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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-DH/AB Characters:None Genres: Drama Warnings: None Rating: R Reviews: 41 Summary: When Dumbledore dies in the middle of Harry's sixth year, it changes everything. Years later, the war is over, but it is desperately hard to go home again. Hitcount: Story Total: 22303; Chapter Total: 1606 Awards: View Trophy Room |
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News from Britain took a slow, meandering path to Ginny. It drifted on the wind across the channel, fluttered around the major cities and wizarding communities, until it finally, lazily, found itself at Ginny's door. This was why it took over three weeks for Ginny to read the directive from Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic. The worst, most dangerous period was over, but Ginny was under strict orders not to leave her bed ("If you want things to progress satisfactorily, you'll obey," said the Healer, who knew her better than he ought). Nevertheless, Ginny felt like dancing. She mostly felt wan and listless these days, but today, yes, she felt like dancing. Instead, she wrote a letter to her mum. I won't rip this one up, she told herself firmly. Dear Mum, she wrote. Then she was at an absolute loss as to what to say next. This happened often, more than she'd care to admit. But Moody's charm felt like an impenetrable black wall, or a sheet of glass, and writing around it was an exercise in torture. No matter how much time Ginny lingered over the necessity of the charm, it still cut her to think of it. But Kingsley's directive had filled her with new vigor, and she decided — why not? — to have some fun with it. She closed her eyes, and said, "Now where do I want to be?" An image of the Burrow immediately filled her mind's eye. She shoved it aside. Ginny was in need of visual inspiration and opened her eyes, and looked around the room — like she hadn't spent days and months inside this room, and needed a reminder, she scoffed at herself. It was painted a pale yellow, was very narrow, private, and quiet. The window was sealed shut — not that Ginny could perform complicated magic in her condition — and the entire place smelled vaguely of Uncle Bilius's home in Pemkowet. It was nauseating. The air where I am is so fresh and clean, wrote Ginny. It smells like flowers after a rain. You know, those night-blooming flowers, the white ones. You used to buy dried packets of them and put them in my drawers. I never really understood why you did that, but I guess now I do. You were trying to capture this scent. Or dispel Uncle Bilius's, Ginny thought. Her stomach throbbed painfully, and she sucked in a gasp. I fly often here, there are no Muggles around at all, she wrote: One lie, one truth. I know you want me to come home, she added. But I can't just yet. I just can't. You said that Bill told you I was wasting the twins' legacy? I am not. I'm certain they'd approve of how I'm spending the money they left me. She stared at that for a full minute, and then crossed out the bit about the twins' money. Instead, she signed her name. Ginny wanted to write more. She'd intended to, but writing such... fluff to her mother was in no way cathartic. Due to that unfortunate situation in her first year, she no longer kept a journal of any sort, so that was out. She flexed her fingers, grabbed a new parchment, and wrote: Dear twins. Later, she decided that it was perfectly natural to want to write to the only two members of her family who wouldn't judge her; the fact they were dead was immaterial. They were missed. They were her brothers, and she ended up pouring out her heart to them. It was absolutely freeing, and by the time she was done with it, had rolled up both letters and tied a ribbon around them, she felt mellow enough that it did not at all seem crazy to her that she was addressing a letter to her dead brothers (To Fred and George Weasley, wherever they might be). The worst that could happen was that the owl the sanitarium used to deliver the letters returned with it still tied to its leg. Ginny yawned, stretched, and congratulated herself on not think about Grumpy today, no, not even once. HAGRID AND HIS UMBRELLA 03 January 2000 A Directive from Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic Members of the Order of the Phoenix, please be advised. We are now able to break the charm wrought by Alastair Moody (deceased). It is not yet determined whether or not members of that organization will be able to