Disclaimer: See Chapter I
Also, I'd like to thank those of you who have taken some time to read and review my work (you know who you are). Your kind words have been felt and hope the wait hasn't been too long for this next installment as I'm trying to update my work every three chapters or roughly once every ten days. One final bit of thanks to the Harry Potter Lexicon that is quite the resource for anything Harry Potter related.
One final note: if anyone reading this is also a fan artist, please feel free to draw any character from this work in any way you feel like going at it. Just make sure you drop a review telling where the image can be viewed.
Anyhow, without further trouble, the next chapter.
Chapter XXV: A Father's Son
Five December wasn't a good day for Harry. He had been awake since 0400 the previous morning, and had been hoping to catch some sleep since it was a weekend. That, however, hadn't been the case. After he had broken away from Ginny (it had been about seven thirty, he had been up about twenty-seven and a half hours by then and was staying awake on equal parts adrenaline, and willpower) in the courtyard, telling her that he was going to go wash and maybe catch some sleep, Harry had been waylaid in the shower by Dean Thomas. Dean had told him Dumbeldore had sent for him, and that he was to report, immediately, to the Headmaster's office.
Harry had rolled his sore eyes, and told Dean he would do so. Throwing on a clean set of his school robes, Harry had transferred his badge from his dirty school uniform to the clean set, and made his way to the Headmaster's office. It took him a moment to remember the week's password.
"Orange Fizzle"
The staircase opened up before him, and stifling a yawn, Harry walked up the steps towards the Headmaster's office. Inwardly, he was torn up still about his uncle, even though Ginny had temporarily made him forget about it. Still, he knew that Dumbledore was probably calling him in there to go over what happened the previous night. With a bit of luck, Snape would be there as well, and he would finally get some damn answers as to just what had happened the other night.
Yet, for the umpteenth time in the past forty-eight hours, Harry was surprised, as while Dumbledore was there, there only three other people in that room, and none of whom Harry knew were friendly. There was Amos Diggory, Cedric's father, who glared malevolently at Harry. Harry noticed he had shaved off the bushy brown beard of his; this only gave him a more malevolent look. Besides him was the cold, bookish form of Percy Weasley. Harry smiled at him, hoping to see if there was some warmth there (Harry had known the man the first three years he was in Hogwarts, and back then he had been friendly enough), but all he got back was coldness. The final person in the room was a squat, brown-haired woman with a pale, unsmiling face and the eyes of Neville's toad. Harry assumed this woman was the 'human tapeworm' Dolores Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. Judging by the way some of the portraits in the Headmaster's office were looking at her, they weren't favorably impressed with her either.
Ignoring her, Harry went to the front of Dumbledore's desk, behind which reclined Dumbledore, his eyes and face expressionless. "Sir, reporting as ordered."
"Harry, this Amos Diggory, Percy Weasley, and Dolores Umbridge from the Ministry of Magic. I believe they wish to question you of the events of last night." Dumbledore said to Harry, his tone neutral. Dumbledore looked at Harry, and asked, in a concerned tone, "However, if you…" He was stopped by the sound of a cough from Umbridge. Dumbledore looked at her, his eyes expressionless over his glasses, "Yes, Ms. Umbridge?"
Umbridge smiled at Dumbledore, and answered in a tone that was high-pitched and girlish, the way her smile was. "My apologies Headmaster, but we really need to begin our enquiries. Surely you could allow us some privacy to begin?" Before Dumbeldore could respond, Harry looked at Umbridge icily and told her, "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I request that the Headmaster be present during your enquiries." Diggory glared at Harry, Harry glared back. He had been awake a little over twenty-four hours, to say he was tired, irritable would be an understatement, and had just killed a couple of people. At the moment, he was in no mood for any bullshit whatsoever.
Dumbeldore nodded, "Under Ministry legal guidelines, he is entitled to legal representation. I do believe that as a member of the Wizangamot," Dumbledore was referring to the judicial body of the British wizarding world, "I can be his representation." He paused, and his eyes bored into Umbridge's "Unless, of course, you are invoking the articles regarding the suspension of legal rights under the Terrorism Act of 1971, and the Official Secrets Act of 1912?" Diggory and Umbridge looked ready to say yes, but Dumbeldore continued, "Though that will mean, of course, a public announcement of it, as well as the circumstances behind it in the press." He made it sound professional, but Harry knew a shot across the bow as well as anyone.
Umbridge smiled her smile again. Harry was already beginning to despise it. "Oh, no need for that. We have already examined the physical evidence, and there is nothing to indicate that it was nothing more then a large-scale attack by the vampire population of Great Britain assisted by a foreign Dark wizard. A very, isolated incident, which was fortunate in that no one was killed or seriously injured." Harry lost it there and then. Stepping forward, he was boiling with rage as Diggory blocked his way. Diggory outweighed him by a good thirty pounds was taller then him by a good four inches and was staring at him with an expression that seemed to be hoping for a fight, but Harry was having none of it. Matching Diggory's stare with one of his own, Harry spoke up. "Madam, the Regiment of Broken Hill under Legate Bladvak lost fifteen of their strength. Eight more are in the hospital."
"They are not human." Harry's rage was like a boiler now: anything Umbridge said stoked it.
"Tell me, then," he asked acidly, "I suppose Neville Longbottom, who took a Stunner to the chest and has a couple of broken ribs to prove it doesn't count as well? Or how about our American exchange student Doc Detibedeux, who is going to be spending the next five months on crutches as his ankle heals?"
