Chapter 17. Blueberry Scones
Instead of a greeting, Harry met Minnie and Augusta at one of the common room tables with a fierce yawn. Al, who had come down from the boy's dormitories with him, snorted, amused.
Augusta raised her eyebrows. "Late night was it?" she asked dryly.
"Mm," Harry hummed, eyes barely open.
"Nothing a strong cuppa can't fix," Minnie stated as she stood. They all took that as their cue to start off for the Great Hall.
"Say, what time was it again, Harry?" Al asked once they'd all climbed through the portrait hole, "When you knocked over my chair?"
"Hm? Oh. I dunno," he shrugged, slightly embarrassed as he recalled how he'd rammed his knee into Al's chair. He would undoubtedly have a bruise by this afternoon. "Late."
"I'll say. Where on earth were you going in such a rush?"
"Going?" Minnie asked sharply.
As they all piled onto one of the staircases, Harry floundered. "I, er, I was meeting someone."
"Meeting someone? Like a-a friend someone or a girl someone?" she blurted. When Harry blinked at her blankly, mind stalling like an old car, she winced and shook her head. "You know what, never mind, I don't want to know."
Harry barely had time to register Minnie's pink cheeks before she and the staircase were moving. He and the others quickly followed.
"I can't believe you!" Al crowed, delighted, as they continued down the stairs. "You didn't tell me it was a midnight rendezvous! You should've said something, I wouldn't have cursed you out last night."
"Yeah, well..." he said awkwardly. Why had Minnie blushed?
"So who's the lucky giiiirlll?" Augusta sang, and what Harry wouldn't give for the floor to swallow him up right now... It wouldn't even be that much of a stretch, Hogwarts being Hogwarts.
"Who cares?" Minnie snapped and Harry blinked again. "I hope she was worth it, risking House points like that."
For a beat, there was nothing but the sound of their footsteps and the not-so-distant murmur of the Great Hall.
"...Well I, er, I hope they've got the blueberry scones this morning," Augusta said with a forced cheer. "They're my favorite. How about you, Al?"
As Al replied, voice equally strained, Harry glanced over at Minnie's back in confusion. What had he done now? He hadn't even left the tower last night. Should he say something? No. That would only lead to more questions.
Harry's worries and Augusta and Al's overly enthusiastic breakfast-related conversation carried them all the way to the Gryffindor table. As it was admittedly early for a Saturday, there were only a few other Gryffindors of various years already eating. Unsurprisingly, he didn't recognize any of them, but Minnie waved at a pair of fifth-years. It seemed for a second that she would join them, but she instead slid into her usual spot. Some of the tension in Harry's shoulders dissipated and he sat across from her.
"You're in luck Augusta," Minnie said with a wry half-smile, gesturing to the pastry platter next to him, "Blueberry scones."
"Thank Merlin!" Augusta exclaimed loudly, slapping her hands down on the table. The loud noise startled a nearby first-year girl who jumped and knocked over her goblet, spilling gillywater everywhere. "Oh fuck—" Augusta cried, leaping to her feet, "I mean, oh damn, erm... Sorry. Let me, erm..." Harry watched as Augusta immediately began drying the mess with her wand, "Let me get that."
"It's fine," the girl squeaked.
"No, no, I'm sorry, I'm just, erm..." The wet puddle finally dried. "Just passionate about scones!"
Harry had to bite the side of his cheek to keep from laughing.
"...Uh-huh," the girl said.
"Sorry again. I'll just..." Augusta jerked her thumb back toward the rest of them. Harry struggled to keep a straight face as she came back over and slid into her seat. The first-year had barely looked away before Augusta rounded on Harry, Al, and Minnie.
"Some help you lot were!" she hissed crossly.
"I'm sorry Augusta," Harry said sincerely, "Would—" he choked back a laugh as he grabbed the pastry platter to his right, "Would a scone help?" He extended the platter out to her with a mischievous grin and any lingering strain between the four of them snapped as Minnie and Al began to snicker.
"Oh shut up," Augusta snipped, but her lips were twitching.
"But Augusta," Minnie cried, "I thought you were passionate about scones!"
Al began to laugh in earnest.
"I hate you guys," Augusta griped as she grabbed one—two—five blueberry scones from the platter and that was it, Harry had to put it down before he accidentally dropped it. "You're the worst."
