XL. Creeds Beyond Theirs
2 March 1980
The flying spoon made another lazy circuit, leaving a trail of bubbles in its wake.
"Okay, Rhys, here comes the Cleaensweep! Let's give it another go, yeah?" Harry asked with false brightness.
Rhys eyed Harry warily.
Come on.
Just once. I'll settle for just once.
Rhys eyed the spoon floating towards him.
A moment later, the baby finally opened his mouth for the spoonful of porridge.
"Yes!" Harry cried.
"Fubwa dub!" Rhys disagreed, spitting the entire mouthful out over his chin. Glaring in disgust, the boy grabbed the hovering spoon and slammed it repeatedly onto his highchair's tray.
Harry slumped back into his seat. "Well...Fubwa dub."
Closing his eyes, he decided to pretend that he couldn't hear Rhys doing something that just had to be messy. Harry was getting rather good at pretending such things.
But he couldn't pretend that he didn't hear someone entering his rooms.
His wand was in his hand and a curse on his lips before his brain recognized Gideon.
"Fuck, sorry Gid, I just—fuck—"
"Fubwa," Rhys added, apparently having decided to wear the full bowl of porridge as a hat.
Gideon put his hands down with a relieved breath and a little grin.
"S'alright. Nerves, I get it," he replied easily and pulled up a chair. "This looks cosy."
Harry grunted. Rhys erupted into nonsensical babbles.
"I have something to cheer you up," Gideon said as he vanished the cereal from Rhys' head. "Guess who's an uncle. Again."
It took Harry a second to understand. "Wait—seriously?"
"Ronald Bilius Weasley was born a few minutes past ten in the morning today."
Harry blinked while Rhys' prattling—which he supposed roughly translated to pay attention to me, you gits!—increased.
Ron's here. A slow smile spread across Harry's face. Ron and Hermione are both here now.
Gideon's expression clouded. "Look, Harry, don't be upset, but Molly doesn't want you—or me and Fabe either—to come to the Burrow any time soon. After what happened, we're…"
Harry swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "We're not safe for them to be around," he finished for Gideon. "I know. I agree. But when this war's over, then—" He broke off, the idea of a life without Voldemort almost impossible to fathom.
"Then we'll have time for lots of things," Gideon said. "For everything."
Blinking, Harry recalled sleepless nights in Ab's stable, when he'd lamented the seemingly-colossal stretch that separated him from his friends. Now there never seemed to be enough hours and days to ever catch up with Voldemort.
One day I'll have just the right amount. He smiled.
"Speaking of time," Harry snapped himself back into the moment. "Ron's late. His birthday back on my world was the first of March, not the second. Prat always did like a good lie-in."
xoxoxox
3 March, 1980
"Harry! You must read this!" Albus ushered him into his office and thrust an open, ancient-looking book into his hands.
Good morning to you too. Harry scrubbed his eyes and looked around hopefully for coffee or tea.
Being a single parent was impossible, he'd concluded sometime between two and three in the morning.
Thank God for Lily.
His mother's counterpart had been keen to practise on a real baby, and after a few days of little sleep and a life that was nothing but a whirlwind of nappies and desperate lullabies, Harry'd been more than happy to take advantage of her child-minding services.
How the hell did my mum and dad manage to fight a war and take care of a baby?
Sighing, he looked down at the marked passage, its ink faded with age.
Os magos que governam aqui são mais bárbaros do que meras palavras podem descrever—
"Er, Albus? My Spanish really isn't so good—"
The headmaster looked up from behind a mountain of books. "Hmm? Oh, I thought you'd learnt languages whilst pirating. And it's Portuguese, not Spanish."
Harry snorted. "Well, my Portuguese is pretty much limited to telling people to 'eat shit' and 'fuck their mothers,' so unless that's in here…"
Albus chuckled. "Thankfully those particular activities aren't included among the horrors in that text." A tea service appeared at a flick of his wand.
"What you're holding," Albus began, "is the diary of a young sailor and wizard by the name of Vermelho Camisa. He was the sole known survivor of the first European foray into the Amazon, an expedition under the leadership of one Esdras de Queiroz, the heir to a powerful Portuguese family in the fifteenth century."
"'Sole survivor' has a bad ring to it," Harry murmured.
"Sole known survivor, Harry, but yes, it does." The shadows under the headmaster's eyes seemed as dark as Harry'd ever seen them. "As Mr. Camisa describes it, they spent some time among a people—Muggles, for the most part—ruled over by an extended family of wizards. These wizards seemed to have engaged in a particularly vicious style of magic, culminating in…" Albus shook his head. "Well, Mr. Camisa attests that they 'joined themselves' with 'the evil shadows that feed upon dreamers'."
"Shadows that feed on dreamers…" Harry bit his lip, a wisp of a memory unfolding. A ramshackle harbour pub in Colombia, the pirates…"Wait, I've heard of these! Lethifolds, right?"
"Indeed. Beings indigenous to South America that appear as empty cloaks and attack humans while they sleep, killing them without leaving a mark."
Harry'd never seen the things, but the pirates had whispered about their legend. Anything that made Red Nora sound even a bit worried couldn't be good. "What does 'joining themselves' with Lethifolds mean?" He groaned. "Oh Merlin, tell me they didn't shag Lethifolds."
The old man's smile didn't reach his eyes. "No, I suspect Mr. Camisa was being quite literal," Albus said. "Though his diary is light on helpful details, he does describe how the local wizards eventually turned on the explorers and attacked them in their sleep. Camisa and a few others woke and attempted to defend themselves, but, as he notes, his Vedavada curse—a precursor to our Killing Curse that can be blocked by shields—hit one of the locals but barely slowed him down."
Now we're getting to it.
"Just like Voldemort on Level Eleven."
Albus nodded and slumped in his chair. "I can only suspect that the 'joining' of these South American wizards and the creatures was some union of the physical and the magical."
"I don't know. I mean, this is a decent lead, sure, but…" Harry frowned. "You really think that Voldemort just happened to come across this random diary and, I dunno, replicated—"
"This is the only copy of Mr. Camisa's journal in existence," Albus interrupted. "It's been gathering dust in the Universidad de la Repúblicaarchives for several centuries. A colleague there was kind enough to loan it to me, and to share its circulation record from the last hundred years. I'm sure you can guess the only name on that list."
"Tom Riddle."
Albus took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. "In 1963, Tom Riddle was granted permission to use the archives. He spent three weeks studying this book."
"So…" Harry paused. "If Lethifolds are involved, how do we fight them? They're just cloaks, right? No bodies?"
"Correct, though there is more to Camisa's journal." Albus sighed.
