AN: Sorry for the wait! I've been teaching English regularly at a few hotels hotel recently so I've had to dedicate my time when not working to creating and organizing material for my students. Not to mention that I had to deal with the flighty finance department of one of the places as well who kept trying to change my hours and cut my pay when they could.
/sigh/
I have a chiropractor/masseuse who needs to be ready in a few months to communicate with her client in New York City, so I'll have to drill very specific vocabulary into her beyond regular linguistics, and I'm starting in on a three-year-old kid who will need every Saturday and Sunday indefinitely. I'm not complaining about the increase in cash of course, but the introvert in me is screaming at all the extra human interaction. I just want to read and write without pressure!
I dunno, guys, should I start publishing ebooks or something? I do write original fiction, but I've never imagined that people would actually want to buy them considering I mostly do short stories and poetry geared toward children.
IMPORTANT NOTE: If you're like me and tend to skip over POVs of people you don't care about, I highly recommend you don't do so with this story, because I will never write away from my MC's POV if it doesn't add to the story in some way. It will always be to either flesh out a situation or significant character, expand the feel of the world, or set up for future events. If you skip over parts, you will miss important information.
Chapter Ten: The Power the Dark Lord Knows Not pt. 3
Wayne Hopkins was no one special. This was actually quite an accomplishment when one considered the fact that he was amongst the one-in-a-thousand schoolchildren within a hidden 2% of the human population of Britain who attended Hogwarts, an accelerated secondary school that educated the future leaders of their concealed nation. But even with the fluke of his inborn magical capacity, it was hard to be special when the thing that should have made him unique was shared and over-shone by the numerous people he went to school with, never mind his own friends.
Wayne had been soaring on Cloud 9 when his Hogwarts letter came, falling into a babbling, screaming mess of wonder and excitement along with his just as deliriously thrilled mother. Both had been anticipating acceptance from St. Cyprien's, a local school not far from their home; Hogwarts was so far outside of their scope of imagination that his mum actually sent a message back asking if there had been a mistake in their mailing list.
There hadn't been.
"Oh . . . ," she had breathed when the confirmation came. Her eyes then gained a zealous gleam and her cheeks flushed with thrill. "Oh, Wayne, my sweet little baby! You're going to —! Oh, my — Oh, my goodness! This is really happening!"
Wayne's mother, Jeanine Hopkins, was an intelligent but simple witch. She had been introduced to magic when the deputy headmistress of the school she ended up attending came knocking. The school she attended was one of many that were littered across the United Kingdom for the education of the common magical folk, what Wayne had often heard referred to as 'hedge-magi' by the other children in Hufflepuff — or 'peasants' if one were to listen to Malfoy's ilk. She had gone on to get her W.O.M.B.A.T.s and her O.W.L.s, but she didn't have the means or capability to get N.E.W.T.s, never mind a Mastery of any kind. The fields of magic that did not require advanced wanded magic to ascend to higher levels — Divination; Herbology; Runes; et cetera — were simply areas she had no knack in.
She eventually ended up married to another muggleborn she had gone to school with, one who had the same talents as herself. When she became pregnant with Wayne, they had fully expected for him to follow a similar path as themselves, as it was very well known that children tended to have similar magical capabilities as their parents. It was because of that that she had been rendered insensible when Hogwarts came calling.
Little nobody Wayne Hopkins, halfblood son of two average muggleborns, was Hogwarts material. Jeanine did not think in these terms as Wayne did, but the shock and elation were the same.
The Hopkins family was small and modest, and they would have been amongst the most unassuming of the British population if it wasn't for their magical nature. They lived in a nice but modest two-storey house in Kent. Jeanine worked as a pre-O.W.L.s Arithmancy tutor. She managed to achieve a comfortable lifestyle for herself and Wayne after Wayne's father died (during You-Know-Who's war) by teaching almost exclusively for the children of very well-off families, even some noble families. The Hopkins family was not gentry like the majority of the alumni of Hogwarts by any means — Wayne's grandparents on both sides being regular working-class Muggles — but Wayne had been raised to know how to behave in society because of his mother's position.
It was actually because of his mother's position that Wayne had already known a few of year-mates before his first year. She was often invited to formal dinners and parties by her employers and she nearly always took Wayne along with her. Those get-togethers were where he became acquainted with a few Ravenclaw girls a couple of years ahead of him, Michael Corner in Ravenclaw and Lily Moon in Slytherin, and the ever-prickly Zacharias Smith of Wayne's own social circle. Wayne had never imagined that he'd somehow become a part of a group that Smith was a prominent member of, but it was a fact that he now simply had to grin and bear if he ever wanted to make something of himself.
"There will be times when you will have to things that you pray to God you didn't have to," his mother had told him once when Wayne complained about having to make nice with the snobby children she taught who looked down on him. "But if we want to live in this world with any measure of success we have to know when to pick our battles.
"We need to be in the good graces of these people, Wayne," she told him very plainly. "Our livelihood depends on it. What you have to consider is whether or not the satisfaction you might get from spiting those children will be worth the possibility that I will out of a job. I'm not saying you should let them bully you, and you should never go against your sense of right and wrong, but we have to make compromises if we want to get along with others. If you want to get anywhere in this world when you're grown, you will often have to decide if avenging a trivial blow to your pride is worth getting on the wrong side of someone in a higher position than yourself."
And so Wayne did his best not to provoke the ill tempers of the other members of the pack of Hufflepuffs he was a part of, going about this goal by being as agreeable as he could. He had to take advantage of every opportunity available to him if he was going to be a respectable adult, and it wouldn't do to tread on the toes of those that already had little use for him. He wasn't particularly clever or ambitious, so any position he achieved would have to come from knowing people in good places. He was dead lucky that Heri had taken a liking to him for whatever reason or else his slim future prospects would have been even slimmer.
Wayne was well aware that he was now in the paradoxical position of being expected to be great and being expected to be mediocre to the same degree. It was damn-near inevitable that he would land himself some position of authority or distinction — rare was the alumnus of Hogwarts that did not at least become a government worker — but it was also equally inevitable that he would indeed become yet another of those no-name government workers who were but forgettable, replaceable cogs in the administrative machine that was the British Ministry of Magic. Wayne was no ground-breaker, he was not the sort to discover the cure for lycanthropy or revolutionise a field of study; it could be argued that it was his inborn destiny to be amongst the millions whose lives and deaths made no impact on the rest of the world save as a statistic.
He tried not to think such thoughts very often though. He didn't enjoy depression despite what his naturally melancholy disposition would lead some to think.
Wayne hadn't anticipated making many if any friends during his time at Hogwarts'. Even if he was acquainted with a handful of them, their relationship wasn't much past cordiality, and that was only with the couple amongst them that didn't outright look down on him. It seemed to be a cross that he would forever bear that he attracted the scorn of the sort that were inclined to belittling and the apathy of any other kind. Wayne was boring: he had no interesting pastimes, he wasn't particularly good at anything, and his communication skills were awkward and stilted. Other children just didn't like him; they seemed to come to that opinion instinctively.
It was because of this that Heri Potter continued to be a source of wonder for Wayne.
It was no secret to Wayne that the others of Heri's main circle merely tolerated him, only Hannah and Ernie being rather friendly since it was in their nature to be personable with anyone. Zacharias had no use for people he thought beneath him in importance; Sally-Anne thought he lacked any redeemable quality; and Megan didn't like any competition for Heri's attention, lame or otherwise. And yet despite all their resistance against him, Heri kept Wayne firmly at her side; she did not allow him to be driven away.
Wayne admitted that he had been a starstruck fanboy when he first met Heri. It would have been hard not to be when she was so awe-inspiring. She was so open and nice! She didn't mind humouring their pestering for her attention! She somehow made anyone who talked to her feel important! She sat at the top of the class despite being muggle-raised! She had saved people's lives right in front of him!
It was only when Longbottom started worshipping the ground she walked on that Wayne noticed he was being just as embarrassingly reverent, but it was hard to stop when not long after his realisation she slew a Mountain Troll with its own club just like in the books about her. Wayne knew intellectually that she was a person like anyone else, but at the same time, she wasn't just anyone else: she was The Girl Who Lived, Defeater of You-Know-Who, a professional hero.
It was a wonder that she didn't have Hannah scare him off like the rest of the horde that wanted a piece of the growing legend that was Heri Potter. Wayne didn't understand why she tolerated Wayne — and Megan as well — when they were not so far removed from the rest of the grasping throng. Heri let Wayne linger but she didn't encourage Roger Malone who was a wiz at Astronomy and eagerly offered to do the homework for her; she smiled sincerely at Wayne but only gave small, shy ones when Terry Boot came around with books on creatures that she loved to read; she laughed at Wayne's corny attempts at humour but only tittered politely when Seamus Finnigan told outrageous jokes for her amusement. It didn't make any sense to him and he wished he could at least get a hint of her reasoning to relieve himself of the sense of forever toe-ing the edge of a precarious ledge that he could so easily be pushed off from at any time.
