Re-posted: Sorry about the confusing scene changes. I did have 'stars' separating scene changes and changes in point of view, but they did not translate when I tried to post them here. Leaving extra space didn't work either. I've now re-posted the chapter with "oo000oo000oo000oo" at the breaks. I hope that it works and is easier to read!
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: See Chapter One.
Harry Potter and the Spirits Within
by Maven Cree
Chapter Seven: Mrs. Figg
"With this latest development, we all of us need to be…"
Dumbledore stopped in mid-sentence.
There was a 'CLANG' from the back of the gathering hall. The black door was being unlocked. It swung open, bringing the Order to their feet, their wands out. Everyone who was supposed to be there was already there. And the wards and passwords on the door should have been unbreakable.
From the shadows of the hall emerged an aged figure. Her silhouette, bunned hair and cane included were all that was visible at first. The sound of the cane and her soft footfalls echoed throughout the hall. As she stepped into the chamber light, several shoulders relaxed.
"Mrs. Figg," Dumbledore said, kindly smiling. "Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix. To what do we owe the pleasure?"
"Forget the pleasure, Albus. How did she get past our wards?!"
"Oh, drop your wand, Mundungus, you anxious boob. I knew those passes before you even came up with them."
Mundungus sputtered a moment before lowering his wand. The remaining wizards followed. Mrs. Figg nodded satisfactorily.
"Now, that that bit of unpleasantness is out of the way, I can answer your question, Albus," she said curtly. "Quite simply, as always, I am here, because I need to be."
And with that, she took a seat near the back of the room.
"And as always, you are welcome to our circle," Dumbledore said, then continued with the meeting.
Harry paid little attention to the headmaster's words. The hairs on the back of his neck were on end and his stomach felt as though it were full of lead. She was watching him. He knew it. But he refused to turn around and face her.
Before he knew it, the meeting was over and the Order began filing out. Ron placed a hand on Harry's shoulder when he didn't stand. He told Ron and the others to go on without him. He needed to think.
He sat still for several minutes, his fine hairs still standing.
The empty quiet of the hall was interrupted by a hollow patterned shuffle.
'Pad-Clink', 'Pad'. 'Pad-Clink', 'Pad.' Pad-CLINK'…
He didn't look at her as the elderly witch used her metal cane to lower herself into the seat next to him.
Several more minutes passed.
Harry sighed heavily and looked down at his hands.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Tell you what, child?"
"About being a wizard."
"I'm a witch. What do I know of being a wizard?"
"This is just a game to you, isn't it?! Like everyone else, my life is just one big chess board!"
Mrs. Figg narrowed her steel coloured eyes at him. Harry had to fight not to flinch under their gaze.
"Play, or be played Mr. Potter. You're old enough to make the decision for yourself now."
Harry continued to stare at her for a moment before whipping his head away and angrily crossing his arms.
"Why are you here anyway?" he asked bitterly.
"Why are you?"
"What?"
"Why are you here, Harry?" She caught his gaze again and held it. This time, Harry didn't feel that he could turn away.
"I'm here because I'm a member of the Order. You're not."
"Why are you a member?"
"Because I was asked to be."
"Why?"
"Because I have to stop Voldemort!"
"Why?"
"What do you mean 'why'?! He's evil!"
"Why do you have to stop him?"
"Because… Because… I'm supposed to?"
"Why?"
"Is that the only question you know?"
"Why are you supposed to stop him?"
"I don't know! I just am! I… I know it…" he added quietly.
"Why?"
"I'm leaving."
Harry made to stand up, but a bony and surprisingly strong hand forced him back down into his seat.
"You knew about the Dursleys, didn't you!" he accused. And for the first time since her appearance, this seemed to put a chink in Mrs. Figg's armour. She sighed sadly.
"The sight is both gift and curse. In some cases I am permitted to intervene. In others…" she looked away.
"Why didn't you stop the Dursleys?!"
"Why didn't you?"
"…"
"So it was my fault," he asked, venomously.
"Of course not, foolish boy."
"Then what did you--"
"You cannot control the will or actions of others. Only those of yourself."
She leaned in.
"Play or be played Mr Potter."
"What does that mean? What do you want from me?"
"To play a game, you must understand the rules. You must know the pieces and the way that they work."
"…"
"Who are you?"
"What?"
"Who are you?"
He rolled his eyes. "Harry Potter."
"And why does the Dark lord want you dead, Harry Potter?"
Harry shrugged. "Pride? He missed me three times already. Four if you count his diary."
Mrs. Figg shook her head. "Why did he try in the first place? Why did he kill your father?"
"He killed my mother too."
"She was in the way. She was not his target. Why did he want you and your father dead?"
"I. Don't. Know! I already asked Professor Dumbledore that. He said he couldn't tell me. Not yet."
"Albus has already told you all that you need to know. You should be able to figure it out yourself now."
"He says a lot of things. Most of them in code. It isn't helping."
"Who are you playing against, Harry?"
"Voldemort."
"And who is Voldemort?"
