Chapter 3 – Harry

While waiting for Oliver's arrival, Harry was nervously arranging and re-arranging the things on his desk. It had been quite awhile since he'd last been here: two weeks ago perhaps, but even then he had just picked up a couple of documents and left. He'd rather spend his time in the Auror Training Centre teaching young men and women than here, behind a desk. He had been given this job after receiving his injury, with a great salary, of course.

He owed Tonks a lot for her brilliant initiative. If not for her idea of the famous Harry Potter teaching the future generations of Aurors he, as the Ministry Auror Coordinator, would be spending his time here, filing boring documents full time. Not to mention that his would-be Ministry co-workers always reminded him of Percy: diligent, strict and humourless. Ravenclaws were the vast majority, of course. There were also a couple of Slytherins, just to spice life up in the office, and the "lower" staff was mostly Hufflepuff. There were only a couple of Gryffindors; the last time Harry had tried to count them, he had had to stop at three. One of them was Oliver Wood.

It was quite useful that he'd come for this short visit today. He could pick up the new documents and bring them home to work with them there. He would also have time to go and give a lecture in the Auror Centre in the afternoon, and later on the club… They said that Mad-Eye would be there today. He'd arrived back from South America after four years of chasing emigrant Death Eaters there. He hadn't been entirely unsuccessful: if the information was true they would be able to bring both Seremov and McNair to trial this year – if the Argentine Ministry didn't annul the extradition treaty, which was still just a verbal agreement. Harry couldn't wait to see Mad-Eye. Seremov's companion, Lestrange, had killed Ron; and even though there was no news about Lestrange's whereabouts, Harry hoped that Seremov would give them some information about him.

He had heard about Seremov's captivity two days ago, and that had been the first good news for days: Seren's leaving and his suspicions about the secret revealed…

Yes, it was true that he'd never wanted to tell Seren the truth; nobody knew it, just the four of them: Hermione, Invictus, the Healer, McGonagall, and himself. Neville and Ginny had suspected something, but in the end Harry had made everybody swear to keep it secret. But now… who knew what would happen? Perhaps he would be compelled to tell the things he'd never wanted to tell – and not because of the reasons Seren suspected. There were facts much more painful than those.

Hermione had always told him that the truth would be revealed sooner or later, but not even she could have known how it would happen. As for him, Harry had been sure they could keep everything secret. Invictus had left the country, and McGonagall was bound by Dumbledore's continued omniscience.

The adoption paper had been filed between the other top-secret texts of the previous war; it had been placed among them without any questions when he'd asked for it to be done. (No one questioned the worshipped hero of the Wizarding World on such requests.) He had been there and he had seen when a secreting spell had been cast on the file for a minimum of fifty years, a term now under consideration by the Wizengamot to be lengthened by another fifty due to the long lifespan of wizards. Even then, the file could not be published, merely accessed by researching historians.

And now, he had learned that Wood had seen it, or someone else had and had unwisely told Oliver. The fact that Seren wasn't his natural son, though painful, was still unimportant in comparison with the fact that somebody had broken through the secreting spell and had seen those documents. It could mean only one thing: war. Again.

Not thirty years had passed since the last war had ended.

Perhaps, if they acted quickly now, they could prevent it escalating. They would have to be very wise…

Somebody knocked, snapping him out of his thoughts. With a small wave of his hand he opened the door and Occluded his mind and feelings with the techniques he had learned.

When the tall man stepped in, he stood up and greeted his ex-friend.

"Hello, Oliver. Thanks for coming," he said, extending his hand to well-built man who shook it reluctantly.

"Good morning, Mr Potter."

Harry mentally shrugged. He didn't really want to be buddy-buddy with Oliver. That time had long passed.

Their relationship, which had been friendly back at Hogwarts, had gone downhill after the war. The Wizengamot had sentenced the brother and father of Cynthia Montague, Oliver's wife, to life imprisonment for being Death Eaters. Harry had caught them and brought them in not long after Voldemort's fall. Upon hearing about it, Oliver had rushed to the Ministry and begged Harry for hours to keep it a secret. They - he and his wife - hadn't known about their association with dark circles, and Cynthia's relatives' imprisonment would reflect poorly on them.

But Randall, Cynthia's brother, had committed several murders and the memory of the victims had compelled the Ministry to treat the case with the utmost publicity. As a result both Cynthia and Oliver had been fired from their Quidditch team, and it was only at Harry's strong request that the Ministry had employed him. Harry had been sure of Oliver's innocence, he'd even sworn to it in front of the Wizengamot, but the good relationship had ended. Oliver had hated him and accused Harry of corrupting his Quidditch career out of sheer envy. Oliver had apparently passed his hatred onto his son.

"Please, be seated," he waved towards the armchairs. When Oliver sat down, he took a seat facing him. "Tea?"

