Chapter 1: A Far from Normal Day
It was crowded as the seven Ministry officials piled into the lift. Gawain Robards squeezed himself into a corner, attempting and failing to suppress a sigh as the grille closed and the lift began its descent. Margaret Jenkyns glanced at him with her one good eye and gave him a small humourless smile of understanding. Perhaps 'smile' wasn't the right word. It was more like a grimace.
Gawain's eyes itched with an inexplicable tiredness. In truth, he had not been here much longer than he would have on any normal day of work. But today had not been a normal day, and he was beginning to feel it take its toll. Emotional exhaustion was even more draining than the physical exhaustion to which he was accustomed in his line of work. And his fatigue was only exacerbated by the knowledge that the day's chores were far from over.
Not for the first time today, he asked himself why exactly he had ever chosen to go into this profession. He thought back to his enthusiastic, twenty-year-old self, fresh out of Auror Academy and raring to prove himself. That version of Gawain would have been brimming with excitement to be included in all this. But things had been different then… He had been different then. Merlin, but he was a different man since then. Twenty-six years as an Auror would do that, he supposed.
The man standing next to him was a testament to how much Gawain had changed. He studied the figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt out of the corner of his eye, thinking back to how threatened he had felt when Kingsley had first started working in the Auror office. It had been some nineteen years since Kingsley had completed Auror Academy. Gawain had been a good few years ahead of him. But Kingsley's arrival had almost instantly triggered a bitter (although admittedly one-sided) rivalry with Gawain. Over the years, this rivalry had faded into a competitive sort of friendship. Now, older and wiser as he was, Gawain could look back and know that Kingsley had never intentionally challenged Gawain's authority; but somehow at the time, Gawain had felt terribly pressured by the younger man's obvious potential. It would seem I had good reason to feel threatened, Gawain thought dryly to himself, given that the Wizengamot unanimously named him Interim Minister of Magic today, despite the numerous higher ranking officials to pick from. The difference between now and then, of course, was that Gawain found he really didn't care anymore. Perhaps apathy was the key to a peaceful life.
He jerked back to the present when the lift shuddered to a halt, and a cool female voice announced that they were at the Atrium. Gawain followed Kingsley and the others across the emptying room toward the Apparition Zone, enviously watching the last few workers heading home to their families through the newly reopened Floo Network. They would be celebrating tonight— drinking once again to the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One. Gawain and the others in the group heading across the Atrium were not so lucky.
As they passed it, he saw Kingsley glance at the vulgar monument that proclaimed Magic is Might and grimace. He made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and muttered to himself "first order of business tomorrow: that monstrosity goes." The group walked purposefully across the cavernous room, past the security desk and the now unused toilet stalls through which only that morning, Gawain had arrived at work. Gawain's thoughts again began to wander, digesting the many changes the day had brought—marvelling at how quickly everything had happened.
He had arrived at work this morning, flushing himself down that cursed toilet at a quarter to eight as usual, not imagining that anything had changed. It had been early enough, few people were there yet. He had headed up the lifts to the second floor as on any other day, turned the corner, and trudged through the heavy oak doors and into the Auror office. As was his habit, he was the first to arrive to the Auror Office in the morning. He had walked between the rows of desks and cubicles, yawning and wondering vaguely where Williamson and Martins had been called off to as they didn't appear to be here. Generally the Aurors on night duty would give a report at eight o'clock before heading home to sleep. Poor sods. The bane of all in the office was getting called out just before the end of one's shift—it could sometimes add hours on the clock, and it was always the worst when one was on the night shift.
Then, Gawain had veered off into his office, only to find Kingsley Shacklebolt calmly lounging at his desk waiting for him. Lounging! In the Auror Office! As if he wasn't right below the Potter boy on the list of most wanted men!
Kingsley had not bothered with any salutation, simply greeted Gawain by informing him in his usual slow serene voice that he had taken the liberty of sending the two Aurors who had been on night duty to Hogwarts of all places, where he thought they would be more useful. Not waiting for more than a splutter in response, he had proceeded to explain that there had been an epic battle at the wizarding school in the early hours of the morning and that Voldemort (Gawain had flinched) had been killed in a duel by Harry Potter. Gawain's head was still buzzing, to say the least.
