I am not J.K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic or anybody else who makes money off of Harry Potter. Although, if there's any way I could become an advanced screener, for "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix", I wouldn't turn it down.
Sorry this chapter was so late. Thank you so much for all of your support thus far. Portkeyers rock!
Chapter 4: The Frenchman, the Herbologist and My One True Love
"Jean Paul Gerard." Harry was holding a manila folder in his hand and scanning the information contained therein quickly as he walked toward the interrogation room. "Graduated from Beauxbatons in 1996, with honors. Was picked up for suspected Death Eater activity in England in 1997, extradited to France on an earlier charge of kidnapping, released due to insufficient evidence…" Harry skipped ahead a bit, trying to find out what this French guy had been doing during the Final Battle. "Here we are. Escaped prosecution for war crimes because his presence could not be accounted for on VV Day." Harry had learned that 'VV Day' stood for Victory over Voldemort Day and that it had taken place on May 19, 1998.
'Maybe there's a reason I was sent here, to this time,' Harry thought to himself. 'Maybe this Gerard guy knows how Voldemort was defeated.'
Ron looked very bored. "I know all of this already, you know. I'm the one who assembled the profiles on the Dolohov ring."
"Oh," Harry replied with an apologetic wince. Perhaps that explained why the parchment had mustard stains all over it.
Ron gave Harry a look of genuine concern. "Are you sure you're up to this, mate? This French bloke is supposed to be Dolohov's number two guy. Minister Tofty will have our wands if we don't shut the whole operation down within the week, not to mention all of the innocent people these Death Eaters could kill in the meanwhile. We have to break him." Ron thought that over for a moment. "Not literally, though. Our healers have been running a bit low on Skel-E-Gro lately."
This gave Harry pause. It was one thing to fend off a Death Eater when your life depended on it. It was quite another to interrogate one when others lives' hung in the balance. Questioning a suspect was something that was likely handled during Auror training, but Harry had no memory of that. Still, if he was ever going to get answers from someone, now would be the perfect time. "I'm sure."
Ron still looked doubtful, but said nothing. "I'll be right outside, watching everything. If it looks like you need help, I'll be there before you know it." His head suddenly turned sharply at the sound of a girl's voice. "It looks like that hot blonde number from procurement's come back around. Maybe I'll head over there first and say hello."
Harry gritted his teeth. "But after that, you'll be right outside, watching everything?"
"Huh?" Ron asked reflexively. "Oh yeah, sure, mate. Whatever you say." Ron then disappeared around the corner, possibly never to be seen again.
Harry swore under his breath. He supposed he would just have to do this alone. Taking a deep breath, he turned the door's handle and entered the interrogation room. It was empty, save for a solitary figure obscured by shadow in one corner, reading a newspaper and sitting in an armchair. Harry knew, however, that the room was being monitored at all times, both by magical means and with electronic recording devices.
"Your English wizard newspapers are pathetic," Gerard informed him disdainfully through a very thick French accent. "The Daily Prophet merely spouts whatever lies your Ministry tells it to. The Quibbler prints only fantastic tales about creatures which do not exist. And The Alchemist newsmagazine is far too dry, boring and Anglocentric to fully engage a continent-wide readership." Jean Paul Gerard threw today's edition of the Daily Prophet on the floor and stepped on it. "Now Le Monde du le Sorcier, there's a newspaper you can sink your teeth into."
Now that the paper and the darkness were no longer hiding his features, Harry could see that Gerard had short dark hair, a thin mustache and a broad Roman nose, which was turned up haughtily in the air. He appeared to be in his early twenties and in a very foul mood. Harry was not inclined to improve it. "I'm sorry you don't approve of your reading material. Perhaps we could bring you a French newspaper tomorrow morning." Gerard looked intrigued by the idea. "Of course, if you don't cooperate, it's possible that it will be carrying your obituary."
The young French dark wizard laughed mockingly. "Monsieur Potter, I can tell that you are not very experienced at making threats, so I will let that one pass without comment." His fingers twitched slightly while he talked, as though they were used to holding a cigarette. Or perhaps he simply wanted his wand back. "What is it that you want from me?"
"Information," Harry said quickly, trying to keep as much authority in his voice as possible. "I want you to tell me everything about Dolohov's operation and about your association with the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort, including places and times and names and dates. In fact, let's start with where you were on May the 19th, 1998." Harry hoped he had said that smoothly enough to where it wouldn't sound suspicious to anyone.
