Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to the proverbial Duchess of Magic, JK Rowling, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros and some other high falutin' companies. No matter how much I whine about not owning anything related to the HP universe, other than a few fanfic plots, I do not profess to own - and would never dream of making any money off - JKR's wonderful world... Damn it!
Chapter Ten - A Light Schism
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―==(oIo)==―
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Down for a later breakfast than had become their norm the next morning, Harry and Luna were now 'busy' first thing in the mornings, the two walked into the kitchen to find Sirius was already down and reading the Daily Prophet. He'd already finished his breakfast and was drinking a cup of coffee at the time.
When the two walked in, as soon as Harry sat Sirius slid the Prophet down the table to him. "Front page," he said, by way of explanation.
Unfolding the paper from the single fold Sirius made in it before sliding it down, Harry saw what his godfather meant; there was an attack on a pure-blood home the previous evening.
The Daily Prophet were all up in their wands, not just because the home was a pure-blood one, but because the Order had turned up and not managed to drive them off without injury again. Actually, one of the Order members had been killed - Daedalus Diggle.
Apparently, Tom had sent his Death Eaters to attack the home of the Davises and had just managed to break through the 'surprisingly' strong ward on the property when members of 'Dumbledore's illegal vigilante group, the Order of the Phoenix', as per according to the Prophet, turned up and attacked the Death Eaters.
In the short skirmish, where the order members were obviously expecting the Death Eaters to portkey or apparate out at any moment, they didn't. The anticipation they would and didn't left the Order flat-footed; and, in the skirmish, Diggle was killed by a Killing curse from close range.
The Prophet then went on to say that Diggle had no one to blame, but himself, for getting killed; as the Order of the Phoenix 'has, for far too long, been interfering in the work that is the rightful responsibility of the DMLE'.
Then they called for Dumbledore to be questioned and charged 'for the illegal acts of he and his vigilantes'
After reading it and looking up, Harry looked to Luna and asked, "Why do I know the name 'Davis' from somewhere?"
"Tracey Davis," she replied. "She was a Slytherin in your year, but not one of Malfoy's sycophants.
"Her home has been attacked by Riddle before. That time, her father and younger brother were killed, while she and her mother were able to flee."
Harry, remembering where Luna included that in her scrapbooks, sighed and said, "I'd always noticed there were Slytherins who didn't seem to follow the same agenda as Malfoy. However, when I raised that point with Ron and Hermione, Ron would go spare about how all Slytherins were naturally evil and those who didn't look like it were just better at hiding it that the others; and Hermione would go on about how Dumbledore would let them know if there were ones who weren't likely to follow Riddle. As he hadn't, they therefore must be Riddle followers."
"Actually," she said, "I'd say only about a third of Slytherin students, back then, were going to be followers of Riddle. There was also about a sixth to a fifth of Ravenclaw who were the same."
"In other words," said Harry. "Contrary to what Ronald would keep banging on about, not all Slytherins were 'evil slimy snakes' just waiting for the next dark lord to pop up."
"No," replied Luna, as Sirius said, "Definitely not."
Sirius interrupted and said, "You missed the other main article below it, Harry. It's on your second confrontation with Dumbledore and your handling of the Fiendfyre."
Harry looked back down at the newsparchment and spotted it. He didn't know how he'd missed it, as it had a wizarding photo of him wrangling the Fyre.
"Hunh!" he muttered, as he began to read.
Once done he looked up and said, "Accurate enough. Thank Merlin they didn't know about the Warrior's Honour Ragnok declared he had to bestow upon me."
Sirius coughed up his coffee, but at least it wasn't as bad as the previous day's 'effort'.
"He what?!" he spluttered.
As Luna snickered, Harry calmly replied, "He claims I'm now a hero of the Goblin Nation and, as such, just had to bestow a Warrior's Honour on me."
As Sirius stared back, he finally demanded, "In what form?"
"Ummm... A reduction in bank fees of fifty percent, an increase in returns of five percent, free medical treatment for injuries sustained in battle and recognition of my heroism before the goblin High Council," he replied with a shrug.
Sirius just stared back in shock for a long moment.
"Pup!" he finally exclaimed, shaking off the shock. "Bloody... Merlin's hairy nut sac! Do you know what that means?"
"Yeah," he grumped. "At least one poor goblin kid... mup... is likely going to get lumbered with the name 'Harry' until they've earned their blood name. Leastwise, that's what Luna tells me."
Developing a pained mien as he put his elbows on the table before resting his forehead on his cupped hands, Sirius almost whined, "It means far more than that, Harry."
"Yeah, I kind of figured that," he said. "Ragnok looked quite irritated when he said he had to do it."
With a sigh, Sirius looked up and said, "It means... the goblins now accept you as a warrior on par with a goblin warrior. No longer will a goblin sneer at you when you enter the bank. They see you practically as kin - a goblin in a wizard's body - a fellow warrior.
"You're going to need to be taught how to return a goblin salute. It could be seen as an insult if you don't return such in future.
"More than that, anyone else in the bank at the time is also going to see you get saluted and your returning it."
"Ah!" said Harry, now understanding. Then he shrugged and said, "What's done is done. There's no point in crying over spilt potions."
The pained expression didn't leave Sirius's face, though.
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―==(oIo)==―
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At Malfoy Manor, Voldemort read the two relevant articles in that morning's Daily Prophet in reverse of how Harry had read them.
