Title: Come What May
Author: DuchessAndromeda
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Ok, I admit it. I am JKRowling. Look, it says so right here on my Driver's Liscense… err, actually, it doesn't. Damn. And here I was hoping for at least one of these characters for myself.
Author's Notes: Wow! Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! It really made my day, and my birthday. That's right, I had a birthday since the last posting and nearly received my age in reviews! So, this is where I take a moment to thank them all. To Sword Wielder – Firebreath, thanks for the multiple compliments. And as for Harry dying, please. He's one of the main characters. I may torture/kill him, but he will always come back for more. What a good little masochist. To Englishgirl, thank you. I try to make the characters both believable and part of your perspectives. To Wiccan PussyKat thanks again for the wonderful beta and the excellent review. I hope you have fun on your Easter break. To Nemati, thank you for your review. To VLBVLB (what does this mean anyway?) thank you for both the review and the compliment. Snape had to wake up eventually, right? I hope he does in JKR's world too. To Becca thanks, but the ice age they would bring wouldn't be a good thing… To Brightest Star just out of curiosity, what hex were you planning on using? And look, an update! And last, but not least, to Athenakitty, thank you for all the questions, and Snape can only make a potion as fast as the ingredients react. Maybe I should start doing this in e-mails…
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~Chapter 5~
Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody was worried. Of course, it could be said that
he was always concerned about something, and utterly convinced that at least
one person (or thing) was out to get him at all times, but this time he felt he
was entirely justified in being worried. Not only was Harry Potter,
The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, and someone he had sworn
to protect lying on the ground, bleeding his life away, but wizarding existence
had been revealed to muggles. And that was part of the problem.
The commotion that Lupin and Molly Weasely were causing had awakened the
muggles, and brought them out of their comfy homes. If those in the other
houses had been awakened by the noise, where were the other inhabitants of
Number 4 Pivet Drive? Moody had a keen memory for details - he had to be in
order to notice when things were out of place either in his home, or out on a
raid - and he clearly remembered Dumbledore saying that Harry lived with his
mother's sister, and that the sister was part of the wards.
He also remembered hearing about the boy's obese cousin, the one who was always
getting into trouble and sticking his nose where it didn't belong. So where was
the sticking? Where was the prying?
At the train station, he had seen the boy's horse-faced aunt, and he had a hard
time believing that she would let the chance to gossip slip by, or to willingly
allow others in the neighborhood to get information about her family that she
didn't want known. And child abuse coupled with wizards are not something that
most muggles want others of their kind to know about.
Highly suspicious of this turn of events, Moody turned and clomped towards the
stairs.
~ ~ ~
Being an Auror was not an easy task. First you had to score well on both your
OWLs and NEWTs, and then came the actual Auror training. Most didn't make it,
but the ones who did were usually considered top of the line, machines capable
of operating under the most excruciating of circumstances.
But for the ones who arrived to the chaos of Pivet drive, all of the Ministry's
extensive training was for naught. The youngest of them were in stages of
shock, denial, and sickness. The oldest fought back tears and rage. The rest
were in varying states ranging from feeling as if the wind had been knocked out
of them, through white hot pain and need for revenge that burned in their guts
and made their limbs tremble with suppressed emotion.
And still, they had a job to do. The muggles were standing with them, and now
knew of their existence. Ministry policy clearly stated that all muggles must
be obliviated upon learning of the Wizarding world, providing they were not
closely related to a wizard themselves. Half-heartedly, the ones who could
still force themselves to move began to do their duty. Or rather, attempted to.
More people began arriving as the news spread through the wizarding world that
Harry Potter was down, and that You-Know-Who must have something to do with it;
muggles appeared, drawn by the cries of an emotionally distraught werewolf, and
by the people in robes who were doing things thought to be the stuff of dreams.
Or was it nightmares?
The muggle authorities were also attempting to do their job. For some of them,
child abuse was nothing new, and as they had no idea what the victim
represented to so many, they had no real cause to be sick other than the
instinctive, sane, humane reaction to the vastly inhuman scene presented to
them. In fact, to their credit, if it had been just muggles around, the
policemen would have been able to regain control, and properly execute
crime-scene particularities. However, they were more than a little distracted
by people in what appeared to be dresses, or perhaps robes, appearing out of
thin air and waving sticks around. Sticks that shot out multi-colored points of
light that affected people in various ways. People that were also attempting to
gain control of the situation. The muggle in charge of this group of police
sighed and shook his head.
He had a
feeling that this was going to be a long night.
