Harry Potter and the Physical Adept
Chapter 21: Fallout
"You didn't have to kill him, you know?" Hermione complained Monday afternoon after she had found Harry in the abandoned fifth-floor classroom he was putting the finishing touches on his research of polymorph any object. "Now I can't ask him about the discrepancies in his books."
"Actually, I kind of had to," Harry said.
"No, you didn't," said the Ravenclaw. "You just wanted to."
"No, had to."
"You'll have to explain it to me, then."
The Hermetic mage pulled a spiral-bound notebook out of his haversack and handed it to the bushy-haired girl, who opened it, read a few lines and looked back at the boy.
"What is this?" she asked.
"A copy of that cunt's little black book I made with dictation before the badges arrived to investigate the incident," Harry said. "You'll see that he's had hundreds of victims, and yet, nobody has ever stepped forward; if you read his personal notes, it includes his experiments on memory magic and how best to erase a victim's memories of an event, meaning, despite his numerous victims, almost none, if any, of them would be able to testify as to what happened.
"Now, while we might have stopped him during one of his attacks, we only have one victim, and the cunt is right famous," the shadowrunner continued. "If history has shown anything, it's that the rich and the famous can get away with just about anything; hell, I definitely should have been charged with murder for what I did to him, but because I sanitized the evidence and created a plausible alternative scenario where he might not be dead, I'm going to get away with it, because I'm famous and people would want to give me the benefit of the doubt."
Hermione considered what the Hermetic mage said for a long moment. "I guess it couldn't be helped, if the alternative was he'd walk away scot-free," she said after a long moment. "I still wish you gave me the chance to ask him about the details in his books, though."
"I suspect it might have something to do with the fact the only magic he seemed able to use was memory magic," Harry said. "Every other time we've seen him try a spell, it's either failed or blown up in his face spectacularly."
"Well, that would explain some things," said the Ravenclaw, before her brow furrowed in thought. "May I borrow his little black book?"
"The copy? Sure," Harry said, and Hermione pocketed the book. "There's actually some really interesting things in his notes about the Memory Charm that you might want to look into."
"That's my plan."
~ooOoo~
Rowan Murphy was not qualified to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts; in fact, it had been her worst subject when she attended Hogwarts. Of course, she knew this, and thus, protested vehemently when Albus Dumbledore saddled her with the duty of teaching the subject.
That didn't matter to the headmaster of Hogwarts, though; as far as he was concerned, she was already at Hogwarts and could thus fill in for the departed Lockhart, squeezing in the Flying lessons that was already her responsibility in between the full load of courses she was to take over from the previous Defense professor, regardless of her qualifications for the job.
What accompanied the change in situation was no increase in salary, no more hours in the day, and no budget to spend on the class; aware of her own ineptitude on the subject, Murphy had wanted to bring in guest lecturers to provide the students whose education was now her responsibility with a berth of knowledge beyond her own wholly inadequate one, but whatever Lockhart had done, he had blown through the entire year's budget already, leaving her with no financial resources with which to hire experts, all who would not share their expertise for free.
Left to her own devices, Rowan Murphy did the best she could, but most of her guidance for Defense Against the Dark Arts came down to, "Hit it with something heavy until it stops moving."
It was still the best instruction any Hogwarts students had gotten on the subject from a Defense professor in eighteen months.
~ooOoo~
For the three days the aurors remained at Hogwarts, conducting the investigation they would not discuss, Faye followed their activities with interest, devouring every rumor that floated around about them and dissecting it for analysis.
"I think I'd like to be an auror after I graduate," she announced one day without prompting, as she slid another pan of brownies into the convection oven.
"I've been meaning to ask, what exactly is an 'auror'?" Harry inquired. He had read a few things in some of the books he had previously purchased, but he wanted the perspective of somebody who was considering a career in it as well.
"An auror fights against and captures the forces of the Dark Arts," Fay said simply.
"So, a soldier?"
"Well, they also have the authority to arrest those who violate the laws set by the Ministry."
"Combination badge and soldier, then."
"I suppose that's not inaccurate."
"You don't have the skills for that, and you're not going to learn those skills here."
"What are you talking about? To become an auror, you need to get at least five 'Exceeds Expectations' on your N.E.W.T.s."
