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Chapter 4: The Nightly Prayer

The Boy-Who-Lived had a striking scar in the middle of his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt, and piercing emerald green eyes. These were the only things about him that seemed particularly striking or piercing. He wore robes that, if they were slightly above the median for all wizards, were far below it for the wealthy, pureblood lines, and had he lacked those particularly striking traits he could have passed for a child of middle class wizards. He towered over those his own age, standing at almost two meters in height, but for that height he was rather underweight, and even when he was not wearing robes he chose the most baggy clothes to hide that fact. His hair required no haircuts, as it stayed the same length at all times; even shaving the hair only altered the length for a few hours. When he woke up, he dressed, packed his schoolwork, and left for breakfast without a word. When he ate, he sat at an edge of the long Gryffindor table, while his classmates sat away from him, ignoring him but for the occasional dark look. His teachers had quickly become accustomed to his new determined, silent concentration during class. His wand was holly, eleven inches, with a phoenix feather core. When his peers stayed up late nights laughing and conversing, he recited a list, a prayer to a cold, merciless God and the dark Earth he had created. His name was Harry Potter

Harry cautiously knocked on the office door. This seemed to be the correct office, but it was along a row of spare rooms, and he certainly did not want to be made a fool out of when Butler saw him knocking on the wrong door. He was rewarded by a slightly muffled "enter" from within, which he obeyed quickly. He surveyed the room from just inside it, noting that while it was not dark, like Snape's office and classroom, it did not seem properly lit. There was a fireplace in one corner, and Harry found himself wondering for a moment how the smoke got outside, before remembering the word that applied to most of those Hogwarts peculiarities: magic.

"Ah, Mister Potter." His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Professor Butler, coming from behind the rather messy desk by one edge of the wall. Butler cleared a stack of books off of the desk and turned back to Harry. "Sit down, would you?" Harry cautiously sat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk, wondering what punishment was in store for him now. "Now then. First of all, I really do not have much work available for you to do. Ordinarily, I would have assigned you to Mister Filch, Professor Snape, or Professor Hagrid, who likely always seem to have some chore for the wayward student." Butler smiled, barely, and Harry wondered if he had missed a joke. "In any case, today I simply wanted to have a conversation with you. You may want to be comfortable, Potter. This detention is an hour and a half long."

Harry leaned backward into his chair. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

Butler grinned. "You should have more respect for your teachers, Potter. But the question is apt, isn't it?"

"Err...I thought so." When Butler looked at him expectantly, he realized his mistake. "Sir."

"Right. Right now I want to know what you said to your friends that made them so..." Marcus paused, seemed to be searching for the right word, then continued "unfriendly."

Harry's eyes widened. This man was new this year, had even been late to the Welcoming Feast. How much could he know? "Nothing, sir."

"One point from Gryffindor for being such an awful liar. Try again, please."

And the eyes widened even further. "Err...It had been Harry's experience in the past that honesty was not exactly the best policy, and he had become rather accomplished as a liar; unless Butler had evidence to the contrary, he almost certainly would have believed him. Nevertheless... "I called Ginny a slut."

A long pause. "Ginny?"

"Ah...Ginny Weasley. A fifth-year Gryffindor."

"I think I remember her. Looked like she hadn't gotten any sleep the night before because she'd been too busy crying." Harry cringed at that, but forced himself to relax. It had been necessary, after all. "And had a magnificent temper. Not one to cry at just any insult." Butler paused, his eyes narrowed. "Nor at one directed from just anyone."

"So?"

"First, another point from Gryffindor for refusing to completely answer a teacher's question." Harry supposed briefly that he should have been unsurprised by the professor's intelligence, but he was nevertheless. "Second, would you care to try again?"

Harry wondered briefly at that, thought for a second about telling him, actually, but what was he supposed to say? 'I told her that once I had thought I fancied her but now that she'd dirtied herself on Corner and Thomas and those other guys she was no better than a slut, and I hated her, and she should try selling herself on the street like every other whore, because the only thing she still had was her looks, how she was the only person he knew who ever had a trace of beauty, and though she'd squandered it he knew some people would surely pay for it anyway, so maybe she could be the first member of her family to finally bring in a decent income'? But he could not explain it like that. Especially not to this teacher, who he had spoken with once, briefly, who knew nothing about him, who did not - could not - understand why he had done it, or how he had planned what he would have to say in the early days of August, going over the enunciation of 'some people' so it was so obvious that he meant the Crabbes and the Goyles and the Slytherins in the world; nor could this old substitute understand how he had cried as he designed the jibe at the Weasley poverty or how it had taken him three days to convince himself to use the words that said, just under the service, that Hermione was ugly, had never looked good at all, had appreciated sadly the irony that he had spent five years earning these friends' - no, these acquaintances' trust, and now he was using that to hurt them.

But it was a necessary hurt. 'If I must break a man's legs to prevent him from running into traffic, then I will break his legs and I will not be sorry,' he had told himself. It made perfect sense. Then why was he so sorry?

