Chapter 19
As Harry shrugged his rich, flowing black robes onto his shoulders he chafed slightly at the stifling formality of what he was having to wear for the Wizengamot. His enthusiasm had dimmed somewhat over the days since he decided he would be revealing himself. Yes, he thought that it could be fun, but it would also mean putting himself in a room with his enemies and giving them a time where they knew exactly where he would be. But then that was the whole point of that stupid law. Even though the calling in of debts was dealt with by Gringotts it had been made a law centuries ago that the collector had to appear before the Wizengamot and notify them before he could actually collect. Of course it was just a ploy so that those that owed them gold could have them killed before they were forced to pay and, lo and behold, that was exactly what often happened. The law hadn't actually had any effect since long before even Dumbledore was alive – debts between families were notoriously rare now, and calling them in was even rarer.
Harry had had to buy a second wand in preparation despite the fact that it hindered his spell casting to the point that he was better without a wand at all. His own wand was far too distinctive and he wasn't going to be using it in his true persona, especially where Dumbledore could see it. He would still take his wand, of course, but if he was attacked he would just have to cast around the secondary wand and hope that his attackers weren't particularly skilled. He doubted it would come to that though; they wouldn't be stupid enough to attack him in the Ministry building, the same building that housed every auror in the country and that had wards that could be quite easily locked down to stop anyone at all getting in or out.
With an inaudible sigh he apparated to the Ministry building and walked across the atrium, garnering more than a few whispers and stares as he did so. His clothes clearly showed that he was a noble and a powerful one at that, and yet no one recognised him. He had chosen to have silky black hair and pale green eyes for his appearances as Lord Nightshade so that no one could link him to anyone he cared about. His face was relatively similar to his true one though he had filled it out a little, and he now cut an imposing figure with a slightly stocky build and a six foot three frame.
He handed over his false wand to the wiry looking wizard behind the security desk and waited until it was handed back to him before he strode towards the elevators, pointless though the stick may be. The golden elevator shuddered to a stop and Harry stepped out into the familiar corridor, the tiles shimmering lowly in the dim light, and he spent a split second staring at the black door behind which the Department of Mysteries was rather poorly hidden. He absently wondered whether they had noticed the prophecy was missing yet as he descended the steps towards the Wizengamot chambers and walked through the towering wooden doors.
Harry had never seen the Wizengamot chambers but the portraits had done their best to describe it in enough detail that he at least knew where he was going. The circular room seemed to darken his perception of the world, the white of his shirt that peeked out from below his robes suddenly appearing dimmer, almost grey, as if the misery of every witch or wizard who had been tried here had seeped into the tiles. In the centre of the room was a single wooden chair with chains coiled like silver serpents around its arms and Harry could almost hear the desperate clinking of metal as men struggled against their restraints. Tiers of seats rose up against the curving walls all around the room but for the door through which he had just entered, transitioning from simple wooden benches to comfortable leather armchairs emblazoned with house crests the further up you went. There were three wide staircases spread equidistantly around the stands and Harry took the one on his left, ignoring the stares as he did so.
By the time he reached the very top level and started making his way across towards his seat a low hum of muttering had engulfed the Wizengamot. The room instantly became silent once he sat down in the seat for the Ancient and Noble House of Nightshade as everyone present stared at him, their blank facades suddenly gone as they waited for him to die a slow and agonising death. But he didn't, and the silence was shattered by clamouring voices.
It took several minutes for them all to calm down and through it all Harry remained expressionless as he surveyed the room. Some were looking at him in fear, some in hostility, some appraisingly and some had such an endless mixture of thoughts and emotions racing across their retinas that Harry wasn't sure what was going on inside their head. Malfoy was looking at him assessingly, probably hoping to recruit him to Voldemort's ranks. His expression would be quite different by the end of the session, Harry was sure. Dumbledore had a similar expression on his wrinkled face and Harry had to stop himself sneering in the old man's direction. Across the room he saw Potter sat in his chair staring at him with animosity and his fingers tightened minutely around the leather arms of his chair. How he would love to curse the bastard.
Merlin, he was only just now realising how much hostility he felt to the vast majority of the people in the room. The Dark families all either directly followed or sympathised with Voldemort, the Light families mostly followed Dumbledore's or Potter's lead and Scrimgeour acted far too much like a politician for Harry to have any faith in the man. The Prophet had printed several stories saying that the aurors had arrested multiple unnamed dark wizards thanks to Scrimgeour's 'proactive approach', but Tonks had told him that in reality they had just been a way to show the public they were doing something. Hell, one of them had been a conductor on the Knight Bus for Merlin's sake! No, to Harry the Ministry was and would forever be ineffectual because politics always got in the way.