Percy looked at Harry with disgust, Diggory spoke to him, "Now see here, Potter, you are talking to the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, you will treat her with respect!" Diggory's voice rose as he spoke. Harry looked at him for a moment before telling him, in a conversational voice that dripped of contempt, "Go fuck yourself, Diggory." Several of the portraits on the wall looked shocked. That of one labeled Phineas Nigellus merely looked at Harry, and shook his head slowly.
Dumbeldore intervened before things could get any worse. "I believe that Miss Umbridge did not wish to disparage the memory of those goblin gentlemen who gave their lives in the line of duty, Harry. And Amos, do forgive Harry's rash remark as he hasn't slept in more then twenty-four hours, and just went through a most traumatic experience, so please be understanding." Diggory backed away, though he continued to give Harry the gimlet eye.
With a sigh, Dumbeldore rose and conjured motioned for everyone to take seats in several of the chairs that were in his office. "You may begin at your pleasure, Madam Umbridge."
She smiled, and turned to Harry, who had made himself comfortable in a chair near one of the windows. Percy, using seating himself at a coffee table, put down a roll of parchment and a dictation quill, along with a Salazar Eye. Diggory continued to stand, and glare malevolently at Harry.
"Now, Mr. Potter, state your full name, house and title for the record."
"Harold James Potter, Gryffindor, Student Head of Hogwarts Security"
"Are you aware of what a vampire looks like?'
For the next three hours, they grilled him over any topic under the sun. Harry's competence as Head of Student Security, his knowledge of vampires, foreign Dark magic organizations, the chronology of events, how two of the foreign dark wizards had escaped (Harry couldn't tell them that the other was floating somewhere in the North Sea with his face burnt crisp, and his teeth exploded), and countless details.
By the time Umbridge concluded that she had had enough information from Harry, Harry started to rise, but Diggory put a hand on his chest and pushed him back down. If it wasn't for the fact Dumbeldore was present, Harry probably would have broke that hand for Diggory, but instead (due no doubt as his mind was rapidly approaching shutdown) sat down, and said, "I believe the Undersecretary just said there were no further questions for me." Diggory grinned maliciously, "Perhaps for this incident, but you still have yet to be questioned in regards to the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, as well as the death of my son."
Harry was fed up having had to verbally and mentally spar with the bastard all morning, and decided (since he though Diggory's main beef with him was his belief Harry had killed Diggory instead of Voldemort) to just go ahead and answer any questions he may have had. "Go ahead then Diggory, I have nothing to hide." Diggory gave a thin smile, and began to ask his questions.
This one lasted another hour and a half. During that time, Harry had to relieve not only the night of the third task, but events previously before. Diggory showed no mercy: he asked questions about Harry's mental health, what dreams he had had, whether or not he had been having problems with his girlfriend (Diggory had been surprised to discover, that no, Harry and Hermione hadn't been a goddamn item.), what Harry 'thought' happened. Even though five seconds into the questioning Harry knew that he was the primary focus of the investigation, he reigned in his temper and kept on answering the questions put before him.
Have you wet the bed recently?
Have you had kept clippings from the newssheets dealing with you?
Are you partaking of muggle mind-altering drugs, to include heroin, methadone, and hallucinogens?
Not since I was two, no, and no. Finally, Diggory said, "I don't have any further questions." He paused, and then said, "For now."
Harry looked over at Dumbeldore and said, I'm going to be going to get a bit to eat and then go to bed, sir." Dumbeldore nodded, and thanked him for his patience. Turning for the door, Harry was stopped one more time by Diggory, "Did you want my son to die, Harry?"
Harry looked him straight in the eye, and gave him the answer he had given Cho. "Did I wish him ill because I was treated like shit whilst the man bested me at Quidditch and took the girl I wanted to go out with to the Ball? Yes, for I'm only human. Did I want him to die? No, of course not for what I felt was simple jealousy..."
"How do you know you, murdering bastard?" Diggory was all but spitting this at him. Harry was non-pulsed. Before he turned and left for the door, he gave Diggory a cool look and said, "A fellow student asked the same question about me killing your son…when I told her my answer, she said it should have been me. You know what? That's something I, too, agree with."
Without another word, he went out of Dumbeldore's office and made his way back to the common room.
Fuck that hurts, Harry swore to himself as he felt his eyes sting. It was daylight out there, and he decided to look at his watch. 1130. He had been up about twenty-seven hours, and his eyes felt like they were on fire. While he hadn't eaten in almost as long, he wasn't too hungry and decided that as soon as he made his way back to the dorm, the first thing he would do was change and go straight to bed.
It was that thought that drove Harry on, staggering, his mind in a fog-like daze after the stress of the previous day, and about four and a half hours of interrogation. He made it the picture of the Fat Lady, mumbled the password, and entered to find a relatively empty common room. Most of them started asking him questions about the previous night; Harry mumbled incoherently (Christ, I must be losing if even I can't understand myself, Harry thought) and staggered to his room. "Need a hand, Harry?" Harry vaguely recognized the voice of Dean Thomas, who was wearing a West Ham sweatshirt, and jeans. Stumbling up the stairs, he waved him off, and somehow located his bed. Sitting down on it, he managed to kick off his shoes and take off his half-robe.
Harry leaned back on his bed's headboard, and tried to take off his glasses but felt himself closing his eyes.
Give me a minute to…Harry thought as fell asleep.
* * *
Slowly, Harry opened his eyes. At the moment, his mind was like a blank piece of slate, and it took him a while to remember just what the hell had been happening. Raising himself up on a one hand, Harry realized that he had been lying down. Last he had remembered, he had been sitting against the headboard, and that…Wait, where's my glasses? And who took off my tie and loosened my belt? Harry just noticed this, and in the blurred haze that was his vision groped around for his glasses. Finding them on the side table, Harry put them on and saw that it was almost seven at night, judging by his watch (which was somehow sitting open next to his glasses). Dinner was probably starting soon.