The rest of the day had passed in a whirl of confused commotion. Gawain had stumbled through in a kind of trance, dazed with the impossibility of it all; he could barely remember all that had happened. Nine hours had passed. Nine hours of endless debates, planning the next course of action and all the while struggling through the confines of the crumbling bureaucracy.
The Wizengamot had been called to order as the laws of the magical world were dissected to determine exactly how one should go about reconstructing a government that had been so completely gutted. It had quickly been determined that a temporary Minister of Magic would have to be assigned to take charge until public elections could be arranged. That part had been quick enough, anyway. One would think that, given the unanimous agreement amongst the Wizengamot that Kingsley Shacklebolt was an ideal candidate, it would not take hours of tedious deliberation to officially declare him Interim Minister. One would think that. But one would be wrong. That's bureaucracy for you.
Gawain thought the choice a good one, however slow they were in coming to it. He had known Kingsely for years, and for all that Gawain had felt him threatening to his own ambitions, he had to acknowledge that Kingsley was right for the job. His temperament was such that he would not act rashly or in only his own interests; his history showed his commitment to the side of light; and his former standing in the Auror ranks and with the Order of the Phoenix would be met with enthusiasm on the part of the terrified wizarding community, yearning as they were to once again feel safe and protected by their government.
Despite expressing reluctance during the initial discussions, Kingsley took up the mantle graciously and was already proving decisive and capable. At last, things began to get done. Immediately a group of officials was dispatched to Azkaban to release the many Muggle-borns who had been imprisoned. Another delegation was sent to Hogwarts on various errands, be it to take those captured Death Eaters in to custody, tend to the injured, or begin repair works on the castle, which by all accounts was decimated.
Kingsley was, however, cautious; Gawain supposed he would have to be, after who-knows-how-many years in which he was secretly a member of the Order of the Phoenix- that revelation had come out a good few months ago, and yet Gawain was still shocked by it. It did not escape Kingsley's notice that those who were still present in the Ministry had kept their positions by either openly supporting the Death Eaters, or at the very least, remaining impartial. Gawain and the others present had shifted uncomfortably when this had been pointed out.
In truth, Gawain did feel guilty; it was, after all, his responsibility as an Auror to fight dark wizards. But after what had happened in the First War…well, he didn't think he could survive going through that again. He was no longer the young and idealistic Auror he had been then. The days were long gone when he would seek to stand up against tyranny. He just went along with it now— kept his head down and did his job as he was instructed. That was how one stayed alive. More importantly, that was how one kept one's loved-ones alive.
But so it was that Kingsley was hesitant to discuss certain security matters in the confines of the Ministry. It was too difficult to know who to trust, and with all the Surveillance Charms the Death Eaters had put up, it was too difficult to be sure that their conversations were not being overheard by the wrong ears. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may be dead, but the War was not over yet. Many of his followers were still at large, and they were by no means out of danger. No one would forget the lessons learned after the First War in a hurry. Picking a few select officials in positions of authority whom he deemed trustworthy along with a couple Aurors for security as a precaution, Kingsley was resolved that they conference in a less vulnerable setting.
And it was this decision which had brought them here to the Apparition Zone. Kingsley looked around at each of them. After verifying that everyone who should be was present, he held out his left arm, encouraging them all to take hold. Kingsley had flatly refused to say precisely where they were going in case of any eavesdroppers. Instead he had insisted upon guiding the Apparition to what he had dubbed "the secure location." Neither Gawain nor any of the others present had the foggiest idea where they were headed. Kingsley had merely assured them that the place was the safest and most private he knew of and that it was equipped with every security spell known to wizard-kind. "Perfect for any clandestine operation," he had said with a wink.
