AN: A quick reminder for Arc 2: Please remember that Harry went back in time the summer after his fourth year. This means he lacks a ton of critical knowledge about the past that he gained especially in OotP (e.g., about how the wizarding world reacted to the first war, about the Order, his mum and dad's relationship, specifics about Snape's relationship with the Marauders, Snape's fifth-year argument with Lily – remember, they're all finishing their sixth year now -, Sirius' home life and so on.)

XII. The Devil Reversed

22 April, 1977

"You cannot be serious."

"Aye, I am, an' you'll do it."

"Oh, c'mon! No! Why?"

Ab rounded on an indignant Harry. "Why? Why? I don't know, because you're a wizard, that's why!"

Harry sputtered. "But, but, but what about the whole 'people can't know I do magic' thing?"

"Don't be thick, boy," Ab grumbled. Merlin, teenagers. "We want the Ministry and wizarding Britain in general to think you're a squib, sure, but there's a much bigger world out there that don't give two shits what you are. You're a wizard, an' from what I've seen you've got some talent, which I don't aim to have you squander. 'Sides, if they ever do find out you're what you are, you'd have to do it anyway. This takes care of all that." The boy still looked defiant and Ab glared. "Don't make me say 'you'll do it 'cause I said so'."

Harry dug into the bar with toe of his boots. "You know, the one good thing about all this was that I at least didn't have to take tests." His lower lip threatened a pout. "I don't wanna take my O.W.L.s!"

Ab stared flatly at him. "That's some expert whingin' you're doin' there, lad."

Harry had the grace to flush a bit. "Fine, fine. Have it your way," he surrendered. "I'll start studying and I'll take the bloody O.W.L.s. When and where will I be doing this, anyway?"

"I'm thinkin' this winter. We can have you do it in Belgium – they offer the test in English for home-schooled kids there."

Harry sighed. "I don't even really know what's on them, though! Hermione always took care of that stuff."

"Bah, there's study guides we can get easy enough. I can help you with Defense and Potions – they were always my best – an' you'll surely be spendin' time helpin' Hagrid at the school for your parole, he can teach you Creatures far better than the moron Kettleburn could, and he don't even need to know anythin' about you havin' magic. You'll also probably have to work the greenhouses in the summer, so pay attention. Pel'll probably be fine with helping you with History of Magic, though he'll be useless for anythin' else. You don't even need to study of Muggle Studies. You do Runes or Arithmancy?"

Harry shook his head. "Divination."

Ab snorted. "Well, if we need to, I bet ol'Wigol will help. Hell, crazy fuck probably knows half your story already anyway, and even if he were to say something', no one would understand him."

Rows of crystal balls and predictions about Muggle soap operas came to Harry's mind. I was right – Wigol does do Divination or something.

Ab looked thoughtful. "Well, that leaves Astronomy, Charms, and Transfiguration. Screw the stars, no one cares about an Astronomy O.W.L. As for the others, wanded courses are the most important. I know you can do Charms on your own – all that wandless shit and those little rocks of yours prove that well enough. I can help too. Transfiguration … well, you don't have to be great, you just gotta pass."

When Ab put it like that, there just seemed so much to do. "But Ab, when am I going to do all this? Between working here and having to do that service bollocks, how will I find time to study?"

"You're my charge, boy. That includes seein' to your education. Head ran just fine before you got here, she'll sure run fine if you're makin' potions rather than washin' dishes. We'll work it out."

Ab pushed back his cleaned breakfast plate, stood and grabbed his cloak. "As for now, I'm curious what you can do with a wand. We're goin' to your cave, and then the Forest."

This had Harry grinning with excitement. It felt like it had been forever since he'd done any proper magic, and his hand already itched to hold familiar holly and phoenix feather.

Teenagers, Ab lamented.

An hour later saw an unlikely quartet standing in a glade not far from Harry's original practice grounds (before they were rendered unusable by the fallen giant tree). Ab shook his head in disgust as Colin pranced around, shaking his thickening main of black hair exuberantly. Goat, who had just shown up without preamble as they were walking from the cave, ignored them all and began scarfing down some wild marjoram.

"All right, lad. Let's start with you showin' me your best defensive spell."

Harry bit his lip. He knew several shields, and there was always Expelliarmus but … He brandished his wand and thought – felt – hard for a happy thought.

Christmas at the Head. People no one else wanted, people like me, having a place. Gifts from Hagrid and Ab. The war of the chessmen on Dalcop and Pel. Hot chocolate that someone who cares made for me.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Silver-white mist surged from his wand and coalesced into the shining form of …

Of not Prongs.

He gaped as the massive glowing bird gave a single wingbeat and then glided effortlessly through the glade before alighting on a nearby tree branch and sending Harry a questioning look.

"Oh, um, hello," Harry stuttered in shock. "I was just – don't worry, there aren't any Dementors or anything here." The bird slowly shimmered away.

