“Dolohov?”, Hermione gasped.
“Yes.”, Robards confirmed slackly. “I fear, I have to admit, this is the biggest rout the Auror Office has ever met with, Minister. I cannot express how devastated I am. Potter has seen it coming, and still, we were powerless. They simply overran us.”, his voice became moaning and of a hissing demand as he tried to wind himself out of the dilemma. “I have had exceptional people under my command. I have been capturing many Death Eaters before they could breathe in another time, you know that yourself, Shacklebolt. But this is beyond my imagination. If they already get into the Ministry’s high security cells as if we had invited them, I am afraid, we don’t stand a chance.”
“Well, then it’s clear what we have to do.”, Harry said definite, spun and went to the fireplace.
“Mr Potter – whatever it is, we shall forget for a moment that I am your superior. In this case you – you are in charge now. I – I leave it to you. So? What – ”
“Thanks. And it’s easy, isn’t it?”, he looked down at the folder in his hand, then at the orange flames.
“Harry,”, it was Kingsley who spoke softly. “What is it, that the Aurors, that the Ministry, has to do in your opinion?”
“Yeah, mate.”, Ron had slouched over as well, as if meaning to emphasise how pathetically tense the situation was. “What’s it.”
Harry took a very deep breath, all eyes in the common room piercing at him, drilling into his body like sharp needles, but he was oblivious. He only stared at the fire, and then, he scratched his neck in thoughts he knew to be irrelevant.
“We gotta let ’em do.”
While he gave his then quick, cold answer, he lively swung his arm and everyone’s breath got stuck, when the folder sailed into the fireplace, where the flames’ deadly claws caught it, tearing the paper apart immediately, swallowing it without effort. In a split second, he got to get a glimpse on a body covered in loads of blood and a face he had seen so many times over the past years, torn, lifeless, and gone for good.
“Harry!”, Hermione aspirated with a moan. “You – you burnt it! A mean of evidence! A Ministry document! You – you – ”
“It’s over.”, he didn’t lose his tone. “We’re done. Case closed. In the night of September first, the Avengers have ultimately finished their work.”
“Are you giving up, Harry?”, Ron murmured.
“No.”, he shook his head. “They’re much more organised, precisely informed, working flawless – in short, they’re better. I’m not giving up. I’m giving way. If they want justice, they can have it.”
“What is this in your hand, Mr Potter?”, Robards gargled.
“That?”, Harry lifted it, “My wand.”
“In the other.”, his boss snorted.
“Oh – just a nice little copy,”, he said casually. “For the wall of fame.”
“Wall of – ?”
“Of course we’re going on as usual. But if this means that I’m the one in charge, I want all documents regarding the case in my hands. Every teensy little bit, okay? We wait for them to do their job, give them some challenge like putting up guards again when they’re knowingly going for another imprisoned, but we’ll let them do. When they’re gone, we collect evidence as usual, and keep everything off the media. We act as if they were always one step ahead; because they’ll always be. I want the usual circle working on the case. They’ll deliver everything to you, Mr Robards, and you pass it straight to me. End of story. Dean, turn back on the music.”
A little hesitant, he did it though. It was odd, listening to the happy tune, when no one felt the urge for any kind of smile. Harry continued.
“Thanks. Now Kingsley, Draco, Luna, Ginevra, Hermione, you’ll do the memory work.”
“Memory work?”, Ron chuckled.
“Mr Robards, please return to the Ministry.”
“Memory work, Mr Potter?”
“Memory work. Alright, everyone go back into the position you were in before Mr Robards came in.”
“Wait. No way. No!”, Neville had understood, while Harry walked over to his chair, the photo and wand stuffed away. “I won’t let you do that! We’re friends – colleagues even!”
“Friends, yes. Colleagues, only partly. And well, you’ll have to. I’m the Auror in charge of the case, and this is about national security. You’ll have to let me do my work. Trust me, I will. And if it means that I’ll have to put the Imperius Curse on you that you breathe like you had before.”, Harry sat down and waved Ginevra to his lap. “I asked my boss for secrecy, he broke it by getting here. You think you lack influence, Mr Robards? Well, then I’ll show you how to have it. Ron, Hermione, get back here. Thanks.”
“What will happen if you’ve modified our memories?”, Parvati asked.
“You should know best.”, snapped Hermione, standing where she had been, and reached over for the needle that she sat back so they would have half a minute to compose.
“Great.”, Harry smirked.
“Me?”, moaned Parvati.
“Well, you don’t know, don’t you? There you have it. That’s what will happen. You won’t know what has happened. You won’t feel a change.”, said Hermione and held her wand ready at her side, in a way no one would see her slip it back where she had had it.
“Good night, Mr Robards.”, Harry had his arms laid around his girlfriend again.
“Very well, Mr Potter.”, that one sighed and threw some Floo powder into the fire. “You really seem to know what you are doing. Good night then, and thank you.”
“Any time, Sir.”
“British Ministry of Magic, Gawain Robards’ office.”, he spoke clearly and was gone; the flames became normal a second later.
“Everyone get themselves ready.”, Kingsley said, his wand as hidden as Hermione’s, Ginevra’s, Luna’s and Draco’s. “This is an order. Do as I say.”, it seemed easier for them to obey, now that it came from the Minister himself.
“You won’t obliviate me, will you?”, Ron moaned.
“Don’t be silly, Ronald.”, Hermione huffed and listened closely.
“On my count?”, Luna meant.
“Alright. On yours.”
“Seven, er – four, three, two, one,”
Soft green whirls shot around, barely visible, all within a split second. It had been easy to divide without telling one another who would modify whose memory. Now those who had laughed, suddenly felt the need to laugh again, and everybody else continued their conversations just where they had stopped. Even Slughorn muttered. In the distraction of the laughter around, Ginevra turned her smile to Harry’s played grin that became real when she kissed him. Hermione and Ron couldn’t hold honesty either. But Ginevra broke off after some seconds, with his face in hands.