He was pulled out of his reverie by Butler speaking. "I gather that you would not care to, then?"

He shook his head. With his luck, any further lies would just lose Gryffindor more points.

Butler nodded as if he had expected it. "Very well. Detention with me this time next week."

Harry stood up. "I'll be there then."

"I did not give you permission to leave." Butler's voice was suddenly sharp. "I'm not done with you yet."

Harry paused, glared, almost left, finally sat down. "Yes?"

"I believe that 'sir' or 'professor' is an appropriate way to address the teacher. But I'll let it go this time." Butler leaned forward in his chair. "Potter, I didn't know your parents."

"Err..."

"But I knew of your parents, Potter." He smiled, then, the sad shadow of a smile that indicated remembrance of a happy time now past, and he continued in that vein: "Everyone knew of your parents." He paused again, frowning. "Frankly, Harry, your parents would never have been on any list of the most powerful wizards alive. Don't get me wrong - they weren't bad - but they were not the most powerful. But I would bet every single person in the old Order of the Phoenix cried when your parents died, even though it happened on the same day He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated."

Harry raised his eyebrows at that. Dumbledore had said something about his parents being great wizards, but his own experience with Snape's Pensieve had not suggested that his father was a great man. "But-"

Butler interrupted him again, saying "Of course, I can't be sure. I don't know every member of the Order, and I haven't talked to any of those I did know." He paused - he liked pausing, Harry observed - probably for effect. "But I know they were all good people, basically. And any good person would weep at the death of such people."

"Sir, if you're trying to make me-"

"God knows you already feel guilty enough as it is. That's part of your problem, but we'll get to it later, maybe."

"Then -"

"What I'm trying to tell you, Potter, is that nothing you have ever done in your life would have made your parents as ashamed of you as what you said to Miss Weasley."

Silence. Butler watched Harry sharply as he absorbed it. He hit upon an idea, dismissed it immediately, returned to it, thought about it, considered it from rational and irrational standpoints, finished, spoke: "So?"

To Harry's surprise the Professor broke into an almost wild grin. "Bravo, Potter!" He laughed briefly. "Well done." His grin faded quickly. "I hadn't expected… never mind. In any case, it's a fair question. You didn't know your parents. Why should it matter to you what they think of you?"

Harry waited. He wanted the question answered, not repeated.

"Here it is. Perception is everything" Butler smiled. "I've done my homework on you, Potter. You have a temper about as hot as a volcano." Harry bristled, but the grey-haired man continued. "And anyone who knows that and is capable of discerning a lie will know that what you told Miss Weasley was out of character. Naturally they will wonder why, and they will stumble upon the same childish excuse for a reason that I have."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Which is?"

"You think that anyone you get close to will die."

"IT'S NOT AN EXCUSE! IT'S TRUE! THEY ALL DIE!" Harry exploded. "MY PARENTS AND SIRIUS AND CEDRIC AND-"

"That is enough, Potter. Your detention is over. I had hoped - no, I suppose it was never quite enough to be called a hope. Remember to be back here next week."

----

Creak, creak went the old wood floor, and Fweeeeeee went the wind through the small, open windows, and the pages, shuffling, went fss fss fss fss in their soft, shuffling way. Together, the extemporaneous instruments formed the kind of music that drives most people insane and made the third-floor library perfect for a man like the grey-haired owner of the residence who was, at present, sitting at the small desk on the edge of the desk flipping back and forth through Muggle Mythology v. Magic and Magical Theory, Volume III: Elves, Fey, and House-Elves. Finally he reached the page he was interested in and began reading.

After one hour, forty-seven minutes of reading, re-reading, and annotating a section of thirty-eight pages and was starting to write excitedly in another book when he heard a loud crack and a brief shriek of "Ouch!" He grinned, recognizing the voice, and hurried down two flights of stairs toward the front door of the American Butler residence. He paused on the last step, brushing his hair back, allowing his features to settle back into their reserved position, and walked to the door.

Opening it, he saw a young nun standing out in the road, rubbing the back of her head. He smiled toothlessly and waited for her to see him. When she did, he spoke: "Sister Jean! So good to see you." She smiled in return and hurried to the door.

"Marcus. Good to see you're here. May I come in?" He nodded and moved to the side to allow her in. He directed her back to the too-clean kitchen and grinned as she sat down. Suddenly he started to chuckle. The nun looked at him strangely until he finished and explained himself. "Tell me you haven't actually joined a convent, please."

"Oh." She grinned in return. "No, no. This is just a useful cover. You want help with that?" She redirected, seeing that he was transferring ingredients to a counter, but he shook his head.

"No, thanks."

She looked mournful. "I suppose I'd just break something anyway."

"You always fix far more than you break, Tonks."

The nun-who-was-not-a-nun shook her head patiently, too modestly. "Marcus-"

"You know, I saw through that deception years ago." Marcus changed the subject, and he saw Tonks narrow her eyes for a moment and then give in to the change in topic.