He already knew about the revel - attack - and wasn't interested in what the Daily Prophet wrote about it. They usually got specific important details wrong, anyway; which actually worked in with his plans to sow misinformation in the minds of the masses.
However, the Prophet was accurate with some important details; such as how Dumbledore and Longbottom weren't there. That confirmed Dumbledore was under 'house' arrest at Hogwarts. And, that Longbottom wasn't there, also confirmed to him that Dumbledore was keeping the young man close by at all times; not letting him out on his own.
It was also accurate in that the Order did not drive he and his Death Eaters off. And was also accurate in that the Order were forced to back off and 'hunker down', waiting for reinforcements; which came late. The Order were only saved from imminent slaughter by the arrival of Hammer and her aurors turning up, en masse.
He was more interested in reading the yet another front page article about the young Peverell Lord.
'An interesting way to deal with Fiendfyre,' he thought. 'Starve it of oxygen with an inside-out Bubble-head charm and smother it that way.
'But, for Dumbledore to have been the one who cast it... Not so much a Leader of the Light after all, are you old man?' And lightly chuckled. 'Oh, how the mighty have fallen...'
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―==(oIo)==―
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After reading the same article for himself, Dumbledore so mightily scowled at it you would think he was trying to burn the offending piece away from, not just the newsparchment in his hands, but the minds of everyone who even thought of reading it.
The loss of Daedalus was upsetting. However, in war, soldiers die. He was doing his best to save everyone on both sides, but death in combat was as inevitable as the sun rising in the east each morning; no matter what he did to try and minimise it happening.
Still stuck in the infirmary, he sent a messenger Patronus to both his deputy and young... Lord Longbottom.
'That boy is becoming far too independent for my tastes,' he mentally sighed.
When both entered, together, he tried to be his normal genial self. "Ahhh... Good morning!" Looking to McGonagall, he pleasantly said, "I wonder if I may bother you to erect the anti-listening and -spying charms, this morning, Minerva."
Without a word, McGonagall did precisely that; making sure to include the old man, Longbottom and herself within the field she erected.
"What do you need, Albus?" she asked.
Longbottom just stood there, looking both dejected and annoyed.
"Ah!" he muttered. "I wanted you here so that, next time I spoke with young Neville, he―"
That was as far as Dumbledore got before Neville moved. He drew his wand and snapped off a very quick stinging hex that nailed the old man in his cheek before Dumbledore even had a chance to raise his wand and fend it off.
Dumbledore had his wand in his hand, but resting on his bed, as the two walked in and had only managed to start to lift it in reflex before Longbottom's stinger hit him.
"Argghhh!" Dumbledore exclaimed in pain, quickly closing his eyes for a moment and raising his offhand to lightly touch his cheek as he winced.
After the wince he opened his eyes and lowered his hand to see Longbottom aiming his own wand, right between his eyes; with his arm at full extension and from a range of only four feet from wand tip to him. The look on the young man's face was murderous.
"Sorry!" Dumbledore was quick to blurt as he watched the young man's very steady wand tip glow with the dark orange of a blasting hex.
"No, you're not," said Longbottom, with the flatness of Occlumency in his voice. "You deliberately had Madam McGonagall here because you assured yourself I would not react violently in her presence. You were wrong. You are not sorry you once again addressed me so disrespectfully, you are sorry you read the situation wrong; you are sorry you, yet again, made a mistake that cost you."
After a very quick glance at McGonagall he turned his attention back on the old man and said, "I told you that if you ever so condescendingly cavalierly addressed me as Neville again, let alone as 'Neville, my boy', I would make a magical oath on my magic and my life that I will flatly refuse to go after You-Know-Who until I have certifiable proof that you, old man, are dead first."
"Mister Longbottom!" gasped McGonagall.
"It's Lord Longbottom, Madam McGonagall," he snapped. "Has Mister Dumbledore's deliberate disrespect of others now infected you, too?"
"M-my apologies, Lord Longbottom," she returned. "I was just so shocked... well, I apologise."
"Is there a problem here, Lord Longbottom?" asked the senior of the two aurors who were stationed in the infirmary that morning. Though Dumbledore, McGonagall and Longbottom were under a privacy bubble at the time, both aurors could still see through it and had seen Longbottom's wand raise, snap-cast curse and remain up to point at the old man. They'd come forward to see what the issue was.
"Nothing that concerns you, aurors," said Dumbledore.
"Something that very much concerns you, aurors," Longbottom corrected. "You see, I told Mister Dumbledore late yesterday afternoon that if he didn't stop addressing me in such a condescending manner, I was going to make a magical oath that I would not go after You-Know-Who until he... Mister Dumbledore, that is... is certifiably already dead first.
"What that means is... seeing as you all believe I'm supposedly the Chosen One to save everyone from You-Know-Who... Dumbledore will have to die first before I go after the man.
"And, just a few moments ago, Dumbledore yet again was condescending towards me by refusing to address me as Lord Longbottom, as you know I must be addressed and as you addressed me.
"So, as you can see, it very much concerns you... doesn't it?"
"Mister Dumbledore," asked the senior auror, having turned to the old man. "Are you truly that big an idiot? Besides doing something so monumentally stupid as casting Fiendfyre in the middle of Diagon Alley and letting it loose, that is."
Dumbledore scowled, huffed and imperiously said, "I have always talked to people as if they are kin. I have done so for almost a century. I am too old to change now."
"Change or be killed," the auror simply stated. "Once it becomes known that Longbottom has made a magical oath he will not go after You-Know-Who until you are dead, the witches and wizards of magical Britain are going to hunt you down and kill you. Do not doubt that.
