Chaos Theory
A Harry Potter fan-fiction by DiscountNinja
A/N Alright ladies and gents, the premise is simple. Dumbledore doesn't leave Harry at Privet Drive, and instead takes him in. A look at how Harry might have grown up, and how events may have changed. A planned slow-moving fic centred on Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore. A slow-build H/Hr.
-
November 1st 1981 - Early hours
Intent feline eyes peered through the darkness of the garden at Number Four Privet Drive, maintaining a day long vigil, unceasing in her constant observation of the, frankly, disgraceful muggles who called this place their home. She had been following the elder male as he waddled his way to work and back and had seen nothing whatsoever that had impressed her. It was his attitude especially that concerned her; she had been watching his reaction to running into poor Dedalus Diggle earlier in the day.
She worried as she waited in the bushes underneath the living room window, fretting for the poor babe that was soon to be delivered into the waiting hands of the wretches living inside, who had spent most of toady with their faces glued to the television set. Not that she disliked muggles, just this set of muggles in particular. It was true that aside from the parents of muggleborn children she actually had very little to do with the muggle world, but she gathered that these were particularly prime examples of the close-minded idiots that gave the non-magicals a bad name.
While on that note, she didn't think much of the parenting skills of the mother. The young, bulbous muggle shouted all through the afternoon while she droned and chattered endlessly into the phone, then she started twitching the net curtains back every time someone interesting wandered down the street, and all the while her young child was doing his solemn best to destroy everything within reach of his grubby little hands. All three determined to be absolutely "normal", not an iota of "oddity", which she said in her mind as though that definition of 'oddity' was synonymous with 'creative', 'expressive' or 'imaginative'.
This was not the right environment for any magical child, let alone the child who in the last 24 hours has done more for the people of the world than perhaps anyone else. A child who has already sacrificed so much, the lives of Lily and James were a huge price to pay for the defeat of the Dark Lord Voldemort, but to think that the life of poor Harry must be given to these insalubrious, greedy morons was nearly nauseating.
The street was dark, only sporadically lit by the muggle street lights, but despite this her eyes were well equipped to see the gentleman in the long purple cloak appear from nowhere at the end of Privet Drive, her sensitive ears barely able to detect the faint 'pop' of displaced air that was the trademark of apparition. He took a long glance around and reached deep into his pockets, his hand emerging clasped around a large silver lighter. Striking a pose, he aimed the lighter at the nearest street lamp, which flickered briefly before the light seemed to be transferred from the lamp to the tip of the lighter which burst into a small yellow flame. With a click it was extinguished, and he moved on to the next streetlamp.
A minute later the entire street was dark, nothing but the house lights dimmed by curtains illuminated the street, and the elderly and strangely dressed man advanced down the street towards four Privet Drive. He stopped, briefly, at the low wall that abutted the garden and waited.
He was not disappointed, and in one swift move that was one part leap and one part twist a women emerged seemingly from the shadows around his feet. She eased the muscles in her neck somewhat and placed her glasses on the bridge of her nose before greeting him.
"Albus, is it true? About Lily and James?" she asked, deep frown lines and the general gloom exaggerating her already aged features.
"I'm afraid so," he replied, voice heavy with grief.
A small sob escaped from the woman and her shoulders slumped. Albus Dumbledore gingerly wrapped an arm around her in an attempt to console her. "There there, Minerva. At least Harry is safe."
"Where is he Albus?" She eyed his cloak suspiciously, almost daring him to produce an infant from within its folds.
Dumbledore looked to the sky, his eyes scanning the horizon, "I entrusted him to Hagrid, I felt he would be safer with him." Silently they understood the implication and the real reason they were there - there were people out there who would do harm to Harry Potter.
"Are you sure that is wise?"
"I would trust Hagrid with my life," Albus replied, "and you know how fond he is of Harry. I thought that it might be easier for him if he had a chance to say a goodbye. At least for now."
Somewhat placated, Professor McGonagall followed his line of sight and though she was unsure what she was looking for exactly, she watched with perhaps greater intensity than him. She opened her mouth to speak, and then hesitated slightly but now resolved to make her opinions known she forged onwards. "Albus, are you sure about this? They really are the worst sort of muggles, you know. Lily would not have approved, certainly not. Why must he grow up here of all places?"
"Because here he will be safe, Minerva, above all he must be safe. We failed, despite our best efforts, to save his parents and where we have failed so many times before little Harry has succeeded. He has afforded us all some measure of peace in our lives for the price of peace in his, that I am sure. The least we can do is make sure he is safe."
"What makes you think he will be safe here, Albus?"
He was silent.
A rumble approached, the low growl of a powerful engine steadily increasing in the silence of the night, and a bright light grew in strength in the sky. Soon enough that growl become a roar and the light became blinding as a huge motorcycle with a giant rider descended from the black. Rubber squealed on tarmac, surely leaving behind large skid marks as the brakes worked their hardest to bring the careening bike to a stop.
The engine stalled, and the light flickered out. The giant astride the bike dismounted, pulled the goggles up his blackened face and smiled a wide, bushy smile towards the elderly professors. He reached down and extricated a bundle of cloth from the sidecar, which looked almost comically small cradled in his huge arms.
"'ullo, Professors," he muttered, giving the street a suspicious, side-long glance.
"Ah, Hagrid! No problems, I trust?"
"Not at all, Sir, little 'un fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol," he looked fondly down at the little bundle, frowned and carried on, a little choked up, "I saw what's left of the house, it's ..."
"I know Hagrid, I know," all three stood for a moment in the darkness, united and yet alone in their grief for friends they did not have time to mourn.
"Well, I 'ad better be going Professor, I borrowed this bike from Sirius and I 'pose I should be getting it back to him,"
"Where did you see him?" Albus gave Hagrid an intent look, and the trademark twinkle in his eyes seemed to both grow cold and amplify "This could be important, Hagrid."
