Chapter 15:
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS
The last few months seemed to have been tragic for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with the numerous mysterious petrifactions reminiscent of the 1943, Gilderoy Lockhart's accident, and most tragic of them all, the massacre that happened yesterday, writes correspondent Velma Sullivan.
A message about the opening of the legendary Chamber of Secrets and the coming of the 'Heir of Slytherin' was the first sign, followed by the petrifaction of one Hannah Abbott mere weeks later and then followed soon after by the October 31st Halloween attacks on one Seamus Finnigan and one Justin Finch-Fletchley, leading to the removal of Albus Dumbledore from his post as the Headmaster. However, Dumbledore's removal did not do anything to deter the Heir, and the next attack happened on the January 7th, with the petrifaction of one Hermione Granger.
The final attack on January 8th was different however in that it did not have petrifactions. Instead, that night, the staff found a message from the Heir. The Heir had taken a child, one Lisa Turpin, right into the Chamber. The chamber which no one knew the location of. Dejected and defeated, the Hogwarts staff started to prepare to send the students home the next day.
But the next morning's breakfast was not to be quiet, for the Heir had made the last move. In the middle of the breakfast, the Basilisk blasted right through the front doors and barrelled into the Hall armed with its killer gaze. Official testimony states the Secrecy Charm that hid the Basilisk broke under the strain of having too many minds to hide the Beast from, enabling Albus Dumbledore, who was there as an invited guest speaker, to work out a solution and cast a Blindness curse on each individual in the room before ending the Basilisk with powerful magic.
However, he was too late, and 8 students and 1 teacher had fallen prey to the terrible gaze of the Basilisk.
For more on this story and official testimonies, article by Jennifer Law follows.
HOGWARTS MASSACRE: WHO IS TO BLAME!
As the events of the night of January 8th were unfolding and the teachers, defeated, were preparing for Hogwarts closing down, one person had not assumed defeat, and that was Harry Potter.
Having overheard his teachers' conversation about Lisa Turpin, Harry did what no one else had done. He found the entrance to Chamber of Secrets and went in. What follows is an excerpt from his official statement to DMLE.
~~~Statement Begins~~~
Interrogator: How did you realize where the Entrance was located?
HP: The only reason I realized where the Entrance was is because of Myrtle, the ghost of the girl who was killed in 1943. When I asked her how she died, her face went all blank. I'd read that only stuff like Secrecy charms could do that, so I asked where she had died, trying to get around the charm. She was able to tell me that she died in the bathroom she currently haunts. I realized that there must be some sort of connection to the Chamber from that place, so I and my phoenix Hedwig searched for anything peculiar. We found a tap with a snake engraved on it. I knocked on the wall and realized it was hollow, and I realized that the entrance must be behind it.
Interrogator: And how did you open the entrance?
HP: I figured there would be some password to it so I just sent a blasting hex at it. The sink blew up, and there was this really big pipe behind it.
Interrogator: Why did you not alert others and what did you do next?
HP: Since Myrtle couldn't tell me how she died, I figured that the Beast must have been covered by the Secrecy charm. I didn't want to risk anyone else's life. We went down the pipe and through the tunnel and found an open door with snakes on it. I had a family heirloom with me, so I was able to hide and slowly sneak around the sides of the Chamber, looking for Lisa. The place was really dark, dusty and looked almost destroyed. Somehow I managed to get through to the other end without encountering the Basilisk. I just wanted to save Lisa and get out of there as fast as I could.
Interrogator: That was when you reached the smaller door underneath the statue of Slytherin yes?
HP: Yeah. It led into a tunnel, which led to a smaller room. I found the two of them lying there, along with an upended red-hot cauldron.
Interrogator: Be more specific for the record please. Them?
HP: Dean Thomas, my friend, and Lisa Turpin lying on the floor, not moving. Lisa had burns all over her, and her robes were soaked with something that was burning her. But she was alive. I dried her up the best I could before going over to check on Dean. But he . . . he was . . .
Interrogator: Would you like some water, Mr. Potter?
HP: No. No. I'm fine. He…He was dead. I don't know how long I sat there for, but when I snapped out of it, I grabbed them both and got Hedwig to take us to the Great Hall. There I just remember seeing the carnage, and then I passed out.
Interrogator: That will be all. Thank you
~~~Statement Ends~~~
DMLE investigation so far corroborates this version of events. The Chamber was indeed almost destroyed, although by what is not clear. A gramophone, set to spew mysterious spitting noises was found in the chamber as well. Its purpose is yet to be discovered. The cauldron mentioned, however, has been suspected of containing a dark empowering potion, and it is suspected that the burns on Miss Turpin's body occurred because she was somehow dipped into the potion. She is now seeking treatment at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Current DMLE theory says that Dean Thomas might have somehow followed the Heir into the Chamber as Lisa Turpin was being kidnapped, and when he noticed Miss Turpin being thrown into the potion, he tackled it and saved her life, stopping the dark ritual from occurring. The current running theory is that this might have what caused a magical backlash causing the damage to the Chamber.
