Lo, my least popular fic makes a return, only a year and a half after the last update.
Man, that's bad. I am really sorry about that, but unfortunately this one- and Emerald and Argent I suppose- were not complying with me. However, I hope you can take this as a sign that I have not abandoned my HP fics, the schedule has just become even less reasonable than before. My deepest apologies.
As always, Harry Potter does not belong to me.
Vulpine strolled slowly along a Hogwarts corridor, deep in thought. He wasn't even sure where he was: he just liked to walk while he plotted. Usually he paced in circles, but in this case a long wander through the castle was just the ticket. Plans slid through his thoughts, mainly focused around the simple things. The easy things, like who he was going to kill during his holidays, which deaths he could make profitable and which would simply be for revenge. Which, in its own way, was a profit also, he supposed. Although…was killing Dolores Umbridge anything but an act of altruism? Vulpine didn't like altruism. Or at least, he didn't like having too much of it. Maybe he could convince someone to pay him to murder Umbridge and make it look like an accident? Food for thought. But regardless, he had somewhere to be. School finished tomorrow, he'd be heading back to Privet Drive even if only briefly, and this was the last chance in the year to talk to Greengrass. Vulpine didn't presume to know anything about her home conditions, but she hadn't a friend in Hogwarts other than him. He could at least suggest that she could write- he doubted that her pride would allow her to admit that he was her only friend, but he could try. He kept walking, unconsciously tracing the right path until he reached the Astronomy Tower. A cool breeze whipped through his hair as he leaned on the wall and waited patiently. Finally, he heard a soft creak as the door opened.
"It's taken you long-"
Vulpine never got to finish his sentence, as the figure coming through the door surged forward and rammed him into the wall, bending him back. A wand tip dug into his throat, a fist clenched in his robes holding him still. Vulpine froze.
"What do you think you're doing, Vulpine?"
Vulpine stared blankly at the girl he had been waiting for. The girl who was jamming a wand into his throat. The girl who should not have known his name.
"Greengrass? You're supposed to be dead." He said flatly. Pale blue eyes seemed to blaze, and the girl pressed him back further, the wand digging deeper. Vulpine cursed his scrawniness- even Greengrass was overpowering him physically- and found a well of defiance inside himself, the defiance that had driven him on for more years than he could count.
"Well, aren't you going to do it? Going to kill me?" he asked. Greengrass shook him slightly.
"Be quiet, Vulpine! I…I didn't come back in time to have to deal with you!"
Well, that clinched it. Not that he had any doubts to begin with, considering how differently Greengrass was acting.
"Nobody comes back in time specifically for me, it's almost hurtful. But you should still be dead, Greengrass, regardless of what Luna managed. Hermione told me you were dead."
"Granger? What would she…of course she would know. Of course she would think so." Greengrass half muttered. Vulpine neglected to say anything more, given that the wand was actually starting to hurt, but something boiled in his stomach, some frustration. Vulpine recognised it as impatience and wondered what sort of person he had to be, to be more willing to actually die than to wait.
"Y'know," he started, conversational, "If you're actually going to kill me then this is a good choice. Nobody knows I'm here. Nobody knows that you are here. Kill me, and then drop my body over the wall. Looks like accident or suicide, and you get away scot-free. It's nice to know that at least some of the Resistance have good taste in, ah, getting rid of people."
Greengrass turned her eyes back to his, but she seemed a little uncertain.
"What?"
"I said, you have good taste in murder locations." Vulpine repeated, smiling at her. Greengrass set her jaw, shaking her head. The wand briefly pressed deeper and then she snarled incoherently and turned sharply away.
"Damn you, Vulpine. Damn you. This is all your fault."
Vulpine leaned against the wall. He could have drawn his own wand and escalated into a fight, but he instead elected to gently massage his throat and wait.
"Is it? I don't mean to be rude, but you'll have to be more specific before I start accepting responsibility."
Greengrass turned back to him, and he saw the conflict in her expression.
"You're making it hard to kill you, Vulpine." She said coldly. Vulpine blinked, honestly surprised.
"Excuse me?"
"You're making it hard to kill you. Are you deaf?"
Vulpine let a smile cross his face at the response.
"Oh. Oh my. Planning to kill me after all, Daphne? And why would I be making it difficult…ah. Ah, of course. It's a lot harder to kill someone who's spent time being a friend, isn't it? Believe me, I know that."
Vulpine let his smile fade at the end of the sentence. To be entirely honest, he wasn't fond of keeping it up, and besides that it would give the wrong message. Greengrass turned back, still looking conflicted. Vulpine wondered who he had killed who was important to her. He didn't think she knew about her sister, there wasn't enough anger for that, but he couldn't think who else she might have cared about. Well, there was one easy way to find out.
"So, who was it?" he asked, fully aware that Greengrass still had him at a disadvantage. He might be able to draw his wand before she attacked, but he doubted it. Odds that she could cast something like a Killing Curse were low, but a Blasting Curse was a lot easier and evisceration killed just as much as having your soul torn away. It was just slower. Still, Vulpine liked to live dangerously and at least if she decided to kill him he'd know the reason.
"Hannah." Greengrass finally said, her voice low and almost a snarl. Vulpine narrowed his eyes.
"Hannah? Hannah Abbot?"
"Yes." She growled. Vulpine blinked, a little confused. He remembered Hannah Abbot, if only vaguely, but he wasn't sure why she would be a reason for Greengrass to hate him. He had never done anything to the girl. If anything, he had expected that Greengrass had found out about her little sister Astoria. Family vengeance was a classic motive.
"I don't suppose that you could elaborate?" he asked, warily polite. Greengrass turned back, her free fist clenched in anger and her fingers white around her wand.
"She had two little brothers and a family." Greengrass said abruptly. Vulpine waited patiently as she continued.
"One of her brothers and her mother were at home one day, before they fled, and a group of Death Eaters came by. They accused them of being muggle lovers, rebels."
Vulpine let his frown go as he understood. It wasn't an unusual story, but it never ended well.
"Hannah got home to find her little brother dead. Her mother died in her arms."
Vulpine filled in the blanks himself. The Death Eaters- well, he supposed that they would have called themselves Enforcers at that point- were not particularly merciful.
"It took Hannah a long time, but she found out who lead the Death Eaters that killed her family. The Resistance was going after him, so she begged me to let her take my place on the team. Polyjuice. Not hard. But then…then they ran into you."