"At the 'ouse, of course," he looked confused, "he was there before I was 'o course. Must have arrived on the bike. Was him who managed to pull Harry out of the house and found him these blankets. Looked almost half-mad, you know? Merlin only knows what it must feel like to lose a friend as close to him as James were."
"And he just gave Harry to you?"
"Oh, aye, not a problem there. I told him that you knew somewhere he could be safe until things settled down an' all. Seemed distracted to tell the truth, told me to take the bike and to see 'arry here safely," Hagrid frowned again, "He said that he didn't expect he'd need the bike no more, odd I know, but to be frank, I was just glad of the lend."
Dumbledore tried to make sense of this information, but try as he might there was still no way to get over the facts of the situation. Strange behaviour or not, there was no concrete explanation he knew of that allowed for his innocence. He would have to track Sirius down before the Aurors did if he ever expected to hear the full version of events. But the problem of Sirius Black would have to be solved another day, there were other things to take care of.
"Very well Hagrid, if you please?"
"'o course, Sir ..." he looked down at the rags, and the sweet little baby within, and tried his best to smile his big, bearded smile, but tears ruined it and it took Dumbledores' steadying hand upon his shoulder to get the sobs under control, "Bye then Harry, just fer now, alright?" He placed a scratchy kiss on the baby's forehead, before handing over the bundle.
Swiftly he turned around, fumbled for a handkerchief and blew loudly, almost humorously if it weren't for the situation, before turning to face them again goggles in place, no doubt to hide red, bloodshot eyes. "Alright then, I best get this thing squared away ... G'night Professors."
He swung his leg over the motorcycle, and with a twist of the ignition he was away, the load roar slowly subsiding into the night, a light blinking on the horizon.
Professor McGonagall had stayed quiet throughout this exchange, but now took this chance, "Albus, I hope you know what you're doing. There's a reason that they made Sirius the godfather you know?" She regretted saying it as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
"I know," something flashed across his face, but it was there so fleetingly that Minerva couldn't tell what exactly it was, "but there's something decidedly strange about the behaviour of Mr. Black. If it all turns out alright, then Harry needs be here no longer than it takes to sort out what happened tonight. You know as well as I that we have no real clue what happened at Godric's Hollow."
"Are you really sugges-" McGonagall managed, before Dumbledore cut in "I'm not suggesting anything, but this next week is going to be one long investigation. We have emerged, blinking, into a brand new dawn and it will take some time to figure out exactly what happened during that long night. Just because Voldemort is no longer a threat doesn't mean that there aren't those willing to do harm in his name. Furthermore, I am no more sure today than I was yesterday exactly who I can trust."
McGonagall relented.
Albus walked up the perfect path, by the perfectly trimmed lawn bordered with perfect petunias. He reached the door, removed his wand, and with a swish, flick and a flash a wicker basket was whisked into existence on the doorstep of Number Four into which the small child was placed. A letter from the depths of Dumbledore's cloak quickly followed it, safely tucked into the folds of cloth.
He straightened up, and peered through the curtains to the front room, on a whim. Before him lay the picture perfect vision of normalcy and stability. Everything the young Harry would surely need in the days, and perhaps even the years to come. It was really for the best that Harry stay here. He would be protected. Among family. Away from those he would seek to hurt him, use him or otherwise mistreat him. They would simply have to bear losing a third Potter this night, for his own safety.
He almost left.
With a heavy sigh, he grabbed the basket by the handle and turned around, and began to move back down the garden path. A small, dry smile confronted him, "I knew you couldn't do it, Albus, you have too much heart."
"Perhaps Minerva, perhaps ..." tucking the basket under his arm, the silver lighter was brought out and clicked just the once allowing the street to be filled with light once more, and with a single turn of the heel both the figures were gone.
-
The wind buffeted them as they reappeared many miles away, half the length of a country travelled in less time than it takes to blink. It was a dry, cold wind that billowed their cloaks behind them, teasing and taunting in equal measure, in the late October night.
The moon shone bright upon the heather on the North Yorkshire Moors that eve, the purple autumn heather made eerie in the weak light, a blanket of low-growing grass and scrub that stretched for miles around, up and down the rolling hills that went from horizon to horizon. At the top of the nearest and largest hill, stood proud a worn, yet sturdy spire.
The two figures began the climb up the hill, towards Warlocks Spire. Alone in the moors, a long old tower that was weather worn and stained from age, the bricks hewn from rock far from this, their final resting place. The weight of combined history that rested upon the slate roof might have been suffocating were if not for the outstanding beauty of the surrounding land, resulting in a feel that was something like the aura of the owner. Powerful, old, wise and enigmatic.
Easily five stories high it dominated the landscape, a bastion of civilisation in an otherwise untamed land, and even still the scrub was trying its level best to crawl up the wall while grass and the like grew out from cracks in the stone. The upper floors must have had windows added at some later point, though the remains of what must once have been holes for bows and arrows were visible in the patched up brickwork.
Approaching the doorway at the base of the tower, McGonagall could just about make out the sign etched into the lintel, above the large oak door, and frowned. Plain as day, the symbol of Gellert Grindelwald was carved deep into the grey stone. "Albus, why? I know that it must be important to you to remember, but ... really, guests might not understand."
"I would not expect them to," he said, simply. Once more a wand was procured and three times was tapped on the ornate silver door knob, causing the old door to swing back on shining hinges. With a further swish, the revealed room was lit warmly by torches in brackets on the wall and by a large brass chandelier suspended from the ceiling. Wall to wall was covered in bookcases that contained heaps and heaps of old, thick dusty tomes, many bound in elderly, cracked leather and others still with the spring in their spines.
Professor Dumbledore ushered his old friend into the hall, before hastily closing the door behind him. Warlocks Spire had been his home now for many decades, and it was his personal retreat during the summer when life at Hogwarts became too much for him. It had been a very long time since he had resided at Godric's Hollow or Mould-on-the-Wold, places that held too many memories and too many bad times for him to really consider it a sanctuary he could trust to revitalise him for the next year, which in his increasing age was getting ever harder to face.
