Chapter 17: Fears
The next morning started much the same as the last. This would be their fifth morning in Grimmauld Place. Gawain was wondering if he should start carving tally marks into the wall of their prison.
Still things remained tense between Gawain and Mary as they rose to start their day and headed down to the kitchen together with Ella chatting away between them. They had hardly spoken about Gwen's death. They had hardly spoken at all, if truth be told. He wondered how long he could continue to avoid the subject. With Potter now returned to consciousness, Gawain could hardly sit in the drawing room late into the night. So he had instead stayed in the kitchen the previous night until he deemed it late enough that Mary would likely be asleep. When he had returned to bed, she was lying on her side, her back to him, and there was a tenseness to her shoulders that told him she was not, in fact, asleep. But she did not acknowledge him as he had climbed in beside her.
There was once a time Gawain might have used sex as a means to bring them back together in such a situation. But sharing a small dingy room with their seven-year-old daughter was hardly a romantic setting. So that left words to bring them back together. And Gawain was notoriously bad at words.
As a distraction from these troubles, Gawain sat back in his seat at the kitchen table and surveyed the room. Gawain enjoyed watching the different routines of the inhabitants of Grimmauld place. There was a strange sense of peace in focusing on other people rather than himself. He was beginning to recognise patterns to the chaotic movements around him. He supposed his pattern was sitting back in his chair and people-watching.
Nayana was at the stove frying something up for breakfast which smelled quite heavenly and not really breakfast-y at all. Amin was by her side brewing their spicy tea. He kissed her shoulder as a distraction, then snuck around behind her to pluck a piece of food off the tray where she was piling small fried fritters of some kind. She batted him away with a spatula, but both were smiling as Amin made his retreat to the table with tea and his conquered snack in hand. Kingsley and Roslyn were, as usual, perusing the newspaper quietly. Gawain noticed Roslyn shoot a concerned glance at Kingsley who was reading with a small frown creasing his brow. Ben was rubbing sleep from his eyes, slumped at the table and looking around blearily for the coffee. Mary was French braiding Ella's hair back for her. Margaret and Amitra were ushering the Bones children to the table speaking in low solicitous voices.
After pouring himself a cup of coffee, Gawain turned to his own paper, surprised to find a small smile on his face. He quite enjoyed his quiet moments to study the quirks of the human race. The smile died on his face the instant he took in the first headline on the front page, however.
Minister of Magic: Missing in Action
Gawain abruptly understood the worried look that Roslyn had shot toward Kingsley just a moment before, because he had just found himself repeating the action. Kingsley, however, was reading the paper with a blank face save for that small crease between his eyebrows. Gawain turned back to the paper and resigned himself to a frustrating read.
Sure enough, the article enumerated the many functions and events that had evidentially been on Kingsley's schedule over the past four days and at which he had inexplicably not appeared. Speculations as to his sudden absence from the public eye ranged from a belief that he was cracking under the pressures of leadership, that he was ill, that he was on an untimely vacation, or that he quite simply didn't care. The article concluded that, whatever the reason the MoM was MIA, his ability to lead this country was being seriously called into question.
As if all this was not enough, the following article seemed to be about Guy Burgess's appearance at a charity auction with Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius Fudge where he had donated a large sum of gold to bereaved families of Muggle-borns who had been lost in the War. Gawain swore internally.
Potter's arrival in the kitchen was again heralded by his loyal House-elf setting a place for him at the table, determinedly ignoring the others in the room. Gawain happily turned away from the newspaper to watch the elf work. He thought that if he continued to read, he might find himself cracking his teeth from clenching his jaw too hard. The elf set a copy of the Daily Prophet tidily next to the place setting just as Potter sidled into the kitchen.
Each day Potter looked improved from the one before, Gawain noted approvingly. His posture was a little straighter, his movement a little more fluid. Potter smiled mildly around the gathering and said, "Good morning," before pulling out his usual chair beside Gawain. He seemed more comfortable in lowering himself into his seat today than he had the day before. There was a low murmur of shy salutations back. Gawain smiled. The novelty of receiving a casual "Good morning," from Harry Potter had clearly not worn off yet among many of his companions.
"Thank you, Kreacher," Potter acknowledged as the House-elf poured him a cup of tea. Like the day before, Potter casually tore the front page of the newspaper off without glancing at it, crumpled it in one hand, and chucked it toward the fire with perfect accuracy. Now why didn't I think to do that, Gawain grumbled to himself.
"Is Master feeling up to sorting through his post today? Kreacher has been saving his letters for him," the elf croaked.
"Oh," Potter sighed, glancing up from his paper where he had started on page three. "You know me, Kreacher. I'm never up for that. But we may as well."
The elf bowed and backed away before turning to retrieve a stack of letters from a letter box near the door. He passed them to Potter, then waited patiently near Potter's elbow as the boy sorted through them.
"Good lord. How long was I out, again?" Potter muttered rhetorically, taking in the size of the stack. Then he set to flipping through each envelope, sorting them into two piles based on return address without opening them. The larger of these piles, he passed back to Kreacher a moment later. "All yours," he said.
The elf bowed low again as he took the rejected pile of letters back. Potter, turned back to his Daily Prophet, but the rest of the room watched the elf with wide eyes as he held the stack of letters aloft and they suddenly burst into flames in his hand. The letters burned in the elf's hand until there was nothing left, then extinguished as the long gnarled fingers curled into a fist around the flames. Potter did not look around or seem in anyway surprised by this. He merely sipped his tea, eyes on his newspaper.
"Dare I ask...?" said Kingsley, watching this interaction over the top of his newspaper with an eyebrow raised. Gawain wondered if Kingsley, like he himself, was grateful for this puzzling distraction. All eyes were on Potter and the elf curiously. Potter glanced up at Kingsley as though he couldn't imagine what he meant. Then, at the room full of eyes all staring at him. In understanding, he held up one finger to Kingsley subtly, indicating that he should wait.