Ab raised an eyebrow. "Damn fine patronus you got there."

"But, that's not my patronus!" Harry exclaimed. "Mine's a stag – it's always a stag!"

"Don't you know shit about the spell you can do, boy?" Ab barreled on without waiting for a reply. "You think of happy memories to do it, yeah? Well, did you think of the same happy memory this time as you used to? Did it involve the same people, the same sort of happiness?"

Oh. I guess … no, it didn't. Different people, different place, and the happiness was different too. It … it wasn't about wanting something, like it is when I think of Mum and Dad or Sirius. It was more about already having something.

Ab was watching him closely. "I can tell by your face it wasn't. See, the memory not only powers the patronus, it determines it, what it looks like. Person practices enough, they can make a bunch a' different patroni, dependin' on how many different types of happy memories they can use." He leaned against a tree thoughtfully. "I'm sure you could still make your stag, just have to think a' the things that make him real for you. I know my brother can make at least five different ones, though the bastard always uses his phoenix when others are gonna see it. Flashy git."

Harry hid his grin. Hearing Ab insult the headmaster was always funny, and he was deeply relieved that he hadn't lost Prongs forever despite his rather unfavorable opinion of his teenaged father. "So what do you think this new patronus was? All I could tell what that it's a big bird."

Ab shrugged and had Harry cast it again.

Whatever it is, it's huge. Hell, it's wingspan's almost as big as Buckbeak's!

"Albatross, s'gotta be, bird that big," Ab pronounced as the bird slowly faded away, "Definitely one of the giant types … maybe a Wandering Albatross, if I had to guess."

A faint memory of his Muggle schooling flitted across Harry's mind. "An albatross? Aren't they bad luck or something?"

The old man sighed. "What the hell are they teaching you, boy? No, in fact, most sailors think 'em rare signs of great fortune if left alone to their business. They'll fly on to wherever they're headed through any type a' storm, so they say, no matter how dangerous. Every so often one'll follow along with a ship on a long journey – most believe it a sin to kill one, no matter how hungry a crew may be." Harry missed the searching look Ab sent him.

"Oh. Well that's good then," Harry finished lamely.

Ab ran Harry through all the shields he had learned, nodding in general approval but barking out a number of unknown spells that he wanted Harry to look up and master.

"Now! Let's talk offensive spells. I hope you got somethin' that packs more of a punch than that stupid Expelliarmus you said you used against that Dark Lord bastard. Show me your best, an' I don't want to hear Reducto. Already know you've got that one covered."

Harry grinned internally. He knew just the spell to show Ab.

"But … but … but that's a fucking bread-slicing spell!" Ab gasped, dumbfounded, staring at the newly-fallen tree.

"Yep."

"A bread-slicing spell!"

"Mmm-hmm." Harry wasn't really one for sounding smug, but when he did, he pulled it off brilliantly.

Ab nearly snarled in frustration. "Explain."

Harry smiled. "I just have to really believe that the target is bread, and it works. If I don't, nothing happens."

"You just believe it's bread? That's it?! But … that's not how it works." The man suddenly looked a little lost. "Don't think that's how it works, at least …" Aberforth paused for a long moment and then licked his lips. "You got more?"

"Oh yeah," Harry's grin got larger as he pulled out his battered copy of Tweeny Twig's Guide for Young Domestics. "Want to see what happens when you really believe a tree is a carrot and cast a peeling spell on it? Ever think about what would happen if you cast Scourgify at someone – not thinking about their mouths, like parents do for kids that use profanity – but thinking about their eyes or even their brains? Or what happens if you cast a refilling spell at a person's stomach so that it fills them with their own blood to the point that it surges up their digestive track and chokes them?"

Ab stared as Harry continued thoughtfully. "Difference between all these spells and the normal defense ones is simple. There's shields for things like Expelliarmus and Reducto and Stupefy and, more importantly, people react with shields when they hear those spells. If a wizard hears a carrot-peeling spell … I'm not sure he'd think to throw up a Protego. Plus, do you actually think any of the rich, poncey, house-elf owning purebloods in Voldemort's army actually know what most of these spells do? They'd be completely lost if they heard the incantations." He smiled triumphantly. "And the best part? None of them are illegal or even Dark. Just simple, innocent, household spells."

Ab continued to stare, a strange look in his eye. "You've not just been learnin' to defend yourself, have you lad? You're … you're goin' to war."

Harry blinked. "Er – maybe … Yeah, I guess, though I still have to figure out a way to fight without messing up the future." He sighed. "Still, the way I see it, war's going to come for me, just like everyone else, whether I prepare for it or not. Just looked at what happened the other day!"

Four days after Harry's trial ended, Voldemort had staged raids at the Muggleborn outreach offices in Cardiff, York, and Belfast. Luckily their wards had held, but a number of magical and non-magical people outside the buildings had lost their lives. From the reports in the Prophet, the DMLE was working like mad to contain the news and convince the Muggles that the attacks were the products of disgruntled Irish revolutionaries.