Heri was so very odd when it came to choosing the people she wanted around, favouring those who would have been outcasts if it wasn't for her. And it didn't appear to be pity either if her persistent affections for Flint was anything to go by. Perhaps she was an angel sent down from Heaven to save lonely souls from a life of solitude.
Wayne would admit if anyone had asked that he had been terrified that he would be forgotten when that Bulgarian Quidditch player started taking up so much of Heri's attention. Wayne had enough trouble staying relevant just amongst the people he more-or-less called his friends, competition from an international celebrity was not something he had been ready for. Oh, sure, Heri wasn't the shallow type like Megan and Sally-Anne who were easily bought by status and popularity, but that didn't change the fact that Wayne had little working for him already when it came to being interesting to others.
When Flint had graduated, Wayne had thought that Heri would be too upset by the loss of the older boy to pay any mind to any other fellow that was potentially boyfriend material. She had been dead gone on Flint and wasn't the type to move on in such a relatively short period of time. Wayne had thought that the time had finally come that Heri would come to the conclusion that she didn't need other guys when she had Wayne (and Ernie . . . and Zacharias . . .). Not that Wayne thought he stood a chance in that way or anything, but if a miracle happened and she decided Wayne was what she wanted all along . . . well, he wouldn't be complaining or anything if that happened . . .
But no such thing happened. Viktor Krum swooped in at what should have been an opportune time and snatched up what should have been Heri's dwindling interest in romance. Oh, she hadn't given up on Flint or anything, but it was no secret amongst those who paid attention that if Flint didn't pull his head out of his arse and quick, Heri's 'very good friend, Viktor', would end up her new older gentleman of choice. It wasn't hard to tell that Krum wasn't about to let an old crush get in his way.
How was Wayne supposed to compete with that? He wasn't even trying to contend for Heri's affections that way and he was still outclassed. When it came down to it, Krum had way more to offer her than Wayne did. He had fame; he had money; he had charisma; he was even a Triwizard Champion like she was. If that wasn't enough, he had impressed her more than she let on when he had shown-off to coerce her into going to the Yule Ball with him.
Wayne wasn't sure if Heri even realised it, but she had a great deal of respect and attraction for physical prowess. It was baffling to Wayne; she had proved time and time again that she was superior to anyone else their age when it came to strength, magical or otherwise, and yet she became giggly when blokes who were definitely weaker than her despite their muscles preened for her, even the ponces she normally didn't encourage. (Wayne had definitely heard Cormac McLaggen bragging to his cronies about how Heri had actually blushed when he offered to let her touch his biceps.) She had punched a bludger and a fireball with her bare fists, taken on a thousand-year-old basilisk with only a sword, and sent a table of nearly a hundred of students into the wall with one push! Neither Flint, nor Krum, nor any else of the meat-heads that trailed after her could compare!
But — following that logic — that also meant that Wayne was even more outclassed than he had originally concluded. If the tossers that actually had traits that could get them somewhere with Heri — whether in her knickers or just in her good graces — were already out of their league by the sheer magnitude of Heri's . . . muchness? . . . then Wayne was essentially on the same level as an amoeba.
Suffice to say Wayne had spent a great deal of his fourth and fifth year utterly miserable about his lack of any admirable quality when he wasn't fretting over what calamity would befall Heri next.
On the topic of calamities, Wayne had never dreamed that his life would be so full to the bursting with the catastrophes that he had found himself involved in at least once a year if he was only counting the life-threatening ones. Now, it would have been awful enough if it was life-threatening for Wayne himself or one of the others in their cantankerous clique, but instead, those disasters centred around Heri.
Wayne often wondered if it was a sign that he was unhealthily obsessed that he ranked harm to himself less important than harm to his friend/idol/object of reverence. He would then argued with himself that it was only logical that the loss of someone who was so obviously significant to the morality of their nation, never mind the scope of what she capable of accomplishing in the future, was clearly more important in the grand scheme of the world than a few kids who weren't nearly as influential.
(Wayne would then follow his original wondering with additional speculation if such personal conclusions made him an amoral psychopath. He had yet to decide one way or another on that matter yet.)
Personal mental health crises aside, Wayne spent quite a bit of his time wondering if today would be the day that the unthinkable happened and Heri was somehow extracted from the realm of the living. If it was not enough that You-Know-Who had returned from the edge of death, Heri had been doing poorly since she had been kidnapped. It was looking to him that if she was not murdered outright by Dark Wizards (no doubt taking several with her) she would instead succumb to whatever illness she had contracted.
It was utterly wretched of him, but Wayne had been feeling significantly less secure about his own personal safety since Heri had become . . . 'more delicate', to word it tactfully. The traits that made her awe-inspiring had not gone away — she was still charming, and kind, and wickedly strong, and brilliant with her wand — but it was hard to not despair when it looked like the life was being sucked out of her. He hadn't noticed it happening until near the end of fifth-year (and didn't that make him feel like the worst sort of berk?), but not only was she was suffering from collapsing bouts wherein she was left utterly unable to protect herself, her skin had become the colour of watered-down milk, likely a result of how utterly tired she seemed to be all the time.
Wayne had never been more terrified in his life than that day not a month into their fifth-year when he first witnessed Heri crumpling mid-stride and nearly taking a nasty tumble down the Grand Staircase. Her Bogle attendant assuring him and the rest of her usual crowd that she had simply had a sleep attack did little to assuage his fright.
"Miss Heri just got lost in her thoughts," The Bogle, Oleander, had explained to them as she fed Heri a potion.
"D-daydreaming makes her pass out?" Wayne had asked incredulously, watching with wide eyes as Ernie gathered Heri up in his arms to carry her to the Hospital Wing.
"Miss Heri is not completely tied down just right," Ollie had answered, trotting next to Ernie as their procession hurried along. "If her mind wanders, her soul wanders too."
Oleander's words were of course taken with a grain of salt. For all that Bogles and House-elves and other Hobs were Beings with high-level intelligence, they still did not have minds that were quite the same as humans. What Oleander meant and believed to be true was likely very different than how it was explained to her and what Wayne had understood of her words. If he was to accept what she had said at face-value then the situation was even more dire than Wayne thought. Narcolepsy was terrifying enough by itself, but Heri's soul wandering away from her body . . . ? That sounded closer to dying than Wayne wanted to think about.
And that was the rub: It couldn't be narcolepsy. At least not the muggle form of it. Wayne was no genius, but even he knew that Narcolepsy had nothing to do with a wandering mind, and it certainly didn't cause gradual albinism or whatever was happening to Heri. He would bet anything that it had something to do with whatever that Death Eater had done to her, but he was as ignorant as anyone else of what that could have been since even Heri wasn't completely certain considering she had been knocked out for part of it.
Wayne would admit to hovering even more than usual for all that it didn't do anything to help the situation. He just . . . he didn't know what else to do. He was utterly terrified about what would become of Heri and what would become of the rest of them if she was no longer around to . . . well, to keep the Dark forces at bay for a lack of better words. He knew it was idiotic to think that a single girl — no matter how amazing — was somehow preventing You-Know-Who from razing Britain to the ground by just existing, but . . .
Even if she hadn't been so awing . . . Heri was — Heri was hope. She was the hope of Wizards and Muggles alike. Heri was victory after a backbreaking battle that nearly ended in wretched defeat. She was proof that even when the chance for a happy ending was slim and it felt like the end was closing in, not all was lost. Like a wave of the hand from a sympathetic god, she had done what no one could have done. And damn Wayne to Hell that he was praying she would somehow do it again.
Wayne's mother had told him horror stories of how things had been before Heri defeated You-Know-Who the first time.
"It was dark times, love," his mother had told him sombrely when he had innocently asked about the Dark wizard that Heri Potter had defeated in the story she had read to him the night before. "And even dark days."
She had gone on to explain that Heri Potter and the Dark Lord You-Know-Who were not just made-up like the other characters in his books were.
"You-Know-Who had been gathering followers for a quite a while beforehand, but no one had thought it would get to the point that it did. Most of us had assumed it was just another cult of puffed-up blood-supremacists that were all bark and no bite, nothing new really. Of course, that was blown right out of the water when people started disappearing.
"No one knew what was going on. You'd see a neighbour or a co-worker one day but they'd be gone without a trace the next. Even people in important offices weren't spared. Not even the Aurors knew what was going on. We were jumping at shadows then, by the time they decided they didn't want to be stealthy anymore.
"He and his minions came out in the open and declared that he was Lord —" she had then shuddered violently. "Well. There's a reason not many people dare to say his name even to this day. He put some sort of Taboo on it; if you made the mistake of saying his name, they would find you and —"
She had then took a moment to compose herself before she continued.
"Anyone that stood up to him ended up dead. Witches and wizards of known skill fought against him, and the Ministry churned out Aurors by the battalion to do what they could, but nobody lived once he decided to kill them.
"People were frightened out of their minds and started turning on each other. Everyone suspected each other in some way, and it often happened that friendships of years and years were ruined by paranoia and terror. And they weren't exactly wrong to do so. It wasn't uncommon that a Death Eater would catch themselves a victim and put them under the Imperious Curse and an innocent person who had nothing to do with any of the fighting would end up murdering their own family in cold blood.
