharp contrast to
Trevor, who wore simpler, everyday robes.
Jamie glanced toward Trevor, and looked surprised to see Neville
standing there as well. The fact that Neville was now wearing a scowl
was not lost on anyone.
Lily was the first to speak. "Regent Bones, may I present my son, James
Potter, Junior." She gestured toward Jamie, who stepped forward and
gave Amelia a small bow.
"Madam Potter, Mister Potter, welcome to Bones Manor." Amelia replied,
formally. The use of her title as Regent had gotten her attention. It meant
that they would be discussing house business. Of course, why the former
Lady Potter would need to discuss such matters without Lord Potter
present was unclear. Amelia decided to probe the issue. "If there are
house matters to discuss, should we summon Lord Potter? I believe he is
out back with the other guests."
Jamie frowned at that, but quickly schooled his features. Lily looked
suddenly uncomfortable. "That will be unnecessary, Amelia. This is a
concern for Jamie and Susan, I would think."
Neville gasped, drawing a glance from Amelia. He met her eyes, and
shook his head slightly. Amelia replied with a nod of agreement. Both of
them knew exactly what Lily was after now, and what Harry's reaction
would be.
He's going to flip, thought Neville.
"Neville," Amelia said, looking back at the Potters. "Why don't you take
Jamie and Trevor out back to meet their future classmates. Madam Potter
and I will sit in my office and clear the air."
Neville bowed again in acknowledgement. "Of course, Madam Bones." He
turned to a worried looking Jamie and a confused looking Trevor. "Come,
gentlemen, the Bones elves have outdone themselves this afternoon." He
began walking toward the backyard.
Trevor and Jamie shared a glance, before turning to follow.
When they were gone, Amelia gave Lily a hard look. "Follow me, Lily."
oOoOoOoOo
Instead of taking his charges through the sunroom, and thus past the
food, Neville walked them out a side door off of a sitting room. As a
result, they walked out onto the stone patio largely unobserved.
Neville took the opportunity to point out the different people they saw.
He noted, with a chuckle, that Trevor had already met some of them, to
which Trevor grumbled something about a rematch. They saw Ginny
Weasley and Luna Lovegood sitting together with Michael Corner and
Lisa Turpin, watching the expansive backyard. There, Ron Weasley was
throwing a yellow disc with Anthony Goldstein and Justin Finch-
Fletchley.
"Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff and Hermione Granger from Gryffindor
are probably inside getting something to eat," Neville continued. "I
believe Susan and Harry are probably with them, since they're not out
here yet."
"I should probably pay my respects to the birthday girl," Jamie said,
looking at the glass door leading to the sunroom. "The food is through
there, you said?"
Neville nodded. "It is. But Jamie, if you're here for the reasons I think
you're here… Look, I'll be honest, you really need to speak with your
mother before you do anything other than wish Susan a happy birthday.
Seriously."
Before Jamie could reply, he heard a shout from the grass.
"Harry, heads up!"
Turning toward the noise, Jamie's vision filled with yellow, as the frisbee
struck him in the face.
"Buggering hell!" Jamie spat, as his hands went to his face. The thick
plastic disc had struck him right on the nose, which was now bleeding
freely. Trevor and Neville led him over to a chair and sat him down.
"Back up, Longbottoms," said Ginny, as she and Luna walked over. Luna's
wand was already out, and she began performing medical charms on the
injury. Jamie struggled to sit still, but a firm hand on his shoulder
stopped his movement. "Relax, Mister Potter," Ginny said in a cold voice.
"Luna knows what she's doing."
Justin, Ron, and Anthony arrived at that point, and the confusion on
Anthony and Justin's face was clear. "How'd Harry miss that catch?"
asked Justin.
Another gasp drew eyes to the sunroom, where Hermione and Hannah
were walking out with their food. Hermione looked annoyed when she
saw Jamie, for she knew who he was. Hannah, on the other hand, just
looked confused. She looked back at the sunroom, then at Jamie. "But, he
was just…" Her voice trailed off as Ron sighed.
"That's not Harry, Justin, Hannah," said Ron, his voice as cold as his
sister's had been. Jamie's surprise appearance was clearly not a welcome
one.
"Who is it, then?" asked Anthony.
Ron gestured toward the injured Potter. "Everyone, may I introduce
James Potter, Junior, Harry Potter's secret twin."
Hermione continued to walk over to a table, setting her plate down.
Hannah stood there, her mouth open, staring at Jamie. Anthony
Goldstein was equally shocked. Justin, however, finally noticed that there
were two Nevilles.
"And I suppose you're going to tell us that Neville had a secret twin as
well?" he asked, incredulously.
Neville and Trevor looked at each other. Then, Neville turned back to the
Hufflepuff. "Nah, I knew about Trevor. It just turns out they faked his
death."
"Oh," replied Justin, not sure how else to respond to that.
The group was silent, processing the dual revelations of the afternoon,
while Luna finished her work. Presently, she nodded and stood up.
"You'll be tender for a few minutes, Jamie," she said politely. "But you
should be fine."
"Thank you," Jamie replied. He stood and brushed himself off, not
realizing that Luna had done nothing to clean him up. So it was that
when Susan and Harry walked out of the sunroom, laughing at some
innocent comment, they were confronted with a very quiet gathering
centered around a Jamie Potter with blood covering his shirt and lower
face.
Jamie smiled broadly at them, which just made the look that much more
bizarre. "Happy Birthday, Susan."
Susan stared at the lost and bloodied Potter twin, her mouth agape. It
took Harry's response to shake her loose.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Harry muttered.
oOoOoOoOo
When they arrived in the Regent's study, Amelia indicated a seat on a
couch near the fireplace. Lily Potter seated herself, and watched as her
host poured two glasses of an amber liquid. She did not see the bottle,
but the drink appeared almost muggle to her eyes.
Amelia set both glasses on the low table between them, before taking her
seat on the facing couch.
"I thank you, Amelia, but I'd prefer not to drink just now." Lily was
approaching this conversation as the negotiation she thought it was, and
did not think it proper to drink beforehand.
Amelia shrugged, and took a sip of her drink. "Fair enough." Then she
indicated the untouched glass on the table. "But let me be honest with
you, Lily - by the time were done here, you're going to empty that glass."
Lily sighed. "I doubt that."
The Regent Bones looked over her guest, and frowned. "Lily, I didn't
bring you up here to talk about the contract."
That brought Lily up short. "Susan just turned sixteen, Amelia."
A nod. "She did indeed."
Lily tilted her head. "Jamie turns sixteen in a few weeks."
"Also true." Amelia took another sip of her drink. "As does Lord Potter."
A chill ran through Lily. "What does he have to do with this?"
Amelia smiled at her - and it was not a kind smile. It was the smile of a
prosecutor making her case. "He acknowledged the contract the day he
took up the Lord's ring, Lily. He could have deferred it, and we would
have passed it to a future generation. He could have cancelled it, for
cause - Susan, not knowing about the contract, did not take Harry's
selection as a triwizard champion very well. Instead, he took it up."
"How? It applied to the Heir Potter, and that's Jamie!"
"Until he was declared dead, yes." Amelia said, calmly. "Harry saw the
notes that went with the document. James and Edgar wrote several
contingencies into the contract. If everyone but Susan and Lord Potter
survived the war, the contract could - if they so wished - allow them to
wed, thus preserving both houses and keeping the wolves away from my
niece." She leaned forward in her seat, levelling her gaze at Lily. "The
entire point of the contract was to give a house we trusted - House Potter
- pride of place among any potential betrothal. They did not want to risk
the wizengamot assigning a spouse."
"I remember," Lily said, absently. "But, Harry?"
"Harry, your son, who had so many of his choices taken from him I might
add, decided that no one would have their choices taken in the same
way." Amelia replied, her tone growing hard as she spoke. "So he decided
to get to know my niece. If they got along, perhaps the betrothal would
work. If not, then he would quietly cancel it and move on."
Lily sat back against the leather couch, processing this news. "Jamie's not
her betrothed," she said.
"No. Harry and Susan have been flirting with each other for months, and
decided just today to become a couple." Amelia smiled at that, in spite of
her annoyance at her guest. It was about time, she thought.
"But, his brother…" Lily said, weakly, before trailing off. "No, he had no
idea. If he had known, everything would have been lost." She was almost
speaking to herself now, as if working out a particularly tough problem.
Amelia had seen this before - and her instincts screamed at her to keep
the suspect talking. That she viewed Lily as a suspect should have told
her something, but just at this moment she was focused on taking her
best chance at understanding just what the hell the Potters were thinking.
"What would it have hurt, Lily?" Amelia asked, quietly. "What would it
have mattered if Harry grew up with you in hiding?" She took another
sip. "Even if he went off to Hogwarts, to play the part of an orphaned
boy-who-lived, what harm would that have done?"
Lily shook her head. "I doubt it would have harmed anything, for us. But
we would have taken a hero from the Wizarding World, a source of hope.
How would that have changed things here?"
Amelia answered immediately. "Not at all."
Lily stared at her. "How do you get that?"
A sad chuckle escaped the Regent Bones, and she took another sip of her
drink. "Lily, until he set foot on the Express, the Wizarding World
thought that Harry Potter was a child of adventure, seeing the world and
fighting monsters. All they knew is what they read in a series of fiction
books, and what our esteemed Chief Warlock chose to reveal. Anyone
who asked was told that Harry was growing up in a safe location, and
that he was receiving all the training he would need to be the wizard he
was destined to be. None of that would have changed if Harry grew up
with you." Amelia shook her head again, amazed that she had believed
the tales Dumbledore told the Wizengamot over the years. "Lily, I went
back and read the minutes from the eighties, and whenever Dumbledore
addressed the subject, he spoke about the Boy-Who-Lived."
"What does that mean?" Lily asked, quietly.
"It means, I think, that he was talking about Jamie. Every time." Amelia
replied, and again her voice grew cold. "While Harry was growing up in a
cupboard, Jamie was surrounded by family and trained in his craft. So
tell me, how would Harry having a loving home have changed anything?"
Lily, saying nothing, lifted her drink and took a healthy gulp. The muggle
drink burned, and her eyes watered a little.
Amelia matched the gesture, emptying her own glass.
After a moment, she spoke again. "Why are you here, Madam Potter?"
Amelia asked, quietly.
"I don't know what you mean," replied Lily, almost in a whisper. "We
thought Jamie and Susan were…. They should meet…. Our houses…."
Lily's voice trailed off, as she realized how weak the response was.
Amelia sat back in her seat. Lily had not given an answer, but what she
said was enough. "Someone - probably James - thought that linking the
newfound boy-who-lived to a respectable house such as my own would
ease his way into the public eye." Lily's eyes told the tale - Amelia had
gotten it exactly right. "I don't suppose your husband considered what
effect that would have on my niece, did he? Or your son, for that matter."
Lily shook her head, still trying to process everything. "Jamie has known
his duty for years now."
"I imagine so," Amelia scoffed. Then she tilted her head, considering the
situation. "Why isn't James here making a case for the betrothal?
Ignoring, for the moment, that he's not head of house, he's certainly
Jamie's guardian. Where is he?"
Lily took another drink. "He's with Dumbledore, most days, figuring out
who is marked as a death eater and who is just sympathetic."
That explains why the Headmaster brought them back, I suppose, thought
Amelia.
Out loud, Amelia sighed. "Well, while your husband is making his lists,
Harry and his team have helped capture over a dozen death eaters, most
of whom are held overseas. The Dark Lord will not be breaking them out
anytime soon."
"Yes, I heard." Lily said, bitterly. "I also know he's killed."
"We are at war, Madam Potter." Amelia replied. "Every death eater takes
a vow to serve the whims of the Dark Lord. Does that sound like an
enemy who would surrender? Who would sue for peace, sign a treaty of
some sort, or simply vanish into the night?"
Lily closed her eyes, sinking back in her seat. "This was all so much
simpler, before we came back."
"I can imagine," said Amelia. "Lily, you were one of the smartest witches I
ever knew. Everything you were told about the state of Wizarding Britain
came from one source - Headmaster Dumbledore. And you never
questioned? You never wondered if you were getting the whole story?"
Lily's features clouded over, the sadness growing into anger. "You have
no idea what we sacrificed, Amelia. None whatsoever." Lily's hand moved
toward her stomach, an unconscious move that nonetheless caught
Amelia's eye.
"What did you give up, Lily?" asked Amelia, quietly.
Lily shook her head, wiping a tear away. "We thought Harry was happy
and safe, and now he hates us. We'll never get that back. We thought
Jamie would lead the light to victory, but he's not even heir of his own
house. We…" She took a deep breath, and again wrapped a hand around
herself.
"What happened, Lily?" Amelia asked, quietly.
"We… tried for another baby." came Lily's equally quiet reply. "I think
part of me realized that Jamie needed a sibling. Oh, he was close to
Trevor but it's not the same, not really. So we tried." She looked up at
Amelia, who watched her intently. "Jamie was three, we were eating
dinner one night. I was eight months along. Suddenly, I just collapsed,
bleeding."
"Merlin," whispered Amelia.
"When I woke up, I had had the baby. But my little girl was stillborn,
Amelia." Lily closed her eyes, fighting tears. "We lived under a charm that
blocked magic, could that have harmed my little girl? We didn't have a
healer with us, couldn't send for one. Did I kill her?"
"You know the answer to that, Lily."
Lily nodded. "I know it here," she said, tapping herself on the temple.
"But here?" She placed a hand over her heart. "I'll always wonder."
Amelia remained silent. Instead, she simply refilled their drinks.
Wiping her eyes, Lily again shook her head. "I don't know what's going to
happen," she said, quietly. Then, she looked at Amelia. "But I refuse to
believe that it was all for nothing."
oOoOoOoOo
Jamie Potter sat by himself, a short distance away from the rest of the
group. These were his classmates, it would seem, but at the moment he
had no desire to speak with them. Most of them were sitting around the
red-haired boy and a blonde girl, playing an intense chess match on a
muggle board. Chess had never been Jamie's game - Trevor always beat
him - but he could tell that both players were skilled. This was
apparently their third match of the day, each having already won once.
Neither Ron Weasley nor Hannah Abbott was willing to leave the series
tied.
About the only person who had taken the time to sit with him had been
Trevor, but even he was in the wind. He and Neville had taken the
opportunity to go off on their own, hopefully to hash out their
differences. Trevor had been worried that Neville would hate him for
attempting to lie about his identity the week prior. It had not been a
good first impression, they had agreed on that.
At the end, though, they were brothers, and that had to count for
something, right?
Jamie was pulled from his thoughts by the clink of a butterbeer. Looking
up, he saw Harry opening his own bottle and sitting nearby.
"You looked bored," Harry remarked, taking a drink.
Jamie rolled his eyes. "I was just thinking about how bad of a first
impression Trevor made with Neville last week, and here I am making an
arse of myself in front of… well, everybody, really."
Harry chuckled. "Yeah, the bloody look is pretty hard to pull off." He
shrugged. "Nothing for it, though."
Jamie said nothing as he opened his own butterbeer.
"I have to ask, though," continued Harry. "I've seen your reflexes, and
they're pretty good. How'd you get hit by that frisbee?"
Jamie looked confused for a moment, before he realized what Harry
meant. "Oh, the flying disc thing? I've never seen one before today."
"Uh huh," replied Harry, unconvinced. "Neville said you might have been
distracted."
There it is, thought Jamie. "I'm not going to steal your girl, Harry, if that's
what you're wondering. But when I walked out here, I honestly thought I
was meeting my future wife." He looked over at his brother. "Tell me that
wouldn't distract you, too."
"Oh, you're not wrong," agreed Harry, sipping his butterbeer.
"I just wanted to help, you know?" Jamie said, his eyes looking at the
group watching the chess match.
Harry's brow furrowed. "Having Susan as a betrothed would help you?"
"Dad said that connecting our house to House Bones would help the
public accept me," Jamie replied.
"She's not a political tool, Jamie," Harry said, annoyed at the cold
calculation his father had displayed - and at how he had roped Jamie into
such a maneuver.
Jamie turned when he heard Harry's tone. "I know that, Harry. Even
before I knew about you two, I knew it."
Harry considered that. "If you knew it was the wrong way to go about
things, then why did you agree to it?"
Jamie sipped his butterbeer, considering that. "I'm not sure. I guess I
figured it was my duty."
"Uh huh," Harry said again. Jamie frowned at the comment, but said
nothing.
They sat there for a few minutes, watching the party. Susan's laugh
carried across the patio, and Jamie couldn't help but notice Harry's smile
at the sound. Good on you, he thought.
When Susan waved him over, Harry finished off his butterbeer and stood.
"May I make a suggestion, Jamie?"
Jamie sighed, expecting a lecture. "Sure, everyone else does."
Harry frowned at that, but he let the remark pass. "Your training,
whatever it was, your education to this point, even your presence here
today - everything was something that you did for others. For your
father, for Dumbledore, and so on." Harry's eyes met his brother's, and he
smiled down at the boy. "Consider trying to do something for Jamie
Potter instead. See how that works out for you."
Jamie had no response, and could only give his brother a small nod.
Harry took this for what it was worth - a beginning - and walked back
over to his girlfriend.
oOoOoOoOo
Lily Potter had taken the floo in Amelia's study, not feeling up to seeing -
or being seen by - either of her sons. She had had a very emotional
afternoon, but it felt very much like such a talk had been a long time
coming.
Amelia just hoped that the woman could be made to see reason. Harry
did not need his own family, however estranged, actively working against
him.
Sitting back in her favorite chair, she sipped on her drink and considered
the events of that afternoon. It was not long, however, before her reverie
was broken by Auror Patterson.
"Director?" asked the Auror, one of two assigned to her personal security.
A sigh. "Yes, Patterson?"
"Umm, we have a muggle who just arrived via portkey, Director."
Amelia looked up. "And?"
Patterson paused, looking at her incredulously. "Obviously, it's a mistake
of some sort, right?"
Amelia glared at him. "Do you mean to suggest that I am not careful in
giving out portkeys to my own home, Mister Patterson?"
"No, Director," he replied, chastened.
"Good, then please escort Colonel Ramsay in." When Patterson hesitated,
Amelia brought out her Director voice. "Now, Auror!"
"Yes, Director!" was the quick reply, before Patterson left as quickly as he
could.
Amelia closed her eyes and sat back in her chair, her feet up on the table
in front of her. The talk with Lily had been more draining than she had
realized, and she just wanted to relax for a moment.
The blessed few minutes of quiet were interrupted by a chuckle from the
doorway.
"Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown," said Colonel Ramsay, with
no small amount of amusement.
Amelia opened her eyes and looked at her guest, smiling in spite of
herself. "So they tell me," she agreed. "Come in, don't leave me to drink
alone."
Ramsay gave her a mock bow. "Of course not, your grace." He made his
way over to the empty couch, sitting heavily in the seat Lily Potter had
vacated. "What troubles you, Madam Director?"
"Lily Potter was here," she said, simply.
The grin faded from the Colonel's face. "Oh, shit," he said.
"Yeah," replied Amelia.
Saying nothing further, Ramsay began pouring drinks for the both of
them.
oOoOoOoOo
Ron and Hannah eventually agreed to a draw, much to their frustration.
Both were convinced that they could win the match, given enough time,
but the party had drawn to a close before they could reach that point.
With darkness looming, they decided to let the winner be determined
another day.
Hannah was overheard promising to visit the burrow in the coming
weeks, ostensibly for a rematch - much to Susan's amusement.
Jamie and Trevor had quietly floo'ed out together, heading for
Longbottom Hall. Neville had made no comment about that as he himself
went to Potter Manor. The other guests were soon on their way to their
homes, leaving Susan and Harry.
The new couple found themselves in a sitting room, looking out on the
front of the property. Each was working on a leftover slice of birthday
cake.
"I think Ron and Hannah will be good for each other, don't you?" Susan
asked, a mischievous gleam in her eye.
Harry had to nod at that. "I bow to your superior matchmaking skills,
Miss Bones," he said, theatrically. "If they don't murder each other over a
game of chess, they'll make a fine couple."
"Well, that's the trick, isn't it?" she said, setting her empty plate down.
Harry watched as she stood up and walked over. Her fork still in hand,
she leaned over and stole the last bite off of his plate. Then she took the
plate from his hands and set it aside.
"This is going to be a thing with you, isn't it?" he asked, amusement in his
tone.
Susan sat down in his lap, wrapping her arms around him. "Maybe."
oOoOoOoOo
"It's wartime," Amelia argued.
"Yes, it is." agreed Ramsay.
"I'm needed where I am," she continued.
"You're needed at 100%, Madam Director," Ramsay argued.
Amelia huffed. "Fine."
Ramsay grinned at her. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."
"I said fine, damn you, I'll do it! There, happy now?"
"Yes, yes I am." Ramsay said. "Thank you."
Amelia rolled her eyes. "Don't thank me yet, Mark, I'll probably have to
leave before we even get started."
"Nonsense," he countered. "The Ministry will not come to a screeching
halt simply because Madam Amelia Bones agreed to go out to dinner in
the muggle world."
"You underestimate the stupidity of the Ministry of Magic," Amelia
cautioned.
"Probably," he agreed, still smiling.
Before she could reply, the door to her study opened, admitting Aurors
Patterson and Green.
Patterson spoke first. "Director, we have a situation," he said, without
preamble.
The change was immediate. Amelia Bones was gone, replaced with
Director Bones of the DMLE. "Report."
Colonel Ramsay listened with half an ear as Patterson talked about
intelligence that suggested a death eater attack planned for that night.
Instead, he walked to the window, looking out at the front courtyard of
Bones Manor. It was a clear night, but the new moon didn't allow much
in the way of light. Still, it was almost as if he could see…. something,
out there at the tree line.
"Green," he said quietly. "Come here a moment."
The junior auror walked over to stand next to the Colonel. Before either
of them could speak, a flash of green light illuminated the darkness. As
they watched, a green shape formed over the trees - a skull and a snake.
"Holy shit," breathed Ramsay. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Yes, sir," said Green, not even realizing he had just called a muggle sir.
"That's the Dark Mark."
Ramsay was about to ask a question, when he noticed that Patterson had
raised his wand. Green, transfixed by the Dark Mark, did not see.
"Avada Kadavra!" With that angry shout, a jet of green light struck Auror
Green, and he fell to the floor in a heap.
Patterson turned his wand to the director, who had remained seated. In
his mind, the muggle was not a threat - whereas the Director was a
skilled duelist. She had her wand in a holster, but could she get it in
time? The Auror was sneering, his eyes filled with hate, as he opened his
mouth to cast the killing curse.
"Avada Kad—-" The curse died on his lips, as a knife sprouted in his
throat. In an instant, Ramsay was dragging Patterson to the ground,
flinging his wand away. Patterson tried desperately to reach up and stem
the flow of blood, but Ramsay's powerful hands were already driving the
knife into the auror's heart, stilling him permanently.
Amelia stared at the dead auror, who seconds ago had killed his own
partner.
"Auntie?" Susan's voice came from the hallway. Amelia couldn't reply, so
it fell to Ramsay.
"All clear!" He shouted. As if on cue, Harry and Susan entered the study,
wands out. By wordless agreement, Susan moved to the window to check
on Green, while Harry approached the Colonel and Patterson.
Without a word, Harry lifted the sleeve of Patterson's left arm. Even
stilled by the man's death, the ugly snake and skull tattoo of the Dark
Mark gave them pause.
Amelia's grunt drew Harry's attention. "Amelia?"
She sat back down. "The wards are under attack."
Harry walked to the fireplace, knowing it was futile but needing to make
sure. Tossing a handful of powder into the floo, he shouted "Potter
Manor!"
The flames did not change.
Harry looked to Amelia, who seemed to be staring off into space. He
knew she was interpreting the state of the wards, trying to see if there
was an exit.
"With your permission, Madam Bones?" He asked, formally. Off her nod,
he looked to the ceiling. "Dobby!"
A soft pop signalled the arrival of Dobby.
Harry did not wait for the elf to speak. "Bones Manor is under attack,
Dobby." He nodded toward the front of the manor. "Until we can escape
or get help, we need to make our stand here." He knelt down and looked
Dobby in the eyes. They had discussed this at length, even practicing
once or twice. Dobby knew what traps Harry wanted, how they should be
placed for maximum effect, and so on. The elf had been thrilled to help
Master Harry Sirs take his fight to the dark ones.
But now, when Harry gave the command, Dobby couldn't help but look
at his Master in shock.
Harry's voice was hard as steel as he spoke. "Dobby, set the table."
A/N: Quite the party. As always, things heat up after dark.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
19. The Battle of Bones Manor
Shortly before his thirteenth birthday, Harry Potter found himself sitting at the
back of a classroom at RMA Sandhurst, listening in on one of Colonel
Ramsay's lectures. The Colonel had planned to take Harry on a tour of the
Academy that afternoon, an offer to which Harry could not say no.
It was trivial for him to get from Privet Drive to the nearest train station. Less
than an hour later, Harry was showing his visitor's pass at the main gate. The
guard gave him a funny look, but allowed him in.
Ramsay was beginning his lesson when Harry found his classroom. None of
the twenty cadets in attendance noticed the boy take a seat against the back
wall.
"Defensive tactics," began Colonel Ramsay, "are never sufficient to win an
engagement. But neglecting them can easily be the critical factor in losing the
battle - and, likely, your command as well." Ramsay, as was his habit, walked
across the front of the room as he spoke. He needed no notes for this lecture,
as it was one of the most basic he taught. "So, give me the main purposes of
defensive operations."
After a moment, cadets began raising their hands, and Ramsay called on each
by name.
"Area denial, sir?" said one cadet, his voice uncertain.
Ramsay glanced at Harry before responding. "Are you asking me, or telling
me, Mister Robinson?"
"Telling you, sir."
"Good," replied the Colonel. "Denying the opposition access to a vital area, or
holding decisive terrain, are both worth fighting a defensive action."
A woman near the front spoke up, then. "Responding to a surprise attack, sir."
Ramsay nodded. "This is why you stand watches, set static defenses around
your position, and so on. The quicker you can respond to a surprise attack, the
better your unit's response will be. Another?"
"Maneuvering the enemy?" suggested another cadet.
"Close enough," answered Ramsay. "If you can channel the attacking force into
a particular location where they are more vulnerable, you can prepare a
counterattack, or set the table for another unit to counterattack. Get the
enemy to chase you right into your own reinforcements, and the situation
turns rather quickly."
The cadets were scribbling their notes as quickly as they could. Ramsay
frowned as he watched, seeing that no one else had a suggestion.
"No one?" Ramsay asked the room. He had a predatory smile as he looked at
the back of the classroom. "What about you, Harry?"
Harry groaned as the cadets turned in their seats, looking curiously at the
young boy sitting amongst their number. Ramsay was still grinning at him,
inviting him to answer. Taking a deep breath, Harry steeled himself and spoke.
"Thinning the enemy's forces to prepare a counterattack, sir." Harry answered,
in a voice that had much more confidence than he felt just then.
"Exactly right," said Ramsay. "The enemy has you where they want you, they
are in no hurry to crush you. So take the time they give you, send out sorties,
precision strikes. Catch out that patrol that strays too close to your line. Invite
your snipers to indulge themselves. Slip behind their lines and sabotage their
supplies, damage their effectiveness in any way you can."
Ramsay continued pacing as he spoke. "All four of these doctrines are handled
in different ways, and are always subject to the needs of the mission. But each
is intended to allow you to shift from defense to offence. As I said at the
beginning, defensive tactics will not win any battles. But if you learn them,
and use them at every opportunity, I guarantee that your offensive will be that
much more effective, because you'll have already done half the work before
taking the initiative."
Half the cadets were still staring at the kid who knew more about this than
they did. Ramsay noticed the looks, and brought an edge to his voice.
"Well? Why aren't you writing this down?" The remaining cadets spun around
and got back to writing. Ramsay glanced back at Harry and gave him an
amused shrug, causing Harry to chuckle.
oOoOoOoOo
The pop of a house elf shook Harry Potter from his thoughts. Looking up
from his seat, he saw Dobby reappear in Amelia's study, alongside Dixie -
another Potter elf. Both wore fatigues in dark green, boots and all. Dobby
was carrying a satchel, while Dixie had a folder of what looked like
paperwork.
Standing, Harry looked at Madam Bones, who was sitting on the couch
talking with Susan. "Madam Bones, how long will the wards hold?"
Amelia looked up at Harry, and did not see her niece's boyfriend. Instead,
she saw a wizard preparing to go into battle - his expression was hard,
and brooked no nonsense. His wand was out, as if a threat would burst
through the door at any moment.
Merlin, she thought. "You plan to fight them," she said. It was not a
question.
He nodded. "Dobby can signal Neville, who can summon help. If we can
hold long enough, they will approach the Death Eaters from behind and
force them to retreat. Failing that, we can escape out the back on brooms
or on foot. Once we clear the anti-portkey wards, I can get all four of us
to Potter Manor."
"We need to summon Aurors," Amelia said. Harry looked over at Ramsay,
who gave the dead Auror Patterson head a nudge with his foot.
"You have been compromised at a very high level, Amelia," Ramsay said,
as gently as he could. "Say we get a signal to the Auror office, who is to
say that they don't ignore the summons? Or worse," he continued,
hooking a thumb at the window - and the still glowing dark mark
floating over the woods. "What if they let their mates know?"
Amelia scowled, but could not argue with their logic. Then she looked at
Harry, who was beginning to spread out some of the papers from Dixie
on Amelia's desk. Their eyes met, and Amelia gave him a long, appraising
look.
After a moment, she nodded. "I'm trusting you with our lives, Mister
Potter."
Harry returned the nod. "Yes, ma'am." He looked down at Dobby, who
had waited quietly throughout their discussion. "Give her the coins,
Dobby."
"Yessir," replied the elf. With a snap, a stack of coins appeared on the
table in front of Amelia and Susan.
Picking one up, Susan saw that it was American - silver like a sickle, but
much larger. It was marked as a dollar, with an Eagle landing on a rock
on one side. "What's this?" she asked, holding up the coin.
"The moon landing," Harry replied, without looking up.
"What?" Susan asked, incredulous.
Harry looked up at her and smiled, despite himself. "Long story. For now,
leave it. We use these coins because large nonmagical coins are easier to
work with for what we want to do." Then, Harry turned to Madam Bones.
"Amelia, can you turn those coins into portkeys to different locations
within your wards?"
Amelia nodded, confused. "I could, but why?"
Before Harry could reply, Dobby was setting potions on the small table.
Each was a bright yellow in color, and had a thin wax seal at the top
rather than a secure stopper. Susan noticed that there was no air in the
phials - the liquid was right against the wax.
Harry held up one of the potions. "When I signal, each coin takes one of
those bottles to a spot thirty feet in the air, and then the bottle begins to
fall. That pushes the liquid against the seal, which is deliberately thin.
The seal breaks, and when the potion meets oxygen, it burns."
Susan looked closely at one of the potions. "What does it burn?"
Harry shrugged. "That high up, nothing. But it's brighter than a Lumos
Maxima, and completely blinding if you're not expecting it."
Amelia nodded, understanding what he wanted. "Fine, but where do you
want them?"
Harry waved her over to her desk. "Not sure yet," he said as she
approached. When she got close, she saw a large sheet of muggle paper
with a black and white picture. The image was of a forested area,
completely unremarkable.
"What's this?" she asked.
"That, Madam Bones, is Bones Manor as seen from space." Harry shared a
glance with Colonel Ramsay, who was speaking quietly with Dobby.
"But it's just trees," Susan remarked as she walked up.
"Of course," Harry agreed. "You have muggle repelling wards up, and
those work across the entire surface of the wards - including above. So a
camera floating above the sky, looking down, sees exactly what a muggle
standing outside would see." He gestured at the woods on the paper.
"Nothing."
"Cut to the chase, Harry," Ramsay warned. He was now standing at the
window, trying to get a look at their attackers.
"Right," said Harry, chastened. "See, even with the wards blocking the
picture, we can still use this as a map. What do you think that is?" Harry
pointed at a small stone at the edge of the map, and heard a gasp from
Amelia.
"The anchor stone." she said, almost in a whisper. It was the small
wardstone that controlled how wide the ward's radius could be. By
design, it would have to be outside the wards to function, since it set the
upper limit for the main wardstones inside the manor.
"Right," agreed Harry. "Dixie?" The second elf produced another sheet of
muggle paper - this time, with the outline of Bones Manor inked into the
image.
"This is… how?" Susan looked from the map to Harry, confusion on her
features.
Harry looked over at Madam Bones, who was studying the map. She had
had an emotional day dealing with his mother, and then had had an
enjoyable evening drinking with the Colonel. She was not at the top of
her game, and the stress on the wards had her even further out of sorts -
as did the murder attempt from one of her most trusted aurors.
Harry found that he was happy to explain all of this to the two women -
because doing so kept their minds off the two dozen death eaters
gathered north of the manor, working on breaking the wards. Fergus,
another of the Potter elves, had gotten a quick count and given it to
Dobby, before proceeding with his part of the plan.
"Dixie used the anchor stone as a guide, and made a map of your home."
Harry said, with a shrug. It was a bit of a faux pas, making a map of
someone else's home - but it had been good practice for Dixie, and it
turned out to be useful after all.
"Of course she did," Susan said quietly, as she too studied the map.
Harry began pointing to the area between the northern woods and the
manor. "Fergus says they're all there, so we set up a few distractions in
the woods on either side of their location. When the wards come down,
they'll come in toward the manor, and that's when the potions will start
up. They'll be disoriented, they'll be confused, and then they'll come
under spellfire."
"From who, exactly?" Amelia asked, her eyes never leaving the map.
"Training dummies," Harry said. "Here, and here." He drew lines in the
woods that flanked the easiest path for the death eaters to take as they
approach the manor. "Nothing worse than a stunner or two, but some of
those stunners will be green - so they will think that someone's trying to
use the killing curse. And enough stunners at once can still be fatal."
"But it's not actually the killing curse," replied Susan.
"Doesn't matter," answered Harry. "If I think someone's using the killing
curse on me, I'm going to go after them. And every minute they're
searching the woods is a minute they're not storming the manor." Before
he could continue, a third elf popped into the room. Ignoring everyone
else, the elf marked six red dots on the map, and popped away without
saying a word.
Ramsay looked at the updated map, and sighed. "Escape's out, they have
six more waiting for us to make a break for it."
"Six is better than twenty, right?" asked Susan, worry creeping into her
voice.
"Normally," said Harry, who was looking at the map himself. "But when
the other twenty can apparate over at will, it's no good. The lookouts
signal, and we're surrounded."
Amelia sighed again. "So we fight."
"There's three of us," said Susan. Harry glanced at the Colonel, who
nodded in response to the unasked question.
"Dobby!" With a pop, the elf arrived and looked at Harry, who gestured
to the Colonel. "Please retrieve our gear, Dobby." With a salute, the elf
popped away.
"Ten minutes on the wards, Harry," said Amelia, a look of worry on her
face. She was surprised the death eaters were not making a more
concerted effort to breach the manor's protections, until she realized that
they underestimated her. Perhaps they thought that their inside man had
been successful?
Harry looked at his watch, rotating the dial to mark the time. "Alright, in
five minutes I want you to drop the wards on your own."
"What? Why?"
"Because if you drop the wards, they retain their charge - and you can go
to the wardstone and funnel that residual charge into dropping the anti-
portkey wards while I keep them busy. If the wards fall because they get
broken, it will take a while for them to recharge." Harry looked at
Amelia. "That last bit of magic is more useful to us than those five
minutes."
Amelia nodded at the unconventional strategy - when he explained it that
way, it made sense. Their total resources were the remaining magic of the
wards, plus whatever Harry and Ramsay had their elves setting up. Every
bit helped.
Dobby returned then, carrying two large green duffel bags. Ramsay took
one, and moved to the side. Susan watched as Harry pulled out his
longcoat and a webbed belt with several pouches. She walked over to
help him get ready.
"I can fight, Harry," she said quietly.
Harry's expression was unreadable. "No one knows that better than I,
Sue." He took one of her hands in his own, and met her eyes. "But if
you're out there, in this mess, I won't be able to do what I need to do
without worrying. I need you to stay here, help the Colonel and your
aunt."
"Hermione and Ginny and Luna get to fight with you," Susan replied, a
little hurt creeping into her voice.
Harry snorted at that. "Yeah, well I'm not falling for any of them, am I?"
Susan's eyes grew wide at the admission, and Harry's followed shortly,
once he realized what he'd said. Then she was in his arms.
"Be safe," she said urgently. Harry replied by kissing her forehead.
"You know me," he replied.
She chuckled sadly at that. "Yeah, I do." Then she looked up, into his
eyes. "So be safe."
Another kiss followed. "Yes, My Lady." Harry whispered.
oOoOoOoOo
A metallic click drew their eyes across the room. Colonel Ramsay had put
on a black vest, and was holstering a sidearm.
Susan looked confused. "Is that muggle armor?" she asked.
"Kevlar," Harry replied. "With steel woven into the fabric. It won't stop
anything really nasty, but it should defend against cutting or piercing
hexes, as well as debris."
"Mark," Amelia began, wanting to ask what he planned.
"I'm not going anywhere," Ramsay answered the unasked question.
"You're a muggle," Amelia continued.
"Last I checked," Ramsay agreed.
"If a muggle kills purebloods with a firearm… Mark, they'll kill you."
"I'm already under attack just by being here, Amelia," he answered
evenly. "They aren't going to spare me if I hold fire, are they?" He met
her eyes, and did his best to be reassuring. "I'll be here for the duration."
"Besides," said Harry, as he finished getting his own gear in order. "His
bullets are conjured, so after an hour it'll look like piercing hexes. He'll be
fine once this is over." The unspoken if we survive did not go unnoticed by
anyone.
Amelia saw Harry glance at his watch, and then take a deep breath. "It's
time." He took out what looked like a keychain and set it on the desk.
Stepping closer, Amelia could see coins of all different sizes, each one
with a hole drilled through its center. There were more than thirty, all of
them secured to a metal ring. Harry cast a quick silencio on the coins,
before placing them on his belt.
She did not notice the similar set of coins on Ramsay's belt.
Ramsay placed a hand on her shoulder, causing Amelia to look up at the
tall man. He smiled at her, doing his best to be reassuring. "We'll be fine,"
he said.
Amelia nodded, not knowing what else to do. "I don't like this, any of it."
The Colonel's expression turned serious, and he inclined his head towards
the desk, where Harry was marking locations on the map. "Neither does
he."
Harry nodded to the adults, and then gave Susan another kiss. Without
words, without a command, Dobby appeared. Placing his hand on Harry's
belt, the pair popped away silently.
"And that's fortunate for Harry," Ramsay continued in a quiet voice.
"Because he is exceptionally skilled at this." He did not have to tell
Amelia what this he meant, for she had seen the aftermath of the
Ministry. She knew what was coming for the death eaters.
oOoOoOoOo
Marcus Flint watched as three death eaters poured magic into the nearest
wardstone. A cursebreaker might have had the wards down by now, but
none had been sent on this mission.
It was one woman, and maybe her blood traitor of a niece. There was no
reason to send the inner circle.
There might not even be the need for a battle, if their inside man had
been successful. Flint was shocked at how easy it had been to insert a
death eater into the protection detail for the DMLE Director. If the same
squad protected the Minister, then perhaps the war would already be
over - but such was not the case.
The Bones woman would have to do for tonight.
The death eaters were waiting at the edge of the woods north of the
manor. They would need to pass through a hundred meters of trees
before arriving at the front gate. Another hundred meters would take
them to the courtyard, and then the home itself. The goal was to find the
Bones women and kill them.
When the aurors finally arrived, they would find their director's head on
a spike in front of a burning manor.
Yaxley was in charge, as the only senior death eater present. The Dark
Lord had said that it was a simple enough mission that even he could
accomplish it. Flint had shared glances with several of his yearmates at
that - and at the fact that Yaxley did not recognize the insult for what it
was.
A shimmering in the air caught the attention of the group. "The wards are
down!" one of the impromptu cursebreakers shouted.
"That was quick," remarked Flint.
Yaxley shrugged. "Who cares? Let's get this done." With that, he shot a
spell toward the manor. The other death eaters, wands out, moved
forward at his signal.
Immediately, they came under spellfire from the left and right. Red
stunners were mixed with the occasional green of the killing curse, and
as one the death eaters fell to the ground and took cover.
"What the fuck?!" snarled Yaxley. "How the hell did they get backup?"
"No idea," said Flint.
One of the newest recruits, a kid named Theo, stood up to move back
toward the rear, and got struck by a red curse. To his surprise, nothing
happened. Theo Nott stood there, dumbly, looking around. Then the kid
broke out in a grin.
"It's fake! That was just a stinging hex!" He laughed at the death eaters
still prone on the ground. "It's a trick, we can-"
Flint's eyes snapped back to the sixth year when his laughing cries cut off
suddenly. Theo's words had died in his throat, mainly because his throat
had been blasted open by a cutting curse. His hands went to his neck,
hoping to stop the bleeding, but the damage was done. Flint watched as
Theo Nott, a death eater for just three days, fell backwards - drowning in
his own blood.
"Hominem Revelio." A nearby death eater cast the revealing charm, hoping
to get an idea of how many stood against them. To his surprise, the
charm revealed no one other than the death eaters. The man seemed to
panic at that, and looked at Yaxley. "Can you block a revealing charm?"
he asked, fear creeping into his voice.
"How the fuck should I know?" growled Yaxley. "How many are there?"
The death eater shook his head. "None."
"Bullshite." said another death eater.
The first man shrugged. "The spell says that we're the only ones out here."
"How many in the manor?" asked Yaxley.
"We're too far," was the reply.
"Fine," Yaxley replied with a snarl. "Then let's get moving."
oOoOoOoOo
Harry watched from underneath his invisibility cloak as the death eaters
began to move forward. They kept themselves low, and the dummy spells
flew over their heads.
He wanted them to move forward - Dobby and Fergus had prepared a
nice surprise for them, and it would be a shame if they missed it. But,
that didn't mean he wanted them to move too fast. Reaching down, Harry
lifted the ring of coins to his mouth and whispered.
"Papa Tango."
oOoOoOoOo
Amelia Bones was in a small room off of her study, working with the
manor's ward stone, when she heard Harry's voice. Looking back into her
office, she saw two coins on Ramsay's belt glowing. One glowed and said
"Papa," while another said "Tango." Amelia realized that each coin
conveyed one word, and as a set they could pass along any message
without having to deal with transfiguration or the like.
Susan had showed her the DA coins from last term, and she liked the
idea. Auror badges operated on similar principles. This concept seemed
far more versatile.
"Can you help me, Susan?" Ramsay asked, as he rummaged through his
bag.
"Yes," she said, walking over from her place near the doorway. When she
came near, Ramsay handed her what looked like a telescope - except
instead of the brass finish she was accustomed to, it had a dull black
metal look, and was completely non-reflective.
"Look through this, and find one of the death eaters," Ramsay said. He
indicated a small button on top of the device. "Then push that."
Susan considered the device. "That's it?"
A nod. "That's it. Harry will take care of the rest."
"What does it do?" she asked.
Ramsay smiled grimly, as if at a joke only he knew. "It paints the target."
Susan wasn't sure what to say to that, so she said nothing. Looking
through the scope, she saw several death eaters inching forward. One of
them caught her eye, a seventh year slytherin who had given her a bad
time in Hogsmeade. Her friends had gotten him to back off, but she
shuddered to think what might have happened if she had been alone.
Carefully, she focused the scope on Terrence Higgs and hit the switch. A
small red dot appeared on his robes, but he did not notice.
The effect, however, was unmistakable. Within seconds of the dot
appearing, all of the spells that had been passing harmlessly over the
heads of the death eaters stopped. Then, as if on cue, every single one
struck Higgs. The combination of stinging hexes, stunners, and other
similar spells left Higgs on the ground, convulsing.
oOoOoOoOo
Even with their advance halted, the death eaters were near the first
portkey target. Again, Harry lifted the coins and whispered.
oOoOoOoOo
"Lima One" said Ramsay's set of coins. The Colonel looked back at the
table, where the potions had been paired with their own coins. Each
silver dollar had been made into a portkey by Madam Bones, with a list
of different activation phrases for each.
From his place near the doorway, Ramsay shouted the first of those
phrases. "Alpha!"
The first potion disappeared as the portkey took effect.
"Susan," he said, "You'll want to close your eyes for a moment."
oOoOoOoOo
Flint was still staring at the still body of Higgs, not sure what to do. The
fact that he was looking away from the manor probably saved his life, for
at that moment a massive burst of light blinded most of the death eaters.
The flash had been up in the air, making a spell unlikely. Beyond that,
Flint had no idea what had happened. All he knew was that he saw the
bright light reflected off the trees behind him, as if it had been bright
daylight for a moment. Then he heard the shouts of pain from the death
eaters, as they covered their eyes.
All of that noise made it simple for their attacker to find targets. The
light was still fading when Flint saw another death eater take a cutting
curse to the neck. His corpse fell to the ground, his head rolling away.
Two more death eaters had fallen as well, their cries stilled by brutal
curses to the head.
"We're being hunted," he said, to no one in particular.
"What the fuck," another death eater began. Flint looked over and saw a
red point of light on his cloak. Again, the spellfire stopped for a moment.
Again, the targeted death eater was struck by a number of spells at once.
Flint was close enough to check on him, and found the death eater
stunned. Higgs had been hit by a higher number of stunners, which
proved fatal. Here, a pair of trees had shielded this death eater from a
number of curses.
Lucky him.
There was another flash, and the majority of the death eaters were
blinded again. When Flint was able to open his eyes, he saw that two
more death eaters had been killed. One had taken a piercing hex to the
forehead, and the man next to him had been decapitated.
"Keep moving!" shouted Yaxley, struggling to regain control of the
situation.
"Fuck this," said one of the new recruits, before bolting away from the
manor. Flint, being near the back of the group after checking on Higgs,
managed to trip the retreating wizard. A stunner followed, leaving the
coward out of the fight - for now. Flint knew that Yaxley - or perhaps
even the Dark Lord - would deal with him after the battle.
oOoOoOoOo
Harry saw the first six death eaters clear the trees. The training dummies
were still peppering the group with spells, but these death eaters had
been better at dodging than their comrades. They figured - correctly -
that their best chance of survival involved getting to the manor as
quickly as possible, and were moving forward rapidly as a result.
Unfortunately, they did not account for Dobby and Fergus.
There was not a tripwire across the entire clearing. Instead, the wires had
been specially conjured using a trick that Luna had devised. The first few
death eaters to pass did so without trouble. Once they were in the kill
zone, however, the next death eater would find a solid wire barring their
path.
What wizard would notice a muggle trap like that?
From his place at the edge of the trees, Harry saw the tripwire pop into
place, and saw the death eater step into it. Knowing what was to come,
Harry ducked down and covered his ears.
oOoOoOoOo
Flint was watching the first six death eaters make their approach to the
manor when the group was obscured by a blasting hex of some sort. The
explosion of dirt and debris was accompanied by a rumbling boom that
knocked the remaining death eaters off of their feet. He had not seen the
spell that caused the explosion, but he could see the result.
To his horror, the dirt that was raining down on them was mixed with
bits of gore. Of the six death eaters, nothing remained.
"Merlin," breathed Flint. Yaxley, standing nearby, was struck dumb by the
sight.
Then a slight movement caught Flint's attention. Turning to his left, he
saw the edge of the treeline - and a clump of bloodied dirt that had
landed in mid air.
Someone's there! Raising his wand, Flint let loose with a stunner.
oOoOoOoOo
Harry felt the debris land on his head, and cursed his luck. The
invisibility cloak was well nigh impervious to all forms of detection - but
it was a physical barrier. A clump of dirt landing on it would be quite
visible.
Hearing the shout behind him, Harry fell to the deck and rolled to the
side, taking cover behind a tree. Peeking out, he saw Marcus Flint
advancing on him. The other death eaters were still regrouping, Harry
saw, so perhaps this was still salvageable.
"Lima Three" he said, as he rolled to dodge another curse, this time a
bludgeoning curse aimed at his legs. If he had judged correctly, the third
potion would explode just behind him… now!
The flash of light did its work, and Flint reached up to cover his eyes. The
inevitable reflex left him open to attack, and Harry sent a diffindo his
way.
The curse should have been fatal, but Flint shifted to the side at the last
moment. Instead of bisecting him at the waist, it merely removed his left
forearm. The remaining three inches of the dark mark burned, crawling
up the arm as if for safety.
Flint, rapidly losing blood, triggered his emergency portkey, and
disappeared.
oOoOoOoOo
"Rookwood!"
Ambrose looked up from his desk at Pansy's shout. It was late, and she
was still recovering - which made it odd that she was still awake.
Rushing downstairs, Ambrose found his houseguest in her pajamas,
waving her wand over an unconscious Marcus Flint. The injured man was
still wearing his black robe and mask, both of which were covered in dirt
and debris.
His left arm was missing just below the elbow. The bleeding had been
staunched already, thanks to Pansy's quick work, but the pool of blood on
the floor told Ambrose that it had been a narrow thing.
"What the hell happened?" Ambrose said to himself.
oOoOoOoOo
Yaxley had seen Flint engage with someone near the edge of the trees,
and moved to follow. The blast of light stopped his progress, however,
and when he opened his eyes he saw Flint escape. The left arm, still
laying there in the dirt, told him exactly why the boy had fled, though
Yaxley suspected the injury would be fatal.
Flint's attacker was on the move, retreating back toward the manor. He
still wore an invisibility cloak, though it was filthy enough to be useless.
But the sight gave Yaxley pause - who among their enemies had an
invisibility cloak?
Certainly not the Bones women.
"Shit," he said to no one. "It's Potter!"
"Potter did this?" exclaimed one of the newer death eaters. "Fuck!" Before
Yaxley could stop him, the rookie was stabbing his dark mark with his
wand.
Yaxley pulled the death eater's wand hand away from the mark with a
crushing grip, but it was too late. "What have you done?" hissed Yaxley
angrily.
The young death eater looked up, surprised at the reaction. "Potter's here,
the Dark Lord can come and end everything tonight!"
"Yes, the Dark Lord will come, and find half his force laying bleeding or
dead." Yaxley stepped closer to the death eater. "The Dark Lord does not
reward failure."
"No, Yaxley, I do not." All eyes turned to see the black-cloaked form of
Lord Voldemort.
oOoOoOoOo
Madam Bones had taken over the Lord's Study when she became the
Regent Bones. The study faced the front courtyard of the manor, allowing
Lord Bones to see visitors as they approach the main entrance. The only
way in or out - apart from the windows - was a long hallway that
bisected the uppermost floor of the manor.
The Colonel was in that hallway, moving old desks and cabinets into
some sort of cover, when he heard Amelia's shout from the study.
"They're in the house!" Her voice carried worry and anger in equal
measure, and an urgency that saw Mark Ramsay turning and running
back to the study.
"Did they get past Harry?" he asked as he entered.
"No." Susan did not look up from her place near the window as she spoke.
Ramsay saw that she was tagging another of the death eaters with the
laser, while using the scope to watch the battle.
"Then it's the six in back?" Ramsay asked.
"The back door was destroyed," Amelia's voice confirmed. She was still in
the back room, working with the wardstone.
Ramsay nodded, his mind working through the scenario as rapidly as it
could. Then he was moving back to the hallway. "Susan, you're with me."
Susan put the scope down, but did not move to follow. "I can't leave my
Aunt," she said angrily.
"I know," he replied, keeping his voice as even as he could. "But if they
get this far, they can simply blast the ward room, and they win. Our only
chance is to give her time to work."
Susan cast a quick glance toward the door to the back room, and
considered asking her aunt what to do. But then she thought about Harry
outside, and what he was doing to the death eaters. She thought about
the lessons she had had with the DA, and later with just Harry.
And she knew, with certainty, that Colonel Ramsay was not going to be
able to stand against six wizards, no matter how good his muggle tricks
were. He needed a wand at his side. Her aunt needed them both to give
her the time she needed.
"Alright," she said, turning to the Colonel. "What do we do?"
Ramsay looked at the teenager, as if reappraising her. "We're making a
kill zone, Susan," he said, watching her closely. "Anyone who enters that
hallway is a target."
Susan nodded. "They're going to kill my family, Colonel," she said, with
determination. "Or worse."
"I'm not going to let that happen." Ramsay said.
"I know," she replied. Her eyes met his, and he heard the steel in her
voice. "Neither am I."
oOoOoOoOo
Striking from stealth, servicing targets who did not know he was even
there, had allowed Harry Potter to take down a dozen death eaters -
permanently. Several others had escaped, and two more had attempted to
flee before being stunned by their own comrades.
To hell with a fair fight, he had said earlier. Their leader tried to kill me as a
toddler. Susan had had no answer to that.
But without that stealth, standing as one wizard versus the remaining
half dozen was not good tactics. He was confident in his skills and his
training - otherwise he wouldn't be out here. But he wasn't suicidal. So he
withdrew as quickly as he could back to Bones Manor.
He had almost made it to the front doors when he heard the metallic
clang of locks closing. The shimmer of magic across the door told him
that someone had used a locking charm.
"So eager to run away, Mister Potter?" The high voice behind him could
only belong to one wizard. Turning, Harry looked at the Dark Lord as he
walked calmly across the courtyard.
Pulling off the invisibility cloak, Harry stashed it in its pouch on his belt.
His wand remained in his hand, but at his side. As before, every minute
he spent letting the Dark Lord monologue was another minute that
Amelia had to break the anti-portkey wards and escape.
Looking down, Harry saw blood on Voldemort's bare feet. Unable to
resist, he looked at the approaching figure and grinned.
"I think you stepped in one of your mates, Tom." He said, inclining his
head toward Voldemort's feet.
Voldemort replied with a sinister grin of his own. "I have so looked
forward to killing you, Potter." He tilted his head, his red eyes gleaming
in the darkness. "And now I get to do it twice."
"Maybe, maybe not," answered Harry, with as much nonchalance as he
could muster.
"They discarded you for your brother, Potter," Voldemort said with a
sneer. "And still you fight for them? I knew you were a fool, but that
surprises even me."
He did not expect the chuckle that was Harry's reply. "Did you not read
the notices, Heir Gaunt? Did you not even take a basic interest in an
Ancient and Most Noble House declaring a blood feud on you?" Off the
growing anger on Voldemort's face, Harry pressed on. "Where in those
notices did I say that I fought for anyone but myself?"
"I have no need to listen to the babbling of a child lord." Voldemort said,
dismissively.
"Then you're a fool, Tom Riddle." Harry said, coldly. "You enslaved how
many dozens of purebloods to your service?" Harry gestured toward the
battlefield. "Do they realize yet that you signed their death warrant?"
"What of you, Potter?" Voldemort spat. "You've hidden behind
Dumbledore for years. You can do nothing unless you're behind his
robes."
"Dumbledore is many things, Tom." Harry agreed, noticing how the use of
the Dark Lord's birth name infuriated him once again. He knew this was a
risk, but he had no other option. "But do you know the most important
thing about Dumble Dumble Dumbledore, with his fancy hat and Lima
Four?"
"What?" Voldemort asked, angrily, ignoring Harry's nonsensical words.
Harry gave the Dark Lord his best grin. "He's not here."
oOoOoOoOo
"Lima Four" said the coins at Ramsay's belt.
"Shit," said Ramsay. "Delta!" he shouted as loud as he could, hoping that
his voice reached the study.
Susan heard the sound of the portkey, and nodded to the Colonel, who
relaxed a bit. He toppled another cabinet, giving Susan the signal to cast
impervious charms on it. This was the third piece of cover they had
ready, and each would allow them to fight back when the death eaters
came - Ramsay with his pistol and Susan with shields and other jinxes.
"They're upstairs!" came a shout from the entrance hall. The death eaters
had heard his signal.
"Here they come," muttered Ramsay. By long habit, he drew his weapon
and readied himself.
oOoOoOoOo
Voldemort was completely unprepared for the blast of light, and shielded
his eyes much as his death eaters had done. The potion exploded above
and behind Harry, as that potion had been intended to cover his retreat.
Unimpeded, he sent two cutting curses at the Dark Lord.
Even blinded, Voldemort was a master duelist. His wordless shield easily
blocked the two curses he hadn't even seen. Then he returned fire with
three reductos of his own - one at the spot where Harry's voice had been,
and two more on either side. Even without seeing his target, he was
trying to catch his dodge.
A shield of Harry's own parried the middle curse, and Harry reminded
himself not to underestimate the wizard in front of him.
More curses were exchanged, the banter having ended. Harry focused on
quick spells, never casting something complex when a simple spell would
do the job. This also helped him cast more rapidly, which worked to keep
Voldemort on the defensive as he moved and shielded. Voldemort, for his
part, seemed to be casting darker and darker curses at Harry as his
frustration mounted. Shielding against such curses took much more
energy than usual, which is why they were so dangerous, as they could
easily break a shield if one wasn't careful.
Despite himself, Voldemort found himself impressed - the boy was doing
much better than he had expected. Of course, that was the idea - for
while he was occupied out here, his remaining death eaters would be
completing their mission inside the manor. He had, after all, promised
Nagini a feast, and the Bones witch and her niece would do nicely.
The Dark Lord sneered again, as he sidestepped another curse. What
would young Harry's reaction be when he realized that he had won the
battle but lost the war?
oOoOoOoOo
Susan finished with the aguamenti charm just as footsteps began
thumping up the staircase. The rug at the end of the hallway was
saturated with water, and she hoped that it would allow her to replicate
a trick Harry had pulled at DA.
