Posted 5/10/2014
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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.
Chapter Thirty-Six - Questions and Answers
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Was it strange, Harry wondered as he walked through his house shortly after noon, to understand the underlying principles of both Ancient Runes and Arithmancy even though only part of him had sat the classes? And worse, he recalled sitting the Arithmancy exams and knew he had been able to use it, had even delved further into the matter at an age when most were more concerned with getting to know each other intimately. Yes, he had understood it back then, but in this new body, this new mind, he simply couldn't do it any longer. Arithmancy didn't work for him any more.
Ancient Runes were easier, and the part of him that was the old, weak Harry regretted not having taken the class in school. It would have certainly been more useful than Divination with the fraud Trelawney. Having integrated the memories of the classes, Harry understood far better what Bill had been talking about during their visit before Harry's sixth year. The thought alone was really strange. Back then, he hadn't understood the difference knowledge in Ancient Runes would have made in comprehending the intricate relations of wards around a house, but it changed the understanding of the magic involved. How could he have been so ignorant about the world around him? How could he allow himself to be so small, so insignificant compared to his classmates? Hadn't he been Harry Potter, the fabled Boy-Who-Lived? The Chosen One, even if he hadn't known about that? People looked up to him and expected him to shine, not to be merely adequate. Tom had been considerably beyond his year mates. He had stood out in a crowd, and even the fools had seen his superiority. Hadn't Tom been at the top? Hadn't he been the best student even before he had known about his ancestry? Of course he had been better than the rest. He had been born for great things, and that alone had put him above many others. And as the descendant of one of the greatest wizards of Great Britain, shouldn't he outshine the rabble?
But then, people wasted their potential regularly, and students were probably the worst. Far too concerned with their physical needs, the boys chased skirts, tried to gain the attention of their targets to be given what they wanted. And from his experience, girls were no better and far too easy to lure in and manipulate with a smile and a pretty face. Those who couldn't rise above such impulses deserved mediocrity as punishment for their weakness. Tom had always respected only those who took what they wanted. Avery had had potential. He hadn't asked his victims, he had taken the gold. He hadn't wasted time on foolish sentimentalities when he had chosen his bride, either. He had taken what he wanted and needed to get ahead in life. Avery had been a decent follower, even if he hadn't been as strong as Tom had been.
And yet, although Harry could understand those thoughts, he also saw the differences between Tom and himself. Harry didn't want to outshine people, strange as Tom might have found that. Knowing Ancient Runes would prove useful, he reasoned, and with parts of Tom somewhere stuck in his mind as well, he could see the advantages of grandeur as well. But maybe it was the upbringing that made a difference. Tom had grown up in an orphanage. The best way to prove himself had been to outshine others. The best way to stand above the rest had been to push everyone else down. But the childhood of the old Harry hadn't been about sticking out at all. He had always tried the opposite, vanishing into the crowd, be just as everyone else and not receive any special attention. Special attention for the old Harry had always meant trouble, be it punishments, starvation, insults, additional workload, angered authority figures or beatings from Dudley and his friends. Special attention in the orphanage had meant a room for himself, slightly more food than the others, respect and fear, his peace and quiet, and of course his rightful place above the common, idiotic boys.
They were similar and yet different, Tom and Harry, and in a way, he was glad they were. Knowing Tom as well as he did, Harry had little interest in following the footsteps of a madman. Though the really troubling part weren't the similarities, but rather how much sense some of Tom's ideas made when looked at from his point of view. Harry and his friends as well as their mentors had called it a war in the past. But was it? Could it really be called a war? Voldemort had sent his troops to do his bidding, yes, but both the Ministry and the Order had always dragged their feet. How had they dealt with the captured enemies? How had they punished Death Eaters? By locking them up for a time, and in a prison that could never withstand the might of Voldemort under the watch of creatures who followed whoever promised the most food. And some, like Lucius Malfoy, had managed to evade even that treatment. Tom would have disapproved. Letting your enemies get off with lenient punishments was not a good idea. Ruling through affection did not work. Affection was fickle – one moment people would follow, but as soon as they would have to get their hands dirty or spill a bit of blood, they would become hesitant. Fear on the other hand had proven to be a valuable tool. It kept the own people in line and fulfilling their tasks; it made them accomplices who knew better than to defect and risk their own capture. It kept the enemies at bay. Letting them go with minor punishments could only lead to them returning to their original master.
But what did that mean for the ongoing conflict? Harry wasn't sure, but he didn't want to accept the conclusion it led to. Since he had other matters to take care of, he pushed the matter aside for the time being and went into the room with a last glance around the hallway, ignoring the headache from the many memories he had forcibly integrated into his mind over the last days. A small price to pay for sure and far from the only one, but he would have preferred to go without it.
At least she had come, Harry thought as, entering the drawing room, he saw Greengrass sitting in one of the armchairs. He had half expected her to prevent the meeting, perhaps making some excuse about headaches or important readings when asked about it or maybe even stealing away sometime when she had thought she hadn't been watched. But instead, she was present; despite her stated dislike for confiding in any of Harry's resistance cell, she had shown up.
Of course he had little interest in interrogating her thoroughly, quite the contrary. If it had been possible, he would have liked to give her space, but unfortunately, that option was no longer available. They needed to find out whether she could be trusted, and he had to keep his personal feelings on the matter to himself. He had to be the leader and do what was both prudent and necessary.
He strolled over to her, sending her a small nod in greeting and sitting down facing her. "Nice of you to come, Greengrass," he told her.
"I did agree to it, didn't I?" she replied, sighing tiredly. "The faster we get this done, the better for both of us, don't you think?"
So she didn't hide her opinion at all. Harry could live with that. But then, he hadn't expected anything else; just because it was the best solution in the present situation did not mean it was one either one liked. A true compromise, then – no one was really happy with it.
Harry was wary, though, and unsure of what to think of her. She hadn't opened up on her own when she had been given time to adjust after she had arrived at Grimmauld Place. When they had confronted her after she'd been caught listening in, he had thought he had seen and heard something. The way she had talked about being unable to change fate had struck a chord with him. It had opened his eyes to an extent and had told him something about her she might not have realized. When she had sent that spell in his direction, right before he had been about to pass judgement, he had thought he had seen something both Ron and Hermione seemed to have missed. For a moment, Greengrass had reminded him of an animal that had been backed into a corner. Since then, though, he hadn't picked up on anything. Had he been mistaken? Or had she retreated again, hiding behind a mask?