“Harry James Potter.”, she said, just loud enough for only Ron and Hermione to hear it above Slughorn’s and Flitwick’s friendly argue and more laughter. “You’re probably the craziest, stupidest and most suicidal bloke I’ve ever met. And that means something, because I’ve grown up in a house full of such.”, Ron threw Hermione a glance and she returned it knowingly. “And I love them all. But they’re my brothers and my Dad. I naturally can’t and would never want. But you’re none of them and therefore hopefully say yes. So I think, I should just ask you what I’ve been planning to ask you for more than six years.”
“Keep it short, sis,”, Ron threw in, causing everyone in vicinity to get to notice that something was going on.
“Shut up, bro.”, she countered, but Harry and her were the only ones not to chuckle. “Alright. I’ll start that again, but I’ll keep it short.”, Ginevra breathed in deeply, studying every single pore of Harry’s face that was so unlike his father’s in general, but she knew the similarities well. “Harry James Potter. You’re probably the craziest, stupidest, most suicidal, most charming and sexiest bloke I’ve ever met. And that means something, because I’ve grown up in a house full of such.”, Ron just shook his head. “And I love them all. But they’re my brothers and my Dad and not nearly as handsome.
“Hey!”, Ron pretested.
“I naturally can’t and would never want. But you’re none of them and therefore hopefully really say yes. So I think, I definitely ask you now what I’ve been planning to ask you for more than six years and two minutes: do you want to become a Weasley?”
They all were holding their breath for his answer, taken aback by her step. McGonagall’s hand laid on her hovering chest, Slughorn still had troubles seeing them, Hermione’s parents were smiling with watery eyes like her, Ron had his hands in his pockets and tapped his foot with his eyes searching the floor, Hannah pulled Draco closer, Luna was seesawing with a broad smile, Hagrid’s breathing was the loudest and Kingsley looked equally proud to be there. Parvati meanwhile held her sister’s hand and Flitwick supported himself on the side-rest of Padma’s wheelchair. Neville, Dean and Seamus were simply staring with anticipation and the rest of Ginevra’s family was the same, with the exception of her mother, whose hands that were pressed onto her mouth, got splashed with tears. Harry, looked straight into Ginevra’s glistening, bright brown eyes that were her mother’s.
“Actually,”, he cleared his throat with a cough, “I’d like to keep my name.”, nothing happened. “But you know, I really like your place and I love you more than I can tell with any words that have ever been said by men, so – yes! I’d absolutely love to become a Weasley!”, Harry grinned, grabbed her face as well, and they continued kissing under thundering cheers. “But one thing – ”, he now slightly pushed her off, deadening the applause, whistles and other statements of joy, trying to imitate Molly’s voice, “You first finish your education!”
The roar of laughter that followed, had no equal. But they didn’t bother. They only kissed another time, dwelling in their happiness, all thoughts about avengers and murders and justice momentarily locked out, far away.
No one saw it. No one felt it. No one but a fair-haired girl that received no attention. With her ever so absent smile, she studied the window that opened into the soft, warm, starry night, and closed again.
~~#~~
Muggles had a strange way of creating themselves a world. It was loud, stank, and made even the endless sea of stars above the roofs of cities like London disappear from fear of their electric lights. So the sky was glowing, but only a few tiny dots sparkled up there, strong enough to fight their way through for the eye to see in this strangely warm night in the second half of September.
Silence. Only in the distance, this loud world of Muggles could be heard, the sounds of cars and busses and trucks and trains filling the air around a seeming pool of calm, rising into the sky, a constant whizzing – not as loud as when the sun was awake, but loud enough to be heard, loud enough to overpower a sleeping pair’s breathing.
The man leaned behind a pile of woven baskets that had been left outside. No one would take them. People were too honest. And the man, they gave shelter. In his arms, a girl with dirty brown hair. His niece was sleeping, like him, thankful that the night was warm and they could sleep outside without freezing. As they slept in peace, they had no knowledge of what was going on around the corner, where a pair of hungry eyes had spotted something shiny, something golden peering from the front pocket of the man’s raddled robe: in a different pace than their breathing or their heartbeats, the pocket watch that once belonged to his grandfather, was ticking. The only thing of value he possessed and the only thing that remembered him of the family he had once had, the family only he and his slumbering young niece were left of. But that, the eyes so filled with hunger, down at the corner, did not know, did not care for.
Carefully he snuck on, checking his surrounding, but they were the only ones to be out. All was quiet, all was asleep. His silent shoes searched their way across the old cobblestones, any sound too much. Closer, constantly like the ticking of the clock, he approached them in the bluish grey semi-dark. Only feet away, he studied them, thinking of a way to not be noticed. There was one, he found himself performing seconds later. Slow, like the pair’s breath, with trained routine, the watch began to move according to how he directed his wand. Like a conductor, the stick had the watch in control, gently, steadily, pulling it from the pocket.
Suddenly there were eyes. Big pale eyes that shimmered in the lights of London, reflecting the glowing haze above. Both frozen, they stared at each other as their breathing became panicking. The girl sat up with a gasp, waking her uncle by it, who sought for the source of the disturbance. Right when he spotted it, the other man backed away, shocked that it hadn’t worked out, that he had been caught. But the feet that spun, weren’t fast enough. They though hurried down the lane, but a smaller pair was quicker, catching up. At last, golden stars were dancing. The chain of the watch jerked as he ran, the girl at his heels, only the sound of his shoes clattering in the night. She had none. Yet she chased him, further away from her uncle, until they reached a corner where a number of stairs led into another alley.
Running for his life, even though he possessed a wand and the girl didn’t, but obviously having forgotten about that fact, he hurtled into it, staggered down and stumbled over by the touch that interrupted his movement. His fingers clung to it, so did hers, but gravity won and the watch slipped his then sweaty hand as his face came closer to the ground. Though for some peculiar reason, he was gone.
