*~* This is a bit shorter than most of my other chapters. It's also much more fast-paced. Chapter 19 was where everything in Abby's world began to turn upside down, and it only gets crazier from there. Thank you for the reviews (again); on with the story! *~*
November stormed angrily into the house, slamming the door behind her. She was not at all pleased with the way things had gone, and had had the entire ride home to think on it. Harry winced at the sound of the door. He was in trouble again and he knew it.
"How could do that?!" she cried out, her frustration reverberating off the walls. "How could you let her get away with that? You promised me, Harry! You promised we could get a Secret-Keeper! You're a bloody liar, that's what you are. Nothing but a pathetic, proud liar. God, how am I supposed to raise another child like this?" Harry gave a great sigh, tossing his car keys on the kitchen table. He had insisted on driving home, as much as November protested that they could simply Apparate. After all, he had taken the car to the train station – they might as well drive it home.
"November, we've had this discussion before. She'll be perfectly safe at Hogwarts. Dumbledore's got her under his wing. When Mr. Fudge gets here, we'll just tell him that you're going to be my Secret-Keeper. Is that all right with you? You're the one who suggested we do that, anyway. I don't understand why you're complaining now." He massaged his temples gently and headed for the couch in the living room. This whole ordeal was exhausting him.
Meanwhile, November glared at him, her hands pressed into her hips. "I don't want an excuse to give the Minister. I want you to go retrieve your daughter. You saw those letters! She's in danger at Hogwarts! 'Oh, Dumbledore can protect her.' Remember your fourth year? Some job Dumbledore did in protecting Cedric, eh?"
Harry whirled around on the balls of his heels. His bright green eyes flashed with resentment. "What did you say?" he asked in awed whisper. "Cedric? Cedric died because of me, not Dumbledore. Dumbledore had absolutely nothing to do with it. He assumed we were perfectly safe inside that maze. We all did. No one expected the Cup to be portkey. And besides, I was the one who convinced Cedric to take the Cup with me. I was the pig-headed one who made that decision. If I hadn't done that, he would still be alive. So don't blame the headmaster for a mistake I made." His eyes glittered softly with tears, but he blinked them away quickly. The last thing he needed was for his wife to see that the incident still hurt him.
November sighed, the same exhausted sigh that Harry gave just moments earlier. "Harry, that murder had nothing to do with you and you know it. That's not what I meant. It's just, how many times under Dumbledore's eyes has Voldemort tried to kill you? Far too many. I don't feel right leaving Abby there. I just don't think she's safe."
Harry approached her carefully. The both of them were clearly exhausted, and he was beginning to wonder if she was really as upset as she seemed. He placed his hands gently on her crossed arms. She didn't argue. "Em, honey, I know. Believe me, I know. But will you also believe that Abby, young as she may be, made a good point? We can't begin to protect ourselves unless we know what we're protecting ourselves against. 'The Friend of the Foe'. A Death Eater, right? Well, that's not much to go on. There's dozens of Death Eaters, and it's impossible to guess who's one and who's not. After all, it's not like they go around in special robes, wearing special badges – " Just then came a powerful knock on the door. The couple exchanged a look, as though trying to silently decide who would get the door.
"I'll get it," said November with a sigh. "It's probably Mr. Fudge." Harry gently kissed her cheek before she pulled away from his embrace and headed for the front door. Once again he thinks he can make up for everything with kisses, she thought, slightly annoyed. He thinks this is so much easier than it is. She unlocked the door carefully, making sure to open it just a crack before admitting the person on the other side into the house. Recent events had made her particularly cautious, borderline paranoid. But she was all right; the only person she saw there was, as expected, the Minister of Magic. She opened the door all the way for him.
"Minister, please, come in…" she said, motioning for him to enter. "It's so good of you to come – " She cut herself off when he came charging into the room. He wasn't alone. He was dragging a young boy with him, a boy who was making faces from the pain in the wrist Mr. Fudge was dragging him by. He was young, scarcely older than Abby, with stark-black hair and pale blue eyes. He also looked a little familiar, though why November couldn't say. His son? Nephew? Son of a friend? But why does he look so familiar? she thought. Mr. Fudge seemed frazzled by the boy.
"Sit," he instructed, motioning toward the couch in the living room. The boy did as he was told and flopped down on the couch. For the second time that day, Harry was left speechless.
