Mycroft 11.1 Apotheosis
"I need you to leave my family alone."
Over half-moon spectacles, brilliant blue eyes twinkled back at him. Mycroft felt his heart beating a staccato rhythm in his ribcage.
"I do believe you're not in a position to be making demands, Mister Holmes." Dumbledore sounded calm and sure.
Mycroft wiped his sweaty hands on his legs, kneading his thighs as he watched the fourth most dangerous wizard in the country finish his tea.
Unfortunately for Dumbledore, he didn't know about Grindelwald and Eurus' pending arrival in the country. With them and Sherry on the anti-Dumbledore side, any reasonable paragon of Light Magic should be pissing himself with fear. But the old man didn't know, so here Mycroft was, acting as an emissary.
He had a message to deliver, and all the twinkling in the world wouldn't deter him. "If things continue this way, my son won't be attending Hogwarts when he turns eleven," he passed along, verbatim.
Dumbledore's response was stern. "It is a parent's duty to choose what is right for their child. Just because your son does not wish to go to school does not mean he is excused from obtaining his magical education."
"You misunderstood. Just because you wish for him to attend doesn't entitle you to teach him. As parents, Harry and I don't want our son to attend Hogwarts." The shock in Dumbledore's slack jaw delighted Mycroft.
"Why not? It's the foremost institution in Europe, if not the world. A Hogwarts education is the only option if you want young Mister Potter to ever amount to anything."
Mycroft grinned, all teeth and no smile. "I'm sure you believe the drivel you're spouting, but we've looked into it. The curriculum is a catastrophe and the staff-to-student ratio is a disaster. Perhaps, if you spent more of your time keeping your teachers appeased instead of meddling in my husband's political doings–"
"Did you threaten me, Mister Holmes?" he asked calmly.
"I don't need to," Mycroft replied. "Unlike you, I have a sufficient grasp of the things that fall into my purview and the things I should leave well enough alone. On a related note, have you taken a look at international politics of late?"
"I believe you were just telling an old man to mind matters closer to home," Dumbledore said, his voice sounding condescending.
The waitress stopped by to ask if they wanted anything else. The Headmaster ordered an apple tart, while Mycroft shook his head.
"It seems," he said once she'd left, "that you have your own family matters to be worrying about. Please leave my family alone and take a closer look at the storm clouds accumulating in your backyard."
Then he got up, buttoned his jacket, and walked away. The umbrella was slippery in his hands, but his breathing was steady.
He left Dumbledore to pay the bill.
.oOo.
She would be arriving on a cold January Tuesday by aeroplane. The flight was landing at Heathrow at 9:26 am. The names they were travelling under were fake, but it hadn't been difficult to find the trio in the passenger records with MI6 on the lookout.
Anthea had not joined him in the car. Mycroft couldn't remember when he'd last travelled without her sitting across from him, her calm voice talking him through his schedule to ensure he was prepared for whatever came next.
Studying the creases in the leather in front of him, Mycroft felt woefully unprepared for what would await him when OS461 landed. He didn't even know if Eurus, Bellatrix, and Grindelwald would be going through customs or apparating out.
When he saw her oh-so-familiar silhouette walking out of the gate, Mycroft almost wished they'd chosen to disapparate. She was coming straight towards him, her slim figure cloaked by the way her jacket hung straight down.
"You came," she said. Mycroft basked in the cold determination in her eyes.
Yes, he'd come to fetch her from the airport, but she was the one who had come home. "Always," he said, and he meant it.
Eurus smiled stiffly. She looked over her shoulder to where Bellatrix and Grindelwald were waiting off to the side. Perhaps the couple were using magic to eavesdrop, or perhaps they were genuinely busy looking sappily into one another's eyes.
"I wanted to apologise," Mycroft said. "For everything, but specifically for disappointing you. I need you to understand that was never my intention. I just—" Mycroft swallowed. He had wanted to prepare a speech, but Harry had convinced him to go for unbridled, inelegant honesty instead. "I just wanted you to be happy."
He blinked. Eurus blinked back at him. This time, her smile was as real as the wrinkles on the bridge of her nose. Mycroft knew that he was fat, but in that moment he would have sworn he was light as dandelion fluff.
"I wanted to punish you, you know," Eurus said.