"What a terribly unoriginal approach," Gerard complained. He shifted in his chair slightly, bringing his chin to rest on his open palm, his elbow propped up slightly by the chair's arm. "You played Quidditch at Hogwarts, non? You were a seeker?" Not seeing the harm in revealing that fact, Harry nodded. "I was the same also at Beauxbatons. Quidditch is an easy game for us seekers, is it not? We know exactly what to do. Chase the little flying golden ball around until either we catch it or our adversary does." He stretched out in the chair, crossing his legs lazily. "In life, however, it is a much harder thing to be a seeker. There is no little golden ball to follow around. Most people do not even know what they are looking for, yet they are addicted to the chase all the same."
Jean Paul Gerard held a fisted hand in the air and then opened it, releasing a golden snitch into the air. Before Harry could react, Gerard snatched it back again, closing and opening his hand quickly. As though by magic, the snitch was gone. "What is it that you seek, Monsieur Potter?"
Perhaps mesmerized by Gerard's antics, or simply deciding that honesty was the best policy, Harry said, "I want to know how I won. I want to know how I defeated Lord Voldemort." Jean Paul Gerard gave him only a humoring smile. "If you could tell me anything: his vulnerabilities, a spell that would weaken him…I'm sure I could arrange for some sort of immunity."
"You are going about this entirely the wrong way," the French Death Eater told him chidingly. "You search for Voldemort's Achilles heel, when the key to victory lies inside the Trojan horse." At that moment, three burly Aurors entered the room. One stood next to Harry while the other two moved to either side of Gerard. "Also, it would be a grave mistake to ignore Orestes' wife," he continued in a whisper. "But perhaps you know that already."
"That's enough," snapped the Auror who, if his more ornately decorated robes were any indication, was the senior officer of the three. "Mr. Potter, you've overstepped your authority in this interrogation by offering Gerard a deal. You can explain yourself to the Head of the MLE in the morning. Right now you're going home. Without pay, this time." He glared at the Frenchman with undisguised hatred in his eyes. "We're taking over the interrogation and the case."
"But Monsieur Potter has broken me," Jean Paul Gerard informed the three of them in an exaggerated, pitiful voice. "I am ready to make a full confession." This surprised every British wizard in the room. "My superior intellect was no match for his strong arm tactics and English tenacity. I will tell you everything I know."
"Uh…well…hmm…" The highly ranked Auror hemmed and hawed, unsure of how to proceed. "Well, Mister Potter, in light of these circumstances…I think some measure of leniency would be in order…perhaps we were a bit too hasty…"
Sensing an opportunity, Harry shook his head. "No, I think you're right. I should take the rest of the day off." Off the bewildered looks of the other three Aurors, he explained, "I need to pay a visit to an old friend. Maybe more than one." He slapped his hand on the lead Auror's shoulder. "Would you mind filling the paperwork out for me? I understand it's a pain."
Exiting the room, Harry saw one such old friend rubbing his jaw. "What happened in there?" Ron asked. "I could hear Lead Auror Craggish clucking like a chicken all the way from out in the hall."
"I got Gerard to talk," Harry told him casually. 'I still haven't the slightest clue how I did it, though,' he added, but only to himself. It was too bad that the French wizard hadn't been more forthcoming with information about Voldemort's defeat. Perhaps it was a bum lead anyway. "What happened to you?"
Ron withdrew his hand to reveal a rather large bruise on his jaw. "Turns out the blond bird from procurement is married. Did you know that?"
"I had no idea," Harry answered honestly, but with a knowing smirk. "I'm taking the rest of the day off, mate, but there was one last thing I wanted to ask you." Ron's expression brightened. "Other than me, you and Luna, who else was there right before I went off with Voldemort?"
The brightness dimmed. "Well, just around where we were," Ron began with a pained grimace at the memory, "there was Ginny…Neville…and She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
After a moment's confusion, Harry figured out who Ron was talking about. 'Hermione.' He dared not say her name aloud for fear of Ron's reaction. "What's Neville doing with himself these days?"
"Still pushing up daisies, I'd expect," Ron answered with a solemn face. Harry's heart sank. Neville had died, too? "They are his best seller, you know."
"What?" Harry asked in bewilderment. "What are you talking about?"
"Up daisies," Ron explained as though Harry had some sort of severe learning disability. "The fastest growing daisies in the magical world. Neville sells them at his shop." When Harry still looked confused, he continued. "It's a magical plant shop. That means that he sells…"
"Magical plants," Harry finished for him impatiently. "Yeah, I get it."