respond to this message explicitly, or if the charm binds them to not even hint — by physical means — that they were part of the downfall of Tom Riddle, formerly known as Lord Voldemort. Be advised that the Ministry of Magic supports you whole-heartedly. If you see this, but cannot respond to it, please know that we have the very best curse-breakers, Aurors, and Ministry staff working around the clock to rectify this situation for you. I, as Minister for Magic, do not forget my brothers and sisters, even if we have never met. HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP RADIO TRANSCRIPT 05 January 2000 RICHARD DRAYCON: It is a special pleasure to announce to you that this broadcast will be presented to you from both the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebold, and Harry Potter, who needs no introduction. They are introducing a topic hinted at in the Daily Prophet last week: The charm the war hero, Moody, wrought to defend those who served in the Order of the Phoenix. Minister Shacklebolt, what can you tell us of this charm? SHACKLEBOLT: Well, Draycon, I don't know very much about it. As a member of the Order of the Phoenix, I submitted to the charm readily. We'd had trouble with... members of Tom Riddle's regime forcing members, under torture, to admit to their involvement. Moody, who was rightly concerned, took steps to ensure that we would not speak, could feign real ignorance of the missions we undertook, and the people with whom we served. DRAYCON: Tell me a little more about this. As Minister of Magic, why was it necessary for you to- SHACKLEBOLT: Well, I wasn't Minister at the time. I was on the run, and had been for over a year at that point. Moody was the leader of our weary band, appointed by Dumbledore himself. I'll not speak ill of the man. He did the best he could, in circumstances far more dire than anyone outside the fight truly realizes. DRAYCON: Ah, yes. Yes. SHACKLEBOLT: I was just another soldier, working toward the downfall of Voldemort. Harry, wouldn't you agree? POTTER: Er, no. I mean, yes. Yes, you were a valuable asset, King- Minister. SHACKLEBOLT: Oh, don't be a git. I'm Kingsley, to you. POTTER: Right. Kingsley. Draycon, I think Kingsley is perhaps a bit modest. He was trusted with quite a lot of information, and he worked tirelessly toward the downfall. I know that I trusted him with my life, on several occasions. He was one of the first I met, when I was still at Hogwarts. That's how far back it went. SHACKLEBOLT: I believe I was one of the Order who liberated you from dire peril at the hands of your aunt and uncle. Ha ha. POTTER: Yeah, ha ha. Right after Umbridge set the Dementors after me. That was brilliant. I've always wondered — who was part of the Rear Guard? Was there even a Rear Guard? SHACKLEBOLT: It was Hagrid and his umbrella. POTTER: I knew it! I knew it! SHACKLEBOLT: Ha ha. DRAYCON: As wonderful as it is to see a humorous side to the famous Harry Potter, and the Minister of Magic, we do have a limited time- SHACKLEBOLT: My apologies, Draycon. POTTER: Yeah. Yeah, sorry. SHACKLEBOLT: I think you should take from that is how comfortable and close we as members of the Order of the Phoenix became while working toward a common goal. Harry and I are not unusual — I have called them my brothers and sisters, and though we do not have common parents, we are close in ideals, and beliefs. Every one of us believed that people should be judged by the content of their character, not their magical lineage. That has not changed. DRAYCON: And you, Mr. Potter? POTTER: Yes! Yes, I absolutely do. Tonks — Nymphadora Tonks became like a... a sister, or an older cousin to me back in my fifth year. And then she married a man I consider my uncle, so. Yeah. And she was the very first to have the charm broken off of her, which was thrilling, really. The idea of others being bound by the charm, and unable to speak... it's awful. The Order of the Phoenix was... was my family. The members of it still ARE my family. And — and- SHACKLEBOLT: I think what Harry is trying to say is that just because we are unsure of who Moody was commanding — the network grew every day, Draycon, full of people who were terrified of Death Eaters, but were still willing to do their part in whatever role he asked of them. Moody had a unique ability — perhaps even more than Dumbledore, though we will never know — to recruit people. It's an ability I admire, as I try to recruit the brave and the young to our new Auror Department. DRAYCON: Is that a blatant attempt to