coyotegoth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
coyotegoth) wrote2009-05-04 09:40 pm
coyotegoth) wrote2009-05-04 09:40 pm
Chapter 3- Life During Wartime
This is the latest installment in my Harry Potter story. As always, Half-Blood Prince spoilers. (Please note that this story is not Deathly Hallows compliant in the least.)
Chapter 3- Life During Wartime
A/N: Please note that for the sake of the story (and to conform to the lunar calendar for June of 1997), I'm saying that the Half-Blood Prince school year at Hogwarts ended roughly two weeks early, for obvious reasons. Also, please note that while the business about Charlie being in Romania through the DRCMC is not necessarily canonical, I did it that way for a specific reason.
Also also, a brief word on warnings: while I don't always consider it necessary to give a word count or a PG/R rating, and I assume you all know perfectly well that (except for Brin and a few others) these characters aren't original with me, I will give warnings if a scene turns out to be NSFW, or features potentially upsetting elements. (EXCEPTION: I do NOT warn for character death; the Rowlingverse is all about sudden, shocking death, and it's impossible to carry that forward with a warning tag reading "Character death!" up front.) Accordingly, this is a warning that today's chapter features a character in the midst of a nervous breakdown; I found it upsetting when writing it, at any rate.
***
Scrimgeour stood, as Harry, wearing Ministry robes, entered the office. “I’m glad you’re on time, Harry- we have a lot to go over before you meet the press.”
Harry paused, still standing in the doorway; his Ministry badge was an unfamiliar weight on his chest. He had thought about this all night, lying on a sofa in a Ministry office; after hours of deliberation, he'd decided it was the only possible option. He hated the thought of sharing a secret of Dumbledore’s, but- aside from the worrying question of whether or not he could even keep the Horcruxes secret from Scrimgeour- the Ministry had resources to bring to bear that could make the difference in this; Scrimgeour certainly had no love for Voldemort, and he was a genius at tracking things down...
“Minister? There’s... there’s something I need to discuss with you first...” Harry said, as he walked into the room and closed the door.
“Oh?” asked Scrimgeour sharply, staring at Harry. “What is it?”
“Well, have you ever heard of... Horcruxes?”
“Horcruxes? Of course I...” Scrimgeour broke off; his eyes narrowed. “Wait- you’re using the plural. Voldemort?” Harry nodded. “How many Horcruxes are we talking about, exactly?” Scrimgeour demanded.
“I... six, I think. Or seven. It’s complicated...” Briefly, Harry laid out the conclusions he and Dumbledore had come to, in their pursuit of the fragments of Voldemort’s soul. Scrimgeour listened intently, occasionally interjecting with a pointed question, until Harry had finished. He paused to think for a moment, fingers steepled together, eyes focused inward.
“Mmm, always had my suspicions about the snake... if it should die, then what happens to that Horcrux...? Hmm, an artifact of Ravenclaw’s or Gryffindor's...” He paused; his eyes flicked to Harry’s, then to his forehead for a moment. “And you don’t know what became of the real locket?” Scrimgeour asked sharply.
“No- the note just said...”
“All right; wait here.” Scrimgeour left the office. Harry looked for his school folder, but there was no sign of it; the chess pieces were in new positions now, and the wizard in the photograph still urged his wife to smile. Several minutes later, Scrimgeour abruptly returned. “Sit down; we still have a lot to go over. You'll be speaking to the international press as well, of course; we need to solicit worldwide support.”
*
“...so, remember,” Scrimgeour continued, “no mention whatsoever of Horcruxes; if the subject comes up, just say Riddle and the others were simply “aspects” of Voldemort- low-grade recording spells, like a portrait.”
Harry felt a stab of anger at being ordered to lie; for an instant, he wished he hadn't mentioned the Horcruxes to Scrimgeour. “So that way, by lying to them- we’ll be keeping Voldemort and his forces off their guard somewhat about the Horcruxes, which makes it easier for you.”
“I’m glad you have the gist of this,” Scrimgeour said flatly. “Now, pay attention- we still have a lot to cover before your first photo shoot.”
*
Harry squared his jaw and looked resolute, as three Death Eaters came in for the kill. He drew his own wand, aimed it, and...
Flash.
Suddenly, a harried-looking man was moving him this way and that, as the Death Eaters- whose robes looked wrong- drifted off and fished in their pockets for cigarettes. Harry felt an increasing sense of unreality, as he was introduced to a man made up to look like Scrimgeour, and the harried-looking man said something about wanding in the effects later, and moved him into yet another position...
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
*
The latest in an endless line of reporters, this one Japanese, nodded intently, as his quill took down Harry's every word. Harry made certain to speak clearly, and slowly enough that the translation spell could function. "...and I destroyed that... aspect of Voldemort simply by stabbing the diary with the basilisk fang- it's what my friend Hermione calls 'sympathetic magic.' Voldemort believed that stabbing the book would undo that... aspect, so luckily, it did. Now, I did that when I was only twelve, so you can imagine..."
"'Aspect' of You-Know-Who, Harry? Could you go into more detail on that...?"
"Err... just a low-grade recording spell, like a portrait. We, err, don't know exactly how it assumed a tangible form- but we'll find any other spells like that and sort them out along with the real thing, soon enough..."
*
The old witch's eyes shone with tears, as she clasped Harry's hands tightly. "...my Deddy was a brilliant student- best codebreaker the Ministry ever had- but he just didn't have any common sense; he never should have been involved with that attack at St. Mungo's, but with everyone so busy..." She broke off, blew her nose loudly as Harry tried not to let his awkwardness and fatigue show, and continued. "I told Alf, I said, ‘I'm ready to leave England, whether you're in the Wizengamot or not’ but he said, ‘You wait and see- Harry Potter's working with Minister Scrimgeour now; between the two of them, they'll sort that devil out...’ Oh, bless you, Harry- you really are the Chosen One..."
