Tarot Part Two: Potters Are Fighters

Ginny fingered Harry's dog tags.

Flashback

Ginny unpacked a popcorn maker and sighed. Why the hell hadn't Harry told her he was going to buy it? She could have told him they already had one.

"Where do you want to put your popcorn maker?" she asked. Trying to distract his wife from the blunder he'd made, he captured her lips with his. She smiled as she pulled away, and then swatted his arm playfully.

"That is not unpacking. What are we going to do with two of these?" Harry looked sheepish. Merlin, but he looked cute that way. She leaned in and kissed him.

"That was you this time," Harry said afterwards.

"No it wasn't," Ginny said, struggling to keep a straight face. She turned to another box. They really did need to finish unpacking. They had moved into their new house days ago. "What's in here?" Ginny fished out a coffee tin and found Harry's dog tags and…was that what she thought it was?

"The congressional medal of valor," Harry replied.

"What did you get that for?" And why didn't you tell me you'd gotten a medal?

"Surviving," Harry answered curtly. He plucked the can from Ginny's hands. "This is the stuff we left behind on missions. You can't take any photos or letters from home or anything that could identify you. If I got captured, I couldn't be Harry Potter."

"Then who were you?" Ginny asked.

"Someone else," Harry said after a pause. "Someone you probably wouldn't like."

End flashback

Ginny put the dog tag away as the doorbell rang. That would be the Malfoys. She'd invited Draco and Astoria over for dinner.

As she walked to the door, she pushed aside the treacherous doubt that had seeped into her mind. Just because Harry had done things in the war that he wasn't proud of, didn't mean he had been capable of doing the things he'd been accused of.

She opened the door to find her friends standing there.

"I hope you like red because we had a big debate," Mrs. Malfoy said as she handed Ginny the bottle of wine.

"You did well," she assured them as she let them in.

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Moody watched as Potter finally came to, carefully stretching in bed.

"So how does it feel to be a superhero?" he asked. Harry winced.

"It hurts." Damn. He might not have broken any bones in the fall off of ARK Tower, but he felt sore as hell. Moody simply chuckled as Potter sat up.

"Where's the cape?" he asked.

"I have it and I'm keeping it," Moody informed him. That got Harry out of bed.

"What?"

"You're not ready," Moody growled. "When you're on the high wire, you have to be as cold and collected as Snape. When you're in the lions' den, you can't let 'em smell fear. You have to exercise constant vigilance! You walked into the lions' den and got eaten, Potter.

"You're a desperate man and giving you the cape was just throwing gasoline on the fire. I was wrong to do it."

"Mad-Eye, I need that cape."

"No, you don't. Here," Moody picked up three train tickets out of Palm City and handed them to Potter. "I spent good money on these," namely money he'd stolen from ARK. "Don't let them go to waste. Take your wife and your boy and leave this hellhole. Go somewhere else; change your name. You can see your boy; hold your wife. There's no shame in it."

Harry stared at the tickets in his hands. Dear god, he'd love to be back with Ginny and Al…but not like this.

"And do what?" Harry snapped at the older man. "And look over my shoulder for the rest of my life? Send a message to my son that Potters are cowards that run away from a fight? No!

"Snape took EVERYTHING from me-my family, my home, my name. I am going to stay here until I take it all back," Harry threw the tickets at Moody. "Keep your damn cape, then. I don't need it. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

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Neville was headed home. He greeted the janitor on his way out.

"Have a good one!"

"You too, sir," Fenrir replied.

As Neville waited by the elevators, Hermione called out to him.

"Neville Longbottom, finally! We had an appointment earlier but you never showed for the interview," Orwell lied.

"I'm sorry; there wasn't anything on my calendar, Miss…?"

"April Prince, for the Congressional Quarterly. Huh, well, it was on my Blackberry," she continued as she escorted him onto the elevator. Fenrir rushed forward as the doors started to close in his face. "Take the next one," she snapped.

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Al answered the phone when it rang.

"Hello? Who? There's nobody here by that-" Ginny walked up behind Al, a basket of laundry in one hand.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Somebody asking for Ginny Weasley," Al replied.

"I'll take that," Ginny took the cordless from Al's hand. "Hello, this is Ginny Weasley-"

Al looked at his mother, feeling betrayed.

"That's not your name," he said, wounded, as he turned and stalked off. Ginny's face fell. After she was done with the phone call, she went and found Al in his room, facing the window.

