The Fire Waltz

Chapter Two: The Death of Hank Mallory

I.

Hank Mallory breathed a sigh of relief as he returned home from Hogwarts after a year of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. The old man made a risky career move changing positions from Arithmancy to Defence, but he felt that yes, the time must have been right. After all these years of teaching mathematics and with Dumbledore desperate for another teacher after the last one drunk himself into a depression that meant he could not return, Mallory had seized the opportunity, provided that he got to keep the same classroom that he had held for twenty-two years. As a long serving professor, Dumbledore obliged his request, and as a result, Defence Against the Dark Arts moved classrooms for the first time in what felt like an age. Some older students called it a curse, a bad omen, but by and large, it was accepted by the third week.

Some even speculated that Mallory had changed it thinking that if there was a curse, it was a curse on the room that Defence Against the Dark Arts was taught in rather than the subject itself. One only had to look back at the position of teachers leaving to notice a distinct domino effect, some having met more disturbing ends than others.

It was of course, raining outside when Mallory returned home, and the fire was out. His wife had died a few years ago peacefully in her sleep, and the aged man had to adjust to a house that was much too large for him and him alone. He'd taken on a few dogs, some stray, some not, as well as a house elf to help with the day-to-day activities. He had named her August, for that was the month he had brought her in. "August? Are you there?"

There was no familiar pop that greeted him, the sound of the loyal house elf welcoming him home from work with a cup of piping hot, pitch-black tea. And the more he listened and observed, the more he noticed that something was clearly wrong. There was no barking from the dogs, there wasn't even a sign of Lacy, the oldest, who always used to lounge around by the fireplace and leap up excitedly upon his return. The light around the fireplace was completely dimmed, and the only light aside from the fireplace that he was granted was natural, but that was slim due to how late in the day it was.

And that was when he heard it. Or rather, him. The voice. The drawl. He remembered it so well and clear, just as he had eleven years ago after the death of his wife. It hadn't changed with age. "You should have known this day would have come, Mr. Mallory. Or did you perhaps think that I forgot?"

He went for his wand, only to find out that it was not in his pocket. Had he forgotten it? Impossible. He was pretty sure he would have remembered to bring his wand. "I did what you asked," he said, his voice low and trembling. "Please. Everything is in place. I want to look after my dogs."

"Your dogs are dead. So is your Elf. Don't worry, they died peacefully. As will you. Don't pretend you didn't know that wasn't going to happen. Nobody can see who I am. It's too soon."

"But I've seen you."

"And that is why, my friend, you must die. But you will die knowing that your fate is for a better purpose, far greater than your own," said the man. His voice never lost that cool, stylised edge to it, despite having that twang that gave his accent away. "It's almost a pity. I would have liked you to see what is to come. One thing is certain. It is going to be Biblical. Tell me, Mr. Mallory, do you have children?"

Mallory got the feeling that the man knew the answer already, but was merely humouring him. "No. My wife couldn't. we tried. Multiple times. Her heart was broken thrice over."

"Consider yourself fortunate," said the man. "It is the children who will have to endure what is to come. I would love to elaborate further, but as much as I want to, I can't sit around and talk all day. I have other things to do. People to see. I'm a busy man, you know, Hank?"

He had used his first name for the first time. Hank was an odd name for a British person to have, it was usually favoured by Americans from his personal experience. It had been a choice from his father's, who had named him after an old friend who had met when he fought against Grindelwald with the American allies. There was a picture of both of them on the fireplace wall. Describing their first encounter had always been a favourite story that his father used to tell. Mallory paused for a moment, recovering a sense of his composure and dignity. He was a proud man, or at least, that was what he considered himself to be. "I'm ready," he said calmly, looking at where the man's head would have been were he visible.

"Good," said The Man. Mallory never learned his name, in all these years. He knew now was not the time to answer. But he knew the wizarding world should, by all rights, be terrified by what was to come. "Die well, Hank."

And then Hank Mallory knew no more.

II.

Music. Blaring loudly. It was the morning after the letter from Hogwarts, which I'd done my best to keep secret from the rest of the orphanage knowing how much they'd ridicule me given how observant they were of everything going on around me. They'd spotted that my hair had changed before I did, for crying out loud. I made a mental note that if I was ever going to become a Consulting Detective, I would come back to the orphanage and hire these kids to become my own version of the Baker Street Irregulars. Which come to think of it, wouldn't be a bad idea to have anyway. I had survived secondary school, just about, and doing it the second time, even a magical one, would give me the advantage. I knew what kids were capable of.

But magical kids? That was a whole different story. There's a chance you had a bully at your school. If he wasn't bullying you he was bullying someone else. Now take a second to imagine that bully with magic. It's a disaster waiting to happen. I was surprised that Hogwarts never had any fatal accidents caused by unintentional manslaughter of a spell crafted that was above the cursor's level, but then again, there was a Hospital Wing dedicated to such incidents going remarkably south. What was the more pressing matter at the moment was the distinctively loud music playing in my ear, evidently from someone's alarm clock and I remembered thinking angrily who the hell sets off their alarm clock in the middle of summer?

