Chapter 3. Harry Potter.
Tense silence reigned in Hermione and Ron's living room. Hermione was sitting in the chair, her eyes following Harry who was pacing from corner to corner, his arms folded across his chest. Teddy was leafing through books, although it was unclear what he hoped to find.
In the past hour they had gone through all possible options. An attack on the Aurors who were guarding Ron, the Invisibility Cloak, even the Polyjuice Potion. All of that hit upon the same problem – the ministry made sure that no unauthorized person could enter the floor where the two werewolves were held. The safeguards could not be tricked even by someone wearing the Invisibility Cloak. And only someone who knew the password set by the Minister and known by a small number of people could pass through them.
Harry obtained this information from a trusted colleagues at the Ministry. Now he was frantically trying to find a way out of the situation. He had to rescue his friend; he had to. The how didn't matter, for he had no intention of losing Ron.
Harry looked at Hermione – her answering gaze was perplexed, but she did not say anything. What was there to say that had not been said before? They had considered many options, yet still did not have the solution. Of course, a blatant break-out was always an option, but then what? If they were still seventeen, with no children or families, then it would have been easy to just get Ron out and then hide somewhere where no one would find them.
Harry was trying to keep his panic in check – he was ready to smash something or smash his own head against the wall; because the time was ticking by, and they still didn't have any viable ideas except attacking the hospital. Perhaps, this was because of the fatigue, for it couldn't be that there was not a single hole through which they might pull Ron out of this pickle.
For some reason, his Fourth Year at Hogwarts was on his mind. The Triwizard Tournament; the second task; the hopelessness that he felt because of not knowing how to survive under water for an hour; Dobby appearing at the last moment. He always came to their aid, that free spirit of an elf. If he or Kreacher were still alive, they would easily be able to help Ron out. However, no one present owned a house elf, and asking for someone else's was dangerous. Besides, judging by the kind of spell that was cast on the second floor of the hospital, even a house elf could not appear there without triggering the alarm.
Harry was familiar with this spell since what was supposed to be his seventh year at Hogwarts. Instead, he ran all over England, trying to stay alive and defeat the enemy. Hogsmead, from where he, Ron, and Hermione wanted to sneak into Hogwarts had the Cauterwauling Charm cast over it; and Harry had no idea how to penetrate it without the password.
"I will make some tea," Hermione said defeatedly and headed for the kitchen. Harry followed her with his eyes, knowing what his friend must be feeling now. For Ron was not simply her friend; he was her husband. And Harry knew what it was like to fear the loss of a loved one.
He had lost. And it was all his fault. It was his fault alone that Ginny was gone. That their house, hitherto always filled with love, now looked like a crypt. He was suffocating in it while collecting Al's things. Harry had had no idea how her presence permeated the house; how everything in it bore his wife's mark. He was not sure that he would ever again, even once, be able to cross the threshold of this now alien house.
"Here is tea," Hermione set the tray on the coffee table.
"Well, one thing is clear," Teddy shut the book he held in his hands and walked over to the couch. "We have to know the password. I looked – there is no way we can lift the Cauterwauling Charm without it."
Harry nodded contritely and reached out for his tea cup, feeling the time slip away.
"None of your Aurors can get you the password? Of those assigned to the hospital?" Lupin sat down and took his tea.
"No. As I understand, the password is changed every morning, so those who come on the shift do not know it ahead of time," Harry picked up his tea cup, and then set it back down, unable to just stand still or drink tea. "Even if we learn the password, we won't be able to simply walk Ron out of there."
"What do you suggest?"
"A house elf."
Hermione looked at her friend wide-eyed and nodded:
"Of course! This is so simple…"
"Yes, except we still have two tough questions remaining: where to get the password and where to get a house elf?"
"Harry, what if…"
Hermione didn't finish because at that moment something shiny burst into the room. Harry realized what it was – a Patronus. The silver cat froze by the coffee table and spoke in the familiar voice of Minerva McGonagall:
"Harry, we need you at Hogwarts. Use the fireplace; the password is 'Wulfric'. Do not worry – your children are all right. Try to come as quickly as possible."
"What else happened?" Harry reached for the sweater he took off earlier and walked to the fireplace. His heart sank with fear, even though McGonagall had said that Lily and James were all right. Why then would the Hogwarts' Headmistress summon him so urgently, unless something was amiss?
