Monday
Monday morning, Harry pulled himself vertical with a loud groan, his whole body protesting the decision to abandon the bed. Hell, his better sense protested, too. He was not looking forward to the onslaught that he expected with this morning's mail delivery, which was why he needed to make his exit now.
"Where you goin', mate?" Ron asked groggily, still burrowed in his covers.
"To talk to Severus." It was the only place he could think of where no one would find him. He just hoped Severus was awake or he'd have to find a different hiding place.
It was early yet so there was no one about. He had the corridors to himself. As he walked, the aches and pains from the last two days of hell slowly dulled. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of his mood. He grew increasingly frustrated and was well on his way to a spectacular headache by the time he reached his destination.
Severus opened the door, already dressed in his school uniform sans the black robe. His hair and clothes were perfectly arranged, not in the least ruffled due to the early hour. "Harry?"
"Can I eat breakfast with you? It'll be crazy in the Hall," he asked, head ducked and eyes averted. The door opened wider, so he moved inside. "Thanks, Severus. I appreciate it." With an audible hiss, he sat slowly on the couch, his muscles pulling painfully.
Severus lifted an eyebrow as he sat on the opposite end and lifted a cup from the coffee table. "Tea?" he offered mildly.
Harry glowered at the graceful movements. "It's like the weekend never existed for you!"
Severus smirked and sipped at his drink. "You either have self-control or you don't."
Harry grumbled irritably as he helped himself to the teapot. He added several cubes of sugar, ignoring the amused snort from next to him.
"I woke up early and did an hour of stretches after a hot shower."
Harry's eyes shot over to Severus in surprise. Was he really giving away trade secrets?
"The key to control," Severus continued, smug, "is preparation and foreknowledge."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. He had definitely not been prepared yesterday. And he should have been. He should have had some plan just in case the Dursley crap was ever made public. He should have known it was a possibility as soon as Fenrir had brought him that damn article. The frustration that had built on the trip to the dungeons returned full force. His hands began to shake, and he quickly set his tea down before he spilled it all over his lap.
"Talk to me," Severus invited softly, pulling him from his thoughts.
Harry looked up to find solemn dark eyes watching him. "About what?" he asked, trying to bluff his way out of the confrontation.
Severus said nothing. He just gave him the same look Harry had grown familiar with over a chess set or during lessons on how to control his new Dark powers. And Harry missed that man. Missed being able to share his deepest confidences and knowing whatever he said would never be used against him, and Severus was sitting there promising to be that person again. Before he realized what he was doing, angry words spilled free.
"I'm not that child anymore! Not since I was eleven and came to Hogwarts. I'm not even the same person who grew up here fighting basilisks and dragons." All that had burned away during detox. The fuzzy memories of his time as a Dark Lord only made the distance greater.
"No. You're not that child," Severus said softly, catching Harry's eyes. "But you were once."
Stupidly, the first thing that came to mind was a vehement denial. Harry scowled and crossed his arms. "The Dursleys are a thing from two lifetimes ago, and I'm sick of people trying to shove me into some image they've decided I must be. I'm not public property! But I know damn well what sensational crap's going to be in those papers, and I'll have to give an interview because god forbid the public doesn't approve of me or thinks I'm damaged!"
He stood abruptly, flushed and furious, and paced in the small space in front of the fireplace. It was just like his eternally bad luck that now when he didn't need intervention, now the Wizarding world was poking into the Dursley situation. He wanted to scream. Wanted to hit someone or break everything around him like he'd done in Dumbledore's office last year.
"Did they hate you?"
Harry's head snapped around. Severus' tone wasn't curious or accusatory. His voice was hushed in the way of shared truths. Quiet with acceptance, not loud with demands. And just as Harry feared would happen when the Dursleys had come up, the small quiet place where the neglected child still lurked came roaring to the front, desperate for acknowledgement.
"Hate me?" Harry strode forward and stood within arm's reach of the other teen. Old shame nearly seared the inside of his lungs as he answered, "My aunt hated magic with a passion and passed on that sentiment to my uncle and cousin. They made it clear in every way that I was an unwelcome burden. Despite the fact that I did all the cooking and cleaning, and I cost them nothing in the way of clothing or food. I was only allowed their scraps of both. My room was the cupboard under the stairs until I was eleven! Shut away in the dark, with the spiders and cleaning supplies."
Severus stared up at him, relaxed, a tea cup still held in his hand on his lap. "Did they beat you, Harry?"
"No," he spat. "They both loathed touching such a disgusting freak." Harry caught Severus' relieved sigh from the corner of his eyes and voiced an ugly laugh. Suddenly exhausted, he staggered to the other end of the couch and sat. He bent forward, elbows on his knees, and pushed his fingers into his hair. "That doesn't mean I didn't go a week without bruises. My cousin happily chased me down with his gang of friends, calling it Harry Hunting. By the age of six, I knew what it was like to be terrified and hunted, prey run down by a pack. Any sign of magic and I'd be locked in the cupboard for days with no light, or food, or a toilet. My injuries and sicknesses were never treated."
He had to stop, suddenly drowning in memories of degradation and despair. Memories of frantically digging through the trash, inhaling the spoiled food like a feral animal. Of the stifling heat inside the dark cupboard, the sounds of his family laughing and talking in front of the telly not fifteen feet away. Remembered the birthdays and Christmases of empty boxes or dirty socks while his cousin struggled to count his many gifts that he didn't even want and would never use. And he remembered the painful confusion of not being able to understand why they hated him so. He felt again the conviction that there must be a reason, and if he could only figure it out and fix it, they would love him.