The room was small, and amongst the books stood a plain wooden table littered with papers. On the wall were hooks for a cloak or two, where he hung McGonagalls' and his before leading her through into the sitting room, which had an altogether different feel. Whereas the hall had been crammed head to toe with books, the sitting room seemed to be filled with four high-backed chairs, a low coffee table, another bookcase or two, a sturdy oak writing desk and one massive fireplace, which is no small feat for such a small room to contain. As with the hall, there were no windows, so only the newly lit fireplace and candles were providing any light. Back when the tower had been built many centuries ago, ground floor windows would have been considered an unwise structural addition to an otherwise perfectly serviceable tower, and Dumbledore (or any of its many owners) had not seen fit to change it, for who was he to argue with the architect?
The room was homey, in a stuffy kind of way. Warm, kindly and at the same time somewhat stuck in the past. Outdated furniture, warm brown tones and something of a griffin theme amongst the decor put one instantly in mind of an eccentric grandfather, filling the mantle with various trophies; proudly displaying the results of a long and well lived life.
The basket was delicately placed upon the coffee table, once some of the papers were gathered away and hastily shoved into the drawers of the writing desk. Again, with a flick of the wand a kettle was suspended above the fire and several empty cups appeared from nowhere, "I'm afraid I wasn't expecting this, so I haven't any milk for the tea," he smiled ruefully, "hopefully you can forgive me."
"Not at all Albus," she said, settling into one of the large armchairs, with the intent of warming herself by the fire, "I'm sure I will be able to cope." She looked into the basket at the sleeping form of Harry Potter, already the trademark lightning bolt scar clearly visible on his forehead, the only mark upon the lad. She shivered, knowing exactly what it was that had caused the mark.
"So what now Albus?" She winced as the kettle began to whistle, and had to whisk it away from the fire before it awoke the infant, "What exactly is out next step? Where will he be safe?"
He sat down heavily in his favourite armchair and watched her gravely as she poured the boiling water into a waiting tea pot to brew. "I think the only sensible recourse for the next few days is for the boy to stay here with me, I shall have to ask Botzler to bring a few things back here for me, and I'm sure he'll be only too happy to help me take care of Harry until things get sorted out."
"Oh? And I suppose you're an expert in the field of childcare, are you? You and your elderly house-elf will manage just fine by yourselves, eh?" McGonagall gave him a severe look over her spectacles, one which he returned with nought but furious twinkling.
"Oh, I imagine that I will pick it up." He grinned cheekily, but grew pensive once more as he spoke, "Besides, if we are lucky Sirius will acquit himself, pull himself together and then it is only right that we abide by Lily and James' wishes that we place Harry with him."
"And if we are not?"
A pause. A sigh. "Then he will have to continue to stay here with me. I cannot think of anywhere else I would consider safe enough. Here in the moors there should hopefully be few snoopers, but he can be given a magical childhood," a further sigh, "I suppose he will just have to learn to deal with his fame with humility somehow. I had hoped that I could protect him from it for some time yet ... but perhaps it is for the best that things have worked out this way?"
He took some time to think about this and finally did come to the conclusion that it was fortuitous in a way. He could personally see that the lad was well cared for, taught proper values, encouraged to know exactly when to misbehave, and perhaps he might be able to offer Harry a little edge that he may very well come to need in the future. Besides, it was no secret that he cared for little Harry. It had been a long time since Albus had known true family, a very long time, and looking down into the basket he felt a longing that ached somewhere within his chest.
They sat in silence, and drank their tea for a few minutes, warming themselves by the fire.
"Minerva, I'm going to have to ask you to take on the head duties for a few days while I try and sort this Merlin-almighty mess out. I'm sorry to impose on you so, but I'm sure that you and Filius can handle it. Besides, if Mr. Black becomes ... unavailable, I may have to ask you to take the position permanently. I can chair the Wizengamot and even attend the ICW meetings, Botzler could look after Harry on those occasions, but Headmaster of Hogwarts is too demanding an occupation to mix with children. Perhaps I could even convince Remus to take on a position, I suspect that after ... recent events, the contact might well be needed," one more sigh, "it was so hard to bring him out of his shell in the first place."
"Regardless," he continued "I would be simply unable to look after Harry and continue to be headmaster. As much as it pains me to leave Hogwarts ..." he looked guiltily towards the writing desk, "I do suppose that I really ought to have gotten around to finishing some of my research sooner. It would be a shame if I managed to lose the answers to a few magical mysteries because I could not be bothered to write them down properly."
She raised an eyebrow at him, "Are you sure about this Albus? Make no mistake, I would be delighted to step in for you, but ... I don't know. I mean, can you even be sure that you would be allowed to keep the boy?"
"Yes, I think I could wrangle it, Minister Bagnold will have far more pressing matters to see to in the coming months, and besides, she won't want to put him with the muggles, simply on principle, nor can she place him with Remus due to his condition. If Sirius is a possibility then there's no problem. I suppose there is also Peter, but I was a friend of the family for many years so I feel confident that if it comes to push, that I could convince her I was the best option."
He also thought, privately, that she might just feel the favour he would owe him would be more than worth placing the boy with trolls, politically Albus was at the top of his game, it had even been mentioned to him once or twice that he would make a fine candidate for the Minister for Magic. Dumbledore himself felt that he could make more of his talents in his current role, but with retirement from Hogwarts a possibility he might just take to showing at the Ministry more often. He felt that he ought to have some kind of hobby, after all.
She nodded, and agreed. "Very well Albus, but I can only imagine the furore that this is going to cause. The Governors will not like it."
He smiled, and said, not unkindly, "Dear Minerva, you will soon come to see that the Governors do not approve of anything. Fortunately, ex-Headmasters automatically gain a seat on the board so you will have at least one friendly face. Besides, I rather think you will do far better at it than me." He recalled, with genuine fondness, his very first meeting with the Governors, "Do you know, the first time I met with the board I managed insult at least half of them. Being purebloods they would, of course, have to share my Great Aunt Mavis and my little anecdote did not seem to break the ice as expected."