"Everything will be all right, Harry," Hermione whispered behind him, not really believing her own words. Nothing would be well anymore after he had just buried Ginny, Ron was in grave danger, and they could not come up with a plan to rescue him. All would not be well as long as Patronuses were bursting into their homes with troubling messages.
Harry stepped into the fireplace and shouted: "Hogwarts. Headmistress' study. Wulfric." Then he flew through the Floo network, keeping his hands tightly pressed against him.
The first people he saw as he stepped out of the fireplace in McGonagall's study were his children; alive and, apparently, well.
"Daddy!" Lily jumped from her seat and ran into his arms.
"Uncle Harry," Amanda squeaked and also hugged him, although she could only reach up around his knees.
"How is it going, Dad?" James shook his father's hand, and then drew forward and hugged him momentarily.
"It's going ok," Harry attempted to smile at his children, and then noticed the presence of another student in the room. Scorpius Malfoy. They had barely met before; only on the Platform 9 ¾. James had never invited his friend to visit him at home before his last birthday, but even then Harry didn't come face to face with Draco Malfoy's son. In all five years of James' and Scorpius' friendship Harry never said a word to him. They usually nodded courteously at each other, just like with the Slytherin's father.
"Hello, Mr. Potter," the young Malfoy said. Judging by how he held his arm, it was injured.
"Hello," Harry responded, and then turned to Lily and James. "Will anyone finally explain to me what happened here?"
"I want to hear it also!" Minerva McGonagall practically flew into the room, accompanied by Zig, Harry's co-worker, Professor Faust, and pale Neville in soil-smeared robes. The elder Potter greeted them all and then retreated to the mantle in order to be able to see everyone at once. First, McGonagall was alarmed. Second, his children looked embarrassed. Third, Zig was present. Fourth, Malfoy had apparently been hurt. So far, the picture was coming out quite unsettling. But what was Amanda doing there with such a guilty expression on her face?
"So, your father and I are awaiting your explanations," the Headmistress tried to say it as gently as possible. "Be brief and concise: how did you find yourselves in the Forbidden forest, and in the company of werewolves, no less?"
"What?!" Harry shuddered so violently that a vase fell off the mantle. No one paid attention to it, however, because the eyes of all adults were fixed on the students. "Werewolves?! How?"
"It was I who went there!
"We had to save Amanda!"
"We caught three of them!"
Only Malfoy remained silent, standing against the wall and smiling contentedly.
"So," McGonagall, like Harry Potter, did not understand much from all those exclamations. "Now… Ms. Potter, please, tell us everything in detail and without omissions…" At this moment, however, the Headmistress' gaze fell on the silent Slytherin. "And what are you doing here, Mr. Malfoy? I told you loud and clear – go to the hospital wing! I do not wish to hear any objections! Go now! Professor Faust, please take him to Madam Pomfrey."
Harry watched the young Malfoy unwillingly follow the Head of Gryffindor House, looking back at James several times. When the door closed behind them, McGonagall looked back at Lily:
"Now, Ms. Potter, we are ready to listen."
And Lily began to tell them everything – about bumping into Amanda's friend, reading the note, seeking out her brother and his friend, and deciding to go into the forest, after sending a note to the professors.
"Excuse, me, is this the note that you were referring to?" McGonagall took a wrinkled piece of parchment out of her pocket and held it up disgustedly with two fingers, for everyone to see. Harry managed to make out a few scribbled words on the back: Forbidden forest, the northern clearing. Werewolves. It appeared to Harry that the Hogwarts Headmistress was not so much upset as she was worried. And the elder Potter himself has not recovered quite yet – how could they not have thought about Amanda Dursley being in danger? And how could they not have remembered about the Forbidden Forest, where the werewolves felt at home since times immemorial?! Of course, Harry had never bothered to read the "Hogwarts: the History" – why would he, if he had Hermione? But what about the teachers, the Headmistress?! They should have been certain to take this possibility into account! And there his was, sure that his children were perfectly safe at Hogwarts. The illusion of safety, which had been destroyed back in his school years by Draco Malfoy and the Death Eaters. "Continue, Ms. Potter."
