For KC, because the poor dear man is on pins and needles wondering if he's died or not. I hope this chapter relieves his fears.

Chapter Twenty: Blessed Nothingness

KC Allen, on principle, didn't particularly care for heroes. He found them boring, arrogant, stuffy and not worth his time. That is, he'd thought so before he met Harry Potter. Naturally, being born into a wizarding family after the end of the first war with Voldemort, he had been raised to appreciate all that Harry had done in both wars.

For most of his career with the Daily Prophet, he'd listened to reporters either sing Potter's praises as a polite young man, or dismiss him as a snobby aristocratic half-blood, who probably wanted to gain as much wealth and fame from his "strokes of luck" as he possibly could.

The first time he had met Harry Potter, his boss had told him what to expect.

"On a good day -- a good day, mind, you might get him to tell you how he feels. He won't answer questions about the war, and he doesn't take kindly to invasive questions about his family. To stay on his good side, be just as polite as he is. Ask all the right questions, and sooner or later he'll come to trust you. At least, I hope so. It'd be a luxury to have a reporter on staff that Potter trusts."

So KC had gritted his teeth, steeled his mental armor, and prepared to go to battle with the world's most famous wizard of the modern age. He was supposed to get Potter's feelings on some minor bill that had passed, and what he got was a friendship that had lasted for a very long time.

**

The Potters' home in Ottery St. Catchpole was remarkably undistinguished. There had been no flashing signs, no outer symbol that a rich family dwelt there. In fact, it was remarkably normal. A grove of trees in the back garden provided adequate space for family Quidditch matches (and if the Potters kept going at the rate they were, they could probably supply enough players for a whole team), a spacious front garden allowed for Ginny Potter to indulge her love of herbs and plants, and nothing, absolutely nothing, gave away the presence of the Boy Who Lived.

"Number 16, Snowy Owl Way," KC muttered to himself. "This must be the place."

"Excuse me? Can I help you?"

A pretty young girl with blond hair stepped out from the corner of the house and flashed him a brilliant smile. KC felt his heart melt. He was a sucker for blonds of any age.

"Is this the Potter residence?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm Jessica Potter. Pleased to meet you!"

"The pleasure is all mine. Are your parents home?"

"Yes, they are! Do you have an appointment with my dad?"

"I believe I do. I Flooed his office yesterday, and they told me to come here."

"Okay! I'll go get him then!"

"That would be lovely."

The little girl ran off on swift legs into the house, and KC found himself alone again, on the porch. Absentmindedly, he began to take notes.

Jessica Potter is a remarkably polite young woman, ten, I believe, from my research, and due to enter Hogwarts next fall. There is something mysterious or fishy about her birth, as I recall.  I'll have to look that up when I get back to the Prophet.

Lovely home. Mrs. Potter takes remarkably good care of the flowers and vegetables. Even my own dear mother would be impressed by the foliage, and that's saying something.

The house says something about its owners. It's a sturdy brown with black shutters… arranged in a sort of absentminded mess that somehow remains attractive to the eye. I shall have to ask Potter who designed it.

There are two toy broomsticks here next to my feet… dangerously close to the doorway, I might add. Ah, and there's the bucket of… well, that's creative… shampoo, I believe… and the string to set it all off.

A remarkable piece of work. I commend the effort. I do hope Potter recognizes the trap.

The sound of running feet interrupted his musings, and he looked up and saw Jessica leading a rather scruffy-looking wizard with black hair, green eyes… and a scar.

With a start, KC realized that this was the Harry Potter. Somehow, he'd expected something more… extraordinary. He'd seen the wizard in pictures, of course, but now he recognized that the flowery writing of the journalists had lent grandeur to a simply ordinary man.

"Watch your step," Harry said with a grin, "the boys have got something planned for their uncles who are stopping by later this evening. There are probably perilous passages throughout all the house." 

The boys… That would be James and Michael, if he remembered correctly, which he often did.

"They did a good job," KC commented and flashed a smile, "though it is a bit obvious. Subtlety will come with age."

Harry burst into laughter. "Dear Merlin, I hope not. Heaven help Hogwarts if it does."

Suddenly, he turned towards the inside of the house, and wiped his nose with a handkerchief… An ordinary movement that gave KC the boldness to ask his next question.

"Holy terrors are they?" KC asked.

Harry turned to look sharply at him, but there was simple a look of honest curiosity on the reporter's face, and no sign of recording device or quill on him. Either The Daily Prophet had finally hired someone decent, or this one was simply more sneaky than others he had encountered.

"That would be a slight understatement, to tell you the truth, but it adds spice to life. Come on up to my office. You can ask your questions there."

KC took his first step inside the Potter household then, and managed to avoid the string that set off the trap.

"I take back my earlier assessment, Mr. Potter. For a prank done without magic, this is simply brilliant."

All around the house were carefully laid wires and strings and pulleys and an odd assortments of other mechanical devices that KC had never even seen before.

"Their uncles gave them a Lego set for their birthday last year," Harry said with a tolerant sigh. "You have to admire their ingenuity."

"Whose? The boys, or their uncles?"

Harry chuckled. "Both. Both sets of twins can imitate the others so it seems to outsiders as though the boys are following in their uncles' footsteps, but I think that they'll follow a slightly different route."

"Into?" KC raised his eyebrows. To his knowledge, Potter was speaking openly about his children for the first time.

Harry shrugged. "Ah, t's difficult to say. Perhaps they will teach, though I think that highly unlikely… They won't be inventors, they'll be adaptors. They can tweak and play with their uncles' inventions until they run in ways even Fred and George had not anticipated. It keeps Ginny and I awake and aware, to say the least."