"Will Master be requiring anything else from Kreacher this morning?" the elf asked solicitously. "Is Master quite sure he is not wanting Kreacher to be making him breakfast? Kreacher is not so sure that Master should be eating this…" he paused and looked over to Nayana at the stove, "questionable… food. Master is only just recovering..."
"No, Kreacher. Thank you. I'm quite happy to eat what everyone else is eating. That will be all," Potter dismissed him. He turned his head, very subtly, listening as the elf retreated behind him. Only when the elf Disapparated with a crack, did Potter look back to Kingsley, smile sheepishly and say simply, "Interview requests. Mostly from the Daily Prophet." Then he looked back to his paper as though this adequately explained everything.
"So… since the Battle… all of your interview requests…?"
"Have ended up in ashes? Yes," Potter finished for him turning to the next page of the newspaper.
Kingsley laughed softly, shaking his head. Gawain couldn't help but smile too. "'Harry Potter declines comment,'" Gawain muttered wryly. Members of the Gang snickered softly.
"Sorry?" Potter asked, cocking his head at him.
"Oh, it's a bit of a running joke. The most common line in the Daily Prophet these days: 'Harry Potter declines comment.'
Potter looked at him contemplatively for a moment, then shrugged and looked back to his paper. "Huh. Well, I guess I've been the butt of worse jokes, so I suppose I'll take it," he said, mildly.
When Potter noticed that everyone's attention was still on him as though expecting further explanation, he begrudgingly continued. "It started as a bit of a laugh," he said, a small rueful smile lifting one corner of his mouth. "Kreacher's first day back. He asked what he should do with them all, and I told him to burn them. It's one of the only commands I've ever given him—I usually try to avoid direct commands where I can. So now, I think he sees it as one of his daily duties. He takes it very seriously, Kreacher does. And I haven't had the heart to tell him I was joking. So now I just go with it."
Kingsley, after a soft laugh asked, "Has it occurred to you that perhaps if you just gave the Daily Prophet an interview, maybe they would stop bothering you so much?"
"Judging from my past experience with Rita Skeeter, I have not found that to be true," said Potter dryly.
Kingsley frowned. "Has it not? Now that you mention it, I don't recall reading anything by Rita Skeeter regarding you in quite some time."
"Oh, yeah… well… That has more to do with… well… just the tiniest, littlest bit of…" he cleared his throat and muttered the last word very hastily, "blackmail." Then went back to his paper.
Kingsley blinked. "I'm sorry, 'blackmail'?" he repeated.
Potter glanced at him, raised an eyebrow, then said, "Harry Potter declines comment." And he raised his newspaper very clearly stating that the subject was closed. Kingsley was left simply staring at him as though he had never seen him before. Potter, meanwhile, determinedly ignored him.
After a moment of silence, in which several people glanced around at each other, clearly casting about for a way to keep this rather fascinating conversation going, Ben finally spoke. "So. This is the morning routine of Harry Potter, is it? I have to say, I'm a little disappointed. The Daily Prophet depicts your life to be far more interesting."
Potter laughed easily. "The Daily Prophet depicts a great many things to be far more interesting than they are. Sorry to disappoint. But you know, some days, when I'm feeling really adventurous, I might actually have coffee instead of tea."
"Whoa, now," said Gawain. "Slow down. Let's not be going too wild over here." Potter smiled at him. Gawain ignored the puzzled look Mary was casting him across the table as she watched them interact silently.
"Well, if you're curious, according to the Daily Prophet, you're currently in Belize," Margaret informed Potter, gesturing with her newspaper.
"Oh, that sounds nice. I hear the weather's lovely there," replied Potter. He leaned aside as Nayana reached between him and Gawain to put a plate piled high with the fried fritters she had been making in the centre of the table.
Again Gawain marvelled that with Potter's presence, the atmosphere seemed to have returned instantaneously to that of the meetings before all this mess started. The dangers of their situation seemed lessened. Their troubles less troubling. The members of the Gang sat as they had before, laughing and teasing each other lightly. Then only difference seemed to be that now, their families sat watching the interactions with looks of baffled amusement, clearly unsure if they should take part.
"Mmm," Margaret made a non-committal sound in response to Potter's comment. "You were apparently spotted tracking down a gaggle of escaped Death Eaters and there are rumours of a duel in which you may have been injured."
"Ah. Less lovely," said Potter as he helped himself to a couple of the fritters. Gawain followed suit. "Why can't I ever be spotted just lying on a beach sipping a cocktail out of a coconut? That sounds much more enjoyable. Good lord, that's delicious," Potter interrupted himself after taking a bite of one of the fritters. He was staring at it appreciatively.
Nayana blushed prettily as she took her seat at the table next to Sandeep. "Pakoras," she said. "Very traditional from my region in India. And one of Sandeep's favourites," she added with a smile to her husband who was already piling his plate high and smiling his brilliant white smile.
Perhaps encouraged by Nayana's contribution to the conversation, Amitra hazarded to speak. "You all seem to know each other quite well," she observed, looking around the table. "I have to admit, I'm a little surprised. And I still haven't quite figured out how you got dragged into this whole mess we're in, Mr. Potter. Should I call you Mr. Potter?"
Potter regarded her with his head cocked to the side for a brief moment. "Harry's fine," he said a little distractedly. Then his eyes raked around the table, taking in Mary, Ella, Nayana, and the Bones children, all of whom were staring at him attentively. Then he glanced around at the members of the Gang, none of whom seemed to be meeting the eyes of their significant others. And finally Potter's eyes came to rest on Kingsley. "Did you threaten them not to talk about me at home, or something?" he asked bluntly.
Kingsley, who had just taken a bite of pakora, looked up from his newspaper and, still chewing, held up a thumb and forefinger just a centimetre apart. 'Just a little bit,' he signed, then returned casually to his paper.