Harry was panting, like he was running a race, and his hands clenched into fists, his nails cutting his scalp. Suddenly Severus was there, crouched before him and pulling his hands away. Harry noticed blood under his nails and looked up into Severus' dark empathetic eyes. They grounded him and kept him from shaking apart.
"What else, Harry? Finish it," Severus ordered, expression fierce.
"They were liars," Harry rasped helplessly. "They told me my parents were unemployed drunks who caused a car accident and killed an innocent family. That's how I received my scar. That's why I would always deserve punishment. When I was little, I'd have dreams of a flash of green light and a woman screaming. I'd tell myself that the green light meant they were supposed to go and it was the person who hit them who was at fault. I tried to make myself believe my parents weren't murderers. Drunks maybe, but not that."
Severus' hands tightened painfully around Harry's wrists.
"They lied to the neighbors, too," Harry continued. He couldn't stop now to save his life. "Telling them I was criminally insane and a compulsive liar desperate for attention. So I knew no one would believe me if I ever told them about being so hungry it was a constant agony, or that I was hurt, or sick, or afraid. I was all those! All the time! And it hurts so damn much to remember. To be forced to remember!"
Finally he came to a stop, his face damp from angry, childish tears. Magic snapped and crackled around him on waves of rage and anguish, but Severus never looked away. He never flinched.
"Now you're free." He let go of Harry's wrists, but he didn't stand. "You've told the secret. They no longer have power over you."
Harry gasped and collapsed against the back of the couch, trying to put space between them. A childhood of being conditioned to keep the shameful secret safe had finally been broken. He'd finally let light into one of the dark corners in his soul. It felt like a purging, one every bit as painful as detoxing from Dark addiction had been. He turned his whole body away and pressed his face hard into the couch back.
He had no idea how long he sat like that. When an elf popped into the room, Harry finally straightened and scrubbed at his face with his robe sleeve, tiredly pulling himself back together.
"Head Missy wants Tammi to give Mr. Harry Potter Sir these. She wants him to come to Missy's office."
"You may leave them on the table, Tammi," Severus' cool voice answered as he stood and backed away.
Harry lifted his head just as a small pile of magazines and papers appeared on the coffee table. He felt the raw skin around his eyes tighten in horror. He didn't even notice the crack as the elf left, but when he looked he saw they were alone again.
"It is customary to send a complimentary copy of the publishing to those who give interviews," Severus explained calmly.
Numb, Harry turned back to the damning pile and looked at the headlines and covers. He knew with that short glance exactly what the articles would say. Sixteen Year Old Light Lord – Potter Sides With Dark Lord – Our Children In War Training – Eternal Youth, Fact or Fiction. It couldn't be avoided. Ignoring it wouldn't make it go away, and McGonagall wouldn't wait forever. Gathering his courage, he snatched the most damning from the table. Unsurprisingly it was the Daily Prophet. Leader of the Light Abused by Muggle Family was blazoned across the top. He stood and paced slowly as he read.
The article was surprisingly short, but Skeeter made up for it by including the juiciest Muggle articles that were printed about the case in Surrey. The last one had him freezing in his tracks. It was dated just before the attacks in England had stopped. He stared blankly at the wall, mind racing, hardly feeling it as the paper was tugged gently from his hand.
"I'm surprised how quickly they picked up the anti-Muggle stance," Severus said, getting his attention.
Harry turned to face him, eyes narrowed. "I noticed that, too. The meeting with the ambassadors was Friday evening, but the reporters knew to ask about my motives for disdaining Muggle assistance yesterday." His eyes flicked again to the headline of the Savoir Faire that read: Potter Refuses Assistance Against Invaders. "Someone is deliberately attacking me."
"That's my interpretation. It is possible this person or persons leaked the information about the abuse charges, as well."
Harry nodded once in agreement. The Surrey situation was used too conveniently to support the accusations that he was anti-Muggle, which in turn cast doubts on his motives, which then lent credence to the absurd theory that he had teamed up with Voldemort to take over the Wizarding world. He was used to the papers slandering and generally abusing him, but this felt too coordinated, everything falling into place too smoothly. His first thought was that Voldemort was behind it, but the bastard wouldn't weaken him so publically. He wanted Harry strong. After all, what was the point of controlling a weak pawn? Where would the challenge be in that? No, Voldemort wasn't behind this.
The fire flared, burning green as a floo call connected. "Severus, is Mr. Potter with you perchance?"
Severus scowled at the hearth. "He is."
Her voice softened. "Come through, Harry. We need to talk."
"I'll be there shortly," Harry answered, resigned.
The fire returned to a natural orange, and Harry ran his hands through his hair, growling at himself and the situation in general. He had enough to deal with. He didn't need this on top of everything else. He caught Severus' lowered eyebrows and soft frown. He perked up hopefully, knowing that look. Severus was crafting a plan.
"I was never convinced detailing the situation with the Muggles was the best move. The public is fickle in the extreme. They don't actually expect answers, and in fact prefer the freedom to make up a story that entertains them best. The smarter move would be to shift attention from your Muggle childhood to your Wizarding one. From what I've read, it hasn't been easy and yet you are fighting tooth and nail to protect it. That leads to the assumption that regardless of your treatment in Surrey you wouldn't turn against all Muggles."