Of course there is. This can't be good.
Harry took his hip flask from his pocket, trying not to remember that Guin had just given it to him for Christmas. A nice measure of whiskey in his tea was definitely called for. "Albus?" he shook the flask in offer.
"Most definitely." The headmasters smiled grimly as Harry spiked his tea for him."Camisa records that the leader of his expedition, Esdras de Queiroz, became obsessed with the local magics and begged the native wizards to teach him their secrets. De Queiroz never returned from South America, and it was assumed that he died with all the others in the slaughter."
"But…?"
Albus took a long swig of his tea. "But a few years later marked the rise of a Dark wizard on a remote island in the North Sea. Legend calls him Ekrizdis."
"Yeah," Harry sat up straighter. "Yeah, you mentioned him once before and…something from Pel's history lessons…"
Oh hell.
"Ekrizdis was the wizard who used to live on Azkaban island, wasn't he?" Harry groaned.
"So legend says," the headmaster conceded. "And it upholds that Ezkrizdis built the fortress that would become the prison. But at least two historians have connected the name Ekrizdis—which in its linguistic peculiarity must surely be an affectation—with another name pertinent to our story."
He glared flatly at Albus' dramatic pause.
"Esdras de Quiroz. The lost leader of Camisa's expedition."
"So…you're saying…" Harry chewed his lip. "What are you saying?"
"Honestly, Harry, I'm not certain. I am curious, however, if Esdras de Quiroz learned of the joining of those wizards with Lethifolds, took on the name Ekrizdis, and somehow did the same or something similar with Dementors. The two creatures are closely related." Albus rubbed his temples. "There is also the fact that no one actually knows how Ekrizdis died. Or even if he ever did."
"And given Tom's Dementor effect and my Killing Curse not working on him," Harry concluded, his stomach sinking, "it's possible he replicated whatever Erkrizdis may have done. Well. Fuck."
"Fuck indeed," Albus dryly agreed.
Harry tried not to gape at the headmaster's profanity. Somehow a word that seemed totally normal when used by himself and others was absolutely shocking coming from Albus.
More whiskey, definitely. "So, let's assume for a moment we have a—er—Voldemort-Dementor thingy. How the hell do we fight that?"
"Killing Curses notoriously don't work on Lethifolds or Dementors," Albus mused, comfortably adopting what Harry thought of as his 'professor' voice. "The Unspeakables theorize that this is because neither possesses a soul, and the Avada Kedavra is thought to enact an immediate separation of body and soul."
Oh. Well, that's just lovely.
"They are also thought to be immune to most spells, as their physical manifestation seems to be limited to their characteristic black shroud. The most effective defence is the patronus, but of course, that only drives them off. In short, we know of no way to kill either creature."
Harry choked back the helpless, hysterical laugh scratching in his throat. "Is this the part where we try to figure out how to weaponize a patronus?"
Albus looked at him in obvious surprise. "Now that, Harry…that is an idea."
They lapsed into silence, sipping their spiked tea. Harry knew he should have been thinking about Dark Lords entering into unholy unions with evil, disembodied outerwear, but…
But a niggling feeling that had been growing since autumn now had teeth sharp enough that he couldn't ignore it anymore.
It just doesn't make any bloody sense.
He took a deep breath.
"Albus? Why am I working with you on all this?"
The older man looked up, clearly confused.
"I mean, I get that you needed help with the Parseltongue angle, but we axed that idea months ago. And we both know that I'm not even close to your level when it comes to, well, just about everything. There has to be loads of people who are better for this than me. So honestly, why am I here?"
Something tightened in the man's expression. "Of course, Harry, if you don't wish to help I understand—"
"I didn't say that, "Harry cut in. "I want to do everything I can. I just…don't get it."
The man's desk was suddenly fascinating, since Albus didn't seem to want to look anywhere else. "Yes…in the beginning your particular skills were needed, I admit. And it is true that others may be more naturally suited to research. I suppose," he cleared his throat awkwardly, "I have come to see the benefits of your company."
What the hell does he mean by that?
"What the hell do you mean by that?"
The headmaster's snort of laughter seemed to surprise even him. "Do you have any idea the number of people on our side who would speak to me like that?" Albus shook his head. " Alastor, certainly and, when she's in a temper, maybe Minerva. And Aberforth, of course. Aberforth wouldn't have known any other way to ask."
Harry frowned, not quite sure if Ab was being insulted or not.
"When you announced you were a wizard after your summer abroad," Albus continued slowly, "you refused to be my subordinate, do you remember? You would only be my ally."
"Yeah…" I may have been a bit of a prick about all that.
"I can't think of anyone your age who would think to demand equality with me. And yet over the past two years, you have made it your habit to be nothing more than the man you are, to speak your mind, and to admit ignorance when necessary. But you'd never allow me to use that ignorance to push you into a position of inferiority."
Bloody hell, is he smiling?
Albus was beaming at him.
…
I don't understand this man at all.
"You are a rare person, Harry. The sort of man who would ally himself with me at the same time as he's perhaps fighting as a vigilante in the Muggle world."
Harry stilled.
"The sort of man who would perhaps damn the danger and waltz into the Ministry to plead for mercy on behalf of the leader of such an illegal group."
Fuck fuck fuck
"And the sort of man—" Albus' smile got even brighter, "—who would perhaps locate those young Muggleborn yet to be introduced to our world and appoint himself their defender, thumbing his nose at some at some of our oldest laws."
Harry's tongue felt like sandpaper. "You...you do have excellent spies, Headmaster."
Fawkes' trill had never sounded so smug.
The headmaster hummed neutrally. "You ask what I mean by the benefits of your company? I know I may not live to see Tom beaten. In terms of practicality, I must have someone I trust privy to all the information that may prove vital to defeating him. Of course, should I perish, Alastor or Edgar Bones will take control of the Order and run it based upon the tenets that I have established, but the Order is not the war."
Albus' eyes shone with sudden steel.
"Should I die, I doubt that you would waste time wondering if your choices are the choices that I would have made."
One of the portraits made a rude noise. Both men ignored him.
"No," Albus continued. "You would do as you have done since I met you, and make up your own mind about what is right, what is good, and above all, what is necessary. And that is why, practically speaking, I wish you to be my partner in this."
Harry blinked, trying to sort through what the man had said, to find his own words.
"You...you sound as though you're making me your heir. Your heir to the war."
The old man's smile softened. "You are and always will be Aberforth's, Harry, not mine. Even now you force me into making open declarations, just as he did, when I would prefer to shield myself with words. And really, if I wanted an heir, I'd choose someone who'd follow my precepts and values, and in so doing gratify the demands of my own ego."