So who did it? Who was behind all this? Whatever the truth, you can expect Daily Prophet to bring it to your knowledge as soon as possible.
HOGWARTS CLOSING DOWN!
Yesterday, on the 10th of January, the day after the Massacre at Hogwarts and all the alive and well students returning home, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall addressed the press from the gates of an empty Hogwarts.
"In the light of recent events, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be closing down for the upcoming school year. We shall be improving our security, faculty, protections, and many other important fields of our ancient school. Due to his experience in magical protections and his actions in protecting the students of Hogwarts Albus Dumbledore will soon be reinstated as the Headmaster of Hogwarts to oversee these renovations. Hogwarts is not just a school, but a monument to the Wizarding World's strength and tenacity in face of peril. We solemnly swear that we will return it to the greatness it deserves."
While the impassioned speech was much appreciated by the crowd gathered to listen, the implications that the statement had were disturbing.
If Hogwarts chooses to close down for the next year, then more than likely the entire school year will be lost for the students studying here. Murmurs from the Department of Magical Education suggest that the students may be transferred to another school for the year of 1993, with their expenses for books, uniforms and assorted requirements paid in full for that year provided that the students choose to remain affiliated with Hogwarts, even in their transfer school.
It is fairly obvious that this is an effort to not lose the remaining Hogwarts students to a foreign school while they are transferred there. But how successful will this be? While no doubt many students will return for their fourth year at school, just for the sake of being closer to home, some have already permanently transferred to other schools. The wounds have been made, and they won't be easy to fill in.
The promises of improving the faculty and security were much appreciated. One does have to question the competency of the staff when a twelve-year-old boy sees patterns that none of them were able to see. Hopefully, with the reopening of Hogwarts once more under Dumbledore, we will be seeing a more trained and professional staff armed with better security measures.
But as the future seems bleak for Hogwarts and its students, one ray of sunshine shines through in the form of the soon forthcoming recovery of the petrified individuals. We here at the Daily Prophet wish them and Hogwarts school the very best for the future.
Those three articles adorned the first page of the January 10th newspaper sitting on top of Harry's desk. The newspaper was four days old, having come out a couple of days after the…the incident, as Harry preferred to call it in his head now. A few feet away from the table, Harry stood in front of his open wardrobe.
He considered the occasion for a second before pulling out one of his nicer set of robes before tossing them onto his bed behind him.
Closing the wardrobe doors behind him, he turned around and quickly threw the robes on, using the new skill he had learned from his skill book to weave on an illusion, making him look clean not like he had just rolled in a bale of hay with elephant poop mixed in for good measure.
Glamouring, Lv- 1 (0%)
Allows the user to weave illusions around himself and alter the look of small portions of his body.
You can only make yourself look fresh at the current level of this ability.
Cost- 50 MP
That was one useful skill when in a hurry. Plus it had a lot of potential to grow into something more powerful and useful. But for now, he needed to make sure he looked decent.
Today was an important day. Today was the day Hermione was going to wake up.
"Are you sure you don't want to come, Hedwig?" he asked his phoenix, who was sitting in the little tray underneath her perch reserved for her post-Burning Day form.
"You know I can't," Hedwig's childlike mental voice echoed in his mind, sounding slightly miserable, "I can't go out like this. I look hideous!"
Harry turned from patting down his robes to look at his friend. Phoenixes, he'd learned the day of Hedwig's burning day yesterday, had quite a few body image issues about the way they looked after their Burning Days. It shouldn't have been a surprise really, considering how much pride Hedwig held in her plumage, but hearing it verbalized made a whole world of difference.
"You look better than you did yesterday," he told her with a smile, "Yesterday was bad."
"Thanks, Harry,"
"As in, really bad."
"No really. Thank you."
"You looked tiny yesterday," he continued with a smirk, "Like a mix between a fist-sized shriveled bean and a chicken."
"Really grateful for the confidence boost Harry. Appreciate that." she flatly said before going back to pecking at the piece of chocolate in the little bowl on her tray.
And she appreciated sarcasm, which was frankly great in Harry's opinion. Made for good banter.
"No problem," he said before walking over to her, extending an arm to scratch behind her neck, watching with a grin as her eyes slid shut and her tiny leg started twitching.
"Are you coming, Harry!?" Nicholas's voice rang loudly from downstairs.
