A/N: Hey all! Please excuse how long it too to get the chapter out, I had to spend a fair amount of time reevaluating just how I was going to get to the end. That, plus work and a rubbish sleeping schedule didn't help matters.
I've said in the past that I'm rubbish when reading reviews, yet one just pushed one of my buttons ever so slightly. Fanfiction is just that, the reworking of an original published work to fit ones own imagination. While some have their own headcanon, (myself included) finding fault with a character because they don't fit your own is a bit silly. I mean, it's totally fine to not like a character, not everyone is pure, everyone has their faults, that just makes everything interesting! no?
Also, AU is well... and alternative to the original narrative, for those who forget.
I, personally hate Dumbledore, as can't bring himself to admit he was wrong as well as being guilty. But that's his character. A broken Sirius has no clue how to treat his godson, while also refusing to open up to him because it'll make his friends deaths much more apparent. Lupin is also guilty about not being there, is mired in his own depression but is mostly honest with Harry. Hermione is insecure, and so is Harry, only she hides it bettter. Harry doesn't really trust or like anyone else except Hermione because I mean, why would he? Hermione's parents strike a chord in him but he doesn't really know why, because again, why would he?
Yeah, yeah rant over. (Also, thanks Neekah for being so nice and loving our Sirius.)
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Highs and Lows
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Despite their agreed upon plan, Harry was having some difficulty concentrating. Not just due to how uncomfortable he was, never having attended such a grown up party before.
Hermione had found Barnabus Cuffe, Editor in Chief of the Daily Prophet and was currently giving him a piece of her mind. Given how much libel the paper had got away in the countless stories about Harry and Dumbledore the previous year.
The Editor was actually a rather timid wizard in his seventies who still wore mutton chops on the sides of his face, as a result, his girlfriend had ridden roughshod over the man. And to his surprise, he found her incredibly sexy when at the peak of her tirade. Though that could have also been a feeling of relief that her tirade wasn't directed at himself.
It could have also been the dress though, something he would readily admit to himself was the most likely option. Maybe he wouldn't admit it to her though, the smirk she would reply with would make the problem worse. Or maybe she'd slap him for pointing out something so obviously suggestive, not adhering to an unmentioned rule of subtlety. Or just maybe, she would blush at the mix of compliment and tease. One thing was for sure; he was seeing a different side of her tonight.
The mead didn't help. Or it did. Depending on your point of view.
In the end, Luna had saved the hapless man by bringing up the notion of a conspiracy between the Prophet and the Ministry. Something, to Hermione's visible surprise, that Neville backed up. His friend explained how things were - to the growing disgust of Hermione - and just how British Wizarding Society worked. Laws against Libel for example, only protected the powerful families in a vaguely feudal system. If it wasn't your name that kept you safe, it was gold that would.
It wasn't that the whole society valued Purebloods above all others. It was the status, history and prestige that counted. While Potter and Dumbledore were famous names, they weren't as old as others - at least to a quick glance - and were therefore lower in the hierarchy in the eyes of the law. It went unmentioned that neither would ever pay off the Prophet to keep quiet.
Both Neville and Barnabus suggested that he investigate his family's roots, as if he was descendant from older families, he could use the protections afforded to them. The fact that Barnabus himself suggested this cooled Hermione's ire, and they made a note to ask Sirius about it. Though no doubt Hermione would get a head start on them all.
They were just about to check on their host when a commotion in the centre of the room drew the attention of the room. "Get your hands off me you filthy Squib!" Spat Malfoy as Filch dragged him in by his collar.
All conversation stopped as Filch found a slightly ruddy-faced Slughorn who asked what the matter was.
"I found him lurking nearby." Filch replied, looking slightly uncomfortable in the party-like atmosphere. Indeed, the bedraggled caretaker looked comically out of place amongst the champagne and expensive robes. "He claims to be invited to your party." He added, chin rising, revelling in the little power he had in the castle.
Malfoy rolled his eyes, shrugging off the caretaker's hand. "Ok, ok. I was gate-crashing, Happy?"
"That's quite alright Mister Malfoy!" Boomed Slughorn. "The more the merrier I say!"
At that moment, Snape arrived in a billowing of robes, taking in the scene quickly. "Apologies Professor, I'll have a chat with mister Malfoy about... manners." He said silkily, giving Malfoy a significant look.
Slughorn's face fell very slightly, but he bounced back quickly. "Quite alright Severus, he's still more than welcome to join us afterwards!"
Snape nodded tightly and led a furious-looking Malfoy away. Filch followed them, muttering darkly about student favoritism.
The crowd slowly stuttered back into conversation once more at Slughorn's exuberant insistence.
While he wanted to follow the pair, not trusting the sudden hatred between them and wanting to find out why Malfoy was so quiet this year. Hermione swiftly vetoed the idea, it wasn't like he brought his Invisibility Cloak, and tonight was perhaps the best chance at getting the memory they needed.
So they rejoined the party once more, with Harry trying in vain to not admire just how well the dress accentuated Hermione's curves.
...
- Later in the night -
Just as the first of the party's guests began to leave, they'd decided in desperation that he would take a small swig of Felix Felicis. To cover him taking it, they'd moved over to a corner of the room to 'snog' - which they did anyway.
It wasn't much later when they were the last to remain, under the influence of Felix, Harry asked Hermione to 'use the loo', leaving the pair alone. The fact that Felix's 'suggestions' basically lined up with their original plan gave him a fair amount of confidence.
Felix didn't suggest that he stare at his girlfriend as she left the room, but he just couldn't help it. He'd had a hand on that waist mere seconds before and he was already restless at being separated from her once more.
"You look just like your father, you know." Observed an intoxicated Slughorn moving beside him while he'd been distracted.
