Beta: Julie. fjad
Chapter Fourteen
Bureaucracy
—
The last time he closed his eyes, he had been at Hogwarts, in his bed, falling asleep.
That meant that what he was seeing was a dream, Severus concluded, and he relaxed a bit.
He was sitting in a funny looking, Potter-inspired armchair, which was a close relative of a big bubble. He had a bathrobe on, and Severus couldn't say what material it was made of—it felt very soft to the touch, cool to the body, but warming as well, and it was so silky that he barely felt it. His feet were in a bubble-like basin with warm water and some sort of emulsion inside, and the flows and streams felt like heaven. He had had a foot massage before—it was an excellent way to relax one's mind-and it faded in comparison to what he was experiencing now.
The heavenly massage went on, and Severus closed his eyes. If he was dreaming of having his feet massaged in the most enjoyable way, then why not relax and actually enjoy it.
"I especially like how the pinkie-toe tickles in the shishi-sashishi solution with a drop of wickle-tickle." The voice cut through the beautiful music he was listening to, and Severus was alert in a second.
Potter, adult, dressed in the same cloak as before, was sitting in the nearby bubble-chair, his feet also in the massage-bubble, his green eyes shining with wickedness as he winked at the stone-faced Severus.
"Get the hell out of my dream, Potter. I didn't invite you over." Severus sneered, and he tried to pull his naked feet from the massage-bubble, only to find them stuck.
"I paid twenty-three credits for both of us, and until the procedure is over, you don't go anywhere, Severus." Potter replied with an easy, careless smile, enjoying Severus' confusion as to what was going on, and continued, "No one ever invites me over, to be honest with you, so I don't take offence anymore. I do have a lot of fan groups and admirers, but as soon as I really decide to come over, they all disappoint- screaming and running away instead of the promised warm welcome is all I ever get."
He didn't really like the picture of the person Potter was drawing for him. Somehow, Severus believed the man, and not only because the sceptre was making every hair on his body stand, even though Severus had a feeling this thing wasn't even activated.
"I really like your conclusions."
Damn it all! It was his dream, so how could Potter be reading his mind?
This was his dream and he could control it, since it was his mind, so why was Potter here? He did think all evening about the mystery that was Harry Potter, but to have the adult version he remembered from the memory stalk him in his own dreams…
"This is my dream."
"Yes." The idiot even nodded.
"Then how are you here?" Severus tried not to panic when he couldn't wake up. He could always wake up when he needed to, thanks to his proficiency in the Mind Arts, but now…
Now he was stuck.
"Don't worry so much, Severus. I promise all your worrying won't change anything anyway, so why worry? I fail to understand how your hair is still black, unless you colour it…" Potter stopped at Severus' angry face, before continuing in a softer voice, talking to him as if Severus were mentally unstable. "I am where I want to be. And since you so nicely had visited me earlier, you therefore created a special bond between our minds, allowing me to pop over anytime. Cool, right?"
"Get out." His dignity was the only thing that stopped him from trying to drag his feet out of the damned bubble that kept on massaging.
"Nope."
"What the hell are you? Where are we?" Deciding to use the time to get to know the enemy— he meant Potter-the-memory—Severus leaned back into his bubble.
"In your dream." The bastard actually laughed.
"This is not a memory because time and culture like this do not exist, and therefore it's all in your head, Potter. You're crazy." Severus managed to not moan even when the intensity of the massage changed and now all the spots that were being massaged by water were purely pleasurable and released tension.
"I prefer 'eccentric' to crazy, but I assure you, Severus, that I am real and this is a real memory I am allowing you to experience while you're simply sleeping. Shouldn't you be more thankful?" Potter's snort towards the end made Severus grit his teeth, but he was thankful. The massage was heavenly.
"If you refuse to tell me what you are, then at least tell me what your goals are."
"Oh…Goals…" Potter's eerie sceptre was again used as a scratcher, and even through the distance between them Severus could feel its terrifying aura. "I don't have any." And smiled like the idiot he was.
"None?" Seriously? Potter did not make any sense.