"You think Dad did it, don't you?" he asked, the pain evident in his voice.

"NO! It's just that I have to get a job." Since Harry was no longer around to pay the bills, somebody had to support the family. "And right now, it's really hard to have Daddy's name."

"It's his name, Mum. Why would you want to erase his name?"

His father was innocent. The Cape said so, so it had to be true. Why didn't anyone else believe that? He'd heard Malfoy last night, telling his mum that dad had ordered Kingsley's security to abandon him minutes before Chess blew the chief up. Couldn't everyone see that his dad was being framed?

"Al…"

Flashback

Harry held baby Al in his arms, Ginny standing next to him, gazing lovingly at her son.

"I think he's got my chin," Harry said as the baby's hand reached up towards his face.

"No, that's my mum's chin," Ginny corrected him. Al's little hand wandered down his father's cheek and grabbed Harry just underneath the mouth.

"No, I mean, he literally has my chin," Harry joked. The baby finally let go of his viselike grip. "No, that's definitely a Potter chin." He cooed at the baby. "Your great-grandfather was a World War I hero, who fought in the trenches. And your grandfather, James Potter, was a Palm City sheriff, and he could shoot a Coke bottle from-"

"What's with all the talk about guns?" Ginny asked.

"I just want him to be proud of his name," Harry said. "Potters are fighters. And they all had this chin," he added. Ginny smiled up at her husband.

"Okay, you can keep the chin. 'Cause you know what? I want him to grow up to be just like you."

End Flashback

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If that was the way Mad-Eye felt, clearly Harry had overstayed his welcome in Trolley Park. He roamed the city in civilian clothes, his cap and hood up at all times. Tucked into a side street in one of the city's least desirable neighborhoods, Harry found what he was looking for: Abandoned property. He climbed down into the cellar of the building. It was large and deserted and empty. There was no furniture, no fixtures… Okay, it was a fixer-upper, but it was all that officially-deceased Harry Potter could afford, so he would fix it up.

He went out and bought essentials for the place. Soon he had it outfitted with working lamps, a mattress that was as hard as a rock (but beggars can't be choosers), and a few other items. The most important feature was the murder board that he tacked onto one wall. Here he would post whatever he learned about Chess. He tacked a picture of Snape to the board and an article about ARK Corporation's bid to privatize the prisons. He would work this as he would have worked a case for the PCPD…

Alright, he couldn't work it as if it were just any other case. This board was also to keep him sane and if it was going to do that, something was missing. He tacked up a photo of Ginny and Al. There: now whenever he needed to remember why he was doing what he was doing, he'd be able to look at a picture of the family that he would eventually go home to.

Right, his hideout was ready, but his costume was not. Without the hood from the cape to hide his face, he'd need something else to conceal his secret identity. The answer came in the form of a leather pilot helmet. He got a sewing kit and went to work. He used a pair of scissors to cut away the goggles and get it the correct shape.

When he was done, the Cape's mask was ready. He picked it up reverently and tied it on. His green eyes were wet, but his jaw was set determinedly. Whatever it took, he would clear his name.

Maybe he hadn't been prepared for his first encounter with the poisoner, but he'd be ready for the next. While he'd been out getting supplies for his hideout, he'd picked up a book on poisons, as well as some samples. (Was there anything you couldn't pick up in Palm City if you knew where to look?)

Using an eyedropper, he tried a couple of drops of the toxin Fenrir favored on his tongue. Bloody hell! His body started convulsing. Somehow he made his way to his new bed and collapsed onto it, shivering and sweating until the effects wore off. Still, if he built up even a little immunity to this venom, it would be worth it.

Once the stuff had worked its way out of his system, Harry got back to work. Getting out some knives, he rigged up an improvised machine that would automatically hurl the blades at him so he could practice dodging them. Turning the machine on, Harry stood a few feet away. The first knife sliced into the board behind him, close to his head. Relax, you can do this…

The second knife quickly followed the first, landing a little closer to him this time.

"Maybe I ought to slow it down," Harry muttered, just before a third knife came straight towards him, quickly followed by a fourth and a fifth. Harry dropped down to the floor to avoid being hit and crawled his way back towards the machine so he could shut it off. Perhaps he ought to make some modifications to it before he tried again…

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Wearing his mask, Harry roughed up one of the hoodlums from the convenience store robbery, but not before the piece of work had gotten a few blows in. Blood dribbled down Harry's chin as he shoved the tosser against the wall of the alley. With his other hand, Harry took a look at the ID from the crook's wallet.