"Are you all right, Harry?"
Harry looked up; it was Ginny, dressed in her school robes. In her hand was a glass of water, which she gave to him, as he sat up. "Thanks, Gin." Harry drank the water in one long gulp; he was thirsty now that he had awoken. Ginny came over, and embraced Harry, his head resting on her breasts. Harry took a moment to relax in the softness of her bosom before he looked up into her brown eyes, which looked back with happiness, love, and tenderness.
"Ginny, not that I'm complaining, but we really should get away, Dean, Seamus, or your brother could walk…"
She giggled, "Not to worry, I set one of Fred and George's inventions on the bottom of the staircase, so that anyone stepping on it will hear a loud bang. 'Sides, everyone else is at dinner, and I told Hermione and Ron I was going see if you were awake yet." Harry took a moment to think things through. In an instant, he grinned, pulled her closer to him, and had his and her lips locked together. She was just as enthusiastically kissing him, and both settled on to the softness of Harry's bed.
Ginny was running her hands through Harry's hair, Harry just as enthusiastically running his hands along her sides, and down her legs. It was then Harry stopped and broke away. He had put a hand on the edge of her skirt and had been sliding it due north. Pulling it away, he looked down at Ginny, and said sheepishly, "Sorry Gin, I…" Ginny laughed, "I was enjoying that." She played with one of Harry's ears, the two of them still in each other's arms, and looking at the other.
Ginny smile became mischievous, "You know, Harry, I was listening to some of the older girls, Katie and Angelina and a few others talking about what they do with their boyfriends. Not that mind you, but close enough."
"Oh?" Harry's curiosity was piqued.
Ginny, her face smiling mischievously leaned forward and whispered into his ear. Harry laughed, than grew serious. "Are you sure of this, Gin? I mean, it's not that far from going all the way, and the last thing I want is to pressure you into something…"
Ginny caressed Harry's face and laughingly asked, "A prude are we?" Harry snorted and Ginny continued, "I trust you, Harry, and believe me," her freckled face and red hair was glowing, "I am curious." Harry smiled, leaned forward to kiss her, and felt Ginny relax in his arms…
* * *
An hour later, Harry found himself walking towards the War Room, whistling an obscenely cheerful marching song. After he and Ginny had finished what they had been doing, Ginny had left the room in an even more jovial mood then he was, and Harry was pretty damn happy. Eight hours of sleep, talking with his girl, and…I suppose having it done on you by the most beautiful girl in this goddamn world beats having to do it yourself with one hand, and the other holding an issue of Penthouse. Not to mention the fact that she was as curious of me as I was of her, though I wonder…would it be appropriate to call it heavy petting, or what?
What they had been doing for about fifteen minutes had been the closet they had come to going all the way, and Harry had enjoyed it immensely. He knew Ginny had too, for after they were done she seemed to glow, and her face and smile radiated like the sun. Harry hoped no one noticed, as they were still playing the game as after a half-hour of talking, he had seen her to the common room and told her to go back to the Hall. Her reason for being about an hour late: she had lost a textbook and spent a bunch of time looking for it in her room. Were Harry a normal teen, and didn't have to keep something like this a goddamn secret, they probably would have been still busy, but…
Harry reached the door, but as he opened it, he couldn't help but feel a tingling in the fore, middle fingers and thumb of his right hand; in his ears, he could hear the sound of Ginny moaning and the way her fingers had…Snap out of it, Harry. Keep your mind on the business at hand. After taking a moment to breath deeply, he opened the door and entered the room. The place seemed to be its usual busy self, though most of the goblins took a moment to give Harry a friendly nod. None of them seemed fazed by the previous night's firefight; like the men of 2nd Para, Bravo Company, 2nd Platoon, they were professionals who knew death might one day be part of the bargain.
Going over to the conference table, Harry saw that only Snape was there. Snape seemed to be moodily sipping a cup of tea, and staring into the table. "Mr. Potter," Snape greeted Harry, his tone neutral. "Sir" Harry replied as he took his seat. Snape raised his eyes away from his tea, and spoke. "I understand the target of last night's attack was my daughter. I…" He trailed off, and Harry knew what was irritating him. "Sir, you should thank Neville and Doc; were it not for them…" A shrug. Snape didn't answer, and sipped from his tea. He looked over at Harry, "I understand that the leader told a very…gruesome tale to my daughter." He made it sound as though it were a question. Nodding, Harry asked, "Have you talked with Katrina about it, sir?" Snape shook his head, "No, I myself just arrived from the most recent summoning by the Dark Lord. He was most…displeased at the failure of this test."
"Test?"
"Apparently, there was a feeling that there is a leak within the organization. My daughter was to have been taken, and interrogated to determine my…loyalties." Snape's lips were drawn back in snarl as he said this. He turned towards Harry, "Apparently, it wasn't taken into consideration that an arrogant ass, a couple of crazed lunatics, and two morons would be there to protect her, not to mention a know-it-all." Harry almost exploded: here was a man who damn near loses his daughter, and has the balls to insult the people who did so.
It took but a second for Harry to realize what was going on, and that angered him even further.
"Sir," he asked coldly, "ever since the first day I've set foot in this school you have gone out of your way to humiliate, degrade, and belittle myself and my friends, to include trying to see us expelled from our school. I know that you and my father were enemies, so let me ask you a simple question: what did my father do to you that caused you to pursue a vendetta against his son, i.e. me." Snape eye's bored into Harry's; Harry glared right back. A cold smile played over Snape's face.
