A/N- Hey guys. Sorry about the wait, I was waiting to get Word put back on my computer, but that's a long story, so for now, I'll have to do without.
After this chap, there's going to be a fight like every chapter. Hooray! I can't wait!
And I'm very proud of this first part. Like seriously, it sounds like I'm a different person!
Update 2/28/16: Just some minor changes, so no new content, although I did make the speech at the end a bit better.
Chapter 4- Allies
January 17th, 1996
St. Mungo's was too crowded. So much so that they had to set up a temporary field hospital at the Auror Office.
It hadn't been a big battle by any means—about six-hundred aurors and hit wizards against approximately the same number of death eaters—but the casualties had been appalling for both sides. Three hundred and fifty were dead on the light side and one hundred and fifty were badly wounded.
The death eater losses had been heavy as well—about one hundred and twenty dead and wounded and over two hundred captured (they were probably stunned)—though not near as bad as the light side.
In other words, it was a Pyrrhic victory, and even that was pushing it. But this was war, and wars are won in small steps right?
Harry couldn't grasp his mind around it. Such death and destruction, so many lives lost, over a piece of dirt.
The experience had been horrible for Harry. He had thought he had seen it all; had seen the worst of it. This proved he hadn't. The smoldering corpses; the smell of burnt flesh; it had made the situation more…real.
And he could not forget the woman—the one with the strange pink hair, whom he had given a promise, one he had failed at. He had completely forgotten about her; left her to die.
That's why he was here. To give a sort of apology, or even to beg for forgiveness. If she would even take it, that is.
Amelia had tracked her down; Nymphadora was her name. Nymphadora Tonks.
Harry followed after his fatigued, exhausted fiancée into one of the many rooms at the Auror Office. Various people ran to and fro and Harry swore that he noticed a few cameras stowed away in concealed pockets of robes. The media was quick.
The room—which was somewhat of an overstatement; it was technically a cubicle—held only three occupants when they entered the room.
The first occupant was a fair-haired man—with the weakest jawline he had ever seen, massive oval glasses that contained two brown eyes which were most likely usually bright—the smile crinkles on his face implied as much—and with a build that told the world that he could easily lift…fifty pounds. Not a very impressive man at all.
The second occupant was his auror acquaintance from earlier this morning. She was laid out on the makeshift bed—an office desk—with only the partial cover of a hospital gown to cover her modesty.
He noticed a tattoo on her shoulder—he noticed the man glance at it disapprovingly—of a bird of prey, maybe an eagle, with an accentuated 1 on it. The surprising part was when the eagle looked him straight in the eye and flapped his wings. He started; who knew that there was such a thing as a magical tattoo?
A melodious laugh—most likely brought on by his startlement—brought his attention to the third occupant of the room, who sat next to the rather unimpressive man. He was almost immediately put on guard, for it was very much like looking into a mirror, albeit a slightly distorted mirror. In place of his elegant violet eyes, there was a soft brown—and light brown as opposed to the deep black of his mother's that he had inherited.
Yet the face remained the same, although a small difference quickly caught Harry's eyes. The woman in front of him simply exuded a kindness that Bellatrix would be hard-pressed to copy. It was very unlikely that this was a death eater trap after all.
Nymphadora's face—which had taken a shocked expression at their entrance—quickly morphed into a warm, playful smile. One that simply drew you in and held you, until you had no choice but to have a high opinion of the castor—even if you had only met them once before.
Harry returned her radiant beam with one of his own; he hoped it didn't look to much like a grimace. He felt something stirring in his stomach when she gazed upon him with those brilliant smile and those shining, brown eyes—not romantically, mind you (not that Harry would know that anyways)—(hadn't she had green eyes before?) and he was quite taken aback by the feeling. He quickly put on an emotionless mask—one perfected in the fires of hell—better known as Azkaban.
"Mum, Dad—this is the one I was telling you about; the one who saved me," Nymphadora said excitedly to the other members in the room, who were now identified as her parents. He could definitely note some similarities to her mother.
The man stood to his feet and made his way over to the newcomers. He became clumsy and very nearly fell, but caught himself at the last moment. Even if he had been trying to be threatening with his act, it didn't help the overprotective dad figure he was trying to display.
He shook Harry's hand. They were soft—almost feminine—and felt like he had never done the slightest amount of labor in his life. Maybe he was an office type of man.
"Thank you," he said in a nasally, unsure voice. "I'm Edward Tonks, but my friends call me Ted." The way he said it made it obvious that he was asking for his name.
Harry almost told him that he was Potter; it was still rather difficult to remember considering he had been told he was Harry Potter since he was in Pre-K. But he was tired of being ashamed of his name—even though he had only had it for some twenty-four hours.
"Herakles Black," Harry replied, shaking the man's outstretched hand.