"Coming!" Harry yelled back before he gave Hedwig a final pat on the head and walked over to the newspaper sitting on his desk before picking it up and looking at it. The words he had almost committed to memory sprang right back at him, mesmerizing him into a trance as he unblinkingly stared at them.
"Tell Hermione that I sent my good wishes," Hedwig said from her perch, startling Harry out of his thrall. His hand hastily jerked against the edge of the paper, slitting open a small cut in his palm.
"I will," Harry said, ignoring the cut as he hastily stuffed the paper into his pocket before heading towards the door.
"You aren't going to heal that are you?" Hedwig quietly said from behind him as he reached for the doorknob.
He stopped. It had been almost a week now. An entire week of him blaming himself for each one of those deaths that had happened at Hogwarts that day. Wondering if his killing one girl would have saved all those other lives. Wondering if he had sacrificed 9 people in exchange for his moral integrity and a girl whose life was destroyed anyway. Trying to tell himself again and again that he made the right choice at the moment.
He was just tired of thinking at this point.
Not thinking about all that and just focusing on trying to save and protect what he had left just felt like the right thing to do.
He looked at his hand. Hundreds of tiny cuts were peppered all across his arms and his back from the rocks falling on him in the tunnel outside Slytherin's cave. This new red one, the paper cut, stood out brightly amongst all the ones that had scabbed over. Every single one of those cuts he could have healed.
But he didn't.
Maybe it was stupid. In fact, it probably was. But it felt like the right thing to do. As meaningless it was, this pathetic little form of penance that he had taken upon himself, it felt like the right thing to do.
"It's just a little cut. Nothing really. I'll see you later." he said before opening the door and leaving.
"How far is the Hospital from here?" Harry asked Nicholas as they stepped out of the alley they had apparated to from home into a broad store-lined street. All the petrified victims had been transferred to St Mungo's Hospital the day Hogwarts had closed down.
"Not far. We're just around the corner," Nicholas said, parting a group of shoppers to make way for them to pass before adding, "I will be waiting outside the building. There's a nice tea shop across the street. You take as much time as you need."
"Here we go," he added a moment later. It was a large, old-fashioned, red brick department store called Purge & Dowse Ltd. The place had a miserable air. The window displays consisted of a few chipped dummies with their wigs askew, and large signs on all the dusty doors read: 'Closed for Refurbishment'.
"It's the glass window. Be ready to step through when I tell you to," he said, pointing towards a window displaying nothing but a particularly ugly female dummy. Its false eyelashes were hanging off and it was modeling a green nylon pinafore dress.
Harry nodded, and Nicholas leaned closer to the glass before saying, "We're here to see Hermione Granger."
Harry really shouldn't have been surprised by the dummy giving a nod, but he was nevertheless. However, he remembered his instructions and stepped through the glass. It felt like stepping through a thin waterfall as he emerged quite warm and dry on the other side.
There was no sign of the ugly dummy or the space where she had stood. Instead, St. Mungo's Hospital's reception area stood in full glory in front of him. Rows of witches and wizards sat upon wooden chairs, some looking perfectly normal and others sporting gruesome disfigurements such as elephant trunks or extra hands sticking out of their chests. Healers in lime-green robes were walking up and down the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards. Harry noticed the emblem embroidered on their chests: a wand and bone, crossed.
Harry walked over to the queue in front of a sickly thin witch seated at a desk marked Enquiries. The wall behind her was covered in notices and posters. There was also a large portrait of a witch with long silver ringlets which was labeled:
Dilys Derwent
St Mungo's Healer 1722-1741
Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
1741-1768
Dilys was eyeing Harry closely, and Harry knew that it was because another portrait of hers hung in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, where he had been a few times.
"Next!" the blonde witch said, snapping Harry's attention back. He was up next."
"Hello," he said, "I'm here to see Hermione Granger. Could you tell me where I can find her?"
"Hermione Granger?" said the witch, not looking at him as she ran her finger down a long list. "Yes, first floor, third door on the right, La'am Djimple Ward."
"Thank you," said Harry, glad to not have drawn any attention.
For good measure, he dropped into Sneak mode to make sure he wouldn't be recognized as he entered the double doors and walked through the narrow corridor beyond which was lit by crystal bubbles full of candles that floated up on the ceiling, looking like giant soapsuds.
He climbed a flight of stairs, following the arrows and entered the Creature-Induced Injuries corridor, which was crowded with family of the petrified students. He recognized the Amelia Bones waiting alongside the Abbotts and a sobbing Susan. Not wanting to draw attention to himself at all, he turned to the second door on the right, dropped out of Sneak mode, and read the sign.