She shook her head at him, her mouth forming an exasperated smile. He had always had the ability to alienate people almost accidentally, she supposed that was part of his charm. Not that he had been useless at the political game. Far from it, she knew from personal experience that Albus Dumbledore was like a shark when he wanted to be, he had done wonders for the school since his arrival and those were big shoes to fill.
"It will truly be the schools loss Albus, but if this is what you want, then far be it for me to oppose you," personally she thought that it might be good for him, she could hardly point the finger herself, having lost Mr McGonagall many, many years ago, but for the duration of their friendship she had seen him give everything he had to other people. He was so selfless in his unflagging attention to duty when it came to the running of Hogwarts, and he was certainly not unknown at the Ministry, if he wasn't fighting the Governors for every knut then he was advancing some issue with the Minister.
The war had taken its toll upon him even further, on top of the fact he hardly ever had the time to make friendships. He had many professional relationships, and practically everyone who was anyone in Europe respected him (even if it was grudgingly), but real friends were a rarity so far as she could tell. The McKinnons had been good friends of Dumbledores and their sudden disappearance had thrown him into a fugue, which left his circle of friends even smaller than it had been before.
He really needed time for himself. She knew for a fact that most of the papers littered around the house were from back in the days of his collaboration with Nicolas Flamel, loose ends and corollaries yet to be tied up, perhaps he could make headway in producing a paper. He might even take up herbology, she had once been invited up to the greenhouse that he kept on the top floor of the tower, and she had been astonished at the beauty of the little artificial garden. He might even start to follow Quidditch again, a luxury she understood he had given up in his fifties.
She took a long draw from her tea cup, before setting it and the saucer down upon the coffee table, "I had best be getting back to the castle then Albus. I will have to talk to Filius, and I suspect that tomorrows classes will be cancelled," she smiled, " I can't imagine that any of the students will be in a fit state to learn."
He stood and showed her to the door, it was still dark outside though the wind had eased. "Good night Minerva, I wish you the best of luck when the students hear the news," he grinned brightly, "the school may need all the luck it can get. I will see the Minister in the morning, and I expect to be in touch with you as soon as I can."
"Good night Albus," she said, returning his smile.
He watched her walk down the hill, until she was out from under the blanket of the apparition wards, swiftly turned upon her heels and was gone with a pop. Shivering slightly in the night air he closed the heavy oak door which groaned as it settled back into the frame. He almost absent mindedly waved his wand at the door, which caused a faint glow from deep within the cracks between door and frame, and it was sealed.
He returned to the sitting room, and looked at the sleeping baby with almost a polite amusement. "Well Harry m'boy, just you and me now. Between you and me, I think that's the way it's going to be for some time."
The clock ticked by in the background, as he sat in a comfortable silence and contemplated the child he had brought into his home. He'd been close to the Potters, James and Lily were fine people and he was going to do his best for the boy he already secretly considered akin to a grandson. His, hazy, yet fondest memories of his own grandfather had been of the wonderful and exotic stories he'd told Aberforth, Ariana and he shortly before his death.
Pushing his glasses up his nose, he said "Harry, m'boy, did I ever tell you about the time Augusta Longbottom and I were chatting about ..."
-
Morning of November 2nd 1981
Dumbledore arrived at the Ministry for Magic early the next morning, with the intention of seeing Minister Bagnold as soon as he could. The business of placing Harry Potter was of paramount importance, and the sooner he could talk to her about matters then the less chance there was of someone bending her ear and persuading her otherwise. He was exhausted from the events of the previous night, as well as having stayed up attempting to prepare his home and house-elf for Harry's residence.
However, upon arriving at the Ministry it was clear that he had arrived in the middle of a party. There was laughter, cheer, sparks, songs and a great deal of conjured confetti in the air. The whole building seemed to be a-buzz with excitement, infectious good will overflowed from those gathered in the atrium, all the pent up paranoia, worry and constant fear that had built up under the tyranny of Voldemort was being released as the shadow of darkness lifted.
He must have shook over a hundred hands before he managed to make his way over to the golden fountain of 'Magical Cooperation', where he was way-laid by Amos Diggory.
"Professor Dumbledore! It's over, thank god!" The two shared a smile, but Diggory had clearly pulled him over for some reason, and Dumbledore couldn't seem to find a polite excuse to leave. Amos had only graduated five years ago, and the two had been reasonably well acquainted, so Albus didn't have a particular wish to burn that bridge. Amos leaned in, and whispered furtively, "A friend of mine in Magical Law Enforcement says that they're planning to bring in some big names over the next few days. Some people who thought they were safe are going to be under a lot of pressure now that You-Know-Who is gone. They're talking about full trials, apparently Crouch is lobbying for the use of Veritaserum."
Dumbledore nodded gravely, "For some, that may well be the only way they can get the charges to stick. What worries me more is that we still have no idea who may or may not be compromised in the Ministry," he sighed, "I can't imagine what a farce this whole thing might turn into if they have someone on the inside. I'm actually planning on making a visit to Bartemius and Alastor before I leave."
"Oh?" Diggory looked about surreptitiously, "Anything you can let me in on?"
"Not with all these people here, I am afraid. Besides, I suspect that secrecy and clear heads will be required to see the matter through smoothly, sorry Amos."
Amos waved it off, wished Dumbledore a good day and moved on. As Albus entered the lift he was able to make out Amos shaking hands and making merry with everyone and anyone in his way. He was certainly young, but he was already gaining popularity inside the ministry.
The lift began to descend, doing down through the various levels of the ministry, and Albus found himself humming a jaunty tune, for which the other occupants of the lift gave him an odd look.