"You have spent the past three and a half years convincing one and all that Lord Longbottom is the Chosen One; that only he can kill the dark lord. Well, congratulations, they believe you. As such, if it means killing you is what it'll take to get Lord Longbottom to go after the dark lord, then that is what they will do."
Longbottom lowered his wand, but it wasn't because he'd changed his mind. He'd lowered his wand because his arm was becoming too tired, in part, to continue holding it thrust out like he had it.
"I honestly do not believe I am this supposed Chosen One, anyway," he sighed, slumping a little where he stood. "Not after Lord Peverell smacked me about as if he wasn't really trying.
"And let's look at what we know of Lord Peverell, shall we? He's roughly the same age as me. Do we know when his birthday is? Do we know if his parents defied the dark lord three times? No; we know none of that. If he was born as the seventh month dies and his parents defied the dark lord three times... then it's almost certain that it is he who is the Chosen One; not me."
Turning his attention more fully on the old man again, he demanded, "But... have you bothered to check, Mister Dumbledore? Did you even bother to think to ask him before you demanded of us to attack him? No, you haven't, have you; you didn't, did you.
"As Professor Lupin said at the time of the first attack on him, you refuse to provide any proof the man is a dark wizard. You have simply decided he is, because he has access to the Potter vaults in Gringotts. Well, news alert, Mister Dumbledore; so did Harry. And, once upon a time, so did you. Does that mean Harry was a dark wizard? Does it mean you are a dark wizard?
"As such, it's my near-certain belief you've pulled the whole 'he is dark' thing out of your arse; just as Professor Lupin implied. Further, I firmly believe you've only labelled him dark because he has what you covet, the Potter fortune.
"When you've been asked why you believe Lord Peverell to be dark, you throw a tantrum like a whiny little school girl and declare that everyone should just do as you say and believe what you tell. You demand everyone inform you of everything, but flatly refuse to share any information out.
"Do you know what that makes you, Dumbledore? As per the Oxford dictionary, the premiere qualifier of almost every single word in the English language, you are defined as a megalomaniac. Your words and actions are all neatly described by the description of that word in the Dictionary.
"So, am I going to put up with it any more?" He sighed, "No; I'm done! You want Riddle dead? Go find the real Chosen One. I've already figured out it won't be me."
Without even waiting for anyone to say anything, he spun about and walked out.
Everyone, including Dumbledore, were stunned speechless.
As the swinging double doors of the infirmary swung shut, McGonagall whirled on Dumbledore and snarked, "Congratulations... my boy... you may have just killed us all. All because you happen to find pleasure in being blatantly rude to people."
Then she too spun about and walked out.
"Is it now we applaud you, Mister Dumbledore?" the auror smarmingly asked, as McGonagall stalked off.
Dumbledore scowled, looked away and said, "Thank you, that will be all."
"Oh, how won-derful!" the auror again snarked. "Thank you, ever so much.
"It's so nice of you to give us permission to leave. Have you forgotten we are here against your wishes? Or that what you want is irrelevant to us?" He then chuckled and removed the privacy wards McGonagall had thrown up. After a gesture to his partner to follow, he then walked back to the main doors."
It wasn't until then that Dumbledore realised no one, including himself, had done anything about the stinging coming from his cheek where Longbottom's mild stinging hex had tagged him. He raised his wand and fixed it himself.
Later that day he again tried to send for Longbottom via messenger Patronus.
A few minutes after sending it, the large brown bear of Longbottom's own Patronus lumbered into the room, stood up and - in Longbottom's voice - said, "Go fuck yourself!" Before then fading out.
The aurors snickered.
Members of the detail weren't supposed to make any sort of remark or imply any sort of mindset when on guard duty such as this. However, the entire guard detail on Dumbledore really didn't care if he, the detainee, was offended or not; not any more. And they knew they'd not be hauled over the coals for it, once word reached Hammer or the Minister, Bones.
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―==(oIo)==―
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Down in Grimmauld Place, except for the morning for Harry and Luna the day was planned a quiet one for the residents.
Harry, from long experience while he fought a year-and-a-half-long war with the Jaffa was feeling more than magically recovered by the time he went to bed. He was just physically tired at the time. 'Was it an eighteen-month-long war?' he wondered. 'Or, was it far longer and I just didn't know?'
That would be something to try and figure out later, if he could be bothered going through his memories to determine how many on-planet days it occupied.
The next morning, feeling refreshed... and, yet again, sexually sated... Harry and Luna joined Sirius and, low and behold, both Tonks and Remus.
"Good morning," he said, which Luna echoed half a second behind.
"Morning, you two," said Sirius.
Harry could see the look of surprise on Tonks's face, but not on Remus's. If anything, Remus was trying to hide a smirk. 'Damned werewolves,' he thought. 'Them and their bloody noses.'
As the two sat at what had become their normal places at the table, Harry at the foot and Luna to his immediate right, Sirius asked, "Plans for today?"
"Back to Harrods," said Luna. "Harry needs to pick up his custom-made business suit and the rest of the stuff that goes with it he left with the suit maker making the suit.
"After that, he needs to go back to the Alley to be seen. There'll be no Dumbledore to interfere this time, though. However, we won't hang around very long. I need to go in and organise a subscription for Harry with the Daily Prophet. And a trip to Madam Primpernelle's for Sleek-Ezy, also for Harry."