After all, few wizards wore shoes with rubber soles. Fewer still would
notice the small bottles of red potion sitting along the wall.
The first pair of death eaters came around the corner, and grinned as
they saw their prey. Susan erected a shield as their curses flew, allowing
Ramsay to brace himself against an old bookcase and take careful aim
downrange.
"Oh, the muggle's gonna fight us? What's he gonna do, you think?"
cackled one death eater. Ramsay said nothing, but did adjust his aim to
the right.
"Dunno, mate," said the other. "But I know what the girl's gonna do."
Susan must have shown her disgust at the pair, for they laughed at her
and stepped forward.
A loud bang came from Ramsay's pistol, accompanied by a brief flame.
The only sound that followed was the tinkling noise of a small casing
striking the bookcase, and then the wet thud of the first death eater
falling to the ground.
When the second death eater looked at his comrade, he saw that the
man's head was a ruined mess of blood and gore. He turned back to the
muggle, raising his wand, but it was too late.
Again, Ramsay took aim, and again his pistol barked out its report. Three
shots in rapid succession struck the death eater, two in the chest and one
in the head. Any one of them would have been fatal. He joined his
comrade on the ground.
"Sloppy," muttered Ramsay. Susan looked at him, shock still etched onto
her face. Seeing her expression, the Colonel shrugged. "You always aim
for the biggest target. I should have gotten the first one in the chest."
"Why didn't you?" Susan asked.
Another shrug. "I guess he just made me mad."
The next two death eaters, seeing the corpses, were far more cautious.
Without a word, they began peppering the defenders with spellfire.
Susan's shield held, but it took more of her effort to keep it up. In turn,
Ramsay learned that a protego shield would only deflect a bullet, rather
than stopping it. Each shot he fired that struck the shield ended up in the
walls.
As the death eaters advanced, Ramsay heard the squishing sound their
boots made in the wet carpet. He glanced over at Susan, who nodded,
before taking aim at the small potion sitting against the wall. With one
shot, the red liquid burst out, throwing sparks of electricity as it splashed.
Where it struck the rug, jolts of lightning shot out and struck anything
they could.
The corpses, being dead, were unaffected. The death eaters, on the other
hand, immediately fell to the ground. Without their shields, they were
unable to prevent the Colonel from attacking, and they soon joined their
mates.
The final two death eaters saw the bodies, and decided to allow the Dark
Lord's familiar to take the lead. Nagini, impatient for her meal, slithered
right past the bodies and directly toward the muggle and the child.
Ramsay, who was reloading, looked up at Susan's shouted curse. Seeing
the monstrous snake charging right for their position, the Colonel did the
only thing he could - he grabbed Susan and threw her to the ground.
Before she could object, the bookcase they had been hiding behind
exploded, showering them with splinters of wood. Nagini, not one for
subtlety, had blown right through the barrier. Now she was between
them and the study, coiled and ready to strike.
Unfortunately for the Dark Lord's familiar, snakes cannot cast shields.
Ramsay took careful aim at her head, and unloaded five shots.
Nagini had turned to regard the muggle in his odd clothing, and did not
recognize the piece of black metal in the man's hand. It would be a fatal
mistake, as a moment later her head was destroyed by gunfire.
Ramsay was unprepared for a black cloud to rise out of the ruined corpse.
The spirit form of what had to be the Dark Lord screamed incoherently at
them, before vanishing.
"Holy shit," was Ramsay's only reply.
Susan, who had turned back toward the remaining death eaters, said
nothing. After a moment, she heard the thumping of footsteps going back
down the stairs, and sighed. "They ran," she said.
"For now," he replied.
oOoOoOoOo
Voldemort raised a shield just in time to deflect the knife that the Potter
boy had thrown his way. It proved unnecessary, however, as the knife
missed him by a wide margin.
Shaking his head disapprovingly, Voldemort looked at the tiring boy in
front of him. "You're getting sloppy, Mister Potter."
Harry shrugged at that, catching his breath. He also pulled his wand to
his chest, as if yanking on a rope. Voldemort did not notice the odd
motion, nor did he notice the knife he had dismissed as it paused in mid-
air and flew back towards its owner.
He did see the boy take several steps to his right.
"Sometimes, Tom, the simple tricks are the best ones." Harry replied.
It was at that moment that Voldemort cried out. The returning knife had
stabbed him in the back, just below his left shoulder.
Voldemort turned his wand on Harry, the killing curse on his lips. Before
he could cast, however, he heard spellfire behind him.
"That will be the aurors, I'd guess," Harry said. "You've failed."
Voldemort ignored the pain in his shoulder as he gave Harry another
sneer. "Are you so certain, Mister Potter?" He laughed as Harry's face fell.
"You should have done a better job of protecting the Bones woman, boy."
With that, he apparated away.
Yaxley managed to escape as well, but the rest of the death eaters were
stunned by the attackers. As the newcomers cleared the trees, they saw
Harry running toward the manor.
"What the hell is he doing here?" spat James Potter. He looked over to
Dumbledore, and saw that the Headmaster didn't know either.
"He was here with Susan," said Sirius Black.
"What, does Amelia's niece go in for murderers, now?" asked Dedalus
Diggle. "Look at the bodies, Albus."
"I see, Dedalus," said Dumbledore.
A blast drew their attention to the manor, where Harry had completely
destroyed the doors rather than attempt to unlock them. Without
pausing, the boy rushed inside, presumably to check on the Bones family.
"This," said Albus Dumbledore, "could be a problem."
A/N: Keeping track of all the moving parts in a large battle - even
where one side basically has a single fighter - is always a challenge.
I am hopeful that I pulled it off here.
The coins used for portkeys are American silver dollars, with
President Eisenhower on one side and the Apollo 11 mission patch
(with an eagle landing on the moon) on the other. I assume that
galleons might be resistant to charms such as portkeys and such,
and used muggle coins to dodge that issue. Hermione's DA coins are
specifically false galleons, as I recall, but here Harry wanted larger
coins that covered most of the potion bottle's opening. And these
particular silver dollars are bloody massive, so.
Colonel Ramsay's sidearm is a Sig Sauer P226, favored by (among
others) the British Army and SAS. It's not strictly relevant, as such,
but if it helps visualize the scene, there are videos on youtube
depicting this exact pistol being fired and serviced and whatnot. It
is consistent with a British military sidearm in mid 1996, which was
my goal.
Pansy has been recovering from her injuries at Rookwood's house,
and both have been quiet for a few chapters now. Writing scene-
focused chapters, rather than "This all happened in one day"
chapters, means that I don't get to check in with everyone - but
they'll show up next chapter. As will the Potters and the Order, who
clearly have thoughts.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
20. The Mountaintop
Neville Longbottom was the only one still awake when Daisy arrived at
Potter Manor that night.
He had spoken with Trevor for about half an hour at Susan's party, and
the brothers had come to something of an understanding.
To Neville's surprise, the two were much more alike than he had
expected. Being raised by his gran, who had to carry the load on her
own, he knew that his childhood had to be vastly different from Trevor's.
After all, his brother had had not only his parents, but a best friend in
Jamie and a set of godparents in the Potters. In short, he had had
everything that Neville had coveted his whole life.
It was clear that Trevor and Jamie were friends - and that Trevor was not
just along for the ride because Jamie was supposedly the boy-who-lived
or the chosen one or whatever. Later in the day, when Neville had seen
Jamie and Trevor bantering back and forth, the exchanges had almost
seemed like his interactions with Harry.
So, where did that leave the Longbottoms? Trevor had no idea, as Frank
and Alice (and the Potters) tended to meet with the Order most evenings,
and the boys were not invited to those meetings - yet. When Trevor had
asked what their father planned to do to reconcile the issues within their
family, Lord Longbottom had scowled and walked away.
It was disappointing to Neville, that the image of the man he had built
over the years had been so inaccurate. But then again, if Frank
Longbottom had been the straightforward and honourable man Neville
had thought him to be, none of this would have happened in the first
place.
Before parting ways, Neville had given Trevor the same warning Harry
had delivered to his parents. He placed himself personally at House
Potter's side in the blood feud, and told Trevor that he had sworn an oath
to that effect. He would not be in a position to tolerate any interference
on the part of House Longbottom on that point.
Trevor had asked if he would remove himself from the family, if it came
down to it. If pressed, would he choose Harry Potter over his own family?
Neville said nothing. That Neville's response was not an immediate no
told Trevor how serious his brother was. Neville had turned out to be
nothing like he had been told, and that - even more than the events of
their reunion - made him wonder what else his parents had gotten wrong.
They parted amicably, with an agreement to meet at some point before
the end of the summer, but the whole conversation weighed on Neville's
mind hours later.
He was sitting in his room, looking out at the night sky, when Daisy
arrived.
"Death eaters are attacking the Bonses!" she shouted. Neville's eyes
snapped to the little elf, already in her uniform. The style and color of
the fatigues told him what was happening, and her words nailed down
the specifics - Bones Manor was under siege.
"Where's Harry?" Neville asked, standing up and moving to his wardrobe.
"Master Harry and the Colonels are preparing to defend the house.
Mistress Susan is helping protect her auntie." Daisy's report was as
succinct as she could make it, and it had taken practice to get the elves to
speak quickly and clearly when time was of the essence. That didn't stop
Neville from smiling to himself at the mention of Mistress Susan.
"Wards?"
"They're blocking everything but elveses. The dark ones are draining the
stones from the north, and have more of them to the south to stop a
runner," she replied.
Neville laced up his boots as he considered the situation. "How many?" he
asked.
"Two dozens attacking from north, six blocking the south." She paused,
then popped away. Harry must have called her.
By the time she returned, Neville was combat-ready. He walked out into
the hallway, and saw that Ron and Luna had already gotten their gear
ready, and were waiting for him.
"Do we call the aurors?" Ron asked, wasting no time.
Neville started to answer, then paused. They knew that at least a few
death eaters had infiltrated the DMLE, for what better target was there
for an insurgent terrorist force than the nation's law enforcement arm?
Harry and Neville had debated this point over and over - could they trust
the aurors as a body? It only took one spy to misdirect a message or
prevent a deployment, after all.
"Daisy?" Neville asked. The elf appeared after a moment's pause. "Can
they get out using the floo?"
"No, Mister Longbottomses," said Daisy.
"What is Harry's plan?" asked Ginny, as she walked up to the group, still
pulling on her gloves.
"The Colonels and Harry be setting up a kill zone to the north, Miss
Ginny."
"And if we go there, we'll be in the way." said Ron, his expression
thoughtful.
The elf nodded vigorously. "Master called it a rich target place, sirs."
"Target rich environment," corrected Hermione, absently. "So we go
south."
"We go south, and sweep toward the manor. How close can we get,
Daisy?" asked Neville.
Daisy frowned. "A bit further than the back fence here."
Of course, the backyard would be much deeper than the front - Bones
Manor was not a large farming estate like some other wizarding manors
were. It was simply a large residence, with room for several families. It
made sense that the death eaters would put their wards up to match or
overlay the existing wards - which meant that they could either show up
in the middle of a firefight, getting in Harry's way, or come overland
from the rear and surprise the six death eaters held in reserve.
Neville thought for a moment, then nodded. "So, a bit over a mile and a
half overland. We can do that."
"Brooms?" asked Ron. They could cover that distance quickly, but brooms
would be quicker still.
Hermione answered that question as she walked up, satchel of potions in
hand. "They'd see us coming, and warn the others. We need to sneak up
on them."
"Agreed," said Neville. He looked around the group, and saw that the
others were as ready as they could be. "Last question, do we tell the
Order? Or the Aurors?"
Luna grinned back at him. "Why not both?"
oOoOoOoOo
The meeting of the Order that night was uncomfortable at best.
Despite the clear tension between Sirius and James, the Order continued
to meet in the basement of Grimmauld Place. Sirius wanted to keep a
close eye on the Order, and this gave him the perfect means to do so.
Remus and Tonks, both privately disgusted with the Potters, gave him
two more sets of eyes and ears in the room - useful when he was not
present. Already they had heard grumblings about his dual role as Lord
Black and Potter Proxy from James.
Privately, Sirius had made his choice - he would support Harry all the
way. Publicly, however, he was taking a more moderate approach, acting
cautious but welcoming to the Potters and Longbottoms, even as he
served as Harry's proxy in the Wizengamot. Keeping the Order in his
home - and under his wards - helped to keep him informed about who
was saying what to whom.
Frank and Alice Longbottom had been revealed to the members, much as
James and Lily had been weeks before. The reunion was much less of a
shock than that of the Potters, for news about the Longbottoms'
miraculous recovery had been in the Prophet for the past week. Even so,
it was obvious that their reception was muted at best, a fact that seemed
to bother James and Dumbledore.
Their son Trevor had been mentioned, but did not attend the meeting -
nor did Jamie Potter.
Lily Potter had arrived late, and sat next to Alice in the back of the room.
She had been visibly upset about something, though it was unclear what
that might be. Her husband had a look of worry when she entered, but
said nothing.
Sirius Black also watched her enter, and sighed. He had a pretty good
idea what his old friend was upset about, seeing as it was Susan Bones'
sixteenth birthday. If James and Lily thought that Susan was still
betrothed to Jamie, then today would've been the day for Susan to find
out. Harry had not expected them to make a play for the betrothal, but
Sirius would put very little past the Potters at this point.
They both trusted Amelia to put Lily in her place, and it appears that she
did exactly that.
James and the Headmaster were reading from a list they had made of
known death eaters - some new and some old. As they went down the
line, Kingsley Shacklebolt interrupted them a surprising number of times.
"That one died in Crawley last week," was a common refrain, right up
until James asked him to explain how so many death eaters died in one
place at one time.
Kingsley shrugged. "They attacked the home of a half-blood wizard, in
force, after breaking his wards. He took exception to that. Shortly after
entering, the death eaters triggered a trap of some sort, and fourteen of
them were incinerated when the house exploded."
Everyone stared at the auror. Finally, Dedalus Diggle cleared his throat.
"And which half-blood wizard owned the house, Kingsley?"
Sirius and Kingsley shared a glance, before the auror replied. "Lord Harry
Potter, Dedalus."
"Of fucking course it was," grumbled James.
Dumbledore looked annoyed at the news for the briefest instant, before
returning to his calm, passive expression. The change was incredibly
subtle, but Sirius and Remus both caught it. Now that they knew what to
look for, they knew that Harry had been right about the Headmaster.
The meeting continued, and Sirius noted that a surprising amount of
discussion focused on ways to block legislation in the Wizengamot.
Several of the remaining dark families were taking advantage of Minister
Fudge's continued tenure in office to push through laws that would help
Voldemort's cause. Taxes on muggleborns, additional restrictions on
creatures, and so forth.
What concerned Sirius was that some of Dumbledore's proposals, always
supported by James and Dedalus, would only matter once the war ended.
With Voldemort as a threat, was it really necessary to fight changes to
tariffs?
An hour into the meeting, Kingsley excused himself, saying that he had
been summoned through his auror badge. Dumbledore sighed at the
weary faces around the table, and sat back in his chair. "This is as good a
stopping place as any, it would seem. Let's take fifteen minutes to refresh
ourselves."
The room quickly emptied, leaving only the Headmaster, James, Frank,
and Dedalus. Once the basement door closed, Dumbledore smiled.
"Alright, boys, you can come out now."
From the far end of the room, behind the training dummies, and Jamie
and Trevor appeared. Sheepishly, they walked over to the table and had a
seat across from their respective parents.
"That was an impressive disillusionment charm, Mister Potter,"
Dumbledore said kindly.
"Thank you, sir." was the quiet reply.
The adults regarded the students, and the students in turn regarded the
adults. Presently, Dumbledore inclined his head at Jamie. "You have
concerns."
Jamie nodded. "I feel like I should be doing more, Headmaster. If I'm to
be the Boy Who Lived, I guess I need to know what that means, exactly."
Albus nodded sagely. "It is wise to know what you're walking into,
always."
"It's what my mum would do," Jamie replied, not thinking about how
many times his mother had been surprised since their return. "Sir, you
talked a lot about the Wizengamot, and I wanted to know if we were
doing anything to fight Voldemort there, instead of finding his hideouts
and learning his plans and so on."
The Headmaster looked closely at the boy, as if evaluating him. Was the
boy ready to know the plan? Could they afford not to tell him? What if Harry
got to him first?
"Jamie, my boy," Albus began. "You have to understand that we are in a
war. Do you know what the purpose of war is, Mister Potter?"
Jamie nodded, this had been hammered into him ever since his lessons
began to focus on the Ministry and recent history. "War is politics by
other means, sir."
"Exactly," said Dumbledore, happily. "Exactly right, my boy. In Britain we
have the Light families and the Dark families. Some remain neutral, but
most follow one or the other of those groups. Now, look at the first war -
it was Dark families who followed the Dark Lord, but Light families who
opposed him." He leaned forward in his chair, looking closely at Jamie.
"In other words, politics by other means."
"And you are the leader of the Light, Headmaster?" interjected Trevor.
Dumbledore nodded. "For now, yes."
Jamie and Trevor shared a glance. "For now, sir?"
Again, Dumbledore nodded. "No one lives forever, my boys. Someday, I
will retire and step aside in favor of the younger generation. But I can't
do that until I know that the Light will continue to guide Wizarding
Britain after I am gone."
"Who would take your place, then?" asked Jamie.
"Oh," mused Dumbledore. "We would need someone whose magic is
unquestionably light, who believes in everything that our faction holds
dear, and who has spent literally their entire life preparing to fight
against the darkness." As he spoke, his twinkling eyes focused on Jamie.
The surprise was clear on Jamie's face. "What?"
Another nod. "Yes, Jamie, when I retire I intend for you to succeed me."
This was nowhere near what Jamie expected to hear, and he couldn't
keep the shock out of his voice. "I don't even sit on the Wizengamot, how
would I succeed you? That doesn't make sense."
James spoke up. "Once you take the Potter seat, and once you've defeated
Voldemort, the nation will rally around you, just as they did the
headmaster in the 40's."
Harry will love that, Jamie thought to himself. He looked at his father, and
realized that James had known this part of the plan from the beginning.
"You plan to remove Harry from the seat," he said. It was not a question.
"Your seat," James replied, calmly.
Jamie looked from the Headmaster to his father, and back. "You want to
remove the Lord of my house, to install my father, and eventually myself,
in a seat on the Wizengamot."
James sighed. "He's no Lord, Jamie. It's a fluke of magic that he holds the
ring."
"Dad, for better or worse, he does hold that ring." He looked at his father,
shaking his head. "After your last encounter with the family magic, are
you really eager to test him again so soon?"
This is not going where it needs to, thought Dumbledore. "Jamie, my boy,
Harry took up the Lordship as a means to an end. Nothing more."
Jamie stared at the Headmaster. Were they talking about the same Harry
Potter? "Based on everything I've seen and heard since coming back, he is
fighting for the Light, sir."
"So he says," Dumbledore allowed. "But young Harry is fighting to end
this war, and that is all. Once you have ended it for him, he will be free
to live a normal life." The grandfatherly smile had returned, and
Dumbledore's voice was calm and reassuring. "But there will still be work
to be done."
Jamie finally put the pieces together. "You're not working on winning just
this war," he said, almost in a whisper.
"No, my boy," replied Dumbledore. "Harry wants to win the war? Fine, let
him try. Even the Dark is focused on taking power by force. But we know
how important it is that Wizarding Britain be guided by the Light. While
they scramble to end this battle, we are setting the stage for winning all
future battles."
"You want to win the peace," said Trevor, amazed at the audacity of the
plan. "That's why we hid, isn't it?"
Dumbledore nodded. "When the dust settles, the Light will again have
saved this nation from itself. And the wizard they will have to thank for
it is you, Jamie. When you ascend to the leadership of the Wizengamot,
you will stand at the beginning of a golden age for Wizarding Britain."
His eyes twinkled as he spoke, pride in his voice. "That golden age will be
built, led, and controlled by the Light. Maybe for a century, if you handle
things correctly."
"And you'll be there to tell me how to handle things correctly, won't
you?" asked a very quiet Jamie, wondering who would answer.
James smiled indulgently. "Of course, Jamie, we will never abandon
you."
Jamie was proud of his control, in that moment, for he did not look up to
glare at his father. Of course you won't abandon me, you already did that to
Harry and see how it turned out.
That thought brought another question to mind. "Harry said that being
the boy-who-lived had been difficult, that he was alternately praised and
hated, most of the time for reasons beyond his control." Jamie looked at
his father, searchingly. "How do we know that that won't happen to me?"
James and Dumbledore shared a look, before the Headmaster spoke in a
quiet voice. "Jamie, your brother is a complex young man. He has the
capacity for great good, but just as great is his potential for darkness. His
schoolmates have seen some of this, and that is why he has had his…
difficulties, I suppose you might say."
"He's my twin, sir," said Jamie. "Would I not have that same potential? In
either direction?"
James shook his head. "You've spent close to fifteen years dedicated to
being the best light wizard you can be. Between that single-minded focus
and your inevitable defeat of the dark lord, there is no one who could
question your place as Leader of the Light."
Trevor could hear the capital letters in the title, and the reverence with
which Jamie's father used the term. Glancing over at Jamie, he could see
that his friend's expression was very carefully neutral - but that his body
language spoke of great uncertainty. No surprise, there, he thought.
"And Harry…" Jamie's voice trailed off at the pained look on James' face.
"Harry isn't suitable for this, Jamie." His father ground out the statement
without the usual anger that accompanied any mention of his younger
son, but the tension in the man was present nonetheless.
"For any number of reasons, my boy, it has to be you." Dumbledore said.
Jamie nodded, as if accepting the burden. He hoped against hope that
none of the adults could sense the turmoil of his emotions in that
moment. "This is a lot to take in, Headmaster," he said quietly.
Dumbledore nodded, his entire demeanor radiating good humor. "Of
course, Jamie, of course. We all understand that. Why don't you and
Trevor head upstairs and have some refreshments, while we finish up
down here."
"Of course," Jamie said, and the boys stood. "Thank you for being honest
with me, Headmaster."
That brought a smile to Dumbledore's face. "No, Jamie, thank you."
oOoOoOoOo
In the Lord's study, Sirius Black looked across his desk at Remus Lupin.
Between them, the mirror continued to show the training room, where
now the Headmaster was speaking quietly with Dedalus. Frank and
James had left, presumably to get something to eat with the others.
Without warning, the mirror cut out. Remus glanced down at it,
wondering what had happened.
Sirius, however, just shrugged. "One of them mentioned something that is
hidden under Fidelius. The mirror can't pass it along unless we're all in on
the secret, which we're clearly not. So it shuts off."
"I think we've heard enough, don't you?" Tonks growled from across the
room. She was pacing angrily, her hair a bright shade of red.
"Oh yes," replied Sirius. "We've heard plenty."
"Harry's going to lose his mind over this," Remus observed.
"The instant James slapped Harry, they were on a collision course. It was
only a matter of time." Sirius shook his head sadly. "This doesn't sound
like the James we knew at all."
Remus looked uncomfortable at that. "I'm not so sure." Off Sirius' look, he
continued. "I mean, he always talked about using the Potter vote to
combat the dark, didn't he? I figured he'd work with his father, but then
the war escalated and before we knew it the Potters were dead or in
hiding." He sighed heavily. "All this seems too much, though. Hiding for
fifteen years, leaving Harry, you, all of it - just to take over for
Dumbledore?"
"Don't forget the Longbottoms, either," added Tonks, still pacing. "James
gets power, what do they get?"
"Trevor Longbottom would be the trusted right hand of the chosen one,"
Sirius replied, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Where a Potter goes, a
Longbottom follows."
"I haven't spent much time with the kid," said Tonks, "But that doesn't
sound like him, exactly."
"No, it doesn't," agreed Sirius. "That was something Neville said to Harry,
when they decided to start their training."
Remus started to say something, only to be interrupted by a knock at the
door. He met Sirius' eyes, and gave him a quizzical look. "Time already?"
"No," said Sirius. Raising his voice, he called out to the visitor. "Come!"
At his word, the door unlocked, and a worried Kingsley Shacklebolt
entered.
He did not wait for preliminaries, but dove right into his report. "Bones
Manor is under attack."
Sirius and Remus both stood. "What happened?"
Kingsley held up the mirror. "Tell them what you told me, Neville."
oOoOoOoOo
"How certain is this, Mister Longbottom?" asked Kingsley Shacklebolt.
The boy's face certainly looked serious - or as serious as a small face can
look when shown in a handheld mirror delivered by an elf. But if there
were an attack on the Director, Kingsley would have expected an all-
hands alert, and there had been none.
On the other hand, Neville had been able to signal Kingsley through his
badge - something that Director Bones must have arranged, probably in
support of Harry. She had not instructed him to breach protocol to assist
Lord Potter and his team, but it was clear that their activities had her
tacit approval. When Kingsley had stepped out to answer the message, an
elf had appeared and handed him the mirror - and there had been the
face of Neville Longbottom.
So, for now, he'd listen.
"It's confirmed, Mister Shacklebolt," Neville replied, keeping his tone in
line with a junior auror reporting in. The formal address reinforced that
impression, and made him that much more likely to listen - which was
probably why the boy had used it. "We have word from Harry via an elf.
Two dozen death eaters attacking from the north, another six at the south
blocking the back exit. They were hammering the wards as of five
minutes ago, but by now the wards have probably fallen."
"Madam Bones has a protective detail." replied Kingsley. "Why haven't
they reported in? Their badges will work through pretty much any
wards."
Neville looked pained. "They would, sir, if one of the two aurors on duty
hadn't been a death eater. He killed his partner, and then made an
attempt on the Director."
Kingsley's eyes grew wide. "Did she survive?"
"She did," Neville reported. "She was meeting in her study with the
Muggle Liaison to the DLME at the time. He assisted her in neutralizing
the threat." No one noticed the brief glance Sirius and Remus shared at
the mention of a muggle, both knowing exactly which muggle it had to
be.
"Awfully late for a business meeting," Kingsley remarked. A very few
muggles were legally allowed to know about magic, usually those who
had direct contact with the Ministry. It was unusual for one to meet with
their opposite number at a wizarding home - unusual, but not impossible.
Neville shrugged, saying nothing. Harry still didn't want Colonel
Ramsay's relation to House Potter known, if at all possible. The Prime
Minister had given them the perfect cover when he officially informed
the Colonel about magic, and they would use that cover as long as they
could.
Kingsley looked to Sirius and Remus. "If we can't trust the aurors, then
that leaves the order - and we just happen to be meeting right now."
There was no time to debate the matter, and Neville had to act quickly.
Even with a plan and surprise, Harry could not hold out forever. They
needed to get him some support. "I don't like it, but if the Order is able to
help, we could use you."
Tonks walked back into the study, wearing her auror robes. "Kings, the
attack is happening as we speak, right?" Off Kingsley's nod, she
continued. "And Neville said that their Floo was disconnected?" Another
nod.
Sirius' eyes widened at the prospect. "You want to raid the Floo office."
"We'll never have a better shot," she replied. "We always find out hours
later, when everything is back to normal and the duty team has 'fixed' the
problem. But if we can catch them in the act…" her voice trailed off as
Kingsley grinned.
"I'm in," he said. "We have two dozen order members here, they can back
Harry's play. But the Order can't check on the Floo office."
Remus got it now. "Whereas two aurors can."
"Exactly."
oOoOoOoOo
In the basement, only two Order members remained.
"I wonder," began Dedalus Diggle, "if we should not have just left the
Potters and Longbottoms at Falcon's Rest for a while longer."
Dumbledore hoped he did not look as tired as he felt, but the events of
the summer so far had been taxing. "The Ministry attack was the perfect
moment, Dedalus," he said. "It was not as we planned, but it served our
needs."
"Mostly," the old wizard said, looking over his glasses at the Headmaster.
"Mostly," Dumbledore allowed.
"And young Mister Potter," Dedalus continued. "Do you think he will be
the one we need?"
Dumbledore looked over to his friend, and nodded. There was only one
Mister Potter that mattered, after all. "We have spent fifteen years
shaping Jamie into the perfect Light wizard. Every lesson, every exercise,
every interaction, has built to this moment."
"No one knows that better than I, Albus," Diggle said, without heat.
This was an old argument between them. The Headmaster had always
played the long game, and risked planning too far ahead. His ultimate
battle against Grindelwald, for example, could have happened years
earlier had different choices been made early in the war. Diggle always
looked for a better way, which usually meant a quicker way.
Every day that the war continued, witches and wizards died. Ending it
with haste was in everyone's interest, no matter which side of the war
they served.
"Then you should keep the faith, my old friend," said Dumbledore, his
voice once again filled with calm confidence. "James Potter, Junior, will
be the ideal weapon of the Light."
"We can only hope," Diggle replied. Then he had a thought that brought a
look of concern to his face. "Albus, will Hogwarts be safe this term? With
both Potters vying for position?"
"Of course," the Headmaster said, nodding. "Your granddaughter still
plans to transfer to Hogwarts for her OWLs, doesn't she?"
Diggle nodded. "I won't have her in the crossfire between James and
Harry." He did not mention which James he meant, for he did not know
what James senior would do once Harry was safely in the castle and
away from the war.
The door to the basement opened, surprising both men. The Headmaster's
privacy and locking charms should have prevented that - but then they
saw Sirius Black, and knew that he had invoked the house's own wards to
bypass the Headmaster's charms.
One look at Sirius' face, and they knew something had happened.
"Bones Manor is under attack," reported the Lord Black.
oOoOoOoOo
Harry Potter had not heard the Order approach from the north, had not
cared who was responding to the attack. All he knew was that Voldemort
had struck at Susan and Amelia while he was busy dueling.
After all of this, to lose either of them - or both! - was utterly
unthinkable. Harry sprinted into the manor with his wand out and a
promise of death for anyone who stood between him and the Bones
family.
Before he could make it to the staircase, he heard boots entering the rear
of the manor. His wand came up, preparing to strike, before he heard the
voices of the intruders.
"Friendly!" shouted Neville Longbottom. It was an unmistakable word,
and not one that the enemy would be likely to know to use. Neville had
heard the blast that took out the front door, and knew Harry was coming
- and he knew that Harry would be in a mood to shoot first and ask
questions later.
"Friendly!" replied Harry, automatically. "Upstairs study, Amelia and
Susan and the Colonel were up there." Without slowing, he started taking
the stairs two at a time.
"Were?" asked Ginny.
"Be ready for anything," Neville said, as the team moved to follow.
oOoOoOoOo
When Albus Dumbledore and several members of the Order of the
Phoenix entered Bones Manor, they found Harry Potter sitting at the
bottom of the grand staircase, one arm around Susan Bones. The other
arm was being tended to by Ginny Weasley, of all people. Neville
Longbottom and Ron Weasley were standing nearby, wands out, as if
they expected more death eaters to attack.
Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood were levitating five fallen death
eaters down to the ground floor. Rather than force everyone to move off
of the stairs, they were simply lowering the bodies down off of the
landing. Dumbledore did not get a close enough look at the bodies to
identify them, but he could clearly see that all four were quite dead -
killed by piercing hexes of some sort.
When coupled with the bodies strewn across the front lawn of Bones
Manor, it painted a picture of a brutal fight.
The wound on Harry's shoulder was further evidence of the battle. The
boy's shoulder had a gash across it, and the skin surrounding the wound
was already purpling.
"A dark curse, Harry," Dumbledore said.
Harry looked up, as if seeing the Headmaster for the first time. Then he
chuckled. "Yeah. Hurts pretty bad, too."
"Who got you?" asked Sirius. He wanted to walk over and take care of his
godson, but knew that he had to keep his distance - at least, when the
Order was involved.
"I stepped left when I should have stepped right," Harry answered. "Tom
got a lucky shot."
Dumbledore shared a glance with Dedalus Diggle at that comment.
Voldemort was here?
"Fortunately," continued Harry, "I managed to tag him as well."
"Did the knife trick work?" asked Luna, who was still helping Hermione
move the bodies from upstairs.
"Sure did," said Harry, giving the ravenclaw a smile. "I wonder how Tom
will deal with the present we left for him."
"What present?" asked James Potter, clearly annoyed at not knowing
what was happening.
Harry looked at his father, and the smile faded from his face. "We treated
a set of throwing knives with basilisk venom, Mister Potter."
"You took an enormous risk with that, Harry," said Dumbledore.
"Not really," replied Harry, coolly, "Seeing as how I seem to be immune to
basilisk venom, thanks to Slytherin's Beast from second year."
"Still," said Dumbledore, before trailing off. He hadn't known about the
side effects of a basilisk wound mixed with phoenix tears, but he should
have. If Tom dies now, he'll just become a spirit again. The boy may have
ruined everything!
"Why didn't you call the aurors?" asked James.
Harry pointed at one of the bodies, now laid out in one corner of the
entrance hall. When the Order members looked, they saw the auror
robes. "Because the night started with that auror - who was a marked
death eater, I should add - executing his partner, and then attempting to
kill Madam Bones."
Sirius, who already knew this, watched James and the Headmaster for
their reactions. Both were surprised at the revelation that death eaters
had penetrated the DMLE. It almost made him want to shake his head -
what other department made more sense as a target, if you were
Voldemort? All that work James and Dumbledore had spent trying to
figure out who wore the mark, and there was at least one they knew
nothing about standing next to the Director of the DMLE.
"And the floo was shut down, I suppose?" commented Diggle.
"We're working on that," said Remus, getting looks from James and
Dumbledore.
Before anyone could ask what he meant, the flames in the fireplace
turned bright green. All eyes turned to the now working floo, only to see
Kingsley and Tonks step out.
"We were right," Kingsley said, carefully not mentioning if he was
reporting to Dumbledore or Harry. "The night crew in the floo office was
made up of two wizards, both wearing the mark."
"Merlin," said Diggle, shock on his face.
Harry took in the look of surprise on the face of the old wizard, and then
saw the same surprise on the face of the Headmaster. "Wait a minute, you
mean to tell me that no one thought to check the floo office when attacks
like this one keep happening? Where the floo just happens to shut itself
off right when there's an attack?"
"There's only so much that can be done, Harry…" began Dumbledore.
Possibly for the first time in his life, Kingsley interrupted the Headmaster.
"Actually, Tonks and I came up with the plan when we learned of the
attack here, Albus." He shared a look at Tonks, before continuing. "We
thought it might be our best shot at catching them in the act."
"And it was."
All eyes turned to the staircase, where Madam Amelia Bones was walking
down slowly, a large sack floating behind her. Harry was relieved to see
that the Colonel was not in evidence - he would have been portkeyed
away before the Headmaster or Minister could find him at the scene of a
death eater attack. All agreed that his involvement should be kept secret
as long as possible.
If asked, Amelia would claim that she sent him home before the shooting
began.
Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked at the Headmaster.
The Headmaster, in turn, looked back. Neither was willing to break the
silence, so in the end it was Dedalus Diggle who spoke first.
"Do you have any thoughts on Mister Potter's murder spree out front,
Madam Bones?" Diggle asked.
Amelia arched an eyebrow at that. "I'd say that I was disappointed, Lord
Diggle, simply because a few of them managed to get away."
James Potter had had enough, at this point. "He can't just be allowed to
kill people and get away with it!"
Harry kissed Susan on the forehead, and then stood up. No one missed
the gesture. He walked toward the Order members, considering how to
respond. Everyone in the entrance hall seemed to hold their breath in
anticipation.
Before he could speak, however, the fireplace glowed green once more,
and Cornelius Fudge stepped out of the floo. Aurors Dawlish and
Hightower followed him, their wands out.
The Minister was just about to begin blustering when Amelia's voice
called out, silencing him. "Dawlish! Hightower! Show me your left arms."
When both turned to look at her, she showed her wand. "Now!"
Dawlish revealed his bare forearm, having figured out what she was
after. Hightower glared at her.
"How dare you accuse me of being a death eater!" he snarled at his
Director. He did not have a chance to say anything further, for at that
moment Tonks stunned him. When he crumpled to the floor, Shacklebolt
pulled up the man's sleeve, showing no dark mark.
"He's clean," announced Shacklebolt. "Just an idiot."
"What is the meaning of this?" shouted Minister Fudge.
"The meaning of this, Minister, is that one of the aurors on my protection
detail was a marked death eater. He killed his partner and tried to kill
me." She gestured at the dead auror in the corner. "I wanted to make sure
your protection was what it should be, and it seems that it is."
"Oh, well," he muttered. As he took in the sight of the five dead bodies,
Fudge paled noticeably. "I was told there was an attack?"
Amelia nodded. "Thirty death eaters attacked, Minister, as well as the
dark lord himself."
"Oh, oh my," whimpered Fudge.
"Lord Potter was here visiting with my niece, and graciously assisted in
our defense." Amelia continued. "He delayed the main force out front,
while I worked on bringing down the anti-portkey wards."
"Delayed?" James Potter scoffed. "He slaughtered them, is what he did."
Fudge looked at Harry Potter, who clearly had been in some sort of
battle. "How many did you kill, Mister Potter?"
Harry looked evenly at the Minister. "I believe I am responsible, directly
or indirectly, for over a dozen kills out front. Maybe more."
"Is that bragging I hear, Harry?" sneered James.
Harry turned to his father. "Mister Potter, I was defending the lives of my
betrothed and her guardian, as well as conducting a defensive action
against wizards with whom our House has a declared blood feud." His
voice rose as his eyes bored into James, who involuntarily took a step
back. "This is a matter of House Honour, a subject about which you know
sweet fuck all, so if you please, be silent!"
The last two words seemed to have a power of their own, carrying
Harry's authority as Lord Potter. Whatever angry retort James had
prepared died on his lips, and the best he could muster was an angry
glare at his son.
The tension broke when Fudge managed to croak out another question.
"How do you know that Lord… well, you know, him… I mean…" His
voice trailed off when he saw the impatient look on Harry's face.
"I dueled him outside, Minister Fudge," said Harry.
"And his familiar attacked Susan and I," continued Amelia.
Dumbledore paled. Nagini had been the last horcrux, if his theory was
correct. "Did the snake escape?"
Amelia's eyes narrowed, and she flicked her wand at the large sack that
had settled behind her. It upended itself, dumping the corpse of Nagini
onto the marble floor.
"Ah," whimpered the Minister.
Harry ignored Fudge, focusing his attention on James and the
Headmaster. He saw the worried look they shared, and his eyes
narrowed. Then he remembered his reunion with the Potters at
Grimmauld Place, where they had discussed the idea that the dark lord
had made horcruxes. He remembered that James and Sirius had agreed
with his theory that Nagini was one of the horcruxes - perhaps the last, if
Dumbledore's theory that Voldemort had made three was accurate.
Perhaps Voldemort was now mortal.
It was obvious that Dumbledore had come to the same conclusion from
his reaction to the ruined corpse of the snake. Then the Headmaster
turned, and saw that Harry had seen that reaction. Dumbledore's eyes
narrowed for an instant, as if he had been caught giving away
information, before he went back to his usual grandfatherly demeanor.
The act was wasted on Harry, now that he could see through it - but he
wasn't about to tell Dumbledore that fact.
For a brief instant, he worried about his brother. If Voldemort was indeed
mortal, would Jamie get deployed as the 'boy-who-lived'? Would he be
prepared?
Would the adults in his brother's life protect him, like they never had
protected Harry?
"Cornelius," began Amelia, in her Director Bones voice. It was a clear
signal that she was taking command of the situation, and that she didn't
care what anyone else thought.
"Yes, Amelia?" Fudge asked, turning his still pale features in her
direction.
"I'm going to have my aurors interview the captured death eaters
tomorrow, before we ship them off to the continent." She gestured at
Harry, who had kept his eyes on the Headmaster. "I'll also have someone
interview Mister Potter, so that we have an accurate picture of what
happened tonight."
"The dead…" began the Headmaster, but Amelia cut him off with a glare.
"The dead are all marked, Albus," she said, her tone harsh, as if she was
annoyed at having to explain the situation. "Even if he was not acting on
my behalf as Lady of the Manor, or Regent Bones, or as guardian of his
betrothed, you know as well as I that the blood feud excuses everything
he did tonight. He was under direct attack by the other party to the feud.
Legally, you cannot touch him."
Now it was Fudge who glared briefly at the DMLE Director, causing
Harry's eyes to narrow. A glance told him that Neville had seen it too.
Fudge may be a problem, he thought.
Kingsley Shacklebolt was again the one who broke the tension. "I believe
we can take it from here, Director," he said. "You should get some rest."
"Potter Manor is open to you, Amelia," said Harry. "Until your wards are
back to 100%, you and Susan are welcome." He ignored the renewed
glare from James as he spoke.
Amelia looked to her niece, and got the nod she had expected. With a
smile, she nodded to Harry. "You are gracious, Lord Potter. Of course we
accept."
"Good," Harry replied. "Dobby!"
Dobby appeared, still wearing his fatigues. Harry ignored the looks the
elf got from the Order members still present, and spoke directly to the
Elf. "Everyone back to base, Dobby, plus Amelia and Susan."
The elf gave him a salute, before popping away. Amelia and Susan were
taken first, followed by Neville, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Hermione. Harry
was the last, and he offered the Order a wave before he, too, had
vanished.
Fudge made his excuses and left as well, taking the floo. Soon, it was just
the aurors and a few of the Order members who remained. Dumbledore
looked to Dedalus Diggle, and sighed.
"I was right," he said quietly. "This is a problem."
A/N: This chapter shows us a bit of the aftermath of the battle, as
well as where our other players were during the action. I'm the sort
of writer who lets readers carry some of the load, and thus the
timeline isn't called out in a hatnote or whatever - but I think it's
pretty clear what is happening when. It turns on Harry rushing to
Susan and Amelia - and Ramsay, who gets out of dodge before
questions can be asked.
As I noted to one reader, it has been a rather busy summer, hasn't
it? We're over 100k into this story (!) and it isn't even August yet.
After all of this, it will be nice for everyone to get some quiet time at
school, where nothing exciting happens, right?
Thank you again to Grimjaw for giving these chapters the sanity
checks they need to make sense.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
Edited 7 November 2020 to clarify Diggle's granddaughter's age - she is
transferring into the fifth year from homeschool, rather than attending
as a first year.
21. The Morning After
As sunlight began to filter into the guest bedroom, Marcus Flint finally
woke. When his eyes opened, he found Ambrose Rookwood performing
diagnostic charms on his mutilated arm.
"No healing that, I take it?" Flint asked, weakly.
Ambrose looked up at him, and shook his head regretfully. It was all the
confirmation Flint needed, and he let his head sink back into the pillows.
"How are you feeling, Flint?" Ambrose asked his friend.
Marcus Flint closed his eyes. "Like I had my fucking arm lopped off, if
you must know."
"You almost lost a kidney as well, Flint," said Ambrose, quietly. "I think
you stepped to the side just in the nick of time."
Flint felt a bandage on his side shifting, and realized that Rookwood was
right - he had gotten clipped by that cutting hex. He hadn't even noticed
it, in the heat of battle.
"Who got you?" asked Ambrose, as he checked the dressing on Flint's side.
Flint opened his eyes and saw Ambrose's intense look. It took Flint only a
moment to understand the question - his emergency portkey brought him
here, which meant he had been attacked, or that he had been the one
attacking. Even if he hadn't been wearing his mask and hood, it meant
that the Death Eaters were on the move. Knowing who had taken Flint's
arm would tell Ambrose Rookwood damn near everything he might want
to know about who was being attacked - and, from that, why.
"You're scary, mate," said Flint, with a sigh.
"So I'm told," replied Rookwood, drily. "Who got you?" he asked again.
Another sigh escaped Flint. "Potter."
"Ah," said Rookwood, nodding to himself.
"That's it, Rookwood? Just 'Ah,'?"
Ambrose shrugged. "He's escalating, but I can't say I didn't expect it from
a Gryffindor." Not after Dad, Ambrose continued in his mind.
Now it was Flint who shook his head. "We attacked Director Bones,"
began Flint.
His host was silent, torn between the demands of the moment. On the
one hand, he craved information, and this news hadn't even made the
morning's Prophet. Knowing the details was important, but knowing them
before anyone else was where Rookwood's father had truly made a name
for himself. Ambrose was no different.
On the other hand, though, was the fact that Flint was essentially
revealing details about Voldemort's plans and activities. He had told Flint
that he supported the Dark Lord's cause, and in general that still held
true. But his faith had been shaken by the attack on Pansy Parkinson - an
attack from her own uncle, no less. All for a vote and some galleons.
He knew that people acted irrationally, but what had been done to Pansy
- and, worse, what had been threatened - was beyond anything he could
agree with. If this was the role planned for him when he took the mark,
then his decision to delay was possibly the best one he could have made.
So he did the easy thing, the thing his father probably would have done
in his place. He stayed silent, and gathered intelligence.
Flint laid out the attack on Bones Manor. He described the blinding
flashes of light, the attacks from reinforcements who weren't there. The
revealed invisibility cloak following a massive explosion, and the brief
duel with Potter that followed.
Even without knowing what happened after Flint escaped, it was not
hard to see that Harry Potter had changed the nature of the war. The
death eaters, once they lost half their number, should have escaped and
attempted to preserve at least some of their forces, but they couldn't - not
without incurring the wrath of the Dark Lord. So they pressed on, and
nearly doubled their losses. Not the sort of wisdom he had associated
with the Dark Lord, if the stories of his father had been anything to go
on.
When he finally spoke, Ambrose asked how many effectives Flint still had
on side when he escaped. The pale shock on his friend's face told Flint
everything he needed to know.
"How many stood with Potter, then?" asked Ambrose.
Flint shook his head, trying to wrap his brain around something that had
not even occurred to him in the heat of battle.
"I…. I don't know."
The two sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost to their thoughts,
before Flint hissed in pain. Looking down at the stump of his arm, he saw
an angry red burn peeking out from the bandages.
Ambrose understood without being told - Pansy had guessed about it the
night before. "He's summoning you."
Flint nodded. "I have to go."
"Of course," said Ambrose, absently. "Make sure you have a proper healer
look at that," he advised, indicating the arm.
"I will," said Flint. "Pansy did a good job on it, though. I'll be fine."
The empty potion vial Ambrose had been carrying fell from his hand,
smashing itself on the floor.
Flint gave his friend a serious look. "I was bleeding to death, and
delirious. But I still remember her, Rookwood." Now his eyes found his
host's, and Flint willed Ambrose to understand what he was saying - for it
was the only warning he could give. "I can have no secrets from the Dark
Lord. You know that."
Ambrose nodded once at his friend - the message had been received. They
will come for her.
oOoOoOoOo
When she awoke, it took a moment for Amelia Bones to recall the events
at Bones Manor. Then her eyes fell on the crest of House Potter
emblazoned on the wall, and she remembered. The sight of her niece still
peacefully sleeping did nothing to calm the fresh wave of anger she felt
as she thought about the battle.
In one stroke, the House of Bones could have been wiped out. It would be
impossible for her to ever forgive the events of the previous night.
Previous night, hell, she thought, bitterly. If it's still as early as it seems, then
the whole battle was just hours ago.
She did not waste time, wanting to see what - if anything - had been
reported, both in the Prophet and within the DMLE. She wanted to know
what the captured death eaters told her aurors. She definitely wanted to
know the names of the dead.
But above all else, she wanted a cup of coffee.
It was the smell of that much-needed beverage that drew her to the
kitchen, and the last person she expected to find in the home of an
Ancient and Most Noble house.
Colonel Ramsay looked up as she paused in the doorway. He was in
uniform, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the muggle newspaper.
With a shock, she realized that it was Monday morning - he would be on
his way to his muggle job before long.
He raised his mug toward her, and gave her a cheeky grin. "'Morning," he
said.
Amelia could not help but grin right back at him. "Good morning,
Colonel," she said, greeting him with mock formality. Pouring herself a
coffee of her own, she took the seat across from him. "Busy day for you,
then?"
He nodded. "I get to brief the top brass about last night, which should be
as delightful as it sounds."
She frowned at that. "Who are you briefing?"
"Brigadier General Miles Warren. He is the top officer in Her Majesty's
Army who is authorized to know about magic, and advises Number 10 on
the subject. I've been told to report in with him whenever anything major
happens." Ramsay had a serious look on his face as he spoke. "Actually, it
was General Warren who suggested letting me in on the secret, after he
found out that the neighbor kid I had been mentoring was actually the
boy-who-lived."
"Interesting," she said, sipping her coffee. She wondered how the General
had learned about Harry. Perhaps the General was a squib, or had a
magical relative somewhere in the family?
"How are you feeling?"
Amelia turned her eyes to the Colonel, and saw the look of concern on
his features. Part of her was surprised, but only a small part. The two had
bonded during their evening together, even before the battle - and shared
danger has its own way of bringing people together. For good or ill, the
two of them had taken up the task of helping Harry plan a war, and both
had found - to their delight - that they worked well together.
Belatedly, Amelia remembered that she had promised to go to lunch with
him today. She smiled at the thought, which got a smile from him in
return.
"Well enough to keep our dinner meeting, Colonel," she said with a smirk.
oOoOoOoOo
Cornelius Fudge collapsed into his chair as the door to his office closed
with a slam.
The morning had been exhausting, with reports and meetings about the
previous night's battle. Even knowing that You-Know-Who was actually
back had not prepared him for an actual attack on a Ministry department
head. Fudge had no love for Amelia Bones, true, but it mattered little
when the death eaters were willing to attempt to assassinate her.
That could have been me, his mind screamed.
Part of him knew that his allies would not discard him, for he worked
hard to remain valuable to them. But those allies were thin on the ground
these days, with Lucius still in ICW custody. Lord Malfoy's imprisonment
had a ripple effect, and suddenly Cornelius had a much harder time
contacting his usual supporters - a worrying sign.
John Parkinson had been his saving grace, these last few days. Where
Lord Malfoy's support had disappeared, the newly-minted Regent
Parkinson was able to step in. All Fudge had to do was what he had been
doing for years - listen to some 'friendly' advice now and again, and act
as he saw fit.
It had been Parkinson who pointed out that one of the reports from Bones
Manor mentioned a muggle being present. The idea was offensive to
Parkinson, for it meant that the regent of a noble house was consorting
with muggles as if she were some sort of blood traitor. The muggle had
not been on the scene when the aurors arrived, or else he might have
been taken into custody while his presence was 'investigated'.
Fudge didn't much care about the fact that a muggle had been there.
What did bother him was that the muggle had status as one of the few
who - officially - knew about magic. He had been listed as the Muggle
Liaison to the muggle armed forces, which told Fudge that Madam Bones
was reaching out to the muggles for assistance.
His hold on the office of Minister was weaker than it ever had been, these
days. If one of his department heads had to go to the muggles for
assistance? No, that would not look good at all.
Fortunately, that was a problem he could deal with.
Decision made, Fudge stood up and walked out of his office. For this, he'd
need help.
oOoOoOoOo
That morning, Jamie Potter and Trevor Longbottom had breakfast in
Trevor's room at Longbottom Hall.
Trevor had had the same room for nearly his entire life, when he lived in
his family's cottage at Falcon's Rest. Moving into a new room, even if it
was in his family's ancestral home, was a strange experience. There had
already been a room set aside for him, but one look at it told him that it
would be a mistake to choose that one.
It was the Longbottom elves who explained what had happened. Augusta
Longbottom, once she had mourned her grandson, had ordered the
bedroom next to the nursery closed and sealed. Before the attack in 1981,
the Longbottoms had planned for Neville and Trevor to have adjoining
bedrooms as they grew up together - so the nursery had been set up in
what would have become Neville's room. Even when the boys outgrew
their shared room, they would still be close to each other - just one door
away.
Trevor's crib, his toys, and his clothes had all been moved to the second
bedroom, almost as a shrine to the slain toddler. The elves told Trevor
that Augusta had never visited the room, but that Neville had snuck in
just once, when he was five. That incident had led a tearful Augusta to sit
Neville down and tell him the tale of his lost brother.
It was another sign to Trevor that his grandmother would not be as
forgiving as his parents had hoped.
So it was that Trevor Longbottom decided to take one of the guest
bedrooms down the hall from his brother's. The elves got a description of
his old room from his mother, and quickly redecorated the space to make
it seem more like home - which, in a way, it was.
They had even added a comfortable couch, just like he had had at
Falcon's Rest. The Potters had lived in a cottage less than a thousand feet
away from the Longbottoms, but that didn't stop Jamie from sleeping
over in Trevor's room, and vice versa. When they did, each would
invariably end up sleeping on the other's couch.
It was a little touch of home that Jamie had appreciated the night prior,
as both boys had been exhausted when they arrived at Longbottom Hall.
Even then, in the comfort of Trevor's new room, neither of them could
keep their minds off of the conversation they had had with the
Headmaster.
The topic did not come up until they had finished their breakfast. Jamie
sat back on the couch, the old familiar look of worry having returned.
Trevor smiled at his friend. "I know that look," he said. "Spit it out, mate,
what are you thinking?"
Jamie gave his host a tired grin. "I think we're in over our heads,
Longbottom," he replied.
Trevor scoffed at that. "How is that different from any other time,
though?"
"Yeah, maybe," conceded Jamie. "But that was sneaking out to the
wardline, or skipping training to fly. This is all… it's too big, Trev."
"It's not like they're wanting to make you the crown prince of the Light or
anything," teased Trevor. Jamie responded to that by tossing a pillow,
which Trevor dodged with a laugh.
Jamie took a moment to collect his thoughts before he continued. "The
plan was always that we'd come back to fight Voldemort," he said. "We'd
have a coalition of Light families, not to mention the Order itself, as well
as our brothers at our sides, and with the weight of both fate and a
prophecy behind us. We've trained for it, we know what we're up against.
It'd be hard, but it's my job, and I know I can get it done."
"All true," agreed Trevor.
Jamie stood and began pacing. "So we came back. But except for the few
shots I got to fire off at the Dark Lord, literally nothing has gone to plan.
The Order isn't sure what to think about the whole 'faking our deaths'
thing, and we haven't even announced our return to the rest of the Light
families. Dad has already alienated Harry, who is as we speak taking the
fight to the death eaters - just like we thought we would be doing."
"Neville seems willing to give us a chance," Trevor remarked.
Jamie rolled his eyes. "Maybe so, but that's a long bloody way from
standing with his parents." He looked at Trevor, and sighed. "And lest we
forget, our parents let your Gran think that you were dead and they were
basically comatose for a decade and a half."
That got a sigh from Trevor. "You didn't hear the patronus she sent,
Jamie. She tried to summon Neville, but she sent it to her grandson. And
it came to me as well." He shook his head, part of him still disbelieving. "I
still don't get that, she thought I was dead."
"She did," Jamie agreed. "But you were still in her thoughts. Magic is
intent, you know that."
"Yeah, I do." Trevor said, quietly.
Jamie nodded, but said nothing. Trevor watched his friend pace the
room, knowing that they both needed to collect their thoughts. After a
few moments, it was Jamie who broke the silence, with a pronouncement
that said everything and nothing about their situation.
"This is all fucked," Jamie muttered.
As had always been the case, it was Trevor's reply that brought Jamie
back into the moment.
"Yeah," agreed Trevor. "So, what are we going to do about it?"
oOoOoOoOo
Ambrose Rookwood should not have been surprised to learn that Pansy
had been living out of a small backpack for the two weeks she had spent
at his home. But then again, there were quite a few things about Pansy
that had surprised him.
As soon as Flint had left, Rookwood had found himself knocking on her
bedroom door. When she called him in, he found her already packed and
ready to leave.
Pansy saw his eyes on her belongings, and smirked. "No one ever accused
me of being slow, Mister Rookwood. I don't need an unspeakable to tell
me when there's a nundu in the yard."
"I could accuse you of many things, Miss Parkinson," retorted Ambrose,
grinning at her in spite of himself. "Being slow is not among them."
Pansy gave her host an exaggerated curtsey - which set him laughing, as
she was wearing jeans at the time. She could not help but laugh along
with him. After a moment, the pair calmed down, and she spoke again.
"Thank you, Rookwood, I needed that."
"We both did, I think," he replied.
"We did," she agreed.
The moment stretched between them, until Ambrose spoke again.
"Where are you going, then?" he asked.
The troubled look returned to her face. "Not many options left, I'm
afraid."
Ambrose couldn't help but nod at that. Any death eater would take her to
the Dark Lord, so that he could solidify her uncle's hold on House
Parkinson and its seat in the Wizengamot. Even some of the darker
neutral families might give her up if it meant protection from the death
eaters. That left only one viable choice. Or two, rather.
"Potter or Longbottom?" he asked.
"Longbottom," Pansy replied. "I don't know where Potter lives, but I do
know how to get to Longbottom Hall. Even if Neville isn't there, his
Grandmother will be, and she will honor the agreement her house's heir
negotiated under Parley."
"So you said," Ambrose replied. "I can't help but worry, though."
"You're sweet," Pansy teased, earning a slight blush from the older
Slytherin. "The agreement was witnessed, he can't back out. And think
about Neville Longbottom, does he strike you as the kind of person to
break an agreement like that?"
Ambrose shook his head. "No, Neville is probably the least Slytherin of
any of the lions. You're probably right."
Pansy scoffed. "Probably, he says."
Again, Ambrose found himself rolling his eyes at the witch. Then he
reached over and picked up her bag. "At least do me the honor of
escorting you to Longbottom Hall, my lady."