"Ab liked to say that all great men were sons of bitches in one way or another…" Harry mused in a low voice.
"Too true," the headmaster snorted. "No, you aren't to be such an heir. Were I to die, you would take up this war on your own with or without my seal of approval, be it with an army at your back or none at all."
Harry could only nod. That's exactly what I would do, and we both know it.
So he's just arming me the best that he can.
Sudden fondness filled him with a tingling warmth.
"But," Albus continued in a low voice, "the benefits of your company are not exclusively practical ones. I confess…I find myself rather looking forward to our sessions." The twinkle returned to the man's eyes. "Quite simply, I enjoy spending time with you."
Harry stared into his mug of cold tea, struck by the simple realisation that he enjoyed their meetings as well.
Yeah, he can be bastard sometimes, but sometimes we need bastards.
Wait.
I think I'm…
Bloody hell.
I am.
I'm friends with Albus Dumbledore.
When did that happen?
His huff was an odd thing between a snort and laugh, but something in Albus' expression told him that the man understood.
"So…" Words tasted odd on his tongue after listening to such sentiments. "So my tea's gone cold. Want to just switch to whiskey?"
Albus leaned back comfortably in his chair. "Weaponizing patronuses and whiskey before lunch? And you wonder that I enjoy your company."
xoxoxox
4 March, 1980
"I've been thinking about that Refilling Charm you used to kill Cross in the graveyard," Alice said without preamble when Harry entered the unused classroom-turned-training room the next day. "It's a good idea for assassinations, but impractical for multiple enemies."
"Er—"
Oh. Cross. She means Barty Crouch Jr.
"But it gave me an idea," the Auror continued crisply. She flicked her wand and two of the Auror training dummies snapped to life, advancing upon them with brandished wands.
Alice swished her wand in a circle, its tip glowing pale blue, and one dummy's torso exploded. A second swish and the other dummy's head did the same.
Harry cocked an eyebrow.
"Just an overpowered Engorgio on the stomach, and then on the brain. It's easy to cast silently, doesn't create a visible spell trail, and though it can be blocked with a shield, it's wicked fast between casting and the effect." Her grin was all edges. "Put a sniper in position, and she could take out dozens in seconds."
"Yeah, it certainly seems effective—" Harry started.
"But what we really need," Alice continued as though she hadn't heard him, "is a better Killing Curse. Avada Kedavra can only focus on one opponent. Hardly efficient. So I've been trying to figure out something more comprehensive—"
"Alice…"
"—At first I considered something like a rapid-fire Avada Kedavra, but that's still so limited. And then it hit me. What we need is a wave effect that can crash over huge numbers of people. So I came up—"
"Alice—"
"—with this." She turned to a cage filled with mice that was perched on a corner table.
Oh, what the hell—
"Letiunda!"
Harry's ears popped under the pressure that thundered out of her wand in an invisible wave.
A breath later and the cage was filled with tiny corpses that began rotting before his eyes.
Jesus Merlin Christ
"What the fuck, Al—"
His strangled cry was cut off by Alice collapsing in a heap.
Swearing again, Harry found her thready pulse and applied a cooling charm to her face. After a few tense minutes, Alice stirred and opened dull eyes.
"So whaddaya think?" she slurred, fumbling into a sitting position before doubling over with a retch.
Harry goggled at her, his own stomach seething. "What do I think? Jesus, Alice, that spell is fucking…dangerous, dark, I don't know!" His hands were shaking as he checked her pulse again. "Christ, that's—that's—indiscriminate! Have you even thought about how far a wave like that can go? Does it kill everything in its path? What if you use it and the Death Eaters learn it? And Jesus, look at what it did to you! What are you thinking?"
Her eyes burned into his, gleaming with a spark of something that made him catch his breath. "I'm thinking I have to fucking do something!" she spat. "I can't even do my damn job anymore, but I can at least do this!"
Oh God. She is seriously not okay.
"Look, Alice—"
"I was supposed to take charge of prisoner transport to Azkaban. Big promotion. They're finishing up the trials for all those Death Eaters you captured at Morar…but I can't make a patronus anymore. We're down to less than fifteen percent of our Auror force, but Moody had to take over for me, and now I'm stuck here doing 'research and development'. Everyone knows that's code for Aurors who've gone round the twist!" She viciously dragged a fist across over her wet cheeks. "I can't make a patronus and help my friends, but I can figure out ways to kill people, so you let me have this!"
Harry didn't know where to even start, but Alice saved him from having to find words by dissolving into sobs.
I have no idea how to fix this, he thought helplessly as he pulled her close and stroked her hair.
"It's just—" she finally managed through her tears, "—they stole our life. We were supposed to have—it was ours—they stole him and now I can't—And I know that spell is aw—awful and it's not like I can use it on more than fucking mice without passing out. But I just—I just want to kill them all so much…"
Oh Alice.
"I know," he murmured, quietly vanishing the rotting mice as she continued to sob into his chest. "I know."
xoxoxox
5 March, 1980
"Harry," Albus smiled from behind a new stack of books. "It's good you're here. I've been pondering the weaponization of the Patronus Charm."
Merlin, the man moves fast when he wants to.
"Have you figured out how to do it?"
"Ah, I haven't the foggiest," the man said entirely too cheerfully. "First we must discern what we want the patronus to actually do. Any ideas?"
Harry frowned, keenly aware of the limits of his fifth-year education. "Er—maybe modify it so they can shoot fireballs from their eyes and lightning bolts from their arses?" he suggested.
Albus cocked an eyebrow and plopped a massive book down in front of him. "Well, that's a novel approach. Perhaps reading this will help you figure out how to create such an effect."
"Wha—no, Albus that was just a joke—"
The headmaster winked.
"You're a right bastard, you know that?" Harry couldn't help but grin. "So do you have any ideas?"
"Perhaps. I've been thinking about the Patronus Messenger spell. Although Dementors aren't much—if at all—affected by spells other than the patronus, I am curious if we can modify that charm so that our magic is cast through the patronus itself. If it's possible, perhaps spells cast in such a way could injure or even destroy a Dementor."
"You mean you want to use a patronus to cast something like the Killing Curse? Seriously?" The whole thing seemed ludicrous, but the man had invented the Patronus Messenger charm, so… "How do we get started?"
Albus set yet another large tome on the desk.
Groaning, Harry rifled through the book. I'm really not the person to figure this sort of thing out, I think.
Several cups of tea and not a few biscuits later, he abandoned a chapter that may as well have been written in Mermish.
This just isn't a job for me. At least not me by myself. Whenever I did this before, I had Hermione, or Pel and Ab…
Certainly flooded through Harry.