"Tom Riddle."
"And who is Tom Riddle?"
"What?"
"Even better. What is Tom Riddle?"
"…"
"Know your enemy."
"He's the most powerful dark wizard since Grin—"
"Not what he became, what his is? What and who would he still be had he been put in a body bind since birth and never become the evil thing that he is today? Think, boy!"
"…He's… He's the heir… the last heir of Salazar Slytherin."
She leaned in very close then, their noses a hair's breath away from each other.
"And why," she doled, "would the last heir of Salazar Slytherin want you dead?"
"…"
Mrs. Figg sat up straight. "I should like to visit with my daughter now. Good night to you, young Harry."
She rose to her feet and 'pad-clinked' her way out of the chamber, leaving Harry feeling like he'd just had a bad dose of Veritaserum.
oo000oo000oo000oo
He bolted upright in his bed. The images of his dream still brilliant in his mind.
The dream… it couldn't be right… It couldn't…
Harry threw his covers back and put on a school robe and a pair of sneakers.
A few minutes later, he found himself in front of the gargoyle that led to the headmaster's office.
"Cherry Straws."
The gargoyle jumped aside and Harry ran up the moving stairs. He knocked on the office door.
"Come in Harry."
Professor Dumbledore sat wrapped in his night-robe and cap. He had the air of sleep about him, but seemed alert. Harry realized how heavily he was breathing. He had been thinking of how to word what he had to say. He had a feeling that if he just came out and asked what he wanted to, he wouldn't get anywhere.
"I need to ask you something," he said immediately.
"I shall do my best to answer it if I can."
Harry thought for a moment, his eyes wondering the dimly lit office. They came to rest on a long silver sword encrusted with egg-sized rubies, which was mounted above a shelf. Harry walked over to it and picked up, memories of the giant Basilisk washing over him.
"Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat, Harry."
He remembered those words that Dumbledore had spoken in his second year. It was those words which had drawn him from his sleep this night.
"Professor… when you were a student here… you were in Gryffindor house, weren't you?"
"I was."
Harry nodded and turned to face the professor. He held the sword at blade length. It was now or never.
"If you had been in my situation… facing the Basilisk and all… Could you have pulled this from the Sorting Hat?"
"…"
There was a silence, interrupted only by the low crackling of the fire in the hearth. Dumbledore sat very still with his fingers steepled, watching Harry over his half-moon glasses.
…Then slowly, he began to shake his head.
Harry felt like he'd been hit with a jelly-legs curse. He fell into a chair on the opposite side of the older wizard's desk.
It was several more minutes before he could speak.
"…That's… that's why my parent's died… …That's why… why Voldemort wants me dead…"
He shook his head.
"…I'm the last Gryffindor…"
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Yes Harry, you are."
Harry looked at the weapon laying on his lap. He ran the pad of his thumb along the blade, drawing a thin line of red life.
"Blood," he aired, quietly.
"I beg your pardon?"
Harry chewed his lip. "Blood. It always comes down to blood. I hate my blood!"
"You don't mean that, Harry."
"THE HELL I DON'T!" he screamed. "My blood has done nothing but cause me misery my whole life! My parents died because of my father's bloodline! I had to grow up with the Dursleys because of my blood! Vernon beat the living hell out of me because of my blood! MY. BLOOD. BROUGHT. VOLDEMORT. BACK!!!"
Part of Harry's mind was appalled that he was speaking to the Headmaster in such a fashion. Another part was feeling relief at finally voicing some of the frustration he felt at Dumbledore's cryptic ways.
After a moment, where Harry's words rang heavily off the walls, Professor Dumbledore sighed.
"You cannot choose your blood, Harry. But you can use it."
Harry snorted humourlessly and wearily covered his eyes with his hand.
"Play or be played."
"Pardon?"
"Something Mrs. Figg said. Play or be played."
"She is a very wise woman."
"She's an old bat."
Dumbledore chose to ignore his tone.
"I have never known Arabella to be wrong, Harry. And I have known her for a great many years. We might not always like what she has to say, but she only ever says what is needed. Take heed."
Harry dropped his head. He stood up and placed the sword back on its mount.
"Goodnight, sir. I'm sorry to have woken you," he apologized.
The headmaster waved it off. "My door is always open to you Harry. Day or night."
The Boy Who Lived nodded solemnly and departed. His mind and body tired with the weight of the world.
oo000oo000oo000oo
After nearly four-and-a-half years of living together, the fifth-year Gryffindor boys had learned a great deal about each other's body language and personal idiosyncrasies.
When Neville Longbottom chewed nervously on his top lip, it meant that he had lost his toad Trevor again. When Seamus Finnigan is mindlessly twisting his right ear with his fingers, it meant that he and Lavender Brown were fighting, but he hadn't any idea 'what he'd done wrong'. And when Harry Potter lay on his bed, fully clothed, staring narrowly at the ceiling, it meant that the first person to bother him would likely get hexed.
Only Ron was able to approach him when he was in such a state, and even then, it was with caution.