Pansy curtseyed again. "Of course, my lord." Neither could keep
themselves from laughing after that.
oOoOoOoOo
Brigadier General Miles Warren listened intently to Colonel Ramsay's
description of the battle at Bones Manor. He tried as hard as he could to
focus on the details of the battle - the tactics used by the young Lord
Potter, the close quarters defense the Colonel had employed, the
effectiveness of the Colonel's sidearm versus attacking wizards - all of the
details he would need to include in his own report to the Prime Minister's
office.
And report he would. The few in the muggle government who knew
about such things had done what they could to keep a close eye on the
growing unrest among the magicals. The policy in place was strictly
hands-off, however, as the muggles did not want to give the magicals any
cause for concern.
But with open attacks, in force, against a top government official, the
conflict seemed to be escalating. It was only a matter of time before it
spilled over into the muggle population - and there were only so many
ways to cover that up.
Warren had the Colonel repeat his account of the fight with Nagini.
"How long was that snake, Mark?" he asked.
Ramsay shrugged. "Ten feet, easily. Maybe more."
Warren whistled in appreciation. "Five rounds rapid, who would have
thought that would work against a huge, magical snake."
Ramsay sipped his coffee before answering. "Honestly, I didn't have much
of a chance to think about it until it was all over."
"No, I don't suppose you did," agreed Warren.
Before he could say more, the phone on his desk rang. Warren reached
over and pressed the speaker button, seeing that it was his assistant
calling. "Yes?"
"Um, the gentlemen are here for your next meeting, sir." It was clear that
the young assistant was nervous for some reason.
Warren and Ramsay shared a look. Something was wrong, and both of
them knew it. No one was supposed to be able to get anywhere near this
office without the proper clearance, and no one with the proper clearance
would show up unannounced.
Indeed, anyone important enough to drop in would be important enough
for Warren to be the one visiting their office, not the other way around.
For Ramsay and Warren both, this was a red flag.
"I didn't have anything until this afternoon, if memory serves," Warren
said, cautiously.
"My apologies, sir, but I've got them down in the book right here."
The reply did little to reassure either man. Warren stood up, and gave
Ramsay a nod. The Colonel stood as well, and went to the other end of
the room. Presumably, the junior officer would bring two chairs for the
visitors, so that they could sit down with the Brigadier and have their
meeting.
In reality, the movement put Ramsay and Warren on opposite ends of the
room, and forced the visitors to divide their attention. If they were not a
threat, then no harm done - but otherwise?
No one ever accused Miles Warren of being paranoid - because his
instincts were correct far more often than not. They had been that way
since before he could remember.
Once Ramsay was in position, Warren spoke again. "Send them in,
Patrick."
There was no reply - another red flag - before the door to the office
opened. Two army officers walked in, and immediately moved to stand in
front of the Brigadier's desk.
Then the shorter of the two made his first mistake. "Mark Ramsay?"
"He works for me, yes," replied Warren, fighting hard to keep his tone
neutral. Had they really not noticed the Colonel at the back of the room?
"Something I can help you with, gentlemen?"
The taller officer frowned. "He was supposed to be here." He looked at
Warren. "You'll have to summon him."
Warren's eyes widened at the man's gall. His uniform had the rank
insignia of a Captain, which made the situation that much more
ridiculous.
"Why do you need to speak to the Colonel?" Warren asked.
"It doesn't matter," said the shorter officer. "We've been here too long
anyway." It was then that Warren noticed the stick in the man's hand.
"Please stand still, this won't hurt a bit. Obliv- aaah!"
Whatever spell the wizard was about to cast was interrupted by the chair
Ramsay brought down across his back. The other wizard stood there,
shocked at the surprise attack - which gave Warren all the time he
needed to catch him in the side of the head with a paperweight. The
second wizard fell with a shout, and Warren was over his desk and on the
man in no time at all.
Ramsay struck the first wizard once more, rendering him unconscious,
before examining his false uniform. Had he gotten a better look at it, he
would have struck sooner - for it was obviously a replica. The awards
were incorrectly placed, the insignia was in an older style - and no officer
this young would have fought in the second world war, as his uniform
suggested.
"Never again!"
The angry shout from the Brigadier drew Ramsay's attention. When he
looked over, he saw Warren repeatedly bashing the downed wizard with
a trophy - the closest weapon at hand, it seemed. The look of anger on
the man's face surprised Ramsay, for the Brigadier was usually a tightly
controlled sort of man. This was a side of him Ramsay had never seen,
and it was unnerving.
With his attention on the Brigadier, Ramsay did not notice his own
wizard stirring. When the man shouted, it was a surprise.
"Blue, blue, blue!"
With a pop, the two wizards disappeared. Warren stood up, looking
around his office as if seeking another target.
"What was that?" he asked.
Ramsay stood as well. "It was a portkey. They're long gone."
Warren huffed at that. "Bastards. I should have known they'd show up,
after last night."
The Colonel raised an eyebrow at that. "Really?"
Warren nodded. "Anytime something like this happens, where they think
their secret gets out, they send those…. people out and wipe memories."
He shook his head, angrily. "We go along with it because it keeps the
secrets where they are supposed to be - out of the public eye. But every
now and then, they arse it up."
Ramsay set the overturned chair back up, and resumed his seat. "Sounds
like you've dealt with this before."
Taking his own seat, Warren nodded again. "I spent the better part of my
teenage years caring for my mum, who could barely remember her name,
all because some twit at the ministry decided that it was easier to wipe
her memory than let her complain."
"Complain?" asked Ramsay.
"What would you do," Warren said quietly, "if your sister went off to
Hogwarts to learn how to be a witch, and never came back? They never
even gave us her body to bury." He shook his head sadly. "Mum was
never the same after Myrtle died. She had barely started to mourn when
the obliviators showed up."
"After some of the things Amelia has told me? Yes, yes I can believe that."
Ramsay sighed. "I'm sorry, sir."
Warren nodded in acknowledgement, but said nothing. His eyes rested on
a picture on his desk, one Ramsay could not see from his side of the desk.
After a moment, Ramsay spoke again. "So, I assume that we should
probably report this to Number 10."
Warren looked across his desk at his friend and subordinate. "Are you
kidding?"
oOoOoOoOo
Pansy Parkinson was not surprised to learn that Ambrose Rookwood had
a small book in his study filled with portkey locations across the British
Isles. Some were safehouses, some were friends, but a great many were
old family homes.
The list had light and dark families alike - which is why Ambrose had
known to look up the location of Longbottom Hall. Potter Manor itself
was missing, as were several others, but Ambrose explained that they had
been there at one point. That they were missing now told him that those
homes had gone under the fidelius charm.
He did not need to know that the family seat on the House of Potter was
Potter Manor. It was enough to know that the Potters had to have a
family seat, and that it had been on the list at one point. It might have
been a minor flaw in the charm, but not one that could be exploited to
reveal the location.
Of course, as his father had said, knowing that there was a question to
ask was a good first step to answering it.
Pansy was saddened to see Parkinson Lodge missing from the list. When
Ambrose saw her expression, and where her eyes had fallen on the list,
he confirmed her guess.
The Death Eaters had taken up residence in her old home. Which is why
I'm running, she thought bitterly, as Ambrose crafted the portkey.
When the pair arrived, it was at a location in sight of the main gate to the
Longbottom Estate. Rookwood had not wanted to arrive right next to the
gate, and risk triggering a trap of some sort - but nor did he want to
approach from too far away. He was mindful that every minute outside
wards was a minute that exposed Pansy to danger, and he was not willing
to put her at any unnecessary risk.
Fortunately for them, the defensive wards began at the perimeter, and
they were able to approach without incident. Ambrose was surprised
when Pansy walked with her arm on his elbow. When he gave her a
questioning glance, she responded only with one of her enigmatic smiles.
He had not realized, until that moment, how much he would miss having
her around his house.
"Here we are," she said with a sigh, as they arrived at the gate.
"Here we are," Ambrose echoed. "Last chance to back out."
Pansy could hear the worry in his voice, and understood what he had not
said - Are you sure? She patted his arm in as reassuring a manner as she
could, and smiled up at him.
"Neville wouldn't betray his house's honor. Not in a blood feud. Madam
Longbottom would never let him hear the end of it." Pansy shook her
head, her eyes still on his. "I'll be fine, Rookwood."
Ambrose smiled in spite of his nerves. "I bow to your wisdom, then,
Parkinson."
Instead of a reply, he found himself being hugged. It surprised him, as
Pansy - and most Slytherin girls, for that matter - were not big on
hugging.
"Thank you," she whispered, before giving him a kiss on the cheek. As she
stepped back, she smirked at how flustered the normally unflappable
Ambrose Rookwood had gotten.
Before he could say anything, Pansy tapped her wand on the Longbottom
crest worked into the metal of the gate. It was the only way she had to
'knock' on the wards, and it would identify her to Neville's grandmother,
who probably held the wards.
It was barely three minutes before she saw two teenagers approaching
from the main house. She sensed Ambrose relax when they came close
enough to identify. The tension left her a moment later, when she got a
good look.
The boy on the left was clearly Neville Longbottom - though he had
clearly been neglecting his greenhouses, for he appeared to be paler than
he had at the end of the school term. He was wearing muggle clothes,
something that surprised Pansy. Since this was a result of a formal parley,
she thought that he would at least wear robes.
Next to him was a Harry Potter who appeared to be more relaxed than
Pansy had ever seen him. Harry had grown his hair longer, and had
newer (and much nicer) glasses, but it was unmistakably the last Potter.
When they made it to the gate, Pansy began to speak, as the terms of a
blood feud required.
"Heir Longbottom," she began. "In accordance with the old ways, I accept
your offer of sanctuary on behalf of House Parkinson. I agree to do no
harm to you or yours, and to set aside any conflict between our houses."
There were other caveats and conditions she might have added, but the
feud was not between the Longbottoms and anyone - they were just
interceding as an allied house. Any oath of neutrality Harry might require
would come later.
Longbottom and Potter shared a look. Then, to Pansy's relief, Longbottom
stepped forward and opened the gate. "Heiress Parkinson, no harm will
befall you here, as agreed." The typical response would have been to
acknowledge the parlay itself, and say 'as we agreed', but Pansy did not
notice the omission.
"Pansy says you're a man of your word, Longbottom," Rookwood said,
speaking for the first time. "I take her safety very seriously." He turned
his eyes to Potter, and fought hard to keep his expression neutral. This
boy did not look like a killer, and certainly didn't look like he had been
in battle against the forces of the Dark Lord the night before. "Potter,"
Rookwood continued, "This changes nothing between us."
Ambrose expected some sort of attempt at justification from Potter, or at
least a response of some kind. Even within the strict bounds of the
sanctuary discussion, surely he would take the opportunity to say
something.
Instead, to Ambrose's shock, Potter merely nodded once. The infamously
brash Gryffindor held his tongue.
Longbottom, for his part, smiled at him evenly. "We would not want to be
accused of mistreating a guest, sir."
Sir? There was something off about Potter and Longbottom both, but
Rookwood could not put a finger on what exactly it might be.
"I'll be fine," said Pansy. Rookwood saw in her eyes that she was not
worried, and that caused him to relax somewhat. He nodded to
acknowledge the comment, and stepped away from the gate, that act
saying that he entrusted her to House Longbottom.
With that, Pansy turned and followed the lions up the hill. Once they
were well away from the gate, the boys seemed to relax as well.
"He's a bit intense, isn't he?" remarked Potter.
Pansy looked up at him, and began to reply, but her remark caught in her
throat when she got a good look at the boy walking on her right. The
black-haired boy with green eyes - and no scar on his forehead.
"Potter," she said, urgency in her tone. "What happened to your scar?"
The boy shrugged, and pulled back his collar - revealing a long, jagged
scar across his left shoulder. "It's here, on my collarbone, where it's
always been."
"Since fucking when?" spat Pansy, her wand already in her hand. "What is
this?"
"Miss Parkinson," replied Longbottom, shooting an exasperated look at
his companion. "Allow me to introduce my idiot friend, here. May I
present James Potter, Junior, of the Ancient and Most Noble House of
Potter, the twin brother of Harry Potter."
Pansy turned her glare from Potter to Longbottom, her wand hand
itching to curse both of these wizards… whoever the hell they were. "And
you are?"
"I am Trevor Longbottom, Heir Secondary to the Ancient and Most Noble
House of Longbottom. You may have met my twin brother, Neville, at
Hogwarts." He gestured at the manor house atop the hill, looming
overhead. "Welcome to Longbottom Hall. I'm sure our parents will love to
meet you."
A/N: Welcome back. As I've said on other updates, my apologies for
the long gap between chapters. Suffice it to say, things have been as
crazy for me as they likely have for you. But we're going to just
ignore all that and keep moving things forward, yeah?
I was surprised to learn that we only know Moaning Myrtle's last
name from one of JK Rowling's tweets - but that's good enough for
me, however. (At least it's not fanon consensus.) When one factors
in a younger brother, the calendar works out nicely.
Thank you to the reviewers who continue to enjoy this story, and
the ones who have concerns. I've not been great at responding to
reviews these past few months, owing to... well, everything, but rest
assured that every word of every review is read by me. Again, thank
you.
Thank you especially to The Sinister Man, who recommended this
story in an update of Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin. If
you're not already reading that work, consider it. I make no secret
about the fact that it was one of the stories that got me into the HP
fandom, even to the point of taking inspiration for the opening of
Keystone Council from the (brilliantly structured) cold open that
kicks Prince of Slytherin off. So, to TSM and everyone on the
discords who keep me writing - thank you.
Finally, thanks again to Grimjaw for the sanity check on this
chapter.
Feedback, as always, is welcome. Stay safe out there.
22. The Flight
Ambrose Rookwood felt the attack on his wards just over an hour after
returning from Longbottom Hall. He had hoped for more time, but knew
that they would come for Pansy as soon as they learned that she had
been in his home.
Barely a month ago, they would have been we. The ones now attempting
to breach his defenses were the same ones, the same death eaters, that he
had almost joined. The same cause that his father had served for decades,
and for which his father had ultimately died.
As far as they were concerned, he had something they wanted. So
without thought for his family's service, or his own potential value as an
ally, the death eaters were attacking. All to get full control of Pansy's
family.
"What would you have done, father?" Ambrose muttered, even as he
filled another trunk with books and journals from the study.
Augustus Rookwood had been a true believer in the Dark Lord's cause,
and his journals made that plain. He almost revelled in the mayhem, the
sheer destruction, that the death eaters caused during the first war. But
absent from those journals , or at least the earliest ones, was the strategic
outlook - the long-term thinking that he had learned at his father's knee,
the sort of thinking that won wars rather than battles.
Perhaps his father had grown wiser as the war progressed? But if that
were the case, what the hell was he doing in the Department of
Mysteries? Why had he been there, skulking in the shadows, masked and
robed, only to fall to Potter's knife?
Ambrose would have plenty of time to consider that, once he had made it
to safety. For now, he was taking everything he could carry.
The last item, the family grimoire, was hidden behind a false panel in the
study. His father had told him of it last summer, saying that he had to
know "just in case." When Ambrose learned that the Dark Lord had risen,
he understood what "just in case" meant.
Finding the panel, he touched the corners in a certain pattern, and the
panel glowed briefly before sliding away. Inside was a small sack of
galleons, a stack of muggle pounds, and a pair of muggle passports, one
for him and one for his father.
At the back of the compartment, there was a small wooden box sitting on
top of an ancient book. Carefully taking the box, Ambrose opened it and
found vials of memories. Either his father or his grandfather had wanted
some sort of insurance, it seemed - but against whom?
The box went into his trunk, along with the grimoire and most of the
cash. The passport and the galleons, he kept. When he picked up the
second passport, he paused, opening its cover.
Ambrose wondered when his father would have had the chance to get a
muggle picture taken. There, staring up at him amidst the trappings of
the muggle document, was his father's picture - his intense grey eyes, his
bald pate, his very carefully neutral expression. Again, Ambrose spoke
softly to himself, just as he felt the wards come under attack once more.
"What would you have done, father?"
The wards would not fall anytime soon, but Ambrose finished his work
with renewed urgency all the same. The second passport went in the
trunk, which was quickly shrunk and stashed in a muggle backpack. It
took only moments to look about the now mostly empty study, and see
that nothing of value had been missed.
When the death eaters got in, if they got in, they would know that he had
fled. There would be no plausible excuse for emptying the study, if he
was simply out when they arrived. But then he thought back to Flint's
warning, and to the letter demanding his presence that he hadn't
received.
Whatever else happened, any chance of standing with the dark families
and supporting the Dark Lord was well and truly gone. The bridge had
been burned. Voldemort viewed him as an enemy, now.
Ambrose found that he wasn't nearly as upset about that as he might
have been. The Rookwoods had been underestimated before, and yet
here he stood.
Reaching down, he picked up a small paperweight from his father's desk.
With a word, the portkey activated, and Ambrose Rookwood
disappeared.
oOoOoOoOo
Even before he left the Headmaster's office, Severus Snape knew that
someone had arrived in his home at Spinner's End. The wards told him
that one wizard had used a portkey he had created, and that the intruder
was sitting in his living room. The intruder was in good health, so far as
the wards could detect, and did not bear the dark mark.
Snape did not give many students direct access to his home, but he had
been known over the years to give out emergency portkeys to those
students in his house who might have need. After all, who better among
the staff to recognize the signs of abuse, but he?
He did not give portkeys to his fellow death eaters, for the simple reason
that it was frequently the death eaters whom his students were fleeing.
More than once, this year, he had had to speak to a Slytherin who
worried about being forced to take the mark. No, if a death eater needed
him, then they could summon him in the usual way - or else, the Dark
Lord would summon him, as had happened that morning.
Given all of that, the list of wizards who would need to use one of those
emergency portkeys, and who would do so before being injured in an
attack, was a small one. With all that Snape had heard that morning,
while he tended the Dark Lord's injuries, that list came down to just one
name.
"Mister Rookwood," Snape drawled, as he stepped out of the floo. "I had
hoped you would heed my warnings, but am once more disappointed."
Ambrose stood as the floo activated, and watched his head of house step
out. He could not help but smirk at the Professor's ire, for there was no
true heat behind it.
"Events overtook me, Professor, as they often seem to do these days,"
Ambrose replied.
"I would accept that from a Gryffindor, Mister Rookwood, but you of all
people should know better." Snape continued. "What the hell were you
thinking?"
Rookwood took a step back, involuntarily. Snape's tone betrayed his
frustration, just as his expression told of the minimal hours of rest he had
likely gotten the night before. Which made sense, if there had been a
massive battle as Flint had described.
"I was thinking, sir, that I was protecting a housemate from attack,"
Ambrose said, as calmly as he could. "Just as you protect your snakes,
sir."
"Miss Parkinson was not your concern," Snape argued.
"The moment she crossed my wards, catatonic with fear and bleeding
from torture, she became my concern." Ambrose felt the anger coming to
his voice, but didn't care. Who was Snape to question him?
"Yes, of course she was," Snape replied with a sneer. "Do you put yourself
in the path of the Dark Lord for every pretty girl you see, I wonder?"
"No, professor," Rookwood spat.
"It must be something, then, Mister Rookwood," Snape spoke, almost
tauntingly. "Your father claimed that you would take the mark, just
before his death. And before he was even cold in the ground, you
knowingly betray the cause he fought for all his life?"
"If we have to torture teenagers and execute civilians to further our
cause, Professor, then what worth could our cause possibly have?"
Ambrose shouted, angrily. "I believe as my father believed, as I think you
believe - that change is good and right and necessary, now more than
ever. But I will not accept that this is the way to go about it. Not after
what I've seen these past weeks."
Snape glared at Rookwood for a full minute. Then, with a sigh, he
nodded and put away his wand. Ambrose was shocked to realize that
Snape had had his wand out the entire time, while they argued.
"Good," said Snape. "You're wiser than I was, at your age."
Ambrose felt himself relaxing, as the tension drained from the room. "I
find that hard to believe, Professor."
Snape's expression was unreadable. "Nevertheless, it's the truth.
Otherwise, I wouldn't have this." His nod toward his left forearm was all
he needed to make his point. "Come, sit."
Snape took a seat in a comfortable looking chair, and motioned for
Ambrose to sit on the nearby couch. Then he summoned a house elf to
bring tea. When the elf arrived, Ambrose noticed that it was one of the
Hogwarts elves.
The pair sipped their tea in silence, each gathering their thoughts.
Presently, Snape spoke first.
"You chose the worst possible day to be discovered, Mister Rookwood,"
Snape began. "The Dark Lord fought against Potter last night, and
escaped after being poisoned."
"Potter never struck me as one to use poison," remarked Ambrose.
"Nor would he be able to brew anything truly useful for that purpose,"
agreed Snape. "But in this case, he made up for his academic deficiencies
by utilizing basilisk venom on a thrown blade."
Ambrose blinked in surprise. "And the Dark Lord survived?"
A nod. "He did, somehow. But the experience left him quite… irritable,
shall we say?"
"I see," said Ambrose. "So when he spoke to Flint and learned that Pansy
was at my home…" his voice trailed off.
"Yes," confirmed Snape. "He was enraged already, and that did not help. I
doubt your family home will survive the day, Mister Rookwood."
Ambrose nodded at that. "I had expected as much," he said, quietly.
"Indeed," said Snape. "I notice you did not bring Miss Parkinson along?
She is safe, I trust?"
Ambrose nodded again. "Under a parley, Neville Longbottom offered her
sanctuary. I dropped her off two hours ago."
"Good. I have no doubt that Mister Longbottom will show her the
appropriate hospitality, as will Mister Potter." Snape's voice did not carry
its usual disdain for all things Gryffindor - or, rather, not as much of it as
was typical. It caught Rookwood's attention immediately.
"Potter killed my father, Professor," Rookwood said, coldly.
Snape could hear the anger in Rookwood's tone, but kept his silence. It
was obvious that the boy had not had a chance to talk about his father's
death. Even their last (and only) conversation at the end of term had
been perfunctory at best, with Snape telling Rookwood to not ask
questions and stay out of trouble.
Look how well that turned out.
"I want to hate him. Part of me wants to gut the little shit, and watch him
bleed out on the stone floor of the great hall." Rookwood paused,
gathering his thoughts. "But it feels off, somehow," he continued, without
heat. "The whole ambush, the battle in the Department… I don't know,
sir, it just doesn't feel like something Augustus Rookwood would plan."
"The operation was Lord Malfoy's, I think you know that by now," replied
Snape.
"So I read," Ambrose agreed. "The DMLE report was clear on that, at
least."
Snape's eyebrow raised. "How, exactly, did you obtain the DMLE report?"
Ambrose looked at Snape, as if to say you know better than that. "I am a
Rookwood, Professor."
"So true," Snape acknowledged, doing his best not to roll his eyes. "What
detail stood out to you, then, Mister Rookwood?"
Rookwood frowned, trying to articulate what his gut had told him about
his father's death. "I learned to fight with a blade from my father, you
know that. Several of the marked learned from him as well."
Snape nodded once more. "I was one of his students. He was a strict
teacher."
"He was a master," agreed Rookwood, pride in his voice. "And I don't say
that because I was his son. He really was that good. After he was kicked
out of the Department, he made ends meet by tutoring in hand to hand
and knife combat."
"And yet…" Snape prompted.
Ambrose sighed. "And yet, he died when he charged around a corner,
blind, when he knew that Potter was coming that way. He didn't lay an
ambush, he didn't let them pass and strike from the rear, he didn't get out
in front of them and cut them off. He just stumbled forward and took a
knife to the throat." He looked up at the Professor, who had a thoughtful
look on his face. "How much of that sounds like Augustus Rookwood to
you?"
oOoOoOoOo
Pansy found herself going through the motions when she met the
Longbottoms and Potters. She had been trained all her life in the ways of
Pureblood customs, and could recite the empty pleasantries of high
society without thought. It was an excellent way to hide one's emotions,
her mother had said - better, in some ways, than occlumency.
The most important rule she followed was the simplest - never let them
know what you're thinking. It was why she fit so well with Umbridge's
goon squad, and how she was able to hover in the background behind
Malfoy and his thugs. It was a survival tactic, useful because it worked.
In a crowd of future death eaters, she was just one of many. No one
bothered to ask her opinion, after all - why would they?
So while she greeted the long lost Potters and miraculously healed
Longbottoms, she was the picture of poise and gratitude. She thanked
them for shelter, using phrases old before Merlin's time. She welcomed
the parents back into Wizarding Britain, and hoped that they were well.
She complimented their sons for their upstanding conduct during the
recent upheavals. She very deliberately did not remark on the absence of
Harry and Neville.
Inside, she fought to keep herself calm.
The whole point of going to Neville had been to avoid the Headmaster's
supporters. During that parley, so long ago, Potter had made it clear that
he was his own side in the war, and that he did not fight for Albus
Dumbledore. His actions at the Ministry proved that more than any oath
could have.
Her father had been killed for his politics, and she was now hunted for
her family's vote in the Wizengamot. Seeking shelter with one of the most
politically connected wizards in the last century was inviting trouble.
And yet, here she was.
After a quiet lunch, during which she managed to avoid questions about
anything of substance, Pansy was escorted to a guest bedroom. James
Potter seemed about to object, before Alice Longbottom shut him down
with a glance. It was her home, after all.
The elf who escorted her was kind, but would answer no questions -
which did little to ease Pansy's worry.
When she was alone, she heard the click of a lock. She fell to her knees,
fighting to slow her racing heartbeat, as panic overtook her.
She had exchanged one prison for another.
oOoOoOoOo
Professor Snape went to prepare tea, giving Rookwood a few minutes
with his thoughts. After they both had cups in hand, the silence
continued to stretch out.
"I find myself surprised that Mister Longbottom was up before noon,"
Snape remarked, choosing a new topic. "After all, he had quite a late
night last night."
Rookwood's eyes narrowed. "He was at Bones Manor as well?"
Snape shook his head. "Only Potter was there during the battle. Several
others showed up afterwards, Longbottom among them."
Rookwood shrugged. "He and Potter both seemed quite well rested when
we met them at the edge of the wards."
Snape's eyes snapped to Rookwood, who found himself unnerved by the
Professor's gaze.
"The wards at Potter Manor would not have allowed such a close
approach," Snape said, evenly.
Rookwood shook his head. "I don't know where Potter Manor is. Pansy's
agreement was with Neville Longbottom, not Potter. So we went to his
home. Longbottom Hall." Off Snape's look, Rookwood sat forward.
"Why?"
"Potter, you dunderhead," muttered Snape.
"Professor, what happened?" demanded Rookwood.
Snape sighed, and set his tea down. "Harry Potter, as you know, has
declared a blood feud on the Dark Lord, and all who bear his mark. What
you likely don't know is that he is not the last Potter."
"Not the last… Professor, what the hell?"
"Listen!" Snapped the Professor. "Potter's parents lived. They survived the
attack, in 1981. They made it out of that cottage, and went into hiding.
Them…. and one of their sons. Potter's twin, James Potter Junior."
"How am I just now learning this?" demanded Rookwood.
Snape shook his head. "Potter figured that they would announce their
glorious return as soon as they could. But they have done nothing in
public, not yet. Right now it's basically an open secret among the Light
families."
Rookwood thought back to the boy he had seen that morning. The long-
haired Potter boy, dressed in nice clothes and wandering the grounds of
Longbottom Hall without care. Certainly, not a boy who had fought the
Dark Lord hours before.
"Merlin," he whispered. "Potter has a twin."
"Yes," Snape confirmed. "And so does Longbottom. Trevor Longbottom,
whose death was faked, apparently."
Rookwood looked up at his Professor. "The Longbottom parents?"
Snape nodded. "In hiding as well, with the Potters."
The pieces fell together in Rookwood's mind, and he swore. "So instead of
avoiding the Order, I handed her over to it."
"I'm not going to bother asking how you know of the Order," replied
Snape. "But yes, Mister Rookwood, that is the situation."
oOoOoOoOo
It was midafternoon when Pansy heard the door to her suite open. She
was sitting next to the window, looking out on the grounds of
Longbottom Hall, and did not bother turning to greet her guest. As a
result, she was surprised when the speaker turned out to be Albus
Dumbledore.
"I am sorry for your loss, Miss Parkinson," the Headmaster said in those
gentle, grandfatherly tones he was known for.
Turning, she saw the Headmaster standing in the doorway. She said
nothing, but nodded in acknowledgement of the man's words.
With a soft smile, Dumbledore conjured a chair and seated himself in the
center of the room. There was a chair near the window, facing Pansy, but
he clearly didn't want to sit too close to her. That told her that he
expected her to get upset by his questions, and she felt herself tense.
It would not be long before she knew how right she was.
"You were wise to come to the Longbottoms, My dear," the Headmaster
continued.
"Neville and I spoke before the end of term, Professor," she replied,
keeping her voice as calm as possible. "He offered me a safe place to hide,
should the need arise."
Dumbledore nodded at that. "Mister Longbottom is a fine wizard, and a
good man. It was a lucky thing he made that offer, I think."
"Yes," she agreed. "I have not seen Neville since I arrived, do you know if
he is available to speak with me?"
Dumbledore sighed very softly. "I'm afraid Mister Longbottom did not
take his parents' return to health very well, Miss Parkinson. He is not
currently at home."
Pansy had never spent much time around the Headmaster, and never in
close proximity. She had had no reason to, being both a Slytherin and
one intent on going unnoticed. But now that she sat in the same room as
the man, she was starting to notice his mannerisms. The slight tilt of his
head, the theatrical sigh before giving bad news, the gentle good-natured
chuckle.
The man could've done well in Slytherin, she realized. Everything about him
screamed manipulation, when you really looked closely.
"That is unfortunate," Pansy said, with a sigh of her own. "I should very
much like to thank him."
"Ah, well, my dear, perhaps there is a way you can show your gratitude,"
the Headmaster said.
"Oh?" Pansy replied. She kept her voice as closed to 'teenaged girl' as she
could, guessing that that was what she was to the Headmaster. After all,
he had called her 'Miss', rather than 'Heiress', which told her that he was
minimizing her rightful place in society, as one might a younger child. Or
was he keeping her mind off her inheritance?
"Indeed," he replied. "I understand that your uncle has claimed to be
Regent and Proxy for House Parkinson in the Wizengamot."
"So I was told," she said, hesitatingly. He had said as much to her as he
cut into her arm. "I don't know what I can do about that if I'm in hiding."
"I am told that your uncle went to Minister Fudge, and got a dispensation
to take over the Regency without a certification from the goblins, and
without waiting for the reading of Lord Parkinson's will." Dumbledore
said, a note of sadness in his voice.
The man's good, thought Pansy. She couldn't tell if the emotion was real
or false.
Dumbledore continued. "If you were to assign a proxy on your own, then
that should overrule the Minister's decision, and your House's seat would
be secured."
There it is.
"I see," she said, quietly. "Unfortunately, many of the adults I… that I
trusted... are death eaters, sir." She held up her bandaged left arm. "You
can understand why I might be hesitant to assign the Parkinson vote to
them."
Dumbledore smiled at her. "Quite wise, my dear. I would give five points
to Slytherin if it were not the holidays." He leaned forward in his seat,
gazing at her over his spectacles. "If you wish, I would be honored to take
up the task."
Pansy smiled back at the Headmaster. "While that is a gracious offer,
Professor, I doubt we agree on many of the issues before the
Wizengamot. Would you be able to vote against your own positions, if I
asked you to do so?"
The Headmaster chuckled again, in the way a grandfather showed
amusement at a child who said a clever thing. "I suspect, my dear, that
you would have no cause to object to the way I would exercise your
vote."
Of course not, she realized. You probably wouldn't tell me half of what you
did with it.
"And if my uncle objects?" Pansy asked, in as small a voice as she could
muster.
Dumbledore bought it. "You have nothing to fear, Miss Parkinson. You
are safe here."
Pansy nodded, and clasped her hands together in her lap. She was
surprised to find that they actually were shaking. "I'll have to think about
it, Headmaster." She looked up, meeting his eyes. "Either way, thank you
for your gracious offer."
Dumbledore nodded, and stood with a sigh. It was not clear if he sighed
because of his age, or to show disappointment. But that smile remained
on his face, and he inclined his head to her in a slight bow.
"I will take my leave, then, Miss Parkinson. Please do consider your
situation. I expect there to be an emergency session on Thursday, and it
would not do to leave you or your family's vote in the hands of your
uncle." With that, Dumbledore turned and left the room.
The tension drained from Pansy when she heard the lock click on the
door once again.
The Headmaster had asked for her vote, but left her locked in a room. His
parting words were a clear but subtle threat - let the Headmaster vote
your seat, or take your chances with the man who killed your father and
tortured you. That told her everything she needed to know about the so-
called "Leader of the Light." Whatever happened, she knew one thing.
She needed to get out of here.
oOoOoOoOo
Susan Bones had been worried when Harry had come down to lunch.
Neville had told her not to worry about it - that this was something he
sometimes did after a big fight, and that she should just let him relax.
That comment did more to calm her than anything else. "He's flying,
then," she said.
"Yup," replied a grinning Neville. "As soon as he learned that the manor
had a Quidditch pitch, he knew he was home."
After they ate, Susan went out on the back patio to catch a glimpse of
Harry in flight. She had always had one eye on him during the school
matches, even when the lions played against Hufflepuff. One of the first
things she learned about Harry Potter, long before properly meeting him,
was that he loved to be in the air. It was part of why he was a great
seeker - it meant that he was always moving through the air, no matter
what.
If he had one of the other positions on the team, and had to actually
focus on one task, or had to limit himself to only one area as part of a
formation? Susan had no doubt he'd walk away from the game. As
seeker, he had as much freedom as he could want, so long as he chased
that little golden target whenever it appeared.
When Susan sat down, she saw Harry flying toward the manor. At first
glance, it looked like he was wearing Quidditch robes, but as he grew
closer she saw that his outfit was different. It seemed like a combination
of his battle robes, with that basilisk-skin longcoat, and chaser's pads. His
gloves were still fitted for the seeker position, however, with their
fingerless design allowing the player's skin to touch the snitch and trigger
the end of the game.
She noticed the wand in his hand, and realized why he was wearing
seeker gloves. He didn't want anything interfering with his casting, and
keeping his skin in contact with the wand was the best way to ensure
that.
It was then that he saw her, and grinned. Instead of waving, he did a
quick barrel roll, earning a laugh from the Hufflepuff. Then he stuck his
wand straight into the air and cast a spell.
She could not hear the incantation from where she sat, and it was hard to
see the spell's effects in the bright July sunshine. What she did see was a
series of projectiles flying from the wand, each one trailing smoke. They
looked like fireworks, and acted like it as well - each one sped off in a
different direction, before the lot of them exploded as one. Instead of
brightly colored lights, the fireworks released more smoke and what
looked like debris - something that no one would want to fly through.
He isn't practicing Quidditch, she realized. He's still training.
Her thoughts were confirmed when he spun about and aimed his wand at
the growing cloud of smoke. As if imagining an opponent, he sent three
stunners in that direction, followed by one of his green stunners that
looked like the killing curse.
Susan's eyes were drawn toward the woods, where some sort of creature
was charging toward the open field behind the manor. The spells had not
made a lot of noise, apart from the exploding fireworks, but they still
caught the attention of… something. From this distance, Susan could
only tell that the creature looked like a horse, had dark grey skin, and
wings.
Wings?
The creature did not break its stride as it took to the air, great leathery
wings stretching out and catching the wind. Harry flew low over the
field, passing by the creature, laughing as he went. With a shrill cry, the
creature gave chase, and the two began flying across the grounds, as if in
formation.
At one point, a laughing Harry looped back and reversed himself, so that
he was flying upside down. He passed over the creature, which cried out
at him in annoyance before sweeping to its left, turning to follow. Harry
flipped back upright, before bringing himself toward the manor and the
ground.
Susan was on her feet before he had touched down. She couldn't help but
grin at him, for she could see how much he had enjoyed the flight.
"What was that?" She asked.
He just laughed once again. "Practice!" he replied.
Susan huffed, even as she hugged him. "No, you prat, what was that?"
Turning him, she pointed at the creature as it landed nearby.
"Oh," he said, nodding. "I suppose that would make sense, now." He
looked back at her, and kissed her forehead. "That, Susan, is a thestral."
Her eyes grew wide, and she looked at the creature, getting a better look
now that it was close by. She wanted to ask him how she could see, but
then she remembered the night before. The death eaters falling to the
floor, writhing in pain. The intruder whose head exploded with a crack of
gunfire.
"Oh," she whispered. She felt Harry hold her tighter.
"Yeah," he agreed. After a moment, he whispered. "What do you think?"
Susan smiled, tightening her hold on him. "It's beautiful."
The couple stood there for a while, watching the thestral graze. When it
loped back into the woods, Harry looked down and found Susan looking
up at him. With a smile, he leaned in and gave her a soft kiss.
"Thank you," he said.
She replied by kissing him back.
It was some time before they went back to the manor. Both Harry and
Susan made a point of ignoring Neville's chuckles as they passed him by.
oOoOoOoOo
Pansy was not pleased to be served dinner in her room. Clearly, the
Headmaster wanted her to carefully consider his words, and so she was
to be kept confined.
So much for the hospitality of House Longbottom, she thought bitterly.
The sight of Trevor Longbottom did surprise her, however. She had
expected an elf, to show that she was being denied contact with anyone
while still being treated as a guest. Having the lost Longbottom twin
serve the meal was an unexpected touch.
"I trust you are well, Heiress Parkinson?" Trevor asked, as he set the tray
on her table.
"I would be much better if I were allowed to leave this room, Mister
Longbottom," she replied, coldly.
Trevor had the grace to at least look uncomfortable at the clear
accusation.
"My parents did not want you wandering, I'm afraid. These are dangerous
times, as you know." Trevor did not meet her eyes as he set out her
dinner service.
"If there is danger here, perhaps your family should consider relocating?"
Trevor shook his head. "You misunderstand, the danger was to you." He
looked up at her, finally meeting her eyes. "Some of my family's allies
consider your family to be allied with the Dark Lord, and your uncle's
actions do little to prove otherwise."
Pansy almost snarled at him. "My father was neutral for two decades,
Trevor. Ever since he took the seat, he never supported one side or the
other. And Dumbledore fucking knows it."
Trevor took a step back at her angry response. "But…" he began, but she
cut him off again.
"But, nothing, Longbottom." She kept her seat, looking every bit the
pureblooded heiress, but her voice was angry and raw, and clearly not
what the boy expected. Pansy pressed the attack. "I came here under
parley, hoping for safety, and your family has me imprisoned. If it's not
safe here, let me leave, but quit acting like you're in the right here."
Trevor stood up straight, as if he were preparing to fight. And perhaps he
was.
"The Longbottoms have always served the Light, Parkinson," he snapped.
"So you say," she replied. Then, she gave him a sneer worthy of the snake
pit, before bringing her voice down to almost a whisper. "At least the
Dark families kill their victims. Your side, on the other hand, lets them
mourn for decades before showing back up." She sat back, letting her
features radiate disgust. "Which is the more cruel, I wonder?"
The look on Trevor's face told her that she had said something right, for
he immediately looked guilty. Again, she pressed on.
"At least Neville had the Regent Longbottom to guide him," Pansy
continued. "Harry Potter had fucking nobody. They locked his godfather
in Azkaban, with no trial, and his godmother fucked off with you to
wherever you were."
"The Potters are Light as well," Trevor replied, not sure what else to say.
"So it would seem," Pansy agreed, but her tone made it an indictment
rather than a compliment. "And you wonder why so many families fight
so hard to remain neutral?"
Try as he might, Trevor could come up with nothing in response. He
stood there, glaring at the Parkinson Heiress, saying nothing at all.
After a minute of tense silence, Pansy sighed. "I would like to eat my
meal now, Mister Longbottom."
Trevor looked at the table, and the two place settings there. "Of course,"
he said weakly.
She saw his eyes, and realized he had meant to join her. Nope.
"Alone, Trevor. I can't deal with you right now."
Trevor looked as if he wanted to speak, but thought better of it. Instead,
he walked to the door. Rather than leave, however, he simply leaned
against it, arms folded.
Pansy stared at him. "Longbottom…" she began.
"I was told not to leave until you had finished eating. My father thought
you might have questions for me." Trevor looked embarrassed as he
spoke, but not embarrassed enough to actually leave her alone as she had
asked.
Pansy scowled at him for a moment. "I suppose you're to tell me why I
should support the Headmaster?"
The boy relaxed a bit, and nodded.
"Alright," Pansy said, a pleasant tone in her voice. "Convince me."
Had Trevor been a Slytherin, that tone would have been a warning.
There was a saying in the snake pit, one that she followed almost
religiously. 'Be careful around a grinning Slytherin.' She smiled at him,
looking every bit the pureblood princess, and he thought she had calmed
down, when the reality was exactly the opposite.
Trevor blinked at her, but then gathered himself. "The Headmaster is the
leader of the Light, Parkinson," he began.
Pansy held up a hand. "Let's start there. What does that mean? The Light
faction, as it is known, is made up of several influential families, and
Dumbledore leads those families, but what does the Light stand for?"
There was only one answer to that, in Trevor's mind. "The Light is what
stands in opposition to the Dark." His tone betrayed his feelings on the
matter - it was a self-evident truth, obvious to anyone with eyes to see.
"I am aware," Pansy said. "But that is what the Light are against, what
they oppose. What are you for, exactly?" She tilted her head at the
confused boy. "If House Parkinson were to support the Light, what
policies would we be supporting, exactly? What laws would our vote help
to pass?"
Trevor stared at her. These were important questions, of course, but not
ones he had ever considered before. The Longbottoms supported the
Light, end of story. He had never considered exactly why they did so, or
what it was they were supporting. Details like that were his father's
concern, not his.
"Let me tell you what I see, Mister Longbottom," continued Pansy. "I see
one faction that kidnapped me and told me to give them my vote. And
then I see the opposing faction that kidnapped me and told me to give
them my vote." She smiled broadly at him, keeping her tone light and
conversational. "Why in the name of Merlin and Morgana would I ever,
ever, consent to aid either of them?"
"It's not that simple," Trevor began, but again she cut him off.
"Oh yes it is!" she snapped. "The most basic fucking thing a Head of
House needs to do is protect their family. Period. Finite. My father did
everything he could to keep me safe, and died for it. So now I have to
protect myself." She shook her head sadly. "If you lot have taught me
anything, it's that I can't trust you to do it. For fuck's sake, you can't even
protect yourselves."
"What do you mean by that?" Trevor asked, angrily. He was not going to
let her accuse the Longbottoms of such a thing. "We've always protected
our own. My parents have never harmed me."
"I'm sure they haven't," she agreed. Then Pansy gave him her best
Slytherin glare. "Perhaps we should ask Neville what he thinks, eh? Or
Lord Potter?"
Trevor stared at her. He opened his mouth to argue the point, before
closing it again. He simply couldn't counter her words. Could she be
right? It scared him that he couldn't immediately say 'No.'
It was equally clear that Pansy knew it as well. When he looked back at
her, he saw that she had turned away from him, and was beginning to eat
her dinner. It was a clear dismissal.
Without a word, a shaken Trevor left her to her meal.
oOoOoOoOo
Ambrose Rookwood raised another concern as he helped Professor Snape
clear the dishes from their dinner.
"I don't think I can even go back to Hogwarts, now," Rookwood said.
"It is too early to say," replied Snape. "Several students have been killed
since the summer began, all while wearing the mark. It is possible that
there will not be as many of the Dark Lord's supporters in our house as
we expected."
"Maybe," said Rookwood. "But it only takes one."
"True," Snape agreed. "It will be your NEWT year, however. Not an easy
time to leave."
"I'm less worried about my NEWTs than I am about getting cursed in the
back, sir," Rookwood answered.
Snape frowned, considering that. "If Mister Potter has his way, there will
be no one in the school who bears the mark, save myself."
"So I figured. He can't exactly pause a blood feud, can he?" Rookwood
looked thoughtful. "But then again, I doubt that the Headmaster would
permit anyone to just go about executing students, even if they are
marked."
Snape couldn't disagree with that. "At the rate Potter is going, however, it
may not matter."
Rookwood did not need any explanation. Crawley, Bones Manor,
Hungary… and the Ministry. All had been disasters for the forces of the
Dark Lord. Flint had not said as much, but it was clear to Rookwood that
some of his fellow Slytherins had been among the victims of those
engagements.
"He threw their lives away, just like that," Rookwood said quietly. "Just
like he would've done to me. Just like he did to Da."
Snape's expression softened, ever so slightly. "Those who take the mark
pledge their lives to the Dark Lord. He has never been shy about
collecting on that pledge."
"No, he has not." Rookwood agreed. He sat heavily in one of the chairs in
the small kitchen, and leaned his head against the wall. "What the hell do
I do now?"
"I don't know," Snape answered. "Perhaps we should consider Miss
Parkinson's situation first?"
Rookwood scoffed. "What do you want me to do, storm Longbottom
Hall?"
Snape sneered at the thought. "Are you a Slytherin or not, Mister
Rookwood?" he drawled.
"Neville Longbottom wouldn't give me the time of day, sir. And I refuse
to contact Potter." Ambrose looked over to his Professor. "Who else would
I ask for help? The people I trust are all in this room."
Snape heard the telltale sound of the floo, and nodded. "I may be able to
help you with that, Mister Rookwood." Then he raised his voice. "In the
kitchen!"
Ambrose Rookwood stood up when he realized that someone had arrived.
His wand was already in his hand as he turned. In the doorway stood an
odd-looking wizard. His clothes were that of a wealthy pureblood,
perhaps a Lord, but his hairstyle was a very short muggle cut. The man
had an easy way about him, but also showed signs of combat training. He
seemed at once relaxed and on edge, something not many would notice.
It bothered Rookwood that he did not immediately recognize the man.
When Snape spoke, he understood why.
"Ambrose Rookwood, may I introduce the Lord of the Ancient and Most
Noble House of Black, Sirius Black."
A/N: You know, it's funny. My other major story, Keystone Council,
might cover months in a chapter - and that, while juggling five main
characters (all versions of the same person). Here, I'm lucky to get
through half a bloody day. That's what I get for skipping the trunk
shopping and training montages and whatnot, I guess.
It was Pansy's thread here that got the best reaction from my betas. I
think it stems from letting her Slytherin flag fly without making her
a hateful blood purist. I'll admit, this Pansy has been fun to write, as
has Ambrose Rookwood.
Thank you again for all of the comments and questions. I never
figured on getting 5,000 follows on any story I wrote, and yet here
we are. Again, thank you.
Stay safe out there. Feedback, as always, is welcome.
23. The Potions Master
Sirius Black sighed deeply as the last of the Order members left 12 Grimmauld
Place.
The announcement of the Potters' return had been as explosive as he and
Harry had expected, and many had lingered after the meeting. Some wanted
to discuss the repercussions this would have, others just wanted to greet their
old friends James and Lily. A few wanted to meet this newly minted Boy-Who-
Lived, at once similar and yet so different from the Gryffindor they thought
they had known.
Sirius did not share their enthusiasm for this latest turn of events. After all,
none of them had spent an hour before the Order meeting with the Potters, had
they?
James and Lily had retired to their guest room upstairs, and Jamie had taken
the room normally shared by Ron and Harry. Dumbledore and Doge had left
together, talking animatedly about the upcoming Wizengamot agenda.
Everyone else was gone.
Almost everyone else.
Sirius walked into the kitchen, careful to keep his hands in view. He left the
room in its darkened state, not wanting to provoke his guest. With a smirk, he
spoke to the shadows.
"Would you like some tea?"
Severus Snape stepped forward, out of the shadows in the corner of the room.
His wand was out, and aimed directly at Sirius.
"Did you know?" asked the Potions Master.
Sirius turned slowly, facing toward Snape. He kept his hands out, and made
no sudden moves. He looked at the man, and saw the rage on his features,
ending any impulse to make light of the situation. No, his question could have
only one answer.
"I found out at the Ministry, just as Harry did," Sirius said, calmly. "I was
never told of any plans that involved anyone going into hiding, except under
the fidelius."
Snape did not lower his wand. "Why did you go to Azkaban? They could have
gotten you out. She could have gotten you out."
Sirius scowled. "They claim that Dumbledore kept them in the dark until it was
too late. He told them that revealing themselves would waste their sacrifice."
"What sacrifice?" Snape spat. "They had everything they cared about, and
wanted for nothing."
Sirius nodded. "Seems that way, yeah."
The two men stood there, in the darkened kitchen, regarding each other. In a
bid to lower the tension, Sirius took a seat at the table. He smiled as he saw
Harry's red 'Royal Navy' mug still sitting on the table. He idly pushed at the
handle, turning it around in its place, as he considered his next words.
Snape took the seat across from Sirius, unknowingly choosing the seat in
which Lily Potter had been reunited with the younger of her two sons. He saw
the mug, and was surprised to see such a thing in a magical home, but said
nothing about it.
After a few minutes of silence, the Professor spoke quietly.
"Potter told me…." Snape began, before sighing when he realized what he had
said. "Fuck."
Sirius couldn't help it. He chuckled. "Yeah, that's a thing."
"I will not call the boy 'Harry'," Snape retorted.
"I'd be shocked if you did," replied Sirius. "But go on. Harry did something."
Snape glared at his host for a moment, before continuing. "Yes. He told me
that I should keep my Slytherin wits about me."
Sirius nodded again. That sounded like something Harry would say.
"And he was right," Snape said, quietly, the anger fading from his voice. "My
first impulse was to leave. And I would have."
"He knew you were smarter than that," said Sirius. "But he needs you on
mission."
Snape's eyes narrowed at that. "Is that a muggle saying?" The man's distaste at
that notion was obvious, and it drew a smirk from Sirius.
"From their military, yes. When you have an objective, you have to make sure
that everything you do brings you closer to achieving that objective." Sirius'
expression grew sober, as he met the gaze of his childhood nemesis.
"The question for you, then, is this - what is your objective, Severus Snape?"
oOoOoOoOo
None of the three wizards ever expected to be sitting at the same table, in
an old muggle house in Cokesworth of all places, charting the next moves
in a rapidly expanding civil war.
Sirius Black's recent actions, and his willingness to put his own hard-won
freedom at risk for his godson, had forced Snape to re-evaluate the man.
Azkaban had not forced him to grow up, for he had been his old
immature self not long after the Order reformed a year ago. Rather, it
seemed that whatever had convinced Harry Potter to grow up so quickly
had carried over to Black.
The marauder of old would never have shown up to assist a Slytherin,
especially not the son of a death eater. Yet here he was.
The change in perspective went both ways. Sirius had not expected Snape
to approach him after the return of the Potters, but in hindsight it was an
obvious move. Snape and Lily had grown up together, this was no secret -
and to learn that she had been complicit in a deception of this magnitude
was shocking. Sirius had never seen the man so flustered as he had that
night.
If Severus Snape was anything, however, he was a consummate Slytherin.
The Professor's agreement to work with Sirius - and, by extension, with
Harry - was as jarring in the moment as it was obvious in hindsight.
Snape was 'on mission' now. Their alliance had been tense at first, but
Sirius had come to respect the Potions Master.
They'd never be truly friendly, of course. But they didn't have to be.
Ambrose Rookwood looked between the two older men, and wasn't quite
sure what to think. He had known, as many did, that Snape was a link
between the Order and the Death Eaters. He also knew that the
Professor's true loyalty was often found with a third group - his
Slytherins. At least in the short term, that made his home a sanctuary.
Now, Rookwood learned that his professor knew the exonerated mass
murderer Sirius Black, and could summon him at will.
Rookwood had never really studied the man, even after his escape.
Beyond knowing of his relationship with the Boy-Who-Lived, he had not
been a piece on the board. As a fugitive, he could not take up his
Lordship, nor could he wield the galleons of the Blacks to oppose the
Dark Lord. In short, he hadn't been important.
Now, here he sat, listening to Professor Snape explain Pansy Parkinson's
situation.
After a thoughtful minute, Sirius sighed. "I figured there was some hope
for Harry's brother, you know? He seemed like a decent kid, despite the
whole faking-his-death thing." He looked over to Ambrose. "And he didn't
say anything to you when you dropped her off at Longbottom Hall?"
Ambrose shook his head. "I sort of threatened him, and he didn't even
respond."
"That's out of character," said Snape.
"Yes it is," agreed Sirius. "Harry would have at least made you reveal your
arms."
Ambrose glared at Sirius. "Even after I basically called him out for killing
my father?"
Sirius looked at him evenly. "Even then. If you weren't already flinging
spells at him, that is."
"I doubt that."
A shrug. "Harry isn't going to target civilians if he can help it," continued
Sirius. "Refuse to take the mark, and swear to stay out of the conflict?
Yes, Harry would leave you be. Take the mark, and all bets are off. But
he'd be damn sure you don't have the mark first."
Rookwood's shoulders sagged. "I should have known it wasn't him. I
should have stopped her."
Sirius sipped his tea. "How many conversations have you had with
Harry? How well do you know him? They are twins, after all."
"None of that helps us with the problem at hand," Snape said, bringing
the topic back around. "Miss Parkinson is being held by the Order, for
reasons unknown."
"Not unknown," Ambrose replied. "Her uncle wants her to take the dark
mark, to solidify his control over the Parkinson seat in the wizengamot.
I'm betting that Dumbledore wants something similar."
Sirius opened his mouth to object, but then stopped himself. After
hearing the Headmaster's plans to remove Harry as Lord of the Potter
family, the idea that he might try to subvert another house wasn't so
crazy after all.
At the back of his mind, he wondered if the Black Lordship had factored
into his little trip to Azkaban.
"The Headmaster needs to be in control," Snape observed. "He expects to
become Chief Warlock once again, and needs votes to do it. If he cannot
secure the Potter vote, then the Parkinson vote would be a useful
replacement."
Sirius shook his head. "We literally have a madman killing at random,
and Dumbledore is playing at politics."
"It looks that way," agreed Ambrose. "And Pansy is paying the price for
it."
Snape looked at his student, his expression unreadable. "I cannot just
enter Longbottom Hall, they locked down their wards after the return of
Frank and Alice Longbottom."
"So they did," Sirius replied, nodding. "But they didn't hand over the
wards to Lord Longbottom. They didn't have a chance to."
Ambrose knew that there was more to the story, but his worry and
impatience got the better of him, in that moment.
"How does that help us?" he snapped.
Sirius looked at him, and grinned. "How would you like to visit
Greengrass Manor?"
oOoOoOoOo
Despite a very polite invitation from Alice Longbottom, Pansy Parkinson
did not attend breakfast the next morning. Her absence was the topic of
quiet speculation between the Potters and the Longbottoms, as Jamie and
Trevor looked on.
"At least she is safe here," Frank Longbottom said.
Trevor chose to speak up. "She thinks she's a prisoner here," he said.
Frank looked at his son, and frowned. "There's nowhere else to send her,
Trevor," he replied.
"Maybe," Trevor answered. "If she asked to leave, would we let her?"
Frank's expression hardened. "The Longbottoms promised her safety, we
will provide it. It is not up to her to decide how we provide that safety."
"Is her vote in the Wizengamot a condition of that promise?" Jamie
asked, quietly. "The Headmaster seemed to hint as much, at least
according to what Pansy told Trev."
James Potter looked like he had swallowed a lemon. Before he could
respond to his son, however, Frank Longbottom banged a fist onto the
table.
"Enough!" He growled, and the room silenced. He glared at the boys as he
spoke. "This is the course that House Longbottom will follow, and that is
the end of the discussion. Am I clear?"
Trevor nodded, but Jamie met his host's eyes with his own.
"Lord Longbottom, sir," he began, the epitome of politeness. "If the Heir
Longbottom did not discuss the Parkinson vote when he offered
sanctuary, she may feel that asking about it now is a change to the terms
of their agreement. Sir."
"More fool, him," muttered James Potter.
Frank shot him a glare, before returning his attention to the boys.
"Neville will accept my decision in this matter," Frank intoned. "If he
wishes to remain the heir, that is."
Trevor stood, having finished his meal. Jamie did likewise.
"My lord father," Trevor said, formally. "Are you certain?"
oOoOoOoOo
As the older wizards discussed the situation with Lord Greengrass and
Augusta Longbottom, Ambrose Rookwood found himself pulled aside
almost as soon as Pansy's name was mentioned. The hand on his arm
dragged him into a small sitting room, where he was almost shoved into
a waiting chair. If he had not recognized the blonde girl accosting him,
he might have reacted poorly when she grabbed him.
Daphne was in Pansy's year. It would make sense for her to worry about
her friend.
"What happened, Rookwood?" She snapped. Her wand was in her hand,
though it remained pointed at the floor.
He snapped right back. "Pansy's uncle is trying to take over her house.
Professor Snape and I are trying to help keep her safe."
Her eyes narrowed. "Her uncle's a death eater."
A nod. "Yes."
Her wand came up, now, aiming at his chest. "You're a death eater, too, if
I heard correctly."
Ambrose did not move. "Check my arm, if you like."
Daphne glared at him for a moment. "Fine, then."
Slowly, he reached over to his left wrist, unbuttoning his shirt sleeve. He
then rolled the sleeve up, exposing his bare arm. He was not wearing a
robe, and so had no outer garment to pull aside.
Daphne saw that he was not marked, and visibly relaxed. Her expression
did not soften, however, and she still stood over him, not threateningly
but not exactly welcoming, either.
"All I heard was that you were going to take the mark, just as your father
did." She kept her eyes on him, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "What
changed?"
Ambrose sighed. So much had happened, just these past few weeks, and
he had no idea where to begin.