"That's true," he admitted, sorting through his thoughts and plans, considering the best start. "Fine, right to the point. As you know, I need to find out whether we can trust you around us and our secrets," he told her. "You hid in your room as much as possible, doing... ? Something, I guess."
She rolled her eyes. "I improved my spellwork. Since I want my revenge, I need to get better. Since Malfoy's learning at Hogwarts, I have to prepare as well."
"Training, that's a good idea," he said with a nod. "What did you work on? Maybe we can..."
"No," she interrupted him. "I neither need nor want your help or company. I'm doing all right on my own and have little interest in you butting into my business." She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "I worked on my aim and speed. Nothing more, nothing less, but I feel as if it's something I have to do on my own for now – so I'll know what I can do. There's nothing secret there, and no risk to you or your allies, though, so it's not important for earning your trust. Next question?"
Harry pursed his lips. He would have liked hearing more about that, but could see why she might not want to go into detail. Did it really matter how she prepared? Maybe not. She was allowed to keep secrets, he reminded himself.
"All right, there is something else I have been wondering about. Do you remember the," he hesitated, before settling on, "attack on the house in August? Specifically the note you found."
"I remember it quite well, yes," Greengrass told him evenly.
"Well, I couldn't place it completely and still don't know what to make of it. I didn't recognize the handwriting, for one. Did you find out anything about it? Anything you might have learned?"
Greengrass frowned at him, obviously weighing her thoughts. "It was a warning. I don't know who wrote it."
"Someone had to have learned about the attack, someone who wanted to either save you or me, and for some reason, I doubt the latter," Harry pointed out. "Someone had access to the likely secret plans of the Death Eaters and chose to warn you. The note was left for you, not me, of that I have no doubt. The likeliest explanation would be someone who cares enough for you to risk exposure and their life. I'm not complaining that they did, mind you, I'm just curious about their identity."
"Even if that were the case, it wouldn't have anything to do with you," she countered. "If they chose to help me and by extension you, it wouldn't mean anything as far as you are concerned. Since whoever it was hasn't signed the note, I'm guessing he or she wants to stay anonymous - which might be a good idea, incidentally. And if they hadn't meant for you to read it at all, if it had been meant just for me? You should be grateful they sent the warning at all and leave them in peace."
"And you seem to misunderstand my intentions. Whoever wrote it might be a Death Eater or perhaps a spy in their ranks. That might prove useful one day, true, but I would be less eager to harm the latter."
"As if you would ever harm anyone," Greengrass laughed.
"I might be more inclined to worry about a spy's safety, should we ever run into each other. I might be more tempted to focus my spells on people I don't owe a favour, or make any injury I have to inflict non-lethal," he replied. "Not to mention that someone who is willing to go against the Death Eaters might also be someone I might help once this war is over."
"Help them with what? Their life? Will you haunt their enemies?" she scoffed.
"Something like that, perhaps," Harry agreed, but privately, he doubted he would die. At least he didn't have to any more, which was more than he could have said a year before.
She sighed. "I don't know who it was, I already told you that. I agree with your analysis, but I cannot give you an answer I don't have. I only know for sure Blaise Zabini had been there earlier; he saw the nightclothes already laid out on the bed. That's what he said on the train. But he is no Death Eater material, and certainly not important enough to know about plans of that magnitude. As a matter of fact, I know very few people I would consider Death Eater material."
Harry leaned back, trying to think of the dark-skinned boy. Could he be the nameless helper? Harry was inclined to agree with Greengrass' statement. Zabini was many things, but not really what Harry would consider a trustworthy warrior. Could the boy even integrate himself into such an organisation? Maybe not. Would he have been given any important part in any plan of Voldemort's? Likely not.
"You'd be surprised what people do to survive," Harry told her, "but I share your opinion about him. So if it wasn't Zabini, and if he is no Death Eater material, then who would be your guess?"
She looked at Harry for a long time. "I don't know who might have done that. Maybe some pureblood didn't like that disrespect of common decency. I'm still marvelling that the Dark Lord actually dared such an attack on the wedding night; that must have seemed like an disrespect of the traditions to any pureblood around."
"Well, he wouldn't care about decency or traditions," Harry said with a shrug. "He's a half-blood bastard raised in the Muggle world; why should he care about wizarding customs?"
"Ah, yes, your claim from fifth year," Greengrass spoke, looking disinterestedly towards the window.
"So that's your theory?" Harry pressed. "Some pureblood who simply disagreed with the battle plan? Someone who preferred to cling to the pureblood traditions and not their life?"
She focused back on him. "Sure, what else? It's a reasonable assumption, especially since... wait," she said, breaking off as she caught on to his thoughts. "Wait, you think I'm covering for someone? You think I know who it was? You think it was one of my friends?"
"They are prime suspects," Harry pointed out. "Wanting to help you and..."
"No," she said, waving his arguments away. "My friends are no Death Eaters. Whatever you might think of us, Potter, Slytherin House is not a breeding ground for Death Eaters, merely a group of more traditional witches and wizards. Malfoy is the only one who might be tempted to join and yet take matters into his own hands and send a warning. Crabbe or Goyle, they might join, but they're followers; you tell them what to do. And the girls in my dorm... Millicent and Tracey are no Death Eater material. Neither has the personality for it. Pansy wouldn't have taken a risk and left a note. Any other ridiculous ideas you want to run by me? If not, can we proceed to your next question? I do have better things to do than listen to you spouting nonsense theories and indirectly insulting my friends."
Harry forced himself not to let his irritation show. He needed more from her. "Fine, so keep quiet about that. We talked about your friends earlier, and there's something I might find useful for my plans. I agree with you, Zabini is not really much of a potential Death Eater, but also doesn't seem like a courageous freedom fighter. What about others? Who might be secretly opposing them? Do you know anyone who could be convinced –"
"To join your little rebellion?" she interrupted with definite harshness in her voice. "Why would anyone want to join the losing side? Because that is what you lot look like to me and anyone not blinded by their ideals. Don't forget I'm not exactly here of my own accord. I want my revenge; I don't really have anything to do with your campaign apart from that. I didn't choose to join you either, I was forced to become your ally. Even if I knew someone who might join you – and please keep in mind I am not saying I do – handing them over to you would be condemning them to death if they were ever caught. I will not rat out my friends or house mates. I will not hand them over to you and put them in danger."