Oliver was sitting there with a straight back, arms crossed over his chest, ready to jump up and leave.

"No," he said with irritation. "When I heard you wished to speak with me I assumed it wouldn't be a mere personal chat, which I do not wish…

"I understand," Harry said interrupting him. "And I didn't request your presence for a friendly chat, though its topic is quite personal. It's about your son and my son."

If it was possible, Oliver became even more closed, crossing his legs. Reluctance radiated from his form.

"Yes?" he prompted but not entirely without curiosity.

"Your son Lenny told Seren that he is not my natural son, referring to a document you either heard of or saw."

Oliver went white and Harry saw his hands clenching into fists.

"Yes?" he repeated.

"Is that true?"

Oliver shrugged.

"I might have mentioned something like that to him…"

"Oh, yes? And did you have any proof for that mentioning?"

The big man now reddened, but not out of embarrassment. He was angry.

"Why shouldn't I have?"

"Did you see that document with your own eyes?"

"No," Oliver said and swallowed.

"So, your source had to have been very reliable that you accepted it as the truth."

Oliver didn't reply, just shrugged. Harry sighed and leaned forward.

"Can you tell me where this very precious information came from?"

"They were talking about it." Oliver's answer was deliberately obscure.

"Who?"

"Well… the others."

"Here, in the Ministry?"

"Of course."

"Could you tell me names, perhaps?"

"Look, Mr Potter, I know that by giving this information away to my son I seriously hurt my Ministry responsibilities, but I will not become a squealer."

"Squealer?"

"Obviously, the colleague of mine who spoke to me about it wouldn't have been allowed to do so…"

"Still, I'd like you to tell me who it was," Harry said, but Oliver's reaction told him that the man wasn't aware of the seriousness of the information. Oliver didn't know where and how this information was kept, didn't know that knowing it meant that somebody had broken into the top-secret section defying state secrets.

Oliver shook his head, though lines of uncertainty appeared on his still-handsome face.

"I do not wish to tell you."

Harry didn't know what to do. Tell Oliver the situation he had put himself in or not?

Finally, he chose a third way. Oliver didn't look at him; nevertheless he was close enough for Harry to check his thoughts with a quick, superficial Legilimency.

He didn't have to search for long: because of the conversation's topic the related thoughts were at the forefront of Oliver's mind. He learned the answer in a few moments: Oliver hadn't heard at the Ministry about Seren's origin. It was Cynthia who had mentioned it once.

This turn of events unsettled Harry. Cynthia! The Montague family!

What could it be all about? How many people knew about the documents? Was this fast revealing of facts intentional, or was it a trap made for him through Lenny and Seren? Or could it be a slip of an unknown enemy that could enable them to stop him before things went too far?

He didn't know, but he couldn't risk that through this conversation Cynthia and those others would learn that he suspected something. He went to his desk, scribbled a couple of words on a parchment, folded and stamped it. Then he turned to Oliver, and though his conscience was whispering into his mental ear, finally he uttered the only possible word in this situation:

"Obliviate," cancelling the memory of their conversation. "Thank you for coming here, Mr Wood," he said in a natural voice and handed the parchment to Oliver. "May I ask you to give this note to Mr Shacklebolt? It's urgent."

"Of course, Mr Potter," Oliver cast a last, hateful glance at him and left the office.

When he was alone his feeling of foreboding grew to be nearly tangible. His every instinct pointed in the direction of a new war.

Darkness swirled in him. He knew that he should only remember, remember, remember…

But before memories could arrive, he ordered himself to stop.

There were many terrible things in this world, but none of them would be as terrible as Harry Potter remembering.

The past was past. He had to find another way of discovering what he needed and leave the memories where they belonged.

The lines on Mad-Eye's aging face were getting deeper and deeper as he listened to Harry's account of the events. Harry had already checked the documents and found signs of illegitimate magical handling on three of them. Apparently, someone had leafed through them with no purpose – or that was what they intended him to believe.

None of the three documents contained anything really important. Though Seren's adoption papers could be considered as such, the others were just Auror accounts of personal investigations and the confiscation of illegal magical objects at Lestrange's and Nott's family homes. Before leaving, Harry had strengthened the protective charms on the war documents. Though it was completely contrary to the Ministry's principles of document management, he'd sent the most important ones forward in time by the date the Wizengamot had secreted them, about twenty-five years forward.

"Who else knows that somebody has seen these papers?" Moody asked after Harry finished his account and had given his consent to the time-trick.

"You, me, and Shacklebolt. I'll tell Hermione in the evening."

"Aurors?"

"I gave a special task for a couple of them: I sent two pairs out, one to the Notts' and the other to the empty Lestrange Manor, but I didn't tell them anything special," Harry said.

"Perfect. I think we should alert McGonagall as soon as possible."