A bright smile lightened Harry's face. "Thank you, Severus. That's brilliant!" He had the strongest urge to hug the teen, but he knew better than to try. He'd just have to hope his eyes conveyed his gratitude enough. They must have, though, because Severus suddenly looked away and lowered his head so his bangs hid his expression.
"Good luck," Severus said shortly, offering the floo powder.
Still smiling, Harry moved to the hearth. "Headmistress' office!" he called and was swept away from Severus.
McGonagall was waiting in front of her desk, a scroll in her hand. She set it aside immediately as he stepped clear of the hearth and gestured him to one of the winged back chairs placed to the side by a tall window. A table sat between the two, offering just enough space to hold the tea tray and a plate of biscuits that were placed on it. Harry suppressed a shudder of revulsion. The Headmistress was trying to butter him up, but nothing would change the fact that this would be an interrogation, no matter how gentle her methods. He squared his shoulders and accepted the seat. Let her do her best. He wasn't going to just let people walk all over his private life anymore. He had rights as well as anybody.
She sat across from him without a word and began to pour the tea. Harry's defiant stance melted, his shoulders tightening again as the minutes stretched in silence. He didn't accept the cup. Memory flashed before his eyes. Dumbledore twinkling. Always offering tea and sweets before their talks. Harry looked away, biting his lip hard. He missed Dumbledore badly. He looked out at the edge of the Forbidden forest and the grassy lawns. He could just see the back end of one of the greenhouses. The glass reflected the dull grey clouds from above. It was a cold and dreary January day. Likely there would be some snow.
"Did you read the article, Harry?"
He nodded, still looking out at the sky.
"Good." She gave a little sigh. "We have many things to discuss. Fortunately you have the morning free."
Harry looked at her. "I thought I had Transfiguration this morning."
McGonagall calmly lifted her tea cup and leaned back in her burgundy armchair. She looked exhausted, and he wondered if it was his fault. "Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration are cancelled pending the acquirement of a new teacher. I must also locate someone to hold the position of Gryffindor Housemaster, since the Headmaster cannot technically be Head of any of the Houses. Fortunately, Horace has agreed to be Slytherin Head temporarily in addition to teaching Potions."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry offered.
She flashed him a devious, closed-lip smile. "I considered requesting Molly to attend House Gryffindor, but I figured her children would rebel, and frankly I don't need the bother."
Harry actually laughed.
"And then you had to create more work for me by inventing a whole new class that I'll have to staff for next year."
"Wizarding traditions are important," Harry immediately defended.
"I'm sure I agree, Mr. Potter, but now is not the time," McGonagall answered firmly, setting her tea down with a snap. "It is frankly not even possible right now."
"Now is the perfect time," Harry countered. "Have you considered using our Allies to help you fill out the positions at the school? The Ministry and the Dark Lord have access to very qualified people."
"You can't be serious." She stared at him, expression hard.
"I am perfectly serious." Harry felt the idea bloom and take hold. It was actually a good idea. "Not every member of the old families is a Death Eater. I know for a fact that the Notts and Selwyns are a fairly large bunch and well known for their skills with magic. The Zabini's as well, and they are traditionally neutral, are they not? And they have family at the school, so it would be in their best interest to make Hogwarts as strong as possible."
McGonagall picked up her tea again, her lips a thin line as she sipped. "I see your point. And they are Allies now. I should work harder to set aside the too long held animosity." She sighed and resumed sipping her tea. "Regardless, you must have been a member of a House during your school days to become its Head. None of these families produced Gryffindors, and I was hoping to hire a single person to perform both duties."
"What about Remus? I know he was outted and dismissed because of his condition, but that shouldn't matter anymore." Hope blazed in his chest to see his pseudo-uncle. He hadn't realized until that very moment how much he missed the soft-spoken, clever man.
"I'm sorry, Harry," she said softly, obviously reading the hope in his face. "We haven't been able to contact Remus since this summer. He was the very first to come to mind."
Harry went still. "What do you mean?" he asked through numb lips.
This time it was her turn to look out the window. "He… struggled after Sirius' death. We hoped in time we could help him pull through, but we haven't seen him since he came to the Burrow to see you last summer."
Harry felt ice slice through him and settled heavily in his stomach.
McGonagall pinned him with a frown. "We all assumed he said goodbye when he talked to you."
Harry shook his head slowly. Remus had talked to him while it hadn't been him, and then he disappeared. Had Voldemort done something? "Is there any way to get a hold of him? I really need to talk to him."
"No. He did this before, after the first war. We couldn't reach him then, either. We will just have to wait for him to contact us." She reached out and patted his hand. He could see it, but he couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything except dread. "Don't worry, Harry. He can take care of himself. I will take your advice and go through the records again, this time sending job offers to those outside Gryffindor House." She pulled her hand back and folded it in her lap. "For now, I'd like to discuss the papers. I need to know how much veracity there is to the article in the Daily Prophet."
Harry dropped his gaze, trying to pull himself back on track. He could think of Remus later. He found himself staring at the white teapot. It had blue patters around the bottom. Very delicate and beautiful. The small tea cup in his hands matched it perfectly. Likely they were formed of priceless china. Deliberately, he lifted that little cup to his mouth and took a sip of the now cold, bitter liquid.
"It is true. My uncle was arrested for child abuse."