"Deception?"

"Yes, deception. The one where you pretend to be clumsy."

"Damn. How'd you find out?"

"A magician doesn't reveal his tricks."

"You're not-"

"And neither do I."

She frowned. "Fine. Err..."

"Oh, right. My apologies. I should have told you about the Anti-Apparition wards that you ran into trying to apparate in here so rudely."

"You never cared before!"

"Indeed, I never did. I was teasing you, Tonks. Well, I was dong my best. I don't really have the face for it."

"No you don't. But you called for a reason, didn't you?"

"Ah, yes. I have a job for you."

"Well, of course I'll do it, Marcus, but-

"I know about your assignment in Belgium. I assure you, it won't be a problem."

"Then what..."

"I'm very sorry to do this to you, but, well, I need to know what the Order of the Phoenix is up to."

Tonks sucked in her breath. She frowned instead of answering for a few seconds. "Marcus, I'll report on them to you if that's what you want, but..." she paused, "tell me this is for a good purpose."

"It is."

"What?"

"I..." He trailed off and Tonks almost scowled at him. "Look. I'm not sure yet. But it's about Potter, okay? I'm worried about him."

The nun-who-wasn't softened her expression immediately. "You know Dumbledore would never do anything to-"

"Of course he wouldn't. That's a totally separate problem. I'm just worried."

She nodded. "Of course, then. Actually, he hasn't called a meeting in a long time. Things are pretty quiet now. We think that he's still recovering and planning now that he's out in the open."

"All right. Keep me informed, please."

"Of course." She stood. "If that was all..."

Marcus looked affronted. "But I just finished making the tea!"

Tonks frowned. "I do have to get back to Belgium. I might be missed."

The old professor adopted a posture of mock relief. "Oh, yes. Well, earlier you told me you thought you had fallen in love with someone. Well, it's been several months now. Was it some crush?"

"What does this-"

"Was it?"

She sighed. "No."

"Good, good."

"I hate it when you do that."

"I know. In any case, the Minister, Miss Bones, and the Headmaster have been in discussions recently about a Ministry security presence in Hogwarts-" Tonks snorted, and he nodded. "Yes, it is total bullshit." He smiled and handed her a mug of tea. "Watch it. It's hot.. In any case, I pulled some strings in the Ministry, and you've been reassigned to the Hogwarts detail. Of course, there will be no-" He was cut off again as Tonks arms closed around him somewhat too forcefully, knocking his breath from him. He smiled awkwardly and detached himself. "As I was saying, there'll be no need for a cover, given that it's an official Ministry position..."

The nun-who-wasn't's habit suddenly flashed and changed into the official robes of that job with too many vowels, and her conservative brown hair became a particularly energetic spiked green almost certainly calculated to ruin his cultivated image of dignity, but he did not bother to argue with her about her appearance for the forty-third time. Instead he looked at a spot on the floor. "You dropped your tea."

She looked down suddenly. "Oh, sorry. I'll clean it up."

"No, no. I'm the host."

The bright-haired witch shook her head, amused. "Good to see you're acting exactly like yourself, you self-sacrificing bastard." She pulled out a wand and muttered a quick charm, making the remains disappear.

"I said I would handle it."

"And I didn't care." She shrugged. "How do you do that, anyway?"

"Do what?"

"What you do. You did it to me, and now you're doing it to Harry. You give someone a kick in the arse, and they end up loyal to me for the rest of their life."

"I never intended for that to happen."

"Fine. But you have this 'fixing people' thing, and somehow nobody ever gets angry that you're totally changing their life."

"If you say so. But the last thing I want is for Harry to be loyal to me."

"Really?"

"Really. Harry can be a great person if he grows up." He paused and his expression turned grim. "You know as well as I do that having me near him will only hurt him."

"That's nonsense, Marcus. But I've tried to convince you of that before, too."

"Yes you have. And you've failed. I heard Bones wanted to see you, by the way. You might want to get going."

"But I haven't even had any tea!"

"If you insist on waiting around, fine. But if you're going to stay, you have to read over my latest page of Meditations." Marcus almost grinned; he'd tried to make her read his writings before, and she'd told him plainly that nobody who wasn't a nerd would be interested in his books. Which explained her horrified expression.

"All right, all right. I'm going."

---

Harry Potter lay in his bed, and felt the familiar first tingles of sleep in his head. He stubbornly began his nightly prayer. "James Potter. Lily Potter. Quirenius Quirrel. Cedric Diggory. Bartemius Crouch, Junior. Sirius Black." He paused, thinking back to the summer before, of being woken up by the insistent brothers, of being told to flee, refusing, seeing them die. "Otto Bagman. Ludovic Bagman."

A/N: Apologies for taking so much time. I went on vacation and when I got back I had totally lost the thread of the chapter. That should also go toward explaining why so much of the chapter sucks so much. Sorry.