La'am Djimple Ward: Mysterious Maladies.
Ping!
Skill leveled up due to successful use!
Sneaking, Lv-17(21%)
Allows you to sneak up on someone.
71% chance of not getting caught.
71% chance of critical strike.
Harry waved the window away and knocked.
The door opened to reveal the familiar brown-haired woman whom he had met at Dean's birthday all those months ago. Mrs. Granger's eyes were wet. She gave him a smile before wiping her tears away.
"Hello, Harry. Come right in. Ronald has already arrived and they were waiting for you. I was just about to head upstairs to get something to eat."
"Thank you, Mrs. Granger," Harry said as the woman let him in before heading out of the door herself, closing the door behind her.
The ward was small and rather dingy, as the only window was narrow and set high in the wall facing the door. Most of the light came from more shining crystal bubbles clustered in the middle of the ceiling. All four of the petrified students were there, lying on beds, but only one of them was awake.
Hermione occupied the bed at the far end of the ward beside the tiny window. Harry was pleased to see that she was propped up on several pillows and was talking to Ron, who was sitting on a stool beside her bed. The tears streaming down her face, however, meant that she had heard about what had happened.
They looked up as he walked towards him and, seeing who it was, Hermione wiped her tears and gave a shaky smile.
"Hello Harry," she said as Harry bent down and hugged her before taking a seat on a stool on the opposite side of the bed to him.
"How are you?" Harry asked with concern.
"I'm alright," she said, "Just a bit weak. The Healers think they'll have me out in a day at most, which is pretty fast."
"They're just afraid of your mum and dad and their muggle healer ways," Ron chimed in, making the girl chuckle.
Harry looked at Ron for a second. The last he had seen him, the redhead had been an inconsolable mess. The time with his family must have been helpful.
"Have you told her all about what happened Ron?" he asked.
Ron nodded, "Most of it."
Harry dipped a hand into his pocket, pulling out the newspaper he'd grabbed from his desk and handing it to Hermione. "The first three articles cover pretty much all of it. Just in case Ron missed anything."
Ron nodded his thanks. This was clearly painful for him, talking about the Incident. Harry took a moment to admire the boy's strength. He was closer to Dean than any in their group, being in the same house as him. No doubt he was still in pain, yet despite not having any Gamer's Mind to protect himself from his emotions, here he was, stoically trying to support his friend.
His respect for Ron grew quite a bit.
"Oh no…" Hermione muttered as she read through the articles, "Oh goodness no."
The newspaper soon slipped from her hands as she stared uncomprehendingly ahead. Slowly, as Harry and Ron watched worriedly, her shoulders started to rock in sobs. Soon, the tears that had stopped when he had come in started to fall again.
Harry moved from his stool onto the edge of the bed and pulled her to his arms, grabbing her in a hug.
"He-" she cried into his chest in between hiccups, "He didn't deserve it. He was the nicest person. Why…"
And they sat there, Harry gently patting Hermione's back and Ron holding her hand as she cried her heart out to them.
It was in moments like this that Harry was glad he hadn't told anyone the truth. Voldemort was right. Death without a purpose hurt. So he'd given Dean's death a purpose. Dean died saving someone's life. He died stopping a dark ritual. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, he died for a noble purpose.
Ping!
Due to finishing the execution of a justified lie, a skill has levelled up!
Lying, Lv- 12 (30%)
This is your ability to lie to people, the higher the level the better the lie and less chance of discovery!
65% chance of success, less based on how extreme the lie is.
It was quite some time before Hermione's sobs ceased and turned into the occasional hiccup, before melding into silence.
It was Ron who spoke first, "So it's just us now huh?"
"Yeah," Harry replied, trying to keep the melancholy out of his voice. They fell back into silence again.
A few minutes later, Hermione, in an attempt to make conversation, asked, "Will we still be doing the Project?"
"I…don't know." Harry honestly replied.
"It'll be weird without…you know." Ron said.
"Yeah. It will," Harry sighed, "I don't know really. I think I'll visit the school and talk to Professor Vector sometime soon, but until then, I don't know."
"Did Terry write?" Hermione asked, changing the subject.
"Hmm?" Harry asked, before the question hit him and he replied, "Oh yeah. At school, he used to write a lot asking about how you were doing and all that. Last I heard, he told me that he was going to be living in France for a few months with his uncle to learn French before his term at Beauxbatons. I haven't heard from him after the Incident though. Haven't really had the chance to write either."
Harry frowned. Ron had frozen as soon as Terry's name was mentioned.
"He misses us you know," he said, just as much to Ron as to Hermione. The resentment Ron was harboring towards Terry for something that wasn't even his fault didn't sit well with Harry.