"You'd need skills in investigation, interrogation, crime scene analysis, interviewing witnesses, combat, data analysis, data mining, observation, conflict resolution, critical thinking, and surveillance, none of which are taught here."
"There's supposed to be a training programme that candidates have to go through before they become full-fledged aurors."
"It'd help to have a leg up when you get accepted, though; if all else fails and you somehow end up unable to become an auror, you'd still be able to apply for and succeed in the Met."
"I hadn't thought of that."
"Got to have a backup plan, in case your plans don't work out."
"Maybe, but where would I learn those skills? It's not like there's a school where I can walk into and take classes on crime scene whatever."
"I know a place you could go to over the summer; you'd need a passport to get there, though."
"I'll owl my mum and ask."
~ooOoo~
"This came in the post for you," said Susan Bones, as she sat down next to Harry Potter, a large envelope in her hands. "Luna asked Olivia, and she said I'd find you here."
It had been just over a week since the incident in Lockhart's office, and Harry had seen little of his daughter's best friend, who had been staying with Susan to help her through any difficult times she might have.
"Thank you," said the boy, carefully unwinding the string that held the pouch closed, pulling out a stack of parchment that he read in silence. Once he had been through it twice, he peeled three of the pages from the packet, signed the rest of the leafs and slipped them back into the envelope, tying it close and handing it to the girl still seated next to him, before turning his attention back to his books on the secrets of the Shaolin monks. "If you'd be so kind as to owl it back to your aunt, I'd be grateful."
Susan took the envelope, but remained in the seat next to Harry, fidgeting nervously in her seat.
"I want to have my memories of what happened erased with the Memory Charm," she suddenly blurted out.
"Why are you telling me this?" Harry asked, still reading.
"I told Luna, and she told me you'd tell me why I shouldn't," said the girl.
"Fine," said the boy, closing his book with a sigh. "Why do you want your memories of the incident erased?"
"I-I don't think I'm ready to talk about it," Susan said weakly.
"Look, if you don't tell me why, I can't really help you here."
The girl swallowed, before taking a deep breath, as if to gather her courage. Then, words came tumbling out of her in a rush.
"I feel like I can't get clean, no matter how much I try to wash it all off," Susan began, her anxiety clear in her voice. "And it's so hard to keep my thoughts straight; it's like… sometimes I'm thinking one thing, and then it just disappears for no reason. I'm just scared all the time, and I can barely sleep, and when I do, all I have are nightmares of it happening to me all over again.
"Last night, Hannah and I were just talking, and I just snapped at her, for no reason at all; she didn't do anything wrong, but I was just so angry all of a sudden that I couldn't contain myself and yelled at her, and when I'm not angry, I just feel so helpless and numb, and sometimes, I feel I'm not even in my own body, and other times, my insides won't stop shaking and I don't know why.
"Dumbledore keeps saying there's no way what happened to me could have happened, that Lockhart wouldn't do that kind of thing to a student, and I just keep thinking this is all my fault; if I had been smarter, if I hadn't trusted him, this wouldn't have happened…"
The girl suddenly retched, vomiting all over the floor, spewing chunks of her lunch across the stone and the boy's boots.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to sick all over your shoes."
Harry reached over to stroke the girl's back soothingly, but she jerked away before his hand was even close.
"Don't touch me!" she cried angrily. "I hate you!"
"What the hell did I ever do to you?" Harry asked, frowning.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you like that," Susan apologized tearfully. "I know you're just trying to help, but when I saw you reaching over, I panicked."
"Susan, I'll tell you right now, I am really not equipped to deal with this kind of touchy-feely stuff, but I've been told by a sociologist friend that talking about it helps," said the boy. "What you're feeling right now is probably completely normal; I mean, you were just completely betrayed by somebody who was supposed to look out for you, had your person violated in what must have felt like the most intimate of ways possible, and then an authority figure you thought you could trust is denying it could even have possibly happened. It's not your fault in any way, shape or form; terrible, irrevocable things inevitably find us all, and the best any of us can hope to do is persevere, which, in many cases, is as much of a victory as any of us will get.
"So, you're having a bad time," the shadowrunner continued. "You're thinking about having your memories of the incident erased to make it all better, because you don't want to remember what happened, because it's tearing you up inside. But, you're worried you're making a mistake, so you told Dia, and she suggested you talk to me. Sound about right?"
Susan nodded, and Harry sighed, sitting back in his seat.
