Chapter 53 – To Grandmother's House We Go
At least we started the day on time. My stomach felt fine, as we headed down to breakfast. I ate eggs, bacon, porridge, a banana, an orange, and a glass of milk. I felt almost myself again, which was good, since I had an important senior Quidditch practice scheduled for just as soon as the last class ended at 4:00. I was thinking of a leisurely day of classes, but Harry had other ideas.
"We should all head to the Ministry this morning to meet with those who weren't included in yesterday's discussion. I'm thinking of mainly Wood, Percy, Callista, Bill, Barb, Bill, and Cotto, but if there is anyone else, we should sit down with, I'm agreeable to that as well. We'll take George and Luna with us."
Hermione told Harry, "I'd really like to include my parents. Since they didn't grow up in this world, they don't have competing allegiances. I am enjoying being with them again and re-establishing what was a very close connection. I don't want to exclude them from this."
We all agreed that Hermione's proposal made sense. I liked Mrs. Granger, but mainly I thought that Mr. Granger could become the neutral, technology dabbling friend, whom my Dad so greatly needed. Ron thought we should also take Mum with us and possibly pick up Dad, as well, once we arrived at the Ministry. We all trooped up to the staff table, both to inform McGonagall that we were off to the Ministry and to borrow several of her staff.
McGonagall was in a surprisingly good mood, viewing last night's meeting as more of a rapprochement than a slapping down by Dad. Perhaps my own gripes with her caused me to give greater emphasis to Dad's final comment to her than Dad had intended. Certainly, Dad and the headmaster had known each other for a very long time and Dad was more interested in making peace with aggrieved friends than in fuelling the conflict. She was pleased when Harry suggested that we would be meeting later with Professor Celine. That was news to me.
I had a few minutes alone with Harry, while all the cast of characters were being assembled. I had to clear the air and my comment to Harry shocked him.
"I get the impression that you think I'm a bad daughter, who doesn't fully appreciate and value my father."
My comment didn't hang in the air for more than a few seconds, before Harry replied, "no, I don't think that at all. Apart from being a bit of a risk seeker, I think you have turned into almost exactly the daughter whom your father wanted. He wanted to be a good father, and for you to see him as a kind, loving, and supportive father, whom you would feel comfortable talking to. He didn't really care whether you saw him as a superhero or great success at the Ministry. He just wanted you to see him as a great Dad. It's clear that you have always looked up to him in that way and that you want our relationship to be an updated version of your parents' relationship. So do I. Both your parents are pleased with that. The only way your father could be a superhero would be if his exploits were well known. That would prevent him from doing his job and would likely have gotten him fired from the Ministry by some of the less friendly Ministers. It also would have put his whole family in danger. I think you've been a very good daughter. I think you know in your heart that you've had a lot more freedom to be a modern Witch than even most non-Slytherin Witches are given by their parents. Your father is very proud that you have chosen the path you've chosen. He wasn't going to push you there, but he's very pleased that you've made the decisions that you have. You really do worry way too much."
My mood was improved by Harry's comments and I felt better about the meeting we were off to.
The meeting went well. Dad invited Prudence to join us. I no longer saw her as an open conduit back to McGonagall. Her loyalty to Dad seemed absolute. Percy seemed to be very happy at the promise of greater interaction with Harry and, of course, Callista. Bill said he sensed much of the action and turmoil that was unfolding around him but was glad to get the full picture and surprised that he had heard nothing of the more advanced powers of the stone. Harry was elated that at least some secrets remained secret. I had a sense that our circle was once again fully integrated, but with Dad as part of the team. This was almost a Weasley family enterprise, a fact underscored by Dad's announcement, "I've invited Charlie home for the weekend. I want him to participate in our first meeting. I also want to make use of his dragons.
Cotto told us that the incidents of employers attacking their Elves and some of the Elves fighting back had caused a dozen Elves to be looking for new work. He suggested that Harry take on one of the Elves, until Baal returned. Bisco was hired and immediately dispatched to assist Jana at Harry's grandmother's house. Cotto left with Bisco. I made a mental note to get together with Harry's grandmother, as soon as I got back to Hogwarts.
Wood drew me aside after the meeting, saying he had wanted to mention it before, but that he was grateful for all the help I was giving his little brother. I told him that the little guy was an absolute delight and likely to become the best Seeker Hogwarts had ever seen. This reminded me that I should be returning to Hogwarts.