"I hear that a lot Professor." He replied somewhat wearily, despite the euphoric feeling the potion induced.
The professor waved his hand. "Oho! I didn't mean physically m'boy. James would always stare at Lily Evans like that before their last year."
He almost laughed at that, but Felix pointed out the opening provided. "Oh, was my father in the Slug Club?" The question was still his own, he would never tire of hearing about his parents.
"No, no, only Lily. James only got his act together later on, and while he was a whiz with Transfiguration… Lily was far above him." Slughorn tailed off wistfully, his mind obviously far into the past.
Felix then nudged him to ask about his mother, so he did. Not that he needed any encouragement. "I suppose you knew her well?"
"Very." Slughorn nodded sadly. "It's a shame... taken so young. You deserve to know her more than I did but… well…"
"Riddle." Harry supplied.
Slughorn nodded mournfully before suddenly staring at him in surprise. "How do you know that name!?"
Harry shrugged. "His Horcrux told me in second year."
Slughorn's eyes widened more. "Horcrux... m'boy?" He asked, nervousness evident upon his face.
Felix suggested that he feign obliviousness. So he did. "Yeah, that's how he survived whatever happened in Godric's Hollow. Plus whatever my mum did."
Slughorn gulped, looking both scared and curious despite himself. "Lily defeated Tom?"
"Pretty much." The typical memory rose in the very corner of his mind. A flash of his mother standing between him and a man made of dark smoke and burning red eyes threatened to distract him. With a clench of his jaw he returned his attention to Slughorn.
Slughorn now looked even more scared and obviously curious, swaying slightly. "How do you know this Harry?"
He shrugged again. "Tom told me, after his resurrection. He told everyone there while I was tied to his father's gravestone." Felix nudged him once more. "And also… I suppose you heard about the Ministry placing Dementors around the school years back?"
Slughorn nodded mutely.
"They developed… an attachment for me." A small shiver betrayed his unease. "I was attacked more than once and there was always one memory they forced me to relive, even if I didn't remember it originally." He looked Slughorn in the eyes now, finding the aging Professor rapt. "Everytime I get close to one, I watch my mother face him down, standing between him and me."
Slughorn swallowed, his eyes growing visibly wet.
"She pleaded with him to spare me. He told her to move aside. And when she didn't… He-he killed her. I've known the words 'Avada Kedavra' since then, even if I didn't know what they meant until the next year."
Slughorn waved a hand looking very uncomfortable. "Harry, I-"
He fixed the elder man with a stare, trying to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation. "I'm going to destroy him, Horace. The bloody Prophet is right, I AM the chosen one. I won't be able to live a life while he's still alive, while there is still a chance we miss a Horcrux and he is resurrected yet again."
Slughorn was shaking slightly now, eyes wide in fear, not of the boy in front of him though, and Harry knew it.
He took a gamble, based on everything he'd seen. There was obviously a reason that the Deatheaters tried to recruit him with such patience. How many times could you say no to Voldemort and live? "I know you told him about the Horcruxes Horace."
The Professor visibly flinched.
"I know you're not a bad person." Harry consoled. "I somewhat know what he was like back then, I mean, I've met his sixteen year old self. But I need the real memory. So I have a fighting chance."
"Dumbledore-"
Harry cut the professor off. "I don't care about Dumbledore, I'm doing this for ME, for Hermione, so no child has to go through what I did. So no more Lily's of the world have to do what my mother did. She could have done so much if she'd lived... Like I know Hermione will."
Slughorn mutely shook his head jerkily.
His small swig of Felix was wearing off, allowing his anger to rise. "You want her to die in vain!? For nothing!?" He looked his professor in the eye while Slughorn gazed fearfully back.
They remained that way for what felt like an eternity, the enchanted record player scratching over and over as it was at the end of the record.
Until.
Slughorn slowly drew his wand, and shakily summoned a vial from the depths of his office, before placing the tip against his temple. "Please." He begged. "Don't think terribly of me when you see it, tell no one."
Harry nodded his assent and Slughorn slowly withdrew the memory, the glowing gossamer filament materialising from his temple. The Professor's hand holding the vial shook so badly, he held it steady with his own as the memory was deposited and sealed.
A heavy silence fell over them both as they watched the memory swirl inside the tiny flask.
Finally, he allowed himself to relax. "Thank you Horace." He said, putting the vial in an inside pocket. "It… it means a lot."
Slughorn's only reply was a very shaky smile and Harry was last to leave, leaving a stricken-looking Potions Master standing numbly in the middle of his enlarged office. An odd looking Sandglass, which had been frozen for the last few minutes, began to slowly deposit sand into the bottom once more.
Harry found Hermione waiting for him, sitting on a step close to the entrance of the office. She looked up, hope in her eyes. For a moment, he lamented the fact that this task had taken over what should have been a much-needed bonding event for the couple. Social events in Hogwarts being as rare as they were, there would probably be nothing like this for them for the rest of the year.
It was a damn shame.
But then again, there was no one else he'd rather spend this evening with.
He nodded at her, a grin pulling at his face at their success. She gave a 'oh!' and leapt at him, engulfing him in a hug. I hope Slughorn charms his flasks to be unbreakable.
"We did it!" She gasped into his neck.
He snorted. "Was all you love, all I did was guilt-trip him." Mildly, he noted his spur-of-the-moment term of endearment but tried not to dwell upon it.
She moved away from his neck to give him a disapproving look. "It was a team effort."
I love the sound of that. They'd always been a team, and he wouldn't have it any other way. After five years, he almost knew no other way. The other way being a third member lending a hand when he could, a gaping hole that Ron had occupied. He blinked that troubling thought away, keeping up the grin. "I'll take that."
"Shall we take it to Dumbledore now?" She asked.