"Got you some toast and bacon, mate," Ron had said, coming back from Sunday breakfast. He placed the food on Harry's night table for which he received a barely perceivable nod. He took no offence at this. He knew his friend was working out something big, and that he would tell him when he was ready.
At least he'd hoped he would.
Part of Ron, the part that ran on pure emotion, with no rational thought whatsoever, was still smarting that Harry had not seen fit to tell him what the Dursleys were doing to him. It was the same part that wondered why Harry hadn't hexed them to the sixth dimension. The same part that wondered why he, Ron didn't go do that very thing, that very moment.
But luckily, Ronald Weasley did in fact have a rational side. (And to his surprise, it was sounding more and more like his own voice. So stowed his wicked wizard, brought his friend a bit of breakfast, and a few hours later, a bit of lunch.
"Ron," Harry said, when the youngest Weasley male was at the door. Ron turned back to his friend.
"Yeah, Harry?"
"Could you get Hermione? I need to tell the both of you something."
Ron nodded and suppressed a smile.
"Eat your chips, mate. I'll be right back."
Harry, looking at him for the first time that day, nodded and sat up. Ron let the smile show through and departed.
oo000oo000oo000oo
"So what do you think?"
Sitting across from him on Ron's bed, Ron and Hermione stared at their best friend.
"Well? Somebody say something…"
"…Er…" Ron started, "Does that mean that you sort of… own a fourth of the school?"
"Ron!" Hermione admonished and hit him in the arm.
"What?! I was just asking!"
"If I do, that also means Voldemort does."
"Right. Forget that then," Ron said, rubbing his arm.
"Use your blood," Hermione mused out loud. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Dunno," Harry shrugged. "I really wish people would stop talking to me in riddles! No pun intended."
"Maybe you're supposed to use your blood in an incantation or a potion," Hermione suggested.
"Maybe it has something to do with your family? Their history." Ron said.
"Great. Trouble is I don't know anything about my family's history.
Hermione 'tutted' and rolled her eyes.
"Hermione," Harry warned, "if the next words out your mouth involve the phrase 'Hogwarts-A-History', I don't' want to hear it."
"I wasn't going to," she said sharply, but her eyes flickered momentarily, as if to suggest something else.
"I'm just surprised you haven't ever taken the time to look up your family in the Wizarding Archives in the library."
"Wizarding Archives?" asked Harry.
"But they're not here. They're at the Ministry of Magic," Ron protested.
"Yes, they're at the Ministry, but there's and exact set here at Hogwarts too. You'd know that if you'd read-- er-- well, anyway… You know how much ancestry means to wizards. Not all are as fanatical about it as the Malfoys, but it's still important. Too important to be housed in just one place."
"Well then? What did you find out?" Harry asked. "I'm assuming you've already read all about me."
"I started to in our first year," she admitted. "That's how I knew about your dad playing Quidditch. It was rather exciting having the living subject of a book sharing a dormitory tower with me."
Harry rolled his eyes.
"Anyway… Then Halloween happened, and the troll, and… well, we became friends. And it didn't seem right for me to be reading about you behind your back as it were.
"Besides, there is a limit to how far I could look. There's a general section, but if you want to get to all the 'good stuff' you need to either be a member of that family, or get permission from Madame Pince. And you'd need a might good reason to do that."
"So what reason do I give her?"
"Harry, weren't you listening? You don't need a reason. They can't stop you from looking up your own history."
"Want to bet?" he muttered.
oo000oo000oo000oo
Harry had wanted to try for the library straight away. Hermione had reminded him that they were talking about nearly a thousand years of history. They would need to go in there with a plan, or they'd be searching 'till seventh year. So they'd spent the remainder of their Sunday doing homework and strategizing their research plan.
They headed for Transfiguration the next morning anxious for the day to be over. They would start in the library after last bell and work until dinner. They discussed their possible finds in hushed voices and were so focussed on themselves that they missed the fact that several others in the hallways were focusing their attention on them.
"So…" drawled a haughty voice, "The mighty Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, can't even defend himself against a couple of pathetic Muggles."
Harry had mostly forgotten that almost no one had seen him since the article about the Dursleys was published in The Daily Prophet. His mind was so fixed on the revelation about his family, that he hadn't noticed the awkward looks thrown his way by the other Gryffindors over the weekend.
"Ignore him Harry," Hermione hissed.
"I'm surprised, Potter," Draco continued. "that you're still hanging around with that Mudblood. After all, it's because the likes of her," he said, thumbing after Hermione, "that you weren't allowed to defend yourself like a proper wizard. Not that you'd know a proper wizard if you fell over one." He glared at Ron.
"What the hell are you on about, Malfoy?" Ron snapped.
Malfoy's pale eyebrows rose up towards his pale hairline.
"Why… The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizards of course! It's been on the books for years, but they never really started enforcing it until, oh, what, twelve, thirteen years ago. Enforcing it because of filth like her. A Mudblood accidentally cursed her sister one summer and as her parents were only pathetic Muggles, they couldn't fix the girl. She died before any real wizards could show up. Since then, the rest of us have had to suffer for Mudblood stupidity."