"I am old, Severus. I have seen it all and, additionally, I cannot have any goals because of what I am." Potter smiled at Severus' expression of surprise at the honest statement, and continued. "I have a very weird collection of family members, but we're not related in a sense you would understand." Potter spaced out, like an old man telling his story. "I was created with only one purpose, and it is up to me what I do in between the times when I have to do my job. I tried this, I tried that…I am lazy and I try to postpone my duties, but sometimes I just can't ignore the call anymore, and I appear. It is then up to you, humans, if I stay or if I go. I am very fair, but I really don't have any objectives." Potter seemed detached, as if talking about someone other than himself. "I just don't give a shit, Severus, about anything. You like me already?"
That was more like it. It seemed that Harry had inherited the attitude of 'I don't give a shit' from his older memory. Severus still could not tell what exactly Potter had done to his mind to create such a powerful memory-presence, but whatever it was, it had to be possible to explain with logic.
"If you say it's a true memory, why have I never heard of such a culture and time?" He needed to think of what Potter had told him. His beliefs were clashing with the new reality, and Severus wasn't sure he understood what was going on in the world anymore.
"Who said you haven't?"
That just did not make any sense.
"So I have?"
"Definitely. While I don't work often, when I do, I prefer to have my progress written down, at least by someone, somewhere."
He did not know such places as this one, no matter what Potter was babbling about.
"Next time I'll show you something very interesting, but now you can wake up and go listen to Albus Dumbledore's lies about one very interesting person, who suddenly up and left his teaching position without any logical reasoning. I'll gladly listen to your recall of the conversation later on."
What was Potter talking about?
"How powerful are you?" Severus asked, not taking away his eyes from the sceptre. "Can you defeat the Dark Lord?"
Potter's eyes were large and seemed truly surprised before the boy doubled over and roared with laughter, tears rolling down the cheeks.
Severus did not know what caused such a reaction—or, he did know, Potter was simply crazy—and Severus continued watching the laughing figure of the man in the shimmering cloak.
"Oh ye, oh ye…" Potter stopped laughing, still hiccupping though, and then, suddenly clear, serious green eyes were trained on Severus.
The shine in his eyes was getting brighter and brighter, and the outer ring of the sceptre shone a blinding white, before Potter smiled a tiny smile and put the sceptre back into his robes.
"Oi, my friend, I assure you, Lord Voldemort is not your biggest concern anymore." Potter's voice was dead serious and for the first time since meeting adult-Potter, Severus felt unease at the sight of those green eyes.
"And who is the biggest threat then?"
He knew the answer even before Potter's lips opened and the boy breathed out one word, before kicking Severus out of the memory and his own dream.
"Me."
Xxx
He needed a break.
He needed just one day to breathe out, but it seemed that he'd only rest when he'd be dead.
Albus closed his tired eyes for a second before composing himself, and putting a polite smile on his wrinkled face, he walked into the room.
He had just told his staff and students about Professor Quirrell's departure due to personal reasons, not mentioning the fact that Lord Voldemort had been running around the castle all this time.
He had to go to many disgusting lengths because of Tom, and getting rid of Professor Quirrell's body was one of them. Tom left Quirrell no chance since possessing him, and it had to be done.
He was a murderer and he would have to live with it for the rest of his life, but he just couldn't allow Tom to influence Harry in any way or form. The boy was way too unstable and unpredictable as it was without Tom's assistance.
He had seen Tom's soul leave Quirrell's body and his theory about Horcruxes was confirmed.
At least he had won some time.
After breakfast, which was weird in its own right, he had received an urgent call to the Ministry of Magic.
He had expected to see Cornelius Fudge alone, but it seemed his assumptions had been wrong. Opposite of Cornelius sat a woman, dressed better than even Narcissa Malfoy, with brown hair put together with a shining clasp. Albus paused for a second before greeting the always sweaty Cornelius, and again looked at the woman, who had now turned around.
He was losing his mind, as it was not possible. Albus had always had a great memory, and now his memory was telling him that something was very wrong.
"Petunia?!"
Xxx
His old, wrinkled hand was holding the papers, and his tired, blue eyes were looking over it, but his mind refused to believe it.