He couldn't fight the frown at the idea of the very end of their evening together being ruined by Voldemort once more, not to mention seeing the old man. "Tomorrow." He moved her to arms distance, obviously taking her in with his eyes. He couldn't help but opt for honesty. "I kinda just wanted to spend more time with you."
She smiled shyly at him. "It has been a businesslike kind of night hasn't it?"
He grimaced at the oberservation before realising something. "You're shorter now." He observed with a grin.
"Not by much!" She said, drawing herself up to her fullest height against him in her now bare feet. She was correct of course, but he found the whole action ridiculously cute.
"Yes, yes. What do you propose we do now little Miss Granger?"
Her face fell into the same pattern of thought he found attractive. "Room of Requirement?"
He sincerely hoped that his face hadn't betrayed the mead-induced thoughts that raced through his mind at that moment. After all, it was a room that could be almost anything one desired. "The logic is sound, as usual. Are you putting those back on or am I carrying you all the way there?" He jested, gesturing towards her sparkling heels.
She padded over to her shoes, retrieving them. She then returned to him with a bright countenance. "Piggyback me?"
She looked so ridiculously childlike, he'd laughed. He'd never piggybacked nor been piggybacked by anyone as a child. Number four Privet drive wasn't a place he associated with 'play', neither was his friendless time spent in primary school. "The lady gets what she wants tonight as I've been such a wretched boyfriend."
"You're alright." She countered with a smirk and shrunk her shoes and placed them in his trouser pocket, delving inside his robes in a way that hitched his breath for a moment in it's sheer suggestiveness. Knowing her she just knew it would be a safe place to keep them... Maybe?
With a clumsy mount and wiggle to get comfortable that had him feeling all kinds of different things, they set off towards the seventh floor.
…
It was a good thing that the Room was on the seventh floor, in the vague direction of Gryffindor Tower, otherwise Filch would have had their head. The cantankerous Caretaker had indeed waylaid them on the sixth floor, accosting them due to his own suspicions and grouchy nature. They escaped without injury though, with the aged caretaker muttering wildly as he hobbled away.
The fact that he had a right to be suspicious had them in gales of laughter for the rest of the way.
The whole journey was probably the most fun he'd ever had that wasn't on a broom. The pair revelled in how carefree they could be with no one watching and judging them, the mead - and success at getting hold of the memory they needed - gave him a high he'd seldom experienced before. That, and the infectiousness of an obviously happy Hermione had them both snorting with laughter at almost every turn.
Consistently surprising was a description that summed her up perfectly in his opinion, as was the Room when they opened the door to find the very room from his dreams inside. He hadn't even consciously pictured the room as they paced, far too distracted by Hermione who was still on his back.
A huge slate fireplace held merrily crackling flames, an overstuffed brown leather couch held its place directly in front of it. Surrounding the fireplace was an enormous window overlooking the lake, the partly starry sky reflected on the still water - the bright crescent moon had a twin that shimmered with said stars. The room was small, everything behind the couch was cream and mostly featureless.
"We're here." He spoke with finality and let her drop from his back, her body sliding tantalisingly against his.
For once, he didn't get a pithy retort. Instead, she padded in all her barefoot beauty into the room transfixed by the window and what was beyond it. "It's beautiful."
"Yeah." He agreed, but his gaze was not outward. Instead, upon the girl who had changed his life so irrevocably. Her hair, which had been tamed for the party, was showing signs of its rebellious nature. Her movements light and happy, the dress without matching shoes was just an entirely captivating image.
She turned to find his gaze upon her already, and after connecting the dots, she blushed and gestured to him. "Come in Harry."
With almost dream-like ease, he moved into the room proper and placed his lips upon hers, relishing the fact that he could without anyone watching or finding them. "You say that like you made-" The kiss she suddenly pressed to his lips was gentle and they remained in a loose embrace afterwards, both taking in the room.
"How did you come up with this room?" She asked, pivoting in his arms so they could both look out upon the surreal view beyond the window.
He brushed down some stray parts of her hair that were tickling his neck before replying. "Truly? No clue, the room itself is from a dream I had."
She snuggled into his embrace slightly. "I like your dreams when they aren't nightmares."
He snorted. "Most of my nightmares I've experienced. This might be the first dream I actually get to live."
There was silence for a while until… "Tell me about it."
He shrugged, only with his shoulders as he still held her from behind. "There's not much to it, it's just you, and this room." She turned again in his embrace to face him, her eyes full of something indescribable. "Although, I didn't know this dress existed, so I suppose technically, you've just exceeded my dreams. Whatever that m-"
She cut him off with searing kiss, turning his brain to mush. She grasped his robes and dragged him towards the couch, given that he was now suddenly hot, he divested himself of the heavy outer robe. That was as far as he got before tumbling on top of her, no doubt her intention, at least he hoped so, being unfamiliar with this sort of thing. "Mione." He started in between kisses. "You're going to have to tell-"
She cut him off swiftly. "Do what you like Harry."
His eyes widened. "But-"
Her tone was almost no nonsense, undercut by something he would later discover to be lust. "I'll let you know if I don't like it. Just…"
Despite his fears about either doing something wrong, or hurting her, or looking like a fool. He then decided to treat this like his spell research, hypothesising, testing, changing methods where he saw fit. After all, he fully expected her to reign him in if need be. That was just how she was. And he loved that.
He could never be with someone that worshipped the ground he walked, like ninety percent of the Wizarding World. He made mistakes just like - and probably more than - anyone else, and Hermione knew that better than anyone.
Natural curiosity had his lips and hands roaming her body, letting the sounds she made guide him.
In time, his ornate robes were removed, piece by piece, until his shirt hung on only by the sleeves. Thankfully, as the fire was quite warm as it was. The change in temperature was about the only thing he noticed as he continued his experimentation with a single-minded focus that came from somewhere deep in his psyche.
