While the evening meal at 12 Grimmauld Place was a festive one as the friends and family gathered there celebrated the Malfoys' renewed hope for a second child, the mood in the Kensington Palace apartments of the Prince and Princess of Wales was ugly.
"Isn't it bad enough that I've spent the last two years outright lying to the boys when they've wanted to know where you are, Charles?" Diana hisses, her eyes furious. "You know, you've known for years what the paparazzi can be like! How could you be so careless? Wills got kept in at school yesterday for attacking another little boy who taunted him over that picture of you and Camilla!"
"He needs to learn better," Charles said dryly. "It's part and parcel of being in our position." He steadfastly refused to acknowledge what Di said about his own carelessness in getting photographed with his lover in as intimate of an embrace as could be managed with all their clothes on.
Diana's eyes narrowed. "I'm hardly condoning his actions, but he is only seven, after all. He's done fairly well handling himself when the other boys merely teased him about you hardly ever being around even when you're not abroad on diplomatic visits. I can't exactly blame him for losing his temper over that photo, though, not when I have to admit to smashing a few teacups this morning myself when faced with it. I'm bloody well aware you've been cheating on me for some time, but I was willing to remain silent as long as you were conducting yourself discreetly. Not anymore, though, so you had best speak with your mother and advisors as to how best to handle things.
Now Charles looked vaguely alarmed. "Diana… surely you don't mean…"
"Oh, I mean it. I want a divorce. I married you believing you loved me, and if you weren't as demonstrative as I might have liked, I chalked it up to your upbringing. And then I figured out that you'd never loved me, not like I loved you, but I still thought we were friends at least," Diana said bitterly. "It seems I was wrong about that, too. A friend would have taken more care not to be so… so blatant."
Charles ran a hand over his face. He really wasn't sure how to deal with his young wife when she got on an emotional tear like this, as his own family was rather known for their stoicism in the face of any sort of adversity. "Right then," he said awkwardly. "What exactly do you want from me, aside from the obvious?"
Diana dropped into a chair. "I want you to explain to Wills that while we're going to divorce as you no longer care for me the way a man ought to care for his wife, but that it doesn't mean you love him any less. Reassure him that you and I are still capable of getting along as friends. Make sure he knows that Christmas this year won't be affected, especially as Harry Potter will be joining us at Highgrove over the hols. Beyond that… I just don't know right now, Charles. I'd like to think I'm reasonable about most things. In this case, my main concern is for our sons. However this gets done, I want their lives to go on as normally as can be managed given that the press is going to have a field day."
"Right, I can do that," Charles nodded. "This is so… I don't know exactly what to do myself. I just thought… well, Mother and Father always just lived their separate private lives, so I suppose I thought we'd do the same."
Di shook her head wearily. "That's where you made your biggest mistake," she told him. "Thirty to forty years ago, the press respected the Crown, at least enough to not pry into the personal lives of the Royals the way they do today. Now they crowd around hoping to capture some sort of scandal, and likely enough would try to create one if they couldn't find one. There's no such thing as a truly private life anymore when you're in a public figure, because there is always a photographer lurking about with a telephoto lens."
"So I've learned," Charles said sourly. "Well. You are the mother of my heirs, so whatever exactly gets decided, you'll not end up too badly off. Since you're not wanting to disrupt the boys' lives, I expect you and they ought to retain the apartments here. I've mostly been staying at Highgrove or Buckingham Palace anyway, so that won't change too much. Leaves them here where they have their school and such, yes?"
"Fair enough," Di nodded. "And I believe we can manage to be cordial when I bring the boys and young Mr. Potter to Highgrove… I certainly wouldn't ask you to remove yourself from your own estate while I'm visiting, but neither will I cancel the visit as it's been planned for several months and I wouldn't want to disappoint the children."
Charles nodded and stood up. "Perfectly understandable. And, Diana? For what it's worth, I am sorry. You really are everything a royal wife should be. If circumstances were different…"
Di gave him a sad smile. "I'd still be thirteen years younger than you, and we'd still have nothing in common. No. We both were foolish. I was a romantic little girl in love with love, and you were being pressured into choosing a bride and you selected me based on my qualifications instead of your feelings. Let's just end things with as much dignity and grace as we can manage, and not waste time on what-ifs."
"For someone who did so poorly in school, you're a wise woman, Diana," Charles said softly. "Despite everything, I'm glad it's you raising my children." He exited the apartment quietly.