She didn't care for the vague reply. "Were you abused, Harry?" she asked boldly.
"Yes, but I will not go into detail about it with anyone. Not even you," he said it firmly, holding her gaze. "It's in the past, and I have the right to some level of privacy."
"Were you anyone else, I'd agree," McGonagall countered. "Unfortunately, you are in a position of power over many people. They have the right to understand what may affect your ability to wield that power. Further, as your Second, it is my job to support you, and I cannot do that accurately without understanding all the stressors and dangers in your life."
Harry thought about her point but still felt forcing himself to reveal his past was more detrimental than supportive. "You read the article. You know the basics. That will have to be enough. As for responding to the public, I think emphasizing I suffered more trauma at the hands of the Wizarding world than the Muggle will weaken their fears about my motives."
"Sophistry." McGonagall snorted, and he was surprised to see her smile. "You've been plotting with Severus."
He shrugged.
She studied him a moment longer. Eventually she gave an accepting nod. "I am glad you are talking of your experiences to someone. That reassures me. However, if it becomes pertinent, we will revisit this topic."
Harry nodded, but he had no intentions of ever talking about the Dursleys with her or anyone else.
McGonagall busied herself pouring them new cups of tea. Harry couldn't help but notice as she bent forward that her hair, tied back in a severe bun as it always was, held more silver and grey than he last remembered. There were more lines around her eyes and mouth, as well. But her hands were steady and she was not bowed down by time or the situation. He smiled a bit, feeling proud that the stern witch was his Second and supported him.
"I have already contacted Emmeline. She'll arrive for lunch and will help you craft your specious response to the article."
Emmeline Vance. The memories of the Order unwound once more through his mind's eye. An elderly witch. Stately, Pureblood, long family history of being aligned to the Light. She was a reporter for the Daily Prophet like Skeeter, but instead of a jumped-up gossip columnist, she was a political journalist. She had a pretty solid following and had a reputation for writing only verified facts. She was the Order's expert on the media and public relations. Certainly, she would have gone much further at the newspaper had she not been asked to keep a relatively low profile so she could move more freely among the starlets and journalists.
"I'd feel much more comfortable with her than anyone else," Harry admitted. "But is it smart to use someone from the Order to conduct the interview? People will think we've staged it."
"The general populace is unaware she is part of the Order," McGonagall pointed out. "The Minister has a list of every Order member and Death Eater as demanded by one of their terms of the treaty, but he is unlikely to reveal her. In any case, this should be her story. It is under her jurisdiction, so to speak, especially if you plan to spin this with a political edge the way Severus advised."
Harry nodded and now that he wasn't focused on having to recount his experiences in detail, he remembered what had bothered him about the article. "Did you read the last excerpt from the Muggle paper?"
McGonagall went rigid, her eyes darkening. "They will not escape justice, I assure you."
Harry hesitated, surprised by her vehement reaction. "I don't care about that."
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Mr. Potter, you verified the articles Skeeter purloined from the Muggles were accurate. Their actions warrant retribution."
"They don't matter to me." Harry slashed his hand through the air as if clearing a cluttered surface. "The only time I even remember they exist is when other people bring them up. They are so far removed from my life and my concerns that they are quite dead to me. That's part of the reason I resent the subject being brought up. It is too late. It happened, and I've already dealt with the consequences. It's the past and revisiting it will just redirect thoughts and efforts that would be better spent on the future. Really," he insisted when she continued to stare at him doubtfully. "This is all new to you and the public, but I've had years to come to terms with the situation."
"Then what is your concern?"
"The article said my uncle escaped during a prison transfer. That my aunt and Dudley had moved to America to flee the bad press. It just rings false to me. My uncle's not smart enough or physically healthy enough to plan and execute a successful escape. And how would Petunia get the money to move to America, let alone the correct visas so fast? Someone else is behind these events. And they happened right before the last attack on Britain."
McGonagall frowned and tapped her fingers on her thigh. "You think it was the Muggle invaders?"
"I know it." He shrugged. "I'm not sure how I know, and I can't figure out why they would, but it was them. And I think the Dursleys are involved somehow in why the attacks moved to the continent instead of continuing here."
"Surely that's a bit paranoid…" she began.
"No. They are the only ones who are capable of staging my uncles' escape and having the connections to get my aunt and Dudley out of the country that fast. Though I don't see why they would." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. It was like having the right number of pieces to a puzzle, and yet the final shape remained just out of reach.
"What could they learn from your relatives?"
"Not much," Harry admitted, still tugging at his hair. "It's not like I talked to them."
"There's nothing we can do about it now. We'll keep an eyes out for more information." McGonagall shook her head and turned her attention to her desk. She summoned four files from the top. "For now, we need to discuss the ambassadors. The next meeting will be called soon, and I want you to be better prepared."
Harry groaned to himself as the tea and biscuits disappeared and the files took their place. He was in for a long morning.
McGonagall lectured him about each ambassador. Their school grades were even included, as well as their sexual exploits. Harry lifted his eyebrows at that, but McGonagall insisted that the only way to correctly deal with politicians is to know the man not the image. He was surprised to learn that each ambassador was qualified and skilled. None were of the Fudge brand of politicians - that's to say, useless. Their titles were earned, and they had dealt with pretty tricky problems – civil unrest, rebellions, even megalomaniac Dread Lord wanna-be's – and come out on top.