Confused, panting heavily, the girl stared at where he had been. Even at her young age she knew what Disapparating looked like. The thief hadn’t. He had simply gone, swallowed by their surrounding. Huffing as hard, her uncle had caught up and flung his arms around her immediately. His relief that she was still there, left his lungs with a last puffing sound before he tried to calm her and himself down. She had turned in his arms and started sobbing into his dirty clothes, her great-granduncle’s watch held securely by her small fingers. Then they were gone themselves. He had Apparated them out, almost noiseless.
Still hanging there, caught in mid-fall, the second man breathed out similar sounding relief, though it was far from it in meaning. The strong arms lifted him to his feet and for the first time he got to see more of his saviour than just trousers and shoes that had almost melted with the dark, narrow staircase. When he looked up at the taller man, he found him to be slightly transparent against the sky that shone through from behind the short roof which topped the first feet of the stairs. But the other man’s face was covered from him, by a tam that was pulled deep down. In addition, he had his head lowered so that not even his mouth could be seen. Over his leather coat that now became more solid, rested some bundles of silvery hair.
“Stealing from the poor?”, very quiet, just enough to be heard, the stranger growled. “Sunken quite deep, haven’t we?”
“Who – who are you – ”, stammered the thief, not much louder, trying to get a glimpse past that tam, but failed as much as he failed to fully figure out why this voice sounded so familiar.
“The guy that just saved your neck from breaking. You run like a girl, by the way. Worse than that kid that nearly killed you.”
“What the – ”, he found some small bag being forced into his now empty hand.
“That’s from a friend. He’s exaggerating a bit, if you ask me. But you’re not going to ask me anyway. So take it, for Heaven’s sake, and do something wise with your life, Dung.”
“How’d you – ”
“Know your name?”, the stranger dropped a chuckle. “Everyone knows your name, dork. Now get off, you bloody coward. Get off and be a man who’s learning.”
“Who – ”, he tried again, but the other man limped some stairs down, shortly lifted his tam, turned on the spot and Disapparated without the faintest sound.
Perplexed, dumbfounded to his smallest bones, he stared at where that notable face had vanished. It took him some minutes to compose himself, to grasp the happened. He didn’t understand how it was possible and what he had actually got himself into, but when his trembling hands opened the bag that could have kept about three heavy apples, he got to see something that was even more familiar to him, though if rare lately, but already in that moment, he looked at something like that was, with different eyes now.
~~#~~
Having spent the rest of the night with Ginevra alone in the Room of Requirement on an absolutely adorable canopy bed, had been one of the best things he had ever experienced at Hogwarts. Though his limbs; not only; were aching with every tiny move, his mind spun wildly and his throat was as dry as though he had eaten up the entire Sahara within an hour. The goblet still stood on the bedside table by his glasses and he sat up and reached for it, finding it disturbingly empty of course. He rubbed his eyes, put on the glasses and stared at the golden dish in his hand, forcing himself to think of his mother. Transfiguring wasn’t that far from conjuring, or was it? His wand laid somewhere on the other side of the room, somewhere in one part of the mess and Ginevra’s was stored under the pillow, in a place he wouldn’t reach it without waking her. If he wanted to get his own, he would have to accept pain.
If you manage to understand; and I mean not only accept, but understand, imagine and, most of all, believe; that everything is solely made of energy, arranged in the most wondrous and varied ways, you can do nearly everything.. With all the things he had seen so far, it felt easiest to believe he could create water. After all, it was only for his momentary welfare, not an entire sand castle. So he simply thought of that memory of his that had been erased in ways at the graveyard, but had been projected into his own mind by watching it, and waved his hand over the goblet. Much to his surprise, it filled with clear water. He chuckled and drained it. Ginevra stirred. His eyes were on her immediately, even before he had completely drank it all up, and therefore spilled quite a bit down his bare chest, choking.
“Harry?”, she was suddenly wide awake and sat as straight as him, with her wand drawn from under the white cosiness so quick he already saw himself be impaled by it, but it didn’t happen.
“Don’t – worry – ”, he coughed, “I’m – I’m fine – ”
“Sounds slightly different – ”, Ginevra moaned, but he waved his hand over the goblet another time and poured everything down his throat successfully then.
“It’s nothing.”, Harry laughed. “I just beat my mother – and failed next second, that’s all.”
“Okay?”, she meant, still with concern, but he kissed it away.
“How are you?”, he asked softly.
“Like I’ve been playing Quidditch all night, thanks. And hungry.”
“Same. Er – you just reminded me – she wasn’t kidding us, was she?”
“With what? And who?”
“Luna. When she said you’re taking a NEWT in Flying.”
“No, she was right.”
“That’s possible?”
“Yes.”
“But it’s for first-years only – ”
“You can take it as an elective, but it’s harder work than in the regular subjects.”
“Meaning?”
“In addition to theoretical and practical exam, you’re bound to write a Thesis to it and as you’re only allowed to write one Thesis, no matter how crazy you are, you can take just one elective subject along the regular. Hermione’s been beside herself when she heard that and tried to convince McGonagall that she’ll write two, but she gave up when McGonagall slammed the ancient regulations onto her desk in front of Hermione’s shining pink face.”
“Any idea what the exam will be like?”, Harry snickered.
“The practical won’t be too hard for me. I’ll have to fly a parkour with tricky obstacles, but I won’t know what it’ll look like until the actual exam. I have three tries then and the average will be the mark. Theory is Quidditch history and general theory of flying and brooms. I’ll have to work that out on my own.”
“And what will you write your Thesis about?”
“Broomless flight.”
“No.”, Harry chuckled. “You mean, like – ”
“Yes, like he had been able to do it. But it’s a surprise. Don’t tell Hermione. She doesn’t know any specifics of that NEWT. I want her to believe I’m writing about – well, Quidditch history.”
“That’s cheating, you know?”
“Not at all. I won’t let her help me. And anyway, she’ll be too busy with her own Thesis.”
“And in addition you’re going for Charms, Defence and Transfiguration?”