"Then, back here for lunch," added Harry. "Then I want to try and lay out something of a teaching schedule for you lot for this afternoon."
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After their visit back to Harrods to pick up his suit, with Luna using the opportunity to buy more of what would be appropriate muggle to wear if she accompanied Harry to a business function, the pair moved to an out of the way place and had Dobby take their bags back to Grimmauld Place.
Then they headed for the Leaky via muggle means, a cab, and entered through the front door of the pub.
Harry was on the lookout for any of Dumbledore's or Riddle's minions as they entered, but didn't see any.
Moving through the pub, out the back door and on through the magical portal, he asked Luna, "Where to, Love?"
"The offices of the Daily Prophet first," she replied. "Let's get your subscription organised and see what we can do from there."
With a nod he said, "Can you lead the way? I have no idea where it is."
She smiled back and did just that.
As soon as they walked into the nondescript building the woman sitting behind the long counter, the only true furnishing on their side of it, took one look at him, gawked and ran out through a door behind the counter.
"Am I that frightening?" he asked his girlfriend.
"Oh no, Harry," she grinned back. "I'm a senior journalist for their rival, The Quibbler. She's gone to alert the staff I'm in the building."
He grinned and was about to say something when the woman was back. She was leading Skeeter.
"Ah, Lord Peverell," she smarmed. "How wonderful to see you."
With a flat looked back he just said, "Uhh-huh." It was so obvious that Harry didn't believe her, the simpering expression on Skeeter's face slipped for only a moment before it was back.
Turning back to the young witch who was in the room and had hurriedly left before returning with Skeeter, Harry said, "I've come to organise a subscription to your... newsparchment. What do I need to fill out and how much does it cost?"
"Oh, I'm sure I can organise that for you up in my office, Lord Peverell," said Skeeter, looking itching to drag him off to there, right that moment.
"Why?" he asked. "You're supposedly a journalist. Subscriptions are not your job."
Without waiting for a response, he turned back to the young witch. "Miss?" he asked. "A subscription form, please."
After a glance at Skeeter the witch turned back, clearly unsure what to do.
Harry frowned at her. "Miss, if you are unable to do something so simple as hand me a subscription form, perhaps I should contact your boss and ask them for one."
With a little start, the witch purposefully ignored Skeeter, quickly reached under her counter and, a bare second later, the form was in front of Harry on the counter surface.
Harry was going to fill it out and pay for it while he was there, but wouldn't do that now while Skeeter was there, too.
Picking it up, he stared at her for a moment expressing slight anger, before he said, "Thank you." Then he turned away to walk out.
"Lord Peverell!" Skeeter blurted.
When Harry turned back she said, "Perhaps... now that you're not recovering from another fight... a further interview. The people would like to know where you've been these past many years―"
"Where I've been is not something I'm willing to share, Miss Skeeter," he firmly stated before turning away to walk out the door again, form shoved into his pocket. Over his shoulder, he called, "All you need to know is that I am called Lord Hardwin Peverell. And I easily kicked the arses of Dumbledore and his Disorder of the Burnt Buzzards; not once, but twice."
As he held the door open for Luna, he looked back at the older witch and said, "And, if I can kick all their arses at the same time when they were lying in ambush of me, how big a threat are you to me? How big a threat am I to you... if you piss me off?"
Then the two were gone out in to the Alley and away.
Skeeter stared at the door for a long moment, her 'journalist' instincts urging her to chase after them; then shuddered when the young Lord's words finally sunk in.
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―==(oIo)==―
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As they stepped out into the Alley Luna latched onto Harry's left elbow, leaned in and quietly asked, "Fortescue's?"
It took only a second for Harry to agree. Yes, they had breakfast not that long ago, but there was something about Florean's fare... He could, at least, have a cup of tea and some scones with cream and jam.
They sat at an inside table, but with a view back out into the Alley. And had only just sat when the young witch came by to take their order. That's when Harry remembered seeing her at Hogwarts.
As she walked off, Luna quietly said, "That's Martine Copplestone. She was in my year; Hufflepuff."
That's when Harry had it. It was just his sudden remembering the trim of her robes that finally had him remembering what she looked like a few years ago. She was one of the small percentage who's features significantly changed from when they were young teens to when they became adults.
"Hunh!" he lightly huffed. "She's changed a lot."
"We didn't," she said.
"Physically, no," he shrugged. "Psychologically... I think we were likely the two who've most changed."
"No," she disagreed. "We two were probably the best at hiding our true selves. However, we both saw in the other the truth; at least, most of it. You may not have known I― have my gift."
Harry knew her slight verbal stutter was because they were in a public place and she was utterly unwilling to even whisper it when not somewhere at least a little secure.
"However," she continued, "You knew there was something quite different about me. You already knew that most of the creatures I mentioned were a sham. You knew I was using talking about them as a shield.
"Of course, I knew you even better than you thought anyone else did. You thought you'd kept it a secret from everyone; but, those of us who can see past those shields, could see the real you hidden within."
She shifted in her seat slightly and continued, "Hermione saw much of it; she'd worked out you weren't treated well at your relatives. However, that was because she is a very perceptive young lady.
"The Weasleys, too, saw a lot of it, but also thought the way you grew up was normal for muggles because they knew no better. And there were a few others who could, as I've heard the phrase, read between the lines and see a lot of the real you."
"And I could see the real you pop out every now and then," he said. "There'd be these moments... you'd get real focused and determined on something... then I'd see you squash it down and try to ignore it."
