Chapter 19: A Shadow
There was a palpable change in the mood and routine in Grimmauld Place that night. They congregated in the kitchen late that evening, with dinner being a simple affair. No one was in much of a mood for cooking. Or eating for that matter. The atmosphere was solemn as the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place filtered in one-by-one looking for news more than for supper.
The Gang sat huddled together at the end of the table nearest the fire. Their families had shuffled themselves around the table moving away from their usual mealtime seating, allowing the Gang to deliberate quietly. Gawain and the others sat with heads bowed toward each other as they conferenced about the day's events. Even Edward Bones had emerged to join them, though his eyes frequently darted down the table in the direction his children.
While Amitra and Mary were scraping together a quick fry-up, Potter had entered the kitchen and looked around to take in the gloom filling the kitchen. And he had promptly proceeded to pull out an Exploding Snap deck as a diversion. Summoning Ella with a wink and a jerk of the head, the pair of them had engaged the three Bones children in a game. Edward was now glaring across the room in their direction; when Potter and Susan bent their heads together in quiet conversation, Gawain was sure he could hear Edward's teeth grinding from across the table. Just as Gawain thought Edward might detonate, a card exploded right between Potter and Susan and they both leapt back laughing.
Ben was casting glances toward the game of Exploding Snap as though he secretly would rather be playing than taking part in this meeting. Brannagh's eyes bounced in their direction too, but she had a small fond if slightly sad smile on her face as she quietly watched the young ones playing together. Margaret and Kingsley seemed too focused on the conversation to be taking much note.
"Preston was our best link to the outside world," Margaret was saying. "We're coming out of this worse than we were going in."
The twinge of guilt in Gawain's gut was only mildly lessened by distraction as the fireplace flared and Arthur Weasley flooed in. Arthur looked around, taking in the room with a grave expression. His face lightened a touch as his eyes fell on Potter and a tender smile crossed his lips. Potter glanced at him and managed a wave before the game recaptured his attention with another exploding card. Arthur pulled out a chair next to Ben and lowered himself into it with a tired sigh.
Mary began passing around plates, and Potter hastily packed away the Exploding Snap deck in preparation for dinner, murmuring a promise to play again another time when Brandon and Ella whined. Arthur smiled at Mary gratefully as he accepted a plate himself. Then he turned back to the Gang. His eyes settled on Gawain and they were full of sympathy.
"Alright?" Arthur asked. Gawain was surprised to find how concerned Arthur looked as he studied Gawain. He barely knew him, after all.
Gawain merely nodded in response, then asked the only thing that really mattered. "What news? How many casualties?"
Arthur glanced around at the Gang solemnly. "I suppose you know that Preston Proudfoot is dead?" he asked, gently. They all nodded glumly.
"Who else?" Gawain asked impatiently.
Arthur regarded him for a moment. Gawain stared back hard. Bloody hell man, spit it out. "Proudfoot was the only fatality," Arthur finally continued. "Four others injured. Williamson will likely have to stay in hospital for a week or so, but from what I can gather, he's expected to make a full recovery with time."
Gawain felt himself deflate, his head hanging. His eyes closed as he released a breath he had not realised he was holding. No one else was dead because of him. Not today, anyway.
"It's been tricky getting more information. I'm having to be very careful with how I make inquiries so as not to arouse suspicion. Without Proudfoot…"
Kingsley sighed. "We'll need a new contact… I might have suggested Williamson, but with him in hospital…"
"Marina Savage," Gawain said. His voice was flat and emotionless. All eyes turned to him, but he was studying his entwined hands on the table top.
"… Are you sure…" Margaret said sceptically. "Marina is quite… young. We may be better off with someone a little more experienced."
"I trust her. As much as I trust anyone these days, anyway... She stuck her neck out for me today."
Gawain glanced to Margaret. She looked as though she was gearing up to argue. He regarded her with a steely gaze. And she abruptly closed her mouth and averted her eye. A thought was tugging at Gawain as he turned away from her again. Every little thing she felt the need to argue with him about. Was there more to it than was immediately apparent? But he did not have the energy to entertain this thought. Not just then. He looked back to Kingsley.
Kingsley was regarding him evenly. "Marina it is," he said at last. "Gawain will write you a letter to give to her," he added, turning back to Arthur. "Be sure she burns it after she reads it." Arthur nodded.
Gawain moved to retrieve a quill and a piece of parchment. No time like the present. He pushed his plate of half eaten food aside to make room and began scribbling a note to Marina.
Around the table, the rest of the residents of Grimmauld Place were turned away, giving the Gang some semblance of privacy. They were engaging in their own small conversations with their neighbours, all speaking in hushed tones. Potter was beside Gawain, but his shoulders were turned away from him as he engaged Nayana and Amitra in polite conversation.