He sighed and toed the dirt. "Look, Ab, I know I've been lucky so far against Voldemort and the Death Eaters. I … I don't want to be just lucky anymore."

The old man nodded slowly and gazed at the remains of the tree that Harry had used Panemseco on. "Bloody fuckin' hell, lad." He shook his head and spat. "You're goin' to war armed with household charms." Ab slowly began making his way back to town, shaking his head and muttering darkly about Potters, teenagers, and insanity.

The two arrived at the Head not long after a scowling Quisby had opened for the afternoon. As could be expected on a weekday, the public room was nearly deserted, but for a group of four – including Wigol Palter – seated at a table drinking tea and apparently playing cards.

As Ab took off to do something or other, Harry grabbed a sandwich from the kitchen and set himself up at the bar to eat, smiling as he thought again about Ab's shocked reaction to the bread-slicing charm. I actually think I impressed him!

"Oh, look at that smile! Yes, this is a kindly little Devil turned on his head, one who resists being the scapegoat and bowing to tradition, resists allowing the status quo to remain, yet still knows joy!" crooned an ancient, feminine voice.

A laugh of derision from another woman sounded. "True, but the Five of Wands awaits him – he won't stay happy with such a lot for long, will he?"

Wigol murmured something that set the others to nodding and clucking.

"Oh dear," the first voice gasped, "look at that – the Tower with an upright Six of Swords! Poor little Devil reversed, it can be so hard to have to grow up …"

What are they going on about?

Brow furrowed, he turned and found the group at Wigol's four-top peering at him. He'd seen them in the Head before a few times, three very wizened women and Wigol, but hadn't really paid them much mind. Conversing with old ladies was not, he believed, his forte.

"Er-, sorry, were you talking about me?"

The woman whose seat was at the fore of the table and who'd spoken last favored Harry with a smile that was a bit too wide and had a bit too much teeth for his liking. She was old – ancient, really, her skin was white and papery, her hair, pulled back in a bun and covered with a fuchsia lace doily, was nearly the same color. Too much plum-colored lipstick covered her lips and, he noticed, several of her teeth. Her burgundy dress belonged in the nineteenth century, a true gown complete with puffed sleeves and cameos. Really, she made Dumbledore seem young. But it was her eyes that unsettled him. Bright, dark purple eyes that flashed and peered at him with a disconcerting clarity.

"Ah, young man, you've caught us out! My apologies for any rudeness, dear." Harry made to politely assure her that no offense was taken, but she was already speaking again. "I don't believe we've met, my dear. I'm Moira Pemphredo. Professor Moira Pemphredo." She held out her hand imperiously, fingers tilted downward as if she expected him to kiss it. Harry walked over and shook it instead, much to one of her companion's amusement.

Before he could introduce himself, she was again speaking. "I am, of course, a professor at Hogwarts, as I'm sure you knew."

Harry blinked. "Ah, well it's nice to meet you, ma'am. What do you teach there?"

The other two women snickered as Professor Pemphredo's smile faltered slightly. "Why, Divination, my dear, the Art of Seeing and Knowing."

"Oh. Er – that's nice." She narrowed her eyes. "I mean, it sounds really cool," Harry tried again. She must be Trelawney's predecessor … Why are Divination teachers all so – so – so much like every word they say should be capitalized? "So, I've seen you all in here before, playing cards and other stuff."

The three women seemed scandalized, but Wigol flashed him a toothless grin.

"Boy, we are hardly 'playing cards'!" Gasped one of the other women. "We are unlocking the Fates, charting the Unseen Lines that guide the Universe, casting ourselves into –"

"They're gambling," Quisby interrupted with a smirk.

The women huffed up indignantly while Wigol laughed.

"I – I don't understand."

Quisby snorted and answered before any of the women could. "There's a surprise, squib. Anyway, they come in a couple times a month and make predictions and bet on the outcomes. Next meeting they see whose came out best, argue like old cats for awhile, and then divvy up the winnings. It's not just tarot cards and tea leaves, neither. Oh no, they'll bet on anything."

Wigol happily held up the notebook Harry had seen him writing in when they had watched the telly together. "Crnatshunshtret!

Harry squinted and tried to puzzle that one out. "Wait – did you say Coronation Street, Wigol?" The man nodded. "Are you telling me you … do what? … divination gambling on a Muggle soap opera?

Quisby laughed. "Yeah, heard ol' Wig here took them for more'n a hundred galleons last year on that Muggle shit alone!"

Wizards are just so weird sometimes.

Professor Pemphredo sniffed in disdain. "Yes, well, not hard to see why you couldn't pass your Divination O.W.L., is it Mr. Rakefire? At any rate," she rose and creaked over to Harry, putting a boney arm around his shoulders, "you, my little upturned Devil, have quite the interesting spread already! Why don't you come over and we can try to See more about you?"