"Things will be different now," Ron replied, his tone lined with chill, "Really different. He's going to go to school in France and with Hogwarts being closed, we have no idea what's going to be happening to us."
Hermione glanced at Harry, her expression one of worried concern, before she asked, "The newspaper said you got Dean's…his body out of the Chamber. What happened to him after that?"
"Dad said that the DMLE is holding him for the investigation period," Ron piped in.
"Shouldn't he be released to his family?" Hermione asked, "They must be in so much pain."
"That's what I said. Dad told me the DMLE is afraid that if she wants to cremate then they might lose evidence permanently. Or at least that's the official reason,"
"It sounds reasonable. I guess," Hermione muttered.
"When will you be released?" Harry asked Hermione.
"They're running a few tests on me to make sure that the Mandrake worked as it should have, but they think I'll be out by tomorrow," Hermione replied as she picked up the newspaper and looked at it again.
"This says that we'll be transferred to a new school. Do you have any idea where?" she asked with a curious frown.
"It's not really official yet is it? But if we're given a choice then I'll choose Beauxbatons. Nick and Ellie have land in France." Harry replied.
"I think I'll do the same. Plus we have someone we know there. It'll be easier to fit in." Hermione said musingly, before asking, "And you Ron?"
"Same I suppose. It's closest to home," he said grudgingly, before looking at his wristwatch. He hesitantly added, "It's been over an hour. Mum must be waiting for me outside. I can tell her to come later if you want me to stay."
"Oh no, its fine," Hermione assured, "Go. I'll see you later,"
Ron gave a nod, before standing up and turning to Harry, "It was good seeing you again. Floo over to the Burrow sometime."
"I will Ron."
And with that, Ron left, leaving Harry and Hermione alone. Harry leaned back into the chair, closing his eyes. He knew what was coming.
"You saw it didn't you," he heard Hermione say.
"That newspaper article you had in your hand? I did," he replied, not opening his eyes.
"You're not angry?" she asked after a pause.
"No. A bit disappointed, a bit sad, but not angry." And much to his own relief, he knew that it was the truth. A year ago he would have flipped at this. But he had grown. He had changed. In light of all that had happened…being angry over this seemed trivial and not worth it at all.
Ping!
Due to self-reflection and understanding, take +1 Wis!
The silence after his reply lasted a few minutes.
"Why?"
Harry opened his eyes and looked into hers with a half-baked smile, "Because you made a mistake. A justified mistake. Then I forgave you for it…because I can't lose another one of my friends."
She did not say anything for the longest while, instead staring at him with an odd mixture of pity and wonder on her face, before leaning over and grabbing him in a hug.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Anytime Hermione," he said, patting her back, "Anytime."
After that, they spent time talking about everything and nothing, enjoying each other's company for a while. Mrs. Granger brought them some food from the cafeteria above, and before he knew it, another hour had passed. He had to take his leave, promising to come visit soon.
He walked out of that room feeling lighter than he had in the last week. Jogging down the stairs, he headed out of the hospital through the glass window, walking straight across the road to the indoor tea shop across the street in which Nicholas was waiting for him.
A soft chime rang through the wood-paneled walls of the quaint little shop as Harry opened the door and walked in, locating Nicholas reading a magazine on a table by the corner. He walked over and slid into the chair in front of him.
"Did you enjoy your tea old man?" he asked.
Nicholas put down his magazine and peered at his face for a second before smiling. "I did. I'm glad you are feeling better."
Harry didn't know how to respond to that. He'd been careful not to worry his guardians too much, so the fact that Nicholas had noticed his unrest was…disconcerting. And so he simply nodded in response.
Soon, Nicholas finished his cup of tea and they paid for it before heading back out into the cold air of the crowded street outside. They walked for a bit, talking about things of no real importance, like why St. Mungo's was founded in a busy Muggle street and whether this tea shop was better than the one in Diagon, before they found an out of sight alley and ducked into it.
Harry grabbed onto the offered arm before the duo twisted out of existence, smoothly and silently apparating to the front door of their apartment.
Finding his footing, Harry let go of Nicholas's arm and knocked on the door. The lock clicked open, and Harry turned the doorknob, leading Nicholas into the apartment.
He had barely locked the door behind him, when much to his surprise, he heard Nicholas ask, "Albus? What are you doing here?"
And sure enough, it was Dumbledore, sitting on the living room sofa across from Perenelle. The old Headmaster turned and looked at them just as Harry noticed that Perenelle was staring at a paper in her hands with a horrified expression.
"I'm sorry to intrude Nicholas, but a rather disturbing turn of events has happened. Lisa Turpin has been arrested and is set to stand trial in front of Wizengamot. I need Harry's help to protect her."
