I own nothing. Least of all this.

7) WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?

"So." Dumbledore's whisper seemed to fill the entirety of the room. "Tom has finally shown his true colors, then."

Harry shrugged. "Sure, you could put it that way. Personally, I just think it's a matter of him finally throwing off the last restraints of civility that he willingly burdened himself with."

"In order to hide his true nature." Dumbledore rebutted.

"in order to survive. There's a difference, Headmaster. One that sometimes I'm not entirely sure you're aware of."

"Then by all means, enlighten me."

"Imagine this, if you will Mad-Eye." Harry turned his attention to the other participant in the conversation. "Say…you grew up alone, never knowing who your parents were, surrounded by other children just as family-less as you. Say further that occasionally, unexplainable things just…happened around you, whenever you were under great strain or feeling a particularly strong emotion. Suppose that the other children you were forced to live with came to fear you for these things that you couldn't control, afraid that some day you would do some unspeakable thing to them for a perceived slight. They beat you down, stole what little you could call yours, all to keep you from getting any ideas as to what you could do if you put your mind to it. But put your mind to it you did. You couldn't steal back what they'd stolen, not at first, so you bartered for it, with things that you'd stolen in return. You managed to work your way up in the insular society you resided in, and if anyone ever threatened your position…well, needs must when the devil drives. You had finally gotten things moderately under control, keeping the peace not just between yourself and your adversaries, but among every single one of your fellow orphans. All by becoming the one responsible for the only currency available in place of coin: stolen goods. Other people still possessed some of the things that were originally stolen from you, but you'd collected some of theirs in return, so everything was just fine and dandy. Until one day…when an outsider to your little world comes to call. One who's first interaction is with one of the people that just so happens to despise your…freakishness, and blames you for every single thing gone wrong, no matter the good you've managed to accomplish, no matter that you were merely doing what you needed to survive. This outsider immediately believes the worst of you, and by means of an example, they proceed to set fire to every earthly possession you have, snuff it out again, and then give a speech on how 'stealing is wrong', and you should return everything you have managed to acquire thusly. Tell me, Mad-Eye: what lessons would you learn from such a speech?"

Moody thought. Long and hard, he thought. "I suppose…that no matter how powerful you are, there's always someone more powerful than you?"

Harry held up a finger. "That's one. Continue."

"And…whoever is more powerful can impose whatever moral and legal system they like on you, and there's not a thing you can do about it except…become more powerful than them?"

Another finger. "Go on."

"And…since becoming more powerful inevitably involves struggle, and there will always be those looking to become stronger than you, any peace, no matter how hard you've worked for it, will never last?"

Harry threw both hands up in the air. "Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner! You have successfully deduced that until you become the most powerful person in existence, you will forever be surviving by someone else's rules, and from the moment you begin making the rules, you are immediately target numero uno to anyone and everyone looking to do the same. Congratulations; you have done the exact same thing that one Tom Riddle Junior did upon his acceptance in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…and upon his meeting with the very man who now sits in front of you."

Slowly, Moody turned to face Dumbledore with a look of horror on his face. "Albus…tell me you didn't…"

Dumbledore responded in the same unwavering monotone he had been using since Harry's revelation. "I did what I thought best at the time, Alastor."

Harry snorted. "What you thought best. That's funny. I've been to Hell and back, brother. And let me tell you, the road there's paved with exactly what they say it is. The creator of that aura-outputting weapon you came face-to-face with earlier found that out, the hard way. And now, hopefully, you've done the same. But I rather doubt it."


Charlus Potter came flying out of the Floo, wand and shield both up. Seconds later, his companion arrived behind him, in a much more dignified manner.

"Really, Charlus." Cygnus drawled. "I'm beginning to think your family is as cursed in the department of magical transportation as it is in the area of personal grooming."

"And I'd be tempted to agree with you." grumbled Charlus from his landing place on the floor. "Give a man a hand up, will you?"

Swish…

"I said HAND up, not WAND up!"

"Honest mistake, I assure you."

"Excuse me, sirs." The bartender was doing his best to stifle his laughter. "Was there anything I could do for you gentlemen? A drink? Bit late for breakfast, and a bit early for lunch…"

Cygnus replaced his wand in its holster. "Thank you, no. We were actually looking for some…information."

The bartender perked up at that. "Oh? About what?"

Charlus dusted himself off. "We were hoping that, provided this is the Green Dragon pub…"

"Aye," the bartender stated proudly. "It is."