*
"Wait here for a moment," the Ministry worker escorting Harry said before walking off down a corridor. Harry gratefully sank onto a bench; after a moment, someone came and sat next to him, although Harry was too tired to look up. Then, from the next bench over, he heard a voice repeating, over and over: "I want to forget... I want to forget..."
Harry turned his head: a man in gray robes was sitting on a bench, rocking back and forth agitatedly as he gouged at his forearms with his fingernails. Another man was sitting next to him, trying to take the man's hands in his; when he saw Harry looking, he got the gray-robed man to his feet, and led him off down the corridor. Even as Harry tried to think of something to say, they turned a corner, and were gone.
"He's an Obliviator," he heard a familiar voice say quietly from behind him. Harry turned around.
"Neville!"
"Hi, Harry," Neville said. "Yeah- he's an Obliviator. They have so much to do with removing the memories from Muggles who've been cursed by the Death Eaters, none of them are really getting any sleep at all- they have to use Stimulant Spells 'round the clock. If something doesn't change soon, they'll all be like that."
"Oh," Harry said quietly. He searched for words, and finally said, "Err- how are you?"
"I'm all right," Neville said. "I'm taking special DADA classes here over the summer. They say I'm one of the best they have here. I hope so; I want to get into the fight soon."
"Are- are you sure that's a good idea?"
"I don't care if it is or not," Neville said. "I'm bloody tired of being useless in a fight- of being a hostage. I'm going to start fighting back." His hands clenched into fists. "I hope I run into Bellatrix Lestrange again, one of these days- or even Vol..."
"Don't say that," Harry said, disquieted. "Remember what happened to Sirius, or to Dumbledore."
"It's going to happen to all of us if they aren't stopped," Neville answered. "I'm going to learn how to do that- I'm not just going to stay in hiding at Hogwarts. Not anymore."
Harry opened his mouth to answer- and then the worker escorting him was back, leading him off to do more and more and more...
*
Harry sagged with exhaustion, as he washed off his makeup in his dressing room- a commandeered Ministry washroom. As he walked through the halls towards the elevator, one of the actors who had played a Death Eater came past wearing dark blue Auror robes, and carrying files: "Night, Harry." "Night," Harry responded automatically.
He stood for a moment by the elevator; a Ministry worker walked by, carrying life-sized cardboard cutouts of Harry and Voldemort that they had been using for matching eyelines. He propped them against a wall for a moment; Harry found himself staring at his own smiling cardboard image, and feeling a tremendous sense of unreality, of loss.
“Not a bad likeness,” came Scrimgeour’s voice from behind him. Harry stood, numbly waiting, as the Minister walked up to him. “You all right?” Scrimgeour asked, looking at him sharply.
“Tired,” Harry said finally. He felt Scrimgeour’s gaze on him; the Minister waved away the aide following him, and beckoned Harry into the elevator. The door closed; Scrimgeour pushed a large red button on the side of the control panel. There was a chime; a voice said, “Interfering with the proper function of this elevator is...”
“Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic,” Scrimgeour snapped. “Override code D-1.” He turned to face Harry. “What is it?” he asked abruptly.
“I don’t know... I just... I’m tired; there’s so much happening...”
Scrimgeour nodded. “I’m afraid you’re just going to have to get used to it," he said tersely. "This is going to be an extremely busy week. After Friday, the worst of it should be over; one of the bright spots of having a mass exodus to deal with, is that it leaves fewer people that you have to meet. For the moment, though- everyone is working harder than they should be.”
Harry nodded; in his exhaustion, he found himself unable to dissemble, to avoid the question on his mind. “Minister...?”
“Yes?”
“How do you... how do you know if you’ve made the right choices...?”
“You don’t,” Scrimgeour replied at once. “I consider myself to have good instincts, and a well-schooled mind- but if you make enough decisions, you’ll make bad ones. Everyone loses a few rounds; if you win the game, then you’ve made the right choices.”
Harry nodded doubtfully. “Has there... is there any word about Snape?”
“I was wondering if you were going to ask me about him. No- Voldemort seems to be keeping him out of the field; probably making use of his intellectual talents, for the benefit of the Death Eaters. We’ll find him, soon enough.”
“What about Caradoc...?”
Scrimgeour’s eyes narrowed. “How much do you know about Caradoc?”
“Only that I overheard the Death Eater mentioning it...”
“Mmm. Well, for the moment, I’ll just say that we’re looking into it. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” he continued, reopening the door, “...I’m afraid I still have a great deal of work to do.” Scrimgeour walked briskly back down the hall; Harry caught a last glimpse of his own smiling cardboard image, as the doors slid shut.
*
Tonks was waiting for him when he stepped out of the elevator; it was after sundown now, as he took off his Ministry badge, and jammed it into a back pocket. “Wotcher, Harry,” she said, although her voice sounded subdued.
“Are you all right...?” Harry asked.
“I’m fine,” she said. “We should get you out of here.”
“I don’t even know where I’m staying,” Harry said, as they headed for the door. “We stayed at that Auror’s house last night; are we going back there...?”
“No- you’ll be staying with the Weasleys.” Harry began to realize that she seemed truly upset; she had yet to meet his gaze, and her hair was its unaltered shade of mousy brown.