A part of him that was still surprised by the fact that he was allowed to do this, that he was wanted. He desperately wanted to give nothing to disappoint such an important person in his life. It spoke of the many issues with his development as a child, yet he would know nothing of such. So honoured to have his feelings returned, it made him normal, as far from the freak he knew himself to be as possible.
Suddenly, a part of her that he'd been too scared to go near so far was rubbing on his leg as he lay on top of her. Instinctually his leg moved of its own accord, pressing harder against her which drew a different sound from her. One he hadn't heard yet. He found her gaze and saw something deep in her chocolate brown eyes that entranced him.
His trousers were already uncomfortable, now things were almost painful.
Realising he was technically under her dress, he paused and removed his shirt to see her looking at him in a way he could only describe as hunger. Heat rose to his cheeks as her hands rose to touch his chest.
He shivered under her touch. He was only half naked but he felt suddenly bare. All of his scars were on show and he fought the urge to hide from her, he compromised by falling upon her and kissing her once more.
They both sharply inhaled at the new sensation of how he'd fallen, her legs wrapped around him and held him to her. It was like a human form of Devil's Snare and he gave in to it.
After an indeterminable length of time, she gently pushed him off her. To which he looked at her in confusion, this little interlude of theirs had already gone further than any previous. Meaning there was no plan, no discussion, he just had to hope that he wouldn't commit a grievous faux pas.
"Harry." She breathed, biting her lip. "Can you create a bathroom? I'll be back."
He blinked but complied with her request, creating a second for himself and in an odd sort of 'halftime' they each moved to their own.
He entered the small room in a veritable sea of confusion, and the seas were stormy. Why stop? What is she doing? What does she want to do? Does she… He gripped the edge of the counter, now extremely nervous at the thought of going further. It wasn't that he didn't want to. He just had no idea what to do. What if she actually just wanted to use the loo? His jaw clenched at his own confusion, feeling much less like Harry Potter, and more like 'Freak'.
After some thought, he resolved to just follow her lead, it was certainly a safer way of going about things. With this decision made, he glanced into the mirror and looked mournfully at his reflection. The long scar on his shoulder from the Horntail drew his attention, as did the faint mark where the Basilisk Fang pierced his arm, the claw marks on his upper arms from the Dementor attack in his third year, the faint mark along his jaw from a piece of shrapnel in the Ministry.
He turned, inspecting his back.
The Mirror betrayed the light very faint lines across his back that signified his 'training' in his early years at the Dursleys.
He was hideous.
Pale, thin and bespectacled.
All the hints that he hoped she'd sent his way tonight seemed like a desperate teens fantasy at that moment. Especially with him, him and his boy's body, dwarfed by most of the other teens in his year.
He was definitely fit, THAT he knew. It was just that that was ALL he was. His shortened hair wasn't long enough to be messy at least. He remembered the look on Hermione's face as she inspected him. She was probably just looking at my scars. I mean, the rest of me isn't much better. He thrust his hand into his trouser pockets, now uncomfortable in his own skin even more than the situation he found himself in.
Sullenly, he exited, finding the opposite door still closed. He collapsed onto the couch and struggled to push his insecurities down and out of his mind as he stared into the fire.
It was only when the door to Hermione's bathroom opened and he twisted to find a sight that effectively drove all thought from his mind anyway.
She stood in the doorway, looking very much like she wanted to cover herself. Because there wasn't much else covering her body, save for the small amount of lace that covered that… place between her legs.
Consistently surprising for sure.
She stepped both silkily and nervously to where he sat numbly, being entranced by the way the moonlight clashed with the orange flicker from the fire over her breasts. His view was only interrupted by her lips which lowered to meet his once more.
Finally she drew back. "Would you mind terribly making us a bed?"
His eyes widened.
Shit.
…
Given that today was a Saturday - and that he'd had less sleep than usual - he remained in bed for a little longer than normal. Missing his normal weekend routine of spell practice was justified in his opinion by the fact that he wasn't alone in his bed. In fact there were many more reasons to back the first up, most of them involved his girlfriend who slept beside him.
His resolution in the mirror the night before had been futile. Hermione taking the lead was the only way for anything to get done, at least in this sense. It was only fair after all, SHE had the audacity to appear in front of him basically naked. There was no way his brain was going to function properly after that, she could probably tell that by the look upon his face.
The night after that had been exactly what it was. The first time.
Given that they were both unsure of things lead to awkward moments, embarrassing truths and LOTS of experimentation.
What had come of it though was infinitely more precious. A deeper, more fundamental understanding of each other, and the affirmation of just how much they mean to each other. Their 'Pillow Talk' after had been one of the most liberating experiences of his life; secrets tumbled from his lips in a torrent that surprised him. At least she doesn't hate my scars, well she said that they remind her of the kind of person I was. Whatever that means.
At first, he'd been worried that revealing more of his past would be too much for her to handle. After all, sometimes it was too much for himself. The simplest action would trigger a memory long repressed, sometimes he'd flinch involuntarily, other times his reaction or comment would be out of context, usually confusing those he was with.
They'd found common ground in their experience at primary school, both isolated from their peers. Him for his higher than average event of accidental magic, and Dudley. Hermione for a love of learning that others couldn't understand, leading to an ineptitude to relate to those her own age.
His heart broke a little after her summary of her early life. While her parents obviously adored her, they both had full-time careers. Their girl was smart, independent, yet lonely. The upside of their careers was that they could give their daughter whatever she desired, more so after discovering magic. With the exchange rate of pounds to galleons making school supplies expensive for most Muggleborn families.
Her whole story still felt so remarkably normal to hear - apart from the bullying and loneliness he could relate with. It cemented a desire in him to become a father to give, or more accurately, to be a part of a normal childhood whatever THAT was.