"I am well aware of the Death Eaters modus operandi," Harry said unemotionally. "I know the dangers for their enemies. Still, you might at least know people who would hesitate to join them, those who might try to stay out of trouble or even try to help their fellow witches and wizards."
She glared at him. "I tried to stay out of trouble, yet here I am. Only luck and sheer daring allowed me to escape, and I still had to pay for it with an eye, Potter. Just a tad more misfortune and I might have died. Do you honestly think I would put my friends – people I actually have good reason to like – through that, just to advance a likely lost cause? That I'd let you recruit my friends for your rabble of rebels?"
"Your trust in our abilities is heart-warming," Harry told her with a roll of his eyes.
"It's the truth, and anyone believing differently is deluding themselves," she spat, jumping to her feet. "The best you can hope for –and even that requires on a lot of luck – is buying enough time to let people escape from here."
"We never mentioned escape plans, Greengrass," Harry told her. "So you have been listening to our private talks."
"Don't jump to conclusions," she reminded him with narrowed eyes. "It's only reasonable you'd evacuate as many people as you can." It was a good argument, and Harry could see she wanted him to believe it. But he could see she was trying to hide the truth. She had overheard them talking, he knew it. Ron had been right, and even the hints of trust that had begun to develop in him were crushed once more.
"So you think we will ultimately fail, yet you still stay here," he pointed out. "You still chose to keep the alliance with what you consider the losing side alive instead of joining my enemies."
"Do you even listen to yourself?" she told him with a chuckle. "Your enemies? You will lose, Potter, because you're weak and the other side is not. No one in their right mind will fear you, mostly because you don't harm people. Even when you fight for your life, you still play fair and nice. They don't, and that's why they are feared, and that's why people choose their side – if they do what they're asked to, they're safe. That's why the Gryffindors suffer at school while the other houses prosper. If you keep your head down, if you avoid trouble, then you're fine. But it doesn't matter. You do your thing, Potter, fight your war, try to change something, but I know you will fail, and do you know why?" She didn't wait for him to ask, but continued, "You have the Dark Lord against you. What chance does a schoolboy stand against him?"
"He once was a schoolboy too," Harry pointed out.
Greengrass sighed, steadying herself on the armchair next to her. "He has decades of knowledge and an army at his command. He has the power of the Ministry on his side. And as for the Muggles, he's got magic for that. I wouldn't be surprised if he's got his followers controlling the Muggle world as well – with no protection against magic, well, it should be easy enough to apparate into their houses, put them under the Impirius, and have them stay out of the way. Or he could have the Muggles find themselves some other Muggles to fight elsewhere and away from Britain. Assuming, of course, that it's even necessary. The Muggle government likely listens to the Ministry anyway; if they say everything's fine, how are the Muggles supposed to know any better? If the Ministry claims you're the evil that is causing all that trouble up and down the country, well, then you are as far as the Muggles know. And what do you have? A ragtag group of rebels, hiding all over the country. Weasley? He's crap, we both know this. And Granger? Brains, yes, but does she have what it takes to actually fight?"
"She's more capable than you might think," Harry said calmly.
"Maybe she is, but she isn't the biggest problem. They all look to you, and that's why you will fail in the end. You. You can't always run away, Potter, and one day, you will be caught, and then? Your little rebellion will probably crumble almost at once." She shook her head. "Whether I like it or not, you are already dead, you just haven't realized it yet. No, I will not tell you anyone I'd sacrifice to your ridiculous schemes. I like my friends and family safe and alive. You lost before you even began, and all you will manage is get yourself and anyone helping you get killed."
Harry looked at her. He knew he had hit a nerve there, and he was well aware of her thoughts about the resistance. He could understand her point of view. For her, the war only meant trouble and a high chance of loss. From her point of view, did it really look like they were losing the war? Granted, since Harry spent his days preparing in the shadows for the moment to strike and bring down Voldemort, she really couldn't know what was going on.
"They mean a lot to you," he acknowledged. "So there are people you care about."
"Naturally," Greengrass replied with a glare for even suggesting otherwise. "Which is why I don't want to see them dying for a cause that is not their own. Or dying, period."
"Most of them will think you are dead by now," Harry said. "We haven't sent word of your survival to school. Your family..."
"I know how this works, Potter," she spat, turning her back on him jerkily. "I kept from informing them as well, didn't I? Just like Professor Snape ordered me to, I didn't write them a letter, I didn't call them over the Floo, I didn't go out or..." She turned back around and sent Harry a defiant look. "I know what would happen to them if they knew I'm still alive. That's exactly why I don't want those I care about to join you. I value their lives."
He pursed his lips. He'd found a weak spot in the walls she had around her and had forced her to hide her face to regain her control, but he still wasn't sure whether he had misread her during their confrontation. Was he mistaken about what was hidden behind the wall? "Fine. Just hope they won't cross our path sometime in the future. Since I won't know where they stand, I will likely have to assume them enemies and treat them accordingly if they choose to take their wands out."
"Empty threats. Everyone knows you would never harm someone," she scoffed. "Are we done? I don't think this will lead anywhere."
"No, not yet." Harry frowned. There was still something he really needed to speak to her about. "I'm trying to understand your motivation. Every time we talk about your plans, you say you want revenge. I get that, revenge is a strong motivator. But I still want... I'd still like to know about what happened between you and..."
"That is between him and me and none of your business," she interrupted. "I think I made that clear. Some things are off-limits. It's called private business for a reason."
"He hurt you, yes, I know that," Harry told her. "I brought you here; don't forget that, I saw the wounds, even if Hermione refused to tell me about what happened to you."
"And she did the right thing there; it's not for you to know. It wasn't you who got hurt, Potter. I survived, I want to get my revenge – that is all you really need to know. I said so each time you asked in the past, my answer has not changed. It won't in the future."
