Grace Aux Malfoys
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Finally, after several months, 24 or so drafts, false starts and re-writes, the next chapter is out. I would like to thank everyone who's read and reviewed this and express my infinite gratitude for your patience with this wayward, some time writer.
Without further ado …
The characters of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger-Potter and almost everyone else in this tale are the property of JK Rowling, her companies, partners and whoever else has paid enormous amounts of money for her work. I am not making any money from this tale, just enjoying the satisfaction of exercising my creative juices as well as grabbing the opportunity to turn something I don't agree with into something I had hoped would happen.
Chapter 7.
Arithmancy Classroom, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
The Weasleys - Bill and Fleur, Charlie, Molly and Ginny - and the Lupins (Tonks and Remus), along with Susan Bones, were in a state of mental and emotional turmoil, unable to believe what Arthur had said under Veritaserum. This was a man they'd admired and respected, a man they'd fought beside (Remus and Molly in two wars), a man they were proud to call father or friend.
The man sitting in a chair, head lolling, eyes unfocused and voice slurred from the effects of Veritaserum ... this was not the Arthur Weasley they'd known and loved.
Tonks and Remus had led the questioning, taking off from Molly's earlier assertions - much of which Arthur confirmed. Yes, he'd been worried that his youngest son would turn poufter - nothing but Harry on his mind, his best mate, his best friend, and sounding too much like Arthur's disowned brother Gideon spouting off about Fabian (Gideon's best friend, lover and soul mate) for the patriarch's comfort.
Ron being the person that Harry `would miss the most' during the Tri-Wizard increased Arthur's concern … coming upon a loopy Ron giggling about `your anus' in the Department of Mysteries drove him to distraction … learning about Ginny and Susan the following year was the final straw … he had no choice but to take action.
He'd Obliviated Ginny, `revived' her feelings for Harry, replaced Molly's nutritional potions (which she'd been sending through Dobby since the summer) with Amortentia - all the while saying that it was within his rights as the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Weasley to do so ...
"I DON'T BELIEVE THIS FUCKING SHYTE!" Ginny's roar made Remus grateful that he'd demanded the teens surrender their wands before they started questioning Arthur. Father or not, the look on the young witch's face promised either a quick death or sustained pain for anyone at the end of Ginny's wand.
Molly's reprimand of, "Watch your mouth -" was cut off by the furious witch who turned blazing eyes on her: "Put a sock in it, mother!"
A burp would have sounded like an explosion in the suddenly silent room, only for the shock to wear off as the raging witch turned and bellowed at her father: "WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?"
The question seemed to trigger something in the older man - and they gaped in surprise as Arthur's demeanour changed. No longer slumping, he sat straight in the chair, head up and spine rigid as if a broom had been shoved up his back; staring straight ahead although his eyes remained unfocused and glassy; responding in a voice that was oddly flat, harmonious and lucid: "It is for the greater good of the wizarding world."
"WHAT?"
"Magical Britain is in peril ... there are far too few children of the Old Families left to continue a viable society. It is the duty of every light-sided wizard and witch to marry and produce children, preferably sons who can continue the lines and lead magical society towards its destiny. Ensuring strong sons that can lead us in the future is our duty and responsibility."
Tonks frowned - for a moment, she thought the voice sounded familiar … `Hal' talking to `Dave' … which was strange because she was sure she'd never met a `Hal' before.
Her thoughts were interrupted as an incensed Susan Bones asked, "Is that why you were against Ginny's relationship with me?"
There was a hard edge to Arthur's voice as he answered, a tone they had never heard before from the mild-mannered man: "Yes! It is a perversion of the ideals of marriage. The purpose of marriage is to ensure the continuity of family and society. Without children to carry family forward, society is doomed. Since people of the same gender cannot produce children, they must be cast from society and the protection of family."
"If so, why go through all the shyte?" Susan gritted out through clenched teeth as she glared at the Weasley patriarch, "Why obliviate Ginny, why dose Harry with love potions when you could have simply disowned her!"
Arthur's disembodied, harmonious voice responded, "That is not an option. For the good of the wizarding world, Harry Potter cannot be allowed to marry another muggleborn with flawed ideas and outlandish notions. Only his marriage to Ginny, a pureblood witch from a family dedicated to the `Light,' is acceptable. Harry and Ginny are the future of magical society, destined to become the leaders of light who will bring magical Britain into the future."
"BASTARD! THAT FRIGGIN' BASTARD!" Molly's blood curdling scream broke the trance that had seemingly enveloped the room's occupants. Susan watched, confused, as Molly charged for the door as Bill and Charlie tried to intercept the raging witch; Fleur's wand flashed and Molly bounced off an invisible barrier into the arms of her sons as another spell flashed from Fleur's wand - this time, shrouding Molly in a warm glow -
The sound of a meaty SLAP! followed quickly by Tonks' loud "STUPEFY!" had wands pointing all over the room - and the Weasleys blinked at the sight of Arthur on the floor, an incensed Tonks standing over him as Remus rubbed a bruised cheek. Tonks responded curtly to the confused Weasleys, "-serum's wearing off ... Arthur tried to grab Remus' wand. I had to stun `im."
Molly, however, was oblivious to Tonks' explanation as she sat in a chair, mumbling an unending mantra of, "That bastard! That friggin' bastard!" A befuddled Susan asked a visibly seething Ginny who looked ready, willing and able to kill someone with her bare hands, "Gin? What's wrong? What's going on?"
"Dumbledore," Ginny spat and Susan blinked at the non sequitur - life on the run was not conducive to reading and Susan hadn't read or even heard of Skeeter's book. Ginny explained in short, terse sentences punctuated by Molly's new mantra; Susan's confusion morphed to outright horror at the implications of Arthur's parroting of `the greater good ...'
"We can't be sure of that, Ginny," Bill interrupted - and found himself behind his bemused wife, looking over her shoulder as his favourite (and only) sister glared at him. "WILLIAM ARTHUR WEASLEY! It's obvious that ..."
"It's one phrase, Gin!" Charlie interrupted from where he stood behind Molly's chair. "One phrase that could be taken out of context - and Dad was already predisposed against your relationship! He's already disowned Uncle Gideon for the same thing ..."
"But that's the point! Susan's right - if he was so against it, he could have - he should have - disowned me! Why this elaborate plan ..."
"Ginny!" She stopped as warm hands gripped her shoulders and she glanced up to see the intense blue eyes of Susan on her. "I understand. You want to blame someone ... you want to believe that your father could not have done that ... but we can't be sure!"
Ginny was having none of this - she was prepared to argue her case, loudly, but stopped as Susan's callused hand covered her mouth. "What are you gonna do? Blame Dumbledore? He's dead - but he went out fighting and most everyone thinks he died a hero! No matter what, people still look up to him! Who do you think people will believe: Skeeter or the `legend' that is Dumbledore? What are you gonna tell `em? That Mr Weasley's been under an Imperius curse all this time?"