I kissed Harry goodbye, as he went off to meet with his Directors. I found out later that Harry achieved most of what he wanted in that meeting. Madam Bones had scheduled a trial date for Pansy's father as a way of forcing a plea agreement. She had agreed that Barty would be imprisoned for the rest of his life, based upon his prior sentences. She still wanted to try him for his current crimes "just so the public understands what he did." The prosecution of the Stowes was moving forward. She thought she could go to trial in six weeks. She recognised the Minister's and Harry's right to use our circle as adjunct aurors but called it the slippery slope to perdition. Harry agreed that we would all attend auror training on weekends, just as soon as my Quidditch obligation was fulfilled. He assured me that I would find the classes to be "totally fascinating and likely quite useful in our activities. You'll also get official Ministry credits, should you ever wish to become an auror." Most importantly, Shacklebolt and Harry were friends again.
Shacklebolt had gone into detail concerning his fears about Henry, drawing on information about the young Tom Riddle of which Harry had not been aware. If nothing else, Harry got a better sense of how close Shacklebolt had been to Dumbledore. Harry happily reported that there appeared to be no friction between Shacklebolt and Bill and Barb, although Madam Bones complained mildly about 'yet another unconventional reporting relationship. You're a politician, Harry – not the head auror'.
My day was fine. Harry had delegated the somewhat delicate tasks of meeting with Cissy and Margaret to me. I caught Cissy in our Common Room and we set out together to find Margaret. She was just finishing Charms with Professor Flitwick, so we waited in the corridor for ten minutes. I had spent so much effort rehearsing in my mind exactly what I wanted to say, that I forgot what it meant to wait anywhere for ten minutes with Cissy.
Cissy had picked up enough information about my adventures with the stone, that this was the focus of her interest. I first put her off until Margaret joined us, but then realised that as a Keeper and Committee member, she naturally would learn more about the stone than I felt it prudent to tell Margaret. I gave her a five-minute summary of most of what I had experienced and most of what I now knew about the stone. She got progressively more excited, especially at the thought of her spirit flitting about the heavens at her command. Also, just living with the male Montaigne's had taught her to recognise power and she saw the stone as exactly that.
She was almost jumping up and down with excitement as she asked me 'when may I be introduced to the stone'. I tried to put her off but compromised on 'soon'. This not-all-that-well-agreed-upon definition of 'soon' was hanging in the air as the classroom door sprang open and the class surged forth.
Like us, Margaret was wont to sit in the front row, so she was one of the last students to leave. I plucked her from the stream and guided her back to Harry's office. Margaret was thrilled to be an official part of our circle. I was equally thrilled to have her as a member. Margaret is the nicest, sweetest person I know, and a very loyal soul. I was able to get a reading on the extent to which news of the stone and our recent adventures had spread, by Margaret's level of surprise at my various revelations. She knew nothing of the problems with Harry's grandmother, other than that she was in Gryffindor for some unknown reason, knew nothing of the stone, and just hints about the pyramid. The latter knowledge was likely unavoidable, given the number of aurors present in Snape's office. Margaret was very well versed on the twins' situation. Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned the difficulties with the special aurors. That shocked her and caused her to swear her allegiance to defending the twins.
I did attend my herbology class. I found Neville calming, as well as informative. Today the class was planting daylily seeds, which would grow in the greenhouse until Spring, and then be planted in a trial bed near Hagrid's hut. Neville had decided to involve the students in his current genetics experiment. He had decided that the genetics of flower colour were too complex and not representative of the genetics of magical talent. He was currently planning to evaluate the performance of various light cream coloured daylilies in a series of potions. He told us that the specific active ingredient within the flower was not known. He had crossed Early bird Lemon-Lime Parfait, which when crushed made excellent potions against another daylily called Arctic Snow, which while paler in colour, was a complete dud as a potion's ingredient. He wanted to know what fraction of the seedlings would make a satisfactory potion and whether any would do better as a potion ingredient than the Early bird Lemon-Lime Parfait. Thinking that the greenish tone might be responsible for the good results, he had also crossed Arctic Snow with the very greenish Green Mystique. He told us that the use of the greenhouse along with very careful cultivation in the garden would yield bloom by the time the Hogwarts school term ended. He had structured eight different experiments, each to be pursued by a team of three students. Madam Sprout would assist in the project by incorporating the flowers we produced into a potion making class. "This will be a very useful potion for many of you," Neville promised. "It enhances alertness and mental acuity. There are a number of less common potions, which also use light-coloured daylily flowers."