"All the while You-Know-Who's forces were growing. Some were afraid for their lives and thought to be on the winning side. Some wanted a bit of his power, and he was certainly getting himself power, whatever hellish ways he was achieving that. Dark days, dear, especially for us folk that weren't pure enough for their standard. It often happened that someone of Muggle descent would be . . . used as an example . . . a-and . . . pieces . . .
"No one knew who to trust. We didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches or . . . terrible things happened.
"Now, when you weren't even a year old yet, You-Know-Who started targeting the Potter family. More correctly, he was gunning for a group of fighters that Dumbledore was leading in opposition, but he was very focused on the Potters and Longbottoms. They were the best witches and wizards of their time and they survived personal encounters with him on the battlefield more than once. I can only imagine that such a feat enraged him. When they went into hiding, he had people on the lookout for them.
"It eventually came to a head when he found the Potters on Halloween of '81. I don't know how he did it — the Potters were said to be hidden under a powerful enchantment — but they were found without a mark on them, so he must have made quick work of downing them both with Killing Curses before going for their daughter. Of course, after that, no one expected that Heri would somehow fend off a Killing Curse and destroy You-Know-Who in turn."
Wayne's mother had gone on to describe the celebration that had happened afterwards. People were crying and hugging in the streets. Songs and ballads were written in Heri's honour, and quite a few of the more spiritual sects made her a part of their practices by claiming her a saint or declaring her as some form of a deity or human avatar. The festivities had gone on for several months and well into the next year if Wayne's mother was to be believed.
Wayne had grown up on stories of Heri Potter, whether the original tale of that Halloween night or those adventure books that he now knew were fictional. Every child raised in the aftermath of You-Know-Who's destruction shared an ingrained awe that gave them a sense of camaraderie with others that they likely wouldn't have any connection with otherwise if it hadn't been for that almost universal reverence for the girl that had saved them and their families from death and subjugation. Wayne gave and received little respect from other children his age, but he would always find someone to share an understanding look with when it came to matters of Heri.
Wayne knew he wasn't the only one who was fretting themselves to pieces over what would become of Heri. It was the reason he was being so much more forgiving when the others vented their frustrations on him by being even bigger arseholes than usual. To be perfectly correct, Hannah, Ernie, and Zacharias might actually have been worrying themselves even more than Wayne in all his despairing misery. They had always counted themselves as the ones that took care of Heri in whatever capacity she needed, whether as mental support or acting as physical walls to scare off those that made trouble for her. That she was now suffering and from something they could do nothing about was likely grating on them quite a bit.
Since the new school year had started, Wayne had been doing his best to be . . . supportive or whatever it was called for Heri since she was clearly having a more laborious time than before. It wasn't even just her bizarre narcolepsy that appeared to have gotten worse, she had been noticeably more pre-occupied with something as well.
Wayne could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Heri so bothered before. One of those incidences was when Sally-Anne was petrified in the Hospital Wing, and another was when she was putting herself through the wringer to learn how to defend herself from dementors. That she was once again so thorough absorbed by something and for such a length of time meant nothing good.
It wasn't even the increase in her responsibilities either. Heri had always been absurdly competent, even to the point that Wayne couldn't begin to explain how she did it. In third-year, when Wayne was scrabbling to keep up with his two extra lessons, she still had time to hang out with everyone and even tutor people that came asking for it, even with Quidditch practice and all those classes she was somehow taking. She hadn't faltered in fourth-year either despite the Tournament demanding so much of her energy. In fifth-year Wayne had been worried that all the work would finally get to her since she had Prefect duties on top of the rest the hoopla she was dealing with — never mind the reporters hounding her and the pack of Death Eaters breaking out from Azkaban — but still Heri made it look like she never even broke a sweat, not even her sleep attacks getting her down.
Quite frankly, it was terrifying. Wayne often claimed that things were terrifying since he was an unrepentant scaredy-cat, but Heri appearing anything less than 100% ready for anything was so out of the norm that it suddenly felt like literally anything else impossible — good or bad — could happen as well. Wayne didn't do well with the impossible, he was not properly equipped — physically or mentally — to deal with such things.
Oh, but how he wished he could do something! He had even joined in on the D.A.D.A. geared club Heri had started in hopes of helping in some way if only to be target practice or cannon fodder.
The Defence Association, otherwise known as the DA, had been established after the mass outbreak from Azkaban. After deciding that they would do themselves no good merely sitting around being scared, they had formed something of a duelling club in hopes of getting themselves somewhat prepared to defend themselves should worst come to worst. It took little time to get approval from the professors and less time after that to get a sizeable number of members. By the start of the new year, they had at least a third of the school as official members.
It didn't take very long for the members to start calling themselves 'Potter's Army' despite Heri's protests. The fact of the matter was that Heri led the DA like a general training their troops and had established a chain of command to uphold order as she saw fit. It had been an odd decision in the eyes of those who hadn't yet seen Heri anything but her usual mild and agreeable self. It turned out that she could channel severity very well when it came to whipping people into fighting fitness.
"I wish this wasn't something we have to worry ourselves over," Heri had told them en masse when they were first going over the goals of the DA with the entire club. She had watched the struggling younger students with undisguised regret. "But we cannot afford to be helpless with the way things are going.
"We cannot afford to go easy when every single one of us are in danger," she continued, spearing each and every one of them with a sharp look. "They will come for us. It's only a matter of time. They will come for us because of who our families are and because they know very well that we have much more potential than the common magi to fight back if we get the chance. They will want to strike while we're still vulnerable, and they will not be calling ahead to ask pretty-please if we can come out for a friendly duel. We can't afford to be caught off guard and we certainly can't afford to have people who can't even throw up a shield and run for cover.
"I can't force you to stay and learn, but if you're determined to be here you will learn to protect yourselves. If the time ever comes that Hogwarts is attacked and the castle is breached . . . We will not be going down without a fight."
As much as her words had drained out the excitement of joining the DA, they also inspired a great more respect and gravity for what they were doing. There were certainly no fewer tears and in-fighting, but no one ever again complained about the stringency of the drilling. Even if any had wanted to, the commanding officers wouldn't have tolerated any of it after they realised the gravity of their positions.
That was another thing that had been instigated in Heri's militia-style Defence group: commanding officers. A captain was voted in from each House, and to qualify for the position they had to be an upper-year who had gotten at least an E on their Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.s. They were responsible for maintaining discipline and keeping track of how their subordinates were progressing. Under every captain were the lieutenants, the ones who did the best in practicals in each of the years. The lieutenants, in turn, would keep their units (their year-mates) on track and make sure none were left behind during drills.
It was actually a lot more militaristic than Wayne had originally been expecting, so he had ended up being not the most regular of participants when things were starting out. That was no longer the case of course, but he hadn't exactly gained himself much respect by jumping on the bandwagon so late, especially when everyone was taking participation so seriously now.
As of the new school year, the commanding officers were Roger Davies for Ravenclaw, Katie Bell for Gryffindor, Eugenia Gamp for Slytherin, and Gregory Munslow for Hufflepuff. There had been some fuss over who would lead the Hufflepuff faction since there were many that believed Heri would have been the best choice, but Heri was adamant that her official capacity as club president made it so it wouldn't be right for her to be a commanding officer. After some discussion, it was decided that a seventh-year would be best for the job.
Wayne was privately of the opinion that they had decided that a seventh-year would be best so they wouldn't have had to deal with Zacharias glowering at whomever it was that he considered his competition for the position. Not that he would have been the best option even if he hadn't been such a raging arsehole; the best in their year that wasn't already involved in the running of the DA was actually Susan Bones, the niece of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
In truth, the DA had fallen to Hannah and Granger's authority since club activities had started up again. As the DA's vice-president and secretary respectively, they were in charge when Heri had other matters to attend to, and it just so happened that she had quite a lot of other matters to attend to as of late. Outside of teaching spell-casting, leading drills on battle formations, and still having final say in important decisions, Heri had very little to do with the day-to-day running of the DA any more.
Wayne was now just realising that it might have actually been her increase in responsibilities that was causing Heri so much stress because she had been delegating as many of the duties she had that she could to whomever she thought fit. For the DA, it was Hannah and Granger; for her prefect duties, it was mostly accomplished by Ernie, the other prefect for their year; for her Quidditch captaincy, she left the scheduling of practices and the planning of plays to Anthony Rickett, Beater and her self-appointed vice-captain. If something needed to be done that didn't need specifically her to do it, she handed it off to someone else.
Heri had never seemed the type to delegate, but Wayne supposed that everyone had their limits, even if some limits were greater than other's.
Thinking on it now, it really shouldn't have been a surprise that Heri was becoming overwhelmed. He had been there at her sixteenth birthday party where she had received her family's lordship ring from her godfather and was recognised by her family's magic as the rightful Countess of Heorshire. It might have been nothing more than an exciting formality to wrap up the party if it hadn't been decided then by whoever that Heri would start participating in the Wizengamot as well. Wayne didn't know who had thought that was a good idea, but he was seriously unimpressed with the state of their intentions towards Heri's well-being.