Petunia Dursley was a witch and after being rejected by Hogwarts—by himself—she had later attended Salem School of Magic in the States, and was now a qualified Professor to teach magic.
She had personally taken Harry from him, or so was written on the paper, and had a memory to prove it. Vernon was a banker and was away on business trips most of the times, and their son, Dudley, was attending a private tutor from the Magically Gifted school.
He was dreaming or he had gone insane, like Severus had thought.
Petunia Dursley had had zero magic in her when he had seen her the last time, but now, even Albus had to agree that the woman was magical, and not only because of the wand in her hand. She gave off the normal magical aura, instead of the standard, dull, muggle one.
Not possible! This was not Petunia Dursley, but it would come up during the investigation—that this imposter would want to initiate, no doubt—when she'd be tested with Veritaserum, and blood-related spells. He was Chief Warlock and he would not let the imposter go through with whatever plan she had.
"We," Fudge paused after an awkward smile, "the British Ministry of Magic, have to start an investigation as to why this wonderful lady wasn't accepted to Hogwarts, and why she was declared muggle."
Dumbledore's hard eyes were looking over Petunia's face as he tried to understand what was happening.
"Lily had always been the favourite, but it was my magical right to learn magic when I was eleven, and not ten years later. Professor Dumbledore, as you can see, I am no muggle." Petunia's voice was sure and soft at the same time, and she looked so honest...
"Where have you been, Petunia? How did you allow someone like Jim Moriarty to come close to Harry?" This definitely was not Petunia Dursley. The problem was that he was the only one who knew it. He and Severus. All others would buy this story with open mouths and wide eyes.
"Moriarty?" Petunia looked at him with eyes that weren't lying and Albus did not know what to believe anymore. "You mean Mr. Richard Brook? Harry's baby-sitter?"
This was not Petunia Dursley, and Moriarty was no Mr. Brook.
"Dumbledore, maybe you and Mrs. Dursley could speak in private before we have to start the official hearings?" Fudge seemed nervous as he collected papers from his desk. "I have a meeting with Mr. Holmes in ten minutes and I don't want to be late."
"Cornelius, may I suggest you rearrange your schedule so we can go together?" He was not going to allow someone as simple-minded as Fudge to deal with sharks like Mycroft or Sherlock Holmes. Fudge would sell his Ministry and not even notice it. It didn't bother him that Fudge, who was weaker both mentally and magically, held a higher position than himself. Albus did not want to be Minister of Magic.
"But Albus, you have so many things to do. I am the Minister of Magic and I'll do just fine." Fudge took his ugly hat and smiled at Petunia.
"Mrs. Dursley, it was a pleasure meeting you. I hope your troubles will be solved soon." Dumbledore did not like the feeling that he was the only one in the room who was missing something, especially when Petunia smiled back at Fudge. "The pleasure is all mine, Minister Fudge. I hope your meeting will go as you have planned."
He did not like their smiles, even if there was nothing sinister behind them. He just felt weird now.
Fudge shook his hand and left through the portkey, leaving him with Petunia Dursley who wasn't a muggle anymore.
The world had turned upside down, and he had been too busy to even notice it.
Xxx
His head was going to explode.
Not from the million thoughts and complicated deduction processes, but because of utter and sheer madness—to put it politely—he had been listening to the last half an hour.
According to this Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, Harry Potter had an official guardian, who had been previously labelled Muggle, when instead she turned out to be magical and very influential. The same aunt had confirmed that Richard Brook was Richard Brook and not some Moriarty guy, and since wizards gave Magical Oaths when needed, their word was trusted more than muggle.
Meaning his.
"Let me get this straight, Minister Fudge," Mycroft started in a soft tone that meant no good for anyone. "Are you trying to say that we have to release Moriarty because the new aunt declared him Harry Potter's babysitter?" Even the dullest would hear the underlying sarcasm in his speech.
"If you put it that way…" The idiot Minister, who was an arrogant and pompous cretin, smiled before adding, "Yes."
"I am sorry, what?" Mycroft cast a disapproving glance at Sherlock's best friend, Dr. Watson, who had been silently listening from the couch, while Sherlock was staring out of the window.