At that thought, he was reminded of the residents of Grimmauld Place, it would be nice to spend Christmas away from the castle and with a semblance of family. It was then that the penny dropped. What if Richard finds out I… We… fuck! I might have to rethink his Christmas gift.
The topic of gifts now stewing in his mind led him to something he'd forgotten, the resounding 'clunk' in his brain was so loud he feared it would wake Hermione up. I've missed her birthday! fuckfuckfuck! Wait, wouldn't she have said anything? Or is she waiting for me? Fuck!
The last thought had some nasty connotations that he'd rather not think about. Though he did resolve to ask her. In a month or two. Or maybe when he had a suitable apology prepared. Or when Voldemort was finally dead and gone. Or maybe when he was dead and gone.
He did find it odd that she hadn't even mentioned it in years past, maybe he was missing something. Definitely missing something.
He took in her sleeping form as he thought. Maybe I could ask now while she's still groggy? Maybe then I could have a chance of escaping? The instant he thought that, her eyes fluttered open, then squinted at the light pouring through the huge window. She peered at him through the mass of hair that nearly obscured her. "Hey."
"Hey." He took the time to take in her face while his brain tried to process what he'd just been thinking about. As a reflex, he went for their old joke. "You woke up to me this time."
She smiled groggily. "So I did. I hope you weren't just watching me sleep."
"I was counting freckles!" He replied in mock shock, falling easily into banter. "It's important information!"
She moved to cover her nose with a hand. He grabbed her wrist as gently as he could.
"Don't." He replied hurriedly. "I like them."
Her small smile was shy as she moved closer, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before snuggling into his side. "You certainly have your moments, Harry Potter."
His grin turned into a grimace as his thoughts changed. "I missed your birthday." He said mournfully, feeling it better to get it out of the way as soon as possible.
She turned slightly and peered at him. Involuntarily, he shifted away from her - no doubt - vengeful wrath. He'd made the promise after all, and let her down, what kind of boyfriend - friend even - was he?
"No you didn't." She mumbled guiltily.
He blinked. "What?"
She sighed. "It is strange… I mean, I WAS born in September, but I really wasn't until Christmas." She must've seen the incomprehension on his face because she pressed on. "There were... complications when I was born, you don't really want to know. Mum couldn't even hold me for months, it's the reason I'm an only child." She shifted awkwardly. "The day mum first held me has just been my birthday ever since, Christmas Day."
"What about-?" Was all he managed before she anticipated his question.
"Usually we just split the day up. I never had any friends to celebrate with so a day with Mum and Day was always enough." He could imagine her wringing her hands at that.
His heart went out to her, as did the rest of him wrapping his free arm around her pulling her to him. As always, his other arm moved under his head lest he lose feeling in it under her. - The struggle of cuddling in bed. "I'll spend Christmas with you, if-"
"Yes."
He nearly asked why she hadn't told him, but only the thought of revealing his own secrets prevented him from asking. "Well, err, that's settled then."
"You're not going to ask Sirius?"
He blinked. "What? Oh! Yeah I probably should, shouldn't I."
She took him in, reading his thoughts from his face like only she could. "You'll get used to it."
No matter how incredibly incredible it was to remain under the covers with Hermione, they'd decided they might as well give the memory to Dumbledore. Well, SHE decided and he just agreed, but that point was moot. There really wasn't any point in waiting, delaying the inevitable. His gut roiled with trepidation as to what would come of it, but he really didn't have much choice either way.
Choice, being something that he had little of in his life so far. - Even more than the usual child. But he had chosen her, and that was enough for him. And while he wouldn't get into the semantics of who had chosen who, she had been his only choice.
Their shared breakfast in the Great Hall was later than the norm of most of the castle, - the food around them was the last to disappear - and seemed to be of some interest to Lavender and Parvarti. The pair's intense discussion was no doubt about Hermione's absence from her dormitory last night. At least, that was her opinion. So he took it as fact, knowing very little about Female Dormitory Politics.
Neville, nor Luna were anywhere to be seen either. While he didn't think they'd got up to anything that McGonagall would frown upon, you never really could tell when Luna was involved. With those two, they could have just snuck into the Greenhouses, anything to do with bloody creatures and plants. He barely held in a snort at the thought of getting a splinter in VERY unfortunate places.
Hermione, while finding the thought crass - as he told her the instant he'd thought it - snickered along with him. Poor Neville wouldn't have known what hit him.
His mood, euphoric upon waking, had steadily sunk lower and lower with each step towards the Headmaster's office as they left the Hall. Reality had come knocking once more.
When they reached the rather simple looking door to the office it swung wide of its own accord and he led them into the room to find Dumbledore in the middle of what looked like an endless pile of paperwork. The large quill zoomed across an out of sight parchment as the Headmaster dictated to it, taking an occasional sip of what he assumed was tea.
The pair took their seats as Dumbledore continued his dictation, the late morning sun poured into the room though the varied colours of stained glass, leaving multicoloured shapes over much of the room.
"In accordance with Wizengamot proclamation number seven sixty-two, act seven, article twenty-eight; The British Ministry of Magic requests the discussion of the question of ICW participation and/or support to help her Majesty's Island defeat the Dark Lord styling himself as Lord Voldemort at our convention of Warlocks and Witches on the day of December twenty-seventh. Signed Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore." He flicked his wand tiredly and the quill fell flat. "Good morning Harry, Miss Granger. I trust you have some good news for me?"
Harry rummaged in a pocket of his jacket and withdrew the small vial, presenting it mutely.
Age melted from Dumbledore's face, replaced with a smile, yet some tiredness still remained. "Well done! Both of you. How?"
Harry shrugged. "Thank him for giving out Liquid Luck in his very first class."