“Tonks- are you sure you’re...?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped. Then, she stopped, and seemed to sag. “I’m sorry, Harry; it’s... it’s been a long day. Just, please- no more questions. Let’s just get out of here, so I can Apparate you to where the Weasleys are staying.”
*
For a moment, Harry thought Tonks had Apparated them to the wrong location; instead of the Burrow’s familiar setting, they were standing in front of a tall hedge that blocked the view from the road. Harry lit his wand, and looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, with We are staying at Abbot's Mead, Wyndham Road, Hertfordshire written on it in Arthur Weasley's handwriting; the address was unfamiliar to him. “Tonks- where are we...?”
“I’m sorry, Harry, I should have said- after the Death Eaters attacked you on Privet Drive, Minister Scrimgeour felt it likely that they would strike at the Burrow next. He got the Weasleys out of there; this is a house Scrimgeour himself owns, although his name isn’t on the records. It's all right- the house and grounds are sealed against Apparition or Disapparition, just like Hogwarts, and there's a Fidelius Charm on it, with Arthur as the Secret-Keeper.”
Harry concentrated, and then stared at the small, white house that squeezed into view; he felt disoriented and uneasy. “So- is the entire family here...?”
“Not all of them,” Tonks said shortly. “Harry- I... I have to go; I’ll be back later on. Take care.” She gave him a quick hug, walked out past the hedge, and vanished with the sharp crack of Disapparition. Arthur Weasley and Remus Lupin came out of the door, as Harry walked up to the house.
“Hello, Harry,” said Arthur, embracing him.
“Hello, Harry,” echoed Lupin, looking at him. “Congratulations on the new position.”
“You know about that...?”
Lupin nodded. “I think you made a sensible decision," he said, looking away. "It may well help save lives. Oh, here” he added, thrusting the Map into Harry's hand.
“Err... Harry, would you please go inside and wait for us for a few minutes?” asked Arthur. “Remus and I have to discuss something.”
“All right,” said Harry, tucking the Map into a pocket. He turned at the door, and looked back at Lupin. “Oh- do you know what’s wrong with Tonks? She seemed...”
“In a minute, Harry,” interjected Lupin. “She’s under a great deal of strain, as are we all.”
Harry nodded doubtfully, and entered the house. There was a small front hall, where he hung his robes; then, wearing T-shirt and jeans, he walked into the dining room, where Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were sitting at the table, which nearly filled the room. They greeted him as he entered; Harry noted that they seemed a bit subdued. He turned to Hermione. "Good idea, putting that Locator Charm on it," he said flatly, as he grasped the Cricket. "Do you want it back now?"
Hermione bit her lip. "I'm really sorry, Harry- I was just worried about..."
"Suit yourself," Harry said, letting the Cricket drop back around his neck. He sighed, as he watched Hermione wipe at her eyes; he had just opened his mouth to say something, when he suddenly heard a low, angry-sounding voice from the kitchen say, “Well, well- look who finally decided to show.”
Bill walked into the dining room, with a stiff-legged gait; his lips were pulled back in a grin, as his eyes were fixed on Harry. “Umm, hey, Bill...” Harry said uncertainly.
“Yeah- couldn’t be troubled to make it to my wedding, but once the Death Eaters have him frightened, he comes running right back here, eh? No matter the danger it puts my family in?” The scars on Bill’s face stood out especially vividly; Harry took a step backward, feeling uneasy. Bill moved closer; Ron and the others recoiled as he slid past them.
“What’s the matter, Harry- do I make you nervous?” Bill asked. “Is it my scars? They’re only scars- why, you have one yourself, don’t you? Or is it that you feel guilty about running out on my wedding, or endangering my family, or failing to save Dumbledore...?”
“I didn’t fail!” Harry snapped; Ginny started to stand at this. “Bill,” she said, “...you need to...”
Bill thrust out a hand just short of her face, abruptly silencing her. Harry could hear footsteps slowly ascending the stairs; Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were sitting frozen at the table; Bill was still grinning his horrible grin as he advanced on Harry. Almost unconsciously, Harry’s hand drifted toward his wand; Bill saw this, and his grin widened.
“Going to go for your wand?” he asked lightly. “Be interesting to see what happened if you did- or if I went for mine...”
Suddenly, the footsteps coming up the stairs broke into a run; Molly Weasley came into the living room, her face wide-eyed and frantic as she started striking Bill about the head. “Stop it!” she shouted. “Stop it, stop it, stop it!”
Harry froze as she struck at Bill wildly, screaming as she did so: “You have to stop it... people are getting killed... I won’t have any of my children getting hurt!” She was hitting at Bill as she spoke, hard enough to rock his head back on his neck; he made no move to defend himself or get away from her, but simply stood, head down, as she struck at him. Suddenly, there were footsteps in the kitchen; Charlie Weasley came into the dining room at a run, lunging past the others and grabbing at his mother’s raised arm with his right hand, as he kept the other arm behind his back. “Stop it, mum!” he yelled. “Ron- help me!”
Ron stood up, and grabbed Molly’s other arm, even as she lunged at Bill again; suddenly, the front door opened. “That’s enough, Molly!” Remus interposed himself between Molly and Bill, making eye contact with her and speaking urgently in low tones as Charlie and Ron held her by her arms; Arthur quickly went into the kitchen, returning with a small brown bottle. “Remus- help me get her downstairs.”
Bill stood motionless as Lupin and Arthur got Molly back down the stairs, a trickle of blood ran down one eyebrow as he stood with eyes downcast, looking down at the floor; he was making a low whining noise in his throat. Ron was staring at the stairs, white-faced; Hermione and Ginny were frozen in shock. Harry looked from person to person, trying to understand the sudden, awful fact of what had just happened; Charlie caught his gaze. “Come with me a sec, Harry.”