"It does matter to me since it's not just about you," Potter replied. "He attacked someone – you, in this case – and is still at large and at school. I worry about my friends and the students that have to live with him from day to day. He's rarely had to face the consequences of his actions. Not when he flung his insults around in our first years, not when he tried getting others in trouble, not when he tried to bend the laws and public opinion to fit his wishes, and not during the last year. You said it that day in the kitchen; you said my theories were correct. You mean he was behind Brooks and McLaggen, don't you? If so, then he successfully killed two students under the noses of the professors before the Death Eaters invaded the school. Now he has at least three of the staff on his side, maybe more." With another sigh, he shifted in his seat. "He has changed. He attacked you. Why? Is he trying to flush out my supporters? Or is he merely unhinged? Is he trying to prove his worth or just enjoying his power? He already attacked one student and acquaintance – or maybe a friend? Davis and Bulstrode helped you escape. So far, I haven't heard about anything happening to them, but are they safe?"
He stopped, watching her to wait for her reply. She stared at him, mouth slightly open and eyes narrowed. It was as if she had seen something in him she hadn't expected, and it left Harry to wonder just what she had thought of him before.
"They know how to stay out of trouble," she said finally, sounding like she tried to convince herself about as much as Harry. Still, she couldn't quite get rid of that hint of worry on her face. "Pansy is there. Professor Snape is there. He might not be able to do much, but he can do more than you. They can act and react. They are far more suited to protect them. Professor Snape already knows enough to keep an eye on things at school."
She sounded about as calm as she probably could, but it seemed he had found another crack in her armour. With time, he might get through to her, Harry reasoned.
"Are you done soon with these questions?" Greengrass asked.
"Didn't you agree to this?" Harry asked her, raising an eyebrow. "I'm trying to discover whether we can trust you somewhat. So far, I've tried to be nice and give you opportunities to open up on your own as well as answer questions I really do feel I have to ask. You on the other hand have already gambled away your first chance as well as your second."
"I did," she told him, crossing her arms. "But so far, you've asked me who sent the warning. Whoever it was wanted to be anonymous. Even if I knew who it had been, it wouldn't be my place to tell. Didn't you say something like as well? And then you asked me to sell out my friends, taking away their choice and potentially getting them killed in the war. Really, Potter, do you expect me to do that? Lastly, you asked me something that I have made pretty clear in the past is off-limits. I drew that line before, remember?"
They stared at each other, but neither spoke up. Harry was trying to work something out. He could understand her, far more than he wanted to. More troubling, a part of him agreed with her; that part knew just how much he had always tried –and succeeded –to keep his own private life secret. So it was rather hypocritical of him to demand the answers. That part of Harry really wanted to leave her alone; it really wanted to let her be. But another part of him, perhaps the one that had originally been Riddle's, demanded he investigate her more thoroughly. Riddle had always had trust issues; it was probably one of the reasons he had followers and not friends. Harry didn't want to listen to that part of him, but it had a good argument that he couldn't ignore. He wasn't simply Harry Potter anymore, and he couldn't allow himself to let his personal feelings stop him from thinking about the best for all involved. He had to protect the resistance, and he had to make sure Greengrass wouldn't betray them at the first chance.
Watching her, he could tell she was frustrated. He assumed she was just as upset about the situation, and he wouldn't have been surprised if she had walked out of the room. But he had a feeling she recognized the problem he was faced with, that she might sympathize with his plight. It just made it more difficult for him. He didn't want to fight her; he didn't want to hurt her or mistrust her. He already had enough to do, didn't he? But he needed the answers. He needed to know what she was like, what she thought.
Perhaps it would be easier to erase her memory after all? To do what needed to be done? He wasn't sure. Something in the back of his mind told him to do it. He couldn't allow her to run around with whatever she had overheard in the past. But at the same time, the boy he had once been kept him from going through with it. As far as he knew, she hadn't done anything yet. As far as he knew, she was their ally. And even if she wouldn't remember the promise he had made –the part that had once been Riddle told him it would no longer matter once she would have lost the memory –he didn't want to break the agreement. Attacking people for being in the way was the Death Eater's way, wasn't it?
He sighed. "I'm sorry. I just don't know you well enough yet. Let's see. Ah, there was another matter. Maybe you could..."
The door opened, and Hermione poked her head in. "Sorry to interrupt, Harry, but... we have a visitor. You should come down, it's kind of urgent."
He tried his best not to groan. It was probably just his luck to have to cut the talk short.
"See, Potter?" Greengrass laughed humourlessly. "You're needed elsewhere. We're done here, I guess." She left, ignoring the stares of both Hermione and Harry. To him, it seemed more like fleeing.
"It's Lupin," Hermione told him once the other girl was gone. "He came in just a moment ago. He wouldn't have come if it weren't important, but... time is of essence. Who knows how long until they'll notice he's gone?" She glanced around the room. "What were you doing here, anyway?"
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "We tried to... I tried to see whether she could be trusted. We talked, just like I had planned to do."
"You mentioned that she agreed to your plan, yes. So what was it about, Harry?" Hermione asked, curious.
"That, I fear, is between Greengrass and me. I'm sorry, but we agreed to keep the contents to ourselves. It was part of the deal I made with her. I told you as much, and I plan to keep my word. You didn't tell me about her injuries, I don't plan to tell you what I learned about her." Part of him reminded him about Greengrass' break from the agreement. Was it still binding after she hadn't answered him properly?
But it all led back to the same question and problem. He should tell Ron and Hermione if he considered Greengrass' privacy to be of no importance. But if he did that, then he would either be a hypocrite if he still wanted to keep his own secrets from everyone else, or he would have to apply the same standards he held her up to himself and stop having secrets from his friends. He'd have to tell them of the sinking feeling that something needed to be done.
They arrived at the dining room. Ron was already inside and sitting in one of the chairs. Lupin paced in the room. When they entered, he sent Harry a thin smile.
"It's good to see you," he greeted, but Harry lifted his hand.
"Hermione, the spells, please." The moment she lowered her wand, he continued, "Lupin, what did I ask you during our first lesson?"
"I am guessing you mean our private lessons. You asked a lot, but at the end, which I am guessing you are thinking about, you wanted to know whether I knew Sirius. I had mentioned my friendship with James, and since you had already heard about them being friends as well..."
"Yes," Harry said with a nod. "Welcome, Lupin."
"Still Lupin?" the werewolf asked with a smile.
"At least you aren't Professor Lupin anymore," Harry chuckled. "What brings you here? Did something happen?"