Unfortunately any new business like his was always the last thing on the docket so he would have to sit through the rest of it first. He felt a disgusted sense of awe once the session finally started at the topics that were discussed, topics that many were apparently quite passionate about. A ploy to reduce the time spent on anything of importance, clearly, but still. Why were things like Ministry dress codes and cauldron bottoms being argued about by the whole Wizengamot in the first place? There were a few more important issues that were brought up, werewolves and muggleborn rights among them, but the Dark families managed to delay anything meaningful on those fronts. Apparently several werewolf packs that were known to be violent had been found dead and others had fled now that it appeared someone was hunting them. Harry had to fight to keep the smirk off his face, as well as the anger at the Ministry. Honestly, if they knew that they were violent why hadn't they done anything about it before he did?
Mercifully, the session finally came to an end and Harry came out of the dozing mindset he had been in since an hour into the three hour meeting. He had abstained from voting on anything, a fact which he knew had more than a few of the wizards in the room looking at him warily.
"Is there any new business that needs to be proposed before we close the session?" Dumbledore asked with his eyes fixed on the new Lord. Normally the statement was nothing more than a formality but, as the old warlock expected, it was not on this occasion as Harry stood up and smoothed out his immaculate robes.
"I am here to notify the Wizengamot that I, the Lord of the Ancient and Noble house of Nightshade, am calling in the debts owed to my family by three houses, as is required of me by Act 62 Law 24 of 1437."
Harry had almost expected pandemonium to erupt, but instead a crushing stillness seemed to settle over the room. No one spoke, no one even breathed. A debt hadn't been called in in over a century. The constant scratching of journalists' quills on parchment was glaringly absent as even they held their breath.
"Which houses?" Dumbledore asked.
"The Ancient House of Bulstrode, the Ancient and Noble House of Selwyn and the Ancient and Noble House of Carrow."
The Dark families exploded, all shouting protests that were ultimately pointless. This was family business; no one in the Wizengamot could do anything about it.
Malfoy, Voldemort's chief financer and head of the Dark faction in the Wizengamot, stood up and the Dark families all fell silent. Harry suddenly wondered why he hadn't killed him yet and spent a few seconds weighing the pros and cons of doing so. It was too soon, he decided, but hopefully it wouldn't be long. Honestly Harry wasn't sure why Malfoy was bothering to talk when he must know it would do nothing to stop him. Was he going to try and make him look like the bad guy in an attempt to play on the fearsome stories of the Nightshade family? That would be a rather stupid and equally pointless idea, but it seemed the man's arrogance and invincibility complex would force him to at least try to take charge.
"Chief Warlock," Malfoy's oily voice cut through the silence, "Lord Nightshade seems to be targeting only those who were placed under the imperius curse-"
"Ah, the imperius defence. You see, that was always a rather strange defence to me. You testified that you were under the imperius curse all the times that you killed, tortured or raped innocent people, correct? While it is not strictly common knowledge amongst the general wizarding population, it is an accepted fact across the magical world that when under the imperius curse the more contradictory to one's own character a command is the easier the command is to resist, correct?" he said, and the majority of the chamber nodded. He could tell that some of them already knew where he was going. Madam Bones even had a ghost of a smirk on her face.
"So, you see, the defence of being under the imperius leaves only three possible options: One, you are lying. Two, you are an extremely weak willed wizard, almost completely without spine or any kind of mental fortitude. Or three, the commands to kill, rape and torture innocent people were not really against your character at all. Tell me, Lord Malfoy, which one are you?"
The Light families looked shocked, possibly that they had never said what he just had publically or that someone actually had the audacity to say it to Malfoy of all people. There were several people that looked downright gleeful as Malfoy spluttered, Potter and Dumbledore among them. He almost regretted saying it for the simple fact that Potter looked pleased. The Minister looked totally expressionless, probably either scheming or thinking of how this would affect him. Madam Bones gave him an almost imperceptible nod from behind Scrimgeour, the scratching of quills seemingly music to her ears. The Dark families were all glaring at him hatefully.
After a few infinitely stretching seconds of silence Malfoy sat back into his seat without a word and Dumbledore cleared his throat even as his eyes twinkled happily.
"Very well, Lord Nightshade. Your notification is accepted, the transaction is now under the purview of Gringotts. This session of the Wizengamot is now closed."
The bang from Dumbledore's wand seemed to be the starter pistol to the journalists who immediately sprinted from the room, all desperate to have their story written before anyone else's. The Prophet was the only widely read newspaper in magical Britain but Harry was willing to bet this would make the international front pages. The witches and wizards of the Wizengamot seemed to have the opposite reaction, some remaining in their seats for long seconds before laboriously getting to their feet, their eyes still fixed on him. Harry had been hoping that he would be able to wait most of them out and hopefully leave without being accosted by politicians, but clearly it wasn't to be as the wizards began milling around in the centre of the room and gravitated towards the other members of their faction with their gazes constantly flickering to him.
Malfoy and the other Dark families were still glaring at him with loathing but seemed quite content to stay away from him for the time being. Dumbledore was at the centre of a gaggle of wizards waiting at the foot of the steps, several of which he recognised from the small amount of homework his family had insisted he do before he came. Abbott, Longbottom, Macmillan, Doge, and, of course, Potter.