Vulpine remembered. It was vague, memories awash with rage and hate, but he remembered the curses and the spells, remembered turning and casting on instinct and the flaying curse hitting someone he hadn't recognised. A faint grimace touched his expression, but he knew that it couldn't be seen with him leaning against the wall, partly shadowed.
"And then…then she was dead. But she still had a family. Her father was dead, killed by Death Eaters a year after his wife, but she had a little brother and she had friends and I didn't have anything."
"And it was easier to pretend." Vulpine filled in quietly. Greengrass nodded, slowly and tiredly.
"I pretended. As best I could. And then, just after you and Granger had gone through the portal, I found Lovegood. She was dying, told me I could go as well, just not as far. But I thought I'd have more chance jumping through the gate than trying my luck with the Enforcers."
"But you arrived later than Hermione and I did." Vulpine mused.
"And since you arrived later, that means…what about your memories?"
"My memories?"
"Yes, your memories. Are they the same? Did you suddenly appear and have to deal with meeting me, or did your memories change to reflect the actions Hermione and I have taken?" Vulpine pressed. Greengrass scowled at him.
"Yes." She snapped. Vulpine blinked and quashed a sudden and somewhat inappropriate urge to laugh.
"Yes?"
"Yes, I had to deal with you suddenly hanging around me. And yes, I remembered all those changes, like you suddenly hanging around me. And believe me it was creepy." Greengrass growled.
Now that was interesting. It gave some credence to his fledgling- very fledgling- theory that there hadn't been any kind of soul displacement but rather a merger. And that rather nicely explained where a good chunk of his ruthlessness had gone, plus why Hermione seemed much less hostile to him than he expected. Interesting. Very interesting.
And then Vulpine's mind caught up to the last part of Greengrass' sentence and he spluttered.
"Creepy?" he demanded, offended. Greengrass eyed him with disdain.
"You're a serial killer- not to mention twenty-three years old- who's hanging around a thirteen year old, Vulpine. I think that makes my statement quite self-explanatory."
"What-but I'm physically thirteen! I live in a boarding school, I hardly have any other options!" he protested, choosing to ignore the serial killer comment for now. It wasn't as though he could actually argue it. She gave him a withering look, causing him to scowl back.
"Would you have preferred that I leave you to your misery and loneliness?" he sniped, irritated. She gave him a level, cold look.
"And there it is. Just as I thought that you might actually have regained some of that spark you had back when you could be called a hero, you go and demonstrate that you're just as petty and cruel as ever. Have you been saving that one for a time just like this?"
Vulpine scoffed at her.
"Guilt tripping, Greengrass? I'm a little too old for that. You want to know the truth? Hermione reminded me about you, about killing who I thought was you. But that's not why I'm here. I met you by coincidence, and I thought that maybe I'd do a good deed. Maybe I'd actually try to practice what Dumbledore preaches and befriend someone who might be an enemy, try to make sure that they don't turn away into darkness, try and remind you that Slytherin and its biases aren't everything. But if you want to see evil in anything I do? Then do so. It makes no difference to me."
Vulpine was, perhaps, not quite telling the truth. On some basic level he was aware of it, but he was long since an expert at lying to himself. Greengrass glared at him through narrowed eyes, her wand inching up to point at his chest.
"It makes no difference, hmm? After that pontificating about doing a good deed, you're going to pretend you don't care? Except you aren't pretending. You really don't care, do you? You were doing it for your own amusement. You really are a monster."
This time Vulpine didn't grin in the face of the threat. Instead he gritted his teeth, forcing back a wave of bitterness that suddenly rose in him.
"Threats again? You'll have to try harder, Daphne. You wouldn't do it. After all, Voldemort is still alive. Kill me and you invalidate your whole reason for returning."
The wand wavered just a fraction. Vulpine met her eyes, no longer smiling.
"You aren't the only one who matters, Vulpine. Voldemort is just a man."
"Is that so? Then what about the prophecy? Am I not the Chosen One? Did I not fulfil my destiny as was foretold?" he asked, spreading his arms.
"Fulfil your destiny? You turned to Dark Magic! You became nearly as bad as Voldemort! How can you call that fulfilling your destiny as Chosen One?" Daphne spat. Vulpine shrugged, offering a slight smile.
"The Prophecy did not call for me to save the world. Only defeat Voldemort."
A flash of uncertainty in her eyes, masked almost immediately with anger. Vulpine knew that he should probably take advantage of that, but he was tired. He simply couldn't find it in himself to continue with manipulations and lies to someone who was almost a friend.
"But if you want the truth, it didn't even call for that. Depending on interpretation, of course… neither shall live while the other survives, I think it is. One must kill the other, as Dumbledore saw it, though you could always interpret it as a symbiosis. One of us must die before the other can fall. Or the whole thing could be an idiocy that only came true because wizards believed it. If either of those are the case, you could say that you're doing the right thing in killing me. And there's always Neville, after all, a backup Chosen One."
Do you think the boy we have now could measure up to the man disaster forged him into, Vulpine almost asked, but it wasn't the time. A pointless pondering. Daphne was looking straight at him, her wand steady. Vulpine met her eyes.
"You really believe it, don't you? That it wouldn't matter." She said. Vulpine shrugged again.
"I never went after Voldemort because I was supposedly prophesied to be his downfall. I killed him because he killed my parents. Because his minions killed my godfather, my friends, even Dumbledore. Because he would have never stopped hunting me. I suppose you could say that I killed him out of selfishness."
"So if he had never done anything to you, you would have left him to do whatever he wanted?" she asked. Vulpine frowned slightly, considering that.
"I don't know, Greengrass. He was a monster regardless of what he did to me. I'd like to think that I would have fought him regardless: after all, a tyranny of the mad would be terrible for business in the long run. But who can say what sort of person I might have become if my parents hadn't been killed."
"Hmph. More deflections and smiling lies." She said, softly, almost to herself. Vulpine forbore from pointing out that he wasn't smiling, even if only barely.
"I want the truth. Did you really befriend me- the me in the past- because it amused you, or was it really because you felt guilty?" she eventually said. Vulpine kept his eyes on hers.