The lift arrived at the Ministers floor and Albus left the packed lift along with a small flotilla of Inter-Departmental Memos, which flew like arrows down the corridor to their various destinations. He took a leisurely stroll down the passageway, greeting people jovially as he passed, the atmosphere was one of pleased efficiency - say one thing for Minister Millicent Bagnold, say she was efficient.
He chatted politely with the secretary while he waited for a space in the Ministers appointments, which merely thanks to his political gravitas he was afforded at the earliest possible convenience. He watched with interest the various personnel that visited the office, mostly noticing people from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (privately Dumbledore suspected that the Obliviators would have been run ragged last night, what with all of the blatantly magical celebrations that spread the length and breadth of the British Isles).
He was rudely interrupted during this period of reflection by Augustus Rookwood, who grabbed his hand and shook vigorously, knocking his spectacles askew. Rookwood was of medium build, but had such an incredible energy and waved his arms about that it seemed to not only make it hard to pin down exactly where he was standing, but somehow made him taller. His hair was slicked back, with an obscene amount of whatever wax he used, as though he'd been stood in a wind tunnel. Dumbledore awkwardly extricated his hand from the grip of the other man, and flashed him a small smile in way of an apology, however insincere it may have been.
"Fantastic news, eh, Albus?" Rookwood grinned, almost infectiously, "I knew it was only a matter of time! We're having some drinks down at the gentleman's club to celebrate tonight," he held his hands up to quell any possible protests that might have formed," I know, I know you've not been in such a long time, but you'd be more than welcome! And for such an occasion, too!"
It was easy to see why Rookwood was a popular man, especially for an Unspeakable (who were normally such a dour bunch), he exuded confidence and an aura of charm, which was easy to get suckered in by. Albus however, with the aid of Legilimency he was willing to admit, was able to detect without too much effort that Rookwood was not exactly sincere. Sadly, Dumbledore had never been able to dig up any concrete evidence of wrong doing, and now with the war over and no possible impetus to commit any further acts of espionage it was very likely that Rookwood would simply fade away and avoid justice altogether.
"Professor," the secretary said, "the Minister will see you now." Silently thanking the receptionist for saving him, and telling Augustus that perhaps he would seem him there another time, and walked through the wood paneled door and into the office of the Minister.
Minister for Magic Millicent Bagnold was, despite being in her 50s, still a woman who could command a room. She had blonde, slightly thinning hair, and something of an aristocratic air to her - every movement was carefully made, something in her poise that shouted grave consideration for every step she took. It wasn't for nothing that behind closed doors she was often referred to as 'the woman of steel'. Albus knew that, as a politician, all of this was a very carefully constructed persona, but even still she was a graceful, yet resilient woman, even in her private life.
She rose from behind her rather imposing desk, every inch the statesman, and smiled warmly as she shook his hand, "Albus Dumbledore! It is good to see you, and for once, under pleasant circumstances. Now, what is it that I can do for you?" She indicated that he should sit down in one of the leather chairs, and set about offering him a cup of tea. Dumbledore knew from previous experience that while she was honestly happy to help him, he would be expected to honestly help her at some point in the future.
"Well Millicent, it's about the Harry Potter issue." Albus felt heavy, this would not be a pleasant discussion. He had been hiding some of more hurtful truths about the situation from even himself, particularly those concerning Sirius Black.
"Indeed, I've dispatched a team of Unspeakables to the Potter residence earlier today," he wondered if any of those had been Rookwood, "and we're expecting results back in the next 48 hours, but preliminary reports are saying that they're not making any significant discoveries. Our leading expert confided in me that she doesn't think we'll be able to make much progress past nailing down an accurate timeline. Furthermore, we were unable to recover You-Know-Who's wand, which is something of a worry, especially considering that we found evidence that the body had been moved."
"That is grave news, but it does fit well with established events as I know them. I am planning on going to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to see Alastor Moody and Bartemius Crouch with this information afterwards, but I would like you to know as well. The nature of the protection on the Potter house was a Fidelus Charm, which your experts will tell you requires a secret keeper, with whom the knowledge of the location of the place to be hidden will be kept. It is clear from the nature of the attack that the secret keeper broke the spell, and betrayed the Potters to Lord Voldemort. It is my understanding that Sirius Black was the secret keeper for the Potters."
At this, Bagnold gasped, "Black? But, I was under the impression that they had been best friends for years?"
"Indeed, that is true, but ..." Albus shrugged, his rage at his own failure threatening to break his outwardly stern countenance, "I don't know, I must have judged Sirius wrong, even with my considerable skills it is possible to fool me." He frowned, Sirius Black must have learnt some incredible Occlumency from somewhere. "Furthermore I have eyewitness evidence that he was at Godric's Hollow sometime after the event, but before Harry Potter was removed from the dwelling. He would have had ample time with which to remove the wand and pull Lord Voldemort from the ruins."
"Very well Albus, I will instruct the office to being him in for questioning - especially as he might be able to provide some insight into how matters took place. I am, however, worried about Bartemius Crouch. He has been a pillar of strength over the war, but ... I don't know how peace will suit him. What with the failing health of his wife, Merlin may her condition improve, I wonder if he's not heading towards a break down, and he might need time off to recuperate. On the other hand, reliving him from his office might just trigger that breakdown. On another note, I'm not so blind as to ignore the fact that we have passed some law enforcement bills that I would not have let through during peace time, and they need to be repealed. I will have to raise these issues with the Wizengamot soon."
"That is a great comfort Millicent," and it was, he had known that the end of the war would bring challenges such as this. The laws she was speaking of gave great authority to the Aurors, Barty will be reluctant to relinquish those powers, he thought, so the price is support against Couch, of whom it has been told will make a strong candidate for the Minister at the next election, eh Millicent?. Bartemius was a fine man, dedicated to his work to a fault, but he was one of the louder voices in the ministry calling for ever harsher measures. It made him very popular with the purebloods (those not aligned with Voldemort) and other such conservative or 'traditional' groups, and he had a fair amount of political weight as a result. A dangerous enemy for Millicent, but she was perhaps correct, the last thing Britain needed now was over zealous police corroding the trust in the Ministry, especially with the fallout from the war so great, so perhaps it was the best. "I'm afraid that I must ask to put off this discussion, but rest assured that you will have my support in the Wizengamot when these issues come up," he gave Millicent a knowing look, and she returned it with a self satisfied smile.