Diana watched him go and sighed. Then she stood as well and moved to her office. It was a little earlier than she'd planned to write to Harry Potter about the plans for the upcoming holiday season, the Nutcracker performance as well as his visit to Highgrove, but she needed to concentrate on something cheery just now. If she didn't, she knew she'd end up falling back into old patterns of coping with stress, and she'd fought too hard to break the cycle of bulimia to let herself become trapped once more. Sitting at her desk and pulling out her personal stationery, she started to write.
Dear Harry, To allow for school schedules, we'll be going to the final performance of The Nutcracker, on Saturday 23 December. That way you and Wills won't be up late one evening and then still have to get up early for school the following day! I'd like you, Sirius, and Stephen to come to Kensington Palace for tea so that my Harry gets to see you as well… he's too young to sit through a ballet just yet… and then we can all get ready for the performance without needing to worry about meeting up anywhere. That's always a bit harder to do when you're in the Royal Box, after all! I'm enclosing a picture of Wills in the suit he'll be wearing, so you can see what sort of outfit is appropriate for a young man of your age. Do me a favour, please, and let Sirius and Stephen know they should wear tuxedos. Speaking of Sirius, would you write back and give me his address? I've made those tapes I promised him when we were chatting after our visit to Great Ormond Street Hospital, but I realised I don't know where to send them, but I'd like him to get them as soon as possible. Her Majesty wants a family holiday this year, but I'll be taking you and my boys out to Highgrove on the 27th and we'll return to London on the 30th. Princess Anne will bring Zara and Zara's friend Sophie to spend the day on the 29th, so we can have that dance lesson I promised. Oh, and when you write back, make sure to give me some ideas as to what you'd like for Christmas! The boys and I are very much looking forward to seeing you again. Hugs,
Diana, Princess of Wales
Di added her private-correspondence address at the bottom, so that when Harry wrote back, his letter wouldn't be routed through the official mailroom and possibly missed by one of the undersecretaries whose duty it was to sort through the myriad of mail to the Royals. Given that Harry was a child, she worried that if a letter from him came through the public address, he'd be sent a form letter in return and she'd never even learn that he'd written. Finding the photo of Wills to send along, she slipped it into an envelope along with her letter and wrote Harry's address on the front before tossing it into her outgoing mail basket for her private secretary to send out first thing on Monday. After that, she retreated to her bedroom and dropped a tape of her favourite dance club music into her stereo. I haven't been out in ages, she thought as she started to move to the song Maniac from the film Flashdance. But once it's announced that Charles and I are divorcing, it won't be nearly so problematic to be seen out having a good time at a club. No more worries about some unscrupulous reporter printing a story that I'm sleeping around. Well, she amended to herself, they'll likely print stories that I'm sleeping with whoever they might spot me dancing with, but once I'm officially separated from Charles, my reputation won't suffer too terribly badly. She let herself get lost in the music as she'd done as a girl, forgetting her pain and anger for a time.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Harry received the letter on Thursday after returning to Privet Drive from his tae kwon do class, his face lit up and he dashed up to his room to read it. Once he was done, he looked thoughtful, and pulled out his spiral notebook so he could jot down some ideas. He wasn't entirely sure what was or wasn't appropriate to request in the way of Christmas gifts, as he'd never gotten one before, so he wanted to write down a few things and then ask Stephen on Saturday. Books for certain, he thought as he tapped his biro against his lips. Ones on medieval history, and maybe ones about snakes? More jigsaw puzzles would be nice, too, or more model aeroplanes. Oh, and a new sketchbook, as the one from the art kit that Uncle Sirius bought for me at Harrod's Toy Kingdom that time is nearly full up. He decided that was probably enough for the moment, and set the list aside in favour of getting his maths homework done and proofreading his book report of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
After finishing his schoolwork and packing his old backpack neatly, he opened his spiral notebook once more. It had occurred to him that if Princess Diana was going to get him a Christmas gift, he ought to get her something, and gifts for Wills and little Harry as well. A slinky for Harry, he thought, and wrote that down. He wrote down Wills' name and Princess Di's, although he wasn't sure what to get them just yet. He also wrote down Stephen, Sirius, and Remus, plus Draco and Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. And, after a long moment of consideration, he added Aunt Petunia and Dudley to the list, thinking, If I don't get them anything, Aunt Petunia might start being nasty again, especially if she knows I'm getting gifts for other people. I don't want that to happen, so I'll get her something… and if I get her something, I sort of have to get Dudley something or she'll get upset. And no matter that he'll complain about it at best, whatever 'it' ends up being. He looked over the list of names and wrote down 'pretty scarf or handbag' beside Petunia's name, and after a moment of consideration, also jotted 'pretty scarf' by Di's name but with a question mark beside it. Draco was easy, he wrote 'Legos' beside his friend's name without hesitation. He left the rest blank for the moment, deciding to consult with Stephen… except for Stephen's gift, he'd consult with Sirius for that. Finally, at the bottom of the page, he jotted down, 'sweets to share with my friends… candy canes?' Looking at the list, he smiled with satisfaction. It felt nice, knowing that this year, despite his cousin, he had friends.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sitting in her office at the Ministry, Amelia Bones sighed as she looked over the transcripts from Peter Pettigrew's trial. She'd managed to sneak it into the Wizengamot's docket without fanfare, knowing that it would be a huge circus if word had gotten out ahead of time, due to the connection with Sirius Black's exoneration. She'd also managed, by scheduling it for the middle of the week during the school year, to keep Albus Dumbledore away from the trial as well, as he was still holding the Potter vote by proxy. She wasn't entirely happy with that, as he really didn't have the right to it now that young Lord Potter's godfather was a free man, but Lord Black had asked her to let it go until he formally took his seat on the Wizengamot when the new session started come January.
