Chapter Eighty: The Rules of Invocation
It took over half an hour to get things straightened out again. Bartemius Crouch was alarming, eyes practically popping from his sockets; in his muggle three-piece suit, he reminded Harry too much of Uncle Vernon. He was alarming, and the fact that he was alarmed just fed that undercurrent of discontent. But Harry kept calm, as best he could.
Crouch slowed the investigation down several times, going off on this or that tangent, insisting upon searching the forest again even after they'd found Winky in the grass, where Hermione had pointed her out. But Diggory had been the one to accuse Hermione of casting the Mark, even though she was both silenced and a muggleborn. The whole thing was a mess.
Ginny had taken the opportunity to pipe up, before anyone else could say anything, about how Harry had silenced Hermione, and the adults had canceled Harry's disillusionment and silencing charms. Well, at least they were safe now. He supposed that there was no true further need for them.
Harry was nevertheless almost inclined to sulk. He stood to the side, not looking at anyone, until the inevitable happened, and he was accused of having cast the Mark. Then, he looked up at his accuser (Diggory again, of course) through his bangs. He should have seen it coming. He must give off villain vibes, still, if there were such things. He glanced over at Ron, lifting his head as a sign that he held Ron in greater esteem than Crouch and Diggory combined. Ron's expression was tight with his concern for Harry.
Sirius, Tonks, and Remus arrived at about that point, Tonks clutching her arms, which were streaked with several thin lines of red. "It's alright," she said, beaming 'round the clearing before anyone could ask. "These tress are just vicious, is all."
She underscored her point by losing her balance, windmilling around, and getting snagged a few times by the trees a good five feet from where she'd landed.
"You okay, kids? Harry?" asked Sirius, both hands out of his pockets—he was making no attempt to be casual—as he looked them all over. Harry bowed his head, and looked away.
Harry had no good answer for him. He was fairly sure that all three of his closest friends were currently not-on-speaking-terms with him, but at least he still had Sirius, and Remus.
"There must be some sort of mistake, here," Remus said, calmly surveying the scene. He noted Winky, sobbing still at Crouch's threat of clothes, the two adults still glancing at Harry and company as if expecting to be attacked.
With Remus, Sirius, and the actual auror, Tonks, on the scene, they didn't dare to do anything.
"How did you find us?" asked Ginny. Harry turned to stare at her. "What? You know you're his first priority. He came right here; he knew you were here, somehow."
Harry blinked. She might well have a point. Sirius had sworn not to leave him alone in harm's way, again. He might well have just known where Harry was.
Sirius gave a casual shrug "I thought something seemed different this way," he said. "And Remus agreed. Hadn't expected the Dark Mark to show up. That must mean that the Death Eaters are nearby…."
"And why are you not pursuing them, Auror Tonks?" Crouch demanded, turning to her. It took Harry a moment to remember that Tonks was not, in fact, Tonks's given name.
"I'm not on-duty, and besides that, the Death Eaters all scattered when they saw the Mark…it's as if it scared them off."
"Well, regardless of the intentions of the caster, we should treat him as a Death Eater, and a priority to find," said Crouch. "And you should get to work rounding up those Death Eaters."
"They'll have gone to ground by now," Sirius spat. "Why don't we concentrate on getting the kids to safety, if that's okay with you?"
Without waiting for a response, he pushed through the square to Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione.
"They are witnesses, and will need to be thoroughly interrogated—"
"Ah, shove it," said Sirius, rounding on Crouch. "As if you care about interrogating witnesses, or law."
There was a sudden thick tension in the clearing.
"Come on, kids…let's get you back to your campsite. I'll stay with you. See what happens if I let you out of my sight for a few hours! I hadn't realised that the Ministry is still so inept!"
He shot another dagger glare at Crouch.
"I'll settle things here, and find my kids; we'll meet up back at the campsite," said Arthur Weasley, sounding haggard and worn.
Sirius gave him a curt nod, his eyes still flinty and sparking, until he turned back to the four sort-of underage sort-of wizards.
"Remus? Tonks?" he called over his shoulder.
"I'll see what I can do to round up the Death Eaters," said Tonks, her voice devoid of its usual energy.