"I think some time off would do you a world of good, mate," Ron said with a reassuring grin. "Get some rest this time, alright? And whatever you do, don't go back to you-know-where." Harry did not know where 'you-know-where' was but unless it was Neville's plant shop, his and Ginny's home in Ottery St. Catchpole or wherever Hermione was keeping herself these days, he had absolutely no intention of doing so.
***
Neville's shop was almost criminally easy to find, given that it was in the middle of Diagon Alley, with a large sign in the window made from bioluminescent vines which spelled out "Neville's Plant Shop." You could therefore imagine Harry's embarrassment after he had asked no less than five people for directions on how to get there. After giving a sheepish bow to one such gentleman, he opened wide the door, only to be quickly enfolded by kudzu vines as strong as steel cords. They cradled him gingerly however, and, well remembering the incident with the Devil's snare in first year, he decided not to fight the plant as it held him.
The vines slithered along, entwining with each other until they spelled out a message. "Hello and welcome, Harry Potter."
"Hello to you, too," Harry greeted the plant cordially. "I'm here to see Neville Longbottom."
The kudzu vines quickly disentangled themselves from his limbs and stretched out to form a cordoned off path which led straight to Neville. "Thanks," he called back to the kudzu. Upon realizing that he had just spoken to a plant, his face turned red.
"I talk to them, too, you know," Neville informed him. A genuine smile lit up his face, which was now somewhat slimmer than it had been while he was at school, as was the rest of his body. He was sitting behind a desk, jotting something down on a notepad. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. Talking to plants is a time-honored tradition among herbologists. Even muggles figured out the benefits of it after a while." He gave a nod toward the vines that had greeted Harry near the door. "I see you've met my Know You Kudzu."
Harry chuckled lightly. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."
"It's a guard plant," Neville explained. "The Know You Kudzu isn't supposed to let anyone in unless it recognizes them. I only move it near the door when I'm getting ready to close the shop."
"Oh," Harry replied, disappointment clearly visible on his face. "If this is a bad time, I can come back."
"Don't be silly, Harry," Neville assured him. "My shop's always open for friends. What can I do for you?" A thought struck him suddenly. "I hope you don't mind that your two dozen Forget-Me-Nevers aren't ready yet. It's just that you usually don't want them until closer to the end of October."
Harry shook his head. "No, that's fine. That's not why I'm here." Harry steeled his courage. He hated to lie to Neville, but this was for the greater good. "We've captured a dark wizard who's making certain…claims… about the day Voldemort was killed."
Neville frowned. "What kind of claims?"
"Crazy rubbish," Harry replied dismissively. "That Voldemort didn't really die that day. That he found a way to come back. The usual Death Eater line of codswallop. Only this bloke's got some credibility. Nobody knows where he was on VV Day, so there's no one who can refute what he's saying."
Neville's eyes narrowed. "It should have all ended when he died. Everything should have been over." He then shook his head quickly. "I'm sorry. I know you've taken it the hardest of anyone." Neville slapped his knees, stood and walked over to where Harry was standing. "What do you need me to do?"
Harry sighed. "If this berk goes to the press, the story will be all over the newspapers. The Daily Prophet, the Quibbler, the Alchemist, Le Monde de la Sore Sea Cow, all of them will run with it." He leaned closer to Neville. "Do you think maybe you could come forward with your version of what happened during the battle? Anything you could say would be helpful." 'To me,' Harry added to himself.
Neville's eyes did not meet Harry's as he said, "VV Day's kind of a blur to me, Harry. I remember killing Bellatrix Lestrange and Luna dying…" He pressed his fingers against his forehead, as though attempting to stave off a headache. "So many people died that day. All of those green jets of light, flying everywhere. The memory of it keeps me up at night sometimes."
Harry suddenly felt very guilty for coming here. "I…I didn't know."
Neville gave him a small, brave smile. "I'm sure you've put yourself through worse, knowing you." Harry nodded, but he was no longer looking at Neville. He was looking at a photograph of Neville in dress robes and Susan Bones in a wedding dress that was sitting on Neville's desk. "Luna's death hit me pretty hard. We were good friends, but I never expected... It was like a part of me was gone. I didn't fancy her or anything, but I think I might have loved her." A wistful expression crossed Neville's face, but it soon vanished. "Still, with a ninety percent casualty rate, I guess we were lucky that even the five of us got out of there alive."
Harry's eyes widened in shock. "Ninety percent?"
"The Order of the Phoenix and almost the entire Auror corps were wiped out on that day." Neville shook his head at the memory. "I try not to think about it very often."