Seriously? School work, tutoring, prefect responsibilities, Quidditch duties, DA obligations, the shadow of You-Know-Who's forces hanging overhead, a debilitating illness, the press clawing at her, and who knows what else was already pressing down on her, and now she had to attend to judicial-legislative duties she had no prior experience with as well? Wayne needed a lie-down just from thinking about it!
There was no doubt it was all getting to her. Her collapses had become so commonplace now that they no longer bundled her off to the Hospital Wing every time. Just that morning Heri had needed a wake-up twice and not even three hours in between incidences!
He had been the one that was closest on hand the second time — not counting Oleander of course — and had deposited her on a bench in the Transfiguration Courtyard to await her recovery so they could continue on to the Great Hall. Hannah then sent Ernie and Megan ahead to prepare a plate for Heri so they could get some food in her as soon as possible.
Seeing her laid out on the bench, Wayne was once again struck by how fragile-looking Heri had become. He had never really noticed before how tiny she was. Even at sixteen, she was the size of a first-year, and how unwell she looked made her seem even smaller. He could easily see the blue outline of her veins standing out against her translucent skin, colouring the places where the skin was thinnest (like her eyelids) to appear almost purple. The shadows around her eyes made it look like she was the star of a Gothic horror film. He didn't know what to make of the strange gradient her hair now had, but it looked like she was bleeding out her vibrancy.
All in all, it was rather depressing.
A few minutes after Oleander administered the potion to speed up her awakening, Heri was rousing again.
"Uggghh . . ." she groaned, tilting her head away from the light.
Hannah perked immediately.
"You all right?" she asked as she pulled an umbrella from her satchel and held it over Heri's head.
Hannah had become increasingly sensitive to Heri's more trivial needs since her kidnapping. If a certain tool could be useful to Heri at any point, Hannah carried it in her bag. She was nearly as intuitive as Sally-Anne was when it came to Heri's moods now as well. As Sally-Anne had doubled-back a few moments before for something she had left in the dorms, it was currently up to Hannah keep things moving along.
"Mmm . . ."
A moment of shifting later, Heri was sitting up, smoothing down her brow bone to ease the burn in her eyes.
"Yeah . . ." she murmured, looking up at them through half-closed eyes. She gave them a bleary-eyed smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."
For a split-second, Wayne could have sworn her eyes were a void of black. Another look after a few bewildered blinks on his part told a different story though.
"Wayne?" Heri said, giving him a look of drowsy concern. She had caught his confusion.
"Ah, it's nothing!" he said, ruffling his hair bashfully. "Shall we get you to breakfast now?"
Zacharias helped her to her feet and Wayne took care of her bag. With Hannah chatter cheerfully to ease the air, Heri was led to the Great Hall on Zacharias' arm.
The Great Hall was abuzz as usual, the time late enough in the morning that nearly every student had arrived. The ceiling mirrored the uncommonly sunny day they were having that October, casting dancing streaks of light across the tables. Combined with the upbeat atmosphere that came with the approach of Halloween, it made for a cheerful picture that was not at all congruent with the anxiety felt by those who were aware of Heri's condition. They had kept Heri's narcolepsy pretty well out of the public eye, so it was understandable that no one else was bothered, but it still felt like an insult to Wayne's sensibilities.
Ernie and Megan were waiting for them along with Longbottom and Granger. A plate of Heri's usual breakfast fare was ready for her, and full platters of warm food had been set aside for the rest of them. Alas, any appeal it might have had was dimmed by the squabble Megan and Granger were once again engaged it.
Wayne couldn't hold back a grimace. Just what they needed: another fight. One that Heri would no doubt end up mediating when she should have been taking it easy before classes.
"Can you lot just shut your bloody traps?" Zacharias griped, reaching for the platter of bacon.
"Keep out of it, Smith!" Megan snapped, scowling ferociously.
"Oh, now, let's not fight," Heri pleaded, looking around with an admonishing look. "It wouldn't do to start the day on an unpleasant note."
"Yeah, Megan," sighed Hannah. "Do you two really have to fight every time you see each other?"
"Well if Smith minded his own ruddy business," Megan declared hotly, crossing her arms, "and Granger knew when her blasted nagging was unwanted, I'd be having a grand time of it!"
"It's no wonder we're nowhere near finished with the project considering the way you'd rather sit around on your bum and moan instead of getting anything done!" Granger retorted, derision written all over her face.
"What project is this?" asked Heri before Megan could snipe back.
Granger huffed before simmering down to speak calmly to Heri.
"It's the Transfiguration project," she said. "You know the one. We're supposed to work together and use a common base to create a magical artefact through a combination of Transfiguration and any other branch of magic we decide on.
"I had thought," Granger continued, giving Megan a withering look, "that using a combination of Transfiguration and Charms would be easy enough to accomplish since they're both wanded magic — never mind that we're working as a four-man team with Terry Boot from Ravenclaw as well — but apparently doing her part by helping to charm the thing is just too much to handle."
"Now, Hermione . . ." Longbottom interjected hesitantly.
But he was cut off by Megan indignant squawking.
And then they were off again, all but clawing at each other in their contention.
"Wait," Heri interjected after a few more moments of quarrelling. "You mean you haven't finished yet? It's due next week!"
"That's exactly my point!" Granger cried, smacking the table for emphasis. "It's due next week and we're only half-way done! This is no time to be dithering!"
When no one made any attempt to back her up, Megan turned especially sour and refused to talk to anyone for the rest of the day, ignoring Heri's friendly overtures as well. Honestly, it would have been a blessing if she hadn't been so obnoxious about her continued silence.
Megan still hadn't gotten out of her foul mood the next day either, somehow getting more unbearable when Granger and Longbottom showed up again the next day and ended up discussing their project with the curious Heri.
"What is it that you're making?" Heri had asked, prompting a flood of words from Granger as she explained their entire outline.
Apparently, they were hoping to create some sort of mood-controlled music-box, one that not only changed the type of music it played depending on the attitude of the person who wound it but change the stylistic design of the music-box dancers as well. It sounded fairly complicated considering it would essentially be self-transfiguring as an end product, and Heri was duly impressed by the long-winded explanation.
Granger was still going on about it when Megan came in, causing the sandy-haired harpy to glower ineffectively.
"Just keep out of it right now," Sally-Anne told Megan discreetly before she could throw a fit. "As long as Heri's got her attention Granger won't be on your case. Of course," she continued, giving Megan a heavy-lidded unimpressed look, "she isn't wrong for wanting you to get your arse in gear and finish your blasted project already."
Megan would have blown off Sally-Anne's words of course if it hadn't been the stony suppressive look Zacharias gave her when he saw her opening her mouth again. Wayne had to admit, even though Zacharias was a Grade-A tosspot he was unrivalled in his ability to muzzle Megan when she was working up a froth.
"— golden obsidian is a bit hard on the eyes though," Wayne heard Heri say as his attention wandered back from the walking drama that was Megan Jones, "so I topped it with an encasing sheet of clear quartz.
"Could you get me the —?" Heri said to Oleander, only to be cut off by something being thrust into her hands. "Ah! Thank you, dear!"
Heri then held up a slab of what looked to be stone or dark crystal for Granger and Longbottom to see. It was about a knuckle and a half thick and was cut in a perfect circle about the circumference of her face. On the edges, he could see the distinct gleam of silver moulded into ivy-like filigree. What made his breath catch though was the surface of it. When tilted just right, the smooth glass-like face caught the light like a droplet of water and reflected back the captured image exactly like a mirror.
"I considered other vitreous stones as well," Heri continued, handing the object to Granger for her to examine, "but calcite and fluorite were pathetically low on the Mohs Scale, never mind that they're soluble and that they can't achieve the crystal symmetry I wanted even if they went through inversion."
"What about some sort of beryl?" asked Granger as she inspected the thing. "They're in the hexagonal system as well, right?"
Heri shook her head.
"You know how easy it is to taint beryl with impurities. It's far too susceptible for something that needs to be able to take some knocks. I considered goshenite of course — I could have probably tinkered with the pleochroism to preempt any inconsistencies with the chromaticity — but the metaphysical properties were completely wrong for this sort of thing. Self-control and creativity would make any image shown easily manipulated and distorted."
"What's that?" Sally-Anne asked, no doubt interested only because whatever it was resembled a mirror.
"It's a scrying stone," Heri replied, smiling at the show of interest. "It's what I've been working on for the project."
"H-have you been—been doing it . . . b-by yourself?" Longbottom asked in concern. "What about your partners?"
"Oh, don't worry, Neville," Heri assured him. "The rest of my group were perfectly helpful. It's just — well, I have similar assignments given to me in some of my other classes as well, so I decided to use this for those subjects too. We weren't assigned partners in my other classes, so I've been doing the extra stuff myself."
"You're using the same project for different assignments?" Granger gaped, looking scandalised.
