Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. The members of the Secret Sealing Club are the creations of ZUN.
All additional references and parodies belong to their respective owners.
Chapter 23 – Grief of Ressentiment
"The Diggorys?" Molly Weasley questioned.
"Yes, Mrs Weasley." Harry said patiently. "They've invited me, after all, and I agreed. And then after that, I'm going to the Lovegoods for dinner."
"I'm not sure if that would be a good idea, Harry." Molly said. "I know Xeno's a good fellow, but...surely it's safer to be here where we can keep an eye on you, rather than you going off alone?"
"You really should let him go, Molly." Sirius said from the kitchen door. "It's unfair for him to be forced to break his promises."
"Sirius, we had this same conversation before the school year started." Molly turned disapprovingly to Harry's godfather. "Harry's not an adult! He shouldn't be making agreements to meet with people in the first place!"
"Molly, Harry is not one of your children to be coddled." Sirius said firmly. In contrast to the situation back during August, he was arguing much more rationally, instead of being caught up in his emotions. "Unlike an escaped convict like myself, you can't lock him up in this house." He smiled wryly.
"Dumbledore-"
"The situation has changed once again." Sirius shrugged. "In any case, Harry didn't have to inform you about his comings and goings. He only chose to do so because he knew you'd be concerned, which shows he has the maturity of an adult."
"But-"
"He outdueled Nymphadora." Sirius said simply. "He could probably beat Mundungus and Diggle easily as well. Point is, he can defend himself well enough." He turned to his godson. "Harry, you know how to use the Floo?"
Harry simply nodded.
"Better get going, then." He waved, and Harry got out of the kitchen.
"Sirius Black!" Molly shouted. "Dumbledore will hear about this!"
"I'll tell him myself." Sirius said calmly.
Harry could hear still hear Mrs Weasley's loud voice as well as Sirius' calm tones all the way from the doorway, where Bill and Tonks was waiting. "I see old Mum's the same as ever," the eldest Weasley sighed.
"And I can see why you all but left home the first chance you could," Tonks remarked. "Get over here and I'll do your hair, Harry."
Harry complied, and soon his hair was brown and long, tied into a ponytail that rested at the nape of his neck. "Suits you."
"Thanks." Harry muttered. He was suspecting the pair was having a bit more fun than should be.
"Let's see…" Bill mused to himself. "Hand me your glasses for a moment, would you?" A minor Transfiguration turned the frames from circles to rounded squares. "Let me know if it still works."
"And then the scar." Tonks mused. "I don't think human Transfiguration will work on this. Guess it'll have to be this." She produced a small cylinder of foundation from her pocket.
"Muggle makeup?" Bill questioned.
"If it works, it works." Tonks said airily. "Besides, number two in Concealment and Disguise swore by it during training."
"Number two?" Harry questioned.
"I was number one, of course." Tonks said smugly.
"Not everyone has born talents like you do, Nymphadora." Bill rolled his eyes.
"Can it." Tonks mimicked zipping her lips with her fingers, while she applied the cream with her other hand. "There, All done, princess."
Harry retrieved Sirius' mirror from within his pocket and looked at his reflection. While on further inspection he could still tell that he was himself, it would be quite ludicrous for a stranger to recognise him as Harry Potter at first glance.
"I'll be Apparating you to the Burrow, and then you can Floo from there." Bill said. "Call Sirius on your mirror if you need anything. By dinnertime if you haven't checked in with him we'll knock on the door."
"Thanks, Bill." Harry said.
"I still can't believe you beat Tonks. I really have to hear that story when you get back."
~~[q]~~
"Diggory Residence!"
As Harry stepped out of the Floo, a wave of disorientation hit him.
"Are you okay, dear?" A kindly voice reached his ears as he felt someone grasp him arm and support him.
"No, I–" Harry stopped talking as the dizziness returned. He felt himself being steered to a chair, and sat down gratefully.
"Bad trip in the Floo?" It was a same voice, a woman's voice, and Harry looked up to see a heart-shaped face framed in chestnut hair, whom he presumed to be Cedric's mother. He couldn't make out her features, though, given that his vision was still swimming. "You are Harry Potter, right?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "The disguise is on because it's safer if people don't recognise me."