Lupin sighed, obviously unsure how to answer that one. "None of us was hurt, before I say anything else. But there is some rather urgent news someone had to deliver, and in a way, something did happen." He ran a hand through his hair much like Harry had done earlier. "It seems we were incredibly lucky. We've found out how they managed to track us so well." He ignored the gasps around him coming from Hermione and Ron. Harry on the other hand hadn't made a sound. He had guessed something would have happened, and knowing their luck, it couldn't have been good.
"The Ministry and their supporters have implemented a rather ingenious method of finding us," Lupin continued, "and we have to thank Kingsley for helping us figure it out. He's got enough friends in the Ministry to ear some things and at the same time observant enough to connect the dots.
"They have jinxed his name. They put a Taboo on You-Know-Who's chosen name and anyone saying it will bring down the might of the Ministry upon them. That is how they try to sniff us out. Once it's said, they'll know where to find the resistance. Very troubling, and we're making the rounds and spreading the word. Other than that, they have people watching us and doing house searches every once in a while. Moody's got into a lot of trouble for some of the items in his possession. See, he failed to register his many detectors – a law was passed recently, you see? Now owning secrecy sensors is considered a sign of wanting to hide something yourself; why else would you want to know whether someone was after you? Ensuring the safety and peace is the Ministry's job, after all. And Arthur's family has been pestered with investigations so often, the Ministry personnel might just move in to save the travelling."
"So we can't say his name anymore?" Hermione spoke up, pale-faced. She had come to follow Harry's example and say the chosen moniker, unlike Ron, who still preferred avoiding it. "Anything else we have to be careful about?"
"Not that we know of," Lupin replied which caused her to relax. "But that's bad enough on its own. He's forcing us into the habits he wants us to. He's controlling our speech, taking one more thing from us."
"What happens when he says his name?" Harry wondered. "You know how he likes to speak of himself in the third person? Shouldn't that trigger the spells as well?"
"Not necessarily so," Lupin replied. "I'm not entirely familiar with that piece of magic, but from what I do know, the one actually casting the spell is exempt from its effects."
"What about Kingsley?" Hermione said.
"He kept his eyes and ears open. That's how he found out; he heard enough hints here and there to have some ideas. Well, he was found out just as he had learned the truth and wanted to tell us." Lupin sighed once more. "He's on the run now, naturally, but I don't know where he's heading. It puts everyone he had contact with in danger, but hopefully, we will manage."
"So what now?" Harry asked.
"That's another reason why I came here. Harry, Great Britain has become too dangerous for you. This house as well. I'm guessing you did say his name a few times in the past weeks, so even though they can't come in here, they know someone is here. It's a risk letting you stay in the house they know you own, even if they can't see you. They likely connected the dots and know it's you who's hiding here. You should move. You should leave the country, ideally. Never be where they expect you to."
"No," Harry said with finality in his voice.
"Think about it. No one would think badly of you, but if you stay, you will be in danger."
Ron snorted. "We are in danger no matter where we go."
Hermione nodded curtly.
Lupin focused on Harry. "Look, I know you are doing something. I talked to Dumbledore shortly before... during the summer. He had run a few errands, picking some thing's up and dropping others. I could see he didn't have long anymore and wanted to speak to him one last time. I wanted orders for the future. I wanted to know what he had planned, how I could make myself useful."
"And what did he tell you?" Ron interrupted.
Lupin fixed him with a long stare. "I don't think I should repeat what he said to me. Never put all of your secrets in one basket. Always have back-up plans. It's something he would have done. It's something he had done, now that I think about it." He took a deep breath. "I talked to him about you as well. Harry, I'm the last left of them. James and Lily are long dead; they didn't have a chance to see you grow up. Sirius died protecting you. It has now fallen to me to think of your safety. If you stay here, you are asking for trouble. I know all three of them would be furious with me if I let you stay here. Escape to the mainland, hide in... I don't know, Germany or France. Perhaps Spain or even further south. You could get yourself a nice tan. And since Sirius is not around to say it, I'll just point out you could meet a few nice girls or something. Be where you can do whatever you are planning to. Dumbledore and I, we talked about you. I mentioned my worries. But he just laughed. I hadn't seen him look so happy and troubled at the same time. He said you were doing something, you were preparing. I get that, I think it's a good idea. But you shouldn't stay, not here and better not in Great Britain either."
"We can't leave the country," Ron pointed out. "They will notice us, no doubt about that."
"They won't, Ron," Lupin said with a slight smile. "There are far too many people coming and going for them to keep track of. If you stick to Muggle transports, if you keep away from magical places while travelling and use some strong disguise, you will have little trouble slipping through their net. Between Harry and Hermione, you should do fine."
"It might work," she agreed, but she also looked unconvinced.
"I'll stay here," Harry said. "I know you worry about my safety, Lupin, and I appreciate it. But the people fight here. They are fighting and dying in this... I can't abandon them – leave them to their fate, just because I can. I have to stay here in this country, and more importantly, I'm quite safe here in this house." He raised a hand to cut off the werewolf's protest. "It's not pride that is keeping me here. This is the ancestral home of the infamous Black family. The protections around this place are some of the most powerful they came up with over the years. The Order added some things as well. This is likely safer than moving about and hoping they won't have someone guard Muggle transports. There's also the library," he told Lupin. "There might be something in there we should look into some day."
Lupin narrowed his eyes. "You want to use the Black library? I'm not sure whether that is such a good idea. They were known to be rather dark, any spells they might have lying around..."
"... might be used against us on the battlefield," Harry told his former teacher. "I would prefer knowing what is flung our way. I'm currently trying to figure out how to allow others to enter it.,once that's done, it's mostly finding the time. It has already proven its worth, though; that's where I found out how to fix Greengrass' eye. No, Lupin, this house is the best place for me right now. I doubt there is any place in the world where I'd be safer."
Rubbing his eyes, Lupin leaned against the table. "Well, I can't order you to leave, sadly. Just... try to stay safe, all right? Think of some back-up plan for yourself. This house isn't as safe as you might think, and every protection can be overcome." He sighed and looked at each of the other occupants of the room. "Have the guards outside ever left?" he asked.
"As far as we can tell, no," Hermione replied. "They know we are here, of that there is no doubt."
"They know," Harry told them. "For one, they know it's mine. And we haven't exactly stuck to the approved monikers of the Head Hypocrite. So if they have indeed used a Taboo, then they will have noticed the house lighting up constantly. And only we would be so daring as to talk about him like that."