"I have to know, Susan." The pain in the youngest Weasley's voice was evident in the tears streaking her face. Her pained words cut through every one conscious in the room. "I have to know! Dad - he was the one I ran to when I was hurt, who watched over me as I slept, who woke me from my nightmares after Tom's diary was destroyed…
"I have to know, Susan, whether the man I thought loved me did that to me because it is what he is … or because someone was playing games." Susan hugged Ginny tightly but the others could hear her muffled voice: "We lost a year, Susan … one whole year when we could have been together…"
"Maybe it was for the best, Gin," Susan said softly. Ginny tried to step back but was held by Susan's hands on either side of her face, holding her steady as she locked eyes with the younger witch. "Think, Gin … if we hadn't been separated, would you have stayed in Hogwarts? Would you have stayed behind at school or at home with your family where you were safe…"
"I would have gone with you, Suzie …"
"And do what? I've been on the run for a year, Gin … hiding from Snatchers, fighting Death Eaters, moving from place to place, never knowing whether I would get through the day and see the sun rise … it wasn't the best life for anyone, Gin - we'd go for days without food, not even a chance to wash or change our clothes, every minute wondering whether we'd meet our end …"
The others were silent - true, they hadn't had it as bad as Susan did but that didn't mean that their lives were a bed of roses. They were able to survive in relative safety - but they had to endure the anxiety of not knowing. Each day they listened to the wireless, hoping to hear the Twins' voices or waiting for word from Harry, Ron or Hermione - heaving sighs of relief at knowing they were still alive and in the next minute worrying whether that night or the next day would find their siblings captured or dead …
"The only thing that kept me going, Gin, was the thought that someday it would be over … that the war would end and that maybe … maybe I'll find you and learn that it was all a big mistake…" Susan let go a small sob as Ginny's arms went around her, squeezing for all she was worth. "And that you'd tell me that … that…"
"That I love you, Susan Amelia Bones. I love you, then and now, past, present and into the future." She entwined her hands in Susan's hair and locked eyes with the taller witch as she continued, "Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you stay, will be my home. Your family will be my family; your God, my God. Where you die, I will die and nothing but death can keep us apart."
"So mote it be." A crying Susan finished the oath as she leaned forward; their lips meeting and the conscious occupants in the room turned away from the glow which surrounded the two young girls, even as they surreptitiously wiped tears away from eyes invaded by dust motes.
Time passed - no one could say whether seconds or minutes had passed - but even young love had to step aside for reality. Painful though it would be, Tonks and Remus knew there were things to be done and Tonks cleared her throat, "Hem Hem."
Susan and Ginny reluctantly broke apart but stood together, arms around the others' waists, looking bemusedly at the Auror with the blindingly pink hair. Before she could say anything, Bill interrupted her, "Hospital wing, for now, I think. I'll ask Poppy to dose him with Dreamless Sleep for tonight … and then," he took a deep breath even as he locked gazes with Tonks, "St. Mungo's probably. Fleur knows a Mind Healer … I agree with Gin - we have to know. Not just for their sakes but also for ours."
The atmosphere turned tense as the Auror and the eldest Weasley son locked stares, until Tonks nodded, at which the Weasleys heaved a sigh of relief.
"I have to tell Shack - the Minister of Magic," Tonks amended - and raised a hand before the others could protest. "Verbally, nothing written or in a report … including our `suspicions'. Knowing Shack, he'll keep this to himself; it's not likely that he'll go blabbing to Skeeter about this."
Bill glanced at his mother who nodded her head in resignation. They knew there was no option - what Arthur had done was beyond the reservation and over the horizon, whether it was from his own prejudice or not; the only good thing about this whole fiasco was - as Tonks pointed out - the Minister was a good friend and would keep this under his hat.
A palpable sense of relief could be felt in the room; they'd dodged a bullet and - if the recent revelations panned out - they knew there was a basis for rebuilding their family and their ties with their father. To all of them Arthur was the epitome of all that was good - brave in battle, a large heart to his family and friends, a doting father to his children. There was hope that the incident with Harry and Ginny was an aberration; that the world would not learn of it was more than enough.
"We have to tell McGonagall something, though," Tonks pointed out, reminding her husband of the Headmistress' patronus earlier, directing them to a meeting in her office - a summons that they'd responded to with a message that they were `busy'.
Remus shrugged; it wasn't that big a deal to him. "We'll just tell her that we assisted Bill with a couple of cursed objects in the Arithmancy Wing. That should hold her off."
He blinked at the wand that was under his nose; rotating his eyeballs slowly upward, he gulped at the sight of Susan's icy eyes boring into his as she said, with a spine-tingling hiss, "Are you calling Ginny and myself cursed?"
For a brief moment, Remus wondered whether he'd been channelling Ron Weasley from earlier - it took a bit of effort to stop whimpering "Mummy".
"Susan, let the wolfie go!" Tonks voice sounded as if it was coming from far away, or so it seemed to Remus whose normally enhanced hearing could hear nothing save the rapid beating of his heart.
He heaved a sigh of relief when Susan removed her wand - and watched the buxom redhead turn to his wife with a raised eyebrow and ask, "You call Professor Lupin wolfie?
Tonks shrugged. "It sounded like a good idea at the time," she said, "although I call him something else when he's howling in bed…"
"TMI!" Two teens screamed as they clapped hands over their ears as Tonks giggled - which had Fleur following suit, followed by chuckles from Bill and Charlie … followed by outright laughter from Ginny and Susan, until they were rolling on the floor, laughing at a nonplussed Remus.
He shook his head; he must really be tired if Susan could get one over on him. This called for retribution and he narrowed his eyes at the giggling girl, wondering what he could do … and fell to his knees as a powerful magical pulse passed through him, striking like a bludger on the back of his head … He didn't see Molly, who had also fallen on her knees, holding her head as if it were threatening to split apart while Arthur fell off his conjured bed, face down on the floor, as stiff as a board or Hagrid's rock cakes, and Ginny's shrill voice adding to the pain in his brain: "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?
***
Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"Bee in your bonnet, Headmaster?"
Severus Snape snapped out of his silent musing before shaking his painted head at the raspy voice of the Sorting Hat. But then again, he thought, why should he be surprised? A lonely man by choice and circumstance, he felt a curious kinship with the Hat when he held office here and indulged its penchant for speaking its mind - something that the previous Headmaster apparently neither appreciated or approved.
Something that he had noticed but never really thought about: when it came to words or ideas, Albus Dumbledore would listen only to his own voice.
He shook himself from his thoughts and glanced at the Hat on its shelf. "Just thinking, Adrian ... just thinking."
"Ah," the Hat said, sagely. "The one thing we never stop doing for as long as we are tied to this plane of existence - asleep or awake, we can never stop thinking."
"Or talking," Portrait-Snape snarked.
"How else can we bring our ideas across, Headmaster?" the Hat responded, reasonably. "That is, after all, one of the reasons for the magic that has brought your essence to that portrait. The Founders did not want the experience and knowledge of the Heads to be lost to future generations; you are, after all, the conservators of their dreams and hopes."
Snape couldn't help snorting. "Conservator? Dreams? This was never part of my dreams or plans." He sighed. "Now that my mission is done ... I would much rather be elsewhere."
"A surprising sentiment, Headmaster. The others," and the Hat seemed to gesture around him, "would spend months or even years railing that they still have things left undone …"
"You forget," Snape interrupted, "I never wanted or expected to be here. In fact, I am surprised to find myself here in this frame along with all these other … august personas."
"Why should you be surprised? You did serve as Headmaster - and quite well, in fact - besides, the castle's magic itself placed you there."
A raised eyebrow was directed at the Hat, "Indeed? Either the castle is oblivious or the attacks have addled it beyond recognition."
There was no response as the door to the office crashed open and a harried Minerva McGonagall rushed in, followed by Deputy Headmaster Filius Flitwick chasing after her like a terrier chasing a car. Snape shook his head violently to dislodge an image of a bare chested, high-booted Flitwick chasing a pussy around as he heard the fireplace roar and realized that McGonagall had unlocked the Floo.
He looked up in time to see the fireplace flare green and Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt step out. Smiling, the Minister discreetly waved his wand to clear the ashes from his robes as he walked towards the older woman before enveloping her in a warm embrace - no words needed to express their feelings at the moment. As he released her, he turned to Flitwick, dropping to one knee to embrace the diminutive wizard. Snape's snarky reaction was cut off as the fireplace flared again with Percy Weasley arriving and going through the same evolution as Kingsley: walking towards McGonagall as he banished the ashes on his robe - but extending a hand as he said, "Headmistress, a pleasure to see you."
McGonagall took his hand, saying, "A pleasure, Mr Weasley" before also enveloping him in a hug - restrained to be sure, but still a hug. Only to nearly throw Percy over her shoulder as her favourite student stepped into the room.