This is all wrong.
"What did you expect?" Ab's voice grumbled in his head. "No one loves secrets more 'n my git of a brother."
"Albus?" he began, his face scrunching into a frown. "This is a daft way to make war."
Ab's laughter boomed in his mind as the headmaster's eyes widened.
"I mean," Harry said, this time forcing himself to be a bit more tactful, "Voldemort's definitely after you, and we know he's after me. Seems kind of—er—imprudent for the two of us to be the only ones who know what he's done to himself."
Albus peered at him over his half-moon spectacles.
"And, well, I'm not good at the research stuff. I get that you want to keep this quiet and that it'd be chaos if everyone knew…but seriously, we need to figure this out, and soon. And that's way more important than anything else."
The older man sat back in his chair. "What exactly are you suggesting?"
Harry shrugged. It seemed a simple enough solution. "Bring in more people. People who are good at this kind of thing—who're inventive, good with charms—and are people you trust. There have to be at least a few."
"Well, perhaps…but I admit I'm far more comfortable working independently or with a single partner. It's been the way I research since I was younger than you are n—"
"I don't care," Harry snapped, the pressing anxiety that we need to get this shit done now overriding his courtesy. "This isn't about what you prefer. We're running out of time, dammit!"
For just a second, anger flashed across the headmaster's face and Harry vaguely wondered if he'd gone too far. Then the moment passed, the sudden tension broken by Albus' laugh.
"I forget too easily why I enjoy working with you in the first place," he said with a shake of his head. "And you are right, I suppose…Whom do you have in mind?"
xoxoxox
11 March, 1980
Everyone held their breaths as Albus' phoenix patronus shot a stream of silvery flames at the cursed objects on the table.
"Think it's working?" Gideon asked Harry in a low voice.
"Dunno…"
A moment later, the patronus fizzled. Lupin and Albus stepped forward and started tracing complicated patterns with their wands.
For the last week he, Albus, James, Sirius, Remus, Lily, and the Prewett brothers had met nearly every day to brainstorm. At first the headmaster had seemed at a loss as his research sanctuary was suddenly overrun. Meanwhile, most of the young Order members had acted like McGonagall would burst in any moment to tell them to quiet down and behave themselves.
At some point, however, the place had filled with the din of newly-invented incantations, spellfire, the occasional explosion—and not a little profanity.
Most of the portraits were thoroughly scandalized.
Albus was delighted.
The headmaster seemed years younger, invigorated by their prattling enthusiasm. With their help, he'd discarded the idea of modifying the Patronus messenger to cast real spells. Now they were on to Sirius' idea of somehow weaponizing the silver fire of Albus' phoenix patronus.
Harry could tell before even before Albus sighed that their latest experiment hadn't worked.
"No change," Remus said quietly. "The patronus fire didn't affect any of the curses or enchantments we put on these things. And they obviously weren't burned either."
"Just pretty, pretty lights," Sirius grumbled. "Dammit."
"But it still could work against Dementors, right?" Fabian mused. "Just because it doesn't break or damage those curses doesn't mean it won't do something to Dementors."
Gideon nodded, staring off into space.
Harry sat back as the rest of the group launched into discussion of ways to replicate a Dementor so that they could test the phoenix patronus on it.
The office is a lot louder than it used to be.
"—maybe if we modify the wand movement from a Pietroassa ring to a Berkanan angle—"
He tried not to sigh. Really, these meetings are actually fun, except—
"Doesn't there need to be a thermal element, or are those sorts of bonds susceptible to purely force-based erosion?"
—except there's a huge learning curve between OWL-level and NEWT-level theory.
He was surrounded by people he liked and respected, people whose respect he wanted in return...but he'd never felt so thick in his life.
Maybe I should have gone back to school.
"I still say that the main issue is corporeality! Applications can wait until—"
Harry half-smiled as Lily's voice cut through the chatter. He was proud his mum and dad had been so intelligent.
And hearing Gideon say all those big words is dead sexy.
He wasn't so insecure that his lack of expertise actually stung, not really. But the sense that their time was running short pressed down upon him like a leaden cloak. And if the prophecy meant Harry himself was supposed to devise some awesome new power that Voldemort "knew not" in these meetings…
Then we're all well and truly fucked.
"—don't know…Harry, what do you think?"
Lily's voice brought him up short.
Gee, thanks Lily.
What were they even talking about?
Say something clever.
"Er—"
Well done me.
"Er—the fire idea is cool, but…" He bit his lip and tried to think about what they'd been doing, not what they'd been saying. "It's just, I mean, it's pretty limited, even if we manage it. Only Albus can cast a phoenix patronus, so if we're fighting Voldemort and he's not around, it doesn't do anyone any good."
Sirius' face fell.
"See! It's just like I was saying," Lily grinned. "We need to figure out true corporeality, assuming that You-Know-Who and the Dementors are linked not just magically, but physically."
Uh…sure.
"Lily's right," Gideon said slowly, his eyes on Harry. "Making a solid patronus that can affect bodies and magic should be our priority, not creating a spell that only one person can cast."
Oh. Finally, someone says something I actually understand. Harry met his boyfriend's gaze and jerked his head in a nod of thanks.
The corners of Gideon's mouth twitched.
"I agree as well," Albus said. "Tomorrow we'll continue working on making a solid patronus a reality." He sighed gustily. "Though one day I would be delighted to make patronus fire possible. Excellent idea, Mr. Black."
Sirius beamed.
xoxoxox
12 March, 1979
"Ah, the solitary hero emerges!" boomed a jovial voice over the din of the Great Hall later that day.
Harry's neck heated as he felt hundreds of faces turn his way. The chorus of fluttery sighs at the sight of a grinning Rhys clutching Harry's robes just made it all worse.
This was a stupid idea. We should have just stayed in our rooms.
But he'd been getting tired of spending nearly every meal alone with a sixth-month-old who, while adorable, was a shite conversationalist.
Dinner in the Great Hall, however, is clearly not the solution.
He quickly made for a spot near Alice and the Potters at the long table that had been added for Ministry workers staying at the castle.
"Oh no, no, no, my boy! Come, there's an empty place right here! Only the best seat will do for a Hero of the Lake!"
"Indeed, because he's the only Morar fighter in attendance tonight." McGonagall grumbled, not bothering to lower her voice.
"Slughorn hurt me, Lily," James grinned to his wife, clutching his chest. "Right here."
Grinding his teeth but not wanting to make a fuss in front of the whole bloody school, Harry forced his lips into a tense smile. He stepped up onto the dais and took the only open seat at the High Table, between Flitwick and—goddammit—Horace Slughorn.