Harry had to admit that he respected them more now that he knew their stories. Two of the men had served time in the equivalent of their countries' Auror corps before moving up the political ladder, and the third was some type of genius, his scores in almost every subject phenomenal. But that begged the question; why had these smart experienced men even thought to make such a stupid tactical move as to involve the Muggle governments in their problem? It just didn't make sense to Harry.
"It's not that clear to everyone else," McGonagall reminded.
"It should be," he insisted, not willing to back down.
The fire flared green before they could argue in earnest. Emmeline Vance stepped into the office wearing black robes and a vibrant green shawl around her shoulders. Her hair was black, falling free to her shoulders, and streaked exotically with silver. Her figure was petite. She was shorter than Harry, and not many were, but there was a sharpness in her bearing and her hazel green eyes that made many walk carefully around her.
"Ms. Vance, thank you for coming," Harry said politely, standing and bowing to her.
"Em, have a seat. I've just finished with him." McGonagall stood and offered her the chair. "I'll have an elf deliver lunch while you talk."
"Thank you, Minerva." She sat stately in the chair and gave McGonagall a small smile.
Harry sat across from the journalist as the Headmistress left them. He immediately explained about not wanting to go into details about the Dursleys. "I want to direct attention to my Wizarding childhood instead."
"That is exactly what I was going to suggest," Vance approved. "Now, I think we'll do this in a classical interview style with running dialogue instead of narrative. I'll set up a camera so anyone who can read lips will verify the transcription matches, but that means you have to answer every question perfectly since I can't soften it or edit it later."
"Whatever you think is best," Harry answered easily. He was just glad he wouldn't be grilled.
She gave Harry a smile as sandwiches and chips appeared before them. "Then here is what you should say…"
Vance coached him for two hours and they practiced a few times before they actually got down to doing the interview. They did it twice, so she could choose the best take for publication. By the time they finished, lunch was long over and Harry felt like he'd been through a particularly grueling training session. He watched, bemused, as she packed away her gear with an extra bounce in her step.
"I need to develop this if I'm going to have it done by this evening's deadline," she explained.
Harry nodded and politely walked her to the floo. "I understand. Thank you for your help. You're not so bad for a reporter."
"It's my job," she answered with a laugh. "Goodbye, Mr. Potter. It was my pleasure to work with you."
He smiled at her as she disappeared in a flash of green. For a minute, he just stood there and breathed before he left the office. He was exhausted and didn't want to deal with anything else. The morning had been long on top of an excruciating weekend of training. A nap sounded perfect right about now, but of course, he was only halfway down the corridor when an elf popped into existence before him. He jerked to a stop, almost tripping over the thing.
"Mr. Harry Potter sir, Ruppie has been waiting for you!"
"What is it, Ruppie?" he asked on a sigh. He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. There would be no nap for him.
"Suzy Bones asked me to give sir this as soon as he was available. Are you available Mr. Harry Potter sir?"
Harry slipped his glasses back on and peered down at the anxious elf. "Yes. I am." Unfortunately, he finished silently.
The elf beamed at him and handed over an envelope. Ruppie disappeared with a pop as Harry opened the damn thing. A gentle waft of perfume hit his senses as he unfolded the letter. He was growing more tired by the minute.
Meet me at our changeable place. I'll wait all day. Yours, Susan.
He was not anxious to have another encounter with Susan Bones. He felt guilty as hell. He knew he was the cause of her aunt's death and Voldemort had manipulated her feelings, taking advantage of her body. He owed this girl, but he had no idea how to make things right. He had no idea how to handle her. His one experience was with Cho, and she'd been weepy more than enraged due to the recent passing of her previous boyfriend. A boyfriend Harry had witnessed murdered. It definitely wasn't a helpful, or even pleasant, experience. Susan was a lot more forward, too, since she thought they'd been in a relationship for months now.
Gathering his courage, he turned toward the Room of Requirement. He couldn't blow her off, no matter how tempting. She deserved better than that from him. Although, he wasn't thrilled she'd chosen the Room as their meeting spot. She could set it up anyway she wanted, and he had no idea what he was walking into. The note didn't sound angry, but that could just be a trick to get him to lower his guard. It was times like this he wished he leaned more toward Occlumency instead of Legilimency. The ability to clear his mind sounded great right about now. Squaring his shoulders, he put his hand on the door handle and pushed.
The door swung open to reveal a tent like room, the walls draped in yellow, red, and blue silk curtains, all angled to the center of the ceiling. On the floor sat a pile of large white pillows. Susan was there, reclining in Muggle jeans and a blouse, barefoot. Her school robe was thrown casually to the side, and she had a book open in her lap. Her golden hair shifted as she looked up, moving across her shoulders. Large blue eyes brightened as she gave him a warm smile.
"Harry. Come in. Shut the door before anyone walks passed." She quickly shoved the book away and stood, hands reaching out for him.
He winced, but he obeyed, pulling the door shut and stepping closer to her. "Susan, I, uh, I thought you were mad."
She grabbed his hand and pulled him down on the pillows. "I'm sorry about that, Harry. I'm your friend, and I care about you a lot. I shouldn't have acted that way. I should have let you explain and tried to understand where you were coming from."
Harry wasn't quite sure what to say, not that he could speak even if he did have the words. Susan was pressed against his side, almost hugging his arm.
"I've missed you so much, Harry." She threw a leg over his lap and suddenly he felt pinned down.