One thing of note about this entire situation was that Harry had 3 versions of the happenings in the Chamber of Secrets.
1) The version he had told to the press, in which he had done nothing but lie.
2) The version he had told the Flamels and Dumbledore, which included pretty much everything except the part where he went into the ID to save Lisa. Much like how he had told the newspaper, he'd told them that the potion was already upturned by the time he got there, but he did tell them about his battle with the Basilisk. It helped that they already knew about his Wandless magic capabilities.
3) And the truth.
Lie, Bullshit, and Truth.
It would have been funny if it hadn't been so grim.
"You said that Riddle used an illusion to taunt you, then you took down the Basilisk using Alchemy. Then you went into the small tunnel under Salazar Slytherin's statue, and found the upturned cauldron and young Mr. Thomas lying there with a badly burnt Miss Turpin. After that, you grabbed them and got them back to the Great Hall. During any of this, did you notice an object? A diary? Something like the one Mr. Riddle mentioned was his 'container'? Are you absolutely sure?" Dumbledore asked for the third time in a row.
"No, I didn't. And yes I'm very sure. I would have noticed if anything was there," Harry firmly replied. He'd been looking for the 'container' from the moment Riddle had mentioned it in the chamber, and he'd found nothing.
Dumbledore and Nicholas shared another meaningful glance, just like they had been sharing since Dumbledore had mentioned the 'container'. Harry suspected that they knew something that he didn't.
"What is going on Professor?" he asked, growing impatient, "Why would they arrest Lisa? Didn't I make it clear in my statement to DMLE that she was the victim? That she was the one being hurt?"
"You did Harry," Dumbledore agreed warily, "However, it appears that the Grand Prosecutor has gained some sort of evidence that warranted a trial against Miss Turpin. A trial in front of Wizengamot with the charges being of murder, grievous injury, terrorism, and many more."
"She could get Dementor's Kiss if she gets convicted on even half of those charges," Perenelle muttered, looking stricken.
"Should I tell them? That she was possessed by Voldemort?" Harry asked, looking around worriedly.
Dumbledore sighed, taking off his glasses as he rubbed his eyes, "Harry, there were reasons I asked you to lie to the press. I told you not to tell the press about how you took down the Basilisk because even minor scrutiny on your methods could have exposed Nicholas. I told you to not tell them about Miss Turpin's possession because no one would believe you."
"You're joking," Harry muttered. He couldn't be serious. They wouldn't believe him?!
"You didn't see anything conclusive Harry. All you saw was an illusion. They have every reason to not believe you." Nicholas pointed out.
"Then why are you believing me?" Harry asked, turning to Dumbledore.
"Because the things you said that the illusion told you," replied Dumbledore, "You would not have known any other way. You heard things that only I and Lord Voldemort know. That is why I believe you. And that is why no one else will."
"But surely if you tell them-"
"Even if I do that, my word will not count for much at this point." Dumbledore said, "The amount of deaths that happened is making a lot of the families call for an investigation and trial. Therein lies the problem. There is little to no evidence protecting Miss Turpin in a trial. All there is, is your word. They have substituted me as the Chief Warlock until the case is over, claiming bias. Furthermore, I am going to be arguing for her in court, and that will render my testimony useless."
"But…" Harry said desperately, "Isn't there any symptom of her being possessed that we could show in the trial? Like Quirrell had a face behind his head? We won't have to tell anyone that Voldemort was involved at all. Just say that it was a malicious spirit or something."
"Hmm…" Dumbledore leaned back into his chair as he considered what Harry said, "A defense suggesting possession is possible, but the lack of any actual physical evidence makes me wary. And in answer to your question, no. She does not have any evidence of possession, more than likely because of who she was possessed by."
"What do you mean?"
"Lord Voldemort is well versed in the Dark Arts, and with as much time as he had as a student, he must have put Miss Turpin through some ritual or the other to make sure she did not show any evidence of possession."
This was starting to sound worse and worse.
"Making the situation even worse is that the entire ordeal ended up harming her in more ways than one. They won't be able to use Veritaserum on her, and they won't be able to have the Court Legilimencer interrogate her. I visited her in her Ministry cell today. Her mind was rendered impenetrable. Her magic…damaged. " Dumbledore gave a pained grimace as he said the last word.
"Damaged…like she was?" Perenelle asked, her tone full of a morbid curiosity.
Dumbledore nodded tiredly, resting his head in his hands.
Harry was confusedly looked back and forth between Dumbledore and the Flamels, whose expressions seemed to be stuck between pity and sorrow.
"Are you alright, Albus?" Nicholas asked gently, resting a hand on the aged man's arm.