A gasp was heard from both female occupants of the room—Amelia had elected to stay outside—and Nymphadora even cried out, "I knew it!" whilst pointing a slender finger in his direction.
The woman was eyeing him curiously, but warily. Seemed she had a history with the Blacks.
Ted took several steps back and his hand was twitching as it moved slowly towards his forward left pocket, the outline of the wand clearly visible. At least, he hoped it was a wand.
"Now see here," Ted said stuttering, killing the threatening tone of voice that had been present for only a second, "We don't want any trouble..."
His speech was ended however, when the woman's hand materialized on her husband's shoulder. "Ted, he saved our daughter, remember?"
Next to Ted, she looked like a goddess come to earth. Ted had to have been a Slytherin; how else could such a man manage to snatch such a woman?
"So, Mr. Black, excuse me for my rudeness, but could I trouble you terribly for your father's name?" she asked, turning her warm, but piercing brown gaze to him. Just like a pureblood; asking for a father's name.
Harry entertained the idea of calling his father by his dysphemism, but thought better of it. He didn't need half of the aurors in the building trying to break down the door.
"Tom Riddle," Harry finally responded vigilantly. He wasn't sure how widespread the knowledge was, probably not very large at all, but it was better safe than sorry.
"Riddle?" she murmured to no one in particular, but Harry heard it anyways. He felt compelled to elaborate.
"My mother and father weren't married," Harry explained quickly, feeling his cheeks slightly glow at the insinuation.
"Ah," she said, her confusion only slightly abated, "and your mother is…?" Apparently, she was one of those who wouldn't stop asking questions until she had every drop of information. Harry always had a special place in his heart for inquisitive people.
Better to just get it over with. "Bellatrix Lestrange," he said. As soon as he said it, he grimaced. Something as simple and innocent as just saying her name left a bad taste in his mouth.
At first, she didn't answer. Only gazed at him with something akin to uncertainty and something else. Terror. "My sister," she murmured.
She backed away slowly, eventually falling back into her chair. Nymphadora looked between the two of them with mounting curiosity and a sort of naivety usually reserved for small children.
The reality of what Nymphadora's mother had said crashed into him. "You're my aunt?" Harry questioned, ashamed of his abruptness, but hoping for any sort of family that wasn't insane and out for his blood.
"Yes," she said warily, "apparently, I'm your aunt Andromeda—"
The words were barely out of her mouth when Harry lunged at her, slightly aggressive, but with a good purpose in mind. He pulled her into a crushing hug even as he felt two wands pointed at him from behind. But he didn't care; he was completely caught up in the moment, wanting to be given what he had been denied for so long.
He would never admit it, but when Nagnok had first said that there was a possibility that he might have different parents, he had hoped that he could have a family for once; one that didn't hate his guts for a reason he couldn't control. Even after he had been told what was basically his worst nightmare, he had held on to just a spark of hope that it was still possible.
Meeting his mother on the battlefield had proverbially opened his eyes. She didn't care for him at all; in fact, she was more than willing to kill him on her master's orders. She hated him—once again for something he could not control. It seemed like he was destined to live a lonely, sad life until his parents murdered him; until this little bit of light had flashed into his life. And he was not about to let it go.
He was crying, possibly even balling. Letting out all his emotions at once, like a raging storm tearing through his body, forcing out every drop of emotion he had kept bottled up for years. At some point during the exchange, Andromeda put her arms around him, hugging and shushing him.
Finally, the storm stopped, finally beginning to lose its power. Harry wanted to snuggle against his aunt; he'd never been as much as held as far as he could remember, but this was neither time nor place.
Harry awkwardly stood up and reoccupied his spot by the door. "Thank you," he said, starting to feel sheepish and embarrassed from his childish display.
There was a knock at the door and Amelia put her head through the slightly open door. "It's time to go home, Harry."
Harry wanted to protest; he'd only had five minutes. But protest was not an action he did often; no, he was always quickly punished for such a common conduct.
"Does he live with you then?" his newfound aunt asked, and with a thrill, Harry noticed the slightest ounce of protectiveness from his auntie.
"Yes…he is my…fiancé." She struggled so heavily to announce and sounded so ashamed at their soon-to-be-union that it sucked the happiness that Harry had recently been feeling right out of him. Was he really so deplorable?
Ted's eyes bugged comically out of his head (it was even more pronounced by his thick glasses). "But…you're like thirty!" he exclaimed.
"ITS NOT LIKE I APPROVE OF IT EITHER, FOUR-EYES!" Amelia roared and pulling out her wand, tried to hex him.
Andromeda quickly moved to protect her husband and blocked the offending hex. Both women glared at the other, both of their eyes blazing furiously. The staring match seemed to increase until Amelia finally growled out, "Come along, Harry."