Lupin chuckled weakly. "Well, they might know you are here, but the Fidelius Charm still hides the location. So unless they overcome that particular barrier, you should be safe here. Nevertheless, they know it's here, and as soon as they do overcome the Fidelius, then you are caught. Never underestimate the ingenuity or willingness of your enemies. The protection we put in place are not infallible."
"Noted," Harry said, but in the back of his mind, he doubted they'd be caught that easily. If he guessed right, then the Blacks had left enough to hold the line for a while and make any intruders pay a heavy price for storming in. "So, change of topic. What have you been up to lately? And what is going on in the wider world?"
"Ah, well, the news are rather grim, at least for our taste. The Death Eaters are repeatedly undermining our plans to get people away from here. We might have a spy or two in our ranks, which is very worrying, but it was to be expected, to be frank. People are often-times very willing to sell others out to save their own lives, and an operation like that does take some manpower. The Ministry has also begun the persecution of Muggleborns, and I don't necessarily mean imprisonment. They are quite rough, from what I heard, and don't mind using force to get what they want. They created a Muggleborn Registration Committee that only hands out punishments. I've not heard of anyone getting off." He scratched his chin. "As for me, I stayed where I was before. I am still working with the werewolves. Greyback is keeping back, which is both surprising and worrying. I managed to convince a handful to think before they act, but it's very tricky, and I don't know how long until they change their minds again. Greyback has good arguments on his side. He can promise them a lot. The words may be his, but of course it's You-Know-Who talking in reality."
"So that's what you are doing? You try to talk them out of it?" Ron asked.
"Something like that, yes. I don't have the authority to do anything about Greyback directly; he has too many loyal followers. The full moon might bring new answers, but from what I can tell..." he broke off. "But don't worry about me. I have lived through one war, and I will manage another one."
"This is not a war," Harry said, looking at his hands. "This is not a war," he repeated, raising his gaze to meet the werewolf's. Not if you're the only one's suffering losses, the Tom in the back of his mind reminded Harry. And hadn't he realized what needed to be done? Wasn't it time to strike back and make them pay?
He who fights monsters, Harry thought once more, and he forcefully blocked the voice out. He wasn't like them. He was no monster.
As if someone had flicked a switch, Harry woke up. In truth, he wasn't sure just how long he had slept, but despite feeling tired, he rose, trying to escape the dreams. He would have to bear it for the time being. The room was still dark; a clear sign that night had not yet ended. Casting his eyes around, he checked the numerous corners and displays for signs of anything amiss. He hadn't expected to find anything, it had been nothing more than a habit the last weeks, but it still calmed him to know they were still as safe as they could be.
He put on his clothes, not bothering with the light. After years in a broom closet, he knew how to get dressed in darkness. With a last glance around the room, he left. Where should he go, he wondered. Part of him wanted to talk with his friends. They would understand, of course. They probably expected trouble, Harry thought, they wouldn't really hold it against him.
Halloween was upon them. Ever since he had learned the truth about his parents... no, he corrected, it hadn't been the truth, merely a part of it. But ever since Harry had been told that part about the death of his parents on that Halloween evening, he had had trouble celebrating the day. For others, it might have meant a feast at school; for him, it had been the day of his parents' death. The day his family had been torn apart, with Sirius hunting the traitorous rat. The day his sister in all but blood had been in danger of being squashed. The day people had turned on him, both in his second and fourth year. And now, he had another unpleasant memory connected to the day. The day his plans had failed, a mere child of one had stopped him, a day the unthinkable had happened –he had failed. Even though Harry knew it shouldn't count as a bad memory, it still registered as such.
Under normal circumstances, he might have endured it. He might have put on a brave smile, just so he wouldn't worry his friends. But the year hadn't gone as he had hoped. He wasn't running around in school, bothering teachers and students, studying for classes he hadn't heard of before, he wasn't preparing with the help of all the reasonable authority figures he could find. Instead, he was hidden from the world, doing nothing to lessen the suffering. He knew he couldn't do more to speed the process up. Both Ron and Hermione had implored him to not increase his meditation, and even he knew he wouldn't cope with it otherwise. He wouldn't do it. In fact, he had considered reducing the daily load. But then, each day he didn't put in his all meant another day of people suffering, meant another day of adding to his guilt. This Halloween just wasn't what it should have been.
He cast a quick spell, Homenum Revelio, to see where the others were. He could pick up relatively fast on the single figure in the warded room on first floor. Greengrass. It wasn't really that hard once he remembered the layout of the house. Her reflection was wider than tall, so he guessed she was lying on her bed. He envied her, wishing he could sleep properly again.
Two other figures he detected, unsurprisingly. They were hard to distinguish – a lump, equally wider and longer than tall and in, unless he was mistaken, Ron's room. If he hadn't known about it, Harry wouldn't have recognized them as two persons in the first place. It didn't take much imagination to understand; Hermione had mentioned going over some spells with Ron once more – Harry had seen the results enough to know both actually improved nicely – and knowing her, Ron had likely fallen asleep sometime during one of her likely lengthy lecture. Or perhaps it had been the other way around for once, with Hermione falling asleep and Ron tugging her in?
It made Harry feel lonelier. He didn't like to admit it, but he was slightly jealous. While he didn't plan to share a bed with Hermione anytime soon or at all – he could just imagine her rules about such things – and preferred not being buried under a snoring Ron – six years in a dorm allowed for a lot of opportunities to get to know the habits of the others – they could still simply be carefree even in times like these. Even with a war going on outside, they could escape to their dreams for a few hours, instead of thinking about the guilt of not doing more to put a stop to the suffering outside the walls.
He descended into the kitchen. Someone – he suspected Hermione – had left a book there. He picked it up. It was the Runes textbook for the seventh year. Well, Harry thought, it would hopefully be a decent pastime. While he understood the principles, in Riddle's time, the teacher had used a different book. Maybe this one would even prove useful sometime during Harry's mission? At least it would be something Harry didn't already know.
He settled into a corner and opened the book. The first chapter didn't seem all that fascinating. Even with the memories of the old classes, Harry had trouble finding the text anything but boring. He did stumble upon a few references he remembered from his time at school – a time he had actually never lived through.