She nodded. "I could... things had to happen the way they happened and I couldn't interfere in a lot of it."
"Yeah," he sighed. "I'd figured that out on Hadrian."
"Once you sorted your memories," she nodded.
"Yeah," he sighed again.
After finishing their teas in Florean's, Luna said, "It's time to go to Madam Primpernelle's to see about getting you some Sleek-Ezy for your hair."
Harry developed a slightly pained look, which had Luna grin back.
"It's important, Love," she said. "It'll be one more thing that we can change about your appearance that will alter a 'signature' look about you at first glance. You managed to get rid of the glasses, which removes the biggest one. The second biggest, the scar, is now so greatly reduced you practically have to be kissing you to see it. The fourth is your general appearance, which is altered by your new fit build and the tan you developed while on Hadrian. That just leaves the signature Potter messy black hair."
He still grimaced a little and said, "If you think it is necessary, then I'm willing to go along with it."
"Buck up, Love," she said. "It might also interest you to remember that Sleek-Ezy was invented by your great-grandfather, Henry."
That had Harry perk up a little.
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―==(oIo)==―
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That afternoon, Harry had his four 'students' working through more of converting their own combat spell repertoires into something that was coming close to what he needed of them.
However, after half of the 'class time' expired he had them all stop.
"You've all done well, so far," he said. "You're actually managing to learn how to do it much, much faster than I did. However, fair's fair, that's because I was actually inventing what I needed as I went."
He said it in a way that wasn't self-serving, just honest.
"Now I'm going to use the remainder of our time today to teach you that it wasn't just using single-syllable incantations and reducing... if not eradicating... gestures completely," he explained. "There was one other thing I did that I didn't even realise I'd done for weeks. Speeding your body up."
He then launched into how he literally infused his body with intent-based magic. He wanted... needed... to be faster and used intent-based magic to make him so.
"It requires a lot of practice. It requires you to accept you know it works, a determination to do it, your intent to accomplish it and your will to make it happen.
"You all know how to apparate. This is very close to that. Think about it; deliberation is intent, determination is will and destination is result. And, when you do that... just as you apparate... you feel your whole body infuse with your magic.
"That infusing your whole body with magic is the first step of using magic to be physically faster; to be mentally more aware; to think faster.
"So, the first thing I want you all to do is think about apparating... but don't. It's how I figured it out."
"What do you mean?" asked Remus.
Just then Dobby popped in and said, "Master Harry not be being nearly popping when Master Harry speeds up. Master Harry be using wizard version of elf magic."
Surprised, Harry looked to the elf and was about to ask what he meant, when Dobby beat him to it. "Master Harry be using elf time... di-lay-shun... magic."
"Di-lay-shun? Time di-lation... time dilation?" muttered Harry, before he looked to Dobby and asked, "I use time dilation magic? That is, I slow time down around me so, within the... time dilation field... I speed up?"
"Yes! Master Harry!" the excited elf practically clapped back, as it bounced around a little in happiness.
Harry thought about it for a little while before he muttered, "Hunh! That... actually... makes better sense."
Thinking about it further, he turned to the other four and explained, "I was in a battle with a patrol of Jaffa warriors. They had me pinned.
"So, I was thinking about apparating away and preparing myself to do that while I continued to fight them. I had deliberation and determination in my soul as I continued to battle. I had wanted to set things up so that, as soon as I saw I wasn't going to be able to dodge or shield against one of their staff weapons, I could instantly apparate out before it hit me.
"You need to understand two important points here: One, I had already come to think of Hadrian as my planet, my home, and I was damned if I was going to let someone deny it of me; and two, if they started winning battles I knew that they would know that I could be beaten, which would make kicking them off again that much harder.
"So, I never ran when I could win. I gave them as few opportunities to drive me off as I could. I fought until I was in a no-win situation or had fought my way out.
"It was while infusing my body with magic... what I thought of as ready to apparate out... that I noticed things seemed to slow down. Their blaster weapon bolts slowed, the speed they moved slowed, everything slowed; or, at least that's what it looked like. It took me a little while after that to realise it wasn't them slowing down, it was me speeding up."
With a snort of self-amusement, he said, "After that... it was no longer a matter of if I was going to win, it had become a matter of how long it was going to take me."
He hadn't noticed a satisfied Dobby had popped away again.
When he saw they understood, Harry said, "To make this easier to learn as you aren't in the life and death situation I was in, we'll start with you just holding your magic ready as if to apparate... but not apparate. Magic is a muscle and it needs to be exercised.
"We'll start with that and then move on to accomplishing small tasks, such as juggling a single small ball from one hand to another, while you're concentrating on holding apparation... sorry, time dilation magic.
"Ready to try?"
The four grins back were answer enough.
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―==(oIo)==―
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The next morning Harry was providing individual help to his four 'students' as he'd basically taught them what they needed to learn and that it would come to each of them in different ways and at different speeds.
"So," said Sirius, during a break when it was just him and Luna. "It's really only two things you're doing differently. You've trained yourself to use single syllable incantations for each of the charms and curses; and you're using this new form of elf/wizarding time dilation magic."
"It's more than that," Harry gently chided. "I often use magic in different ways than what people expect."
"An example?" asked his godfather.
"Harry gave a nod and said, "For instance, I use apparation to explore my environment from a position thousands of feet in the air.
"With the exception of what I came to realise were the polar areas of Hadrian, almost the entirety of the rest of the planet was either arid desert or very large lakes that were pretty much land-locked seas.