recruit to the Auror Department? POTTER: I do believe it was. And it's necessary. I've joined up, and the former Enforcer stronghold is prepared for quite a few recruits. I know we were hoping for a lot more applications- SHACKLEBOLT: Don't try to sugarcoat it, Harry, ha ha. We're taking applications, but basically it's just a sign-in form at this point. We'll take anyone with a modicum of ability, and welcome them as new family members. DRAYCON: Back to the Order of the Phoenix, what are your plans for finding members who have — as you said — lost their ability to speak of their involvement? POTTER: I think this is it. SHACKLEBOLT: What Harry said. We're hoping that the family members — and friends — of those who were involved could come to us. Obviously, they are unable to come forward. So it is up to their friends and family to contribute names of people they suspect might have been involved. It's a tricky situation, Draycon, as I'm sure you can imagine. But we are also following further avenues of inquiry — we are going through all of Moody's personal journals, papers, and the like. Be assured that the Ministry is following any avenue. We will not rest until we've found everyone involved. DRAYCON: On that note, our interview with the Minister and Harry Potter must conclude. But please — if you have any further information, please send it to the Department of Magical Inquiry, which has been devoted to the reassimilation of members of the Order of the Phoenix. HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 07 January 2000 Harry slunk into Kingsley Shacklebolt's office at the Ministry for Magic, feeling quite like a second year, going to the Headmaster's office for the first time. His only defense was that the interview had 1) been sprung on him at the last minute, and 2) caught Harry completely unprepared. He was well aware that most of his answers had been stammering and stuttering, whilst Kingsley's answers were polished, and... Ministerly. He summoned all of his tact. "How much of a git am I?" Harry asked. Kingsley took his time. He shuffled papers on his desk, cleared his throat a few times, and leaned back in his wide, comfortable-looking chair, steepling his fingers across his broad chest. Kingsley was a big man, in stature and beliefs. In his slow, deep voice, he said, "You appear to be under the impression I am angry with you. Why?" Harry slumped into a chair. "I don't know — loads of reasons." He pulled at his hair. "I hate interviews," he mumbled. Kingsley boomed out a laugh. "You did very well," he said warmly. "Harry — I don't think you realize what it means for people to hear that you consider members of the Order to be your family. I don't think you realize what it means to me," he added. He held up a hand to defend against Harry's inevitable rebuttal. "Don't say anything. That radio broadcast had more listeners since — since, I don't know when. At least since Fudge's inaugural address. The important person in that interview was not me. It was you — no, don't argue." Harry muttered under his breath. Kingsley pointed a finger at him. "Whether you like it or not, you are the inspiration for a whole new generation, some of whom we very much hope will become Aurors. I would never dream of asking you to endorse the Auror Department — you have far too much work to do for that. But that very brief, open, and honest interview has landed thirteen applications on my desk. We need everyone available." "We need to find the member of the Order," Harry shouted. He immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm just — we saw what it did to Tonks, especially. I just... can't stand it." "I truly appreciate your fervor, Harry, trust me," Kingsley said. "I feel it the same way." "I know you do," said Harry. "And you're dealing with a lot — I would not want to be you right now." "Few would," said Kingsley. "Everything seems to come back to it." He got up and began to pace. Harry watched him move from his grand desk, to his overflowing bookshelf. "Everything would be so much easier. Everything. Not only do I want my brothers and sisters — and yes, I genuinely consider you lot that — but there are so many questions. There is a void, Harry." Kingsley paused, and Harry got the impression he was seeing a side few saw of the new Minister: weary, flawed, and working his hardest. "Not the least of which is what to do with the fortunes of the Death Eaters. Few know this, but we are going to go with the honored tenements of Wizard's Duel. Those that defeated the witch or wizard