When she'd asked why, his reply intrigued her: "I don't trust Dumbledore very much right now. I think he's got an agenda of his own, and that he knew full well I hadn't gotten a trial back when. But there's no way to prove it, especially if he pleads his age and the sheer volume of cases at the time as causing him to overlook mine in the shuffle. Anyway, I don't want to rock the boat with him just yet, so I haven't gone to him about taking custody of my godson or anything else. I'm hoping he'll get the impression that I still think he's the second coming of Merlin, like so many of us did during the war, and that I won't think to question any of the decisions he's made about Harry. With any luck, by the time I do approach him, he'll consider me harmless."
Of course, Amelia thought to herself, Dumbledore had been right about one thing: he'd insisted all along that He Who Must Not Be Named would return someday. Pettigrew's statement about the horcruxes created by the dark wizard lends credence to Dumbledore's claims, unless we can find and destroy them all before that happens. Maybe. She didn't honestly know how that worked. Certainly You Know Who's body had been destroyed on the night the Potters died, so he was presumably a disembodied spirit somewhere and would require help from one of his old followers to regain a body. Of course, that assumes the ones who aren't in Azkaban would want to help him regain a body, she thought with a touch of humour. The Death Eater trials just after the war had revealed that You Know Who had ruled his followers through pain and fear, so it was quite likely that anyone who'd escaped imprisonment but hadn't actually attempted to bring him back was actually pleased he was gone.
Well, the horcruxes were about to become public knowledge; at least, the fact of their existence was. Amelia had seen the face of the Daily Prophet's courtroom correspondent, first when Pettigrew was brought out, and doubly so when he admitted to his crimes and to knowing that his master had created horcruxes, 'more than one' at that. What little description the ratlike man had given concerning the journal from He Who Must Not Be Named's days as a Hogwarts student was going to be in the papers by morning, if there wasn't a special edition published tonight. Right on cue, her secretary tapped on the door, admitting the Prophet's reporter. "I just wondered if you had a statement, Madam Bones?" he asked.
Amelia nodded slowly. She had been planning to speak with Minister Fudge before speaking with the press, but that ineffectual duffer was hiding in his office in a panic over the thought that You Know Who really could return at some point, so she would just plan on making her apologies rather than gaining permission. "Obviously, learning about the steps taken by He Who Must Not Be Named to ensure his own immortality has taken us by surprise here at the DMLE," she said carefully. "While the Aurors are aware that such things are possible, I believe I can safely say no one considered that he was that insane as to have done it at all much less multiple times, nor that he somehow discovered how even before he completed his Hogwarts education. Aurors are receiving additional training in recognising the magical signature of such artifacts, and in the use of the few spells and materials capable of destroying them. We of the DMLE would also like to say this: if any member of the public should turn in the journal described by Peter Pettigrew, or any other item that proves to be another of You Know Who's artifacts, no questions will be asked. It is not, after all, a crime to keep an item safe for someone else upon request, no matter who made the request."
"Do you think anything will be turned in?" the reporter questioned.
"I've no idea," Madam Bones admitted. "On the one hand, I can't quite picture anyone willingly entrusting such things to anyone else. On the other hand, keeping them all together would make no sense either, so I suppose it is possible that one or more of them came into the keeping of his followers. Or," she added as a thought struck her, "the keeping of a relative of his followers. The properties and vaults of anyone convicted and sentenced to life in Azkaban or the Kiss would have been distributed to their named heirs if they had any, or split between the Ministry coffers and any surviving relatives if they either had no wills or their heirs were also dead or imprisoned. I'm aware the chances of recovering one in such a manner are almost nil, but I do feel nothing's lost by trying."