"Look, I don't have any comforting words for you; that's not my wheelhouse," he said. "But, let's get into why I think having the Memory Charm used to remove the memories is a bad idea.
"For starters, you do it, he wins."
"Excuse me?" Susan said, clearly taken aback.
"You won't remember a thing, like it never happened, just the way he'd have done it. He might be dead, but you'll still be another one of his little playthings that he got to have his way with and then make forget what he did. He wins."
"I don't want that," Susan said, suddenly furious. "He doesn't get to just win!"
"We're all broken inside," Harry continued. "It's what makes us who we are. Those traumas we carry with us? They drive us to be who we are, push us to do what makes us strong, informs the goals we choose to pursue in life. Without those broken bits, people end up living boring lives, working dead-end jobs, doing the same thing, day in and day out, being one of the living dead. Not to be cavalier, but it's our imperfections that make us interesting, because perfection is just… So. Damn. Boring."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" Susan shouted angrily. "What do you know about getting hurt like I did?!"
"Well, I don't exactly," said Harry calmly. "But I was abandoned at eighteen months or so with relatives who didn't want me, who called me a worthless freak and took every pleasure in reminding me of it every chance they had to do so, frequently locked me in a cupboard without food or water as punishment for even the smallest things, encouraged their own son to beat me with the help of his friends… so, while I may not understand exactly what you went through, I'd like to think I know a thing or two about drek that fuck people up for life."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," said the Hufflepuff girl softly. "It's just, it really made me so angry, hearing you talk about how imperfections make people interesting, and it's just, it doesn't feel like what happened to me is an imperfection!"
"You're right, I was being insensitive, and I apologize for that," Harry said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face. "I'm not good at thinking about how other people feel.
"Look, I can't really help you with the fear, the shame, the insomnia, the nightmares, the disorganized thoughts, the mood swings, the general anger, the fear of being touched, or even the panic attacks that you're probably going to start having pretty soon if they haven't started already, beyond offering you a sympathetic ear," continued the boy. "For the feelings of powerlessness, though, if you can wake up early enough in the morning, you're free to join Liv, Luna and myself in our daily morning workout, which includes hand-to-hand combat training that you can use for self-defense. It won't make you better right away, but I imagine, if you put in time and effort and start seeing results, you'll regain a sense of control, along with some self-confidence."
"I'll do it!" Susan said, without even hesitating.
"All right, then," Harry said, as he began gathering his things. "I'll see you tomorrow morning in the common room, zero six hundred sharp."
"Zero six hundred?"
"Six in the bloody morning."
~ooOoo~
"Again!"
Luna slowly approached Susan, circling slightly to her right as she looked for an opening in the second-year girl's defenses.
True to her word, the niece of Amelia Bones had been in the Hufflepuff common room the very next morning to join the trio of early risers in their daily exercise regimen. Despite only showing moderate discomfort with following in the warm up exercises, the morning run proved difficult for the newcomer, and Luna had chosen to run with her to keep her from becoming discouraged when the Hermetic mage and the dragon went on ahead; still, by the time she was done running the mile, Susan was exhausted, promptly falling over and laying on her back as she tried to catch her breath.
Once her ragged breathing had settled, Harry started her on self-defense training, setting Luna on Susan with only the instruction of not hurting her too badly; when the second-year girl had protested, he briefly explained the ideas of covering up and sprawling, then set the first-year loose to do what she would.
The results were predictable; with just under four months of daily hand-to-hand combat training under her belt, Luna easily dominated the exchanges with the beginner, taking her to the ground at will and battering her when she managed to protect herself from her attacker's blows. Nonetheless, every time the Hermetic mage stopped the blonde, the second-year girl would be back up on her feet within seconds, saying the same thing every time:
"Again!"
Suddenly, Luna dove inside, rolling onto her back as she entangled Susan's left leg with both of her own; grasping the older girl's calf with one hand, she pressed the heel of her other into the back of her knee and pushed, forcing the older girl off balance and allowing the first-year Hufflepuff girl to roll over, dragging her elder to the ground as she applied significant pressure to Susan's ankle by twisting.
"Stop!" Harry said, and Luna let go of the joint lock, freeing herself from the entanglement and standing back up, brushing the dirt and grass off her shirt and pants.
Slowly, Susan got back to her feet, a look of determination on her face, and said the all-too-familiar words once more.