"I was offered the dark mark, actually. Marcus Flint handed me a written
invitation to join," Ambrose continued. "I said that I'd join if he required
it, but that staying unmarked would let me be more helpful to his cause.
That I could gather more information if I was not obviously on his side."
"How did he react to that?" Daphne asked, quietly. Few had said no to
the Dark Lord without regretting it.
"No idea," Ambrose replied, honestly. "But before long, he was sending
death eaters to drop my wards and storm my family home." He looked up
at her, again shaking his head. "And this was all after my father gave his
life to the cause, dying on the stone floor of the Department of
Mysteries."
Daphne nodded. "Never thought I'd see you supporting Dumbledore,
Rookwood."
Ambrose scoffed. "Not doing that, either."
"Really?"
"Really. Pansy went to Neville for protection, specifically to avoid the
Headmaster. But no one knew that the Longbottoms had returned, and
were working with Dumbledore. So now she's at Longbottom Hall, and
neither owls nor elves can reach her."
"You really think they'd do something to her?"
He shrugged. "Her uncle wanted her marked, so she could be ordered to
hand over her wizengamot seat. That's why she ran. What would you bet
Dumbledore is asking for something similar?"
"After the past few weeks? I don't know," she replied.
"Exactly. Everything's changed."
Daphne gave him a hard stare. After a moment, she put her wand away.
"So, then, Ambrose Rookwood, what do you want?"
"I want out," he said, immediately. He hadn't truly made the decision
until that moment, but the words seemed to come of their own accord.
"What's more, Pansy wants out as well."
Daphne nodded, approvingly. Then she understood why they were here,
of all places - not to speak to her grandfather, but to his guest. A woman
who currently controlled the wards at Longbottom Hall. Augusta
Longbottom, the mother of the current Lord.
They wanted her to let them into the wards. Which meant only one thing.
Daphne laughed. "Ambrose Rookwood, on a rescue mission? How
positively Gryffindor of you!"
"Oi!" Ambrose sputtered.
Daphne calmed herself, and gave him a grin. "Now I see why Pansy
fancies you."
Ambrose's eyes grew wide, causing Daphne to start laughing again.
oOoOoOoOo
Pansy Parkinson was surprised when her lunch was delivered not by a
house elf, but by Jamie Potter and Trevor Longbottom. They did not
attempt to engage her in conversation, but simply stood by the door and
spoke quietly to each other.
When she finished her sandwich, she noticed a slip of parchment under
the plate. Reading it, her eyes grew wide.
"What the fuck, Longbottom?" she snarled.
Trevor winced at the venom in her tone, and said nothing. It was Jamie
Potter who explained.
"If you withdraw from the agreement you made with Neville, then it
would be our task to escort you to the ward line and bid you good day,
Heiress Parkinson." Jamie's tone was formal, as if this were just another
parley.
Pansy glared at him. "I was told I'd be safe here, but then I was
threatened and held prisoner. What stops me from calling the
Longbottoms out for their lies?"
Trevor winced again, and glanced over to his friend. Jamie ignored the
look, fighting to keep his voice calm.
"Such an accusation would place you at odds with House Longbottom. As
you are within their wards, the result would be…. unpleasant."
But ending the agreement without accusing them of lies is just business, she
thought. Pansy looked from one boy to the other. "And how long would it
take you to escort me out of here?" The unspoken question hung in the
air - is this another trick?
Trevor spoke, for the first time. "As long as it takes for you to pack your
belongings."
Pansy considered the offer for all of ten seconds, and then stood. Both
boys noticed that her wand was already out.
"It is the decision of House Parkinson that the parley agreement as
negotiated with House Longbottom is no longer in the best interests of
our families."
The three exited the room, and began to walk down the hallway, when
they heard the last voice they expected.
"Trevor? Jamie? What's going on?"
Turning, they saw Frank Longbottom drawing his wand.
oOoOoOoOo
Sirius Black glanced over at Snape as they walked up the hill to
Longbottom Hall. The Professor's expression, as usual, was unreadable.
Ambrose Rookwood had not joined them, for Augusta Longbottom was
still hesitant to open the wards to the son of a death eater. She even
paled a bit at allowing Snape in, given his early treatment of Neville in
his class. Only Sirius' assurance that he would not be there long
convinced her to agree to the plan.
Seeing the look on Snape's face, Sirius knew that the brief visit would still
be hard. According to Augusta, the Potters were here, which meant that
Lily and James were here. James, he could deal with - the worry was
how Snape would react to Lily, and what might be said as a result.
"I'm still surprised she agreed," Sirius said, uncomfortable with the
silence.
Snape scoffed at that. "Madam Longbottom has always been
underestimated, Black. Even the darker families knew not to anger her."
"And right now, her anger is fixed on her son," agreed Sirius.
Snape nodded. He said nothing more as they approached the doors. A
Longbottom elf popped into place, and looked closely at the pair of
wizards. Satisfied that they were who he had been expecting, the elf
snapped his long fingers, and the doors opened.
Sirius sighed in relief. "Thank you Augusta," he said to himself. Madam
Longbottom had come through for them again.
The pair found that the entrance hall was empty. Sirius started to walk
toward the grand staircase, heading to the guest rooms above. Snape took
his place near the door, in an effort to prevent anyone from locking the
manor down and preventing their escape.
Without a word, Sirius walked briskly up the stairs, hoping to reach
Pansy's room before he was seen. If they could get in and out without
being noticed, so much the better.
It was only a minute before that hope fell apart. A voice came from the
side hall, and Snape turned to see the absolute last person he wanted to
encounter.
Lily Potter paled as she saw him.
"Severus?"
oOoOoOoOo
Trevor and Jamie shared a glance, wondering what they would tell the
Lord Longbottom. They knew that he had ordered Pansy to remain in her
room, except for meals, and here they were in the hallway, escorting her
somewhere.
Pansy had her hands together, the picture of the elegant pureblooded
heiress. That it also kept her hand near her sleeve, and her wand, was
secondary.
Before anyone could answer the Lord of the manor, however, another
voice came from the other end of the hall.
"Boys, good! You got my message."
Everyone turned to see Sirius Black walking up, his hands in his pockets
and an easy manner about him. He was doing his best to look as relaxed
and laid back as possible, leaning into the image of a prankster. If asked,
he'd say he was trying to look like what a cool uncle would, since he had
plenty of lost time to make up with Jamie.
The real target of his performance, though, was glaring at him.
"Sirius, this is a surprise," Frank said, cautiously.
"Surprised me too, Frank," Sirius replied. He nodded at the teens who
stood between them. "I take it this young lady is Miss Parkinson?"
"The Heiress Parkinson," Pansy replied stiffly.
Sirius chuckled. "Oh, we're doing that little dance, are we?" He gave her a
bow. "In that case, I am Sirius Black, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble
House of Black, and the Regent Potter. Greetings to you, Heiress."
Pansy curtseyed, as tradition required. Inside, her mind was racing. What
was going on?
"What can we help you with, Lord Black?" Frank asked, stiffly. He was
annoyed that Sirius had just wandered into his home, even if he was
welcome as a member of the order. Another thing to discuss with his
mother, if and when - he did not yet have control of the wards, and that
was a problem.
"Ah, yes, well," Sirius said, as if he were fumbling about with his
responsibility. "The Headmaster asked me to bring Heiress Parkinson, if
you please, to his office for a chat."
Frank's eyebrow raised. "Did he?"
"He did," Sirius confirmed.
"I wonder why he didn't tell me, then?" Frank asked, his eyes on Sirius.
Sirius shrugged. "Ours is not to question, Lord Longbottom. I suspect
whatever it is, we'll learn about it in a few days."
With a Wizengamot meeting in two days, Sirius' meaning was clear, and
Frank nodded. It was all but certain, then, that this was another attempt
to get the Parkinson vote. It made sense to Frank - the Headmaster's
office could be intimidating, after all, as could the Headmaster himself.
"She will be back tonight, I trust?" Frank asked.
"As soon as her meeting in the Headmaster's office ends, I will get her
where she needs to be," Sirius confirmed.
Trevor and Jamie shared another look. Both were surprised that Sirius
would run such an errand for the Headmaster, but there was obviously
more going on than they knew.
"Very well," Frank said. "We won't keep you."
Sirius bowed again. "Thank you, Lord Longbottom." He motioned for
Pansy to follow him.
"And as for you two," Frank continued. "We should talk about why you
didn't inform me when you got a message from Lord Black."
Sirius chuckled. "I'd bet they were just eager to help, Frank," he said. "I
remember a seventh year prefect who was much the same way. Sound
like anyone you know, hmm?"
Frank seemed to relax a little at that. "You may be right," he conceded.
Being a year ahead of the famed Marauders kept him busy during his
seventh year, even if he ignored most of their shenanigans.
"Maybe," Sirius agreed cheerfully. Then he looked again to Pansy, whose
stoic expression had not cracked. "Well, Heiress, we'd best be going." He
offered his elbow, in another pureblooded gesture. "Shall we?"
Pansy stared at him, not sure what to think. Trevor and Jamie had been
willing to help her escape, but now Sirius Black himself was taking her to
Hogwarts, and the Headmaster. But she couldn't exactly run, and she
couldn't fight - she did not like her odds, fighting four against one.
With a defeated sigh, she took the offered arm. "Very well, Lord Black,"
she said, stiffly.
oOoOoOoOo
"Severus?"
Snape stood near the doorway, his arms folded. He wore black robes, not
very different from the robes he wore while teaching, and of the same
heavier material as well. Intended to protect against accidents while
brewing, it now felt like armor.
At the sound of Lily Potter's voice, it had felt like every muscle in his
body tensed. He wanted nothing to do with her, not since he learned of
her survival. Yet here she was. He had known there was a risk of this
very encounter when he agreed to help get one of his Slytherins to safety,
and yet he had come anyway.
Black's 'Taking her to Dumbledore' lie was not plausible if he were not
present. The Gryffindor had been willing to go it alone, as one might
expect. The fact that he had listened to Snape's advice at all showed just
how far the new Lord Black had come from their school days.
Now, here he was, looking at his first friend. Her red hair had not
changed over the years, only grown longer. She wore a thick muggle
apron over her blouse and pants, something she had done when brewing,
when she could get away with it. Robes had never been her preference,
after all.
Snape carefully avoided her eyes, knowing he would see the same vibrant
green he had mourned for a decade and a half. Knowing what he knew
now, he did not know if he could hide his anger at the sight of them now.
"Severus, what are you doing here?" asked Lily.
Snape realized that he had not responded to her, letting the moment
stretch. That would not do, he thought. He decided to respond formally, to
keep distance between them. He could call her Lady Potter, of course,
since she had held that title at one point. Madam Potter would work as
well, though it was a bit of an insult, as if emphasized her role as the
mother of the current Lord. Neither option said what he wanted to say.
He smirked as he gave her a polite nod, and went with his third choice.
"Missus Potter," he drawled.
Lily stared at him, not sure what to make of his response. Severus had
always played things close to the vest, as it were, but this was not the
response she had expected from her old friend.
"How have you been, Sev?" she tried again.
His expression returned to its usual distasteful glare. "My work is
sufficient to occupy my time, as it happens." An answer, certainly, but
only just - at least, to the Gryffindor she had been in school. A Slytherin,
he knew, would wonder whether he meant the teaching or the brewing
or the spying - or the more important task, in his mind, of protecting his
students.
She smiled at him, accepting the answer for what it was - a beginning, to
her mind.
"It's good to see you healthy, Sev," she said.
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I imagine it was quite a shock. Of course,
no one seemed to wonder about my reaction to your good health, more's
the pity."
Her smile faded. "We couldn't tell you anything…" she began, but he cut
her off.
"Save it," he snapped. He felt his anger rising, and found that he didn't
care. "It had been years since you and I were close, I understand that.
Perhaps we would have reconciled, given time, and perhaps not. I did
not, and do not, expect you to trust me." He shook his head, giving her a
glare that radiated disappointment. "But your son, Lily, my God what the
hell were you thinking?"
Lily glared right back, angry at being called out in such a manner. The
muggle curses flowed from him when he really got mad, reminding her
that he grew up muggle, just as she had. "You sound like your father
when you get angry like that, Severus," she said, tightly.
Snape fought to control his reaction. Of all the people he had been close
to over the years, only Lily knew exactly how to hurt him. Comparing
him to his father was more brutal than he had expected from her, and he
said so.
"Touché," he ground out. "But then, you'd know as much about parenting
as he would, it seems."
Lily took a step forward, pointing at him. "How dare you?" she snapped.
"Our son is turning out to be a great wizard!"
Snape couldn't help it, he snorted. Lily's glare intensified, and her hand
seemed to twitch toward her wand.
"What, did I say a funny thing, Snape?" she growled.
"I'm sure young James Junior is a fine young man, Lily," he said. "But if
you meant Harry, then I wonder how you would even know? As far as I
can tell, you've spent no more than two hours in his presence."
Lily's eyes widened as she realized her error - she had spent fifteen years,
or close to it, with only the one son. Old habits, it seemed, died hard.
"Ah, there she is," he sneered. "So devoted that she even forgets one of
her sons."
"You have no idea what you're talking about," she snarled.
"Oh, don't I?" Snape replied. "Hidden away in your castle, away from the
world, I'm surprised you only had the one child when you came back." He
shook his head again, knowing the gesture would only infuriate her all
the more. "Was there really no room in your heart for any child other
than James Junior?"
"There could have been," she snapped back at him. Then her eyes grew
wide, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.
Snape stared at her, more because of her reaction than what she had said.
She sighed, shaking her head. "We tried for another, not long after we
went into hiding. But she came early, and…. We lost her, Sev."
Snape was taken aback by the weight of sorrow in her voice, blended
with guilt and regret in equal measure. Part of him - one thought long
buried - wanted to step forward and comfort her in her grief. But then his
Slytherin side reasserted itself, and he remembered how and why he was
speaking to her in the first place.
"My condolences," he said, stiffly. Her eyes widened at his tone, at the
cold formality of it. For the first time, she began to realize exactly how
badly she had hurt her old friend.
She stared at him, wondering how she could possibly respond, when she
heard footsteps approaching the staircase. Sirius Black, with Pansy
Parkinson in tow, was walking down the stairs, a polite smile on his face.
Pansy's eyes widened at the sight of Snape, but she kept walking.
When he saw Lily, Sirius grinned. "Hey, Lils," he said brightly. "I see old
Snivellous here got you talking potions."
"Black," Snape grumbled, annoyed at this part of the plan. He ignored
Lily's soft smile at the cheerful man's greeting.
"Just catching up, you old dog," she said, letting the tension drain from
her. "Taking her to the Headmaster?" she asked, unable to think of
another reason for bringing the girl anywhere.
Sirius nodded. "The good Professor and I get to play messenger."
"Yes," Snape drawled as he turned, eager to look anywhere but at Lily.
"The Headmaster believed that Lord Black needed a task suited to his
attention span."
"He said something like that, yes," Sirius agreed happily. Then he paused.
"Now, where are we taking this one?"
"This one has a name," Pansy growled.
"Miss Parkinson," Snape said in a stern tone. "Please behave."
Pansy, still shocked to see her Head of House, merely nodded.
"That's our cue, I think," said Sirius. "Always a pleasure, Lily."
Lily nodded, relieved that they seemed to remain friends, even after he
had kicked her family out of 12 Grimmauld Place. "Likewise, Sirius. Take
care." She turned to Snape, unsure what to say.
Snape beat her to it, bowing slightly. "Missus Potter," he intoned.
"Professor," she finally replied.
The two wizards turned and left Longbottom Hall, the Heiress Parkinson
walking stiffly between them. Snape did not put his wand away until
they had crossed the wards, sure that Lily would figure out what they
had done before they could escape.
Sirius was not worried, though he probably should have been. What
occupied his thoughts was the scene he had found in the upstairs
hallway. Had the boys been in the process of letting Pansy go on their
own? If so, what did that mean?
And what would Harry think?
oOoOoOoOo
The sun had already set by the time Amelia Bones returned to Potter
Manor that evening. It had been one of the busiest Tuesdays she could
remember.
When she walked into the kitchen, she found Colonel Ramsay sitting at
the table, reading what appeared to be some sort of booklet. She could
not read the text on the thick red cover, only the large "SECRET" label.
He looked up as she entered, and smiled at her. "Long day, Amelia?"
Her official robes were already open, revealing the jeans and blouse she
wore underneath. She shrugged off the heavy garment, and draped it
over one of the empty chairs, before taking a seat across from the
Colonel.
She couldn't help but smile back at him - he was an unexpected sight, but
a welcome one.
"You have no idea," she said, tiredly.
A house elf popped in, setting a bottle of beer next to Ramsay. Before she
could ask for anything, Amelia saw a glass of red wine next to her place.
Taking a sip, she found that it was her preferred vintage.
Ramsay raised his beer in salute, before taking a drink. "It'd be easy to
get used to that," he mused.
Amelia chuckled. "I grew up with elves as part of the family, and they
still surprise me."
"Surprises can be good," Ramsay agreed. "Like dinner, for example?"
She raised an eyebrow at him, before she realized. "Oh, Mark, it's
Tuesday!"
He laughed at her response. "Yes, well, I would have missed our dinner
date if you hadn't. Seems that someone got it in their heads to send
obliviators to deal with my CO and I."
"You're on the list, though," Amelia said, referring to the list of muggle
government officials who could know about magic.
"Yup," he agreed, taking another drink. "And so is General Warren, seeing
as he is a squib and all."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Amelia muttered. She should have expected
something like that from Fudge, but even this was going too far.
Ramsay chuckled again. "Saying that a lot these days, Amelia?"
"Only since I met Harry Potter," she replied, archly.
"Oh, I know that feeling," he laughed.
Amelia looked around the kitchen, and gestured with her glass of wine.
"Speaking of the esteemed Lord Potter, any chance you know where he
is?"
Ramsay nodded toward the back window. Amelia leaned over, and saw
Harry Potter out on the patio, having dinner with her niece. Three
candles gave them all the light they needed, as they enjoyed the cool
summer evening.
"He wanted to do something nice for Susan," Ramsay said. "Since they
can't exactly go out on a date, I suggested dinner in. Once I explained to
Dobby, he took care of everything."
Amelia nodded in approval. Looking at the Colonel, she raised her glass.
He raised his beer in turn.
"Well done, Mark. That was a brilliant idea," she said.
"Thank you, Amelia," he replied. "I confess, it wasn't my first plan."
"Oh?"
"Well, you see… hell with it. Dobby?"
Dobby appeared with a pop. "Yes, sir?"
"Phase Two, please."
The elf grinned, and nodded vigorously. Just before he popped away, he
looked over at Amelia, and for the briefest instant, she was almost certain
that she had seen the elf wink at her.
She did not have time to think about that, however. With another pop,
two covered trays appeared on the table, along with place settings.
Candles appeared in the center of the table, and lit themselves.
Amelia chuckled as the lights in the kitchen seemed to dim themselves.
"We seem to have been cheated out of our dinner, Amelia," Ramsay said,
quietly. "If I can't take you out to dinner, at least I can bring dinner to
you."
"Inspired, Mark," she said, genuinely. Again, she saluted him with her
glass.
As they took the covers off of their plates, and savored the dinner they
found underneath, she smirked at her date.
"So," she began. "Obliviators, eh?"
"Yep," he replied, grinning. "I particularly enjoyed breaking a chair across
one of their backs."
"Oh, now this I need to hear," Amelia said, grinning right back at him.
A/N: The opening flashback takes place immediately following the
Order meeting in Chapter Six. Snape and Sirius will never be the
best of friends, but there's a part of Snape that grudgingly respects
how willing Sirius is to be sneaky when it comes to helping his
godson. He's gone out on a limb before to protect his snakes, and
understands the impulse, as it were. Snape, as with many others,
often forgets that Sirius grew up in a very, very Slytherin household.
Even having been sorted into Gryffindor, those lessons don't fade,
however much Sirius may wish they would.
As much time as we've spent over the summer, we're now only a few
chapters away from the train ride and the start of Sixth year - a very
different Sixth year, as compared to what pretty much everyone
involved might expect. Secrets revealed, Sleeves removed, Snitches
caught, and so on. Should be exciting.
If you're in the US, have you registered to vote?
Stay safe out there. Feedback, as always, is welcome.
24. The Minister's Questions
Harry Potter did his best not to think about the confrontation unfolding
at Longbottom Hall. There had been no question that Sirius' approach
was the simplest, and probably the one with the greatest chance of
success. Snape's agreement was a shock, but merely cemented the
decision in everyone's mind.
Who would have expected the prototypical Gryffindor to come up with
such a cunning plan?
The risk, of course, was not in recovering Pansy from the Order, but in
what happened next - for it was a sure bet that Sirius' bridges would be
burned once his involvement came out. Snape was not in danger, as he
was far too valuable to the Order, but his presence would still raise
questions. Who knows what would have happened if Harry had gone as
well?
He did not spend much time thinking about Ambrose Rookwood. From
Sirius' description, the boy was still reeling from the death of his father.
Of course, his father had died at the Ministry, in the Department of
Mysteries, and had been slain by Harry's hand. Beyond those facts, Harry
knew little of the Rookwood scion, other than that he would be a seventh
year Slytherin during the upcoming year - if he returned to Hogwarts at
all.
With Ambrose and Pansy both planning to stay with the Greengrasses,
Harry did not expect to meet the boy anytime soon. Probably for the best,
he thought to himself.
Harry set his quill down and pushed himself away from the desk in the
study at Potter Manor. His desk, now, for he refused to view it as his
father's. If anything, he thought of it as his grandfather's, owing largely to
the portrait that took up one wall.
His eyes focused on the bookshelf across from the desk. It was the one
shelf he had cleared off for his own use, the week after the end of term. It
was no coincidence that the books and documents he had found there
were from James. Now, his books took up half a shelf, alongside a small
statue of a knight on horseback and a replica of an old 25-pound
howitzer, both gifts from Colonel Ramsay.
"It doesn't matter whether you use old tricks or new tricks," Ramsay had said.
"What matters is that you use the tools you have."
11-year old Harry had kept his eyes on the figures, running a thumb over the
knight's shield. "And if my tools aren't better than theirs?" he asked, quietly.
"Then it's your job to be smarter, more clever. Trickier." Colonel Ramsay
grinned at him. "Who Dares, Wins."
A soft knock at the door brought Harry out of his thoughts. Standing
there was a smiling Luna Lovegood.
"Is it ready?" she asked, almost bouncing with excitement.
Harry nodded, and gestured to the letter he had written to the editor of
the Daily Prophet. It had two purposes. The first, of course, was to turn
the somewhat open secret of James and Lily (and James Junior) into
common knowledge as rapidly as possible. There had been no real public
fallout for the Potters to deal with, and Harry wanted to change that.
Forcing the Headmaster to answer some hard questions at the same time
was a welcome bonus.
The second purpose was to put Mister Cuffe on notice. The Quibbler
would publish on Thursday with a full interview featuring Lord Harry
Potter, color photographs, and an in depth article detailing the return of
the Potters - and the fact that they were in hiding.
The fact that it would drive subscribers to the Quibbler bothered Harry
not at all.
As far as they could tell, Dumbledore had planned to bring James back to
the Wizengamot as Lord Potter, bringing a literal hero to the fold and
taking a very public stand against Voldemort. If it had gone as he
planned it, neutral families might have seen a strong Potter family and
felt safe enough to throw their lot in with the Light.
Now, James and Lily were the ones who broke up a twin bond, left their
younger son to be raised (poorly) by muggles, and ran. Lily did not
sacrifice herself for her son, even if she intended to. James Potter did not
heroically die in defense of his family - did he even fight when the Dark
Lord came to call, or did he run?
Harry didn't need to spread lies. The truth was damning enough.
Thursday morning, mere hours before the Wizengamot was scheduled to
meet again, that truth would be on the front page of every major
publication short of Teen Witch Weekly.
Luna had joked that Jamie would probably be the headline when TWW
got their hands and quills on him. Harry couldn't honestly disagree.
Perhaps Jamie would even go on the "Wizarding Britain's Top Bachelors"
list, now that Harry no longer qualified.
The Ravenclaw nodded in approval as she finished the letter. "It's a bit
formal, Harry," she remarked.
Harry shrugged. "I was going for 'Lord Potter, Sir', rather than 'That Harry
bloke', after all."
"Mmmmmm, I see," she hummed. "I'm not sure about the threat at the
end, though."
"I figured it was better than telling him that Sirius and I own the Prophet,
now," Harry replied, with a grin.
Her face lit up. "You got it?"
Harry nodded. "Locked down the last 4% last week. You'll never guess
who sold."
Luna's eyes grew wide. "You're kidding."
"Nope. Former Professor Umbridge sold her shares for sickles on the
galleon." Harry leaned back in his chair. "It's almost like she needed
money in a hurry."
Luna nodded in agreement. "Fleeing the country isn't cheap these days,
Lord Potter." With a smile, she handed the parchment back to him. "Send
it, it's ready as is."
Harry gave the letter a final read through, before sealing it and taking it
to Hedwig.
25 July 1996
Barnabus Cuffe
Editor-in-Chief
The Daily Prophet
Diagon Alley, London
Mister Cuffe,
When last we spoke, the night of the Ministry attack, our impromptu interview
covered a great many topics. I will confess that I had not expected you to be as
professional as you were during that interview, mostly due to the tone of your
publication's articles over the past year.
This led me to withhold certain facts, something you no doubt suspected at the
time. In my defense, I was still dealing with the ramifications of what I had
learned. Once the news becomes widely known, I expect that most of
Wizarding Britain will have the same reaction. I would quote you my initial
thoughts on the matter, but they are quite unprintable.
The Quibbler will be publishing the enclosed article on Thursday, July 26th. If
the Prophet wishes to report the facts as well, you are welcome to do so, so
long as you limit yourself to two quotes from my interview with their lead
reporter. (I promised Miss Lovegood an exclusive, you see.)
The article may be summarized thus: James and Lily Potter survived the
Godric's Hollow attack, and went into seclusion with their son, James Junior.
During this time, they were legally declared dead, and the means by which
they hid prevented magic from saying otherwise.
This resulted in the rare circumstance where I, the only living Potter (as far as
anyone could tell) was able to take up the Lord's ring, thanks to the Ministry's
declaration that I was of-age during the Triwizard Tournament of 1994-95.
These facts are a matter of record, and can be confirmed with the DMLE and
the archivists at the Ministry.
For the record, I have had minimal contact with the former Lord and Lady
Potter, and have only briefly spoken to my heretofore unknown twin. I suspect,
once we are both at Hogwarts, that my brother and I will have more time to
get to know each other. As for my parents, I have no official comment at this
time, beyond this letter and the contents of the attached article.
I am hopeful that you were sincere when you expressed your desire to improve
journalistic standards at the Prophet. As you are no doubt aware, there have
been changes to the makeup of the Prophet's ownership in recent months, and
those owners - new and old - will likely be watching your coverage of this
matter with great interest.
I remain,
Harry James Potter
Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter
"Oh yes," he said to himself. "Thursday is going to be busy."
oOoOoOoOo
Thursday morning saw a flurry of activity in the halls of the Wizengamot.
Most members were in the habit of arriving early on meeting days, and
today was no exception. Some merely wished to be seen in their robes of
office. Others met in their offices, discussing anything from last minute
compromises to the latest rumors.
On this day, the early edition of the Prophet was the hot topic of
discussion. Its headlines were nothing short of explosive, even by that
publication's standards.
POTTER PARENTS SURVIVED IN HIDING WITH SECRET TWIN!
TWIN BOND BROKEN, BOY-WHO-LIVED ABANDONED!
WHAT DID THE HEADMASTER KNOW?
It was typical of members to floo directly to their offices - that was, after
all, part of why they had offices to begin with. The Headmaster of
Hogwarts was only an ex officio member of the Wizengamot, afforded a
seat in an advisory role, and had no office. Thus, Dumbledore could no
longer arrive in the Chief Warlock's office as he had become accustomed.
James Potter, meanwhile, could have used the floo to the Potter office, if
Harry had not closed it off.
So it was that both men arrived in the Ministry Atrium, and had to walk
to the lifts. It was there that the reporters saw them, and they learned
that the news was well and truly out.
"Why did you abandon Harry?"
"What made you run away?"
"Why didn't you tell Harry Potter about his parents, Headmaster?"
Both men breathed a sigh of relief when they made it to the lift.
"That could have gone better," said James.
"It doesn't matter," Dumbledore replied. "After today, we'll be in a much
better position to shape their coverage." He placed a comforting hand on
James' shoulder. "Don't worry, my boy, the truth will get out."
James nodded, saying nothing. He wished he had the Headmaster's
confidence. But he would trust that Albus Dumbledore knew what he was
doing. He had no other choice, really.
After all, when had Albus Dumbledore led him astray?
oOoOoOoOo
No one would have predicted the group that arrived at the doors to the
chamber that morning, five minutes before the start of the session.
Lord Trevor Greengrass was escorting Madam Augusta Longbottom, both
wearing their official robes. Augusta remained the Regent Longbottom,
though Frank could end that by resuming his seat. For now, she would do
her duty, and see what choice her son made.
Daniel Greengrass, the Heir Greengrass, was walking with his daughter,
Daphne, and her housemate, Pansy Parkinson. Pansy was the Heiress
Parkinson, and intended to use her family's charter and the magic of the
Wizengamot to claim the Ladyship today. After hearing her story, and
meeting her, the Greengrasses could not help but hope for her success.
At the back of the group was Lord Sirius Black and Lord Harry Potter.
Both men seemed to expect trouble, though no one was brave enough to
start any. Even the one reporter they saw from the Prophet kept his
silence as they passed - a promising sign, to Harry's mind.
The group arrived at the main doors to the chamber, and found a
nervous-looking Neville Longbottom waiting for them. Unlike Pansy,
Neville did not plan to take his family's seat. Given the circumstances,
however, no one had been comfortable with allowing Pansy to wait
alone. Once she was safely on the floor of the Wizengamot, and on her
way to the Parkinson seat, he would go up to the Longbottom box and sit
with Augusta.
If his father showed up to try and take back his seat, then Neville would
sit with Sirius in the Potter box - which would send a message all its own.
He had not seen his father arrive, however, and had begun to wonder
whether Lord Longbottom would be in attendance.
The Greengrasses went into the chamber, along with Augusta, Harry, and
Sirius. Neville and Pansy waited patiently for the start of the meeting.
Pansy was obviously working to keep herself calm, so Neville kept his
own silence as he watched the witches and wizards making their way
toward the meeting.
At five minutes to the hour, Frank Longbottom arrived, wearing the
purple robes of a Wizengamot Member. Neville sighed to himself,
wondering why he had expected anything less from the man.
When Frank drew close to his son, Neville nodded in deference to his
titular Head of House. The nod was respectful, but only just - Colonel
Ramsay would have been proud.
"Lord Longbottom," Neville said. Pansy offered a curtsey, but said
nothing.
Frank Longbottom kept himself from scowling at the unexpected sight.
"Neville," he said formally. His eyes turned to Pansy, and he frowned at
her. "I did not know our Houses were feuding, Miss Parkinson, or else I
would have taken more offense at your abrupt rejection of our
hospitality."
Pansy met his eyes with her own, while keeping her face a perfectly
Slytherin mask of indifference. "I am mindful of your family's history,
Lord Longbottom, and preferred the hospitality of your Heir over that of
your allies."
Frank bristled at the implication that his allies were a danger to her, for
she could only be referring to the Order.
"The Light seeks peace and safety for all, Miss Parkinson," he said
reverently, as if reciting scripture.
Neville scoffed. "Pansy knows the tale of Ellis Watley, sir. As do I." He
shook his head, sadly. "Watley was a death eater, marked and all, who
got cold feet after taking the mark. It seemed that he favored You-Know-
Who's message, but not his methods. So he surrendered to the Order,
hoping for sanctuary in exchange for whatever secrets he could reveal."
"I was not involved," Frank began, but Neville kept right on talking,
ignoring his father.
"Three days later, Watley was found on the outskirts of Hogsmeade,
beaten nearly to death and completely obliviated. He spent six months in
the Thickey ward, drinking his food through a straw, before he -
mercifully - died." Neville's voice was cold as he finished the tale. He
inclined his head toward Pansy. "Now comes the Heiress Parkinson, who
seeks sanctuary and is told that the price for that sanctuary is her family's
vote in the Wizengamot."
"That's not what she was told," said Frank.
Neville stepped forward, looking his father in the eye. Frank noticed, not
for the first time, that Neville stood a head taller than he did.
"How can you possibly expect me to believe a word that comes out of
your mouth, sir?" Neville asked, seething. "You had living people
polyjuiced as you and your wife, all so that the public - and your mother
and son - would think you crippled." He shook his head again, with a
sigh. "Fifteen years."
Frank opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, Neville
raised a finger and pointed it at his father.
"If you mention the greater good to me, Lord Longbottom, I swear I'll
shove your foot so far up your arse that you'll have to blink to lace your
fucking boots." A chime sounded from the doorway, indicating that
members should take their seats.
Weakly, Frank gestured toward the chamber. "You should go sit down,
son."
Neville let some of the anger burn away, as he looked at his father. With
another sigh, he turned his back on the man, and stepped to his place at
Pansy's side.
"No, sir," Neville said. His voice was quiet, but firm.
oOoOoOoOo
The sharp crack of the Chief Warlock's gavel was still echoing in the
Wizengamot chambers when Minister Fudge raised a point of order.
Ogden did not even have a chance to recognize him before Fudge was
barking orders.
His first was to clear the floor. With the Minister's eyes on the witch and
wizard waiting by the entrance, it was obvious that he did not wish to
have new members seated.
Frank Longbottom silenced the room when he stepped forward and
reclaimed his seat. Ogden recognized the Regent Longbottom, as
tradition required - usually, to allow the Regent to welcome their Lord or
Lady back to the chamber, or to congratulate them on their coming of
age, or what have you.
Augusta, instead, asked if her son was completely recovered from his
recent convalescence. Murmurs came from the membership at her cold
tone, for only a few knew that she had not been staying at Longbottom
Hall. This was not the grand welcome they had expected.
Frank's tone was equally cold when he responded that he would do his
duty. Augusta nodded at that, disappointment in her eyes, before walking
to the Greengrass box. Taking her seat next to Daniel and Trevor
Greengrass, she signaled her disapproval for all to see. It was a seething
Frank Longbottom who made his way to the Longbottom seat.
Pansy Parkinson stepped forward next, not wanting to give Fudge a
chance to speak. She raised the Heiress ring, and claimed her Ladyship by
right of betrayal. As the murmurs grew louder, the Heiress ring glowed
green and fell from her hand. In its place was a golden ring with green
jewels, signifying her as the Lady Parkinson.
While Fudge sputtered, Ogden looked to Percy Weasley, who consulted
the official records and confirmed that Pansy was indeed the Lady of her
House. Ogden welcomed her, and ordered her to take her seat.
"The Parkinson seat is already assigned!" snapped Fudge. "John Parkinson
holds the seat."
"Not by my order, Minister," Pansy replied, politely. "My uncle brought
death eaters through our wards, and watched as they brutally executed
my father, the late Lord Parkinson. He is a liar, a coward, and a betrayer,
and will not sit my family's seat as long as I am alive." She raised her
hand, showing the glowing Lady's ring. "I name him Oathbreaker, and
call for judgment."
John Parkinson, former Regent Parkinson by Ministerial dispensation, fell
to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut, with only a slight
tremor to speak of the pain he was experiencing. Pansy politely waited
for the aurors to levitate the unconscious man away before taking her
seat. She ignored the glares of her uncle's allies as she did so.
oOoOoOoOo
James Potter shuddered as he watched Pansy Parkinson's uncle fall. That
could easily have been me, he realized. Harry had started the process of
calling for judgment, but ended it before it progressed. Perhaps his
uncertainty had stayed his hand?
Here, Parkinson did not hesitate for a single instant. Her stroke was swift
and brutal, and it chilled him. Of course, it was also a signal to her
uncle's allies, the death eaters - several of whom were giving the girl
angry looks as she walked to her seat.
He glanced across the chamber, his eyes falling on his other son, Harry.
The boy was leaning over to talk to Susan Bones, the girl who should
have been Jamie's betrothed.
James sighed, but said nothing. After today's meeting, Dumbledore would
be Chief Warlock. Perhaps then they could find a way to restore the
Lordship to its proper place. Until then, his only option was to wait.
For now.
oOoOoOoOo
James Potter was not the only one to notice Harry's presence. Before the
Chief Warlock could restore order and proceed with the agenda, Fudge
was shouting again.
"What is he doing here?" he sputtered, pointing angrily at the Bones seat.
Harry looked around, before giving Fudge an incredulous look.
"Sitting, Minister," he replied.
"You have no place here, Potter!" Fudge declared. "Aurors?"
Harry rose at that, and - after a nod from Susan - stepped forward to the
desk.
"I hold the Potter Lordship, Minister, as you well know. I have every right
to be present during meetings of the Wizengamot." He gestured to Sirius.
"Lord Black serves ably as my proxy, which allows me to enjoy the
company of my betrothed, the Heiress Bones."
"You are just a boy, Potter," Fudge ground out, barely controlling his
anger. "And a killer. I've seen your handiwork with my own eyes, and yet
you dare to show your face in the Ministry?"
"If you refer to the attack on Bones Manor last weekend, then you'll find
that I was acting within the bounds of Law and Custom in repelling an
attack on my betrothed and her family, Minister," Harry said, steel in his
tone. "As the attackers were all sworn to the Dark Lord, with whom I
have a well known dispute, my actions are legal two ways. Three, if you
consider a brazen attack on a high government official to be terrorism,
which I do."
Cornelius Fudge slammed a fist onto his desk, startling his aides. "I am
the Minister of Magic, boy! I decide what the law says, not you!"
"The Wizengamot may disagree with you, sir," Harry said, gesturing to
the membership. He tilted his head, frowning up at the Minister. "Don't
you take an oath of office? Doesn't it say something about upholding the
law?"
Fudge glared back at Harry, but was interrupted before he could respond.
"The Minister of Magic swears to protect Wizarding Britain and the
Statute of Secrecy, Lord Potter," said an irritated Lord Ogden. "Nothing
more. Though, that is broad enough to cover most circumstances, I
should think."
Harry nodded in deference to the Chief Warlock. "One would hope." He
then gave a pointed look to Director Bones, who was already rising to her
feet.
"Since we're discussing the Statute of Secrecy, I raise a Point of Privilege
as Director of the DMLE." Amelia looked to Ogden, and waited.
Ogden sighed, knowing the agenda was already in tatters. "Proceed,
Director."
Amelia nodded in thanks, and then turned to Fudge. "Minister Fudge, did
you intend to breach the statute and declare war on the muggles?"
Fudge sputtered, and then did what he did best - he stalled. "I have no
idea what you mean."
"Oh, then someone else ordered two teams of obliviators to the
Headquarters of the muggle military? To obliviate a squib and one of the
seventeen muggle officials who are allowed to know about magic? Does
that jog your memory, Minister Fudge?" Amelia's tone grew angrier as
she spoke, and louder as well - for the murmuring among the
membership grew with each accusation.
Fudge desperately tried to turn it against her. "You had a muggle in your
home during the attack!" He shouted.
Amelia nodded. "Yes, and he is my contact with their armed forces. He
helps us find out about death eater attacks on the muggles that don't get
caught by the aurors. Rather important, wouldn't you say?"
"He's a muggle!" Fudge spat, as if that explained everything.
"The first team you sent wandered around an army base, and got arrested
for trying to enter a secured area. The second team confunded seven
muggles just to get into the office where their targets were - and then
revealed themselves to two trained soldiers, who promptly beat them
senseless." Amelia folded her arms across her chest, glaring at the
Minister through her monocle. "We've already got terrorists causing all
sorts of trouble, and you go behind my back to obliviate two muggle
officials? If either of them lost their memories, it would be noticed!"
Fudge scoffed. "I don't understand why you're so upset about it, they're
just muggles."
"One is a squib," said Sirius Black, as he rose to his feet. "Is it the policy of
this administration to obliviate squibs?"
"I'm keeping our people safe!" Fudge shouted. He did not hear the
growing rumble of discussion among the members, all of whom were
unnerved by his display.
"Is that what you call it?" asked Sirius. "I might call it something much
less polite," he quipped, earning a few chuckles from the members. "But
none of that matters, when we warned you a month ago. We warned you,
and still you continue to fail at even the most basic of your duties."
"What do you know about it, Black?" Fudge snarled.
Sirius gave the Minister a predatory grin. "I know that your failure to act
is part of why House Potter was forced to declare a Blood Feud. Any of us
should be able to rely on the Ministry, but when it came down to it, you
were more worried about your image than the threat. Instead of
investigating, and learning that Lord Potter was telling the truth, you
spent a year slandering him, impugning his honour and attempting to get
him expelled from Hogwarts." He pointed at Fudge, who had somehow
grown even angrier. "Even now, you sell seats in this body, hoping to
curry favor any way you can. Lady Parkinson had to call on her family
magic to fix your mistake, for Merlin's sake."
"Lord Black," Ogden cut in. He viewed himself as a neutral arbiter, but
even he could see where this was going. "Do you have a motion?"
Sirius nodded. "I move that the office of Minister of Magic be declared
vacant, owing to gross negligence and dereliction of duty on the part of
Cornelius Fudge, in seventy-two particulars."
Ogden's eyes grew wide. "Seventy-two?"
Sirius held up the list. "I apologize, My Lord, for our incomplete records.
We only went back two years, you see."
A thud drew all eyes to the dais, where Percy Weasley was scrambling
from his seat. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic for Wizarding Britain,
had fainted dead away.
Dedalus Diggle asked for a recess, while the Minister received medical
care, but Ogden would have none of it. He called the question, and a
majority voted in favor. With that, Cornelius Fudge was sacked.
The members were given thirty minutes to caucus. Officially, this was to
allow alliances and factions to confer and figure out who they wanted to
nominate to replace Fudge. In practice, it ended up being a time for most
members to figure out just what the hell had happened.
oOoOoOoOo
Frank Longbottom made his way over to the Headmaster, who was
already speaking with James and Dedalus in hushed tones.
"Not exactly what I expected, Albus," Frank remarked.
"No, not at all," the Headmaster agreed.
James looked across the chamber, where Sirius Black was talking to an
older witch with silver hair. The two were smiling and nodding, as if
agreeing on something. Sirius, wearing his purple robes of office, looked
every bit the pureblooded lord he had sworn never to become.
The sight had James seething.
"James, lad," began Diggle, noticing the look on James' face. "Plenty of
time for that later, once we've settled things down here."
James did not turn to the older man as he spoke. "I know, Dedalus. But
part of me wants to walk up there and ask him what he thinks he's
doing."
Diggle shrugged. "He thinks he's playing the great game. But that's all he's
doing, playacting the role of a Lord."
Frank nodded. "We're here trying to do what needs to be done, and he's
glad handing neutrals who wouldn't get off the fence if their lives
depended on it."
"Boys," said Albus, drawing their attention back to the matter at hand.
They spent a few minutes discussing their options for Minister. Once they
had a consensus, Frank and Diggle went to their allies, and began
spreading the word.
oOoOoOoOo
Lady Pansy Parkinson did not leave her box during the caucus, as she did
not trust her uncle's erstwhile allies not to try something.
It was a curious thing, though. As she sat, observing the members and
making a note of who spoke with who, she kept catching glances from
some of the less dark members. Despite this being her first meeting, she
knew the makeup of the Wizengamot, and how it was not split into light
and dark, as many thought.
Rather, the chamber was divided into multiple factions of varying size.
Most could be categorized as light or dark, but there were always minor
divisions. Some families, for example, would vote with the lighter
families on creature regulations, but would favor the position of the dark
families on taxation or trade.
Just as importantly, there were dark families that leaned more toward
neutral positions, just as there were a few light families that did the
same. In muggle politics, those families would have been known as
"persuadables".
It was a surprise to Pansy, then, that several of the dark families seemed
to be looking to her for direction. A few death eater families, of course,
but also a group of four almost-neutral members as well. The fear in their
eyes was what told her what was happening - her uncle had apparently
made arrangements with those families, somehow. They were looking to
him for guidance as to how to vote.
Alas, her uncle was not there. She would have to think about how to
handle them, once this meeting ended.
Harry Potter's voice broke her reverie. She turned and saw him
approaching her box.
"You could write a book, I think," he said with a smile. "How to create an
alliance without really trying."
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Does this amuse you, Lord Potter?"
Harry stood in the aisle, and bowed. "One finds amusement in the
simplest of things, Lady Parkinson," he replied. "My congratulations on
your Ladyship."
She nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you." Then her eyes narrowed.
"Is this where you ask for payment?"
He frowned at that. "Payment for what?"
"My fortuitous rescue, of course."
Harry paled. "...Pansy, I didn't get Sirius and the Professor to help you to
curry favor. I did it because I disagreed with what Dumbledore was
doing. End of story."
Pansy huffed. "That's not how these things work, Potter." She scowled at
him. "I'll make it easy for you, then. Who do you want me to vote for as
Minister?"
Harry chuckled, in spite of himself. "Pansy, I don't give two knuts who
you vote for. Hell, I don't even know who will be running."
"But you have a guess."
Harry grinned. "Several. But you should vote as you see fit."
Her scowl deepened. "The death eaters will put a candidate forward, you
know this. What if I vote for him?"
Harry leaned forward, still grinning. "Then I'll learn that you're not nearly
as smart as I thought you were." He stood up, and bowed in her direction.
"Enjoy the rest of the meeting, Lady Parkinson." And on that note, he
walked away.
oOoOoOoOo
Once the Wizengamot reconvened, the floor was opened for nominations.
The first to stand was Elphias Doge, who nominated Amelia Bones. He
touted her long service to the Ministry, and her uncompromising
standards as Director of Magical Law Enforcement. Her enlistment of the
ICW's assistance in managing the threats to Wizarding Britain told him
that she would do whatever it took to get the job done, and that that was
what they needed as Minister.
Amelia accepted the nomination, while stating that she had not sought it
out and would not campaign for the job. She trusted the members of the
Wizengamot to make the right choice.
Harry Potter saw the Headmaster nodding in approval at the
performance. No one missed the fact that one of his longtime allies had
made the speech in Amelia's favor. It was obvious who the light's chosen
candidate would be.
Lord Rosier stood next, and nominated Lord Frederick Hightower. Rosier
spoke of Hightower's long history as a supporter of the Ministry, support
that existed even before his beloved wife was slain by death eaters during
the first war. His eldest son, an auror, had learned his love for law and
order at his father's knee. He had no ties to the Headmaster or to the
death eaters, and thus could be trusted to ease tensions and bring the
current conflict to a swift end.
What he did not mention, of course, was that both Hightower and his son
would be marked, if they could get away with it. Their role was to
support the Dark Lord from the shadows, while maintaining as clean a
public image as they could. Several of the death eaters' safe houses were
on Hightower estates, and his public mourning of his wife's fate ignored
that she had died from a stray curse - not from his death eater comrades.
The man was clean as a whistle, as far as anyone really knew. Rosier's
nomination was all the signal the families loyal to the Dark Lord needed -
he was their candidate.
Harry saw Augusta Longbottom looking intently at Sirius, who nodded
reluctantly. As Sirius stood to be recognized, Augusta leaned over and
whispered something to Trevor Greengrass. The older man gaped at her
in shock. Whatever they had planned, it was a surprise to him as well.
Sirius spoke of a skilled businessman, a loving father, and a man of
character and honour. This man was, at his heart, a man of peace - but he
would do anything to protect his daughters. As Minister, he would not
restrict himself to the old ways, or follow the Fudge administration's lead
simply because that's how things had always been done. If the members
gave him their trust, and empowered him to act, he would see a swift end
to the war, because no one would be safe as long as a coward like
Voldemort was allowed to run free.
"It is my pleasure to nominate Daniel Greengrass as Minister of Magic,"
Sirius finished.
The man in question was shocked, but recovered quickly. Like Amelia
and Lord Hightower, he accepted the nomination, pledging to work with
the membership to enact their will.
Hightower seemed unhappy that he had a third opponent, but suspected
that Greengrass would draw more votes from Director Bones than from
his own support. Amelia nodded to the Heir Greengrass, in
congratulations.
"You know she really doesn't want the job, right?" whispered Susan
Bones.
Harry chuckled. "Yeah, but she'd be brilliant at it." He placed his hand on
hers, and leaned closer. "Besides, if she declined the nomination,
Dumbledore would just find someone else."
"I see," Susan replied. "And Hightower?"
"You met his son the other night, when Shack stunned his arse for not
revealing his forearms," Harry said. "I'm told that the father is cut from
the same cloth."
Before she could respond, Ogden banged his gavel, having received no
further nominations.
"There being only three candidates, we will proceed to the vote.
Members, signal your choices by placing your wand at the appropriate
rune on your desk." His deep voice commanded the attention of the
crowded chamber.
Susan eyed her boyfriend as he watched the members voting. She was
surprised he had not publicly signaled support for any of the candidates,
even if it was only to boost her aunt's fortunes. He hated public speaking,
of course, but he had come today for a reason, hadn't he?
Harry saw the question in her eyes, even before she brought herself to
ask. "We're at war, Susan, you know that. War is merely politics by other
means. This," he gestured at the membership, "is the politics. My job is
the other means."
"True," she admitted. "For now."
He smiled at her, squeezing her hand. "For now."
oOoOoOoOo
"When I woke up this morning, I never in my wildest dreams expected to
be standing here before you. And yet, here I am." Daniel Greengrass,
newly elected Minister of Magic, turned to the Chief Warlock. "Lord
Ogden, if you would."
As the Chief Warlock administered the oath, James noticed the
Headmaster straightening his robes. "I guess you're up next?" he asked.
Dumbledore nodded. "It's too late in the day to tackle the original
agenda. And Lord Ogden was only willing to take up the gavel for a year.
He steps down, and I graciously step forward to offer my experience in
the current crisis. With a new minister, we need an experienced hand to
guide the man."
"So we do," James agreed.
When Minister Greengrass finished his speech, the Chief Warlock stood.
Ogden looked around the room, waiting for the applause to die naturally.
Then he spoke.
"Wizarding Britain is at a crossroads." Ogden's voice was calm and sure,
and had the sound of a younger man. He was not much younger than the
Headmaster, but he seemed ready to take on the challenges before the
Wizengamot. Indeed, as he spoke, it sounded like he was eager for the
fight.
"A year ago, I took up the gavel, after you lot dragged me to the podium!"
Scattered chuckles lightened the mood, as all remembered how much
work it had taken to persuade Ogden to step up in the first place. "I said
then that I would only remain in this office for a year, while we
recovered from the embarrassment of the World Cup, the Triwizard
Tournament, and the scattered attacks that followed."
Ogden sighed. "We do not need an inexperienced Chief Warlock to stand
next to - you'll forgive me, Minister - an inexperienced executive. We
need stability, something we've lacked these past few years. We need a
calm voice, speaking with wisdom, listening with an open mind, if we are
to see our people through this crisis safely."
"For those reasons, and others, I offer my renewed commitment to
executing the duties of Chief Warlock for the duration." He had more to
say, but was interrupted by several voices shouting for a vote confirming
his choice.
The vote passed by acclamation, and was followed by thunderous
applause - led by Minister Greengrass, who shook Ogden's hand and
thanked him for staying on.
Dumbledore had risen to his feet as Ogden concluded, certain that the
man's speech was a retirement speech. His call for experience seemed
tailor made to suggest that the Headmaster resume his post as Chief
Warlock. Dumbledore had attended the meeting expecting exactly that
result, in fact.
The Headmaster didn't even notice when Ogden gavelled the meeting
closed. He shook himself loose, however, when the Chief Warlock walked
past the Headmaster's seat.
Ogden nodded politely to the Headmaster, who offered his hand in
congratulations.
"I had expected you to retire, Tiberius," said Dumbledore.
Ogden shrugged. "I almost did." His features hardened as he leaned
forward, lowering his voice for Dumbledore's ears alone. "And then I saw
the headlines this morning."
Dumbledore paled. "Surely you would get the whole story first, old
friend?"
Ogden gestured toward James. "The appearance of deceit can be as bad
as the fact of it, Albus. I'm disappointed." Then he saw Frank Longbottom
walking up, and nodded to him. To Dumbledore, he continued. "Your
secrets have secrets of their own, and we both know it. That's not what
we need right now." He placed a hand on Dumbledore's shoulder. "I'd say
I'm sorry, but I'm really not. Take care of yourself, Headmaster."
When Ogden had moved on, James scowled. "What the hell just
happened?"
"We had a plan," snapped Frank. "But then Fudge talked his way out of
his job. And then after that, we lost the Minister's seat, followed by the
Chief Warlock's seat that we expected the Headmaster to get back." He
shook his head. "Every single moment of this meeting went against us."
"I don't know about that," came the voice from behind them.
The three turned, and saw Harry Potter walking up, with Susan Bones on
his arm.
James was once again seething in anger. "What did you do?"
Harry shook his head. "Absolutely nothing, Mister Potter. I answered the
former Minister's questions, as is proper, but that is all."
"And Sirius?" Frank asked, with a scowl. "Even after he enters my home
under false pretenses, you still involve him here?"
"Oh, not at all, sir," replied Harry. "Sirius would have gone up against
Fudge regardless of what I said. Madam Bones' own ire with the man was
just a bonus."
"But, why?" asked James. "What do you get out of it?"
Harry scowled. "Sirius spoke against Fudge because it was the right thing
to do. Not because he benefited politically from it, but because he wanted
to support his godson." His eyes never left his father's as he continued.
"But I suppose that's not anything you'd know about, is it?"
James surged forward, only to be stopped by Frank.
"There was more to this meeting than you know, my boy," said the
Headmaster.
Harry shrugged. "That may be. It's not my place to tell the Wizengamot
how to conduct its business. Nor is it yours, sir."
"How little you know," said Dumbledore, sadly.
"Headmaster, you did not utter a single word today, and yet a corrupt
Minister of Magic was removed from office, a marked death eater was
removed from the seat he illegally held, and the majority of the
membership elected a Minister who makes the defeat of the Dark Lord his
priority." He gestured expansively at the emptying chamber.
"Quite honestly," Harry continued, speaking to the Headmaster but with
his eyes on his father. "We did just fine without you." He bowed politely
to the three, and then took Susan's arm. The couple had crossed the
room, and was speaking to Madam Bones, before Dumbledore spoke
again.
A/N: The title of this chapter comes from The Prime Minister's
Questions, where the UK Prime Minister makes him or herself
available to the House of Commons for questions. Here, it is the
Minister who asks the questions, and increasingly digs himself a
hole. Cornelius Fudge is not one for subtlety, as we well know, often
trying to be too clever for his own good. It also strikes me how easy
it would've been to catch him with an imperius - would anyone have
noticed? A small part of me regrets writing Umbridge out of the
story on page one, but would she really have contributed anything
here?
We've hinted at Ellis Watley before, but now we get the story behind
his cautionary tale. Did the Order disappear him, or try to? We don't
know. Maybe he never made it to the Order, or death eaters caught
him first. Maybe Moody got a little carried away. From the outside,
it looks pretty bad for the Order. Anyone thinking about betraying
the Dark Lord would think twice, if that's what they expect from the
good guys.
(If you remember an Evan Watson, his name was changed to Ellis
Watley here and in two previous chapters. It was pointed out to me
that killing someone named Evan Watson might suggest a bias
against Harry/Hermione stories, for which both names show up
frequently as aliases. As that was not at all my intent, I figured it'd
be better to be safe.)
There are so many stories where Harry orchestrates some grand
coup at the Wizengamot, leveraging his seven lordships or what
have you to earn a majority and unseat his enemies, et cetera. That's
not how this Harry rolls, as he explains to Susan. If he had not been
at the meeting, events would have proceeded... actually, about the
same. Amelia would've called him out for attacking the Colonel, and
then Sirius would've moved no confidence, and Bob's your uncle.
But I found it much more interesting than a single line of "Oh yeah,
and they finally sacked Fudge." Why? What was the last straw?
This also let us tie up some loose ends, and hint at some others.
Next Chapter: School Shopping! (Finally)
Don't forget to Vote.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
25. The Transfers
Ambrose Rookwood shook his head to rid himself of the lingering effects
of the portkey. Being the head of the family (and, indeed, its only
member) had not spared him from the trademark disorientation that
seemed to come with portkey travel.
His companion was not so lucky.
"Blecch," the Lady Parkinson sputtered, fighting the urge to wretch. "You
could have warned me, Rookwood."
Ambrose grinned at her. "Where's the fun in that, My Lady?"
Pansy rolled her eyes at him, but chose not to respond. Instead, she
looked around, taking in the picturesque forest in which they found
themselves.
Seeing her look, Ambrose gestured at the empty forest. "Welcome, Pansy,
to Rook Woods."
She turned and looked at him, frowning. "You're kidding."
He kept grinning. "I am not."
"Your entire family is built on keeping secrets, Rookwood."
A nod. "True," he replied.
"So," she continued, exasperated. "When the Rookwoods went to hide
their family cemetery, they hid it in a forest that literally bears their
fucking name?"
Rookwood shrugged. "Sometimes, the deepest secrets are hidden in plain
sight."
Pansy sighed, shaking her head. "Merlin and Morgana," she muttered.
Ambrose laughed - something he had not done much, of late. "I'm glad
you're suitably impressed."
She scoffed, but placed a hand on his arm anyway. "I said no such thing."