He freed his arm. "Thanks, I guess. But, um, I… We…" He cleared his desperately dry throat, scrambling for the right words.
She twisted in such a way that they were facing each other, but left her leg lying across his lap. "It's okay, Harry. Relax." Her soft face was filled with a gentleness that made him break out in a sweat. All that attention on him, soft and cloying, inescapable, made it suddenly difficult to breathe.
"I don't want to fight. We love each other too much to fight over stupid stuff anymore."
Harry closed his eyes, childishly hoping everything would disappear if he couldn't see it. It did help to not have to stare into her face. "I care about you a lot," he began carefully, voice low. "That's why I don't think I can be with you right now. I don't want to hurt you more than I already have. I'm really messed up right now, Susan, with everything going on."
His eyes flew open as he found his arms full of girl. Susan had practically jumped into his lap and was hugging him fiercely.
"Oh, Harry, that's why you need me now more than ever. I can help you. Even if it's only to help you relax."
He stared at her, holding his hands out, not sure where to put them. His eyes widened in shock as her face loomed closer, and then they were kissing. It was wet and uncomfortable. She gasped as he pushed her firmly out of his lap and stood. He brought a shaking hand up to his mouth but dropped his hand, making a heavy fist before he made contact with his sizzling lips. Suddenly he was burning with righteous anger. She was a victim. She'd been used and was now confused and lost. It was his job to protect her. This was going to stop.
He knelt and took her hands in his. He stared into her eyes, making sure she understood he was serious. "Susan, this isn't right or fair to either of us. I'm telling you my head's screwed up. I can't think about this, not with the war and everything going on. I just can't. And I'm not going to use you for sex just so I can relax. It hurts me to hear you say stuff like that. You deserve someone devoted to you, who will take care of you. I'm going to be busy every minute of every day. I'm sorry, but I can't have a girlfriend. Not until this is over. Please understand. Please. I don't want you to be upset, but this…" He gestured around at the romantic little getaway she'd created. "This can't happen."
Her gentle smile was back, and she freed her hands to run them through his hair. He held still. If this didn't work, he had no idea what to do.
"I do understand how busy you are. I'm not going to be angry if we can't see each other every day, but I love you, Harry, and I'm not going to give up on us. Even if it's only once a month, I think this is worth it. We can make it work." She captured his face and looked into his eyes. "You could have told me, Harry. About what they did to you. I would have understood. I don't think you're weak or anything like that. I'm sorry for you. I ache with the need to change what happened, to go back in time and kidnap you away from those monsters, but I know that's not possible. You are amazing for surviving what you have and still be the person you are. And I'm not going to let you push me away now that I know."
Harry jerked away from her and ran. He had no other recourse. Her words were like a knife to the gut, eviscerating him. A scream built in his throat. He didn't want to hurt her, but she was tearing him apart without even knowing it. There was a time when her love and support would have meant the world to him. But her feelings were based on a lie. They were born from something dark and selfish, something cruel. He didn't want to continue it. If she knew the truth about him, she wouldn't love him.
Suddenly he was aware he was outside on the Quidditch pitch. With a frustrated yell, he summoned his broom and was soon soaring at reckless speeds and dropping into insane dives, barely pulling up in time before he smashed into the snow-covered ground. The flight sent his adrenaline spiking and burned the restless energy from his body. Sweat drenched his body and the wind felt like it cut straight to the bone, but he couldn't stop smiling. It was glorious. And a few near-death experiences by broom were the perfect thing to put his problem with Susan into perspective. He'd just have to play it by ear. Time would make things clear to her.
With his confidence returned, Harry settled his broom on his shoulder and returned to the castle. It was dinner time, and he merged into the crowd heading inside the Hall, hoping not to draw attention. So far so good. He dropped into his place at the Gryffindor table with a groan. His muscles weren't pleased with the impromptu workout. Feeling a hot gaze on him, he looked up to see Ron glaring. Apparently, his friend wasn't happy, either.
"Where have you been? Why do you have your broom with you?"
"I needed to get away for a bit," Harry answered stiffly.
"Away from what? You missed all your classes today," Ron hissed.
"Let him eat, Ron," Neville's gentle voice intervened. Harry looked over at him and Neville shook his head in a negative. "He's just worried about you, Harry."
Harry cast a side glance at the redhead. Ron scowled, but he relented, turning to his own dinner and dropping the questions. Harry sighed and helped himself to the food on the table, ravenous. He was determined to actually finish a meal without interruptions. Toward this goal, he kept his head down. It didn't work.
"Is it true, Harry?"
He lowered his fork with a pained sigh and looked up at Lavender. She fidgeted under his gaze, flushed. "Is what true, Lav?" It was only then that he noticed there was no conversation happening around him. He had everyone's attention apparently. "Look, guys, I just spent the afternoon giving an interview about all the articles. It should be printed in the Prophet tomorrow. Can you wait that long? I promise if you still have reasonable questions, I'll answer them the best I can."
Lavender nodded. "Sure, Harry." She turned to Parvati and began to whisper to her. The others took the cue and began to talk amongst themselves as well.
Harry relaxed and began to eat again, though he kept a worried eye on Ron who was glaring darkly at his roast beef. Neville's reassuring smile let him know it wasn't anything urgent, but it still didn't make him happy. What was up with the redhead now? Before he could finish dinner or find out what was going on in his friend's head, he heard the tell-tale clomp of Moody's wooden leg approach. Harry turned around fully, ready for an attack. The old man grinned in response, his magical eye rolling slowly.