"Again!"
Luna swayed side-to-side, bobbing as she did so, looking for an opening. Spotting one, she lunged inside the older girl's reach, meaning to seize the other girl around the hips.
In that instant, Susan reacted reflexively, her right leg coming up quickly as she snapped in her knee into the younger girl's face.
There was a crunch of breaking cartilage as Luna's head snapped backwards; the next moment, blonde was on the ground, clutching her face in agony as blood poured forth from under her hands while she rolled around on the grass in pain.
"I'm so sorry!" Susan apologized, the words falling out of her in a hurry as she rushed over to the girl on the ground, meaning to check on her injuries. "I didn't mean to hurt you!"
Instead of responding, Luna suddenly reached up and grabbed Susan by the ankle, kicking her other leg out from under her; in the resulting scramble, the younger girl was able to gain the upper hand, taking the brunette's back and raining punches and elbows onto her until she finally turtled up, covering her head and neck with her hands.
"Enough. Stop. Dia, let Liv take a look at your nose."
With Harry's words, the blonde dismounted the older girl's back, calmly walking over to the olive-skinned dragon, who carefully looked over Luna's nose before resetting it out with a quick yank that drew a yelp from the first-year girl. Then, she waved her hand over the blonde's face before handing her a towel, and by the time Luna was done wiping blood from the lower half of her face, the bleeding had stopped.
Meanwhile, Harry helped Susan to her feet. "Good job timing the knee," he told her, "but a fight isn't over until it's over."
"I just wanted to make sure she wasn't hurt," the second-year girl protested.
"And that gave Dia the chance to sweep you and take your back," the shadowrunner said. "Look, I know it's not the instinct for most people to hurt others, but you need to learn to turn that part of yourself off when you're in a fight; when you show mercy, you're giving the other person a chance to really, really hurt you."
"What should I do instead, then?" Susan asked.
"You heard of the saying, 'kick somebody while they're down'?" Harry asked, and the girl he was instructing nodded in the affirmative. "Do that."
"But isn't that not fair?" asked the second-year girl.
"Frag fair," said the Hermetic mage. "When you're in a fight, your goal should be to hurt the other people so much they can't or won't fight anymore."
"That seems… brutal," Susan said, frowning.
"A fight's not a walk in the park," Harry said with a shrug, before turning to the blonde. "You good? Nose stop bleeding?"
"I'm good," Luna said, gingerly touching her nose again but still smiling.
"This is why you shouldn't just shoot from that far out," said the boy. "You get timed going in and you're going to get clipped; somebody with more experience and power will put you down."
"What should I do, then?" asked the blonde.
"Before you want to go for a takedown, you should mix it up with strikes as you close in, to get them thinking about having to cover up, then change levels," Harry said, demonstrating with a quick flurry of punches that barely missed the girl's face, making her flinch, before suddenly ducking down and sliding forward, seizing Luna around the waist and hoisting her up off the ground, carrying her several feet backwards before setting her back down. "See?"
"Got it," Luna said.
"All right," said the shadowrunner. "Show me."
Wordlessly, the blonde stepped back, sizing up the casually-standing Hermetic mage.
"What if I don't want to hurt the person I'm fighting?" Susan interrupted.
Seizing on the boy's momentary distraction, the first-year girl pounced, quickly throwing a snapped jab that tapped him flush on the chin, then immediately dashed forward, wrapping both arms around one of his legs.
"Good," Harry said to Luna, and she broke her hold with a wide grin. Turning to the older girl, the shadowrunner said, "There's a couple blood chokes you could use, but you're not at a level where you can safely learn and practice it yet, since holding onto one too long can cause brain damage, and that's definitely hurting them."
"Oh," Susan said, disappointed. "Will you teach me when I can safely use them?"
"If you're still training with us, of course."
~ooOoo~
Harry was used to waking up with Luna draped across and wrapped around him in a fairly wide variety of ways, but she had always reserved her physical affection for Liv, so he was caught off-guard when she returned to their shared room on Thursday after going to breakfast with the dragon, an envelope in hand, to give him a great big hug.
"What's this about?" he asked, shifting uncomfortably as the blonde rested her cheek on his shoulder.
"Her Ministry paperwork came in," Liv said, grinning widely. "Her adoption went through; we're sisters now."
