A/N: I'm well aware that people want to see this prophecy I keep mentioning. Rest assured you will....in bits and pieces. This is primarily due to the nature of what that prophecy is. Suffice it to say, it is a large one with several components to it.
Also, to answer a Portkey reviewer's question, there is no "5th Founder" of Hogwarts. However, as was implied in the last chapter, there is likely more than one heir floating around out there. In fact, you'll find out more about this point in this chapter.
Chapter 22: Power Plays
Neville Longbottom's summer was not exactly unfurling like he had expected it would. After the incident at the Ministry he had expected to settle into another quiet summer of tending to his greenhouse and plants, awaiting the bad news as far as his O.W.L.'s were concerned. Instead, two of his best friends had turned up missing (the how and why still being sketchy at best), one had been accused of being a Death Eater, and then just this morning he had been told by his Gran that they were going to a funeral reception and that Harry and Hermione had turned back up, and furthermore that Hermione was no more a Death Eater than he was (something Neville could have told you from the beginning, had anyone bothered to ask him.)
So it was with great interest that he arrived at the Burrow that morning, mixed with sadness at the passing of Molly Weasley and full of questions concerning his friends disappearance. He chided himself internally for this not really being the time for such questions, but still a part of him couldn't help but be the least bit curious.
He stayed back at the Burrow as was typical wizarding custom for anyone not of the immediate family or not to be invited to the procession. From what little he had been able to gather of the proceedings from snippets of the past three days issues of the Prophet and conversations with his Gran, Hermione's parents had been killed a little over a week ago, at which point she and Harry effectively disappeared from the wizarding world. Since that time, the Prophet had begun printing outlandish stories about Hermione actually being a Death Eater, stories that two days ago had suddenly died off with a complete retraction by the Prophet. Furthermore it seemed that the Prophet might be shutting down for a few weeks to come into contact with "new management" as the paper put it.
Currently Neville found himself in the peripheral of a rather boring conversation between his Gran and Jeremy Lovegood about budget matters for the Department of Mysteries, something about a shortage of funds in the last few weeks or some such thing. On more than one occasion he glanced around the area, knowing full well that the Weasleys had returned, but unable to catch sight of Harry or Hermione.
When he did, his jaw dropped.
Both of them appeared to be at least two years older, both taller by a few inches (Harry by several), both had filled out in terms of musculature (Hermione in terms of beauty), and both were completely different from the two people he had seen just under two weeks ago.
Harry, sans glasses Neville noted, made eye contact with the wizard, and the gaze spoke of a weary soul with a fire buried deep inside of it, though Neville could hardly put such poetic license to it. All he knew at that moment was that it chilled him to the bone. Seemingly gone was a Harry who was gentle, if not a bit reserved, and he had been replaced by someone who had a serious bone to pick with the world. He and Hermione slowly made their way over towards Neville, ignoring the looks they got from the rest of the on lookers who had no idea what was going on.
"Hey guys," Neville sheepishly said, earning a smile from the two of them. Hermione walked over and hugged Neville, a gesture which he returned, followed by a hearty handshake from Harry. "Don't you two go disappearing on us again. Gave us quite a scare it did."
"Sorry about that," Harry said with a bit of a grin on his face, a grin that belied an internal anger that did not go unnoticed by Neville. His face suddenly took on a much more serious tone, and his stance became much more confident. "We can discuss things later Neville," Harry formally said, causing Neville to raise an eyebrow. "For now I wish to talk with your grandmother, the Lady Augusta Longbottom." To say Neville was surprised at Harry using the old forms. He didn't think he had any knowledge in that department. Idly out of the corner of his eye he caught a glint from Harry's ring finger. Glancing down he saw a familial ring, which granted Harry the right to speak in such terms. Setting aside his shock and surprise for the moment, Neville quickly assumed his own rather formal posture, realizing that there was only one thing to do if Harry legally possessed that ring.
"I shall make your request known Lord Potter," Neville quickly replied, his posture perfectly straight and his face a complete mask of the confusion he was feeling at the moment. There was a slight chuckle behind him, and almost immediately his posture sank back to its normal form.
"I see you've taken those lessons quite well Neville," the elder woman said with a rather prideful smile on her face. She was a rather aged woman from the look of her, clad in white robes with a customary vulture hat on her head. Her hair was a deep white, though her eyebrows still retained a slight copper tint to them. Harry stood and glanced straight into her pale green eyes, and she stared right back. "So at last I meet the man who is responsible for helping Neville advance himself so far this year. I must say it is a pleasure to see you again Mr. Potter."
Harry arched an eyebrow, his form forgotten for the moment. "Again?"
"Yes, your parents were close with my dear Franklin and his wife. The last time I saw you was when you were just a year old. I see you've grown into quite a strong young man." She smiled at him, and turned her gaze to the side. "And you must be the Hermione I've heard so much about."
"Yes ma'm," Hermione said politely. Augusta looked her over, giving her a good through examination with her eyes. She then turned to Harry. "If you wish to discuss things concerning the ancient lines with me, we must do so alone, only....those of blood may hear such things."
