AUTHOR'S NOTE AND DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fanfiction, written and posted solely for the enjoyment of readers of fanfiction. The author makes no claims and receives no remuneration. All characters and locations in this story are from the works of JK Rowling, or derive therefrom. Many thanks to Ms. Rowling for letting us riff a little.
A Mosaic of Warping Mirrors
Chapter Eleven
Closing Out
Dobby handed over the note before Harry had put on his glasses.
"Whuh…?"
"Madam Pomfrey sent this for the great wizard Harry Potter!" said Dobby, all puffed-up with pride for having been selected to bring the message to the Gryffindor wizards' dorm.
Harry took a deep breath, swung his legs over the edge of his bed, sat up and put on the glasses.
"Mr. Potter—Can I impose on you to come to the hospital wing straightaway?"
Harry rushed through a short visit to the bathroom, pulled on the clothes he'd been wearing when he returned to the dorm and left for the magical dispensary. On the way he amused himself trying to count up the number of times he had been admitted as an in-patient.
"Ma'am?"
Madam Pomfrey looked up at the great wooden door and Harry Potter, who was standing just inside.
"Mr. Potter—thank-you for coming right up. You were mentioned when this Dr. Beezle was brought in but no one wanted to give me any specific information. I've been getting up every two hours all night long. It's very frustrating. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions? The headmaster and Minister Fudge were not at all helpful."
"I suppose," said Harry, not thinking through all of the possible outcomes. "How can I help you?"
"Well, this patient was brought here last evening. It seems she has been in this condition since meeting with you sometime yesterday. Perhaps you could start by telling me whatever you can regarding her present state?" asked Madam Pomfrey.
Harry looked at Dr. Beezle, whom he had begun to think of as 'Dr. Beezle if that is her real name.' She lay on her side, her lower half in a sitting position, eyes wide open and her wand in hand, pointing at someone or something that was no longer there.
"We were talking," Harry began. "Then…it's hard for me to say it. She insulted my parents. I wasn't going to listen to that kind of nonsense so I got up to go. Then she kind of toppled over. It looked like she had some kind of seizure. I mean, her eyes, and all. And is she paralyzed? What's that disease the muggles used to get before they had vaccinations? Now that I've seen her, I wonder if some of that mandrake potion would help? If there is any left."
"Would there be a particular reason you thought of the mandrake potion, Mr. Potter?" asked Madam Pomfrey.
"No. She just looks kind of petrified, is all," Harry answered. "Could be worth a try, if no one can say exactly what is wrong. Anything else?"
"No," said Madam Pomfrey. "If you remember more details, you'll let me know?"
"Of course," said Harry.
Breakfast was ready so Harry stopped by the Great Hall rather than going straight back to the common room. Draco Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table, neither Goyle nor Crabbe anywhere in sight. Well, it was the day of the Leaving Feast so none of the faculty or staff had expectations. Hogwarts tradition held the day was free so that students could pack trunks, turn in pending work while it was still, technically, prior to end of term and take care of administrative matters. Harry graced Malfoy with the slightest possible nod, which Malfoy reciprocated.
Harry sat down at the Gryffindor table and served himself some fried potatoes and a slice of ham. He sat, thinking, while he was still alone. It would be good if he could find fifteen minutes for a discreet visit to Salazar Slytherin's rooms under the hillside. The subject of bonds had intruded on Harry's sleep all night long. He'd known about bonds from classes in History and Theory of Magic. The material they were assigned had been informational with nothing about how bonds were formed. Harry sensed the origins of bonds were important. The more he understood those, the better he would cope.
Harry wondered if he could set bonding in motion intentionally or if it was something like Slytherin had described. He didn't think either his mother, Lily, or Voldemort would have wanted to enter into a bonding with the other. He himself had been a baby at the time of Lily's encounter with Voldemort so he was certain he hadn't had an opinion, either way.
By the time he'd finished his breakfast, Harry was thinking about getting down to the underground rooms and spending a few minutes pulling some books for summer reading. Slytherin had told him that Magic would not favor an imbalance of any length. Therefore, the sooner balance was restored, the better the outcome for Harry Potter and the witches and wizards close to him.
Professor McGonagall caught Harry as he was leaving. He indulged in his usual practice of jumping to a conclusion before he had all the facts. The piece of parchment, covered in what was clearly a list of some kind, was enough to conclude he wouldn't be dashing off to the cool, quiet and solitude of the Salazar Slytherin faculty club right away.
"Mr. Potter, distasteful as it may be, there is a final ceremony for the Tri-Wizard Tournament later this morning. You will need to be there, appropriately attired. You'll be awarded your winner's prize. There will be a press availability afterwards," said the Professor.
Harry thought she sounded like every word took minutes off her life.
"Professor," Harry began. "Cedric. The stuff Rita Skeeter has already published. I don't want a prize! It belongs to Cedric. It should go to his parents. Appropriately attired? This is the Ministry, isn't it? It's their idea."
"Potter, I tried," said Professor McGonagall. "I am carrying out instructions. It would be stupid of me to contradict what you've just observed and I am aware you are too intelligent for me to simply state 'No, you're wrong,' over and over. As you say, the Ministry, or Minister Fudge, desire to close the tournament, formally. There is an opinion, it seems, that holds it can be done in a respectful and dignified fashion. My views were expressed, Mr. Potter, and I suspect you would find them very close to yours. Now, the room where you sat for your interview, nine-fifteen, white shirt, house tie, your most presentable jacket. You have one? The others won't be in robes so there is no reason for you to wear one."