"Makes sense, that." He felt a warm cup of tea being pressed into his hands. "Here–"
"Thank you, Mrs Diggory."
He drank, and, as the familiar taste of Sleeping Draught hit his tongue, didn't even swear in his thoughts, even as he could no longer mouth coherent words.
Somehow, I feel like I should have expected this.
~~[q]~~
When he next awoke he was tied to a chair, a familiar cloudy feeling suffusing him.
Real funny, how everyone seems to think this same way. Harry thought to himself, somehow already tired. And then, even more cynically: I wonder if they'll believe me if I tell the truth? Or will it be like Marietta all over again, running away in denial?
He was seated at the dining table. To one end, Cedric's mother sat, her face in her hands.
And directly opposite him was a man Harry took a while to recognize as Amos Diggory.
Gone was the man's usual genial expression, and his ruddy face was now sunken and ashen. His beard of brown hair was messy, as if he had not shaved in days, and dark shadows loomed under his eyes, which were now boring into Harry own.
A silver phial was on the table, along with Amos' wand and Harry's own.
Even in this state, Harry knew that if he tried, he could wandlessly Summon his wand to his hand, cut himself free in moments if need be. With some effort, he could also have Banished the table upwards into the man, which would all but guarantee his escape.
But simply looking at the grief-stricken face of the man in front of him took away whatever motivation he had to do so.
"Veritaserum." Harry spoke first, a word of fact.
"Yes." Amos stood. "I have been waiting to meet you, Harry Potter." The man began to pace, up and down, circling the table, like a prowling animal. "You didn't show up to Cedric's funeral, did you?"
Harry knew to pick his next words carefully. Magic was about intent, and even now, he didn't think he could raise a hand to defend himself, to break free, even if Amos began attacking him in a fit of grief. Naturally, that left diplomacy.
"No, I didn't. And I'm sorry." Harry began. It was the truth; he really had been sorry when he had first known, really had been sorry that he had not been able to make amends, for perhaps the single life he might have saved. "I didn't know about it. I haven't received any Owl Post over the summer, and I wasn't reading the newspapers carefully."
Amos nodded. "I thought that was the case. Dumbledore sequestered you away carefully, eh?"
"Yes." Harry put as much vehemence as he could into the word. The prophecy, the true nature of his link with Voldemort…there was enough anger there, a deep well to tap upon. Would telling the Diggorys gain him a bit of sympathy? Harry didn't think so. "I live with my Muggle relatives," he said instead.
"As was what Dumbledore said." Amos said neutrally. "But let's see if he was lying about other things, hmm? Tell me about that night. About the night Cedric died."
Harry closed his eyes. This is it, then. "I remember it clearly. I saw it, over and over, every night in my nightmares." He began to speak.
He began with the final race to the Cup, the fight with the Acromantula. He spoke of Cedric's sportsmanship, of him offering the cup, of himself proposing the tie instead.
There was a sob in the background, and for a moment Amos' face turned ugly. Harry knew what the man was probably thinking: that if either boy should have been less sporting, the tragedy as it had occurred would not have came to pass. And yet, there was pride there as well, at his son's integrity.
From there, it was inevitable.
"The spare, huh?" The bitterness in Amos' voice was almost palpable in the air. "What makes you so special, boy? Tell me. TELL ME!"
"Voldemort overheard a prophecy fourteen years ago." Harry said tonelessly. "He believes that I am the chosen one that will lead to his downfall, and he's been plotting to murder me ever since his return. Even before that, his Killing Curse rebounded off me when I was a baby."
And there it was – the truth, heavy in the air. It was one thing to hear it told to him, but it was another to hear him tell someone else.
Amos had a strange look on his face. "Funny thing, prophecy. And what about the rest of us, eh? Just waste? Just pointless? Just…NOTHING?" The last word was a sudden roar, and Harry jumped as brought his large hand down on the solid wood of the table.
There was another sob.
Amos composed himself once more. "I suppose that conspiracy theory that you killed him wasn't quite right, either. I didn't think you were that kind of kid. But still, at this point, I wonder…no, I must know. Tell me, what happened afterward?"