~ ~ ~
Part of the reason that the scene inside the muggle home - one wall removed so
that it resembled something akin to a stage - was so disturbing to the
wizarding forces, was because child abuse was virtually unheard of. Do to
excessive inbreeding and the first war against Voldemort, (and also the war
against Gridelwald), there weren't a lot of wizarding children born. The
Weasely family was definitely the exception rather than the rule, and most
families held one, maybe two children. With two people only begetting one
child, and with the increased possibility that two out of the three would be
dead shortly, it really wasn't any wonder why the wizarding worlds population
was decreasing. As a result of this disturbing trend, children were a highly
valued commodity and given preferential treatment to help ensure their survival
till adulthood. True, child abuse still existed, but the cases were few and far
between, mainly occurring in families that could make their problems disappear,
one way or another.
The adults who had lived through either of the wars within the last century,
(which were actually the majority of them, the few who hadn't had moved to the
UK from other, untouched areas of the world), appreciated their children as
only those who have seen terrible things can appreciate the beauty that lies in
the naivety and innocent love of a child. To see such a precious being grow and
love and be so happy and cheerful, was balm to the wounded and tortured souls
who had survived.
That is the true reason why Minerva McGonagal taught, and why Poppy
Pomfrey stayed at Hogwarts, even though she could have gotten a better paying
position at St. Mungo's. Why most of the Aurors had never seen abuse to the
degree shown on Harry's body, why Remus howled as if it was his life that was
ending, and why Albus Dumbledore was feeling the intense urge to just sob and
cry until he past out from dehydration or lack of air - whichever came first.
Inside the Dursley residence, Madam Pomfrey had been doing her best and
surpassing even her own exacting standards. Severus Snape had provided many
much needed potions, most from his emergency supply hidden in his robes, some
that he had apparated away to get. Harry was still weak, and in danger, but his
eyes were brighter, and his breathing a little easier. It was as Poppy was
still bustling around, applying salves and fixing what she could in these
limited surroundings, that he decided to try and talk again.
"Headmaster…", his voice was weak and raspy sounding, much hoarser
than Albus could ever remember hearing him sound.
"Hush my boy, save your strength." Weakly, Harry rocked his head in a
negative, earning himself a strict reprimand from the nurse, and Professor
McGonagall's hands against his head to hold it still.
"I… have to tell you. Neville… he's…" The boy's voice failed him, and
he uselessly swallowed and attempted to wet his dry and cracking lips with a
tongue swollen in its parchedness. The headmaster summoned a glass of water,
complete with straw, and at Poppy's approving nod, slowly began to help his poor
boy drink.
"Mr. Longbottom, Harry? Do you believe that something has happened to
him?" Perhaps Harry had experienced a vision, something so ghastly that it
had provoked his Uncle. Albus felt ill to think that, because of his failure to
explain the importance of Occlumency, Harry might have had more pain heaped
upon his already overburdened form. The boy in his arms, his boy in his arms at
long last, that hadn't been possible since he had been one, and his thoughts
were rambling while his child was trying to tell him something.
'Really Albus, the least you could do is pay attention to the lad, after all
you put him through. But then, that would mean admitting that you were wrong,
and the great Albus Dumbledore is infallible, isn't he? So old and wise that he
couldn't possible make a mistake like placing a highly magical child in a
muggle home that was known for its dislike for magic.'
His child attempted to shake his head again, but was stopped by his head of
house's hands. He attempted to speak again, instead.
"Neville, he's… strong. Chosen… other way… marked." And it was then
that Albus felt another fragment of his already wounded hard break.
~ ~ ~
Harry blinked his eyes slowly, the shapes and colours of the people surrounding
him making him dizzy with all their sudden movements. Dimly, he felt his
friend's presence, but they felt… off. Colder than the usual Gryffindor heat
that permeated his housemates. Without his glasses, everything was fuzzier than
usual, giving him a worse headache than he already had. He was supposed to be
saying something, something important… to Professor Dumbledore.
Harry turned his unfocused and more than slightly blind gaze to the face of his
Headmaster that was so close to his own. He could even almost make out the
familiar features. Nose slightly bent from being broken many year ago, a face
lined with wrinkles that seemed to add rather than detract from his mentors
powerful presence, the half-moon spectacles that were usually perched on the
end of his nose, and did little to hide the light blue of the eyes that seemed
to be nearly always twinkling in silent mirth and amusement with the world
filled with problems that he had seen thousands of times before, and had ceased
to be an annoyance.
He had told the older wizard that Neville was the real chosen one. He had
delivered his message. Maybe Albus, 'Professor Dumbledore', didn't
believe him yet, but he would soon enough. Exhausted, Harry leaned his head
onto the other wizards chest, deciding that the white beard made a nice pillow.
Vaguely, he felt the whisper of soft hands leave his hair, and he listened to
the comforting beating of Dumbledore's heart, and the rumble in his chest as he
explained something that Harry couldn't quite focus on… oh well. If it were
really important, he would find out eventually.