"I have a jacket," said Harry.
Daphne Greengrass passed the designated room at nine-ten, transiting between two points unknown.
"So," she said when she saw Harry waiting in the corridor. "You look smashing."
Harry looked down. Shirt, tie, jacket, trousers, shoes. She wasn't being facetious, telling him he looked smashing when he really had left the tail of his shirt sticking out an unzipped fly.
"Thank-you," said Harry, forced to smile ever-so-slightly by Daphne's presence.
"Some kind of close-out for the tournament. Fleur and Viktor ought to be along any minute."
Harry looked down the corridor both ways.
"Any idea what is going on?" he asked, keeping his voice down to a hoarse whisper.
Daphne shook her head so slightly Harry barely saw it.
"Can't talk here," she whispered.
Harry understood. For the first time ever he wished there were more days left in the school year. Their time at Hogwarts was down to hours. Pretty soon, they'd be putting trunks in the baggage car and settling in for a train trip to London, then a bit more than two months with no contact. What Harry wanted to discuss wouldn't be committed to parchment and an owl.
"Figure something out," muttered Daphne as she broke eye contact and began to move away.
Harry stood still, puzzled. Did she want him to figure something out? Would she figure it out? Should THEY figure it out together?
People were beginning to arrive, putting an end to Harry's speculations. Professor McGonagall opened the door with her wand and stood aside to let everyone enter. Harry let Fleur go ahead of himself, then tried to wait for Viktor Krum. Krum stood still.
"You are our guest," Harry tried.
"You are younger, making it my prerogative to defer. Besides you are the champion," Krum said.
People were standing, watching, so Harry gave up and walked in to avoid holding up progress. The closing of the tournament really was done fairly tastefully, Harry had to admit. Cornelius Fudge kept his remarks short. He recognized the champions without excess verbiage or multiple superlatives. He blamed a tragic accident for Cedric's death. He avoided mention of either Barty Crouch. Then the formalities were over and the champions were lined up for photographs. All would have gone well had there been some handlers to begin ushering the reporters out.
"What do you have to say about the return of you-know-who Mr. Potter?" someone shouted, to be seconded by an instant Babel of voices.
All Harry could make out were fragments: "Return! Back? How did you?"
Harry knew he was caught. He wouldn't go back on what he had said. That would be lying and he wasn't going to lie in public to help Cornelius Fudge or the Ministry escape from the mess they had made. Harry had lain awake the previous night, thinking through the tournament, Cedric's death, the graveyard ritual, facing Voldemort again and, finally, the surreal interview with the Unspeakable, Dr. Beezle. The conclusion he had drawn, in the end, was that the lure of bread, circus and favorable publicity had blinded the Minister to the opening the tournament provided for serious mayhem. Fudge had reaped that which he had sown and it was not Harry Potter's assignment to extract him from the results of his folly.
Harry looked at the claque, kept his silence and started for the door, Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour falling in behind.
"Mr. Potter!" a reporter shouted. "Your silence can be interpreted as confirmation of the rumors flying around. Surely…"
"Surely you can speak with the Ministry's spokespersons if you have questions," Harry said. "I have nothing to say."
The reporters gave up and began to shout at Fleur and Viktor. Krum stared them down but Fleur could not hold her comments in. She turned at the door and looked, stone-faced, toward the press.
"Shame on you," she said. "Ask yourselves, 'When has he been wrong about this fiend?'"
Fleur's comment silenced the chattering and the champions made their getaway.
At the front of the room stood Minister Fudge, glowering, first at the receding backs of the champions, then switching to Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore looked back, then shrugged.
"Your office, if you please," growled Fudge on his way past, Dumbledore falling in behind.
The shouting began when the spiral staircase stopped moving.
"Potter needs to be apprised of a few things, Dumbledore!" Fudge declared.
"Cornelius, what are you saying? Have you ever stood face to face with Lord Voldemort? At least since he ceased answering to Tom Riddle?" asked Dumbledore.
Fudge stood, red-faced, working his mouth. Eventually, some sound actually came out.
"Of course not, or I wouldn't be standing here in front of you!" Fudge hissed.
"Well, then, since Harry has, should we grant him some credence? The benefit of the doubt?" suggested Dumbledore.
Fudge shook his head and tried another route.
"All I am saying, Albus, one fourth year student, childhood trauma, fatigue, maybe the maze intimidated, or overwhelmed him? Why not? Couldn't he be over-stressed? He stirred this up and it wouldn't hurt him around the Ministry if he helped a bit in getting it all settled down," said Fudge. "One hand washes the other. It's always been like that and I expect it always will be."
Fudge turned, descended the spiral stair and let himself out of the headmaster's rooms.
"Percy," he said when he saw his assistant in the corridor. "I assume you'll want to make your good-byes with your family so why don't you catch up with me at the Three Broomsticks and we'll go on back to London from there? I want to sit quietly with some refreshment and think over things."
Harry Potter returned to the common room, and his dorm, to try packing once more. Harry enjoyed packing and unpacking, especially if he had plenty of time. Folding clothes, organizing his trunk, making decisions to keep or discard. Those were enough to occupy his mind without occupying all of the thinking capacity. Anything left over was free to work on whatever it found to be of interest.