"…In that case, we were wondering if you could, perchance, tell us…where can we find a wizard by the name of…Zarathos?"

Charlus hadn't seen anyone move that fast since the War. He crossed his eyes, trying to look past the wand in his face to its wielder. "Ah. Friends of his then, I take it?"

The bartender shrugged, but never moved his wand. "He took care of our local wolf problem; take that however you like."

Cygnus' sophisticated tone came from behind him. "I'd like to point out that while you may currently have my associate at a disadvantage, I am under no such condition. And I'm afraid that there's simply no way you can manage to take the both of us before either he or I liquefy your skeleton."

The bartender smirked. "I agree. That's what my friend behind you's for."

Cygnus frowned. "What friend behind us?"

There was the click of a safety being released. A rough voice chuckled. "The one with the shotgun, of course."

"Shotgun?" Charlus frowned. "Ah. A Muggle then, I take it."

"S'right, governor. And I served in the same War my friend in front of you did, even if not exactly on the same side. S'how I met my witch of a wife, no offense meant. So when I say I know exactly how many blasts it'll take to break one of your fancy schmancy shields, believe me."

"I see. So," Cygnus swallowed. "What, pray tell, are you going to do to us?"

"Me? Nothing. But my very good friend Mister Zarathos, the professional that saved my family from Fenrir Greyback, the person who at this very moment is getting my home and family the best wards on the market, and the man who told me exactly what to do should anyone come looking for him while my family wasn't yet secure, that Zarathos…I imagine he'll do quite a number of things to you, that is if you don't tell him anything and everything he could possibly want to know."

Charlus was very careful to only wink one eye at a time, keeping the other trained on the glowing tip still obscuring his vision. "I don't suppose we could start telling you some of that anything and everything in exchange for that drink you mentioned earlier?"

The bartender shared a look with his accomplice, and then shrugged. "It can't hurt your odds. And who knows? Tell us enough, and we may even be persuaded to let you sit down without being tied up."

Cygnus and Charlus both immediately began to make their appreciation known for that particular gesture quite empathically. And vocally.


"My Lord."

"Rise, Rookwood. What news do you bring?"

"My Lord, Albus Dumbledore has conferred with the Head of my Department. For now, all investigation into this Zarathos has been halted. Instead, all of our efforts are to be concentrated on determining the origins of the magic he demonstrated, and if that fails, to create spells of our own that can replicate the effects."

"Curious. Dumbledore did not provide any information on either the wizard or his attacks?"

"No my Lord, but he did let slip that he knows at least one of Zarathos' secrets, if nothing more."

"And the fact that Dumbledore knows something he does not will drive Croaker mad, I imagine."

"You would be correct, my Lord."

"Hmm. Dumbledore's slip has given us an opening, Rookwood. You are to use Croaker's competitive nature as an excuse for research into the secret the old fool was referencing, one that we already know the nature of. If you find anything, delay reporting it to any other but me. My previous orders stand to cover all other matters for the time being."

"Understood my Lord. My Lord, if I may be so bold as to make a request?"

"Very well, Rookwood. But just the one."

"My Lord, if I might view the Pensieve memory of our forces' first encounter with Zarathos, it might expose more avenues of research for me to peruse."

"An excellent suggestion, Rookwood. And something I am ashamed to admit that I had overlooked entirely. I believe the memory is still to be found in the Pensieve; if not, have one of the others retrieve it for you from the vault. Return with useful observations or conclusions from your viewing, and I shall grant you the reward that I spoke of earlier."

"I thank you, my Lord."


By now, Harry was the only one actually paying any attention at all to his cup of tea. The other two wizards were more than a bit preoccupied. One with regret, the other with…

"So lad, what exactly were you planning to do about his Dark Lord-edness? What about his followers? Hit his bases first, or pick and choose supporters to send a message? Are you striking hard and fast, or are you in this for the long haul?"

…Curiosity.

"One question at a time, Mad-Eye! Crikey, its like a kid on Christmas. Christmas crack. Least that's what Eli used to called it, before the Dawning was a thing…"

"Stay on topic, lad! And answer the bloody questions!"

"Say please, first."

"Fine! Please!"