Margaret Jenkyns grumbled something too low to hear and adjusted her eye patch. Margaret was a good spirited and lively woman normally, but she truly hated not being in the know. She rolled her good eye with an audible "hrumph," but she crowded around Kingsley and laid a hand on his shoulder along with everyone else. Gawain followed suit, taking a firm hold on Kingsley's forearm.
"Wands out, and remember what I said," muttered Kingsley quietly. "This place is not unknown to the Death Eaters; it is quite possible they will be waiting for us. We should be fine once we get into the house. Assuming there have been no changes in the security measures in the past few months, they will not be able to follow." He gave one final check to be sure that all six of his companions had one hand on Kingsley's arm or shoulder and the other gripping a wand at the ready. "On three then: one…two…three!" And simultaneously, they turned on their heels and disappeared with a pop.
They materialised in a small patch of unkempt grass, bumping into each other as they regained their footing from the Apparition. Gawain and the others looked around, taking in the sight of the dilapidated houses with their boarded up windows and peeling paint. Rubbish heaps lay on the yellowing lawns of several of the surrounding homes. Fortunately, no one seemed out and about to be shocked by seven people appearing out of thin air in the middle of a Muggle street. Or maybe it wasn't just good fortune; it hardly seemed the sort of place that anyone would want to be out and about.
It was darker than Gawain would have expected. He'd lost track of time. Just how late was it? The street was lined with lamps, but none of them were lit despite the hour. Odd, that. A tangible silence was filling the square eerily; the only noise Gawain could hear was the soft breathing of his companions. Tendrils of fog were creeping up the street. Gawain felt a shiver run down his spine. He let his breath out in a cloud of mist; it was strangely cold for a May evening. Very cold. And dark.
All at once, Gawain and several of his companions realised the meaning of this, and simultaneously, they whipped around to face down the street, wands at the ready. Sure enough, a throng of Dementors was gliding down the street, bearing down toward them. Merlin, but there were hundreds of them— too many to fight, and they were so close. They must have been waiting in ambush, and Gawain and his party had taken the bait and were well and truly hooked.
Gawain's fogged brain registered all this quite vaguely, for the mist was already swirling through his head, bringing with it an image.
In the swirling mists of his mind, he saw a neat cottage in the moonlight. It was a lovely home with ivy growing up the walls and a frost-covered garden bordered by a neat stone wall. But something was not right. The front door was hanging off its hinges, a window shattered. The broken glass reflected the glittering light of a vast green skull etched against the black sky above the house. The Dark Mark. Oh, God. Katherine.
Dimly, Gawain felt tears streaming down his face, his body swaying with dizziness. But something was changing. The cold was receding. Some semblance of warmth was re-entering Gawain's body, evaporating the mist that clouded his vision.
Shaking his head to clear it, Gawain looked around trying to decipher what was happening. His deep gasping breaths were resonating loudly in his ears, but all other sounds seemed muffled. He tried to dredge a happy memory from the recesses of his mind, but all he could think of was her. In a daze, he analysed the state of his colleagues, feeling detached from the goings-on.
His eyes first fell on young Ben Harrows lying unconscious on the street two yards away. Guy Burgess was on his knees, cowering and shaking, stubby arms wrapped around his considerable girth. The poor man. Gawain doubted he had ever been out from behind a desk in all his life; Dementors would hardly have been in his job description as Head of International Magical Cooperation. Edward Bones and Brannagh Roslyn were still on their feet, but both were struggling to maintain the clouds of silvery vapour protecting them from the Dementors. Kingsley and Margaret Jenkyns were standing with their backs to him and their wands raised as though conducting a symphony. Their respective Patronuses, a lynx and a falcon, were still there, charging down the Dementors. But they were not alone.
Abruptly, Gawain realised what had allowed the fog from his brain to clear. The Dementors were retreating down the street, and pursuing them was a third corporeal Patronus, shining more brightly that either of the others. Gawain squinted against the light, trying to make it out. From the gait, he thought it might be a horse. No, he saw antlers. A stag, he decided as his eyes adjusted to its luminosity.