"I demand that you release the babysitter of our Boy-who-lived." Fudge really pissed him off with his arrogance and stupidity.
"You can demand whatever you want when you're in your ministry, but in my ministry that's not how it works, Minister Fudge." Sherlock looked at him briefly, upon hearing the steel notes in Mycroft's voice, and looked out of the window again. If his brother started using drugs again because of those mad men….
"No need to get offended, Mister Holmes. Just return to us what is ours and we will have no problems then."
No one had ever spoken to him like that, in such an arrogant tone, as if Mycroft and the whole Ministry were lowly worms, if not worse.
"Moriarty is ours. He's Muggle, so even your Ministry of Magic would not be able to do anything," Mycroft almost sneered at the annoying face and blinked when he thought the Minister's eyes shone yellow for a millisecond.
"Ah, you see, there lies the problem." Fudge started twirling his hat on one finger, pissing Dr. Watson off as well.
"And what may that problem be?" Mycroft leaned back in his chair to observe this weird wizard who had asked for a meeting with both Holmeses the day before.
He actually preferred talking to Dumbledore. Even though Dumbledore was very hard to read, then with Fudge it looked worse as Mycroft's observations were constantly changing and there was nothing he knew about the Minister of Magic for certain.
"Richard Brook is muggle, however, Harry Potter is very important to our world, and if the word came out that simple muggles are torturing Harry Potter's childhood friend, then there will be consequences."
"For you?" Sherlock's straight question almost made Mycroft smirk, but it was Fudge who had smirked instead.
"For you."
"Is that a threat, Minister Fudge?" Mycroft asked, rising from his chair, just like Fudge was.
The small, beady eyes of the Minister of Magic were looking at him, and Mycroft felt a shiver run down his spine.
This was not a joke.
"A threat?" The Minister laughed a bit before getting serious and looking at all of them with an arrogant expression on his pale face. "Consider it a promise."
Mycroft saw how much effort Sherlock had to put in to not react, and he was proud of his little brother.
Oh, Sherlock…Sherlock took the news about magic worse than he did, wanting to see and understand how everything worked; wanting to see the wizarding world, but it wasn't possible. It was bitter to realise there were people who had such a gift, but then again, he himself wasn't the missed out one. He was a genius and even his bright brother seemed often dull and slow. But he would never be able to fly, to change a stone to a glass with a flick of his wand, to teleport anywhere in the world without having to use planes and helicopters.
Potions, that's what Mycroft wanted the most, and even if he did get them, he couldn't use it on himself, or those who he cared about. Since they all were Muggles, most magical potions did not work the way they were supposed to, or had such severe consequences that he wouldn't dare give his brother a portion of Felix Felicis.
Moste Potente Potions was one of those books he had read with extreme pleasure.
He had read about Hogwarts and the Wizengamot, about vampires and werewolves, and he couldn't believe it was real. He knew it was, but it still hurt he couldn't use his brilliant mind in something much more interesting than what he was doing now.
The borders were so much wider when magic was at play.
However, it was how it was, and no matter what, he represented the non-wizarding people, and looking at the wizard in question, Mycroft calculated the outcome of this conversation. This wasn't going to end well.
"We will not give out Jim Moriarty, even if you call him Jesus."
Did Fudge even know who Jesus was? Wizards didn't believe in god, or at least, one god, or so it seemed from the wizarding history books. Not that he blamed them, with all the witch hunting and inquisitions, and Fudge was a pureblood, just like Malfoy.
Lucius Malfoy had first sneered and then laughed, saying the idiot Muggles had been fooled by a wizard who easily turned water to wine without a wand and could use levitating spells, then shook his long, blond hair as he listened to theology explained in a manner fit for a six-year old.
Half-bloods and muggle-borns—Mudbloods—were those who were bringing in 'all the religious nonsense' that polluted real traditions, or so Lucius Malfoy had explained it to him over a delicious cup of magical coffee.
The Minister of Magic looked ready to laugh, and the sharp glint in the normally bleary eyes alerted Mycroft that something was going on that he wasn't aware of.