"See? All you had to do was ask politely. Now, as to the first: I intended to kill him. But not for awhile yet. His followers need to be wiped out first; I don't want any jumping ship after I wipe the floor with him and claiming they were under the Imperius or some other such nonsense. His bases aren't the best place to start; not very public. We need people to know exactly what we're doing, and that there's nothing they or he can do to stop it. So only specific, high-profile targets from now on. Last night was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but it gives you the right idea. Speaking of last night, I don't suppose I can persuade you to split the reward in half? Half for me, and half to the Willis family for their…discomfort."

"Aye lad, we can do that. In what Gringotts account should we plonk the gold?"

"No Gringotts. There could be an item in there I need to retrieve, and I may have to make a messy exit on my way out."

"Keeping your cash where you can get to it, eh?"

"That…and the fact that I haven't had a Gringotts account in some time rather makes it difficult for me to make a deposit."

"And I'm sure that even if you did happen to have an account, you would be a might leery of putting your official name down on anything that even smelled of officialdom, am I right?"

Harry's smile couldn't have cut butter. "I'm quite sure I have no idea what you mean, Auror Moody."

Moody shivered. "Agree to never use that face or tone with me again, lad, and I'll even see what I can do to keep the Willis' name out of the report."

"It's a deal."

It was at that moment that Dumbledore rejoined the conversation. "By your remarks about a lack of any Gringotts account associated with you, might I assume you a are a little hard up for funds at the moment?"

"You could say that. Technically, I can permanently conjure whatever currency I need at the given moment, but seeing as how some of the things I'm going to do will invariably end up being quite expensive, I really don't feel it would be all that fair to the economy."

Moody snorted. "Seeing as how the most likely supporters of our Dark Lord just so happen to be the ones running the economy, forgive me if I don't feel much in the way of charity."

"Who said anything about charity? I was planning on stealing whatever I could get from my victims; most people talk quite a lot when confronted with the fact that their death might be a lot closer than they imagined."


Not far away, the 'guests' of a bartender and his Muggle accomplice both shivered at the exact same moment.


Moody grinned. "And that sort of talking invariably ends up including details of certain bank accounts."

Dumbledore gave a groan and buried his head in his hands. "For Merlin's sake, Alastor, you're an Auror. You should most certainly not be discussing the robbing and looting of the estates of assassinated members of our society out loud."

"And what, exactly, has the Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump been doing for the past day and a half?"

Dumbledore raised his head just enough to glare quite effectively.

"I've been seeing that glare on your face since I was eleven years old, Albus, you can give up on ever getting it to work on me."

"Never, old friend. And to get back to the main topic, which was procuring sufficient funds for your purposes, I don't suppose I could talk you out of relieving half of the Wizengamot of their pocketbooks as well as their lives if I were to offer an alternative means of gainful employment? This one would be quite legal, I assure you. And furthermore, it would give the public the opportunity to put a face to your name, as well as for their children to see what an upstanding member of society you can be."

Silence.

"Oh no. You wouldn't…I take it back, you would. Ho boy, you really would. Correction, you just did."

Moody held up a finger. "Scuse me if I missed it, but just what exactly did Albus really do just now?"

"He offered me the bloody Professorship of Defense Against the Dark Arts is what he did. Knowing full well there's a curse on the bloody job."

Dumbledore frowned. "While there have been some strange occurrences associated with the position, I can assure you that they are just that: coincidences."

"Ten Galleons says you're wrong. Muggleborn getting killed while having a cry in the bathroom? That's a coincidence. How many professors 'vacating the position' in the years following old Tom's interview for the job? A coincidence? I think not."

"…I had always assumed that Tom chose to kill the young Miss Myrtle purposefully."

"Really? That's the part of the sentence you focus on?" Harry sighed. "And no, it was most definitely not purposeful. You know quite well how much Tom loved Hogwarts; he would never do anything that would jeopardize his place there. Tell me, I assume the rumors of the Chamber of Secrets being opened originated in the Slytherin Common Room?"

"They did."

"Did that knowledge ever pass beyond the walls of said Common Room?"

"If it did, it was only to the parents of the other Slytherin students."

"Some of whom were probably on the Board of Governors, I would imagine."

"They were."

"And if, say, those same Governors were to ever be granted an excuse to examine the entirety of Hogwarts quite thoroughly, hoping to be vaunted as the discoverer of a lost part of the castle, one of the last remnants of their House Founder's legacy? Tom never came to one of his pet teachers with his discovery, did he?"

"No, no he did not."