Wigol giggled.

"So, you're uh, all Seers?" Harry had long since come to agree with Hermione that Divination was a very woolley discipline, but he most certainly did not need prophetic busybodies taking an interest in him. If they can See even a little, I'm humped.

"Of course!" simpered the third crone, the only one who hadn't spoken yet. She peered at him from under a black lace Victorian mourning veil that matched the somber black taffeta her frail body was swathed in.

Pemphredo sent her an indulgent smile before muttering to Harry "Well, all but dear Cassiopeia … one of the many misguided interlopers, I'm afraid but, well," she cackled quietly "her money's good."

"Oh," Harry choked out. I really don't want to be a part of this conversation anymore. "That's … really nice. It was great to meet you all, but I, uh, have to get back to work in the kitchen now!"

"No you don't," Quisby, that traitorous git, piped up, grinning broadly.

"Yeah! Yeah I do. Ab said so. So, uh, I'm sure I'll see you ladies again. Have a pleasant time … doing all that. Later Wig!" He left the pub at a near run, headed up the back staircase, and only stopped when he reached the Yellow Room, hoping to have a more rewarding conversation with Ariana.

An hour later, Harry was gratefully rescued by Ab. His conversation with Ariana had not been as enjoyable as he'd expected. Apparently the poor girl had wandered into the cityscape that hung in the Red Room the night before and had found Yarda Gobermouch 'entertaining' a client, to her horrified fascination. Harry was thus unexpectedly thrust into the uncomfortable position of explaining sex to the scandalized young portrait. He was fairly sure that he'd done a rubbish job of it, and suspected that it would take weeks for Ariana to stop blushing and casting appalled little looks at his pelvis. The diagrams had definitely been a mistake. Now I get why Ab didn't have any paintings in the guest rooms. And if she mentions any of this to him, I won't see sunlight for months.

His relief at Ab's sudden presence, however, abruptly disappeared. "Aurors are downstairs for you," was all he said.

Shite.

Harry had been expecting them, of course, but the single day he had thought he'd have to wait for them turned into two, then three, then a week. He'd been quietly hoping that the Ministry would just forget about his parole meetings. No such luck.

He noted with some relief as he entered the public room that at least the gambling seers were gone but for Wigol. His relief only increased when one of the two red-robed Aurors near the door turned around and flashed him a familiar friendly smile.

"Alice!" he beamed. "I mean, uh, Auror Fawley! Are you my – I didn't expect you."

The young Auror's smile broadened "Harry, it's great to see you without bars between us! Yep, you are looking at the official Auror overseer of your parole!"

At this her hulking companion turned around. "Goyle?!" Harry couldn't help but yelp. Oh shit, I didn't just say my nickname for him out loud. Please tell me I didn't.

Auror 'Goyle,' whom Harry remembered well from his trial, frowned. "Mr. Harry, I didn't think I'd told you my name before," he remarked in confusion.

There was a beat before Harry's mind caught up with that comment. Seriously? He really is a Goyle? I – I thought that they would all be Death Eaters or something, but at the trial he seemed … pretty decent actually.

"Lucky guess, I suppose," he choked out, trying to smile.

"Well, anyway, Goyle and I are going to be in charge of you. Honestly I shouldn't even be here as a trainee, but, well, no one else was really interested in taking your case, so they let me. I'll be your main contact. Goyle's just on to make sure I don't arse up the paperwork." She gave him an apologetic look, as if Harry would have preferred a real auror. He snorted internally. "Sorry it took so long for this visit, but I expect you know about the attacks … Things have been pretty busy. Plus now with what happened to the Hogwarts professor!"

Harry's ears perked up at that. "What are you talking about?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Figured you'd have heard. Apparently the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Statim Moriens, managed to off himself while trying to show his NEWT students how to do some counter-curse the other day. They're pretty sure it was just an accident, but Aurors are investigating just in case it was something more sinister."

Goyle cleared his throat meaningfully. "Sorry to interrupt, but this isn't a social call. Fawley, you take care of making sure he understands the realities here. I'll arrange for his service to wizards with his custodian. Be back at HQ in an hour." With that he waved a glaring Ab over to a table in the back and began pulling out parchment.

Discreetly rolling her eyes at her companion, Alice linked her arm in Harry's. "Let's go out and do this. I haven't really had any time to visit the village since I graduated!"

Harry grinned as they strolled around the corner and then down High Street, with Alice chirping on about her various adventures in the village as a student. She seemed entirely unconcerned with the occasional glares sent her way for acting so pleasantly around Harry.