"Good, Potter. Constant vigilance."
"Thank you," he answered, still wary.
"Come with me. We need to talk."
Harry stood and clasped Ron's shoulder before falling into step with his combat instructor. Moody didn't take them far. They turned into the nearest classroom, and he quickly set up powerful privacy wards that made Harry's skin prickle.
"I talked Minerva into releasing you in the evenings after training. We found an old spell that will allow us to recreate the environment of the Muggle battle and run simulations to better our training, but we need more magical power. As Phoenix Leader, that makes it your responsibility. She's pretty hacked off that you're missing so many classes, though, so I had to promise you'll be back before your first in the morning."
"Of course. The Order comes first before school." Harry nodded firmly. "How are they advancing with the physical regimen?"
"Struggling, but they're getting there." The ex-Auror gave a shrug and began to prowl the room. "Magic helps. The real problem is they're set in old patters of dueling. Intellectually they know it's worse than useless in this situation, but habit's hard to break. That's why we need this construct so bad. They need to experience real battle situations or they won't survive ten minutes."
Harry frowned at the reminder of how vulnerable they were. He didn't want to see any more of his people dying. "I want to add a Healing course to their training. Everyone needs to master the basic spells. The null effect will weaken the spells' effectiveness, but it could still preserve someone's life long enough for them to seek professional help."
"Good thinking. I'll adjust the schedule." Moody turned abruptly toward the door. "Go to Minerva's floo when training's over. I'll see you at the Burrow."
Harry cast Tempus and hissed at the time. He was going to be late if he didn't run. Ron had been right to fear such a fate. A Ravenclaw seventh year had been late Sunday morning and had merited the sole attention of one of the Aurors. The boy had collapsed unconscious several times only to be continually Enervated by the relentless instructor.
Harry pelted into the Room of Requirement, red-faced and panting from his sprint up the stairs.
"Cutting it close, Har," Neville murmured.
"What did he want?" Ron demanded.
Harry opened his mouth to answer but there was no time. Andromeda Tonks, Tonks' mother and now an active Order member, stepped up to him with the suppressor cuff. He slipped it on and lined up with the others to begin drills. As he fell into a rhythm, he was able to observe the new instructors for this week.
The two Ops – as the students had started to call them – were Mrs. Tonks and Charlie Weasley. From the Dark Lord, a subdued Lucius Malfoy and his contemporary, Aiden Avery, were in attendance. He didn't know the two Aurors by name. One was a middle-aged woman lithely muscled with short blonde hair and brown eyes. Her partner was in his twenties and built like a professional rugby player. Surprisingly and worryingly, the six were bunched together, only looking over at the drilling students occasionally. They were hunched and whispering, cooperating. It was what Harry had hoped for, but he now understood Ron's dread of the situation. What were they planning, and would they survive it?
The next four hours passed without change to the routine: offensive drills, calisthenics and weights, and finishing with shield drills. It was hard, certainly. Harry's body throbbed, his magic pulsed under his skin from overexertion combined with suppression, and he had a killer headache from borderline dehydration. Still, it was a walk in the park compared to the weekend. They were only at it for three hours before being released.
"Where are you going now?" Ron snapped as Harry didn't turn with them toward Gryffindor Tower.
"Going to the Burrow. Need to help with the Order training. I'll be back before classes tomorrow," Harry answered tiredly, mopping at his face.
Severus passed him some potions. "Take one now, one at midnight, and one after breakfast."
"Thanks." Harry gave him a heartfelt smile of gratitude before downing one and pocketing the other two.
"Will you be all right, Harry? You're pushing yourself awful hard," Neville spoke up.
"I'll be fine," he promised. He wasn't allowed to be anything else. He noticed Ron had slumped in defeat and tried to cheer him up. "You can grill me over lunch, okay?"
Ron simply nodded and began the climb up to the tower. Neville clasped Harry's shoulder and followed after the redhead. Severus, however, walked with him to the Headmistress's office. They didn't talk. Harry drank in his soothing presence and felt a step above roadkill by the time he reached the gargoyle.
"See you tomorrow," he said with a wave and let the stairs carry him up to the office.
McGonagall was sitting at the desk doing paperwork of some kind or another. Harry waved at her and hurried to the floo. She frowned at him, but he was gone before she could scold or lecture him about anything. Although he did need to have a talk with her about trying to keep him from going to the Burrow. He was a student, yes, but first he was Phoenix Leader. She had to accept that or things were going to get messy between them. He wasn't a minor, and he didn't appreciate her trying to play parent.
He stepped out of the fireplace into the Weasley's living room. The worn furniture and many knickknacks on every available surface gave the room a well lived in look that made Harry smile. This house had been a sanctuary during the summers and would always be a place he felt safe in. Voices drew him to the kitchen were Molly was cooking up a storm and Arthur was keeping her company. Her face broke into a big smile upon seeing him.
"Harry!"
He was engulfed in a hug. "Hello, Mrs. Weasley."
"You look peaky, dear. Have a snack."
"Thanks." Harry took the sandwich offered to him gratefully.
"They're all outside placing the runes and whatnot," Arthur offered.
"Thanks," he said again. He kissed Molly's cheek and slipped out the backdoor.
"Good luck," Arthur called after him.
