Harry was still in shock when Ginny lightly grabbed his arm and spun on the spot. He felt the familiar squeeze of Apparition. Perversely, it helped clear his head. The image of what he'd just been presented was still rocketing through his mind. Ginny Weasley. The Turnip. The Seeker. When he opened his eyes, however, it was still Ginny Weasley beside him.
"This is where we work," she said brightly.
It wasn't raining here. The building in front of them was an old, rundown church that was buried in the middle of a large wood. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the building. The steeple leaned to the side, and the bell was cracked. Ivy climbed all the walls, and a large tree grew so close to the front of the building that it looked like another door. It shone in the moonlight, giving it an air of mystery that impressed Harry.
Harry fingered the pebble in his pocket, just about to pull it out and drop it to the floor of the forest, revealing who he actually was to Ginny. But the wizard had followed him pulled off his hood and then an oddly shaped cap, and suddenly was Neville Longbottom.
A second shock coursed through him, almost like a magical jolt.
Neville Longbottom. Harry hadn't seen him in years. There'd been an incident in his third year… Neville's grandmother had taken him out of school and last Harry heard, Neville was studying magic at home, tutored by his family.
Harry shuffled his feet, trying to think quickly. Back when he'd first learned of the prophecy, Dumbledore had explained that it very well could have meant Neville. The vicious attack on Neville and his subsequent withdrawal from Hogwarts… it made more sense, given the context. But Harry, who had been the one to fulfill the prophecy after all, had been a little curious about the almost Boy-Who-Lived for several years now.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Neville said. "I'm Mimbulus… but my real name is Neville Longbottom. This is Seeker… or Ginny Weasley. Morgana's inside. Her name's Luna Lovegood."
Harry was hit with a third shock. Luna Lovegood?
None of this made sense. How had he not known? How had anybody not known? Then again, why would they suspect?
"It's nice to meet you," he said, hoping he didn't look as bewildered as he felt. The urge to drop the pebble was growing. He knew them. They knew him.
Harry took a longer look at the surroundings, buying time before he had to pretend he didn't know these people. He wondered what Dumbledore would make of Neville being a founding member of The Turnip. So it wasn't just him who had been urged toward combating the darkness. Neville, despite the prophecy not being about him, had done the same thing from the shadows.
And the Weasleys! The back of Harry's neck burned with the effort of not looking at her. Somehow, it was easier to assimilate Neville than it was Ginny. Neville made a dark sort of sense. Even Luna… but Ginny? Out of the three, he knew her best…
And he didn't know her at all, apparently.
"Are you ready to go in?" Ginny asked.
"Yes," said Harry.
While the church was very picturesque on the outside – it looked like it was part of a wizarding storybook – it was completely different on the inside. Harry stopped in the doorway, and looked around in wonder. The sanctuary had been turned into a large, airy space that rivaled Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for chaos. Instead of joke products, it was filled with newspapers and other paper products. They folded themselves in little shapes, and soared from one area to another. There was a large map of the British Isles hanging over where the cross traditionally would be. Several counties were lit up in some sort of code: Devon and Cornwall were red, and Shetland and Midlothian were blue. Again, Harry took his time, drinking it all in, preparing himself to open his mouth.
"Would you like a cup of tea?"
Luna appeared at his elbow. Harry noted that she was dressed as a sunflower… Harry remembered Fred and George talking about a "dotty old woman" who'd hired Ginny on to take care of her kneazles and had been dressed like a sunflower. Had they known it was Luna?
"Erm, yes, please," Harry said.
"I'll go fetch it, shall I?" said Luna.
"How long have you worked for The Turnip?" he asked Ginny abruptly. He hoped his words didn't sound accusing, but a part of him felt stupid that he'd never figured it out, or somehow instinctively known. There was no logical reason why he should have, but he still felt a bit annoyed.
"Since its inception," Ginny said tranquilly. She'd removed her cloak, and was hurrying over to a long, low table covered in papers. Harry was glad that he hadn't dropped that pebble now. Would she be talking to him if she knew who he was? Harry wasn't so sure.
"It's not a title, Ginny's the only 'Seeker' we've ever had," Neville said. "We came up with the nicknames because we knew we'd be in danger if we did everything out in the open." He smiled at Harry. Neville still had an open, honest face. It was thinner now, and covered with a beard, but it was recognizably Neville. Harry tried not to peer too hard at him or show any sign of familiarity. He wasn't sure why he was even still keeping up the ruse other than he'd been told to by Dumbledore. "You'll have to come up with a nickname of your own, eventually."
"Eventually?" Harry asked. His confusion was clearing.