And then, suddenly, Hermione was by his side, her voice penetrating the mist in his mind as dark shadows were chased from his mind and dreams made way for reality. The book was in his lap, having fallen there sometime, though he couldn't be sure when it had happened.
"Morning," Harry tried, smiling slightly.
She returned the greeting and frowned. "You fell asleep again, and you didn't look too happy – or comfortable. Bad night?"
He sighed, knowing he wouldn't be able to avoid the topic. "It's nothing, really. It's just... it's Halloween soon. Given the years since I returned to the wizarding world..." He shrugged, sending her an uneasy smile. "Well, I'll survive, won't I?"
"I understand, Harry. I'm not saying anything will happen, but... We all..." She swallowed a lump in her throat. "You know you can talk to us, don't you? If you have any problem, even if you just want to talk about random thoughts or the weather or something similarly inconsequential, we'd be happy to do just that. We're your friends – helping each other is what they do."
Ron, who stepped up to them huddled in the corner, nodded. "Yeah, Harry. We're all affected here. It's the same for us, mate. We're in this together, you know?"
"And we are doing a lot. We're not dawdling," Hermione said, apparently guessing part of Harry's worries. "We'll make a difference once we're ready. We need to prepare for the confrontation; you know that as well as I do. If we rush in, we're bound to cause problems."
"Or do you reckon it's time to go after the tosser?" Ron asked, looking as doubtful as he sounded.
"No, Ron," Hermione argued, "it's too soon. We're not ready for that. For one, we're missing any kind of plan. Or do you want to rush in?"
Harry leaned back, subtly shifting into a slightly more relaxed position. "Hermione's right, of course. You both are. Loathe as I am to admit it, but I'm no match for him right now. To defeat him, we'll need to use trickery and deception or fight him face to face. In terms of brute force, we're no match, especially since he does have a lot of witches and wizards on his side who won't hold back. And he has loads of experience on me right now. Either way, we'll need something up our sleeves. We'll have only one try, and we'll have to make it count. He can't know beforehand. No warning for him. I'm not there yet."
"Harry," Hermione spoke up, "it is not only your fight. You don't have to face him alone in the end. If we get Moody, Tonks, Kingsley and maybe a few others to help bring him down, he'd have..."
"No, Hermione, that's not a good idea," Harry said. Seeing her about to argue, he raised his hand. "Let me finish. It's not a good idea for a number of reasons. I've already thought about it. First of all, the Head Hypocrite is not really someone who wanders around without backup. If we face him, he will have some of his friends nearby. And you know what that means – before we can deal with him in person, we'll have to take care of them. Now, make no mistake, I'm all for getting them as well, but they'll keep our best fighters busy for a while. And once we overpower them, the Head Hypocrite will be long gone. Say what you will, but he isn't stupid enough to stick around when he's on the losing side, which means someone will need to keep his followers busy and out of the way of me or anyone facing their master. And that is where Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley come in.
"And there's a reason why it should be me. Fighting the finest we can field all at once? He'd be wary, and it'd be next to impossible to take him by surprise. That'd be the end of any trickery on our part. Fighting someone else? He knows how to dispatch people. On the other hand, due to his ongoing obsession with me, he would never retreat when fighting me alone, and he wouldn't keep his feelings out of it. He doesn't see me as a danger, but he does want to do me in, and he is less likely to run when he has a chance to kill me. No, I'm not ready to face him yet. Until I am, I cannot tip my hand or challenge him. I know that, I just don't like it."
"Harry, you give him a lot of credit," Hermione told him. "It doesn't have to come down to you matching his vast experience, just a lucky hit and he might be finished. Or perhaps we could come up with some brilliant surprises to give you an edge."
"Yeah, Harry," Ron threw in. "We've faced worse odds in the past."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I'd need more than an edge. I'm not immortal, unlike him at the moment. It's a risk to go after him too early. If I do and don't win, he will still know I'm onto him. He will know I might one day match him in power and knowledge. And again, he might be obsessed with me, but he isn't stupid. He might realize he could let people like Bella assist him in my capture. Do you think I can take both of them at the same time? No, until I can be sure I have a good chance to end him, I need to avoid that fight. It's just..."
His friends looked at him uneasily. "Well," Hermione smiled slightly, "if you think so... You are already doing all you can by preparing for the fight; you have no reason to feel bad." She sent Ron a quick look before facing Harry again. "How are you doing, anyway? Have you found something useful again?"
"That's just it," Harry said. "It's a lot of small stuff, cruel spells, tricky potions. Also quite a bit about wards and runes, but I've reached the point where he went into the open, more or less. The time of strange disappearances. And... and the more I've integrated, the longer it takes for the next one. He had fifty years to live through it, and here I am trying to do it in far less? I won't be finished in a year. Probably not even in three. Should we wait that long?"
"And what about... you know, that other project of yours?" Ron asked, glancing over his shoulder warily. He seemingly didn't trust the spells Hermione probably put up around their little corner. "Wouldn't that kind of give you something to work with?"
"Once with the element of surprise, yes. After that, we'd be roughly on even footing, give or take." Harry bit his lip. "Well, learning wandless magic is going all right, I guess. Fire is probably the easiest right now, but it isn't useful as such. Easy to see, flashy, slow, easy to block... And I still haven't figured out why some spells work decently when cast without a wand and others simply refuse to. Well, the easier ones are less of a surprise, actually, but I doubt I'll win by banishing books or trash into him. Same with tickling hexes or tripping jinxes. I'd have to see about disarming and stuff, but either way, once I'll show my hand, it'll come down to raw skill and experience again."
"That is still very impressive, Harry," Hermione reminded him with a face somewhere between pride – she was pleased with his improvements, after all – and envy – she also really disliked not showing the same aptitude for wandless magic.
"You think? I would still really prefer shielding myself wandlessly. You know, shielding against his spells without and then retaliating with the wand. That had been my hope, actually. Wider array of harmful spells that way while still having the protections I want, but shields don't really work right now. There's something there, but no matter how many hours I throw at it, I'm no closer to getting it to work." Harry shrugged, knowing he should be happy with his accomplishments. "I don't know, maybe it's just the day getting to me. I'll be glad once it's over and done with. And I really do want to do something to help our side, something that might make a difference now, not in a few months. I know what to do, what needs to be done, but I..." He broke off, shaking his head dejectedly. He wasn't sure whether he was right about his conclusions and feared he was.
