It was colder in Scotland. Harry looked out reflexively from the window at his left, as fogged as it was. Hogsmeade had not changed much since the year, or so he had visited it last. Distant memories of Ron and Hermione pestering him to join them streamed his mind. Each memory was colored with a different shade of the sun and a different feel in the air. He remembered somehow ending up at the Three Broomsticks in every season he could think of, at the efforts of his two best friends. At some point, he thought, they had stopped inviting.
A slight sigh made him tear his eyes away from the window. It was the oddity of the sound that caught his attention. Harry did not think he had ever heard Rennon sigh.
His Deputy was staring into his drink, a modest glass of Nettle wine, his brown curls resembling amber in the evening light.
"I suppose it's a lot to take in," said Harry awkwardly, not actually supposing a bit of what he had just said. He did not think a proposal from Durmstrang and his own inclination to accept was anything out of the ordinary. It must have been unsettling, though, he thought reluctantly, for someone like Rennon, who had not been told anything at all about the events that led to it. As far as Rennon knew, Harry had never even applied to Hogwarts.
As far as he knew until today.
Rennon looked up slowly as if it was too much work to look into Harry's eyes. "I'm ..." he began. "Potter— why?"
Harry bit back a smile, wondering if this was how Ron had felt when Harry stormed into his office, not more than a week ago. He had to marvel at the change of mind and how easy it was to see things differently once he had calmed down. The edges around the word Durmstrang dissolved, and although Harry had not written to Lifnick yet, he was sure he would. He imagined most of the resolution was to do with what Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, and possibly Rennon, once he was accustomed to the idea, expected of him. Durmstrang looked far more rewarding than the Ministry in their eyes, and so, it was in Harry's.
A lifetime of doing what others expected of him, and it still wasn't enough. Harry gripped his own cup of gilly water and stared into its greyish depths.
"Teaching?" Rennon said again, incomprehensibly.
"Yes," replied Harry, not looking up, the word dragging out from fatigue.
Rennon swallowed, blinking at a spot on the table. His head shook slowly.
Harry had enough of it. "That drink has almost negative alcohol content," he said, "At this rate, you'll get drunk off your damn tap water, Rennon."
This drew out a chuckle from him, and his eyes focused on Harry. "I'm not drunk, Potter," he said, the life returning to his face.
What are you, then? Harry could not make himself ask, anxious about why it took so long for Rennon to agree, to give in to the idea. And see that, in all its absurdity, it was actually a good one.
"Well," started Rennon, his voice steady, "I don't reckon we ever met ... before you got a hold of that." He pointed with his chin at Harry's chest, where the badge glinted softly.
Harry frowned but nodded, unsure of where this was going.
"I was on the jury before they hired me for you," he went on, "I knew who you were, of course. And that you spent a good deal of time in Auror training," he paused, "the incident—"
Harry exhaled unconsciously, relieved that Rennon had not called it an accident.
"—they only told us," Rennon's eyebrows knitted together, "well, they told us next to nothing. Just that, it ended ... your training. The how's and why's were left to the Aurors, but ... I doubt anyone really knows what happened, Harry, other than you."
Harry looked down, feeling a distinct sting behind his eyes.
Rennon waved a hand dismissively. "Even though it was all ... classified, we picked a few things up, especially after we were informed you'd be joining us." His hand on the table briefly brushed against Harry's, who was surprised to find the touch not the least bit repulsive.
"See, we assumed—no, we were convinced, you'd just start training again in a month or so, I mean," he ran his hand through his curls, "what could possibly have happened ... that was so awful, you could never train again? We knew you were hurt pretty bad ... physically, but could it have done something to your brain? That's the kind of thing we ... "
Harry stared at him. Never before had someone debated over the incident in front of him so brutally, so casually. He could not decide if he was furious or unimaginably hurt. Some blend of both, he considered.
Rennon seemed to realize the impact of what he had just said.
"Shit," He said, leaning forward. His eyes were earnest. "That was ... too much. I'm sorry. I know we shouldn't even be ... talking about this."
"Yes," said Harry, his voice raw. Rennon's queries were innocent. Nothing suggested he meant anything ill. And yet, Harry found it difficult to let the conversation go on any longer.
"I'm just trying to tell you why it's so ... strange." he paused, "When Hawkworth hired you, Harry, it seemed— well, not perfect, of course, but ... it seemed natural. To move onto Law Enforcement, it's the next best thing ... if you couldn't be an Auror."
They were both quiet for a minute or two, tipping back the last of their drinks.
"But to think that you wanted to teach, all this time ... " Rennon shook his head, "Not that I hate the idea or think it's ridiculous or anything, but ... it just doesn't quite fit." He held up his glass, realized it was empty, then set it down with a sigh. "It doesn't fit in with what I know and think of you."