We planted our seeds – two hundred for each group, in order to have a reasonable sample size and watered them. Our group was searching for the perfect spot, where they would get the right amount of heat and sunlight, when Jana arrived in a state of great excitement.
"Come quick, Missy Ginny, we have invaders."
Barb was with me and Neville joined us. We linked hands and I Apparated us into the sitting room. Jana arrived just after we did. I saw two truly massive intruders pressed up against the fireplace, with Bisco holding them in place. Neville and I each focused upon one of them, shouting 'Off!' without even pointing our wands.
"Thank you Bisco. That should take care of them. We searched them for wands. They didn't have any. One did have a Muggle gun. The other had a nasty looking metal mallet. We wrapped them in goop threads and transported them to Harry's office. Callista said that my Dad was giving Harry a tour of the shop. She ran off to retrieve him.
"I forgot to replace the spiked Veritaserum that I used yesterday," I lamented to Neville. It would be very useful in questioning this pair.
"Actually, the spiking agent is one of the rare potions which I plan to make from the flowers whose seeds you just planted. I happen to have a small quantity with me, since Professor Sprout and I made test batches with the starting parents in my experiment."
"That's great Neville, but I don't have any normal Veritaserum to add it to."
"Surely the Ministry has Veritaserum."
"We most certainly do," Dad declared. "Why don't you go fetch us some, Kingsley. You needn't mention this to Amelia."
Harry stared at the two comatose stooges propped up against Callista's desk. "These guys match the description that Greg gave us of the thugs he drove to grandmother's house," Harry exclaimed as if he was telling us something we didn't already know. He was continuing but I interrupted.
"Catta caught them breaking into your grandmother's house. Bisco had them pinned up against the wall, when we arrived."
"I guessed that," Harry replied, "although it is most strange that they broke in. Surely, they knew that we took my grandmother away and that their driver and his car had gone missing. I wonder what they were searching for."
"I'm willing to bend the rules to get the answer to that question," Dad declared. "I fully appreciate Amelia's dedication to the legal niceties, but I have grown weary of attacks upon our families. These are Muggles and Amelia can't prosecute Muggles, in any case. If these are Wizards, well… I refuse to take the nicely, nicely approach to Wizards who choose to attack us with Muggle weapons. I regard them as Death Eater soldiers, not criminals."
"I'm proud of you Arthur," Shacklebolt cheered him on.
"I'm not sure I'm proud of myself," Dad replied "but let's get on with what needs to be done."
Neville added his potion to Shacklebolt's bottle of Veritaserum. "Hermione's right, I don't go anywhere without it," Shacklebolt admonished me.
Neville poured the fluid down our captives' throats and we waited for it to take effect. "They really are big, aren't they?" Dad commented as we waited. "It's a good thing magical strength doesn't depend upon physical strength. I'd hate to have to fight these two."
Neville and I undid our 'Off!'. I was surprised to hear, for the first time since we had started using this curse, that one of the oaf's first unprompted comment was "Whah? Where am I and how did I get here. Where is that damned little beast that attacked us?"
I thought it clever of Dad to attack this opening he had been given. "Are you crazy, Sir. Attacked by little beasts were you? Don't tell me that you don't know full well how you got here."
"But… I don't. There was a ferocious looking little man. No… I ain't had a drink in a day. I swear, he attacked me. Must have trussed me up, too."
"What were you doing when this supposed wee monster attacked you?"
"Me mate here and I, we was burgling this old woman's house. The monster is real enough. Bashed up the back of my head real enough. Am I dead?"
Shacklebolt kicked him in his rump. "Does that feel like you're dead, you crazy bastard. Coming here telling us a story like that. What were you trying to steal?"
"A book, a very valuable book. This old bloke promised five hundred quid for it."
"What does this book look like and why is it so valuable?" Dad asked.
"It's about so big," the thief replied, realizing he couldn't move his arms to show 'so big'. Remembering that he couldn't move his arms, he tried to explain "It's not thick. I was told only about half an inch. About six inches high by three and a half inches wide. Soft red leather cover. Very old. Written by hand in red ink. That's all I was told. Didn't have long to look, but didn't find it, neither."
That was about all we learned from him. He was a petty free-lance hood. The description of his employer matched Roderick. He had worked for him for several weeks. The house had been under surveillance for ten days. They had seen Dudley but did not yet know who he was. Apparently, Roderick thought Dudley was Harry Potter. I assume this meant that he thought Harry was on juice. They had a picture of Dudley at a distance. Better pictures on the camera, which we had. He had an address to which he was to mail a picture postcard, if he found the book. Roderick would then contact him and tell him where to take the book to trade for the promised payoff. The address was in Edinburgh.