"It's a right mess out there," Arthur sighed. "There's going to be no covering this up… A terrorist attack at the home of the Head of the Auror Office! One dead, four injured and the Head Auror out of the office for the same amount of time as the Minister of Magic and the Heads of two of the largest Ministry departments? People will be putting two and two together… Have you thought about how you want to spin this to the press?"
"Perhaps it is better we just go with the truth," Kingsley offered with a sigh. "A terrorist is attacking high-ranking Ministry members. Maybe the public should know that…"
"People will see you as weak," Brannagh argued gently. "They'll see this as proof that you're unable to keep the Death Eaters in line."
"They're already seeing Kingsley as weak. Every day that he's out of the public eye is raising more and more questions," Gawain said bluntly, half his attention on the conversation and the other half focused on the letter he was writing. "At least with the truth, they know there's a reason for it. If I have to read one more article that is calling him out for being too lazy to show up to official functions…"
"Well, then, perhaps we should also have you extend a message to Marianne Macmillan," Brannagh said to Arthur. "I imagine she's already putting plans for a press briefing into place around this. She'll need more information."
"No," said Kingsley sharply. "Better to leave that to Marina to orchestrate with Madam Macmillan. Arthur has already risked too much. We cannot have anyone other than those of us in this house and Marina know that Arthur has access to our hiding place. It would put a target on his back if word got out."
He looked to Gawain who nodded and added an addendum to the letter he had just finished. The others watched him in silence for a moment. The only sound was the scribbling of his quill and the soft murmured conversations from down the table. Gawain folded the parchment, tapped it with his wand to seal it, and held it out to Arthur who pocketed it.
The silence stretched for a moment. Then Brannagh said softly, "What do we do next? Where do we go from here?"
"Well, I think I'm finally well enough to Apparate again. I have an errand to run tomorrow; I need to go visit a friend. While I'm out I can—"
"NO!" Gawain shot to Potter. Then he realised that he was not the only one who had cut Potter off with the same word. Kingsley, Arthur, and Brannagh had all done the same. Simultaneously, their voices had rung out across the kitchen in flat refusal. Everyone in the kitchen turned to look at them, all private conversations ceasing abruptly.
Potter too turned and looked around at them in mild surprise, finding their eyes sternly on him. "—go grocery shopping," he finished what he had been about to say pointedly staring each of them down in turn. Then turned back to Nayana, finishing their conversation politely. "I'd be happy to buy whatever ingredients you may need." Then he turned back to the Gang. Gawain winced, realising that Potter had not been answering Brannagh's question at all. "I'm not always planning some rash and fool-hardy scheme with next to no chance of success, you know. I only do that on Wednesdays." Then he smirked at his own joke.
"Or because there's the slightest bit of injustice in the world that needs righting," Kingsley added wryly.
"Or because there's a giant snake hiding somewhere in a secret chamber in Hogwarts. Because that sounds cool to see," weighed in Arthur, shrugging to Kingsley.
"Or because an escaped mass murderer needs help fleeing Dementors," supplied Kingsley.
"Or because the full moon seems like a great night to hang out with a werewolf out on the grounds past curfew."
"Or because Dumbledore said, 'Hey Harry. Want to go on a field trip to a sea cave filled with inferi?'"
"Or because the goblins are just getting a little too cocky and smug about the fact that no one has ever stolen anything from Gringotts."
"Are you two quite finished taking the micky out of me? I think you just about covered it," cut in Potter. His tone was severe, but a self-deprecating grin ruined the effect.
"I think after seven years of the heart attacks you have given me, my boy, I am allowed to take the micky out of you from time to time," Arthur's eyes were crinkling in mirth as he looked over to Potter.
"I think you forgot the one where he broke into the Ministry," supplied Ben, grinning, eager to take part.
"Oh yes! How could we forget? Twice!" replied Arthur heartily.
"Well, that second time was really just to piss off Mr. Robards," Potter defended, smirking in Gawain's direction.
And with that, Gawain was quite surprised to find that he was laughing. After the night he had had, he most certainly did not expect to find anything resembling a smile on his face tonight. He noticed Mary smiling between the pair of them. The attention of the whole room had turned to this conversation.
"Well, mission accomplished there!" said Ben, snickering.
"Well of course, mission accomplished!" Potter was whole-heartedly laughing at himself by now and the rest of the room was joining in on the mirth, happy for a diversion from their misery. "I'll have you know the mission was accomplished on all those things! You know why? Because my fool-hardy plans get results, thank you very much!"
"Even if they do leave innocent people dead in their wake," cut in a harsh voice.
The laughter in the room died abruptly at Bones's severe words. An awkward silence fell in the room and several people shifted uncomfortably, not at all sure where to look.
"Dad!" gasped Susan. She stared at her father shocked. Maxim looked down at his lap, suddenly sad, and little Brandon looked between his father and sister as though confused by what was happening and why everyone was so upset all of a sudden.