"Thank you Albus. Now, that reminds me, you come in with a problem, what can the office of the Minister do for you?"
"Harry Potter, Millicent, I would like to talk to you about his placement. Obviously, knowing my concerns about Sirius Black, his legal guardian, I am left seeking an alternative placement if my suspicions hold. I have looked into his muggle relatives, and found them unsuitable, leaving me with little choice. Due to certain laws," here, he gave a reproving look towards the Minister, "Remus Lupin is unable to take custody of the child. This leaves two choices. We could place him with Peter Pettigrew, though I have been unable to reach him as of yesterday."
Bagnold nodded, "And the other choice?"
"That he stay with me, Minister. I suspect that will be where he will be safest, both from those who would seek to harm or use him. You and I both know that there may be many people in many places who allegiants do not lie where we think they do. Secondly ... I feel that I personally owe it to James and Lily," he coughed, and found he could not meet Millicent's eyes, " ... I was unable to protect them as I promised, and as such I have a debt to pay."
The Minister blinked. "I see, well, I will have to talk to the legal department - I want to help, but I don't want to do anything illegal. Particularly if Mr. Pettigrew is in the Potters provisions by name. Otherwise, I don't think that I will have a problem with that."
-
It was not long after the conclusion of his meeting with Minister Bagnold that Albus Dumbledore entered into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the change of attitude was again noticeable. As the personnel around the Minister had been far less celebratory than those in the atrium, the staff at the DMLE were as much subdued again. Work was still taking place here, there was no room for frivolous confetti and handshakes while dark wizards were still a threat.
Under Bartemius Crouch the DMLE had weathered the storm of the Death Eaters, though if events had carried on as they had been defeat was looking inevitable, but despite that it was riddled with informants, moles and various leaks it had still managed to be enough of a stumbling block to stop the dark tide from sinking Britain.
Albus made his way through the mess of cubicles and offices that made up the bulk of the DMLE, ducking squadrons of memos and navigating around mountains of unfinished paperwork. He found his feet drawn, not towards the office of the Head Auror Alastor Moody, but to a small unremarkable cubicle on the other side of the floor.
He felt, upon walking into the small, confined space, as though his heart had been transfigured into a stone inside his chest. His face pale, he sat slowly into the chair and simply ran his fingers along the edge of the desk. He looked up at the cluttered workspace and saw unfamiliar faces looking at him from moving photographs, objects and mementos of a life he was not acquainted well enough to place. People and objects matched to unknown emotions and memories, the secrets to which now were resting with the grave.
Strange emotions filled him, as he sat in a chair that had lain empty for months now, the weight of his sadness and regret on his shoulders like an anchor, pulling him down to drown ...
He jumped, fear grabbing his stomach as a gnarled hand descended upon his shoulder and he instinctively went for his wand, but as he recognised the face of his assailant, he lowered his hand and tried to control his breathing.
"Don't do this to yourself, Albus," said Alastor, "Benjy Fenwick knew the risks."
Albus was silent a moment. "And yet, I suspect you do the same thing whenever the office is quiet, old friend."
At that Moody shrugged noncommittally, "I expected to see you at some point today, why don't we take this into my office?"
The price of the war was a thing Albus expected to ruminate and regret for many years to come - and it would be harder to find that price more personified in another other person than Alastor Moody. A man who had given the devil his life and limbs to keep the country safe. Dumbledore could only hope that it would prove worth it.
Alastor moved a little unsteadily on his new leg, which made a disconcerting thunk as it hit the floor, something that all his fellow Aurors had clearly yet to adjust to, evidenced by the way they winced at his passing. Whether it was because of the fear that it could have been one of them, or simply fear of the man himself Dumbledore did not, nor want to, know. Moody had lost his leg in a fierce exchange of spells about a year ago with the Dark Lord Voldemort himself, and though he never spoke about it, Albus always suspect it was something Alastor was proud of.
"So then, he's dead?" asked Alastor gruffly, "I won't believe it until I've heard it from you."
"I wish it were so, Alastor. No, I don't think he's dead, but he's not exactly alive anymore either. Rest assured that it is only a matter of time until he returns. I intend to spend some of the next few years looking at possible hide-aways, but the world is a very large place and we cannot look under every stone."
Moody sighed, and drank deep from his silver hipflask, which he had taken to carrying after a near-fatal poisoning in 1979. Paranoia was quickly becoming a problem for him, Dumbledore hoped that he would be able to curb its excess. The war had swallowed the life of Alastor Moody, as war often does to promising young men. Limbs, sanity and marriage were all casualties of this war when it came to the Auror before him. Perhaps worst of all was that he wife left, rather than was taken. A blow from which Moody had never recovered, and stripped him of the naivety that even this bloody war had not torn from his soul.
"I hear that you're planning on brining in some big names?"
"Bah! How did you hear about that? I swear, the leaks are getting worse by the day - that should have been highly secret. But yeah, we're going after a few names." He incanted, and the room vibrated briefly and almost imperceptibly, the tell-tale mark of a privacy charm, "We're getting warrants for Evan Rosier, Lucius Malfoy, Mulciber, Karkaroff and the Carrows. We'll be pulling in some smaller names too, Goyle, Crabbe, Snape," at this point Albus interrupted.
"I can vouch for Severus Snape - he is my spy in the Death Eater ranks, though I would appreciate it if that information was shared only with Barty until the time comes that we have to show our hand. He may yet be of use in tracking some of the others if they go to ground."