Dumbledore nodded before looking up from his hands to Harry. "They will be starting the Trial within the next couple of days, and I will need your assistance more than anything, both inside the courtroom and outside. Can I count on it, Harry?"
Ping!
Quest Alert!
Help Dumbledore save Lisa's life!
Reward,
50,000 Exp
?
?
Failure,
Death of Lisa Turpin
YES/NO?
He had to accept this quest, and not just because of Lisa, but also for himself. He couldn't let Lisa Turpin die. Not when him saving her life had inadvertently resulted in the deaths of nine other people. Her life was worth more now. More than ever before.
She had to live.
With determination, Harry pressed yes, before saying to Dumbledore. "What do you need me to do?"
Four days before the day the Petrified victims woke up, in the warm confines of his manor's study, Wentworth Wright was looking through the same newspaper that Harry would be reading in the future, calculating and recalculating the possible fallout from the massacre happening as he sipped on his Darjeeling tea.
The severe blow to Dumbledore's power was obvious and imminent. Even if the old headmaster spun it the right way, it would significantly decrease his tout in the political community. He would most likely never be able to run for public office again.
The boy on the other hand…
He took another sip of his tea, before putting it down on the table beside his armchair and turning the page to look at the small blurry photo of the boy in question. The photo looked like it had been snapped in a hurry Harry Potter was turning out to be quite the unexpected force here. Not even thirteen yet, and he had a foot on every side of the camp, being at least casual acquaintances with Lucius Malfoy, Dumbledore, the Minister and even Bones herself. And now, with even more public goodwill on his side after this entire debacle, the boy was politically untouchable.
He had always been firmly entrenched in the Neutrals in the Wizengamot, leaning more towards Traditionalists, but seeing this rise to power in action was making him seriously consider choosing a side.
A small pop behind him distracted him from his thoughts. He turned to look at the house elf that had popped into the study.
"Tibby is sorry to disturb Master sir, but the goblins have Floo called from Gringotts are insisting on meeting Master.." the little creature stuttered out.
He nodded, and the elf popped away. Folding the newspaper up and putting it into a pocket, he stood up and headed out of the study towards the living room where the fireplace was located. The goblins had never contacted him before, and them using the Floo was almost unheard of, so this must have been quite the emergency.
Entering the living room, he headed straight for the fireplace, where the hook-nosed face of a Gringotts goblin waited impatiently in the embers. Its eyes widened when it noticed him, and it promptly started speaking.
"Are you one Wentworth Alan Wright, primary and only holder of the Wright Gringotts Premium Vault?"
Wentworth's grey brows pushed together in a frown. This sounded like some official business. "I am," he replied, "Can I help you?"
The goblin ignored his question, instead of asking, "Have you ever had any contact with one Dean Thomas or his immediate family?"
'Dean Thomas?' he thought curiously, wondering what was going on. "No. I have not."
The goblin's head disappeared for a minute before it reappeared. "You might want to step through Mr. Wright. There has been an interesting development that might be of concern to you. If you would just step through the Floo."
"This is highly irregula-"
"It is about your son." the goblin interrupted, striking him silent. His son…John had been dead for over twelve years now.
It took him a moment to recover, but when he did, there was only one thing to do. "I'm coming through."
The goblin gave a sharp nod before his head disappeared from the fire. He stepped into the green fire, and with a burst of flame, was flung through the Floo Network to the Gringotts floo that he had been called from.
Stepping out into what appeared to be a small sparsely furnished office, he dusted off his robes. The door leading out was closed, and the goblin that had called him was sitting on a tall chair at the table in the center of the room, looking through a folder. With a wave of its hand, it invited him to sit in the guest chair across him.
"What is this about?" he asked as he took his seat.
The goblin put down the folder and looked at him.
"When a Muggleborn student dies in the magical world," it said out of the blue, "the Ministry registers the death and then contacts Gringotts, supplying us with a small vial of blood of the deceased as proof of death. This is done since Muggles cannot own a Gringotts Vault, and as such, the contents of the student's vault would need to be emptied and handed over to the Muggleborn's family."
"And how does that pertain to my situation?" he asked.
"Greatly. The same procedure was followed for the death of Dean Thomas after he died at Hogwarts. We received a vial of his blood from the Ministry and ran the blood through our Vault Register as part of the protocol. For a Muggleborn, that search would only show one match, which would usually just be a Student Vault. Dean Thomas's blood showed two. One his Student Vault, and the other a PremiumVault. Your Premium Vault."
"That is impossible!" he said, a sinking feeling settling into his stomach. And even as he rebutted the goblin's words, his own mind brought up thoughts to the contrary.