"How so like your father, Potter, arrogance personified. Tell me, what sort of man do you think your father was?"
"A better one then you, that much for sure."
Snape continued to smile. "I presume that is what the werewolf and the mutt tell you, no? That your father is a man who can walk on water, yes?"
Harry didn't deign to give that an answer.
Snape looked thoughtful for a moment, and then continued, "If you truly wish to know…Are you aware of what a Pensieve is, Potter?"
"A device to playback memories."
Snape gave a shark-like grin. "Then care to step into the past, and see your father for what he truly was worth?"
You know there's an ambush here, but fuck it, only way to deal with one is to either run through it, or fight through it.
It took Harry only a minute to decide.
"What are we waiting for?"
* * *
Half an hour later, Harry found himself hurling into a memory. After accepting Snape's offer, they had gone down to the Potions lab, and in Snape's office, Harry had put his face into the Pensieve. Snape had stood back, and asked Harry if he was capable of handling the truth; Harry had told him he probably knew more of the truth then Snape would care to admit.
Onwards he went, until he found himself standing in what he recognized as the Great Hall, only where there had been the four tables of the individual houses, there were now a hundred or so smaller desks. Harry slowly did a 360 look around the place.
Okay, students, students, it look's like old man Flitwick back there… Harry stopped, as behind him was what was definitely a younger version of Snape, with the usual hooked nose, sallow skin, and oily black hair. The man seemed to be hard at work on a bit of parchment. Harry studied the date at the top, along with the title: DADA OWL Exam; June 24, 1976. Fifth year, then, Harry thought to himself. Out of curiosity, he looked around.
He found his father towards the front of the classroom, and Harry looked at him in shock. For years, he had heard that he looked uncannily like his father, and it was all too true. Except for the eyes, and the fact James lacked a lightning bolt scar, they could have passed off for twins. Yet, there's something about him…Harry thought.
Looking around Harry spotted Sirius Black, handsome and debonair. It was clear to Harry, since girls on all sides surrounded him and all were giving him a look or two, that Sirius had been a lady's man or pretty boy back in the day. Still looking, Harry saw the thin, peaky form of Remus Lupin, concentrating hard on his paper. Just like Hermione would be doing, Harry thought to himself. Finally, Harry spotted the rat, Peter Pettigrew. Watching him, Harry had to wonder as to how the hell his father and his friends (Sirius and Remus) could allow such a miserable looking bastard like that to be a friend of theirs.
After a few moments, the exams ended, and people began filing out of the classroom. Harry followed Snape, and pleasantly discovered that it was possible to maintain a distance between the two so that he could see and hear both of them. Snape, with his nose in a book, was mercifully quiet as Harry followed the Marauders. It was fortunate that both were going in the same direction, as Harry listened to the Marauders talk of their tests.
Eventually, they stopped before a beech tree (slightly away from the oak Harry and Ginny liked to spend their time under) where James pulled out a Snitch. "Where you get it?" Sirius asked, looking bored. "Nicked it," James responded carelessly. Remus was reading a textbook; Pettigrew it seemed, was clapping his hands and being an all-around boot-licker as James played with the Snitch. Harry noticed James had great reflexes, yet he kept releasing it and catching it again. Pettigrew was clapping and cheering, much to Harry's annoyance. James, though, seemed to be reveling in it, and also seemed to be in the habit of rumpling his hair and casting a glance every so often across the lake.
Harry noticed there were a number of girls there. Easy there, if you want to wrinkle some sheets then go to Meg's…Or haven't you people discovered it yet, Harry thought to himself. Watching his father, Harry thought he acted a bit, well…Christ, what a fucking dunce.
Snape was immersed reading a textbook of some sort as well, only he was a bit further away in the shadow of a clump of bushes.
After a moment, James stopped playing with the Snitch as Sirius complained of Wormtail getting annoying. Sirius explained he was bored; he hoped another full moon would happen soon, maybe go to a place in Soho he had heard of called Meg's. It was then James said, "This'll liven you up, Padfoot. Look who it is…" It was Snape, the man was walking across the grass from the shadows of the bushes. "Excellent, Snivellus." Sirius seemed excited, wound up like a clock.
As Snape walked, James and Sirius got up and moved towards him. James yelled, "All right, Snivellus?" Snape reacted like mercury; he dropped his bag and was drawing his wand when he was hit by jinxes and hexes from Sirius and James; his wand went flying. James and Sirius seemed to be enjoying it, especially as a crowd of students gathered to watch. Looking at their expressions, it was clear that Snape was no more popular as a student then he was now as a teacher.
James and Sirius started mockingly talking to Snape over the OWLs. Snape responded with a mixture of words that included hexes, curses, and such niceties as "goddamn motherfucking, son of a whore dogshit". His little tirade was cut short as James jinxed him so that he started spewing forth a stream of pink, soapy bubbles.
"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" A girl with dark, red hair and green, almond-shaped eyes stormed towards them. Harry knew it was his mother.
"Can I help you, Evans?" Harry noticed that his father's voice seemed to have changed when his mom now that his mom was near.
Lilly wanted them to leave Snape alone, asking what he had done to them, her voice full of dislike towards James. James merely shrugged, "Well, it's more the fact he exists, if you know what I mean…" Lilly called him an arrogant, bullying toe-rag, and demanded they stop their activities with Snape. James offered to stop if she went out with him; Lilly told him he would lose if the choice were between him and the giant squid.