Harry was tempted to just walk all the way around the curved stands and go down one of the other staircases. He had no desire to be ambushed by the old man and his lackeys. But, unfortunately, that would look petty and childish, something which he couldn't really afford at the moment, hoping as he was that his family's reputation would make Voldemort reluctant to try and attack him for the time being. It was unlikely but still, it could happen.
He took a deep breath before he stood up and began to make his way towards the stairs, the few people remaining near his seat seeming to suddenly decide that it was time for them to leave as well. The small crowd parted as he reached the last step and Dumbledore emerged with a welcoming and open expression on his weathered face. It was fake of course, just like the majority of the old man's public persona. Harry could tell that from the way the incessant twinkling in his eyes was conspicuously absent from behind his half-moon glasses. His robes were a horrid purple that clashed horribly with the green socks that peeked out from the bottom, giving the impression of a dotty old man who was just starting to lose his mind. Another fiction of Albus Dumbledore.
"Lord Nightshade, please allow me to welcome you to the Wizengamot. I must say that I was convinced that I was about to witness your death when you sat in that chair; there has not been a member of the Nightshade family in centuries." The old man said in a pretty transparent attempt to fish for information.
"Known, Chief Warlock. There has not been a known member of the Nightshade family in centuries. It is an important distinction."
Disappointment flashed across Dumbledore's face for a split second at the lack of information, but Harry knew that as soon as he left the Ministry Dumbledore would be starting with the last known witches and wizards of the Nightshade family and desperately trying to find any children, tracking bloodlines of every child, be they magical or squib, in an attempt to find out exactly how many Nightshades remained. He would spend countless hours doing so only to find nothing, because there was nothing there. Harry took a certain amount of glee from that.
"Yes, well, it is fantastic to have an ancient family such as yours come back from the dead, particularly in these troubled times." He said sadly. "Now, I admit that what I am about to say may seem somewhat indelicate, but I find myself less concerned with such things in the current climate. The time for subtlety and speaking only in implications is over, I fear. Where exactly does House Nightshade lie in this Wizengamot? Historically your family has voted across the entirety of the political spectrum at one point or another; what about now?"
"I will vote in whichever direction I feel is best, issue by issue. I certainly have no wish to join the Light faction."
"So you're Dark!" Doge gasped frightfully, and Harry and even several of the Light members rolled their eyes at the man.
"No, I am neither. Honestly the Light is just as bad as the Dark just in the opposite direction. They kill when it isn't needed for nothing more than their own enjoyment; you don't kill when it is needed because of your perceived moral superiority that you cling to so desperately, and you let innocent people die because you aren't willing to do what needs to be done."
Several of the more grey leaning wizards within earshot nodded their heads to his words while the majority of the Light wizards looked utterly scandalised. Potter opened his mouth to protest but Harry cut him off, unwilling to listen to the man's voice.
"Both light and dark can be damaging in excess. Too much of either and you can't see at all. Good day, gentlemen."
With that Harry strode past them and out of the doors, taking the stairs two at a time as he walked upwards towards the elevators. Merlin, he already hated politics. The strain and the constant annoyance at having to be polite to people that he disliked or even outright hated was far more trying than he had expected it to be. Even keeping the annoyance off his face at the irrelevant topics had become taxing after three hours. He didn't really care about causing trouble for Dumbledore or Potter in the Wizengamot anymore, not after having to sit through that. At least he didn't actually need to come again. He might every now and then just to cause a little more chaos and show that he was still alive, but really even fruitless searching was more enjoyable.
~Scene Change~
'Nightshade?' Voldemort thought as he sat on his throne like chair at the head of the table. He had thought the family long since extinct and had even attempted to discover the whereabouts of the family estate in the years before his 'death'. The family was well known and equally as feared for the knowledge of obscure and forbidden magics they possessed and he had been, and still was, most interested to find their library. The Slytherin family had had a similar reputation but he had been denied access to that knowledge too. Damn that portrait to the very depths of Hell!
He paid no attention to the Death Eaters that left quickly once he dismissed them. Nagini was coiled loosely in the centre of the table, hissing contentedly at the body that was slowly being pushed along her gullet. It was a lowly Death Eater, a clerk in the Ministry of Magic, that had only been recruited barely two weeks before, and his first assignment was to find out the addresses of several important figures in the Ministry. He had come back with the address of Emmeline Vance, a high ranking auror and member of Dumbledore's vigilante group, both now and before. Voldemort had immediately sent a group to the address to kill her; with Scrimgeour in power and his rebirth being publicised it would be pointless to wait. He lamented the fool Fudge's impeachment – he was so very easy to manipulate, even if his power-hungry nature usually made him do what the Dark Lord wanted anyway.