His partner told the same story, although he knew less and had never seen Roderick. He had only been on board the plot for a week.
"What shall I do with them?" Shacklebolt asked Dad.
As Dad thought about this, Harry explained what we had done with Greg.
"We can do better than that with this lad," Shacklebolt declared. "We can arrange for him to meet with Roderick. A very careful and detailed Confunding should convince him that he found the book in question and is eager to exchange it for his money. We can put the trace on him."
"That's serious if the Muggle government finds out," Dad hesitated. "Still, it's our best shot. We need to prepare a phony book for him to take with him."
Shacklebolt and Dad got to work on our prisoner, while we got to work making a reasonable copy of the book.
"It sounds like a personal diary," Neville suggested. Do we have a sample of Harry's grandfather's writing? I think it most likely that it was his diary and he somehow hid it on his person, when he was Squibbed out, hoping it would remind him of who he used to be."
We Apparated back to the house, taking Callista with us, so that she could return with Shacklebolt and the prisoners. Fortunately, all the windows in the house were covered, so that any of Roderick's men who might be watching would be unable to see us, or to know that our prisoners were not hard at work turning the house upside down.
We found pages of notes about particularly interesting patients in the home office. Since the subject was medical, we assumed the author was Harry's grandfather. The ink was purple, not red, but at least the writing revealed a flamboyant taste in ink. I studied the writing, while Harry, Neville, Bill, and Barb searched. I thought that I could reproduce the writing. The real trick was to approximate what the hand of the eldest Montaigne son would have looked like, when he was a young lad.
Not wanting to do more Apparating than necessary, I drew Barb aside and begged her to pop off back to Hogwarts to find Cissy and see if she could find any exemplars of her uncle's handwriting. To fill the time until Cissy arrived, I began a careful search of the desk. I found diaries, but they were larger, hard-cover models. The oldest was from 1965. It did show evidence of a younger hand. The ink was green, this time. He had used a nib pen to do the writing. There were several such pens in the desk, along with a variety of inks, including red. That was a start.
One drawer had a pile of correspondence from The New Start Society, largely dealing with tuition support, along with letters of encouragement about his academic success. One letter referenced a large payment to start his practice. Harry's grandfather had scrawled a note in red ink on this particular letter: 'Why? What am I to them? I deserved a scholarship, but who gives money to buy a practice? To a kid they hardly know? Is this the organisation that the diary says will help me?'
Callista, Dad and Shacklebolt arrived with the prisoners, guarded by a pair of Dad's aurors. The prisoners were inert, so I hardly thought Dad required extra protection from them, but I was gradually learning the value of caution and redundant protections. Callista had brought a selection of oldish diary books.
"Percy scrounged old desks in the Ministry cellars. He found two reddish brown ones and a brownish red. I think this one is best. From the age of some other stuff in and around the desk, Percy thinks this book is about eighty years old. That isn't too far off what you're looking for. It's almost blank, just the first four pages are written in."
"This will do just great," I promised Callista as I got to work removing the writing from the book. I didn't want to just tear out pages, so I used a combination of spells and transfiguration to produce the desired result. Callista thought I had created an adequate blank slate from which to work. I didn't want to work until Barb returned with Cissy.
Callista and I continued to explore the desk while we waited for Barb. It was an old desk, with many drawers. It was made of thick, aged, darkened wood, with lots of ornate carving on the legs and the edges of the inch-thick top surface and the fronts of the drawers. Its appearance spoke 'hidden compartment' to both Callista and me. We searched hard but were not finding anything. We pulled out all the drawers, checking both their undersides and the back of the hole from which they had emerged for secret nooks and crannies. We tried to detach the faces of the drawers. We were measuring the depth of the holes into which the drawers fit, to compare against the depth of the desk, when Barb returned.
"Hello, Mrs. Evans," I managed to stammer, as surprised as I was to see Harry's grandmother, in addition to Cissy. "I'm your grandson Harry's wife, Ginny," I informed her in my more normal voice. Granny wanted and received a hug.