Mycroft knew. She'd been his sister for a very long time. "I saw. You've been leaving me breadcrumbs. Grindelwald has been making quite the mess."
He didn't say that Sherry was the one who'd figured it all out. Harry had been puzzling over what Grindelwald's people had been doing for weeks before Sherry stepped up.
Who could understand a Dark Lord if not a fellow Dark Lord? And in this case, was it really Grindelwald's will or was it Eurus pulling his strings?
"If you feel I've been sufficiently chastised, I'd very much like for you to come home?"
Something flashed across her face too quickly for Mycroft to understand. She glanced at Grindelwald and Bella, who were now whispering and giggling.
"I'm glad you understand me," Eurus said without looking, her voice barely loud enough for Mycroft to hear. "Sometimes, I feel like you're the only person who does."
She turned back to him and squared her shoulders.
"Shall we?" he said, offering his arm like he had when they'd been little and the only place they'd had to go was dinner.
She looped her arm into his. "Lead the way, good sir."
Mycroft could feel the stares fixed on his and Eurus' backs as they walked away, but he did not turn around to check.
.oOo.
The charge for parking at the airport was ridiculous, and Mycroft didn't care. He could not stop taking her in. Sitting on Anthea's usual seat, she seemed larger and more real than the sister he'd remembered.
There was a wand tucked into a holster on her belt. Mycroft knew that for Eurus, learning to control her magic was the most empowering thing she'd ever done. He had to suppress his instinct to look around for the familiar grey head of fur that had never been far from her side.
"You seem to be well," he told her.
He knew she knew that he'd think she looked well. The question remained if that appearance was genuine or if it had been carefully cultivated.
Mycroft had spent a weekend piecing together where she'd spent the past years by following many little nuggets of information in the news.
A Dark ritual had killed ten wizards in Kaliningrad. The men had all apparently died of old age, which Sherry had assured them was related to Grindelwald's renewed youth. The fact Harry had found them in Austria at all was also a mystery. Had Bellatrix purposefully lured Harry to the house to show him what he was meant to see? And if it was a plot, what were Eurus' intentions in it?
"I am doing much better now," Eurus said.
Mycroft blinked at her, stroking his thumb over the carved wooden handle of his umbrella. He waited for her magic to wash over him and tell him what she wanted, but nothing came. "I missed you."
She could easily have deduced that, too. He felt like the time and space between them had created an impossible rift that he couldn't fill with useless chatter, couldn't not fill with useless chatter.
"You'll be needing my room, then? For your new child." It wasn't an accusation, just a fact.
"Sirius has returned from our attempt to settle him in France," he explained. "Your room is just as you left it, but we thought you might like to have a space of your own. The lady next door agreed to rent us the flat above her own."
"She's an interesting sort, Mrs. Hudson."
"She'd like me to pass along that she isn't going to be your housekeeper." Mycroft had heard that Eurus was now capable of refilling the kettle after emptying it, but he doubted it meant she knew how to do her own dishes after leaving them in the sink.
"And Sherry, does he remember me?"
"He's a Holmes."
"Yes." She looked out the window, smiling slightly as the familiar sights whizzed past.
Mycroft rolled the window down so that she might smell the rain. He'd read that Austria's precipitation was mainly of the snowy sort.
"And you've arranged some kind of activity for me?"
Had he really been that kind of brother? Always making sure there was something for her to do?
"Of a sort." Mycroft swallowed. "You could return to your studies, but I wondered if you might not enjoy a more hands-on approach. There's a place for you at Scotland Yard as a consultant, should you want it. They could use a mind of your calibre to look into the more difficult cases."
"I see."
Mycroft hoped she didn't. It would be impossible to explain how Harry had come about his insight into the kinds of jobs that may or may not be suitable for someone like her. And he didn't want her to think that he was trying to make her into something she wasn't. Make her into someone like he might have become.
"Please don't murder Sirius," he said as they pulled up to 223 Baker Street. "He has his flaws, but it'd be a shame if he didn't make it. Besides, Dumbledore would come knocking. I'd rather stay out of the man's exceptionally long hair."
She laughed, head tilted back and nose crinkling. Mycroft followed her up the stairs, hoping he'd never have to go so long without hearing the sound again.
"Dumbledore won't know what hit him," she said as she unpicked the lock to their flat. "Gellert has a whole lot of mess lined up for him, he'll be absolutely entangled by September at the latest."