"Yes, well, we have to figure out what you'll be writing," Neville said. "We don't know your style, we don't know what you'll be best suited for. Me, I do the international scene." He pointed at a pile of papers being blown toward a filing cabinet. "I get all the international news, and put it in the Translation Cabinet, and it comes out in proper English. Then I parse out the real news from the propaganda, and write my articles. Luna takes creatures and – erm – anything particularly bizarre. Ginny does the investigative work."
"And it's just the three of you?" Harry asked. He looked around once more, trying to get all of this sorted out in his head. Maybe he needed his own Translation Cabinet, because it was almost as if all of this was in some foreign language, with Harry only being able to recognize and put small bits of it into place.
"No… not really," said Neville. "We have other associates. You'll meet them. But they don't do as much of the heavy lifting as you'd think."
"We have spells for that," said Ginny. She was standing right in front of the map. Her wand lightly brushed the red that covered Devon, and it clung to the tip.
"We also have people writing to us all the time," said Luna as she came back in. Four steaming mugs of tea floated in front of her.
"Tell me that's not plimpy tea," said Ginny.
"It's not plimpy tea," said Luna.
Ginny heaved what Harry could only suppose was a sigh of gratitude, and took a sip. She immediately made a face, and spit it back out. "That's plimpy tea!" she said, outraged.
Neville laughed.
Harry felt another little surge of confusion. He ignored it, and took his own cup of tea. Unnerved by Ginny's reaction, but not wanting to be rude to Luna, he took a sip. It was nearly as disgusting as Ginny made it out to be, and it took every bit of skill he had to keep the grimace off his face. He had never been more grateful to Hagrid, who had supplied Harry with plenty of food he'd had to pretend was edible.
"See, Ginny? August likes it," Luna said, beaming.
"Wait, do you like being called August? Luna tends to make up her own names for people, sometimes." Harry noticed that Neville had totally ignored his own tea. "
"It's fine." Harry had called himself all sorts of variations of the name over the past few days, trying to cement it in his mind. He was still trying to decide when would be best to reveal his secret.
Why don't we see what kind of questions August has for us?" Neville asked.
All their eyes turned to him. Be like Dumbledore, he ordered himself. Keep your secrets close. He brushed his fingertips over the white pebble, and it burned through his cloak. Harry sighed, glanced at Ginny, asked: "So… what I'll be doing is more involved than the associates you mentioned?"
"It will, yeah," said Neville. "That's the hope, anyway."
"The hope?" Harry asked, startled.
"Yes," said Ginny.
"Mmm," said Luna.
"It's just that I have to know if you and I can work well together," Ginny said directly. "From what you've sent us, you're… how old?"
"Um, twenty-eight," Harry said. Dumbledore had decided that setting August anywhere near Harry's actual age was foolish, so August was four years older.
"That's several years older than I am," Ginny said. "I've had some… trouble with getting people to take me seriously, and I can't have a partner who looks down on me, and the work I do. I have enough of that in real life." She made a face and Harry thought about that. Did he take her seriously? Maybe not. Maybe he was one of the people that discounted her, sheltered her, and tried to protect her from the world around them. The world she was so obviously immersed in, he could see now.
"I… all right," Harry said. He supposed that was fair.
"We also need to find out what your style is," Neville said cheerfully.
"And your voice," Luna added.
"My voice?" Harry asked.
"How you write," Ginny clarified. "We think you're going to be a little more… blunt, than the rest of us. Or maybe a better word is authoritative. But really, all we've had to judge is the notes you've sent us."
"Oh, right," said Harry. He had another sip of plimpy tea, hiding his grimace. Dumbledore expects you to remain August, he reminded himself. It was going to be difficult; Harry hadn't expected to know these people, even though Neville and Luna were acquaintances at best. But Ginny… Harry had a nascent thought, that perhaps he hadn't known Ginny at all. He buried it before it could bear fruit. Clearing his throat, he said: "Yes, all of that sounds reasonable." He attempted a sheepish grin. "I just… didn't know what at all to expect?" This was not a lie.
"It's an odd organization," Luna said.
"But we make it work," Ginny added.
"And hopefully, you'll be part of it for a while, August," Neville finished. "We just have to figure out what role you'll play – other than helping Ginny. But you came recommended by Dumbledore, so… I'm sure it's going to be fantastic."
While Harry was trying to process everything that was happening, Neville happily offered to give him a tour of the church. Remember what Dumbledore wants you to do, he kept telling himself. Surprise was a constant in the back of his head, but he kept forcing it back. He did not want to appear gormless…
The church was much, much larger on the inside than it was on the outside. Harry was impressed by the strength of the charms they'd wrought to create such a space. "Was the church always here, or did you move it?" he asked.