"Well, I don't really have time to do multiple projects," Heri explained, giving a little shrug. "I'm a bit swamped at the moment. I asked the professors for permission, and they said as long as the parts that were specific to each class were completed correctly I can do as I please."
"Which classes are you turning it in for?" asked Ernie, who looked envious he hadn't thought of doing the same.
"Mmmm . . ." Heri pondered for a moment. "Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, Divination, Arithmancy, and Ghoul Studies."
"Wait, how can a mirror made of rock fit all of those categories?" Megan asked, looking baffled and outraged. It seemed she had pulled herself out of her sulk to be indignant again.
"It's a scrying stone," Heri said again, this time a bit more pointedly. "Besides using Transfiguration to form it, I had to use a combination of runes and Arithmancy to enchant it."
Here she turned it over to show a complicated matrix of rune formations engraved in the silver backing.
"It's used much like a crystal ball — it shows the past, present, future, possible outcomes and whatever — so Professor Trelawney will accept it as a divining instrument. And it can be used to learn the fine details of people's defining circumstances, ghosts included, so it's a perfect fit for my Ghoul Studies assignment too, which was to create a tool that can be used to help us when we encounter spirits and the undead. Actually, I might be able to ask Professor Flitwick to consider it as an extra-credit project as well since enchanted objects fall under the Charms category too.
"I have to thank you, Neville," she then said, smiling brightly at the Gryffindor boy. "I was properly stumped on what I was going to do to handle all of my assignments, but then I was using that crystal ball you got me for some Divination homework and it suddenly hit me."
"A-Ah . . ." Longbottom stuttered, going red in the face. "Y-you d-d-don't ha-ave to th-thank—thank me! I-I'm just glad it h-helped you e-even a l-l-lit-tle bit!"
Wayne didn't pay much attention to it at the time, but the envious look on Megan's face that morning coupled with the positively foul temper she was suffering from lately should have been the proper warning that she was on the edge of going completely off and violently.
That evening at dinner they had the dubious pleasure of receiving the Evening Prophet, the special edition of the Daily Prophet that went out when whatever news the had couldn't wait until the next day to be sent out. As of late, it had been used to deliver the news of Death Eater attacks, and a few editions had already been the bearers of ill tidings concerning the continued safety of the families of students. To put it plainly, the news of death in the family had come with the Evening Prophet before, and no one was eager to receive it again as it could mean the loss of a loved one.
On that occasion, the paper reported that there had miraculously been less death and injury than usual after the previous night's raid. It was cold comfort, but none of the ones who had died were family to any of the students, causing an almost universal sigh of relief. Unfortunately, one of those that had been caught in the crossfires and was now hospitalised was —
"GWEN!" Megan yowled, horror written all over her face.
There, on the front cover, was a photo of Healers swarming all over the people who had been carted over to St. Mungo's. Amongst the injured was a battered Gwenog Jones, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies and Megan's older sister.
The girls immediately swarmed Megan, looking just as aghast. But as soon as Heri reached out, presumably to hold the distraught girl's hand, her hand was smacked away.
Heri yelped in shock and recoiled.
"Megan?" Heri asked, looking bewildered. "What —?"
This time she was slapped.
"Miss Jones!" the teachers cried from where they were bustling over.
In the few seconds of confusion, the situation had changed from the girls trying to console Megan in her time of need to Hannah and Zacharias restraining the shrieking Megan by holding her against the table and forcing her arms up her back while Sally-Anne, Ernie, and Wayne stood protectively in front of the perplexed and hurt Heri, Oleander huddled up to her side.
"This is your fault!" Megan was bellowing, tears trickling down her face. "My sister's hurt and it's all your fault!"
"Miss Jones, control yourself!" Professor Sprout commanded, looking utterly appalled. "Twenty points from Hufflepuff and three weeks of detention for attacking another student!"
"Oh, so she gets special treatment and gets to sit around doing nothing, but I get in trouble for pointing it out?!" Megan spat, struggling against the grip Hannah had on her wrists.
"What the heck are you even talking about?!" Hannah yelled, giving her a good shake. "Heri's done nothing wrong at all, and now you're attacking her for trying to comfort you?!"
"COMFORT ME!" the raging hell-cat shrieked, her face turning into a proper mess of tears and twisted features. "I wouldn't need any comfort she wasn't sitting on her arse while people are getting killed! She's supposed to be the defeater of You-Know-Who, right? What the hell is she doing acting like she doesn't have a job to do?! MY SISTER NEARLY DIED! WHY HASN'T SHE KILLED YOU-KNOW-WHO YET?!"
"That's quite enough, Miss Jones!" the thundering voice of Dumbledore. His stern visage was one the students had never seen before on his usually jovial face. "You will be escorted to my office where your parents will be contacted, but do not think for a moment that this appalling behaviour is anywhere near excusable!"
Megan was extracted from Hannah's and Zacharias' hold by a murderous-looking Snape, who all but flung her at Professors Sprout and McGonagall. She was then marched out of the Hall like a criminal by the deputy headmistress and her Head of House amongst the agitated chattering of students gossiping.
Meanwhile, Professors Flitwick had hopped onto the bench Heri was seated at and was examining her face for damage.
"My dear!" he exclaimed, looking troubled, "You're bruising quite a bit! I hadn't realised she hit you so harshly!"
True to his words, the right side of Heri's face was already starting to purple, a hand imprint standing in stark red contrast to the rest of her skin.
"I-It actually doesn't hurt that much!" Heri said, appearing to be trying to assuage the professor's concern. "Megan's . . . not exactly the . . . strongest. It's just . . . it's just — well, I-I've been bruising so much . . . easier lately. I bumped my leg the other day and — and it looked like I'd been clubbed with a bat!"
If anything, Heri's words made the distress of those listening even worse. They were now reminded it wasn't just Megan attacking another student in a fit of insanity, it was Megan attacking a heavily unwell girl who was currently in a very breakable condition.
"Oh, no, this won't do at all!" Professor Flitwick said. "To Madam Pomfrey with you! That cheek will need bruise balm if nothing else."
And so here they were again, delivering Heri to the Hospital Wing, but in even a worse mood than usual.
"I'll kill that girl once I see her again," Zacharias was muttering angrily, looking nearly as murderous as Snape had. "Didn't I tell you, Potter? You've always been too kind. I always knew she was a two-faced bitch too caught up in herself to be of any use to anyone."
Heri merely sighed, not looking at anyone.
Though she didn't say anything, they knew she was distraught by the way she was once again holding Iolanthe in her arms. Since fourth-year, Heri rarely indulged herself with her doll in public unless she was exceptionally upset.
"I'll kill her," Zacharias grumbled again, this time glancing around at the rest of them as well.
Their gazes joined and once again Wayne was united in understanding with the people who were his friends despite everything. In this case, petty differences came second to the agreement that Megan Jones no longer had any place amongst them, and that shunning would be the least of her problems if she tried anything ever again. Attack Heri Potter? Not on their watch.
Wayne Hopkins was no one special, but that was okay. It didn't take anyone special to know that there were things in this world that were worth fighting for.
One of the things Heri learned very quickly to get used to was Namtar's hovering presence. One would have thought that Death incarnate had better things to do than leer out from dark crevices like a sex-offender at innocent school-girls minding their own business, but this was apparently not the case.
"Don't you have souls to reap or something?" Heri had once rebuked when she noticed him trailing after her on her way to the Forbidden Forest.
"Not at all~" Namtar had crooned from the hollow of a tree's roots, his eyes and teeth gleaming like out of the darkness like the Cheshire Cat. He then oozed out like discharge from a gory wound and slithered through the grass like a snake.
Heri had instinctively pulled her skirt more securely around her legs, not trusting him to not sneak a peek up her skirt if he had the chance. Namtar noticed her action and affected a mien of wounded offence, but Heri was having none of that.
"All the other incarnations of death taking care of it then?" Heri said, not letting him get away without an explanation.
"Death needeth not to travel any distance, my lady," Namtar said, surging up as a vaporous mist that drifted along in front of her as she walked, "we are forever in all places wherein things may expire. Much liken to the God of the Abrahamic religions are we, perfect in our ubiquity. This Namtar may be attending to his lady fair, yet death delayeth not for any who would so ask of it."
"So . . . so you don't do any actual reaping?" she asked as she stopped to dress down for her usual patrol with the herd. "What if nutters like Voldemort show up and make horcruces and such?"
"Death mayn't become lost when one goeth upon a journey to evade our grasps," Namtar scoffed, drifting around her. "There be no ministry above the law of death."
"Then what has Voldemort been doing then?" Heri retorted. "It seems to me he's been doing a bang-up job of not dying."
"My lady yet beholdeth the world with the eyes of Man," Namtar had then replied serenely. 'Did this self-styled 'Lord' not achieve his first demise before such a time that those not endowed with magic would perish naturally? In sooth, is it not merely the middle years of their life? And is five and fifty years not considered only the bloom of adulthood amongst wizardkind? And will he not soon expire once more under the just hand of my lady well before his eightieth year? Nay, Mistress, this charlatan will not run beyond the reach of Death. For his crimes will he reach the Veil afore his umquhile contemporaries."