"You could have cursed those relatives of yours without reprimand, if it weren't for the likes of her Potter."
"Shove it Malfoy," Harry seethed. "In school or out, Hermione can out-spell you any day. How does your father like it; your always coming in second to a Muggle-born. He must be so pleased."
Malfoy's expression darkened.
"At least I have a father," he hissed. "Yours was too stupid to know real power when he saw it. I heard that Potter was a respectable name once. Then your father goes and pollutes your bloodline with that Mudblood filth!"
Three large window down the hall exploded spraying the corridor with glass. Everyone except for Harry and Draco jumped. They were too locked into each other's glares to notice anything else.
"And then, to show his ultimate stupidity," Draco continued, venomously, "he stood in the way of the Dark Lord and gets himself killed for his troubles. A dead hero is still a dead hero."
The last words echoed throughout the corridor. The Gryffindors and Slytherins were aware of a dangerous amount of power threading its way through the air. Windows all along the long corridor began to rattle fearfully.
Harry's eyes were dangerously narrow. More narrow and threatening than anyone had ever seen them. When he spoke, it was with an icy-smooth, low and overly controlled voice that was eerily reminiscent of Snape's.
"My father," he began slowly, his voice quietly rising, "died defending those he loved. He died for light magic. He died like a man, standing-on-his-feet. Even your Dark Lord acknowledges that. Your father, Malfoy… he crawls around on his knees and kisses the hem of the filthy robes of a rotting corpse! Is that what it takes to be a good Pureblood, Draco? Crawling around on your belly? Prostrating yourself at the feet of a monster?"
"My father lowers himself to NO ONE!" Draco yelled, his grey eyes flaring.
"Ask him Malfoy," Harry said in the same calm voice. "Ask him what's the proper etiquette for greeting the Dark Lord. I was there Malfoy. I saw it. I saw him crawl… I saw him shake with fear. Your father and the fathers of those two apes that follow you around. It was pathetic."
Malfoy pulled out his wand. He was so quickly that it caused everyone (save for Harry) to jump again.
"You. Take. That. Back. Potter." Malfoy spat.
To everyone's surprise, Harry didn't reach for his own wand. Instead, the side of his enough curled up into a wicked sort of half grin.
"Ever experienced the Cruciatus curse Malfoy?
"I have.
"Twice.
"By the Dark Lord."
Harry held up two fingers. His face darkened menacingly. He stepped forward.
"You couldn't give me so much as a nosebleed Malfoy."
He took another step.
"I've duelled with Voldemort himself, and lived to tell about it."
Another step. Malfoy's wand was now pressing into Harry's chest.
"Do you really think you can take me on, Malfoy?" he hissed. His eyes, though extremely narrowed, flashed with a dangerous power. "Are you really that stupid?"
Malfoy had lost what little colour there had been in his face. He was evidently trying very hard to keep his wand from shaking. His Slytherin friends were now standing far back from the two of them. The quiet and tension was so thick, it was near tangible.
"What's going on here?" came a crisp voice. Minister Fudge was walking swiftly towards them from behind the Gryffindors. Malfoy took the opportunity to pocket his wand; a false promise of continuing their 'conversation' shaded his face for a moment.
"Minister Fudge," he said brightly, "We are honoured sir. Are you in need of any assistance?"
"Er… No thank you, Mister… um…"
Draco's smug face flashed momentary annoyance before returning to its falsely humble humour.
"Malfoy, sir. Draco Malfoy," he said through tightly smiling teeth.
"Ah, yes, Mister Malfoy. Quite the resemblance to your father. Don't know how I could have missed it," the Minister said absently, while looking around at the students gathered. "Well, I suspect you should all be running along now. I'd like to have a word with young Harry here."
"Of course, Minister." Malfoy said through a gritted teeth smile. He began to back away as did the other students.
Fudge turned his attention to The Boy Who Lived.
"Oh! Er-- sir, we were just on our way to transfiguration…" Ron spoke up, grabbing one of Harry's elbows. Hermione grabbed the other one.
"Now, now, don't worry about all of that," Fudge replied, clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I will make his excuses. Now the rest of you should run along.
Ron and Hermione cast anxious glances at each other and then at Harry. Harry nodded to them and after a slight hesitation they followed along after the other Gryffindors. The Slytherins had already disappeared.
Fudge lead Harry down an adjacent corridor and into the first empty classroom he found.
"Well. Harry," the Minister began nervously, spinning his bowler hat in his hands. "Some interesting business in The Daily Profit this weekend…"
Harry only blinked. He neither nodded nor shook his head. Fudge's hat began to spin faster.
"Yes, well," he cleared his throat and straightened up a bit. "First things first. Is it right to assume that the minor wizard your aunt, uncle and cousin are accused of harming is you yourself?"
Harry shrugged. "You're free to assume whatever you like, Minister," he said.