The reporter nodded. "True enough. Thank you for your time, Madam Bones." He took himself out of her office and she pulled out a quill and started composing a notice to the entire department, letting them know she meant what she said about accepting any dark artifacts that might be turned in, no questions asked.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Dumbledore arrived in the Great Hall of Hogwarts for breakfast, the House tables were abuzz, and the staff table wasn't much better. "Whatever is happening, Minerva?" he asked his deputy as he sat beside her at the table.
"Peter Pettigrew's been caught," the transfiguration professor said, handing him a newspaper. "And he was living here in the school for years, Albus! Years! Apparently Percy Weasley found him and kept him as a pet… sweet Circe, when I think what could have happened to the children, all because we had no idea he was anything other than a simple rat…"
"That explains why he came to school with an owl this year," commented Septima Vector, the arithmancy professor. Percy was one of her favourite third-year students. "He did mention he received the owl as a reward for something, but he wasn't forthcoming with what. I bet folks at the DMLE chipped in and bought him the owl for turning in the rat."
As the teachers continued to discuss Pettigrew, Albus Dumbledore opened the paper to read the entire article and not just the headlines. He nearly choked on his tea when he reached the bit where Pettigrew spoke of Voldemort's horcruxes. Oh, this was bad, he thought. Why wasn't I told about the trial? I would have made sure nothing got out about the horcruxes… I didn't want Voldemort to know I knew about them until Harry was able to deal with them. Now he's likely to return sooner than I'd anticipated, if only so he can keep any of his followers who might consider handing anything of his over to the Ministry in exchange for amnesty from doing just that. He looked up as Minerva nudged his shoulder. "I'm sorry, my dear, what was that?" he asked.
"With as many students as subscribe to the Prophet, Albus, there's bound to be questions today, questions about… about horcruxes," Professor McGonagall repeated. "You know as well as I do that there's no stopping the talk that will happen, especially as Pettigrew indicated that He Who Must Not Be Named created one while still a student here himself. What do we tell the students when they ask?"
"Hmm." Dumbledore stroked his beard. "I suppose the very simplest version of the truth possible," he said. "That a horcrux is an object that contains a portion of a soul, a portion ripped away by the murder of an innocent, and its purpose is to prevent death by anchoring the person who created it to this world."
The professors looked at each other and nodded. "That works well enough, I suppose," Professor Kettleburn said. "I'm surprised you didn't warn us this was coming, though."
"He couldn't," came the acidic tones of Severus Snape from the far end of the table. "As Headmaster Dumbledore holds the Potter vote on the Wizengamot by proxy, Madam Bones would have seen to it that he wasn't at Pettigrew's trial. Conflict of interest and all that."
Dumbledore shot a look at the younger man. "I wasn't aware you followed the proceedings of the Wizengamot so closely, Severus," he said mildly.
Snape calmly sipped his tea. "I don't," he said flatly. "But I do see my godson once a month even during the school year, and I was at Malfoy Manor last Sunday to visit with Draco and his parents. Lucius mentioned the coming trial, and that Madam Bones specifically excluded you on the basis of the Potter vote. Had you formally handed it over to Black when he was freed," said with a sneer," then you would have been notified of the trial. Black was excluded as well, given that he spent years in Azkaban due to Pettigrew's actions, and Lucius excused himself based on Black being a relative so he wasn't at the trial either."
Albus had to look down at the paper for a moment, to hide the flash of annoyance in his eyes as the younger man's words reminded him that he'd have to deal with Sirius Black sooner or later. Surprisingly, the man had yet to seek him out to demand custody of Harry… something that everyone and their aunt knew had been James and Lily's wish… but it was bound to happen eventually. Damn Amelia Bones anyway, for being such a stickler for the rules. I never thought a former Hufflepuff would be so difficult to handle. He nodded slowly. "I see, well, that does make sense from an ethical standpoint, my boy. I should have remembered that myself. I just wish you'd told me when you returned from your visit."