'They' turned out to be Moody, Bill Weasley, Tonks, and Dedalus Diggle. Diggle was the one who had unearthed the ancient spell. He was an expert in Runes and many other subjects. He was a bit cantankerous and obstinate, but he was a brilliant wizard. Tall, bald, and stooped with a scholar's hunch, he was surprisingly strong for all that. Harry listened intently as the mechanics of the spell were described to him. Apparently it was sympathy magic. You take a memory and fill it with magic. That magic is now familiar with the 'shape' of the memory. Then you used that magic to recreate that form outside in the physical realm.
"Magic don't know the difference between thought and the corporeal world," Diggle explained. "Magic's a force. Physical matter is an enforced shape. Don't matter where it's forced to take that shape. All the same to the magic, memory or the material plane."
The problem was it took an enormous amount of power to fill out a memory sufficiently that the construct would be as realistic as they needed for effective combat training. It couldn't be group magic, either, because the magic had to be perfectly uniform. That's why the spell originally fell out of use.
"That's what Bill and Tonks are here for. Tonks is Healer qualified. She'll take care of any accidents," Moody informed him. "And Bill's a Curse Breaker. He knows how to insert himself between active magics and deactivate them. He'll intervene if Tonks says you're beginning to strain."
"And you?" Harry teased. "What are you good for?"
"I'm a senior member. Have to have a witness for any big workings." Moody grinned back. "You ready?"
Harry nodded sharply and took a deep breath to center himself. He stood about three hundred meters out from the house. There was plenty of land around the Burrow, and the Order had painstakingly expanded the warding so the construct would fit inside. The night was cold and cloudless. The stars sparkled and glittered brightly with not a cloud in the sky. The moon was full, and Harry felt a pang as he thought of Remus.
Snow lay here and there in patches around him because the wards created a slight greenhouse effect. Outside the ward-range, by the woods, the snow was nearly knee high. Harry lowered his gaze to the intricate rune work etched in a space completely cleared of snow. It was beautiful. He felt his love of magic slowly enfold him. This would be his first big use of magic since cleansing Dumbledore that night on the tower, and he was eager to give himself over it again.
Without speaking or even glancing at the others, Harry stepped into the center of the geometric runes and released his barriers. His magic flared up like a torch thrown on a gas-soaked pile of dry wood. It poured out of him and encountered the runes. It bent, recognizing the pattern, and flowed obediently into the spell, empowering it.
Harry let it burn through him, lighting up inside him like glorious threads of fire spider-webbing through his brain. He held the longest battle he'd experienced in his mind. The one on the Okney Islands. He let the texture of the buildings, the road, the taste of the air, consume his focus. He rolled slowly through the memory. Concentrated on the tastes and sounds when he met the enemy. Focused sharply on how the soldiers moved. Etched their deadly force and capabilities in exacting details across his mind. The way they faded away instead of engaging head on. They way he had to chase them through alleys and was lured into traps. Every doorway and window was a threat. And there was blood. Screaming. Fire.
He threw himself into every physical recollection, telling his magic, make it real. The runes said the same, make it real. And it was.
"Harry!"
He blinked, reality bleeding into his eyes. He saw stars. He was cold. Tonks was crouched next to him and he smiled at her, a bit confused. "Where am I?"
She frowned at him. "The Burrow. Don't you remember?"
He let her sit him up and saw a dark alley between two damaged, smoking buildings. His heart stuttered and then raced in his chest. He knew this place. Harry jumped to his feet. "Get down!" he yelled weakly, hardly able to keep his feet. Had he been hit?
"Harry! Calm down!" Tonks was pulling at him, but he shoved at her, trying to get her to cover.
"Potter!"
Harry froze and stared at Moody. What was he doing here? That wasn't right… It shouldn't be dark, either… He swayed.
"Potter." Moody's voice gentled and he took the arm opposite Tonks. "It's okay, lad. You did good. Better than good. You can rest now."
Harry wasn't sure about that. He wasn't allowed to rest. Never. Always so much to do. So many people needed him. "Got to get ready," he mumbled. The sun broke over the horizon. He stared. It was beautiful.
"He's near fatally drained," Tonks said, clearly distressed, and Harry wondered who she was talking about. He should probably get up and take care of it.
"I tried interrupting the spell," Bill snapped. "Nothing I did worked."
"Don't matter now. It's done," Diggle cut in. "We got several blocks, more than we reckoned on."
"I'm more interested in his reactions. This isn't no secondhand memory. It's too spot-on perfect. I'm telling you he was there."
"That doesn't make sense," Tonks growled. "He was at school!"
Harry realized he was walking somewhere, but that was okay. They were leaving that town with all the dead and dying. That was more than okay. The Burrow grew larger in the distance. Not so far. "Almost home," he said, trying to encourage himself to keep going. He couldn't stop now. Not when he was so close.
"Give him to me," Bill said lowly.
The supports on either side suddenly disappeared, but before he could fall, he was lifted off his feet. He was in someone's arms. One was hooked under his knees, the other went across his back. He wasn't sure, but it was kinda of nice, kinda terrifying. Which was weird. What was so scary about something nice? His head fell limp, and he was rewarded with a sky slowly turning pink and orange and blue. It was like magic.
Chapter end.
A/N: Wow, so here's a nice long chapter. Good news: the next chapter is written. I just have to edit it so that it earns Saltwater's approval, so it should be up in five or six days. Happy times, yes? Lol! Again, big thanks to Saltwater! She really knows her stuff!