"Contrary to popular opinion, I do feel guilt. And I suppose you could say that I wasn't in my right mind when I killed who I thought was you, and it preyed on my mind once I was reminded of it. I might be a monster, but I like to think I'm not a complete one."
The wand had gone down again and Vulpine backed away, two steps before he was at the stair doorway and turning.
"I didn't befriend you because I thought it would be amusing. I did it because- well, I suppose I did it because I remember what it's like to seemingly have the world against you. Several years here have seen to that."
"You might be lying to me, even now." Daphne said, though she sounded unconvinced and her wand was by her side, pointing down. Vulpine gave her a brief smile before he turned entirely.
"I could be. But am I? And, more importantly, do you believe I am? That's a question you'll have to answer for yourself. I'll see you next year, Daphne."
He began to walk away but found time to throw one final comment over his shoulder.
"Do write, Greengrass. I wouldn't want to fall out of touch with a friend over the summer."
Vulpine found himself surprisingly melancholic that afternoon, sat in an armchair in the Gryffindor common room and staring at the ashes of the unlit fire. It was a warm day outside and the common room was almost deserted- he found it suited his mood. He didn't look up as footsteps descended the stairs and walked over to him.
"Harry? What are you doing sat in here?" Hermione asked. Vulpine tilted his head back to meet her gaze, shrugging.
"Thinking." He replied, a little vaguely. Hermione rolled her eyes and made a quiet huffing noise.
"I can see that, Harry. What are you thinking about?"
"Just…that it's going to be a pity to leave here again. Oh, I know that I'll be back next year, but somehow it feels different. Even more different than usual." He said, shrugging. Hermione sat in the chair opposite him.
"You know, didn't Voldemort say that Hogwarts was the only place he ever thought of as home?" she said. Vulpine waved a hand.
"More than once, I think. Maybe in the interview for a Professor position that he had with Dumbledore? That reminds me, maybe I should find a way to break that curse."
"You don't seem very enthusiastic about that." Hermione noted. Vulpine shifted in his seat.
"It's hard to be enthusiastic about something that I'm fairly sure is impossible. I've no idea what the spell is, how he cast it, how it's being maintained, anything like that. And I'm pretty sure Dumbledore would have broken it already if it was easy. Whatever else I can say about him, he takes his teachers seriously."
Hermione nodded in agreement.
"Wait. The last time, Professor Snape outed Professor Lupin. So what about this time?"
Vulpine snapped his fingers.
"Yes! That's what I was trying to remember! Come on, let's go and visit Lupin. See if he's going to try and hang on. Hey, that might even be what breaks the curse. Could just end if someone makes it a whole year."
"I've never heard of any curse that acts like that." Hermione argued as they stood, Vulpine leading the way towards the door.
"No, me neither. But that doesn't mean that they don't exist."
He could feel the incredulous stare that Hermione was giving his back but chose to ignore it as they walked along. He had managed to shed his melancholy mood and nothing was going to put him back in it. Well, unless Sirius had managed to fall off Buckbeak and break his neck, or they walked in on Snape cutting Lupin up for parts. But, within reason, there was nothing that was going to put him back into a bad mood.
Vulpine and Hermione walked into Lupins office without even so much as a knock. Vulpine almost hit the man with the door as he flung it open, deciding not to give Lupin any time to deflect.
"Packing already?" he asked as he breezed in, Hermione close behind. Lupin looked up from the glass case that he was heaving across the room, a wan, wry smile crossing his face.
"Well, yes. It seems that Professor Snape, in his disappointment over Sirius' escape, made a few comments in the Slytherin Common Room that were rather easily interpreted."
"The bastard outed you, you mean." Vulpine said, walking over to the window. Lupin made a non-committal noise from behind him.
"Well, I suppose. Nonetheless I've no doubt that soon angry letters will be flooding in, lambasting Dumbledore for hiring a 'Dark Creature' as a teacher and threatening to withdraw their children. I'm not more important than the school."
"Anyone stupid enough to take their child away from a good teacher doesn't deserve what they get." Vulpine grumbled. He turned, the sunlight falling on his back as he faced Lupin and Hermione.
"Harry is right. You're easily the best Defence teacher we've had and you've never shown any sort of danger, it's stupid to condemn you because of something you can't control." Hermione said angrily. Lupin smiled sadly.
"I appreciate the thought, Hermione, but I can't agree with you. Just last night, I left my room without thinking or taking my Wolfsbane potion. If you hadn't reminded me and made me stay behind I could have run wild on the grounds, attacked one of you or someone else…really I'm just a mons-"
Vulpine kicked the door shut, his good mood soured despite his earlier resolution.
"Don't be an idiot." He snapped. Lupin looked surprised, as did Hermione.
"Don't give me that 'but I'm a monster' crap. I've heard it before and I'm sick of it. All you have is a disease. It doesn't make you anything but human."
Lupin opened his mouth but Vulpine cut him off with a slashing motion of his hand.
"You think you're a monster because, once a month, you turn into a wolf and might hurt someone? Lupin, you're a wizard. You carry a deadly weapon with you at all times and all it would take is one moment of anger when you snap and you could kill, maim, torture someone. That doesn't make you a monster. You know what does? Choice. Greyback is a monster because he chooses to go out and find kids to prey on, because he loves the taste of human flesh. Voldemort is a monster because he kills when he likes, as he likes, with no thought to anything but his own desires. What you are doesn't make you a monster. Who you are does that."
Vulpine turned away angrily, pacing restlessly. Hermione cleared her throat.
"Harry is right, Professor. If you were a monster you wouldn't take Wolfsbane potion every month to try and control yourself and you wouldn't be willing to endure the pain of transforming alone and trapped in the Shrieking Shack, when you were a student here. I'm not telling you that you should smile and accept being a werewolf, but you shouldn't allow it to define you either."
A moment of something indefinable crossed Hermione's face.
"I don't want to think we're pressuring you to be different. But we're your friends, Professor, and we don't want to see you punishing yourself for something that isn't your fault."
The door creaked gently as it opened. Vulpine turned on his heel, fingers twitching for his wand almost automatically, but stopped as he saw Dumbledore enter. The old man wore a gentle smile.
"Mr Potter, Miss Granger, ten points apiece for something that was rather well said. It is true, Remus, that a great many of the students will miss you."
Lupin, still wearing a sad smile, turned to them all.