Squealing "Hermione!" like a schoolgirl, the Headmistress rushed over and enveloped Hermione in a hug to rival a python - completely forgetting the most basic rule of Floo courtesy: as soon as you arrive, make way for someone else.
The reminder was not long in coming. The fireplace belched loudly and spat Harry Potter out on his arse at tremendous speed, sending him straight into Minerva and Hermione, bringing them down in a tumble of arms and legs … and Harry found himself staring into McGonagall's icy blue eyes as a brogue straight out of the arctic requested: "Will you mind getting off me, Mr Potter?"
Only to hear Hermione say: "Um, Professor … you're on top of Harry?"
McGonagall blinked, looked down, realized her `compromising' position and jumped up - only to fall on her bum as her feet were still entwined with Harry's, and froze as an unaccustomed roar filled the room.
Shacklebolt, Flitwick and Percy had their wands out and ready as the others tried to disentangle themselves - only to gape at the sight of Severus Snape laughing to beat the band, rolling on the `floor' of his frame, kicking his legs in roiling hilarity!
"ALVIN SEVERUS SNAPE!" As the triple-name combination rolled off Minerva's tongue, Snape was on his feet, but this was no frightened schoolboy - this was a seriously pissed adult whose icy tone and laser-like glare could cut diamonds: "I would be most grateful, Madam, if you cease your use of my first name - as I had requested before my Sorting years ago."
He noticed Hermione mouthing "Alvin?" to a snickering Harry and turned a steely gaze at the giggling teen. "And what are you laughing about, Miss Granger? I haven't had such a laugh since I watched Benny Hill with Lily …"
Harry and the others (even Snape) cringed at Hermione's unholy shriek of indignation: "You LIKE Benny Hill? That's …that's …"
Snape's raised eyebrow and trademark sneer were in full force: "Hilarious? Entertaining? Riotous? Uproarious? Speak up, girl!"
"I was going to say obscene, Professor," Hermione replied, only to be met by a roll of the eyes that would put her own efforts to shame.
"You need a little more laughter in your life, Miss Granger," the portrait replied in a condescending tone. "Which I doubt you get much of from Potter…"
"Hey!" Harry's protest was cut off by McGonagall's surprisingly loud, parade ground roar: "ENOUGH!"
McGonagall blinked at the sight of the breathing and the painted in the room (including the Sorting Hat) standing stiff as boards, heads up, chins out, thumbs along the seams of their robes - and rolled her eyes before moving towards her desk as she said, "Oh, at ease, all of you!"
As she sat down, she asked. "All right, what's going on?" She fixed a steely gaze at Kingsley Shacklebolt who'd just settled in an armchair. "Let's start with you, Kingsley. All I know is that the goblins are coming here for a `meeting,' the purpose of which is not clear but that we are to regard it as a visit from a Head of State - not surprising since Ragnok is not just the head of Gringotts but also Clan Chief of the Clan Chiefs of the Goblin Nation."
She continued before Shacklebolt could say a word. "I have instructed the elves to clean up the castle and set things up; Pappy the Head Elf has told me that they've been in contact with the Goblins' elves -"
"The Goblins have elves?" Hermione's shrill voice stopped McGonagall, who turned her laser-like focus on the teen, who cringed at the look.
"This is not the time for that discussion, Miss Granger. Suffice it to say that the elves have things well in hand for this meeting and the dinner afterwards. Although it has not happened in some time, the elves can and do coordinate with each other in making sure that the appropriate protocols and arrangements are in place for meetings such as this."
"Sorry, Headmistress," Hermione responded in a small voice, feeling some small comfort as Harry squeezed her hand. The elderly woman's stern face softened as she regarded her favourite pupil.
"Apology accepted, Miss Granger - if you will, in turn, accept mine." Hermione looked up in surprise, but the Headmistress was focused on her desk. "I should have taken you in hand years ago when you first embarked on this crusade - unfortunately, there were just too many things in the way: the tournament, Harry's trial, Umbridge …"
"More like someone didn't want you educating the young lady properly, Headmistress." The heads of McGonagall's visitors swivelled to the source of that gravelly voice - and all eyes (except Harry and McGonagall) blinked as they realized it was the Sorting Hat who spoke. "Foisting off all sorts of menial tasks on you while he kept himself locked in his ivory tower spinning his plans …"
"Enough, Adrian," McGonagall said in a weary voice, "as Deputy Headmistress …"
"It is your job to ensure a quality education for all who enter this school! Your first responsibility, whether teacher, Head of House or Head of this school, is to the students … not the wizarding world as a whole, not the magical government of Britain or the world, not even for some fabled `greater good' that only he knew or understood …"
"I said enough!" McGonagall's voice lashed out even as her hand slapped down on the desk. "I wish not to speak ill of the dead" - she ignored the snorts coming from two directions - "but this is not the time for such discussions, especially when we have guests coming. We can return to that matter soon … as I am fully confident that neither you nor Filius will allow me to forget."
She sighed tiredly as she glanced at Shacklebolt. "Filius and I have been urging Albus for years to establish a mandatory course on Magical Culture and Lifestyle for our muggle-borns and muggle-raised students; Albus insisted that we have neither the funding nor the teachers for that. When things settle down…"
The Minister for Magic nodded; it was something that he'd been thinking about even when he was on the run with Susan Bones and his team. Part of the reason for their successful evasion was because of the Muggle born who'd been able to hide them in the muggle world. It was during those times that he realized how woefully lacking in knowledge they were of the `outside' world - and how woefully ill-informed the Muggle-born were of theirs.
He shook his head of the thought, and nodded to Percy who began briefing Minerva and Flitwick on the upcoming visit. Administrative, logistical and security concerns were raised and dealt with; in the end, the only issues left unanswered was the one that had bothered the Minister from the start: no one had a clue why the goblins wanted a meeting with Harry specifically.
He listened as Flitwick pointed out that it couldn't be because of Harry's last `visit' to the bank - the goblins would not be calling for any meetings but would simply seize Harry's vault, and he was grateful that Minerva had thought to include the half-goblin in this meeting. Percy was conscientious and a hard worker, but he was simply too junior and too new at Goblin Liaison to provide truly worthy and in-depth insights.
"The problem is," Flitwick explained, "Gringotts - like all banks - prides itself on its security and the safety offered to its customers, provided they are willing to pay the price. For three young people to break in, steal something of value and then escape aboard a dragon!" Flitwick shook his head - whether in admiration of the deed or consternation at the political implications was difficult to tell.
"Trust a Gryffindor to go for the spectacular publicity stunt rather than the sly cunning approach! While I applaud the audacity of the deed, the consequences were apparently beyond what their little minds could comprehend."
The Gryffindors in the room all rolled their eyes at the acerbic comment coming from the peanut gallery - or the portrait of Severus Snape - only to blink in surprise when they realized that Phineas Nigellus Black had returned to his portrait and was listening in.
Before Harry or McGonagall could say a word, Flitwick spoke up, "He does have a point, Harry ... did you have to do it in such a publicly spectacular manner?"
Harry's angry retort died on his lips as he caught sight of Flitwick's amused face; he was, however, unable to stop Hermione from starting a rant: "Professor! You know why we had to get in there and grab the Cup ... it was the key to defeating Voldemort!"
"Was it?"
The softly spoken question stopped Hermione in her tracks and she gaped at the Charms master, who was looking at her with a bemused, sad look on his face. He held a hand up to stop her angry reply as he asked, in the same soft voice, "Did you have to destroy those things before facing Voldemort?"
The diminutive professor jumped off his chair and started pacing the floor, effectively cutting off any further response, as he glanced every once in a while, at the still-empty portrait of Dumbledore above them.