They walked into the kitchen, where brown paper bags of supplies sat on the counters next to new, gleaming utensils. In the back of his mind, Harry noted that Charlie was still keeping his left arm behind his back. “What...” he finally asked. “What just happened...?”
“I’m afraid I probably had something to do with that,” said Charlie, finally taking his left arm from behind his back. “Mum didn’t take too well to this.”
Harry stared; Charlie’s left hand was gone, the stump encased in a leather bandage. “What...?”
Charlie’s mouth quirked ironically. “Romania’s been an interesting place lately.” Seeing the question in Harry’s eyes, he went on, “Romania’s officially neutral, so far as their wizarding populace is concerned- but there’s been a lot of support for Voldemort, especially among the nonhumans. Do you remember Norbert?”
“Yeah...?”
“I was working with him about a week ago, when three of them came over the hills- giants. Apparently, Scrimgeour thinks they were trying to take out our facility, because we control so many of the dragons... at any rate, they came right for us.
"I was engaging them with Norbert, while the others got the rest of the dragons out of their pens, and ready to fight. Norbert was using gouts of flame to keep the giants at bay- but you know how thick a giant’s skin is; one of them came right through it, and caught Norbert with a club before I could get him to pull back. We caught the giant a good one right after that- finished him- but...”
“Norbert’s dead...?” Harry asked.
Charlie nodded sadly. “His neck was broken. When I went to check on him, he lashed out before he could tell it was me- damn lucky it wasn’t all of me he got, instead of just the hand.”
“Does... does Hagrid know?”
A sigh. “He sent me a letter when I was in hospital- I haven’t been able to answer it yet. Broke my heart; I think it was worse for him than for me, poor bugger. I got into working with dragons in the first place because of him... Any rate, I’ve been in St. Mungo’s for the last week or so; that’s why I couldn’t be at Dumbledore’s funeral, or the wedding. Got here not too long before you did.”
Harry struggled to make sense of this. “But... isn’t St. Mungo’s able to fix things like that...?”
“Usually, yeah- they’re brilliant at it,” said Charlie. “Thing is, the Death Eaters have been cursing people right, left and center, so they’re packed to the rafters...”
“Yeah, I heard about that.”
Charlie nodded. “They're too busy taking horns and the like off of cursed Muggles; they just don’t have the people free for that kind of healing- you know how complicated bites from magical creatures can be,” he said, with a glance toward the dining room. “They didn’t have time to do more than stabilize my condition and make sure the wound wouldn’t get infected, or something. Maybe when things get back to normal... anyway, the Ministry called me home, as I was there through the international branch of the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures; I’m on a disability pension now. Lucky it wasn’t my wand hand.” He forced a grin. “I tell you, Harry- there are times I wish I’d stayed with the Quidditch.”
“And that’s what happened with...?” Harry’s sentence broke off, as he looked down at the floor; Charlie nodded grimly. “Between what happened to me, and Bill, and Percy being the cacanar he is, and being away from home- and Fred and George, and whatever they’re doing for the Order, and, umm, everything else that's going on- Dad’s afraid she's going ‘round the twist,” he said quietly. "You know how she is- any time one of us gets hurt, or lost, or something, she gets all worked up over it. I remember once when Percy had a case of dragon pox, she didn't sleep for four days; I don't think she's eaten since Bill was attacked..."
He broke off, and leaned heavily against the counter, supporting himself with his good hand; Harry sighed, and nodded. “Yeah- there was this time at the house in London, with a Boggart...”
“Yeah, I heard about that. Even turned into you, Ron said; she really cares about you.” Charlie gripped his arm with a strong hand. “I’m glad you’re here, Harry. Between her and Bill- it’s been rough.” Harry silently nodded; the two of them stood that way for a moment, then walked back to the living room. Ginny and Ron were standing with Bill in the living room now; Hermione stood back a bit in the dining room, watching them with an anxious expression on her face. When Harry walked into the room, Bill turned to face him, eyes still downcast.
“Harry- I am so, so sorry...You just... you aren't part of our pack...our family...”
“Hey, forget it,” said Harry awkwardly. “It’s okay...”
“No, it isn’t,” said Bill. “Ever since he bit me... the healer at St. Mungo’s couldn’t tell me anything... I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
There was an awful silence. “Well, it’s almost a full moon,” Harry finally said, “...so if it is some sort of reaction to the bites, that means it’ll be better in a couple of days- right?” he asked, looking from Bill to Hermione.
“Right,” Hermione chimed in quickly. “It’s the nineteenth now, and the full moon happens on the twentieth... so by the twenty-second, if you’re anything like Professor Lupin, you should be fine...”
“I can’t eat anything but raw steak now,” Bill said, looking at the floor. “I used to love omelets- I ate a bite of one, and I had to spit it out. I just got married; what if there’s no treatment for this...?”
“Professor Lupin will know what to do,” said Hermione, forcing confidence into her tone. “He’s been talking to your father about matters for the Order, but once he gets back...”
“They’re probably talking about me,” said Bill miserably. “Me- or mum.”
“It’ll be okay,” Ron said awkwardly, patting his arm. “You’ll see.”
“Right,” added Charlie; they stood that way for a moment.
“Where’s Fleur...?” asked Harry finally.
“She’s taking care of mum,” Ginny said. “She’s... she’s actually been really good about it.”
“I need to lie down,” said Bill, trudging down the stairs. There was a silence; Hermione put a hand on Ron’s back; he flinched. “Sorry,” he said, putting his arm around her. Harry looked from them to Ginny; she was looking at the stairs, worry on her face. For a moment, no one spoke. “It’ll be all right,” Harry finally said.