The portly Potions Master had been hounding Harry's steps, eager to spend time with his "good friend, the young hero!" Thankfully Harry had remembered the Marauder's Map, tucked away in his mokeskin pouch since he'd filched in from Argus' office, and was putting it to good use avoiding Slughorn.
That the man only gave a damn about him now that he was famous was hardly lost on Harry. His sentence as Hogwarts' youngest indentured squib hadn't been that long ago, after all.
The night before Harry had joked to Gideon and Lily that Slughorn really just had a crush on him.
Glancing at the man's flushed face and bristling walrus-mustache, Harry shuddered. Oh God, please don't let that blustering fool have a crush on me. I'll never get a moment's peace.
Dinner progressed, with Flitwick and Poppy cooing over Rhys, Slughorn prattling on about what Harry was "getting up to these days," Minerva stifling snorts at Harry's expense, and at least half the upper-year girls—and not a few of the boys—watching him with awe in their eyes.
At one point Harry caught Albus' glance. The man's eyes were twinkling like mad.
Dammit.
Dammit it all.
xoxoxox
17 March, 1980
Everyone stared as the silvery phoenix started grooming Sirius' tousled hair.
Remus' hand trembled as he stroked the patronus' feathers.
A moment later and Albus sagged into his chair, the phoenix fading from existence.
Though the man quickly smoothed his expression, Harry nonetheless thought he spied a flash of despair.
"How?" Lily choked out. "You made it truly corporeal…. How?"
"I remembered what a patronus is, my dear," Albus said in a strangely hollow voice. "As I once told Harry, the Patronus Charm has its roots in the mind arts. It serves as a means of focusing upon and thus protecting our most vulnerable memories, that is, our happiest ones. Internally, the concentration needed for the spell results in protecting our minds, while the patronus itself wards off the external threat—Dementors."
Harry frowned. "Yeah, I remember that…"
"Yet we have been attempting to modify the charm's incantation so as to give our patronuses mass in order to affect physical bodies." Albus sipped his tea, eyes sparkling. "And that was our mistake. Can any of you see why?"
Always the bloody teacher. Can't he just tell us?
Remus only just stopped himself from raising his hand. "It's not about the incantation, is it? Our patronuses are really in our minds, and it's our mind and memories that give them form…. So, no…it's not about the words at all…"
"Precisely!" Albus nodded. "When teaching the standard Patronus Charm, we tend to ask students to focus on the feeling of a happy memory, yes? But they are never asked to believe it, to allow themselves to become absolutely convinced that they are experiencing it as reality."
Harry was rather pleased that he wasn't the only one looking confused.
"Memories are powerful things, but their potency and tragedy lies in the fact that they can never be touched," the headmaster explained in a soft voice. "No matter how vivid a memory may be, we all know in our hearts that memories are intangible, just like our patronuses. The key, therefore, to a 'real' patronus, is in making oneself believe—absolutely and without reservation—that our thoughts, our memories, are just as real as we want our patronuses to be."
"Hang on," Sirius said, "you mean to say you cast that by lying to yourself?"
Albus chuckled, but there was no warmth in the sound. "A fair summation. I focused on believing that an impossible wish—my desire to have made...different choices—had become a true reality."
This time there was no mistaking the misery that shadowed the headmaster's features.
Ariana watched them from her frame in Albus' office, a sad smile playing on her lips.
The young Order members shuffled awkwardly in the silence.
"Does it have to be a memory?" Lily asked suddenly. "Or an impossible hope? Can it be a hope for the future, something that could still come to pass?"
Gideon frowned. "In theory it should work, right Headmaster? So long as you believe it's come true, I guess?"
Albus gave a slow nod. "In theory, yes. Perhaps a test, Mrs. Potter?"
The young woman eyes widened as everyone shifted their attention to her. Then she squared her shoulders and closed her eyes anyway.
Minutes passed as Lily wrinkled her brows in concentration.
Harry didn't miss when one of her hands gently traced the outline of her swelling belly.
"Expecto Patronum."
Bursting into life, the silvery fox loped towards Harry and curled around his leg.
Holy shite.
Eyes wide, he brushed his fingers through its coat.
A jolt of almost unbearable warmth shot up his arm and spread through his body, leaving him shaking a little and grinning in wonder like a fool.
"It's real," Harry managed. "It's solid!"
A moment later, the fox winked out of existence. "Oh…" she murmured. "That's…that's really not easy…" Lily slumped into her chair.
The room erupted in chatter.
Harry didn't miss when his mother's counterpart rested her exhausted eyes on him, either.
xoxoxox
An hour later, no one else had managed the solid patronus yet.
Harry grit his teeth and closed his eyes. Again.
I'm good at this spell, dammit. I can do this.
And I know how to lie to myself. I did it all the time with Tweeney Twig's spells.
But believing a tree was a loaf of bread was a far cry from truly believing that a desperate wish had come true.
"Maybe you should change your focus?" Gideon murmured in his ear.
Sighing, Harry opened his eyes. "No, I don't think so. I can only think of one powerful hope that could still happen. But...I mean, look at how using an impossible wish affected Albus. I could pretend that everyone I love was alive and okay, but then the fact that they aren't would just crash down on me again after the spell. I don't think I could handle that."
Gideon eyed him thoughtfully, but only squeezed Harry's shoulder before wandering over to his brother.
I can do this.
The wish was easy. A future without Voldemort. Everyone's safe and just living their lives. I've rebuilt the Head. The world's normal and calm and wonderfully dull.
Slowly he allowed the wish to fill him up. He was Rhys' godfather. Gideon's lover. The owner of the Hog's Head. A friend to drunks and Aurors and headmasters and pirates and vigilantes and inter-dimensional parents and all the other people who'd come to define his life. It wasn't a big wish, really. Nothing dramatic. Just being Harry Aberforth in a world without Tom Riddle.
And for just a moment, he truly felt the reality of his hope.
"Expecto Patronum."
The albatross arced from his wand and winged to Gideon's shoulder. From his lover's grin, Harry knew that the bird had mass.
And then his belief buckled under the weight of reality, and exhaustion seemed to transfigure his bones to lead. The world was suddenly going sideways as Harry groped for a chair.
"Oh, Christ," he muttered. "Calling that 'not easy' is a hell of an understatement, Lily."
xoxoxox
Half an hour later, a third person managed the spell.
The others crowded around Lupin's wolf, whooping at its softness, its realness.
Harry chewed his lip, watching from the periphery, Gideon's arm slung over his shoulder and Albus at his side.