Sirius remarked, "Tough shit, James." Snape by than, had crawled to his wand and shot a curse of some sort at James; blood splattered as a gash opened up on James's cheek. The two Gryffindors fired another series of hexes and jinxes at Snape, this time he was hanging upside down, his trousers hanging down so that his underwear was visible.
The crowd was delighted by the way things were turning out. Lilly continued to yell at James, ordering him to release Snape. James, with a bored expression on his face, did so, and told Snape he was bloody lucky Evans was at hand. Snape spat back, "I don't need any fucking help from mudbloods like her!"
Hell broke loose once again. Lilly coldly told him she wouldn't bother the next time around, and then stopped as Snape was once again upended above the earth, James demanding he apologize.
Lilly yelled at James, saying he was no better then Snape. James hotly denied it, saying he would never call her that. Lilly stomped off; Sirius stated the obvious. "Guess she thinks you're a mitt conceited, mate."
James seemed irritated, and continued to muss his hair. "Right…Anyone want to see what Snivelly's looks like without his pants?" Harry wasn't able to see what happened next, for a strong arm was pulling him back to the surface. In a moment, he found himself staring into the hate-filled face of Snape. Snape looked at Harry, "An amusing man, your father, wasn't he?" Harry glared back, though he had to admit Snape was right. Everything bad thing that he had said about his father had been confirmed, and Harry wasn't sure what to think right now. Snape had been humiliated, embarrassed, singled out and bullied; Harry had been there, and had it happen as well.
Harry wasn't in the mood to listen to Snape's mockery, so he turned and head for the door. Snape called out to him, "You will not tell anyone what…" Snape was cut off as Harry whirled, and spoke, his tone icy, "Have no fear of that Snape." The potions master wasn't done yet though.
"Well, is Potter afraid of what will be thought if his father's true colors were shown? That the so-called bravest and boldest of Gryffindor were merely a bunch of thugs and bullies?"
"Oh, no, sir, I won't tell because you've earned the right, because of what you do." Harry paused, and matched the stare Snape was giving him. Part of him wanted to grab Snape by the scruff of his reedy neck and tear into him the way he had been trained, but he knew that wasn't going to happen anytime soon, for Snape was a hard bastard doing a hard job, not to mention his daughter Katrina was a friend of his, and the woman of a man who had saved his ass. So, Harry did the only thing he could do: he waited until Snape blinked, and went for the throat.
"You know, I never knew my father, but you…tell me, was yours a better man then my own? Was he what molded and forged you into the man you are today, the way you no doubt think James Potter molded me?" Snape's eyes flashed, but Harry couldn't care less as he turned and left the office.
* * *
Harry walked quickly towards the History of Magic classroom, as he desperately needed to use the fireplace there. Inwardly he was boiling pot of emotion.
Why was my father a bullying bastard? And my mother, she hated him! Harry thought to himself. Another quieter voice also seemed to be speaking in his, this one gruffer, and sounding old Dick Longbottom, the phlegmatic sergeant who had seen it all and done it all years earlier. Ye think that people will be cruel enough to say to an orphan asking of his parents that 'why yes, your father was a bullying bastard who hexed and cursed and jinxed for the fun of it?' Be real lad, be real…
Opening the door, he found it was mercifully empty, Alex nowhere in sight. Going over to the fireplace, Harry opened a small packet of course-ground Floo powder and tossed it into the fire. Moody had shown him the trick of packing a ten minute charge of Floo powder into a piece of paper and carrying it with him as part of his tradecraft training.
After that packet, Harry tossed in a small vial of a blue powder. The flames turned into a bluish color, much the same color as a blue chemical light. "Number 12 Grimmauld," Harry spoke clearly into the fire. The security measures in place by Dumbledore ensured that once he knew the secret, he could immediately contact the place using a regular floo network. The blue powder was the magical equivalent of a scrambling device, ensuring that no one could listen in on their conversation or trace it.
Soon enough, the faces of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black arrived in the flames. "Hello, Harry you all right? We heard from the Headmaster of what happened in the…" Harry impatiently waved it off, "We had a bit of a dust-up, and two good friends of mine are in the hospital. Not to mention we have a morgue full of dead goblins, but that isn't why I called you." Sirius and Remus looked at each other, "Then what was it you wanted to talk about?" Remus asked. Harry as quickly and efficiently described what Snape had showed him.
Harry ended with a harsh laugh, "So, I guess that slimy goddamn git of a Potions master was right all along? Funny thing is, I actually sympathize with the bastard since I've had similar happen to me"
"Harry, you shouldn't judge your father, he was only fifteen."
Harry snorted, "I'm fifteen, in case you forgot." Remus spoke, "You shouldn't judge your father, him and Snape hated each other from the moment they met on the Hogwarts Express. It didn't help later that your father and Sirius were the coolest, most popular in the school, whilst Snape was well…"
"A greasy, shit who was up to his dick in the Dark Arts," Sirius responded venomously. Harry shook his head, as after some of the shit he had learned as part of the Auror's training, he had to wonder where Light ended and Dark began. Alex had told him that all magic was gray, that only the user determined if it was good or bad. But after what happened in the dungeon…
"He was always messing with his hair." Harry sounded pained as he said it.
Sirius and Remus laughed, "God, I forgot he used to do that!" Remus asked, "Was he playing with a Snitch?" Harry nodded, "Yeah, and he looked like a goddamn fool."
"We all are at that age, Harry." Harry shook his head, and asked, "What of my mother, she hated him. How the fuck did they get together?"
"She didn't hate your father."
"No, they got along damn well, once James deflated his head a bit…"
"Yeah, and due to a lot of help from Alex. I think if it wasn't for him those two would have kept on fighting their whole damn lives." Harry, feeling as though his head might fall off, shook his head for who knew who how many times already that day.