"I can order to have hundreds of your men mind-washed with a simple Imperius spell that I am sure you're well aware of. I can supply your enemies in the government with information you couldn't dream of, and I can just simply take out my wand and turn you into the worm that you actually are." The Minister wasn't sweating and he wasn't nervous. He had a steel glint in his eyes, which now were sharp and dangerous. This wasn't the Minister of Magic he had met before.
Either he was only now showing his true colours, or it was a different person altogether.
Sherlock's enraged face was surpassed only by Dr. Watson's, leaving only him and the Minister calm.
"No." Mycroft said after a pause and smiled at Fudge's raised eyebrows and the hint of surprise in the sharp eyes. "Moriarty stays where he is, and this is official, Minister Fudge."
The wizard threw his hands to the sides in a gesture completely inappropriate to the situation, additionally throwing his head back, while Mycroft shared glances with Sherlock.
A second later the wizard was looking at them with a pleased smile. "We'll see about that, Mister Holmes." Fudge put his hat back where it belonged, and disappeared into thin air, only an echo of "We'll see" remaining.
"What the hell was that, Mycroft?" Sherlock was looking at him for answers, because his little brother refused to believe his own conclusions, which were correct.
"It wasn't only about Moriarty, just like you have deducted yourself, Sherlock." Mycroft looked at the worried face of Dr. Watson and then back at his brother. "He just unofficially declared us war."
It was all very bad.
xxx
He didn't know what Dumbledore wanted, but today had been a very weird day. Voldemort was gone, and Dumbledore could shove his "personal matters" into his arse. His very useful tool was eliminated and Harry was not even a step closer to unveiling the secret of his weirdness.
After three shots in the head—and one Avada Kedavra before that—he had tried falling from a cliff and took an overdose of many, many things, and then, when he'd die, he would feel his true power. It would hold him and then put his soul back into his body, healing everything no matter the injuries. And he needed to know what this power meant.
He didn't really give a shit about anything, but he was curious about who he really was. Something was off with his magic and himself, and Harry needed to know why.
He needed to meet Death and ask why he couldn't die like everybody else did. And now, probably thanks to the Headmaster, his best source of information was cut off, and Harry did not like that.
"Enter, my boy."
Smacking his lips at 'my boy', Harry opened the door of the Tower that belonged solely to the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
An ugly chicken was sitting on the perch inside a golden cage, and as soon as Harry entered, the bird turned to look at him, as if sensing his presence, and with a high scream, it turned into ashes, like it always did when Harry visited the Headmaster.
He knew that as soon as he left the room, the phoenix would rise from the ashes and stop pretending, or whatever the bird was doing. Harry hated it, if he had to be honest.
McNugget.
Dumbledore was sitting behind his large desk, drinking hot chocolate and with a hand inviting Harry over to take a seat meant for him.
"I know that you are not very fond of me, Harry, and I understand why. Whatever I have done in the past, I have done with the intention to protect you. I am sorry for how it all worked out with your aunt Petunia." The old man was sincere, and Harry sighed, as he definitely wasn't in a mood for sentiments now. Dumbledore had done him a favour by placing him with the Dursleys, if the other option was to be raised to be like Draco Malfoy or Ronald Weasley.
However, that didn't cover the fact that Dumbledore had known about Sirius' innocence since he was the one who had cast the Fidelity Charm.
"Is there any specific reason why you wished to see me, Professor?" Harry took the offered tea and biscuits, but ignored the weird lemon drops.
"Tell me, Harry, when was the last time you saw your aunt?" The question was unexpected, then again, considering Malfoy had lost the horse…What did his drugged-out auntie do?
"Why do ask, Professor?"
Dumbledore was looking him straight in the eye, but not turning to Legilimency yet.
The pause was tense and Harry broke it to finally scratch the annoying itch he couldn't tolerate anymore. His shoulders were itching like mad, and Harry grit his teeth.
"You should see Madam Pomfrey about the itching, Harry. She can give you a cream or a potion."
Nice way to not answer his question.
"Did you know that Petunia Dursley was magical and attended Salem's School of Magic?" Harry's jaw hit the floor because if his horsie was magical, then he was...Hermione Granger. And the girl just rubbed him the wrong way.