He turned to look behind him for the person who had conjured the Patronus, eyes raking the shadows. Finally, he caught sight of a slender figure wrapped in a worn black cloak standing on a garden path between two houses not five metres away. The hood was up, casting the face in too much shadow to make out.
As Gawain looked at him, the figure lowered a wand and pocketed it, the silvery light from his Patronus flickering out simultaneously. The man (from the shape and movements, Gawain suspected it was a man, anyway) strode purposefully toward Ben who was just barely stirring on the pavement. He reached down, grabbed a hold of Ben's arm, and prepared to hoist him up onto his shoulders.
Gawain started at this, raising his wand to hex the man, whoever he was, but halted when he felt a hand on his wand arm. Kingsley had walked up beside him and was pulling Gawain's wrist down gently. He shook his head slightly at Gawain, who gave him a questioning look.
"He's a friend," Kingsley responded quietly. Then when Gawain continued to look at him, silently demanding an explanation he added, "Not here."
Gawain turned his head back just in time to see the cloaked figure march up a short path halfway between the doors for houses labelled as numbers eleven and thirteen, now with Ben securely over his shoulders. The path did not appear to lead anywhere. Just as Gawain was wondering where on earth the man was going and, more importantly, where he was taking Ben, he disappeared.
Gawain, Margaret Jenkyns, and Edward Bones, all of whom were watching this, turned shocked eyes to Kingsley. The Minister seemed supremely unconcerned, however, and merely directed his attentions to Burgess who was still sitting on the ground looking dazed, Roslyn bending over him, though she too was shaking.
"Can you hear me, Guy?" Kingsley asked in his slow soothing voice, crouching down in front of the trembling man.
Burgess turned vacant eyes onto Kingsley. He at least managed a nod, even if he did appear to be fighting not to retch all over the Minister's shoes.
"Good, good. Let's get you inside the house then, shall we?" Kingsley said straightening up. "Gawain, if you'll give me a hand?"
Together they managed to hoist Burgess to his feet. Gawain supported the man's weight as Kingsley turned, leading the way over to the path where the cloaked stranger had disappeared moments before.
By this point, Margaret's patience was wearing thin. "I say, Kingsley! Do you mind telling us where the bloody hell we're going? Where has that bloke taken Harrows?"
Kingsley turned back to them, looking distracted. His eyebrows raised in confusion. "Eh? Ah, of course." He glanced around the square and motioned all five of his companions closer. Then, in a low voice, he murmured "the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London."
Gawain glanced up and immediately upon hearing these words, a house inflated before them, shoving numbers eleven and thirteen out of its way. The house showed the same grimy windows and filthy walls as the neighbouring houses, and Gawain noticed the path the stranger had taken led straight to the front door which was open. The Fideilius Charm, Gawain acknowledged appreciatively. He wondered vaguely, just how high in the Order of the Phoenix Kingsley must have been to be Secret-Keeper for the headquarters.
He did not dwell on this thought long, however, as the party was moving quickly up the path again. Gawain dug his elbow into Burgess's side in an attempt to wake him up a bit, before dragging him along. The man really was ridiculously heavy when he slumped on Gawain's supporting arm. As they approached, Gawain realised the door to the house was being held open by the cloaked figure he had seen before, Ben still slumped over his shoulders, head lulling. As Kingsley passed him, leading the group into the house they nodded to each other as though old acquaintances.
Gawain brought up the tail as they all filed through the door, and he felt more than saw his eyes meet with the stranger's cloaked gaze. The contact lasted no more than a second before the stranger turned away, but Gawain felt himself unspeakably unnerved by something he could not explain. He had no idea why, but the man gave him the creeps. For pity's sake, pull it together, man, Gawain berated himself. He's just another member of the Order of the Phoenix, here to check in at headquarters. And a very good thing he did, too, or we would probably all have been Kissed by now.
The foyer was pitch-black. He could only just make out Kingsley escorting them down a narrow hall to the right. As he headed down the passage after him, Gawain glanced uncomfortably over his shoulder toward the stranger who had now closed the door and was in the processes of securing several locks and adding what seemed like a well-practiced collection of additional protective charms.