Potter regarded him with a small surprised smile on his face. Then he huffed a small laugh and muttered, "That may be the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me." Kingsley's cheek twitched.
Gawain hoped the relief he was feeling at this conversation topic was not too evident on his face. He noted with a glance to Mary that she was taking in the information that all of them had been underplaying their relationship with the Boy Who Lived to their significant others. He hoped this would spare him her annoyance at his secrecy.
Potter, meanwhile, had turned back to Amitra politely. "I'm really not involved in this at all. I've known Kingsley for a few years, and I just happened to own a house that Kingsley asked to make use of for meetings with the Gang. I was really just around by chance as things were going down. So just at the right place and the right time. Or wrong place at the wrong time…?" he added as an afterthought.
"Definitely 'wrong place,'" Kingsley contributed sardonically, not looking up from his paper.
Potter ignored him, but something between a smile and a grimace crossed his face. "Anyway," he turned back to Amitra. "It really has nothing to do with me—which is actually a very refreshing change of pace." He grinned his infectious crooked smile. "So yeah. I'm staying out of it. Obviously. Can't you tell? This is me—Staying out of it." The words were positively dripping in sarcasm, and he ended on a self-deprecating laugh as members of the Gang chuckled.
"Most unfortunately," Kingsley contributed, finally looking up to Amitra, though clearly directing his comment toward Potter, his tone severe, "Harry stays out of things as effectively as a Bowtruckle stays out of a Wiggentree."
"Remind me," said Potter casually. "How does that saying go? You know the one I mean. Something about the pot and the kettle?" He looked at the Minister, chin on one fist with mock attentiveness as he asked this question and awaited Kingsley's response.
Members of the Gang guffawed lightly, used to the regular good-natured battle of the wits that inevitably ensued between Kingsley and Potter. The newcomers, however, looked back and forth between Harry Potter and the Minister of Magic with bemused and slightly shocked expressions. Mary, however, was an exception. She was smiling broadly, one hand over her lips as she stared at Potter. As he watched her, Gawain thought he could see an unshed tear in her eye. He couldn't quite understand this expression.
Kingsley's mock glare was completely ruined by the fact that he couldn't contain his grin. He gestured around the table at the people watching their interaction perplexedly. "Notice how they're all staring at you in shock? Let's curb the cheek. Set your issues with authority figures aside and show a little respect. I am Minister of Magic after all. For now," he added the last grimly, folding his newspaper and pushing it aside with a sigh. A few pitying looks were thrown to him by those who had seen the paper, but Potter, who had torn off the front page did not catch this remark. Instead he returned serve.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he began, his expression severe and serious. "I do not have issues with authority figures." He almost made it. But by the last two words, he burst out laughing. "Yeah, I couldn't even get through that with a straight face. But hey. My cheek aside. So far, I haven't gotten you sacked or tortured or murdered. So my relationship with you is off to a better start than the relationship I've had with the past three Ministers. So let's just count our blessings, shall we?"
Kingsley let out a small laugh, but there was a damper on it as he regarded Potter, and Gawain recognised worry and pity in the gaze. "Might be a bit of a stretch to say that you got Rufus Scrimgeour murdered," Kingsley reasoned. His teasing tone had taken on a more serious note. "Voldemort had him marked for death the minute he took office."
"Hmm. I notice you don't argue with the torture bit, mind. But thanks for trying to alleviate my guilt." Kingsley opened and closed his mouth a few times as he tried to determine how he should answer that. Potter took pity on him. "Fine. I'll concede my responsibility for Scrimgeour's death. But don't go stealing my credit for getting Fudge sacked, because that's like my proudest achievement." Ben snorted loudly. Kingsley laughed a small laugh against his better judgment, shaking his head in exasperation.
"Any plans for the day?" Kingsley asked Potter, reaching to refresh his coffee. "Now that you're feeling better?" Gawain wondered if he was trying to change the conversation topic
"Studying, I suppose," replied Potter gloomily. "Today and every day for the next couple weeks, I expect."
"You're really still planning on sitting exams, huh?" said Kingsley with a raised eyebrow. "After everything that happened, I thought you might decide to cancel."
"Meh. I've pulled off many a stupider stunt than passing the NEWTs on just two weeks of study after missing an entire year of school," said Potter with a shrug. I'll say, thought Gawain and there were several huffs of laughter as others clearly thought the same. But Potter's face darkened. "On second thought, maybe I haven't. Does seem a little impossible when I say it aloud. Still," he straightened his back and continued with forced brightness. "When has certainty of failure ever stopped me, right?" Kingsley smiled at him in response.
"Which exams are you sitting?" asked Amitra curiously.
"Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguation, Herbology, and Potions. I feel alright about DADA and Charms. A little shaky on Transfiguation and Herbology. And Potions will take a bloody miracle to pass."
"Really? To hear Horace Slughorn tell it, you're a potions prodigy," said Kingsley with mild surprise.
Potter guffawed. "Let me tell you a little something about Horace Slughorn. He sees what he wants to see. And if you're famous or the son of someone he was particularly fond of, he assumes you're going to be great and doesn't bother to look a lot further. And I happen to have both those things going for me. But I'm not so sure the examiners will be as easily distracted."
"Slughorn always did love Lily," Mary agreed, seemingly to herself rather than to anyone in particular, her gaze far away as she seemed to be remembering something, a small smile on her face.
Potter smiled at her in agreement, took a bite of pakora, then stopped. He did a double-take, looking back at Mary blinking, abruptly catching the implication of Mary's comment. "Sorry… Did you know my mother?" asked Potter, chewing his mouthful very slowly.
Mary flushed and looked abruptly awkward. Gawain got the impression she had really not meant to say that aloud or reveal her relationship to Lily Potter in such a manner. "I… yes. Very well. I knew both your parents actually." She could barely seem to meet Potter's eye as she said this. "We were in school together—the same year. Gryffindors. Lily was one of my best friends growing up."