Harry continued. The rebirthing party, Voldemort's return, the summoning of the Death Eaters, the farce of a duel, Prior Incantatem, Cedric's shade, and finally, his own escape.
When Harry had finished, there was silence.
"So." Amos said. "So. He told you, eh? To bring his body back?"
"Yes." Harry replied tonelessly. Somehow, his recollection of the events did not come with the creeping terror that had accompanied his nightmares, the creeping terror that had not faded but that he had learnt to overcome.
Maybe it's the Veritaserum.
"I wonder," said Amos, breathing heavily. "I wonder. Bone of the father, I could give. Flesh of a servant willingly given…but my boy had no servants. Friends, but no servants. And blood of the enemy…you've given me plenty of names today."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine. Surely he isn't thinking of…
"But of course, that wouldn't work. He probably already moved on, after all." He suddenly turned to Harry. "Do you love anyone in your life, that you would stop at nothing to get them back?"
Before Harry could answer, the man continued. "No, probably not, not at your age. Because that is how much I love my son. You say you are subject to prophecy? If so, I defy augury, boy." His voiced turned dark, painful, and then he spoke once more.
"There once were two brothers, prodigies of alchemy both. Their mother died of disease, and they tried to bring her back. They failed, and paid an arm and a leg for it."
"There once was a mother, whose daughter died in a magical accident. To try and bring her back she studied the magics of life, until she could create it with a snap of her fingers. And yet, creating the new would not renew the old. In her last ritual she died, and took half of Magical Sicily with her."
Dark, painful, quiet tones.
How many nights did he spend grieving, for it to turn to this?
"In the Far East there was a single girl, not even magical. She made a pact with an eldritch being, a wish to undo the death of her friend with her own hands. Of that story there are multiple endings, but if her friend's name was lost, then she probably didn't succeed, didn't she?"
How deep did this ordinary husband and father dig in order to even try to find a way? How much does he love his son, in order to resort to this?
"And what of our own Three Brothers of Beedle the Bard? But even the Second Brother's stone only managed to summon a ghost to his side, and we all know how that ended." He snorted, then stared right at Harry, right through him. "I wonder, boy, if I could kill you, heavy as your soul is, and get my son back in exchange, even for a while?"
Harry tensed. If Amos was to make a move on his life, he would have to defend himself, no matter how much he didn't want to hurt the man.
"What say you, boy?' Amos stared right into his eyes, hazel piercing green. "Voldemort's back, right? The man survived his own death, right? Reckon he would know a thing?"
Harry felt his mouth dry. "He said during his resurrection that he had journeyed further than anyone down the path to immortality." The truth potion compelled him to answer the rhetorical question to which he knew the answer. "But even fourteen years ago, he never truly died, so I don't think he would know a single thing about bringing people back from the dead."
"Hah!" Amos' voice was scornful. "Know so much about him, do you?"
"I fought him several times. Once when I was eleven. A shade of his past self when I was twelve. And then last year." Harry said. A part of him had been waiting to say this, waiting to tell his story, waiting for someone else, not a friend but a stranger, to acknowledge all that he had went through. "I can sometimes see through his eyes when I dream."
Amos opened his mouth once more to speak, but a voice interrupted him.
"That's quite enough, Amos." With current events nobody had noticed the kitchen door opening, and two figures entering: Luna, and a tall, slender man with shoulder-length white hair that reminded Harry somewhat of cotton candy.
"Xeno." Amos said neutrally. "What are you doing in my house?"
"I caught wind that you would have a most interesting guest today." The other man said back evenly. As the exchange happened Luna casually slipped around the dining table, and Harry felt his bonds fall away.
"I don't recall giving you permission to enter my house. Perhaps I should call the Aurors for trespassing?" Amos' voice was still even, but it felt taut, a line with a million pounds at each end.
"It was Voldemort that killed your son, Amos." Xenophilius Lovegood took a step forward, and Amos Diggory took a step back. "Not Harry Potter, whom you are torturing right now. And make no mistake; forcing this young man here to relieve an undoubtedly traumatic incident is torture."