Dumbledore chuckled very slightly. "Always the showman is our Horace, although I doubt you needed to use the potion either way." Both teens looked at their Headmaster disbelievingly before he expounded. "The party would have been a perfect time to persuade him, surrounded by those he'd helped in the past, and those that would become the future. Plus alcohol and your, no doubt, blunt way of going about things and also… who you are, who you both are would have been the determining factor."
"But I'm just… not the bloody chosen one." He grumbled in reply.
Dumbledore's face hardened before becoming serious. "Harry. The fact that you try so very hard to not be special, yet very obviously are, is why people look up to you. The countless tales and children's stories that depicted a heroic Harry Potter that have been made since that terrible day, are nothing like the boy people see in person. The acts the public read about, while seldom, could be taken straight from those tales. You out-flew a Dragon, rescued a hostage from the bottom of a fathoms-deep lake, escaped Voldemort alive, broke into the most secretive department in the Ministry and fought against the worst our society has to offer."
Harry grimaced throughout the pronouncement, some of his worst memories were apparently his successes. And while he would agree that 'escaping alive' meant success, he never wanted to do those things again.
Dumbledore pressed on. "I see just how you have spent your time this year, and while I admire the effort put forth towards becoming more skillful, you cannot win alone."
"You said I was the weapon!" Harry shot back and heard a small intake of breath at his side.
Dumbledore leant forward onto the desk and sighed. "Not in the way you clearly have interpreted. Merely because of who you are, not what you can do with a wand." The old man observed him for a moment before continuing. "Regardless of what the history books tell us, those that fought against Grindelwald did not follow me into battle. I was only known as the only one who could match him, and I could only interfere towards the end of his reign. The people followed those such as Charlus Potter, Rickhard Longbottom or were ordered to by men such as Torquil Travers. Countless Witches and Wizards volunteered under your grandfather to stand beside the Aurors of Free Europe."
"You have the gravitas Charlus did, of a man so humble yet so fierce. Gather friends and allies as only you can do. You are the perfect weapon against everything Tom stands for, the antithesis of intolerance and hatred. Already, you use this to aid in our quest to destroy Tom's links to life. The memory you hold is priceless to our struggle, do not debase yourself of rightful praise, you deserve it."
Harry said nothing after the Headmaster's speech, the praise was uncomfortable, or perhaps it was the one who gave it to him. Despite the old man's kind words, it had become painfully obvious that Harry Potter was a tool, his life; collateral damage towards the greater good. Albus Dumbledore would never hold a 'Grandfather like' influence over him ever again.
"Shall we?" Harry broke from his thoughts to find both Hermione and Dimbledore next to the pensieve, looking at him.
"Sure."
- One untampered memory later -
.
Despite the newfound clarity, a few questions still remained in his mind. He held his tongue though, no doubt the old man would begin explaining things. The older man himself shuffled to his desk and fell into the throne-like chair behind it, yet said nothing.
He glanced at Hermione beside him who looked beyond revolted at what they had just witnessed.
Thinking about her made him think of something else he found odd about the memory. "He didn't seem too curious."
The old man started, like he'd forgotten the other room's occupants. "Quite, I believe he already knew how to create a Horcrux, at least the theory."
Hermione jumped in. "Why even ask? Why risk it?"
Dumbledore considered her for a moment. "Why do YOU ask questions, Miss Granger? No doubt you know the theory inside and out before the class starts."
She blushed in reply. "Clarification, reassurance that I'm not wrong."
Harry snorted. "Not bloody likely."
Dumbledore nodded, but his mind looked to be elsewhere. "Any text that would describe an art as old as the creation of a Horcrux would be vague, anecdotal, and written nearly a millennia ago. Tom was only as old as yourselves at the time, we have a sixth and seventh year for a reason. An OWL is only the lowest benchmark for magical growth."
The old man returned to them fully, gazing at them both. "Tom learnt two things from Horace; how to extract his own soul, and how many Horcruxes he could create."
A shiver ran up his spine as he thought of that part of the memory. Am I becoming him? "Murder rips the soul apart? But I've-"
Dumbledore raised a blackened hand, cutting him off. "Rest easy Harry. Magic as always, follows intent. After all, there are countless reasons to kill another, and yet more methods. Say you kill in self-defence, or are forced to again your will. The WHY is what matters. Those that battled against the forces of Grindelwald, of Hitler, fought against an ideal. I daresay you could ask almost any of those combatants and you would find that they held a certain respect for the adversary, an understanding that neither fought only to kill the other, but only to defeat the other's cause."
His gaze flitted to Hermione again. "So my soul is still fine?"
Dumbledore's reply was filled with certainty. "Undoubtedly. Only premeditated, selfish forceful removal of a soul from an innocent victim would tear at a soul. Using the Killing Curse only makes the chance of such a tear absolute, as the spell is designed for killing in such a specific way."
Silence fell over the room as he breathed a sigh of relief, trying to push away the images of those he'd killed in the past. Of Quirrel, the Deatheaters, of Ron.
Hermione must've noticed his inner turmoil as she grasped his hand and gave it a squeeze. "He mentioned seven."
Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed, it would be fair to conclude that he created six, The Diary, Slytherin's Locket, The Ring. I also have reason to believe that a cup that Helga Hufflepuff owned is also one, as it was stolen not long after Tom visited its last known owner."
"Artifacts of the Founders of Hogwarts." Observed Hermione. "Why?"
The old man looked to Harry for an answer, who then gave the question some thought. After all, if they could figure out what else was a Horcrux, the easier it would be to find them. He steals trophies, one was his own diary, a ring that belonged to his family, and two relics of the founders of Hogwarts…
The answer he came up with hit a little too close to home for his liking, but he said it anyway. "Because he's an orphan. Hogwarts is like…" He swallowed. "The first home I've ever had."