"Oh," said Potter. He looked confused for a moment. Then came a look of realisation. "Oh! Oh, you're…" Potter glanced at Gawain briefly, then back to Mary. "You're Mary Macdonald." He did not say it as a question. It was a fact. Something he abruptly seemed to know with certainty.
Mary blinked in surprise and now she looked at Potter directly. "My maiden name. How did you know that?" She was staring at Potter with no little shock that he should recognise her name.
But Potter seemed distracted by another thought. A not particularly happy thought. He was staring off at nothing in particular with an expression on his face that Gawain could only describe as haunted. As the silence stretched, Mary seemed to grow visibly nervous, clearly wondering what he had heard about her. But after a long moment, Potter seemed to remember where he was. He looked back to Mary sharply and blinked, seeming to only just realise she had spoken. "Sorry," he murmured, shaking his head a little to clear it. Then he let out an awkward laugh. "From er…" He swallowed. "From Snape of all unlikely people."
"Severus Snape told you about me?" Mary's tone was incredulous.
Potter laughed again, seemingly at a joke that no one else could understand. "Not exactly. No. Snape and I really didn't have that kind of relationship." Still he seemed distracted and Gawain thought his mind was somewhere else entirely. When he glanced up from his reverie and saw that Mary was still staring at him expectantly (along with most everyone at the table), he awkwardly continued. "When… when he was… dying... Snape, he… he gave me some of his memories. To view in Dumbledore's pensieve..."
Mary seemed entirely flummoxed. "And I was in these memories?" she asked. "Snape's memories? I can't say we ever spent more time in each other's company than we could avoid. We didn't really get on well, Snape and I."
"Oh, er… no. Memories about my mother. But she mentioned your name a couple times. But I never knew who you were. That's all."
Gawain could not quite understand the look on Potter's face. He was quite sure that was not, in fact, 'all'. The colour which Potter had only just managed to regain had drained again from his face and he was as pale as he had been when he had been bleeding out on the kitchen table. His loquacious mood had dissipated, and he abruptly seemed distant and preoccupied by troubling thoughts. Gawain noticed Potter fiddling with something distractedly with his left hand; again, he caught a glint of gold before whatever it was disappeared into a pocket. In a clear attempt to give himself an excuse to stop talking, Potter reached for his tea and took a sip. But Gawain noticed his hand shaking just a little as he set the cup back down. He avoided the eyes of everyone in the room, staring down at the plate of food he was no longer eating.
Gawain thought back to Potter's hearing with the Wizengamot and tried to remember what Potter had said about those memories Snape had given him. 'A bit private,' Potter had said. But then Gawain remembered that there was one of Snape's memories that Potter had shared with the court. The memory in which Dumbledore had explained that Potter was himself a horcrux and had to die.
Mary had not been there. She did not have this hint into Potter's behaviour. But Gawain saw that she too noted the change in his composure. She was frowning at Potter, clearly trying to understand, but now knowing if it was her place to ask more. She also looked more than a little hurt and disappointed, Gawain thought. While she had not said much on the topic, Gawain was sure she had been quite looking forward to getting to know Potter and speaking with him about his mother. But he hardly thought this was how she had pictured the interaction.
As the uncomfortable silence stretched, Gawain looked away, awkwardly. It was then, that Gawain noted Kingsley. He was staring at Potter with sad understanding. Everyone else in the room was exchanging glances, completely nonplussed. Ella was staring open-mouthed between her mother and Potter.
The silence stretched beyond all saving. No one seemed to know what to say to break it. Finally, Potter muttered to no one in particular, "Guess, I'll go get a start on that studying." It seemed to trigger the room into motion.
"I'll start on the washing up," said Amitra with a certain amount of what Gawain suspected to be forced cheer.
Chairs screeched as several people began to rise and carry dishes over to the sink. Gawain remained in his chair for a moment, allowing Potter to extract himself from the table beside him first. Potter was a little slow to get to his feet. Gawain suspected the wound in his abdomen was still causing more pain than he cared to let on. No sooner had he risen to his feet, than Gawain heard footsteps behind him. Gawain glanced around to see Kingsley had approached and laid a hand on Potter's shoulder. He was leaning close to Potter and speaking too softly for Gawain to hear. He did, however hear Potter sigh in response.
"Honestly, Kingsley. I'm fine," said Potter. "You really don't have to keep checking in on me every five minutes." And with that, Potter, reached down, picked up his plate and mug, and moved away to carry them toward the sink. Kingsley watched him go with a far from reassured expression on his face.
Deciding that was most definitely none of his business, Gawain rose to his feet and followed Potter with his own empty plate. There was a clamour of voices and dishes now filling the kitchen which was a sharp contrast to silence that had fallen in the room just a moment before.
Amitra was already busy at the sink. She took the dishes from Potter with a kindly smile and Gawain heard Potter politely thank her for doing the washing up. He moved away and was just heading to the door when Mary, having just rounded the table in a hurry, stepped past Gawain calling, "Harry!"
Potter paused and looked back at her, politely attentive, but Gawain thought a little wary. Gawain had no place listening, but his curiosity got the better of him. And they had paused just beside him, after all. "I just wanted to say…" Mary began, then faltered. "I rather think I put my foot in it, back there," she tried again. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." She was gazing at Potter uncertainly.
Potter's eyes widened. "Oh. Oh, no, Mrs. Robards. I'm sorry. I was terribly rude. That… that wasn't about… You just… caught me off guard a bit. Bad associations. Honestly, I didn't expect that to be so triggering, it's just…" Potter looked away a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. Then he swallowed and turned back. "That wasn't about you. Honest." He smiled at her kindly. "And I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Robards… again," he added, with his crooked grin.
Mary seemed unconvinced. "Mary, please," she corrected him gently. "I didn't mean to tell you like that… about your mother and me. I should have mentioned it sooner. I just… wasn't sure how to bring it up. And watching you just now… while you were talking with Kingsley… You just remind me so much of her. Your sense of humour… I think you just startled it out of me."