Indeed, Harry had only been out in the village once since his trial and had been met with an even more chilly reception than he was used to receiving. Witches and wizards crossed the street when they spied him or watched him from windows, wands in hand and eyes furious. Only one had dared to speak to him, an ancient old woman who hissed "Wizard-killer" as he passed her. A few, however, had seemed more speculative than angry. When he had passed the 'Sticks, for example, Rosie had given him a strange sort of half smile.

Alice prattled on, immune to it all.

The two spent some time looking in the windows of Honeyduke's and Zonko's, though moved off from the latter fairly quickly. An old man in rags was sitting against the storefront, begging for spare coins and muttering darkly to himself in wheezing voice. Although Alice gave him a few knuts and a sickle, he hissed wordlessly at the pair of them.

"Sad that," the young auror observed as they hastened on their way.

"Yeah, you don't really seem homeless people or beggars in Hogsmeade," agreed Harry, thinking back to the disappointment he had felt last August when he realized the village would offer little in the way of dumpster-diving.

Alice sighed. "With the way the war is going, we'll probably only see more folks down on their luck, especially squibs and Muggleborn."

At one point they bumped into Celeste, the perfectly coiffed shop-girl from Gladrags. His eyes widened as the cold and abrupt young woman broke into a smile at seeing Alice and proceeded to spend several minutes talking excitedly with her. Apparently they had been dormmates in Hufflepuff. When she finally took the time to notice Harry, the shop girl gave Alice a strange look. but she was polite enough, compared to most of the other villagers at least.

"Your clothes are an improvement on last time," Celeste archly observed.

Harry laughed. "Yeah, thanks for recommending that place to me."

The girl looked uncomfortable and seemed to search for something else to say. "You … you look different – better – without your glasses."

"Thanks!" Harry grinned.

"You wore glasses?" Alice cut in.

He grimaced. "Yeah, they were broken in the … well, with everything that happened. After I came home Ab got me this brilliant potion that keeps my vision perfect. I have to take it every five years or so and it tastes like goblin piss, but it's definitely worth it!" And I look even less like James Potter, so there's less of a chance of discovery.

Both young women gaped at him. "But, but Harry the Oculi Corrigendi potion is really expensive! Your custodian actually got it for you? Wow!"

Harry's eyebrows raised, but a warm feeling settled in his stomach. "Yeah, yeah he did. I didn't know it cost so much …" He had to concentrate to keep a silly smile from his face.

Celeste eventually departed with many promises to Alice to meet for drinks in the future. Somehow I don't see a girl like that having those drinks in the Head.

The pair soon passed the monstrously pink storefront of Madame Puddifoot's Tea Shop, and Alice pulled him to the door. "I haven't been to Puddy's in forever! Let's do the official tripe here. They have the best biscuits in Hogsmeade!"

Harry followed her in with obvious reluctance. He'd never been inside, now or in the future, but felt that no biscuit could be worth subjecting oneself to this many bows, cherubs, and lacy pink frills.

A very stout woman in her early thirties with black hair that cascaded out of a bun in perfect ringlets bustled over to them, all sweet smiles and bright eyes. "Miss Fawley, my dear girl, how marvelous to see you!" She talks like she's sixty, not thirty. "And who is your frie – Oh." As soon as she caught sight of Harry standing awkwardly behind Alice, her smile evaporated. A glance at Alice had her clearing her throat overly delicately. "Auror Fawley, dear, while I always appreciate your custom and think it lovely to see you, I'm afraid that I can't allow my establishment to be used by the Aurors for, ah, official purposes."

Alice looked a bit confused, but grinned. "Oh, not to worry Madame Puddifoot. Harry and I are just here to go over a few details and enjoy some of the best tea and biscuits in Britain!"

"Yes, well," the older woman's hands twisted nervously in her apron, torturing the fragile pink lace that edged the garment. "I'm afraid, Auror Fawley, that some elements are simply not welcome here, whatever the reason and whomever their company." She tittered. "You do understand of course, my dear. Why, I have a reputation to uphold!"

The handful of other customers in the shop – all women, whose median age seemed at least seventy – watched the goings on shamelessly.

Indignant confusion marred Alice's typically open and friendly face. "I don't – are you saying you won't let Harry in here? Seriously? Why – ?"

"Auror Fawley!" Puddifoot herself seemed shocked at the sharpness of her own tone and immediately adopted a more simpering approach. "Dear, this is my establishment after all. Please, do come back anytime yourself, of course."

"This is – !"

"Alic – Auror Fawley," Harry interrupted. "Let's go." He looked around the fussy tea shop in disdain. "The air in here is rather rancid, after all." He turned on his heel and strode out the door, not turning to see if Alice actually followed him.

She did, her round cheeks as red as her robes and her eyes flashing. "What the hell was that?!" she fumed as she followed Harry down a less populous avenue to a small park. "She wouldn't even let you in!"

As they sat down on the benches Harry quirked a smile. "Well, I am a convicted murder meeting with his parole officer. I'm dangerous."