"I know, I shouldn't have opened it since it was addressed to you, but I couldn't help myself," Luna said, looking up at Harry with a bright smile. "Susan asked me to give this to you, but I just had to know why Madam Bones was owling you again.
"Should I change my name to Luna Potter?" she asked.
"You should call yourself whatever makes you happy," Harry said. "It doesn't matter if you're Luna Lovegood, Luna Potter, or if you change name into some symbol nobody can pronounce, like Prince; you're still you, and nothing's going to change that.
"I mean, I constantly tell people to call me 'Whiplash', but, end of the day, I'm still Harry Potter."
"Harrison Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix Gideon Jacoby Tolliver Everest Maker-of-Pots," corrected Luna, ticking off each name on a finger. "Are you sure it's not Potts-Smith, though? Maker-of-Pots is a bit of a mouthful."
"You're right, it is Potts-Smith," Harry agreed. "I don't know how I could have ever made that mistake.
"But the point stands; it doesn't matter what you call yourself, or even what other people call you, as long as you like yourself, that's all that really matters."
"I think I'll keep 'Lovegood'," Luna said, handing the envelope to her adoptive father. "It's part of who I am, part of what makes me, well, me."
"All right, I'll make sure your paperwork in the normal world reflects that," Harry said, opening the envelope to find two copies of Luna's papers as well as a handwritten letter, which he read over quickly. "Awfully thoughtful of her to send two copies of your official St. Mungo's birth records."
"What should I call you? 'Daddy'?"
"Yeah, please don't call me that, considering what the last person you called 'daddy' did to you," said Harry quickly. "You can keep calling me what you've been calling me."
"Okay, Tolliver.
"You know I'm adopting you and Liv and not the other way around, though, right?" continued the blonde.
"All right, then, 'mum', where are we going to live, and how are we going to pay for everything?"
"I take that back, Everest. You can adopt me if it means you take care of all the boring stuff."
"Fraggin' ankle-biters."
"Hey! You're only a year older than me!"
~ooOoo~
When word of Lockhart's ostensible departure from Hogwarts and the circumstances surrounding it did not make the news by Friday morning, the self-styled shadowrunner decided something was not on the up-and-up—given the rather few subjects The Daily Prophet regularly featured included the going ons at Hogwarts—so he felt it safe to say that what had happened was being covered up when there was silence on the subject for nearly a week.
It wasn't that he particularly cared that a cover-up was happening; he had expected one in the first place, so that was par for the course, but it was who the cover-up involved and was about that motivated him to do something about it, because the fact the serial rapist's departure didn't even make the news reeked of something the conspiracy would strive to have happen to maintain a semblance of stability.
He would always take the opportunity to undermine the conspiracy.
So, he wrote a letter addressed to Rita Skeeter and asked Colin to post it for him through a communal owl to keep suspicion away from himself.
He received a reply back from the journo the next day, telling him she was happy to meet him on Hogwarts grounds as soon as possible, and immediately wrote back, setting up a meet for the next day, though he did find it suspicious that she had been oddly specific about choosing a place with access to the outdoors, so he had chosen an abandoned classroom with windows that opened.
As always, the shadowrunner arrived ahead of schedule to the meeting place Sunday morning, settling into a chair with a book on the history of berserkers, continuing his reading and research on becoming a physical adept. Only when he heard the sound of an insect buzzing through the window did he look up from his book, just in time to see a beetle shift into the form of Rita Skeeter.
"The weather sure is nice today," the boy said, hand resting lightly on the weapon in his pocket.
"It'd be better if it wasn't snowing," answered the journo, despite the clear weather.
With the correct authentication phrase, the woman confirmed her identity, and the shadowrunner visibly relaxed.
"You have something for me?" Rita asked.
"I need you to write a hit piece," Harry said.
"Who's the subject?" inquired the journo.
"Gilderoy Lockhart."
At the mention of the name, the reporter's entire face lit up. "My editor's favorite kind of target," she said.
"Yeah? What kind's that?"
"Famous and well-respected."
"Then they're going to love this."
"Is he?"
"A few ground rules first: I know this may be hard for you, with the way you often editorialize venomously in your pieces, but there's a girl I want you to talk to, and I want you to be gentle with her during the interview and sensitive about her when writing the piece."
"Why?"
"He had his way with her, against her will. One of many, too, though she's the only one who remembers what happened to her."