"Oh, I know," he replied. He patted her hand, relishing the connection.
After a week at Greengrass Manor, much of it spent with his thoughts and
his father's journals, Ambrose was no closer to a decision on his future.
He didn't know if he would attend Hogwarts for his seventh year, despite
the risk, or whether he would simply study on his own.
It had been Pansy who set him straight. She had - correctly - observed
that his decision would impact more than just his future. When he
disagreed, she had poked him in the chest and angrily asked what she
was expected to do if something happened to him.
Their argument had lasted for close to an hour. When the Greengrasses
heard the shouting stop, Daphne went to check on them, if only to make
sure they had not killed each other in their anger.
She found them snogging.
With a sigh, Daphne had gone back downstairs and handed five galleons
to her sister Astoria, who simply chuckled. What had shocked Daphne,
even more than the snogging, was when her father - the newly minted
Minister for Magic - also handed five galleons to his youngest daughter.
After that night, Ambrose had quickly come to the conclusion that his
path, whatever it was, would include Pansy. If they went to Hogwarts, as
she was determined to do, then they would do that together.
And if they fled Wizarding Britain? Then they would do that together,
too.
Now, though, Ambrose was visiting the graves of his parents, hoping to
find some measure of clarity. He had not even had a proper funeral for
his father, between the DMLE investigation and the subsequent
destruction of his childhood home. Beyond that, inviting what few non-
death eater friends his father had had would have been as bad as inviting
the Dark Lord.
He had not even taken the time to visit, beyond the day three weeks prior
when he had actually buried the man. Nor had he told anyone exactly
where Augustus Rookwood had been buried. The headstones, by long
family tradition, were unmarked, but he would recognize the old-looking,
irregular cut of his parents' headstone anywhere.
What stopped him in his tracks were the purple and orange flowers
placed on the bare earth of his father's still fresh grave.
Pansy felt Ambrose still, and looked to him. "What's wrong?"
Ambrose gestured to the grave. "Someone placed flowers on my father's
grave."
A nod. "So they did. It's a nice gesture."
"No, Pansy, you don't understand. This graveyard, it's secret. Only
someone who had been here before could have come back." Ambrose
shook his head, finding himself at a loss. "I am the last of my family.
There shouldn't be anyone else."
Pansy walked over to the grave, and took a closer look at the flowers.
"These are Valerian," she remarked, pointing to the small purple flowers.
Then she indicated the larger, orange blossoms. "And these are...
Nasturtium, I believe?"
Ambrose frowned. "Not the usual choices for a grave, are they?"
Pansy shook her head. "No. It's a pairing that doesn't make sense."
Squatting next to her, Ambrose examined the arrangement. "How do you
mean?"
"Flowers have meanings, Rookwood," she explained. "Valerian root is
useful in potions, but the flower stands for readiness, like being prepared
to take the next big step in a journey."
Ambrose nodded. "And the others?"
"That's the strange thing," she said. "Nasturtium is usually a symbol for
patriotism, but to purebloods it means loyalty to a cause, rather than to a
nation." Again, she looked him in the eye. "This has to be a deliberate
message."
"I agree," Ambrose said, quietly. "But from whom?"
oOoOoOoOo
Students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry enjoyed a
summer holiday that lasted around ten weeks. Over those two months
and change, most students could accomplish whatever they wished.
Travel, shopping, and so on.
So, of course, nearly everyone did their school shopping on the first
Saturday in August, as if by tradition.
The Hogwarts letters had gone out the week prior. While the book lists
were important for everyone, the incoming sixth years were more
interested in their OWL scores.
Some were more worried than others, of course. Ron and Ginny had
joined Hermione, Neville, Harry, and Susan at Potter Manor on the day
letters arrived. Hermione had torn hers open almost before it had left the
owl's grasp, earning chuckles from the group. Her prefect badge fell to
the table, forgotten, as she looked for her marks.
Hermione joined Ron and Ginny as Gryffindor prefects, their golden
badges of office sitting on the table for all to see. Susan's smaller, bronze
prefect badge sat on the table next to the others. As they ate breakfast,
the group speculated on whether Luna had received one of the silver
badges for Ravenclaw.
Neville and Harry shared a look when they caught Ron looking
thoughtful. At the beginning of their fifth year, Ron had been named
prefect - and had promptly tried to hand the badge off to Harry or
Neville. He argued that they were more deserving, that they were better
in class and in their year, and that he hadn't earned it. It had taken the
both of them to talk him down.
If Ron had been worthy a year ago, he was surely worthy now - his
actions over the course of fifth year had proven that. The youngest
Weasley son had done a lot of growing up during the previous year, and
it showed. No, no one would question Ron Weasley as a prefect. Not
anymore.
Neville and Harry knew at least one other reason as to why they would
not be prefects, and it had nothing to do with Ron. Both of them would
have siblings transferring into the sixth year, likely into Gryffindor. With
the distance that had grown between the two and their birth families,
Dumbledore likely thought that Harry and Neville would use their
positions for some sort of revenge on their twins.
Of course, that theory only made sense if the Headmaster knew nothing
about the sort of people Harry and Neville had become over the years.
Instead, they were judged based on who they were supposed to be, or
who they were expected to be - not on who they were. It wasn't just
Dumbledore, either. Both sets of parents had expected Harry and Neville
to simply go along with the Headmaster's plan, when it should have been
obvious that that wouldn't happen.
It was a problem Colonel Ramsay had pointed out this summer, during
their training sessions. The core of the lesson was that having a plan that
doesn't adapt to conditions on the ground is worse than having no plan at
all. Commanders that stuck with a broken plan invariably managed to
grasp defeat from the jaws of victory, often paying for the privilege with
the lives under their command.
Whatever Dumbledore's plan, Harry and Neville were in agreement on
one thing. They intended to be as far away from whatever the
Headmaster had in mind as they could be.
oOoOoOoOo
The shopping district of Diagon Alley was just as crowded as they had
expected.
Harry paused as he stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron, taking in the
sight. Only a few years prior, Hagrid had returned him to the Wizarding
World at this spot.
How things have changed, he mused.
"They do know there's a war on, right?" asked Neville.
"They don't expect an attack on Diagon Alley, I guess," replied Harry.
Neville frowned at that. "They probably should."
Harry nodded. "Not wrong. Let's see where Ron and the girls are going."
Hermione and Ginny had had much the same thought as Harry, and
suggested splitting up their lists to get everything faster. Since they only
really needed their potion ingredients and books, the trip was actually
much simpler than expected. Ginny suggested that she and Hermione get
their potions kits, knowing that Hermione in a bookstore would be hours
added to their shopping.
"The boys can be trusted to fill a list of books, Hermione," Ginny had
reasoned. Hermione had a pained expression on her face, but nodded.
"As always, Miss Weasley, your confidence in our abilities is staggering,"
Neville said with a bow. The eyeroll from the redhead was worth it, he
thought.
Susan went to join the other girls, but stopped to give Harry a kiss on the
cheek before they parted ways.
"Stay safe," she whispered to him. Neither expected trouble, but then
again, they had said that before.
"Only if you do the same, my lady," he replied, giving her a cheeky grin.
She smirked back, but gave him another kiss - a win, as far as he was
concerned.
As the girls walked off, Harry sighed. "Thank Merlin I had Dobby handle
our school robes last week."
"Yeah," said Ron. "Bloody useful, that."
Harry shrugged. "I could get used to it, that's all I'm saying."
Ron nodded in agreement. "If anyone deserves a bit of comfort, mate, it's
you. After everything, I mean…" he trailed off, wincing at the awkward
topic.
Harry waved it off. "I know what you meant. It's fine." He gestured
toward Flourish and Blotts'. "Shall we?"
oOoOoOoOo
"Your father really wants you on the team, mate," Trevor Longbottom
said, looking at the brooms on display. "And he gave you your pick?"
Jamie Potter nodded. His eyes were fixed on the Nimbus 2001, and the
specifications listed on the wall beside the case. His father told him to
pick whatever broom he wanted, since he'd need more than his old
Cleansweep to get on the Gryffindor team.
"And he knows that Harry already plays, right?" Trevor continued.
Another nod. "I'd be going for chaser, though. No chance we'd fight for
the same spot."
"Then you'll have some stiff competition," came a voice from the sales
counter. Turning, the boys saw a short witch their age, watching them
with amusement on her features. "You must be the twins I've heard so
much about."
Jamie and Trevor shared a look.
"See, I know you're not Harry Potter," the witch continued, as she walked
over. "He's got a Firebolt, you see. He wouldn't need a Nimbus, now
would he?"
Jamie nodded absently. "The Firebolt Is pretty fast, no question." He
placed a hand on the display case with the Nimbus 2001. "A bit much for
a chaser's broom, though."
"That's true," she agreed. "Speed doesn't do you any good if you don't
have enough control to get to the quaffle." She offered her hand. "Katie
Bell."
"Jamie Potter," he replied, shaking her hand. "This is Trevor Longbottom."
Katie shook Trevor's hand as well, even as she chuckled. "I thought the
Prophet had finally gone off its nut, but here you are." She shook her
head in amusement. "Should be quite an interesting year."
"You're not wrong," Jamie said. "So, you fly at Hogwarts, then?"
"Yep," she said. "Been on the team since second year."
"Nice," said Jamie. "So what do the Gryffindor chasers fly, then?"
Her eyebrow raised at that. "Looking to get a leg up on the competition,
Mister Potter?" she asked.
"Since his competition is usually me," Trevor said with a smile, "He'll
need all the help he can get."
"Oi," began Jamie. Katie interrupted his objection with a laugh.
"Oh, you two are going to fit right in, aren't you?" she said, still
chuckling. "Right, let me show you the Cleansweep Ten."
The three walked over to another display case. Jamie looked the broom
over.
"So," he said after a moment. "This is what the chasers of Gryffindor are
flying?"
"Yep," she said again. "All three of us."
"Us?" Trevor asked, with a grin.
"Ah, shite," muttered Jamie. He turned back to the broom, and ignored
the laughs from Trevor and Katie Bell.
oOoOoOoOo
"Colin Creevey?"
Colin and Dennis Creevey looked up from their ice cream, and saw a
witch standing nearby. She looked to be about their age, and wore jeans
and a sweater. Her black hair was cut in a short bob that framed her
heart-shaped face and blue eyes.
At first glance, she seemed like any other muggleborn or half-blood. But
if she was the girl they were here to meet, then she was as pureblooded
as they came.
"Danielle?" Colin asked, tentatively.
A smile lit up her face. "Yes! Good, I was hoping I wouldn't miss our
meeting. Grandfather said you'd help me do my shopping." She took a
seat across from Colin, and held out her hand.
"Of course," Colin agreed easily. As he shook her hand, he inclined his
head toward his brother. "This is my brother Dennis. He'll be in the third
year this year."
"Hullo," Dennis said, nervously.
"Pleasure to meet you, Dennis," Danielle said, offering her hand. "Danielle
Diggle. But you can call me Dani."
"Oh," Dennis said, glancing at his brother. "Hello, Dani."
"Danielle…" Colin began, before he caught himself. "Excuse me, Dani,
here, will be transferring to Hogwarts for her OWL year."
"Aha," Dennis answered, as if he had figured out a puzzle. "So she's the
one you were trading owls with this summer?"
Colin looked sheepish. "Yeah, Professor McGonagall asked me to show
her around the school and make sure she had everything she needed." He
gestured at the Fortescue's sign above them. "So here we are."
"Here we are," Dani agreed, looking out at the crowd of shoppers. "I've
been here before, of course, but never during school shopping." She
shrugged. "The benefits of homeschooling, I guess."
"I'd like to think that there are advantages to Hogwarts, as well,"
observed Colin.
"Oh, of course!" Dani said, excitedly. "Grandpa told me all about the
castle. I can't wait to see it for myself."
Colin thought back to the boat ride, that first year, and smiled. "Make
sure you ride the boats, with the first years." Off her look of confusion, he
just chuckled. "Trust me, it's worth it."
"Yeah," agreed Dennis. "You might almost say that the view is magical."
Colin rolled his eyes. "Really?"
Dennis merely shrugged, and took the last bite of his ice cream. "Am I
wrong?"
Dani laughed at the brothers' antics. "I guess I'll find out in a few weeks."
She clapped her hands, eager to get started. "So, where should we start?"
Before either of the brothers could answer, they saw a bright red spell fly
past them down the alley. It struck a woman, who fell to the ground
screaming. The crowd seemed to pause for a moment, as if time had
stopped.
Then the screams began.
oOoOoOoOo
In Flourish and Blotts, Neville and Ron were waiting to pay for their
books. Harry had already taken care of his purchases, as well as the
books for Hermione and Ginny. Now, he was helping a muggleborn first
year find his books, while a grateful set of parents tried to figure out how
many pounds they'd need to convert into galleons.
"The crowd gets louder every year," the clerk groused, as he made change
for Neville.
Ron tilted his head, listening closely. "Yeah, but that doesn't sound like a
crowd."
He walked to the door, and opened it. The dull crowd noise gave way to
screams and spellfire. As he slammed the door shut, a spell hit the
building and rattled the windows of the shop.
"Fuck!" Ron shouted, as he drew his wand. He cast a locking charm on
the door, followed by a spell to reinforce the door itself. "We're under
attack!"
"Who would do that?" asked the clerk, his voice already showing his
panic.
"Three guesses," Neville spat, as he drew his own wand. "And the first
two don't count."
"What do we do, then?" screeched the clerk.
"We calm down."
The clerk spun around, to see Harry Potter standing in front of a worried
pair of muggles and their son. His voice was all business, which seemed
to calm the clerk down slightly.
"Now," Harry asked, calmly. "Where's your floo?"
oOoOoOoOo
"What the fuck?" shouted Trevor, as another blast struck the Quidditch
shop.
"Goddamn death eaters," muttered Katie. "I knew this summer was too
quiet."
"I see ten of them," Jamie said, as he peeked through the glass of the
door. They had cast unbreakable charms on the windows and the door,
but those wouldn't stand up to a focused assault.
"Two on ten, Jamie," Trevor said. "Not great odds."
"Three, Longbottom," Katie growled, her own wand in hand.
"This isn't a classroom, Miss Bell," began Jamie, but Katie silenced him
with a glare.
"I know how to fight, Potter," she replied. At the back of her mind, she
wished Evan, her boyfriend, were here. Three wands was good, but four
was even better.
"I still don't like it," said Trevor. "But if we're going to fight, we'll need to
surprise them."
"Yeah," Jamie agreed. "We just need to figure out how."
oOoOoOoOo
"They're attacking Fortescue's," Neville said, as he peered out one of the
windows. "I see a few shields. No one's really returning fire."
"Then maybe someone should," Ron said. "Can Dobby get two of Harry's
training dummies up to the second floor?"
Neville turned to look at him. "Second floor?"
"Yeah," answered Ron. "The Quibbler's offices are up there." He smirked
at Neville's surprised expression. "What can I say? Luna loves ice cream."
Neville grinned, and summoned Dobby, who popped away with a salute
once he had his instructions. The building shook twice more as they
waited for the elf's return.
When Dobby arrived, he had a broad grin on his face. "Missy Luna is in
her news office, and says she will handle the target painting. She also
said that the Creeveys are at the ice cream shop, and can help."
"Good. Thank you, Dobby," said Ron.
A feeling of calm washed over the two Gryffindors. They turned just in
time to see Harry's patronus sprint past them and out one of the walls.
"Floo's down," Harry said as he walked back to the front of the bookstore.
"I sent Shack to sort it out."
"They'd have to take out dozens of connections," Neville observed. "You
can't just shut down all of Diagon Alley in one go, you'd have to switch
off each shop, each residence."
Ron shook his head. "They probably shut down everything. It'd be
simplest."
"Doesn't change anything on the ground, though," said Harry. "Until the
aurors can give us a way out, we'll need to go through the death eaters."
"Shouldn't be too hard, if those dummies get their attention," said Ron.
"We can get them in the back that way."
"One way to find out," Harry said, a determined look in his eye.
oOoOoOoOo
"Someone's firing the killing curse from above the ice cream shop,"
Trevor said, as he watched the battle. Green spells were raining down on
the death eaters, who had started to turn their focus to their attackers.
"Wonder who's brave enough to try that," Jamie said. The Quidditch shop
shuddered as he spoke.
"This building is old," Katie said, worriedly. "It won't hold up too well if
they really try to hit us."
"So, we need to get out of here," said Jamie. "Where do we go?"
"Gringotts will shut its doors until the fighting stops," observed Trevor.
"What's the shop between here and the bank?"
Katie grinned. "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, across the alley," she
answered. "It's just opened. The twins were pranksters in school, they'll
be able to help us."
"More wands would be nice," Jamie agreed. "Let's do it."
oOoOoOoOo
Colin and Dennis had backed up to the edge of the patio, holding a shield
between themselves and the death eaters. Dennis was silently thankful
that his brother had shared some of the lessons of the DA over the
summer.
To their surprise, Dani had joined them - and her shield seemed to be a
strong one. Colin wondered how she learned that, with just home study
as a guide, but it wasn't important at the moment.
The three saw green and red spells coming from the upper floor of the
building, and wondered who had gone up to those offices. They didn't
have a clear line of sight, since they were under an awning, but the death
eaters were taking the threat seriously. Spells cast against them lessened,
as several of the attackers started sending curses into upper story
windows.
Dennis glanced up when he heard a thump against the awning - as if a
body had fallen out of a window. One of the death eaters got lucky, he
thought. Then he heard something land to his left, and turned to see who
it had been.
Instead of a body, he saw the shimmer of a disillusionment charm fading.
Kneeling there, wand in hand, was none other than Luna Lovegood.
She smiled brightly at them. "That should keep them busy," she said.
"Good," Colin said, not missing a beat. "I'm guessing the floo is down?"
"Yes," Luna replied. "Harry, Ron, and Neville are in the bookshop. If we
can get them to focus on us, the boys will hit them from behind."
Colin nodded - it was something the DA had practiced, and it made sense
here. "Tricky, but we can manage. Question is, how?"
"Hey Goat Fucker, you missed! What, are you blind, or just stupid?"
Colin, Dennis, and Luna all turned to the raven-haired girl, who just
shrugged.
"What?" Dani asked. "It worked, didn't it?"
The sound of spellfire hitting their shields told them how successful Dani
had been. All four kept their heads down, expecting to see spells coming
from the bookshop. Instead, one of the death eaters fell to a blasting
curse from further down the alley.
The nine remaining death eaters turned, and began firing blasting curses
of their own toward the Quidditch shop. Three figures were there - two
wizards and a witch, though the group at Fortescue's could not tell who
was who.
oOoOoOoOo
One of the death eaters dodged a spell from the mudbloods at the
Quidditch shop, and snarled in anger.
The whole mission was to clear the alley, terrorize the unworthy, and
generally cause chaos. Then, these fools had the audacity to fight back -
against him! Against the Dark Lord's chosen!
If this didn't end soon, Flint's part of the mission would fail. If Flint
failed, they were all dead.
No, that would not do. Someone had to teach these mudbloods their
place, and if none of his fellows would, then he would have to do what
was necessary.
Standing, the death eater aimed his wand at the Quidditch shop, and
bellowed out the last spell anyone expected to hear that day.
"FIENDFYRE!"
The blast of fire seemed to be a living thing, a serpent bent on consuming
everything in its path. Starting with the three students staring at the
cursed fire in horror.
oOoOoOoOo
Trevor sprinted to his right, toward Fortescue's. Jamie saw that Katie Bell
had frozen at the sight of the fiendfyre, and grabbed her roughly. The
pair of them managed to dodge the bulk of the fire, but Katie's arm had
been struck by the edge of the blast.
Her scream was heard all the way up and down the alley.
Jamie kept her moving, but she pulled her right arm out of his grasp.
Gritting her teeth, she looked down at her left arm - and the growing fire
now spreading down her sleeve, baking her forearm.
With a scream of rage, she aimed her wand at her shoulder, and cast a
cutting hex. The burning arm fell to the street, where the flame
consumed it in moments.
Whatever she had planned after that, no one would know. Katie's eyes
rolled back into her head, and she mercifully passed out.
Jamie and Trevor carried her inert form the rest of the way to the ice
cream shop. Dani met them at the edge of the Creevey's shields, and
helped carry her to safety. Once inside the shop, Dani began casting a
charm on Katie's arm that would stop the bleeding and protect the
wound, at least until they could get to Saint Mungo's.
The girl hissed angrily as her first attempt failed. Nevertheless, she
persisted, and the second try was successful.
"She'll live," Dani said, sitting back tiredly, "For now."
"Good," said Jamie. He looked at Luna, the only one in the group he
recognized. "So, what now?"
She did not look back at him, keeping her eyes on the alley. "Now we
watch Harry, Neville, and Ron take out our attackers," she replied,
calmly.
"What kind of plan is that?" Trevor sputtered.
"The kind you lot almost fucked up," replied Colin. Jamie looked at the
younger boy, and saw a mixture of annoyance and distaste. How much of
that was due to the battle, rather than Jamie himself, was unclear.
Even as Colin spoke, the death eaters turned away from Fortescue's.
Death eaters were falling rapidly, some to curses from near the bookshop,
and others from close range. Jamie saw one death eater take a stunner
from a foot away, and realized that Harry was using their father's
invisibility cloak.
The last death eater was taken down by bludgeoning hexes to both
shoulders, followed by bone breakers to the knees once he was on the
ground. With a rippling in the air, Harry Potter revealed himself - a very,
very angry Harry Potter.
"Mudblood," spat the death eater.
"Mudblood? Really?" Harry growled, his wand aimed at the fallen death
eater's chest. Its tip glowed a very distinctive shade of green, causing the
death eater's eyes to widen in shock and fear. "If only they wanted you
idiots alive." With that, he wordlessly cast a spell at the man, who stilled
immediately.
Jamie's wand came up, as if by instinct. "You just killed that man," he
accused.
Harry did not move. "No, I didn't."
"I fucking SAW you!" Jamie shouted.
"And what three spells cannot be cast wordlessly?" Luna asked quietly.
Jamie's eyes grew wide, when he realized that she had somehow moved
behind him without him noticing. A brush against the back of his neck
told him that her wand was there.
Then what she said registered. Jamie, confused, answered her.
"The unforgivables," he said quietly.
"So, if your brother cast a green spell wordlessly," Luna continued, "and it
left the target stunned and still breathing, I might add, then..."
Jamie looked at the death eater, and saw the rise and fall of the man's
still-ragged breathing. Broken shoulders and knees, after all, did not lend
themselves to comfort. But the man was clearly still alive.
With a sigh, Jamie lowered his wand. Then he glared at Harry.
"You told that man he was going to die," Jamie accused.
"Yes, I did," agreed Harry, as he turned to his brother. "The man's a death
eater, in a blood feud with our family." Harry gave Jamie a sharp look.
"Fuck him."
"Such language," Dani muttered, causing the entire group to look at the
girl who had shouted obscenities at rampaging death eaters not five
minutes before. She grinned at the reaction. "What? Was it something I
said?"
"Oh," replied Harry, with a chuckle. "I like her."
oOoOoOoOo
Inside Gringotts, Marcus Flint looked up in surprise as the great golden
doors opened onto Diagon Alley once again.
It's too soon, he thought to himself. The team in the alley was supposed to
cause trouble for ten minutes, before withdrawing. Looking up at the
large steel clock above the tellers, Flint saw that it was only five minutes
past the hour. The doors wouldn't open before the battle ended, which
meant nothing good for his comrades.
He felt a tug on his arm - his only arm, after the debacle at Bones Manor -
and looked over. Narcissa Malfoy had started to walk forward, out of the
bank. The only thing that stopped her was Flint's hand on her elbow.
The imperius curse was tricky, sometimes - but a command to
unconditionally obey a single person was trivial, if the caster was
powerful enough. Conveniently, the Dark Lord had power to spare.
The battle in the alley was a distraction, while the real mission was here.
Narcissa had been given a rare and precious gift in her late sister's will.
She had to come to the bank and collect the artifact in person, or else it
would be given to others. This was not an acceptable outcome. Not to
her, not to her still-incarcerated husband.
Certainly not to the Dark Lord.
Narcissa remained docile, but obviously wanted to leave very badly. Flint
was uncertain how to proceed, and realized that being seen at the site of
a death eater attack was not something a marked death eater wanted to
do if there was any alternative.
Unfortunately, the goblins made his decision for him.
"Mister Flint, a moment!" Flint turned, and saw the Lestrange account
manager approaching, parchments in hand. "Lady Malfoy has one more
form to sign, before she can leave."
The whole thing smelled of a trap. Flint, despite his unease, nodded to
the goblin. "Of course, Account Manager. May I see the forms?"
The goblin handed him the parchment. Flint took his hand off of Narcissa
in order to accept the documents. Which, as it turned out, had been the
goblin's plan all along.
Once Flint removed his hand, Narcissa began sprinting for the door.
Dropping the parchment, Flint growled, before turning to pursue
Narcissa. As he reached the threshold of the bank, he snapped his wrist,
drawing his wand from its holster. Flint didn't even recall the creature's
name as he struck the goblin down with a piercing hex to the forehead.
Without pausing, he turned and ran out of the bank, ignoring the angry
shouts from the guards.
Narcissa had just stepped off of the stone steps of the bank when she was
struck by a cutting curse. With a scream of pain, she toppled, blood
spurting from her left ankle. Her left foot remained on the bottom step of
the bank.
Flint approached her, an enraged look in his eye. He reached down and
grabbed the small package for where she had dropped it. Before he could
trigger Narcissa's portkey, however, he was thrown backwards by a
banishing hex.
From his back, he looked up to see three witches approaching him. He
recognized Granger, but did not know the other two. Whoever they were,
they had him dead to rights. He couldn't fight them off from his back, not
while he was holding the package - and certainly not while regaining
control of Lady Malfoy.
He had what the Dark Lord wanted. That, it had been repeatedly
explained, was all that mattered. Anything else was an acceptable loss, so
long as that package got back to the Dark Lord.
Even Narcissa Malfoy.
With a curse, Marcus Flint triggered his portkey, and disappeared.
oOoOoOoOo
When the girls reached Narcissa, Susan fell to her knees beside the
bleeding woman. As she began to apply charms to stop the bleeding,
Hermione and Ginny took in the carnage along the alley.
Quality Quidditch Supplies was burning, though whatever cursed fire had
caused the blaze seemed to have died out when its caster was taken
down. Now, it was just a normal fire - controllable, but still devastating.
The shop, and tens of thousands of galleons in broomsticks, was likely to
be a total loss.
A mass of death eaters were laid out in the middle of the alley. Ron and
Neville were standing guard, having bound them all.
Fortescue's had become something of a triage center, with dozens of
wounded being treated by whoever was able. Someone must have gotten
the floo working again, for there were now healers streaming out of the
Leaky Cauldron, probably from Saint Mungo's.
Ginny got Hermione's attention, and pointed at the crowd. Jamie Potter
was there, and seemed to be arguing with Harry. They saw Harry angrily
point at the healers, before turning his back on his brother. Jamie's
shoulders slumped at the clear dismissal. He then, to Ginny's surprise,
turned and asked the nearest healer what he could do to help.
Harry joined them, and placed a hand on Susan's shoulder, knowing
better than to interrupt her casting.
It was Ginny who broke the silence.
"What happened?" she asked, simply.
Harry shrugged. "I don't have any answers for you, Gin," he replied. Then
he looked down at the unconscious Narcissa Malfoy. "But I know who
does."
A/N: This story, and Keystone Council, take center stage for
NaNoWriMo. Which will either see quite a bit of progress during
November 2020, or will result in a ton of "Thought you were
updating?!" reviews. Nothing like pressure to keep the little
numbers going higher.
As with many chapters of this story, we have a lot going on here.
Again, the battle takes only a few minutes to play out, but the
consequences will be far reaching. I noted to Grimjaw, who gave
this chapter a much needed sanity check, that this is the first time
(other than a few spells at the Ministry) that Jamie really sees what
battle looks like. Needless to say, it ain't what he thought it was,
and the memory of Katie Bell's arm turning to ash will stick with
him for a long time.
Meanwhile, we get to see our cast in their element. Luna is, of
course, a ninja. Susan knows the same field medical charms that
Aurors learn, courtesy Amelia. As does our newest OC, Danielle
Diggle, who learned quite a bit at her grandfather's knee. Ron comes
up with a plan, Neville and Harry and Luna execute. Having gotten
the drop on the opposing force, Harry saw no need to shoot to kill -
and this way, Amelia gets more people to question, before shipping
them off to the ICW.
Narcissa has not appeared very often, but when she was seen it was
pretty obvious (I thought) that she was not herself. So, what
happened - and what does it mean for our lad Draco? We'll find out
next time.
Thank you to the over 7,000 (!) followers of this story, the 5,245
readers who favorited it, and everyone who has reviewed. All my
love.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
26. The Bonds of Blood
Daniel Greengrass knew that the Minister for Magic's office met with the
Minister for Muggles on occasion. At that high level, it made sense for the
two governments to keep lines of communication open. There were other
points of connection, of course, between the Ministry and the muggles,
but fewer than two dozen non-magicals were aware, in any sort of official
capacity, that a magical government existed within the borders of Britain.
Knowing about that tenuous connection was a far cry from being part of
it.
It helped that Kingsley Shacklebolt would be accompanying him for this
meeting. The auror had been part of the team that fought in the Floo
office, where four marked death eaters (Ministry employees, all) had
tried to hold off the aurors and keep Wizarding Britain paralyzed.
Minutes after the aurors had gotten through and captured the death
eaters, they had been sent to Muggle London, where another team of
death eaters had dropped a bridge into the Thames.
Daniel had seen the reports. John Parkinson, once he was 'installed' in the
Parkinson seat, had suggested to Minister Fudge that he name a
particular wizard as his undersecretary, to replace the missing Dolores
Umbridge. The clear implication was that the new undersecretary would
be fudge's replacement, sooner rather than later. In one of the only shows
of backbone Fudge displayed, he had declined.
Parkinson then hinted at an attack on the muggles, if Fudge continued to
refuse. Fudge asked for time, hinting that he couldn't upend his office
with Dumbledore attempting to take back the gavel of Chief Warlock.
Of course, Fudge did not say who Parkinson had suggested, which simply
meant that the name had been obliviated from him. It forced Daniel to
look at everyone on his new staff with suspicion, not knowing which of
them had hoped for a promotion at the request of the Dark Lord. Not a
good way to begin one's tenure as Minister.
It was of a piece with You-Know-Who's more effective plans. Whatever
happened, the end result benefited chaos, which could only harm the
Ministry. The Triwizard Tournament was similar - even with Harry's
escape at the third task, Lucius Malfoy was able to get Fudge to help
discredit the boy, which in turn allowed Madam Umbridge into the
school. No, Harry Potter had not been killed during any of the tasks, but
that result would have served the Dark Lord's purposes as well, even if it
delayed his resurrection.
Daniel Greengrass found himself leading a government in a war against
an enemy whose only principle was "Victory by any means necessary."
The attack on Diagon Alley, the assassination at Gringotts, and the
destruction of the Brockdale Bridge, all of them spoke to Voldemort's
willingness to do anything to gain power.
So, when asked who the Dark Lord had attacked today, the Minister for
Magic had to answer honestly - "Everyone." Thus, the first meet and greet
between himself and his opposite number in the muggle government had
been turned into a briefing about a war the muggle minister didn't even
know was happening.
"I'll get her back," Daniel said to himself.
"Get who back, Minister?" Shacklebolt asked.
Daniel Greengrass gave the auror a grin. "Augusta Longbottom, for
talking me into taking this job."
Shacklebolt chuckled in response, but said nothing.
With a sigh, Daniel closed the briefing folder, and leaned back in his
chair. "Sure I can't convince you to trade?"
Shacklebolt grinned at that. "Not on your life, Minister Greengrass."
Daniel shrugged. "Worth a shot."
The floo interrupted their banter, when its flames turned green. Standing,
Daniel picked up the folder and made his way to the fireplace.
"Showtime," he said.
oOoOoOoOo
Narcissa Malfoy woke with a start, and found herself in unfamiliar
surroundings.
Even in the darkened room, she could see the pale white ceiling, the
nondescript muggle paintings on the wall, and the plain white hospital
bed in which she found herself.
A bed to which she seemed to be shackled.
The door opened, and the lights came up slightly. She saw a man in
healer's robes, followed by a woman in the combat robes of an auror.
Only the woman's monocle helped Narcissa identify her as Director
Bones.
Narcissa felt her eyes grow wet as tears began to fall. The relief she felt
was overwhelming. The nightmare was finally over.
The healer silently cast his diagnostics, as Amelia Bones walked to the
other side of the bed. The woman placed a comforting hand on Narcissa's
shoulder, but said nothing. Presently, the healer put his wand away and
nodded to Amelia, before leaving the room.
Despite knowing nothing about what the healer had found, Narcissa felt
reassured by the gesture. It seemed that the man had found what he
expected, and that she was stable enough to be left with the DMLE
Director.
"Narcissa," Amelia said, but Narcissa would not wait.
"Yes," she answered the unasked question. "Yes, I'll tell you everything."
Amelia nodded at that. With a wave of her wand, she dragged one of the
visitor's chairs over to the side of the bed, and then sat down. She placed
a comforting hand on Narcissa's own, before she began.
"Let me tell you what we know, and then you can fill in the gaps," Amelia
said. Off Narcissa's nod, she continued. "We know you were taken to the
bank by Marcus Flint, and that you were under the imperius curse."
Narcissa nodded.
"You entered the office of Account Manager Forgebuilder, who managed
the Lestrange accounts in Britain. During that meeting, you were given a
small package that contained seven hundred galleons, a silver pendant,
and the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff." Amelia watched Narcissa closely for
any reaction.
She got one, when Narcissa's features hardened. "Bella's will required me
to come to the bank in person, or else the items would go to her
husband." She shook her head, bitterly. "When the Dark Lord learned
what I received from my sister's will, he insisted I go."
"Both Lestranges are in ICW custody," observed Amelia. "We expect them
to be executed after their trials." She did not say that the same fate was
likely for Lucius Malfoy, as well. She did not need to.
"The Dark Lord would have destroyed the bank, brick by brick, to
reacquire that cup, Director," Narcissa said.
Ameila's eyebrow raised. "Reacquire?"
A nod. "The Dark Lord gifted that artifact to my sister during the first
war, and ordered her to guard it with her life." She sighed, and shook her
head again. "Bella left it to me as a contingency, I suspect. We never
discussed it."
"Why not?" Amelia wondered. It helped to tell the people you trusted
with a plan before enacting the plan, after all - or so Mark said.
Narcissa scoffed. "My sister expected her Lord to share the secret of his
immortality with her. She was, after all, his most faithful." She looked up
at Amelia, tears falling freely now. "Why would an immortal woman need
a will?"
"Indeed," Amelia said in reply. Hoping to move away from Narcissa's
dead sister, Amelia continued. "Well, Forgebuilder suspected that you
were under the imperius, especially after Flint answered on your behalf
several times. But you were entitled to the items you received, made no
attempt to take anything else, and were completely non-aggressive. So,
under treaty, the bank had no reason to detain you for merely being
cursed."
"How did I break it, then?" Narcissa asked, weakly.
"Forgebuilder walked you out by a different path," Amelia answered.
"You passed the Thief's Downfall, didn't you?"
Narcissa nodded. Then her eyes grew wide. "That did it!"
"Yes," Amelia agreed. "But you were smart, you did exactly the right
thing, Narcissa. Instead of running, instead of giving Flint a chance to
take back control, you acted as if nothing had happened. He never
realized you had shaken off the curse until you ran."
"That's why the goblin came after us," Narcissa realized. "That's why he
gave Flint those parchments."
"Right in one," Amelia said. "Flint lost an arm attacking my home, and
couldn't exactly go to Saint Mungo's and get a prosthetic, now could he?
So he had his good arm holding you. Forgebuilder saw that, and got him
to let go long enough for you to escape."
"I owe him my thanks," Narcissa said, quietly. She saw Amelia wince, and
frowned. "What happened next, Director?"
Amelia looked at Narcissa. "Before he chased you into the alley, Flint
turned and executed Forgebuilder."
Narcissa's eyes widened in shock. "On the floor of the bank?"
Amelia nodded. "The goblins already know that you are blameless. But
the Flints… well…" Her voice trailed off, as the implications were already
clear enough.
"The Interdict," Narcissa whispered.
"Yes," Amelia confirmed. "Anyone from that family brave enough to set
foot on goblin stone will find their experience… unpleasant."
"Merlin," Narcissa whispered, looking up at the ceiling. "That cup must
have been worth everything to the Dark Lord."
"So it would seem," agreed Amelia. "Do you have any idea why?"
"None."
Before Amelia could ask another question, four soft knocks came from
the door.
"I know you're exhausted," said Amelia, "But you have one more visitor to
see before you can get some rest."
Narcissa sighed, but seemed to pull herself together. "If you say so,
Director," she said, formally.
With a nod, Amelia turned to the door. "Come!"
The door opened, but Narcissa could not see who entered in the dim
light. Then the man closed the door, and walked closer to her bed. When
she finally saw who it was, Narcissa began to weep.
Silently, Amelia released the cuffs on Narcissa's wrists, and not a moment
too soon - for as soon as Sirius Black was close enough, the Lady Malfoy
was throwing her hands around him and sobbing.
"It's okay, Cissy," Amelia heard from the Lord Black. "You're safe now."
Amelia quietly made her way out, allowing the cousins their reunion.
oOoOoOoOo
In another part of the hospital, two wizards were tiredly waiting to visit a
friend.
Jamie Potter was enjoying his first chance to sit down since the battle of
Diagon Alley. The healers on scene had had him levitating the wounded
to the ice cream shop's floo, where they were taken to the hospital. Then,
he had been tasked with helping to remove debris from the area in front
of the quidditch shop.
Everything after the removal of the wounded was a blur. He couldn't
even remember much about the cleanup.
Instead, his thoughts were with the muggle woman who had been
impaled by the remains of a Starseeker broom. It shocked Jamie, how he
did not think about the woman's screams as he held her down, or about
the healer's muttering as he removed the wood so he could close the
wound. He didn't even think about the woman's muggleborn son, held
back by Trevor, who screamed at them as they tried to save his mother.
No, all he could think about was the bloodied end of that stupid broom.
"Not how I imagined today going, Jamie."
Jamie looked up, and saw his brother standing there. Harry's robes were
expensive, befitting a Lord of the Wizengamot, without being
ostentatious. He was not showing his wealth through his fashion, but
stepping into the role.
For the first time, Jamie looked at his twin and saw Lord Potter.
"No, I guess not," Jamie agreed, tiredly. He gestured at a seat across the
waiting area. "Don't let me stop you."
With a nod, Harry took the offered seat. Like all such chairs in a hospital,
it was just barely comfortable enough to qualify as a chair.
They stared at each other for a minute, then two. Jamie, wearing casual
clothes streaked with soot and blood and dust, and Harry, who had easily
taken down a number of adult wizards, and still had time to go home and
change clothes. Jamie, the Heir Potter until this summer, and Harry, his
younger brother, who looked every bit the part of the Lord their father
thought himself to be.
Jamie did not pause in his thoughts, even as he realized that he hadn't
thought about his father as Lord Potter in some time.
"How do you do it?" Jamie asked, suddenly.
"Do what?"
Jamie looked across the room at his brother. "How do you fight against
death eaters? Knowing they could kill you at any moment? Knowing
there are twice as many of them as there are of you?" He waved his hand,
trying to come up with the words.
Harry beat him to it. "How do I go to war?"
Jamie nodded.
"I'll answer you, if you answer me. How did you walk into the atrium at
the Ministry and start flinging spells at Voldemort himself?" Harry
countered.
Jamie shook his head. "I had help, Dumbledore was there." He did not
miss the frown on Harry's face at the mention of the Headmaster.
"Well, there you go then."
"I don't know what you mean," Jamie replied.
Harry stretched his neck, working the tired muscles as he considered his
answer.
"Look, I'm going to be real for a minute, here. Everyone, from your father
to the Headmaster, seems to want to place the weight of the world on
your shoulders." He leveled his eyes at Jamie as he spoke, hoping to get
through to him. "But you can't hold a responsibility that big without
resources to match."
"Like what?" Jamie asked.
"Probably more like who, in your case," Harry said. "Who would you trust
at your back, no matter what?"
"Trevor," Jamie answered without hesitation. Harry watched him for a
moment, wondering what other names would come, but none did.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Not the Headmaster?"
"Of course, the Headmaster," Jamie corrected.
"Yet you did not name him."
"It goes without saying."
"Ah," replied Harry, nodding. "A man once gifted me with the wisdom of
his people, many years ago. He said 'Assumption is the mother of all
fuckups.'"
Jamie scowled at that. "You're going to want to explain that to me."
Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in
front of him.
"It's simple. Either you are willing to go into battle with Albus
Dumbledore at your side, knowing that he would take a killing curse for
you, just as you would take one for him, or you aren't." Harry shrugged.
"Trust is binary. It exists, or it does not. When I asked you who you
trusted, you answered with Neville's brother. You did not think to answer
with the Headmaster."
Jamie's eyes had a faraway look as he replied, in a quiet voice.
"We owe Professor Dumbledore everything."
Harry sat back, considering his brother. "So I'm told. Yet there's
something, maybe not anything you can explain, that bothers you. Or
else the Headmaster would have been on your list." He considered
mentioning their parents, but decided against it - that topic was still too
raw, at least on Harry's side of the room.
Jamie took off his glasses, setting them on the table. He ran a hand across
his face, as if to wipe away the fatigue that was suddenly overwhelming
him.
"Everything's wrong," he muttered, more to himself than to Harry.
"Then fix it," answered Harry.
"That simple?" scoffed Jamie, his frustration blending with worry and
growing by the minute.
"You assumed that you knew what you were walking into. All three of
you did," replied Harry. "Obviously, your intelligence was bad."
Jamie scowled at his brother. "So now I'm dumb?"
"No, your intelligence. The things you know about the situation. Who is
doing what, why that matters, where things are happening, and so on."
Harry's eyes narrowed as he explained the most basic concepts to his
brother, who had been intensively trained for years in this very subject.
Or so he had thought.
"You thought the state of the war was one thing. Based on that, you came
back." Harry kept his voice calm as he spoke, having seen the annoyance
on Jamie's features. "But when you arrived, it was something completely
different. Now, some of those around you will tell you that nothing has
changed, and the plan can go ahead, whatever that plan was." Harry
shook his head. "They're wrong. No plan survives contact with the
enemy. The instant things begin happening, you need to be ready to
change your plan to fit conditions in the field."
Jamie opened his eyes, and looked at his brother. The storm behind those
green eyes seemed ready to burst forth.
Harry ignored it. Whatever his parents had in mind for Jamie - his
brother - these were truths someone should have told the boy long ago.
However angry he'd be, Jamie needed to hear what Harry had to say, just
as Harry had needed to hear it years before, when Colonel Ramsay sat
him down and told him how the world worked.
He hoped he was getting through to Jamie, but part of him began to
realize that they weren't connecting, somehow. As similar as they were,
being twins and all, they were still talking past each other. They didn't
have a shared history, a lifetime of growing up together, that would have
allowed Jamie to understand where Harry was coming from.
It was one more thing that had been taken from them.
"I can't tell you who to trust, Jamie," Harry said, his voice quiet. "What I
can tell you is this - if you plan to go into battle, to challenge Riddle, or
to fight against the Dark, or whatever, you need to know that the people
around you are worthy of your trust. You need to know, deep down, that
you can rely on those people. Because if you can't, then they will
abandon at the worst possible moment, and you will fail spectacularly."
His green eyes met his twin's, and he brought his voice almost to a
whisper. "If you trust the wrong people, Jamie, you're going to get your
arse killed."
Jamie closed his eyes again, and shook his head.
"All I've heard this summer is that you're reckless, charging in and
starting a fight you can't hope to finish. The Headmaster sighs and shakes
his head, more in sorrow than anger, and speaks of the folly of youth,
while Dad grumbles and plots and plans. Mum just looks distant, and
then angry, and then sad, and honest to Merlin I don't know what the hell
I'm supposed to do about it." He slammed a fist into the table, the sudden
movement startling Harry. "And here you sit, talking about how I can't
trust the only adults who have ever been there for me, the only adults
I've ever really known, and how I won't be able to do my FUCKING job!
The job I've literally prepared for ALL MY LIFE. So fine, My Lord Potter,
Sir, what the fuck do you expect me to do, exactly? DIE?"
Before Harry could answer, a voice came from the hallway. Harry and
Jamie's heads snapped around, only to see a wizard glaring at them.
"You'll both shut the fuck up," the man snarled, angrily. "Or I won't let
you visit my fiancé."
It was only then that Harry placed the face - Evan Lewis, a Gryffindor
who had graduated at the end of this past year. A quiet student, he had
been one of the seventh year prefects last year. Harry had only known
him through Katie, though he hadn't realized that they were that serious.
Standing, Harry nodded to Evan. "Of course. Sorry." Jamie rose as well,
but said nothing.
Evan Lewis saw the look on the other Potter - the one who had been with
Katie during the attack. He pointed a finger at the boy, and glared. "I
mean it. She needs rest, and the last goddamn thing she needs is you two
arguing in front of her. You've already woken her up, so you get to see
her. But I swear to God, I'll stun the both of you if you upset her."
Harry sighed at the news that they'd woken Katie up. "Lewis, if I upset
her, I'll let you."
Evan scoffed at that, but seemed to fight back a smile. "I'll hold you to
that, kid," he said. "Come on."
oOoOoOoOo
The Prime Minister was surprised to see a face he recognized on one of
the men stepping out of his fireplace. It spoke to the day the man had
had that he didn't even question himself about the fact that men were
stepping out of his fireplace.
"Mister Shacklebolt?" The Prime Minister asked, as he walked forward to
shake the man's hand.
"Mister Prime Minister," the auror responded, formally, shaking hands
with the muggle. "May I introduce Daniel Greengrass, newly elected
Minister for Magic of Wizarding Britain."
The PM turned, and shook the other man's hand, taking his measure. "I
expected a Minister Fudge?"
"Ah, yes," said Daniel. "It seems that Minister Fudge rather enjoyed
receiving bribes from terrorists, so he was relieved of his position."
The PM frowned at that, but said nothing. Instead, he gestured the two
men toward a set of chairs in the middle of the room. On a small table sat
a tea service.
"We're just waiting on one of my advisors, and then we can begin," said
the PM. "How do you take your tea?"
Daniel shared a look with Kingsley, before responding. "We were under
the impression that this meeting was for your eyes only, sir."
"So I was told," the PM replied. "But I wanted one of my top men to hear
what you had to say, without me messing it up in the translation."
"I see," said Daniel. After a moment, he gestured toward Kingsley. "May I
ask how you know Mister Shacklebolt?"
The PM grinned. "It seems 'Commander' Shacklebolt here was assigned to
my office by MI6, following certain nonspecific threats to my safety. He's
been training some of our men for the past few weeks."
Kingsley looked uncomfortable. "We often use such identities, sir. We
were not trying to offend…"
The PM's dismissive wave silenced the auror. "I'm not worried,
Shacklebolt. I just don't like surprises, such as finding out I have a wizard
on my security team."
Kingsley nodded. "We'll keep you in the loop, sir."
The PM nodded in return. "All I ask."
The three turned when the door to the office opened, and a man walked
in. The man was older, and wore a military uniform that bore decades
worth of decorations. His silver hair was cut short, and his eyes scanned
the room for threats as soon as he crossed the threshold.
This, Kingsley knew, was a man who would tolerate no nonsense.
"Gentlemen, may I present Brigadier General Miles Warren," the Prime
Minister said, as he shook the Brigadier's hand. "He's our expert on the
magical world."
Daniel Greengrass nodded, and went to shake the Brigadier's hand as
well, but Kingsley seemed to freeze.
Warren saw the look, and grinned coldly at the auror.
"Yes," he said. "I'm a squib. Now sit down and quit making a scene."
Daniel shared an amused glance with the PM, as Kingsley found himself
resuming his seat almost before he realized.
"Right," the PM said. "Let's begin."
"Yes, let's begin," replied the Brigadier. "Shall we talk about the attack on
your shopping district, or the one on your only bank, or the one in your
own offices, or perhaps the one that dropped a bridge into the bloody
Thames?"
Daniel and Kingsley shared another look. Both men had the same
thought.
How the hell did the muggles know about the attacks on magicals?
oOoOoOoOo
Narcissa stood at the foot of her hospital bed, thankful that Marcus Flint
had only used a cutting curse on her ankle, rather than a darker spell.
She closed her eyes and wiggled her toes - all ten of them. If she really
thought about it, she might be able to tell the regrown foot from the one
she had lost, but it was a narrow thing. The healers of Saint Mungo's did
good work. In the back of her mind, she reminded herself to increase her
family's donation to the hospital this year.
Sirius and Amelia both saw Narcissa's eyes snap open.
"Cissy?" Sirius asked, concerned.
"Madam Director," Narcissa said formally, turning her suddenly neutral
features toward Amelia. "Where is my husband? None of his 'allies' saw
fit to inform me of his fate."
Amelia hesitated, glancing at Sirius for his support. Narcissa saw the
glance, and took a firmer grip on the edge of the bed.
"Director, please just tell me the situation. Whatever it is."
With a sigh, Amelia's eyes met Narcissa's.
"Lucius Malfoy was convicted of seven counts of international terorrism,
after he was connected to a series of kidnappings last year." She winced
as Narcissa paled at the news. "The details… Lady Malfoy, I don't
think…"
Narcissa shook her head. "No, I don't really need to know." She looked at
Sirius, as if for strength. "It's not as if I'm surprised." She turned back to
Amelia. "This was an ICW court, I presume?"
Amelia nodded.
"I see," Narcissa replied, quietly. Then she turned to Sirius once again.
"Lord Black, I formally request asylum with the House of my birth."
Sirius answered with no hesitation. "Granted."
Narcissa sighed, and it seemed as if a weight had lifted from her
shoulders. Such was her relief that she almost lost her balance. Sirius was
at her elbow in an instant, helping her return to the bed.
Once she was comfortable, Narcissa looked back to Amelia, and asked the
question she had not yet had the courage to ask.
"And what of my son?"
It was Sirius who answered. "We've heard nothing."
She nodded, as if expecting the news. "He was told to flee, if I
disappeared, and to seek you out, Lord Black," she said. "If he approaches
you…"
Sirius nodded. "So long as he remains unmarked, I will protect him. If,
that is, he approaches me."
Narcissa laid her head back on the pillow, eyes closed. "Good enough."
Sirius and Amelia shared another glance.
"Cissy," Sirius asked, gently. "Will he approach me?"
"If he wants to live, he will," was her only response.
oOoOoOoOo
When Harry and Jamie entered the hospital room, they found an empty
bed.
"About time you idiots got here," Katie said, from her place in one of the
visitor's chairs. Standing, she walked over to the pair. It took her no time
at all to tell the two apart, even in the dim evening light of a Saint
Mungo's hospital room.
"My Lord Potter, if you please," she teased, as she wrapped Harry in a
hug. She ignored the bandaged arm, severed by her own wand mid-bicep.
Then she stepped back, and looked him up and down. "When did you get
taller than me, short stuff?"
"Clean living and good food, Miss Bell," Harry replied with a smirk.
"Sure," she laughed. "Those elves are gonna make you fat, if you're not
careful."
"So I'm told," answered Harry. "You'll have to explain that to Dobby, of
course. He doesn't listen to me."
"Horseshite," she replied with a chuckle. Then she turned to Jamie, who
had grown uncomfortable at the display. "And you, short stuff part two,
get over here."
Jamie's eyes widened when she pulled him into a hug - something he had
not expected. Harry looked to the door, where Evan Lewis was watching
the scene with amusement.
Harry was one of Katie's teammates - which meant he was her brother, by
default. Some boyfriends would feel threatened by that close-knit bond
that could only be found over the pitch, but Evan knew better. He
certainly wasn't sold on the long lost twin, not after what he had read in
the Prophet, but Katie's acceptance of the boy went a long way toward
easing Evan's worries.
"Thank you," Katie said to Jamie.
Jamie frowned at that. "I sort of got your arm burned off," he began, but
she waved him off.
"Nonsense," she said. "If we had stayed put, some idiot would still have
blown us up." She shrugged, an odd gesture with the missing arm. "The
way I see it, you saved my life."
She walked the Potters over to the corner, where four chairs were set up
for visitors. Taking one, she gestured for the three wizards to join her.
Evan took his seat on her right, and held her wand hand in his own.
Jamie and Harry sat across from the couple.
After an awkward moment, Katie chuckled, and looked at Jamie. "You
know, Alicia and Angelina both graduated with Evan, here." She waved
her left arm at him. "You didn't need to go through all this trouble just to
get a spot on the team."
Harry saw the look of horror on Jamie's face, and fought to keep himself
from laughing. Katie had always said that she had a disarming sense of
humor, and now his brother was its target. Then Harry realized what he
had just thought, and his eyes grew wide. She wouldn't…
Katie shared a glance with Evan, who seemed to read her mind.
"You don't need to worry, Potter," Evan said. "Katie's sense of humor can
be a little disarming, at times. You get used to it."
Jamie was stunned, not sure how to respond. Harry's laughter broke his
shock.
"Merlin, Katie, I can't believe you went there!" Harry gasped, between
laughs.
"I can't leave an opening like that alone, you know that," Katie replied,
chuckling at his reaction.
"The healers say they can fix her up, good as new," Evan said, once they
calmed down. "But until then, she's going to milk it for all she's worth."
"Got that right," she confirmed.
"With a brand new arm, though, it's going to be about 8 weeks before
she's back in flying form," Evan noted.
"Potions, physical therapy, follow ups, and on and on and on," droned
Katie, rolling her eyes. "I've half a mind to ask old Moody where he gets
his kit, maybe they'll have something that'll keep me on a broomstick."
"We can make it work," Harry said, immediately. "Whatever you need."
Jamie nodded along, still not sure what to say.
"I was hoping you'd say that," Katie said, with a nod. She reached into her
pocket, and tossed something to him. Harry's seeker reflexes served him
well, and he snatched it out of the air.
When he saw what the object was, he frowned. "Oh, no, no you're not."
Katie nodded. "Yes, I bloody well am."
Harry set the piece of metal on the table. Jamie leaned forward, and saw
a Gryffindor crest with "Captain" inscribed across the bottom.
"Absolutely not. You've earned this, I'm not going to take it away from
you."
"Harry," Katie began, but Harry kept talking.
"I still have a ban, they might not even let me fly," he continued. Jamie's
eyebrows rose at the mention of a Quidditch ban, but again he said
nothing.
"Potter," Katie said, louder.
"Besides, surely they wouldn't…"
"Hey Dipshit!"
Harry blinked at her, stunned into silence. Then he grinned.
"You haven't called me that since second year," he replied.
Katie chuckled. "I haven't needed to, have I?"
"No, ma'am, you have not," Harry agreed, still grinning.
"Look," Katie said, leaning forward. "I might fly, I might not. Even if I do,
I won't be 100 percent, and we both know it." She inclined her head at
the badge. "The team's going to need someone in the air, and I can't be
that someone."
Harry scowled at her. "I don't like it," he said.
"No, I didn't think you would," she answered. Then she grinned right back
at him. "Fortunately, I don't really care what you think."
"Smartarse," Harry muttered. He looked from Katie to the captain's badge,
his brow furrowed.
"Oh, hell," Evan said to himself.
Jamie looked confused. "What's wrong?"
Evan nodded toward Harry, who had reached into his robes. "Potter's got
an idea."
Katie was laughing at Evan's reaction.
As they watched, Harry pulled a small steel throwing knife from his belt.
Setting it on the table, he began to wave his wand over the metal. His
eyes went from the captain's badge to the knife, back and forth, as he
focused on the transfiguration.
When he was done, he had a perfect duplicate of the captain's badge.
Almost.
Katie picked up the new badge, and studied it. "Coach?" she asked,
looking back to Harry.
He nodded. "You can't play, fine. But I'll be damned if you leave me on
my own with a bunch of new flyers. No, I'm not going to be running
practices while you're off in Hogsmeade running about with Mister Lewis,
here."
"Oi!" Evan sputtered.
Katie ignored her fiancé as she looked at Harry. After a moment, she
nodded. "It'd be good to fly, even if it's just to yell at you lot."
Harry and Jamie looked at each other. "You haven't even seen him fly,"
Harry noted. Jamie started to speak, but caught himself - after all, Harry
was right.
"He knows his brooms, if he is smart enough to listen to the experts," she
said, with a smirk. Jamie could only grin at the remark. "And if he's half
as good on a broom as his brother, then we've got nothing to worry
about."
Jamie's face fell, at that. "Oh, the shop…"
"We can figure that out," Harry said, to Jamie's surprise - and his own.
"I've got some ideas on that front."
"Good," Katie said. "That's settled, then."
The four chatted for a few more minutes, before Katie found herself
yawning ostentatiously. Harry took the hint, and gave her another hug.
Katie insisted on hugging Jamie as well. As she did so, she spoke quietly
to him.
"He's your brother," she said simply.
Pulling back, Jamie looked at her, trying to figure out what she meant.
Katie saw the look, and rolled her eyes.
"Even with everything going on, you two have more in common than
not." She inclined her head at the door, where Harry was talking quietly
with Evan. "You can trust him."
"You barely know me," Jamie said, weakly.