"Unlike Earth, the surface of Hadrian was about forty percent water and sixty percent land. Earth is thirty percent land made up of large continents and islands and seventy percent water - oceans, seas and rivers. Hadrian was one giant... continent with a few islands in those land-locked seas.
"Because it was so arid I developed a way to explore to find things by apparating straight up about five thousand feet. Then, as I began to fall, I would use my arms as fins to turn myself in the air. I'd slowly turn completely around and have a very good look at everything while I continued to fall, then pick a spot on land and apparate directly there. Then I'd start the whole cycle again.
"You'd be surprised how much land you can cover doing that."
Sirius was looking at him in shocked awe combined with apprehension before he finally blurted, "Yuh- You... actually did that?"
"Well... yes," replied Harry, confused by his godfather's reaction.
"I.. thought you were joking!" exclaimed Sirius.
"Nope," he replied. "As I said, you'd be surprised how well it works.
"I wouldn't do it here, though. Too close to an airport and you'd be picked up on muggle radar. Besides, while aircraft fly at distances far higher than that, they still have to take off and land. As such, they can be passing through that airspace at the time, if you're not careful. It'd really suck to suddenly appear in front of a 737 coming in to land at Heathrow, or something."
"That's... crazy!" explained Sirius. "If you find you suddenly can't apparate..."
"You'd plummet to your death," said Harry. "I know."
"Do it with a broom in your hand, though," said Luna. "There's no risk, right?"
"Other than normal splinching as a risk, no," agreed Harry. "Except aircraft, of course."
"Daammnn!" said Sirius. "Just... please don't do that here," he begged.
"I wont," Harry agreed. "Heathrow, Gatwick and Stansted are international airports just in the greater London area alone. Toss in Manchester and they're the four most active airports in the United Kingdom. It's because they're so busy I know damned well that trying my trick of apparating a few thousand feet up is fraught with the danger of being picked up on radar and/or colliding with a huge jet aircraft doing in excess of two hundred miles an hour. Not good."
It took a bit of coaxing on Harry's part to get the two back to thinking about infusing their entire bodies with magic with the intent to slow time in their direct immediate environment again, but he got them there - Luna faster than Sirius, of course.
Sometimes, in the quiet of his own mind, it scared him just how much trust and faith she had in him. Yes, it might be because she was a Seer and could see what would come, but it was still a leap of trust - if not faith - for her to so willingly open herself to him.
_‗_
―==(oIo)==―
ˇ
Voldemort was angry and had been 'generous' with the number of Cruciatus curses he'd flung about in his 'throne room' in Malfoy Manor. At least half a dozen of his minions had fallen to the Curse before his rage was suitably vented.
The Peverell Lord had, apparently, spent a couple hours that morning in Diagon Alley doing some shopping for robes and, for some reason, potions at the Primpernelle matron's store. However, with such a golden opportunity to approach the man, not one of his loyal Death Eaters were in place soon enough to approach and request he attend an audience with his rightful Lord, him - Lord Voldemort.
When his anger abated he demanded, "Make sure there is always at least one of the Faithful in the Alley, ready to approach him, at all times from this moment forth!"
"Yes, my Lord," those before him all replied, even if a couple of them stuttered from pain while doing so.
When Voldemort gave an order in general, as he'd done this time, all those present were obligated to respond. There had been those in the past who had failed to do so and not many of them were still alive. And those who still lived had felt the pain of a long held Cruciatus for their trouble.
Voldemort did not tolerate being ignored or the disrespect of not being answered.
_‗_
―==(oIo)==―
ˇ
Neville Longbottom had just returned to his VIP suite apartment, halfway between the Charms corridor and Ravenclaw tower, after having been accosted by Ron and Ginny Weasley as he came out of Professor Flitwick's classroom. He'd just spent another hour with the little Duelling Master, training.
Both Weasleys demanded to know why he was now acting so cold towards them.
Finally, he'd had enough and snapped at them, "Because you both flat out lied to me and have been continuing to lie to me for, I don't know how many, years."
When they seemed surprised it was the almost dual expressions of slight guilt that passed over their faces that was the final confirmation he needed.
Staring in furious hate at Ron, he said, "You, Ronald Weasley, told me that your taking of Harry's broom and coin pouch within days after he died was because Harry told you you could have them both if anything happened to him. I've now had it confirmed that was a blatant lie. He did no such thing.
"That, Ronald Weasley, makes you both a liar and a thief. If you want a friend, go befriend Mundungus Fletcher. You two are peas out of the same pod."
Swivelling his head slightly to stare at Ginevra, he said, "As for you... you have been going around, behind my back, telling one and all we are going to get married as soon as I defeat You-Know-Who. That, too, is a blatant lie; because I will be marrying Hannah Abbott.
"Besides, I've also had it confirmed... by quite a number of people... just what it is you were up to regarding sex while you were a student here. You whored yourself out, Ginevra Weasley. And, from the sheer number of people who have confirmed that for me, together with specific details they could only know about you if they'd each had sex with you, I can do nothing else but accept that what they have told me is the truth.
"You are to stop with the slander against me of telling people you and I are going to get married, or I will sic the Longbottom family solicitors and barristers onto you. Their instructions will be to spread the information you have been lying to everyone far and wide; then, if you push back, their instructions will be to spread the information far and wide of evidence of your... behaviour... while at Hogwarts."
Snapping his head around to stare again at Ronald, he said, "As for you, as of this day I will be informing one and all that you are not my so-called 'best mate'. Best mates do not lie and steal from you; as you, while supposedly the best mate of Harry Potter, did that to him.