Sirius asked, "Anyhow, we heard that was one hell of a dust-up at Hogsmeade. Care to tell us about it?" Harry grimaced, "Not much to tell as Madame Rosemerta's in the Infirmary along with Nev Longbottom and Doc the Yank exchange student. Other then that…" He shrugged. Sirius and Remus told him to cheer up, and Harry was about to ask a few, rather pointed questions about his father (whom he was starting to wonder if it was a good idea to imitate) when he heard footsteps in the hallway.
"Look someone's coming, so take care all right?"
"Yeah, you too, Harry. You coming by for Christmas?"
"Don't know yet, have to talk with the Headmaster and Moody about it. When I know, so will you, Sirius."
"Bye, Harry."
"Bye Sirius, bye Remus."
Harry took a poker from a wall rack, and stirred the ashes as the link died. The conversation got him thinking, as he actually felt a touch of sympathy to Snape, and thought how in the years before James had held an almost sacred place in his life; that he should be the yardstick to measure his life…
Yeah, good standard, measure yourself against a fucking bully.
Harry went to a seat near the teacher's desk, as he had the sneaky suspicion that it would be his uncle. Despite the revulsion he felt over the interrogation of the vampire, he was curious to see if his uncle had extracted any useful information from the man. While the methods may have been brutal, any information…
Shit, what the fuck is the matter with you, Harry! Are you becoming an amoral bastard for whom anything and everything is a means to an end? Harry thought to himself angrily. Part of him knew that the bastards they were fighting were cruel, heartless, and brutal fucks to whom there were no limits in order to accomplish their ends. Yet, was it worth it to fight a ruthless, savage enemy by being just as ruthless, and just as savage? Harry hoped that he wouldn't find out the answer to that question, but knew that he probably would before Voldemort was finished off.
Sure enough though, it was Uncle Alex who walked into the classroom, his magical eye swiveling. He spotted Harry, and smiled. "Hello, Harry." Harry kept his mouth shut, and gave him the gimlet eye. Alex kept his magical eye on him as he went behind his desk, and removed two small glass tumblers, and a bottle of Scotch. With a deft hand, he poured an inch worth of into one, and looked towards Harry. "Drink?" Harry nodded, and Alex poured an inch into the other glass.
Alex sipped from his glass as he slid one over to the edge of the desk, and asked, "You still pissed off over the interrogation?" Harry glared at his uncle, as he tasted the smooth, smoky taste of the whiskey. "So what happened after you threw me out? Did you have to use a fucking lead pipe and blowtorch on him after all?"
"No, turns out he really didn't know much that we ourselves don't already know. He received his orders following a gathering of Death Eaters in a vampire coven in Dorset. This was the first major operation since he arrived in England last year, as his work for Golovko was principally one of bouncers, guarding covens and the lot. Didn't have anything much else to say by then, so I ended it."
Alex sipped his whiskey, "If you're wondering what I did afterwards, have no fear, he died quick if not painless."
"What did you do?"
"Stuck a silver stake into his heart, transfigured him into a quill, took him to the top of the Astronomy tower during breakfast, and then transfigured him back." Alex shrugged, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."
Harry couldn't take it anymore, and wanted to ask his uncle just what the fuck the whole purpose of his interrogation had been. Alex beat him to it, "You wondering why I did what I did?" Harry was slightly relieved his uncle said it, for he doubted if he could have done so without yelling, and nodded yes. "Three reasons Harry: One, the ministry was on our ass, as the little gunfight you set up had magical sensors throughout the whole bloody country ringing. If he had fallen into the MOM's hands, we would know nothing compared to the little we know now. Second," Alex's tone was steel now. "I wanted to impress upon you the point that the SERE and Occlumency you lessons are taking are necessary…we're not fucking around here, Harry. There are sick fucks out there who would do worse then what I did, and do it to you, and unlike what I did, you'd have a much harder time recovering. Finally, you may have noticed I constantly asked of an individual named Mueller, yes?" Harry nodded, and asked, "Who is he?'
"A vampire with whom I have a score to settle, which I will go to any lengths to do so. Any other questions, or comments?" Harry thought over what his uncle said, and decided that while he couldn't agree with his uncle's use of torture, he understood the reasons for it. Nodding his head, he said he was sorry for acting like a shit over it, that next time he wouldn't be sitting in an interrogation, and updated his uncle on what happened in Dumbledore's office. Alex didn't seem to be bothered by this.
"We all knew that you and the Headmaster were going to be targets of a possible character assassination campaign by Fudge. However, if they were to publish results against you, coupled with the shit in the papers, then it will become blatantly obvious to every wizard and witch in the land just what sort of game Fudge is playing. No, all they'll do is investigate, and keep throwing question marks above our heads, but we can live with that."
Harry then told his uncle of what Snape had showed him, and the rather inconclusive conversation he had had with Remus and Sirius. "You know, uncle, I used to think that I wanted to be like my father, that he was…Ah fuck, I don't know, I just didn't think I would see the day where I had sympathy for that prick Snape." Alex listened to Harry, and sipped his drink. Looking over at his nephew, he asked, "Tell me, Harry, how a blade is created?"
Harry wondered what the hell the point of that question, but answered anyways of how a piece of iron was smelted into steel, and from there forged, tempered, and sharpened until a deadly blade was created. Alex waited until Harry was finished before he spoke. "Harry, when a blade is cast in a mould, you can cast it in the same mold as the other blades, and try to duplicate it like the one before, it won't be the same thing. It will have it's own flaws, and it's own weaknesses. Yet in the end, it will still be a blade, and all blades can be good ones."