"If my aunt is magical, then my best friend is Ronald Weasley, Professor Dumbledore." Was Dumbledore senile? How could Petunia be anything but muggle?
"I completely understand, my boy, and I agree wholeheartedly that Petunia Dursley cannot be magical." Harry found himself nodding, even disregarding the ugly 'my boy' again, as Petunia was someone who had managed to turn possible love into definite hate, so to speak. He wouldn't have turned out a complete freak with murderers and psychopaths as fellow playmates, had Petunia done at least something right when it concerned him.
But she hadn't. She had forced him to take medicine, while knowing that he wasn't crazy, but magical. She had it coming, fully deserving to be lying in the stables of Malfoy's french estate, drugged out of her mind but still alive.
And now she was gone, and apparently, became a witch while she should be detoxing somewhere in a ditch instead. Harry looked at Dumbledore, understanding that now they had a common enemy, and nodded. "She's muggle." And he would confirm it before the Wizengamot.
If she was magical, then she wasn't his aunt.
"Thank you, Harry, for your honesty." The headmaster stroked his beard as he spoke, looking briefly at the ashes of the phoenix. The first time McNugget had refused to resurrect, Dumbledore had spent over twenty minutes worrying over the chicken, before Harry left, and the roast returned with a loud song. "Petunia initiated an investigation as to why she was declared muggle when she was magical. I know that Petunia Dursley, the only sister of Lily Potter, was muggle with no traces of magic in her core." Dumbledore was honestly telling him the facts, and Harry sat more comfortably and even drank the tea.
"Let her. She's an imposter." Who had kidnapped auntie from the magically enchanted stables and had known where to look when searching for the Dursleys, which wasn't an easy thing to do, considering they stopped existing a few years ago, living off the benefits of being his beloved relatives.
No one knew. Well, besides Lucius, and the blond wizard was too fond of his offspring to do something so stupid, plus he gained nothing.
"Harry, you and Sirius need to fight for his right of custody. Petunia is a muggle while Sirius is magical. At least you don't hate your godfather yet. Give him a try."
Harry's eyebrows were living a life of their own and he played first with one and then the other , raising and lowering them periodically, stopping only when Dumbledore's hairy monsters joined in the dance, rising high.
"I am glad you understand where I stand with my auntie, Professor." He didn't hate Dumbledore that much. He didn't trust the old man, but hate was a word meant for others. However, like all things, Harry was sure it was temporary. He'd bet his watch Dumbledore would do something that would change the balance towards hate before Harry finished his first year.
"Is there anything else you wished to tell me, Professor?" He didn't know why he asked, but he did, and he had to stand like an idiot, waiting for Dumbledore to decide what to do.
The Headmaster seemed to finally decide what he wanted from Harry and pulled out a drawer. Simultaneously with the opening drawer, Harry's shoulders burned like mad, making him reach out and scratch them with a loud moan.
"Off you go to Madame Pomfrey, and here is a letter for Professor McGonagall, excusing your lateness to class." Harry felt disappointment as he took the thin paper. He didn't know what he had expected, but not an excuse letter.
"Have a good day, Headmaster."
"You too, Harry."
xxx
Sherlock rushed into Mycroft's office, after his brother didn't respond to his calls and texts, and found the office empty. The coffee on the table was still warm and everything lay in places like they would when Mycroft was working.
But his brother wasn't there.
Sherlock closed the door and sat behind his brother's desk, putting his hand between his hands, pulling on the curls.
Mycroft was missing, just like Jim Moriarty was, along with the jar and the heart.
xxx
a/n This is not my favourite chapter, but it is needed. Anyway, the next chapter I'll reveal who Harry really is, and what the main plot for the story is. Thank you to everyone who reviewed and left their opinions. Can anyone guess who/what Harry is? Come on, I even mentioned his name somewhere in the story- don't want to point fingers as to where, but it's there :) He's not God and not Antichrist, and I think I made a mistake by saying Harry wasn't mentioned in the Bible, when asked by one reader. He's mentioned everywhere! I am slow sometimes, sorry for that. And happy Women's day, girls! Thank you all for reading and till later!