"Albus," he said in a low voice as Lupin's wolf faded. "Real corporeal patronuses are great and all, it's just…well, what the hell are they actually supposed to do? Seriously, if you can get your phoenix fire to work, that's something, but how's Lily's fox going to fight Voldemort? Nip his fucking ankles? And is my albatross supposed to peck a Dark Lord?"
The muscles in Gideon's arm clenched.
Albus nodded slowly. "Sometimes, Harry, the most powerful magic seems impossibly small until one witnesses it bring down the most terrible of—"
"Oh my God," Harry groaned. "Please, Albus, spare me the inspirational wisdom and just give me a real answer, okay?"
The headmaster chuckled. "I stand by my inspirational wisdom. More practically, we can only discover so much in a day."
Harry scowled.
Lily's solid fox appeared again in a silver blaze.
"You are seeing something that's never been seen before, Harry," Albus said softly. "Truly beautiful magic, wondrous to behold. Enjoy it, if only for the moment."
xoxoxox
19 March, 1980
Two days later, Harry sprinted up the spiral staircase and into Dumbledore's office.
"Albus, I've been thinking about the Demen—"
A crowd of glares snapped towards him.
The fuck?
Albus' office was flooded with Ministry types and Aurors, packed so closely he couldn't enter more than a few steps. Moody stopped mid-bark at his entrance.
"Er—I was coming to chat with Albus…"
A pale McGonagall made a funny noise and gulped down her tea.
"Oh, Harry!"
The crowd parted enough for him to see Lily elbowing her way towards him. "I've got this, Auror Moody," she said before leading him out and back down the stairs.
"Lily, what in the world is—" He caught sight of the tear tracks marring her cheeks and cut himself off.
"Oh God, it's awful. Someone poisoned Albus and Minister Crouch!"
What no—wait—I didn't hear—
Harry stared at her blankly even as his heart started hammering. "Wha—What? Is Albus, is he—?"
"He's alive, but only just, I guess his phoenix saved him, though the Minister is dead," her words tumbled out in a single breath.
"Jesus," he managed."Do—do they know who did it? How? Will Albus be okay?"
Lily threw up her hands. "I don't know, I don't know. Moody said something about a poison in their tea—it's the Minister's personal blend, I guess, but that's all he's saying. We don't even know if Albus was supposed to be targeted!"
His mother's counterpart looked as though she was coming apart at the seams.
Harry grappled through his confusion. "Right. Okay. Where's Albus?"
"What? Oh—he's in the Hospital Wing with Poppy and the medipeople from Mungo's. They're worried the hospital isn't secure enough for him."
"Okay," Harry's mind was frantically cycling through all the things they needed to do. "Okay, first I'm going to go and see how—"
"Hell with the lot of you!" The furious shout echoed through the hallway. "You need to listen—"
Harry turned to see a small group rounding the corner. An Auror he didn't know punched the shouter in the stomach. Another Auror flanked a Hogwarts student with straw-coloured hair and blazing eyes that plucked at Harry's memory.
The man who'd been hit looked up.
Harry's breath caught in his throat.
Wand out, he stalked towards the group, Lily following closely behind. "What do you think you're doing? That's Argus Filch! He works here for fuck's sake!"
"The boy says he caught the Squib fleeing the scene of the crime! He's the one that done in the headmaster and the Minister!"
Like hell Argus poisoned anybody!
"Harry!" Argus gasped. "Please, I—"
Bruises were blossoming on Filch's face. Blood from his split lip trickled down his chin.
"He killed my father!" the boy screeched, interrupting Argus' plea. "I'll see him Kissed for this!"
It's him. It's fucking him.
Harry couldn't move, pinned between the shock churning in his stomach and the rage that was already boiling through his blood.
I am going to kill him.
Again.
"Please move along, sir," the other Auror placated. "We're under orders and the Hogwarts Head Boy certainly counts as a credible witness."
With that they manhandled Filch forwards and made for Albus' office.
"Harry," Lily said, clutching his arm. "Harry, that boy, he's—"
"I know exactly who he is," Harry breathed. "I forgot about him. I just…forgot. He was too young before, but I forgot, how could I forget…?"
Ab even mentioned him after the Macnair thing. Said he was a fourth year, and that's way too young to be a Death Eater. But that was years ago. How could I fucking forget about him? I could have stopped this!
"Barty Crouch Junior," he spat, the name like ashes on his tongue.
"Mr. Filch didn't do this, did he?" Lily asked quietly.
"No. No, he didn't."
"Well, we're not going to let Junior get away with it, right?"
Of course we bloody well aren't.
He grabbed her hand. "C'mon."
xoxoxox
They pushed their way into Albus' crowded office unnoticed—everyone's attention was riveted on the centre of the room. Argus Filch was on his knees, surrounded by Aurors. Flitwick was comforting—comforting—a furious-looking Barty Crouch Junior.
Some Ministry ponce—Harry vaguely recognized him as the Selwyn bloke who'd lost the election —was nattering on about squibs-this and murderers-that.
Entirely too many people were nodding.
Harry opened his mouth to cut in, yet unsure of what he was going to say.
"I refuse to believe that Mr. Filch is guilty of anything!" McGonagall fumed before Harry could say a word. "Grandstand all you like, Mr. Selwyn, but I will not permit you to do so at the expense of an innocent man!" She glared at those gathered around Argus as though they were something she'd scraped from her boot.
"Professor McGonagall, the evidence speaks for itself," some other man said. "Though we at the Ministry do recognize how distressing the events of today must be for a woman of your venerable age."
Oh, that was not the thing to say.
The man seemed to have figured that out as well. He was shrinking back from McGonagall, who looked half a breath away from clawing his eyes out.
"Quite right, Sejanus!" Selwyn agreed. "The evidence is irrefutable. Young Mr. Crouch caught the squib in the act of attempting to flee using one of the school's secret passageways—"
"And he's the caretaker! He'd know all about 'em!" a woman shouted from the crowd.
"—and the ingredients for the poison, the Poudre de Succession of all things, were discovered in the squib's pockets! Not only that, he assaulted the boy! A clearer case for assassination and attempted assassination I've never seen before!" Selwyn concluded with relish.
Flitwick was frowning. "Which secret passageway was Mr. Filch attempting to use?"
"The one-eyed witch one," Barty spoke up, face clouded with a convincing parody of rage and grief.
"Um, excuse me?" Lily interrupted. "But was the passage open?"
The Auror who'd punched Argus scoffed. "Not that it matters, but yes, it was. Mr. Crouch said that the squib was already inside when he caught the bastard."
Lily flashed a glance at McGonagall, whose eyes widened. "Then I believe we have a problem," the professor nearly purred. "That passage requires a password, and all Hogwarts passwords only work for those with magic."