The young Auror looked appropriately sheepish, remembering their first conversation, then frowned. "Oh. Well. I guess that is true." Alice worried her lip for a few minutes while Harry watched the birds. "She seemed to know you. Have you been in there before?"

"Nope, this was my first time. Though most of the village knew of me a bit, I think, even before the Macnair business. I try to avoid most places, but sometimes Ab has me run errands to the ones that'll let me in."

Alice goggled. "Wait – you mean there's other places that won't sell to you just because you don't have magic?"

His humorless laugh seemed to startle her. "Well, yeah, Alice. Most places won't. That friend of yours – Celeste – she wouldn't let me buy anything at Gladrags when I first came here, even though I had plenty of gold. She wasn't really horrible about it, said it was company policy, and even pointed me to Jinky's Jumble. Other folks don't even bother to be polite. That cobbler, Cordwaine, I think, he drew his wand and threatened me as soon as I entered his shop. Some are okay enough – like Rosmerta – but most … not so much. And this was all before Macnair."

The Auror looked near tears when he finally glanced over at her.

"Alice? I mean, don't you know this?"

He was concerned that she'd worried her lip so much it would start bleeding before she finally responded. "Yeah, no, I don't know. When I was little I knew that being a squib meant that my family wouldn't want me anymore, but I guess I never really thought about what it's like to have to actually live as one. I thought … I thought people were, I don't know, better or something."

She looked down at her boots and toed the designer's name stitched in gold on the side. "I bought these as a graduation present for myself a few years ago. From Cordwaine. He was really nice to me. And Celeste is probably the most Hufflepuffian Hufflepuff I know."

Alice heaved a sigh and seemed to sink deeper into the bench. "I just don't like seeing people I thought were good not being good, I guess. Makes me think of how they would have treated me if things were just a bit different … And I'm mad at myself for never noticing how people like you are treated, I guess."

Harry wanted to say that, in his old life, he'd never bothered to think about how squibs were treated either. That doesn't make me a bad person, he thought, what's bad is when you do notice, but ignore it or go along with it. Instead, he smiled. "Look, Alice, there's no reason to beat yourself up. You've been one of the nicest people I've ever met. I – I'm really glad I had you when I was in there. You made it better, so much better than it would have been. And the fact that you're this angry on my behalf? Well, that's great. It shows what sort of person you are."

He paused thoughtfully, "As for the others, well, I know you can't change people unless they decide to change. Celeste probably is a really nice person. But she's not perfect. She's not even mean, really. She's just … ignorant about some things, I guess. Maybe seeing us being friends or whatever will help her change, I don't know. Either way, I certainly can't expect a warm welcome in the village anymore." He widened his eyes into a mock-scary face. "I'm a deranged murdering squib, after all!"

Alice laughed a little, catching on to the fact that he was referring to the descriptions of him that had been in circulation prior to the trial. When he'd been released, Dalcop and Dung had taken great delight in quoting some of the more scathing Prophet articles. Even three years before I'm born I can't escape bad press, Harry had thought wryly. Pel and Ab weren't surprised when the final outcome of his trial was only reported in a small piece several pages in and below the fold, in an article that didn't even mention Ab's name. Apparently both the Ministry and the Dark Lord's supporters considered his trial a public relations wash and were content to focus on more potentially productive avenues.

"Well, speaking of that, time to do the boring stuff." She pulled out and resized a shrunken sheaf of parchment. "What all this is essentially stuff I'm supposed to read you about how wizards are amazing, squibs are lowly scum, and you're lucky we let you remain part of our wonderful, magical world. Sign your initials at the bottom of the last page verifying that you have read or heard the contents of the packet and understand them, and then we're done!"

Harry groaned and turned to the first page of the long, scrawling text to begin reading. Ugh. Legal language.

Alice's mouth dropped open. "Wait, you're not actually going to read it all, are you? We'll be here forever!"

It was very long and tedious. But the Goblet of Fire … "Alice, I'm definitely going to read it all. It'd be stupid not to – you're asking me sign some sort of contract thing without knowing the terms! No way am I going to accidentally get sucked into some magical contract with the Ministry – not after all that's happened!"

"But – but, Harry, I swear it's nothing. It's just a bunch of crap and then you sign it to verify that you read and understand it!" she sputtered.

He sighed. "I do believe that you think that, but I won't trust them. Get comfortable."

She sat back in a huff, muttering about a date that night and stupidly long documents.

Reading it was as torturous as Harry expected it to be, even as Alice kept making puppy dog eyes at him, hoping he'd give it up. Statement after statement was full of words like "heretofore" and "aforementioned," all essentially beating it in to him that squibs were worthless. By the time he finished, he was sure he couldn't sign it.

"There you are!" a male voiced boomed into the park. Alice perked up immediately and turned to the newcomer with a broad smile. "Frank! What are you doing here?"