Mr. Fudge gave a great sigh. "I apologize for bringing this young ruffian with me," he said, with a nasty glance toward the couch. The boy gulped hard. "We at the Ministry believe him to be the one sending you those notes. 'Friend of the Foe', is it? We've traced back hundreds of owls and are considering sending him to the Underage Wizard Detention Center. This could be a capital crime, but as the boy is only 12 years old…"
"His name," said November simply. Harry and Mr. Fudge looked at her oddly, encouraging her to continue.
"His name," she repeated. "I want to know his name." This ruffled Mr. Fudge, as though it wasn't quite what he'd expected her to say.
"Oh. Well, yes, of course. His name is Elijah Young. A first-year at Hogwarts. We pulled him out of school for this, of course, right out of Transfiguration…he's a Slytherin as well," he added in a whisper. "And you know what they say about young wizards in Slytherin."
Harry hardly seemed to hear a word that was said; he was more intrigued by the strange boy that had followed Mr. Fudge inside. He sat with Elijah, who looked absolutely terrified by being in his presence. He was beginning to wring his hands nervously. Harry stopped him by gently placing his hand over Elijah's. "Are you the one sending us these notes?" he said softly. Elijah nodded gravely.
"Please sir, if you'll just let me explain…" he trailed off anxiously. Harry looked at November and mouthed the words, "Is that okay with you?" November thought about it for a moment. Well, at least he's trying to make things right by asking you first. Not a bad start. And the boy…well, that's how I know him! Abby's mentioned him several times in her letters. He seems to have deceived her terribly well…I suppose he ought to have his say at least, before they send him off to the Center. She gave a quick nod, and Harry turned back to Elijah.
"You have five minutes to explain," he said, his voice growing cold. Elijah took a deep breath.
"Well, sir, you see, it's like this…there's…a Dark wizard. A Death Eater. He's been trying to kill you for ages, but obviously he hasn't been able to. You're too well-protected. But, see, Abby – I mean, your daughter – she's incredibly vulnerable. Especially here. At Hogwarts she's impossible to get to. And this wizard, he knows that. He figured he had to lure her back to her home, where she's more easily dispensable. So he wrote those letters, thinking that if you thought Abby's life was in danger at Hogwarts, you might pull her out and bring her home. And sir, he almost succeeded."
"So 'Friend of the Foe'…that does mean he's a Death Eater," November mused aloud. She had approached the couch during Elijah's explanation and now leaned against the back thoughtfully. Elijah shook his head vigorously.
"Oh no ma'am. I'm not the Dark wizard who wrote those notes. I was just able to intercept them, you see, because I knew the person who was sending them. I'm the 'Friend of the Foe', but I assure you, I did not write those notes."
Harry lifted his eyebrow questioningly. "But if you're on our side, if you're our ally, how are we 'the Foe'? That part doesn't make sense." Elijah swallowed hard again. He bent his head down low in shame.
"I used to be a Death Eater," he said in barely more than a whisper. "Ask Mr. Fudge. I'm not really 12 years old. This is an Age Charm. And my name's not Elijah. It's Raphael. I was a Death Eater until my Dark Death when I was 16."
"Dark Death?" asked November. Here Elijah found the courage to lift his head and nod.
"Yes ma'am, that's what we call it when one of us leaves the Dark Lord. He doesn't approve of it, and anyone who tries it is likely to end up dead. I'm surprised I made it this far."
November looked over at Mr. Fudge. The story was sensational, and she wondered if she had enough naivety in her to believe even part of it. But Mr. Fudge nodded in confirmation. "He's telling the truth, Mrs. Potter. It's all on record, has been for years. But we won't put him into custody until you decide what to do with him. It's all up to you and Mr. Potter what becomes of this man in a child's body."
Harry was still more concerned with Elijah than either his wife or the Minister. "Yes, well, I have several more questions for Mr. Young here."
"Demore," corrected Elijah, who wasn't Elijah at all, but Raphael just pretending.
"All right, Mr. Demore then," Harry continued. "What made you turn away from Voldemort?" Raphael glanced down at his war-torn hands. They were beginning to tremble slightly. Hadn't he told this story already? But then, he hadn't expected Harry Potter to believe him up to this point. All things considered, he was really rather lucky. He took a deep breath, and started to, once again, reveal the story of his past.
"Your daughter, Mr. Potter. She's what made me turn away from the Dark Arts altogether…"