"It was always here," said Luna.
"What Luna means is that the foundation was here, Luna had an old painting of what it looked like, and we ended up building it," said Ginny.
"From the ground up?" Harry asked. He forced his mouth to stay closed, rather than hang loose at the idea that they'd done so much….
"It would've been a lot harder to charm everything if we didn't use our own materials," said Neville, as if it should be completely obvious. Harry had never really thought that much about building materials.
They passed through the large, airy space toward the back. Harry felt as though there were a fifth member of the group, walking along with them: Astonishment. It followed him around on the tour, as they pointed out each nook and cranny. "Here's where we keep our archives!" Neville told him, opening a door. It was another gigantic room, but after the busy atmosphere of the first room, it was silent as a tomb. The next room was just as large, but was only half full. Harry peered into it.
"This is my room," Ginny said with proprietary satisfaction. "These are active cases that I'm investigating."
"All of these are active?" Harry said, mouth falling open. There must be a dozen filing cabinets in there.
"Yeah," said Ginny. "There are a lot of duplicates; I sort the cases by location, severity, and cause – like, is it a dark creature possibly running amok, the repeated use of a dark spell, a suspicious person. So a lot of my notes are duplicated from one cabinet to another. It helps if I can see everything all together. And see that giant cabinet? Those are all my notes and everything I've gathered regarding the Dark Marks that are popping up everywhere."
Harry nodded. "That makes sense." The system did. The idea that Ginny managed all of this did not. The image he'd painted in his mind of her over the years was not just a little off, but completely being re-written in his brain. It was a disconcerting feeling.
"We think so too," Neville said dryly.
They showed him the archives, which was in a basement level. It was nearly twice the size of any other room Harry had seen thus far. It was less tidy and organized, but was filled with stacks of files, pictures, and even objects. He was looking at the detritus of three years of hard work, and it was even more than he expected.
"So… is there a lot of stuff that you don't report?" Harry asked.
"A fair amount," Ginny said. "Not everything needs an article. Sometimes we save some of the smaller cases for a type of 'round up' article. I'm sure you've seen those. We had a case regarding a grindylow trapped in someone's pond six months ago… I'm waiting until we've got another grindylow case—"
"Are you still on about the grindylow?" Neville said.
"The little bastard bit me," Ginny said, indignant.
"So you're going to immortalize him in a column?" Neville asked.
Harry watched them banter. Bewilderment made a home inside him and got cozy. How was it possible that Ginny Weasley was the Seeker? Harry knew she was a fully capable witch; he couldn't remember off-hand how many NEWTs she'd gotten, but he was fairly certain it was at least one more than he had. Think about it later, Harry, he ordered.
They wound up back in the main room, with all of the clutter and movement that added Dizziness as Harry's additional companion.
"What about…what about obvious stories?" Harry asked as he felt behind him for a chair and sank down onto it.
They all peered at him, brows furrowing. He wasn't sure where he was going with this either, other than looking for an obvious place to pull out his pebble and produce a little astonishment of his own.
"What do you mean obvious?" Luna asked.
"I mean…." Harry shook his head and tried to focus on what he wanted to say. "You don't talk about some things."
"We're comprehensive in our coverage," Ginny said. Her eyebrow rose slowly, as if she was challenging August's assessment of their paper. The Turnip was their baby, their creation, so it made a little bit of sense that they might be defensive of it.
Harry waved his hand impatiently. "I meant, you don't talk about some things that the Prophet prints."
"Filthy rag," Neville mumbled under his breath.
"Harry Potter," Harry burst out. "You don't talk about him."
They looked at each other, looks that Harry wasn't sure how to interpret.
"Why would we?"
He gaped at Ginny. Her tone was dismissive and almost…condescending. Is that what she really thought of him?
Neville even smiled. "Harry Potter isn't really newsworthy, is he? I mean, yeah, he defeated Voldemort, but he hasn't done much since then, has he? You don't see him out getting his hands dirty right now, do you?"
Any feeling other than anger dissipated and Harry felt that his face was probably turning red. He opened his mouth to say something, and his fingers itched to grab the pebble and dash it to the floor.
But something held him back. What would it prove to them if Harry Potter appeared in front of them? Would they think it a joke? Would they think it was some sort of meddling by the Weasleys, or even by Dumbledore himself?
Instead of following his base instinct, Harry took a breath and nodded his head. "Yeah," he said. "I just…I wondered if you'd spout off about that, you know. Say the same rubbish that the Prophet prints."