Harry bit back a savage laugh.
Flitwick took a step away from Barty Jr.
"Mr. Filch has been employed here for nearly a decade," a woman replied in a simpering voice. The short witch was bedecked in pink. Oh lovely, it's that one again. "I'm sure he's had time to learn the castle's secrets and devise ways around his limitations."
"But how did he get into the Minister's office to poison the tea?" Flitwick wondered. "Albus made sure Crouch's office here was as secure as possible."
"Again, the squib has great familiarity with Hogwarts," Selwyn said smoothly. "Now I suggest that we—"
"Either he's a worthless squib or he's a magical genius able to work 'round Albus' enchantments," Moody interrupted. "Can't have it both ways."
Filch, Harry noticed, was staring wide-eyed at those speaking in his defence.
"Be that as it may—" Selwyn tried again.
"And Poudre de Succession is at least NEWT level," Lily said. "How in the world would Mr. Filch know how to make it?"
"He could have bought it!" The pink witch snapped.
"Then why did he have the ingredients in his pocket?" Flitwick frowned. "This is making less and less sense."
"He murdered my father!" Barty Jr. shrieked. "I want to see some punishment!" Angry tears streaked down his cheeks.
Oh, very well done, you evil little fuck.
Filch's eyes bulged as he glared at the boy. "I didn't murder anybody! I caught this boy opening the passage, he attacked me, he put those ingredients in my pocket, he's the one who—"
One of the Aurors lazily flicked a Silencing spell at Argus.
"Ridiculous," Selwyn scoffed. "A boy murdering his own father?"
Many around the room were nodding.
"Actually," Harry said, finally breaking his silence. "It would be pretty hard to get into the Minister's office here. If a person didn't already have access, that is. How many people besides Crouch's son could actually get in to plant the poison?"
Flitwick took another step away from Barty Jr.
The Head Boy looked ready to cast a Killing Curse at Harry.
Harry met his gaze with a bland smile.
"A student murdering—he's the man's own son—" Minerva gasped, apparently unable to fathom Crouch as a murderer.
"This hardly—" the pink witch started.
"Belt up, the lot of you!" Moody snarled. "You all seem to think how we proceed is up to you! It ain't—in the absence of a Minister, it's up to whatever ranking member of the DMLE is present." A nasty smile played on his lips. "That would be me. And I say this whole thing stinks."
Harry and Lily glanced at each other.
"While I agree with your last statement, Auror Moody, I take exception to what precedes it," a dry voice piped up. Harry looked to see Griselda Marchbanks hobbling forward from the doorway. "I believe you'll find that, in the absence of an active Chief Warlock, ultimate jurisdiction lies with the ranking member of the Wizengamot. And since I haven't managed to fit dying into my schedule just yet," she sighed, "you'll find that puts me in charge of this matter."
This time Harry did laugh.
Griselda cocked an eyebrow his way. "Goodness, Mr. Aberforth, you just can't keep your fingers out of any pie, can you?"
"Er—"
She harrumphed. "Auror Moody, how do you suggest we untangle this mess?"
"Veritaserum," the grizzled man shrugged.
"I'll take it, dammit—please, let me take it!" Filch cried.
The pink witch tittered. "Are we even sure that such a potion would work on a squib?"
No one said anything.
"Well then, just give it to them both," Harry said. "If it doesn't work on Argus, it'll at least work on the kid."
The room descended into chaos, with many screaming about Pureblood rights, the immorality of forcing such a potion on a student, "centuries of tradition," and other twattle that set Harry's teeth on edge. Lily and Moody both looked ready to set the lot of them on fire.
Finally Marchbanks fired a spell that sent a shockwave around the room, leaving everyone but her gasping for breath. "Obviously, there are potential issues with giving the boy Veritaserum. Anyone who decides to do so would likely be stuck in quite the legal quagmire for the next many years." She flashed a poisonous smile at the crowd. "On the other hand, I find myself singularly unconcerned with such repercussions."
Harry clamped down on the sudden urge to kiss the ancient woman.
"Minerva, have your Potion Master bring us a bottle of Veritaserum immediately."
Marchbanks sat back serenely behind Dumbledore's desk as the din of angry voices around her rose.
xoxoxox
Hours later, Harry sank into the chair next to Albus' bed.
It was the same bed in the same room where Harry himself had spent the previous summer.
Fawkes, tiny and ugly as a chick, slept in a transfigured nest nearby.
Dumbledore's portrait of Ariana had been moved from his office and hung facing the bed. The girl snored softly, her head nestled on a pillow of corncockles.
Harry didn't notice when he started talking, but eventually he realized he'd been telling the unconscious headmaster the story of Argus Filch's liberation.
Of course Veritaserum had proven the man's innocence.
Of course Barty Crouch Jr. had screamed and sobbed as Moody led him away to a Ministry holding facility to await a trial.
"You weren't the main target, you know," Harry reported dully. "Just his father. Though I guess his contact—some Death Eater named Dolohov—said Tom would be pleased if Crouch managed to kill you or another ranking Ministry member as well. And Argus…well, framing him was just last-minute. Kid got caught and figured he'd be an easy person to pin the blame on."
The ticking of the bedside clock was Harry's only response.
"With Crouch Senior dead, the Ministry's gone mad. No one knows who's in charge, though that Selwyn bloke is trying to take over. Moody and Marchbanks are trying to hold him off, I guess."
His snort at the image of the unlikely but hopefully effective pair made Ariana stir.
"McGonagall's Acting Headmistress. She had Slughorn-he's the new Deputy Head-question every student under a drop of Veritaserum. I guess nobody checked them when the Ministry first moved here."
She'd seemed to age before Harry's eyes when Slughorn had reported seven more students had failed their screenings.
"None of the Death Eater kids knew anything useful. Aurors took them away. Same place as Junior, I reckon." Something pricked at Harry's eyes. "The youngest was a fourth year. Hufflepuff, actually."
Kids as Death Eaters.
"I—I'm so sorry. I knew Crouch could…I knew what he could become, and I forgot about him. I just fucking forgot." His laugh tasted of bile. "It's funny, huh? My Barty Crouch killed Ab, and the younger version nearly killed you. Both killed their fathers. Just a universally worthless piece of shit, that one."
Albus, of course, said nothing.
Harry fell silent. God, he's never looked so old. The headmaster's skin had greyed and clumps of his hair were missing. Apparently the poison wasted its victims both physically and magically, leaving Albus looking as though he'd lost several stone in a single day, his flesh stretched too tight over his bones.
If Fawkes hadn't saved him, the headmaster would have been left a desiccated husk, his body and magic withered and dried up to nothing within a matter of minutes.