are technically — by ancient standards, and in lieu of a will — in control of the Death Eater's fortune. But in cases like Draco Malfoy's-" "Who was rumored to be killed by denizens of the Forbidden Forest," Harry murmured. "Rumors are not fact, Harry," Kingsley said simply. "Moody had agents at Hogwarts. He hinted to me once or twice that Draco, the last of his line, was not killed by acromantulas or centaurs, but by a wizard. That's the largest of such instances, but not the only one. If we could find everyone involved, and construct an adequate timeline of the events after Dumbledore's death, we could move on. Don't you agree?" Harry did agree. The agreement he felt with Kingsley was a presence that followed Harry after he left the interview with Kingsley, headed down the elevator with a number of other wizards, walked out the Atrium, and into Muggle London. It was with him when he met Ron and Hermione at the pub they'd found whilst locating the new offices of the Daily Prophet. And it sat down beside him in the booth, like a perverse double date. "How was your meeting with Kingsley?" Hermione asked. "It was — interesting," said Harry. Ron had declared the place a new favorite ("Not just because I get free drinks," Ron claimed), and it was actually a good place to get away from the magical crowd. Hermione knew the major journalists for the Daily Prophet, and declared she'd never seen any of them at the pub ("They're rather too posh," she said). Harry just liked having a regular place without all the fuss of everyone knowing his name. This was their fourth visit. "You were worried he was going to be angry with you over the interview," said Hermione. "Don't sugarcoat it, Hermione, he was terrified Kingsley was going to rip him a new one," said Ron. Harry glared at him. "Nothing of the sort happened, I don't know what you're talking about," he said feebly. He hunched down in his seat. "It went fine. Kingsley had a lot of good points. Finding members of the Order of the Phoenix is — most importantly — breaking the charm and allowing them to speak. But it's also about wizarding law. He says that a lot of what he is working for — the changes he is hoping to enact, is based on testimonies he's yet to receive. So there's this... added layer of importance. I don't know." Their order of chips arrived, and Harry took the opportunity to both eat and think. It was true that a lot of problems could be solved if everyone in the Order could come together and pool their knowledge. He rubbed at his scare absently. He was almost entirely certain that all the Horcruxes had been destroyed; he had convinced himself of it during his convalescence in the Hogwarts hospital wing. But if there was anything life had taught him, it was best to strive toward certainty. Harry did not want to hear rumors of a dark presence deep in the Albanian forest. Assumptions were a luxury he could not afford. "Are you thinking about the Horcrux?" Ron asked in what had to be the loudest whisper Harry had ever heard. Harry shrugged. The pub had only the most tenuous ties to the wizarding community, but it was not a subject he was comfortable speaking about in public. He ate a few chips, rapped his knuckles on the table, fidgeted, rubbed at his scar- "Harry, stop, you're driving me mental," said Ron. "Sorry, I'm just a little-" "Mental. You're just a little mental," said Ron. Harry threw a chip at him. The worries he felt were maddening, and all the almosts in Harry's life were a litany in Harry's head at times: He was almost certain that the Horcrux had been destroyed. They were almost on the verge of discovering the other members. Harry was almost positive that Voldemort was no longer a physical reality. But what kept him up at night was the conversation he'd had with Dumbledore after Voldemort had struck him with the Killing Curse: "Not all is as it seems, Harry," he'd said. The words were spoken in a different context, but they haunted Harry. If not all was as it seems, then perhaps the evidence of Harry's own two eyes was no longer incorruptible. With great effort, Harry shoved his worries far away. Everything was almost back to normal. HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 27 January 2000 The January air was frigid. Harry tried to ignore it and, glowering, cast another warming charm on his hands and feet. It was protocol to renew the charms every hour, but Harry generally forgot, and had to do it whenever the cold got unbearable. He stamped his feet, exhaling, and watching his breath appear in