“And Potions.”
“Potions too?”, Harry frowned.
“Are you assaying to question my abilities as a Potioneer?”, she said that with a snarling but soft tone, though punctuated pronunciation, raised an eyebrow of her own and gave him a stare so familiar it made him huff.
“I’m fine with imitations of Fleur, but that’s only painful.”, Harry moaned and she dropped an approving sigh and smirk. “Okay. So – we’ll have breakfast in here or in the Great Hall?”
“You can’t have breakfast in here, Harry. Even Ron knows that now.”, Ginevra murmured, but Harry just grinned and pulled up the blanket so she was covered. “What’re you – ”
“Kreacher!”
“Oh crap!”, she startled and winced twice, second, at the sound of the Elf Apparating.
“Good morning, Master H-”, he started with a bow, but the rest of the name was drowned in gargling and he preferred to watch Regulus’ locket dangling. “Whatisithatuwish?”
“Seems, he just fell in love with me.”, Ginevra snickered under her breath. “There’s not going to be a ball, Kreacher. No need for that.”
“Miss is very funny, yes, yes, utterly funny.”, Kreacher grunted. “Kreacher does not understand what the filthy Blood-Traitor is talking about, but he well grasped – ”
“Kreacher!”, it was Harry again, his mood switched within a second.
“It’s okay.”, meant Ginevra. “Don’t take him so – siriusly – ”, she could well bear that glare of his. “Breakfast please, Kreacher.”
“Kreacher does not take orders from the dirty – ”
“Well, then bring me to a bathroom, if you’re so disgusted.”, Ginevra snarled.
“And she said `please´.”, Harry added. “But I think you’ll have to take orders from her now. We’re engaged. She’s going to be my wife. You’ll better get used to that idea.”
“Is that so?”, Kreacher shortly raised his head for some inches to look at them but lowered it immediately again. “If it is Master Harry’s wish,”
“Yes, it is my wish.”
“Then Kreacher will continue. What is it that you wish to have for breakfast?”
“You know us, Kreacher.”, Ginevra said. “Improvise. Without adding anything that might either harm us or not approximate our taste.”, Kreacher bowed even deeper, but before the locket could touch the floor, he was gone loudly.
“Continue?”, Harry turned to her.
“He’s – he’s been ordered to listen to me before.”
“By whom?”
“The mother of Edwin the Hunk from Uranus.”, Ginevra murmured, presenting him with a very disturbingly angry look.
“What?”
“Should have known they hadn’t told you that,”, she mumbled and stretched.
“Ginevra?”
“Forget it.”, a sigh escaped her when her arms sank, one of them with a lot of weight on Harry’s groin and even though cushioned by the blanket, he gasped. “Sorry.”
~~#~~
They held some fascinating aura. Comforting, guarding, obeying, defending – a great weapon, shield and friend – those cushions. Especially when they were red and quadratic – dark red velvet covered – tightly stuffed, but cosy – simply magnificent objects.
One of such resting on her lap, wrapped longingly in her arms, she sat with her legs crossed on that sofa and stared out of the window, past her mother who stood by it with her back on her.
“I can understand why you love this place. It’s really beautiful here.”, the woman sighed deeply. “I know you are happy with Ron – but – ”
“Didn’t I say I won’t discuss the matter,”, Hermione huffed.
“You did. But remembering what has been between you – of course it is hard for you. Please don’t swallow it down so – Hermione, I can hardly imagine what you went through, but please talk to me. Don’t lock yourself in.”
“I don’t lock myself in, Mum. It is the way it is.”
“And those murders – please don’t obsess over them – ”
“Don’t get me wrong, but you’re mistaking me for Harry. I’m not obsessed. I’m angry. Well, of course I don’t mind that this someone gets them out of the way, and I really don’t care how it’s happening, but I’m angry with myself.”
“Why?”, her mother turned around.
“Because I’ve said something I just can’t forgive myself for and I think it’s partly a reason for the murders.”
“Oh Hermione. What would you have said to – ”
“It’s complicated. I can’t tell you.”
“I’m your mother!”
“I know. That’s especially why I can’t tell you. You’d probably understand me.”
She fiercely sat the cushion onto the sofa, slipped off and left the common room through the portrait hole with only her pyjama pants and a strappy top on, her beaded bag jumping at her hip.
~~#~~
When he noticed her stare, he realised what the statue would have felt like if it had been a real winged horse. He had never been up on that corridor, but turning his head past Ginevra, he saw a mirroring statue at the other end, being a Thestral. Now he knew why the girl was here. He folded the map and stored it securely in his pouch. They had gone looking for her on Ginevra’s request and eventually found her there, right in the middle of the half open corridor, by one of the arches. She stood behind someone’s back. That someone sat on the sill, quite dangerously, wearing only light clothes like Ginevra, while Luna strangely was in her uniform, even though it was a Sunday. Much to Harry’s relief, she secured Hermione by the shoulders. Holding hands, they approached them.
“Good morning!”, Luna sang and Harry was even more relieved that she held her – Hermione had jerked so terrible at the words that she might have fallen to death otherwise.
“Morning.”, Ginevra chuckled. “Here you are. What’re you doing here?”
“I asked her as well.”, Hermione sighed. “I know why I am here, but she didn’t tell me what she’s doing – ”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”, Harry meant and their looks followed his nod on the Thestral statue, making them all laugh eventually.
“You’re quite narrow minded, Harry.”, Luna smiled, killing the mood in a second. “But only sometimes. That’s okay. It helps not losing one’s head.”, Harry only eyed her, but decided not to argue. “Ginny, Hermione, I think we should be going now.”
“Going?”, Hermione asked.
“You’ll see,”, she helped Hermione back inside and took both girls by the hands, who were rather confused about her decision. “Goodbye, Harry.”
“Goodbye?”
“I don’t think we’ll be seeing us again in some weeks. After all you will have to return home today for your work tomorrow. And your NEWTs are held at the Ministry.”