"Maybe," Katie said. "But I'm not telling you anything you don't already
suspect for yourself, am I?"
Jamie sighed, and nodded. "You might be right."
"Ah ah ah," she said, wiggling her finger. "That's 'You might be right,
Coach.'"
"Oh for fuck's sake," said Harry, from the doorway, causing all four of
them to laugh.
oOoOoOoOo
The Prime Minister poured two glasses of scotch, once the wizards had
departed. Sliding one glass across his desk, he sat heavily in his chair.
Brigadier Warren sat across from him, a thoughtful look on his face.
"I didn't expect you to go easy on them, Miles," the PM said. "But I have
to say, that was quite a performance."
"They got off easy," he grumbled.
"Maybe."
Both men sipped their drinks, considering everything they had learned.
"Still," Miles said after a minute. "Those two weren't as bad as I had
expected."
The PM nodded, having read the file on the Brigadier. If anyone had
reason to mistrust the wizards, it was Miles Warren.
"I don't know," Miles continued. He looked up at the Prime Minister. "Do
you think they'll hold up their end?"
The PM nodded. "I think they will." He took another drink, and then set
his glass down. "If we're not too late, that is."
oOoOoOoOo
The next day found Danielle Diggle sitting in her living room, reading
through her textbooks. She had never had fewer than three texts for any
subject, and enjoyed the freedom that homeschooling allowed. She could
work at her pace, and (to some degree) work on what she liked.
Having only a few books, for the whole year, would be an adjustment. Of
course, everything this year would be an adjustment.
As much as she would miss home, she was ready for something new. It
had taken some convincing, both for her parents and her grandfather, but
in the end they had agreed, and she had been registered at Hogwarts.
"Dani?"
Dani's eyebrows rose at the familiar voice. "In here, Grandpa!"
Dedalus Diggle walked in, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. "Something
for your mum, Dani," he said, offering her the flowers.
"Oh, she'll love these," Dani said, moving to the kitchen to put them in a
vase. "Are these the ones from your garden?"
"They are," Diggle said, following her through the house. "They come in
beautifully, this time of year."
As Dani prepared the bouquet, Dedalus sat down nearby.
"So, I hear there was a bit of excitement in the alley yesterday."
Dani, to her credit, didn't even pause as she worked. "You could say that,"
she replied.
"I hope you stayed safe?" he asked. He knew the answer already, of
course - the incident report had told him everything he needed to know,
especially about the young girl who helped shield the customers at
Fortescue's.
"Not a scratch," she answered, proudly.
"Good for you, my dear," Diggle replied. "I do hope you are as careful at
Hogwarts as you were yesterday," he continued, keeping his eyes on hers.
She knew what he was saying. "Of course, Grandpa."
"Good," he said, smiling. "That's my little one."
"I haven't been your little one for years now," Dani huffed.
"Nonsense," Diggle said, rising. He planted a kiss on her forehead, as he
took the vase from her hands. "You've always been my little one."
"Yes, Grandpa," she said, with a sigh. She grinned when the older man
chuckled at her reaction.
Diggle placed the flowers in the center of the table, and then pulled out
his wand. "It's not autumn just yet, but I think some fall colours would
not go amiss," he said.
With a wave of his wand, the tablecloth turned a dark orange,
complimenting the bright orange blossoms of the bouquet.
Dani nodded in approval. "Those are the nasty flowers, right Grandpa?"
Diggle nodded. "Nasturtium, my dear," he corrected.
"They're lovely," she said. "What do they mean?"
"Well, that's a complicated question, Danielle," Diggle answered, a
knowing smile on his face. "Today, they just mean that I thought your
mum would like them, because they blossomed quite nicely and have a
lovely color."
"You know what I mean, Grandpa," Dani replied, with a roll of her eyes.
"You've got a Mastery in Herbology, don't tell me you skipped the class
about flowers and their meanings."
Diggle chuckled. "Can't get anything past you, can I?" He looked at the
flower arrangement, and had something of a faraway look as he spoke.
"Nasturtium means loyalty to a cause, or an idea. Something you believe
in so strongly, that you'll devote your life to it."
Dani nodded. "Like how you and the Headmaster dedicated yourselves to
the Light?"
Diggle nodded. "Something like that."
A/N: This is the second of three planned NaNoWriMo chapters for
November 2020. Not one to leave unpublished work laying about, I
thought I'd post it early. Thanks again to Grimjaw, whose input
made several scenes work.
For those who worried that Katie Bell was destined for a fridge,
merely because she (potentially) stood in Jamie's way, worry not.
She's one of those characters that writes herself, and every scene
with her in it (except her first, way back in Chapter 4) makes her
more important to the story. As the only remaining member of the
Quidditch team that welcomed a scrawny firstie as its seeker, Katie
gets to sass Harry in a way most of his friends wouldn't. She's
someone Harry will listen to - as will Jamie, especially when Katie
takes him under her (remaining) wing.
Some fics spend thousands of words getting into archaic wandlore.
Or, alternatively, they copy-paste the bit where Harry waves his
hand over blocks of wood, and then ends up with a wand that uses
two woods and a basilisk venom core. Then the wand is never
mentioned again. Here, wands are wands - if I wanted to do a story
about wands, I would've. But brooms, on the other hand? No one
ever gets creative with those.
All of that is to say this - Y'all, I have thoughts about the broom
Jamie's going to end up with. I think he'll enjoy something different,
don't you?
If you're participating in NaNoWriMo, good bloody luck. Don't
forget to breathe. And hydrate. And so on.
Next Chapter: The Train Ride, and the beginning of a Sixth Year to
remember.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
27. The Scottish Play
With a heavy sigh, Harry Potter placed his hand on the kissing gate. The
metal creaked and whined as the gate parted. As he stepped through,
Susan's hand on his arm, Harry looked up at the old war memorial. To
magical eyes, the stone shifted and warped itself, becoming a statue of a
witch and wizard holding their son, the soon-to-be triumphant Boy-Who-
Lived.
Harry closed his eyes. That statue took on a whole new meaning, now.
Colonel Ramsay had taken Harry to the old cemetery in Godric's Hollow
only once, the summer before his fourth year. When Harry had
mentioned that he hadn't even known where his parents had been buried,
Ramsay had been appalled. Respect for fallen comrades in arms was
something that the soldier held dear, and he quickly set to work.
Whoever the Colonel had talked to was efficient. Within a week, Colonel
Ramsay had a road map that would get them to the village, and to the
cemetery. They drove up the following Saturday, a three hour drive from
Surrey.
It was sheer chance that had the Colonel place his hand on Harry's
shoulder as they had walked into the cemetery. That contact allowed him
to see the magical graves along with the muggle. It also let him see the
hijacked war memorial. Even as he said nothing, the statue had bothered
him - almost as if it dishonored the muggle soldiers to honor Harry and
his parents.
Now, of course, the statue bothered him for entirely different reasons -
more so when Ramsay learned that the arrangements had been made by
one Albus Dumbledore.
As if she could feel his anger, Amelia Bones placed her own hand on his
elbow. Ramsay turned to look at her, and saw the worry in her eyes. He
patted her hand, attempting to reassure her.
Amelia had been here before, of course - it was the closest thing
Wizarding Britain had to a war memorial. She had even brought a young
Susan, once upon a time. That likely wouldn't have happened, if she had
known then what she knew now. It was a conversation happening around
dinner tables from one end of the country to the other - what do you tell
your children when their heroes, the figures from their stories, end up
being… well, human?
James and Lily Potter were honored for their bravery. To learn that they
had fled, that they abandoned their son? How does one explain that to a
child raised on stories about the Boy Who Lived?
Remus Lupin had been here before, at various points during the decade
following that dark Halloween. Sirius had not, believing (correctly) that
this place was one of the few places in Wizarding Britain that he could be
expected to visit. Kingsley Shacklebolt had revealed to him, over a
firewhiskey, that the DMLE had indeed placed a ward near the Potter
graves, hoping to catch him if he came to defile their remains.
He had joked that he should have tried - it would have been eye opening.
Remus thought back to the funeral, and realized that Sirius might be onto
something. After all, the grand speech from the Headmaster had held the
crowd's attention, with its soaring phrases about honor and sacrifice and
love. Then, the Headmaster had lifted the twin caskets with his magic
alone, and placed them gently in the freshly dug earth.
No one could tell how heavy a load was as it was levitated. Empty
caskets would react in the same way that filled caskets would.
The small group walked through the cemetery, none of them in a hurry
to reach their destination. Harry had been adamant that he wanted to do
this - that he needed to do this. No one could talk him out of it, though no
one really tried. They understood, each of them, how hard it was to come
to grips with what had happened, with what they had learned.
When they arrived at the Potter graves, Ramsay found his eyes drawn to
the inscription. It had rubbed him the wrong way two years ago, but he
had not been able to explain why. He had thought of the Potters as
soldiers, and in a way they had been. Bravery, after all, isn't acting
without fear - it's acting in spite of fear, and doing what needed to be
done.
James and Lily Potter had done what needed to be done. Somehow, they
had protected Harry. That was what mattered. A younger Harry had been
satisfied with that answer, if only just.
Lord Potter, here and now, had seen past the illusion, and found the truth
wanting.
Harry and Susan spoke in whispers as they stood at the foot of the grave.
Remus and Sirius gave them all the space they needed, standing a short
distance away. Ramsay, with Amelia on his arm, nodded when he saw
that the two wizards had clear lines of sight across much of the cemetery.
No one expected an attack, but it harmed no one to be prepared. Remus
and Sirius had done the correct thing, without even thinking about it.
"Shack tells me that James rarely leaves the Headmaster's side," Amelia
said, quietly.
"We kind of expected something like that," Ramsay replied. "He did not
get his seat back, as he expected, and Dumbledore doesn't have the Chief
Warlock's gavel, either." Then he paused, thinking about the date. "I
wonder what he will do once school begins."
Amelia shrugged. "No idea. I'm not sure I really care, as long as he stays
out of trouble." She frowned, thinking about Lily. "As long as both of
them stay out of trouble," she amended.
Ramsay nodded, looking over at the Potter graves. Harry and Susan were
hugging now, the emotion of the moment, of the betrayals, of the lies, all
catching up to the young Gryffindor.
"They planned this," Amelia continued, her voice a whisper as she leaned
into Ramsay. "James and Lily, they knew exactly what would happen to
Harry when they returned. Everything they've done, they knew. They had
to have known."
Ramsay nodded again. "I doubt they gave it much thought, honestly. To
them, he was an acceptable loss." He sighed, forcing his own anger down.
"Whatever their goals, they thought it was worth their son."
"It would seem so," she agreed. "How could anyone trust one word from
their mouths, ever again?"
Ramsay scoffed, as a phrase came to mind. He smiled, and closed his
eyes. Amelia looked at him, one eyebrow raised, as he began reciting.
"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow," Ramsay began. "Creeps in
this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time; And
all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death." He opened
his eyes, focusing on the grave, and on Harry and Susan walking away
from it, as he continued. "Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that
struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more."
"It is a tale told by an idiot," Harry said, picking up the speech, a small
smile on his face as he understood Ramsay's point. "full of sound and
fury, signifying nothing."
Susan walked up to Amelia, and gave her Aunt a hug. Remus and Sirius
took up places next to Ramsay, each throwing an arm around the
muggle's shoulders.
Harry stood there, looking not at the headstone and its lies, but at this
odd group of people. The last of the Marauders, two men who would give
their lives for him - and who very nearly had, on several occasions. The
Colonel, who had been the father figure he had never had growing up.
The Regent Bones, who began as an ally of convenience and ended up
being his future Mother in Law.
And Susan. His betrothed, someday his wife. That thought had scared
him, not so long ago. Now, he wouldn't have it any other way.
His team, of course, were his brothers and sisters. But these five, all here
by choice, were his family.
The Potters? The elder ones, at least, were names on stone. Full of sound
and fury, he thought. Signifying nothing.
"Yeah," Harry said, acknowledging the Colonel's words. "Fuck'em."
"Language," Susan scolded lightly, failing to suppress a smile.
"Yes, dear," Harry said, with a chuckle.
Ramsay and Amelia said their goodbyes, and hugs were exchanged. Both
teens confirmed that yes, they did have their shrunken trunks. Yes, they
were ready for the train ride.
After goodbyes of their own, Sirius and Remus took Harry and Susan to
King's Cross by side-along apparition. Ramsay and Amelia remained,
taking a rare moment to themselves.
They walked back into the cemetery, and soon found themselves in front
of the Potter headstone once more.
"I wonder if we could alter the headstone, somewhat," Ramsay said idly.
He looked to his left, where an old wizard stood quietly, watching them.
The man leaned on his shovel, eyeing them. Then he grinned. "Way I see
it, they's ain't dead, so most o' that's nonsense anyway." He nodded
toward Ramsay's jacket, and the Royal Army patch on his shoulder.
"You'd have to wear Her Majesty's uniform, to be brave enough to quote
the Scottish Play in a graveyard, eh?"
Ramsay nodded, and offered his hand. "Mark Ramsay."
"Colonel Mark Ramsay," Amelia corrected, with a smile.
The old man looked impressed. He offered his own hand. "Thomas
Ackroyd, Sir." He nodded to Amelia in turn. "Madam Director," he said.
"Neither of us is on duty, Mister Ackroyd," Amelia replied.
"Oh, aye," he agreed. "But you've earned it, so least I c'n do is respect it."
Amelia took her wand, and walked over to the headstone, leaving the
boys to their chat. Ramsay and Ackroyd made small talk as she worked,
with Ramsay complimenting the older man on his care of the cemetery.
"That's how me father would've done it," Ackroyd said.
Something in the man's tone caught Ramsay's attention. "Is he here,
then?" he asked.
Ackroyd shook his head. "France," he said. Then he pointed at the war
memorial near the entrance. "His name's on there, if you can see it before
the statue changes."
"I see," Ramsay said, with a frown. The muggles who died for King and
Country mattered less than two liars, it seemed.
"Aye," Ackroyd replied, nodding. "Ah think you do, at that."
Amelia stepped back over to the pair, and took Ramsay's arm once again.
The men looked at the headstone, and nodded approvingly.
The names remained, as did the birth dates for both James and Lily.
Their dates of death had been left as well, though Amelia had struck
them through, not wanting to hide the original lie. Below, where "The last
enemy that shall be destroyed is death" had been inscribed, she had instead
chosen Shakespeare.
"An inspired choice, my lady," Ramsay said, giving Amelia a kiss on the
cheek.
"Thank you, Mark," she said, smiling back at him.
"Aye," Ackroyd said after a moment. "'Tis fitting." The old man's eyes
went to the new inscription, and he nodded again. "Aye," he said quietly.
Below the names, on the Potter headstone, the inscription now read only
"Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow."
oOoOoOoOo
Jamie Potter heard his bedroom door open, but did not turn to look.
Instead, he kept his focus on his school trunk, and its contents. He
suspected that firsties were having the same problem he was having, in
figuring out what he needed and what he did not. But he was a sixth
year, this should be easier, right?
From the doorway, his mother's soft chuckle told him that she had seen
his dilemma.
With a sigh, he sat back on his floor, and looked at her.
"It never really gets easier, you know," she said with a smile.
"Yeah," Jamie said. "Still, I'm a sixth year, I should be able to do this."
"Maybe. But you've never left home before, either," Lily replied. "That's
not going to be easy, either."
"I've met some of the others in my year, mum," Jamie said. "I think I'll be
alright."
"I know you will be," she said, softly. "You've spent a long time preparing
for today. Whatever happens, your father and I are proud of you."
Jamie nodded. "Thanks, mum."
"Besides," Lily continued. "Your father and I won't be as far away as you
think."
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean, exactly?"
Lily shook her head, still smiling. "You'll see."
Jamie said nothing, knowing that he wouldn't get an answer. Instead, he
closed his trunk and stood up.
Lily walked over without prompting, and tapped her wand on the handle,
causing the trunk to shrink. Jamie placed it in his pocket, and turned to
face his mother.
"Remember to have fun, Jamie," Lily said, as she pulled her son into a
hug.
"As much as I can," Jamie replied. "What, with a war on and everything."
Lily's smile faded at that. Before she could say anything, Jamie spoke
again.
"Mum," he began. "Are we sure the Headmaster's plan is the best choice
for us?" Off Lily's frown, Jamie continued. "I mean, so much has
happened, right? Do we know if he's taken all of that into account?"
Harry's concerns were at the back of Jamie's mind as he asked, but the
reality was that he wanted to see his mother's reaction. He had noticed
her worry over the course of the summer, and wondered if it mirrored his
own anxiety about their situation. Add to that the overheard
conversation about her meeting with her sister (an Aunt he had never
really known about), and it got Jamie thinking about… well, everything,
really.
Lily's emotions were plain. Jamie saw a look of worry cross her features,
followed by the briefest hint of anger. Then it was gone, and his mum
was smiling down at him once again.
"I think we need to stay the course," Lily said, quietly. She saw the
hesitation on her son's face, and raised a hand to stop his response. "I
know things are not as we imagined them, but I just have a gut feeling
that we need to stick with the plan."
That comment sounded familiar, to Jamie's ears. Most of his training had
been about following his instincts, listening to his gut, and so on. Aurors
relied on their instincts to survive, according to his father and Uncle
Frank.
Jamie stepped forward, and hugged his mother once again. As he did so,
he had one overwhelming thought.
What if my instincts don't agree with everyone else's?
oOoOoOoOo
By long tradition, the staff of Hogwarts had their last meeting before
term just as the Hogwarts Express was leaving King's Cross. It allowed
any of the professors to leave via the Headmaster's floo, if there were
some last minute issues to be sorted. The meeting also allowed the staff
plenty of time in the afternoon to get their classrooms and living spaces
arranged to their taste - time that was doubly important for new
professors, of whom there would be several this term.
As the meeting ended, and professors old and new filtered out of the
Headmaster's office, Albus Dumbledore found himself alone with the only
former colleague among the group.
"I wish you would reconsider, Severus," Dumbledore said. He kept his
voice as close to its usual kindly tone as he could, but both men knew
what was really being said.
Professor Snape - now, former Professor Snape - shook his head.
"I cannot remain in the castle without forcing Mister Potter to act,
Headmaster," Snape said. "If he does not attack me at first sight, it means
that he knows that I am a spy, or that I took an oath to stay out of the
war."
"I rather doubt anyone would care, outside this room," the Headmaster
replied.
Snape shook his head. "If the Dark Lord even got a hint that I had tried to
appease Potter, my usefulness would be at an end, and he would kill me
without hesitation. You know this."
Dumbledore sighed. "I had suspected it, yes."
"Like it or not," Snape continued. "The blood feud is a real thing, properly
declared, and it must be planned for. If I remain, I either undermine
myself or Mister Potter."
"It's so unlike the boy," Dumbledore mused.
Snape scoffed. "It's a Gryffindor move, Albus, and you know it. He took
the pureblood traditions enshrined in the law, and used them to beat the
Dark Lord over the head." Again, Snape shook his head. "It's remarkable
that no one saw it coming."
"Perhaps…" said Dumbledore, as noncommittal as ever.
Snape continued to speak as he stood. "Septima can serve as Head of
House for Slytherin. They all know her, after all, and she will have no
trouble from the remaining snakes."
Dumbledore gave Snape a sharp look. "Remaining snakes?"
Snape's eyes widened. Surely, the man had not missed that detail?
"Headmaster," Snape began. "You really should review the enrollment list.
The upper years in Slytherin will be much smaller than expected, this
term."
Dumbledore reached for a parchment, and scanned it. His eyes widened
as they reached the bottom, where over a dozen names had been crossed
out in black ink.
"So many lost…" Dumbledore sighed.
"A tragedy, no doubt," Snape drawled. "Now you see, Headmaster, why I
resigned my post." He gestured at the parchment. "I have no wish to join
them."
"You swore an oath," Dumbledore began, but Snape raised a hand to stop
him.
"I did," he agreed. "And if, by my death, I can help end the Dark Lord,
then so be it." He folded his hands behind his back, standing tall in front
of his one-time mentor. "But I will not throw away my life to teach
potions. Not when you have other options."
The Headmaster let out another sigh. "Had, Severus. We had other
options."
Snape's eyebrow raised again. "Surely Professor Slughorn would not
decline a chance to collect the Boy Who Lived? Either of them?"
"Oh, I offered him the post," Dumbledore replied, sourly. "I even offered
him an increased salary. No, he said he did not feel that he could trust his
potential colleagues."
Snape's eyes widened. "You told him I was resigning, I assume?"
"I did," said Dumbledore. "But Horace was referring to Lily Potter, who
was gracious enough to accompany me when I went to his home to
recruit him."
"Ah," Snape said. "He reads the Prophet."
"Yes, he does."
"That was, perhaps, somewhat unwise, Albus."
"Her son is the Boy Who Lived, Severus," replied Dumbledore.
"True," he agreed, not specifying which son he meant. "Which tells me
that Professor Slughorn puts more value on his own safety than he does
on collecting another prize." He looked at the Headmaster evenly. "That
should tell you something."
oOoOoOoOo
As the Hogwarts Express made its way north, the teenagers in one
compartment were debating the most important issues of the day.
"I mean," Ron said, after a moment. "Why Lord Potter, exactly?"
Harry chuckled at his friend's puzzled expression. "Well, when a Lord
loves a Lady very much…"
"Oi, that's not what I bloody meant!" Ron sputtered. "I mean, the muggles
have Earls and Dukes and Barons and all that, and we've just got Lord
this and Lady that. I'm asking, why?"
Harry looked at Susan, who shook her head. Then he turned and looked
at Neville, who shrugged. Then he turned back to Ron.
"No idea, mate," he replied. "Better ask Luna or Hermione, they'll know."
"Yeah, that's a good bet," agreed Neville.
"Fair enough," Ron said. Then he noticed the catalog in Harry's lap.
Nodding to it, he changed the subject. "So, did you figure out your broom
dilemma?"
Harry grinned. "You're gonna love this," he said, handing the catalog
over. Ron glanced at the cover - American Cavalry Broom Suppliers -
before turning to the marked page. He saw the broom that Harry had
marked, and read the description.
Then he read it again, his eyes widening as he took in the broom's
specifications. Then he looked up.
"Harry, this is a referee's broom," Ron said.
"Yes it is," Harry agreed. "As long as it flies, and can legally be purchased
or owned in Britain, it turns out that there are no rules against it for a
student."
"Maybe," Ron said. "But the League wouldn't allow it for a chaser, would
they?"
Harry shrugged. "Not worried about the League, Ron, this is school
quidditch."
"I told you they'd be talking quidditch," Luna's voice said, from the now
open doorway.
"Fine, you win," grumbled Hermione, though she was grinning at Luna's
lucky guess.
"Oi, Weasley, get moving, we've got a prefect meeting!" Ginny's voice
carried into the compartment, even though she was still standing in the
corridor.
Ron handed the catalog to Neville, and snapped to his feet. "Yes, Ma'am!"
he shouted.
Susan rose as well. "Sounds like I need to leave, as well," she said, mock
pouting.
"Alas, so it seems," Harry said, with a dramatic air. "We shall endeavor to
survive in your absence, my lady."
"Prat," Susan chuckled, as she leaned in for a quick kiss. She looked at
Neville, and inclined her head toward her betrothed. "Keep an eye on this
one, yeah?"
"As you wish, Heiress Bones," Neville said, formally, even as he fought
back a laugh of his own.
"Idiots, both of you," Susan sighed, grinning as she closed the door
behind her.
Neville looked at the broom catalog, and whistled.
"Yeah, it's a bit much," Harry acknowledged.
"A bit," Neville agreed. "Still not sure why you're buying Jamie a broom."
Harry frowned, considering that. "It just kind of felt like the right choice,"
Harry said. "And this way, I get to pick the broom."
"Well, you sure picked a broom, all right," said Neville. Holding up the
catalog, he began reading. "The Praetor 17 features a shaft 120% larger
in diameter and length than Japan's Gyōji 26, with enough room to
support two injured players at once - as well as the power to carry them
to the pitch. Our industry-leading runic array gives you protection from
stray shots and errant blasts, and can even defend against moderate
spellfire if the hooligans get out of hand. The Praetor gives you the speed
to track the seekers, the maneuverability to keep pace with the chasers,
the versatility to follow the quod, and the stability to keep watch on goal
or pot alike." He looked up at Harry, his expression unreadable. "If I
didn't know better, I'd say you wanted to start a quodpot league at
Hogwarts."
"Not in the slightest," Harry replied, with a grin. "But in quodpot, the
quaffles explode, so the refs have shields on their brooms to protect from
explosions."
"Aha," Neville said. "Kind of glad I don't play, then."
"Me too," Harry agreed. "Quidditch is crazy enough."
Neville handed the catalog back across the compartment, but still looked
thoughtful. "You know," he continued. "A broom with shields could be
useful."
Harry's smile faded. "Remind me to show you a map of the grounds,
sometime," he said. "The quidditch pitch is far enough from the core of
the school's wards that it worries me."
Neville's expression hardened. "You think we'll need to fight over the
pitch?"
"I don't know," Harry replied. He held up the catalog. "The best broom I
can get before October is a referee's broom, one that would be useful if
something goes down. So I'm getting one for Jamie, just in case."
"Well," Neville said with a nod. "I hope your brother appreciates it."
"He'd better," Harry said, with a grin. "It's all catalogs, until they rebuild
Quality Quidditch in the Alley." He held up the catalog again. "This is
what we can get before the season, so it's either this or a school broom."
He chuckled at Neville's look of horror. "I see I don't need to remind you
how that would go."
"Enough of that," Neville said, trying hard not to laugh. "Or it won't be
my wrist that gets broken this time, Lord Potter, sir."
The expression on his friend's face set Harry off, and before long both of
them were laughing hysterically.
oOoOoOoOo
Jamie and Trevor had a compartment to themselves, and enjoyed the
quiet. Both were more nervous than they wanted to admit, and some
time out of the public eye was just what they needed.
When he first learned of the plan to send him to Hogwarts, Jamie had
worried that his fellow students would never give him a moment of
peace. He was the Boy Who Lived, after all - of course they would want
to see the chosen one in person. It was not a role he looked forward to,
but one he understood. Part of his duty was to be a role model, a symbol
of the Light, and he would do his duty.
The reality was far different. The steady stream of well-wishers he had
expected consisted of two first year girls who had gotten turned around,
and needed help finding their compartment. That had been it.
Jamie was only mildly surprised to find that it did not bother him in the
slightest.
An hour into the train ride, Dani Diggle joined the pair, having visited
with some of her friends in other compartments. It turned out that she
had not been as isolated from the magical world as they had first
thought. Her homeschooling had been a result of her mother suffering
from several long-term illnesses. Dani had not wanted to leave home,
preferring to stay and help take care of her mum - but, she did not want
to compromise her education, either.
Her grandfather had come through with healers for his daughter, and
tutors for Dani. Both had turned out to be necessary. She had also met
the children of her grandfather's political allies, most (but not all) from
families of the Light. So she had had friends growing up, several of whom
already attended Hogwarts.
As she told her story, Jamie and Trevor got the sense that she was
someone worth knowing. Her circumstances struck Jamie in particular as
being similar to his own - an unusual background, a Light family, and so
on. There was a familiarity there, something that put him at ease.
The discussion turned to lighter topics, as the train continued its journey.
Before long, Dani brought out a well-loved Wizard's Chess set (a gift from
her Grandpa, she said), and offered the boys a game. Trevor took her up
on it, and the two began to play. Jamie watched them, smiling to himself.
By the time the snack trolley came around, most of Jamie's worries had
fallen away. Perhaps this year will be better than I hoped, he thought.
oOoOoOoOo
Harry and Neville returned to the compartment, having gone to change
into their school robes. The train had less than an hour before its arrival
at Hogsmeade, and the trip had so far been without incident. Even the
prefect patrols, already completed for their group, had gone well.
Hermione had revealed - without being asked - that the train seemed a
bit light on upper year Slytherins. In their year, the Slytherin prefects
were Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass.
That caught Susan's attention. "No Malfoy?" she asked.
"No Malfoy," Hermione confirmed. "Cho Chang said that he begged off, to
focus on his studies." She looked over at Harry, and answered his
unasked question. "And no, he did not accept the captain's badge, either."
Harry frowned, but said nothing.
Susan, as if she read his mind, squeezed his hand. "That could be a
problem," she said.
Luna shrugged. "I didn't even see him when I patrolled, and I don't think
anyone else did either. Maybe he's not on the train?"
"Maybe," Harry muttered. "He didn't even come by for his usual threats
and recriminations, this year."
"Crabbe withdrew, according to Gran," Neville said. "No idea about
Goyle, though."
"He's someone else we didn't see," Hermione observed.
"What about Parkinson?" asked Ginny. "She was their prefect last year."
"I asked Daphne about that," Hermione replied. "Pansy wasn't even
offered the badge this year. Maybe because she helped Umbridge?"
"No," said Harry. "Zabini did as well, and he was selected." He looked at
Neville. "Pansy told us that she was doing what she could to lay low and
not attract attention, these past few years."
Neville nodded. "She's a hell of an actress, I'll give her that."
"What about the seventh years?" Harry asked, looking at Hermione.
"None," she replied. "They will be assigned at the castle."
"Oh," Ginny said with a wince. "That's not good."
"Depends on how you define good," Harry said. "We knew a few of our
esteemed classmates would not be returning, but I'm surprised they didn't
give out the badge before now."
"It might be due to the change in Head of House," Luna suggested.
"Assuming, of course, that Professor Snape followed through on his
plans."
"He and Sirius worked it all out," Harry said. "As the newly hired
Potioneer for the Black family, he gets to keep an ear on the Order,
which will keep his other master happy." He looked at Luna. "I do
wonder who will get the DADA position, though. Dumbledore offered it
to Professor Snape, as a last ditch effort to keep him in the castle."
"We'll find out," said Neville. "At least they probably won't try to kill you,
this year."
A chorus of groans filled the compartment. Neville's smirk told them that
he had expected precisely that reaction.
"Well," Harry said. "Now that that's out in the universe… anyone got a
copy of the Quibbler?"
Susan took the rolled up copy handed to her by Luna, and deftly whacked
Harry upside his head. Harry's laugh at the assault set off the rest of the
group, exactly as Susan had planned.
It was some time before they got themselves calmed down again.
oOoOoOoOo
At the other end of the train, Draco Malfoy was frantically washing his
hands.
It wasn't that he was in a small boy's toilet on a train, nor was it the size
of the sink that caused him trouble. The soap was fine. The small room
was well lit, and (thanks to magic) much larger than it should have been,
given its location.
No, he couldn't get his hands clean because they would not stop shaking.
A steady stream of red flowed down the white porcelain, as the blood
came off of his hands. Two of his knuckles had broken open, making it
impossible to tell whether the blood was his own or that of his victim.
Opening his eyes, he glanced over at the wall, where the boy he had
beaten was propped up in a corner. The boy's face was a purpled wreck,
and one arm was clearly broken. His Hufflepuff robes were bloodied and
useless, but it didn't matter.
Draco had brought his own.
"They detect magic on the train," Draco said to himself, as he continued
to scrub his hands raw. "I had to use my hands, Professor," he muttered.
"I have to do this, Professor, or they will kill her. And you know it," he
continued.
Professor Snape would be angry, of that he had no doubt. But of all the
people in the castle, his godfather was the only one who could help him.
He would be able to get a message to his mother, to tell her that he was
going to get her free. He would do his duty.
And once he had accomplished his task, the Dark Lord would free her,
and they would be safe. He had promised. For Draco, this was the only
way out.
He looked back at the boy, and took a calming breath.
No, he thought. This really is my only option. Walking over, he pulled a
few hairs from the boy's head, and dropped them into the potion.
And if I get to kill a few mudbloods along the way? Even better.
oOoOoOoOo
Jamie Potter followed the great mass of students as they made their way
to the carriages, waiting for their ride up to the castle. As he neared the
front of the crowd, he saw his brother kiss Susan Bones, before she went
with some of the other prefects to do a final walkthrough of the train.
Neville had already climbed into the next carriage when Jamie moved to
follow. Harry's hand on his shoulder stopped him cold.
"Not so fast, Mister Potter," Harry said.
Jamie turned, and saw that Harry was smirking at him. What the hell?
"I beg your pardon?" Jamie said, annoyed.
Harry hooked a thumb toward the first years. "This is your first time,
yeah? Then you need to be on a boat." He turned, and nodded to Trevor.
"You too, Longbottom."
Trevor caught Jamie's eye, and shrugged. Jamie turned back to his
brother, and sighed.
"Fine, Harry," he said. "We'll do it your way."
Harry grinned at them. "Excellent! Right this way, gentlemen, your ride
awaits." He gestured toward the docks, and watched them go.
When Jamie and Trevor reached the top of the stairs down to the boats,
they found a very annoyed Dani Diggle.
"You're late," she said. "I thought you'd left me."
"We're transfers," Jamie began, but the girl's glare shut him up.
"You only get one chance to see the castle from the lake for the first time,
Jamie," she said. "Or so Grandpa said."
"So did this one's brother," Trevor replied, inclining his head at Jamie.
"Yeah, so he did," Jamie muttered. Dani just rolled her eyes, and led the
way down to the boats.
The three were the last to arrive, and ended up sharing a boat at the end
of the line. As a result, they were treated to the oohs and aahs of the first
years as the boats rounded the bend.
When it was their turn, all three were struck speechless. The castle really
was magnificent.
"Dani," whispered Jamie. "Your grandfather was right."
"He usually is," she whispered back. "Wow."
oOoOoOoOo
Filius Flitwick welcomed the returning students as they disembarked
from the carriages and walked into the castle. It was a job he enjoyed,
and something he looked forward to every year.
This year, however, would be different.
The door to the next carriage burst open almost before the carriage came
to a stop, with Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom almost running to
the castle.
"Professor," Harry said. "We need to talk."
Flitwick eyed the Gryffindor, and saw the serious look in his eye.
Nodding, he waved Septima Vector over, to take his place. Then he
stepped to the side, with Harry following close behind.
He was only mildly surprised when Harry put up a privacy charm.
"Sir," Harry began, "Susan sent me a message from the train. She was
doing the prefect walkthrough, and found a Hufflepuff second year in one
of the toilets. The boy was beaten pretty badly, sir, and if it hadn't been
Susan who found him I doubt we'd know who it was at all."
"Merlin," Flitwick said in reply. An attack on the train this severe was
unheard of. "Who was the student?"
Harry shook his head. "I'd rather not say just yet, Professor. Neville is
getting Madam Pomfrey as we speak, but Susan says that he'll be fine.
What concerns me, sir, is the patch of missing hair on the boy's head."
Flitwick's eyes widened, as he made the connection. "That's a serious
accusation, Mister Potter."
Harry nodded. "Yes sir, but if I'm wrong, all we know is that whoever
attacked this particular Hufflepuff grabbed him by the hair." He looked at
the Charms Master, and willed him to understand. "But if I'm right,
there's someone in that Great Hall hidden under polyjuice."
"I see," Flitwick said, knowingly. "And if we know which Hufflepuff it is,
we may give him enough warning to flee." He frowned. "We should
probably tell the Headmaster," Flitwick began, but Harry cut him off.
"The Professors rushing away from the head table would be a sure sign
that whoever did this was caught. They'd run, and we'd have nothing. As
you said, Professor, we cannot risk warning him in any way." Harry
turned, and saw that one of the last few carriages was pulling up to the
castle. "Sir, right now, all we need to do is look at the list of students, and
see who is here who shouldn't be."
"Aha, I see. Five points to Gryffindor, Mister Potter," Flitwick said,
approvingly. "We have the enrollment list, showing everyone who should
be here. And we have the list of everyone who entered the castle, except
for the prefects and you."
Harry nodded. "If our victim is sitting there, waiting for the sorting, we
have our attacker."
Flitwick turned toward the castle. "I will summon the list, Mister Potter.
Please remain here."
"Of course, Professor. Thank you."
oOoOoOoOo
Harry watched quietly as the last carriage emptied, sending a group of
third year Ravenclaws into the castle. Professor Vector remained at the
entrance, waiting for the remaining prefects. He looked out into the
darkening evening, hoping to see the carriage bringing Ginny and Susan
back to the castle, reasoning that Ginny would have signaled him using
the mirror if they were using the floo to go directly to the Hospital Wing.
Lost in his thoughts, Harry did not hear the footsteps coming from the
castle. He did hear the Professor who brought the list, however.
"Filius said you would need this," a woman said.
"Yes, thank you, Professor," Septima said, her tone rather cold.
Harry turned, just in time to see the Professor notice him. Her green eyes
widened as she saw who needed the list.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Harry muttered as his eyes met his mother's.
"Quite," replied Professor Vector, who clearly had no love for Lily Potter,
either. She handed him the master list. "What are you looking for,
exactly?" she asked.
Harry stepped closer to the entranceway, where the light was better, and
unrolled the parchment. He was careful not to actually set foot in the
castle. "A student in Hufflepuff was attacked on the train. We suspect, but
cannot yet prove, that his attacker took his place at the feast, using
polyjuice." He began scanning names, looking for students registered as
attending but who had not yet entered the castle.
"Are you certain?" Lily asked. Her focus would be on the potion, Harry
thought, but he deliberately took it the other way, and gave her a brief
glare.
"The unconscious, bloodied student stuffed in a loo was a pretty big clue,
Professor," Harry snapped, before resuming his search. The list was sorted
by house, and then by year. He idly noted that yes, Slytherin was short a
number of students, compared to the previous year. Draco Malfoy was
not listed as a student, interestingly.
When he reached the end of the list, he sighed. This was the result he had
worried about.
"Mister Potter?" Professor Vector asked. She had seen his reaction, and
knew it couldn't be good.
Lily Potter said nothing.
"There are four students missing from the list," Harry said, as he rolled
the parchment back up. "Ginny Weasley of Gryffindor and Susan Bones of
Hufflepuff are both prefects. They were the ones who found the victim,
Alan Ferguson of Hufflepuff, who is also listed as missing."
"So," Lily said, focusing on Harry. "The fourth student would be our
attacker?"
"No, Madam, the fourth student would be me." Harry said, resignedly.
"Harry Potter of Gryffindor. We've met."
"I know your name," Lily said, angrily.
"So it would seem," said Septima, hoping to defuse the brewing
confrontation. "So, Mister Potter, what does this mean, exactly?"
Harry ignored the question, having caught a glimpse of something at the
edge of the grass. The light from the castle had glinted off of…
something, he wasn't sure what. He drew his wand, and wordlessly cast a
lumos to light his way. The bright light from his wand led him directly to
his target.
Lily and Septima walked up as Harry was examining his find. They saw
two phials, each with potion residue. Harry did not touch either phial,
but he would know that potion anywhere.
"Polyjuice," he snarled. "We were right."
"But why two doses?" Lily asked.
Harry stood up, and looked back at the castle. "He polyjuiced into Alan,
to get to a carriage. Then, as he rode up the hill, he took a second dose,
and polyjuiced into someone else." He nodded toward the open doors of
the castle. "The wards track our wands. That's how a death eater walked
in as Mad-Eye Moody, by carrying his wand. That's how Voldemort
himself walked in by possessing a professor. It was the wand that
registered on the wards, not the spirit."
"Not many realize that about the wards, Mister Potter," Septima noted.
Harry shrugged, his eyes still on the castle. "I've had cause to study the
castle's defenses, Professor." He extinguished the light from his wand, but
kept it in his hand. "Alan Ferguson still had a wand when he was found.
He's listed as absent on the list." He shook his head, angrily.
"Professor, what this means is that the attacker is sitting in the Great Hall
as we speak, waiting for the sorting." He closed his eyes, feeling suddenly
exhausted. "And we have no earthly clue who it is."
A/N: NaNoWriMo continues. Welcome to Year Six - where we did
actually get to Hogwarts, as promised, even though Harry never
actually set foot in the castle. New Professors, new students, and a
well hidden danger await. We have three sortings to look forward
to, though some may be more obvious than others. Events proceed
apace.
Frequently, Draco Malfoy finds his way to extremes - either a
misunderstood boy hoping to make his family proud, and becoming
easily misled as a result, or a true believer, eager to take his place at
the top of the pyramid through murder and torture. Why not both?
Can he be led to believe he is doing what he has to to protect his
mother, whom he is told is in captivity? And, at the same time, can
he enjoy getting some of his own back as he works against the
mudbloods who put him in that position in the first place? We'll find
out.
Mister Ackroyd, the cemetery caretaker, is named after Victoria
Cross recipient Captain Harold Ackroyd, VC, MC, of the Royal Army
Medical Corps, (1877-1917). If he were a wizard in 1996, having a
(muggle) father who died in WWI is plausible.
Colonel Ramsay's speech, and the chapter title, come from
Shakespeare's Macbeth. Though the speech in the play deals with
hopelessness, the text sums up Harry's feelings about his parents
nicely. He's turned the corner on that issue, as we will see in
chapters to come. (There may be other parallels, as well.)
Stay safe out there. Feedback, as always, is welcome.
28. The House Meetings
The end of the welcoming feast was always an exercise in controlled
chaos, and this year was no exception. Students of all years were
discussing the sorting, and the unprecedented three transfers who took
part. Much of that discussion, of course, focused on the lost Potter twin,
mostly due to the Prophet's coverage of his family. Trevor's name was
mentioned as well, though not as often.
In any other year, the granddaughter of a Wizengamot member
transferring into Hogwarts would have been the talk of the school. This
year, Dani Diggle barely rated a mention.
The empty chair at the head table was also the focus of theories and
speculation, which the Headmaster fueled when he did not introduce this
year's new professors. Lily Potter had been known as one of the best
Potions students in her year, and so was the consensus pick for Potions
Professor. The Defense post being vacant was nothing new, especially
with some of the wild rumors about the reason for Professor Umbridge's
resignation - which only fueled the equally wild rumors about Professor
Snape's departure. The students could agree on only one point - it was a
shock to see the post unfilled at the Welcoming Feast.
The newly minted first years seemed to pick up on the confusion of their
fellow students. This made the task of gathering them for the traditional
tour of the school that much trickier. Ron and Hermione, aided by Ginny
and Colin Creevey, moved the group out of the way of the other students,
which helped.
Older students were allowed to leave the hall before the first years were
led out, mainly so that they would be in the common room when the
firsties arrived. In Gryffindor, this allowed them to properly greet their
new housemates - other houses, of course, had traditions of their own. It
helped that the prefects took the first years by a longer path, avoiding the
shortcuts frequented by the more experienced lions.
As the students dispersed, Harry looked over at the Hufflepuff table, and
saw Susan helping with the new badgers. Their eyes met briefly, and she
blew him a kiss. Then she was back on task, preparing the firsties for
their trip to the den of the Hufflepuffs.
Neville saw the gesture, and jabbed Harry with his elbow. Harry merely
shrugged, not a bit embarrassed at being caught out.
When Hermione began leading the first years out, Harry and Neville fell
in at the rear of the group. It was not out of any sense that their presence
was needed, exactly. Rather, they simply didn't feel like getting to the
common room first.
The fact that this also cut down on the opportunity for their housemates
to ask questions about Voldemort, or the war, or the blood feud, or what
have you? That was just a bonus.
Lagging behind the first years were the three transfers, Gryffindors all.
Jamie and Trevor looked at the castle with awe, having never seen
anything like it before. All they had had were the stories of their parents,
and they were quickly learning that those stories paled in comparison to
the real thing.
Dani Diggle, meanwhile, had seen the castle before - her grandfather had
sat on the Board of Governors, years ago, and had brought her along.
This had been before she decided to take up homeschooling, to take care
of her mum, but she still had fond memories of the castle. At the
moment, she was enjoying seeing the looks on her new friends' faces.
As they walked through the castle, Harry found himself thankful that
Gryffindor's dormitories were the furthest from the Great Hall, compared
to the other houses. The long walk gave him time to think back on the
welcoming feast.
The one moment that stuck with Harry was the moment when Professor
McGonagall had summoned his brother.
"POTTER, JAMES!"
It almost felt like deja vu. Jamie Potter walked up the center aisle,
projecting confidence he didn't feel. His hands flexed as he walked, as if
he were fighting the urge to grasp his wand. It was a very distinct gesture
- one that Harry recognized quite well, having been caught doing it in the
past.
The whispers were familiar as well, or at least they felt familiar.
"Did she say Potter?"
"Why didn't he come before?"
"They left his brother with muggles, did you see? The Prophet said…"
"We could barely handle one Potter, now there's two?"
"His mum can't let him out of her sight, see? Up at the head table, with the red
hair."
Harry could tell that Jamie was relieved to be sorted into Gryffindor, just
as he had been after his own sorting five years earlier. He had noticed the
relief on Lily Potter's face as well, and wondered just how poorly the
Potters would have reacted to some other result.
His eyes went to his brother, whispering to Trevor and Dani Diggle as
they walked behind the first years. Then, he shared a glance with Neville,
who seemed to have come to the same realization.
Jamie Potter really had no idea what he was walking into.
oOoOoOoOo
Professor Sprout was both the most approachable Head of House, and
also the most remote. Her time was spent in the greenhouses, and thus
she was rarely found in the castle apart from evenings and meals. The
notices and schedules posted on her office door saw more use than the
office itself - her office hours were held in Greenhouse Seven, where
Herbology tools and supplies were stored.
For all that, her welcoming speech did more to set the tone in Hufflepuff
House than any amount of time she could spend in the castle. By the time
she was done, the first years were convinced beyond all doubt that this
witch would be there if - when - they needed her. They were left with a
feeling of belonging they had never expected to feel. They felt like they
were part of something more.
The Herbology Mistress finished her speech with the same line she
always used, getting appreciative nods from the older badgers. It was the
same speech she had received when she was sorted, decades ago, and the
same speech old Professor Mormont had listened to before that.
There was a reason that Hufflepuff had only had seven Heads of House in
the past two centuries. Professors took that post out of true loyalty to
their house - and, in so doing, demonstrated that ideal for their badgers
to see. To many, the loyalty between Hufflepuffs was tighter than any
coven, firmer than any ritual circle.
Once Susan had tried to explain Hufflepuff House to her betrothed, and it
had been harder than she had expected. The reason threatened to break
her heart - Harry Potter had not known loyalty like that very often in his
life.
Susan was a Hufflepuff, through and through. She was the daughter of
Hufflepuffs, and had been raised by another. Such was the feeling of
family among her housemates that it felt like coming home whenever she
stepped into the common room.
So it was that Susan Bones was in a good mood when she made it to her
room after showing the first year girls to their dorm. Even after the
attack on the train, and the uncertainty that followed, she was not
worried.
She trusted Harry. It did not surprise her that she had grown loyal to the
wizard she would someday marry. It felt right, in a way she couldn't
easily express.
Her mood vanished, however, when she entered the room she shared
with Hannah Abbott. Her longtime best friend and roommate was pacing
back and forth. When she saw Susan enter, she started talking, such was
her anxiety.
"What the hell does she mean, 'never go anywhere alone', Sue?" Hannah
demanded.
Susan set her bag down on her bed. "Nice to see you too, Hannah," she
replied, trying to lighten the mood, but her friend would have none of it.
"Professor Sprout warned us not to be alone, Sue, she never does that.
Even last year, with inquisitors and the toad running about, she never
said anything like that." Hannah's eyes narrowed, as she looked at her
friend. "What do you know that I don't?"
Letting out a sigh, Susan sat down. "It's bad, Hannah."
Hannah paled. "Ron?"
Susan blinked. "Nooooo…. Why, Miss Abbott, do you have something to
tell me?"
Hannah shook her head. "Of course not," she denied. Then she saw her
friend's look, and her raised eyebrow. "I mean, not yet, anyway."
"I knew it!" Susan exclaimed, with a chuckle. "Who won your last match?"
Hannah actually blushed, and looked away. "We didn't finish."
"A marathon, again?" Susan said, nodding. "I'm shocked you found an
opponent who could match you in chess."
Her friend looked sheepish.
"I hope you rise to the challenge, Hannah," Susan continued. Her eyes
met her friend's, and she let a smirk cross her features. "But if he tries to
cheat you out of your queen, he'll answer to me."
"Susan!" Hannah exclaimed, laughing. "It's not like that!"
"It better not be."
"I mean, it was just snogging…." Hannah paled again, as she realized
what she had said.
"Oh, now this I have to hear," Susan replied, unable to contain her grin.
The girls talked and laughed about boyfriends and betrothals until well
after curfew, all thoughts of the threats facing the school forgotten.
oOoOoOoOo
A bell sounded in the common room of Ravenclaw Tower, signaling the
start of a house meeting. The Ravenclaw crest over the hearth glowed
blue, to show that everyone was present. Conversations ended as Filius
Flitwick walked to the front of the room, near a wall of plaques and
trophies.
The Charms Professor was smaller in stature than every other person in
the room. His voice was higher and lighter than anyone would expect for
a man of his age. He wore a suit, just as he had for the past two years - a
far cry from the ornate robes he had worn previously. No one knew
exactly how much of Filius Flitwick was owed to his Goblin heritage, or
simply to being a small person in general.
Everyone agreed on one fact, however. Filius Flitwick could command
the attention of any audience he addressed. Tonight was no exception.
"Welcome to Ravenclaw," he began. As he began his usual welcoming
speech, several of the older students shared glances. The Professor
seemed distracted, his usual jovial air strangely absent. Only a few of the
Ravenclaws had any idea why that might be.
The Professor gave what seemed to be a standard welcome speech,
discussing the rules for the house's library, the schedule for tutoring, and
so on. He mentioned Quidditch tryouts, and congratulated Cho Chang on
being named Head Girl for the year - the third year in a row that a
Ravenclaw had held that honour.
Then Flitwick paused. He looked around the room, and saw that he still
held the attention of his students. With a nod, he waved his wand.
No one had noticed the Professor's wand in his hand, until that moment.
A large trophy floated to the front of the room, and settled next to the
Professor. It was a silver cup set into a base of polished oak, with a wand
and sword crossed over an ornate shield worked into the metal. The
trophy towered over the Professor by a good half meter. The nameplate
read ICW Dueling Circuit - Grand Champion, followed by seven dates.
"You will notice two of our number are missing," Flitwick continued.
"Two seventh year boys were killed over the summer holiday."
Gasps were heard from the Ravenclaws. Some may have noticed the
missing pair, but no one had come close to guessing the reason for their
absence.
"When you join this house, you join for life," Flitwick said. He gestured at
a plaque mounted beside the fireplace. "Any other year, we would honour
those of our number who, tragically, leave us before graduation." Again
he waved his wand, and the last two names on the plaque were burned
beyond recognition.
It was an angry Filius Flitwick who continued his speech.
"Instead, I strike their names from their place of honour. For you see,
these two did not die as victims of circumstance, or folly, or crime."
Flitwick's voice rose as he spoke, the anger becoming clearer by the
second. "No, these two died attacking the innocent, each wearing the
dark mark on their arms."
Then, Filius Flitwick did the most Goblin thing anyone had seen him do,
in all his years at Hogwarts. He angrily spat on the ground.
"My job as your head of house is to protect you." He pointed at the wall,
and the scorched names. "I failed those two. I will not fail again."
From the back of the room, someone spoke up. It was a young voice,
perhaps a second year.
"What if we find someone who took the mark, sir?" the boy asked.
"Curfew is in twenty minutes, Mister Stafford," Flitwick replied. "If there
is anyone in this room with the mark, they would do well to gather their
belongings and make their way to Hogsmeade before the castle doors are
closed for the night." The Professor inclined his head at the trophy,
having ignored it to this point. "They don't give out trophies like this one
to just anyone. Rest assured, if anyone in this house is a threat, they will
be taken care of."
It was a very quiet Ravenclaw House that made its way to the dorms that
night.
Luna Lovegood sat in her place at the back of the room, the latest
Quibbler in her lap, watching her housemates shuffle up the stairs. Her
eyes lingered on Thomas Stafford as the second year passed her by.
oOoOoOoOo
Pansy Parkinson felt her boyfriend tense when the doors to the Slytherin
common room closed behind Professor Vector.
"Well, shite," Ambrose Rookwood muttered to himself.
The pair were sitting near the hearth, alongside Daphne and Astoria
Greengrass. They had been among the first Slytherins to reach the
common room, but not by much. The house had walked down to the
dungeons as a group, unlike previous years, meaning that the older years
and the first years arrived together.
The Slytherin table in the Great Hall had had a large number of empty
seats, something that had been the subject of whispers during the meal.
But it wasn't obvious just how many Slytherins were missing until the
entire house gathered in the common room.
Professor Vector looked around, and sighed. "Is this everyone?"
Blaise Zabini raised his wand, and cast a charm on the Slytherin Crest on
the wall. A bell sounded, and the crest glowed green. Frowning, he
turned back to the Professor.
"Everyone is present, Professor," he said.
"Very well," she replied. Then she walked to the center of the room, and
addressed the students.
With Professor Snape's absence from the welcoming feast, no one was
surprised that they had a new head of house. Professor Vector getting the
job was not a shock, either, for she was the only remaining Slytherin
among the teaching staff.
For all that, it was still jarring to hear the usual welcoming speech from
anyone other than Snape.
"You'll notice that quite a few of our snakes are missing," Vector
continued. "Could I have the seventh years stand up, for a moment?"
Ambrose Rookwood rose to his feet, and looked around. He was the only
one standing.
Professor Vector gestured to him. "Mister Rookwood is the only student
in his year who returned to the castle. A few of his yearmates withdrew,
having left the country entirely, but the rest chose to become terrorists."
She sighed, shaking her head.
The younger students looked at each other. Vector had been their head of
house for half an hour, and already they felt her disappointment. It was
not how they had hoped to begin the year.
"Ambition and Cunning, they tell me, are what our house values. Yet it
seems that some of Mister Rookwood's yearmates did not heed that
lesson." Vector gestured toward Rookwood, and he sat back down. "If you
listen only to your ambition, without an equal measure of cunning, then
you end up doing stupid things like becoming an international terrorist."
"If you have a problem, you come to me. Your success is our success,
after all." Vector gestured at the Slytherin crest, still glowing green. "That
is how we improve the standing of our house. Not by hexing Gryffindors
in the hallways, or calling them mudbloods under our breath. No, we
simply have to be better."
Vector turned as she spoke, catching as many eyes as she could. She
wanted to hammer the point home, hoping that she could make some of
these snakes - her snakes, now - think twice before they caused a
problem.
"Now, some of you may think that your name, or your wealth, or your
connections give you power here. That they make you better than your
fellows." Again, she gestured, as if indicating the missing students. "Some
of your housemates had thoughts along those lines. Turns out, they were
wrong."
"There is no free lunch, Slytherin," Vector intoned. "You get what you
earn, though your work, your cunning, your effort. If you think you will
be able to simply take what you think you are owed, then you will find
that you are sadly mistaken. That's not how things work here."
Only a few heard her muttered afterthought.
"Not anymore."
Once the snakes were dismissed, Daphne leaned over to Rookwood.
"Congratulations," she said.
Rookwood raised an eyebrow. "Daphne?"
Pansy stifled a laugh. "She's welcoming you to the prefect team,
Rookwood," She teased.
His mouth opened, and then closed. I really should have seen this coming,
he thought.
Before he could reply, he noticed the Professor approaching.
"Mister Rookwood, may I have a word?" Vector asked.
Sighing, Rookwood rose again. "Of course, Professor."
oOoOoOoOo
There is something to be said for the comforts of ritual, Harry thought, as he
listened to Professor McGonagall's speech.
The words were almost exactly the same as previous years, of course. It
was something of a tradition, at least among Gryffindor. The first years
listened closely to every word, while the rest of the house stood nearby,
waiting to welcome their newest housemates.
Harry hadn't really thought about it on the night of his sorting, but he
saw the point now. Every member of Gryffindor, whether they came
before or after him, listened to the same speech, and received the same
welcome. It was deliberate, of course, intended to make the new lions
feel like they were part of something bigger. For most of them, it seemed
to work.
It was not until McGonagall left, to put on her Deputy Headmistress hat,
that the trouble started.
The seventh year prefects led the first years to their dorms, leaving the
rest of the house in the common room. In any other year, the lions would
break into their friend groups, chatting about the feast or the latest
gossip, or sharing news of their holiday adventures.
This year, all eyes turned to one sixth year.
Harry could see the nervous expression on his brother's face, and realized
once again how utterly unprepared Jamie had been for Hogwarts. A year
ago, Seamus Finnegan and Harry had an angry confrontation, with
Seamus calling Harry a liar due to the Prophet's coverage.
Now, it was a rather more thoughtful Seamus who started the
questioning.
"Where were you?" was both the most obvious question, and the worst
one he could have chosen.
Jamie winced. "I'm sorry, I can't say."
"Why not?" asked a fourth year girl.
"I can't say that either," Jamie replied.
"Well then, let's see. Ah, I know," Seamus leaned back against a stone
pillar, folding his arms across his chest. "You lived with your parents,
right?"
Jamie nodded.
"Why?"
"Where else would I live, Mister Finnegan?" Jamie asked, sharply.
"Oh, I don't know," said the Irish boy. "Your brother managed just fine,
didn't he?"
Oh, hell.
More than a dozen sets of eyes darted over to Harry, who shook his head.
"Seamus," Harry began. "We were fifteen months old. Jamie had about as
much choice in the matter as I did."
A few others chimed in, even as Seamus nodded to concede the point.
One girl, a third year, stepped away from her group of friends, even as
they tried to get her to quiet down.
"Why'd you tell the Prophet that the Headmaster knew about this,
Harry?" She asked, pointing an accusing finger at him.