A tall, broad-shouldered young man with dark hair and Auror robes was striding over towards them. His serious face brightened when he looked at Alice. "Well, Goyle said you'd be back by five, but it's just after six and we were supposed to meet…"

"Oh, damn, I didn't realize I'd been gone that long! Someone just had to read the entire document I gave him before he'd sign it!" She rolled her eyes in Harry's direction. "Harry, this is my boyfriend Frank. Frank, this is Harry, the kid I told you about."

Frank eyed Harry sharply before he decided to stick out his hand. "No offense, but that's Auror Longbottom to you."

"Longbottom?!" Harry yelped. He shook the man's hand in a daze. Auror Longbottom?! As in Neville? Neville Longbottom? He supposed he could see the resemblance, though this man looked far more capable and confident than his former dormmate.

Suddenly the voice of Igor Karkaroff boomed in his mind. "… This man took part in the torture by use of the Cruciatus curse of the Auror Frank Longbottom and his wife!" His wife. Frank … and Alice Longbottom. (*)

Oh God.

Alice's friendly round face. Her infectious smile. He knew that smile, only he was used to seeing a far more rare and shy version of it.

Oh God. They're Neville's parents. Alice is his mum. And … and they don't really make it through the war.

The air is in lungs felt wrong, and Harry wanted to cry, to scream. He really, really liked Auror Alice. But Frank was looking at him strangely. This is not the place to lose it.

"Yeah," Frank said slowly. "Longbottom. You know the name?"

Harry forced himself to smile. "Actually I do." Breathe, for fuck's sake. "A long time ago I sort of met your mother really briefly, I think. Ah, big hat with a vulture on top, right?"

Frank's suspicious face melted into a smile in return. "Oh, that hat. Yes, you're thinking of Augusta Longbottom."

"Well now that we're all caught up," Alice said, sounding a bit annoyed, "Harry, please initial the damn thing so that I can go on my date. Please."

Harry's face fell. "Look, Alice, I'm really sorry, but I can't. The shit in here … Like this bit here basically says that 'the person who signs this believes that every witch and wizard is better than he is.' I mean, come on. I'd be lying if I said that I think some bloke like, like Quisby Rakefire is inherently better than me! What happens if I do initial this but I don't believe any of it? Does the magic in it punish me or something? Am I contractually obligated to believe this tripe?" He was breathing very fast. Focus on the contract, not on Alice.

She put her face in hands while Frank smirked. "No, Harry!" Alice protested. "I swear, this is just pro forma bullshit. No magic in this anywhere! Plus, since you just initial it, it doesn't count as a contract or anything. It really is just a bureaucratic heap of bullshit that you'll never see again or have to think about again after you sign it. I swear." Frank was nodding.

I trust her …

But not enough.

"No, I'm sorry … but walk with me back to the Head. I'll show it to Ab. If he says it's fine, I'll initial it immediately."

Both young Aurors groaned, but accompanied him readily enough.

"So, Quisby Rakefire?" Frank said. "He's your example of a wizard lower than you?"

When Harry shrugged helplessly and nodded, Frank burst into laughter. "Well, I'd say that's fair enough. Thanked the fates that I was born a few weeks early, else I would have been in his year and had to share a dorm room with him."

"Wait –" Wasn't Neville's dad a Gryffindor? "You were in the same house as him?" he asked incredulously.

"Yep, both Gryffindors." When Harry continued to look astounded that Quisby Rakefire had been a lion, Frank shrugged. "Everyone's got to go somewhere. I always figured that, whatever else he is, Rakefire certainly had the loud and brash bit down. He still go on about Rosmerta and his rightful future inheritance?"

Harry laughed, continuing to temporarily squelch his horror at Alice's identity, and the three spent the remainder of the walk telling funny stories about everyone's least favorite bartender.

They cornered Ab in the head, and when he verified that Harry need not be concerned with initialing the packet, the younger man marked the final page with an 'H,' much to the relief of his parole officer.

"See you next month, Harry! Try to be good until then!" Alice trilled as she walked out of the Head with her boyfriend. As the door closed behind him, he heart Frank say into her ear "I see what you mean."

Harry watched them go, his heart close to breaking. He hoped they had a wonderful date, a wonderful night together.

Because they seemed like a sweet young couple.

Because they're going to be tortured into insanity in four years' time.

Bile welled up in his stomach and he barely managed to make it to the private loo next to the kitchen. He violently vomited until he felt like he couldn't have anything left in his body to expel, then sat on the floor of the loo, eyes vacant.

At some point Ab came in with a glass of clear, cool water that still tasted sour when Harry gulped it down.

"They … I really like them. Especially Alice. She's … good. In a way that most aren't."

Ab nodded wordlessly.

Harry suddenly felt the tears streaming down his face. When did I start crying? He sat there and sobbed for what seemed like forever, Ab making no move to leave but no move towards him.