"You–" Amos began, then stopped.
"Voldemort, Amos. Not this boy over here, who has suffered as much, nay, perhaps even more than any of us, at that Dark Wizard's hands."
With every step Xeno advanced, Amos shrunk back, until the finally reared up, a cornered animal striking back. "Your wife, Xeno! I know how you were when she died! I know how many times Willow had to go over to help with Luna! And you just stand here and tell me to just–to just accept that my Ced is gone? Just like that? To do nothing at all?"
"Yes, my friend." Xeno said calmly. Harry noticed the man was slightly cross-eyed: one eye looked straight ahead at Amos, while the other was tilted slightly in Harry's direction. "Some things are unchangeable, and we would do well to carry on with life, and not throw the future away for the sake of the past."
"You dare tell me that now?" Amos shouted. "I know how you were, Xeno! The Deathly-all those stories! For Merlin's sake, you experimented-your wife's research-it was you who even thought of trying–"
"I stopped for a reason. Some legends are meant to be cautionary tales, and nothing more." Luna's father spoke. "And the flow of time is not meant to be tampered with so haphazardly."
"I should have reported you to the Unspeakables." Amos said, more from lacking a proper retort than anything else.
"And I am grateful every day that you did not." Xeno still did not raise his voice. "Which is why I am now returning the favour. Both of not reporting you to the authorities, and of getting you to come to your senses."
Amos was silent as he processed the meaning of Xeno's words. Faintly, Harry noted the resemblance between father and daughter: the roundabout way of speaking that forced the listener to take in the words properly, instead of just responding immediately.
Then Amos let out a scream of rage, of grief, howling with his head in his arms, a expression of an emotion to primal to be put into words, until he had sank onto the floor, crouching, his arms on his head.
Xenophilius sighed. Taking out his wand, he traced a few symbols in the air, a faint blue glow, murmuring a spell to himself. Eventually, he turned away. "Luna, bring Harry back to the house, would you?"
Luna nodded and tugged at Harry's hand. Almost absentmindedly, Harry stood, and his wand zoomed back into his hand with a thought, earning an appraising glance from Luna's father. As the teenagers left, they could hear Xeno speaking, in more reassuring tones: get up, Amos, it's fine, you're better than this, and what about Willow, whom you've probably driven worried sick…
The journey back to Luna's house was silent, neither one of them knowing what to say. A wintry sun hung in the sky, shining over a quiet snowfall.
"That hairstyle looks good on you, Harry." Luna began.
Harry reached a hand behind him, touching his ponytail. The compulsion to have short, neat, and tidy hair had been beaten into him by the Dursleys, and even now he felt a twinge of discomfort at it.
"Makes you look a bit more mature." Luna continued, smiling.
Harry still said nothing. He was still processing the fact that Amos Disggory, a person he knew to be good (even if he didn't exactly respect house-elves) had attacked him, drugged and interrogated him. If a seemingly normal person could do that…
"You're having a serious look on your face again, Harry Potter." Luna said.
He turned to look at Luna, and was suddenly struck with the realization that the Veritaserum hadn't yet completely worn off. "I'm thinking about how it is even possible that Mr Diggory could have resorted to drugging me. And I also just realised that the Veritaserum I was drugged with hasn't yet worn off, which means that any question you'd ask me I'd have to respond truthfully to, which I am mildly worried about."
"Only mildly, huh?" Luna said. "So there's no secrets that you don't want me to know about?" A playful look was on her face.
"I more or less trust you, though I'm getting a bit more worried about what sort of things you'll be asking me." said Harry. A certain idea then struck him. But if there's one thing I've learnt from these sorts of interrogations, it's that the way out is to seize the initiative. "Though I really want to ask why you were behaving oddly after the tiara incident up until the end of term, and why you seem fine now."
"Oh, I've had time to think things over." Luna said airily. "Sort out my feelings and the like."
"Feelings?" Harry said. "Could it be that...you like me?" Even under the truth potion's effects, one could still ask questions, because questions had no presupposition of truth. If you get drugged by a potion and not learn anything from it, that's pretty dumb.