The group he had sent had attacked the house only to find it empty. The fool had given them the wrong address. It was more likely that Vance had simply listed a false address in her file knowing that she would be a target but that was unimportant to Lord Voldemort. Examples had to be made that even the slightest incompetence would not be tolerated, so he had had the man, boy really, dragged in during the meeting and killed him. He hoped that it would serve as a suitable warning to his inner circle, even if he would likely just torture them instead of killing them. He felt nothing towards any of them; they were simply tools that he could use to obtain the power he craved and wipe out the filth that had infected the world. The only exception to that was Bellatrix, who he held a slight fondness for. He would still kill her without hesitation if the situation called for it of course, but her unwavering faith and demented glee at killing people made her so very useful.
The three men that would be forced to pay their debts to this new Lord had been let off with nothing more than a threat not to hinder him again. It was Malfoy that provided the majority of his funding anyway, and there really wasn't anything that they could have done about it. Normally that wouldn't have stopped him from taking out his anger on the pathetic wizards but he did not want any of his Inner Circle getting cold feet and deciding to try and leave his service before the war started in earnest. He had no doubt that the men would attempt to kill Lord Nightshade before they were forced to repay the debts that would likely bankrupt them but that did not bother Lord Voldemort either. If they succeeded then he had some extra funding and if they didn't then it was no big loss either.
Voldemort didn't know if Nightshade was owed by any other families, but he assumed he was. The fact that all three debts that he had called in were owed by his Death Eaters and his little speech in the Wizengamot was troubling, but as long as he remained neutral didn't actively oppose him then Voldemort decided he would allow him to live. A family as old as his did not deserve to be stamped out like a weed and there was no telling if he was the only member of the family that remained. Calling in any debts against light families would have been political suicide anyway in all fairness – maybe that was the reason. If ever the boy worked against him though, then he would kill him without hesitation and loot his House of everything it owned as its Lord's body cooled in the dirt.
~Scene Change~
Albus Dumbledore was sat in his office at Hogwarts, still mulling over the events of the Wizengamot meeting earlier that day. The Nightshade family was back, if it had ever been gone that is. How could a family be extinct for over seven hundred years and then just come back to life without any sign? The only possibility he could think of was that they had simply moved away from Britain, but then why come back now? The man sounded like he was from Britain yet had never gone to Hogwarts either, a fact which slashed another hole into his already fractured theories. It forcibly reminded him of the boy who killed the basilisk several years earlier, but he had looked completely different. Far beyond what glamours were capable of.
The headmaster was disappointed that he had refused to join the light faction, but it was evident that he would not be joining the Dark faction either. The man looked like he would remain neutral, an outcome that was neither favourable nor unwelcome. At least Tom would have a little less gold to play with, despite the fact that Dumbledore knew it was Malfoy that funded most of the madman's efforts. He had been shocked with what Lord Nightshade said to Lucius, not just because of what he said but that he himself hadn't said the same thing long ago. He had thought about saying something similar on a few occasions but never went through with it, always telling himself that it would do more harm than good when Lucius had the Minister so deep in his pocket.
Frankly a powerful new Lord was precisely what he didn't need with so much else to worry about. He still had yet to figure out how Tom created a new body for himself complete with all the modifications and improvements from before his death. Such a thing should be impossible. Young Jack had become lost after that night, any hope he held that he could beat Tom seemingly gone. He had become despondent and despairing, showing no true effort in any of his training sessions. For weeks he seemed to simply go through the motions and nothing more, regardless of whether it was him, James or Alastor training him. But then, on Dumbledore's last session with him a few days before, he seemed to have gotten some of his fight back. Not as much as he once had, but not far off. Dumbledore didn't know exactly what had happened, but James had said that Lily had spent several hours talking with him. Dumbledore was sure that she had something along the lines of 'I have already lost one son, I couldn't bear to lose another'. If there was one person Jack adored it was his mother.
The worst development of all was when he had gone to graveyard in Little Hangleton in an attempt to find any scrap of evidence that could lead him to the knowledge of how Tom had done it only for the foul stench of his Horcrux to be absent. Even at this distance he should be able to feel it, faintly, like a soft breeze on his skin, but he should be able to feel it nonetheless. His stomach had dropped until it settled in the soles of his feet and he had apparated across the town instantly to investigate only to find the wards gone and the horcrux along with it.
In his initial panic he had feared that Tom had retrieved it and moved it to a more secure location, but then he had looked more objectively. The floorboards in one particular place were burnt, probably by Fiendfyre; the hovel was far cleaner that it should have been – Dumbledore doubted Tom would have taken the time to clean it; the wards were gone, and Tom would surely have simply added himself to them instead of removing them. No, this was the work of someone else, but to Dumbledore that was hardly any better if at all. Even he would have taken a long time to break through the wards that had protected this place, but then he was not a warder. The slight boost the Elder Wand gave to his spells was not important in such intricate arts. It was a shame the wand had never truly accepted him; if it had he might have been able to simply overpower them. With such a wand there was no telling what was possible.