Alastor nodded, "Hell of a spy you've got there Albus, I never would have thought. I just hope he's not playing you for a fool. Then again, even if he is, he won't be the only one who'll get away scott free. I know for a fact we don't have anywhere near enough dirt on Malfoy to get a conviction, even if he doesn't plead Imperious."
"Yes, well, I suppose that I will ..." this time it was Dumbeldore's turn to be cut off mid sentence, as the warning siren sounded, and the lights in the DMLE office turned red. Faster than you would expect of an elderly gentleman and a man with a wooden leg, they were out of their seats and into the main office as soon as you could blink.
They cut an imposing figure, Albus Dumbledore wand in hand, an aura of power perceptibly rolling off of him, standing side by side with the legendary Auror Alastor Moody, the man credited with the most battlefield accolades since the Great War against Grindelwald. Aurors snapped to attention immediately, wands at the ready and waiting for orders.
"Swindon, nature of alarm and location?" growled Alastor at a lithe man with sandy brown hair who was attending the main desk, and the most senior Auror in the room bar Moody himself. Dumbledore was acquainted with Swindon and was confident that he was among the few untouched by dark influences, partly because of his steadfast nature but also partly because he was not important enough to be worth beguiling.
"Code Red Sir, location is Safe-house 19. We must have been compromised. Records show that this house is active."
"Right, Swindon pick a 5 man team and head to dispatch right away. Go in fast, but carefully - if you can, take them by surprise and take them out. If you can't, then hang back for me, this could turn into a nasty hostage situation. Wilkes, Gordon and ..." Alastor cast his eyes across the office, looking over faces, deciding who the final man in his team would be. It was unspoken, but understood that the 4th man was Dumbledore, all that remained was the final choice. "You there rookie, what's your name?"
"Dawlish, Sir, John Dawlish," replied the lad, who had clearly been a recent addition to the DLME forces, as he was bereft of the myriad battles scars that adorned most of the veterans. He looked as green as he was, done up perfectly in his regulation uniform behind his tidy desk. Moody saw some raw talent in the lad, all that was left was the break that dogged determination to follow every rule right to the book - sometimes an Auror had to break rules to get the job done, even something Barty Crouch said in private, and Crouch was a right stickler for the rules.
"Okay lad, you're with us. You look like you could do with some combat experience, grab your wand and cloak and meet us in the dispatch room ASAP." The young man nodded nervously and rushed to grab his things, before sprinting after the receding sight of his more experienced comrades.
All ten men convened in a special room within the department designed for the dispatch of Aurors, Obliviators, Hit Wizards and Unspeakables in times of emergency. It was manned, at all times, by a Ministry Sanctioned Dispatch Wizard who was a specialist in the creation of portkeys, who had leapt into action the moment the location came through. Each squad leader, Moody and Swindon, grabbed a portkey and held them out to their squad.
They all each put a finger on the brick, so chosen for its innocuous nature for all standard Ministry portkeys, and the activation word was whispered by the dispatcher. They were all grabbed behind the navel by a powerful force and sent hurtling through the void at unimaginable speeds. Albus Dumbledore was a wizard who knew exactly what portkey travel was, and as such it made him queasy and he avoided it where ever he could. The truth about portkey travel was enough to put off some specialists from ever using them.
With a sudden lurch Moody, Dumbledore, Gordon, Dawlish and Wilkes appeared in a verdant English forest and fanned out behind trees in a standard attempt to escape any ambush that might have been laid. Someone knew where to find this house, then presumably they knew were the standard rally points would be. Swindon's team would have arrived on the opposite side of the house.
The five of them advanced quickly through the woods, wands at the ready and eyes peeled for danger. Dawlish was sweating and clearly agitated, but credit to him, managing to hold himself together. Underbrush, leaves and trees all whisked past them as the house came into view, the sounds of spellfire, barked orders and the general commotion of battle was already upon them.
Alastor Moody signed to Gordon, who replied with his own set of gestures. Looks like four hostiles. Swindon and team pinned.
Gordon, Wilkes enter target building, retrieve hostages. Dumbledore, Dawlish long range support. Alastor signed back. Then, in a flash they were all moving. Dawlish and Dumbledore set up behind trees, Gordon and Wilkes sprinted as fast as they could towards the house and Alastor vanished with a turn of his heel.
Dawlish fired of a serious of explosion hexes towards the assailants who seemed to be firing from the windows of the dwelling down into the shields of Swindon's wound and exposed team, who were strained and struggling under the massed fire of their opponents, barely able to return fire due to the sheer volume of the incoming barrage. His spells messed up the brickwork and forced the enemy back into the building, allowing Swindon to regroup his men and pull back the wounded.
Dumbledore raised his wand and cast the most majestic of magics, beseeching the very trees of the forest to help them. They creaked and groaned as the magic coerced them into beating down upon the house, each swipe causing a cascade of orange autumn leaves to fall, which only further served to confuse and obfuscate the assailants.
Gordon and Wilkes made it to the door, one on either side, and like practiced partners breached it with a spell and were gone inside the house searching, for the enemy.
Alastor Moody appeared like an avenging angel on the front lawn, cloak flowing out from behind him, wand swishing down, striking out with a barrage of spells faster than most men could name them, never mind cast. Explosions, gouts of flame, conjured projectiles all screamed their way into the house, a show of force clearly designed to shock and awe.
Sadly, he was facing foes who knew more about shock and awe than he ever would.
"YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE MOODY!" screamed a woman, and Alastor turned white. There was no hope for any hostages in the house now, not if Bellatrix LeStrange was here. There was an almighty crack and the shapely figure of a woman joined him outside, her long black cloak flowing freely in the wind just as his. Behind the porcelain mask he could not see, but still he knew there hid the face of a killer.
Alastor was merciless, and so was she. Spells collided and cascaded mid air as they ducked, rolled, dived and shielded themselves from the vicious attacks. Fatal spells were cast on both sides, no gloves for this fight, both had standing orders to capture if possible but kill if not.