Looking Harry in the eye, Alex said, "Lad, our fathers are like the mold: we are born of it, but it is the forge and hammers and bellows of life that ultimately shape us into the men we become. A father, or the image of a father which we are told of, is but a role-model to guide us."
"How was my father a good role-model, did you see how much of an arrogant asshole he was?"
Alex smiled, "Your father was an arrogant bastard, a bully to anyone who had the misfortune of being called an enemy, and a man to whom Quidditch, going out, probably fucking, with my sister, and his friends were the world and the devil take the rest." Alex sipped his whiskey, his smile still on his face; "He was also one of the bravest, loyalist, and charming individuals I have ever had the privilege of knowing, even though he initially became my friend as part of his attempts to get to Lilly. He drank and whored and roared with the best of us, and he was one of the best friends I ever had. He was like the rest of us: a man. Can you understand that?"
"I'm not sure…"
"Then understand this: our fathers may be the mold from which we are cast, but ultimately, it is the decisions and choices we make, as well as the experiences we go through, that shape us into the people we are. It is up to you how you want to turn out."
"All right, thanks Alex."
Alex wasn't done though, "I hope you understand that I'm not telling you to denigrate the memory of your father. All I'm saying he was, like the rest, a man with strengths and flaws, and even though you never met, you should at least respect his memory, and honor him as a son should. You're not the only who has had to learn of his father secondhand."
Harry nodded, but asked out of curiosity, "What do you mean by that last bit? Who do you know that has had to learn of his father that way?"
Alex sipped from his drink, "Me and your mother, Harry." Harry was stunned, but before he could say anything, Alex got up and went into the back room. Alex returned carrying a small black photo album. He looked Harry in the eyes. "Tell me, how much do you know of your grandparents, Harry, on your mum's side?"
Harry shrugged, "Aunt Petunia never mentioned them much. I think she said both of them were doctors?" Alex nodded, "They were. Doctor Geoff Evans, and Doctor Jane Hargrove Evans. Geoff was a surgeon, and Jane, our mother, was a psychiatrist."
"You said your mother, you mean Geoff wasn't your father, my grandfather?"
Alex swirled his scotch, breathed deeply, his face deep in thought. "You ever wonder why your aunt never liked me and your mother much, Harry?"
"I thought she was like Vernon, someone who just hates magic."
"Partly, but…I guess I have to tell the story from the beginning." Setting his whiskey tumbler down, he opened the album and pulled out a small photograph, and began to speak.
"Right, guess we start in 1944, India. Back then, that was the real home for the Army, and Geoff Evans and Jane Hargrove were both the children of serving soldiers. In Geoff's case, his father, Thomas Evans, was a Lieutenant Colonel in one of the Indian regiments; Jane's father was Edgar Hargroves of the Army Medical Corps. Geoff and Jane had been childhood friends, growing up in same cantonment outside of Lucknow, soon grew to be quite the couple. But, there was a war on, and Geoff wanted in. Since they allowed boy soldiers in the army back then, Geoff enlisted when after his fifteenth birthday in early 1944. Him, and his best friend, a man named Gerald Egan, the son of a British Sergeant who was seconded to one of the Gurkha regiments."
Alex slid the photo to Harry. Harry looked at it, and saw three people outside of a whitewashed house. Two were boys in the khaki tropical uniforms of the day, while one was a pretty dark-haired girl in a white or light blue dress. None of them looked older then fifteen. Harry noticed that man on the left, with his dark hair, looked a lot like Petunia, only in a far more friendly, kindly sort of way. The man on the right, though, looked like someone Harry knew, but couldn't place with dark, reddish, hair, and an easy grin on his face.
Wait, he looks really familiar…
Alex continued, "Anyhow, those two were sent to fight under Billy Slim in Burma, and by some miracle managed to survive the war unscathed. Afterwards, Geoff left the Army to pursue his education and became a surgeon, while Gerald stayed in, earning a commission, and then in Korea he won the MC on his twenty-second birthday when he was with the Royal Ulster Rifles at the Battle of the Imjin in 1951. The Glosters weren't the only ones to earn glory and honor that day."
Refilling his tumbler, Alex took a swallow of it, and continued. "Anyhow, during this whole time, Geoff and Jane were both in college in England. Geoff finally got certified as a surgeon in 1956, and took a commission in the Army Medical Corps, since he wanted to follow his father's footsteps. Not to mention old John Bull wanted his fair cut as the government loaned him the money to pay for his doctorate, so off to the Army as Thomas Evans wound up having to spend a large amount of money moving from India to England after we gave that country independence. Jane's father was better off, so she went into private practice. Since they had been going to the same medical school in Suffolk, Geoff proposed, and she accepted. Geoff then reported in at Aldershot, close to his dad's place."
Alex leaned back and stretched before he continued. "Now, during the time he reported in the Army was stretched thin with commitments in Malaysia, Aden, and Kenya. They needed a surgeon bad for one of the parachute battalions, as the Suez crisis was brewing and the Army was gearing up to invade Egypt. So, they gave him a week's worth of parachute training, and wished him good luck on the jump. On the second week of service to Crown and Country, he found himself in the back of an Avro York above the Mediterranean. Heading towards God knew what and praying that his chute opened, 'cause back then the crazy bastards in the Regiment used only one chute, and no reserve as they wanted to use the spare weight for more ammo. The only thing reassuring about the whole thing was that his best mate, a man who had fought with him in Burma was next to him. His name: Captain Gerald Egan of the 1st Battalion, Parachute Regiment."
"I take it they survived?"