Poppy had said that the phoenix had worn himself out with crying, forcing him into an early burning day.
I bet Voldemort's having a party tonight.
Albus would live, Poppy had no doubt, but the Poudre de Succession's damage wasn't something which could be cured overnight.
"It may be a matter of days or weeks before he wakes, Harry," the matron had told him. "More likely even longer. While phoenix tears are exceptionally potent against natural poisons and toxins, they are less effective against manmade compounds. Indeed, the headmaster is lucky—he's the first to survive that poison at all."
Watching the man's chest struggle against every rattling breath, Harry couldn't buy into Poppy's optimism.
He looks like a corpse.
Sudden realisation shivered down Harry's spine.
Albus Dumbledore was out of the war.
Oh God.
We're on our own.
Regrets filled the room like reluctant ghosts, whispering words that Harry knew all too well.
We haven't done enough.
His growl broke the silence. A corporeal patronus? What the hell kind of good is that really going to do against Voldemort? Months of studying, and all I've managed to do is save some werewolves, lose Guin and Doc, and make a solid bloody bird.
We haven't done nearly enough.
He dragged his palms over his eyes. "I have no idea what to do, Albus."
Doing things had never been his problem, Harry knew. It's direction that I need. Clues. A ripped page about a basilisk. A dead man's name on a magical map. I just need something.
He watched the flames until the fire burned low, the passage of hours measured by the light glinting off a pair of half-moon spectacles on a bedside table.
We just don't know enough to do anything.
The first streaks of indigo were stretching across the horizon when his restless mind finally settled on a single thought.
His heart began thrumming as the idea took shape. Little voices in his mind shouted that it was mad, that he'd get people killed and it would be his fault. They were drowned into silence by the sound of his blood pumping, of his body realizing before his mind that he was totally going to do this.
It was mad. People could die.
But.
Harry stood and clasped Albus' shoulder.
But we need to know more. We'll lose if we don't.
And that's all there is to it.
He didn't look back as he left the room.
I just really hope that Caffrey's sailing the Delight close to Scotland this time of year.
xoxoxox
22 March, 1980
Harry looked at the crowd assembled in the living room of the Dearborn's house two nights later. He would have preferred to have this meeting elsewhere, but it was safe and secure, and there weren't any of Hogwarts' troublesome security protocols.
Everyone had come.
Next to Gideon, Fabian was trying to banter with Alice, her eyes as hard as ever. Lily was holding Rhys while James and Remus talked quietly. Sirius couldn't seem to decide whether to stare or scowl at Caffrey Burke, who lounged in a chair, elegant and uncaring as always.
Thank God he came. We can't do this without him.
Harry's eyes flicked to Alice.
And her. If the others say no, we can still make this work. But we need the Captain and Alice.
Across the room, Pel wouldn't meet Harry's gaze.
The old lawyer had been beyond furious when Harry'd first run his idea by him, Gideon, and Lily. Words like "beyond stupid" and "insane" had been wielded like weapons.
And then—
"Fuck's sake, Harry! Ab would be so bloody ashamed of you for even thinking—"
The windows shattered.
From the feel of his own blood boiling through his veins, Harry knew that the choice was between breaking the windows with his magic, or breaking Pel's face with his fist.
Pel stilled, eyes wide.
"Don't you ever use Ab against me like that again," Harry managed in a low voice. "Ever."
Pel hadn't said much more, though Harry knew his friend still thought him recklessly stupid. But he'd come and, for some reason Harry couldn't fathom, he'd even brought Dalcop. The widower was sitting next to Marty Sorner, silently drinking.
Sanguini, Panty, and Loch had claimed the table, the vampires blithely ignoring everything but their bloodwine.
All right. Let's get started then.
"Okay," Harry started, awkwardly clearing his throat when all eyes shifted towards him. "So, you all know why you're here—"
"I've got no bloody idea why I'm here, beautiful," Caffrey drawled. "Just that you sent me a letter asking me to come because you need my help—"
"Yeah, I mean, that's what I meant. You're here because I need your help." I'm fucking this up. Harry took a deep breath. "See, some of you know that Voldemort's done something to himself, and we're—Dumbledore and me and those of you who've been helping with research—we're pretty sure that it has to do with Dementors. That's he's somehow...combined himself with a Dementor so that regular spells, like my Killing Curse at the Ministry Invasion, can't hurt him."
He ignored the shocked sputters from those hearing it for the first time.
"Look, I'll explain more later, but that's the short of it. Anyway, the thing is we're just not sure about what he's done, and so we can't be certain that any of the ways we're coming up with to fight him will actually work. We need to know—or we're going to lose."
Everyone jumped as Guin's grandfather clock suddenly chimed the hour.
"Hell, Merlin," James gasped, grabbing his chest.
"So we need to know things, and it doesn't matter how many books we read, the answers aren't in them. We need real information."
Harry took a deep breath. "And I think I know where we can get it."
He ran his eyes over the solemn faces of his friends. Even the vampires and Caffrey Burke stared back with uncharacteristic seriousness.
"I've asked you all to come because you have skills, or knowledge, or resources that I need. Because where we're going, what we need to do, isn't something I can do alone."
Panty's eyes narrowed. "Stop speaking around what you need to say and just spit it out. Exactly where is it you want to go?"
Harry stole a glance at Lily. She gave him a misty smile and cuddled Rhys closer.
We can do this.
"Well, beautiful?" Caffrey prodded. "Where's the adventure?"
Harry's shoulders rolled in a helpless shrug.
"Azkaban. I need to break into Azkaban."
xoxoxox
This chapter's title is adapted from a couplet in "Victorians" by British soldier-poet Edmund Blunden: Devise some creed and live it, beyond theirs,/or I shall think you spendthrift heirs.
Nods: A few allusions in this chapter: the first is Dumbledore's line about Harry forcing him into open declarations, which is a nod to a similar line in the Lomonaaeren's dimension travel story World in Pieces (scene between AU Snape and canon Harry). Second, Harry's sarcastic suggestion that they make patroni shoot lightning bolts and fireballs from their eyes/arses is taken from Braveheart.
Poudre de Succession, while also being a general way to refer to arsenic, refers specifically to a quasi-legendary powdered blend of poisons used by the famous murderess M.M.M. d'Aubry in sixteenth-century France. Although that substance is often understood as something like cyanide, my magical version is much more potent.
Next on The Second String: It's time for Azkaban. I hope you come back for Chapter 41, "Fifteen on a Dead Man's Chest." Only five chapters left!
Thank you to my beta AverageFish, who is substantially more amazing than the name implies. Do check out their time-travel fix-it at /s/13283547/ which is now complete!