I wouldn't be up until 10 in the morning at the best of times, especially not to MC Hammer's U Can't Touch This, which you have to remember, was still fresh at the time, having been released in January. One of the kids was mouthing along to the lyrics, and the others were already cheering him on – those that had raised from their slumber at least. I grumbled, "Shut up," but it came out weakly and was ignored. I had written to Hogwarts of course, I didn't want to subject the Orphanage to a barrage of angry owls – (they had been a bit persistent after all, what if Harry simply had decided to go to another school? What if he wanted to go to a muggle school? I had read multiple AUs about that). But the barrage of angry owls was something that I wanted to avoid.

I hadn't told them about the future yet. There was no need to until I got to Hogwarts. Besides, it would be much better in person. It would also give me more time to adjust, nothing seriously happened until Halloween in Harry's first year if I remembered correctly, and that was next year, so that gave me plenty of time to adjust and prepare. Too much time, to my liking. I still had a GSCE exam, parents and a life to get back to.

Hopefully I would be headed home long before then. I thought about ways that could be accomplished. Sure, in fanfiction, there was a lot of stories about using the Veil as a way to get to other dimensions, mostly in crossover fanfiction, or as a way to the afterlife, but I wasn't brave enough to go venturing into what was essentially a doorway to what for all I knew, could be a black hole. It was a shame that Rowling never really clarified anything about the Veil the same way she had clarified about everything else since. Plus, there was that whole army of Unspeakable that I wasn't ready to go head to head with just yet. Sure, I knew the magic spells, but I didn't have any practice with them. It wasn't as simple as waving the wand in the general direction of the enemy and hoping for the best. Plus, becoming public enemy number one wasn't anything that I particularly had in mind.

The letter that I sent was a formal reply, and a request not for me to be met at the orphanage but instead, a few blocks away, I didn't want to startle anyone, I elaborated. I couldn't put down that I knew about magic as I wasn't supposed to know about magic before getting the letter, so I put down saying that the people I stayed with weren't too welcoming to adults that they didn't know. Better to be safe than sorry.

So, at 11am this morning I got a response in the post, saying that they would be happy to meet. Later that day, if possible. It was an official response and didn't tell me who I was going to meet, but I presumed it wouldn't be Hagrid. If so, who would come to meet me? I hoped it wouldn't determine what house I would end up in. I wasn't even sure what house I wanted to end up in. Not Slytherin, I didn't fancy having to be involved in a political power play. And I didn't want to put up with the Weasley Twins on a near constant basis, so that ruled out Gryffindor. I wasn't smart enough to be in Ravenclaw, even with my foreknowledge, so that left… Hufflepuff?

I killed time by watching television. Star Trek: The Next Generation was on repeat, so I watched a couple of episodes of that before heading out to my 2pm interview after a brisk lunch, which was a bus ride away. I was depleting into Robin's emergency funding by merely entertaining the possibility of a bus ride home, so if I wanted to explore London I either had to steal some portkeys, learn how to apparate way before I would legally be allowed to, or the easiest route, gain some money. The question still remained… how?

The Professor that greeted me was an unfamiliar, plump woman with grey hair, and she introduced herself before I worked out who she was. My mind wasn't an encyclopaedia. As much as I wanted to, I didn't have the memory to work out the names of every Harry Potter character. She introduced herself as Charity Burbage, with a friendly welcoming face. "Hello, my dear," she said. "I would like to thank you for taking the time to write for yourself. I must say, you do have remarkably good handwriting for an eleven-year-old boy. Although I must ask a question, you don't seem to alarmed by the very fact that magic exists. Did you know of it before coming to Hogwarts?"

"Not this particular magic," I said, and seeing her confused look, I elaborated. "There are a lot of fantasy books that often have some form of magic. Like Lord of the Rings, I assume this kind is different, though?"

I also made a mental note to see if there were any Orcs or proper Elves in the Harry Potter world. There weren't ever in the books, but as the books focused squarely on magical Europe, especially on Britain, there was a whole unexplored universe out there. I mean, there were Dragons. Burbage returned her question. "Yes, Mr. Kennedy. Magic in the wizarding world is indeed, quite different. I assume you read the letter? You will be pleased to learn that the school will provide means of funding for orphans with magical abilities who don't come from an inheritance. It isn't much, sadly, but it would be a shame to let some untapped potential as yours go to waste. Would you care to take my hand?"

"Where are we going?" I asked, sensing that this was some kind of apparition.

"Diagon Alley," said Burbage, and then rattled on, explaining the ins-and-outs of apparition and what Diagon Alley was for. It was tiresome given how much I knew about what was happening, but I couldn't tell her what I wanted to. It was rude, after all – she'd been preparing this speech, and you could tell that by how she delivered her lines, slowly and meticulously, I was one of her first students that she'd have given it to. I didn't want to make her first recruitment of a student be a bad memory.

I was feeling confident about that.

Right up until I touched her hand and saw how she would die.