"I do not and will not truck with thieves, liars and scoundrels; other than having to deal with you as a member of Dumbledore's little Order of the Phoenix, just as I have to tolerate being in Mundungus Fletcher's presence.
"Stay the fuck away from me... the pair of you."
Then, not even waiting for either of them to say a word, he spun about and stormed away.
Now in his apartment he had been pacing back and forth for a little while, wondering what to do next.
However, he already knew what he had to do and also knew he was just delaying the inevitable.
Finally, he gave a huff and called a Longbottom, rather than a Hogwarts, house elf.
"Flippy, please pack my personal effects and take them to Longbottom Hall," he instructed the elf. "Enough is enough; I'm returning home."
As the elf packed he picked up his always-present 'pad' of blank parchment and ever-full quill. He had a note to write.
_‗_
―==(oIo)==―
ˇ
Stepping out of the floo at Longbottom Manor, Neville was greeted by his grandmother standing behind a marble revetment with her wand drawn.
As soon as he stood up, she barked, "Password!"
"The Seven Virtues," he immediately replied.
"Your pet toad," she said. "What did your Uncle Algie name him?"
"Squirt," he immediately replied. "But I named him Trevor." Then, not even pausing, he demanded, "What is your nickname for Aberforth Dumbledore?"
"Goat felcher," she more calmly replied, stepping out from behind the marble shield. "Neville."
"Gran," he returned.
"Finally had enough, have you?" she asked.
With a huff of combined annoyance and sadness he returned, "You were right, Gran. Dumbledore's a manipulative old wanker; the Weasleys are... users; the others... they're Dumbledore sycophants."
Augusta nodded back. "I'm glad to see you're waking up to that. I feared I had completely lost you. What brought this on?"
Getting a little frustrated, he replied, "Dumbledore's actions against Lord Peverell; both times he's met the man."
"I thought as much," she nodded.
"He... Lord Peverell, even with Dumbledore working to protect me and over half a dozen other Order members there, gave me a magical spanking, Gran," he explained. "He did it so easily... so effortlessly. And, if he can do that to me, what hope do I have against You-Know-Who?"
"As I told you, very little," she sniffed. "Yes; you are clearly a powerful wizard, Neville. However, the dark lord has decades of experience on his side and he has the depth and breadth of the dark arts he can draw upon. With Dumbledore's demand that none of his Order use anything but incapacitation magic against their opponents, the old man is firmly on the path of utter failure of his objectives. You know this."
Neville sighed again, walked over to one of the couches in the room and collapsed into it. "I really started to lose faith in the old man when he had us attack Lord Peverell the first time.
"However, when we attacked him the second time... that's when three important things occurred. The first was how easily Peverell spanked me. The second was Dumbledore clearly losing the battle. And the third was Dumbledore casting Fiendfyre, of all things, before apparating out and leaving the Fyre to run rampant. And he did that last just as a way to cover himself while he escaped. He also left the rest of the Order to fend for themselves."
"He's a coward," said Augusta.
When Neville turned a surprised look upon her, she explained, "Until now he's been the most powerful wizard on the battlefield. He's been utterly assured he will be victorious. This time, though, he's come up against someone who can obviously beat him. And, because of that, he has shown his true colours.
"I dare say his casting of Fiendfyre was because he panicked with fear and cast the first thing that came to his mind to cover himself to allow himself to withdraw. That it was dark magic he immediately turned to, so as to effect that withdrawal, shows the so-called Leader of the Light is not so Light, after all."
Sadly he said, "There was so much about both confrontations that do not gel with what Dumbledore supposedly believes, but does if you first accept that Dumbledore is completely wrong."
"Oh?" she asked; though she did not disbelieve her grandson, as she'd always thought contrary to the old man's mantra.
"Lord Peverell used only Light magic when he took us all down that first time. If anything, he only used simple stunners and shield breakers; though I've never seen anyone that fast before. Not even Professor Flitwick is that fast; and Professor Flitwick was the fastest I'd ever seen until then. He had us all, including Dumbledore and Mad-Eye, down within seconds... and there were twelve of us.
"He also warned all the people who were standing around and watching that he was about to step off the bottom steps of Gringotts; and that they should seek cover, as he knew Dumbledore would have us attack him as soon as he did.
"He didn't have to do that. He did it because he didn't want to see anyone hurt. That's what a Light wizard would do; not a Dark wizard."
"Exactly," his grandmother firmly replied.
"Then, there was the second time... there were less of us," he continued. "And that time he only cast at me prank hexes. It wasn't hard, in hindsight, to see he was giving me a lesson. And that lesson was, I will have no chance if I ever properly come up against You-Know-Who."
"I know," she said.
"Then, from figuring that out, I'm left with a... belief. And that belief is based on certain factors Dumbledore seems hell-bent on no one finding out."
"Oh?" she asked.
Looking his grandmother in the eye he asked, "Lord Peverell is approximately the same age as I am. What I want to know... and what Dumbledore seems determined no one finds out... is when is the Lord Peverell's birthday? Can his birthday be seen as 'when the seventh month dies'? Did his parents 'thrice defy' the dark lord?"
Surprised, Augusta said, "That's three very good questions. You believe, if the Peverell Lord was born 'as the seventh month dies' and his parents did indeed defy him three times, he's the true Chosen One."