“Er – yeah – but – where’re you going now?”
“Oh, we’re having a little woman-to-woman talk. They badly need it. See you!”, she hopped off, forcing the others to come with her, though having a hard time doing so.
“And me?”
“You’ll be fine here, I think. Enjoy the landscape!”
All Harry could do was chuckling disbelievingly. The moment they were gone around the corner, he noticed that the Thestral had become the horse from the other side. He turned his head and saw it standing in its place. Curious, he did a few steps. They must be swapping appearance when he passed the exact middle of the corridor. Shaking his head on this oddity of magic, he looked outside, over the lake, the soft breeze blowing through his loose T-shirt and long hair and the cool stone tiles made his naked toes crouch below his long pyjama pants without his notice. It was actually really beautiful from up there. But some senses tingled in the back of his head. There was something. Some thing he had caught a glimpse on, in his subconsciousness while studying the statues.
Slowly and in thoughts, he turned for the corridor wall. Between two of the few doors, right behind him, hung a lone large portrait. He slandered towards the empty big frame that only contained some dark tapestry and a black velvet armchair with a white, oval-bulb standard lamp behind. Under the frame was a sign attached to the wall. Harry read.
Professor Maggot Wimble
If you should happen to meet her, please remind her that she has her own portrait.
Thank you.
Maggot Wimble, he thought consciously. If he had been blessed with such a name, he wouldn’t want to find himself associated with it either, no matter if his portrait was hanging in a completely deserted corridor far away from daily business.
“I really ’ave no’ tha slightes’ idea, why she is constan’ly absen’ from ’is canvas.”
Harry jumped in shock. The standard lamp had spoken with a deep, soft, very familiar voice. When he looked up, he noticed that what he had thought to be the lamp head, was actually the head of a pale man, wearing robes so black they didn’t differ from the rest of the painting at first glance. He sat with his legs and arms crossed.
“’T’s go’ an absolutely magnificen’ view.”, Harry shortly threw his head back to the open arches. “Rumour ’as it, ye’ve become a very enthusiastic Auror, drivin’ yer colleagues, friends an’ even yer superior inter madness?”
“Er – ”
“Well, I ’aven’ seen tha’ comin’, ter be dishones’.”, he sighed, boredly studying his fair fingernails that had only become visible when he had retrieved his hand from beneath his armpit. “Bu’ o’ course ye wonder why ye find me sittin’ in ’er chair.”, given the setting, Harry actually didn’t. “There are sum thin’s in human understandin’, in ’eir ways o’ thinkin’, tha’s ever riddled me.”, he sighed again and his look travelled wearily over the landscape outside. “Fer example, why ’angin’ one o’ tha mos’ inspirin’ studen’s an’ teachers Hogwarts ever ’ad, in a lone corridor wit’ probably tha grandes’ view among its kind, while she was blind from birth. Why paintin’ ’er in fron’ o’ ugly dark perse tapes’ry an’ inter a black armchair when she loved tha imagination o’ tha brightes’ colours as much as Luna Lovegood fancies wearin’ ’em.”
“I – I don’t know, Sir.”, Harry meant sadly, studying his equal expression between his bushes of black hair that, if taking a closer look, stood off in rather awkward ways at some points – not knowing why it pleased him so much that the painter had taken this unusual request into account.
“Or why decidin’ ter graduate after a year wit’ou’ education fer an; in eviden’ cases; truly back-breakin’ job while wishin’ ter develop magical skills o’ years o’ trainin’ wit’in two weeks. Or why annoyin’ one’s friends be tryin’ ter squeeze every bi’ o’ infermation on one’s former teacher ou’ o’ their brains as though they were Alamneda buds? Why tormentin’ an ol’ man’s portrai’ fer thin’s ’e’s been fergiven long ago wit’ou’ ’is own knowledge? Bu’ o’ course, tha las’ seems such a likely thin’ ter do, such a grand example fer tha crawlin’ resen’fulness tha’s infested yer bloodline.”
“You forgave him, Sir?”, Harry, though stunned, could still and ever clearly remember his words about letting the dead rest.
“Why, yes,”, he sang absentmindedly but his tone became more forceful with every sentence, “Even before ’e looked down at me wit’ ’is hungry eyes o’ believin’ justice, tha’ despicable stare o’ loathin’ fer wha’ ’e’d once considered ter care fer as though ’e were a father. Bu’ there is one thin’, ’e will never understan’. ’E did no’ when ’e was still alive, an’ naturally will never now. One who ’as never been a paren’, who ’as never held ’eir child, ’eir own flesh an’ blood, will never be able ter understan’. If ’e ’ad fel’ fer me like a real father fel’ fer ’is son, ’e would ’ave asked me. ’E would ’ave questioned me alone in a room, rather than chainin’ me up agains’ a pillar beneath hordes o’ hungry Dementors, watchin’ Macnair unleashin’ ’is magical rope o’ agony on me wit’ all tha’ disgus’ ’bou’ considered treachery. A father would ’ave listened, would ’ave tried ter fergive.”
“Barty Crouch didn’t forgive his son either.”, Harry remembered.
“Bartemius Crouch fergave ’is son tha momen’ ’e saw ’im sittin’ in tha’ cell, tha madness brimmin’ over ’is lids. ’E fergave ’is son, fer it was no’ young Barty’s faul’ tha’ ’e ’imself ’ad chosen ’is career over ’is family, an’ therefore ’is son sough’ shelter in tha wron’ rows. ’E saw ’is mistakes, bu’ it was too late. Tha damage was irreversible. Bartemius suffered enough. Bu’ well, they migh’ be very much alike. I ’ave spen’ mos’ o’ me time since I ’ave been hung on a wall, wit’ wanderin’ tha castle or sittin’ ’ere rather. Fer me own ears an’ Minerva, if she ’ad been presen’. Whenever ’e ’as gotten a glimpse on me, ’e started cryin’ ’is lungs ou’. Maybe ’e ’as really come ter develop feelin’s o’ a father an’ ye ’ave achieved tha’ ’e’s gotten aware o’ it at las’. Ye should ’ave a word wit’ ’im. ’Cause, whenever I try, mine ge’ drowned by wails.”