The primary problem remained the decision to throw over the entire academic year to make space for a dangerous sporting event with no connection to current magical athletes or competitive culture. Harry wanted to know several things. Who made the decision to hold the tournament? Who came up with the tasks? Then the big one, at least for Harry Potter: Who manipulated the selection to put him in the competition? Barty Crouch, Jr. had not impressed Harry as someone who could do that alone.
The analysis was pretty good, for someone still more than a month short of his fifteenth birthday. Harry's instincts led him to relevant questions, and good ones. There was danger in just asking them.
It was four p.m. when Harry finished packing. He still had to get down to Slytherin's underground rooms to look for books on bonds. The Founder's speculative ramblings were sitting there, demanding attention. He hadn't heard anything like them in any of his Hogwarts classes. That struck him as odd. If there was anything to it, the bonds were there, acknowledged or not. Harry experienced a strange sensation, wishing he had a few more days of school left so he could track down Professor Binns and press him on the subject of bonds.
Harry closed and locked his trunk. It was nearly time for the Leaving Feast to commence, a mandatory activity unless a student was away from school or confined to the hospital wing. Harry dreaded the thought of the next two hours. He knew Dumbledore would have to make some remarks about Cedric. Harry didn't know what the next year would bring, thank Merlin and Morgana, but he knew Tom Riddle's plans would focus on getting rid of Harry Potter. Cedric deserved to be remembered, and honored for his virtues. It was unfortunate that he was now linked forever in Harry's thoughts with a magical psychopath's plan for his own murder.
The Leaving Feast was short. Everyone ate. There wasn't a lot of conversation. Black drapes hung where house flags would have been. No one gave a damn about awards. Dumbledore spoke of Cedric. The assembled rose for a toast. Harry got through it without breaking down. He counted that a great success.
Harry had time for one last thing before bed. He had his invisibility cloak inside his shirt. He went out into the paved courtyard to wait for the traffic to die down. The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students filed out, undoing jackets and collar buttons in the pleasant June air. Harry spoke and waved to a fair sampling of both schools, which surprised him a bit. He wasn't conscious of making that many new acquaintances among the visitors.
The numbers transiting the courtyard grew less and less and Harry adjudged it quiet enough to get on down the hill. He gave the cloak a swirl and disappeared to ordinary eyesight. He was careful and quick and minutes later he was inside the vestibule, putting the hillside back in place when he heard a scuffing sound. Harry spun around, wand up, ready to cast.
"DON'T," said the visitor. "Please."
Harry saw Daphne had her wand as ready as he had his.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Did anyone see you come down?"
"Can we lower our wands?" asked Daphne.
Harry noticed hers hadn't moved. He took a few seconds to think it over.
"Rock-paper-scissors for who goes first?" he asked.
"Stuff it, Potter," said Daphne, twirling her wand in her fingers and slipping it into the wand sheath sewn into her robe.
"This," said Daphne. "To answer your question about how—Have you experimented with yours yet?"
Harry looked at the basilisk cloak Daphne was holding up.
"No time," he answered, suspecting he had a scolding coming.
"Well, you might want to get it out and explore the properties of a basilisk hide garment," said Daphne. "This one does not reflect moonlight. What do suppose that means on a moonlit night?"
"The wearer would essentially be invisible," said Harry.
"Pansy and I went to dispatch a couple of notes by owl and discovered that interesting property, among others," said Daphne.
"Others?" asked Harry.
"Which you can have the fun of discovering for yourself," said Daphne. "Now, what do we know? And if you were wondering, yes, Pansy and Millicent are expecting an update."
"Hard to say," said Harry. "Cedric was murdered. Fudge wants to cover it up. He invoked the Ministry, my parents' memory, the prospect of panic and I don't know what-all to try and get me to make a public statement. There were threats of consequences. What's it like in Slytherin?"
"The old Death Eaters' kids, some of them, are acting out. The saner ones are keeping their mouths clamped shut. There is an air of 'Oh, Merlin, not again.' Can you be careful? The most aggressive ones aren't very impressive as fighters. There is surprise and bad luck, though."
Harry laughed, thankful for the release.
"True. I'll keep that in mind," he said. "What brought you down here?"
"We had to leave a pre-break meeting open," said Daphne. "You didn't get back in touch. It became a process of elimination. I just walked down the hill to the entrance."
"Wow," said Harry. "Okay, I was here a few days ago and spoke with the Founder. I described the ritual, how Cedric was murdered, Peter Pettigrew and how my blood was taken and the professor started telling me about bonds and transactions and balance and Magic's role in keeping everything coordinated. He encouraged me to get into some books on bonds. I'm probably not explaining it very well."
"That isn't very fashionable these days," said Daphne. "I heard my mother and grandmother discussing something like that, years ago. Grandmother was lamenting the fact the young witches and wizards aren't learning it in school."
"The professor thought it was important, that my mother and Voldemort and I could be parties to a three-way bond that had settled down but now he has assaulted our family again and everything is up in the air. I hope I can find something on the subject," said Harry.
Daphne didn't wait around but turned, drew her wand and cast 'lumos.'
"Bonds…" she murmured as she began to scan the spines of books.