The words came without him expecting them.

"They – neither of them – they don't make it through the war! Their son, he's my mate. I – I know what happens to them! I know when it happens and one of the bastards who does it! And they walked out of here tonight not knowing that their lives are way closer to being over than they are to starting! And I, and I, and I, and I –" his sobbing threatened to render him inarticulate, I can't breathe, I can't breathe.

He felt Ab's firm hand on his shoulder and looked up gasping into pale blue eyes.

"And I don't know how to save them! I can save them, yeah, I think I can, but if I do, won't that, I don't know, change things so that I'm not the person I was in the future, and then I don't ever come back, so I never am here to save them in the first place? I'm just, I'm just not smart enough to know what to do!"

Harry sobbed into the silence.

"Neither 'm I, lad," Ab said in a low voice. "I wish I knew the answer for you, but I don't. We have to fumble through, I suppose. We're just human, after all."

A vicious, mounting fury suddenly snapped itself to life inside Harry. "THEN—I—DON'T—WANT—TO—BE—HUMAN!" he roared and clutched his gut as it roiled against him once again.

Aberforth's hand moved to cup Harry's cheek. The sudden, unexpected intimacy of the gesture shocked Harry's rebelling stomach into momentary silence. "I know, lad. Been times I don't want to be human either. But I am. And you are."

He suddenly dropped his hand and stood, his face clouding. "Now as for doin' somethin' about all this, about savin' everyone, which you seem so bent on doin', ever stopped to think that maybe it's damn foolish to think it's up to a fifteen year old shrimp to save the bloody world? Ever stopped to think that maybe you think too damn much of yourself to even dare have the notion that you have a chance of savin' it? Worst type of narcissism, that is. You're a kid! It ain't your fuckin' job!"

Harry stared at Ab with wide, shocked eyes. Ab's sudden anger made him feel strangely calm, and a lancing clarity stabbed through his mind. He licked his lips. "Maybe. Probably. Yeah, it's probably not my job to save everyone, or to save the world, or even to save Alice, or my mum, or whoever. Okay, fine. But…" But what? "But I'm the one who has to live with myself. And I can't do that if I don't try to do something."

"Bah, spare me your moralizing bullshit! I tend my bar, keep myself to myself, an' I live with myself just fine. I let people save themselves. You haven't learned it yet, but there will always be another war, another threat, another day some poor, well-meanin', dumb fuck has to save the world or the helpless or whatever. Nothin' changes. Best get used to that," he spat.

"Liar."

The hissed word lashed out and speared across the room.

Ab rounded on Harry with the speed of a striking snake. "What the fuck did you say?"

Harry stared at him, a creeping numbness invading his entire being. "I called you a liar. You don't stay out of this war, I know you don't. I know you do way more spying for your brother than you've let on to me. And I know that maybe you think you've given up, but that's bullshit. Because you saved me. At least twice. Once in the Forest when you brought me here, and then again at Macnair's. You saved me, I think, the first time because you're a decent person, and decent people save other people when they can. That's what they do. You saved me the second time because you give a shit about me, and people try to save the ones they care about." He shook his head violently. "And don't you dare even try to say that if it was you who'd gone way back in time that you wouldn't be killing yourself thinking of a way to save Ariana."

The old man recoiled as if Harry had punched him.

A cold, biting disappointment pumped through Harry, making him feel fierce, making him feel bold. He stood and faced Aberforth. "Don't you dare stand there and play the worst of hypocrites, trying to make me lose faith in the world even when you haven't, much as you may wish you had." Harry curled his hands into fists and scoffed. "I'll try to save my mum and dad, and Alice, and maybe this stupid, stupid world because I give a shit about them, and because I'm a decent person, and because I think I can actually do something that may be worth something!"

Ab was staring at Harry as if he had never seen him before.

"So, Aberforth Dumbledore, you either help me figure this out, help me do this, whatever I'm going to do, please, or … or just shut the fuck up and mind your business. You say you're good at that."

They stood in the grimy, poorly lit loo looking at each for a long time.

Finally Ab sighed and murmured he'd go over his study and "service to wizards" schedules with him in the morning. Harry nodded mutely and slid to the ground after the old bartender had left and closed the door. The cool porcelain felt soothing, and the room was quiet. He sat there as the hours ticked by, thinking about Alice, about his mother and father, about Ab.

He knows I'm right.

He's a good man.

He wishes he'd lost hope, but I know he hasn't.

He'll come 'round. He'll come 'round.

(*) While I try to reference the books rather than the movie, this scene in the book is much wordier, and I doubted that Harry would remember the exact phrasing, which I really needed him to do here. For the sake of simplicity, I'm using the movie scene of Karkaroff's trial rather than the multiple trial scenes we get in GoF ch. 30.

I hope that you enjoyed this first chapter of Arc 2! As always, thank you for reading, and thank you for your comments!