"I'll help you bring the kids back," said Remus, who sounded even more tired, but his eyes were alert, and his voice was steady.
Sirius didn't wait to receive permission from Crouch, instead giving the four kids a nod, and leading them away from the scene of the crime.
And he did spend the night in the "crowded" boys tent.
In the days that followed, there'd been little time to talk in private, but Harry had apologised for his behaviour to both Hermione and Ginny. They'd both gradually thawed towards him, again, Ginny faster than Hermione. She both understood things about him that Hermione likely never would, and owed him, besides. Furthermore, she hadn't received the worst of his actions. Her anger was for Hermione's benefit.
Ron managed to hold onto his knowledge of what Harry had said through all this time—the trip to Diagon Alley; the fussing of Mrs. Weasley; the long hours Arthur Weasley put in after the attack, which had the entire household tense; the frequent disappearances of Sirius to help with trying to find any of the Death Eaters, who had, of course, gone to ground, and were lying low. Sirius seemed to spend as much time as he could with Harry, as if to make up for twice having failed him, not being there when Harry needed him. All in all, they hardly had a moment to themselves.
Still, as time passed, things gradually cooled down, and Arthur Weasley could spend more time at home with the children who still were living at The Burrow: Fred, George, Ginny, and Ron. He was tired and harassed, but he tried to put his best face on things. Mrs. Weasley seemed to realise that Death Eaters were not about to come knocking, and stopped checking her clock every hour. Sirius let Harry out of his sight for entire half-hour spans of time. People were beginning to come back to their senses.
This was when Ron took the opportunity to take Harry aside, to speak to him in private in the garden, which was rather larger than that of Number Four, but which Harry had no responsibility of tending, and therefore appreciated far more.
"What are the Rules of Invocation, Brother?" he asked, staring out across the garden, which was filling with gnomes, of course. Harry's head snapped up and over to him.
"Where have you heard that term?" he demanded, standing up from where he had been sitting on a rock. Ron—Thor—did not seem to understand why Harry would suddenly be on edge.
"You used that term yourself, during the attack," he said, frowning. "Do you not remember?"
Harry thought back to that night, how suddenly he'd switched from contrition—the sentiment of the moment—to a more long-term wariness, underscored with…something.
"I remember," he said, voice quieter than it needed to be. Were Ron human, he would need to strain to hear Harry. Oh, well.
He paused to gather his thoughts, and Thor continued, "You told me that you would inform me as to what these…'rules of invocation' were, at a later date."
"They are little more than an excuse for my behaviour during the attack," Harry said, with a grim smile. "'What's in a name?' Shakespeare's Juliet asked. 'That which we call a rose/By any other name would smell as sweet'. But roses are inanimate objects…biology tells us that plants are living organisms, but that does not change the fact that plants are devoid of consciousness and identity. They are only what we thinking beings name them."
Thor, to his credit, did not ask what relevance this had to the discussion at hand. He waited. Harry knew that he could outwait Thor, but that was not the point of this discussion. In actual point of fact, they should have had this conversation before, but so much had happened after the Big Secret came into the open. He thought he could not be blamed if such had slipped his mind. He sat back down, clasping his hands before him, thinking of what to say.
"Dumbledore makes the same mistake. He acts as if 'Riddle' and 'Voldemort' and 'You-Know-Who' are all names with the same substance and meaning. But they are not. Riddle needed to die before 'Voldemort' could be born, and 'You-Know-Who' is the culmination of his ascent. Perhaps all villains undergo some similar process: the death of the old to make way for the new. By calling him 'Riddle', we make note of the fact that he is, despite what he has done, only a human, only a mortal man. They are shades of meaning to the same person. Shades of identity. But he is hardly alone in that respect."
He closed his eyes, tilting his head back. The sun was warm on his face; it was the middle of summer, and England had yet to hide itself under a blanket of clouds this week. It probably would continue for the rest of the week. Smart people were finding activities that would help them to cool down, or staying indoors. Only idiots stayed out in a garden in this weather. It gave him further hope that they would not be overheard; even the Twins and Ginny were staying indoors, out of the heat.