Less than five minutes later, Harry stood holding three books, whipping the dust off the covers with his handkerchief.
"That ought to keep you busy," said Daphne.
"Yep," said Harry. "Thanks."
They had no more chores, nor updated information to pass on. Harry thought about the last time he had taken the Hogwarts Express to London to begin his summer break. He, Pansy and Daphne had discovered the baggage car and found that the fun was not in the groping sessions of legend but in listening to the tall tales of the train crew and standing in the open door watching June, and England, roll by.
"Hogwarts Express?" Harry asked, hopeful face and all. She got the reference.
"Rake. Cad," said Daphne. "Come."
She held out her hand, palm up, then curled her fingers back toward herself.
"I won't bite," she said. "Have a wonderful summer."
She followed with a kiss, given with care and patience.
"In case we don't see you, Pansy sent this," said Daphne.
Another kiss followed.
"And, Millicent," said Daphne.
Another kiss, the longest one yet. Harry thought of a question he had for Daphne but didn't interrupt. After she delivered Millicent's kiss, Daphne stood, her cheek on Harry's, her arms under his, her elbows bent, fists clenched and pressing hard on his shoulder blades. She didn't speak although the sounds of her breathing said all Harry needed to know.
"We will get through this and then we will sort it all out," he whispered.
The fists pressed harder.
"Yes."
Next morning, when the trunks and other large pieces were gone in the carriages, Harry loitered in the courtyard, waiting with Ron and Hermione for it to become time to depart. It was a very subdued group, as one would expect. Slytherin, the house most affected by the pureblood ideology, was also home to many hardheaded realists. Harry tried not to be obvious but he felt compelled to watch as Gemma Farley, a Slytherin prefect, carried on an argument with Crabbe, Goyle and Draco Malfoy. She snarled, stuck out her chin and pointed with her index finger, all while her opposite fist was planted on her hip.
Goyle was impassive, Crabbe looked away and Malfoy appeared to project a 'so-what?' attitude.
"One or more know something," Harry muttered when he saw Hermione was looking their way.
"Most likely, but what?" said Hermione. "Have they been told he's back? He has a body and will be leading fighters again? Who told them? Mum and Dad?"
"All excellent questions," said Harry. He paused and stared over a parapet. "I'll try to answer those. That would be a good start."
Their attention was diverted by the arrival of Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons champion.
"Harry," she said.
"Fleur," said Harry as he studied Fleur's face.
She was appropriately sober-faced as she delivered the condolences of the Beauxbatons delegation.
"We are all terribly sorry about your friend. Cedric was very nice. Friendly. Welcoming. We will remember him," said Fleur.
Harry looked at Ron, then Hermione. He knew he ought to say something. He didn't know what.
"Thank-you, Fleur," Harry improvised. "Thank-you very much. Cedric would have appreciated hearing that."
Fleur laid the palm of her right hand on Harry's cheek and her own cheek on the opposite side of his face. Harry heard a faint 'smack' followed by a whispered 'thank-you.'
"Gabrielle, who is too shy to come herself, instructed me to deliver this…"
Fleur leaned forward and planted a kiss on Harry's lips. It wasn't overdone, although the message conveyed, and clearly. Fleur pulled away and Hermione began to laugh.
"Your face, Harry," she said.
"'Bye," Fleur said, kissing Hermione on the cheek, then, "'Bye," again, complete with a peck for Ron.
Then Fleur trotted across the flagstones to join her sister and they were off to the Beauxbatons carriage pulled by the Abraxans and the flight back to France.
"So," said Harry, looking around the immediate area, wherein no one seemed scandalized or otherwise perturbed.
The three shared a carriage with Neville Longbottom and his erstwhile Yule Ball date, Ginny Weasley. When Harry sat down he felt the book from the Salazar Slytherin collection he had brought to read on the train. The good feelings from completion of another year and the trip to London with friends was diluted by the prospect of return to Little Whinging, and the Dursleys, for two months and the subject matter he had assigned himself for his independent summer study.
It was now clear to Harry, following the tournament, the final task, Cedric's murder, the reconstruction of Voldemort's body, Fudge's reaction—the unfinished conflict could no longer be compartmentalized and put aside. There was no thinking about it later. The maniacal dark wizard had not been killed that night in Godric's Hollow. He was back in Britain. He had summoned his core followers. They would be fanned out, re-connecting with others, organizing mayhem. Voldemort's organization would need funds. Certain key public employees would have to be bribed, compromised or eliminated. The longer the Ministry of Magic delayed in acknowledging and confronting its problem the longer would be Voldemort's head start. Harry Potter would have to be destroyed. Voldemort gave that away in the graveyard. He could not leave Potter up and walking around and hope to get doubt-free, mindless obedience from his supporters.
The Hogwarts Express had left Scotland and was passing through the north of England when Harry closed and pocketed the book he'd been reading and stood.
"Need a stretch," he told the cabin, Hermione, Ron and Neville.
The book was slow going. Harry hadn't read enough to judge whether it could be useful. No matter, Salazar Slytherin advised him to read up on magical bonds so read he would. The historical aspect, a subject once considered critical for magicals and now mostly neglected, would be useful at some point, that was almost guaranteed.
Harry made a stop at the restroom cabin before going on to the baggage car. He hadn't said anything to his friends because the baggage car was something, in his mind, of a secret garden. He liked his memories of the previous spring's trip, the conversation with the baggage crew, the companionship of his Slytherin friends. He doubted if he could explain it so others would understand.