"Er-- right. So you're saying that it was you?"
"No."
"No?" Fudge looked surprised. "Then-- Then you're saying it was someone else?!"
"No."
Fudge blinked. "See here, now, Harry. Enough of this. What is it that you are saying?"
Harry shrugged again. "All that I said was you were free to assume whatever you like."
The Minister was still for a moment, then began to fluster incoherently.
Through his face remained an innocent mask, inwardly Harry was grinning. He had not forgotten what Sirius had said about Fudge. And though he couldn't rightly avoid the man once the wizard had caught up to him, he'd be damned if he were going to give the fool any information without his working for it.
"Harry," Fudge said, and it was obvious that he was attempting to maintain control over his temper. "Did the Dursley family abuse you in some way?"
"Yes," Harry responded, as though he'd just been asked if grass was green.
"Good. I mean… I mean, not good. --Terrible of course… --I just meant that it was good that we were finally getting somewhere."
"Oh, you mean I can leave now?"
"No! I mean, yes, I mean-- you are free to go Harry, I was just hoping that I could speak with you--"
"Well, we've done that, so I guess I'll be heading off to class now."
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry acknowledged that some of Snape's verbal skills seemed to be rubbing off on him. He grudgingly admitted to himself that it did have some uses.
"Now Harry, sit down," Fudge said sternly. It appeared that he had had enough verbal knitting. Harry was fine with that but he'd be damned if he was going to make anything easy for the man.
Harry sat down in one of the desks and neatly folded his hands in front of himself.
"Now… Harry…" Fudge began yet again in a barely softer tone. "I want to talk about your aunt and uncle."
"I don't."
Fudge seemed rather surprised at the sudden blunt honesty.
"Why not?"
"If I told you then that would be talking about them, wouldn't it?"
Fudge was turning a purpley kind of red which, ironically, reminded Harry of Uncle Vernon.
He managed not to wince at this.
"Now see here---"
"Ah, Harry! There you are. Cornelius. Good morning."
Dumbledore's kind voice floated over from the doorway.
"Er… ah, Good morning… Dumbledore."
"I was not aware that you would be stopping by today. A surprise inspection perhaps?"
"I--"
"Harry, I think you should head off to class. If I understood Professor McGonagall at breakfast, the fifth years will be starting an important new unit today."
"But he--" Fudge tried.
"Run along now Harry," Dumbledore interrupted again.
"Yes, sir," Harry replied and scooted past him. His fight with Malfoy momentarily forgotten, Harry grinned and tried desperately to remember the look of the Minister's face. Ron and Hermione would want a full report.
oo000oo000oo000oo
As the door closed shut, Fudge rounded on the Headmaster.
"Dumbledore, you forget your place! I'll not have you interfering like that again. I have every right to question the boy in this matter. As Minister for Magic I--I…"
The words died in the Minister's throat as he caught sight of the Headmaster's face. He had never seen that look in Dumbledore's eye before, nor did he ever want to witness it again.
"Now you see here, Cornelius," Dumbledore began in an uncharacteristically serious voice. There was a shine to his eyes, but it was by no means jovial or friendly. "You will not be using this to further your own political gains. Not this time. I will not allow it. Harry is balancing on a razor's edge at the moment. And he isn't even aware of it. I'll not have you toying with him in such a state.
"It is not standard practice for the Minister of Magic to become involved in under-aged abuse cases. It will remain as such this time as well. Harry is under enough stress as it is…"
Fudge blinked dumbly several times, before straightening up, his pride rising.
"Ho. So it's come to this now? Albus Dumbledore thinks himself so high that he considers himself above the Minister for Magic. That he can tell the Minister what he can and cannot do?"
Albus straightened up as well, his considerable height making his movement much more effective. To Fudge's eye, the room seemed to darken and pulse with the fringe of a magical power, he could only ever dream of possessing. Waves of it rolled off the Headmaster and Fudge found himself involuntarily taking a step back.
Dumbledore smiled, and replied in a darker side of his more familiar tone.
"In a word: Yes."
oo000oo000oo000oo
"Severus," Dumbledore greeted him. The Potions master had reported to the Headmaster's office during his free period. "Does Mister Malfoy still have all parts where they should be?"
Snape nodded curtly. "I've scheduled a talk with him. Something along the lines of: 'Is it wise to try and succeed where the Dark Lord has failed. Do you not think that if Voldemort wished Potter assassinated, he would have said so.'… Put enough fear into him so that perhaps he will think before he challenges Potter again."
"Harry's… abilities seem to be improving by leaps and bounds," the Headmaster said.
The Potions master sat down across from his employer. "Merlin's teeth Albus, call it for what it is. The boy is a cannon."
"Well, Severus…"
"Have you ever stopped to consider what it is you are creating? Potter has the potential to be… well, given time, I fear to even consider what he could possibly become. He and Tom Riddle are more alike than you would like to admit, Albus, only Potter has had his 'talents' almost from the cradle."