“I know,” Ginny said, not taking her gaze from the stairs.
Chapter 3- Life During Wartime
A/N: Please note that for the sake of the story (and to conform to the lunar calendar for June of 1997), I'm saying that the Half-Blood Prince school year at Hogwarts ended roughly two weeks early, for obvious reasons. Also, please note that while the business about Charlie being in Romania through the DRCMC is not necessarily canonical, I did it that way for a specific reason.
Also also, a brief word on warnings: while I don't always consider it necessary to give a word count or a PG/R rating, and I assume you all know perfectly well that (except for Brin and a few others) these characters aren't original with me, I will give warnings if a scene turns out to be NSFW, or features potentially upsetting elements. (EXCEPTION: I do NOT warn for character death; the Rowlingverse is all about sudden, shocking death, and it's impossible to carry that forward with a warning tag reading "Character death!" up front.) Accordingly, this is a warning that today's chapter features a character in the midst of a nervous breakdown; I found it upsetting when writing it, at any rate.
Scrimgeour stood, as Harry, wearing Ministry robes, entered the office. “I’m glad you’re on time, Harry- we have a lot to go over before you meet the press.”
Harry paused, still standing in the doorway; his Ministry badge was an unfamiliar weight on his chest. He had thought about this all night, lying on a sofa in a Ministry office; after hours of deliberation, he'd decided it was the only possible option. He hated the thought of sharing a secret of Dumbledore’s, but- aside from the worrying question of whether or not he could even keep the Horcruxes secret from Scrimgeour- the Ministry had resources to bring to bear that could make the difference in this; Scrimgeour certainly had no love for Voldemort, and he was a genius at tracking things down...
“Minister? There’s... there’s something I need to discuss with you first...” Harry said, as he walked into the room and closed the door.
“Oh?” asked Scrimgeour sharply, staring at Harry. “What is it?”
“Well, have you ever heard of... Horcruxes?”
“Horcruxes? Of course I...” Scrimgeour broke off; his eyes narrowed. “Wait- you’re using the plural. Voldemort?” Harry nodded. “How many Horcruxes are we talking about, exactly?” Scrimgeour demanded.
“I... six, I think. Or seven. It’s complicated...” Briefly, Harry laid out the conclusions he and Dumbledore had come to, in their pursuit of the fragments of Voldemort’s soul. Scrimgeour listened intently, occasionally interjecting with a pointed question, until Harry had finished. He paused to think for a moment, fingers steepled together, eyes focused inward.
“Mmm, always had my suspicions about the snake... if it should die, then what happens to that Horcrux...? Hmm, an artifact of Ravenclaw’s or Gryffindor's...” He paused; his eyes flicked to Harry’s, then to his forehead for a moment. “And you don’t know what became of the real locket?” Scrimgeour asked sharply.
“No- the note just said...”
“All right; wait here.” Scrimgeour left the office. Harry looked for his school folder, but there was no sign of it; the chess pieces were in new positions now, and the wizard in the photograph still urged his wife to smile. Several minutes later, Scrimgeour abruptly returned. “Sit down; we still have a lot to go over. You'll be speaking to the international press as well, of course; we need to solicit worldwide support.”
“...so, remember,” Scrimgeour continued, “no mention whatsoever of Horcruxes; if the subject comes up, just say Riddle and the others were simply “aspects” of Voldemort- low-grade recording spells, like a portrait.”
Harry felt a stab of anger at being ordered to lie; for an instant, he wished he hadn't mentioned the Horcruxes to Scrimgeour. “So that way, by lying to them- we’ll be keeping Voldemort and his forces off their guard somewhat about the Horcruxes, which makes it easier for you.”
“I’m glad you have the gist of this,” Scrimgeour said flatly. “Now, pay attention- we still have a lot to cover before your first photo shoot.”
Harry squared his jaw and looked resolute, as three Death Eaters came in for the kill. He drew his own wand, aimed it, and...
Suddenly, a harried-looking man was moving him this way and that, as the Death Eaters- whose robes looked wrong- drifted off and fished in their pockets for cigarettes. Harry felt an increasing sense of unreality, as he was introduced to a man made up to look like Scrimgeour, and the harried-looking man said something about wanding in the effects later, and moved him into yet another position...
Flash.
Flash.
The latest in an endless line of reporters, this one Japanese, nodded intently, as his quill took down Harry's every word. Harry made certain to speak clearly, and slowly enough that the translation spell could function. "...and I destroyed that... aspect of Voldemort simply by stabbing the diary with the basilisk fang- it's what my friend Hermione calls 'sympathetic magic.' Voldemort believed that stabbing the book would undo that... aspect, so luckily, it did. Now, I did that when I was only twelve, so you can imagine..."
"'Aspect' of You-Know-Who, Harry? Could you go into more detail on that...?"
"Err... just a low-grade recording spell, like a portrait. We, err, don't know exactly how it assumed a tangible form- but we'll find any other spells like that and sort them out along with the real thing, soon enough..."
The old witch's eyes shone with tears, as she clasped Harry's hands tightly. "...my Deddy was a brilliant student- best codebreaker the Ministry ever had- but he just didn't have any common sense; he never should have been involved with that attack at St. Mungo's, but with everyone so busy..." She broke off, blew her nose loudly as Harry tried not to let his awkwardness and fatigue show, and continued. "I told Alf, I said, ‘I'm ready to leave England, whether you're in the Wizengamot or not’ but he said, ‘You wait and see- Harry Potter's working with Minister Scrimgeour now; between the two of them, they'll sort that devil out...’ Oh, bless you, Harry- you really are the Chosen One..."