"I've been thinking ..." He stopped pacing to frown at the snorts that came from Snape and the Sorting Hat before continuing, "Mr Potter ... you destroyed Voldemort's body in 1981. Whether it was you by yourself or something that your mother did is open to debate. What hasn't changed is that it took him fourteen - almost fifteen years to come back and that with all his Horcruxes intact! Assuming, for the sake of argument, that you defeated him again this time without going after the horcruxes first ... how long do you think it would take him to come back?"
Harry knew that he'd opened his mouth to respond - but could hear nothing. Glancing around from the corner of his eye, he realized that the others were acting similarly: mouths open, throats working but no words escaping. The only ones not doing so were Phineas and Snape in their portraits, contemplative looks on their faces as they, too, stared at the half-goblin professor, a former Duelling Champion for whom strategy, tactics and planning were second nature.
Flitwick shook his head at them. "Exactly! He-Who-Is-Now-Gone spent years as a disembodied spirit with those abominations hidden and his followers walking around as if they were purer than the driven snow - and it still took him fifteen years to come back! In all that time, we did nothing! No investigations, no effort to ensure that he wouldn't or couldn't come back and when he did, that fool Fudge and the foul Umbridge led the rest of us in hiding our heads in the sand, wasting years when we could have done something!"
Harry felt he had to speak up, to defend Dumbledore's actions - but stopped. Flitwick had a point: too much time had been wasted while Dumbledore dithered and played his games. There was the decade Harry spent with the Dursleys ignorant of the wizarding world, when Dumbledore could have tried looking for Voldemort's disembodied spirit … Merlin, Harry thought, it took Wormtail less than two months to find and contact his Master!
True, Harry thought, the prophesy said that only he could `vanquish' the Dark Lord … but didn't the first time count? Why did Dumbledore have to wait ten years before making his move - and the first thing he did when Harry Goes to Hogwarts is set up either a test for him … or a trap for Voldemort?
Dumbledore could have told him about the prophecy after he'd defeated Quirrel / Voldemort - why wait four more years? Dumbledore should have suspected that Riddle's diary was a horcrux when Harry brought it to him in '93 - why did he wait another three years before `confirming' his suspicions? Flitwick told them, during their debriefings after the Battle of Hogwarts, that Albus had never mentioned or even shown him the diary. If the Headmaster had, Flitwick would have confirmed that it was a horcrux, giving them time to undertake search and destroy missions for the abominations.
And it wasn't as if he, himself, had to be `the One' to destroy the Horcruxes! Dumbledore destroyed the ring; Ron took on the locket; the Fiendfyre unleashed by Draco's clueless minions destroyed the diadem; Hermione and her ancestor's fangs handled the cup while Neville took care of Nagini. Of course, he had the `honour' of taking out the first horcrux - the diary - while Voldemort took out his scar - the last Horcrux … irony or poetic justice?
He glanced at his best friend and their eyes met - they were both thinking of Aberforth's ranting in the Hog's Head when he'd rescued them. At the time, they dismissed it as the ravings of an old man who wouldn't give up his ghosts or his past ... now they had to wonder if it was the anger of a man fed up with manipulations and lies, of hardships and death, who saw what others did not: that the man they looked up to, the shining icon of the Light, was nothing more than a man with feet of clay.
"Hem, Hem." Shacklebolt cleared his throat, "Water under the bridge, Fil. It's over and done with except for the historians and writers to argue and wonder about ..."
"You must admit, however, it does make for a fascinating adventure story - something that will make some fiction writer" - Hermione felt herself flushing as Phineas Nigeullus directed his gaze at her - "millions of galleons in spite of the obvious absurdities, inconsistencies and plot holes ..."
Shacklebolt rolled his eyes before turning back to the others. "As I was saying, the question remains - what can we do about the situation?"
He was looking at Flitwick as he said this, and the pint-sized professor nodded before releasing a sigh. "Honestly? The only thing we can do is play it by ear ... the fact that they called for the meeting rather than simply seizing Mr Potter's vault implies the possibility of compromise."
He gazed at each of them for a moment, lingering longest on Harry and the Minister before continuing, "It would be best to approach this meeting with a view to conciliation rather than belligerence. I somehow doubt that either the goblins or us are prepared for another conflict."
He fell into contemplative silence for a while before continuing, "One thing to remember. The goblins are, rather were, a warrior race for whom honour counts highest; they have held on to that ideal even when they went into banking and finance. Profit is valued highly; profit achieved through guile and cunning is valued even higher … but profit without honour is simply dishonour."
"Sort of like a cross between Klingon and Ferengi," Hermione murmured to herself. To her shock, Flitwick beamed at her as he said, "Exactly, Miss Granger! You have hit the proverbial nail on the head!"
Before Hermione could ask about Flitwick's seeming familiarity with one of her favourite TV shows, Harry interrupted her with an idea that had been forming in his head as Flitwick expounded on goblin honour. The idea dropped into the conversation like a hand grenade and the next few minutes were spent in loud, acrimonious debate with the Headmaster's portraits - again with Dumbledore absent - joining in.
In the end, the Minister's decision prevailed - and a house elf was dispatched to the Three Broomsticks to pick up Hermione's bag as well as Phineas' portrait which was still under the bed in `their' room.
As they waited, McGonagall glanced at an ancient and oft-overlooked timepiece on her desk and realized that it was only mid-afternoon. There was more than enough time before the meeting and she felt the need to satisfy her curiosity. Turning a gimlet eye on Harry and Hermione, she said, "And what about you two? You gave me quite a scare, Hermione, when Harry came rushing into the Great Hall, claiming you were kidnapped ..."
The young woman's raised hand and apologetic look cut off McGonagall's impending rant and Hermione launched into her tale, pulling out papers and photos as she explained to a fascinated McGonagall, Flitwick, and Percy the high points of her day. Shacklebolt and Harry sat quietly, interjecting when needed, but both glancing surreptitiously at the portrait of Snape who had affected a bored and sleepy mien at the narrative.
Eventually, Hermione ran out of words and leaned back, smiling as she felt Harry's warm hand gripping hers. A frowning McGonagall glanced at the Minister who nodded as he said, "We have the time … I suggest that we start with the records Elphias said he sent here, Minerva."
The Headmistress nodded and was about to call an elf when Snape's voice stopped her. "They're in the centre desk drawer, Headmistress."
At her surprised look, he continued (with his patent-pending sneer), "Against regulations, I know - but better that than to have an elf running down to student records every hour or so. I got tired of hosting `visitors' who all wanted a look at Potter's abysmal grades and decided to keep them here for the next idiot who wished to prove he had better grades than the Boy-Who-Lived!"
"Hey!" Harry's protest was sidetracked by McGonagall's muttering as she struggled with the drawer: "I don't know where the keys are…"
"ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?" boomed out from Snape's portrait and a flustered McGonagall glared daggers at the portrait who smirked back. She turned to the desk, wand in hand, and missed the whispered, "That was fun," that Snape said to Phineas who gave him a golf clap before looking at McGonagall, who had pulled out a thick folder and set it on her desk, prepared to open it when Hermione interrupted her.
"Allow me, Headmistress," Hermione said and then, with a raised eyebrow at Snape, placed her wand over the folder and intoned, "Riddle me this, BATMAN!"
Shacklebolt and Harry snickered as they recalled Elphias Doge's note, although only Harry (and perhaps Flitwick) caught the reference to the classic comic book hero and his arch enemy. The others - living and painted - were unable to say a word as a golden glow infused the room, centred on the folder before dissipating. Without a word, McGonagall scanned the parchments within, raising an eyebrow as she said, "Well, I can see why Elphias wanted this hidden … it wouldn't do to have V-V-Riddle knowing this."
There was a twinkle in her suspiciously moist eyes as she passed a parchment to Shacklebolt, who perused it briefly before turning to the teens with a wide, wide smile.
"Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Potter!"
From somewhere in the room, a powerful magical pulse erupted, passing through the occupants and the room itself before sending its echoes the length and breadth of Magical Britain - and probably around the world.