“But he’s abused me!”
“Now did ’e?”, the ferocious undertone had almost worn off.
“He’s abused us both.”, Harry snorted.
“Then ye should rather seek fer Horace. ’E migh’ be able ter tell ye all ’bou’ people who make a heavy weather o’ segregatin’ abuse from care. ’T’s a strange phenomenon among sum, tha’ when ’ey come ter like a person an’ ’is person returns ’ese feelin’s, they try ter bind ’em close fer ’eir own benefi’, ’eir own comfor’, an’ tha longer ’is comfor’ las’s, tha more ’ey ferge’ ’bou’ ’eir initial intentions an’ consider exploitin’ ’em fer any tiny bi’ o’ profi’ from tha relationship. It may take ’em years, if no’ decades, ter discover ’eir own failure. An’ then ’ey find ’emselves at a funeral, ’eir dear one gone, an’ all chance on speech ferlorn. Too ashamed, ’e broke contac’, an’ ’is dear one married, ’ad a son, made all tha mistakes one o’ their kind could make, an’ finalised tha parcel wit’ a rope.”
Real tears fell from the dark eyes, almost touchable. They closed and his head sank to his chest as his fingers clutched one another. With a deep, inhaling breath as if he had dived up to the surface of a lake of those tears, his head rushed up again, but he wouldn’t look at Harry yet.
“As if it was a solution. As if flushin’ down ’is remainin’ years would brin’ those times back. Bu’ I never tried – never dared – maybe it does, I dunno – ”
“It doesn’t, Sir.”, Harry answered him honest. “I’ve been drunk once in my life. That was just a week after the battle. They told me, Luna had to restore Arthur’s barn. It seems, I turned the place upside down and was close to set it on fire before Ginevra could stun me after I punched her in the face, drag me upstairs and bind me to the bed. I woke up all stiff and with a huge head. I don’t remember anything I did and I’ve felt worse than before, though they hadn’t even told me yet then what I’d done. Okay, Slughorn’s rather more cheerful, and worst, grumpy, but I don’t think, any pain can be big enough that I’ll do that again. Ginevra’s looked terrible; and her Mum said Draco had done a magnificent job on restoring her face even. She forgave me, but I think I’ll never forgive myself for that.”, his tears literally stopped flowing, but Harry felt some of his own damming up.
“Then ye ’ave a very good exemplary story fer those who dun’ understan’ why sum people better no’ touch a drop o’ alcohol.”
“Really?”, Harry chuckled angrily. “Telling everyone I’ve punched my girlfriend when I was drunk? I don’t think they’ll like me much then.”
“’T’s a side o’ ye, an’ there is a simple method ter preven’ it from showin’. Me own father ’ad known bes’ ’bou’ such, though also rather too late.”
“Rather too late?”, asked Harry, remembering the boy that had sat crouched up against the wall.
“Too late fer me mother ter know ’e ’ad no’ ’ad a single sip after ’e’d lef’ us, bu’ no’ too late fer me.”
“So you met him again?”, he regretted the question the moment he saw him blinking heavily.
“I me’ ’im – jus’ in time. ’E suffered from a malign glioma. I ’ope ye know wha’ tha’ means.”
To his own surprise, he did. But this knowledge, this sudden silence, a silence no one could appreciate, made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t describe. He wanted to end it, wished it to be over, as fast as it had come, but he didn’t know how, didn’t find words. Only memories that made him ashamed of himself. Then it ended, much to Harry’s surprise, with a smile. A warm, gentle smile, directly at him. He could do nothing but stare at it.
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”, Harry aspirated.
“D’ye know wha’ fer?”, he received a languid frown.
“Er – no.”
“Yer engagemen’.”
“Oh – well – thanks, yes.”, Harry chuckled eventually. “She’s totally beaten me.”
“’Er proposal migh’ even become a legend. Tha entire castle’s talkin’ ’bou’ it.”
“Really?”, Harry smirked. “Didn’t know.”
“After tha years ye’ve spen’ ’ere,”
“I should, yes. It’s quite predictable that such things spread the moment they happen. I think I should be prepared for receiving a new song from Peeves.”
“Qui’e likely.”, Severus smiled.
“Er – you still haven’t answered me a question, Sir.”
“Which would be?”
“How – how you could see me under my cloak.”, his smile transformed to a big grin into space for some moments. “That’s not an answer,”
“Wha’ is tha secre’ be’ind wandless magic?”
“Er – I – ”, unavoidably, Hermione’s voice echoed in his head. “A – a strong mind – ”
“Yes.”
“And what’s that got to do with – ”
“Antioch wasn’ tha only ter be verse in Wandlore. All three shared ’eir enthusiasm fer all ways o’ magic, bu’ in tha end, ’ey focused on ’eir very own targe’s. Tha Cloak ’as seen four kin’s o’ powerful an’ undetec’able enchan’men’, all cas’ on it wit’ a wand, naturally. Tergether ’ey make tha cloak wha’ it is, `unbeatable´. Firs’,”, he began to count on his fingers, “A very powerful additional Disillusionmen’ Charm. One o’ tha mos’ powerful ’istory ’as seen. ’T’s, second, strengthened by an Unbreakable Charm, which also affec’s tha material, mos’ly ’air o’ Demiguise, which are creatures tha’ can make ’emselves invisible.”
“Thought it’s made of something like that. Hagrid’s told me about them.”
“Yes. Third, it ’olds a Secrecy Charm, jus’ like tha’ which lies on every Mokeskin Pouch. An’ fourth, a Bloodline Curse.”
“Curse?”
“No’ all curses are stringen’ly bad. ’T’s a matter o’ tha poin’ o’ view.”