"No, Albus. Your words are very kind but I cannot, in good conscience, remain here and damage the school. I shall survive, as I always have."
Vulpine shook his head, turning back to the window. Much as he recognised that Snape was more or less on their side, he still despised the man. A petty bully who could never let go of a grudge. Vulpine wasn't stupid enough to think that the Marauders hadn't been vicious to Snape when they had all been students, but he knew that it had been far from one sided. And considering that one Marauder was dead, one a fugitive, one thought dead and the last ostracized and shunned…Vulpine wondered what Snape would consider 'enough'.
"You know, back in Seventh Year, before we went on the Horcrux hunt, you came to Grimmauld Place and told me that you wanted to come with us. Said that it was only right." He said, turning to catch Lupins eye.
"And then, when I asked why you wanted to come with us, why you weren't at home with your wife and newly born child, you told me that it was a mistake. That you didn't deserve them and that you would be making things better by abandoning them. You can maybe imagine how that went down with an orphan whose guardians were, shall we say, less than ideal."
"Somehow I can't imagine that you were pleased." Lupin admitted.
"That's one way to put it, I suppose. As I recall things got rather heated. Words were exchanged, insults were thrown…I'm fairly sure that in the end you threw me across the room and left in a rage. And that was the last time we ever spoke to one another. I've always regretted that a little- not saying it, but that I never had the chance to apologise."
Hermione huffed quietly. Vulpine offered her a brief, faint smile before he continued.
"My point is- well, to belabour the point a little, you have friends, Remus. Don't get too caught up in the past."
There was quiet for a long moment before Lupin spoke again, hesitantly.
"I was married?" he asked. Vulpine sent a glance to Hermione, eyebrow raised. She gave him a slight frown but answered.
"Happily." She said. She seemed conflicted on whether or not to continue so Vulpine intervened.
"But we aren't going to tell you who it was. Better to let things play out naturally when it comes to romance." He said cheerily. Hermione shrugged and nodded. Lupin frowned but seemed to acquiesce to the reasoning for the moment, though there was clearly something else that he wanted to ask. He licked dry lips before posing the next question.
"You said that you never spoke to me again after we argued. I assume that the implication is, well, that I died. Would you mind telling me…how?"
Vulpine folded his arms and set his jaw, waiting. Hermione briefly seemed conflicted again, shrugging.
"As far as we know, you were killed by Rodolphus Lestrange. We weren't sure when…your wife went into hiding with your son, we just heard that you had stayed behind to hold off the Death Eaters. We didn't know who had landed the final blow until Rodolphus Lestrange turned up one day, hanging from a building in Diagon Alley."
Hermione turned her head to send a significant look towards Vulpine, one that he knew the other two hadn't missed.
"And he had the name of every victim of his carved into his skin."
Vulpine didn't miss the faint expression of distaste that Lupin wore. Dumbledore was a little harder to read, but there was disapproval there, he just knew it.
"That was a hard spell to come up with. But I thought it was fitting…an endless testament to his sins. Wasn't quite expecting that many, though. Not a pleasant way to go, but I thought it suitable. He was a…reprehensible man." He said, shrugging. He wasn't lying. Rodolphus had really annoyed him.
"There were quite a few Death Eaters after you, but Rodolphus was the one to get the killing blow. Not that I knew he was the one to do it before I caught up with him." He explained. Lupin was a little pale and Vulpine hoped that he didn't ask for specifics. The death had been quite heroic…and as such, bloody. The Killing Curse had merely been the finishing blow. Vulpine shook his head, suddenly clapping his hands and smiling widely.
"Well, that brought the mood down a great deal. Cheer up, we aren't dead yet." He said, brightly. Lupin offered a slightly wan smile, Dumbledore giving a brighter one. Hermione just rolled her eyes.
"Actually, Mr Potter, I had hoped to speak you and Miss Granger regarding the upcoming school year. If you would be so kind, perhaps we should adjourn to my office. Remus, you are welcome to come if you wish."
Lupin smiled.
"Ah, that's very kind of you Albus, but I had better finish packing. There is no need to linger, I'd think."
Dumbledore gave the man a solemn nod. Hermione and Vulpine paused for a moment to offer their final goodbyes and commiserations before following the Headmaster to his office. Once there he settled behind his desk and gestured them to chairs, a familiar twinkle in his eye. Vulpine considered swearing at him but ultimately decided that it probably wasn't worth it. He did notice, however, that the Gaunt family ring lay on the desk in two pieces. He briefly wondered if the Resurrection Stone was still intact before forcing the thought from his mind. Even if it was, the person- persons- he would want to talk to were no longer dead. At least, he presumed so. If that wasn't the case then this little bout of time travel must be causing chaos in the afterlife. Assuming there was an afterlife and the Resurrection Stone wasn't simply a hallucination causing artefact.
Vulpine forced himself away from the tangent before he sank too deeply into it. Some questions were best left unanswered.
"What did you want to ask, Headmaster?" he asked, already tired of the thoughtful silence. He could be impatient sometimes, he would freely admit. Dumbledore gave him a measured look.
"I must admit, Mr Potter, when Miss Granger told me of you and what you had done in the future…I felt ashamed. Ashamed that I had failed you. And when I found that you had been able to travel back as well, I was most concerned. I made sure to keep a very close eye on you, for your actions, as I heard them, were rather alarming. And yet, it would appear that you have not nearly lived up to the, murderousness, shall we say, of your reputation."
That wasn't really a question. Nevertheless, Vulpine understood the point that Dumbledore was driving at.
"You're wondering why I haven't been rampaging around killing at maiming at whim, or why I haven't been extra sneaky and killed people without you having a way to prevent it." He summarised. Dumbledore simply looked at him, gaze level over those half-moon glasses. Vulpine held the gaze briefly before turning his head away, shrugging.
"Well, if you think about it the answer's simple. There just isn't any need for it. All of my schoolmates- heh. That's all they are. Schoolkids. Can't say that I believe in the sins of the father. If they grow up to be the men and women they were then maybe I'll reconsider, but for now? And anyway, I'm not just a murder. I'm an assassin. I need reasons. And I don't see anyone lining up to pay me for a murder."
Of course, personal spite was also a perfectly valid reason to kill. It was just that the only people he really held any personal spite towards were important to eventually killing Voldemort again and ridding himself of that onerous duty, and Vulpine was pragmatic enough to want that to be as easy as possible.