The old man agreed solemnly. "It was no doubt how he felt as well, many a student have spent Christmas in the Castle due to their having no proper home to return to. Spending Christmas with a brother that hates my very existence was something I gave up on a long time ago, The Castle is both Home and School Miss Granger."
Hermione, abashed, fell silent.
Harry brought them back on topic. "So we're looking for something of Ravenclaw's and something of Gryffindor's?"
"Only Rowena's." Dumbldore corrected. "Both of Gryffindor's heirlooms have not been perverted, the Hat never leaves this office except for the sorting, and the Sword is… tricky to pin down."
"But that leaves five, we're missing one." Harry countered.
The Headmaster looked away. "Yes, I have a few theories of what the... last one is. Meanwhile, I believe you could ask the Grey Lady about the Diadem of Ravenclaw. It being the only Relic of hers ever recorded in history, I'm quite sure it is a Horcrux, though how… I do not know."
"I suppose you've asked her?" Asked a slightly annoyed Harry. Even if he was questioned under the Cruciatus, the old bastard would still reply in riddles.
Dumbledore's head cocked to the side, as if finding Harry's thoughts amusing. "Yes. I believe it has something to do with her relationship with the Bloody Baron and her own mother Rowena Ravenclaw."
"The Grey Lady is the daughter of a founder of Hogwarts!?" Exclaimed Hermione.
"Indeed, She holds the key. And she will not give it up easily." The aging Headmaster then sat upright. "Now, before you both enjoy a well earned break. Have you had any dreams Harry? Flashes of Tom's mind?"
He blinked at the unexpectedness of the question. "Err, not really. Just the odd nightmare."
The old man looked almost impressed. "Hmm, interesting, I had thought to give you Occlumency training this year but it seems there is a more natural way to keep those with ill intent out of our minds." Both their puzzled expressions led him to elaborate. "Simply a method of shielding your mind from those who wish to sift for its secrets. Though even now, I would debate its usefulness if yourself and Tom are directly linked."
He had no reply, not realising its importance until Hermione let go of his hand suddenly. "So you're saying." She began, her eyes becoming flinty. "That Occlumency could stop someone from implanting false visions into your mind?"
"Among other things-" Dumbledore then paused, looking very much like a student caught in wrongdoing. "Yes."
When he caught on, seconds later, his vision narrowed squarely at the old man. "So that's what you meant by caring too much, whatever that means." He spat, his limbs beginning to shake in anger. "So it's down to you. You could have either told me. Or. Taught me how to stop it." The image of a bleeding Ron, still giggling feebly, flashed through his mind once more.
Shame filled him.
Forgetting about everything else, and with words failing him, he turned on a heel and stalked from the room. The Headmaster's office door - that usually swung inward - flung itself open in the other direction, away from the tempest of a teen that walked through the doorway, ripping itself off the hinges in the process.
…
Sirius Black had never been to this part of Gringotts before.
Coming into ownership of one the oldest Vaults in the Goblin run Bank meant that he'd seen much more of its interior than the average British Magical. The 'Office' he currently sat in now resembled more of a cave than not, a cave with marbled floors and Chandeliers.
More than once, he'd wondered how in the fuck he'd become a prime negotiator for the Wizarding Light Side with the Goblin Nation. He didn't care about the Ministry, as his own history with them was troubled in the least, he didn't really care about himself, and he didn't care about the niceties of politicking. He was - as Richard had put it - a man who'd never grown up. Even if he believed he had a right to be, with twelve years of his life taken from him.
'An idiot that could twirl a wand.' As Marlene had put it, and his witty retort would be; 'You know very well how I can twirl my wand.' Then she'd give him that exasperated look he'd never forget.
He shook himself of his wandering thoughts and focussed on the group of gnarled Goblins on the opposite side of the heavy oak table.
"You come looking for aid? From your enemy?" The Goblin snarled with a grin. Before him, was what could only be called a war council, the five Goblins all bore battle scars that were displayed obviously, and proudly.
He shrugged. "It would be a pact that mutually benefits us."
The oldest Goblin, with a partially missing right ear made a scathing noise. "And the Ministry sends a wizard who they owe a great debt too? Why is the Minister not here? Nor -" He spat on the floor. "- a representative from the 'Beasts Division'?".
Sirius very nearly leant back, expecting this very question. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was not a well thought of part of the British Ministry. While he liked Dirk Cresswell personally, the Department he worked in classed many intelligent beings as Beasts. Most in the department viewed part humans as lesser magical beings, Centaurs, Merpeople, Goblins, Veela and even Werewolves were labelled as such. Each 'class of Beast' had a liason, a Ministry employee who only ever informed those they were tasked with about changes in policy. Never listen to their charges concerns, or even meet with them personally.
Those 'Policy changes' as he'd heard from Harry, usually meant restricting territory, limiting trade opportunities or any other number of demeaning things. The Goblin Nation had won their share of the Wizarding economy, yet were still classed as those of 'near human intelligence', lesser, with their own liaison who they hated on principle.
Maybe Hermione can fix that shithole when this is all over. No doubt Harry's 'special friend' would put things right, granting rights too long suppressed and creating separate territories for each.
As it was, his answer was delivered with the confidence born from anticipating correctly. At least Amelia had, he'd just agreed. "You're not seriously saying that you would rather negotiate with a civilian that's never raised so much as a spoon to defend others?"
The group before him considered him for a while, he leant back soaking it in. Goblins being the way they were, probably had kept tabs on him and those he associated with. He struggled mightily with a grin as he watched them communicate with a series of glances and mutterings in Gobbledegook. Finally, the youngest looking on the furthest right spoke. "What do you propose?"
"Investment, for the purchase of bespoke armour, plus assistance with supplying raw materials when necessary."