Mycroft shuddered at the Schadenfreude lacing her voice as she led him inside. "Welcome home," he nonetheless told his sister. "I'm really glad to have you back."
.oOo.
"This is Eurus? I've heard so much about you," Sirius said, extending a hand, then dropping it when she made no move to shake it. "Your family missed you heaps. I'm not sure if you know about me? I'm Sherry's godfather, of course. Served some time atoning for my sins."
"They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder." She walked past him then, beelining for her bedroom.
Mycroft followed. "We didn't touch it, though I think Sherry did go snooping once or twice."
She stood in the middle of her room and turned slowly. Her wand was out and casting a cleaning charm faster than Mycroft could flinch away. "I see," she said.
"Once you're ready, I'll contact Detective Lestrade at Scotland Yard for you."
"I'd like to be alone now. When can I move into Mrs. Hudson's?"
"Of course." Mycroft backed towards the door. "Whenever you like. The rent is all taken care of."
She didn't say anything else, seeming to be looking out the window.
Mycroft closed her door and went to fix himself a calming cup of darjeeling.
.oOo.
He didn't get much work done that day. Anthea called twice, but Mycroft found he couldn't answer. He listened to it ring while pretending to read. It was a relief when Sirius came in and asked for a moment of his time.
"I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful," he said. "I heard you and Harry talking about problems in the Ministry."
Mycroft looked at him. They'd left him in France over Christmas, hoping that he and his werewolf friend would make up and have a happy life together. Sirius seemed to have come back from his holiday distinctly less rested than he'd started. "You and Lupin had a falling out," he deduced.
"Well." Sirius chewed on his lip. "It's more that we didn't have a falling in? I thought it'd be just like the old days, but…"
"I see." According to Harry, Remus had sent a letter to that effect. Mycroft looked back at the paperwork on his desk. "Let's go to the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson dropped off some blueberry muffins for us yesterday."
They were delicious. Mycroft let Sirius make the tea while he savoured every bite. He'd have to thank Mrs. Hudson again when Sherry returned from his violin lesson.
"I was hoping to find a job," Sirius said. All the time he had wasted oozing false confidence only made him look more humbled now. "The wizards won't hire me, but maybe you know someone on the muggle end? I love children. I was thinking of a tutor, or a schoolteacher."
Mycroft couldn't help himself; he laughed. "You murdered twelve muggles in cold blood, Sirius. Harry has told me some of the misadventures you got up to in your school days. A few years of penance aren't enough for me to let you near anyone as impressionable as a child."
The man's throat bobbed as he blinked. There were tears pooling in his eyes. Sirius' smile wasn't fooling anyone. "I've been thinking about that," he said. "Not much else to do for the past seven years. I know I can't undo killing them, but I was hoping—"
He wiped at his face. Mycroft understood why Harry simultaneously did and didn't like the man.
"I was hoping to do something good with myself. Restore the karmic balance, so to speak."
Mycroft nodded. "It's as good an idea as any."
Evidently, Sirius hadn't been expecting that. He was chewing his lip again. Mycroft cut one of the remaining muffins in half and took another bite.
"If not children, how about healing? I know a few good spells and potions. I bet I'd be a great muggle doctor."
The paperwork waiting on his desk was becoming increasingly appealing. "Do you know what happens when you try to use magical medicine on a non magical person, Sirius?" There was no need to wait for a reply. "They develop cancer and die. A person needs internal magic, and you'd know that if you'd paid attention in your education at all."
Sirius looked chastised. Mycroft sighed. He rubbed at his face, feeling unreasonably tired.
"I'll see what I can do," he said, heaving himself to his feet. He took a fresh cup of tea and the second half of the blueberry muffin back to his office with him.
.oOo.
"I might hate her," Harry said, sitting on Mycroft's bed with a groan.
Mycroft set aside his book and took off his reading glasses. "You don't mean that."
"No." Harry sighed. "No matter where I look, she's got her fingers in all the pies. Grindelwald's plant in the Prophet is publishing absolute shit, did I tell you? They've gotten a book deal out of it, even. The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. I guess that title's catchy enough for this world, too."
"What's it going to be about?" Mycroft felt a bit of trepidation fighting the relief in his stomach. It was good that Harry didn't hate his sister. It was not good that he'd forgotten to dry his hair and was now sitting in all his damp glory on Mycroft's expensive mattress.