"He told me as much, Miss Greene," Harry said, evenly.
"So he knew," she retorted. "So what? He's Dumbledore." She said that as
if that explained everything. And perhaps it did.
"He is Dumbledore," Harry agreed. His voice grew quieter, as he saw the
whole room hanging on his words. "And as Chief Warlock, Headmaster,
and family friend, Albus Dumbledore - despite knowing the arrangements
my parents made - presided over their funeral." Harry stood up as he
spoke, and the eyes of his housemates followed him as he moved.
"Over four hundred witches and wizards watched Albus Dumbledore
lower two caskets into two graves marked for James and Lily Potter.
Those few who knew about him mourned for Jamie, here, even as they
celebrated me for some reason." He inclined his head toward his brother,
and ignored the look of shock on Jamie's face. "Judge Jamie on what he
does, not what Albus Dumbledore - or anyone else - tells you."
As Harry reached the staircase to the boy's dorms, he turned and looked
back at his housemates.
"Because, chances are, it's bollocks."
Harry was only partially successful at stifling his chuckle when Hermione
broke the stunned silence with a muttered "Language!"
oOoOoOoOo
Thomas Stafford quietly nodded to his year mates as he walked down the
hall.
One of the benefits of being in Ravenclaw was that there were only two
students per room for all seven years - not just prefects or older students.
The idea was to allow studying in the dorms themselves, something that
invariably came in useful during exams. The whole house could not fit
into the library, after all.
With an odd number of students in his year, and with his name being at
the end of that list, Thomas was lucky enough to have a room to himself.
He had enjoyed the privilege last year, and called himself fortunate to
have lucked into a single room.
Alas, that luck was most of the reason he had been targeted.
With the door secured, Thomas Stafford placed his own charms on the
entryway. No one would get in without him knowing it. As he finished
casting, he felt the dull aches in his bones, and knew that the potion was
wearing off.
His bright blue eyes went to the mirror, where they saw his reflection
ripple and change. He grew in size, and his hair returned to its usual
color. His eyes shifted to their distinctive grey. His arms stretched, to the
point that his mark peeked out of his sleeve.
Draco Malfoy removed the now too small Ravenclaw robes, and tossed
them on the bed. Thomas Stafford's trunk sat at the foot of the only bed
in the room, unopened. Draco hadn't even bothered to bring the key.
Professor Snape isn't here, he thought, as he began to pace. I'm supposed to
go to Snape and ask for help, but he's not here. He's not HERE!
With a supply of potions from Snape, and his assistance in moving about
the castle, Draco knew that he could accomplish his tasks. Repairing a
vanishing cabinet would be trivial, once he got a look at it. Then, finding
a crown of some sort - one that could be found in the same room as the
cabinet - and sending it through? That would be even easier.
Then, all he would have to do is simply play the part of a second year. He
was to be his Lord's eyes and ears in the castle, reporting to Snape
anything he heard.
But Snape isn't here!
Draco slid bonelessly down the wall, wrapping his shaking hands around
his knees.
What do I do now?
oOoOoOoOo
Ron and Neville found Harry sitting at his desk, studying the Marauder's
Map. They paused only a moment to take in the enlarged dorm, with
seven beds instead of the usual five. It did not escape their notice that
Jamie and Trevor had been placed on either side of the door. Harry's bed
remained in the middle, but now it had three on either side. Both of them
knew that it would take quite a bit of getting used to.
"I should've carried the map with me," Harry said, even as he searched
through the Slytherin dorms.
"When would you have checked it, though?" asked Ron, as he stepped up
to the desk. "It's not like you were going to get it out during the feast,
yeah?"
Harry shook his head. "It's not an advantage if they know we have it."
Neville chuckled as he chimed in. "And if the six of us went off to the loo,
all at the same time? It'd cause talk."
Harry smirked at the comment. "Not wrong, Nev." He shifted the map to
the Hufflepuff dorms, the closest ones to Slytherin.
"Oi, don't be peeking at the girls' dorms, mate," Ron snapped, his grin
taking any heat out of his words.
"Oh really?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I mean, that is... " Ron stammered.
"Relax, Hannah's good people," Neville said, clapping a hand on Ron's
shoulder.
"She is," agreed Harry. "And she's friends with this one redhead in our
year." He proceeded to whistle, badly, getting laughs from his friends.
Before he could reply, Neville frowned. Reaching into his pocket, he
pulled out a galleon. The message he saw was enough to sour his mood
in an instant.
"Ravenclaw, Second Year, boys' dorm," Neville read. "From Luna."
"What's happening in Ravenclaw?"
Ron and Neville whipped their heads around, to see Jamie and Trevor
standing in the doorway.
Jamie hooked his thumb at the hallway. "They said this was our room?"
Ron stepped forward. "Yeah, welcome boys, here you are…"
As Ron walked over to the two transfers, to show them where their beds
were, Neville leaned over Harry's desk. Harry was shifting the map to
Ravenclaw Tower. He didn't know which dorms were which year, except
that he could quickly tell which side of the tower was set aside for the
boys.
"She couldn't give us a name, could she?" Mused Neville, as Harry
continued to search.
"Of course not," Harry replied. "It's… oh shit." His voice trailed off as he
saw the last room on the end of a particular floor.
The room with only DRACO MALFOY inside.
oOoOoOoOo
Trevor had not expected a warm welcome from Ron Weasley, all things
considered, but the prefect had surprised him. He and Jamie were now
chatting amicably about quidditch, as Trevor unpacked some of his books
and parchment. The desk he was assigned was smaller than he was used
to, but he'd make it work.
He looked up when Ron's voice trailed off in mid sentence. He and Jamie
followed the redhead's eyes to the other end of the room, where Neville
and Harry were looking at each other with barely controlled anger.
Jamie broke the silence.
"Oh, is that a map of the school?" he asked.
"Sort of," Neville said. He watched as Harry stood up and pulled off his
outer robes.
"Mate?" asked Ron, as he walked over. Without speaking, Neville simply
pointed at the map. Ron saw the name, and saw the location, and let out
a whispered "Fuck…"
Harry tossed his outer robes onto his bed, and went to his trunk. Jamie
and Trevor shared a look, wondering what had changed. Their eyes grew
wide when Harry produced a basilisk skin longcoat from his trunk.
"What are you doing?" asked Jamie.
"Going to kill a death eater," Harry said. With his matter-of-fact tone, he
might as well have said he was going to the loo. He looked up, and
paused. "Why, do you want to come?"
"I'll pass," Jamie replied, automatically.
Harry shrugged, clearly not caring one way or the other. Then he walked
out of the room, followed closely by Neville and Ron. Almost as an
afterthought, Neville summoned the map, which folded itself as it flew to
his hand.
Trevor and Jamie could do little else but join them.
The common room was mostly empty by this point. Ginny, Hermione,
and Colin Creevey were speaking quietly by the entrance, probably
discussing their prefect duties. All three looked up as Harry came down
the staircase.
Colin barely noticed the look Ginny and Hermione shared as Harry and
the others approached. His attention was on Harry, and the determined
look in his eye. The last time Colin had seen a look like that, it had been
in the chaos of the Diagon Alley attack.
He felt sorry for the poor soul who had angered Harry this time.
Harry paused next to the prefects, intending to tell Ginny and Hermione
what was happening, when the entrance to the common room opened.
Professor McGonagall paused as she caught sight of the gathered
students.
"Mister Potter?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Draco Malfoy is in the Ravenclaw dorms, Professor," Harry replied. He
was in no mood to beat around the bush, not tonight.
"I see," she said, frowning. "And what does that have to do with you
leaving the tower after curfew?"
"Let me rephrase, then, Professor. A suspected death eater is in the dorm
room of a younger student, and that student is nowhere to be found."
"Be that as it may, Mister Potter…" McGonagall began, but Harry did not
let her continue.
"A suspected death eater, I might add, who withdrew from Hogwarts
before this year, Professor." Harry was struggling to keep himself calm,
by this point. Every moment risked allowing Malfoy to escape.
She gestured to his coat. "And you intend to… do what, exactly?" she
asked.
"I intend to protect the school, Professor," Harry nearly growled out. His
patience was gone. "We have to do something!" he snapped.
"Mister Potter!" McGonagall exclaimed. "No one said anything about
doing nothing, did they?"
Harry nodded. "Good, thank you."
"Of course." She looked at the students, and nodded toward the dorms.
"Now, all of you, off to bed."
No one moved.
"Professor," Harry began again, but McGonagall silenced him with a
glare.
"The Headmaster shall be informed immediately, of course," she stated, as
if he had not spoken. "The security of the school is his job, after all. Not
yours."
From his place at the back of the group, Jamie saw his brother's wand
hand flex. He recognized the gesture, for he was guilty of it often, these
days. He just hoped Harry didn't hex their Head of House.
After a tense moment, Harry looked at the ceiling. "I need a Hogwarts elf,
please!" he called.
A pop heralded the arrival of an unfamiliar elf, clad in a tea cozy covered
by an apron with the Hogwarts crest.
"What can Jeffy do for the students, Mister Potters?" asked the elf.
Harry spoke politely to the elf, all trace of his anger gone - for it was not
Jeffy's fault, after all. His eyes, however, remained fixed on Professor
McGonagall, as if challenging her to stop him.
"Jeffy, please tell Professor Flitwick that there is a non-student in the
second year boy's dorms, in the room on the end of the hall," Harry said.
"Heads of House are in charge of their dorms, after all."
"Yes, that be true," Jeffy agreed. "I's be telling Professor Charms." And
with a pop, Jeffy was gone.
It was a full minute before Professor McGonagall spoke again.
"You may have just killed that boy," she said, quietly.
"That is possible," Harry said, with a nod. He knew exactly how Professor
Flitwick would react to such a threat.
McGonagall looked at him one more time. She shook her head, almost in
disappointment, before turning and leaving the room without a further
word.
Ginny and Hermione practically dragged Harry, Neville, and Ron into a
corner, to discuss the evening's events with them. The hushed
conversation faded to nothingness as Hermione cast a privacy charm.
Jamie and Trevor just stared at the group, wondering just what they had
gotten themselves into.
Trevor looked over at Colin Creevey, who seemed as shocked as they
were. Not knowing the fifth year's name, he simply said what he was
thinking.
"So," he began. "Is it always like this?"
Colin chuckled, shaking his head. "Not at all."
"Oh, well that's good," replied Trevor.
"I mean," Colin continued, his eyes on Harry and the others. "Usually, it's
much crazier."
A/N: Hey, how are y'all? Good, that's good. Me? Oh, nothing much,
just a plague, a busy work schedule, and a broken hand, you know.
The usual. Apologies for the absence, and thanks for the well wishes
and kind reviews.
I don't think Professor McGonagall is necessarily opposed to having
a potential threat taken care of, so to speak, but she can't really get
away with allowing one of her lions to go on a literal murder spree.
In his haste, Harry gave her absolutely no room for any sort of
plausible deniability. So, he did what he should have done in the
first place - told Flitwick. That also assumes that Luna didn't get his
attention on her own, of course. There is no trace of Seer!Luna in
this story, but our Luna is still observant as hell.
Suffice it to say, the first day of classes will be interesting. Stay
tuned.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
29. The Socratic Method
The first time Madam Rolanda Hooch swore that night, it was in
muttered tones as she drank a glass of wine outside the hut of Rubeus
Hagrid. The wine had been provided by the only other member of staff
she truly got along with, Astronomy Professor Aurora Sinestra. As neither
of them had duties on the first night of term, they often found themselves
enjoying one last peaceful night under the late summer sky.
Hagrid, having spent much of the day preparing boats and carriages and
thestrals, was dozing in an oaken chair nearby, his hand on an ale and his
boots on a log. The small campfire cast the three in a warm glow.
It had been Professor Sinestra who broke the silence.
"The Ravenclaws are at it again this year, I see," she said with an amused
smile.
Madam Hooch looked up at Ravenclaw Tower, and saw the soft flashes of
light that indicated the casting of spells. Several of the windows were lit
up in this way, most of them near the bottom of the tower. Since the
older students had rooms at the base of the structure, this made sense.
Trust the 'claws to practice their spellcraft early, she thought.
It was the rapid flashing from a second year window, almost at the top of
the tower, that drew a reaction from Madam Hooch.
"Oh, for fuck's sake."
Sinestra's eyebrows raised at her friend's language. She almost turned to
ask about it, but a crash from the castle ended the conversation before it
started.
The flashing window on the second year floor, high upon Ravenclaw
Tower, had smashed open. From this distance, it looked to Sinestra as if
someone had thrown a trunk through it, taking out the surrounding
stonework in the bargain. As the trunk rotated in the air, she caught a
glimpse of blonde hair, and gasped.
She was on her feet in an instant. Even with that quick reaction, her
friend was quicker.
"Up!" Rolanda Hooch shouted as she broke into a run. Her right hand
stretched out behind her, but she did not look back. She didn't need to.
Her broomstick, a larger referee's model, nearly jumped away from its
place against Hagrid's hut. It flew straight toward its owner, not
bothering to avoid the half-giant. Hagrid sputtered as he fell backwards,
his feet kicking nothing but air as he tried to right himself.
Sinestra was already sending a patronus to Filius Flitwick, telling him to
get to the second year floor as quickly as he could.
The broom gained speed as it raced to Madam Hooch. When she sensed
it's approach, she reached further to the side, and angled herself as best
she could. As she felt the wood slap into her hand, she jumped forward
and mounted the broom, guiding it underneath her. The maneuver was
one she had taught for years, since referees at quidditch matches could
not always stop play to issue a penalty or deal with an injured player.
She had never had to use it, however. Not for real.
Once airborne, Hooch gained height and speed as she raced the student
to the ground. If she could get close enough, she could slow the boy's
momentum with a spell. There was no chance of hitting a falling target
all the way from Hagrid's hut, so she needed to be closer. If she could,
she'd get as close as possible to get the best shot. Even with the height of
Ravenclaw Tower, she likely didn't have time for more than one try at
this.
Her eyes were moving rapidly, checking the distance between herself and
the boy (and she was certain it was a boy by now, though she wasn't sure
how she knew), herself and the ground, and the boy and the ground.
Without realizing it, she adjusted her broom to go higher.
She sighed to herself in relief - the boy had slowed himself down
somehow.
Then she frowned. Pretty advanced magic for a second year, she thought.
As she approached the falling boy, a pale white light passed overhead.
Probably a patronus, she thought. Then she caught sight of the boy, and
gasped.
In the light of the patronus, she could clearly see the bleeding, angry
visage of one Draco Malfoy.
oOoOoOoOo
Draco was already casting a charm to slow his fall, even as he tried to
clear his head. He would later wonder how he managed to get the spell
off at all, in his condition.
He rolled over in the air, to see if Flitwick had chased him into the night.
The professor was barely visible, looking down from the ruined window.
From the rapidly increasing distance, Draco could not see the look of
shock on the former dueling master's face.
A soft glow drew his eye away from the tower. It was a patronus, taking
the form of a pair of sea creatures. They moved as one, even though he
could see two distinct animals. The patronus passed above him, stopping
in front of the tower.
The light also illuminated Madam Hooch, approaching rapidly. Realizing
that he wouldn't be able to simply run to the edge of the wards as he had
planned, Draco reached for his shrunken broom. With a word, the silver
Firebolt sprang into his hand, and he sped into the night.
He hoped that the flying instructor would stay behind. He needed to get
away, and being chased to the safehouse in Hogsmeade was not going to
do him any favors.
A glance to the rear told him that Madam Hooch was in hot pursuit.
Frowning, Draco leaned forward, coaxing every ounce of speed he could
from the broom.
oOoOoOoOo
Madam Hooch had not bothered to attend the welcoming feast, seeing
herself as a referee more than an actual professor. What little teaching
she did at Hogwarts could be handled by anyone, really. During the
holidays, she taught quidditch referees in the British League and at the
international level, and it was that work that she thought of when
someone called her 'Professor'.
So, to Rolanda Hooch, she was not chasing down a former student. She
was chasing down a player. And a good referee never allowed the players
to get away with anything.
She didn't know what had happened at Ravenclaw Tower that night. She
didn't need to. If Draco Malfoy was (somehow) the wronged party, then
he wouldn't be fleeing. He wouldn't be hiding in another house.
And he definitely wouldn't be firing spells at her.
Madam Hooch slid to the left and right, dodging the simple stunners fired
by Draco. It was an easy spell to cast while flying, of course, but any
player knew what a fall from this height would mean. Whether Draco
had meant it or not, he had just tried to kill her.
Her only option was to respond in kind, just as she would for any other
out of control player.
Draco was rolling his broom even before he realized why. The conjured
bludger, glowing red, shot through the space he had just occupied. His
seeker's instinct served him well again, and he immediately - still
inverted - dipped his broom toward the sky. Looking toward the ground,
he saw a second bludger speed past. With a tight grip on his wand, he
returned fire.
It was Madam Hooch's turn to roll her broom as she saw the curses
coming from above. The first missed left, but the second struck the weak
shielding on the underside of her broom. Like most referee's brooms, she
had some protection from curses - but not much, and that little bit of
protection was now exhausted.
"Fuck fuck fuck," muttered Draco, as he righted himself. Once again, he
angled his broom downwards, hoping to gain some speed. The portkey he
still carried was heavy in his pocket, waiting to be used - but only once
he had escaped the wards of the castle. Surely, he could outfly a single
professor, he thought to himself.
Part of him realized that he didn't even know whether Hooch was a
pureblood or not. Then another conjured bludger missed him, and he
decided that he didn't care.
oOoOoOoOo
Madam Hooch had one last trick up her sleeve, something she hadn't had
to use since the World Cup Semifinals in Dubai, 1978. As she wove the
complicated transfiguration, she smiled to herself.
The crowd of angry fans had quieted down rapidly, when she brandished
a twenty foot long beater's bat at them.
The idea here wouldn't be to strike at Draco. That would be nearly
impossible, coming from behind and going at the speeds they were
reaching. Placing the bat in his path, though, was a much easier task.
A few spells to distract him, and he wouldn't even see it coming.
She had to act quickly - the pursuit had passed the quidditch stadium,
and was closing on the ward line. With one final flick of her wand, she
sent the bat forward. It slid through the air, passing underneath Draco.
Three stinging hexes followed. To her shock, one of them actually
connected, eliciting a yelp of pain from Draco. The boy reached back to
return fire, anger on his features.
"Got you," Hooch said to herself.
Draco plowed into the beater's bat, splintering the conjured wood. The
impact sent him catapulting over the broom like a high jumper. His
broom kept much of its speed, before smashing into one of the trees
below.
Hooch dove, wondering if the boy was still awake and aware as he fell.
Then she heard him shout a word, just as he passed out of the wards.
With a flash of light, the portkey activated, and Draco Malfoy
disappeared.
Madam Hooch came to a stop, hovering at the edge of the wards. The
look on her face was one of shock, for she had understood the word
Draco shouted as he vanished.
She had no idea what had transpired in Ravenclaw Tower. She had no
idea why Draco Malfoy had fled, why he had attacked her, why he had
been so desperate to escape. All she knew is that he had been there for a
reason.
Whoever had set the portkey to activate at the word "Failure." And with
that, Madam Hooch found herself wondering if Draco Malfoy's night was
just beginning.
oOoOoOoOo
Filius Flitwick was not at breakfast the next morning.
No one had witnessed the confrontation between the polyjuiced Draco
Malfoy and the Ravenclaw Head of House. Even in his anger, Flitwick
had had the presence of mind to seal the other second years in their
dorms. Cho Chang and Michael Corner had arrived just as Flitwick's
blasting curse sent the infiltrator through the wall and out into the night.
Professor Sinestra's patronus of twin humpback whales only added insult
to injury, when they warned him that someone had fallen from the
tower. She had not known he was on the scene until it was too late.
So it was that, despite there being no official story, the entire castle knew
much of what had happened.
Slytherin House came to breakfast as a group, in a rare display of
solidarity. No one was brave enough to ask them if they were showing
support for their former housemate or simply assuming that the rest of
the school would blame them for his actions.
Likewise, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor had each come down in one large
group, though that was closer to the norm for the house of badgers. It
was impossible to miss the fact that no students entered alone - everyone,
from the wide-eyed first years on up, walked in pairs.
All eyes turned to the Ravenclaws when they finally arrived, the last of
the four houses to come to breakfast. At first glance, their entrance was
normal - and, for the first years, it may as well have been. The prefects
had done an excellent job of sheltering the first years from the events of
the previous night, and so their first morning at Hogwarts was almost
routine. Almost.
It was the tense looks from the older Ravenclaws that told the tale. They
looked tired and wary, almost as if they expected an incident. Fully half a
dozen nearly jumped when one of the badgers accidentally knocked a
plate off the table.
Luna Lovegood was sitting with her house, as was expected of her. Via
the coin, she had told Harry and the others what she knew. Professor
Flitwick had had a confrontation with Draco that had quickly escalated
into spellfire. She did not know who cast the first spell, just that Flitwick
had cast the last one.
The end of the fight was not a surprise to Harry - he had seen Draco's
name fly past the outer wall of the tower, before disappearing from the
map. It had been frustrating, but understandable - after all, why would
the map extend into the sky?
If they were going to get answers, it would not come from the
Headmaster, for he was not at breakfast. The other professors were, but
they did not seem inclined to make any sort of announcement. They did
not even hand out schedules, as was traditional for the first breakfast of
the term. Instead, a stack of parchment was given to the seventh year
prefects for each house, and it was left to them to sort everything out.
Harry focused on his breakfast, doing his best to ignore the speculation
around him. He knew that the group would learn the truth from Luna
before the end of the day, and he was content with that. Instead, his eyes
wandered to the head table.
Flitwick was absent, he had already noticed that. Professor Sinestra, too,
was missing. That was a bit more unusual, for the Astronomy professor
usually treated breakfast as her dinner, given her unusual schedule.
The school's newest professor, Lily Potter, was gone as well.
"Not a great look, that," Harry remarked.
"What," asked Neville. "Skipping your first morning on the job?"
"Yeah," Harry replied. "Wonder what was so important?"
Neville shrugged. "Maybe she's setting up her classroom?"
"How much work could the potions classroom need, really?" said Harry.
"Say what you will about Snape, but he did keep the space organized."
"Professor Snape, Harry," Hermione corrected, without heat. She hadn't
even looked up from her schedule.
"My biological mother's esteemed predecessor, then," Harry amended,
formally.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Prat."
Neville snickered at the exchange, as Harry accepted his schedule. Then
he looked down at his own.
It was Neville's sharp intake of breath that caused both Harry and
Hermione to look up.
"Nev?" Harry asked.
Neville shook his head. "Your mother isn't teaching potions, Harry." He
offered the parchment, which Harry took.
Ron set his schedule down on the table, sliding his empty plate out of the
way. "Who is, then?" he asked.
Hermione, however, was reviewing her class list. When she got to
potions, her eyes grew wide.
"Oh, shit," she whispered.
oOoOoOoOo
"Welcome to NEWT level potions. Please take your seats, everyone."
Neville and Hermione walked into the potions classroom in the middle of
the group of sixth and seventh years, wanting to be neither first nor last.
They did not look up at the professor as they entered.
For possibly the first time in her Hogwarts career, Hermione Granger sat
in the back of the classroom. The other students noticed, but said
nothing. The whispers started only when Neville Longbottom joined her.
Trevor Longbottom sat in the front row, against the far wall. Some had
expected Neville to join his twin, and were surprised when he did the
opposite. Others had heard the rumors surrounding the Longbottoms,
including an account of a heated exchange between the newly returned
Lord Longbottom and his son Neville.
Without saying a word, or even intending to do so, Neville had confirmed
those rumors just by sitting with Hermione.
All eyes turned to the front of the room when the professor began
speaking.
"Good morning. My name is Alice Longbottom. You may address me as
Professor or Lady Longbottom."
And so it begins, thought Neville. Hermione, sensing his tension, placed a
comforting hand on his arm.
It would be a long morning.
oOoOoOoOo
Harry and Ron joined Hermione and Neville after lunch, for what would
be their first session of NEWT level Defense against the Dark Arts. Given
the name listed as professor for this class, Harry was understandably
nervous.
He made a point of asking Neville about his potions class.
"That's just it," Neville had replied. "She didn't say a thing to me, directly.
All she did was comment on our potion, the same as everyone else." He
sighed, shaking his head. "I almost wish she had said something out of
line, but she didn't."
That wasn't what Harry had expected to hear. "And Trevor?"
"He stayed behind after we were dismissed," answered Hermione. "But
during class, she didn't show any sort of favor towards him. Or anyone,
really."
Harry frowned, taking that in.
Ron saw the look on his friend's face, and knew what it meant. "You're
expecting trouble."
"One way or another, yeah," replied Harry. "Either she's here to coddle
Jamie, which he doesn't need, or she's here to try and bring me on side."
"That doesn't make sense, Harry," Hermione said, with a concerned tone.
Harry shook his head. "It doesn't have to make sense, Hermione." Then he
smirked, and looked back at her. "And really, do we need to go over
everything that's happened over the last few months and make a list of
things that don't make sense?"
Ron chuckled at Hermione's reaction. "He's got you there," he said.
oOoOoOoOo
No one really knew what to expect from the new DADA professor.
On the one hand, Lily Potter's intelligence and clever use of charms and
wards was well known. She had already had a reputation before the
attack at Godric's Hollow, and her legend had only grown in the telling
over the years.
Unfortunately for her, the revelations of the past month had soured that
reputation. Now, she was not known as the mother who died for her son,
but as the mother who abandoned him.
From the whispers among the students, it was clear that opinions were
divided.
Harry and Ron sat in the back of the classroom, as they had the previous
year. This time around, they each took a table, leaving an open seat each.
These were quickly filled by Susan and Hannah, who arrived with the
other Hufflepuffs. Hermione and Neville sat one row forward, preferring
to stick together.
The remaining members of the DA spread out, as if to cover the entire
room. No one noticed, except for the DA members themselves. If the
Professor herself noticed, she said nothing.
Susan was the first to notice that a few seventh year Ravenclaws and
Hufflepuffs were also present. Katie Bell was the only seventh year
Gryffindor who had planned to take NEWT Defense, but she had decided
to drop the class - it was not something she would need for quidditch,
and she couldn't participate for a few weeks anyway due to her arm.
Having seen the roster of students, Harry knew exactly why there were
no seventh year Slytherins present. There simply weren't any, really,
except the one.
After a brief introduction, Professor Potter began taking attendance. To
her surprise, several students had not arrived for this all-important first
class. Cho Chang was missing, though that could easily have been due to
her duties as Head Girl. A couple of the seventh year Hufflepuffs were
also absent, something for which Susan had no explanation. From
Slytherin, the absence of Pansy Parkinson started the whispers anew.
Harry and Susan shared a glance as the list of absent names grew longer.
Just as it had been noteworthy that Professor Potter skipped breakfast on
her first day, so too was it notable for a student to skip the very first class
of the term, and a NEWT level class at that.
Once the class list was complete, Lily Potter began discussing her goals
for the class. Harry tuned her out as he thought over the missing
students.
"Not what I expected to see," Harry whispered.
Susan nodded. "Nothing has been what we expected since we got on the
train."
"Five points each from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," Lily Potter said,
grabbing their attention once more. She had not even stopped writing at
the board, but just shouted over her shoulder. "May we continue the
class, Mister Potter?"
Harry simply nodded, not trusting himself to say anything else.
oOoOoOoOo
Despite the fact that the DADA class covered no magic that day,
Hermione was impressed. Professor Potter had laid out a course of study
that would take them all the way to the NEWT exams, and included
practice tests and mock practicals led by outside instructors.
She was still wary of the professor, of course. All of them were. But
Hermione could at least admit that she seemed to be a competent
teacher. Certainly, not something she had expected to see in this
classroom.
At the end of the class period, one of the sixth year Ravenclaws walked
up and handed Professor Potter a note. The professor frowned at the
note's contents, and then handed it back to the girl.
"I can't approve that, Miss Moon," said Professor Potter.
Lily Moon frowned. "It wasn't a request, Professor," she replied.
As the professor argued quietly with the Ravenclaw, Harry stepped over
to Hermione.
"What do we know about Lily Moon?" he asked.
Hermione frowned slightly. "She's a pureblood, keeps to herself mostly.
Good marks in most of her classes, I believe."
They watched as Lily Moon turned on her heel and walked out of the
classroom, leaving Professor Potter with the note in her hand and an
angry expression on her face.
"I wonder what that was about," Susan remarked.
Hermione saw Harry's eyes tracking his mother as she stormed out of the
classroom.
"I suspect we'll know soon," he said, almost to himself. His expression was
unreadable.
oOoOoOoOo
After only a few minutes, Professor McGonagall was growing annoyed
with the new Defense professor.
"Professor Potter," she repeated, keeping her formal tone. "Students are
free to rearrange their schedules as needed. You know this, since you did
exactly that in your seventh year. You sat in that very chair and arranged
for advanced studies in Potions."
"That was different," snapped an increasingly irritated Lily Potter. "I
wasn't dropping a NEWT class!"
"No, you were not," McGonagall agreed. "But students can do that as well,
so long as they remain enrolled in at least two NEWT-level classes." She
gestured at the stack of parchment on her desk. "All of these students
meet that requirement."
"And Baker?" Lily snapped back, tapping a finger on the top parchment.
"How does a fourth year get out of a core class?"
McGonagall sighed. "Geoffery Baker was withdrawn from Defense by his
parents, who have elected to hire a private tutor in the subject."
Lily fumed at that. "Did they offer a reason?"
"Yes, they did. Their letter stated that the current DADA professor
presented a tangible risk to the safety of their son, and that they did not
wish for him to take any class with that particular instructor."
Something in that phrasing did not sit well with Lily, and her eyes
narrowed. "When was that letter sent?" she asked.
McGonagall's face was unreadable as she replied.
"July 7th."
"Aha," replied Lily. "So, that letter was about Professor Umbridge, then."
"So it would seem," McGonagall agreed. "Which is why I wrote the Bakers
when you were hired, to give them the news." She pulled another letter
out of her desk. "They replied that the same concerns applied to you."
Lily was now seething, and barely kept herself seated. "What happened
with Harry has nothing to do with my ability to teach!"
"Nobody cares!" McGonagall replied angrily. "Defense against the Dark
Arts is one of the most dangerous courses we teach, and you bloody well
know it!" She stabbed a finger at the stack of letters from students, every
one resigning from the class. "How can you expect anyone to set foot in
that classroom when they don't trust you?"
Lily sat back in her chair, her eyes wide. This was quite possibly the
angriest she had ever seen her former Head of House. Before she could
come up with a reply, there was a knock at the door.
McGonagall, still glaring at Lily, unlocked the door with a wave of her
wand. "Come!" she shouted.
The student that walked in was none other than Lily Moon. She looked
from one professor to the other, and then paused in the doorway.
"I can come back later if this is a bad time…" she began.
"No bother, Miss Moon," McGonagall said. Her tone had returned once
more to that of Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, and both of her guests
noticed the shift. It was an obvious calming exercise, and the mere fact
that it was necessary told Lily Potter exactly how angry her colleague had
been.
Lily Moon's eyes again shifted to Professor Potter, and she hesitated.
"Ah," sighed McGonagall, knowingly. "I take it you need to make a
change to your schedule, Miss Moon?"
The Ravenclaw nodded.
"Would I be correct that you wish to drop your Defense NEWT?"
Another nod.
"Right, well, that should not be a problem," McGonagall said, as she made
a note of the change. "Do you have a replacement course in mind?"
Lily Moon nodded once more. "I'll be working on a project with Professor
Flitwick. We're going to update the charms on the Ravenclaw library."
McGonagall's eyebrow raised. "He's been wanting to do that for years."
Despite the tension in the room, she smiled at the student. "If he can
convince Madam Pince that your new scheme is superior, I will support
an update to the Hogwarts library as well."
Lily Moon's eyes widened. "Professor, that's… wow."
McGonagall chuckled. "Indeed, Miss Moon." She looked over her
spectacles at the Ravenclaw. "So make sure you do your best work, am I
understood?"
"Of course, I mean yes Professor, thank you Professor," the now flustered
girl replied.
"Very well, then. Your schedule change is approved, Miss Moon. Off you
go."
Lily Moon nodded once more. "Thank you again, Professor."
As she turned to leave, Professor Potter spoke up.
"Wait," she said. "Why exactly are you dropping my class?"
Lily Moon paused, her hand on the door. She seemed to deflate at the
question. When she turned back to the office, it was clear that she did not
want to answer. But answer she would, because ignoring the nundu in
the room would not make it go away.
"My parents named me for the bravest woman they knew," Lily Moon
replied, her brown eyes meeting the green eyes of her now former
professor. "Two purebloods, naming their daughter after a muggleborn.
But there they were, raising me on stories of a brave woman who looked
death itself in the eye, who was told to move out of the way, and
answered 'No.'"
She chuckled softly, to herself. "The hat considered putting me in
Gryffindor, you know. My head was full of stories of bravery and
courage, all thanks to your sacrifice."
The Ravenclaw shook her head. "And now, every time I sign my name, I'll
remember what you did that night, and what you didn't do." She turned
to leave, not caring what response Lily Potter might offer.
"And unlike you," she continued. "I can't go hide for decades to avoid it."
oOoOoOoOo
The exodus of fourteen students from Defense against the Dark Arts was
the only hiccup in an otherwise routine first day of classes, and soon
Hogwarts had assembled in the Great Hall for dinner.
Without the formality of a grand feast, students were free to mingle as
they wished, and so Susan and Hannah had joined the Gryffindor table
for the evening. Luna Lovegood had not yet arrived, but that was not
unusual.
Harry, as was his custom, sat with his back to the wall, leaving a space
on his left for Susan. Across from him sat Neville and Ron. Ron had an
empty space of his own reserved for Hannah, while Hermione had taken
the seat next to Neville. Luna, when she arrived, would sit between Harry
and Ginny.
Dani Diggle, despite knowing some of the other fifth years, had become
fast friends with Ginny. Sharing classes helped, of course, and the
schedules for both girls were nearly identical. But the truth of the matter
was that Ginny simply got along with the raven-haired transfer.
It was odd to have the new girl sitting near such an established group as
theirs, but no one present thought to question the arrangement. Dani just
seemed to fit in.
Her fellow transfers, Jamie Potter and Trevor Longbottom, were not
present. Nor was Professor Longbottom. The Potions Professor's empty
chair was a glaring sign highlighting her absence. Nor did it do Lily
Potter any favors, for she was seated at the end of the table. The empty
seat to her left made her look that much more isolated.
The Headmaster was seated in his customary seat, with his deputy on his
left. Curiously, there was no professor on his right. Instead, that seat was
occupied by none other than Dedalus Diggle, who seemed to be in an
intense conversation with the Headmaster and Professor Sprout.
"Of course he'd sit there," Hermione remarked. "Professor Sprout was his
apprentice when she pursued her mastery."
"I didn't know that," Harry replied, thoughtfully. "I wonder why he never
taught."
"He gets distracted easily."
The group's eyes went to Dani Diggle, who hadn't even realized that they
heard her. With her fork halfway to her mouth, she turned slowly toward
the others. Her eyes grew wider.
"I mean, uh," she stammered nervously.
Harry chuckled. "Relax, we don't bite. No one's going to hex you for
joining a conversation."
She looked from Harry to Hermione, to Neville and the others, before
eyeing Ginny. "Even though you're the cool kids?"
Ron sat his fork down beside his plate. "We're the what now?"
Dani blinked at him, and glanced at Harry again. "I mean, in muggle
school there was always a table where the popular kids sat." She
shrugged. "I never really bothered them."
"Let me get this straight," Susan said, in as calm a voice as she could
manage while trying not to laugh. "You're under the impression that this
one," at this she hooked a thumb at Harry, "is one of the cool kids?"
Dani blinked owlishly at her. "You mean he's not?"
"I doubt that is what Heiress Bones meant to imply, Miss Diggle," Harry
said, in a mock formal tone. Then he winced as Heiress Bones elbowed
him in the ribs, earning laughs from the others.
"So as I was saying," Hermione continued, rolling her eyes at their antics.
"What does Lord Diggle do, if you don't mind me asking Dani? If he
doesn't teach, I mean. Research?"
Dani nodded, sipping her pumpkin juice. "Yep, and that's why he doesn't
teach. If he gets a question in his head, he has to answer it. He used to do
projects for the Ministry, years ago. Not so much recently, I don't think."
She shrugged. "He also made potions for my mum, when she was sick
over the last few years."
"So, a bit of everything then," Neville remarked. He looked up at
Hermione with a smirk. "No wonder that sounded familiar."
Then it was Heir Longbottom's turn to get an elbow to the ribs, courtesy
Miss Hermione Granger. Again, laughter broke out.
Much of the tension in the group had lifted by the time Luna Lovegood
came over. As she approached, she saw the eight of them laughing and
joking, almost as if it were a normal evening. Even if she was new to the
school, Dani Diggle was already well on her way to becoming a part of
this group of friends that had somehow formed around Harry Potter.
It was a sight to see. Luna was grinning when she slid into her seat.
oOoOoOoOo
After dinner, Ginny and Dani went back to Gryffindor Tower with the
other fifth year girls. Hannah split off as well, to head back with the
other Hufflepuffs.
Susan gave Harry a brief kiss on the cheek as she parted. She also
confirmed that she had written to her aunt about Draco's flight the
previous evening, but hadn't heard back yet.
"I've told Sirius as well," Harry replied. "If he tells the Colonel, then your
aunt might hear about it that way first."
Susan smiled at that - she had already told her aunt that she approved of
her newly found relationship with the muggle soldier.
Once the Hufflepuffs were gone, Harry turned to see if anyone else
wanted to go to the Room of Requirement. Before he could ask, he saw
Professor McGonagall approaching.
"Mister Potter," the Deputy Headmistress said. Then she looked over to
Neville, and nodded. "Mister Longbottom."
"Professor," the boys replied.
She offered each of them a small note, one in each hand. "I've been asked
to give these to you. You'll be expected tomorrow." Her message
delivered, McGonagall turned and walked away.
Harry watched her go, as Neville opened his note.
"Expected by whom," Hermione wondered, as she stepped closer to
Neville.
Neville sighed as he read the short note. It's not like he hadn't expected
this, but it was sooner than he would have liked.
Seeing his friend's reaction, Harry opened his own note and read it. Then
he read it again.
"Well?" Ron asked, concerned.
"We've each been summoned to a meeting," Neville replied, having seen
that Harry's note was the same as his own.
"Yeah, but who summoned you? The Headmaster?"
"Worse," Harry said, closing the note. "Our godmothers."
A/N: Welcome back. I'm on my own schedule these days, and by
that I mean I'm subject to the whims of a global plague, higher-than-
average drama at my day job, and oh yeah my hand is still fucked
up. I've tried writing with text to speech, and that is... not an
adequate alternative, suffice it to say.
So, updates may remain slow for a while. But there will be updates.
Have faith, y'all.
Thank you all for the kind thoughts, in reviews and messages.
Replies have, unfortunately, been shuffled below writing in the list
of things-to-write-before-I-need-pain-meds, so apologies if I have not
gotten back to you directly. As always, know that your messages are
seen and appreciated. (And if your message was "We demand
updates you jackass!1!" then... thanks? I guess? And also if I'm not
quick enough, refunds are on offer thataway. Ta.)
This chapter's title was chosen long ago, when this chapter was very
different. But it fits the format, and I just want to get this thing
posted, dammit, so there. I guess there were questions asked, so I'll
allow it.
I'm hoping to do NaNoWriMo this year, but as with anything worth
doing I'm cutting it off whenever I need to. So, Lord willing and the
creek don't rise, I'll see you in November.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
Edited to add:
Yes, Sinestra's patronus is the duo of George and Gracie. Glad
someone caught that right away. They Boldly Go where she sends
them, one might say.
30. The Houses of Sand and Stone
For Ambrose Rookwood, the frustration of being prefect had nothing
whatsoever to do with the duties and privileges of that office. As Pansy
had pointed out, the flexibility of being outside the common room after
hours could prove useful.
She had also given him a list of ways he could abuse the prefect's badge,
should he want to do so. She spoke from experience, having pretty much
had run of the school as a prefect during the last school year, even before
becoming one of the so-called inquisitors.
It was a very long list.
Of course, none of that bothered Ambrose. No, what weighed on his mind
was that the post had caught him completely by surprise.
He had known exactly how many of his yearmates were likely to take the
mark. Until this summer, he had been one of them. He also knew that the
remaining boys in his year would be more likely to flee the country than
actively oppose the Dark Lord.
So, when he suddenly found himself an enemy of the Dark Lord, he
should have realized what that meant for his seventh year.
He did enjoy walking the castle after curfew, as he was doing for the first
time (officially) this evening. It gave him quite a bit of time to think,
which he cherished.
It turned out that Pansy had a way of… distracting him. What's worse,
she knew it.
So it was that Ambrose was walking silently through the halls of the
castle, charms on his boots to mask the sound of his footsteps. Pansy had
teased him about that, but he had only shrugged.
"If I'm going to do this, I'd better do it properly," he had replied with a
smirk.
The path from Ravenclaw Tower took him down two flights of stairs and
past the Headmaster's office. At this late hour, he had not expected to
find anyone.
And yet, the stone gargoyle was moving to the side as Ambrose turned
the corner. Ambrose recognized him instantly, at least by appearance. It
was the older wizard who sat beside the Headmaster at dinner.
The man seemed surprised to see a prefect in the hallway, but recovered
quickly when Ambrose stepped into the light. Then, the man smiled
brightly.
"Ah, Mister Rookwood," the man said. "I'm pleased to see you safe and
sound."
"As am I, sir," Ambrose responded. "I'm sorry, have we met?"
"Only once, a long time ago," the man said with a grin. "I was one of the
first to hold you, young Ambrose, when you were just a few hours old.
You see, your father and I worked together, back when I consulted for
the Department."
Ambrose nodded at that. Naming the Department of Mysteries in that
way, without naming it, was as good as an oath. Which meant that he
now knew who this man had to be.
"Lord Diggle, then. It's a pleasure." Ambrose smiled back, and offered his
hand in greeting.
Dedalus Diggle did not take it immediately. Instead, he chuckled.
"Augustus always said you were a smart one. I'm pleased to see he was
right." Then he reached out and shook Ambrose's hand. His features
softened, and a look of sadness entered his eyes. "His loss is one we'll be
feeling for a long time, lad."
Ambrose nodded. "That we will," he replied, not knowing what else to
say.
Diggle shook Ambrose's hand far longer than was strictly necessary, but
Ambrose didn't think it polite to tell a Lord of the Wizengamot to stop
being creepy. After a few moments, Diggle let go and stepped back.
"I found myself going through some of your father's papers the other
day," he said, a thoughtful look on his face. "His was a keen mind. I'm
glad that he can live on through his writing."
Ambrose could only nod at this. "I've done much the same, actually," he
said. "I managed to save his journals from the house, before it was
burned."
"Oh?" Diggle said, looking surprised and pleased. "Remarkable! Treasure
those books, my boy. I suspect you'll learn a great deal about your father
from those scribbles."
Ambrose raised an eyebrow. "Scribbles?"
Diggle grinned. "Have you never seen your father's shorthand? My word,
we almost needed a translation spell to decipher it!"
Ambrose chuckled at that. "Thankfully, he managed to make his journals
legible. So, that's a curse dodged, I suspect."
"So it would seem, my boy," Diggle said with a smile. Then he looked
thoughtful again. "If you do find anything about the projects we worked
on, please let me know. I'd be thankful for the chance to relive those
days."
With a nod, Ambrose agreed. This man could be a source of insight into
his father… and perhaps, just what the hell he was doing at the Ministry
when he died. "What projects did you consult on, if you don't mind me
asking?"
"Oh, well, I can't give specifics, of course, but it was mostly to do with
the state of the Wizengamot," Diggle replied. "Oh, and sometimes he
picked my brain on other topics, like herbology or education - I was on
the board of the school, at the time, you see."
"I'd say those sound like fairly dry topics, but I know how my father
would have responded," said Ambrose, fondly as he remembered his
father's oft-repeated saying. "He always said that he never knew what
he'd need to know, or when he'd need to know it."
"And he was right, my boy. Politics, Plants, and Prophecy, that was
Augustus and I," Diggle replied. He stepped forward again, and placed a
grandfatherly hand on Ambrose's shoulder, reaching up due to the boy's
height advantage. "Don't let me keep you from your duties, Mister
Prefect. I've enjoyed meeting you again, Ambrose."
"As have I, Lord Diggle," Ambrose said. "Shall I escort you to the gates?"
Diggle waved him off. "No need, I'll find my own way. Take care, son.
Don't be a stranger."
"Good night, sir," Ambrose replied.
As he watched Lord Diggle walk down the grand staircase, he replayed
the conversation in his mind.
The man was good, there was no question of that. If he didn't know that
sitting members of the Wizengamot were never recruited as
unspeakables, Ambrose might have suspected that Lord Diggle had once
worn the grey cloak. It was also clear that he had done somewhat more
than merely consulting, or else he had spent much more time with
Augustus Rookwood than it seemed.
When he thought back over what he had learned, Ambrose realized that
there had really only been one question that Diggle had asked, one piece
of knowledge that Diggle wanted. Everything the man had said was
repeated, almost reinforced - except for one thing. It was as if he had
tried to ask the question, without drawing attention to it.
Ambrose might not have even noticed, if his mind had not been on his
father's place of death as of late.
Which, of course, begged the question - what exactly had his father
known about prophecy?
oOoOoOoOo
As she waited to speak with her godson, Lily Potter was nervous.
For all of the planning and preparation that had gone into her reunion
with Harry, she had given little thought to any reunion she might have
with her godson, Neville. There had been no need, really, or so they had
thought.
The flaw in their thinking had been exposed almost immediately. When
they had gone into exile, Harry and Jamie had been as alike as could be,
and the same went for Neville and Trevor. Without seeing their missing
sons, it was easy to think of them as remaining identical. Which, of
course, was the entire problem.
There was no world in which Jamie Potter rejected his family. Nor was
there any situation in which Trevor Longbottom would turn his back on
his name.
So, to have Harry keep the Lordship, even in the face of James' return,
was a shock - compounded by the realization that Neville Longbottom
was more loyal to his grandmother than to his parents.
They should have seen it coming. They didn't. No one had. When the
time came to resume their roles as godmothers, Alice and Lily had
pictured a reunion with the twins of Jamie and Trevor.
Now, they had to walk a very thin line of asserting themselves, without
pushing their godsons away. Neville clearly had issues with his parents,
and Harry's comments before the Welcoming Feast showed that he still
had anger to work through. A meeting now, between mother and son,
would be disastrous.
Perhaps, Lily hoped, I can get somewhere with Neville.
She looked down at her cup of tea, and saw the dregs in the bottom of
the cup. Of the two of them, Alice Longbottom had always been the
better student of divination, so there might be some portent in the tea. To
Lily, of course, it was just an indication that she needed more tea.
She had never really believed in divination. Not until the night of Alice's
wedding. As she filled her cup, she thought back to that night, so long
ago.
oOoOoOoOo
11 August 1978
Longbottom Hall
The wedding had been a spectacular affair. Even now, in a time of nearly
open warfare, the families of the light had come together to celebrate. Lords
and Ladies from every Light family had come to Longbottom Hall to watch as
Frank Longbottom married his longtime sweetheart, Alice Kenny.
Lily Evans, the maid of honour, had beamed as her friend became Lady
Longbottom. Across from her, in his crisp black and white robes as best man,
had been a grinning James Potter. As the officiant, a jovial Lord Byron
Beckworth, had spoken, James had tapped his left ring finger with his right
hand.
Lily had blushed at the gesture, knowing exactly what James was telling her.
The weight of the betrothal ring on her left hand meant that she would soon
become Lady Potter. He had asked her only weeks prior, but her answer had
never been in doubt.
Soon, it will be my turn, she thought to herself.
After the ceremony had come the feast, followed by the dancing. Once the
bride and groom had done their duty, Lily and James had had their turn. Then
Lily danced with Sirius, then Remus, and then a very nervous Peter, before
James swept her up again.
She even found herself dancing with Lord Beckworth, a loyal ally of the
Longbottoms in the Wizengamot. Asking him to officiate the ceremony had
been a way of currying favor with the older Lord, and he had been thrilled to
say yes. It meant little to the couple - neither Frank nor Alice had anyone in
mind for the duty - so they used the honour as a gift. Lord Beckworth's
gratitude at the chance to be seen in so prominent a role would pay dividends
later on, and so it was a bargain.
Lily had stayed out of the politics of the day, and did not really take much
notice of them beyond the fact that the event was almost entirely attended by
Light families. She figured that she would have plenty of time to deal with that
when she was Lady Potter.
As the song ended, she curtseyed to Lord Beckworth, who kissed her hand
formally and moved toward the bar.
"May I have the next dance, Miss Evans?"
Turning, she saw a smiling Dedalus Diggle approaching. The man was one of
the most respected members of the Order of the Phoenix, and a close advisor
to the Headmaster. Though Lily had never really spoken to him, she did
respect him.
"Of course, M'Lord," she said, offering a formal curtsey.
As the music began again, they chatted amicably about the festivities, and the
ceremony beforehand. It was idle chatter, noteworthy only in that it avoided
politics and the war entirely.
Diggle sighed softly as they turned about the dance floor. "I look forward to
the day when every one of our gatherings is this magnificent," he said, almost
to himself.
"How do you mean?" Lily asked.
He waved a hand to indicate the room, and all of its laughing and smiling
occupants. "The Dark families aren't fighting for power, or wealth, or glory,
Miss Evans," he said. "They fight to take this away from us. Our families, our
connections, everything that makes us who we are. They seek to divide us, to
make us bow down."
"Of course that won't happen," Lily said without hesitation. She even believed
it.
"No, of course not," Diggle agreed. "But what do we do when the war ends, but
the reasons behind the war remain?" He looked at her, and she got the feeling
that he was treating the conversation as if he were teaching a lesson. "Even
muggle history has examples of this, yes?"
Lily's thoughts went immediately to Germany, and she nodded. "They do," she
confirmed.
Diggle smiled and nodded at her response. "So you understand that we can't
just win the war," he continued. "We have to win the peace as well."
As the song ended, Lily looked back to her dancing partner. "How would we
do that?" she asked.
With a laugh, Diggle bowed to her before stepping back. "We're working on it,"
he said, enigmatically. "Enjoy the day, Miss Evans." With that, he turned and
walked toward the Headmaster's table, leaving a very curious dance partner in
his wake.
oOoOoOoOo
Alice Longbottom had not expected the hesitant reaction Harry Potter
gave to her office. As he took his seat, she said so.
Harry shrugged. "I hadn't expected to spend much time in the dungeons
this year, Professor," he replied.
"No, I imagine not," she said. "I was surprised to see that you were not in
my class, however."
Another shrug. "Potions did not seem necessary for my chosen career,
Professor. And I'm sure you're aware that your predecessor and I had our
issues."
"So I was told," Alice replied. "So you're not planning to become an auror,
then? A potions NEWT is required if you follow that path."
Harry could tell she was fishing, and responded accordingly. "Once,
perhaps. But being an auror isn't something that appeals to me,
anymore." he chuckled to himself, as if at a private joke. "I expect I'll
have had a gutful of law enforcement before the war's end, wouldn't you
say?"
Alice shook her head and sipped her tea. Idly, she noticed that Harry had
not yet touched his cup.
"If I had to guess, I'd say that your activities leaned more toward those of
hitwizards, honestly." She watched him carefully for a reaction, and was
not disappointed.
Harry shook his head, the barest hint of annoyance in his eyes. "I'm no
hitwizard."
"You've gotten the backing of the DMLE, clearly," Alice responded. "And
that got you help from the ICW, of all places." She leaned forward,
meeting his eyes. "Besides, you've actively hunted down how many death
eaters, just this past summer?" She leaned back again, taking another sip
of her tea. "And let's not ignore the fact that when I first met you, after
our return, it was when you held a wand to my head in my own home."
"I'll not apologize for that," Harry said, though there was a bit of
embarrassment in his tone. "After all, we expected you to be an impostor,
not… well."
"I can understand that," she replied, with a nod. "And the rest?"
Harry frowned. "Professor, every death eater who died due to my actions
this summer did so while attacking either myself or those under my
protection."
"Yet you threw yourself into those fights, Harry," Alice pressed. "Do you
want to die so badly?" Alice realized that she had phrased her point
poorly when she saw the look of shock on her godson's face.
The bark of laughter, however, was unexpected.
"Really?" Harry said, amused. "You think I want to die? That's what you
took from everything that's happened? The battle at the Ministry, the
notices, the entire blood feud?"
Alice offered a shrug of her own. "It could look that way, from the
outside, don't you agree?"
"The outside," Harry repeated, his amusement fading. "Yes, I suppose
that's how it might look." Now it was his turn to lean forward, his gaze
focused on the Professor. "You think I want to die for my country, is that
it?"
"Not how I would have phrased it, but…" Alice's voice trailed off. "Do
you?"
Harry shook his head. "Professor, my job isn't to die for a cause. It's to
make sure the other poor bastard dies for his."
oOoOoOoOo
Lily's conversation with Neville Longbottom was much more cordial than
the meeting taking place in the potions office. It was obvious that Neville
was being reserved, almost guarded, about himself. But there was no
animosity, no ire to be seen.
Just distance.
It took fifteen minutes for the conversation to heat up.
"I'd like to set a time aside for us to speak, Neville," Lily said. "I think this
has been a good beginning."
"A beginning of what, though, Professor?" Neville replied, politely.
"The bond between a godparent and their godchild is important," Lily
began, but Neville cut her off.
"It was important fifteen years ago, as well," Neville observed.
"Well, yes. And that makes reconnecting that much more important."
Neville leaned back, crossing his arms. "Did you know that my father
swore an oath on his magic when he returned home? He swore that he
had spent fifteen years trapped in his own mind. He said, he had been in
a Keep of Waking Nightmares." He tilted his head, watching her for a
reaction. "What an odd phrase, don't you think? Keep of Waking
Nightmares. But I had other things on my mind, just then, and didn't
dwell on it."
"Tell me, Professor Potter," Neville continued. "Do you speak Welsh?"
Lily shook her head. "Not as well as I'd like," she replied.
"Oh?" Neville looked surprised at that. "The Potters are from Wales, you
should probably take the time. But that doesn't matter. You see, wherever
my parents lived, their house was called Hunllef Deffro Cadw. It means
'Keep of Waking Nightmares'."
Lily simply nodded, not sure what else to say. The phrase had sounded
familiar, but she couldn't have confirmed Neville's claim, even if she
wanted to. Frank and Alice's house had just been 'Frank and Alice's
house', after all.
"Which means, of course, that my parents named their secret house
something that could truthfully be used in an oath, years later, to
reinforce their lies." Neville sighed heavily, shaking his head. "Harry tells
me that you claimed that him being left behind was beyond your control,
but that theory doesn't fit the facts."
"What are you saying, Neville?" asked Lily. She found that she wanted to
reach for her wand, but kept her hand around her tea cup instead.
Neville's eyes never left hers as he spoke in an even tone.
"I'm saying that this was never the contingency. Leaving Harry and I
behind, this was always the plan."
oOoOoOoOo
Alice Longbottom was fighting the urge to shout at the boy in front of
her. The whole point of these meetings had been to try and at least build
a bridge to the wayward twins, to get them working with their families
instead of against them. But Harry Potter was not making it easy.
"You can't expect to work with these people after you've killed their sons,
Harry," she admonished.
"Work with them?" Harry replied, incredulous. "They follow a leader who
has sworn to kill me, and who has made a few pretty solid efforts at it
over the years. There's no middle ground there, Professor."
Alice sighed, theatrically. "Someday, though, you're going to have to sit
the Potter seat, if you keep the Lordship. When that happens, you'll want
to make compromises with families who sit across the aisle. If they won't
work with you, then you'll get very little done."
"Then so be it," Harry said, immediately. "No political gain is worth my
life, or the lives of my friends, or my betrothed."
"Madam Bones is a high government official, Harry," Alice commented.
Harry was having none of it, however. "Voldemort was there personally,
Professor. He taunted me that I couldn't protect Susan when I was outside
dueling him. She was just as much a target as her aunt."
Again, she shook her head. "This is how the game is played, Harry. You
have to work with these people, even if you want to hate them."
He stood up, leaning forward, his hands on her desk.
"Then, fuck the game."
Her response was automatic. "Five points from Gryffindor, Mister Potter,"
she snapped out.
Harry responded by picking up his bag. Alice expected him to reply, to
argue his point, to lash out. Instead, he walked to the door.
As he reached the exit, he turned back to the professor, his godmother -
whom he had not once called by her name.
"Professor," he said coldly. "War is simply politics by other means. What
you're telling me is that politics requires me to accept attacks on my
person. I reject the very notion, and I reject anyone who would argue it."
He sighed, again. "If that means I reject you, then so be it. It's not like
you haven't already rejected me."
She watched as he started to open the door. Then he paused, and turned
back to her once more.
"Your son has it rougher than I do, I think," Harry said.
"How do you mean?" asked Alice, in spite of herself.
Harry shrugged. "At least I still have my godfather."
She wanted to reply. She wanted to say 'No, James is alive.'
But Harry was gone before she could summon the words.
With an angry huff, Alice Longbottom looked down at her tea cup, and at
the dregs floating at the bottom. The tea leaves had formed a fine layer
across the bottom of the cup, bringing only one image to mind.