Harry, Hermione, Percy and Shacklebolt stared in shock as McGonagall and Flitwick were slammed back into their chairs, backs straight and rigid, eyes open and staring, hands gripping their chair's arms tightly …
Panicked, they looked around for help - only to freeze as they saw the paintings of Snape, Phineas and the other Headmasters (except for the still-empty painting of Dumbledore) seemingly in the same situation: faces blank, eyes staring at nothing, breathing stopped.
Even the Sorting Hat seemed frozen - and they could only glance at each other in bewilderment.
Within the castle, the magical pulse was felt by all but the impact differed greatly …
Older people seemed to be the most affected, albeit in different ways. For most, it was a moment when they stood still with unfocused eyes; only to shake their heads in the next moment, blinking before going back to whatever it was they were doing.
The Hogwarts staff, especially Pomona Sprout and Horace Slughorn, exhibited the same reactions as those in the tower: sitting still as statues for a long moment before biting their lips and shaking their heads, wondering...
In the thestral's paddock, Hagrid was on his substantial behind, his ham-like fists clenching and unclenching as tears fell down his face as he mumbled, "What have I done?"
In the Arithmancy classroom, the Weasleys and Susan jumped back as Remus threw his head back and howled … a long, heart-rending wail of anger and loss - and watched a crying Molly who looked, for the barest of moments, as if she was going to join in with Remus.
In the Hog's Head, Aberforth Dumbledore sat down heavily, the dirty washcloth in one hand forgotten as he stared at the ceiling of the tavern, mumbling to himself, "What the fuck have you done now, you old goat?"
Above his head, a magical portrait went suddenly still. It had shown very little activity over the years but - for the past few hours - was occupied by a young girl and an old man with a long beard who were engaged in an animated conversation that few could follow or easily understand. The young girl cast worried eyes at her companion who had suddenly sat down as if gut punched and could only mumble, "It's too soon, it's too soon, it's too soon..."
Deep within the catacombs of Gringotts, a bruised and bleeding goblin stirred and realized that he was still hanging from his wrists, the chains holding him suspended in the air. He felt the magical pulse pass through him and sighed ... he'd gambled and lost; the only thing left to him now was a merciful blade to end his current misery. If, he thought, Ragnok would be willing to grant him that mercy ... somehow, he doubted it.
High above him in an elegant but opulent office, the Clan Chief of the Clan Chiefs of the Goblin Nation paused in his preparations for the meeting with the humans at Hogwarts. He also felt the magical pulse and knew what it meant … and he released a long stream of profanity at the imbecilic toe-rag that was in chains far, far below him. One thought kept swirling in his mind, however: hope that the young scion of the Potters was a magnanimous, forgiving sort...
In Malfoy Manor, the Head of the Family and the Mistress of the House were staring at the other with wide, shocked eyes. Lucius' pale, aristocratic features were ruined by the pasty, unhealthy complexion of his skin while Narcissa's face seemingly glowed from the dark, flushed skin that was in stark contrast to her blonde locks, neither of them unable to express in words the horror and fear that was gripping their guts...
In the Headmistress' office, Harry, Hermione, Percy and Shacklebolt breathed a sigh of relief as Flitwick and Minerva shook their heads from the trance that had gripped them. Before anyone could say a word, however, a visibly-raging Minerva McGonagall jumped to her feet, turned and let loose a bolt of incandescent magic which completely obliterated the magical canvas and frame that once held the twinkling portrait of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin First Class, former Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, former Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
***
The Front Lawn, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy
Harry Potter stood quietly on the front lawn of Hogwarts, shaking his head and wondering why it looked as if the Fates or whichever Deity held sway over the lives of men and mice had it in for him. Either that or the Divine Author who controlled everything in his world seemed to delight in making him run through the hoops...
He shook his head as he looked around the great lawn, sighing as he remembered the last time he'd been here with a horde of people, waiting for someone to arrive: October 30, 1994 ... the day Hogwarts turned out to greet the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons who were arriving for the Tri-Wizard Tournament.
The memory gripped him: standing in disciplined rows with Ron, Hermione and his classmates, McGonagall admonishing Parvati before glaring at Gred and Forge, daring them to pull a prank; Dennis and Colin Creevey bouncing on their heels like animated jacks-in-the box, little Natalie McDonald looking around, still awed at everything ...
Where were they now, he wondered? Most of his year mates were missing: the Gryffindors were in St. Mungo's where Lavender and Dean were still recovering along with some of the `Puffs and `Claws ... there were very few Slytherins in the ranks and Harry had to grit his teeth at the memory of Pansy Parkinson advocating that he be turned over to Voldemort during the Battle of Hogwarts ...
"Harry?" He blinked and saw the concerned eyes of his best friend on him and he smiled, tremulously, fighting the urge to hug her tighter than Molly Weasley on a good day ... only for Hermione to grab him and provide one of her signature, rib-breaking hugs while whispering softly, "It's all right, Harry, we'll get through this together."
He returned the hug fiercely for a moment before stepping back and admiring her. She looked absolutely stunning to his unbiased eyes - mature, self-assured, and confident, in work robes of a deep blue that matched his own ... but he was still miffed with Winky.
The now-happy elf had quickly conjured robes with elfin magic (although he wondered whether a quick trip to Madam Malkins was the real magic), but insisted that while it was appropriate for him to have the Potter Family crest on his robes, Hermione was not entitled to the same thing. His protestations that Hermione was now his wife in the eyes of magic and entitled to the Potter crest was met by a firm shake of the head and the words, "is not proper yet" - an action mirrored by both Shacklebolt and McGonagall, who both said that they would explain later. His glare was met by a similarly steely stare from McGonagall; it was Percy, however, who reminded Harry that they had no more time - the goblins were on their way and they had to hustle to set up for their arrival and reception.
Hermione's hug and kiss on his cheek dispelled his anger and he realized that he was being a prat - this was not a case of his `elders and betters' withholding information `for his own good' ... it was a straightforward case of not having the time for explanations or discussions.
Much like the promised discussion between Minerva and Hermione on the matter of house-elves.
And that made him scowl even more.
He'd never really thought of house elves before, at least not in the same way as Hermione and the never to be mentioned S.P.E.W. It still hurt to remember Dobby and his sacrifice … he had promised, as he stood over Dobby's grave, that he would do whatever he could to help them and their kind…
But what the hell was he supposed to do with twenty of them?
Twenty house elves bound to his service because he was Lord Harry James Potter, Thirty-Fourth Earl of Ravenscroft, Fifty-Third Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, and - surprise! descendant of Godric Gryffindor.
And he never knew.
Neither did anyone know … except for Albus Fucking Dumbledore, Secret Keeper of far too many secrets than was good for any man.
The mere thought of Dumbledore and he found himself fighting back the red mist that threatened to descend over his mind as sheer, unadulterated rage swept over him.
***
[Flashback:] Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Earlier
He had barely heaved a sigh of relief that McGonagall and Flitwick were seemingly unaffected by whatever it was that hit them when McGonagall's office was inundated with a horde of crying, delirious, bouncing house elves wearing tea towels with different crests (including Hogwarts), wrapping themselves around his legs and arms or the chair he was sitting in.
The assault was so sudden and unexpected that no one had time to react - only Hermione's scream of "STOP!" kept him from being crushed beneath the overwhelming horde … and then a high-pitched voice cried, "We's have a mistress! We's have a mistress!"
This time, it was Harry's shout of "STOP!" that kept a shocked Hermione from being overwhelmed. Harry's roar, however, had the elves backing away in fear; several were on the verge of running for the walls or bashing their heads on the nearest hard objects when Harry repeated his order and they stood there quivering as Harry took a deep, calming breath before asking, "Can someone tell me what's going on here?"
Harry and Hermione blinked when a crying Winky pushed to the front of what they now realized was only some twenty or so elves, blinked again as she bowed low to them and said, "Winky remembers, Master Harry … Winky now remembers … she is a House-Elf bound to the service of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter.