"Wait here for a moment," the Ministry worker escorting Harry said before walking off down a corridor. Harry gratefully sank onto a bench; after a moment, someone came and sat next to him, although Harry was too tired to look up. Then, from the next bench over, he heard a voice repeating, over and over: "I want to forget... I want to forget..."
Harry turned his head: a man in gray robes was sitting on a bench, rocking back and forth agitatedly as he gouged at his forearms with his fingernails. Another man was sitting next to him, trying to take the man's hands in his; when he saw Harry looking, he got the gray-robed man to his feet, and led him off down the corridor. Even as Harry tried to think of something to say, they turned a corner, and were gone.
"He's an Obliviator," he heard a familiar voice say quietly from behind him. Harry turned around.
"Neville!"
"Hi, Harry," Neville said. "Yeah- he's an Obliviator. They have so much to do with removing the memories from Muggles who've been cursed by the Death Eaters, none of them are really getting any sleep at all- they have to use Stimulant Spells 'round the clock. If something doesn't change soon, they'll all be like that."
"Oh," Harry said quietly. He searched for words, and finally said, "Err- how are you?"
"I'm all right," Neville said. "I'm taking special DADA classes here over the summer. They say I'm one of the best they have here. I hope so; I want to get into the fight soon."
"Are- are you sure that's a good idea?"
"I don't care if it is or not," Neville said. "I'm bloody tired of being useless in a fight- of being a hostage. I'm going to start fighting back." His hands clenched into fists. "I hope I run into Bellatrix Lestrange again, one of these days- or even Vol..."
"Don't say that," Harry said, disquieted. "Remember what happened to Sirius, or to Dumbledore."
"It's going to happen to all of us if they aren't stopped," Neville answered. "I'm going to learn how to do that- I'm not just going to stay in hiding at Hogwarts. Not anymore."
Harry opened his mouth to answer- and then the worker escorting him was back, leading him off to do more and more and more...
Harry sagged with exhaustion, as he washed off his makeup in his dressing room- a commandeered Ministry washroom. As he walked through the halls towards the elevator, one of the actors who had played a Death Eater came past wearing dark blue Auror robes, and carrying files: "Night, Harry." "Night," Harry responded automatically.
He stood for a moment by the elevator; a Ministry worker walked by, carrying life-sized cardboard cutouts of Harry and Voldemort that they had been using for matching eyelines. He propped them against a wall for a moment; Harry found himself staring at his own smiling cardboard image, and feeling a tremendous sense of unreality, of loss.
“Not a bad likeness,” came Scrimgeour’s voice from behind him. Harry stood, numbly waiting, as the Minister walked up to him. “You all right?” Scrimgeour asked, looking at him sharply.
“Tired,” Harry said finally. He felt Scrimgeour’s gaze on him; the Minister waved away the aide following him, and beckoned Harry into the elevator. The door closed; Scrimgeour pushed a large red button on the side of the control panel. There was a chime; a voice said, “Interfering with the proper function of this elevator is...”
“Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic,” Scrimgeour snapped. “Override code D-1.” He turned to face Harry. “What is it?” he asked abruptly.
“I don’t know... I just... I’m tired; there’s so much happening...”
Scrimgeour nodded. “I’m afraid you’re just going to have to get used to it," he said tersely. "This is going to be an extremely busy week. After Friday, the worst of it should be over; one of the bright spots of having a mass exodus to deal with, is that it leaves fewer people that you have to meet. For the moment, though- everyone is working harder than they should be.”
Harry nodded; in his exhaustion, he found himself unable to dissemble, to avoid the question on his mind. “Minister...?”
“Yes?”
“How do you... how do you know if you’ve made the right choices...?”
“You don’t,” Scrimgeour replied at once. “I consider myself to have good instincts, and a well-schooled mind- but if you make enough decisions, you’ll make bad ones. Everyone loses a few rounds; if you win the game, then you’ve made the right choices.”
Harry nodded doubtfully. “Has there... is there any word about Snape?”
“I was wondering if you were going to ask me about him. No- Voldemort seems to be keeping him out of the field; probably making use of his intellectual talents, for the benefit of the Death Eaters. We’ll find him, soon enough.”
“What about Caradoc...?”
Scrimgeour’s eyes narrowed. “How much do you know about Caradoc?”
“Only that I overheard the Death Eater mentioning it...”
“Mmm. Well, for the moment, I’ll just say that we’re looking into it. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” he continued, reopening the door, “...I’m afraid I still have a great deal of work to do.” Scrimgeour walked briskly back down the hall; Harry caught a last glimpse of his own smiling cardboard image, as the doors slid shut.
Tonks was waiting for him when he stepped out of the elevator; it was after sundown now, as he took off his Ministry badge, and jammed it into a back pocket. “Wotcher, Harry,” she said, although her voice sounded subdued.
“Are you all right...?” Harry asked.
“I’m fine,” she said. “We should get you out of here.”
“I don’t even know where I’m staying,” Harry said, as they headed for the door. “We stayed at that Auror’s house last night; are we going back there...?”
“No- you’ll be staying with the Weasleys.” Harry began to realize that she seemed truly upset; she had yet to meet his gaze, and her hair was its unaltered shade of mousy brown.
“Tonks- are you sure you’re...?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped. Then, she stopped, and seemed to sag. “I’m sorry, Harry; it’s... it’s been a long day. Just, please- no more questions. Let’s just get out of here, so I can Apparate you to where the Weasleys are staying.”