Harry opened the door and saw the same crew of three he had met the year before. They sat on trunks playing cards, some game Harry didn't recognize. He didn't see chips or money between them so he guessed they weren't gambling.
"Mr. Potter, again," said one of the crew.
"Yep," said Harry. "Had to stretch so I thought I'd make a courtesy call. How is everyone?"
All three allowed they were fine, without elaboration. Harry sat down to watch the game. Very little time passed before he knew something was different. The crew was subdued. There was no laughter. Hands were played with little comment. Harry was ready to leave when the door opened and Millicent walked in. Something about the extra outsider changed the room. The crew played their final hand and gathered up the cards. They greeted Millicent politely and introduced themselves, noted she was a friend of 'Mr. Potter' and smiled at both of them.
"Pansy and Daphne said you might be here," said Millicent.
"Did they?" Harry said, smiling. "Gentlemen, I appreciate the hospitality."
With that, Harry glanced toward the door. After a brief questioning look, Millicent followed his lead. Harry got them out into the corridor, turned and tried the door to make sure the latch caught.
"I thought we'd look out the doorway," said Millicent. "Isn't that what you did last spring?"
"True, but something is odd in there," said Harry. "I got the impression they didn't want me hanging around. They were very friendly last year. Today, I don't know…they're really cold. Anyhow, I'd rather be out here."
"Do you think it is because, you know? The tournament?" asked Millicent.
Harry pursed his lips and blew his breath out, making a bit of a whistle.
"Or something else," he said. "They could have been sympathizers before. Maybe they've been contacted. Fudge, as far as I know, is denying the whole thing. It is supposed to be better if people don't know the truth."
"Harry, you're making me scared," said Millicent.
"I'm sorry. It is scary, though," said Harry.
"What are you going to do?" asked Millicent.
"Not much I can do," said Harry. "Just face it. Whatever it is. Listen, I'll do anything, anything at all to keep everyone else out of this. It's a personal beef, nothing to do with you. Not you, Pansy, Daphne, Neville, Ron or Hermione. This goes back, a long way."
"Are you talking about bonds?" Millicent asked.
Harry stiffened, stood upright, took a half-step backwards
"Yes," said Harry. "I just learned about them. From what I know, I could be magically linked with him now, because of his attack on the Potters and how my mother protected me and nearly killed him. Weird, isn't it? It's still the same fight, somehow."
"Yeah, weird," said Millicent. "Lots of magic is weird, though. I've read a bit about bonds. I'll see what I can find on the shelf at home. Mum has a bunch of old books she got when her great-gran passed on."
"Oh, great, just don't tell everyone, okay? We don't want it getting around that you're helping me with research directed at him. You still have to go back to Slytherin."
"Leave that to us, Harry Potter," snorted Millicent. "That is one thing with which you needn't concern yourself."
Harry smiled and leaned on the handrail, his shoulder getting just the slightest, occasional bump from Millicent's. It wasn't as stimulating as standing in the open door but it would do.
"I like watching it," he said. "Watching the country go by? Gets your mind off your troubles."
"It does," Millicent agreed. "If there is anything you want, over the summer, I'm as close as your owl."
"That's funny," Harry laughed.
He thought about summer months with the Dursley family.
"Probably the last funny thing I'll hear until September."
"Let's hope not," said Millicent.
The brief squeeze of hands was very innocent, chaste, even, but also electric. Harry felt Millicent in that touch, not just the physical sensation of hand-on-hand but her sincere good wishes and affection for Harry Potter. It all came through, somewhere, somehow, letting Harry sense the secret garden of the inner Millicent Bulstrode.
That touch would stay with him all the way to London. They stood side by side, mostly silent, to the outskirts of the city. Farewell was another hand touching hand and a brief, shared grip. The platform, boisterous as ever, hit him with the distinct mélange of scent and sound that marked the beginnings and ends of the instructional cycle. Harry was happy for the travelers who had shed the gloom between Hogsmeade Station and King's Cross. He'd paused to look around when he was joined by Neville.
"Harry? Something wrong?" Neville asked.
"No. I like to see this. I don't feel like joining in, that's all," said Harry. "Wish I could feel something."
"You will," said Neville, adding, "With time. No telling how long."
Neville got his own faraway look and Harry remembered the fragment of a story someone had passed on, that Neville's parents were alive but hospitalized, most likely forever.
"Thanks, Neville," said Harry, holding out his hand. "Thanks. Safe summer."
"You too," said Neville as he took Harry's hand. "Be careful."
"Count on it," answered Harry, pushing his trolley toward the barrier and the exit from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
"Get to the car," ordered Vernon Dursley as Harry approached, ignoring the fact that Harry would have no idea as to where Vernon had parked.
"Right away, Uncle Vernon," said Harry, looking down and hoping Vernon couldn't see his face as he struggled to keep from smiling.
One of the significant life events to which Harry looked forward was the moment when he could liberate himself from dependence on Dursley transportation. He knew he could already do it. Blast the Convention on Secrecy for obliging him to self-imprison!
'Welcome Home!' thought Harry.
The two were within sight of Vernon's car when Percy Weasley stepped out of a parking space into their path.
"Harry!" said Percy.