Namtar was exceptionally good at inducing existential crises and philosophical musings with his words, never mind that he didn't seem to mean to do so. With his near constant hovering since he had arrived, Heri found herself lost in thought about the workings of the world more often than she had ever had in her life, resulting in an annoying amount of collapses.
She wanted to assure her friends that she hadn't suddenly taken a turn for the worst as they were obviously thinking, but explaining that the psychopomp of her second father's pantheon had taken to distracting her with thoughts of mortality and the balance of existence wasn't something you just brought up in a conversation. She had been thinking of telling Ernie and Zacharias of course, it felt appropriate somehow that they and the other demigods of Hogwarts would know, but demigods were rather sensitive about the amount of contact (or lack thereof) they had with their godly progenitors, and she didn't know how to bring it up without it coming across as bragging. Goodness knows she didn't need any more misdirected envy blowing up in her face, metaphorically or literally.
Outside of being a general distraction, Namtar was actually a soothing presence when it came to situations that hinged on human sentiments. He had made it so that Heri had actually been feeling as even-tempered as she outwardly appeared more often than not. Whether distracting her from her own outrage with his cosseting when Megan had slapped her or keeping her in a good humour with his mocking words during tedious Wizengamot meetings, Heri didn't have a chance to become infuriated while her self-appointed Court Jester was there.
She had been confused at first why no one else saw Namtar as he pranced about her, making a general bother of himself. Her heart all but burst out of her chest when he came creeping out from under the seat of the Hogwarts Express that she was sat on with the majority of her friends present, but not a one of them reacted to his presence, not even Ernie, Zacharias, nor even Luna.
When given a baffled, demanding look from Heri, Namtar merely bared his hands, completely at ease.
"Death doth walk unseen," he then said in explanation. "No living eyes may bear witness save those few who do walk hand in hand as brethren."
And so Heri had then lost any reasonable excuse to tell Namtar to shove off for the majority of the time. The excuse that she couldn't be seen with a higher being hanging around was made moot. Of course, her reluctance toward his continued presence was eventually eased when he made himself more of a boon than a bother.
There had been one particular instance that Heri had been quite appreciative that Namtar invisibly followed her around to dissuade her from her ire. It was during her third meeting with the Wizengamot and she had been in an already foul mood that day without the patronisation of senior Magistrates.
Heri wasn't sure what she had been expecting when she had decided to attend sessions well before she would have been expected to, but it certainly wasn't the mind-numbing tedium that she received. That and condescension from those that looked at her and saw nothing but a little girl. Granted, Heri was a little girl (sixteen for a wizard was still considered early childhood) but she was nowhere near the youngest person to have ever sat in the Wizengamot; that distinction went to a 19th-century Earl by the name of Ciel Phantomhive at the age of ten. One would have thought that being a well-respected public figure would have earned her some benefit of the doubt.
During her third meeting, wherein they were being called to judge the sentence of a fellow who had gotten thoroughly shitfaced and went shouting down a heavily trafficked road about the dragon reserve not far from the area, Heri had tried to ask for clarification on a matter only to be cut-off and dismissed by a gangling twig of a man with the most disgustingly wobbly jowls she had ever had the misfortune to witness. It was Causticus Nott, Theodore Nott's great-uncle and one of those that had looked down on her since she had given her inductive vows.
"Never mind your pointless questions, girl," he had sneered from within his ilk of blood supremacists in the Cavalier seating section. "We don't have time to drag out this judgement just to pander to children who would be better off left to their school books! I move that we now call for a vote!"
"Contemptuous, curmudgeonly cur of a shameful stain of a house!" Namtar had hissed. "He is envious of you, my lady. I do see it upon his shrivelled soul!"
Sirius' look of pure murder communicated a similar sentiment. It was only Heri pacifying grip on his forearm that kept her godfather from snarling back.
"Mr Nott," Heri had then replied, going wide-eyed and doll-faced as she threw Nott's lack of a noble title into his face. She had noted that he was touchy about it; he soured whenever he was addressed formally. "I apologise for encroaching on your patience on this trivial matter of the strictest law of our nation. It had seemed to me that no one had yet confirmed nor denied if any Muggle had actually heard what Mr Clinkscales had said that evening, but the topic must have already been discussed in a manner of speaking above my level of comprehension. Do excuse me, sir."
She had no personal conflict with the Nott boy she went to school with, but if this insect of a man was an example of what Nott the younger could be like in the future, the two of them and any family they might have in future would be sitting firmly in opposition. Heri had designated her seats as Parliamentarian when she had arrived at the administrative offices to re-initiate her family's position, and she had been on the receiving end of many stink eyes from those of the Cavalier Party for throwing the balance of voting power well into the Parliamentarians' favour with her fourteen votes, but not even the Magistrates who were well-known to have family members who were or are Death Eaters were as tongue-curlingly revolting as Causticus Nott.
"This blaggard thinketh himself superior," Namtar jeered in her ear, preventing Heri from actually hearing the defamation Nott was no doubt raining down on her in an attempt to cow her. "In sooth lesser hath he been from his birthing. 'Tis only by the fortune that his elder brother and brother-son did perish that he doth sit 'pon his self-made throne, and only 'til such a time that the son of his brother-son claimeth the right for himself!"
It was difficult to feel anything but placid contempt for anyone when the personification of death was whispering in her ear about the multiple reasons the person in question was barely a speck of dust in the grand spectrum of things. She had never been one to take an unjust dressing down without biting back just as harshly, but a Wizengamot meeting was no place for such demonstrations. If she wanted to successfully nudge the Ministry into a more stringent wartime regime she couldn't be seen as anything but in control of herself. It wouldn't have done to affirm certain beliefs that she was nothing but an immature child either. She would have been able to control her pique without Namtar there, but there was no contesting that her ire still would have been visible for all to see without him tempering her.
Namtar also proved to be of great help when it came to research on soul magic. It went without saying that he was a dab hand when it came to matters of the soul. He didn't participate directly — to do so would go against the impartial nature of death — but he answered the questions she asked in a clear, concise manner and he never he tried to gloss over 'questionable' topic like Professor Dumbledore did.
"To taint your beautiful mind with such wicked knowledge would be a crime to my sensibilities," the headmaster had told her once.
Heri had wanted to ask if the headmaster thought she had lived in a bubble her entire life and never learned that there was some fucked up shite out there.
But Namtar never coddled her like that. He treated her with a kind of respect she didn't get from anyone else. That wasn't to say that her family and friends looked down on her — far from it. It was just that . . . Namtar treated her like she was grown. He didn't see a little kid when he looked at her, he saw her as a fully competent adult that didn't need any sugar-coating. It was . . . nothing like she had ever been treated but very nice, especially when she wanted to complete her self-assigned tasks in as timely a manner as possible.
It was because of this great faith concerning her thoughts and decisions that Heri finally concluded that the other semi-divine students could no longer remain ignorant of the reality of the situation with Voldemort.
Heri had been hesitant to involve others lest they be made bigger targets, but if she had help in the form of people like herself . . . well, they needed all the help they could get. Demigod she may be, that did not automatically mean she was inherently capable of single-handedly defeating an army of violent, rampaging warlocks several times her age and experience-level who were headed by the most blood-thirsty Dark Wizard of the modern age. Professor Dumbledore seemed to be under the impression that getting rid of Voldemort's horcruces would be enough to stop the madness, but even taking out the monstrosity that was Voldemort wouldn't make the Death Eaters self-implode or whatever.
Which was why she was now lingering longer than usual after a DA meeting.
Instead of the Room of Requirement they had been using on and off since Umbridge had tried her hand at strangling any potential uprising, they were on the grounds near Hagrid's hut that day. There was a fairly heavy rain that hand been persisting for the entirety of the week that Heri been using to provide training experience for less than ideal battle terrain. Lo and behold, they had been slipping and tripping left, right, and centre, but they eventually got used to the poor visibility and unstable footing. Heri was actually quite proud of them and was glad they were leaving today visibly exhausted but much improved.
"Ernie, call our crowd together," she bid her friend very seriously when the majority of the rest of the club had already left.
"What? Our—? Oh!" Ernie said in realisation at her pointed look. He flicked his eyes to the sides very conspicuously. "You mean . . . ?"
Heri was tempted to roll her eyes at Ernie's complete lack of stealth. It was a good thing she had had the sense to pull him aside first else they would have caught the attention of everybody nearby. As it was, their private discussion had already been noted by the more observant members of the dispersing DA.
"Yes," Heri said instead, channelling all the severity she had. "There's something you all need to know."
One of the things in his life that gave Albus Dumbledore as much pain as it did pleasure was watching as the students under his care grew out of their tender beginnings and became their adult selves. Under his eyes had several generations of the most remarkable and most infamous of witches and wizard took their first steps in achieving their lofty accomplishments. He had seen the start of celebrated heroes and notorious criminals alike. And for every one of them, beloved or feared, he couldn't help but be amazed each and every time that the little saplings that he did his best to coax forward reached the points that they did.