Luna looked a bit put out. "If I did, would that be so bad?"
"Considering that I will most likely need to die to ensure Voldemort's permanent death, it might be." Harry said.
"Oh." Luna said, for once on the back foot. "What if I said I l-I mean, what if I hypothetically liked you anyway?"
"I would first tell you to find someone with better life prospects, but if you actually went and did that, I would probably be heartbroken. What would make me the most happy would be you liking me anyway, even if I do end up dying very early."
Meta-statements and hypotheticals and counterfactuals. Some time after his first incident with Veritaserum, Terry and Su had a very...lively...discussion about guards who lie and gods who only said da and ja when the topic of "was it possible to lie under truth potion" had came up, which had only ended after Susan told the both of them to shut up.
Also, that was one hell of a way to try to distract me from what just happened. Harry said silently. Even if he didn't feel the need to be, he appreciated the intent nonetheless. And not caring for the niceties of conversation is just like her, after all.
"I see." Luna said neutrally, and then stopped. They had come to the front of the Lovegood house: a black cylinder that rose into the greyish-blue late afternoon sky. It didn't feel strange for Luna and her father to be living in such a place, but Harry was suddenly reminded of another thing: the Tower card of the Tarot.
Well, I'm already destined to die. Surely not much worse can-no, that's bad thinking. Of course there can always be worse things happening.
There were several trees and plants of various kinds growing in the garden, but the main door was flanked by two crab-apple trees, stripped of both leaves and fruit for the winter. On a branch was an owl, who flew down to Luna's shoulder briefly before returning to its perch.
Crossing the door put him in a kitchen that was perfectly circular, with furniture rounded to fit. Said furniture had also been painted with all manner of brightly-colored plants and creatures.
"You like it?" Luna said from the side. She was fussing over a kettle.
"It's very overwhelming," Harry said honestly. He walked over to a cabinet which had a strange beast on it: the head of a monkey, the body of a dog, the legs of a tiger, and a snake of a tail, with several strange wings of red and blue on its back. "This is a...chimera?" Harry imagined what it would be like if he had to wake up in the middle of the night to grab a cup of water, and come face-to-face with one of these things.
"Nope!" Luna said cheerfully. "It's a Nue, the eastern version of a chimera. Very common mistake, though."
The other painting were thankfully less fearsome. There was a purple sparrow, surrounded by evening primrose, as well as a large three-legged crow, wreathed in flames.
"How are you finding our abode, Harry Potter?" Xenophilius had returned, the door closing behind him.
"Mr Diggory-"
"Amos will be fine." He removed his tasseled cap and set it on the table, where it joined a tray bearing a teapot and three teacups. "It is simply a matter of grief."
"Did you check him for a Dark Mark?" Harry said abruptly. The thought had occurred to him suddenly, when Harry had remembered the man's words about Voldemort.
"Stricken as he is, he isn't fool enough to join the person who murdered his son." Xeno said seriously. He took a sip from his cup and made a face. "In any case, I will need to leave again shortly. The moment of critical danger has passed, but Willow's still in no state to take care of him." He turned to Harry. "You don't plan to press charges, report him to the Aurors, anything of the like, do you?"
Harry shook his head without a word. Mr Diggory probably didn't deserve it, and the Ministry would probably turn it around and frame him as the attacker somehow.
"That's reassuring." Xeno said. "Well, I'll be off. Luna, show Harry upstairs and make sure he's comfortable, all right?"
Luna nodded. "Good luck, Daddy."
"Don't worry about it, Little Moon." Patting Luna's head, he Disapparated with a twirl on a the spot.
Xeno Lovegood is an interesting character. He's introduced in Deathly Hallows, and we only see him (a) being weird like Luna and (b) selling out Harry Potter when his daughter was captured. Here, he's a single father who does his best after his wife's death, and a lover of esoteric magic and creatures, as befits his name.
The Diggory attack was planned and half-written very early on. Part of why there were so many delays was me thinking of a good way to get there.
This chapter's title is still a Touhou music reference, the title of a cover of Perfect Cherry Blossom's Stage 1 Theme. I strongly recommend you give it a listen.
Review please!