front of him. "Cold night," he muttered. "What was that?" his partner asked. "Nothing," said Harry. They kept their eyes on the house in front of them, counting on their protective charms and the shadows to keep them out of sight. Glancing at the other man, sidelong, Harry gripped his wand tightly in his pocket. He did not trust Lucas Savage, not at all, and the last thing Harry wanted to do was walk into a potentially dangerous situation with someone he didn't trust. For what felt like the hundredth time, Harry wished that Ron hadn't asked for a few days off, in order to spend time with Hermione's family. It felt wrong to have an ex-Enforcer at his side. And it doesn't even necessarily have to be Ron, Harry reminded himself. Neville, or Dean would do just as well. Harry still did not know whether Kingsley had made the right choice in allowing some of the Enforcers to remain, and renewing their status as full Aurors. In the months since the records had been destroyed apparently accidentally - although Harry didn't believe that for one second - the ex-Enforcers had been very quiet, and dutiful. But that didn't change the fact that Peter Pettigrew, Rabastan Lestrange, and Augustus Rookwood had escaped due to what Harry felt was insider information. Once he realized that his thoughts were heading down very familiar paths, Harry jerked slightly, automatically glancing at Savage, ensuring that the other Auror was not doing anything out of the ordinary. After a moment, he turned his attention back to the small cottage in the center of Gloucestershire. Wormtail might be in there, Harry reminded himself. It had been Dawlish, Harry reluctantly had to admit, that had traced Death Eater activity to this lonely spot. When he'd stood in front of Kingsley Shacklebolt and had Dawlish tell him in his patronizing tone, that he'd discovered another hideaway, only the fact that the Minister of Magic trusted Dawlish as little as Harry did had made him keep his mouth shut. Not for the first time, Harry wished that he and Ron had followed their instincts and had taken Dawlish out when they'd had their chance. "You don't trust me, do you?" Savage asked suddenly, voice breaking the silence. No. "Would you trust you?" Harry asked, glancing at him, noting his relaxed stance, and the fact that his hands were out of his pockets and nowhere near his wand. It was bad form to be so incautious in the middle of an assignment, but Harry could appreciate the point Savage was trying to make. I'm not dangerous. Trust me. "Probably not," Savage said easily. He didn't look at Harry, but kept his eyes fixed on the cottage. There were still no lights, no indication that it was anything other than a derelict building in the middle of nowhere. "Homenum Revelio," Harry muttered for the twelfth time since the sun had gone down and they had posted themselves under their tree. Still no sign of life coming from the cottage, but Harry could wait. "It isn't personal," Harry said, wishing that he could use the need for quiet as an excuse not to talk to Savage - but their protective circle kept the sound of their voices from being picked up by the wind and carried to Death Eater ears. "I didn't think it was," Savage said. "Those of us who were Aurors and then Enforcers and now Aurors again... I can understand the distrust." His robes rustled and he leaned against the tree, obviously quite at ease, despite the fact that Harry was prepared to counter an attack at any moment. "My niece was-" But Harry raised his hand suddenly, cutting him off. "Quiet," he breathed, pointing. A light flickered in the topmost window. Not from a spell, but from a candelabra or an oil lamp. It was like a beacon, the only light in the surrounding area, and shone brightly against the darkened landscape. "Homenum Revelio," Harry said again. This time the spell came back to him, whistling around him twice. "There are two," said Harry. "Let's go," said Savage. Harry would have been more comfortable wearing his invisibility cloak, knowing that it provided impenetrable protection, but instead, he satisfied himself with the Disillusionment Charm. It wasn't perfect, but in the dark it was almost as good, and offered more freedom of movement. He followed Savage, wand raised chest high, as they traversed the dirty road, and moved through the unkempt yard. Savage hurried forward- "Stop!" Harry hissed. He'd caught sight of something else flickering, but not a light - the cottage had been warded. "There's a ward," he explained grimly. So much for Dawlish's assurances, he