He supposed it was his penance for the follies of his youth that for every bright and beautiful soul he could proudly say he educated there would inevitably be those that would fall to iniquity despite his best efforts. He was no less proud of the shining examples of great potential put to good use, but it always left a bitter taste on his tongue that many would inescapably dig themselves knee-deep into wicked pastimes no matter what he tried.
The best example of this was, of course, Tom Riddle, but that was nowhere near where the list ended. To this day, Albus still remembered the sweet and eager faces of Waldon Macnair, the elder Carrow twins, and even Bellatrix Lestrange when they took their first steps into Hogwarts. Had they not allowed hatred and violence to consume them they could have gone on to be more than the wretched refuse that rotted away within the disgusting den that was of Azkaban.
It went without saying that Albus found himself on occasion wondering which of the latest generation would end up wasting their potential on false gods and pointless hatred. It was no longer a question of if but of who, how many, and to what extent. It was not that he had given up hope in the goodness within them, but he had come to learn very well that the fates of other wizards were not something he had any means of controlling.
And so Albus Dumbledore often sat in his office and wondered over the circumstances he did have some measure of control over and pondered what actions he could possibly take so that the least amount of his students would find themselves at sticky ends.
The focus of his thoughts of late had of course been Herakles Potter. How could it not have been when she was now the turning point of so many aspects of their society? Even outside of her prodigious influence on her classmates she was affecting the inner-workings of their government and the lives of the common people simply by existing. He considered what Magical Britain might become if she began to actively assert her influence and had yet to conclude if such an end would be ideal.
That was not to say that he believed that she would strive for destructive changes as Voldemort did, but Albus couldn't help but be wary of what could come of a demigod and a powerful one as Heri was proving herself to be having an even greater sway than she already did. Albus believed Heri to be a sensible and just-minded girl, but that was the hitch: she was still a girl. She was a young girl still in her infancy by the measure of a wizard's life-span, and she still had so much more to learn of the world before grown wizards and witches should have been looking to her for wisdom and guidance.
What could that sort of expectation do to a child? A child should be free to learn and make mistakes with security in the knowledge that they would grow better in time. With all of Britain looking to her for leadership, she would no longer have the luxury of having her minor mistakes overlooked, and she would learn the hard way that the more powerful the wizard, the bigger the reach and the consequences of their mistakes.
His heart had gone out to Heri when she was so viciously accused by a dearly-kept friend for the actions taken by the Death Eaters. It was as he had feared: responsibility for matters she had no business shouldering were being pinned to her from people who did not realise that she was as human as anyone else. In a manner of speaking of course. It was saddening to see that even someone who should have known her very well still had unreasonable ideals about her. He supposed it was not too surprising; even his own colleagues tended to put him on a pedestal despite coming to know very well that he was far from infallible.
Albus had decided to take Heri under his wing this year. How could he not when she needed a steady hand to guide her through the difficulties she was now wading through? The responsibilities and demands she had decided to impose on herself when she came to understand the reality of the prophecy. He had originally planned to induce a detraction of her duties around the school so she would have less unnecessary pressure outside of aiding him with the hunt for the horcruces, but the stubborn girl had actually added more weight onto herself by declaring she would attend Wizengamot meetings on top of everything else!
He certainly admired her wilfulness, but he could not help but worry she was taking on more than she could manage. Granted, she was still in possession of the Time-Turner she had been granted three years before, but there had to be an appropriate measure of rest even with living every day twice. He wondered if it was a facet of being a demigod that she was able to keep up such a labour-intensive schedule for such a long period of time. Even with all his magisterial positions, Albus did not traverse through the Forbidden Forest every second day to hone his physical combat prowess to the exacting standards of a tribe of centaurs as Heri did; he imagined that he would have succumbed to death years ago if he did.
Since the approach of the winter holidays, a shadow had come to hang over his thoughts as he progressed in educating Heri in his knowledge of the horcruces. Severus had informed him that Voldemort had breached the Department of Mysteries by means of an inside agent and been furious to learn that the prophecy he was after had already been retrieved. Severus' position was made precarious when it was revealed that he had been part of the retrieval and had failed to inform Voldemort of it, but he had maintained his cover with some fast talking and by revealing the original prophecy in its entirety.
"He has become more fervent than ever to see the girl dead," Severus had said grimly in conclusion, his hands shaking in effect from the Cruciatus he had received as punishment. "I suggest you hasten in your excursions unless you wish to see the population decimated once again."
'Decimated'; that was the word Severus had used, and he was not wrong in using it. The last war had been a tragedy of a slaughter, resulting in the end of countless families and clans. Of the children who lived to know a life without constant bloodshed, the majority of them were orphans, outnumbering the children with at least one parent to care for them by a good two thirds. Both sides of the field had lost a devastating amount of lives, and Albus did not relish rehashing such a travesty of a 'purification'. Voldemort had yet to break out into anything larger than the occasional pillaging of a village, but it would not be long before he became arrogant in his powers once more.
They were running out of time. The horcruces had to be destroyed as soon as possible. All of them.
Heri had been a gem in her assistance to him, performing impeccably when Albus charged her with the mission to convince Horace to part with the memory of his conversation with Tom about horcruces so they could gain more insight, and she was always a thoughtful sounding board for his pondering when it came to discussions. Between the two of them they had already found and destroyed Ravenclaw's diadem which she had found in the Room of Hidden Things, a location found within the matrix of the Room of Requirement. If that wasn't enough, Slytherin's locket had been found in 12 Grimmauld Place of all places, hidden in a drawer in the bedroom of the late Regulus Black. He knew he had yet to gain her trust back fully since the incident where he became unhinged in the presence of the Resurrection Stone, and he was loathe to ruin all goodwill between them when he would inevitably have to tell her the reality of the grim situation.
How was Albus to tell a girl not even out of her school years that she would have to perish for the tyrant terrorising the nation to be defeated? How could he expect her to knowingly bear that weight? Already he was asking her to ready herself to fight; how could he ask her to die?
He had come to think of her much like a protégée, one he would have entrusted to carry on the good fight when it came the time that he would leave this plane, and he wondered now if this was another aspect of the penance he was obliged to give that he would have to offer up a child he loved so dearly as a sacrifice to rectify the horrors caused by the boy he had failed the most grievously.
And here she was now in front of him, just come in for their biweekly meeting.
He had heard word from Filius, the Defence Association's club advisor, that she had taken a leaf from Alastor's book and had been working the students to react at the drop of a hat. Indeed she appeared to have gotten her hands on an Auror's training manual somehow (possibly from one of the Aurors now guarding the school) and had been modifying the methods to suit her needs. Filius had gone on with enthusiasm, boasting of not only skilled duellists but surprisingly capable fighting units. They had battlefield simulations every Friday so the students could become used to working together. And, if the diminutive professor was to be believed, Heri had incorporated flying into the mixture as well, gathering up skilled flyers from the available Quidditch players to create a sort of mounted cavalry.
For all that Albus admired the girl for her ability to rally her classmates for confrontation, he dearly wished that they did not feel that they had to do so. He was not blind to the implications of even the youngest of the students being enlisted to train; they believed they were still not safe even within the walls of Hogwarts. He could not blame them for thinking so, of course; in times of troubles such as these, it felt as if nowhere in the world was safe.
She looked positively dead on her feet, Albus noted. If he recalled correctly, she should have just come from Quidditch practice after meeting with the Defence Association. And she was not the type to slack up on the intensity of the exercises simply because she would end up enduring a greater amount of it. It was an admirable trait that he imagined would make the world a more efficient place if it were shared on a greater scale.
He did not envy her the exhaustive work it must have took to head such physically geared assemblies. Even in his long-past youth he was a scholar before anything else, having no great ability when it came to athletics. And it looked now that he had chosen for the best for he surely would not have had the energy for his studies if he had joined in with such activities.
It felt appropriate somehow that she would learn the truth when she felt as if she had nothing left to give.
"Miss Potter," Albus said solemnly, regarding the exhausted child almost trembling in one of the visitor chairs in front of his desk. He hardened his heart. "I regret to say that there has been a detail of grave import I have yet to inform you of."
If there was one person in this world who Draco Malfoy knew for certain that he despised, it was Heri Potter. Blasted Potter who snubbed her nose and chose Hufflepuff of all Houses! Ruddy Potter who humiliated him and chose tubby Longbottom over him! Fucking Potter who undermined his power-plays time and time again! Miserable, damned, beastly, wretched, infuriating shrew of a bitch who had enough gall to usurp his birthright as the heir to the House of Black and then turn around and coerce his own mother into her schemes!
Draco hated her! He hated her more than anyone he could think of! If he could live to see her brought low he could die happily in that instant! When the Dark Lord had instructed him to spy on her to better learn how to destroy her, he had been over the moon!
Since the start of school year, Draco had been covertly keeping an eye on her, keeping track of her as per the Dark Lord's orders. Draco had eyes on her whenever he could get away with it inconspicuously, and his ears were forever to the ground, listening for even the smallest, insignificant details. He had been commanded to have Potter under surveillance, and he wasn't about to muck it up and incur the Dark Lord's wrath.