"Which is precisely why he needs our guidance, my dear boy," the Headmaster said. "Harry would grow more powerful with or without our aide. In time, he may have found himself a mentor, and Merlin help us if said person had dark intentions."
"No matter what we do, the boy will eventually find his own way Albus. His admiration for you may indeed find itself waning one day."
"This is very true," Albus said, pouring himself a cup of tea. Severus had already waved off an offer. "Unfortunately, because of my position, I have had to be less than forthcoming in certain aspects of Mr Potter's life. He is in fact now coming to realize this. He is taking the discovery of his lineage rather hard. His trust in me, I am painted to admit is rightfully no longer absolute. Indeed, there are still aspects of his life and history which I feel must yet be concealed from him."
Snape threw his hands up. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "So we train the potentially most powerful wizard of our time to realize his potential… and he no longer trusts the leader of our cause! Dark Magic can be both seductive and comforting, Albus. When his trust in you erodes completely, where do you think he will turn?!"
"To you," Dumbledore stated, without missing a beat.
Snape stared at the Headmaster, blinking in silent disbelief.
"You're mad," he whispered. "You've truly gone round the bend, Headmaster."
"Severus," Albus began, "you are the one person in this world whom Harry can always rely upon to tell him the truth. Yes, what you perceived as truth has in the past been jaded by your relationship with his father, but still, it was the truth as you believed it to be. You do not keep things from him. You have never been impressed by Harry's fame and you challenge him. This is something he is only just now beginning to appreciate. He respects you Severus, and is starting to feel some pride in the small belief that you may respect him on some level. It is something he is trying very hard to earn. He will come to you when he needs help."
Snape continued to stare at Dumbledore for a moment, before closing his eyes.
"And what do I do when this powerful little weapon of yours comes to seek my council?" he asked dryly.
Dumbledore smiled. "You do whatever it is you feel is right. That is all any of us can do, my boy."
"And you are burdening me with this massive responsibility because…?"
Dumbledore's smile grew even larger.
"Because you are the right man for the job," he said simply.
"No pressure there," Severus muttered as he wearily rubbed his eyes.
oo000oo000oo000oo
"We're still sticking to direct bloodline, right? No cousins at all?"
"No, Ron. No cousins," Hermione confirmed. Ron looked back down at his book, sighed and turned a page.
"Counts him out then. Thought I might've had something."
"What?" Harry asked. Ron turned the page back.
"Xavier Bacchus: your great, great… great cousin. One of the first very first Aurors ever. Helped to write the Procedure Code."
Harry snorted. "What procedure? Shoot first and don't bother asking questions later?"
"Harry, that attitude came along with Barty Crouch Sr. I'm sure the original Aurors were truly seeking justice."
Harry let it drop and went back to his own book. He couldn't understand how someone as smart as Hermione could be so blind to other things. Perhaps it was just blind optimism. Had she not been paying attention during their five years in Wizarding world? Yes, Harry was proud and happy to be a Wizard. But he recognized (perhaps because he had not grown up in it) that there were some serious problems with their society. Gossip, rumour and innuendo taken as fact. A hierarchy of institutionalized prejudice. A justice system that didn't understand the meaning of the word. These were not recent failings. They existed for centuries. And 'blind optimism' would not do anything to change it.
He signed and ran his eyes down a long list of names. The Archive had provided them with a direct family tree, starting from Godric and ending with Harry. While it did show brothers and sisters, the tree, at Hermione's insistence, focused on the specific line of blood that ran into Harry.
The tree served as an outline for their research. The trio had spent the last four evenings pouring over pouring over books about the Gryffindor line. On one hand, Harry was disappointed that they had found nothing that they believed could be of any possible use against Voldemort. It was frustrating, and he was beginning to feel resentful about being given another puzzle to solve.
On the other hand he was pleased to be learning something about his ancestry. He especially liked the photographs in more recent times. Several of the faces looked very familiar. Not simply because he could see himself in quite a few of them, but he also remembered some of them from his experience with The Mirror of Erised a few years back. He could finally put names to those faces he had never forgotten.
"Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor… Changes to Bellator seven generations after Godric. Then Alvey. Then Duncan. Then back to Alvey…. This is pointless."
"Harry, you can't give up."
"We're not one step close to finding anything, Hermione. We don't even know what we're looking for!"
"Don't give up, Harry. There has got to be something here. We will find it," Hermione said, determinedly. To Hermione, there was nothing in the universe that couldn't be found in a book.
Harry sighed again, and continued to look at his family tree.
Bastir, Duncan, Duncan, Black… "I wonder if this Black was a relative of Siri--- Sirius!" Harry exclaimed, and Hermione was glad she had put up a privacy barrier around their table.
"I can't believe we never thought of him. He might know something!"
"Right!" Ron jumped in. "Hermione, you're the smart one. Why didn't you think of that?"
"Oh, shut up, Ron. Why didn't your watch tell you?"
"It doesn't work like--"
"Dobby!" Harry called, wanting to head off another argument. "The peculiar house elf appeared, wearing a maroon Weasley jumper, yellow pants and an orange and green sock.