"What about Tonks, Hagrid, Aberforth, and Fletcher? The Weasleys?"

"Tonks, perhaps. I wouldn't involve the others for the time being."

"You've always preferred working with Aurors to others."

Moody growled, "Too true, though it's more than that. Now everything's depending on our being as covert as possible. Rubeus is an old chatter and Aberforth too, mostly when he drinks more than he should. As for Fletcher, I haven't met him in ages, only the official reports of his offences… And anyway, we have to look for the leak inside the Ministry."

"I'd alert Aberforth though. Nobody knows about his past role and he could collect a serious amount of information in that pub of his…"

Moody said cautiously, "But if he gets drunk…"

"He won't be if we tell him what it is about. You know we can trust him."

"Only if he considers it serious enough. And I don't think he will."

"Arthur is working in the Ministry as well," Harry added, though he suspected what Moody's answer would be. He wasn't mistaken.

"What Arthur knows, his wife and all his children know as well. We might as well summon the Order then."

"Perhaps we should do precisely that. I'd rather summon them in vain rather than wait until it's too late…"

"Come on, Potter! And I'm called paranoid!" Mad-Eye cried and rolled even his magical eye. "Whoever's aspiring for the role of the next Dark Lord, it will take a considerable amount of time. Years, even. And he is going to have to take you into account as well. We can't raise a panic without any solid proof."

"That's it. He will have to take me into account, as you said. I'm afraid this… incident with Seren is anything but accidental. It's as if I'm being… manipulated here."

"It seems more a side-effect of that search among those documents to me, but you might be right, you have to alert the boy. You know where he is, I believe."

"He went to Fred's yesterday. I don't know where he wants to stay today, probably at the same place. I don't want to follow his moves or press him in any way," he frowned. "Hermione thinks I behaved very stupidly yesterday…"

Mad-Eye just waved.

"You shouldn't take it that hard. You know how teenagers are."

"Yes, I know. That is why I'm nervous," Harry murmured under his breath, but he didn't really want to discuss it with Moody, so he changed topic and asked the question that interested him the most, "What about Seremov and the other guy?"

"The Argentine Ministerio Mágico is still hesitating about extraditing them, but I think it'll get through, mostly because apparently Seremov has committed crimes even there."

"What kind of crimes?"

"He's suspected of murdering a Muggle-born wizard. It's only suspicion, they can't prove it, and they probably won't be able to do so either, but it could make extradition easier."

"And McNair?"

"That's complicated. He gathered a small fortune out of robberies during the war, and now half of the Ministry is in his pocket. I don't think we can do anything – I mean legally."

They talked about international affairs for quite a while (there had been a time in his life when Harry had been completely sure this topic would never interest him – and now he was almost an expert this in the field). After he finished with Moody he drank a butterbeer with Tonks and went home.

The news about the documents affected Hermione in a different way than it had Harry.

"You say that someone actually held that paper?" she asked, worry darkening her face.

"That's not important, Hermione. It's far more serious that somebody could break the protection charms of the top-secret documents!"

"Moody is right, you have to investigate that case, though I don't think it's that important. But now I think it urgent to talk to Seren."

"No. I'll give him time to call…"

"Harry," Hermione interrupted him. "Do you remember what Seren said when he was shouting at us yesterday?"

"He said a lot of things," Harry muttered.

"He said that he didn't know what else he would have to learn from others that we had kept secret from him."

"He knows everything now," shrugged Harry. "He knows that he isn't our son." This sentence hurt. Seren was their son, his son! He had brought him up, had loved him – loved him even now! What else would make him more his son?

"The adoption paper contained two other important facts, Harry," Hermione said softly, not in her lecturing tone. "The date of adoption and our motives for it. And anyway, I think we should tell him the truth."

The date and the motives… Harry's heart clenched in his chest so hard that he didn't understand the implications of the last sentence until a moment later. Then it exploded like it did every time this topic came up. He glared at Hermione.

"We have already agreed not to. Even you swore not to tell him. And we will face those other matters if they come out. But I don't think they will."

"If they indeed do, Seren will never speak to us again."

"Why wouldn't he? Just because we adopted him at the age of three and not sooner?"

"Because we chose the final form of adoption, because…"

"I know that!" Harry snapped. "But we can't tell him that! He could easily guess the others and I've already told you I will not subject Seren to the burden I have to carry! No! You don't know what living with it means!" He lifted his hand to stop his wife's interruption. "Yes, you don't know! I know you helped me with it and yes, you were always at my side, but you have still never tried it, you weren't compelled to live with it! To live: to wake, to go to bed, to think with it! No! You can't condemn anybody to this fate!"