Vernon turned, giving first Percy, then Harry a very skeptical look. Harry managed the surprise, barely.
"Uncle Vernon, this is Percy, someone I know from school, now holding down a very responsible position, here in London," Harry said, his open hand in a vague wave toward Percy.
Percy was attired for an expedition into muggle territory. He looked the part of a young, up-and-coming civil servant, wearing a light gray pinstriped suit, highly-polished black shoes and a striped tie that might have conveyed service in some distinguished, battle-born corps or regiment. Percy seemed to pass inspection as Vernon inclined his head in company with a single upturned corner of his mouth.
"If you wouldn't mind making it quick?" asked Vernon.
"Of course," said Percy, returning a smile, like-for-like, swiveling slightly to put his back toward Vernon.
"Couldn't interest you in a free lunch, next week or the week after, could I?" Percy asked.
Harry studied Percy's face before answering, looking for signs of nervousness or stress. Percy hadn't just happened along. He knew the time Hogwarts would have released the students, the time the train left Hogsmeade and the time of arrival at King's Cross. If he had read in properly he would know the make, model and color of Vernon's car. Harry couldn't decide if he thought Percy had been sent by Cornelius Fudge or if he was flying solo. He settled on an eighty percent probability Percy had instructions.
"What does he want, Percy?"
"Meaning?" asked Percy.
"You were here to meet me. Doing it on your own would go against everything I've ever seen you do."
"Right."
Percy's face twitched which said to Harry that Percy well knew he'd been caught out.
"I'm known to have socialized with you since you and Ron met, your first year. The Minister is simply trying to understand and he asked me to see, should an opportunity arise, if you'd talk to me, informally."
"Understand? What's to understand? I've cooperated at every step. He seems to think I'm crazy," said Harry.
"Harry, you petrified a ministry employee!" Percy protested.
"Percy, I have to go," said Harry, nodding toward Vernon who was now sitting in the driver's seat. "And I didn't petrify anyone unless fourth years are suddenly being taught how to take out Unspeakables. Think about it."
Harry pushed his trolley around Percy but Percy, who looked as if he had just been slapped, did not seem to be finished.
"Lunch, then?" he asked as Harry passed him.
"Sure," sighed Harry. "Why not?"
In the traditional way that small blessings work, lunch with Percy Weasley turned out to be the instrument of Harry's emancipation from Dursley transportation. The owled invitation was hand-written in beautiful calligraphy on stiff parchment stock. The ministry's M-M logo was underscored with a very discreet message that conveyed the source: 'Office of the Minister—Percy Weasley—Special Assistant.'
Harry met the owl when it flew into the garden shed when he was returning the tools he'd used for yard work. He looked at the invitation and wondered how he would be getting around for his ministry business. It was looking like ministry business would become, for Harry Potter, a regular concern. He walked into the house through the back door to the kitchen, reading and thinking. Vernon's foghorn gave Harry a start.
"WHAT—is—THAT?" Vernon growled, holding his hand out.
"Oh, an invitation," said Harry. "I've been asked to lunch. That guy in the suit from the car park? Him."
By that time Vernon had taken in the Ministry crest and 'Office of the Minister.'
"Can't," said Vernon. "I won't be here to drive you. Work. No car for your aunt to drive."
He had a very pleased, snarling smile on his face as he said it.
Harry didn't tell a lie. He alluded to consequences, without specifics.
"Ah—Can't really turn this one down," Harry said. "I can take the bus, I guess."
"Without permission?" Vernon demanded.
"Well, they can be a bit unpredictable if they don't get their way. Government types. Think they own…Anyway, I'm happy to keep you out of it all," said Harry.
Vernon didn't know what Harry was implying but he really didn't need to, to discern the combination of crest, 'Office of the Minister,' and a government type's calligraphic summons.
"How do you propose to get there?" Vernon asked.
"Transit pass," said Harry. "They're issued, for emergencies or field trips. It won't cost you, it's all from school fees."
That last part was a lie, actually, but necessary to keep Harry's private business private, so it did, technically, keep him in compliance with the secrecy statute.
Vernon was at a loss. Harry had been invited to lunch by some sort of Ministry official, complete with a very upscale invitation. Accepting would not inconvenience the Dursleys because Harry could use public transportation. It wouldn't even cost them anything because the diabolical minds at that so-called school young Harry attended had finagled payment for his pass.
The only answer Harry got was a grunt followed by a grudgingly-delivered, "You're on your own."
That was all the permission needed. Harry took the invitation upstairs to his room, thinking about additional business he could take care of as long as he was keeping the luncheon appointment with Percy.
Much as he would have enjoyed making Percy take him to Hogsmeade and Madame Puddifoot's or one of the fashionable Muggle London eateries where he might see one or more young actresses or pop stars, he contained himself enough to compose a sober and practical acceptance.
"I accept, date and time are fine. Leaky Cauldron okay?" he wrote.
Vernon Dursley, it appeared to Harry, rushed through his breakfast and depart-for-work routine on the morning of the day he would meet with Percy. Harry hypothesized that Vernon wanted to be well clear when the hour of Harry's departure arrived. It didn't make sense, like so much of what happened around the Dursleys. Vernon begrudged Harry every trip in the car. Now that he had informed Vernon that he could use the public transportation that was readily available for his necessary school and administrative business, Vernon seemed to want to begrudge him that. It was as if Vernon felt he was being robbed of his opportunity to make Harry feel bad for requiring ordinary support from his guardians.