"Tell you what, Cormac," Harry paused. "Seriously, 'Cormac'?"

"Yeah, so?" Cormac replied.

"You tell me what Fenrir's planning and I'll let you go."

"I'm not going to snitch. Do you know what happens to snitches?"

"You'd better tell me or I'll spread the word that you did snitch. You talked about Chess, you talked about L-9, you talked about whatever I can think of. You just sang like a little boys choir soprano, got it?"

"Okay, okay! Not here, alright? There's a bar, the Hog's Head-"

"I know it," Harry replied.

"I'll meet you there at midnight. Come alone."

Harry narrowed his eyes, but released Cormac, who took off running. He turned and saw Orwell walking towards him.

"I see you're alright," she greeted him.

"Yeah, thanks for the get-well card," Harry replied sarcastically. He hadn't heard from her since she'd dumped his poisoned body at the edge of Trolley Park.

"Speaking of that," she picked a tarot card out of her pocket and handed it to him.

"The Tower?" Harry asked.

"It's the calling card of a major branch of the Tarot. Fenrir had this tattooed on his left forearm."

"The Tarot?" Harry removed his mask, since they were alone in the alley. "Okay, maybe my head is a little fuzzy because I just took a baseball bat to the head, but is that supposed to mean anything to me?"

"It's a secret society of elite assassins, the existence of which has never been proven-until now. I think Fenrir's their poisoner.

"By the way, where's your cape?"

"Dry cleaner's," Harry replied.

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Harry walked into the Hog's Head later to meet Cormac, sunglasses hiding his eyes in place of the mask he'd worn earlier, and baseball cap firmly in place. He approached the potential informant at the bar.

"Pretty public place for a private chat," Harry observed. "What do you have for me?"

"Longbottom's the target," Cormac offered, before taking another sip of his drink. When nothing else was forthcoming, Harry grabbed the jerk by the shoulders.

"You're going to make me angry if you keep telling me things I already know."

"Okay! The hit's going down tomorrow night."

"Where?" Harry demanded. "When?" But no words came out of Cormac's mouth. Instead, it started frothing as he began to choke. Harry looked around in horror. The same thing was happening to everyone else in the pub, too, as they collapsed where they were. Cormac's eyes stared unseeingly up at the ceiling.

Shit. Harry plucked a card reading "The Tower," from a nearby glass. Somehow Fenrir had beaten him here and poisoned everyone's drinks.

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The next day, Neville poured himself a glass of whiskey, but before he could take a sip, a voice called out from the shadows of his office.

"DON'T DRINK THAT!"

"Who's there?"

"The glass is poisoned, probably the drink, too."

"Show yourself!"

"Just take it easy," Harry took a step forwards, his mask firmly in place, his hands raised to calm Longbottom down. "Listen to me: Severus Snape has sent an assassin after you. He wants to get rid of you so you won't be able to keep him from taking over the prisons."

"That's it; I give up!" Neville exclaimed. "I've been followed; I've been threatened. I found this under my door this morning," Longbottom produced the now familiar looking tarot card. "Somehow, I don't think this is a good thing."

"No, it's not," Harry conceded, "but you can't give up! You have to stand against Snape!"

"I can't do it alone!"

"You're not alone." Neville stared at the masked man.

"Forgive me, but that's not too reassuring coming from a man that won't show his face.

"What are you, some sort of do-gooder vigilante, some sort of superhero?" Harry looked him right in the eye.

"I'm the Cape." Neville looked pointedly at the mystery man's street clothes. He didn't look a thing like the comic book character.

"You realize you're not wearing a cape?"

"I'm aware of that," Harry said quickly.

"No offense," Neville said.

"None taken.

"I can't show my face, but you can, Longbottom, and that's why you have to stand up to Snape. I meant it; you're not alone. There are others out there; there's an underground."

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Ginny sat in the lobby of the Palm City Public Defenders' office building, waiting for her interview. An older, exhausted-looking man holding a clipboard strolled up to her.

"Ginny Potter?" he asked.

"That's me," she said smiling, as she got to her feet.

"Remus Lupin," he shook her hand. "Look, I'm sorry to do this to you, but I'm afraid the position has been filled." He started strolling away from her quickly. Ginny narrowed her eyes. Position had been filled, huh? Bull. She followed after him as quickly as she could in her heels.

"I know my name is a stigma," she called out.