Harry thought of Amy Cree's words from what seemed like a decade ago, not out of place, but also didn't belong.
"You don't think it's ridiculous?" asked Harry.
"No," said Rennon, as if the thought had never crossed his mind.
"Then, what's the matter?"
"Don't you see, Harry? ... I thought we— I thought you were doing alright here. I thought all this was fine. For you."
Rennon looked out the window, his hair dark against the night sky. Harry wondered how long they had been here.
"What bothers me ... " continued Rennon, "is how I could have been so mistaken. For you to go ahead with Durmstrang of all places ... I never would've thought. "
"It's not that the Ministry isn't an absolute thrill, Rennon—" said Harry hastily.
"I know it's not, Potter." Rennon deadpanned, then broke slowly into a laugh. Harry joined him, despite himself.
"It's awful," said Rennon, "It sucks the bloody life out of you. But you and I ... we have it better, so much better, Harry." The laughter stopped. "I thought maybe you saw that—"
"I do."
"I know."
Their eyes met. Something occurred to Harry, then, and suddenly, he found it difficult to see much of a difference between Malfoy and himself. He found himself in a position many would have assumed him grateful to be in. He found himself struggling to accept that he had got what he deserved. That it was better than most, like Rennon had said. How different was a Vice-Chancellor to a Mail Handler, really? When they both left their posts the moment something better was offered to them? How different was attending hearings to pulling cardboard boxes with all your might when neither was the work you ever intended to spend your twenties in?
"If you go through with the Dursmtrang thing ... " said Rennon, pulling Harry out of his thoughts.
"You get this," replied Harry, gesturing to his chest.
Rennon did not eye Harry's badge, choosing instead to look straight at him.
"Huh," he said, "they might hold elections."
"I'll make sure they don't."
"You don't ... have to, Harry. I'm not exactly dying to be Hawkworth's little errand boy."
Harry wondered if the remark should have stung him, as close to the truth as it was. He found little feeling inside himself and instead clinked his empty cup against Rennon's.
"Yeah," said Rennon, his cheeks flushed, "I think I'll whole-heartedly ... admit to being drunk now."
They hunched over the table in silent laughter while the dark sky crinkled at their sides.
Ron gripped the back of his chair, too agitated to sit down. Harry looked over at him lazily from where he lay, close to the window.
"I think we—" said Ron, his eyes vivid, "I'm calling Hermione."
Harry laughed, but it stuck in his throat, ending in a rather painful cough. "Don't," he managed to choke out, "she's at Gringotts, I think. With Shacklebolt."
"I'm calling her."
Harry sat up slowly while Ron stuck his head in his fireplace, knowing it was foolish to argue. His chest was scarcely troubling him today, and before he could muse gleefully about whether he could make the rest of this month without stuffing his bloodstream with potions, he was reminded of the vials shoved into his blazer pocket, bought just last night. It appeared to Harry that these liquids would never break their hold on him. What if he moved far away, say, to Durmstrang? Could the pain that awoke him every morning, and intensified with each stressful encounter, actually only be geographical?
A turmoil of brown and green whizzed in the fireplace and steadied to reveal a slightly disheveled Hermione.
"What?" she blurted, clutching the sides of the mantle to push herself out, "what is it?"
Ron took a look at her pristine emerald robes and looked abashed at forcing her to abandon what was clearly a critical meeting.
Harry decided to put him out of his misery. "I wrote to Hawkworth," he told Hermione. "My resignation," he clarified when she frowned confusedly.
Hermione gripped the same chair, her hand touching Ron's. "Harry," she said, her voice heavy with a displeasure Harry did not understand, "you're aware of ... the case that's just been assigned to Hawkworth? And the rest of Law Enforcement?"
It was Harry's turn to frown. He had intended to ask her if she was aware. "One of us is Vice-Chancellor at Law Enforcement, Hermione," he said, "I was there when Brinley assigned it. Didn't Ron tell y—"
"Was Vice-Chancellor," Ron interrupted. "One of you was Vice-Chancellor, Harry. Who is it now? Don't tell me, Rennon?"
"I'll endorse him," said Harry determinedly.
Ron huffed and turned away. Hermione shut her eyes and almost followed him but stood in her place as Harry walked towards them both.
"What's the problem?" asked Harry. "Ron, weren't you the one who threw a fit when I almost turned down Lifnick? You of all people should be ecstatic—"
"And I would have been, Harry," said Ron, turning around suddenly, "if resigning at this point didn't look as though you were purposefully evading Malfoy's case."
Harry could think of nothing to say. How had this not occurred to him? He fell on the nearest chair, unable to speak.
"I suppose it could still ... work out," said Hermione tentatively after a few minutes of absolute silence. "Harry, you're sure Rennon will succeed you?"
"Positive," said Harry tonelessly.