"There you have it, then. Tom would one, never have done anything that could hurt Hogwarts itself, and two, never have given anyone the opportunity to swoop his discovery out from under him. That your Groundskeeper happened to have an Acromantula on the grounds was merely bad luck all around. For the Slytherin Governors, because there was the possibility a half-breed had stolen something from their House's legacy, for Tom, because it meant he could never reveal his greatest achievement openly, and for Hagrid…well, we all know why for Hagrid. There are other reasons Tom probably never meant for Miss Myrtle to die, but we'll get into those at a later date. For now, there's only question burning in my mind: why, Albus Dumbledore, have you been unsuccessful in your efforts to locate the Chamber of Secrets for over twenty years, when it took merely four for Tom Riddle to find it?"

Dumbledore was silent.

"I'll tell you why: it's because you, Albus Dumbledore, are a bloody coward. Now, there are times when cowardice is a virtue. It makes choosing a course very simple. But when a young woman has died? When a Dark Lord is rampaging over all of Europe? When Muggles are killing millions of their fellow countrymen on his orders, and loving it? Those…those are not the times for cowardice."

Moody nodded. "Well said, lad."

"Now, I know you have good reasons for your regret. More so than most. But your regret does not give you the right to try and force others to feel the same, even at the cost of human life. Tom Riddle might have shown regret for what he had done, once upon a time. But now? After what I know for a fact he has done to himself? To his very soul? It will never happen. He has to be put down, like a mad dog. Can I do that, and trust you not to interfere in whatever acts I may carry out, whatever costs I may inflict upon my own being?"

"…No. But I shall try my best to let you do as you see best…that is your right. I shall merely…offer what help I can, whenever you ask it. No more; no less."

"Good. You've been honest with me; that deserves some honesty in return. I may be able to locate the Chamber, and deal with what lives in it; I stress, may. I may take the job; once again I stress, may. If I were to do so, what would you recommend I acquire as far as a resume goes?"

"No resume needed. I can mark this down as your interview; what has passed between us is our business, and none else's. If you agree to accept the offer, all that will happen is your acceptance goes to the Board of Governors, who will then set a time and date for you to answer whatever questions they may ask, in whatever manner you prefer."

"They may not like what answers I give them."

"As you said, considering the lack of competent, long-lasting instructors, they cannot afford to be picky."

"True." Harry finished draining his cup, set it back down on the table, and then stood. "If you'll excuse me, I have a previous appointment, and I'd hate to be late."

Dumbledore gave a half-hearted sigh. "I see. To which family should we address our condolences this time?"

"Not that kind of appointment, I'm afraid. Unless I'm lucky. And anyone that's ever known me will tell you quite emphatically that I'm not."

Moody rose from his seat as well. "Debatable. But we'd hate to keep you any longer than needed."

Dumbledore nodded. "I quite agree. However, before you go, there are two short matters I wish to discuss."

"And those are?"

"First, you may wish to acquire some more…traditional looking robes. The Governors can be quite a…snobbish bunch. They respect fashion that displays more of tradition than it does any evidence of experience or prowess."

"As to be expected. The second matter?"

"Yes; as to the second…its more of a question than anything else. One that I shall not mind if you do not wish to answer."

Harry grimaced. "The fact that you had to clarify that tells me that any reluctance to answer on my part would reveal more to you than anything I could ever say aloud. Fine; ask away."

"…Why now?"

"…I beg your pardon?"

"You said yourself that you're no longer bound by the laws of causality. I assume that applies to Time as well?"

"…It does."

"So, I reiterate: why now? Why did you choose this particular time to interfere? You could have chosen any moment in history, any moment at all. You could have done any number of things to the past; for instance, you could have taken in Tom Riddle when he was young, taught him what he failed to learn."

"Tom Riddle never once in his life failed to learn anything, I'm afraid. All he lacked was the proper perspective to frame his knowledge. One I would never have been able to provide. And as to why now…most people think of Time as a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually, its more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly…timey-wimey…stuff."

Moody chuckled. "Started out well, that sentence."

"It…got away from me, yeah. Long story short, I wasn't actually aiming for now. Despite what either of you may think, I haven't actually been at this job for too long. Least not that particular part of it. The fact that I ended up when and where I did…well, I haven't ruled out Destiny as an entity yet. And considering the stories associated with some of the darker pieces in my armory…I think its safe to say there's something bigger than any of us out there at work. One that enjoys a good story. And isn't that the most any of us can hope for at the end of the day? To be remembered as a story worth telling?"

Dumbledore pushed himself to his feet. "You tell us. Or don't. I bid you a good day, Mister Zarathos."