"Everyone has such shades to their identity—even you. The man called 'son' is not the same man as the one called 'brother', is not the same man as the one called 'friend', is not the same as the one called 'teacher'. They might refer to the same individual, but social context brings out different shades of personality in the same person. And the man who is called 'daddy' is different from the one called 'dad' is different from the one named 'father'. Would anyone ever be able to bring themselves to call your father 'Dad'? No. He is too remote, too distinct, too aloof, and those names are too soft."
"He is your father, too," Thor had to interject. In other circumstances, Harry might have argued with him, but he'd made his point clear, he thought.
"I know your opinion of the matter. But that is not the point of this discussion. What is relevant is that no one could call him by such a soft name without mocking him. He is not soft. Mother might…no, she too is remote, distant, if less. It does not suit her.
"Even amongst families, a nickname is different from a full name. Do you suppose that Bill is the same when he is called William? And what of Fred? Ginny? Charlie? Percy? Such diminutive names evoke that same mildness, affection, closeness, to a lesser degree."
Thor was growing impatient. Harry could almost feel it, as if it were a rise in temperature in their immediate area. Perhaps he'd laid enough background for his explanation. He opened his eyes, casting a dismissive glance at Thor.
"And you, Brother. Do you suppose that 'Thor' and 'Ron' refer to the exact same person?"
Thor thought of his dreams, and shifted, suddenly uneasy, perhaps even sensing the direction this conversation was headed.
"And I," said Harry, his voice softer, and smoother on account of its softness, as his explanation reached its conclusion. "I am all pieces and personalities regardless. Does it surprise you if one of them is named 'Harry', and the other 'Loki'? And is Loki not also called 'Brother', and Harry 'little brother', for he is still a child? Does it alarm you, does it surprise you, if all you need do to speak with one or the other is to change your form of address? I no longer have my denial to shield me, after all."
Thor took a moment to understand, to wade through all of the exposition to find the point. Harry himself thought he had probably intended just that effect. Thor's expression was unreadable. He took a step forward.
He didn't comment on how disturbing it was to hear Harry speak of himself in the third person. This time.
"Loki?" he asked. "Have I made you into what you are not?"
"Shades of identity. Different values of the same colour. I could fight it off—a man always has a choice whether or not to don the mask society tries to force upon him—but it is always easier to 'go with the flow'. I found a place between that part of my soul that serves as a bulwark against…against Thanos, and who I usually am. And now, you know to be cautious in how you address me. You would not wish to invoke your brother, Loki, so casually. Does he ever appear without collateral damage?"
He smiled, but it was a cold, bitter smile. He spread his hands, but it was not a welcoming gesture, as it might be expected to be in other circumstances. Thor hesitated, but, gryffindor that he was, pushed forwards through the grass until he met Harry's rock. Harry frowned, letting his arms fall, trying to puzzle him out. Thor gave no ground in this matter.
"You are my brother, regardless of which name you answer to," he said. "It is little matter for me. It troubles only you."
"Ginny and Hermione seemed upset with my behaviour," Harry said, with false levity that had Thor frowning. "I was not nice."
"They will accustom themselves to your behaviour," Thor promised. "They will understand, in time. Hermione deserves to know."
"And Ginny deserves to know your secret," Harry said, voice almost a whisper. "Will you tell them now, then?"
The obvious answer was 'yes', but the right choice was too difficult to make at this point in time. He needed time.
As he had needed time to confront Harry…and see how that had turned out! And yet, despite this argument, still he hesitated.
"You are too afraid to lose them, then?" asked Harry, still with that cold smile, looking down at Thor. It grated at him. If he hit the rock, it might shatter, but Mum would be most displeased. She liked the aesthetic it provided. He restrained himself.
"Well, never fear," said Harry, holding out a hand for him. "You will always have me. Cold comfort though I suppose that is, for you."
It was not cold comfort at all. It was what he had gone back in time for, that and the chance to save his mother's and brother's lives.
"Will you promise that?" asked Thor, for once feeling like a teenager—or how he supposed a teenager ought to feel. Almost, it was like stepping back in time.