"Wait, you're telling me Gilderoy Lockhart is a rapist? Do you have any proof to back up that allegation?"
The shadowrunner reached into his pocket, taking out a spiral notebook. "A complete, unedited copy of his little black book of conquests that I made before the badges took it into evidence; it includes his notes on how to best use the Memory Charm to erase a victim's ability to recall an incident. If you have sources with the badges, you can check the veracity of it."
The woman took the notebook, flipping through it quickly before pocketing it. "What else?"
"There's another girl you'll be talking to; she has a very long and detailed list of discrepancies in Lockhart's books, and she's more than happy to discuss all of them with you. You don't need to be gentle with her, but I'd like you to credit her in the article, since I believe her research will prove critical."
"I can live with that," Rita agreed. "Do you want to discuss the narrative for the piece now?"
"Let's do it after the interviews," Harry said, taking out his two-way radio, bringing it to his lips.
*beep*
"Rook? Whip. Tell Dia we're ready for her. Over."
~ooOoo~
The two interviews combined took just over five hours; as it cut into when the gaming club would normally start, Harry asked Liv to handle the hosting duties, a task he thought she might be ready for with the socialization she had experienced in the previous seven-and-a-half months.
Susan's interview with Rita had been first, and Luna sat with her during it for moral support; when it was completed, the Hermetic mage's newer daughter walked the older girl back to the dormitories, and he brought in his best friend for the second interview, which, even from outside the room, he could hear degenerate into a lively argument.
Only after both interviews were concluded did shadowrunner reconvene with the journo.
"You weren't kidding about this," said the woman, as she flipped through the notebook, taking notes of her own. "From what Miss Bones told me, I can tell she had an extremely harrowing experience, and I can see why you want me to be gentle with her; she's a victim in this, and there's no need to drag her name through the mud, so I'm going to leave her name out of it in the piece."
"Good," said the shadowrunner.
"Miss Granger was most helpful, and I'm going to ask my editor to give her a coauthor credit," Rita continued. "Her research makes me think Lockhart's books, which he claims to be autobiographical memoirs, are almost entirely fabricated; I'm going to try to substantiate the various incidences he supposedly resolved, but I'm willing to bet they're either all made up, or he's taking credit for the work of somebody else after he erased their memories.
"Speaking of Lockhart, where is he? Why won't anybody answer me when I ask about that? And why are you coming to me with this, and not Dumbledore?"
"Lockhart's ostensibly taking a leave of absence."
"Ostensibly?"
"I can't really say more than that."
"What about Dumbledore?"
"I haven't told anybody this, but last year, he hid the Philosopher's Stone in the school, then hired Quirnirus Quirrell, who was possessed by You-Know-Who, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts to try to bait him into the open."
"How do you know this?"
"I'm going to need you to make a blood oath to keep my secrets, if you want this conversation to continue going forward."
"All right," the journo said, extending a hand. "You're a source; I'd always protect my sources even without an oath."
The shadowrunner cut the woman's hand, then his own, and the two exchanged blood again.
"I swear I'll keep your secrets," swore the reporter.
With the oath sworn, Harry cast Heal Wounds, much to the reporter's surprise.
"Rumors were you couldn't use magic," Rita said, frowning.
"I know," said the Hermetic mage. "I encouraged those rumors."
"Why?" asked the woman.
"I need to keep my strengths secret, so I have the element of surprise against my enemies."
"What about me?" the reporter asked.
"Not everybody needs to know everything," the boy said with a shrug. "It's called 'compartmentalization'."
"So, how do you know about the Philosopher's Stone, and Quirrell being possessed by You-Know-Who?" inquired the journo.
"I have the Philosopher's Stone, or at least a portion of it, since it was split as part of the payout on the heist."
"A payout on the heist? Who were you working with?"
"I can't say."
"Why not?" Rita demanded.
"Just like you protect your sources, I don't snitch on the people I work with."
"That's fair, I suppose. How about You-Know-Who possessing Quirrell?"
"He was there, so I dealt with him."
The woman frowned. "Did you 'deal with' Lockhart too?"
"Something like that. Officially, he's taken a leave of absence to reconsider his career."
"And unofficially?"
"He's been... retired."
"Retired? As in, no longer teaching or writing?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"You're still compartmentalizing, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"So, according to you, you've defeated You-Know-Who twice so far, then?"