“Sure.”, Harry chuckled and sat down on the cool floor, looking up to him with boding – and hope – of a rather long and thorough explanation to come.
“I think, I should star’ wit’ tha Secrecy Charm, which is in ways, also connected ter tha’ curse. Tha ’abi’ o’ a Mokeskin Pouch is, tha’ it’ll only gran’ its righ’ful owner access, wit’ a small exception. Tha owner o’ tha pouch, is tha maker. Be sellin’ one, tha maker explicitly allows tha buyer ter use it in tha same manner. So those who will be able ter use it, are tha new owner an’ tha maker. Tha’ is where tha curse comes in, a sligh’ly diff’ren’ one though, tha’ is a side effec’ o’ tha Secrecy Charm. As lon’ as tha righ’ful owner; which means, tha maker; is alive, no one bu’ tha two can fully use tha pouch. Should tha maker die however, tha ownership passes on ter tha person who ’as been granted ownership. They then can allow everyone access ter tha pouch ’ey wish. Bu’ those on tha other ’and, canno’ pass on any ownership. Could ye follow me so far?”, he leant his head on his right arm at the side-rest of the armchair.
“I think so, yes.”
“Tha cloak works similar. Tha owner can gran’ everyone access they wish ter. Those can thenceforth use tha cloak whenever ’ey need it, bu’ canno’ invite anyone under it wit’ou’ tha owner’s permission.”
“So that’s also why those Death Eaters couldn’t summon it? Because I didn’t allow them?”
“Exac’ly. An’ because tha charms are undetech’able.”, he noted.
“Yes. So if I should pass the cloak on – and die – ”
“No.”
“Sure. The Bloodline Curse, right? I’d have to pass it on to one of my children.”
“Yes.”
“Then, if I shouldn’t have children – and die – it’s useless – ”
“Furthermore, it would wit’er.”
“But – but I didn’t receive the cloak directly – Dumbledore kept it – can – can a person granted custody, pass it on after the owner’s death?”
“No. Albus was never allowed more than ter use it. Tha momen’ James died, tha cloak passed on ter ’is closes’.”
“So it already belonged to me?”, it disturbed him to find the portrait snickering.
“Almos’. I believe, ye know tha tale thoroughly be now?”
“Yes.”, Harry said slightly angry for he had to repeat himself unnecessarily. “It has to be passed on from parent to child. Directly. The curse – “
“Yes.”
“But then – ”
“Ye know tha answer, Harry. Ye ’ave received enough hin’s, I take it. I give ye all tha time ye need ter sor’ ’em.”, Harry sighed, crossed his legs and let his head fall into his right palm, staring at the wall ahead, trying to act as though he actually hadn’t figured yet.
“It passed on to his closest. He had gotten it from his mother or father. They were dead before; I saw them in the Mirror of Erised. I saw them – all – ”, unsure whether his brain produced the image, he suddenly seemed to remember every person that had stood there behind Lily and James; his eyes turned back upwards. “Can it go back in the bloodline?”
“I dun’ think so.”
“Right – then – who was – who was his closest, if I – “, the answerer really was there, in his head, built around a wooden casket with a number of folders that contained a big amount of newspaper articles, even though it seemed hard to believe, but on the other hand, it didn’t. “That’s why – ”, he aspirated, studying the position of his arm, finding it so similar, so much alike. “That’s why you fell for one and the same girl – that’s why she loved you both equally – you – ”, his head raised, while his arm though remained in place, understanding that he had no choice but to accept the truth.
“Hmm?”
“You were the new owner of the cloak! You nicked it from Dumbledore! You faked his handwriting and placed it under the tree! He never knew how much you cared, he was too obsessed. He wouldn’t have passed it on, would he? He would have kept it, but you made sure the bond wouldn’t break, the only way to save the cloak – was to pass it on to its rightful owner – he was too blinded by his greed to see it, but he understood. He told me he didn’t need a cloak to become invisible. He could perform a Disillusionment Charm himself. He only kept it for the sake of it, but you didn’t let him – you just couldn’t – you were to pass it on, for your – for your brother – ”
“I knew ye weren’ as dumb as ye unfrock yerself sum’times.”, Harry didn’t want to argue on that smile he gave him, he wanted to carry on.
“So I’m right? You – you were poor – the Potters were rich – the – the article didn’t say that Samantha and Matthew had become parents – it just said that they now had a son – they – adopted him! Because your parents didn’t have enough means to care for two children?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“His birthday was the day he got adopted – ”, Harry croaked. “Your mother gave him the cloak, so she could give him at least one protection?”
“Yes. She gave ’im tha cloak early, an’ tha Potters ’ad kep’ it safe, locked away ’til ’is eleventh birthday, never touchin’ it.”
“But why could you see me.”, Harry persistently returned to his initial question. “It can’t be just because you were a former owner. Dumbledore didn’t really own it. Moody didn’t own it, but the eye could see past. Mrs Norris – ”
“Mrs Norris canno’ see pas’ it. She merely senses tha presence o’ a person. Tha magic on Alastor’s eye, is very powerful, created long after Ignotus’ demise, be wizards who were quite equal ter ’im in powers they din’ glorify however. Well, Ignotus din’ either. ’E was a quiet one, like Cadmus. Antioch was loud enough fer both o’ ’em. Tha clue is, all three were very full o’ ’emselves, challengin’ tha world, darin’ ’eir equals ter reveal ’emselves. Antioch naturally fell firs’. Cadmus was beaten be loss ’e couldn’ cope wit’, an’ Ignotus be age. ’E accepted tha’ ’e ’adn’ been beaten by anyone tha’ would stand up ter face ’im, ’e accepted ’is victory over tha livin’, bu’ no’ over life itself an’ passed on ’is cloak, after ’e’d spoken tha curse on it so it would fall in no other ’ands than ’is noble family’s.”
“So – ”, considered Harry, “If he would be beaten at last, if one would be able to perform more powerful magic, the cloak would – reveal itself?”