"It may surprise you to learn this, but that does not entirely reassure me." Dumbledore said, quite dryly. Vulpine offered him a shrug.
"I am what I am. Besides, I don't think your method of dealing with Voldemort and his boys has worked all that well. Maybe you should let me try."
Dumbledore frowned slightly and Vulpine could already see the refusal coming before, wonder of wonders, Hermione intervened on his behalf.
"With all respect, Professor, Harry might be right." She said quietly. Dumbledore directed his piercing gaze to her, causing her to shift a little in her seat but remain steadfast.
"Your attempts to redeem the Death Eaters and draw their children away from the Dark Arts is commendable, but it hasn't been successful. The only real success was Snape- assuming he was a success- and maybe Draco Malfoy."
Vulpine scoffed, none too quietly.
"Draco was just a coward who didn't have the balls to make a kill. He was just as cruel as the rest otherwise." He commented, somewhat crudely. Hermione made a hushing gesture towards him.
"All I am saying, Professor, is that the older Death Eaters- the ones who have ensconced themselves into the government, who have shown no signs of abandoning their old ways- must be dealt with. With those examples gone, perhaps the younger ones will change their ways."
"Or maybe dear Draco will just hide his predilections until, twenty years from now, a bit of muggle-baiting goes wrong and I find all about what he's been doing when he hires someone to kill the poor muggle and her half-blood baby." Vulpine said, shrugging when Dumbledore and Hermione both turned frowns onto him.
"Love Potions and Memory Charms are a hell of a combination." He said flatly, getting a wince out of Hermione. Dumbledore was less reactive, but the cheery twinkle in the mans eye dimmed a little.
"Regardless, this conversation isn't really going to go anywhere. You wanted something else, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore nodded slowly. He leaned down slightly- Vulpine heard a drawer open- before bringing his hand up and placing a familiar diadem upon the desk.
"Ravenclaws Diadem." Vulpine acknowledged, shrugging.
"One of the Horcruxes. Though I note that you haven't destroyed it."
"I have been attempting, through study of this object, to find a way to remove the soul fragment without damaging the container."
"So that you can reclaim all the historically priceless artefacts that Voldemort has corrupted?" Vulpine asked. Dumbledore gave him a benevolent smile.
"That too, of course."
Oh. Oh, so that was it. Vulpine shrugged, insouciant.
"If you think you can, Headmaster. I can't claim your genius, after all."
That said, Vulpine was reasonably sure that his willingness to take forays into the darker side of magic made up for the difference in intelligence and experience. And if not, well it couldn't hurt.
"I am pleased to have your blessing, Harry." Dumbledore said, smiling. Was that sarcasm? That might actually have been sarcasm. Vulpine was hard pressed not to smile. Hermione cleared her throat.
"You called us here to ask about the events of the next year, in our timeline, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore looked surprised for a moment, as though he had forgotten.
"Oh, Yes, of course. If you would, Miss Granger?"
Hermione frowned. Vulpine simply leaned back in his chair and waited.
"I don't know all of it- but I do know most." She said quietly. She shook her head, the frown smoothing from her features.
"I suppose it started with the escape of Pettigrew. He fled, making his way to the forests of Albania where, rumour had it, Voldemort was to be found.
"Either that or he was just running to somewhere that conveniently has a government hostile to the British Ministry and highly tolerant of dark wizards." Vulpine interjected. Hermione took his interruption in stride, simply waiting for him to finish before continuing.
"Either way, he was able to find where Voldemort hid. Along the way he accidentally encountered a woman from the Ministry who was present on holiday- though I can't recall her name…"
"Bertha Jorkins." Vulpine supplied. Hermione nodded to him before she continued.
"Bertha Jorkins. Pettigrew was able to overcome her and take her to his Master, as something of a peace offering I suppose. Voldemort racked her mind for information, torturing her extensively until he broke a Memory Charm that had been placed upon her and found that, contrary to rumour, one of his most loyal servants was not dead in Azkaban."
Hermione paused for a breath. Vulpine glanced at Dumbledore and saw the intrigue in the headmasters eyes.
"As it turned out," Hermione continued, "Barty Crouch Junior had not died in Azkaban. At the pleading of his wife, Crouch Senior devised a way to enter the prison, switch his dying wife for his son and leave. One final act for the love of his life, though he then proceeded to place his son under the Imperius and force him to remain in their house for the years that followed."
"Conveniently," Vulpine said, "Jorkins stumbled over this fact one day and confronted Crouch over it. He put her under a memory charm so powerful that, from the sounds of it, she was brain damaged. Nevertheless, once Voldemort was finished torturing her the charm had been broken and Voldemort knew where to find a fanatical and capable servant. Not to say that Pettigrew can't be dangerous, but he's something of a coward and not exactly dedicated to Voldemort's cause."
"Having freed Crouch Junior and placed Crouch Senior under the Imperius, Voldemort learned about the Triwizard tournament. In addition, Voldemort learned that Alastor Moody was going to be the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, so Pettigrew and Crouch ambushed Moody. Crouch spent the year impersonating Moody, mainly so that he could enter Harry into the Triwizard Tournament." Hermione concluded. She turned to Vulpine, obviously waiting for him to tell the rest of the story. Vulpine sighed.
"I was entered into the tournament. After a bit of school-wide ostracization and various shenanigans I, aided and abetted by Crouch, made it to the Triwizard Cup, alongside Cedric Diggory. The Cup turned out to be a portkey. Pettigrew killed Cedric, used me in a ritual to give Voldemort his body back. That done, Voldemort called his Death Eaters and, after they had all come crawling back, forced me to duel him."
Vulpine gave a brief, sharp grin.
"As you can probably imagine I was at something of a disadvantage. Still, I was saved when two of our spells collided. Brother wands, after all…"
"Priori Incantatem. The reverse spell effect?" Dumbledore said quietly. Vulpine nodded.
"Only the big things, not as detailed as the spell version. But out they came, echoes of Voldemorts victims- or the victims of his wand, anyway. Cedric. Jorkins, some old man Voldemort had killed not long ago. And- well, my parents. They shielded me while I broke the connection, ran to Cedrics body, summoned the cup and escaped. And then the man I thought was Professor Moody took me away for a chat. Good thing you realised and came to knock down the door and stun him. Really, that should have been our advantage, with Crouch junior there to be questioned. Unfortunately…"
"When Minister Fudge went to see Junior, he insisted on taking a Dementor as protection. It swooped down and sucked out Crouch's soul before a word could be said, and Fudge spent the next year slandering the two of you in the press and refusing to believe that Voldemort could still be alive."