A witch or wizard of such power and technical skill would have worried Dumbledore by themselves. When they also knew about the horcruxes he was downright disturbed.
The only silver lining was that Tom was seemingly oblivious to the destruction of his horcrux, at least according to Severus. Severus didn't know about the horcruxes of course – he didn't trust anyone that much and certainly not someone who would routinely be in the presence of a master Legilimens – but Tom had shown no unexpected anger, had called no emergency meetings and had not left suddenly. Dumbledore only hoped that Tom's arrogance made checking a laughable idea for as long as possible.
There had yet to be any serious attacks in the Second Wizarding War, but still there had been several skirmishes and attacks on outlying muggle villages. It was a blessing that very few werewolves had joined Tom's army; in the last war they had wreaked havoc in such scenarios. The Order had always been too late to do anything, the villages always empty of wizards when they finally arrived. It was a stab through the heart every time they were unable to do anything to prevent such senseless murder, but still Dumbledore was thankful that he had reformed the Order so quickly. Just the night before the vacant house that Emmeline had listed as her home in her Ministry files had been attacked by Death Eaters so clearly their members were being targeted. He and several others from the Order would be raising wards around the homes of those that needed them in the morning.
Honestly the Order was not what it had once been, but it would still be vital in the battle against Tom's forces, he was sure of it. Alastor, the Potters, the Longbottoms and Sirius formed the backbone of seasoned fighters in the group and there were several others who were not far behind, young Nymphadora for example. Sirus's had been a big surprise and he had even allowed them to use Grimmauld Place as their headquarters as they had in the last war, but on the condition that he was the secret keeper of its Fidelius. Dumbledore didn't like it, he far preferred being the one in ultimate control, but it was ultimately an unimportant factor. Sirius would not allow anyone unfavourable into his house, but he had put up quite a fight about allowing Severus in. He had given in in the end, but Dumbledore suspected it was only because he had somewhere else he would rather be. The rest of the Order was made up by a few aurors that Alastor had been able to recruit but mainly others from various departments within the Ministry. Such people would not be particularly useful in a fight, though Alastor and Kingsley were trying their best to whip them into shape.
With a sigh Dumbledore decided that he would have to assign members of the Order to guard the Department of Mysteries now that Voldemort was back in a body. It could be dangerous but it was vitally important; if Voldemort found out that Jack was the only one who could kill him, that Albus Dumbledore couldn't, then it would be chaos. The Wizarding World would be burned to the ground in a matter of days.
He considered having Jack simply retrieve the orb and destroying it but his calculating side would not allow it. If ever Voldemort needed to be drawn out then it could prove invaluable. Even as it was many in the Wizarding World were becoming sceptical that Voldemort was truly back, the small scale attacks buried as they were deep in the back of the Prophet if they were there at all. There may come a time when proof was required.
Dumbledore hated this, the waiting. Always wondering when the shoe was finally going to drop. There was nothing he could really do in the meantime other than think until it became worry. They were doing all they could, but until Voldemort started doing something he was stuck waiting for it to be his move.
~Scene Change~
It had been almost a week since the Wizengamot meeting and Harry was sat with his legs up in his front room as he tried in vain to engross himself into the muggle novel he was reading. Boredom seemed to be the recurring theme of his life, and it wasn't like he could work either because it was summer and most of the time Anaïs was around. She wasn't now, unfortunately, she was at one of her friends' houses for the day. Needless to say Harry had done a full background check on the family before he let her go.
He hated having nothing to do and he would swear that he could physically feel his mind rotting every time it happened. Everything just felt so stagnant. What did other wizards do in their free time? Muggles watched TV but electricity didn't work around magic so he couldn't do that. Maybe he would make that a little side project for when he got bored, but he doubted that he would have much time to work on it considering a war was about to erupt. Frankly he was looking forward to it.
Just then he felt the wards pulse as two people portkeyed in, assumedly from an Order meeting. From what they had told him so far the Order was mostly administrative staff from the Ministry, far from the fierce combatants that Sirius spoke of from the last war. It seemed Dumbledore's vigilante group was now more of an intelligence gathering organisation, but knowing the old man he would try and make them fight as well. Harry was willing to bet more than a few of them would die as a result.
When Sirius and Nymphadora entered the room a few moments later they both looked at him in surprise, his legs still up on the arm of the sofa on which he was sprawled in muggle sweatpants and t-shirt. He supposed they had never seen him like this before but he had come to the conclusion that allowing them to see him in more vulnerable positions wasn't a bad thing in the end. He was slowly becoming more 'normal' around them.
Sirius overcame his surprise quickly and dropped heavily onto an armchair, sinking into the leather with a sigh while Nymphadora followed his lead only far less loudly.
"Is your wife still angry with you?" Harry asked.
"Yep, but she's not glaring at me anymore so that's a plus. She's not angry really, she's worried. I don't think she understands why I would go back to fight a civil war in a country I don't live in anymore." Sirius said as a sliver of guilt flashed across Harry's face for a second but Sirius still caught it.