Potter was regarding her with his head cocked to one side. A small wistful smile crossed his lips, and he let out a small huff of laughter. "That's funny. I don't get many people telling me I'm like her. Dumbledore was one of the only ones who ever said that. Mostly people are always telling me I'm like my dad."
"Oh, well you look like James," Mary said with a laugh, her mood visibly lightening at Potter's more friendly response this time. "Bit uncanny, actually. All except your eyes. You have—"
"I have my mother's eyes," Potter finished for her, nodding and smiling roguishly.
"I suppose you hear that rather a lot," Mary said, sheepishly. "But anyway, that wit. That's all Lily. So it's been… cathartic. Meeting you. I've missed her so much over the years. And it's been almost like having a little piece of her back. "
Potter was smiling at her, just a little sadly. But he couldn't think of a response.
"And I was in shock when I saw you had that photo up," Mary continued, gesturing to the picture on the kitchen wall of Lily and James Potter laughing under a beech tree.
Potter looked over at it surprised. "Why is that? You know it?"
Mary laughed shyly. "I was the one who took that photo." Gawain abruptly realised why that picture had seemed familiar when he had seen it the first time on Potter's wall. There was a copy in one of the old photo albums at home.
Potter blinked at her in surprise, looked back at the picture, then back to Mary. "I love that photo," he said. "It's one of my favourites of them."
Mary's eyes were on the picture with a small reminiscent smile curving her lips. "It was seventh year at Hogwarts. We used to sit under that tree during free periods. Down by the lake."
"Yeah. I know that tree," Potter acknowledged. "I think that's part of why I always liked that photo. There's not many places I can go where I can say that they were once there too." Potter was looking at the picture reverently, and Mary turned to regard him sadly. Then abruptly, a thought seemed to occur to Potter, and he looked back at Mary in surprise. "Wait… Did you send that picture to me?"
Mary blushed. "Hagrid wrote to me asking for photos to give you. That must have been what… five years ago?"
"Seven, actually…" Potter seemed lost in memory again, but this time, it did not seem to be such a very bad one. "First year at Hogwarts. He made me an album."
"He said you didn't have any photos of them. Your aunt didn't have any for you?"
Potter just shook his head, his eye back on the picture. "Aunt Petunia wasn't really the sentimental type. Not with me anyhow. Didn't even really know what they looked like until the Mirror of Erised." Mary frowned at this, but said nothing, clearly unsure which piece of information in that sentence to question. But before she could decide, Potter said softly, "I wish I'd known them." Potter's words were so low, Gawain was not sure if he was directing them at Mary or if he was merely speaking to himself.
"I… I could tell you about them… sometime. If you'd like," Mary volunteered, very hesitantly.
Potter finally looked back at her, smiling. "Thank you…Mary. I would like that." Mary smiled back, but even this expression was full of sorrow and loss and grief. When Potter noticed this, he shifted a bit uncomfortably. "Sometime," he added. "But for now, I really do need to get a start on that studying for the NEWTs." He smiled kindly in an attempt to discharge the sadness that had clearly begun to descend over Mary. "And thank you for the photos. Very belatedly. Those pictures have meant a lot to me over the years." And with one last smile and nod, he turned and left the room.
Mary watched him go sadly before Ella had danced to her side and was demanding her attention with a tug of her robes. And when Gawain glanced across the room, he noted Kingsley was looking after Potter with much the same expression as Mary.
"Thanks, Nayana," Gawain said later that afternoon as he and Sandeep left the third floor bedroom. Nayana was sitting on the bed, being a good sport and letting Ella braid her long black hair into several thin plaits.
"Don't mention it," she assured him, handing a hair tie over her shoulder to Ella.
"Wonder how long she'll be able to tolerate that hairstyle before she risks Ella's wrath by taking it out," Gawain muttered to Sandeep as they headed down the stairs toward the kitchen for the afternoon's meeting.
Sandeep laughed, good-naturedly. "She's a very patient woman. She married me, after all."
As they crossed the first floor landing, the sound of Mary's laughter floated out of the open door of the drawing room. Gawain glanced inside. Potter was seated on the couch and Mary was laughing at one of his jokes as she straightened holding the small instrument he had seen her with that first night. "Haematocrit of forty-two percent. That's good. You're holding steady. And I think you can have the bandages off now." Gawain and Sandeep continued down toward the kitchen.
Down in the kitchen, the Gang settled into their usual chairs for the afternoon's meeting. No one spoke for a moment. Gawain figured he might as well get straight to the point. "So are we going to talk about this morning's Daily Prophet?" he said bluntly, eyes on Kingsley. Several people shifted awkwardly and glanced at the Minister.
Kingsley sighed. "I knew this was likely. It doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything."
"To hell it doesn't change anything," Gawain said impatiently. "If public opinion swings, we could end up with Guy Burgess as Minister come next month. That changes everything."
"Yeah, I've really gotta to know if I need to start making plans to immigrate to Australia," Ben sniggered.
Gawain shot him his best, this-is-no-laughing-matter look before continuing. "We need to act. We need to do something. We can't just keep sitting here waiting."
"Preston has things in—"
"Preston clearly doesn't have things in hand," Gawain interrupted Kingsley's objections. "We all know how these investigations work. If he hasn't turned up any leads in the four and a half days that we've been stuck here, he's not going to. The trail's gone cold by now. We have to draw them out."
"I don't think we should be doing anything hasty," said Roslyn, doubtfully. "We need to be cautious. Think things through." Gawain restrained his internal sigh. She was Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for Merlin's sake. When was she going to learn to act?
Kingsley was frowning between them. Then he looked at Gawain, his face deadly serious. "What did you have in mind?"
Gawain opened his mouth to discuss the plan that had been forming in the back of his mind the past few days when the fire flared green. All looked over to see a new form stepping out of the fire.