'There was no body.'
"That is what we thought at first, especially since your only known heir had been declared dead. However, when we made contact with our DMLE contacts, a piece of evidence that the DMLE had just acquired erased all doubt."
The goblin opened its folder and pulled the first of the stack of papers inside before handing it to him. He took it from the creature before looking at it. The first few lines by themselves shocked him frozen.
Dearest Son,
This letter would have found you only if I were no longer alive. And if I am indeed dead, I do not wish to die without you ever knowing about me. So let me introduce myself. My name is Johnathon Armin Wright. I am your father.
Feelings of hurt, sorrow, betrayal, and anger filled him as he read through the letter. By the time he had finished it, his entire world turned upside. For over a decade now, he had believed that his son was dead. His wife had died from the shock, and his entire existence had turned into a lifeless nightmare. But all this time, his son had been alive. Turned into a beast yes, but still alive. Oh if only he had returned…
No…
He couldn't continue that line of thought. He knew himself too well for that. If his son would have returned a werewolf and with a half-blood son back then, he would not have taken well to that. He used to be too much of an idealist.
But time had made a different man out of him.
Turning to the goblin, trying to not let any tears escape, he asked, "Is that the only letter?"
The goblin opened the folder before handing him the remaining papers. "They are all addressed to his son, your grandson. I took the liberty of making the letters disappear from the DMLE's record and subtracting a nominal fee from your vault. You are holding the only copies of those letters now."
He pocketed the letters. He couldn't read them now. He had business to do. It was good that the goblin had removed the letters from the record. Gringotts goblins had their contacts, and making such things disappear from records was no new thing for them. The 'nominal' fee would no doubt be quite the dent in his pockets.
"Transfer fifteen thousand galleons from my vault to the child's vault before you convert it to muggle money and hand it to his family. Tell them he had won a scholarship or something," he said. The goblin nodded. His grandson's family would never want for anything again. "And I want to see him. My grandson. I want to see him."
"That is impossible I'm afraid Mr. Wright. The body is in DMLE custody as of this moment. It would be nearly impos-"
"You heard me goblin," he flatly said.
The goblin stared long and hard at his face, before saying, "You'll have to be discreet. And it won't be cheap."
He stared right back. "Did I flinch?"
"Very well then," The goblin said before it hopped off its chair and headed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
It was a full twenty minutes before it returned, this time not bothering to sit
"I've had our contact smuggle his body into a discreet room with a fireplace. You will have five minutes alone in there, and you will have to Floo back before that time is up. We do not want our contacts to see our clients or vice versa, so the contact will be waiting outside. Knock the door once before you Floo back."
"What is the Floo address?" he asked, getting up from his chair.
"Wizengamot Office 39"
He promptly turned around, not saying anything more as he grabbed Floo powder from the pot on the mantelpiece, threw it into the fire and stepped in, muttering the address under his breath.
The green blaze engulfed him once more, spitting him out into a familiar looking room. It was an unused Wizengamot office, presumably belonging to some now extinct family. The chairs and the desk had collected dust for quite a while now.
But all that was in the back of his mind. The only thing his eyes were focused on was the gown-clad body on the wheeled stretcher that stood in the middle of the room.
His legs walked as if involuntarily as he took in the face of his grandson. His blood. His heir.
He hadn't seen any similarities when he had glanced at his picture in the newspaper, most probably because he wasn't looking for them. But now, the resemblance was starting to become obvious. Johnny's nose and cheekbones were prominent in that forever stilled face. He stood there for how long he did not know, memorizing everything he could about the family he would never know.
It was only when an urgent knock sounded at the door that he realized that his time was up.
He looked at the body for one last time before he pulled out the newspaper he'd put in his pocket and looked at the face plastered on the front page. A sudden wave of burning hatred took over him, and he crumpled the paper up and threw it into the fireplace that lit the room. Turning to the body of his grandson, he ran a hand through the boy's hair.
"Your killer will pay. I promise you that much," he said, before he wiped his eyes of their tears, walked over to the door to knock on it once before quickly entering the Floo and headed back in a blaze of fire.
The magical picture of Lisa Turpin, motile as all magical pictures were, tried in vain to save itself as the newspaper burnt to ashes.
What did you think of the chapter?
I really wanted to portray Harry's grief in subtler ways rather than have him overtly mope about it. He's quite rational, and would never resort to self-harm, but letting himself heal like a normal person is just barely rationalizable as 'no harm done', which is why I felt that it fit Harry. He'll work through it in the next couple of chapters, so that'll be an interesting write.
And the Wright family saga lives on through Wentworth Wright and his behind the scenes vengeance against Lisa. Let me know what you thought of it.