"You know you love us," Al teased, "Maybe not as much as you love a good blueberry—hey!"
A blueberry scone whiffed by Al's head only to smack Bilius Weasley in the stomach as he and his twin approached the table.
"Bit early for a food fight isn't it," Septimus Weasley remarked at the same time Bilius let out a miffed "Oi! That's a waste of a perfectly good scone, that is!"
"Sorry Billy," Augusta said sheepishly. "If it helps, I wasn't aiming at you."
"You know, Auggie? That does help actually," Bilius said as he sat down next to Al, "Consider it forgotten."
Harry was grinning as he watched this exchange and took the opportunity to finally begin serving himself breakfast. As Al launched into a detailed description of Augusta's awkward encounter with the first-year (who kept glancing over at the group every minute or so) for the twins, Harry ended up deciding to forgo tea for the moment; his exhaustion seemed to have been chased off by all the excitement.
He had just finished his toast and Al his story when the owl post came in. As usual, hundreds of owls swooped down and circled the tables, dropping packages, letters, and newspapers onto their owner's laps. As they soared in, Harry caught himself looking for a flash of white feathers amongst the brown mass of owls before reality caught up to him. He stabbed his bacon a bit harder than normal as the sounds of rustling paper and animated chattering washed over him.
"That's odd."
Harry looked up. Al was examining an envelope. "What's odd?" he asked him quietly.
"My father wrote me a letter."
"Is that not normal?"
"No," he said simply. "Not normal at all."
As Al began to open the letter, Harry turned and looked around the Great Hall to give him some privacy. To his surprise, Al wasn't the only person looking confused and—wait? Was that fear?
"Good Godric," Al breathed.
Harry whipped back forward. "What is it?"
"Let me guess," Minnie said gravely, a newspaper in hand, "Grindelwald."
Augusta and the twins' conversation abruptly cut off.
"How did you know?" Al asked.
"It's on the front page of the Prophet. Look."
She tossed the paper onto the table in front of her and Harry read upside-down, "GRINDELWALD STRIKES AGAIN!" The shocking headline was accompanied by a photo of what Harry guessed to be a French town sign with an odd symbol carved into it. It looked like a triangular eye.
"Merlin," Septimus breathed. "What'd he do this time?"
Minnie picked up the paper. "It says here that the Ministry of Magic was informed late last night by the French Minister of the mysterious disappearance of the Ville des Lumières. An entire wizarding village."
"But that should be impossible," Al said, eyebrows furrowed.
"I know. And not only is the village gone but the people are too. Hundreds of French witches and wizards just... vanished. No one has been able to track them down."
"How do they know it was Grindelwald then?" Augusta asked anxiously.
"Well first, that's his mark on the town sign." Minnie pointed at the odd triangular eye, "But worse, he made a public 'declaration' yesterday in the French Ministry itself. He—" Her voice broke and she swallowed. "He plans to invade France if they don't step aside. This was a warning."
"Sick bastard," Septimus spat.
"He made this declaration in the Ministry?" Al asked, aghast. "How did no one catch him?"
"He's powerful," Harry said darkly. "Resourceful."
Minnie nodded, "They were probably caught off guard too."
The group lapsed into gloomy silence and Harry was suddenly aware of how muted the Great Hall sounded. He glanced around the room to see people in anxious debates. A quick scan of the staff table found several professors in deep conversation but this did not stick out to Harry as much as the absence of Dumbledore did.
"Why hasn't Dumbledore done something?" he murmured to himself.
"Dumbledore?" Augusta exclaimed, and his head jerked back to face the table. Everyone was looking at him. "Dumbledore as in our—our Transfiguration professor? What on earth could Dumbledore do?"
Harry's mouth opened and closed. Fuck. "Er, nothing, of course. I just meant—erm, he's my guardian, so he should've told me this."
She looked at him oddly. "...Okay?"
"Minnie," he said, somewhat desperately.
"Yeah?"
"What else does the article say? Is our Ministry going to step in?"
The black-haired girl quickly scanned the rest of the article. "It doesn't say. But it warns the public to be vigilant."
"Vigilant, huh? I wonder how Professor Merrythought will define 'vigilant?'" Bilius asked.
"Probably more dueling," Augusta guessed.
Al hummed in agreement. "We'll find out on Monday I suppose."
"Yeah. Monday."