All of a sudden the side of the house exploded, the tattered bodies of Gordon and Wilkes were blown clean through the walls, landing in heaps on the grass. Instantly Dumbledore and Dawlish were on their way over to them, attending to their fallen as they hoped their squad would do for them.
Dumbledore hastily deflected a cutting curse that streaked its way towards his head, and bent down to check on Gordon. He was bleeding profusely from many wounds, no doubt the results of a pitched battle inside the house, and a worrying head wound caused Albus some concern. He looked up at Dawlish, who was attending Wilkes and received a shake of the head. Crestfallen, Dumbledore stood up and turned towards the house.
Anger blazing like the sun, he thrust his wand outwards and the entire wall was wrenched from the building, exposing the Death Eaters within. He did not stop, nor care to attempt to identify them, simply pummelled them with relentless spells. One he dropped instantly with a lucky bone-breaker, shattering the arm in which his wand was held, leaving him all but defenceless against Dawlish's follow-up stunner.
The second proved harder than the first, and fought with prowess but none could match Albus Dumbledore and he soon found himself cornered and on the defensive. Leading with a dazzling flash of light to distract, the Master of Transfiguration used a sly spell to enchant a wall pipe to rip itself free of the wall and wrap tightly around the hand of his adversary.
The Death Eater had time to look at his restrained hand, and then back to Dumbledore before he was struck with an unforgiving concussion curse. Leaving them in Dawlish's hands, Albus dashed inside searching the rooms methodically for the people who had occupied the house.
Through a window he could see Bellatrix LeStrange and Alastor ablaze in shower of sparks and spells as they held a most impressive duel, completely oblivious to all else . They were evenly matched, he discipline, creativeness and skill, she sheer power, ferocity and will. All it took was one lucky break, and it came for Bellatrix when Alastor was forced onto his back foot and stumbled over a root.
She screamed in triumph and cast a scorching hellfire curse upon him, large gouts of flame exploded towards him, dark and smoky in their malice, their only intent to kill. His reflexes saved him, and he rolled just in time, but that still wasn't quite quick enough.
The fire licked his left side, hideous flames seared him, horrendous burns appeared on him, clothes on fire, and worst of all was the pain in his eye. Oh, how it burnt! He screamed an almost inhuman cry, of fury, pain, despair, but most of all, defiance.
Hatred coursed through him, as though a side effect of the awful wounds he had suffered. Leaping to his feet he struck out with his wand and the tiles of the roof cascaded down towards Bellatrix. She, however, was too fast for this, and spun on her heel, appariting out of danger.
But into Moody.
His blasting hex struck her full force as she reappeared, and she was thrown off of her feet and into the wall. Alastor smiled as he heard bones crack. He doused himself in water, still smarting from the burns, and limped towards her with his wand at the ready.
He could see that she was down for the count but still, "Bitch," he spat on her and stunned her to be sure. Taking stock of the situation, all was still and quiet, so he slumped down against the wall and removed a small tub of burn cream. The standard Auror issue anti-burn cream stung like hell, smelt like hell and (he was informed) taste like hell. All the same, he was glad to have it as he began the long job of soothing his battered frame.
The vision in his left eye was almost gone. He cursed, this would probably mean another medal.
Meanwhile, inside the house Albus Dumbledore crept through the ruined rooms in search of survivors. He silently made his way through blasted doors, and scarred spaces, signs that the battle here had been fierce even before Gordon and Wilkes had made their ill-fated entrance. Whoever had been hiding here had a fair amount of skill of their own.
He heard scuffing noises, and froze. The scuffing was following by low sobbing from the next room into which Albus advanced, wand held at the ready, where he was confronted by a prostrate man in a Death Eater uniform, the sleek mask smashed to pieces on the floor. The man was curled in corner, hands over his face, sobbing madly into them and muttering, half crazed.
"Come on son. Time to give it up," he coaxed and soothed, "No one else needs to get hurt today. Come quietly now, and you'll get a fair trial." The thing in front of him screeched, and it took a moment for Dumbledore to realised he was laughing.
"Will I? Somehow I can't imagine that's true!" He looked up, and for the first time Albus saw his face. Shock rooted him to the spot, as Barty Crouch Junior raised his wand against him, and could do nothing as he saw the third and fatal Unforgiveable form on his lips.
"Avada K-" Bright red light streaked from the other side of the room, where Auror Dawlish stood seemingly surprised that he had managed to simultaneously subdue the Death Eater and save the life of Albus Dumbledore in one fell swoop.
Albus turned and spoke with gratitude, "Thank you John, too slow on my part. I'd better look sharp, I won't always have you about to help me, eh?" The two of them shared a small laugh, before Dawlish levitated Crouch Jnr. outside to join the others.
Dumbledore carried on searching, methodically room by room, his heart sinking all the while, until in the last room he discovered ...
"Alice? Oh, Alice!" There in the bedroom, were both the Longbottoms. In such a sorry state they were, as well. Frank had suffered some hideous wounds, torture most foul that Albus found it hard to look upon him, frankly he was glad that the man did not seem responsive - it would be a mercy to find blackness rather than the unspeakable pain he must be suffering. There were deep lacerations on his skin, repulsive and angry wounds that had clearly been infected on purpose in an attempt to break him. He had seen this before, a type of interrogation used by Rodolphus LeStrange, the physical counterpart to the metal barbarity that was Mulciber, the Imperious specialist.
Alice was rather a different matter. She was curled up on the bed, rocking backwards and forwards, a bundle clutched to her breast, staring wildly here there and everywhere.
"It's alright Alice, it's me, Albus - you're safe n-" he put his hand on her shoulder, and instantly regretted it, for she screamed, the horrible scream of one who was suffering under the Cruciatus curse.
In her eyes, he saw madness.
-
A/N - That's the first chapter. This and the second chapter will mostly be post-war clear up, establishing the history of this fic. From then on we'll start to see much more of our hero Harry. Hopefully you enjoyed this, and please, any constructive criticism you can offer would be marvellous.
Discount,