"I'm starting to wonder if you have even read our publication, Mr. Peverell," Ginny said. He couldn't read her tone, though. There was something there, just out of reach, and Harry couldn't seem to grasp it. His inner mind was still raging, trying to keep the idea of vindication at bay. Harry was doing something. He was "getting his hands dirty" right now.
"It's been a long day," Luna said, her voice ethereal and dreamy. Harry blinked at her as she stared back at him. "Perhaps Mr. Peverell should think over what he's seen today and make his decision about joining us here."
"Probably a good idea." Ginny turned on her heel and moved back toward her room. Harry watched her go, a growing need to prove himself taking over. Dumbledore had been right. Harry should keep to his August Peverell identity a little longer. It wasn't as if they took Harry Potter seriously, anyway.
It was another hour before Harry was on his way home, back to Grimmauld Place. Neville liked to talk, it seemed. It was late in the evening Thursday, and he didn't come to the church again until Monday.
"We don't keep normal hours," Neville had said, as though Harry needed to be reassured. "It's really more that Ginny's got one big case to finish up, and then she'll be ready to, you know, mentor you."
Harry felt a rush of indignation, but forced it to subside. "Oh… that sounds perfect," he said.
They walked him out the door, chattering to him, and bantering with each other. Dimly, Harry observed that they made August feel quite welcome, even if Harry felt like an unspoken pariah. He was half drawn in by their warmth, and half drawn in by curiosity. He'd no idea how he'd presented himself to them. Probably they thought he was mental. But Harry couldn't seem to make himself relax, and it was with relief that he said his final goodbyes, and Apparated home to Grimmauld Place. Before he even entered the house, he slipped the pebble out of his pocket and became Harry again.
Despite the late hour, Ron and Hermione were in the sitting room. Harry poked his head in, and saw Hermione reading a book on the sofa. Ron was snoozing with his head in her lap. Harry forced a smile, waved, and headed up to his room.
Arnold squawked at him as soon as he came in the door.
"Sorry, Arnold," Harry murmured, contrite.
He opened the window for his owl, letting in the damp air. Grimmauld Place existed in a quiet pocket of London, made even quieter by the fact that it had about a hundred different wards around it. Arnold flew away on silent wings that were only just turning back to snowy white after his and Ron's shoddy transfiguration work.
Harry threw himself on the bed, wishing he were still drunk. Or drunk again. The anger and annoyance he'd felt earlier at their dismissal of Harry Potter had faded as he stared at the ceiling, replaced with so many other thoughts. He rolled Dumbledore's fancy pebble between his fingers, thinking hard. The Turnip – the newspaper he so respected, and had been so intrigued by – was run by people he knew. People who had never once given any sign or inkling that they had a secret as large as this.
And Ginny Weasley! Her parents certainly didn't know what she was up to. Nor did her brothers. They thought she worked for a dotty woman in a sunflower dress.
After everything she'd been through, after the diary, Umbridge, and the locket… Harry simply could not believe that Ginny threw herself into danger like the Seeker always got up to. He had half a mind to…
A sudden jolt of horror had him sitting up. And Harry'd signed a magical, binding contract not to tell anyone! What the hell was he supposed to do? He had mad visions of telling Ginny, Neville, and Luna who August Peverell really was… what if they obliviated him? What then? They'd just keep at it, and eventually, Ginny was going to find herself in very real danger.
It felt like a betrayal for Harry to sit by and let that happen. The Weasleys had done so much for him; they'd taken him in, let him stay with them, joined his fight, kept him alive… he couldn't let their youngest do dangerous things without having anyone to watch her back. How could he do that to them?
Of all the people in the world to have a secret like this, I never figured Ginny, Harry thought. Under all the confusion, and slight indignation, Harry felt a little whisper of guilt.
Who's one to talk?
Harry quashed that thought. His secrets were nothing like this. He'd done what he had to do. Despite what the Prophet insinuated at least twice a month, he hadn't done anything dark to defeat Voldemort. His secrets were personal, and weren't putting him in any danger. They were just private. They weren't dangerous.
Unlike Ginny's.
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Author's Note: So this one was fun. But I can't wait to get to the werewolves! The potions! Calista Dapifer-Pond! The kissing!
Nanaeleanor, please forgive me. Hinny FTW, I agree. To one of the guest reviews (a lady wouldn't reveal which, or even which story; secretly, it was Room of Forgotten Things): thank you for the belly laugh. And to Beast. I hope you forgive me for celebrating a Chilean reader, and ignoring you (but tbh, you don't talk to me much).
A special thanks to you, who made this chapter so much better.