"Sand," Alice whispered.
She sat down heavily in her chair, eyeing the offending tea cup. Then,
with a sweep of her hand, she sent it crashing into the stone wall of her
office.
"Fuck!" she spat. Then she calmed herself, and sighed once again. "Fuck."
oOoOoOoOo
By the time Lily Potter arrived, Alice had replaced the tea with a bottle of
firewhiskey.
Lily eyed the drink, as Alice poured two glasses. "That bad?"
"Worse," Alice replied. "I take it you fared no better?"
"Neville believes that we always planned to abandon him, and Harry as
well," Lily said, as she took the seat her son had vacated. "He takes
Frank's oath as proof that the four of us can never be trusted."
Lily winced at that, but said nothing.
Alice glanced over at the shards of her tea cup, still sitting at the base of
the wall. "I wonder if there was another way," she said, quietly.
Lily eyed her friend. "You know I wish there had been."
"I mean," Alice continued, struggling for the right words. "What if she was
wrong?"
"Which time?" Lily retorted. "We have the weight of prophecy, Alice - two
prophecies. How do we go against that?" She leaned forward, eyeing her
friend. "We've talked about this, how many times?"
"I know, I know," Alice conceded. "Do you ever wonder, though?"
"No," Lily said, firmly. "Do I regret the path she led us down? Sometimes,
yeah. But she was right about one prophecy, how can we disregard the
other?"
Alice took a deep breath. Then she nodded, slowly, before raising her
glass. As they so often did, over the years, she offered their traditional
toast.
"What began in death," she said.
Lily raised her own glass, and completed the phrase.
"...Will end in glory."
Then they drank, each hoping that the road they walked would get
easier. Somehow.
oOoOoOoOo
11 August 1978
Longbottom Hall
As night fell, the wedding reception was slowly winding down. The older folks
had begun to make their excuses, and Frank Longbottom was busy
gladhanding the departing guests. Many of them were important, or believed
themselves so, and Frank did not want to risk insult by failing to properly send
them off.
Those who remained were enjoying a quiet moment before the party began
anew.
Alice Longbottom had taken the opportunity to find a sitting room, just off one
of the balconies overlooking the grounds. She had found Peter Pettigrew sitting
next to his date, Sybil Trelawney. Both had been nervous wrecks before the
wedding, but Peter had somehow managed to calm the older Ravenclaw down.
Alice had chuckled at the sight of the pair, each with their feet up, smoking on
the balcony.
Whatever it was they were smoking, it seemed to have done the trick. Peter
was calmer than she had ever seen him, and Sybil was sitting still for the first
time all night.
Alice simply relished the time to herself, as she put her own feet up and
relaxed for the first time all night. An elf brought her a slice of wedding cake,
being careful to pop in and out quietly. Then, the elf returned with a glass of
champagne.
Having never grown up with house elves, Alice smiled. She could definitely get
used to this.
It was ten minutes of blissful silence before Lily Potter walked in. Seeing her
friend, she grinned and sat down as quietly as her bridesmaid's dress would
allow. Alice whispered again for a house elf, and soon Lily had her own cake
and champagne.
Peter stood at that point, and seemed to whisper to Sybil. She replied with a
loud snore. He shrugged, and then scurried off to find his friends.
Lily chuckled to herself as she watched him go. "He always seems lost without
the boys," she remarked.
Alice could only nod. "He and Sybil seem to have hit it off, don't you think?"
"I don't know about that," Lily said, nodding toward the sleeping woman.
"She ended up comfortable enough with him that she slept with him on the first
date," Alice replied.
Lily looked shocked for an instant, before she burst out in laughter. Alice
couldn't help but join her.
Sybil Trelawney didn't stir.
After a moment of quiet, Alice gestured with her glass. "You know, if Frank
has his way, we'll be having a lot more evenings like this one."
Lily raised an eyebrow. "What, weddings?"
"No, I mean balls and parties and so on," Alice replied. "He said it's all part of
being a great house."
Lily nodded, and sipped her own drink. "James has said much the same," she
said. "Sometimes I'm not sure if he's talking about the Potters or the Light as a
whole."
"The Great House shall stand at the hands of the sons."
Alice and Lily turned to the open door to the balcony, and saw Sybil
Trelawney sitting up ramrod straight. Her voice was quiet, her words slightly
slurred, but it was clear that she had spoken.
"What?" said Alice, in shock.
"The Great House shall fall at the hands of the sons," Sybil continued. Her
voice grew stronger, and had an ethereal quality.
"Which house?" Lily demanded. "What are you talking about?"
Sybil Trelawney ignored her. Instead, she turned toward the two women. They
gasped when they saw that her eyes were glowing.
"The House that Stands follows its own path," she declared. "Rough-hewn
stone though it may be. Its road begins in death, and ends in glory, and both
shall herald its legacy."
"Fuck me," whispered Alice. "It's a prophecy."
"The House that Falls is built on sand, and the voice of truth telling lies. It
inflicts its own wounds, for no higher gain, just power among those called
wise."
Sybil seemed to slump backwards slightly, resting in the chair as she
continued.
"The Great House shall stand at the hands of the sons.
The Great House shall fall at the hands of the sons."
With that, she curled in on herself, as if drained. Before she passed out, she
muttered something else, something so quiet only Lily could hear.
"What was that? What else did she say?" asked an increasingly worried Alice
Longbottom.
Lily Evans turned and looked at her friend. "It was latin. She said 'Ad Fine
Belli, Qui Audet, Vincit.'"
Alice could not take her eyes off of the now passed-out seer, worried that she
would speak again. "What the hell does that mean?" she asked.
Lily's voice was quiet when she replied.
"At the end of the war," she whispered. "Who dares, wins."
A/N: It's no secret that this story was first envisioned as a one-shot,
told as a reversal of the Prodigal Son challenge from DZ2. But it very
quickly grew beyond that, even though much of the challenge
framework remains (although reversed). One of the first things I did
when I decided to bite the bullet and continue the tale was to figure
out what the throwaway second prophecy actually was. I'm pleased
to say that the prophecy here is pretty close to what I came up with,
more than two years ago (!). It's changed a bit, and I tried to make it
a bit more poetic, but the outlines are there. Now, as to what it
means? I'm not telling.
And that's the trick. Alice and Lily heard it, and while they may not
have taken it to heart, they never forgot it. So, when Trelawney
gives another prophecy more than a year later, and the Headmaster
himself thinks it's a true prophecy, well - Lily and Alice start
wondering what the first prophecy might mean.
Yes, the future Professor Trelawney was Peter Pettigrew's plus one,
for no other reason than that I found it funny (and I needed a
reason to invite her). Besides, the idea of her giving a true prophecy
while stoned out of her gourd amuses me. On top of that, have y'all
seen that picture of Peter in the Order of the Phoenix? No one can
tell me that creepy bastard didn't smoke all the weed the late 70's
could provide.
I couldn't find Alice Longbottom's maiden name anywhere. So, she
gets to share a name with Jason and Laura Kenny, who hold the
male and female records for most individual medals for Great
Britain at the Olympic games.
Today's latin translation comes courtesy Google Translate. Give me
a better version that keeps the punchline, and I'll update
accordingly. This felt close enough for government work.
Good luck with NaNoWriMo. I'll be doing what I can.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
31. The Weight of Commands
In many ways, Dani Diggle was a contradiction.
She had spent her first years being taught at home, sometimes by tutors,
but usually by her grandfather. Dani had always been allowed to let her
studies go where her interests led her, since she did not have to follow a
structure of exams and coursework. So long as she learned the material,
she could study as she wished.
When she had tested into the fifth year, even though by age she should
probably have been in the fourth, no one blinked. If you did not know
her date of birth, you'd never realize how young she actually was.
It had worried her a bit, when she learned that she would be a year
ahead. Colin Creevey had done a lot to put her at ease, and then Ginny
Weasley and her other yearmates did the same. Even Harry Potter was
supportive, something Dani had not expected.
In truth, however, it was Jamie Potter who had done more to welcome
Dani Diggle than anyone other than Colin. That, too, was surprising,
since he was a new student as well. They had first met over the summer,
when the Headmaster brought examiners in from the Ministry. For Jamie,
and his friend Trevor, they were administering OWLs. For Dani, the tests
were more varied, intended to show that she was caught up to her
prospective yearmates.
As they had waited for results, Jamie and Trevor had led her down to the
kitchens, where the three had a light lunch. The elves did not enjoy
serving an empty castle, and welcomed them with open arms.
When asked, Jamie told Dani that he had grown up on stories about the
school - its history, its professors, and its secrets. For someone who had
never set foot in the castle before that summer, it was clear that the lost
Potter twin had a reverence for the institution.
He was also a skilled storyteller, as she learned that afternoon. Trevor
chimed in, of course, but it was Jamie who carried the tale.
Now, months later, Dani Diggle was sitting at breakfast, watching as her
fellow Gryffindors buzzed with nervous energy. The younger years
huddled together in whispered conversations, speculating on the events
of the day. The older years were doing their best to focus.
Dani had come prepared, with her coat and scarf. She would be
supporting Jamie, though in truth she was not worried. She had seen him
fly before, after all.
Quidditch Tryouts had not been this dramatic for Gryffindor in many
years. With two graduated chasers, and two beaters who left the school
rather dramatically the previous year, the team was expected to have a
rebuilding year.
Dani glanced down the table, and saw Harry Potter speaking with Katie
Bell. Her arm, severed during the attack on Diagon Alley, had been
regrown, but it was still in a sling to keep it at least partially
immobilized. She would serve as the team's coach, since she wasn't
comfortable flying yet.
She had gotten lucky. The curse that severed her arm was her own, and
lacked any dark magic. Luckier still, she had cast the spell before the
cursed fire could reach her shoulder, which would have prevented the
sort of regrowing charms that had worked so well. Most witches and
wizards who lose limbs do so in battle, and the dark magic cripples them
for life. Reattachment is a possibility, sometimes - but not when the
severed arm is incinerated, as it had been here.
Katie Bell wanted to be 100% healthy before she flew in a game. Even if
the professional scouts would understand her situation, she knew that she
really only had one shot at a spot on a team. She fully intended to make
the most of it.
Dani was excited - it was going to be much more fun than a Hogsmeade
weekend. After all, she had spent a lot of time in the village, but she had
never seen Quidditch tryouts.
oOoOoOoOo
By the time Katie and Harry saw the assembled crowd of Gryffindors,
they knew what was happening. There were probably a dozen or so flyers
with a shot at the team, based on previous years or skill. The rest just
wanted to fly with the boy who lived.
Both of them, perhaps, thought Harry, as he noticed the second and third
year girls gazing over at Jamie, who stood with Demelza Robins and
Ginny Weasley, all three of whom were trying out for chaser.
It was odd, seeing some of the reactions he had gotten over the years
now directed at Jamie. But it was just something the lost twin would
have to deal with, if he planned to be on the team.
Harry and Ron began organizing the younger students into two teams.
The sides would play a pickup game, with Katie refereeing from the
stands. If anyone stood out, Katie would move them up to the formal
tryouts. If not, they'd form practice squads to play against throughout the
year. It would give the team a chance to practice under match conditions,
and it would give the younger players time to practice against a more
experienced side - something that would make them better prospects for
future years.
Katie had done the math. Even if she played part of the year, she was
graduating. Harry would be gone the following year, as would Jamie (if
he made the team). Ron, a sixth year, would be competing against
Cormac McClaggen, a seventh year, for keeper.
Gryffindor had been lucky to have a core group of seven that could stick
together for a number of years - but now they needed to build for the
future.
When the younger players took off, Harry waved Jamie over to the
bench. There, Harry handed his brother a package.
"This was the best chaser broom I could find on short notice," Harry
explained, as Jamie unwrapped the broom. "Everything local is
backordered, since the fire."
The broom Harry had ordered was a Starsweeper XI. Jamie had never
seen one, though he had read about them. All he knew was that they
were not designed for quidditch.
He raised an eyebrow as he looked at his brother. "A quodpot broom?"
Jamie asked.
Harry shrugged. "Good speed, precise control, everything you need to
make the shot." He nodded toward the broom, as if presenting it. "If you
can ignore the fact that it's American, I think you'll like it better than the
Nimbus."
Jamie's eyes ran the length of the broom, taking it in. He was still
surprised that Harry had gone to the trouble to order a broom in the first
place. When he looked up, Harry could see the question in his eyes.
"I'm not going to be the one to stop you from making the team, Jamie,"
Harry answered. "You didn't ask for any of this, and neither did I. The
best we can do is just move on."
Jamie frowned at that, but said nothing. Again his eyes met Harry's, and
it looked like his brother was going to say something else. Before he
could speak, however, a whistle blew.
"Alright, clear the pitch!" shouted Katie Bell.
Harry grinned, and inclined his head at the brand new broom. "Better
take that for a lap or two, make sure you have a feel for it."
"Yeah, I'm on it," Jamie said, absently.
Harry nodded, and mounted his Firebolt.
"Harry!" Jamie called, just before his brother could take off.
"Yeah?" Harry asked, turning back to face Jamie.
Jamie held up the broom. "Thanks, Harry."
"Of course," Harry replied. And with that, he took off.
Trevor walked up as Jamie watched Harry warm up.
"He actually did it, didn't he?" Trevor remarked.
"Yeah, mate, he did," replied Jamie, looking down at the broom.
Trevor looked at his friend, and saw the uncertainty on his face. The
doubts that had piled up over the past months, the tension between his
parents and his brother, the lofty plans of the Headmaster. Everything.
"Oi," said Trevor. "Look up there."
Jamie followed Trevor's outstretched hand, and saw only the goals.
"Yeah? What about them?"
Trevor sighed. "What do you see?"
"I don't know, Trev, why don't you tell me?"
"Fine," said Trevor. "What I see is the only thing that matters for the next
hour or so. That goal. You fly your arse up there, take the quaffle, and
score." He grinned, as Jamie looked back at him in a mixture of
annoyance and amusement.
"That simple, eh?" Jamie sighed.
"That simple," agreed Trevor. "If it was any simpler, I'd actually be able to
beat you."
Jamie turned his head, and looked up in the stands, to where several
professors were seated. His mother's red hair was easy to spot.
"It's never that simple, Trev," he said, quietly.
"It better get real simple, real fast, Jamie," Trevor replied, still grinning.
"Or else you're going to be the reserve player with the fanciest broom."
oOoOoOoOo
Draco Malfoy woke to pain in his shoulders, just as he had every night
since the beginning of September.
It had been obvious, when the Dark Lord gave him this task, that no one
expected him to succeed. Some even wondered out loud how long he
would last, surrounded by the enemies of the Dark Lord.
Even the most pessimistic of death eaters did not expect him to fail on
the first night. The Dark Lord certainly hadn't, and his anger was fuel for
the cruciatus.
The next morning, when he came to, Draco was told that he had been
under the torture curse for seventeen seconds. It had felt like years.
What he had not known about the cruciatus, and what no one had been
brave enough to tell him, was that it was nearly impossible to sleep
afterwards. Even now, weeks later, Draco could simply not find a way to
lay down without aggravating his nerves. Nor could he brew the potions
that might help alleviate his symptoms - not with his hands shaking like
this.
Wearily, Draco stumbled through his morning routine, cleaning himself
and preparing for the day. He nearly stumbled on the narrow staircase as
he descended to the kitchen of the small Hogsmeade safehouse.
A plate of fruit and eggs was waiting for him, the stasis charm keeping
the food fresh. A Malfoy elf was standing nearby, waiting for him. When
Draco was seated, the elf poured a glass of water.
The sight of a familiar elf gave Draco some small measure of hope. He
took it as a sign that he was not alone. He did not know that his father
had ordered the Malfoy elves to obey the Dark Lord.
After his empty plate was cleared away, Draco finally looked at the box
in the center of the table. He did not dare open it, for he knew what it
contained.
It was his penance, the price of failure. Now, instead of being a spy and a
thief, he was reduced to playing assassin.
Somehow, this cursed amulet needed to make it to the neck of
Headmaster Dumbledore.
Wearily, Draco placed his head in his hands. One thought ran through his
mind.
How the hell am I going to pull this off?
oOoOoOoOo
Chaser tryouts ended a few minutes early, when Demelza Robins was
struck with a bludger. She managed to land, before passing out, to
everyone's relief.
When she came to, she panicked. On her left, Harry Potter was leaning
over her, making sure she was alright, while on her right stood Harry
Potter, holding her broom and looking worried.
"Fuck me, I'm seeing double," she groaned, covering her eyes with her
hand.
"Funny," Harry said with a laugh, offering his hand. "I said the same thing
just this morning."
Once he had helped her up, Harry waved his wand and cleaned the dirt
off of her quidditch robes. She sat down on the nearby bench as Madam
Hooch checked her over for injuries. Other than being a bit shaken up,
she was fine, but decided to go to the hospital wing as a precaution.
Jamie agreed to take her broom back to Gryffindor Tower, and left soon
after with Trevor.
Harry, meanwhile, mounted his broom and flew up to the stands, where
he found Katie Bell waiting for him.
"You've got a hell of a squad, Captain," Katie declared, with a smirk.
"Seems that way, Coach," he replied. He inclined his head toward the
now empty pitch, and gave her an inquiring look. "What did you think?"
Katie's smile faded slightly, as she considered the question. There was
only one prospect he would be asking about, since he knew the styles and
skills of everyone else who had tried out. "I think that we're really going
to need that practice squad."
Harry winced, knowing how much more work that would be for her.
"You saw it too, then?"
"Yup," she agreed. "He's never played with a full squad. Every time Jamie
tried to run a play with Ginny and Demelza, he broke it up instead. His
passing is weak, and he didn't have enough of a head about him to track
the quaffle when he didn't have it."
Harry nodded. None of that was a surprise. "But?" he prompted.
"But, every single shot he actually took was on target," she admitted. "He
nearly gave Mclaggen fits. Ron did a lot better, but then again he did
better against everybody."
Harry nodded again, and looked out onto the pitch. "He grew up isolated,
Katie. No wonder he flies solo."
"Not all the time," she corrected. "He and Trevor Longbottom are as close
as you and Neville, if not closer."
"Yeah, and if Trevor had an interest in quidditch, I think you'd have seen
a different side to Jamie today," said Harry. "According to Neville, Trevor
enjoys flying more than he does playing the game. If Jamie hadn't been
so eager to play, Trevor might never have bothered with it."
Katie frowned at that. "Your father was a chaser, wasn't he?"
For the briefest moment, Harry almost corrected her to 'biological father',
but then he decided against it. It really didn't matter.
To Katie, he simply shrugged. "So I'm told."
"So," Katie continued. "The only voice in his ear was probably pushing
him in one direction." She gestured out at the pitch. "We both saw him on
that broom, he'd be a fine seeker if he put the work in like you have."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Better than the current seeker?"
"Don't be daft," Katie scoffed. "Point is, he goes where he's led." She
nodded toward his gleaming Captain's badge. "With the right leadership,
he'll do fine."
"Here's hoping," Harry said, with a frown. "If he decides to listen to the
wrong voices, it'll go badly."
"So," she replied, a playful tone in her voice. "Be the brother he needs,
then."
"If he lets me," answered Harry.
oOoOoOoOo
After watching Jamie tryout for the Gryffindor team, and making sure
that Harry gave his brother a fair shot, Lily Potter made her way down to
Hogsmeade. As a new professor, she was required to assist with
Hogsmeade weekends. Alice Longbottom had gone to the village with the
first group of students, since she did not have a son competing that day.
In most cases, professors were required merely to be present in the
village. So long as students could approach them as needed, professors
were able to do as they wished. Alice had taken the opportunity to
replenish some of her potions ingredients at the village's potions shop.
Minerva would frequently visit the three broomsticks for a drink with her
colleagues.
Today, Lily was having lunch with an old friend.
Since returning to the Wizarding World, Lily had been filled with doubts.
She knew that the Headmaster had a plan, and that she and James - and
Jamie - had an integral role in that plan. Yet still, she could not shake the
feeling that events were spiraling out of her control. It was not a feeling
she enjoyed.
Her friend was already sitting in a corner booth, and had ordered for the
both of them. Even with the tryouts ending early, both women had
known that it would be a late lunch.
She did not rise as Lily came to the table. Only when she was seated did
her friend speak.
"Lily, you look like hell," said Andromeda Tonks.
Lily sighed, and took a sip of the butterbeer in front of her. "Thank you,
Andi," she said.
Andromeda raised her own butterbeer in response. The older witch had
been a Slytherin prefect in her seventh year when a very young Lily
Evans had been sorted. Despite the house divide, she had become friends
with the muggleborn Gryffindor, and that friendship had continued after
Hogwarts.
Once she began working at Saint Mungo's as a healer, it was natural that
Lily would see her. Most healers were pureblooded, and shared the usual
prejudice against muggleborns. Lily had known that Andromeda held no
such bias, as anyone who had met her husband could attest.
Andromeda had even delivered Harry and Jamie.
It was that relationship that had seen her recruited to provide healing
services for a family in hiding, after the end of the war. Andromeda had
been hesitant - she had wanted nothing to do with the war, after all, and
celebrated its end - but Lord Diggle had been persuasive. He argued that
she would be able to help a family in need, without compromising her
values.
The unspoken message was that the family in hiding was not that of one
of the death eaters who had fled to evade capture. That had been one of
the biggest sticking points for Andromeda.
When he gave her a slip of parchment telling her about the estate at
Falcon's Rest, she was intrigued.
When she arrived to find the Potters, she was shocked.
When she learned why she did not find all of the Potters, she was
appalled.
Of course, then came the assurances. Harry was safe and healthy, she was
told, and the fidelius charm had not worked out so well for the Potters
anyway. They were not willing to risk both sons, when other options
existed. Better to separate them.
Again, Lord Diggle had been most persuasive. Andromeda agreed to be
oath-bound, promising on her magic never to reveal that the Potters
lived.
As Lily and Andromeda ate their lunch, they talked about little of
consequence. Lily talked about taking over the DADA position, and
proudly described Jamie's performance at the quidditch tryouts.
It was nothing Andromeda had not expected, and she said so.
"Sirius told me that Harry was fully expecting his brother to make the
team," she said, meeting Lily's eyes. Lily looked down, a brief look of
guilt on her face.
"Jamie takes after his father when he gets on a broom," Lily replied,
quietly, as she picked at her meal.
"Good for him," Andromeda replied. "It sounds like Harry is putting
together a good team."
"I hope so," Lily said.
Andromeda took a sip of her drink, and sat back. "So," she began, "Can
we talk about this like adults, or do I have to catch you sneaking out of
the library for you to be honest with me?"
Lily's eyes widened at the comment, even as she smirked at the memory
it brought to her mind. They had first become friends when Andi had
caught her leaving the library too late to escape curfew. What's more, she
never let Lily forget it.
It meant something, that she mentioned it now. To Lily, it said that she
was speaking to Andi, her friend, rather than Healer Tonks or Sirius'
cousin.
After a moment, Lily let her guard down.
"Sirius," Lily said, almost in a whisper.
Andromeda nodded. "Sirius."
"By the time we found out what happened, Andi, it was too late," Lily
argued, halfheartedly.
"Too late for what?" Andromeda responded, without heat. "He could have
been granted a hearing at any time, you know that. The Chief Warlock
could have made it happen at will."
"And how would he learn about it?" Lily asked. "He'd have had to reveal
his source."
Andromeda nodded, seeing the picture come together. "And he wasn't
willing to do that."
Lily shook her head. "Too much was at stake, Andi." She looked up and
met her friend's eyes. "Too much is still at stake."
"You've said that before, too," Andromeda remarked, as she took another
drink. "I never quite understood that."
Lily sighed, wearily. It was obvious to Andromeda that the younger witch
was under enormous pressure.
"You're one of my oldest friends, Andi," Lily said, almost desperately.
"You delivered my sons, and you delivered Rose as well. You handed her
to me, so I could say goodbye. You didn't have to do that, but you knew
how devastated we were, so you did it anyway. You've always been there
for me. Please, trust me now."
Andromeda paused as Lily spoke, her drink halfway to her lips. When
Lily finished speaking, Andromeda slowly set her butterbeer down on the
table.
"Lily, I've never turned my back on someone I considered a friend, and
I'm not going to start now," she said, evenly. "I told you that long before
you had me deliver the boys."
Lily nodded, clearly relieved.
"So understand that I want to help you," Andromeda continued. "in any
way I can."
"Thank you," Lily whispered. "Thank you."
"And that's why you need to be honest with me, Madam Potter,"
Andromeda intoned, an edge to her voice. Lily's eyes widened as she saw
that Andromeda now had her wand on the table, held lightly in her
fingertips.
"Andi?" Lily said, alarmed.
"I need you to be straight with me, right now." Andromeda snarled. "Who
the fuck is Rose?"
Lily paled visibly, even in the dim light of the Three Broomsticks.
"I remember every child I've ever delivered, Lily. Every single one. The
ones who thrived, and the ones who didn't. You never had a daughter,"
Andromeda continued, coldly. "Explain."
Shock forced Lily to speak, even as her instincts were screaming at her.
"I… when we went into hiding, I lost the baby…" she said, in a whisper.
"She was stillborn. We named her Rose. You handed her to me, and we
cried over her together."
Whatever response Lily expected from her friend, it wasn't the one she
got.
"...What the fuck…" Andromeda whispered, shaken.
oOoOoOoOo
For Ambrose Rookwood, it was a novelty to have a date to Hogsmeade.
He had never been serious with anyone to the point of taking them on a
Hogsmeade weekend. Often, he would skip the visits entirely, taking
advantage of the free time to study.
Now, with Pansy Parkinson on his arm, he found that the weekend was
much more enjoyable.
The two Slytherins had walked the village, as if they had no cares in the
world. For the morning, that was the case. It felt as if the war had
ignored the village, for there were no signs of the ongoing conflict in
evidence. Even the few aurors he could spot had none of the tension he
would have expected.
After lunch, Ambrose accompanied Pansy to some of the small shops that
catered to the students of Hogwarts. Outside Honeydukes, they met up
with Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, who were doing some shopping of
their own. The two aurors following them were doing well to keep their
distance, but still managed to make their presence known.
After all, it would not do to have anyone harm the Minister's daughters.
"Would you mind if I went with Daphne and Astoria?" Pansy asked.
Ambrose raised an eyebrow, even as he chuckled. "Girl stuff?"
Pansy nodded. "Girl stuff."
Leaning down, Ambrose gave her a kiss. "Have fun, then. I'll see you at
dinner?"
"Of course," she agreed. Then Pansy gave him a kiss of her own, before
walking over to the Greengrasses.
Ambrose looked over at the nearest auror, an older man named Gordon
Drummond, and made eye contact. The auror nodded in silent
agreement. Ambrose nodded in turn, knowing that Pansy would be
protected if something happened.
He leaned against the shopfront and watched the girls as they went,
smiling to himself. When they, and their guard, had turned a corner,
Ambrose straightened himself up and walked toward the village gates.
There, he helped Professor Sinistra keep track of the students entering the
village, and those making their way back to the castle. Toward the end of
the day, the prefects would know who the stragglers were, so that they
could go look for them in the village.
A group of third years asked him for directions, which he gave. As he was
distracted, he did not notice the student speaking with the Professor.
"Hey! Get back here!"
Ambrose turned, and saw a third year Slytherin darting away from the
Professor. The boy ran directly toward the woods, heading in the
direction of the Shrieking Shack.
"I'll take care of it, Professor," he told Sinistra. When she nodded in
agreement, Ambrose Rookwood ran into the woods, chasing after the
fleeing student.
oOoOoOoOo
It was not yet mid-afternoon, so there was plenty of light filtering
through the trees. The leaves had begun to turn, but only just. In some
ways, it felt like summer was lingering this year.
Despite that, Ambrose quickly lost the trail he had been following. It was
as if the footsteps just ended. It was unnerving enough to force him to
pull out his wand.
He did not hear the voice until it was too late.
"Imperio," said a young boy's voice, coming from behind. Ambrose felt the
unforgivable curse wash over him, and fought it. But he had been caught
by surprise, and the caster was powerful enough to assert his will.
Having been given no instructions, Ambrose froze in place, his wand
outstretched but unused. He heard footsteps in the brush, and saw the
student he had been chasing come into view.
"You will not reveal that you are under the imperius in any way," the boy
said. "Acknowledge verbally."
Ambrose tried to clench his teeth together, to hold his breath, anything to
fight the effects of the curse, to no avail.
"I will not reveal that I am under the imperius in any way," he said, in a
conversational tone. After all, the forced drone of someone under the
curse would reveal that he was under the curse, which he could not
allow. It was one of the hallmarks of a caster unfamiliar with the nature
of the imperius, and one of the chief weapons of the aurors in finding its
victims.
So few understood that the telltale signs of the imperius curse could be
hidden, merely by ordering it so. In the back of his mind, the part of
Ambrose that was still aware filed that piece of information away.
Whoever this was, they had access to polyjuice and knew quite a bit
about the imperius.
"You will wait for one hour without being seen by any student or member
of staff," the boy ordered. "Then, you will proceed to your post at the
village gates. Remain there until five o'clock. Then, enter the village and
go to the house at the address on this parchment."
The boy held out a scrap of parchment, and Ambrose did nothing.
The boy huffed in annoyance. "Take the parchment, lad," he said.
Ambrose took the parchment, noting the fact that whoever was before
him was likely an older wizard, rather than someone around his age. He
considered it unlikely that a witch would have polyjuiced as a wizard,
though he could not discount any possibility at this point.
"When you arrive," the boy continued, "knock on the front door seven
times. The man there will place you under his own imperius. You will
obey his instructions completely. Acknowledge verbally."
Again, Ambrose fought the order. Again, he was unable to do anything
other than obey. With clenched teeth, he repeated his orders. "I will wait
for one hour without being seen by any student or member of staff. Then,
I will proceed to my post at the village gates. I will remain there until
five o'clock. Then, I will enter the village and go to the house at the
address on this parchment. Once there, I will knock on the front door
seven times. I am to obey the instructions I am given completely."
"Good," the boy said, with a nod. "You must understand, Mister
Rookwood, that this is nothing personal."
Ambrose's expression remained even, but he saw an opportunity to fight
back within the orders he had been given, and he took it.
"I understand that this is nothing personal," he recited, in the same voice
he had used to repeat his previous orders. He had, after all, been told to
acknowledge verbally.
His captor nodded. "There is far too much on the line to risk anything,
you see."
"I see that there is far too much on the line to risk anything," Ambrose
repeated.
"Good lad," the boy said. "Off you go, then."
"Off I go, then," Ambrose said, even as he turned and walked deeper into
the woods.
After a few minutes, Ambrose found a quiet spot and sat down on a log to
consider his situation. He had to obey his orders, that was undeniable.
There was no way he could get someone to dispel the curse without
revealing that he was subject to it - which would, itself, violate his
orders. That was, after all, why it was so critical to give detailed orders.
More than a dozen death eaters had been caught during the first war,
simply because they were lazy in their use of the imperius. Their victims
were able to get themselves caught, and then were able to testify as to
the identity of the one who cursed them. His father had told him stories
about some of the more spectacular failures, each framed as a cautionary
tale.
If you know your victim cannot disobey you, then give the orders that
matter.
In this case, Ambrose had been ordered to keep the curse secret. He had
not, however, been ordered not to think about it. So think about it, he
did.
oOoOoOoOo
When he arrived back at the gates to Hogsmeade, Ambrose told Professor
Sinistra that he had escorted the wayward student to the castle. She
shrugged, knowing that the boy's name would be marked off the list at
that end. The enchanted parchment she held would reflect the change,
and that would be that. She did not ask the name of the student, because
she didn't need to know - the problem was handled.
Ambrose, even as he played the role of prefect, thought about the fact
that his captor had not even bothered to take on a real student's identity.
He had looked at the list, and saw no third year Slytherin boys in the
village. Which, of course, meant that the boy had not been a student. Did
someone have random hairs, just in case they needed to polyjuice into a
particular form?
He had also told Ambrose that this wasn't personal. What wasn't
personal? Had he been targeted directly? He had assumed it was a death
eater plot, but now he wasn't sure. None of the death eaters would have
told him that it wasn't personal, simply because it was personal. He had
rejected the Dark Lord, both by balking at his invitation and by sheltering
Pansy.
The Dark Lord tended to take that sort of thing rather personally.
As the afternoon dragged on, Ambrose Rookwood came to understand the
true reason why the imperius curse was declared an unforgivable curse.
He was trapped in his own mind.
Every time he tried to assert himself, the curse brought him back in line.
He simply could not disobey. This, for a wizard who prided himself on
control, would have been enough to cause him stress.
He couldn't even exhibit stress, though. If his heart rate increased, if he
began sweating or breathing heavily or what have you, it could be a sign
that he was under the imperius. He had been ordered not to reveal the
curse, by any means. So, his automatic responses to stress were locked
down and suppressed.
This, of course, would be enough to put him on the edge of panic. But he
couldn't even do that.
Ambrose Rookwood found the experience terrifying.
oOoOoOoOo
At the appointed time, Ambrose made his way to the house located at the
edge of the village. He knocked seven times, as he had been instructed.
Then he stood and waited, wondering who would answer.
When the door opened, Ambrose was surprised to find himself standing
in front of Draco Malfoy.
"In, quickly!" Draco hissed. Ambrose, having been told to obey the
instructions he was given by this person, entered the house.
"Are you under the imperius?" Draco asked, without preamble.
Ambrose turned to look at him. The Heir Malfoy was pale and tired, his
hands shook, and his clothes seemed to be pieced together from whatever
he could find. It made sense, especially if he had been punished for his
fight with Professor Flitwick and subsequent escape from the castle.
It had been a decent ploy, sending a death eater in under polyjuice. It
had even worked before. Once revealed, it would tell everyone that the
Dark Lord could put his followers anywhere, as anyone. His enemies
would question their closest friends, their allies, their families. Fear
would reign.
Instead, the ploy had been exposed almost immediately. No, the Dark
Lord would not have been happy.
Ambrose's orders were to not reveal the curse. He had not been told to
say anything. So he didn't.
"Fucks sake, Rookwood, answer me!" Draco hissed, angrily.
Ambrose did not sigh - the curse prevented it. Instead, he obeyed.
"I was ordered not to reveal that I was under the imperius to anyone, in
any way." he said.
"That's not an answer, Rookwood!" Draco snapped.
"I was ordered not to reveal that I was under the imperius to anyone, in
any way." Ambrose repeated. He knew the answer would anger the death
eater before him, but in that moment Ambrose Rookwood did not give a
single flying shit about Draco Malfoy's feelings.
"You think you're so fucking clever, do you?" Draco snarled, as he
brought his wand up. "Fine. Imperio."
Ambrose's eyes widened as the curse washed over him, for the second
time that day. It was easier for Draco, Ambrose thought, because there
was no resistance to the curse whatsoever.
One poorly understood fact about the imperius is that you cannot be
placed under its effects by two different wizards at the same time. When
Draco cast his curse, the earlier curse was released. If the caster saw
Ambrose again, his magic would know that his own curse had been
lifted, but that was unlikely.
Why polyjuice again and risk exposure? Half the reason for using
someone under the imperius was so that they could act on your behalf.
Draco could, of course, remedy this by ordering Ambrose to follow all
previous orders. Alas, he did not think about that.
"Stand still." Draco ordered.
Ambrose, who had already been standing still, complied.
Then he fell to the ground, when Draco Malfoy cast a banishing hex on
his leg. It was as if his right leg had been kicked out from under him,
which wrenched the left leg and sent him tumbling to the floor. Having
been ordered to stand still, Ambrose could not even break his own fall.
"Lay there," Draco said, as he walked to a nearby table. "Let it bleed, you
fucking know it all."
A box was tossed at Ambrose's feet. Having been told to simply lay there,
Ambrose did not react. He could not even bring himself to turn his head
toward the item.
"When I say to leave, go back to the castle, and take that with you,"
Draco ordered. "Do not be seen before you arrive. Act as you normally
would. Use your prefect status to arrange a meeting with Dumbledore.
Say whatever you need to say to make that happen. Once you are alone
with him, give him the box and tell him to open it."
Ambrose thought about the instructions he had been given. As before, he
said nothing.
"Well?" Draco snapped. "Why aren't you moving?"
"I was ordered to lay there and let it bleed," Ambrose replied in an even
tone.
That earned him a kick to his left knee.
"Get up!" Draco shouted. Ambrose complied, wincing as his knee
screamed with pain. He saw blood on the floor near where his head had
lain, and wondered how frightful he looked. He had not been ordered to
run a hand over his face, however, and so he did not.
"Take the box and go," Draco ordered, pointing at the door. "Get out of
here."
Ambrose said nothing. He merely lifted the box from the floor, wincing
again as he bent over. Then he turned and walked through the front door
and into Hogsmeade.
oOoOoOoOo
Ambrose Rookwood thought about his situation as he walked through the
woods, up to the castle. He was amused when he realized that this was
the path he supposedly used to escort the missing third year Slytherin up
to the castle that afternoon.
Here, it served another purpose. It allowed him to comply with his
orders. He would not be seen before he arrived at the castle.
As he walked, he came to the conclusion that, unlike his earlier captor,
Draco Malfoy was not an expert in the use of the imperius curse. If he
was, he would not have ordered Ambrose to act as he normally would.
The Rookwoods were known for learning and keeping secrets. But that
was only half of the story. No, what mattered more was how and when
those secrets were revealed, and to whom.
Draco had told him to act normally. So, he would do exactly that.
In a stroke of luck, it was his Head of House at the castle entrance,
checking in students. Septima Vector glanced at him as he approached,
and looked down at her parchment. Then her eyes snapped back up, as
his appearance registered.
Ambrose had straightened his uniform, as he normally would. He had
not, however, cleaned his face. He had, after all, been told to let it bleed.
"My word, Mister Rookwood, what happened?" Professor Vector asked, as
she hurried over to him.
"We're going to need to speak with the Headmaster and Deputy
Headmistress, Professor," Ambrose replied.
"Of course," Vector said, with a worried expression on her face. "What
happened, exactly?"
"I'd rather wait, Professor," he replied, hoping that she took his tone as
weariness, rather than growing panic.
It took only a few minutes for Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor
McGonagall to arrive, as they both had been in the Great Hall. Vector led
them to a nearby classroom, where the professors watched as Ambrose
set his wand down on the Professor's desk at the front of the room. Then
he crossed to the other side of the room and took a seat.
"Well, Mister Rookwood?" asked McGonagall, clearly annoyed at having
been pulled away from dinner. "What is this all about?"
Rookwood smiled, having felt part of the curse fall away as he completed
his orders. Certainly, no one would have expected him to get a meeting
with the Headmaster this quickly, but his approach had been effective
nonetheless.
Of course, no one would have anticipated what he said in that meeting.
"Professors, it's like this," Rookwood said, politely. "I seem to have been
placed under the imperius."
A/N: Welcome to 2022.
Y'all, I have thoughts about the imperius. Perhaps that comes from
growing up with the classic Robot novels of Isaac Asimov, where
giving precise orders avoided all manner of mischief. Here, a simple
"Don't get caught" can have the full weight of magic behind it, and
the victim would be compelled to aid their captor. A skilled caster,
like our first example, can pull off quite a bit. An unskilled caster,
on the other hand, like our lad Draco? Not so much.
It helps that Ambrose knows more about the curse than most,
thanks to his father - who was probably more skilled in its use than
anyone. (And yes, Augustus Rookwood really is dead. That's not up
for debate, Ambrose buried the man himself. Either it's obvious that
he would have made certain, or I've written him all wrong.)
I had to add the bit about Rookwood's impulse to panic, and
realizing that he couldn't. Patients being treated for catastrophic
injuries have reported feeling trapped in their own bodies, unable
to react to stimuli despite being completely aware. Some forms of
seizure have a similar effect. Almost every account describes the
phenomenon as utterly terrifying.
With the imperius, being told not to panic would literally force you
to endure this most gruesome violation of your person, all without
any of the normal stress responses our bodies use to deal with the
stress caused by said violation. I mean, fuck, that's horrifying.
A point I raised in Keystone Council, and repeat here - think about
all of those death eaters who pled out due to the imperius. If they
were forced to do all of those heinous crimes, and had no remorse?
That's a big old red flag, as far as I'm concerned. A true victim would
have made amends, somehow - or decided that they could not live
with the regret.
All of that is to say this - this curse is fucking terrifying, and with
good reason.
On that happy note - Best Wishes for 2022! I'm hoping (but not
promising) to write more this year. Starting things off with a new
chapter seemed the best way to begin.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
32. Interlude - The Written Word
22 December 1978
From the desk of Augustus Rookwood, Senior Unspeakable
Department of Mysteries
My beloved son,
I held you in my arms for the first time just a week ago, and learned how
remarkable it is that everything can change in a single moment. Before, I
was an unspeakable, a revolutionary, a soldier. Now, I'm a father first,
and those other things second. Always second.
I hope you never read these words. I pray, to whatever gods may listen,
that fate protects us from what is to come.
That said, I would not be a true Rookwood if I did not prepare for the
worst, even as I hoped for the best. If you find yourself reading this letter,
and viewing the memories I plan to leave alongside it, then chances are
good my lies have caught up to me, and my enemies have managed to
end my life.
Ambrose, I need you to understand one thing - everything I did, I did so
that you would be free of this debt I have incurred on your behalf.
sound of liquid pouring
These dictation quills get better every year. It's one of the few areas
where wizards actually improve over time. In most things, we are content
to simply subsist, as we have for generations, and let our so-called
'leaders' lead us to ruin.
If we were truly better off the way things were, then we would not have
gone to war, and I wouldn't have done… well.
drinking noises
…I want to tell you about Archimedes.
Born in the city of Syracuse, in what is now Italy, Archimedes was one of
the first Greek wizards to make himself known to muggles. In many
ways, he is considered, even to this day, the patron saint of Arithmancy.
To the muggles, he is famous for his study of mathematics and science.
Simply put, that just means that he took the most basic parts of his
magical studies, filed the edges off, transfigured them into something the
muggles would understand, and wrote his own legend.
If there is one saying that Archimedes is known for, it is this. 'Give me a
lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move
the world.'
Think about that. Really let it sink in. See, Archimedes was talking about
physical force and levers. With a big enough lever, a single man could
move any weight, even the whole of the planet, just with the strength of
his hands.
Of course, we know that a wizard of his skill had a second meaning. The
tiniest spell, cast correctly and with precision, can accomplish the
greatest of effects.
sound of liquid pouring
We see this effect every day. Every choice can have effects that ripple out
in completely unexpected ways. A witch sits in the cabin on the left, on
the train to Hogwarts, and meets a pureblood who leads her toward
Slytherin. Or, perhaps she sits in the cabin on the right, and an eager
young muggleborn draws her to Ravenclaw.
Something so tiny, so mundane, as which seat to take on a train. A door
on the left, or a door on the right. But that choice can dictate the entire
scope of a witch's life.
drinking noises
Give me a lever big enough, the man said, and I shall move the world.
I am Augustus Gaius Rookwood, of the House of Rookwood. I am a
Master Unspeakable. I need no lever to move the world.
sound of glass smashing
Secrets are my lever, the ears of the powerful are my fulcrum. One word,
just one sentence in the right ear, and the world would tumble off its axis
and into the abyss.
I'm a father now. I am a soldier in what is basically a civil war for the
fate of Wizarding Britain, and I'm supposed to be a father. Everything
looks different, when you have to think about the next generation. Will I
be a good father? Will I do what must be done to protect my child?
I don't know. Understand, my son, just how hard it is for me to say those
three words. But it's the truth, and I would not have you shy away from
it. I don't know what kind of a father I'll be.
All I can do is swear to you that I will do everything I can do to protect
you.
Which, of course, is the problem.
The Ministry would execute me if they learned what we've done. The
Dark Lord would flay me, torture me, and then execute me if he learned
what we've done. I daresay that Dumbledore and his Order would look
the other way and allow it, second chances be damned, if they knew
what we've done.
All that matters to me now is ending the war. My son will not be a
soldier. He will not be a sacrifice on the altar of a madman or a fool.
The war must end, and for the first time, I find that I don't really care
who wins.
Do not avenge me, Ambrose. Do not seek out the one who ended my life.
They were merely the weapon. Look beyond the surface, as I hope to
have taught you. Look deeper.
All my love to you, my son. Good luck.
I remain,
Augustus Rookwood
(Magic willing, I'll burn this letter and you'll never see it. If only writing it
made it so. -AR)
oOoOoOoOo
2 February 1979
Internal Memorandum, Department of Mysteries
Codename Bishop
Eyes Only - Director
...The aftermath of Grindelwald's War illustrates the challenge faced by
the highest echelons of power within Wizarding Britain. The ongoing
Blood War, as it is known within the Department, shares several
important similarities to the previous conflict, and these cannot be easily
discounted when considering the shape of a postwar Wizengamot.
In both conflicts, the insurgent faction is led by a charismatic and
ruthless wizard with tendencies toward the darker end of the magical
spectrum. Both sought out alliances with ancient houses, frequently
favoring wizards of pure blood. Both have wielded the monetary
resources of those houses to great effect - Grindelwald, by expanding his
influence across Central Europe, and the Dark Lord, by increasing his
own influence among the houses of the Wizengamot.
Key differences emerge on further analysis, however. Grindelwald opened
his campaign with an almost formal declaration of war, proudly stating
his intentions for all to hear at the so-called 'Paris Incident' of 1927. His
later maneuvers in the 1932 election further illustrate this strategy. The
Dark Lord, on the other hand, became known when his followers began
striking the homes and businesses of non-purebloods. The more recent
conflict has much in common with the terror campaigns of Magical Italy
in the 1820's or the failed Mayan Invasion of the Carribbean in 952.
We note for the record that the Mayan Campaign ultimately resulted in
the Bermuda Triangle, which remains to this day one of the foremost
threats to the Statute of Secrecy. This, in turn, only highlights the risks of
a prolonged conflict within the British Isles.
A review of voting behavior during the 1977 session of the Wizengamot
indicates that several neutral houses have at least tentatively allied
themselves with the Malfoy faction, largely believed to be a stalking
horse for the Dark Lord. While the heads of those houses seem to be
operating as before, their eldest sons are often finding themselves
undergoing treatment for cruciatus exposure, suggesting a high level of
sadism from the Dark Lord.
In our estimate, then, we submit that the Dark Lord's support may not be
entirely voluntary. This represents a key weakness in the so-called "Dark"
faction, should the result of the conflict go against them. (If, on the other
hand, the Ministry falls, the point is academic. However, see Department
Memo 17-Gamma, dated 12 June 1975, for the appropriate contingency
in that scenario.)
The Pro-Ministry forces also exhibit parallels to the previous war, though
again key differences emerge upon deeper analysis. Where Albus
Dumbledore is, at present, the most prominent leader fighting the Dark
Lord, he was but one of many turning their wands against Grindelwald.
Many of those wizards, most notably the ones of Western European
descent, later took roles in a newly interventionist ICW.
In Britain, meanwhile, Dumbledore was the main beneficiary of the
conflict's end, not least for his hand in ending it. This gave him
unprecedented personal influence, with which he bolstered the efforts of
the so-called "Light" coalition in the Wizengamot. In the days following
the war against Grindelwald, the Light would have followed Dumbledore
off a cliff, had he but asked.
Even if Albus Dumbledore has no direct part in defeating the current
Dark Lord, his influence will grow in the aftermath - there is no credible
scenario where this does not occur. But his influence is already part of
our calculations - there is very little ground for his faction to gain, so to
speak. One can only slice cabbage so thin, after all. And of the houses
that might be termed as "persuadable," many have so much history with
Dumbledore that they would never openly ally with his faction, even if
their goals aligned.
To truly take advantage of a victory over the Dark Lord, then, our
analysis suggests that the Light faction should seek a new leader. A young
wizard, perhaps, magically powerful but with a strong intellect and
extensive training in politics and governance. Someone who never
attended Hogwarts, or only attended for their NEWT years or as an
apprentice, and thus was not poisoned by the house system there. Even as
a member of the Light, it is critical that the Malfoy faction (or their
successor) be comfortable doing business with this new leader. They must
know that he will follow through on his promises, and that he will listen
to their concerns and address them where he is able.
If this is not possible, the only other feasible option is to utterly
neutralize the Dark faction with as little brutality as possible. To do
otherwise simply reinforces the status quo ante, and virtually guarantees
a third such conflict within our lifetimes.
oOoOoOoOo
3 April 1979
From the Desk of Daedelus Diggle
Lord of the Noble House of Diggle
Chairman Emeritus of the Ministry Governance Committee
Chairman Emeritus of the Hogwarts Board of Governors
Chairman of the Guild of British Master Herbologists
Dear Albus,
As always, I know that there is no use in attempting to fool you. Yes, I
made a rather hasty exit from last night's meeting of the Order. I tried not
to be noticed, but young Peter Pettigrew was smoking near the back door
when I made my escape. I should have expected the lad to report on me.
I'd tell you that I have simply had a lot on my mind, but that would be
stating the obvious.
Let me preface this, then, by telling you that I stand fully behind you. I
stand behind the Order. I have sworn my magic and my life to the
furtherance of the cause of the Light, and nothing will stop me from
devoting my wand and my words to that cause. Never doubt, old friend,
that I am with you.
I would never dream of questioning you in front of the Order. You can be
wrong, and we will work through it. But if your leadership is
undermined, if our colleagues begin to question you? That is when the
whispers of the Dark are at their most powerful.
It would only take one betrayal to end the war. I doubt very much that
anyone would welcome such an outcome.
That said, I do have concerns.
I've said this before, but it bears repeating - we cannot simply focus on
ending the war. The children you place your sorting hat upon this
September will have been born after the start of the Dark Lord's
campaign. They have never known a peacetime Britain. As they grow,
what do we expect of those children?
Do you truly expect them to hew to the Light, simply because we won?
No, we know better. If we allow it, resentment will fester among the Dark
families, and they will leap at the chance to join forces with the next
Dark Lord. And there will be a next Dark Lord.
So, our task is not just to win the war. We must also win the peace as
well.
Perhaps I'm simply overthinking things, as is my prerogative. You know
me well, my old friend, and you know how my mind wanders these days.
But if I'm right, we may have an opportunity to change the course of
Wizarding Britain for the long term.
Please advise me as to your next free moment. I believe we should
discuss this in person.
I remain your servant,
D Diggle
oOoOoOoOo
15 May 1974
From the desk of Charlus Potter
Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter
James,
Oh my son, my beloved child, I wish I were there with you at Hogwarts
to discuss your letter in person. It is my duty, after all, to point out your
errors, that you might learn from them.
There is so much upon which we agree, you and I. But your proposed
'solution' to the problem of the Dark Lord would be no solution at all. It
also illustrates why children, even intelligent and creative children such
as yourself, are not to be involved in politics.
Poor old Odysseus could barely carry your letter, what with its four
sheets of parchment. Your mother was impressed with your much
improved writing, and noted that she had never seen you write so small
before now.
There is only one sentence that troubles me, son. Once I read that, I
looked at your arguments in a new light, and did not light what I saw.
"The Light faction must ensure that the families of the Dark choose the
path of peace, by whatever means necessary."
It is the Dark faction that compels obedience, usually with pain and
death. Many Lords on the other side of the aisle have presented new heirs
to the Wizengamot, because their previous heirs are crippled or dead.
It is the Dark faction that deals in absolutes - unbreakable vows of
loyalty, unquestioning allegiance, and so forth.
Telling me that the Dark families must be made to choose is like telling
me that the Dark families must be compelled to act as you dictate. I find
the idea horrific.
We stand for freedom. We stand for the right of a man to protect his
family. We stand for the right of anyone magical - regardless of blood or
birth - to participate in our society. We stand against the interference of
the Ministry in family affairs, and in particular against the encroachment
of the law on matters of family magic.
Compare that to the idea that those we disagree with should be
compelled magically to agree with us, to vote in line with us, to support
us financially. How do you reconcile those two ideas? Can you even come
close?
You're nearing the end of your third year. When you return home, I plan
to sit you down and teach you what it means to be Lord Potter. It will,
magic willing, be many years before the ring falls to you, but in the
meantime I hope to give you perspective that you clearly lack.
All of that said, know this - you are my son, and I love you with all that I
am. Even if we disagree, and we will disagree, that will never change.
Your mother sends her love. Good luck on your exams.
I remain,
Charlus Potter, the Lord Potter
oOoOoOoOo
8 September 1980
From the desk of Alice Longbottom
Lily,
I told you I'd need a few days to think about your proposal. I know James
already has Frank convinced, but I'll be damned if I sign on without
looking at the angles.
But now that I've had that time, I see a few aspects of the problem that
you didn't mention.
Simply put - Death, and Glory.
You're talking about faking our deaths, after all. Going into hiding,
training one of our sons - or, more likely, all four of them - to fulfill this
prophecy. To be the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. Their
road begins in death, and ends in glory - or, in this case, victory.
And all the while, the Houses of the Dark will crow about their ascension
to power, even as we undermine them. Their voice, the Prophet, will
repeat their lies.
We have one prophecy telling us that we will win, and another telling us
how. It does not get much clearer than that. James and Frank were
convinced, even without knowing about the prophecy of sand and stone,
as you called it. You and I? We know more than they do, as usual.
I'm in.
Alice Longbottom
oOoOoOoOo
29 October 1996
To: Commander K. Shacklebolt, MI5
From: Brig. Miles Warren, 35th Regiment, Royal Logistics Corps
Subj: EYES ONLY TOP-SECRET
If anyone tells you that creating an entire unit of muggleborn special
forces operators is a trivial exercise, send them to me. I'll educate them.
Bravo Team will be ready for your inspection in a fortnight, I suspect. We
assigned the younger men there, as discussed. That way, the veterans in
Alpha Team can give the youngsters in Bravo something to which they
can aspire. Competition between the squads is expected to be intense.
Alpha Team, meanwhile, already has a trophy of its own. We sent them
to Dover yesterday, when word reached us of the Dark Mark in the sky.
They arrived just in time to assist the first responders. None of this is
new, none of this is a surprise. This time, however, something changed.
We found one of the attackers.
I managed to interrogate the poor bastard for seven minutes, before his
left arm burst into flames and incinerated him. Our best guess is that
your Dark Lord has a remote kill switch on each of his followers. It's one
thing to talk about, but quite another to witness.
Before he died, the man told us that the end was coming. I thought he
meant his own, and that he expected to get suicided by his so-called
master. Now, I think he meant it another way.
Attacks have all but ended for the past week. Everything we're seeing
says that the conflict is de-escalating, but you and I know better.
Something is coming. In a day, or a week, or a fortnight, some sort of
shoe is going to drop.
We're going to need to brief the PM again, I think. If your people don't
come up with some sort of intel, we're liable to be caught on the bad
foot.
Our men are ready, but I can't deploy them without a target. Get me that
target, Kingsley.
Brig. Warren
oOoOoOoOo
7 November 1996
To: The Right Honourable Daniel Greengrass, Minister for Magic
From: Director Amelia Bones, DMLE
Subj: ICW Notification
Minister,
I have been notified by the ICW that twenty-seven citizens of Wizarding
Britain have been executed by potion. A list of the deceased is attached.
All were found guilty by a tribunal of International Terrorism, Murder,
Ritual Murder, and a number of other crimes.
As you are aware, this list includes the surviving assailants who stormed
the Ministry in June of this year, the ones involved in the attempted
rescue of their fellows, and several others captured in the subsequent
months. All 27 bore the Dark Mark.
Officially, I will note the disposition of the case in my report before the
Wizengamot this week. Unofficially, the less said the better. These people
are the same ones who tried to kill my Susan. To hell with them.
AB
oOoOoOoOo
15 November 1996
Headmaster,
I have been summoned, as have three others who have been assisting me
with my brewing. Based on the number of healing potions I have been
ordered to prepare, and based on the fact that I was not expected to
report for another two days, I fear that my suspicions were correct. The
Dark Lord is planning an attack, and a massive one at that.
Govern yourself accordingly. When it comes, I will have little to no
warning.
S. Snape
oOoOoOoOo
16 November 1996
Black,
The attack begins in twenty minutes. No idea where. Be ready. Summon
aid - every wand you can muster.
Snape
A/N: Here we have some backstory, some miscellaneous details,
some foreshadowing, and some hints. None of this would work on
its own, but in an interlude chapter setting the table for what is to
come? I think it works, or at least most of it does.
I'm having a very hard time writing in this fandom, these days. I'm
not alone in that. It's possible, once this story is done and I've
wrapped up my other Works in Progress, that I may never start
another story in the Rowling fandom again. Which is a shame,
because I do enjoy the works as such. Just, you know, not the
horrifying conduct of the author.
Beyond that, the Private Messages on FFN telling me to die in a fire,
because I have a trans daughter, don't really do much to put me in a
writer's mindset.
It's to the point that I took a planned crossover and completely
retooled it to cross with a completely different fandom. I just can't
even, these days.
This story will be finished. I've always had a planned length, and I'm
not going to trim that back at all, and I am proud of what this story
has become. But it's hard sometimes, y'all. For the 95% of you who
have been supportive, thank you - you're why I'm sticking to it.
Next time: Pensieves! Quidditch! Butterbeer!
Feedback, for the most part, is welcome.
Updated 4/27/2022: Un-American'ed the Unit for Brigadier Warren,
and added a forgotten twin. Special thanks to vl100butch (and two
others) for the catch and the sanity check on that.
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