Harry was quick to obey and gave a speedy wave as he teleported out the door. At least, it felt like it with the way he was moving. Amelia exited the room soon after he and grabbing his arm painfully, she apparated back to Bones Manor.
Susan was waiting for them, wand in hand, but relaxed when she saw who it was. "To bed," Amelia snarled causing both teens to rocket towards their rooms.
Sunlight had already broken through Harry's window; that would make it rather hard to sleep. Especially considering his adrenaline was still pumping. But it was best to give it a try; he didn't want Amelia stomping up the stairs. Just like the day before, he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
"Now that Mr. Fitzgerald has finally joined us," Dumbledore began, looking disapprovingly at the American delegation's lack of promptness, "we can get down to business."
"Yes, Dumbledore, I am curious to why you called us together," said an impatient Jean Delacour.
"We have a problem in Britain; a dark lord—one worse than Grindelwald—"
"Yes, we know of Tom Riddle," Fitzgerald snapped. "The question is, why hasn't he been taken care of?"
How had he known of Voldemort's identity? None of the other delegates looked surprised either, but that was for another time.
"His ideals match that of many in our country and his followers are well-armed and prepared—"
"And how is this our problem, Dumbledore?" Fitzgerald rudely interrupted. Where did this bigot get off thinking he could just interrupt the most powerful wizard in the world? Americans these days.
"Might I remind the Americans of the debt they owe us for helping the Revolution," Dumbledore replied sternly.
"Might I remind the British that these debts were more than payed against both Napoleon and Grindelwald," Fitzgerald said sneering.
"Nevertheless," Dumbledore continued conceding that point to the Americans, "Great Britain remains to be one of the most powerful wizarding nations in the world; not to mention the amount of trade we produce."
Those words had the desired effect on many in attendance and Dumbledore decided to drive home the point.
"We have come to you in many a time of need," he said, looking pointedly at the Finnish and Germans, "and now I stand before you, asking, nah, begging, for your support. For if we fall, how long before Voldemort extends his reign to your countries?"
"How many troops?" Fitzgerald finally said sighing heavily.
Dumbledore grinned in victory. "25,000."
"25,000!" the female Finnish delegate squealed comically. "That's unreasonable!"
"Or, he's not telling the full truth," Jean Delacour growled menacingly.
"The Americans have a mobile, standing army of over 30,000! And that's without a draft of any kind!" Dumbledore argued. Maybe he overstepped it a bit.
"Fine," he growled before any other could make their discontent known, "10,000."
"Look at this! Can't you see; he only wants power!" Jean Delacour cried out, standing abruptly. "You'll never receive help from France!" He stormed from the room and slammed the door.
After a pause, Fitzgerald finally spoke: "America will give 2,000 men. That's it."
"Finland shall give 150."
"India shall give 800."
It went on and on like this until the total number of forces reached the required 10,000. It was agreed upon that the troops would prepare and be ready for action at the end of the seventh month. Everything was going perfectly to plan.
Harry placed his fork, knife, and napkin on his half empty plate and mentally prepared himself for the coming battle. Another battle which probably a few tears would be spread.
"What're you doing?" Amelia asked, still eating her meal.
"I'm done."
"No you're not. You need to eat more if you want to get stronger," she said glaring.
"Well then let me cook; it'll be better than this rubbish," he finished with a murmur. Unfortunately, Amelia heard him.
"At least you're getting food!" she snapped viciously.
Once again, he hadn't done anything wrong and Amelia was getting mad at him! If it was any other person, Harry would've apologized profusely, but Amelia was pissing him off. He'd been here a week and he hadn't been shown an ounce of respect from her! Yes, he was a teenager, but even they deserve some sort of respect!
Of course, according to his fiancée, he was homicidal as well as suicidal. Amelia hadn't been thrilled to find him and Susan on the battlefield. She'd ranted about that for days.
"You need to build your strength back up." She did make a valid argument, but it wasn't going to work; this food, if you could even call it that, was complete rubbish.
Her urgings were akin to that of Mrs. Weasley and it did not improve his already sour mood.
He was tired of being stuck inside. The interior of the house was very nice; it simply exuded a well-cherished feeling of home. With its broad staircases and its symmetrical rooms, it was obviously built in the Elizabethan era, or with that period in mind. Getting around the house was slightly difficult for him because of his lack of movement in Azkaban, but he had managed to cover the entirety of the manor within a couple of days.
"Then let me cook! I've been doing it all my life, so I'm pretty good at it!"
"The elves just don't have very much experience is all! Stop being such a spoiled brat, Black!"
Instead of continuing the pointless argument, Harry stood up glaring and left the dining hall. Maybe he'd buy his own house—if he had enough money of course. Separated couples weren't that uncommon.