thought. "It's about five feet from the walls of the cottage," he added quietly. Sweat beaded on Savage's brow. It was unfeigned. I'm sure you know all about the dangers of wards. But Harry did not say this to the ex-Enforcer. "Can you take it down?" If Savage could not, they would have to call in Bill Weasley or another Curse-Breaker. "It depends on the ward, but I think so," Savage said. He was already moving forward, scanning the darkness for any ripples or abnormalities. Slowly and carefully, Savage raised his wand and moved it forward. "It's a web," he said. Harry's stomach churned as he immediately thought of Fred and George, and how they'd been caught in a web and taken by Enforcers or Death Eaters (though in Harry's mind, there was little difference). "Take it down," said Harry. There was no need to maintain secrecy here, as they had learned to do at St. Mungo's during the war. As Savage prepared to do so, Harry slipped away, casting a circle around the cottage that would force the Death Eaters to remain where they were. Once Savage broke the ward, whoever was in there would not be able to Apparate. By the time Harry was done and back with his partner, Savage was straining with effort, and muttering under his breath. Tiny sparks emitted from his wand as he fought to destroy the ward. Harry stood silently, not wanting to break his concentration, and wishing that Bill was here after all. He was quite skilled at breaking the wards, after all, and could have done it in half the time. The ward fell with an audible sound loud enough that Harry was certain they'd alerted the Death Eaters to their presence. But no cries of alarm sounded from the building, nor did the light in the upper room change. Harry whispered the spell again, and was satisfied when it told him two people were still in the house. But still. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Savage stepped forward without Harry having to tell him to. Harry followed him up the stone steps to the back door, wand still out. The other Auror tapped his wand three times against the knob- And before he could open it, the door was pushed open from the inside with such force that it knocked into Savage. A grunt of pain escaped him just as a small, squat body barreled out the door. Green light arced from her wand, and the door splintered and smoldered. "Savage!" Harry yelled, ducking, as another curse flew right over his shoulder. Harry dodged and ducked, "Stupefy!" But Alecto Carrow was quicker than Harry would have thought possible, and she rolled to the side. "Stubefy!" Savage echoed Harry, dealing with his own opponent. Yaxley had come out of the cottage while Harry had been occupied with Carrow, who was now cackling and stumbling out of range. For a moment, Harry considered following her, and abandoning Savage... but only for a moment... With a broken nose, Savage would not be able to articulate his spells correctly. Harry sent one last stunner at Carrow; it missed her by an inch, and then she had passed Harry's protective circle, and Disapparated with a wild laugh and a crack! "Sectumsempra!" Harry bellowed, aiming for Yaxley's wand arm. With lightning quick reflexes, the Death Eater brought his other hand up as a shield, bellowing in pain when a deep gash opened. "Oh, is that Potter?" Yaxley said, trying to sound scornful, but his question ended with a pained moan. Harry ignored him. Savage's wand emitted another weak stunning spell, which Yaxley managed to dodge. But as he was distracted, ropes flew out of Harry's wand and wrapped themselves tightly around the Death Eater, binding him to a post. "Yes, it's me," said Harry. He kept his wand drawn, just in case. He was certain that Alecto Carrow was gone by this time... he'd hear her if she returned. "How did you know we were here?" Savage asked forcefully. He had one hand over his bleeding nose, and the other kept his wand focused on Yaxley. Yaxley didn't answer; instead, he started to laugh. "It'll be better for you if you just tell us," Harry warned. His palms itched, and he almost wished that another Death Eater would come running out... adrenaline pumped through his veins, and the brief battle had been wholly unsatisfying. Yaxley continued to laugh, as though he had a secret that Harry did not know. This was infuriating. "Who told you we were coming?" Savage said, nudging the Death Eater none-too-gently with the toe of his boot. "Don't touch him when he's bound," Harry said sharply. "We're Aurors, not Enforcers." "No wonder the Dark Lord wanted to kill