"That is not the case," Lupin returned.

"You need me," Ginny said, as she caught up to him. "You're overworked and understaffed. ARK is filling the jails faster than you can process the cases.

"And let me tell you something that you might want to share with your inquisitive colleagues. My husband never got his day in court. If you had a vertebra in your spine-"

"This interview is over," Lupin said, feeling affronted and turning away from her once more. He stopped as he considered her. The redhead had spunk and a good point.

"As for the vertebrae in my spine," he said as he faced her again, "it works both ways. Now I'm afraid to send you home. You always fight this hard for your clients?" Ginny's smile returned.

"Yeah, I do. Potters are fighters." Lupin nodded.

"Find a desk," he instructed her, as he got back to work.

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Harry sat at the computer he'd set up at his hideout. It was out of date, nothing near as fancy as the one Orwell had at her place, but he'd gotten it connected to the Internet, so it would do.

"What are doing?" Orwell asked over their video chat.

"Logging into the police department archives to see what I can find out about Fenrir."

"Uh, Harry, you do know that your password won't work anymore," his partner pointed out.

"Mine won't, but Malfoy's will. He never changed it. What was it? It was the name of his mum's cat that he couldn't stand… Ah, Flowers!" Harry typed it in and the password was accepted. Once into the database, he uncovered a long rap sheet on Fenrir.

"My god, Orwell; you should see the number of murders Fenrir's wanted for in London." He'd poisoned so many people… hmm. "He spent some time awhile back on Owl Island," Harry continued reading.

"That's probably where he was recruited by Tarot," Orwell surmised.

"There's an old address for him in Palm City here. Probably won't be that simple, but I'll follow up on it."

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The door to Harry's hideout opened and a knife sailed through the air, headed straight for Harry's face. Harry caught it at the last second and his assailant stepped out of the shadows.

"Mad-Eye? What are you doing here?" How had he even found the place? It wasn't as if he'd told anyone at Trolley Park where he'd gone.

"Ron's made cabbage stew," Moody made a face. "The smell alone drove me away. That man is not talented in the kitchen." Harry raised an eyebrow. That couldn't be why Mad-Eye was really here.

"Brought you something," Moody continued, as he tossed a bundle to Potter. It was the cape. The old codger had secretly been watching Potter's progress. Clearly, losing the cape hadn't deterred him in the slightest. Might as well make sure his pupil went out armed properly if he couldn't keep him from going out. Potter smiled.

"Thanks, Mad-Eye."

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The Cape, once again wearing his costume, but now with the addition of his mask, snuck into Fenrir's old lair. He spied a figure in the shadows at the other end of the room. Harry flung out his cape and knocked its head clean off its shoulders. He frowned as he stepped closer. It was a mannequin. Fenrir was long gone.

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Hermione, all dressed up for the evening, stared down at one of the tables in the restaurant. Her lead had panned out. There was Neville Longbottom sitting at the same table with him-Severus Snape. She took a deep breath. She couldn't let him see her; couldn't afford to be recognized, but couldn't just leave, either. The maitre d' approached her.

"I'm sorry, but we're fully booked this evening, Miss…?"

"Eileen Greenwood, blogger for Taste Buds. Not to brag, but we were just purchased by the Herald last week, and already our traffic has increased by two hundred percent. I usually don't drop by a restaurant unannounced but…" Orwell trailed off as the maitre d' straightened up.

"Right this way, Ms. Greenwood," he said as he led her down the stairs and to a table near Longbottom's. "I'm sure the chef will make something special for you," he continued, as she took a seat with her back to Snape.

"Thank you for coming to hear me out, Mr. Longbottom," Snape smiled. Funny how he could manage to turn on the charm when he didn't look menacing.

"I just want you to know, Mr. Snape, that there's nothing you can say to convince me…"

Hermione pulled out her cell phone and sent a text message to Harry, giving him the name of the restaurant and warning him that the hit was going down now.

Fenrir, obviously the chef this evening, strolled over to her.

"A food critic, eh? You look familiar, have we met?"

"No, we haven't," Hermione dredged up a smile.

"How about you join me in the kitchen? I'll give you a tour," the assassin said.

"Thank you, but I simply couldn't," Orwell said.

"I insist." Terrific; she'd been made. She stood up to follow him. On the plus side, Snape wasn't glancing her way, so at least he hadn't spotted her. Some comfort that would be if Fenrir sliced her up in the kitchen before Harry could arrive…