"That's probably a good idea," Harry advised, his voice now sounding a little numb. Why had the victory been so costly? He had to find out. He simply couldn't allow all of those people to die.
Looking at Neville, however, Harry decided that the young herbologist had suffered enough. "I don't think we're going to need your statement after all, Neville. Thanks for everything, though."
Neville looked like he knew Harry was coddling him and might protest, but ultimately decided against it. "Any time, Harry."
"There was one more thing I wanted to ask you before I leave," Harry added as he rose to shake Neville's hand. "Do you have any idea how I might get in touch with Hermione?"
"I think I have her address around here somewhere." Neville beckoned him over to a shelf full of books on plant food. "It's really a shame that the three of you aren't friends anymore. I see Hermione at Flourish and Blott's sometimes, you know. She always seems so sad." Neville looked at Harry hopefully as he handed him a slip of paper. "Please tell me this means you're going to pay her a visit."
"Yeah," Harry agreed with a quick smile, "I reckon I am."
***
First, however, Harry decided to head home. His own personnel file had given him his physical address, so he knew it was somewhere in Ottery St. Catchpole. The only trick now was to find out where it was without looking like he didn't know where he lived (which, of course, he didn't). As he stumbled around in the twilight, he had time to ruminate on what had happened since he found himself in this vision.
The first thing that struck him was the vision itself. 'Nobody told me I'd be able to walk around and talk to people in the future. I thought I would just be watching things happen, like it was some sort of television program.' Given the choice between the two, Harry had to admit that he would have preferred this way of seeing what was to come. 'This makes it easier to have my questions answered.'
Unfortunately for Harry, not many of his questions had been answered so far. Perhaps talking to Ginny and Hermione would prove more informative. 'Well, I usually learn things from talking to Hermione anyway, don't I? If all I get out of Ginny's a good snog, then I won't be too disappointed.'
He stopped for a moment as he neared an old, decrepit looking house that Harry did not remember being there. At first, he wondered if it might not be his own, but then recognized it as Lovegood Manor, which he had seen once while taking a walk outside the Burrow. This hardly even looked like the same house. 'It's fallen into complete disrepair,' Harry noted with sorrow. He wondered if perhaps Luna's father was still living there, the loss of both his wife and his daughter in such a short time making him despondent.
Again, Harry felt that strange sinking feeling at the thought of Luna's death. 'Neville described it pretty well, actually,' he thought to himself. 'It's like a part of me is gone.'
Within only a few hundred meters of Lovegood Manor stood a simple cottage which resembled the Burrow somewhat in its appearance, but seemed to be newly built. All around the house was a large, open grassy field, perfect for Quidditch practice. 'This has to be my house,' Harry guessed with a wide smile. 'At last.'
As Harry approached the quaint cottage, he couldn't help but admire how perfect it was for the two of them. Small, intimate, out of the way yet close to where Ginny's parents lived…it was the ideal home. He could practically imagine the roaring fire keeping the place warm on a chilly autumn night, Ginny's bright smile keeping the house fun and happy, and perhaps even children, some day…
Harry opened the door and stepped inside, only to have his jaw drop. Through the wonders of magic, the interior expanded once he entered to reveal opulent wonders. The house had multiple stories connected by a marble staircase, expensive-looking Oriental rugs running the length of the floors, crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, golden statues lining the walls and many other things that Harry would never have imagined owning. It was impressive, but it didn't quite feel like the home he'd always wanted. Perhaps he had been obliged to make a few concessions to Ginny on what their home would be like.
'Oh well,' Harry thought. 'When I see Ginny, I'm sure it will all be worth it.' He looked around the first floor briefly, searching for his wife. "Ginny?" he called out. "Are you here?"
Looking through the house quickly became a tedious chore. After a few minutes, Harry got the bright idea of doing a 'find me' spell he'd learned from Hermione the previous summer. The spell led him straight to Ginny, who was sitting on a long leather couch on the second floor, sipping a glass of wine and closely examining the latest copy of The Alchemist. "The house elves didn't make you any dinner before they left. I guess they finally decided you weren't ever going to come home." At last, she did look at him, her eyes filled with pain and anger. "That's a little funny, don't you think? Our house elves figured it out before I did."
"But I'm home now," Harry pointed out contritely.
"I flooed Ron," Ginny replied coldly. "He said you left work hours ago."
"I…I went to see Neville," Harry replied, fully aware that his surprise at being treated this way by Ginny was coming off as nervous guilt. "At his plant shop. Floo him and ask him if you don't believe me."