you so badly," said Yaxley. Harry could see the gleam of his white teeth in the faint light. "You sanctimonious little-" "Lumos," Harry muttered, ignoring Yaxley's stream of insults, and his wand tip lit up. "And feel free not to tell us," Harry said cheerfully. "You're already going to Azkaban. But," Harry said, "I'll bet that whoever warned you couldn't care less about that. You might as well give us a name. That way you'll have more company out on the island." Yaxley was stubbornly silent. "I'm impressed," Harry said thoughtfully. "Usually Death Eaters jump all over the chance to bring down others with them... nasty, Slytherin habit, that-" "I wasn't in Slytherin," Yaxley muttered. "I was in Ravenclaw." "And here I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be smart," Harry said smoothly. "Harry, we should get him back to Headquarters," Savage said. "They'll take care of the interrogation, and then they can hand him over to the Wizengamot." "In a minute," Harry said. It made him a little uncomfortable to do this in front of Savage, but he'd already thought of a way around it. Yaxley had not been a useless Death Eater, the last year of the war had proven that. In fact... "Unless you don't want to be around your old boss?" Harry asked. It hadn't been a secret that Yaxley had taken over as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when Pius Thicknesse had become the puppet minister. "Never cared for him much," Savage said in a hard voice. "I need information," said Harry, turning his attention back to their captive Death Eater. "I'm looking for an object... one that Voldemort"-he smiled grimly when Yaxley shuddered at the name-"treasured. Did he give anything like that to you?" "No," Yaxley said, sounding confused enough that Harry believed him. His hopes (which had risen when he'd learned that Yaxley was a former Ravenclaw) sunk again. "Do any of your little Death Eater friends have it?" Yaxley eyed him speculatively, as though wondering how much this information was worth. But Harry could tell that Yaxley knew nothing about it. "Harry, what-?" "Obliviate," Harry murmured. The charm lit a path directly from Harry's wand to Yaxley's head. The Death Eater's mouth gaped open, and he shook his head as though clearing it of cobwebs. Harry turned and repeated the spell, this time on Savage. There was no way that he'd allow the fact that Harry was still not certain that all of the Horcruxes had been destroyed to become public knowledge to Death Eaters and former Enforcers. HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP Harr y's body was still frozen when he stumped into the Muggle pub, the Bunch of Grapes, that Ron liked to frequent. He was home from Gloucestershire several days early, and Ron and Hermione weren't expecting him. Wishing that he had better news for them, or a lead, or anything, he grimaced and walked through the narrow, claustrophobic entryway. All and sundry used the otherwise barren walls as a bulletin board until they looked like they were papered in adverts of all kinds: men seeking girlfriends, people wanting flat mates, and even a huge, lurid poster advertising Little Franz and Gregorio, the Turkish Wolfboys. Shaking his head, Harry skirted around a group of three Muggle boys, all of whom looked around sixteen. Glad that being an Auror didn't require monitoring underage drinking in the Muggle world, he stepped into the smoke-filled room, headed straight for the bar, and ordered an ale. "Thanks," he told the blue-haired bartender, who only grunted in response. "Harry!" Hermione said loudly, beaming at him, as he approached their table. She looked shocked to see him. "Hey," he said, sliding into the booth next to Luna Lovegood, of all people. "Nice to see you, Luna," he said. He'd never really pictured Hermione, Ron, and Luna socializing together. Harry liked Luna, but she was really more of Ginny's friend. Harry wracked his brain, trying to remember if he'd even seen her more than a handful of times since the war ended. "You too, Harry," she said serenely. "Why are you back so soon?" Ron asked. "Not that I'm your bloody keeper, but Kingsley said you'd be gone for at least another week." Harry cut a sidelong glance at Luna, then leaned forward, lowering his voice. Even though they were in a Muggle pub, Harry didn't trust his surroundings. He felt a pang in his stomach as he recalled Mad-Eye, and his excessive paranoia. "It wasn't quite useless," he said, thinking of Yaxley, and how he'd pointed them in the direction of the Alecto Carrow, one