When he turned back, Gawain found the others had disappeared down a short flight of steps at the end of the corridor and to the left. A double-hinged door was just swinging shut behind Roslyn's heals. Gawain pushed it open with his shoulder, still dragging Burgess along, and found himself in a large, well-lit kitchen. A cursory glance showed the place more than a little neglected, but he paid very little attention, as he was in the process of trying to balance Burgess's considerable bulk on one of the wooden chairs at a long scrubbed wood table.
Gawain was just straightening up, arms still outstretched in case Burgess decided to topple off the chair in one direction or the other, when the cloaked man entered. He moved across the room with a purposeful confidence and deposited Ben in one of the chairs unceremoniously. Ben groaned, a hand raking through his short blond hair before he put his forehead down on the table top with his eyes shut tight.
His hands freed, the stranger reached up to push back his hood, reporting in a voice mimicking a Muggle newscaster, "The public was shocked this evening, at the announcement that Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt served the all-time shortest term in office, having forfeited his soul in an act of sheer stupidity a mere six hours after being sworn in."
Gawain gaped unabashedly as the figure removed his cloak and hung it on a hook on the wall. The face which had been revealed was one he had seen a million times in print yet never in real life. In fact, for the past eight months, a poster with his face and the words "Undesirable No. 1" had blinked down on him from the wall just outside his office. But Harry Potter had changed since the last photograph Gawain had seen. His black hair curled to his shoulders in mussed tendrils clumped by blood and dirt and sweat. He had a cut over one eye and judging from the blood smears on his arms, face, and clothing, Gawain suspected there were others concealed. A shadow of a beard spread across his chin and cheeks, and he had dark rings under his eyes.
The boy looked old. Too old to be just seventeen. And yet, now that he saw him, Gawain couldn't help but marvel at how very young he was. His mind couldn't make sense of it. The boy was just that— a boy. His skin was smooth with youth, but his eyes looked as though they belonged to a hundred-and-eighty-year-old. And how could he possibly have done all the things people had said he had done? He was just a child!
Gawain realised Kingsley had been replying, a faint smile on his face. "What is it that makes it stupid when I do it but not when you do exactly the same thing?"
"Oh, it's stupid when I do it," Potter reassured him, "but the difference is, with me, the public isn't shocked. They fully expect me to act stupidly." He shrugged to accentuate this point. After a moment, his determinedly sober face slipped, and a small crooked grin turned up one corner of his mouth. He had a dimple on one side that was inescapably endearing. Watching him joking and laughing in the brightly lit kitchen with the travelling cloak cast aside, Gawain couldn't help but wonder how he could have possibly thought the boy threatening a mere two minutes previous.
"Oh, I see," Kingsley said laughing.
The two were teasing each other as if they were the oldest and dearest of friends. As if they had known each other for years. Gawain had worked with Kingsley for nearly two decades; and all at once, Gawain was realising that he really didn't know the man at all. How on earth could the fact that he was friends with Harry Potter never have come up in conversation?
The boy's smile turned sombre and he rested his back against the doorframe. "It's wonderful to see you, Kingsley," he said sincerely.
"And you," replied Kingsley, earnestly. "…Alive," he added, raising his eyebrows, a small mocking smile on his face.
Potter snorted at this. "Miracles do happen."
"Apparently. You were dead. I saw you!"
Potter sighed tiredly. "Oh, for goodness sake, I wasn't dead, and I'm getting very tired of explaining this, so can we just skip that part for tonight?"
"I suppose. But I'm going to need to hear it eventually, you know," Kingsley responded evenly.
"I don't doubt that, Minister," said Potter, his voice positively dripping with sarcasm. Gawain had a pretty good idea of exactly how Potter had managed to drive both Fudge and Scrimgeour up the wall. But Kingsley just smiled affectionately again.
"Not hurt, are you?" Kingsley asked, eyeing a particularly noticeable blood stain on Potter's wrist with concern.