"Then, did you write anything in your resignation to the effect of ... how you believe Rennon will do his utmost for the case?"
"No, nothing."
"Did you mention him at all? Or the case?"
"I said I'd make an endorsement if they held elections. Nothing more."
"That was extraordinarily stupid."
Harry looked up. There was hardly anything he could do now. Hawkworth would get his hands on Harry's resignation any moment, and Harry had already written to Lifnick the night before. Why had Rennon not expressed any concern regarding this in The Three Broomsticks? It was unlikely that it had not crossed his mind. Harry could not help but wonder if, despite his vastly friendly demeanor, Rennon secretly longed to be Vice-Chancellor and would not mention anything that might make Harry rethink his decision.
"When do you leave?" asked Ron quietly.
"Term at Durmstrang starts later in the year," said Hermione in a shaky voice before Harry could answer. "I believe Lifnick will visit him in a week or so."
Harry nodded. "I'm expected at Hogwarts," he said, "very soon. McGonagall told me he'll be there. You've met him, right, Hermione? Lifnick."
"I ... yes."
"What's he like?" asked Ron curiously.
She thought for a moment. "Well, don't expect the likes of Dumbledore, or even McGonagall for that matt—"
There was a slight knock on the door, followed by creaking.
Rennon entered the office, a plum blazer hung on his shoulder, the one Law Enforcement was required to wear on their way to criminal proceedings. Harry stood up quickly.
"Auror Weasley," Rennon greeted. "I apologize. The door was open. Madam Undersecretary," he added.
Hermione smiled at him warmly. "How are you, Charles?"
It was as if a Stunning Spell shot through Harry. There was something nauseatingly shocking about learning someone's first name after such a stretched-out period of knowing them. What would Rennon think, he thought, if he knew Harry had only now attached Charles to his person?
The greetings were over. Rennon turned to Harry. "Hawkworth looked through ... your letter," he began cautiously, glancing at Ron and Hermione.
"That's okay, Rennon," said Ron, his jaw clenched, "we know he resigned."
Rennon nodded. "He wasn't displeased. Said he only hoped it wouldn't be like the first time. He wishes you the best, Harry."
Harry gave a non-committal shrug, knowing Rennon had not come down to Ron's office to give him this trivial message. "What else?" he asked.
Rennon shifted on his feet. "Merlin, this is hard," he said exasperatedly. "He wants you to ... do something before he can call your term in office over."
Of course. Rennon did not have a way with words, but he had communicated enough. Hawkworth would undoubtedly ask something enormous of Harry, knowing he would oblige, deeming it to be the last thing he would ever do for Law Enforcement. Harry had known this was coming before Rennon had walked through Ron's door. He had known, he thought, while he was signing his resignation.
He did not probe Rennon further and waited patiently for the rest. His Deputy took his time, circling close to the window before he disclosed the task to Harry.
"We're leaving for Hogwarts," he said, his back turned to them all. "You're heading the party, as you're still in office for today, and we are directed to ... arrest Draco Malfoy."
Someone gasped on Harry's left. It sounded like Ron.
Hermione moved out from behind the table and walked towards Rennon. He turned around at the sound.
"Surely, that's overreaching," she said, her voice steady with reason, "he can't be arrested on sight!"
"Oh, they plan on interrogating him first," said Harry, anger flooding his brain. What was Hawkworth thinking? "Rennon's just smart enough to know ... that Malfoy won't talk."
"And so," said Rennon, his chest heaving with a sigh, "he comes with us."
"It's ridiculous!" seethed Hermione, moving closer to Rennon still. The green on her robes clashed amazingly with the plum on his. "Hawkworth can't ask this of Harry!"
Harry laughed bitterly.
"When Malfoy sues under my Act," continued Hermione, "Harry gets thrown to the wolves—"
"When Malfoy sues?"
"Of course he'll bloody sue," snapped Ron. "What on earth's Hawkworth thinking?" he asked, echoing Harry's sentiments. "Let's say Harry faces a week's worth of trials and gets off. How is he to teach at Durmstrang with that charge against him? It's sabotage!"
"It's revenge," said Harry slowly. He had never expected to resign without a fight. He had been thrown to the wolves, as Hermione had said, the day he had agreed to be Hawkworth's Vice-Chancellor. Law Enforcement was hardly a welcoming place. It wasn't like the Auror Office, where a disagreeable Head was the worst you had to deal with. Harry had to make the most of any Slytherin trait he possessed to survive a year and a half in these walls. He decided he could survive another day.
"Where's mine?" he asked Rennon, walking in between him and Hermione, "the blazer?"
"Harry, you can't possibly—" started Hermione.
"Except that," said Harry, cutting her off, "Hawkworth will send something worse my way if I turn this down."