Tom did not wait until Monday to talk to Harry. Rather, he waited until Harry was leaving the Great Hall after breakfast on Saturday to yank him aside by his robes.
"What the—!" Harry stumbled into him, instinctively grabbing at his robes before he looked up. "Tom?"
Tom felt tall as he smiled down at him. "Hi."
"What are you—?"
"Harry?"
Irritation surged in his chest at the sound of Minerva McGonagall's voice.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
Tom reluctantly looked up to see Harry's little entourage of McGonagall, Longbottom, and Fawley as Harry untangled himself from his robes. "Yeah, I'm fine, guys. You go on ahead. I'll meet you later."
While Longbottom and Fawley nodded, appeased, McGonagall's eyes flicked between himself and Harry, lingering on Tom's hand which was still clutching Harry's robes. Something like recognition flickered behind her eyes. Recognition and... Grief? No, that wasn't quite right.
"...Okay Harry," she said. "See you later."
With that, McGonagall and the others left. A moment later, Harry spoke. "What's up Tom?"
He pushed all thoughts of McGonagall aside. "We need to talk."
Harry's eyebrows knit together. "Yeah? Why?"
"Not here. C'mon."
He let go of Harry's robes and started off down the hallway. After a second's pause, Harry was at his side. "You're such a drama queen," Harry said conversationally, and Tom's steps faltered.
"Pardon?" he asked, not quite believing his ears.
"You're such a drama queen," Harry repeated, grinning. "'Not here,'" he mocked, voice comically deep, eyes darting around, face twisted into a caricature of suspicion. He laughed. "As if someone is going to jump out and stab us. Dramatic."
Tom hadn't misheard then. "I wouldn't be a Slytherin without a healthy dose of suspicion, Evans." The retort fell flat. Even to his ears, the use of his surname sounded weak. Harry had openly mocked him. Why wasn't Tom angrier?
Harry laughed, "That's true, I suppose. Where are we going?"
"Same place as before." Where I promised not to search for the Chamber went unspoken.
"Can I poke it this time then?"
Tom rolled his eyes even as his lips twitched. "Yeah, whatever."
"Cool."
The two of them walked along in companionable silence until they arrived at the mandrake tapestry. True to his word, Tom allowed Harry to jab it in the forehead with his wand this time. The mandrake's mouth began to unfurl.
Once the door was revealed, Tom and Harry wasted no time walking through it and making themselves comfortable on the chair and couch respectively.
"Okay then," Harry said, fixing all his attention on Tom, "We are 'not here.' What's the matter, Tom?"
Tom let the words roll around in his mouth before he spoke. "You undoubtedly saw the news."
Any lingering amusement on Harry's face vanished. "About Grindelwald? Yeah." As Tom hummed, stalling, the teen's eyes narrowed with concern. "What is it, Tom?"
The words left him in a rush. "I know when we met I told you to lie and say Grindelwald killed your parents, but I never asked and you won't tell me anything about your past so what if that wasn't a lie?"
Harry blinked. "...What?"
"Did the Dark Lord kill your parents, Harry?"
He glanced away and frustration bubbled in Tom's chest. "Fine," he spat. "Fine. You don't have to tell me, I just—I need to know Harry." He looked him in the eye. "Are you a target?"
Confusion twisted his face. "What?"
"What is there to be confused about, Harry?" Tom seethed and Harry flinched. "Are. You. A. Target. Tell me the truth!"
"No!" Harry yelled. "Jesus Tom, no! No, I'm not."
Something, some painful knot in his chest unraveled. "Good," he breathed. "Good."
The silence between them was almost tangible as Harry studied Tom. Finally, he spoke. "Were you... worried for me?"
"So what if I was?" Tom muttered.
Harry's face broke into a radiant smile and suddenly Tom felt far too exposed. But he didn't look away. Instead, he drank it in and became blinded by it. So blinded, he didn't even notice as Harry reached forward and grabbed his hand. Instantly, Harry's eyes began to glow and his magic sang in Tom's blood, intense and electrifying; Tom's eyes fluttered closed. Too soon the magic faded but Harry's hand didn't leave. Tom's hand tightened. He opened his eyes.
"What did you See?"
"You in a library..." Harry murmured as he ran his thumb along the back of Tom's hand. "The bookshelf swung open revealing a door. Like Scooby-Doo."
"Like what?" Tom felt dazed.
"Don't worry about it."
He didn't.