For a moment, Harry thought Tonks had Apparated them to the wrong location; instead of the Burrow’s familiar setting, they were standing in front of a tall hedge that blocked the view from the road. Harry lit his wand, and looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, with We are staying at Abbot's Mead, Wyndham Road, Hertfordshire written on it in Arthur Weasley's handwriting; the address was unfamiliar to him. “Tonks- where are we...?”
“I’m sorry, Harry, I should have said- after the Death Eaters attacked you on Privet Drive, Minister Scrimgeour felt it likely that they would strike at the Burrow next. He got the Weasleys out of there; this is a house Scrimgeour himself owns, although his name isn’t on the records. It's all right- the house and grounds are sealed against Apparition or Disapparition, just like Hogwarts, and there's a Fidelius Charm on it, with Arthur as the Secret-Keeper.”
Harry concentrated, and then stared at the small, white house that squeezed into view; he felt disoriented and uneasy. “So- is the entire family here...?”
“Not all of them,” Tonks said shortly. “Harry- I... I have to go; I’ll be back later on. Take care.” She gave him a quick hug, walked out past the hedge, and vanished with the sharp crack of Disapparition. Arthur Weasley and Remus Lupin came out of the door, as Harry walked up to the house.
“Hello, Harry,” said Arthur, embracing him.
“Hello, Harry,” echoed Lupin, looking at him. “Congratulations on the new position.”
“You know about that...?”
Lupin nodded. “I think you made a sensible decision," he said, looking away. "It may well help save lives. Oh, here” he added, thrusting the Map into Harry's hand.
“Err... Harry, would you please go inside and wait for us for a few minutes?” asked Arthur. “Remus and I have to discuss something.”
“All right,” said Harry, tucking the Map into a pocket. He turned at the door, and looked back at Lupin. “Oh- do you know what’s wrong with Tonks? She seemed...”
“In a minute, Harry,” interjected Lupin. “She’s under a great deal of strain, as are we all.”
Harry nodded doubtfully, and entered the house. There was a small front hall, where he hung his robes; then, wearing T-shirt and jeans, he walked into the dining room, where Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were sitting at the table, which nearly filled the room. They greeted him as he entered; Harry noted that they seemed a bit subdued. He turned to Hermione. "Good idea, putting that Locator Charm on it," he said flatly, as he grasped the Cricket. "Do you want it back now?"
Hermione bit her lip. "I'm really sorry, Harry- I was just worried about..."
"Suit yourself," Harry said, letting the Cricket drop back around his neck. He sighed, as he watched Hermione wipe at her eyes; he had just opened his mouth to say something, when he suddenly heard a low, angry-sounding voice from the kitchen say, “Well, well- look who finally decided to show.”
Bill walked into the dining room, with a stiff-legged gait; his lips were pulled back in a grin, as his eyes were fixed on Harry. “Umm, hey, Bill...” Harry said uncertainly.
“Yeah- couldn’t be troubled to make it to my wedding, but once the Death Eaters have him frightened, he comes running right back here, eh? No matter the danger it puts my family in?” The scars on Bill’s face stood out especially vividly; Harry took a step backward, feeling uneasy. Bill moved closer; Ron and the others recoiled as he slid past them.
“What’s the matter, Harry- do I make you nervous?” Bill asked. “Is it my scars? They’re only scars- why, you have one yourself, don’t you? Or is it that you feel guilty about running out on my wedding, or endangering my family, or failing to save Dumbledore...?”
“I didn’t fail!” Harry snapped; Ginny started to stand at this. “Bill,” she said, “...you need to...”
Bill thrust out a hand just short of her face, abruptly silencing her. Harry could hear footsteps slowly ascending the stairs; Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were sitting frozen at the table; Bill was still grinning his horrible grin as he advanced on Harry. Almost unconsciously, Harry’s hand drifted toward his wand; Bill saw this, and his grin widened.
“Going to go for your wand?” he asked lightly. “Be interesting to see what happened if you did- or if I went for mine...”
Suddenly, the footsteps coming up the stairs broke into a run; Molly Weasley came into the living room, her face wide-eyed and frantic as she started striking Bill about the head. “Stop it!” she shouted. “Stop it, stop it, stop it!”
Harry froze as she struck at Bill wildly, screaming as she did so: “You have to stop it... people are getting killed... I won’t have any of my children getting hurt!” She was hitting at Bill as she spoke, hard enough to rock his head back on his neck; he made no move to defend himself or get away from her, but simply stood, head down, as she struck at him. Suddenly, there were footsteps in the kitchen; Charlie Weasley came into the dining room at a run, lunging past the others and grabbing at his mother’s raised arm with his right hand, as he kept the other arm behind his back. “Stop it, mum!” he yelled. “Ron- help me!”
Ron stood up, and grabbed Molly’s other arm, even as she lunged at Bill again; suddenly, the front door opened. “That’s enough, Molly!” Remus interposed himself between Molly and Bill, making eye contact with her and speaking urgently in low tones as Charlie and Ron held her by her arms; Arthur quickly went into the kitchen, returning with a small brown bottle. “Remus- help me get her downstairs.”
Bill stood motionless as Lupin and Arthur got Molly back down the stairs, a trickle of blood ran down one eyebrow as he stood with eyes downcast, looking down at the floor; he was making a low whining noise in his throat. Ron was staring at the stairs, white-faced; Hermione and Ginny were frozen in shock. Harry looked from person to person, trying to understand the sudden, awful fact of what had just happened; Charlie caught his gaze. “Come with me a sec, Harry.”