A glow of anger crossed over Harry's face, but faded as quickly as it arose. "Hermione is my betrothed and the future Lady Potter," Harry said plainly, causing Neville to nearly faint, "As such, she deserves to know such things."
Augusta smiled, "Very well Mr. Potter, but let's not go calling her Lady Potter just yet. First you must reclaim your status with the Wizengamot."
"And it is in this that I request your help, Lady Longbottom," Harry said, once more returning to the more regal speech that he had used before. "As you yourself have stated, my parents and your son were good friends, and it is in these tidings of friendship that I seek your help in reclaiming the heritage which is rightfully mine." Internally, Harry balked that he was beginning to sound like Draco Malfoy with all the claiming of inheritance titles, but he knew that this was the only way he could impress someone as rigid as Augusta Longbottom...assuming Neville's description of his grandmother was accurate.
A wry smile formed on the Longbottom matriarch's face, and she nodded her head slightly. "This is neither the place nor the time to discuss such things, but you may come to our manor house in Derbyshire tomorrow evening for dinner." Harry nodded, and Augusta turned away. Neville simply stood there, staring at his two friends.
"Don't worry Neville," Hermione said with a smile on her face, "We'll give you the details tomorrow." Neville nodded, but couldn't help but feel that he had been left behind once more.
/ - / - / - /
Draco Malfoy closed the book on parliamentary procedure, having read it for what seemed like the hundredth time since his apprenticeship to Caliban had begun.
This was the only part of Caliban's plan that seemed to make sense to Draco. After all, the Dark Lord did need spies on the inside of the Ministry. More than that, though, he felt himself filled with a small degree of pride. Here he would be able to show people exactly how useful he could be. He could show his father, the sniveling ingrate, what Draco Malfoy was capable of. He could show Caliban, most importantly, what he was capable of.
Whatever had spurred this change in Draco's attitudes towards Caliban was uncertain, but to himself he regarded him as more of a father figure than his blood relation at this point. It was a quick transition to be certain, but part of it probably had to do with the fact that Caliban had actually awakened Draco to his true heritage, something for which Draco was quite thankful for, even if he was still morbidly ashamed of it.
Shaking his head clear of such thoughts, Draco walked out of his room to get something to eat. As he passed by the main living room of their small safehouse, he found Caliban sitting on the floor, various pieces of parchment scattered all over the place and books stacked eight or nine high. The elder Death Eater worked feverishly, scanning through all the parchments and other papers with a quickened pace, occasionally jotting down a few notes here or there. Draco cocked an eyebrow, and out of the corner of his eye Caliban caught the gesture.
"Research," Caliban explained, answering the unasked question. "The Dark Lord has asked me to study the ancient lines, looking for one of the heirs."
"Heirs?"
"Yes, heirs to the great witches and wizards of antiquity. There are some ancient documents written by some of the greatest thinkers concerning who they might be, but Voldemort seems to think that they'll emerge soon." He paused, a grin forming on his face, before he went back to work. "I am currently scanning the old lines for the Heir of the Four Founders of Hogwarts. After I have finished that, I will seek out both the Heir of Morgan LeFey and, ultimately, the Heir of Merlin."
Draco's eyes widened, "The Heir of Merlin? Is there such a person?"
Caliban shrugged his shoulders, "Perhaps. It is a known fact that Myriddin Emrys had no other family, nor did he have any offspring to carry on his magical line. Still all the same, many scholars have written about the heir of Merlin. The legend goes that just before his death, Merlin made a prophecy to his students of the day, a prophecy that stated his power would return one day in one who would be greater than him."
"But….how could you find such a person….if there's no blood then…"
"Remember your own experience young dragon," Caliban snapped, causing Draco to be silenced momentarily. "In any event, you needn't concern yourself with such details. Finding the Heir of Merlin is not our primary goal at the moment. Have you studied the book again?"
Draco glared at the man from behind his chastised face. "Yes, I've memorized it from cover to cover."
"Good, you realize that your fortunes will be greatly affected by Lucius' stunt. It is likely a good deal of your wealth will be taken away as payment for your crimes, but we have enough influence left on the council to prevent the Malfoy lines eradication from the lines of the pureblood families." He paused a moment, glancing at another piece of parchment, before turning back to Draco, "In any event, your task is simply to hear things. Do not make a scene above all else. And for Merlin's sake, DO NOT REVEAL WHERE YOUR LOYALTIES LIE!" A fierce look came over Caliban quickly. "If it is discovered you are marked, then our influence will be greatly hindered. You have failed us twice before Draco, and I have interceded on your behalf on both occasions, sparing your life. Fail me again, and I don't have to tell you what the consequences will be."
Draco stood there, somewhat worried at the tone Caliban was using. As quickly as he had become angry, however, he calmed back down. "I trust you shall not fail us however, and I have every confidence in you Malfoy, remember that." With that, Caliban turned back to his work. Draco went towards the kitchen, his mandate swirling around in his head, before he came upon another thought. He turned back around.