"You as well, Mister Dumbledore. Mister Moody."

"Take care of yourself, lad. But make sure to take care of those Knights first."

Harry gave a jaunty salute. "Sir, yes sir."

"Cheeky blighter. Well, Albus; where to?"

"Back to Hogwarts, I think Alastor. It should make things significantly harder for any hoping to track our Apparition back to our origin."

"Fine. But you'll have to Side-Along me; you're the only one that can Apparate on the grounds."

Harry held up a finger. "Not quite the only one, I think. But that's a story for another time."

As the two wizards disappeared with a pop of displaced air, Harry just managed to catch Dumbledore's last words over the cracking sound. "I look forward to it…"

And for a brief moment, Harry was alone in the room.

He was joined very shortly after by his host.

Mrs. Willis' face was still quite red from blushing. "Cor, of all the people for you to get to ward our house, I never expected you to get Albus ruddy Dumbledore."

Harry snorted. "Truth be told, neither did I. That's what I get for trusting Mad-Eye to not go overboard. Gun wasn't too heavy was it?"

Mrs. Willis gently placed the gold-inlaid hand cannon down on the table. "Course not; its got nothing on what my husband had to carry in the War."

"I'd imagine not."

"Don't you dare follow that statement up with a remark about how its meant to be a lighter version of what you carry. I can't stand sexism, even when it comes to the fine sport of shooting."

"No, no, that particular model and the one that I carry are similarly weighted, but quite different in purpose. Quite different indeed…now, I imagine you're quite anxious to reunite with your family."

"You could say that."

"Right. I really don't want to Apparate out of here back to the pub; and it's a bit long by broom or car…so we'll be using my way instead."

His companion followed him out the door and onto the lawn. "And what, exactly, is your way?"

A thunderous boom echoed overhead. "The flashy one. Just one bit of advice…"

"Yes?"

"…Keep your eyes wide shut."


Harry looked from the bartender, to Mr. Willis, and back again. "I thought I told you two to tie up any and all visitors you got of the unwelcome kind."

The bartender scratched his head. "Well, you see brother, its like this…I can't exactly call either of them unwelcome."

"And why, pray tell, is that?"

The man on the left snorted. "Cause my family just so happens to own half of this fine establishment; and my somewhat-less-handsome-than-me companion in the chair next to mine just so happens to be my brother-in-law."

The mentioned companion merely sniffed. "Less handsome my grandmother. And this is the first time that I've ever been thankful to set foot in any pub owned even partially by the illustrious Potter family."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Did you say Potter?"

"Aye lad." The bartender nodded. "Charlus Potter. His brother's me landlord."

"Hmm. And the other?"

"Calls himself Cygnus Black. Can't say if he's telling the truth, but he's got the right snobbish tone of voice to go with the name."

"That he does. Hmm. This complicates things. Never thought I'd see a Black and a Potter together for…oh, a good number of years yet. Then again…"

Harry rapped a few times on his helmet in annoyance. "Change of plans, I'm afraid. How much to rent a room, undisturbed and off the books, for the next few hours?"

"On the house, friend."

"In that case, we're moving this party upstairs. Once we've got these two situated, I'm afraid your wife is going to have to erase yours and your son's memories, Mr. Willis. We don't want anyone picking through your mind and finding something they shouldn't."

"I understand, son. Not the first time I've been Obliviated for my own safety."

"Good. Now…" Harry turned his attention back to the two wizards still sitting at the bar. "What are we going to do with you?"

"I'd suggest talking with us," drawled the one on the left. "But seeing as how we and your two compatriots have been doing just that for the past hour, might I suggest drinking first? Not to complain, but my throat is feeling more than a little bit like gravel."

Harry blinked. "What in Merlin's name could you have talked about for an hour? I don't think I've managed to get Willis here to string more than two sentences together in the admittedly brief time I've known him."

The bartender snorted. "You try living through the same War as someone else and you'll be surprised exactly how much in common you can find to talk about."

"I have lived through the same War as other people. But I never got the chance to do much talking afterwards. Still, I'll keep that in mind for future reference."

"What, you think there's gonna be another war coming for you to talk about afterwards?"

Harry merely looked at the bartender. "When isn't there?"

"…Point. Alright you two; march. I know just the room for you three to get…well-acquainted in."

Neither Charlus nor Cygnus cared particularly for either the tone of the bartender's voice or the smile on his face as he said it.

Not. One. Bit.