She was a short middle-aged woman with warm brown eyes and fiery red hair that marked her immediately as Molly Weasley. There were lines of worry on her round face and streaks of grey in her hair and, judging from poor-fitting clothes, Gawain suspected she had lost a great deal of weight quite recently.
She stumbled down from the hearth and looked around. Her arms were full with three large shopping bags. Kingsley got to his feet in greeting.
"Molly! How are you? So glad you could come."
"Kingsley," said Molly Weasley. Gawain wondered if he imagined a certain coldness in the greeting, but it was confirmed when Kingsley gave and almost imperceptible wince. Then Molly sighed and Gawain saw her visibly decide not to chastise the Minister.
She gestured with the bags in her arms. "I brought you all some groceries. And I dug up some old clothes of Ron's for the Bones boys. And I made a batch of pasties."
"That's very kind of you," said Kingsley earnestly. "Allow me—"
"No, no," replied Molly, shaking her head as Kingsley reached for the bags. "Don't trouble yourself. I'll just put them in the pantry before I go up to see Harry." And she bustled her way around the kitchen table as though she knew this kitchen very well.
"He's been doing a lot better," offered Kingsley. "Harry, I mean."
"Yes, Ron told me," she replied. Then she sighed. "But I have to admit, I was hoping these near misses were at an end."
"You and me both," replied Kingsley wryly, just as Molly opened the door to the pantry.
Gawain was turning back, wanting to get back to the meeting and what he had just been saying. He was really not needing to listen to a rehash of the common 'why is Potter always almost getting himself killed' discussion. He was just licking his lips to pick up the conversation again when a scream pierced the air. He jerked his head back around to look at Molly Weasley, who had stumbled back from the pantry, just as a body tumbled out and fell to the floor.
Gawain was on his feet in an instant, as was most all of the Gang with a great screeching of chairs legs on tile flooring. But they all found themselves rooted in the spot, staring down in horror at the unmistakably dead body now lying face up, staring blankly at the ceiling. The body of Harry Potter.
"NOOOOOOO!" Molly was screaming hysterically. She sank to her knees as though her legs could no longer support her. "No no no…" she wailed uncontrollably in sounds of horrible heart-wrenching pain.
And still, Gawain and the rest of the Gang could only stand there and stare in utter horror, frozen to the spot. Vaguely, Gawain was aware of the sounds of doors slamming and footsteps trundling down the stairs above. Still he could not move.
Kingsley regained the ability to move the quickest. Still, his stumbling footsteps resembled those of a drunkard as he moved across the room, and he too fell to his knees before the body on the floor. His breath was coming in shuddering gasps, and his hand was shaking as he very slowly reached out in trepidation to lay his fingers to feel for a pulse at Potter's neck. Gawain could have told him he would feel nothing. But he saw the exact moment when Kingsley accepted that there was no pulse to be felt. A breath he seemed to be holding came out in a shuddering sob of disbelief and a tear trickled down Kingsley's cheek which was still a frozen mask of horror. He was shaking his head back and forth in denial.
This sentiment was reflected on Gawain's face, he was sure. How could this be happening? It was impossible. It didn't make sense.
Wait a minute. It really didn't make sense. Gawain had seen Potter upstairs just before the meeting, not half an hour ago. There was no way someone could have murdered him and stuffed his body in the pantry without them seeing. They had been sitting right there at the table the whole time! None of this made sense.
"What's happening?" came Amitra's voice from the doorway.
"We heard someone screaming," came Mary's. Then a gasp.
"Out of my way!" snapped another voice. Gawain automatically took a step aside as someone shoved past him. Then he did a double take.
It was Potter. Potter was flying across the room in the direction of the body on the floor, drawing his wand as he did so.
"Expecto Patronum!" Potter cried and a silver stag erupted from his wand and charged toward the body on the floor. It was an odd choice of spell, Gawain found himself thinking before reminding himself that there was something far more than odd going on here.
But Potter's choice of spell made sense abruptly, as did several other things. For as Potter skidded to a halt on his knees before Molly Weasley, there was a crack like a whip and the body on the floor transformed into a towering Dementor. Several people yelped.
Kingsley had stumbled back when the Dementor appeared just inches from him, but Molly Weasley seemed beyond awareness of anything at all. She was still kneeling on the floor, her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
Potter paid the Dementor no mind at all, for the Patronus was already charging it down, forcing it into the pantry. With hardly a thought for what he was doing, Potter reached up and slammed the pantry door shut behind it. Then his hands were around Molly's, attempting to pry them from her face.
"Mrs. Weasley. It's me. It's Harry. Open your eyes. Look at me. I'm fine. It was a Boggart. Just a stupid Boggart." Molly spread her fingers and looked through them tearfully to take in Potter who was sitting before her, looking up into her face with concern. And then she wailed some more, throwing her arms around Potter and sobbing into his shoulder. Potter just hugged her back and let her cry.
Potter's attention was only for Molly Weasley. But Gawain found his gaze swinging to Kingsley as he struggled to process what had just happened. Kingsley was backing away, very slowly, his face ashen as he watched Potter comforting Molly on the floor. Then he turned away from them, sank into a chair at the table, and covered his face with one hand.
The dead body had been a Boggart. Molly Weasley's Boggart. This, Gawain understood. But Kingsley had approached as well. Had even touched it. And the Boggart had not changed forms. And as Gawain looked at Kingsley sitting slumped in the chair, he realised it was because the Boggart had not needed to change forms. It had stumbled upon a form that had frightened both of its victims.
There were a few embarrassed and relieved chuckles around the room as one-by-one, everybody began to understand that Potter was not in fact dead and that it had been nothing more than a silly Boggart who had been lying in wait in the pantry. The rest of the Gang returned to their seats. Margaret was patting Ben on the back bracingly; even just a second of contact with a fake Dementor had the lad pale and clammy. Amitra muttered that now she was here, she may as well get a start on dinner a little early and Mary hastened to help her. Gawain seemed to be the only one who was paying Kingsley any mind.