The Leaky Cauldron had customers, although not a lot of them. Harry looked at the clock behind the bar and saw that he was right on time. Harry got himself a pot of tea and sat down. He didn't have to wait long as Percy Weasley walked in from Diagon Alley shortly after Harry poured himself a cup.
"I took the liberty," said Percy, turning his head toward the corridor that led to the private rooms, then back to Harry.
"Okay," said Harry, standing up.
Percy took the teapot by the handle and walked off, Harry following with his cup.
"How is everyone?" Harry asked.
"Fine," said Percy. "Mum threw a dinner but I couldn't make it. The Minister had something that couldn't wait."
"Sorry," Harry said.
"Why?" asked Percy. "That is the ministry. That's how I'll move up. Keep my boss happy. My boss is the Minister, not a magical census taker or unexplained phenomena tabulator. If I wanted to go home every night right on time I'd work for one of them. Then I'd be in the same job ten years from now. Maybe I'd move up to head phenomena tabulator in time to retire."
"Have you talked to anyone? Family?" Harry asked.
"Ginny. We had a floo call. Mum leaned over her shoulder and commented a time or two. Saw Dad at the Ministry this morning. That's it," said Percy.
Harry thought about Percy's comments, what he said, what he left out. Harry had no parents and no siblings. Percy had both and seemed to wish he were free of them. Something told Harry to keep any observations he might have to himself. Percy would not appreciate comments about intra-familial Weasley relations any more than Harry would like to hear someone gossip about James and Lily.
"How is the Minister?" Harry asked.
"Well. Busy. Trying to keep Magical Britain on an even keel," said Percy. "Come in!"
There'd been a knock. The young witch who helped Tom during the day stepped inside. She had menu cards but Harry waved her off.
"Lunch special and a cup for Mr. Weasley," said Harry, nodding at the teapot.
"Fish?" asked Percy.
"You bet," said the witch. "Fried cod."
"Fried cod, chips," said Percy.
Harry knew fish and chips special for lunch would weigh him down for the first two hours after he'd finished but he convinced himself he could eat an adequate amount without going on to eat every bite.
"Same," said Harry.
"So," said Percy, smiling, as the door closed.
Harry sat, silent, working hard at keeping a neutral look on his face. He wasn't hostile toward Percy nor did he wish to be. On the other hand, they both knew Fudge was pulling out all the stops in an attempt to get Harry on board with a public denial of the rumors sweeping the magical population. Percy was a tile in that mosaic. Harry was another.
"Maybe we could begin," said Percy.
Harry thought he must have gotten tired of waiting. Perhaps he had a meeting scheduled with Cornelius Fudge. Perhaps Fudge wanted him back at the Ministry with news of a deal by two or three o'clock.
"Works for me," said Harry, picking up his cup.
"Let me just begin with assurances that no one, including the Minister, is asking you to lie, Harry," said Percy. "He asked me to make that absolutely crystal clear. Understand?"
"No," said Harry. "Your boss threatened me, in front of Professor Dumbledore. He asked for a statement from me, contradicting what I had said when the cup returned Cedric and me to the grandstand. He pointed out that I had disappeared and returned with another competitor, who was dead. His meaning was clear."
"Harry, the Minister has responsibilities. They are so much heavier than what we have to deal with," said Percy. "If You-Know-Who is back, it means war."
"Did he tell you that? Fudge?" asked Harry.
"No," said Percy.
There was a knock on the door and the server who'd taken their order stepped inside. Once she was in she snapped her fingers and two elves materialized with large plates of fish and chips.
"Something from the bar to go with that?" she asked, apparently oblivious to Harry's youthful looks.
"No, thank-you," Harry and Percy said together, and the young woman exited, closing the door behind her.
"No, the Minister didn't say if he's back it means war. He didn't have to. That's what was going on when he disappeared the last time and everyone ought to understand that is what is likely to happen again," said Percy. "Even if it is inevitable, it will take time to get the public's minds prepared. If he has to ask people to step up and choose a side that will take time. Some of our folks like the whole anti-muggle idea."
"True," said Harry. "I've been subjected to some of that, you'll recall."
"So why stir everything up again?" asked Percy. "What do you want?"
"Want?" asked Harry, making an effort to control his volume.
"What I WANT is to be anonymous, get my qualifications and get on with life," Harry said. "Pretty much what everyone wants at fourteen or fifteen. I would like to get away from the Dursleys and live on my own. Do the things people do, like play quidditch and travel. Not be a lightning rod who endangers everyone who is the least bit friendly toward me."
"How does that connect with spreading the rumors about him being back?" asked Percy. "I fail to see it. You just said you'd like to live a normal, quiet life."
"Knowing everything you know, do you see me living a normal, quiet life?" Harry asked.
Percy sat, pushing fried potato into a puddle of brown sauce with his fork.
"If you are right, and the fighting starts up again, you will need allies, Harry," said a barely-audible Percy. "The Minister's position is, if that is true, it will take time. Communications will have to be calibrated. People can only absorb so much at a time."
"I understand that," said Harry. "The Ministry should be taking steps right now. What do you think, Percy? Between us. I reported what I saw, what was done to Cedric and to me. Would those fit in with what you know of Voldemort?"