"Don't know that I've defeated him either time, since this time around, when Quirrell left us, You-Know-Who floated away in a mist cloud with an angry face, and the first time, I was just a toddler, there were no witnesses, nobody found a body, and he's very clearly not gone."
"You think he's back, then?"
"Yes."
"People need to know about this."
"No, they don't," the shadowrunner disagreed sharply. "People are stupid and easily scared; you release that information to the public and there'll be a major panic. Not only that, but I expect there'd be political fallout too, especially from the spolitico who have built their careers on the idea that You-Know-Who's gone away forever and it's now a time of peace."
"But if You-Know-Who wasn't defeated, people need to prepare for his return!" protested the journo.
"I am preparing for his return," the Hermetic mage countered.
"I don't understand," the reporter said, confused.
"I'm recruiting assets, amassing capital, stockpiling arms, gathering intelligence, and training myself and my allies for what's to come," said the boy. "If I can have it my way, this will be a covert war, fought without civilians ever knowing it happened; however, I know that's unlikely to be the case, but until there's a declaration of war, causing a panic's only going to make it harder for me to do what I have to do."
"Why a secret war?" inquired the journo.
"According to the Ministry, there's about fifty thousand magical individuals in all of the United Kingdom," said the boy. "According to the Home Office, there are more than six million normal people, the ones you magicals like to call 'muggles', in London alone, and more than fifty-seven million in all the U.K. If there's open war, it's going to spill out into the normal world, and then everything is going to get blown. Especially the Statute of Secrecy."
"It wasn't during the last war."
"This is going to be the second war he's waging; at this point, I'm worried he won't try to be subtle and just go with overwhelming power from the jump to crush his enemies quickly. That means it'll get messy, so whoever is fighting him needs to cut him off at the knees before it jumps off."
"And you're going to do that?"
"I'm damn well going to try."
It was followed by a pregnant pause.
"If you're really doing this, I'd like to help," offered the journo.
"Why?," asked the shadowrunner. "I thought you were all about the headline."
"What, did you think you were the only person who suffered loss during the war?" Rita asked. "My mother and father were killed in the crossfire; like most people, they didn't pick a side, but in a war, that doesn't really matter. One minute, they were minding the bookstore on Knockturn, and I had stepped out to go meet with a few publishers about restocking our inventory; the next, it's just a smoking crater in the ground and they were gone.
"If you think you can stop more innocent people from dying, or even just reduce the chances, let me help however I can."
"I'd be happy to have you," Harry said. "Honestly, I don't remember my parents at all, so I didn't really lose anybody during the war; it always feels strange when people just assume I miss them, because I don't have any recollection of ever knowing them."
"Do people assume that often?"
"If I don't cover my face when I'm in Diagon, random people will come up to me and offer their condolences or just thank me. It's weird and creepy when it happens, like they think it's okay for some reason to accost a stranger in broad daylight, even though they don't know me.
"It's actually gotten worse since the articles, and I didn't think that was possible."
"That's the price of being famous."
"I never asked for it."
"Sometimes, fame just happens to people, whether they want it or not. Besides, you were the one who wanted to print a series of articles in the Prophet."
"You know, you're a lot wiser when you're not writing lies about people. How did you get into that business anyways?"
"After the bookstore burned down, I was left with nothing; I had never gotten the best marks at Hogwarts, and I had always thought I'd spend the rest of my life working at the family business, so I had never really thought I'd ever need to find another job. I just wasn't prepared for working for somebody other than family; all I really had was a few contacts with publishers, but since I didn't have a shop for them to sell to, so they weren't really interested in me. I didn't have any other employable skills, but I did know what could sell, so I spent just under a year writing a clearly fictional biography of Armando Dippet, but the publisher I sent it to released it under nonfiction for some reason. After that, my reputation was sealed; when the Prophet hired me, those were the kind of pieces the editor wanted me to write; any time I suggested writing any sort of well-researched piece that could be taken seriously, my editor would shoot it down.
"It's why I use Quick-Quote Quills when I do most of my interviews; that way, even when fabrications and exaggerations are published under my name, I can take solace in knowing those weren't the words I wanted to write, just the words that will sell papers."
"So, when I called you a sensationalist and a fabulist…," the Hermetic mage asked.