"Oh, you know," Harry said, flopping back so he was looking at the ceiling. "Just the truth on Albus and Gellert's teenage fantasies about ruling the 'stupid little muggles.' All for the greater good, et cetera."
"Oh dear." It was a shame Harry hadn't told him this before, because Mycroft would have enjoyed knowing it was coming. "Your hair is wet."
"Sorry." Harry removed the towel from around his bare shoulders and tucked it under his head.
Mycroft studied the man's exposed chest and quashed down the very strange urge to poke it. He licked his lips. "Is that all Eurus put Grindelwald up to, then?" On the muggle end of things, it had been surprisingly quiet, giving him some down time to get his security camera network in place.
"The political defamation is given at this point. They've destabilised Fudge, which we were expecting. But on top of that, a bill I'd given up on suddenly went through, and now Dumbledore's faction is upset. Minerva's running the school because her headmaster is too busy trying to play politics. Umbridge has decided to make an early appearance and Fudge's people are offended." Harry let out another long, heavy sigh. "I can hear the rabble clamouring in the back of my head, bloody loud is what they are."
Mycroft watched his husband shudder. He looked at Harry's bare chest with its erect nipples and raised the other side of his covers. "Come here," he said.
Harry smiled, almost shy as he climbed into Mycroft's bed proper. He left a respectable distance between them until Mycroft prompted him to shuffle over. Then, he rested his damp head on Mycroft's chest.
"It's a surprisingly effective tactic," Mycroft mused, studying the bare shoulder tucked against him. "If he plays it right Dumbledore will lose everything, just as Grindelwald lost everything when they had their famous duel."
It was also a brilliant move on Eurus' end. She'd chosen to punish him by punishing the person he loved. He wondered if she'd anticipated it leading to them finally sharing a bed.
Harry didn't say anything. His breathing had already evened out, hot little bursts of air dampening the front of Mycroft's pyjamas.
Mycroft picked up his book and glasses, but half an hour later he switched off the lights without having read a single word.
.oOo.
When Mycroft told Sherry he'd talked to Dumbledore the boy had nodded, saying that everything was going to plan. Then, he'd thrown himself into another round of studying to get his GSCEs in May.
While Harry tried to nip another civil war in the bud, Eurus embraced her new career as a consulting detective. It was a relief to know her stint advising the Dark Lord in underhanded warfare was over, at least for the moment.
Mycroft tried not to be too concerned that she'd found a new fascination in the morgue. Harry said it was perfectly normal that she was studying the corpses there. Apparently this was a thing that Sherlock had done also, for the sake of understanding how bruises formed post-mortem.
"You should stop playing with people for fun," Mycroft had told her. "These are real lives and deaths. Molly Hooper thinks you're a sociopath." He'd have preferred if she would exercise a bit more consideration when dealing with what used to have been people.
Eurus refused to be anyone but herself. "That's rich, coming from you." She'd scoffed, "You're playing with an entire nation. Let me have this, brother-dearest."
A week later, Mycroft had arranged for a substantial donation to the hospital, and another private payment of Doctor Hooper's mortgage. It wasn't like Eurus' requests were unreasonable. Whatever her fascination was with Scotland Yard's cold cases, he would let her have this.
In the meantime, Anthea had arranged a job for Sirius in a nursing home for Alzheimer's patients. The man wasn't allowed his wand except to apparate to and from the premises, and despite needing to be watched closely they seemed to be putting him to good work.
An exhausted Sirius was a quiet Sirius, and Mycroft honestly preferred him like that.
Mycroft tried to trust that they were all doing alright. On his end of things, he tried to curb the rate of inflation and prevent Thatcher from making it to another term.
And at night, it became an ever increasing occurrence: Harry took a shower and sat on the end of Mycroft's bed, then they chatted for a few minutes. Often, Mycroft then invited him under the covers, and he learned that the divot in the middle of his bed could fit another person quite comfortably.
They all settled into their new normals. Grindelwald still hadn't properly made his move, which Mycroft knew was going to bring a whole new mess to their doorstep.
He heard the voices of his people like a lively violin concerto rising into the crescendo he could feel coming soon, very soon.
He also knew that they were going to be okay.