Percy sat, silent, taking a bite of fish, then one of potato, then a sip from his cup of tea. Something about his manner said Harry had his answer. It also appeared to Harry that Percy's own analysis would not divert him from his commitment to support the Minister no matter what.
"I think…" Percy began, clearly considering each word before he voiced it.
"I think it would be very wise of you to preserve good relations with the concerned Ministry departments, beginning with the Office of the Minister and continuing on down. Then, when the magical leadership is ready and all move together, the momentum of all will be working in concert. That will give us—and you—the greatest chance of success."
Harry sat, occasionally taking a bite of fish. It was his turn to consider his words.
"I gave my report to Dumbledore and the Minister," Harry said. "Everything just the way I remembered it."
Harry paused and scratched his cheek.
"Whether I Iied or told the truth, government ought to be working as one to figure out what is going on."
Percy didn't react. He stuck his fork in another chip.
"I'm listening, Percy," said Harry. "Who is working on this?"
"A response is being organized and you will see results in due time!" Percy insisted. "These things can take a while to gel. You're one person. It's no trouble for you to see something you don't understand and fly off to some conclusion. You aren't giving Minister Fudge a chance."
"Voldemort is one person," said Harry. "A smart lunatic with one idea—Kill Harry Potter. And it looks like I'm on my own."
"Harry…"
"No, don't bother, Percy," said Harry. "I get it. Thanks for lunch. Any time you want to do it again, just send me an owl."
With that, Harry stood up and left the private room, crossed the barroom and used the back entrance to Diagon Alley. He visited Gringotts for some funds and went on to Madam Malkins' to order his robes for the coming year, followed by a stop at Flourish and Blotts.
It was too early for a Hogwarts student to be shopping for the coming term's textbooks so the clerk looked a bit surprised when Harry walked up to the counter.
"Do you have a magical bonds section?" he asked. "It's a bit arcane, I know, but I thought I might get lucky."
"Not a section, no, but there are two or three titles that the experts cite the majority of the time. There's the Flamel, your own Professor Flitwick, and the Rowena Ravenclaw, although the Ravenclaw has a reputation."
"Reputation?" questioned Harry.
"Her writing," said the clerk. "Deadly dense to begin with then the archaic language. No one seems to want to take it on and bring it up to date. Here we are."
They had the Nicolas Flamel and the Flitwick in stock. Harry took them both, the Flamel for his acknowledged authority status for any subject upon which he cared to comment and the Flitwick because he thought Professor Flitwick deserved a payday.
Harry accepted the brown paper shopping bag the clerk handed over the counter. He'd rather have shrunk his purchases and carried them home with his pocket change but he was unsure if that amount of underage magic would get him involved with the authorities. On his own in London, with a bit of magical coinage in his pockets, Harry set out on a slow stroll through Diagon Alley.
He looked over the quidditch supplies, bought some of Hedwig's favorite owl treats and stopped at Twillfit and Tattings.
"Welcome, Mr. Potter," said the tailor behind the counter.
"Thank-you," Harry said. "The jacket I've been wearing…well, it doesn't fit."
He was supposed to have one Navy or black jacket to wear on occasions when a robe would be inappropriate. Harry ordered a Navy jacket with a Gryffindor house crest embroidered on the breast pocket. The tailor recorded Harry's measurements and assured him the piece would be ready in plenty of time to take delivery before September 1.
As much as he would have liked to stay in London, Harry was all out of business to transact, so he found an underground station and began the trek back to Little Whinging. He would have enjoyed opening one of his new books and reading about magical bonds but he knew he had to be careful in public. One random look from the wrong person could put a severe kink in the course of his remaining summer break.
Harry left the underground system at the last stop and proceeded by bus. The closest bus stop to the Dursley residence was located less than four blocks from the house. Harry was enjoying the quiet afternoon as he walked toward the Dursleys.' He thought how nice it would be if, someday, he could walk a similar walk, one that terminated at a place he could bring himself to call home.
'Great,' thought Harry.
He was passing the neighborhood playground when he noticed his cousin Dudley Dursley and Dudley's collection of miscreant friends hanging around. Harry had developed a reflexive response to the sight of Dudley. He regretted it. It would have made his life much more pleasant to speak civilly with Dudley and for Dudley to be, at minimum, tolerable in return. That wasn't meant to be just then, for Harry noticed Dudley noticing him and start walking his way.
His wand was in the waistband of his trousers. Harry let his forearm come close just for the comforting feel of the handle. Dudley was nearly there, walking steadily on the course that would intersect with Harry's.
"Dudley," Harry said, nodding.
He paused to let Dudley pass, if that was what he wanted to do. Harry knew that wasn't Dudley's purpose but he wasn't going to be the one to deviate.
"Need something? If not, I was headed to the house, and you've stopped, right where I need to walk," said Harry.
Dudley didn't answer. Instead, he and the others noticed the sky darkening, the electric feeling in the air, the sudden cooling in the middle of the hottest afternoon of the year.
Harry knew what was coming. He could have left his cousin behind and sprinted to the house on his own but some sense of duty compelled him to stay with Dudley and see him safely home. Shopping bag in his left hand, Harry grabbed Dudley's upper arm with his right, pushing him forward, urging him on.
"Run, Dudley!" Harry shouted. "Run!"
THE END