Vulpine made a face at the reminder of his fifth year. That had been a bad time all around. Dumbledore slowly reached up to stroke his beard, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.
"If that is the case, then it would seem that this is our chance to prevent Voldemort from rising again." He said quietly. Vulpine carefully kept his frown off his face. Luckily, Hermione spoke up.
"I wouldn't think so, Headmaster. Harry said that he can't get rid of the soul fragment in his scar until Voldemort has returned to physical form, so we might just have to bear his return and try and make the second war as short as possible."
Vulpine let out a quiet breath, forcing it to sound natural. He needed to steer the conversation away from these dangerous grounds, especially if they wanted him to kill Voldemort before the Dark Lord had carried out his second rise. Vulpine didn't want to kill Voldemort and then be stuck in school for several years more, without a conveniently convincing way to fake his own death. And besides that there was the other reason- but that one wasn't safe to even think. Not around a Legilimens as accomplished as Dumbledore. Still…
"Perhaps we should delay that discussion until the headmaster has worked more on the Diadem?" he put in, deceptively mild tone. Dumbledore gave him a considering look before nodding.
"Perhaps, yes. In that case, what was your plan for the upcoming year going to be?"
Vulpine clicked his tongue quietly.
"Initially, I intended to work around the two of you. Make sure that Pettigrew was captured, but then find another Death Eater who I could brainwash and send to Albania, preferably one who could suggest a plan other than forcing me into the Triwizard tournament. Even after I was revealed, that plan stayed the same. Unfortunately, Pettigrew escaped, meaning that the plan is going to have to be altered…at least, in the details. The general gist, maybe not so much."
"You think we should try and manipulate Voldemort." Hermione said, though her tone was more considering than chiding. Vulpine nodded.
"Voldemort isn't exactly stable, so if we got someone who could wander across and suggest a plan he might take it. Convenient, then, that Barty Crouch Junior is well within our grasp."
"What about Bertha Jorkins? Are you just going to leave her to be tortured to death?" Hermione asked. Vulpine gave a lazy shrug.
"Well, I can't say it would bother me too much if she died. But if we work on Crouch junior, she'll have no reason to die. In fact, I can go find her and steer her away from Albania if you want her to live so much."
"Mr Potter…Harry. I understand your enthusiasm when foiling Voldemort, but what of the Dursleys?"
Ah. Vulpine had been waiting for this particular shoe to drop.
"What about them?" he asked neutrally. Showing temper would be no good now: he couldn't afford to act at all like a thirteen-year old. Really, this would have been much easier if he had never been found out. He could have ensorcelled the Dursleys, done some fancy spell work to befuddle the charms Dumbledore had laid upon the house and left with no-one the wiser. Dumbledore looked at him, though he didn't try the wise old man look. Evidently he had realised that it wouldn't work.
"Harry, the spells placed upon Privet Drive are very important in keeping both you and the Dursleys safe. You know that."
He tried anyway. Vulpine gave him some credit for optimism.
"Sure, they protect me. But from what? Being directly touched by Voldemort? That's not much of protection. Besides that, I don't think I could tolerate staying around my family for any period of time. You try to make me and…well, I've never committed familicide, but I'm always open to new experiences."
Dumbledore eyed him with mild disapproval.
"I suspect that you are joking." He said. Vulpine kept smiling as Dumbledore continued with a sigh.
"However, I do see your point. Thirteen as you look, you are mentally an adult and therefore it would only be right to treat you as one. What would you suggest, then? Though I would point out that the spells upon Privet Drive protect not only you, but your family, and from not just Voldemort."
"They don't protect us from each other, though. The fact is, I've never liked it there. I don't get along with them, so I fully intend to tell them that Voldemort is going to return and then leave, never to return. If they're smart they'll take my advice and move house. If they aren't- well, they're adults. I'm not their keeper."
"That is a very cold way of looking at things, Harry."
"Is it? I'm not as forgiving as I used to be. They don't want me there, I don't want to be there. I'm not the sort of person who's willing to sacrifice themselves anymore."
Dumbledore seemed sorrowful at that. Vulpine ignored it.
"Very well. I assume that you would be staying with Sirius throughout the summer?" the Headmaster asked, quietly. Vulpine half-shrugged.
"Probably. Probably somewhere tropical." He said. It was close enough to the truth. Vulpine briefly frowned, sighed.
"I'm going to try and persuade the Dursleys to move to a new house, Headmaster. I don't really want them to suffer as they will if Death Eaters capture them. I just don't want to be around them any longer."
"Understandable, I suppose." Dumbledore said softly. He gave a faint shake of his head before he looked up again.
"I presume that you will allow me to remain informed of your plans regarding Voldemort?"
It wasn't really a request, but Vulpine shrugged and agreed with it as though it was.
"Sure. Hermione will keep you informed, I guess. Though I daresay that Crouch Junior will be the easiest target."
Dumbledore looked pained, and Vulpine suspected that the talk of allowing Voldemort to return was a sore point for him. But the Headmaster was in many ways a pragmatic man. He would understand the need to let Voldemort return so as to destroy the Dark Lord utterly- or at least, Vulpine hoped that that was the case.
"Very well, Mr Potter, Miss Granger. Thank you for indulging this old man." The Headmaster said, an implied dismissal. Vulpine and Hermione both stood and turned, walking from the room and leaving behind a thoughtful old man.
Hermione followed Vulpine through the castle, the two of them moving quickly and in silence through the corridors until they reached a corridor with a recognisable tapestry.; Tap-dancing trolls and a single wizard- Barnabus the Barmy. Vulpine paced up and down, Hermione watching. It had been a little odd how civil he had been to the Headmaster, though maybe it wasn't so surprising. Vulpine was smart enough to know that sometimes compromises had to be made. Personally though, she agreed with Vulpine. The Death Eaters who would go to rejoin Voldemort were never going to miraculously change their ways. Death was the easiest way. Years of co-leading an increasingly violent Resistance had taught her that.