Granny was also all business. "I was told that the thugs came back to my home searching for a book. I know the one they wanted. My husband studied it frequently. My husband was a joyous man, but that book always left him gloomy. It was a source of great discomfort and puzzlement to him. He couldn't stop going back to it, because he couldn't figure it out. He knew that the diary was in his handwriting and used many of the same odd archaic phrasings as he did, but he had no memory of writing it. Nor did he have any idea how it came to dwell in the sole of his boot. He said that the day he found that book was the unluckiest day of his life. Just plain bad luck that he wore those decrepit old boots, because the new ones his mother bought for him were still tight around the toes. The sole split open along the one side and he worried the thing, until he discovered the little book inside. Kept it a secret from his parents, for all those years. Always started the same way when he talked about the book. 'This book says my name is Montaigne, yet I know it to be Evans. I remember my life and I don't ever remember being Montaigne."
"I have two questions," Harry told his grandmother. "First, do you know where the book is? Second, do you have any idea how the man who employed these criminals would even know that the book existed. If Grandfather had had the book since he was a child, why would these men come looking for it today?"
"I showed it to Dudley. Dudley mentioned that a man named Montaigne murdered your grandfather. I recognized Montaigne as the name in that book. Dudley was all excited. He said he was still investigating the murder and was convinced that there was more to be learned. That was two weeks ago. And yes, I know where the book is. The false compartment isn't in that desk. It's behind one of the kitchen cabinets. I'll get the book for you."
"Dudley?" I said, looking at Harry in amazement. "Why would Dudley want to steal the book and why would he hire men to steal it, instead of just borrowing it, himself?"
"I can't believe Dudley is responsible for this, but I am going to have a talk with him."
The only being who knew where Dudley was hiding was Catta. Unfortunately, we didn't know where Catta was. Jana told Harry, "Cotto will know."
Harry and Bill went back to the Ministry to find Cotto, while I tried to create a phony diary. It was tough work with Cissy leaning over my shoulder, reading the diary along with me. I soiled the copy to match the original, although we all doubted the original was this soiled on the day it left Castle Montaigne for the last time. I duplicated the initials embossed on the cover.
I was surprised how easy the writing was to duplicate, using a variant of Witch painting. As I duplicated, I took in the content. The narrative started when Harry's grandfather was seven. The book had been given him by his own father, the then Lord Montaigne. Most of the book told of a pampered idyllic childhood, with a doting father and mother, although the boy sometimes wrote about worries for his mother's health. When he was ten, the tone of the story changed drastically. The doting father was always upset and commanding him to perform magic, which he could not. This went on for months, leading up to the climactic three pages.
'Father shouted that he knew what my mother had done. I was a filthy bastard. That was why I couldn't do magic. Any son of his would do magic. I was not his son. He didn't want to look at me. I would have to be sent away like the rest of the filthy Squibs.'
There was a happy day interspersed amidst the gloom. Unexpectedly, at age 12, this young Montaigne had undeniably performed magic. He excitedly told his mother. She arranged a demonstration for his father. Then, the most crushing blow, conveyed in all caps and underlined 'FATHER SAYS IT DOESN'T MATTER. I AM NOT HIS SON AND I MUST GO. HATE HIM!'
The book talked about a week of extreme family trauma. The mother cried all day, not wanting her favourite son thrown out of her life. The father was determined 'to do what we must do, as a result of your betrayal of me. I agree it's not the boy's fault, but he must go. The doctor is coming tomorrow'.
On the final page the young writer declares, "I know what is done with Squibs. They take away your mind, so you can't remember who you are. I will hide this book, so that I never forget who I am. So that I can return and save my mother and claim what is mine by right. If I must kill my father, then that is what I shall do. I will hide this book in the sole of my boot. If my new self finds this book, I swear to him that all that I have said is true. It will be hard for you to find your old world. It is carefully hidden. Please try. I don't want to die. What they will do to me is worse than death. They will make it as if I never existed and everything that I did or thought, never happened. I will be replaced by a phony, made up person.'
There were tear stains and a gap and then a final few lines. 'I take it back. Do not try to find Montaigne. He is too powerful and cruel. He would destroy you. Save our shared life. Stay away from my world. It is not for you. Live for both of us. I don't think it selfish to ask – never forget me, for your body was once mine. Enjoy it as much as I do.'
How unbearably sad. It was the poor Gryffindors all over again. The Montaigne's were simply evil. Smoother than Voldemort, but just as evil. It was alarming how far certain Wizards were willing to go to rule our world. It made me wonder if secrecy from the Muggle world was necessary or even desirable. Having to live in secrecy gave nasty Wizards far too much control over our lives. The Gryffindors had died without revealing our secret. Perhaps they should simply have told the truth. These evil Wizards used all the secrecy to their own benefit. It was the excuse for just about every bad thing that happened.