"Is Harry Potter sir, wanting another book?" Dobby asked eagerly. Throughout the week, Dobby had been retrieving the books from the shelves for them and returning them. It was an extra security measure that Ron had suggested, so that there would be no record of who had removed the books. House elves were permitted to remove nearly anything around the school, in order to clean it. They'd quickly found, however that this was not a loophole to viewing the material. All the books the house elf had handed to Hermione appeared to be blank inside, until Harry touched them.
"Dobby, we have to go. Could you put all these away for us," Harry said, indicating the tomes covering their table. "I'd appreciate it."
The house elf's eyes welled with happy tears. "Dobby is only too happy to do anything for Harry Potter, sir. Dobby will put them back right away!"
And before the trio could gather their things, all the books had vanished from the table.
oo000oo000oo000oo
His godfather was pleased to them and welcomed them into his quarters. Harry wasn't surprised to see Professor Lupin seated comfortably in a chair before the hearth.
Te Marauders listened carefully to Harry's story. Their reactions however were very different. Moony seemed thoughtful as though this were something he should have thought of before. Sirius… he was angry.
"What does Dumbledore thing he's doing? 'Use your blood.' 'Play or be played.' You're fifteen, for Merlin's sake! You're just a kid, and it's bad enough that you have to deal with any of this. He's the one playing with your life. Enough with these bloody riddles!"
"Language, Sirius," Lupin admonished.
"I'll talk to Dumbledore, Harry. See if I can get a more straight forward answer out of him."
"Thanks, Sirius," Harry said. He wasn't pleased with being referred to as 'just a kid', but he was happy that for once, an adult seemed to be taking his view on things.
"In the mean time," Lupin said, "you've been checking your family archives. Nothing of use so far?"
"Nothing," Ron said.
"You'd have thought… well, you know… with Godric's line and all, that it would have had some more interesting points. But everyone we've checked so far just seems normal." Harry said. "Not that I'm complaining," he added quickly. "It is kind of nice knowing I had nice regular ancestors. The only reference I've ever had to family were the Dursleys."
Though no one else had been speaking, the room seemed to get much quieter. Harry looked around at the others.
"Oh, come on. Don't do this. The last thing I need is for the four of you to start getting skittish."
"It's just… we haven't had a chance to talk since that article came out Harry," Sirius said.
"I don't need to talk. It's not the first time the Prophet has used me to make a knut. It won't be the last. Besides, this whole Godric's heir thing has got me more worried at the moment."
"As long as you're sure, Harry," Remus said.
"I am."
"Alright then," Sirius said and flopped down into a squishy armchair.
"Harry," Sirius began after a moment, "Have you examined your parent's vault at Gringotts?"
"Examined?"
"Taken a look around? Seen what's in there?"
"Er…" Harry cast a quick sideways glance at Ron. "All I've ever seen were… uh, coins. I usually just pick up a few and leave.
"Your vault was pretty big from what I remember. Sometimes Wizarding families will store items in there as well as money. Things they won't be needing readily, but that are important."
"It's a good idea, but I can't just knob off to London right now. Maybe someone could go for me. I'm sure if Dumbledore knew why…"
"I'd be happy to go for you Harry," Remus said. "But unfortunately the vaults at Gringotts can be a lot like the Wizarding Archives: Members only."
"But, Mrs. Weasley has taken money out for me before."
"Money in small amounts is one thing, but for larger amounts or to removes something, you must be a direct family member."
"So I guess I'm stuck until summer then," Harry conceded.
"I'll talk to Dumbledore about that too," Sirius said.
"And in the mean time, keep on with the Archives," Lupin suggested. "I'd recommend focussing more on Godric himself though. It seems that this is more about him than anything. And don't be afraid to ask us for help. Hermione?"
Hermione, who had been sitting quietly throughout the entire conversation, had an odd look on her face.
"I was just wondering," she said. "I understand, that family loyalty and all that is important. But is it enough for Voldemort to be focussing so much attention on? I understand that Gryffindor and Slytherin were rivals and that feeling can continue down through the centuries, but…"
"You have a feeling that there's something more to it?" Harry finished. Hermione nodded.
"I've been wondering the same thing," he said. "I'm the last Gryffindor. He's the last Slytherin. But what does that really mean?"
oo000oo000oo000oo
Sirius did not get any further with Dumbledore than Harry had. The Headmaster also denied Harry permission to go to London, although he felt the idea had merit. It would simply be drawing too much attention to the boy and to what he might be attempting to do. On that level, neither Harry, nor Sirius could argue, but it was still a disappointment.
And so, for the weeks following, Harry, Ron and Hermione divided most of their time between classes, homework, Order training and the library. If there were an O.W.L. for Godric Gryffindor's history, the three of them would receive top marks and then some.
Before they knew it, it was Quidditch time again. And for the first time that year, Harry would be playing. Gryffindor would play Ravenclaw on a sunny afternoon, that second Saturday of December.