Potter followed his eyes. "Oh," he said, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as though trying to remember where it had come from. He scrubbed at it with his other hand and a bit of the dried blood flaked off. "No… I don't think it's mine… Haven't really had time to get cleaned up yet."
"You don't think it's yours…" Kingsley repeated dryly, trailing off.
Potter grimaced. He clearly wished to change the subject. He didn't seem to like talking about himself. "So what are you doing here, anyway?" asked Potter, his eyes scanning the other Ministry members present, all of whom were listening to the conversation with apparent fascination. Even Ben had picked his head off the table and was gazing bemusedly at Potter.
"We just needed a place to go over some security matters where we wouldn't be overheard by the wrong people. I didn't feel comfortable discussing it in the Ministry. The Death Eaters seem to have Surveillance Charms up everywhere. This was the most secure location I could think of. I'm rather surprised to see you here. I would have thought you'd have stayed at Hogwarts, or gone back to the Burrow with the Weasleys."
Potter grimaced at this. "Too many people at Hogwarts—needed some quiet. And as for the Weasleys…" He sighed. "They need some family time."
Kingsley sighed as well, suddenly sorrowful. "You are a part of that family, Harry. Everyone sees it but you. I'm sure they would want you there." Potter avoided his gaze and pulled his lower jaw forward, clamping his teeth together, and when he didn't respond, Kingsley continued. "You know it wasn't your fault. What happened to Fred?" Gawain had no idea what they were talking about, but Potter reacted immediately, jerking away from the wall and standing up straight.
"Listen, the house isn't as secure as it once was," he said in a business-like manner, blatantly changing the subject again. "You shouldn't get complacent; Yaxley could get in, at least. He was captured at Hogwarts, so I shouldn't worry about him, but I really don't know how much weaker the wards have gotten recently. I've put up some protective spells for tonight, but if you intend on using the place much, we might do well to renew the Fideilius Charm."
"I'll bear that in mind," said Kingsley gravely. "How did Yaxley get in?"
Potter sighed again, tiredly. "It's a long story… One for another time. Look I haven't slept in like three days, so is it going to be problematic if I kip upstairs?"
Kingsley shrugged. "It's your house." Several of his companions glanced over at him sharply. That might have been something we would have liked to know beforehand, thought Gawain dryly. "It should probably be us asking for permission to use the kitchen," Kingsley continued.
"Oh, yeah…right…" muttered Potter glancing around, his mind clearly somewhere else. "Really did a number on it, didn't they?"
For the first time, Gawain took in the room and realised the obvious signs that the house had been searched and ransacked. Chairs were lying on their sides, one with a leg broken off, the contents of the cupboards had been strewn about the floor, and the door of the pantry was hanging crookedly on one hinge.
"Anyway…" Potter shook his head and turned to leave the room, saying over his shoulder, "I'll be in Sirius's room if you need me." From the door, he glanced over at Kingsley with mock pleading eyes. "Please, please don't need me."
Kingsley smiled. "Get some rest" he said fondly.
"Will do. Good luck saving the world, or whatever other important business you have on the agenda for tonight…sir," said Potter, again with his crooked grin. He pushed open the door and paused, glancing back at them. His eyes rested first on Ben and then travelled over to Burgess. "There might be some chocolate in the pantry."
"Thanks, looks like that might be called for," said Kingsley. Potter nodded and turned to leave. "Oh, and Harry?" Kingsley called after him. Potter paused again, turning his head only partially back to look over his shoulder. "Thank you. For… you know…"
Potter looked slightly uncomfortable at this. "Yeah, well, next time, don't be an idiot; Apparate directly onto the top step."
"Too risky with so many people. Didn't want to splinch someone," replied Kingsley. "But from here on out, we should be able to Apparate singly.
"Fair enough," said Potter. And with that, he turned and disappeared into the dark hall.
Gawain and his companions were still staring after him, openly gaping.
"Alright, would you all stop standing around with your mouths open?" said Kingsley in an uncharacteristically curt voice. "We have work to do."
It was going to be a very long night.