"Potter….he claimed to be an heir of Slytherin…..is there any chance that he…."
"Perhaps he is the heir of the founders," Caliban said without looking up at Draco, "But do not concern yourself with it. If he is, it will soon be discovered."
/ - / - / - /
"You still haven't told me why we're here…"
Jeremy Lovegood was three days removed from attending the wake of Molly Weasley, and was in no mood to be kept in the dark any longer. Silently he stalked after Malcolm Greengrass, his Unspeakable's robes billowing in the surprising wind in the underbelly of the Department of Mysteries. Together they walked down the darkened hallway, heading towards an unnamed room. Malcolm turned back with a tiny hint of irritation in his eye.
"I don't know why he summoned us down here Jeremy," he confessed, turning back, "And frankly I don't care. When Lazarus says it's time to do something, it's time to do it." Leaving it at that, he went back on his way, with Jeremy following him all the way.
They wound around the corridors several ways until they came to a literal dead end. Standing there with her dark hair resplendent in the slight torchlight was Clarissa Zabini, her eyes filled with the same confusion that the other two men had. In front of her was Lazarus himself, his wrinkled and potmarked face fully exposed to the light, giving him an ominous appearance. "Good, good, you've all come." He offered his toothless smile to the three of them, and turned towards a flimsy looking wooden door.
"Why are we here Lazarus," Clarissa asked, placing her hand on the elder wizard's shoulder.
"My time on this earth is coming to an end," he confessed, "I know not when the end will come, but it will as with all things."
"But you can't die," Jeremy said suddenly, "You've been here since…."
"Yes, I know Jeremy, but such is the way of things. Death is nothing to fear, at least not for one who is of sound mind and body." He paused, as if deep in thought, "It is my wish that I live to see my affairs put in order, but should I not, then it is up to you three. Thusly, why we are here in front of this door." He turned to face all three of them. "This door remains locked at all times, my friends, for behind it is the story that no one else knows, at least not in its entirety. It is a story that must be told however, and you three shall be the ones to pass it on to those who need to know it."
"What are you trying to tell us?" Malcolm finally asked, as Lazarus turned back towards the door, his eyes closed as the latch suddenly clicked.
"Everything…."
/ - / - / - /
Two weeks went by in relative calm in the wizarding world. To everyone's surprise, the attacks by Death Eaters, which had become more and more frequent in the previous days, had ceased since the return (at least sightings of) their savior the Boy-Who-Lived. By and large the wizarding public went about their business, unaware of the simmering tensions just below the surface of their society.
Out over the Scottish landscape Harry stood on his balcony, watching the starlit sky, he glanced up at each of the constellations in turn, never really noticing their beauty until now. Growing up in the suburbs of England didn't allow one to have an appreciation of the night sky, since the stars were often drowned out by the lights of the city. In his youth, Harry had regarded the stars as the object of his ultimate desire, freedom. Stars meant he was outside, away from the Dursleys, away from his cupboard, away from the living hell that was his life.
He had escaped that, and come into something so much better. It had cost him much, but both he and his love agreed that, despite the losses, it was something they relish living in. Harry smiled as he felt the form of Hermione Granger nestle up next to him.
"Tomorrow's the day," she said to the air, and Harry nodded his head into her bushy mane.
"Yes, it is," he plainly stated. "Tomorrow's the day we ensure that our lives are never interrupted again. Tomorrow is the day we take the first step towards our life together."
There was a long pause, as Harry and Hermione simply stood out on their balcony, taking in the night air all over again. "Harry," Hermione said hesitantly, causing him to look down at her with worry.
"What is it love?" he asked, a tinge of worry in his own voice.
Hermione bit her bottom lip, as if to say something, but held her tongue, "It's nothing. I don't want you to worry."
"Worry about what," Hermione shook her head. "Tell me Mione,"
"It's just that….Oh Harry I'm scared if Dumbledore has some other trick up his sleeve that's all…" she stared at him with a few tears leaking out of her eyes. Harry hushed her and took her in an embrace.
"He won't," Harry said with resolve, "And he won't rule our lives anymore." Harry looked up at the sky once more, wishing to tell the old fool to his face that Hermione and he were free, forever free from Albus Dumbledore and his machinations.
Across the country, Albus Dumbledore stared into the same sky, a glass of brandy in his hand, looking very much like his son, his mind turning in ways to ensure that it would never happen that way, oblivious to everything going on around him.
A/N: The long-awaited Wizengamot meeting will take place in the next chapter and several plot threads will come to fruition. That won't end this fic though, as their will be an aftermath of the Wizengamot, another confrontation between Harry and Dumbledore, more stuff with Draco, and the eventual conclusion to Caliban's hunt for Harry.
For those with keen eye, you would have caught that the Heirs Caliban was searching for, the Heir of LeFey and the Heir of Merlin. Idly enough, The Heir of LeFey is the title of the second part of this trilogy, with The Heir of Merlin being the third part. Their identities will be discussed at a later date.