"I would have still gone back anyway even if you hadn't asked me to, of course. They are going to kill innocent people, and if I can stop that happening even once then I will."
He almost said 'don't worry about it Harry' or something along those lines but stopped himself. Harry always got defensive if anyone pointed out what he perceived as a weakness, and guilt was one of the things that Harry incorrectly thought made him weak. To him guilt was nothing more than indecision after the fact, and indecision was something that got people killed. Such things were unacceptable to him.
"Why are you here?"
"Oh, right. Dumbledore is stationing people to guard the Department of Mysteries, no idea why. He wouldn't say."
The expression on Harry's face was almost worrying. His eyes were wide and his mouth slightly open as he stared at them unblinkingly, and then he started roaring with laughter. Now they really were worried. By the time he finished Tonks was wondering whether he was having some sort of breakdown as he muttered to himself.
"That stupid old man! Oh God, this is fantastic. How could you possibly be that arrogant? Or maybe he's just going senile."
"Harry, what are you talking about?"
"He's got you guarding nothing, and he doesn't even know it because he hasn't bothered to check, the fool. It wouldn't take more than ten minutes just to check it's still there and he hasn't even done that!"
"How do you know? And what is it that isn't there?"
"Dumbledore's got you guarding the Department of Mysteries because that's where the hall of prophecy is, and near the end of the last war there was a prophecy made to Dumbledore about the one who would kill Voldemort that he believes is about Jack Potter. And I know it's not there because I broke in and took it over a year ago."
"You broke in to the Department of Mysteries?" Tonks shouted and Sirius looked equally as shocked.
"Yep, it was one of the easiest break ins I've ever done. No wards to break, just a few subtle charms that most people would miss and that was it."
"Wait a second, how did you get it off the shelf? Only the subjects of a prophecy can take it off the shelf and you just said it was about Jack Potter."
"No, I said that both Dumbledore and Voldemort believe that it is about Jack Potter. It's actually about me."
Both Sirius and Tonks gasped lowly as they stared at him, both knowing that being the subject of a prophecy was rarely a good thing. Meanwhile Harry was thinking, wondering why Dumbledore was bothering to guard it. Voldemort already knew what it said, surely? That was why he came in the first place on that Halloween. Before he had much time to think he was loudly interrupted.
"What does it say?"
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches
Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies
And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not
And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..." Harry recited distractedly.
"So you're the only one who can kill him? And you were born in November so how is it about you?"
"Yes, I'm the only one. And that's incorrect, I was born on the same day Harry James Potter died. Come on," he said at their confused looks, "what day did Harry Potter die and be reborn as Ares Nightshade?"
"Your name is Ares?" Nymphadora exclaimed loudly.
"Yes, but that's hardly the most important take away from that sentence is it."
"The 29th of July. That was the day you died." Sirius said far more mechanically than Harry had heard him before as he remembered what had been the worst day of his life. It was still the most painful by a long way.
Harry nodded and explained his ideas on what he thought each part of the prophecy meant – the power he knows not, the mark – before he got onto what was really troubling him.
"But why guard it? I've been under the impression that the prophecy was the reason he went after the Potters in the first place, especially as I believe I'm right in saying that the Longbottoms have a son a day older and they too went into hiding. It's the only thing that makes sense, so why bother guarding it if Voldemort already knows what it says?"
"What if he only knows the first part of it?" Nymphadora asked after a minute of silence.
"What are the chances of that though?" Sirius asked. "Of a Death Eater being in the right place at the right time to hear a prophecy being made to Dumbledore with no privacy charms and then for some reason leaving before they've heard it all?"
"Exactly. That's why I'm suspicious, because that sounds so improbable it's almost impossible."
"Fuck, he wouldn't. Surely he wouldn't." Sirius almost groaned and was met with two pairs of raised eyebrows.
"You said it sounds so improbable that it's almost impossible, and I agree. Unless it's a set up. Dumbledore is a chess master who would sacrifice a few pieces to win the game without a problem. If he leaks the first two lines then Voldemort's entire focus would have been on the Potters and the Longbottoms, he wouldn't care about attacking Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. And he didn't, I remember, there was a big drop in attacks before that Halloween.
"As far as Dumbledore is concerned there are only two possibilities; either it's Jack or it's Neville. If Voldemort ended going up after the wrong one first and killing him then that was one family being sacrificed and then he would be beaten when he attacked the other candidate. If you take out the human and emotional element and look at it through the scope of pure tactics then it's a smart play. Even if the prophecy was supposed to happen later then something would happen to delay it to the proper time, which is pretty much what happened. It was a win-win situation for Dumbledore. Hundreds of civilians would live in exchange for, at max, two families minus one child."