The door to the Room of Requirements formed and Vulpine strolled through, Hermione following closely behind. The Room resembled the Gryffindor Common Room a great deal, though the colours were slightly darker, more muted. Vulpine flopped into an armchair, waiting until she had done the same.
"I'm surprised that you were so civil to the Headmaster, Harry." She started. Vulpine glanced up from his sprawled position.
"Is it? Well, I thought it over and reckoned that maybe if I acted like an adult I'd be treated like one. Seemed to work, though I was surprised that he compromised so easily."
Hermione nodded
"I had half expected him to refuse any sort of killings." She admitted. Vulpine nodded, though a thoughtful frown had settled across his features.
"I thought that too at first, but think about it: Dumbledore doesn't believe in killing, but he never really chastised Moody for it- when Moody didn't have a choice. His opposition to Crouch was because Crouch was authorising free and in many cases indiscriminate use of the Unforgiveable Curses."
Hermione considered that.
"I suppose that it would be hard to rise to prominence without a certain amount of practicality." She allowed.
"You think that though he refuses to kill himself, he's not opposed to it?"
Vulpine shook his head.
"Not so much that he isn't opposed to killing, more that he understands that sometimes, someone has to get their hands dirty. He understood, after all, that Voldemort has to die, and he's old enough and clever enough to realise that the Death Eaters who followed Voldemort shared the bastards views or simply had a lust for power. But Dumbledore himself won't kill because…"
Vulpine seemed conflicted for a moment, before he continued.
"I think that Dumbledore saw the monster he could become, when he was young. He stood alongside Grindlewald as they made their plans and dreamed their dreams, and when Aberforth stepped up to stop them and Grindlewald turned the Cruciatus upon him Dumbledore had to make a choice. Allow his friend to torture the brother he had never really liked or respected, continue on his path, rule the world alongside Grindlewald, or put aside his dream and turn against his friend, force himself into opposition and abandon power."
"What is right, or what is easy?"
"I suppose you could call it that. Dumbledore chose what was right, and in the brawl that followed his sister ended up dead."
Hermione sucked in a breath.
"You know that's true?" she asked. Vulpine nodded.
"Aberforth has a fairly loose tongue if he drinks enough." He said, by way of explanation. Hermione nodded.
"You think that that was the point Dumbledore saw the price of power, and it was too steep to pay. But he's always been frightened, because he was tempted. That was why he took so long to face Grindlewald, because he was afraid he might be tempted again. That's why he refuses power, because he's afraid of what he might do with it."
"He forces himself to be utterly good- to a certain way of thinking- because he's frightened that if he isn't, he'll fall and never rise again." Vulpine completed. Hermione frowned.
"That's a very cynical view." She chided softly. She wasn't sure it was correct, either: it had a certain ring of truth, but it didn't explain every choice Dumbledore had made. Then again, was it really possible to know someone so well that you could understand their every decision? It didn't really matter, Hermione decided. What mattered was that Dumbledore wouldn't interfere with them- or at least, not too much.
"You're going to go after Crouch Junior?" she asked. Vulpine scratched at his chin thoughtfully before nodding.
"He's an unstable fanatic. His will is strong enough, but in my experience that makes people easier to manipulate. He'll never suspect that he's being played because, of course, his willpower is ferocious. Nobody could control him. And then I'll go and rescue Bertha Jorkins, and then- well, I feel like a touch of adventure."
Hermione didn't answer immediately, scanning Vulpine's expression. She decided that she probably didn't need elaboration on the last part. She trusted Vulpine to deal with Barty Crouch junior though, she decided, so long as he kept her in the loop. But there was something else that she needed to ask him.
"Harry."
"Mmhm?"
"Why do you want Voldemort to return?"
Vulpine didn't shift from his lazily sprawled position, but his eyes sharpened, a shrewdness in them. Hermione mentally compared it to her memories and concluded that, while violence probably wasn't imminent, it wasn't unthinkable.
"What do you mean? I want him to return so I can safely remove the soul fragment."
"And fake your own heroic death with ease?"
A quick, sharp grin.
"That too, of course."
He was lying. Or, rather, there was something he was excluding, some reason. Hermione gazed levelly at him as her mind churned through option, choices. She was mostly past her childhood conceit of being the smartest witch of her age, the new Dumbledore, but that didn't make her any less intelligent. She wasn't as given to intuitive leaps of dubious logic as Vulpine or even Ron, but she was capable of making them. There was something connecting all of this, some thread. And then a memory sparked.
"Did you know that Voldemort had a daughter?" Vulpine had said. He'd never admitted to killing her. He had gone into a murderous rage, tracking down Enforcers with an unusually singular fury shortly after a series of raids had cost the Resistance several members and their safehouses. He wanted Voldemort to return.
Hermione met Vulpine's gaze.
"What exactly is your relationship to Voldemort's daughter?"
For a moment she saw Vulpine's expression tighten with fury and her fingers, hidden in her sleeve, clenched around her wand. But then the anger faded, replaced by a weariness and a sorrow that seemed alien on those features.
"Her name," Vulpine said in a quiet, strained voice, "Was Delphi."
Hermione gazed at him before taking a leap of faith and releasing her wand. She brought her hand from her sleeve, raising her arm in a gesture of peace. Vulpine shifted in his seat, moving from his sprawling slouch to sit more conventionally, elbows resting on his knees and head sinking into his hands.
"I found her with Rodolphus Lestrange, I think I told you that." He said. Hermione didn't say a word, recognising the question as rhetorical. Vulpine let out a rasping sigh and continued.
"He was…mad. Utterly mad. He had withdrawn from public notice as Malfoy gained power, retreating into his paranoia and his mania. He knew that Voldemort had intended Delphi to be an enforcer of unparalleled skill and power, and realised that she would be perfect. He intended to turn her into a puppet Dark Lady, whom he could control. He would have her overthrow Malfoy, assume control of the country while he ruled her from the shadows, and to that end he was rather harsh on her. Beatings, starvation, that sort of thing."
Vulpine looked at her, a slightly wan smile on his face.
"I can't say I was ever beaten- nor starved, arguably, though I wasn't fed very well by the Dursleys- but the isolation rang a bell, so to speak, and I was rather vicious towards Rodolphus. So then it was done and I was left with a two, two and a half year old child to look after, all on my own. As you can imagine I had no idea how to manage. Luckily, I knew someone who might fit the bill, with a little persuasion."