The Weasley Twins' best friend, Lee Jordan was in full form, enjoying what would be his last year as Quidditch Commentator.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the second inter-house Quidditch game of the year: Ravenclaw vs. Gryffindor.
"Ravenclaw is looking strong this year with their two new chasers. Jennifer Spinnquick and Maxus Domely. We'll see if they're any match for Gryffindor's new Keeper, Ronald Weasley.
"And the Snitch is released! Ravenclaw takes possession. Dobson passes to Spinnquick. Spinnquick pa—wait—Madame Hooch is blowing her whistle! It appears that--- Yes! Ladies and Gentlemen, in what has to be a Hogwarts record, Harry Potter has captured the Snitch!!! Four seconds! Four seconds! Harry Potter is unstoppable!!!"
oo000oo000oo000oo
It was some time before the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and even most of the opposing Ravenclaw house cowed their ecstatic celebrating enough to allow Harry to make it to the change rooms. There, he was beset upon by the rest of the Gryffindor team.
"That was brilliant, mate! Absolutely brilliant! If only Oliver were here to see that!" Fred or George exclaimed, dancing around with Harry's head tucked into the crook of his arm.
"Dobson is screaming foul," Angelina Johnson said. "He's saying that you used a summoning charm on the Snitch, like you did with your broom in The First Task last year. Of course it's all rubbish. Snitches are specifically charmed against all forms of summoning. And besides, you didn't even have your wand out!" she said breathlessly."
"So how'd you do it mate?" The other twin said, dragging Harry away from his brother. "We were looking for Bludgers. Actually we didn't have time to look for the Bludgers, you were so bloody fast. How'd you do it?"
Harry, being allowed to speak for the first time since entering the room, paused and thought for a moment.
"You know… I-- I don't know what happened," he said, puzzled.
oo000oo000oo000oo
Harry had taken his time in the change room in the hopes that the crowd outside would have moved on. When he emerged much later, he found his wish had been granted and that only his two best friends were waiting for him on the darkening pitch.
They escorted him back to the castle offering him their own congratulations and feelings of pride, which in truth meant more to Harry than the whole school together.
The trio entered the school, made their way up the grand staircase and rounded a corner.
"Mr Potter. I've been looking for you."
The three stopped just short of knocking over old Mrs Figg.
"You mean you didn't already know exactly where I was?" Harry asked, sarcastically.
"Don't be cheeky, boy," she admonished.
"Um, Harry, we'll meet you upstairs," Hermione interjected, tugging on Ron's elbow.
"No Miss Granger, this involves Mr. Weasley too," the old witch said. She turned back to Harry, fixing him with her steel grey eyes. "Mr Potter, you will be spending the Christmas holiday at the Burrow this year."
"What?" both Harry and Ron said in unison.
Although the rest of the Weasley clan and Hermione were intending to go home for the break, Ron had decided that he would stay at Hogwarts with Harry again. Harry had guessed that with Voldemort fully returned, he wouldn't be allowed away.
"Did Dumbledore--"
"Did my mum--"
Again, both Gryffindors spoke at the same time.
"I will speak to Dumbledore. He will go along with it. Mr Weasley, you will write to your mother-- tonight. In fact, as soon as you return to your dormitory. Use Mr. Potter's owl as she is faster and send the letter tonight."
"But--"
"Your--- friend Snuffles will be able to join you Christmas day," she anticipated.
Harry, Ron and Hermione shared a look.
"I--" Harry began. "There has to be a catch."
"Just enjoy your holiday, Mr Potter. Don't over analyze things. Often, your own instinct is the best guide. That goes for all three of you."
And with that, no doubt cryptic remark, she 'pad-clinked' away with her old cane.
"Ron, do you think your mum and dad would mind?"
"Mind? Mum's only happy when she ahs a full house to feed. It'll be brilliant!"
"Harry! Hermione said. "You could go to Gringotts over the break; investigate your parents' vault!"
"Hey, that's right. Maybe that's why she wants you to go to the Burrow."
"She also said, not to over analyze things, Ron," Hermione reminded.
Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Harry headed him off.
"Well, whatever she meant," he said knowingly, "Ron you have a letter to write. Then we can stop at he Owlery before heading to the Great Hall for dinner."
Neither could argue with this plan, so they set off. Any nagging doubts or questions could be dealt with at another time.
oo000oo000oo000oo
Molly Weasley was delighted to receive her son's owl that evening, and set about making plans right away. She sat herself at the large kitchen table with quill and parchment and set about making plans. She knew full well that this would be Harry's first Christmas with a real family and was determined to make it special for him.
Tip of her quill in her mouth, Mrs. Molly Weasley was so focussed on her task, she failed to notice that one of the hands on the Weasley family clock had slowly and stealthily been moving towards the 12 o'clock position, and was now pointing directly at the words: 'Mortal Peril'.
To Be Continued…
Thanks you for your lovely comments, and especially your patience.
Hope you enjoyed this. I swear on my psychotic cat, Dizzy that you will not have to wait even close to this long for the next part.
Maven