Sirius sounded utterly disturbed as he spoke and Nymphadora looked horrified, but Harry knew that it was at the very least a possibility. There just wasn't many other ways to explain Voldemort coming after the Potters if he hadn't heard the full prophecy, and it was certainly not outside the realm of things Dumbledore would be willing to do. Harry's hatred for the man skyrocketed, but there was also a hint of respect for the man's ability to make such a difficult decision. Dumbledore may be a bastard but he was not a monster; it would have been difficult for him.
~Scene Change~
Tonks let out yet another growl at Dumbledore's constant inability to call her anything but Nymphadora and the way his eyes twinkled in amusement every time he did it. Bastard. Harry was the only one she let call her that and even he was slowly starting to transition to calling her Dora. She wasn't sure whether that was because he knew how much it irritated her or whether he was just more comfortable with her now and she distracted herself from the pointless monotony of the Order meeting thinking about him.
It had been three days since they found out that he was the only one who could defeat Voldemort and she would have expected such a revelation to bring her a sense of dread. Only one man was capable of beating that abomination? What if he failed? Then Voldemort would be completely unimpeded, everyone she cared about would die along with hundreds, even thousands of others. But, it was Harry. If anyone was going to beat Voldemort it was him. There was not a single wizard in the world other than him that could stand a chance against that snake faced lunatic. So, instead of the nerves and the terror she was calm, mostly. One of the most important people in her life was still going to have to fight one of the most dangerous men in magical history.
Now that war was on the horizon Harry had started teaching both her and Sirius. The first time she had seen Sirius duel against the dummies she was sure that he didn't need any more training, only to quickly withdraw that opinion when Harry made Sirius duel him. It was like watching a second year duel a seventh year. There was absolutely no contest. Some of the spells that he was teaching them made her retch and even made Sirius look a little queasy but Harry had told them quite harshly to remember the sort of people they would be fighting. Death Eaters would use those spells against them without a second's hesitation. He had even half-joked that if they thought those spells were bad they should see some of the ones he used, most of which were family magic that he couldn't teach them even if he wanted to. She wasn't complaining.
She had had trouble not glaring at Dumbledore throughout the meeting, an issue that Sirius seemed to share judging by the way his neck was stiff as he kept his gaze lowered to the table. The more she thought about what Sirius said the more plausible it seemed, even if she didn't want to really believe that Albus Dumbledore would knowingly sacrifice two families including three young children. She glanced towards the head of the table for a split second and her fist clenched around her wand as she gritted her teeth. She really didn't want to have anything to do with the man but Harry had suggested a plan to her and Sirius and they all agreed that it was a good one. Even if it failed they didn't lose anything, but unfortunately it would involve her and Sirius talking to the old man.
As the meeting began to wind down Tonks looked around the room, comparing the new Order to the Order Sirius had described from the first war. This one paled in comparison. There was the Longbottoms, the Potters, Moody, Sirius, Kingsley, Lupin, Emmeline and Dumbledore as far as combatants went, and they were comfortably outnumbered by the admin staff of various departments there for their positions. Tonks resisted the urge to strangle Molly Weasley as she squawked yet another useless suggestion and tried to mother everyone. She had no idea why the harpy was even there, or any of the Weasleys really. Beyond the fact that they worshipped the ground Dumbledore walked on she couldn't really see what benefit they offered. Really, how useful were a housewife, a dragon handler and a muggle obsessed wizard in a war?
The only exception was Bill, whose curse breaking and warding skills could come in incredibly useful despite Harry making him look like a complete amateur from what little she had seen, but it wasn't like Harry was ever going to be joining the Order. Bill was currently at the far end of the table whispering occasionally in the ear of his new girlfriend. Fleur Delacour had been a surprising addition to the group but Tonks, while well aware that she was a skilled witch, was still unsure as to what exactly she brought to the group beyond the fact that her father was the French Minister for Magic.
She was certainly not the arrogant girl that she had expected her to be though and Tonks was always reminded of Harry's little girl when she saw her, even if their personalities seemed to be far from alike. Fleur was always in control of herself, but Anaïs seemed to be on a constant sugar high every time she saw her. The day before she had decided to colour all the furniture in Harry's dining room a vivid, poisonous green, and as of when she and Sirius left at nearly ten in the evening Harry hadn't changed it back. She was willing to bet he never would – that girl had him wrapped around her little finger.
"That concludes this meeting, thank you all. The rotation for guard duty of the Department of Mysteries is pinned up on the board behind me, and again I thank each of you who are putting yourself in such a position to stop this weapon from falling into Voldemort's hands."
At Dumbledore's words everyone rose to their feet and bustled towards either the door or the floo while Sirius and Tonks slowly approached Dumbledore. The old man's eyebrows rose when he saw them, knowing that of anybody in the Order the two of them probably harboured the most animosity towards him. He hadn't been oblivious to the way they were both studiously avoiding looking in his direction throughout the whole meeting, and from the look on Nymphadora's face she wanted nothing more than to curse him.
The headmaster saw Sirius look around the room as if searching for someone before he nodded to himself and Dumbledore knew that he was making sure Severus was gone. Really, the poor boy had changed his ways and was now attempting to redeem himself. Why could so few people see that?