"We's," she gestured to the others, "are Potter House Elves until magic, bad magic, made us forgets our bonds." She paused, biting her lip before continuing, "Not knowing what to do, we goes to elf-auction, looking for families to bind to …"
She stopped. Harry kneeled in front of her, lifting her face to meet his eyes as he whispered, "Dobby?"
Winky nodded, sniffling. "Dobby, too, was House Potter elf and betrothed to Winky before forgetfulness happened and we became separated. Dobby went to Malfoys while I went to Crouch family … others here (she indicated several elves) went to Hogwarts while others…"
"I understand, Winky," Harry said calmly although his insides were roiling and his face reflected his complete confusion. His family owned elves? And apparently, more than one? Why? What were they doing … what were their jobs … what the hell was the Potter family doing with all these elves? His eyes met those of a stunned, speechless Hermione who was doing a credible impression of a landed salmon.
"Master?" Winky's squeaky, contrite and frightened voice made him look at her. "We is sorry that we could not remember … one minute we were working, happy, busy and the next moment we were standing outside our homes. Magics be shutting down our homes and throwing us out …"
Harry could only drop to his knees and hug the crying elf; he felt Hermione dropping beside him and hugging both Winky and him which was the signal for the other elves to rush in, also crying and trying to get into a group hug with the pair of tearful teens.
"Just what the hell is going on here?" Kingsley's booming voice was hushed in seeming deference to the moment; his tone, however, made it clear that someone had better start talking or he'd be locking the whole lot of them in the Potions dungeon - with Snape's portrait for company.
It was Flitwick who took centre stage, literally. Climbing on top of McGonagall's desk (as he was wont to do in his classroom), he sat down heavily on the edge, "That magical pulse you felt earlier? It was a modified Fidelius Charm finally breaking."
"How can a Fidelius Charm just `break'?" Percy Weasley had apparently found his voice but his curiosity was evident - he had, after all, achieved top marks in Charms in both OWLs and NEWTs. "They're supposed to break on the death of the Secret Keeper with the knowledge that was hidden being spread among those who know, making each one a Secret Keeper …"
"I did say `modified,' didn't I, Mr Weasley?" Flitwick's smile robbed the words of any offense, and Percy nodded. Flitwick continued, "But you're quite correct. A Fidelius breaks upon the death (whether accidental, natural or intentional) of the Secret Keeper and that makes it vulnerable.
"Lily Potter was working on a modified Fidelius which combined features of Family or Blood Wards with the Fidelius, adding another layer to the charm. She hypothesized that a secret can be hidden or `entrusted' to the collective unconscious or, from another perspective, that magic itself can be `entrusted' with the secret, ensuring that the knowledge will remain hidden even after the death of the Keeper … the only thing that can break or release the secret in such an event is if specific conditions set by the Keeper are met."
The little man looked around him, realizing that everyone - including portraits, elves and the Sorting Hat - was hanging on to his every word. "I believe that the `conditions' set for breaking the Secret is for a person in magical authority, such as the Minister of Magic to say the words `Mr and Mrs Potter' …"
He held a hand up, cutting off Percy who had a look of utter incredulity on his face, and rolled right over his embryonic protests. "Consider what happened - Kingsley merely said those words in jest although it is based on a magically-proven fact - in the next moment, Minerva and I are suddenly aware of things that were, at one time, literally part of our lives and everyday knowledge.
"The three of you -" indicating Harry, Hermione and Percy - "were not affected because you were never aware of the information that was hidden. I suspect that Kingsley, on the other hand, may have been `aware' of it but did not consider it as important or had any real impact on him, which is also why he was not as affected as Min and I."
"Excuse me, professor, but what kind of secret could it be that even house-elves are affected?" asked Percy.
It was McGonagall who responded in a hissing whisper that sounded more like a viper than a cat, "Charlus Potter is the Fifty-Second Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter and the Thirty-Third Earl of Ravenscroft."
Kingsley, Percy, Harry and Hermione looked at each other in confusion - how could such an innocuous sentence have so much impact in their world?
The pain and bitterness in McGonagall's voice was evident as her eyes flicked to the destroyed portrait of Dumbledore. "Charlus - Lord Potter - is your grandfather, Harry; he was James' father. He was killed in a Death Eater ambush in October '81 … James should have claimed his title as the next Lord Potter but he never did.
"I suspect -" She glanced at Filius who nodded vigorously in confirmation - "that the Charm was cast soon after Charlus was killed, which was why James never took on the mantle. When James was killed …"
She took a deep breath, knowing in her heart what Harry's reaction would be and cursing beneath her breath the person she knew - not `suspected' but knew - had cast the charm that erased the memory of Charlus' status in their world. "The Potters are an old and wealthy family - they are truly `ancient' and `noble' being among the `First Families' of magical Albion but also granted land by Edward I of England in the late 1200s when a Potter was invested as the Earl of Ravenscroft for services to the Crown.
"They own several properties that I now remember visiting … Potter Manor in London, a seaside residence in Brighton, a villa in the south of France … others around the world, I understand, but have never visited.
"When the charm was cast, all knowledge of Charlus as Lord Potter went hidden - including knowledge of properties and possessions of the Lord and Head of House Potter …"
"Properties?" The word was a whisper laced with infinite pain and Hermione, shocked at the revelation, was not quick enough to stop Mount Potter from exploding, "MY FAMILY OWNED PROPERTIES AND ELVES AND I HAD TO SPEND SIXTEEN FUCKIN' YEARS AT THE DURSLEYS? WHY?"
He felt Hermione's arms embracing him tightly, but he was on the edge of reason as a scream of pain, a cri de couer of anger, roared from his very being, "WHY?"
There was no need to ask WHO had done the deed; there was only one person in living memory who would have the sheer guts or will to initiate something like that; only one person with godlike discernment who would think that such an action was necessary; only one person with the power and the will to do it … what Harry needed to know was WHY.
The answer came from a wholly unexpected quarter.
"Use your brains, Potter," Snape's portrait said but strangely, none of the sarcasm, scorn or disdain which had marked his every encounter with Harry, could be heard. It was a voice laced with anger, bitterness, resignation as he continued in a hollow voice, "D'you think Lily would have gone to Godric's Hollow if she knew about the Potter properties?"
The words had dropped into the room like a pebble in a silent pond, but the ripples it created could well be the harbinger of a tsunami of magical destruction. The shocked Flitwick and Shacklebolt stared at each other as the implications came to mind; surreptitiously, both fingered their wands as they warily turned to Harry who now had Hermione in his lap as she embraced him and - surprisingly - McGonagall at his back, rubbing his shoulders in an effort to calm him down.
It seemed to be working, as a seemingly calm and composed Harry Potter stared at the portrait of Snape and asked, "What do you mean, Professor?"
For a long, tense moment, the two were locked in a staring contest, one where Snape broke first as he sighed. "The Potters had numerous properties, true … but Godric's Hollow is not one of them."
"How do you know that, Sev?" Flitwick asked while he kept a watchful eye on Harry.
The portrait sighed before gesturing to Hermione, as he asked, "I assume you've told her everything, Potter?"
"No, sir." Harry shook his head. "Bits and pieces … She does know about your mother -" Snape's eyebrows rose at this - "she was the one who realized what the `Half Blood Prince' was all about."
Snape nodded slowly. "My father was a muggle," he began. Only Percy and Shacklebolt looked surprised; Minerva and Flitwick knew, having known him as student and colleague for nearly two decades. "What very few know is that he was a handyman … fixing muggle appliances and the like.
"And his biggest client was Lord Potter."
The expressions of surprise were muffled; none wanted to distract him from his musings. "The Potters had a fascination with muggle appliances which would have put Arthur Weasley to shame. Except that, being well-off, they could afford to have the real thing, as well as keeping these in working condition unlike the collection of junk that Arthur keeps in his shed.