Hogwarts' least favorite professors during the war. "We got Yaxley, but the rest of them scampered. Alecto Carrow was there-" Luna sat up straight and her eyes popped excitedly at him. It was then that Harry realized that the other three were rather drunker than he'd thought. "You caught Carrow?" she said quickly. "No," Harry shook his head. "Not yet," he added. He eyed Luna appraisingly, wondering if her reasons for wanting Carrow caught were personal. It wasn't a secret that the reign of terror had been difficult on the students. Snape had tried to make it as easy as possible, but he hadn't been able to completely curb the Carrows. "I can't wait until she's caught. I might even go to her trial," Luna said, calmly sipping from her mixed drink. "And spit on her?" Ron asked, grinning. "Twice," Luna said, staring off into space. "Once for me and once for Ginny. Unless she's home from her tour of the world. Then she can do it herself." Since Ginny hadn't been seen in months, and was apparently too indignant that she'd been kept out of the action, Harry wasn't too sure that she'd be back in time to spit on Alecto Carrow at her trial. He exchanged a fleeting glance with Hermione, who grimaced a little at him. She shared his feelings that the longer Ginny was gone, the more selfish and spoiled she seemed. Especially after Christmas, when it had been plain that Percy and Ginny's estrangement was almost as heartbreaking to Molly as Fred and George's deaths. "Why would Ginny want to spit on them?" Ron asked quietly. His expression was stoic, and he twirled his glass of amber liquid around. "I know you lot like to pretend to be the strong silent types, but- "The Carrows used to torture us," Luna said, sounding remarkably blaise. Harry shifted on the uncomfortable, scratchy seat. He didn't know which was worse: Luna's words, or her utterly calm demeanor. "You know that. Everyone knows that. There isn't any reason to discuss it further." Ron looked as though he might want to argue, and Harry couldn't really blame him. The stories that filtered out of Hogwarts, especially during the second year after Voldemort had fully ascended to power and taken over the Ministry, were pretty horrifying. And it was possible that Ginny had been hurt, but by all accounts, she was having a merry time wandering around the world and, for all intents and purposes, turned her back on her family. "I need another drink," Ron said finally. After that, the atmosphere lightened a good deal. Harry had another ale, and then another, until the January chill of Gloucestershire had receded from his bones, and a pleasant nimbus of numbness surrounded him. He pushed Yaxley and Carrow, Bellatrix and Rabastan, and all the other Death Eaters who remained free out of his mind. He didn't contribute much to the conversation; Luna and Hermione had settled into a comfortable pattern of bickering back and forth. "How's your family?" Harry asked Ron. "They're good. Fleur's getting pretty big," Ron said, tilting his head back and leaning against the wall. As Harry watched. Ron's eyes closed and he appeared to drift off to sleep. Hermione and Luna had now started arguing over the advert Harry had seen on his way inside. "Little Franz and Gregorio aren't even Turkish names," Hermione said. "It's just a carnival, Luna." "How do you know what Turkish wolfboysh are called?" Luna asked loudly. "I shtill think Remush would like to know of any wolfboysh running around." Harry would have interceded but for the fact that both Hermione and Luna appeared to be enjoying their little debates quite a lot. Plus, he'd learned that interrupting two slightly drunk witches could have consequences he wasn't prepared for. He grinned a little as Hermione bit off a scathing rejoinder, listing slightly in her seat, and settled back into the booth even further, and searched the crowd. Looking for Nosy - even though he had no clue what she actually looked like - had become such a habit, that it didn't even matter that he was in the middle of a Muggle pub. He felt lucky, though, that he was certain that Luna wasn't Nosy. She was too young to have been a member of the Order of the Phoenix. And as much as he liked Luna, he was sure that they wouldn't have forged that connection. He wouldn't have had sex with her... he wasn't attracted to her. She didn't understand him fully even after years of knowing him the way Nosy had. Harry tore his mind away from these thoughts, and focused on his ale. |
| Reviews 41 |
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