"Sirius, Nymphadora, what can I do for you?" he asked, ignoring the growl at his use of her first name.
"We have some concerns about whatever it is that's in the Department of Mysteries that has us guarding it, namely if it's even still there. Rookwood was a Death Eater and an Unspeakable; he could have quite possibly told Voldemort how to bypass the security charms or even just shown him a secret route known only to Unspeakables. You could have us guarding nothing."
The protest died on the tip of Dumbledore's tongue as he acknowledged that they had a point. He hadn't checked that the prophecy was still there. In fact he had never actually set foot in the Department of Mysteries at all. Dumbledore trusted that Severus would have told him if Tom had already retrieved the orb, but there was a chance that he wouldn't even know. Tom may have lost his sanity but he had not lost his intelligence; if he kept the prophecy's retrieval a secret then the Order would be wasting manpower guarding nothing instead of actively opposing him.
"Your concerns are unfounded, have no fear. I checked that the weapon was still in the Department of Mysteries myself just last week." He lied with his grandfatherly persona firmly in place.
Had Sirius and Tonks not already known that it wasn't there they would have believed him. How much else had Dumbledore lied about over the years that no one caught?
Dumbledore quickly excused himself and left, apparating to the ministry as soon as his feet touched the doorstep. It was late by now so the building, while never completely empty, would be largely deserted. At least that way if Tom did for some reason appear the collateral damage of the inevitable duel would be significantly reduced.
He strode across the atrium and past the empty security desk as he once again frowned at the lacklustre security of the Ministry building. They relied far too much on the wards raised to protect the individual rooms and departments rather than the building as a whole. He was brought out of his musings by the gate of the elevator sliding open and Dumbledore walked down the familiar corridor, only this time he didn't descend the steps to the Wizengamot chambers and instead kept walking towards the pure black door at the end of the hall.
Dumbledore felt several jolts that indicated he had triggered several charms, clearly extremely subtle ones if he hadn't sensed them. He was just about to withdraw his wand to check for any more when he felt the tip of a wand press into the back of his neck.
"What business do you have in the Department of Mysteries?" a voice hissed from behind, its tone dead and clearly altered by charms.
"I am here to check on the status of a prophecy made to me in 1980."
The Unspeakable stood still for a few seconds as he considered the man's words before he withdrew his wand from Dumbledore's neck and wordlessly led the way along the corridor and through the door. He and all the other Unspeakables had always been intensely curious about the contents of that particular prophecy and figured that this may be his chance to find out.
Dumbledore shielded his eyes from the burning ring of blue with a wrinkled hand and followed the Unspeakable through the door that had swung open at the man's, or at least he assumed it was a man, toneless request. His eyes widened at the seemingly infinite rows of glowing orbs as the Unspeakable led the way through the maze of towering shelves until they came to a stop at the very edge of Row 97.
The old Headmaster instantly saw the orb labelled TMR and JFP only to frown slightly. From all the other orbs he could feel whispers of an old and indescribable magic, one so powerful that it could shape time, could shape reality itself. And yet, from this he felt nothing. It felt no more magical than a conjuration, and at that thought his heart squeezed with dread. The real orb was gone.
The Unspeakable seemed to be having the same thoughts as he waved his wand in intricate patterns before snatching the orb from the shelf. The Death Eater who had been assigned to watch the orb quickly darted through the tunnel that Rookwood had informed them of and portkeyed away at the first opportunity to tell his master what was happening.
"Is there any way to determine when the true prophecy was taken?" Dumbledore asked quietly.
"No, our records only cover prophecies in this hall; once they are removed so are all records of them. There have been far too many prophecies made over the centuries to record everything about every single one."
Dumbledore nodded slightly and summoned the false orb from the Unspeakables palm and began waving his wand over it in the hopes of detecting the magical signature of the thief only to find nothing. That said that the theft had occurred weeks ago at the very least. He handed the orb back to the stiff looking Unspeakable before he left, hoping yet doubting that they would be able to figure out the thief's identity themselves.
Unspeakable Croaker was livid, yet there were also hints of shame and worry coiling in his gut. Someone had broken in, stolen a highly protected artefact and left again with them none the wiser! It was completely unacceptable. He knew that the defences around the department could certainly be improved but they had even caught Albus Dumbledore for Merlin's sake! If he was caught then who else would be able to get through? And who was stupid or arrogant enough to break in to the Department of Mysteries anyway?
He would be ordering a full inventory of every single one of their artefacts, experiments and tomes immediately. It was clearly quite possible to get in, steal something and get out without tipping them off. There was no telling if anything else had been taken. After that the defences would definitely have to be improved.
Thoughts and possibilities were churning around Dumbledore's head when he left the elevator and stepped into the atrium but he was quickly snapped from his mind when he felt the all too familiar stench of raw, pulsating darkness surging like the tide across the room.
"Hello, Tom."