“Tha’ was ’is idea, I think, an’ it seems it was successfully implemented.”
“Does that mean, if anyone could perform a greater Disillusionment Charm than he did, they would see whoever is under the cloak?”
“Yes.”
“But – that would mean that Voldemort – no!”, it dawned on him. “He – he – the wand!”, Harry panted as though he had ran across the world to figure out all that. “He used a wand to make himself invisible! Dumbledore – he didn’t! He didn’t need to! That’s why he could see me! The Charm was placed on the Cloak with a wand! Wandless Magic! That’s the solution! What is the secret – a stronger mind than Ignotus’! His match! The one who mastered him!”, satisfied with the bright smile he got himself, he laughed eventually.
“I am glad ter see tha’ ye in’erited sum o’ yer paren’s’ brains, even though yer talents were no’ as promoted durin’ yer childhood.”
“What do you think. Did I do the right thing? Regarding the Avengers?”
“Tha righ’ thin’, Harry.”, Severus sighed. “Wha’s tha righ’ thin’. Did I do tha righ’ thin’, abandonin’ Lily fer followin’ me mother abroad? Did I do tha righ’ thin’, infiltratin’ ’is party? Did I do tha righ’ thin’, tellin’ ’im ’bou’ tha prophecy? Was it righ’ ter le’ ye grow up wit’ tha Dursleys?”
“If you think it through, it resulted in the end of the war.”
“Bu’ ter which price. Was it worth so much sacrifice. Could more ’ad been spared.”
“We’ll never know, will we? That’s why wise people decided destroying Time Turners. Because people aren’t meant to go back and risk the world to correct minor mistakes. Because it can go terribly wrong. What if you had stayed and married Lily? What would have happened then? I wouldn’t be who I am, or probably not be even. I wouldn’t have put an end to Tom Riddle’s suffering. It would have gone differently. He might have killed us all. Who knows? No one knows. But I know now that there’s a reason behind everything, as hard as it is to accept. I don’t say it’s good that all these people died. It’s horrible! It would have been better if there had never been any war. But they died for a cause. And now we have to rebuild our world on that. We’re not meant to erase. We’re not meant to forget what it was like. If we do, they’d died for nothing. And letting that happen is just such a selfish, ignorant, barbaric thing to do.”
“Then our opinion is tha same.”
“Is it?”, Harry stood up.
“I think so, yes.”, Severus smiled and raised too.
“He talked badly about me, right?”, another time a memory from long ago flashed up behind his eyes. “Igor Karkaroff. Before you punched him.”
“Dun’ think as bad o’ ’im as ’e ’ad spoken then.”, Severus said serious. “Igor always ’ad some perverse humour, bu’ I fergave ’im fer ’is lapse. After all I din’ tell ’im ’bou’ our relation. If I ’ad, ’e wouldn’ ’ave said tha’.”
“Where are you going now?”, without wanting it, Harry’s hand suddenly laid flat on the canvas.
“Wha’ makes ye believe I’ll go? Bu’ yes, I ’ave a date.”, he wiggled his eyebrows.
“Er – ”, chuckled Harry.
“Nuthin’ too serious. Jus’ a lil revenge fer a chess match I wun las’ week. If ye wan’, come an’ watch us. Third floor in tha Grand Tower, ye can’ miss it. Simply look ou’ fer a gatherin’ o’ monks.”
“No, thanks.”, Harry meant. “I think, I’ve seen enough of chess lately. Ron’s really annoying. We’re spending all free time in the office playing. He tries to see whether it can make me fail my NEWTs. But it helps a lot getting on different thoughts when you’re stuck with a case,”
“Certainly.”
Severus nodded and knelt down, the lifesize painted hand reaching out against the front of the canvas, what appeared to be for him like the glass of a terrarium and Harry wished to be back in that zoo, and him to be the boa, and the glass to vanish for him to step out, to be free, to be there, to be – real – and – alive –
In that moment, the moment their eyes were connected so strongly, fury grew in him. Much like that snake he had felt uncoiling, when Voldemort had been angry, but now, he wished for that sneak to break free and bite himself, for his bias, his uncontrolled statement back then in the Great Hall – that he – would be going to keep his fingers crossed for – another death – They cannot return word nor act and the grudge will fall back heavy on the bearer.. Because, it is hard to understand and even harder to accept – every harm, especially the deaths we truthfully hope for in blind loathing, will haunt us for a lifetime.
“Can – can you feel me?”, Harry gargled, equal tears in his eyes; he could swear there was some warmth against his palm, some touch that wasn’t only the painted surface reflecting his own warmth.
“I can.”
With a whisper, Severus nodded once more, pulled back his hand, placed a soft kiss on his fingers and printed it onto the strange barrier that was between them, Harry understanding it to be right where he must be seeing his cheek. More than that, he felt a touch. Barely, but he did. Then Severus stood up and, took his smile with him, left the frame to another, somewhere far away in the castle.
He could hear quiet footsteps. But the longer he stared at the dark painting, the louder they got. His head didn’t turn for the person who came. Only standing there, abandoned in his thoughts, he didn’t care who would be coming to see his tears. Nevertheless he stepped back and went towards the arches. The feet were gaining speed when he climbed onto the wall that reached his waist, but slowed down with obvious relief when he merely sat himself onto that sill, letting his bare feet dangle over the abyss. The soft breeze that brushed his hair whispered to him. Voices in a foreign tongue, but he believed to understand them. They meant to comfort him, encourage him. So apparently did the person who climbed up at his left to join him at his unusual seat.
An arm was laid around his shoulder. He had never been granted a real brother, but now, at his side, sat someone who was worth more than that. He was indeed a real brother. They had had their differences, their fights, like he had gotten to know real siblings would have in times. But everything had turned out to be better afterwards. With that knowledge, he also lifted his arm to place it around Ron’s shoulder, and together, in silence, both still in their nightwear, they watched the shadows of the few clouds dance across the landscape.
~~#~~