"You were technically correct, even if factually inaccurate," Rita answered. "Yes, those pieces were published under my name, but they were mostly written with Quick-Quote Quills, and then curated and edited for specifically maximum sensationalism, because that's what will sell the most copies of the Prophet. If I had my way, I'd be an investigative reporter, instead of a professional libelist."
"In that case, I'm sorry I called you those things," Harry apologized.
"It's all right, you didn't know, and I've been called worse."
"What about that demeanor?"
"It's what people expect from me. I mean, everyone thinks I'm a heartless, greedy maggot, so that's what I give them."
Another pause followed.
"So, how'd you convince your editor to let you write about me, then?" asked the boy, curious.
"Are you kidding? Don't you know?" asked the reporter. "There've been more books written about you in the last decade than any other single topic. Printing anything about you is guaranteed sales, even if what's written is completely fabricated.
"Speaking of which, after you went on record saying the books written and published about you were done without your permission, publishers have been reaching out to the Prophet, saying they want to make things right."
"In that case, tell them they can send five percent of all past and future earnings made on anything that uses my name and likeness to my vault at Gringotts, and another five percent to War Child."
"War Child?"
"It's a charity that provides assistance to children in areas of conflict."
"And if they decline?"
"You're free to publish my terms publicly and demonize those who refuse. I mean, if they refuse to donate to charity, it shouldn't be too hard to make them look really, really bad for it."
"Why would you want to do that?"
"The advert I ran in the Prophet for Wizarding Goods was a test; I wanted to see how people would respond to my word, and the store went from almost going out of business to suddenly being hugely profitable, to a point where its owner needed to hire additional staff to keep up, and expand her product selection and double her inventory. It's also indirectly brought foot traffic back to Knockturn, where I've also gotten silent partnership deals with several other businesses.
"If that's the effect of my endorsing a single shop, can you imagine what I could do if I personally condemned a writer or a publisher?"
"You could ruin them."
"Exactly."
"Why would you want to do that? I did some digging after we met that first time, and, as far as anybody can tell, you're ridiculously wealthy from inheriting the Potter fortune."
"If I am, I'll have to look into it, because I don't have access to it right now, and like I've said before, I'm getting ready to fight a covert war, and wars are expensive affairs, especially if you want to come out of it the winner."
Author's Notes: To quote "Bait", season 2, episode 10 of The Unit, "People say there's one law for the rich and one law for the poor, but that's not actually true... There's no law for the rich." It's a very cyberpunk sentiment.
Rowan Murphy ending up teaching Defense is a tribute to every phys ed teacher who ended up having to substitute for another subject when that teacher were out sick. She might also be the first good teacher to be hired at Hogwarts since the start of Harry's education there, even if she ends up way out of her depth.
I felt like, in the original, Faye's decision to become an auror in book 5 kind of came out of nowhere, but then again, she was never a major character in the original either. Here, I wanted there to be a reason why she wanted to become one, and I thought her observing the investigation would be a great place for her to start. Of course, her unfortunate association with Harry can only mean one thing: she's going to be a dirty cop if she ever becomes one.
Harry is really not good with talking about feelings and stuff, but you kind of get the jist of what he's selling to Susan through their conversation. It was an incredibly difficult section to write, because I didn't want Harry to come off as mansplaining, but still wanted him to be able to connect to Susan as a victim and survivor, all while pushing his own agenda.
The part about broken people is more of me voicing my opinion; everybody interesting in this series is or will end up broken or traumatized in one way or another, and it'll inform who they become. Harry is paranoid and unable to stop working on things in preparation of what's to come, Hermione slowly slides into consequentialism, Luna is a passenger in her own life, and Neville is a ball of useless nervousness without self-medicating.
One of the things I always enjoyed about Classic World of Darkness—besides the gothic punk aesthetic—was the use of Demeanor and Nature; who you are on the inside isn't always who you show the world, and this version of Rita Skeeter is a prime example of this. It doesn't redeem her for what she's done, but it makes the character more complex, rather than a one-dimensional yellow journalist. Like Harry, she knows how to play a part, and she wears her mask with a heavy heart.
Once again, many, many thanks to my long-suffering editor, Romantically Distant, for all their efforts in reading and proofing my writing. And now you've read this chapter, feel free to leave a review or just PM me, and, with the WARS pandemic still on-going, stay safe.