They walked into the kitchen, where brown paper bags of supplies sat on the counters next to new, gleaming utensils. In the back of his mind, Harry noted that Charlie was still keeping his left arm behind his back. “What...” he finally asked. “What just happened...?”
“I’m afraid I probably had something to do with that,” said Charlie, finally taking his left arm from behind his back. “Mum didn’t take too well to this.”
Harry stared; Charlie’s left hand was gone, the stump encased in a leather bandage. “What...?”
Charlie’s mouth quirked ironically. “Romania’s been an interesting place lately.” Seeing the question in Harry’s eyes, he went on, “Romania’s officially neutral, so far as their wizarding populace is concerned- but there’s been a lot of support for Voldemort, especially among the nonhumans. Do you remember Norbert?”
“Yeah...?”
“I was working with him about a week ago, when three of them came over the hills- giants. Apparently, Scrimgeour thinks they were trying to take out our facility, because we control so many of the dragons... at any rate, they came right for us.
"I was engaging them with Norbert, while the others got the rest of the dragons out of their pens, and ready to fight. Norbert was using gouts of flame to keep the giants at bay- but you know how thick a giant’s skin is; one of them came right through it, and caught Norbert with a club before I could get him to pull back. We caught the giant a good one right after that- finished him- but...”
“Norbert’s dead...?” Harry asked.
Charlie nodded sadly. “His neck was broken. When I went to check on him, he lashed out before he could tell it was me- damn lucky it wasn’t all of me he got, instead of just the hand.”
“Does... does Hagrid know?”
A sigh. “He sent me a letter when I was in hospital- I haven’t been able to answer it yet. Broke my heart; I think it was worse for him than for me, poor bugger. I got into working with dragons in the first place because of him... Any rate, I’ve been in St. Mungo’s for the last week or so; that’s why I couldn’t be at Dumbledore’s funeral, or the wedding. Got here not too long before you did.”
Harry struggled to make sense of this. “But... isn’t St. Mungo’s able to fix things like that...?”
“Usually, yeah- they’re brilliant at it,” said Charlie. “Thing is, the Death Eaters have been cursing people right, left and center, so they’re packed to the rafters...”
“Yeah, I heard about that.”
Charlie nodded. “They're too busy taking horns and the like off of cursed Muggles; they just don’t have the people free for that kind of healing- you know how complicated bites from magical creatures can be,” he said, with a glance toward the dining room. “They didn’t have time to do more than stabilize my condition and make sure the wound wouldn’t get infected, or something. Maybe when things get back to normal... anyway, the Ministry called me home, as I was there through the international branch of the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures; I’m on a disability pension now. Lucky it wasn’t my wand hand.” He forced a grin. “I tell you, Harry- there are times I wish I’d stayed with the Quidditch.”
“And that’s what happened with...?” Harry’s sentence broke off, as he looked down at the floor; Charlie nodded grimly. “Between what happened to me, and Bill, and Percy being the cacanar he is, and being away from home- and Fred and George, and whatever they’re doing for the Order, and, umm, everything else that's going on- Dad’s afraid she's going ‘round the twist,” he said quietly. "You know how she is- any time one of us gets hurt, or lost, or something, she gets all worked up over it. I remember once when Percy had a case of dragon pox, she didn't sleep for four days; I don't think she's eaten since Bill was attacked..."
He broke off, and leaned heavily against the counter, supporting himself with his good hand; Harry sighed, and nodded. “Yeah- there was this time at the house in London, with a Boggart...”
“Yeah, I heard about that. Even turned into you, Ron said; she really cares about you.” Charlie gripped his arm with a strong hand. “I’m glad you’re here, Harry. Between her and Bill- it’s been rough.” Harry silently nodded; the two of them stood that way for a moment, then walked back to the living room. Ginny and Ron were standing with Bill in the living room now; Hermione stood back a bit in the dining room, watching them with an anxious expression on her face. When Harry walked into the room, Bill turned to face him, eyes still downcast.
“Harry- I am so, so sorry...You just... you aren't part of our pack...our family...”
“Hey, forget it,” said Harry awkwardly. “It’s okay...”
“No, it isn’t,” said Bill. “Ever since he bit me... the healer at St. Mungo’s couldn’t tell me anything... I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
There was an awful silence. “Well, it’s almost a full moon,” Harry finally said, “...so if it is some sort of reaction to the bites, that means it’ll be better in a couple of days- right?” he asked, looking from Bill to Hermione.
“Right,” Hermione chimed in quickly. “It’s the nineteenth now, and the full moon happens on the twentieth... so by the twenty-second, if you’re anything like Professor Lupin, you should be fine...”
“I can’t eat anything but raw steak now,” Bill said, looking at the floor. “I used to love omelets- I ate a bite of one, and I had to spit it out. I just got married; what if there’s no treatment for this...?”
“Professor Lupin will know what to do,” said Hermione, forcing confidence into her tone. “He’s been talking to your father about matters for the Order, but once he gets back...”
“They’re probably talking about me,” said Bill miserably. “Me- or mum.”
“It’ll be okay,” Ron said awkwardly, patting his arm. “You’ll see.”
“Right,” added Charlie; they stood that way for a moment.
“Where’s Fleur...?” asked Harry finally.
“She’s taking care of mum,” Ginny said. “She’s... she’s actually been really good about it.”
“I need to lie down,” said Bill, trudging down the stairs. There was a silence; Hermione put a hand on Ron’s back; he flinched. “Sorry,” he said, putting his arm around her. Harry looked from them to Ginny; she was looking at the stairs, worry on her face. For a moment, no one spoke. “It’ll be all right,” Harry finally said.
“I know,” Ginny said, not taking her gaze from the stairs.