Harry said nothing, but stayed completely still. He waited. They both knew that Harry could outwait him. He reached for Harry's hand, with some trepidation, and Harry pulled him up, with little visible effort. The rock was not so very high that it afforded a better vantage than the ground—only a foot or so higher, where he now stood, than where he had been. There was no danger, if either of them lost their footing and fell.
"You sacrificed quite a bit for me," Harry—Loki—mused. "I suppose I might be more grateful. You have sworn to help me against Thanos. Then, let us make common cause, and no longer be at odds. I have tired of that, anyway. What say you?"
"I have sworn to be your sole sentinel, if you require it of me. And I will never be your enemy," Thor replied, hunting down elusive words. He was no wordmaster, and he knew he often said the wrong things. But he added, anyway, "I once swore an oath."
Loki's face, when Thor looked, was blank. "I remember," he said, and his voice was flat. Then, he sighed. "As did I. And I have failed to live up to my part of the bargain. I will do better, from now on. Very well, I will promise that I will help you. You are, after all, my brother."
For a moment, his hand met Thor's shoulder. Then, Harry pushed off against him, off the rock, and was gone.
Dramatic, as usual. And yet, the familiarity of it, the memories it revived for him, made Thor smile, despite himself. Family was family. Tony had never had siblings; he could not be expected to understand.
It was time to return to Hogwarts before any of them were prepared. Superficially, they were ready—they had all of their supplies, from the mysterious new requirement of dress robes, to the familiar textbooks; their homework had been finished months ago, and everyone had packed as much as they could the night before. But, somehow, the Quidditch World Cup had made the break seem shorter than it was. No one felt ready for school to resume. Even Hermione was in a state, wandering the house, muttering to herself. Sirius made the mistake of accusing her of behaving just like the Black family house-elf, Kreacher, and was drawn into a tirade regarding house-elf rights. There was little forewarning; he sat in shock for several seconds.
"Now, Hermione, you haven't even met Kreacher. I'm all for house-elf rights, but Kreacher is just…Kreacher. Follower of my parents' disgusting pure-blood politics, and all. Worships my mad cousin Bellatrix, even. Real piece of work, that woman was, before she went to Azkaban. I shudder to think of what she might have become, in the interim. Rumour has it that although she married Lestrange, she was in love with Voldemort. Just for a sample of her particular brand of crazy. Kreacher'd probably die, if doing that would advance Voldemort's agenda. His life's ambition is to have his head whacked off and mounted on the hallway wall. House-elves are like human beings, Hermione. Some of them want one thing, others want another, and some are so crazy they're a danger to themselves and others. That's Kreacher."
He was very firm with her, but somehow also civil. It was a difficult dance. Hermione was passionate about all of her endeavours, and this house-elf rights thing was shaping into a crusade. No one wanted any part of it, with the possible exception of Sirius. Harry felt that he didn't understand wizarding society enough to take part, and was leary of anthropomorphising anything that wasn't human, anyway. Ron, perhaps thinking that he wouldn't be part of this world long enough to make a real difference, or perhaps just following Harry's lead (who knew?) bowed out of the discussion. Hermione was ready to hiss sparks. She was reminding everyone of her cat, if much prettier and less violent.
Hermione might be on the verge of hysterics, but everyone was pacified, for different reasons, by the approaching school year. Sirius took Harry aside, and shoved a bubblewrapped package into his hands.
Harry glanced down at it, and then glanced back up, through his bangs, at Sirius. There was an unspoken question hanging in the air.
"Two-way mirrors," Sirius said, giving a succinct explanation. "Your dad and I used to use them to talk to each other when we had separate detentions. If you need me for anything, just say my name into the glass, see. I'll keep it on me at all times…well, maybe not when I'm taking a shower, eh, kiddo? Keep it with you. Call me if you need advice, or help—anything. I don't want you to ever feel you've got no other choice—that you have no one to turn to."
He bent down to give Harry a hug, and a kiss on the forehead, just as if he were Harry's real dad, or something. It made Harry realise, for the first time, that Sirius was like Thor in that respect also: he was such the quintessential masculine man that he could afford to be more in touch with his feminine side, doing things people usually gave men strange looks for doing. It was an odd realisation.
"Anytime, kiddo. I mean it," Sirius said again.
Harry just stared, a bit lost. He had no background to know how to respond.