"As far as I'm concerned, it was nothing but gossip, which I refuse to perpetuate," Severus replied with dignity. "It was nothing that affected the school, at least so far as I was aware, and so I felt it was unnecessary to mention it, the same as I didn't consider it necessary to inform you when Narcissa gave some of her excess house elves to Black, as all but one of his mother's elves had died and the one that was left had gone more than a bit mad." He stood. "Anyway, it is time to deal with the dunderheads yet again. Why you insist on pairing Gryffindor with Slytherin for potions year after year is beyond me, and as if that isn't bad enough on its own, I'm forced to put up with not one but two first-year Weasleys this term." He turned in a swirl of robes and stalked off towards the dungeon stairs.
"Yes, I suppose," Dumbledore nodded as the Potions Master departed. "Anyway, I should be going as well… this will likely cause Cornelius to go into shock, and he'll likely seek my advice as soon as he's recovered." The old wizard stood and bowed before vanishing through a door behind the teachers' table. He had some planning to do.
Once firmly ensconced behind his desk and with a lemon drop in his mouth, he pulled out some writing paper and a quill. Since Sirius Black was going to want to take Harry in, the only way he could think to prevent that from happening, would be to demonstrate to the man that Harry was perfectly happy in his current home and shouldn't be uprooted from it. He'd contact Black right away and offer to arrange for a meeting between him and the child. Presumably Arabella would allow him to borrow her sitting room for a couple of hours. He just had to make sure that Petunia would make Harry tell Black that he was treated wonderfully and didn't want to leave his beloved cousin to live with a stranger.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
In Wiltshire, Lucius Malfoy opened the paper and took a bite of his toast. And then he spit it out, much to the utter shock of his wife and son. "Merlin's hairy arse!" he exclaimed, further mystifying his family. Narcissa hadn't seen or heard Lucius have such an outburst since early in his fifth year at Hogwarts, and Draco never had.
"What is it, Lucius?" Narcissa asked anxiously.
"Remember during the war, Cissa, when I returned home one night with a journal that I told you the Dark Lord wished me to keep safe for him?" Lucius looked much paler than usual. "Apparently at the trial yesterday, Pettigrew gave some information concerning certain of the Dark Lord's belongings, and from the sound of it, that journal is more than likely one of them."
Narcissa frowned. "Yes, but what is it, exactly?"
"They think it's a horcrux," he told her.
"Dear Circe… he was crazy enough to do that to himself?" she said in amazement. "That's just… I don't even know what to say."
"What's a horcrux?" asked Draco.
Lucius shook his head. "It's utterly vile magic," he said, "to cheat death. The being creating one has to quite literally split his soul and store a piece of it in an artifact. That anchors the soul to this realm, so that even if the body is destroyed, it is possible for the soul to either find or create a new one. Splitting one's soul is an unnatural and abominable act, which can only be achieved through murdering an innocent."
Draco went pale, then faintly greenish. "Killing someone splits your soul?" he whispered, horrified.
Narcissa shook her head. "Not exactly. An accident wouldn't count, nor would killing another in self-defense. And from what little I know… and believe me, that isn't much… there is some sort of ritual preparation that must be done prior to the murder."
Lucius blinked at his wife. "I'm surprised you even know that much," he said.
"I am a Black by birth," she shrugged. "Uncle Orion used to show off some of the nastier books to me and my sisters when we were girls, just to see how badly he could scare us."
"He would," Lucius snorted. "I might not agree with your cousin about much, but I can't entirely blame him for running away from home when he was sixteen. Walburga was even worse than Orion." Setting the paper down, he looked seriously at his family. "We have a decision to make, though. Madam Bones is offering to allow anyone the chance to bring in any artifacts that might have belonged to the Dark Lord, with no questions asked or fear of prosecution. However, if this news article is correct, it's a certainty that the Dark Lord will return at some point." He took a deep breath. "As much as I hate to act like a Gryffindor, I'm going to be blunt here. Being in his service was nothing even close to what I was led to believe it would be. He thought nothing of using Unforgivables on his supposedly trusted comrades when they told him anything he didn't wish to hear. My father taught me that a Malfoy bows to no one, yet he knelt at the Dark Lord's feet and kissed the hem of his robes and induced me to do the same, because supposedly the Dark Lord was going to return the wizarding world to its roots and traditions by eliminating the muggleborn. But I noticed he attacked just as many purebloods as muggleborn, and not just for supporting muggleborns either. I wanted out, but I couldn't see a way to get out short of dying, or putting you two in grave danger, or both. When the Dark Lord returns, he will call. If I don't answer, we will become targets, all the more so if I do turn in his journal. Yet if I do answer, we will be in nearly as much danger from his bad moods… if I give an answer he doesn't like, he's as likely to make me watch him torture one of you as he is to simply torture me. So… what do we want to do?"