"Harry, don't be so melodramatic! Just because we tell Seren the truth it doesn't mean he will…"

"How many times in the past years have you told me how well I know Seren? Do you remember? Trust me in this, Hermione. I know my own son enough to know what he would do in the moment should he hear the truth. I'm sure. Then, he'll be there, alone, alone with his thoughts, perhaps in the Astronomy Tower, and I'm not sure you or I will be there to help him."

"Harry, Seren's an intelligent boy…"

"It's nothing to do with intelligence. It's all about that I-want-to-know-the-whole-truth attitude he has had since he first began to think. And even by now, he hasn't learned that there are no truths, just life. Right now the implications of someone accessing those top-secret documents are more important than filling Seren's head with something true, but not necessarily the truth."

Hermione didn't protest, just lowered her head.

"I'm just afraid we'll lose him…"

Harry walked to the sofa and sat next to Hermione – not too close, but enough to allow him to face her.

"I'm afraid too. But I'd rather lose him this way than… that way. Because if you tell him the truth we will lose him just as well; and perhaps we won't be able to save his life either."

Cautiously he stroked the wavy hair out of her face and leaned closer so that he could embrace her shoulders and enfold the shaking body.

"Everything'll be all right, you'll see. I'll always be there for you."

Hermione pressed her face to his shoulder and Harry felt her nodding. The conversation couldn't go on, however, because the fireplace hooted aloud and Fred's head appeared in the flames.

"Harry, Hermione? Am I interrupting?" he asked, a little embarrassed as he caught sight of them.

Hermione, as though she had done something wrong, moved away from Harry, and without turning her eyes to Fred greeted him and then disappeared into the bathroom.

Fred looked at Harry questioningly.

"Is it… because of Seren?"

Harry nodded. "Yes."

"He's here."

"I know."

"Sometimes I feel your knowing everything is unnerving," Fred joked, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"I feel it as well," Harry tried to lighten the mood just as unsuccessfully. "Are there any problems?"

He could see discomfiture on Fred's face.

"I… I think I did something… stupid, but…"

"But…?" Harry asked when Fred didn't go on.

"I told Seren who his father was."

For a moment, the blood froze in Harry's veins. He jumped up.

"His fa… his father?" – he stuttered.

"It was Snape, wasn't it?"

The room swirled around him. No! That couldn't be true!

"Wha… what did you say?" he asked, but Fred didn't answer; he came through the fire and caught Harry before he could collapse and sat him on the sofa.

"He told me you weren't his natural parents. That was when I thought… he was never like you, but up until now I just thought it happens quite often that natural children are not like their parents. But now that I got a closer look, and it was just a tip, you know, but I think I was right. I'm not sure, though but was I?" Fred babbled nervously.

Harry was unable to utter a word. He was just shaking his head. Fred might have taken it as encouragement, because he went on.

"He's really like him, and unlike him: his nose, his mouth… his movements… I'm sure it's because you brought him up that his movements remind me of you rather than Snape and he could have inherited his nose and mouth from his mother's side, but other than that he's the spitting image of Snape…"

"Fred," Harry managed to open his mouth. "Please."

Fred reddened and shut his mouth.

"I think whatever I tell you, you will tell it to Seren." Fred nodded uncertainly. "Even if I ask you not to?"

"The boy has right to know the truth."

Hearing the word truth, Harry couldn't suppress a cynical laugh.

"And I have the right to refuse to tell those truths," he said mockingly. "What would you do if I told you that Seren is indeed our son in every sense of the word?"

"Come on, Harry. You yourself told him you are not…" he began, but Harry interrupted him.

"And what about those children who are adopted in the final way? Can you still say the child is not theirs?"

"But the final… did you do it the final way? But that's magic and… it doesn't work in every case, only in… Oh, my God."

His shock was written all over his face.

"Yes, it doesn't work in every case," Harry nodded. "That's one reason we don't want to tell him."

"But… how can that be?"

"That's a very long story and I didn't know about it until Dumbledore chose to share with me."

"Dumbledore?" Now Fred was utterly confused. "But he's been dead for more than twenty-five years!"

"His body only," Harry said. "But I can't tell you more unless you swear you will not say a word to Seren."

"I can't promise that."

"What if I tell you that that information about Seren's adoption has been stolen from the top-secret department of the Ministry? You know, the department where the documents of the previous war are."

"But… why are you telling me this?"

"Because you guessed a very important thing, and even if I erase your memories about it, Seren would tell you again, and anyway, you could guess it again. If the two of you begin to investigate there could be much more serious consequences than for you to know the truth," he emphasized the last word sardonically. "But you can't tell Seren."

"I can't promi…"

"You must. But you know what? I'll tell you everything, and if after that you still can't understand why it must be kept secret, I will Obliviate you. What do you say?"

"It's not a deal."

"It's the best I can offer."

For a long time they stared at each other. Finally, Fred nodded.

"I accept."