Lily related their brief struggle with the werewolves in as much detail as she could muster. Harry was horrified, realizing that the Polyjuice Potion was used once again, that again someone hid behind his face in order to cause harm. He had long figured out where they got a bit of him. Harry lifted his hand to look at the barely noticeable scar from a minor cut he had sustained, without paying any attention to it, at the Diagon Alley. He simply healed it then. And now he was almost certain – his blood was retained and added to the potion. And it was now used to kill and maim people who were close to him.
Amanda began to weep quietly in her chair. Poor child, sucked into this nightmare.
Harry went down on his knees in front of her and stroked her hair.
"It is not your fault. This could have happened to anyone. Don't cry."
"Amanda, have you been getting these letters long?" Zig asked, coming closer and standing behind Harry's back.
"Yes. Since the beginning of the school year," the Hufflepuff sobbed, wiping her wet cheeks with the sleeve of her robes.
"Wait…" Harry's eyes narrowed, "You have been receiving letters from me. Did you reply?"
"Yes, always," Amanda said timidly.
"But I didn't receive anything," Harry remarked, exchanging glances with Zig. "How is that possible?"
"I don't know," Amanda shrugged. "I wrote to the address that you… well, they told me in each letter."
"Do you remember the address?" asked Zig animatedly.
The girl shook her head.
"Then, perhaps, you have saved the last letter?" Harry inquired gently.
"Yes, of course," the Hufflepuff livened up. "I can bring it."
"All right, Ms. Dursley," Professor McGonagall spoke, "You will go with your Head of the House. Give him the letters and then Professor Longbottom will take you to the hospital wing so that Madam Pomfrey can examine you.
Neville nodded at Harry with understanding and a sort of compassion, took Amanda's hand, and the two left the study. Harry sat down in the chair vacated by his niece and buried his face in his hands. He was trembling, because he didn't even need to see those letters. He knew that he would see a strange-looking "r" there; and what otherwise looked like his handwriting.
"All right," McGonagall, apparently, understood the condition of the elder Potter and took matters into her own hands. "I hope that you will not have to defend yourselves in the future. I understand that you had no other choice, but I beg you – no more independent action, please."
Lily and James nodded obediently. Harry raised his head and met his daughter's loving gaze.
"And now go to your rooms. I will give an order for your dinner to be brought to the tower."
The children got to their feet and so did Harry.
"Professor McGonagall, may I walk with them?"
"Yes, of course. Then you may return here and use my fireplace. And Harry, believe me, this won't happen again. I promise you."
Harry nodded and followed his children out of the room, leaving behind the Headmistress and the Auror.
"Keep me informed, Zig," Harry asked and walked out.
Lily and James were awaiting their father by the gargoyle.
"Well, you two, been up to no good, eh?"
His children exchanged uncertain looks, then stared at their father.
"Dad, but…"
Harry smiled – faintly, timidly, but he smiled, hugging his children.
"Thank you. I am insanely happy that my children are so brave. But I am asking you, please, enough heroics."
"All right," James shrugged. "It's not like we can help it – it's in our blood."
Harry gibingly raised one eyebrow.
"You know, there was this young man in our family who tried to rescue someone at Hogwarts every year."
"Go ahead, you joker," Harry nudged his son in the direction opposite to the Gryffindor tower and went with him. Lily couldn't help but follow them.
"And where are we going?" she asked as she caught up with James and her father.
"I think that James will want to visit with his friend in the hospital wing," her father suggested. The youth grinned and walked faster down the hall.
"All right, and why are you going there?" the girl asked warily.
"I have stuff to do there," Harry replied vaguely, putting his arm around his daughter's shoulders. "You don't have to go with us if you don't want to."
"Yeah, right!" Lil snorted. "It's not like you come to this school that often…"
"Dad, how is Uncle Ron doing?" James turned toward the stairs.
"Almost recovered," Harry said vaguely, letting his son and daughter in the door to the hospital wing.
Nothing changed here since Harry graduated. Only Madam Pomfrey, who was at that moment walking away from the folding screen on their left, had become even more fragile and her face – more wrinkled.
"Mr. Potter!" a smile lit her face as she saw her once regular patient. "I am glad to see you. Did you want something?" She looked all three Potters over carefully.
"If you don't mind, we will disturb one of your patients," Harry nodded toward the bed where Scorpius was sitting with a bandaged shoulder, staring at his visitors.