Molly was still seated on the floor. She had at least managed to pull away from Potter and was scrubbing at her teary face with the palm of her hand. She seemed to be lecturing Potter softly.
"You have to take better care of yourself, Harry. You can't understand what you mean to us. What it would do to us if anything were to happen to you."
Potter, had settled himself to a more comfortable position, sitting cross-legged on the floor as though he expected this might take a while. He nodded, looking ashamed as he was chastised. He reminded Gawain of a young child solemnly accepting a telling-off, for all that Gawain could not see that Potter had done anything wrong. He had not put a Boggart in the pantry, after all.
"I mean it," Molly was saying. "No more risks!"
"I know," muttered Potter contritely. "I know, you're right. I'm sorry."
This went on for several minutes. Gawain and the others had turned away to give them privacy. He moved back to his seat and stared unseeingly at the table top. He couldn't hear all the words, but when he glanced over a minute later, Potter murmured something that made Molly laugh tearfully and cup his cheek in her hand indulgently. Potter was offering her a cheeky grin. Molly sniffed heartily and her tears seemed to be slowing.
Still Kingsley was slumped in a chair, his face in his hands. He spoke to no one and the others didn't even seem to notice his posture.
After another minute, Potter climbed to his feet and reached down to help Molly up as well. Gawain heard him say, "Let's get you home." He heaved Molly up and guided her toward the fireplace.
Kingsley raised his head at last as they passed him. He had managed to school his face, though he was still pale. "I'm taking Mrs. Weasley home," Potter told him.
Kingsley swallowed before he managed to speak. "Harry, I really don't think you're well enough to Floo—"
"Kingsley," Potter said sternly and brooking no argument. "I'm taking Mrs. Weasley home." Kingsley's face went blank. He sat in his chair, unmoving, as Potter crossed to the fireplace, threw a pinch of powder from the urn on the mantel into the flames, and ushered Mrs. Weasley to step into them. As soon as she had disappeared, he followed suit and was gone.
Kingsley stared after them for quite some time as the kitchen filled with people milling around before dinner. Nayana and Ella entered just as Potter left. Nayana's hand was on her belly and she was huffing a bit, laughing to Mary that she couldn't run any more.
Amitra bustled about, pulling out pots and pans. Then she hesitated at the pantry door, clearly uncertain if she should open it and release the Boggart again. Sandeep gallantly volunteered to dispatch the Boggart. Gawain stayed in his seat. He didn't feel up for seeing the Dark Mark floating in the kitchen, and he doubted his usual method of turning it into a fireworks display would elicit enough laughter to finish it with the mood in the kitchen the way it ways.
Gawain watched mildly as Sandeep opened the cupboard and stepped back as a tiger stalked out, its huge bulk low to the ground, eyes fixed unblinkingly on Sandeep. Several people yelped and jumped back, but he merely smiled his easy smile, raised his wand, and said, "Riddikulus!" Instantly, the tiger transformed into an absurdly adorable orange tabby kitten who tripped over its own paws as it approached and pitched forward in charming kitten-discoordination.
The room was abruptly filled with 'aww's and giggles. Sandeep leaned down and whispered in Ella's ear. She smiled and pulled a ribbon out of her hair and handed it to Sandeep. He dangled it over the kitten who rolled onto its back and batted at it. It was a final shriek of laughter from Ella that had the Boggart finally bursting into a thousand tiny wisps of smoke.
All through this, Kingsley sat in his chair, back to the display and the laughter, eyes on the fire.
Potter did not return for dinner. Throughout the meal, Kingsley ate little and frequently cast concerned glances toward the fireplace. Gawain watched him quietly. The others bustled about and chatted and did not seem to see that anything was amiss.
Dinner was winding down when the fire at last flared green and Potter stumbled out. He paused to brace himself on the mantel. He looked exhausted and pale, and he was unabashedly clutching at his side.
Kingsley jumped to his feet, ready to offer help. "I'm fine, Kingsley, honestly," said Potter. "I'm just tired. I'm heading up to bed."
"Do you not want some dinner?" Mary asked concernedly.
"No, thank you. I ate at the Burrow." Then with a final muttered "Goodnight," to the room at large, he moved to the door.
"Harry, are you sure—"
"I said I'm fine, Kingsley," Potter cut him off, rather harshly. Kingsley faltered. And with that, Potter was gone.
A few minutes went by as people finished their meal and began to rise, helping with the washing-up. Kingsley still stood where he had frozen when Potter had snapped at him. Then he licked his lips and said softly to no one in particular, "Think I'll head up to bed too." And he left the kitchen.
Gawain hesitated for a moment in his seat. It was a glance to Mary in which he noted that she too was gazing worriedly after Kingsley and Potter that had Gawain finally move to follow Kingsley out into the hall.
He made it up the short flight of stairs into the entrance hall before he caught up with Kingsley. His friend had just reached the foot of the stairs up to the upper levels.
"Kingsley!" Gawain called after his retreating back. Kingsley paused for a moment before turning around to look at Gawain. There was a look of tragedy on his face that he had been trying hard to conceal in the kitchen. But now it was there. Bare and raw. "Are you alright?" Gawain asked stupidly, knowing the answer.
Kingsley looked away, chewing on his lip and seeming unable to speak. He just shook his head in a couple of short lurches. Gawain was quiet a moment. Then he pulled open the door to the library, and jerked his head to indicate that Kingsley should enter. Kingsley sighed and moved through the door Gawain held open for him. Was this to be the room where the pair gathered to discuss difficult things? He was beginning to hate this library.
Neither spoke for a moment. Gawain just looked at Kingsley who looked at the floor. "He's just tired, Potter is. And probably trying too hard not to show how much pain he's still in. He didn't mean anything by that, you know."