"Wait," interjected Ron, "didn't we go over this at Brinley's meeting? Malfoy's not a free man. I don't even think he's allowed a wand. How are you arresting someone who's already convicted?"
"Yes," said Hermione, nodding frantically, "if he's sentenced to probation, you simply bring him in. I doubt you have to go there yourself, just send McGonagall an owl—"
"With all due respect, Miss Granger," started Rennon, "this isn't a matter of simple questioning. Malfoy's not just a suspect. He's accused thoroughly of concealing his father's whereabouts."
"All I intend to say," said Hermione, bristling, "is there is surely a better way to go about this than arresting a Hogwarts Professor at the premises of the school! The students, the staff, do they really need to witness this?"
Rennon wavered, pushing a hand through his hair. Harry thought he understood where Hermione's disapproval stemmed from.
"Do you think Hawkworth's going against your Act, Hermione?" asked Harry softly.
"He's dangerously close to it," she replied.
"Hang on," said Rennon, "Is this about the Tolerance Act 1999?"
Harry and Hermione nodded.
"It's always seemed strange to me," said Rennon, shaking his head, "why the text only entails to Death Eaters and their families. I'm not sure why you're surprised Malfoy's taking advantage of it."
"The git did take advantage of it," said Ron indignantly. "Why do you think he's on probation and not locked up in Azkaban like he bloody deserves?"
Hermione turned around slightly to place a hand on his shoulder. There was a pause in the discussion. Harry took the time to push his arms through the blazer Rennon had produced, his mind whizzing with what would follow if he went through with this troublesome task. Where was the sympathetic, middle-aged man that had locked eyes with Harry in the office upstairs the day of Amy Cree's final trial? It seemed as if Hawkworth, as Ron had put it, suspected Harry of evading Malfoy's case and so, had pushed him into a corner and assigned him something he could never back out of.
"My Act protects those affected by the war," Hermione said with a sigh, breaking the silence. "It doesn't give them special treatment. It's just a piece of paper they can use ... to shield themselves against the prejudices in the Wizarding World," she looked at Ron, "something we're still learning to do ourselves."
Ron lowered his eyes and leaned into her, the afternoon sun bright on his hair. There was little time for any more conversation.
Harry pulled out his wand and grabbed a quill off the nearest desk. "Do you mind, Ron?" he asked.
Ron took a while to answer. "No," he said at last, "go ahead."
Harry waved his hand over the quill, bewitching it into a Portkey. Rennon slid out his badge from an inside pocket and clipped it on his collar.
"Who are we taking along?" asked Harry.
Rennon smoothed his hair. "A search guard. I may have bickered with Hawkworth a little, so we wouldn't have to bring three."
Harry nodded appreciatively. "Listen," he said urgently, "I'll accompany the party, but I won't head it. That'll be you."
Rennon froze. Hermione inhaled sharply, her eyes narrowed.
"How come?" asked Rennon numbly.
"You're Acting Vice-Chancellor," said Hermione before Harry could answer.
Rennon's eyebrows furrowed. "And there's no objection to throwing me to the wolves, I suppose?" he asked, a hint of scorn in his voice.
"No," said Harry, "Malfoy's unlikely to sue you. And Hawkworth's unlikely to abandon you on the trials if you do get sued."
Ron gulped. "Blimey," he muttered.
"Also," Harry went on, "we're not arresting him on sight. I don't give a damn what Hawkworth's orders are. We're taking Malfoy's Probation Notice with us, and ... we're asking him to visit the Ministry for a revaluation."
"At his leisure?" asked Rennon sarcastically.
"Of course not," replied Harry. "Malfoy's not an idiot," he said, hating to admit it, "he'll know what we're really asking."
"What if he puts up a fight?" asked Ron.
Harry gave him a look. "It won't come to that," he said determinedly.
Rennon looked down, clearly uncomfortable. Harry despised putting him through this, and he hated Hawkworth for initiating it all.
"Harry might leave for the north," said Hermione shakily, "but we'll be here, Charles."
Harry vaguely registered how Hermione called Rennon by his first name to his face and by his last when he wasn't around.
"Yeah," said Ron, "Hermione might even revoke her Act for you."
Rennon laughed. Ron and Hermione visibly eased at the sound. Harry wondered what it was about Rennon's— he forced himself to think of the man as Charles. The name would take a while to stick, and Harry was afraid he would be somewhere else entirely when it finally did. He was afraid he would be left with only first and last names and not Rennon's voice, his curls, or his laugh on some dreadful morning in Durmstrang.
"Make no mistake, Rennon," said Harry, placing a hand on his Deputy's arm as the latter made to leave, "I feel downright terrible about this ... and I apologize."
"No worries, Potter," said Ren— Charles, holding Harry's gaze and leading him out the door, "At least when I'm left to fend for myself afterward, I'll be Vice-Chancellor."
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