Ginny laughed bitterly. "Oh, I believe you. It's always someone like Neville, isn't it? Someone who survived VV Day. You spend hours talking to Kingsley Shacklebolt or Hagrid or Padma Patil or Tonks but you won't even spend ten minutes talking to me! Well I survived, too, Harry and I'm your wife! Have you forgotten that?"
"No," Harry replied defensively. "Of course not. Look, whatever we've fought about in the past, it doesn't matter now. I'm here to make it right."
"You can't," Ginny told him firmly. "You can't just give me that boyish smile and kiss me and say that you'll make this up to me. I won't let you do that to me anymore."
Harry thought frantically back to what Ron had said about why they fought. "Is…is this about you not wanting to have any children?"
Ginny laughed again, although now it looked like she was fighting back tears. "No, Harry, dear. I won that one. You gave it to me the hard way, but I won." She leaned in closer to him. "You see, it's kind of hard for a couple to have children when they don't even sleep in the same bed anymore."
"This…" Harry began, his mind reeling. "This doesn't make any sense. Why would we be sleeping in separate beds? What's going on here?"
"I'm leaving you," Ginny said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Mum says I can stay at the Burrow for as long as I'd like. I would rather you not visit me there. I'm sure you'll have no trouble not seeing me, as you've had plenty of practice over the last few months."
"Ginny, wait," Harry called after her, but she had already begun to walk down the stairs. "Please. This came out of nowhere. At least give me a second chance to make things better."
"You've had plenty of chances already," Ginny told him tersely. "And if you think this came out of nowhere, then you really haven't been paying attention." Only seconds after Ginny walked out the door, she stuck her head back in. "Oh, and I won't be paying the house elves this week. That was your stupid idea in the first place, so it should come out of your salary."
As Harry stood there, dumbfounded and in shock, his only thought was, 'It wasn't my idea in the first place. It was Hermione's.' As he thought of her, he decided that perhaps it was finally time to see his best friend. He felt the strangely urgent need to see her face, to hear her voice. If he couldn't make things right with Ginny, maybe he could with Hermione.
***
According to Neville, Hermione Granger was now working at the War Memorial Center, which stood where Ministry headquarters used to be before Voldemort transformed it into a hole in the ground. She was a grief counselor, helping people cope with the emotional aftereffects of the war. Harry just knew that she would be great at it.
Hermione's flat was only a few blocks away from her workplace and within only a few minutes of apparating where the Ministry of Magic had once stood, Harry stood in front of her door. Silently, he searched for the right words to say. 'Hello, Hermione,' Harry tried in his head. 'Nice to see you again. Sorry I've stayed friends with Ron and not you all these years.' That didn't sound very convincing to him and he doubted it would to Hermione, either.
Just as he raised his hand to knock on her door, it opened to reveal Hermione herself. She looked quite pretty, if Harry did say so himself, with her normally bushy hair tied back into a ponytail and a very alluring look of surprise on her face. "Harry," she said softly, her brow furrowing as her eyes met his. "What are you doing here?"
'That's Hermione for you. Always cutting right to the chase.' "I…I just…I wanted to…I know I haven't seen you for awhile but I needed to…. This isn't coming out right at all."
Hermione gave him a warm, playful smile. "Harry, you saw me yesterday. Stop acting so silly and come in. I'm making dinner." As Harry entered her flat, he began sizing it up immediately. The living room had an appropriate amount of furniture, some Muggle electronic devices (including a television) and shelves upon shelves of books. The room was softly lit and warm against the autumn chill outside. Harry sat down on her couch and began to let himself relax for the first time since coming to the future. "Of course, it was just going to be dinner for one. I hope you're not very hungry."
"No, not very," Harry lied as his stomach grumbled in protest. He couldn't help wondering what Hermione had meant when she'd said he had seen her yesterday. Had Harry already begun to mend fences with Hermione?
"Well, I hope you'll still be hungry for dessert," she called out with an affectionate laugh in her voice.
Harry rose from her couch and stood in the doorway of her kitchen, watching her stir something in a pot which smelled heavenly. "And just what are we having for dessert?"
Hermione dropped the spoon she had been stirring the pot with on a spoon rest and sashayed over to him. "Why, what we usually have, of course." And then she did the last thing he would have expected. She kissed him.
Quite a twist, eh? Bet you didn't see that one coming. Alright, so maybe you did. Anyway, repercussions and revelations to follow.
ITL