KC laughed. "I'll just bet it does."

"When we go up the stairs, I would be doubly careful. Jessica likes to leave little things lying about, so…"

"I'll watch my step."

Potter's office, or study, or whatever he called it, was clearly his room in the house. It was painted a deep masculine green, and solid oak furniture was placed strategically around the room. There was nothing fancy to it. There were no garnishes or 'touches' that a woman might add to a room.

Pictures lined the walls… Potter's children, his friends from his days with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, his extended family, his friends from Hogwarts.

A framed portrait of Dumbledore held a place of honor in the center of one wall while a larger portrait of Potter's parents took the other wall opposite it.

Without any ceremony at all, Harry took a seat in the most comfortable chair in the room; that was undeniably his. Only sick children ever got the privilege of sitting with him in it, something that amused him greatly.

"So, Mr. Allen, let's hear what you have to say."

What followed was an interview that refocused KC's approach to dealing with Potter. Whenever he dared to make a bold statement, Potter would smile, and wave a hand and shoot it down carelessly, but gently.

He learned a lot about politics, a lot about people, and a lot about himself, in just about two hours.


The session reminded him very much of time spent in Headmistress McGonagall's office. She would sometimes rearrange his mind, shake it up a bit, smack at the cobwebs and force him to think, rather than just accepting what everyone else believed.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," he said at last, and rose from his seat, stretching his cramped hand considerably.

"I enjoyed it, Mr. Allen." As KC turned to go, Harry stopped him with, "I noticed you take all your notes by hand."

"Yes, I do. I find it helps me think."

"I've always liked that type of journalist better," Harry said absentmindedly. "Do have your boss send you again."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," KC said, and again turned to leave.

"One last thing, Mr. Allen. It's 'Harry'."

"Call me KC."

"It's a deal then."

**

When Remus Lupin died, KC had found himself assigned to the article. When the Potters made a public statement, he was always the first to know.

And when Harry needed a favor, KC was the first one he turned to. He had been called to the family meeting that evening so that he could do some more extensive research on Ares Lestrange than anyone else had before.

The Daily Prophet had, though it didn't allow admittance to the public, one of the largest libraries of newspapers, texts, books, and most importantly notes from its own journalists in the wizarding world. As a staff member, and a highly favored one at that, KC had almost unlimited access.

"There's a real threat here, KC. I haven't been this worried since the rise of Voldemort," Harry had confided in him. "We need to work out exactly what made him lose his sanity and what his tendencies were before he went insane. Ron and I had to track him down once or twice for the Department, but we might have more luck on the Unspeakable side of things. I'll be pulling some strings there, as well.

" I distrust this new administration under Percy I distrust almost as much as distrusted Fudge. Percy's too concerned with making sure everything looks nice and clean for the public. He should just deal with this problem."

"It's an election year, mate," KC said, and waved a quill. "Everything's got to be clean."

Harry cursed creatively under his breath, and KC smiled. "Politics are lovely things, aren't they, Harry?"

"Oh, just lovely," he agreed. "People are going to start dying and soon. Ares has got it all set up. There's an itch in the back of my skull that tells me it's going to be soon."

KC nodded. "I've got the same feeling, as well. Sirius being sick doesn't help it, either."

"Well, with any sort of luck he won't be sick after tonight," Harry said, and then added under his breath, "though it's a long shot."

"Since when has Harry Potter been afraid of a long shot?" KC teased.

Harry, however, took him seriously. "Ever since I had a little more to lose than just myself."

KC nodded. "I think she's going to start."

Then the room filled with light, and no one could see. The next thing that anyone noticed was Delia and Sirius both passed out, and then the explosion happened.

A red flood filled KC's eyes, but he did not lose consciousness for very long. When he awoke, the sight before him was not pretty. The Death Eaters had successfully breached the Lupin family home, and KC could just tell that something bad was about to happen.

**

"Ares," Harry said, and rose painfully from where the explosion had tossed him. Unconsciously, he stood in front of his wife, pregnant with their child, protecting her.

"How nice to meet you, Harry Potter."

"You don't recall meeting me before?" Harry asked, and cocked his head to the side. "I'm not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted."

"Take it any which way you like," Ares snapped back. "I'm not here to play a game with you, Potter."

"That sounds familiar, somehow," Harry muttered to himself. "Been taking cues from your betters, Lestrange?"

"Betters?" Ares sneered. "Oh, I think not. After all, I'm still alive, aren't I? He is most certainly not."

"You call this state you're in 'living'? Personally, I'd call it 'hell'."

"To each their own, Potter. I've wasted enough time sparring with you. Hand over the Healer to me."

"I think not, Ares. She most certainly doesn't want to serve the Dark side, and at any rate, she's in no condition to be moved right now."

"How dare you mock me!" Ares rose up indignantly to his full height. "How dare you insult my intelligence!"

Harry just smiled. "You're playing a chess game with one much better than yourself, Ares. You've just handed over your queen. The game will be extremely difficult after this."

"What do you mean?" Ares's voice grew higher, desperate, and panicked.

"He means," Ron said, and limped to stand with Harry, "that you've just forfeited yourself."

Ares's eyes grew clouded. "I have forfeited nothing! Did you think I would walk in here without a means of getting out?"

Ron's eyes snapped, but his mouth twitched in false amusement. "Don't you think it was a bit too easy to get in here, Ares? Now you're insulting my intelligence, which is even more dangerous than insulting Harry's."

"Let's play a little game, Lestrange," said Sirius, rising up from where he had passed out. "It's called 'Explain Yourself Or Die', and I'm telling you ahead of time that I am very, very good at it."

**

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