Two of the older Goblins bristled. "You wish us to help clad our enemies! What will stop you from turning your improved war capability against your benefactors!?"
Sirius snorted. Trust them to be a paranoid lot. "Please, we're not asking for your designs, your innovations, only money and material when needed. OUR creators… well... creations, are entirely wizarding in nature. For one purpose, our war against Voldemort."
"And if we decline?" The middle Goblin said sharply.
"A family of your kin were murdered weeks ago in Nottingham." He said in monotone. That one had shocked quite a few when it happened, as sixteen years ago, only the wizarding public were targets for Deatheaters. No one really knew why, but it now seemed that truly no one was safe from him this time. "You think that Voldemort will stop after taking the Ministry? Will you be able to generate any profits under state of terror he will bring?" He leant forward, interlacing his fingers. "At least this way, you'll be able to make money off the Ministry with interest, we'll throw in part of the business that will create this armour… If you can stand to deal with the twins." He added snidely, the image that presented alone nearly had him in stitches.
All of the Goblins simply observed him for what would normally be an uncomfortable amount of time for the usual Magical. He, however, was thinking of other things. Mainly, how to make subtle orders from various Black Family enterprises for what the Twins needed. - or even if he needed to be subtle at all.
"You have made your point, Wizard." Gruffed the oldest Goblin. "Our owl will carry our decision."
Sirius merely nodded and swept from the room, Goblins didn't care for niceties, so neither would he. He swept through the bank towards the surface, his decision solidifying in his mind with each step. The businesses had run autonomously for long enough, his grandfather would need to make a return to bring them under heel.
Sirius would never try to be Arcturus, to impersonate such a man who moved the world with a force of will. He would… channel him. After all, of all the members of the family they would expect to inherit, he was at the bottom of the list. He would use this lack of knowledge to his advantage, taking control, and enough of his product to make a start on the armour Harry and his friends would need.
So deeply was he thinking, he'd barely noticed the path his boots had travelled, the quick duck into Knockturn Alley and the mindless dodging of others in the narrow confines.
Just as he rounded a blind corner that would take him past Borgin and Burkes, and deeper into the grunge and squalor. He recognised a heavily cloaked figure, as did the other. For a moment, they paused in stunned disbelief at the prospect of bumping into each other. Until a dagger whistled past his torso, clattering into the brick behind him.
Instantly, his own wand snapped up and spells drilled into him from his days as an Auror were sent back at Rodolphus Lestrange who gave a great 'HA' of laughter before screaming "AVADA KEDAVRA!" The jet of green twisting light flew past him, leaving a scorch mark on the wall of the Alley he'd just come from.
A scream was heard and the rest of the inhabitants of the Alley rushed away towards Diagon Alley in a stampede.
Sirius had thrown himself at the wall to dodge the curse and quickly decided to avoid a risky capture. A flurry of spells flew from his ashen wand towards the ground and sides of Rodolphus who smirked and didn't move. The explosion curses in such narrow confines threw the husband of his cousin around like a ragdoll before he followed them up with a Bone Rotting curse straight from the family Grimoire.
With Rodulphous down and struggling, Sirius disarmed him and advanced, morbidly curious about the effects of a curse he'd never used before. The man seemed to flop as he tried to move, apparently the curse's effects were fast acting as eventually some of the bones audibly snapped as they disintegrated.
The man's screams were muted with a flick as Sirius swapped wands casually. He wasn't worried about anyone finding them. While Aurors would eventually arrive, the very nature of the location called for a massed and organised response.
With a flick the taken wand cut its owner's throat, Sirius then left the wand on top of the body and pressed on towards his original destination. The walk allowed him to control his breathing, to calm himself from the exhilaration of the fight. It's good to know I'm not as rusty as I thought I was. I mean, I am but ah well. Old habits are going to get me killed. He made a mental note to work on his insinctualy counters, Auror tactics were'nt the best approach in war time.
As he neared his destination, back in Gringotts, an enormous ledger glowed in golden light as new words appeared upon its pages.
The ledger was an odd quirk of the world he called home. In practice, and in the daily lives of today's WItches and wizards were not so different to those of the century previous. Magic, the great equaliser, left Witches on no less footing than any wizard, just like magical ability flowed through all ethnicities. And in most ways, the Old Laws described the same with little difference.
Family law was one of the very few exceptions to the rule. Stemming from either royalty, or ancient civilisations. Family law was powerful and iron-clad, Wizard-Patriarchal hierarchy in these matters existed merely because of biology. The older the family, the older the magic. The older the magic, the more its pervasive nature was felt through its members, an urge to protect, to nurture.
It was far more efficient for one Wizard to seed many Witches, than the opposite. At least, that was what was believed by scholars of such things. History, funnily enough, was old and usually confusing in interpretation.
In any event, Bellatrix Black was a Lestrange in merely technical terms now. The Old Laws deemed a daughter, whose husband's family dead, to become a daughter again. Removing her title of wife and also the link between the two families, as the branch of the Lestrange line in England, was now dead.
All Ancient Families were guided by magic, just how exactly had been lost to time. As said ancient families were extremely unwilling to share their Grimoires with researchers. The very instant the Lestrange name died, old and ruthless magic sprung into action. Usually, the vault of a dead line would hold until an heir appeared to claim it. The fact that Bellatrix was still alive thought complicated matters, as she could still enter at will as the vault was still hers. But she was a Black, through and through, unlike Andromeda.
Fletchwood, who had just returned from the same council his client had just seen. Baulked - as much as a Goblin could - and hurried over to inspect it. He grumbled audibly and moved over to a bookshelf on one side of the room, he would need to re-acquaint himself with the mess of clauses and conditions of marriage contracts and Family law.
His client would need to know about this, it was protocol.
...