"Yes," he firmly replied. "We know he didn't attend Hogwarts. Therefore, as You-Know-Who attended, I haven't truly learned of 'the power he knows not' from the school. However, as Peverell didn't attend Hogwarts, then it is more likely he has learned the power 'He-Who' hasn't, rather than me.
"The more I think about it... analyse it... the more I'm coming to believe Lord Peverell is the Chosen One. If we can discover his correct date of birth, even if we cannot learn if his parents defied the dark lord three times, then I think that will go a long ways towards confirming that Lord Hardwin Peverell is the real Chosen One."
His grandmother nodded back with pride in her eyes. "Well reasoned," she stated. "And, I think I know how we can learn that."
Curious and not a little hopeful, he asked, "How?"
"I need to talk to my old friend, Amelia," she replied. "As Lord Peverell is a Lord, especially one we now know is also the new Lord Potter, then it behooves her to meet with him to... discuss matters."
_‗_
―==(oIo)==―
ˇ
After recovering enough from the loss and reattachment of his arm he could be released from the Hogwarts infirmary, Dumbledore was quick to demand his house arrest be widened to allow him, as he put it, to attend to his duties as Headmaster.
After much grumbling on her part, Director Connie Hammer of the DMLE had to allow it. Dumbledore had managed to get the word out that he was unable to protect the students while locked within the infirmary and needed the run of the school to properly protect them. The parents on the Wizengamot and the School Board then put pressure on her to allow it.
However, that same pressure was also showing her she'd not get the numbers to convict the old man for his casting of Fiendfyre in Diagon Alley. So, while she gave every indication she'd still be taking the matter before the Wizengamot, she knew it was pointless. Therefore, the matter would be quietly 'shelved' until after You-Know-Who's final defeat - then Dumbledore would face all those charges in consecutive trials before the Wizengamot until such time the Wizengamot had no choice, but to convict the old bastard.
She was playing a waiting game.
Not knowing that was her tactic, Dumbledore was happy in his ignorance of his own self-importance to worry about it. However, even though he'd managed to have his house arrest widened to include the entirety of the school, he was still restricted to only the grounds of Hogwarts - much to his displeasure. While the parents wanted Dumbledore released from the tight confinement of the infirmary at Hogwarts, they still wanted him forced to stay at the school. After all, he couldn't protect their precious children if he was off gallivanting about the countryside and away from Hogwarts.
Immediately after his release from the infirmary, the old man had gone to his office and tried to summon 'young Neville' to him. However, it took the calling of a Hogwarts house elf to deliver a letter for him for the man to learn he was no longer in the castle.
"Where is he?" he demanded.
"He is gone home, Headmaster Whiskers," the elf replied.
After sending the elf off he was immediately on the floo to Longbottom manor to demand Neville's return.
With his head in the flames and looking into the Longbottom manor welcoming room, he was then forced to wait over a minute and a half before Augusta Longbottom entered the room.
Before she had a chance to say anything, he got in first. "Augusta, I need to speak with your Neville. Please summon him."
"No," she immediately replied.
Surprised by her snapped response, he said, "It is vitally important I speak with him. The security of the wizarding world is at stake."
"Prove it," she snapped back.
Surprised, he was a moment before he stammered, "P-pardon?"
"If the security of the wizarding world is at stake based on whether or not you speak with my grandson, prove it," she replied. "If you won't, this conversation is over."
With a huff, he said, "The nature of what I need to speak with Neville is of such sensitivity I simply cannot speak with anyone else about it, but he."
"In that case, goodbye Albus," she said, raising her wand.
As Dumbledore looked back in shock, she brought her wand swishing down and he suddenly found himself flung from his office floo, as he was forcibly ejected from his office fireplace. She'd force-disconnected the call.
Landing on his butt a good four feet back from the fireplace, he stared at in shock for a moment before his face morphed into one of anger.
Climbing back to his feet and unconsciously dusting himself off, he took the two paces back and tried to reconnect the call. It wouldn't connect.
Raising his wand he was about to use the power of the Elder Wand to bull his way through when one of the aurors, still tailing him everywhere including his office, gave a pronounced cough.
"If you're about to attempt what I believe you're about to attempt, Mister Dumbledore," said the auror. "I'm afraid I will have to stop you."
Holding his wand tightly in his hand as he forcibly squashed down on his anger with Occlumency again, it was a moment before he imperiously said, "My conversation with Madam Longbottom was inexplicably disconnected. I merely wish to ensure nothing untoward has happened to her."
"In that case..." the auror began, pulling out his badge. He tapped on it in a few places and returned it. "There. A team of aurors will contact her directly to ensure she's safe. That's what we do, Mister Dumbledore. That's one of our jobs... not yours."
Frustrated, Dumbledore simply said, "Very well."
Not able to re-contact Longbottom manor via floo call for the moment, he returned to his desk and turned his attention to the 'Peverell problem'.
Pulling a sheet of parchment before himself and ignoring the presence of the auror, he picked up a quill and began to list what he knew of the Peverell man. Admittedly, he knew it would be a short list. However, he saw it only as a start to learning all he could. His intent was to 'prove' Peverell could not be the Chosen One and, with that information and using the argument of elimination, 'prove' that the Longbottom boy was.
The man could not have come out of nowhere; he had to have a history, no matter how well hidden it may be. He directed his attention to finding out the man's basic information; his age, his birthday, the name of his parents, his friends, that sort of thing.
He would be surprised to learn, if he ever bothered to find out, he was by far not the only one wondering those details.
_‗_
―==(oIo)==―
ˇ