His friends exchanged glances.
"Harry," Hermione began in a soft voice, "a year ago, I would never have said it, but I trust your judgement I'm not sure whether we should do anything, it's probably better to stay safe and not burden ourselves with yet another task. But if you think you can do something, then..." She looked to Ron for support. "I mean, you have a good heart, and I think..."
Just in that moment, Harry's eyes snapped to the stairs. Greengrass stepped into the room and likely also the privacy wards. Luckily, Hermione was as sharp of mind as he could expect her to be.
"No, I am certain you are right," she said, forcing herself to sound casual. "I think it is a good idea."
"Err, yeah," Ron spoke up, straightening his back to look more confident, "it's... a good idea, we should do that." Unfortunately, he didn't stop, and he wasn't the best of liars in the morning, a fact he was also aware of. With both Hermione and Harry looking at him, he said the first thing that came to his mind, apparently. "We should go and buy more food."
Silence suddenly settled in the kitchen as both of his friends stared at him. Greengrass meanwhile cleared her throat. "That does sound promising," she said. "So you have a plan on how you want to do that?"
Harry looked at his friends. Hermione cast her eyes around nervously; Ron mouthed 'Sorry', rubbing his stomach. Figures, everything he could think of had to be food.
"We haven't decided yet," Harry told her, forcing himself to smile. "Though we'll probably have to venture into the Muggle world for that. Sending out Kreacher too much will draw attention, and he has to go to the wizarding stores, so it'd have to be one of us. And by that, I think it should be Hermione or me. No offence, but..."
Hermione blanched slightly. "Do you think that is wise? Leaving the house? Maybe we could... ask someone else to do it for us? Lupin was right, we should stay safe. And didn't you say this house was the safest you can think of?"
Harry pursed his lips. "Well, it might work, and we wouldn't draw attention to us, would we? I think we might have a better chance with going to Muggle stores. There aren't enough magicals around to keep an eye on all of them. So if we'd apparate to one of the Muggle stores all over the country, go in, buy what we need and return..."
Hermione still looked unconvinced. "It is still risky. What if they do notice us?"
"Both of you know your way around Muggles, Hermione," Ron pointed out, warming up to the idea. Or maybe, Harry thought to himself, the promise of a new food source had caught his interest.
"We could go to big stores," Harry spoke up. "A few glamour charms and we'd be unrecognisable. With hundreds of Muggles milling around us, they'd have a hard time following us; we'd get what we need and leave before anyone would be any wiser. It's less of a risk than asking someone to do our shopping for us. They might draw attention to themselves, and most of them would do better to stay away from Muggles."
Hermione sighed, and her look to both of her friends showed clearly that she wondered how she had gotten herself into the situation. "Well, Harry and I should manage that, I guess. And we do need to do something about our food situation. A steady supply with fresh products..."
"That sounds like it is settled then," Greengrass said and turned towards the cupboards.
Hermione sighed, acknowledging defeat. With a worried glance to Harry, she leaned over to him. "Remember what we said earlier, Harry. If you need to talk, if you need anything at all, we're there for you."
He glanced back at her. A part of him wanted to open up and tell them about his latest thoughts and troubles. He really did not like Halloween; it had rarely been a good day in his opinion. He wanted to speak with Hermione about loss and death, yes, he wanted to. She would probably understand, for the first time, really understand what he would say, the way only those in a similar situation could. It would be the shared pain of survivors, of victims of the war, of those left behind, of those who had to live with guilt.
And yet an even bigger part of him kept him from speaking up. It wasn't fair, not in the slightest, but something held him back, made him withdraw from his friends. Years of living with the Dursleys had done their part and taught him not to bother others with his personal troubles. And Tom had also never really confided in anyone, albeit for different reasons. Trust or not, Harry didn't feel like talking about it. Nothing would change, his parents would still be dead, and the only memory of their life he had their death, both from his infant self and their murderer.
Could Hermione and Ron understand him if he were to explain it to them? Even he had problems with it. On the one hand, he had the memories of confusion and loss from Harry, the boy who saw the hooded figure making lights behind his mother. But then, there was the other side as well. Unlike infant Harry's recollection of the events, Riddle had left him with clear memories of the elation at seeing the house, of the superiority over his victims for the night. Harry could recall the satisfaction at entering the house, the ecstasy at killing the fool Potter who had dared to oppose him in the past, struck down by Harry himself who had then been Voldemort. The traitorous Potter hadn't even picked up his wand, had trusted people, and worse, had sullied his bloodline with the Evans girl.
And then, the memory of entering the nursery, of seeing the Evans girl standing in front of her son, unwisely trying to protect the boy. A shame, in a way, to have to kill her, and Severus had begged for her life. She could have survived. He had earned himself a reward for his services to Lord Voldemort. Hadn't he proven to be very resourceful? Hadn't he helped his Lord time and again? Without him, quite a few of the strikes against his opposition would not have been possible. If sparing the girl's life would have secured Voldemort such a useful servant, why should he have wasted that opportunity? But no, she had had to be foolish. Her death hadn't given as much satisfaction or joy. A shame, really, as her death hadn't really been urgent; it could have waited until after Severus had grown tired of her. But then, the boy, the last threat to Lord Voldemort's reign had been there to be dealt with. And Harry was both aware of the boy being himself, and the twisted delight of accomplishment.
Would Hermione or Ron understand him? Could they understand it, that he couldn't separate the knowledge from the associated feelings? That killing the Potter's meant both terrible loss and loneliness, brought about by the hands of a madman, as well as endless happiness at seeing the last problem vanish by his hands? That the regrets about James Potter's death by merely existing, and not making the fool suffer before ending him? Or that, in his mind, he associated with Lily Potter the sacrificing, loving mother, and the means to keep one of his followers pleased? Or that Tom's reasoning didn't seem as wrong as it should – that the old Harry was very much against resorting to Voldemort's tactics, but that he felt himself starting to accept Tom's opinion. Only, the more of the memories Harry integrated, the less they were Tom's and the more they became Harry's, and the more the ruthless killer bled into the innocent child and more of the latter died. If he ever told either Ron or Hermione about the conflicting views about the past, they would very likely forbid him from ever delving into the memories again, and he couldn't let that happen.
Baby steps, that's what it is. That's what I'm telling myself. At least they've started talking.