Alex took out a Lucky Strike, and lit it. He had a wry grin on his face. "I guess you could say that since Lilly, me and Petunia are here. Anyhow, after that little fiasco in Egypt, Geoff and Gerald went back to England, where Geoff married Jane. Gerald was the best man at their wedding. Gerald also arranged it so that they would go to their next posting together. Which was, unfortunately, Cyprus."
"Why was that unfortunate?"
"Around the time they went there, things had gone real bad as the Greeks wanted us to leave so that they and the Turks could go back to their age-old business of killing each other. Since we had prime real estate there, the Foreign Office told them to get fucked, and we had one of the most nasty guerilla wars ever on our hands." Harry noticed there was a real bit of venom in his voice, and looked at his uncle questioningly. Alex sipped his drink. "Whoresons attacked women and children of people serving there, so we weren't exactly gentle with the shits. Gerald was with one of the line regiments there running patrols in the hills, hunting guerillas, while Geoff worked as a surgeon. It was tough, hot, dirty work, but not everything was unhappy as Geoff and Jane's first child, Petunia, was born in 1957 at the RAF hospital. Things from there looked up though as the war got hotter, and it looked there would finally be a peace settlement as there were negotiations and a truce in late 1958. Yet…"
He paused before continuing. "In every war out there, there are hiccups and fuck-ups out there. What happened to Geoff was one such thing. He was riding in the third Land Rover on this roving patrol in the hills the day before the truce was declared, but still things had been quiet. Anyhow, they were driving along when a mine detonated under the Rover. The driver was killed instantly, but Geoff…"
Another slug of drink. "He survived, but the cost was…the blast from the mine created a shrapnel effect as parts of the car were driven upwards. Geoff kept his legs, but by the time they were through patching him up, he was a certified eunuch." Harry was stunned, as he suddenly realized the full impact of what his uncle was telling him. "So, who's my real grandfather, Alex? Is it…?"
"In good time lad, in good time. Now, it took about six months for him to recover, with Jane supporting him as a good wife. The two loved each other deeply, but there was one problem…both of them wanted a large family, and even though Petunia was growing and something of a handful, they still wanted at least two more children. Now, they thought of adoption, but Geoff wanted his children to have a bit of Jane in them, if not any of him. In vitro fertilization was still being tried out back then, but had a high failure rate, not to mention the fact Geoff didn't have a sperm sample handy. Plus, Geoff knew that his wife was quietly frustrated, as he could no longer fulfill his functions as a husband in the bedroom even though she was taking it in stride. So, from what he told me when I was older before he died, they had a quiet word. Geoff let it be known he would understand if she went to another man. Jane then did the only thing she could do: she went and had an affair with a friend, someone whom she and Geoff had known for years and was a close friend, one who loved Jane as much as Geoff. This man became a surrogate father, and well…"
Alex looked at Harry straight in the face. " He fathered Lilly in 1960, and then me in 1962. Geoff couldn't care less, he loved me and Lilly and Petunia, though Petunia later thought that him and Ma treated us a little bit better then her, which may have been partly true since I guess Geoff felt somewhat guilty over the fact he wasn't our father. Then there was the magic bit when we turned eleven…" He paused, and drained his tumbler of his drink. "My father was Gerald Egan. I never met him, yet he was my father. Like you, I only learned what sort of man my father was later in life, as Geoff was on a deathbed. Geoff, he was a good, kind-hearted soul much like Arthur Weasley, and was everything a boy could want in a father. It was fair of him to give me the truth of who I am."
Alex got up and walked towards Harry. He took a desk next to Harry, and said. "Lad, I learned my father, the one whose blood flows in me, was a good man, a kind one, but like all of us he had his flaws. I learned to love him, and use him and Geoff, the man who raised me, as yardsticks to measure my life the last few years in Hogwarts. I learned later that his flaws included being one of the most ruthless guerilla hunters in the Army in Malaysia and later in Borneo, but by then I was a man grown and knew that all men have their dark sides. It's the nature of the beast, of man…"
He looked over at Harry, "Your father, like mine, was a good man in the end who loved the woman in his life. Without James, you wouldn't be here, and without Gerald, I wouldn't be here either. Both of them had their faults, but in the end, it doesn't matter for we have no say in who our father's are, and even if we did, is there such as a thing as a man without a wart of some sort in his past?" Alex paused, and finished, "Your father was a good man overall, and would be proud to see that you have the best parts of him and your mother, and never had that damned arrogance of his. Honor him and your mother both by living and loving your life, and that of your friends and women to the fullest, Harry. Remember that." Alex turned and cleaned up his album. He had turned and was walking towards his office when Harry asked a final question.
"What happened to Gerald, grandfather I mean?"
Alex stopped, and without turning told him. "He died in 1966, when I was four years old. It was during the guerilla war with Indonesia over Borneo. Gerald died when a Claret or cross-border raid went real bad on the border between Brunei and Indonesia. He led a platoon of Ghurkas into the jungle to cover the withdrawal of the raiding force, and during the retreat back into Sarawak, he was hit real bad in the stomach, very messy, gut shot. Since the Indonesians were fast approaching, he ordered his men to leave him behind. He had his wound dressed, and had another eighteen round magazine for his Armalite, this being the days before thirty round mags were common, so you only had a twenty round one, and that held only eighteen so you didn't fuck up the spring, left behind with him. His Ghurkhas did so, and they returned two days later, to bring back his body. They never found him."
He turned his head to shoulder, and finished, "He's still out there, Harry, and a piece of Borneo will be forever British."
Alex went into the office, and Harry finished his drink, and left, his mind finally digesting what his uncle had just told him.