The wan smile had drifted away.
"Fleur was barely a shell of the person she had once been." He said abruptly, surprising Hermione.
"Bill had been killed not long before and- and she had been pregnant at the time. The attack cost more than one life. She was living on fury and spite. I thought that, perhaps, with a few lies about the child being an innocent orphaned by Enforcers, I could play on her heart strings. It worked quite well, as it happened."
"You used her." Hermione said, though she kept her tone neutral. Vulpine met her gaze for just a moment.
"I suppose. But then again, we all use people. It's the bitter truth at the centre of society. Cynicism aside…I had intended to just leave, but I couldn't. I felt…responsible, I suppose you could say. The kid grew on me. And Fleur…well, I made mistakes."
"You and Fleur?" Hermione asked, not needing to finish the question. Vulpine let out a quiet, derisive snort, though she sensed it wasn't directed at her.
"A relationship built on a shared hatred, a certain amount of history and a dose of lust. It's a wonder that Delphi wasn't more messed up. Be that as it may, I was…happy."
Vulpine shook his head, his eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears.
"I-"
His voice croaked at the start of the sentence, but Hermione understood. Ah, love. What was it Vulpine had said, a few months ago? Of all the demons that beset the human race, hope is the most insidious. Sometimes Hermione rather thought that love might take that place.
"She was like a daughter to you." She completed, softly. Vulpine swallowed, one hand scrubbing briefly across his face.
"She was a daughter to me, yes. But then…then…that day. And I…"
He looked up at her, more desolate than she had ever seen him, though his face hardened as he seemed to get control over himself.
"It might be better if I showed you." He said, his voice suddenly grim. She didn't even see him move before he was in her face, a hand on her shoulder, wand drawn and eye to eye and her Occlumency failed her as he dragged her into his mind, into his memory.
Hermione blinked, suddenly aware and looking around. This place wasn't the Room of Requirement, and she felt somehow taller and, as she looked around, there was a strange sense of displacement. She was in a memory, she realised, almost like a Pensieve but without the Pensieve. Something settled in her chest, an uncomfortable weight just below her breastbone that felt alien. She strained her memory, trying to remember why Pensieves were better.
'Because this aspect of Legilimency is difficult and runs the risk of emotional contamination.' She recalled. Emotional contamination. A bleed-over of particularly intense emotions felt by the original.
Hermione swallowed. Given the emotion she was likely to be in, that was a bad sign. She was being dragged along, she noted. She looked about herself but saw nothing but a dimly lit passageway until she turned and found Vulpine right behind her.
She wasn't afraid to admit that she jumped slightly. Vulpine looked grim, his jaw set and eyes hard, and he was moving quickly. Hermione was dragged along in his wake, swifter and swifter before they burst through a door and into much brighter light that momentarily blinded her. When she opened her eyes her blood ran cold.
Vulpine stood with his back to her, an unmoving statue in the awful tableau. Fleur Delacour lay on the floor, arms and legs skewed in the boneless sprawl of death, silver-blond hair stained crimson with blood. A slowly growing pool lay about her, much of it leaking from the scarlet ruin of her face, but Hermione was transfixed by the form that Fleur held crushed against her chest, a small form with long, dark hair. There, too, was a seeping wound, a gaping gash that oozed bloody ichor.
How did such a small child bleed so much, Hermione numbly wondered. There was another man in the room, a bald man in the garb of an Enforcer, crouched by the bodies. He spoke as Vulpine entered, his voice filled with smugness and just a hint of disappointment.
"Reinforcements, eh? You're too late, the bitch and the whelp are already dead. Shame, though, that we had to be so rough. The kid could have been valuable to the boss, and I'm sure the Veela whore could have done us all a few rounds. Hell, maybe if she wasn't such a mess the boys would still be interested."
The man laughed crudely, though he stopped quickly when Vulpine made no noise. He stood and started to turn as he spoke again.
"Eh, what's wrong with you? You'd think you were bothered by the deaths of these traitorous-"
The words froze as he caught sight of Vulpine, dying in his throat before.
"You! You're-"
"Sectumpsempra."
Hermione had never heard such a cold tone from Vulpine, and the man went down screaming as the slicing spell gouged him from crotch to breastbone. Vulpine snapped his wand before the man could fall onto Fleur and turned, an expression of such utter pain and rage on his face that Hermione felt it herself, the weight in her chest seeming to writhe, icy tendrils spreading through her bones and only banished by the shivering touch of utter rage.
She followed as Vulpine stalked through the violated safehouse, killing and killing and killing. He was not gentle, or subtle, or quick. He made it last for all of them: boiling blood, searing flesh, tearing bones, splintering their limbs and letting them crawl before finishing it, gutting men and leaving them to die. Hermione was carried along, blood howling with a fury she had rarely felt until his bloody work was done and he slowly trailed back, through gore stained hallways. She followed all the way, the rage being gradually shifted by an awful numbness that seemed to seep into the very soul, feet dragging. Vulpine dropped his wand as he shambled the last few steps to Fleur and Delphi, his legs falling from beneath him and sending him collapsing, heedless of the blood that soaked, cold and clammy, into the knees of his trousers. A trembling, bloody hand reached out to cup Delphi's head a mere moment before she saw the tears start to fall, and a low, keening noise of agony was the last she heard as the memory faded.
And there we have it. Apologies, again, for the long wait, and if it seems disjointed at all. This has been written over a long period of time and honestly I probably should have rewritten most of it in one go, but I thought that if I did that I would never get it done.
On a slightly different note, I will repeat something I said in a recent chapter of Empress Ascendant: do not assume any of this is leading to a ship. It may, it may not: I have no plans at the moment as I find I am rather inept at romance. In addition, I'll tell you now that Vulpine should not be trusted as a viewpoint character. He lies a lot, even to himself.
I decided to show Dumbledore as a little more pragmatic than usual, as that's honestly the way I see him. As I said, don't take the whole spiel on him at face value though.
If I am to be completely honest, Harry Potter fanfiction is no longer gripping me as once it did: I find Empress Ascendant much more my style and preference. However, I do intend to complete both Foxes Fate and Emerald and Argent, it may simply take time. All that said...I hope you enjoyed and, as always, any reviews are appreciated.