"I'm sure you've all been wondering what happened the other day that the ministry felt the need to cover up—"
"Yea — that sounds about right," interrupted the abrasive blonde in the front row, who just happened to be her best friend.
The news—though usually misleading—had been spot on in announcing that the ministry was covering up something. She herself had had the misfortune to be at said event.
It had made quite an uproar when a battered and bruised Amelia Bones led her equally bruised niece into the great hall last Tuesday and apologized for not getting Susan back on time. Susan had refused to comment on anything, that is, until now.
"On Tuesday, there was another death eater raid; this time on a muggle village," Susan announced, her usually sweet voice hardened with unrestrained anger.
Many of those in attendance gasped, whilst a few more were cynical. "And how would you know that?" one of the more cynical ones, or more like idiotic, Hermione Granger asked snootily.
"Because I was there, Granger." Susan was growling and she hadn't even meant to. The fact that Harry's friends were among the attendees was enraging to her.
Hermione's eyes widened unintentionally revealing her soul. It wasn't completely dark yet; there was a light at the end of the tunnel, but she would have to escape very soon to free herself from the captivating bounds of evil.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Susan gave a heavy sigh. "It was a bloodbath; the streets were literally slick with blood; it was awful. How me and Harry got out—"
"YOU'RE IN LEAGUE WITH HIM!" Ron shouted out maliciously before walking out the door. His sister, Ginny, followed after him after giving Susan a stern glare. Hermione was slightly more reluctant, but eventually, she left all the same.
Good riddance.
"Anyways, my auntie believes that the reason that the enemy found out about our attack is because of traitors within the ministry ranks—" a few murmurs of nervousness from the crowd and Susan continued, "and that leads us to what I'm here to say."
Susan told the crowd of Harry's master plan—well, it wasn't very long or complicated at all—and the cries of skepticism and confusion filled the stuffy, congested air of the long abandoned classroom.
"Make an army?" Hannah Abbott, Susan's blonde best friend, yelled into the myriad of voices, her's taking precedence momentarily, "that's absurd!"
Susan felt her temper rising. They were all a bunch a cowards; where was their sense of adventure? Of course there weren't very many Gryffindors in the crowd, so she really couldn't blame them for the reluctance on part of the majority.
She moved her wand to her throat and cast an amplifying charm. "QUIET!"
Everyone immediately quieted.
"Thank you. Now look, I understand your reluctance. You're scared," a few protests, "and so am I. You've all heard stories from your parents of the first war; it was absolutely horrid."
Susan continued on ferociously. "It won't be easy, that's for sure. But we're wizards; we can do anything we set our minds to if we just try!"
The few murmurs of agreement spurned her onward.
"I know we're just kids, I won't even lie and say it will be easy. For some of us, we'll be fighting our own family," she said, looking pointedly at Daphne Greengrass and the small group of Slytherins huddled away from the rest of the group in the back corner.
"But the Ministry continues to deny V-Voldemort's return and no one else seems to be doing anything. Our parents refuse to recognize the truth and soon he'll have control over everything; the very reality our parents fought to avoid years ago. But we have the knowledge, the skill, and the resolve to fight the Dark Lord, and win!"
The roar was tumultuous and unanimous and at first, Susan worried if her silencing charms would be enough, but it was soon overpowered by how easily they had just signed up for war. The poor souls had no clue what they were getting into and Susan felt cold feeling coming over her heart as she realized that she would be somewhat responsible for their deaths…
Sirius opened the safe, constantly looking over his shoulder. He'd become a bit more paranoid this week, always certain that the Order was going to find out. It wasn't like it had been anything bad or comprising to the Order's integrity by any means; no, it was mostly finding "beef" on everyone's favorite grandfatherly figure.
He'd also been looking into some of the giant and werewolf clans that Dumbledore was trying to recruit. None of them had a history of siding with the light. Now, maybe he was just getting cynical, but it seemed strange that two of Harry's professors—Remus and Hagrid—that had the most influence on Harry's life were away for so long on these impracticable missions.
It was time to meet Harry. Well…track him down that is. He'd been missing for a week by this point, and while many believed him dead, Sirius could feel in his heart that his godson was still alive. His condition however was another story.
He and Remus probably wouldn't be missed; the Order was in chaos right now. With the saviour missing and Dumbledore at the ICW, the organization had dissolved into pity rivalries over who was leader and the like. That was why Sirius was so nervous about him being caught; they would probably just kill him on the spot.
The last thing he had to do before he left his childhood home—which was of course the beehive for the Order—was located in this safe. Fortunately, it was still there after all these years. It looked to have aged well; of course, it was only a slender piece of wood.
From what he was told, it was made from both holly and oak wood by some crazy bastard in Germany for his aunt Druella. That was the story his mother had told him anyhow. She'd never told him of the wand core, but hopefully the wand would be compatible with Harry. His grandmother was a Black after all.