Draco had only heard stories of the glory days of the war and of the Dark Lord before, but the extent of his temper hadn't been given its due. Oh, Draco's mother had hinted heavily that it was formidable, and his father had actually shuddered at the thought, but those descriptions paled in comparison to what Draco witnessed in what should have been the comfort of his own home.
So, no, Draco wasn't messing around any longer, he wasn't going to bungle what was an arguably simple task — one of the easiest that the Dark Lord had assigned to anyone — and bring down dishonour (at the very least) upon his family. He had seen the torture and suffering the Dark Lord bestowed upon anyone who displeased him (even Severus) and if Draco was to see his family live to ascend to the rank in the Dark Lord's kingdom as they were promised he had to do his job properly.
But, oh, Potter was as slippery as a freshly spawned salamander! If Draco hadn't known better he would have thought she was evading him on purpose! He didn't know how she did it but the only times Draco was one hundred percent certain where she was were when she was in public places, and that wasn't even most of the time. He would catch glimpses of her off and on, but whenever he tried to tail her she would disappear on him. There had actually been a few times where she had turned in to a long corridor that was completely free of any exit save the end of it and when he went to follow after her she was nowhere to be seen! If there were hidden passageways that she was using Draco had yet to find any of them.
Potter had to be leaving the castle grounds somehow, whether with permission or not. There was no other possible way that she would be able to escape Draco so otherwise. The question that came with that conclusion was: where was she going and what was she doing there?
Draco soon came to the conclusion that she was getting out and about with full permission from the school. Why else would Dumbledore ask for her presence so often? They were obviously up to covert operations in an attempt to oppose the Dark Lord! Well, they were leaving on Ministry business at the very least — Wizengamot related judging by the official-looking owls Potter had been receiving — but they were surely trying to sway the rest of the governing body to a more anti-Dark state of mind! And who knows what else? Draco had been living with his father long enough to know that the rate of Potter's disappearances from grounds did not perfectly coincide with the session schedule for the Wizengamot.
But such information was apparently not at all what the Dark Lord had been expecting.
"It is fully obvious to anyone who pays attention that the old fool is involving Potter in something outside of petty Ministry business!" the Dark Lord had thundered as he held Draco under a torture curse. "I want the details, little Malfoy! Exactly what are they doing? What is their schedule for doing it? How can we best sabotage their efforts? Better yet: capture the girl outright and deliver her to me! Are you so incompetent that you cannot handle such a simple task?!"
And so the perimeters of his assignment had been expanded to kidnapping Potter as well.
Draco had the appropriate amount of fearful respect for the Dark Lord — it had been battered into him if nothing else — but Draco wasn't sure if the Dark Lord completely realised what it was that he had told Draco to do. Aside from being damn near impossible to tail for some reason, Potter was almost constantly surrounded by her sycophants; was monstrously strong to the point of insanity; had gone toe to toe against the best of Europe's schools and had won; was now leading the equivalent of an army who had been trained to follow her orders in a blink; and if that was not enough, she had gone against the Dark Lord himself and had survived without lasting damage. Never mind that the school was under Auror security now and Draco had yet to beat her in any sort of confrontation between the two of them yet — loathe as he was to admit it even to himself.
Kidnap Heri Potter? Why not just tell him to kill Dumbledore?! The chances of Draco achieving such things were more or less the same!
But Draco had to. His father was already on thin ice because of his lack of effectiveness at countering the political manoeuvring of Dumbledore's crowd, and his mother had fallen to disfavour when she begged the Dark Lord to not give Draco the Dark Mark while he was still in school. It was only by the grace of the fact that the Malfoy family was indispensably useful that their lord's wrath had not become the end of them. So Draco would take on his daunting task, but he now lived in constant dread that he would one day receive news from his lunatic Aunt Bellatrix that his parents "proved themselves to be traitors by no longer serving their lord in all ways as they should have!" and that Aunt Bellatrix herself had killed them if not their master himself.
Months of no results in any of his endeavours had Draco exhausted and visibly anxious. No matter what tail he pinned on Potter they came back empty-handed. No matter who he eavesdropped on they had no notion of what she was doing beyond what he already knew. Not ever her stupid clique knew anything!
It was getting to the point where Draco was wondering if he would be better off just offing himself to save himself from the painful death he was sure the Dark Lord would give Draco when he came to know just exactly how much of a failure Draco's efforts had been. And then Draco wouldn't have to witness his parent being killed either . . . yes, maybe he should just —
The sound of voices and footsteps made Draco falter in his stride.
Draco had been wandering the school listlessly in a futile attempt to find Potter once again. He had already given up all hope of success, but he wasn't about to be accused of not doing his duty to the Dark Lord by one of the other Death Eater children in Slytherin. Any such speculation would lead to the punishment of his parents, and goddammit, they were all he had. If patrolling the school would spare them any amount of pain, Draco would do it. It was this determination that had seen him wandering towards the Astronomy Tower and stumbling upon a conversation.
"— you sure you're quite alright, sir?" Draco heard someone say.
That voice. That was Potter's voice!
Draco flattened himself against the wall and strained his ears breathlessly.
Was this finally something? After all this time?
"Thank — dear, I'll — just fine —" was the distorted answer Draco just made out over the distance.
Good lord, that was Dumbledore! Draco knew that wizened, absent-minded timbre anywhere! He was hearing a conversation between the Dark Lord's main opposition!
"—ly two left, and I'll bet my left leg Nagini is one of them. He's suspiciously protective of that thing for a man known for his lack of warm emotions," said Potter, her tone taking Draco aback with how low and dark it was.
"I do agree, my dear," Dumbledore answered. "I suspect Hufflepuff's cup may be the other. It would follow the pattern shown."
"He is rather predictable, isn't he?" Potter scoffed. "No doubt he gave it to another Death Eater like he did with the diary. All we have to do now is to figure out which one that is."
"I believe we would do best to look within his Inner Circle. For all that Voldemort is arrogant in his command of his followers, he would not trust any less member than his hand-picked favourites for such a task."
"Well, there was Malfoy the elder, so who else? I don't exactly know his minions by name."
Draco belatedly realised that the voices had grown closer. If he wanted to escape detection he had to slip away now before Potter and Dumbledore discovered him.
Were the gods finally smiling down on him? This was just the sort of information that would put his family back into the Dark Lord's good graces! Objects of great importance to the Dark Lord were being investigated, and if Draco was understanding it correctly they were being hidden by high-level Death Eaters like his father. No doubt they were instrumental to the continued existence of the Dark Lord; the Light side would not be bothering with such things otherwise.
Surely this would appease the Dark Lord, surely he would be pleased that Draco had discovered such a plot! All Draco had to do now was owl the news home and everything would be alright again!
. . .
So why was he hesitating?
As the sound of footsteps and voices drew ever nearer, Draco thought hard on what he had to do.
Draco's hand flashed out and caught Potter's wrist as the two turned the corner. The girl jumped and pulled out her wand and Dumbledore made to step in front of her.
"Please," Draco croaked, his vision blurring with tears of exhaustion and fear. "Please. He has my parents. I haven't been able to talk to my mother in months. Just . . . Please . . ."
It was clear by the nonplussed looks on their faces that this was not at all what they had been expecting, but Draco didn't care.
". . . Malfoy . . . ?" Potter said slowly, looking thrown and distressed.
It seemed the bleeding heart he had often mocked her for bled even for him. Her free hand came up to cup his face and wipe away his tears. It was the softest touch he had received in a long time.
"Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore said very seriously, "I hope you understand exactly what you are asking right now."
"Anything," Draco replied, his head hanging low. "I'll d-do anything at all, just . . . just . . ."
"This is no conversation to be having in an open corridor," Potter said tersely, drawing Draco to her and nudging him to walk with them. "Shall we use your office, professor?"
And so Draco Malfoy defected from the Dark side. He may have hated Heri Potter, but Draco loved his family more.
Two months into the new year, Severus Snape arrived at Malfoy Manor for a Death Eater meeting. After the meeting was adjourned, the manor was placed in total lock-down, ejecting anyone not a Malfoy by blood or marriage. When the phenomenon was investigated by outraged Death Eaters at the behest of their lord, the Malfoy couple were nowhere to be found.
AN: A lot of you guys were very receptive to the change in writing style, making me very happy. The multiple points of view appears to be something that was unanimously liked, something I'm glad about since it's the best way to get nuanced details in there without the MC having to discover everything by themselves, requiring slower chapters. Thanks for the encouragement, ya'll! They really perk me up, especially if I read some during moments when I'm down!
P.S. I hope you lot appreciated the bit of technical talk about stones and crystals during the conversation with the scrying stone. I'm certainly no jeweller or scientist and it took me more time than I'd like to admit to make it sound like anyone knew what they were talking about. As it is, please don't go digging into the actual science of crystals and stuff, because I'm pretty sure that if anyone took a closer look, my BS-ing would become very apparent.