"Which was how I knew them. My father was always on call to the various properties to fix things … being warded properties and with my father a Muggle, the only way he could do his job was for my mother to portkey or side-along him to whichever property needed his services. Flooing in was out - my father never liked that `infernal contraption,' as he called it.
"Sometimes I would go along with them … which was how I knew James Potter even before we `met' on the Hogwarts Express …"
He shifted his gaze to McGonagall and Flitwick. "I hated him … his arrogance, his bullying of others `lesser' than him, his `airs' … he was rich, he was magical, and he was the Laird's son! There is no difference between the Potter who walked into Hogwarts as if he owned the place and the boy who taunted me whenever I was in his home. He knew that I was nothing more than the hired help and treated me lower than the house elves …maybe because he knew his father would thrash him if he touched the elves so he took it out on me!"
Harry glanced at McGonagall, hoping that the old woman would step in and tell the bitter man off - and sighed when he saw her looking at him, infinite pain and sadness in her eyes and he nodded back.
Snape's memories made it clear - his father was a totally arrogant berk who, Harry now realized, knew of his title and position and had taken on the airs of an Artistocrat a little too literally. He shook his head and focused on Minerva whose Scottish brogue was leaking through: "Wha' cae you expect from the lad, Severus? Growin' up alone in that bloody huge manor with nae but house elves and his witch" - it was obvious from her tone that she had substituted a `b' for the `w' in the word - "of a mother - and I find it hard to even call Dorea Black-Potter a `mother'!
"My Jamie tried to teach his namesake proper, he did - but how can one teach properly when we only saw him rarely a' that! T'was a good thing that Charlus hae tol' him never to abuse the elves, else he'da been worse than even Sirius was…"
"Coming to Hogwarts and making friends with Sirius didn't help any," Flitwick interjected, softly.
"Aye," McGonagall said. "They were a right handful, they were but pranks I could live with - it was the meanness of spirit that made me despair o' James ever becoming a man to be proud of. It took a student nearly getting' killed" - she cast a sideways glance at Snape - "as well as Lily almos' killin' `im before he was able to pull his head out his arse!"
Even Snape had to blink at the last word. He'd known Minerva McGonagall as student and colleague for nearly thirty years, been subjected to her fierce glare and acidic tongue and in all that time had never heard the Scotswoman say anything `improper,' even when she was in her cups.
He shook his head when he heard the brown nosing Percy Weasley ask, "How come you know so much about the Potter properties, Headmistress?"
A pained look passed through McGonagall's face as she looked apologetically at Harry. "The Burns and McGonagalls have been allies and companions to Clan Potter for centuries beyond imagining. They were crofters on Potter lands but the Lairds had always treated us well, considering us more family than mere tenants.
"Charlus was my Jamie's best friend and stood with him at our wedding; Jamie was supposed to be your father's godfather, Harry, but Dorea put her foot down. She said that since your father was already named after my Jamie, someone else should stand as godfather, though in truth, she didn't think a crofter's bairn was even worthy of her son ..." She sniffled. "My Jamie died in 1970 when James was here … years later, when you were born, James asked his Aunt Minnie to be your godmother …"
"You were my godmother?" Harry whispered, shocked. "But I thought … I thought …"
"Sirius is - was - your godfather, Harry," McGonagall explained. "When the Charm was cast, we lost all memory of Charlus as Lord Potter along with every memory where `Lord' Potter was present - including your christening. Another ceremony was done in October … where Sirius and Alice Longbottom were named as your godparents."
Harry had stood up while McGonagall was explaining; Hermione had stepped to one side, teary as she listened to the older woman's tale, cursing beneath her breath at the incompetent old coot whose interference had denied her Harry years of a normal childhood. Her mind flashed back to the tent where Harry explained, once again, how Dumbledore delivered the prophecy to him - and shook with rage as she recalled the old cootie claiming that he'd placed Harry with the Dursleys so he could have a `normal' childhood.
Harry said he understood - being raised in the magical world would have made fame go to his head … but now, Hermione had her doubts. Minerva had more claim to Harry as a magical godparent than even the blood-related, non-magical Dursleys. Knowing her, Hermione knew that she would never allow Harry's fame get to his head - she'd have learned her lesson from James Potter's arrogance and would have taken steps to ensure her godson didn't follow in his father's footsteps.
And as for the so-called `protections' made because of Lily's sacrifice … it wasn't as if Number 4 Privet Drive would be the only place in Britain where such `protections' could be placed!
The Burrow had been more than adequately protected - she remembered Ginny saying that they'd been all right there until Old Snake Face himself had gone there to bring down the wards … Grimmauld also had more than enough protections even before the Fidelius was cast …
She blinked as connections formed in her churning mind.
Fact: The Potters were an ancient and noble family with properties under some, as Minerva said, `nasty and vicious protections' - probably on the level of or even better than Grimmauld Place or the Burrow. Add on a Fidelius to one of the Potter properties and it would have been nigh on impregnable.
Even if Voldemort himself showed up, it would have taken time to break through rather than, as far as Harry could remember, Voldemort literally waltzing into the house!
Fact: The charm that hid the knowledge of Lord Charlus Potter was cast after he died - months after Dumbledore learned the prophecy, weeks after two babies were born to `those who had defied the Dark Lord three times' … born to `ancient and noble' families with well-protected properties whose defences could be easily upgraded …
She didn't know where the Longbottoms had hidden out, but she suspected that they'd stayed on in their ancestral home. Dame Augusta Longbottom would not allow anything else … and it would have been dicey to try to cast the modified Fidelius to hide any knowledge of the Longbottom's heritage while she was alive.
Dame Longbottom was a very public figure, Neville had said over the years - charity balls and functions, sessions of the Wizengamot, teas and garden parties with the Grand Old Ladies that Neville hated with a passion since, chubby boy that he was, he'd been treated to years of old ladies pinching his cheeks…
The Potters, from what Sirius had said, were more the quiet, sedate kind. Charlus and, surprisingly, Dorea Black-Potter preferred anonymity - living far from London, seldom attending the Wizengamot or Ministry affairs. Which meant few people would have interacted with them ... making it much easier to `hide' the knowledge of Charlus' status - and denying James the knowledge of his birth right.
And that thought led to the next one: casting the charm would have literally thrown baby Harry and his parents on the street with no knowledge about their ancestral homes or properties. Except that Harry and his parents were not living in a Potter property at the time. Sirius and Remus had reminisced about visiting the Potters at a London flat where James and Lily lived … `because Lily hated apparition and James loathed the floo' - something, it seemed, that had been passed on to Harry.
The Potters had a London flat which was close to the Ministry and Diagon Alley. They'd given the flat up in order to move to Godric's Hollow because of the `threat' of Voldemort where they went under the Fidelius and had Wormtail as Secret Keeper…
All of which led to the conclusion that …
"THAT FUCKING BASTARD! HE SET YOU UP!"
The roar of a wounded lioness would have paled beside a totally riled Hermione Granger; an approaching thundercloud would have fled in shame at the magnificent sight of an angry Hermione Granger.
Harry broke away from the embrace of his now-revealed godmother and threw his arms around a shaking Hermione and held on tight; Hermione also wrapped her arms around him as she blubbered and stammered an explanation … while a bit confusing, enough got through the tears and hitched breathing that he and the others understood what she was saying…
Two babies, one prophesied with the power to vanquish a Dark Lord - but the `Chosen One' had to be marked. But how can `The One' be marked if both were under heavy protections?
Simple - manipulate one of the two into a vulnerable position.
Remove him from his ancestral home … let them associate with people of questionable loyalties. They'd known there was a spy in the order and it could be anyone … Sirius because of his family; Remus because of his ailment; Mundungus because of his `connections;' Daedalus because of his foppishness …
It was a set up for disaster and it went into motion when Dumbledore cast the spell obliviating their world's memories of Lord Potter and his properties.