"All right," Madam Pomfrey nodded and headed for her office. James immediately walked over to his friend:
"Malfoy, they put you in a cast because of a scratch?"
Scorpuius looked at his friend in disdain and then shifted his silvery gaze to James' father.
Harry simply stepped toward the young man and held out his hand. Scorpius, taken aback, shook Harry Potter's hand somewhat mechanically.
"Thank you," Harry said, looking into the familiar face even as he realized that this Malfoy's features were filled with quite a different substance than Draco's.
"What for?"
"For my daughter. And for James," Harry answered simply, feeling his children's gazes boring into his back. "I am glad that my son has you for a friend."
"Hmm, I never thought I would hear such words," Scorpius smiled, looking at the elder Potter.
"Why?"
"Well, I am a Malfoy," the Slytherin shrugged.
"You being a Malfoy does not make you automatically worse than you really are," Harry remarked softly. "And I also think that you are the best thing that ever happened to Draco Malfoy."
Scorpius chuckled:
"I think that he would not agree with you."
"The main thing is for you to remember that your surname does not commit you to anything," said Harry and then turned toward his children. "Time for me to go now. Be careful."
The Gryffindors nodded and Harry left the hospital wing, closing the door behind him. He quickly walked down the empty hallways toward McGonagall's study. No one was there – apparently the Headmistress left to attend to some urgent matters. And so Harry was now at liberty to look around and walk up to Albus Dumbledore's portrait.
"Hello, Professor," Harry looked at the old wizard. Dumbledore was sitting in his chair, smiling at his student.
"Hello, Harry," the warm, familiar voice instantly penetrated down into his soul and Harry felt calmer. "I see that you are still the same: your father's son, and Sirius' godson. Still just as strong."
Harry smiled faintly and his gaze shifted to the next portrait, where Severus Snape was looking at him with the same disdainful expression on his sallow face that he wore in life.
"Hello, Professor Snape."
"So many Potters in one day…" Snape turned away from Harry, who was not at all bothered by it. They never really had a conversation. What could they talk about? About Snape's love for Harry's mother? About his hatred for Harry's father? They did not have common interests, even despite Severus Snape being in some degree responsible for saving Harry's life.
"Harry," he turned back to his Teacher's portrait, "your strength is, as I told you many times before, in love. Not in revenge, not in hatred, but in love. And you will overcome again. I am sure of it."
"My love did not save Ginny," Harry said contritely, hanging his head.
"No," Dumbledore did not bother with empty words, but continued to press his point. "However, when facing your enemies, you have to remember that love is more powerful than hatred or revenge. Your love will save you and your loved ones. And when you are facing a choice, choose that. Not revenge. Not hatred. Love, Harry."
"But, Professor, I am no longer protected by my mother's love," Harry smiled bitterly, looking up at Dumbledore's kindly face. "This time it is on the side of my enemy."
"He is not the enemy, my boy. He is just a teenager, a pawn in the hands of stronger people. Remember – he didn't want to become what Voldemort made him. You didn't want that either, yet you could do nothing. Think about it. And help will come in time, you just don't lose heart."
"What?" Harry didn't understand. He was beganning to get angry – as usual, the Headmaster spoke in riddles that Potter himself would have to sort out. "What help?"
But Dumbledore only smiled softly, folding his hands in the same way he did when he occupied this study. And for a moment Harry felt like a Sixth Year again, coming to a study session with Dumbledore and hearing him tell another story of the boy who would become Lord Voldemort.
"Remember, once you were able to pity the man who killed your parents," the Teacher spoke again, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. "I am sure that you haven't changed much since then, Harry."
The Headmaster did not say any more. He closed his eyes, pretending to be tired and needing rest. Harry sighed heavily, cast the last look at Dumbledore, nodded at Snape, and stepped into the fireplace.
His head was beginning to hurt from information overload, not to mention Dumbledore's riddles!
Harmione rose from the living room chair at the sight of her friend, looking a little frightened.
"Everything is all right, don't worry," Harry rushed to put her fears to rest.
"No, Harry, it's not that… Someone is waiting for you here."
Harry Potter stared at the black-haired man who rose from the chair. In the twilight of the room it seemed to him that there was a ghost before him. A ghost of the man he saw on a portrait just a few minutes ago. Standing before him was Severus Snape.
Another nice cliff-hanger. :) Our new hero is coming to the fore.