Kingsley sighed and nodded. "I know. It's not…" Silence.
"That must have been… hard," Gawain prompted. "Seeing his body. I know how you care about him."
For a moment, Gawain thought Kingsley wasn't going to answer. But then he spoke, his voice flat and emotionless.
"When… when I saw the… the body… There was this series of thoughts going through my head. At first they were the things you might expect of seeing the body of a friend. Sorrow. Denial. That this couldn't be happening. That I love Harry. That I want him to live and be happy. But then my thoughts morphed into… less admirable thoughts. How could I possibly face the wizarding community? Tell that that Harry Potter was dead. And that it was my fault." He looked at Gawain with a look of self-disgust, half begging Gawain to forgive him for it and half threatening him not to. "And then…" Kingsley trailed off and looked away across the room, shaking his head. Gawain simply waited.
"I just can't get this thought out of my head. When I believed that he was dead… It meant that someone in this house had done it. Someone in this house was the traitor. But even now I know he's not dead…. Even now, I…" He trailed off, shaking his head. He looked disgusted with himself.
"You still think we could have a murderer under this roof," Gawain finished for him, flatly. Kingsley's face screwed up in abhorrence as he nodded. "I can't get it out of my head," he said again. There was silence. Gawain waited to see if Kingsley would continue. But he did not.
"You think you're the only one asking these questions?" Gawain asked matter-of-factly. Kingsley looked at him in confusion. Gawain sighed and shook his head. It was a thought that had been in the back of his mind since they had first heard about the attack and the Trace Charm. Someone had to have been physically close enough to all of them to have performed such a charm…
After a pause, Gawain started to enumerate the thoughts that he had long since had but been too ashamed of to speak aloud. "Margaret keeps trying to stop you from leaving the house at all costs. Does she know something she's not telling? Where was Amin this past year anyway? He could have been up to anything, and we would never know. Bones? Well, he's just an ass, isn't he? But what if all his anger at Potter is really guilt. What if Iris's death was a plan that went sour and he is now tormenting himself over it. Who knows anything about Roslyn on a personal level, really? And Ben? He is so young and impressionable—what if the Death Eaters got to him? How easily could he be swayed?"
He paused and let this speech sink in. Kingsley was staring at him, his mouth open in dismay and shock. Gawain just looked back at him, accepting this accusatory look, for he deserved it. And so he met the Minister's gaze unflinchingly. After a moment, he continued. "I don't know that it should be a comfort that you're not the only one having these thoughts. But there it is. And I promise, I've been thinking them a lot longer than just today."
Kingsley looked away, shaking his head in revulsion. Then he looked back to Gawain and studied him and his face had shifted back to tragedy. "What have they done to us, Gawain?" he asked in little more than a whisper.
It was a rhetorical question, of course. But Gawain looked down in shame.
He was suspicious of his own friends. This, they had done to him.
Gawain lingered in the entrance hall for a moment after Kingsley had excused himself. He found himself exhausted and not ready to return to the hubbub of the kitchen. So instead he stood there and listened to his friend climb the stairs, pause briefly on the first floor landing, then continue up to his bedroom on the third floor.
Gawain was not quite sure what drove him up the drawing room. It was more for Kingsley and for Mary than for himself. He knew both of them would be wanting to check on Potter but not wanting to be intrusive. Well, to hell with that.
The drawing room door was closed. It was the first time Potter had done so. Gawain knocked softly and waited. "Come in," Potter called. His tone seemed wary.
Potter was seated on the couch, his legs stretched out, but propped up. He did not appear to be sleeping. A book was open on his lap. Potter sighed tiredly when Gawain entered.
"I was just checking to be sure you were alright. That you didn't need Mary before we went up to bed. The Floo system is a rocky way to travel at the best of times, and with a recent injury…"
Potter sighed again. "I'm fine. Did Kingsley send you to check on me?" he asked, unconvinced by Gawain's story. He shook his head, gritting his teeth. "I feel like he's always going to see me as that child he needs to protect…"
Gawain frowned slightly, picking his words. "No. Kingsley didn't send me. He's gone up to bed. I think he was a little shaken." Potter looked slightly guilty at that. "We all were," Gawain admitted. "That Boggart had us all fooled." He paused. Then he casually added, "Curious. I've never seen a Boggart that didn't change shape when a second person approached, have you? Anyway. I'll leave you to your rest. Goodnight, Potter."
And with that, Gawain left the room. A glance back as he shut the door showed Potter sitting on the couch staring off at nothing, his mouth slightly open in a sort of horrified comprehension. Gawain found a smug smile twist his lips for just a moment as he headed back down to the kitchen to retrieve Mary and Ella.
A/N (06.09.2021): To anyone out there who may be worried about my love life as I sit here writing about less than healthy relationships… I would just like you to know that I am posting this chapter from a cosy cabin in the woods where my partner and I are celebrating our second wedding anniversary. We have been together for eight years now, and I wouldn't trade a single minute of it.
To my love (who is a little bit Gawain, a little bit Kingsley, a little bit Sandeep): Thank you for putting up with me, both when my irritable and impatient Mary side takes charge and when my taciturn Gawain side is at the wheel. Thank you for taking over the cooking when I suddenly abandon dinner on the stove to run over and write down an idea for the next chapter. Thank you for not thinking I'm completely mad when I pace around the house talking to myself as I try to determine if the dialogue in my story sounds too stilted. Thank you for being so accepting of our separate hobbies that you would let me sneak away to post this chapter in the middle of our romantic holiday. In short, thank you for always being supportive of my writing.
Yesterday, when I admitted to him that I was nervous to post this chapter because I had been building to a Harry-Mary moment for so long and I was afraid I would disappoint my readers when it wasn't what they expected, he very simply replied, "Hey. No matter how disappointed they are, they will never be as disappointed as they were by the last season of Game of Thrones." And never before have more encouraging words been uttered.