As Harry listened, he felt something breaking within him … something hot, raging and begging for release in a torrent of destruction aimed at anything and everything that he could find to vent on …
Unknown to him, his magic was pulsing along with Hermione's - and each pulse was causing magic to flare all over the place - demolishing an armchair, blowing open the windows, sending vases flying, sending elves, portraits, and people scurrying for cover.
The elves cowered behind McGonagall's desk; Kingsley Shacklebolt, Filius Flitwick and Percy Weasley had cast shields while edging towards the door; the portraits of Headmasters past fled (Dillys Derwent to her frame in St. Mungo's, Phineas Nigellus to his other portrait inside Hermione's enchanted bag).
Unfortunately for Severus Snape, he was too new at this game to know what he could do so he was left to cower behind his portrait's chair. McGonagall had needed a wand to obliterate Dumbledore's portrait; scary Granger's eyes were flashing such that he feared a mere glance at his painting would incinerate him. Although it wouldn't be that bad, he thought to himself …
***
The Front Lawn, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy
"Are ye alright, bairn?"
Harry Potter shook his head to clear the cobwebs, the memories receding as he saw the concerned eyes of the Headmistress and realized that McGonagall's hand was on his arm, a sign of affection that ageless Scots had never shown anyone before.
He gave a tremulous smile as he looked around, noting that nothing much had changed in the time that his mind had run the memories of an eventful afternoon in the Headmistress' office. The students, adults and staff of Hogwarts were still arrayed around them; Minister Shacklebolt was still standing tall as an obsidian idol to one side with Percy beside him, both of them, however, shooting him occasional worried looks.
"Aam braw, godmother."
McGonagall blinked; she had always known that Harry was an extraordinary boy and man - but for him to say "I'm fine" in Gaelic was beyond imagining. She caught the amused glances exchanged by Harry and Hermione and raised an eyebrow in question.
"Hermione got tired of hearing me say `I'm fine' every time she asked how I was during our fifth year. So I asked a few of our friends - Seamus Finnigan, Parvati Patil, Su Li - how to say `I'm fine' in their native languages."
He snickered as Hermione punched his arm. "You should have seen Hermione's face when she asked me how I was doing and I replied, `Aam braw.' When she said, `What?' I answered `sijambo', which is Swahili for the same thing."
"An excellent use of your free time, then, Harry … five points to Gryffindor."
Harry's smile faded. "Natalie McDonald was trying to teach me Gaelic, ma'am … there's no word yet of her?"
McGonagall felt her eyes prickling with tears - another of her young lions missing. Natalie had joined Hogwarts in time for the Tri-Wizard but, as a muggle-born witch, was a prime target for Snatchers and Death Eaters. She hadn't returned to Hogwarts this past year and there had been no word of her or her family …
"We cae onla hope that the wee ones made it, Harry," she said as she tried to control her breathing. She smiled as she felt the teen's arms around her, giving her a comforting hug before stepping back and looking Harry in the eye. "Fit loch,' Harry?"
He took a deep shuddering breath as Hermione and Minerva watched him, concerned, and he shook his head as he answered, "I've been better, ma'am … still need to wrap things in my head and sort it all out."
"Aye." The older witch said with a sigh; there was nothing more to say. She was relieved at the thought that she still had an office - although, if worse had come to worse, she could still camp out in her old office, the one she'd occupied for almost thirty years.
She shook herself of her thoughts of what had almost happened when the combined magics of Harry and Hermione threatened to blow them into the next dimension; she had instinctively grabbed hold of the pair in a tight hug - and found herself in the middle of a group hug composed of elves and people as Winky, Kingsley, Filius, Percy and the elves joined in, helping to ground the two and dissipate their building magic.
"Eh?" She'd allowed her ruminations to distract her from the two young people with her and she shook her head as she tried to understand why Hermione was staring at Harry like a deer caught in headlights. Something about secrets but what kind of … her eyes widened as her brain finally caught up and she opened her mouth to interrupt …
"Oh honestly, Harry, it's not that big a deal! I owled Professor McGonagall early last summer asking for help in obliviating my parents. I've read about it but wasn't sure if I could do it!" She stopped him with a gesture. "Memory charms are tricky, Harry, you know that! I wasn't about to start practicing on my parents so I owled the Professor…"
"I told her I had a better idea," McGonagall interrupted them. "My daughter was in town trying to convince me to leave … I dinna want to leave the bairns in case the school opened …"
"Excuse me? Your daughter? How come I never knew …"
McGonagall smiled. "Probably because I never talked much about it … security, you know."
Hermione took pity on Harry's confused state. "The professor's daughter is Samantha M. Wallace, the Minister of Magic for Australia."
"The Minister is your daughter?" McGonagall nearly jumped at the incredulous voice behind her and turned to the gobsmacked faces of Shacklebolt and Percy. She smiled and nodded, understanding the awed look on Kingsley's face. Her Sammie had quite the reputation with Magical Law Enforcement in the Pacific Rim, being a legend on par with the likes of Mad-Eye Moody but thankfully without the eye or the wooden claw for a foot … although she shuddered at the thought of her bairn almost becoming like Captain Hook. She shook her head and tuned in on Hermione …
"Anyway, Minister Wallace offered asylum to my parents and they left soon after. I asked the Professor to obliviate me and `replace' the memory with the one I told you - of using Memory Charms them and hiding them under other names in Australia. The Professor lifted the charm the other day … which was why I was so knackered and went to bed early."
There was no need to say anything more - Harry realized that Hermione turning in early that night provided the opportunity for the Malfoys to kidnap her and Ron out the castle … He blinked when he realized that, while his godmother was talking to Hermione, she was also casting an evil, wicked grin at him and he gulped, wondering what anvil was heading directly for his head this time …
"Communications has been difficult," he heard McGonagall say to Hermione. "Although I believe that it's a given that they know what's happened here already so I suspect you'll be seeing Daniel and Emma before long."
She smirked in Harry's direction. "It will also give you the chance to correct your dress robes."
"Ma'am?"
"The Potter Crest on Hermione's robes, Harry. Winky's right. Tis not proper for Hermione to be wearing your family crest - not until you're properly wed."
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but McGonagall went right over him. "Tradition, Mr Potter. While you and Hermione are considered married in the eyes of magic, it is not considered legal and binding until you (a) place a ring on her finger; (b) pledge your troth to one another before family, friends and a Ministry-approved Binder or other authority.
"Only then can Hermione be allowed to wear your family crest on her robes."
Harry smiled - what could be so difficult with that? If that was all it took to make Hermione and him married in the eyes of law and magic …
"Which presupposes, of course, that you get Dan and Emma Granger's permission to marry their daughter."
Gulp.
Magic could do a lot of things, Harry knew, but did it have something to do with the sudden lump in his throat, the sweat on his forehead, the oh-so-tight band around his chest … and the hole where his stomach once resided?
Meeting the parents shouldn't be a problem - he had, after all, already defeated a Dark Lord, not only once but several times; slain a basilisk; ran rings around one dragon and escaped on the back of another; faced giant spiders, Inferi and so on … what can two dentists do?
Two dentists who just happened to be Hermione's parents. A memory from their first year at Hogwarts flashed through his mind - Ron calling Hermione `brilliant but scary.' The thing was, he thought, it had to come from somewhere … chances were that Hermione's mother was brilliant while her father was scary …
Or the other way around.
Or maybe even both.
Harry shuddered. True, they hadn't really done - much - of anything but still …
His thoughts were interrupted as he heard Shack's low voice say, "Heads up, people, here they come." He shook his head of those thoughts and focused; the goblins were arriving and game faces were the order of the day.
He banished thoughts of Hermione's scary mother and brilliant father from his mind for the moment; he still had time to write out a will, right?
He shook his head.
Just another day in the life of Harry Potter.
Final Note. I hope the next chapter doesn't take as long to work out. Thank you for reading.
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