Potter's face had fallen into a horrified expression as he stared at Bones with his jaw dropped open. Bones, meanwhile, ignored his daughter. He stared back at Potter, his face hard, with no hint of remorse, awaiting his response. Potter swallowed and licked his lips and dropped his eyes. "I… I'm sorry, Mr. Bones. You're… you're right. That was a very heartless comment. I didn't think that through…"
"I imagine you do not think much of anything through at all," Bones concluded, pushing himself to his feet.
"Now see here—" began Arthur, affronted.
"Mr. Weasely," Potter interrupted him sharply. And when Arthur looked at Potter, Gawain saw them exchanging a wordless conversation that left Arthur opening and closing his mouth uncertainly, though he still looked quite offended as he glanced Bones's way.
But before anyone could say anything further, Bones had swept from the room. Both Arthur and Kingsley were staring after him with a look of fury on their faces. Susan had tears in her eyes and her face was flushed. But Potter merely sat quietly, his hands in his lap, his head bowed. He did not look round to watch him go.
The silence stretched. Gawain glanced around the room. Most were casting furtively pitying glances toward Potter. Gawain was glad to see from their expressions that no one else seemed to share Bones's opinion at least. Even Margaret, who generally defended Bones, seemed exceedingly uncomfortable. And Brannagh who rarely showed any emotion at all, was looking at Potter as though she wanted to give him a hug.
No, there was no one in the kitchen who seemed to be on Bones's side in this. No one save perhaps one notable exception. Because when Gawain studied Potter, he thought he saw shame in his expression.
"Well, he was bang out of order," Ben said, breaking the silence. Everyone blinked and looked around and several people murmured or nodded in agreement.
"No arguments here," replied Arthur Weasely, still glaring after Bones. But then he shot a glance in the direction of the Bones children and a small flush of shame touched his cheeks. He visibly curbed himself from speaking ill of Bones in front of his children.
"His wife was just murdered. Perhaps we can cut him some slack." Everybody turned surprised eyes onto Potter. But Potter still sat, stock-still and straight backed, his head bowed not looking at anybody. Of all the people to come to Bones's defence, Potter was not the one Gawain would have expected. But then Potter sighed and muttered to himself, so softly Gawain was not sure anyone else would have heard, "Besides. He has a point…"
An awkward silence again fell in the room. Gawain suspected this was the point that Potter might normally have excused himself back upstairs. But that would risk meeting Bones again. And so he just sat there. Looking miserable.
After another long moment of quiet, Arthur cleared his throat. "I really should be going. Molly will be worrying." But he made no immediate move to leave. Instead he was sitting and studying Potter from across the table, a troubled expression on his face. Still Potter did not look up or meet anyone's eye. After another moment, Arthur sighed and pulled himself to his feet, picking up his plate and carrying it to the sink.
"I'll make contact with Savage first thing in the morning," he said, nodding to Kingsley and Gawain in turn who nodded back. "I'll be sure to keep you posted. And I can see if I can't find you lot some work that you can do from here to keep on top of everything while we're waiting to sort this mess out. I'm sure you're getting restless."
"That would be most appreciated. Thank you, Arthur."
"And you!" Arthur continued, squeezing Potter's shoulder as he passed behind him on his way back toward the fire. Potter tilted his head back in acknowledgement but did not quite look at him. "Come visit tomorrow. I'm glad you're looking better. If we have to sit through one more dinner with Molly going on and on about how she never sees you, Ron has threatened to dye his hair black and paint a lightning bolt on his forehead. And I just don't think that would be a good look on him."
Potter managed a laugh, though a weak one. "That does sound frightening. Don't worry. I'll come by after I visit with Andromeda and Teddy."
Something in that seemed to worry Arthur too, but he just said, "Good," nodding as he moved around the table, headed toward the fire. "I went and checked in on them two days ago. Andromeda was worried about you. I know she's anxious to see you."
"How are they doing?" asked Kingsley. There was a sadness in his eyes as he looked to Arthur.
"Oh, they're managing alright," replied Arthur. He too looked sad.
Potter regarded them gravely, then seemed to decide to attempt to lighten the conversation. "What colour was his hair this time?" Gawain was increasingly sure they were referring to Tonks's mother. But he did not know who Teddy was or why his hair colour was of significance.
It clearly made sense to Arthur, however, because he chuckled. Not for the first time, Gawain marvelled at how relaxed Potter could make people. Even when their situation was far from relaxed. "It was green when I arrived, but it changed to bright orange a little bit later. Andromeda was speculating that he was trying to mimic mine." Kingsley and Potter both laughed softly.
"Goodnight, all," Arthur said as he reached for a pinch of Floo Powder. "I'll bring an update tomorrow," he assured the Gang. And he was gone.
In Arthur's wake, quiet again fell over the kitchen. Everyone seemed done eating, but somehow no one seemed in a hurry to clear the plates and begin washing up. And even less did anyone seem ready to head up to bed and the loneliness that afforded. And so they sat quietly in the kitchen.
The Gang attempted feebly to return to their conversation, but no one's heart really seemed into trouble-shooting tonight. And even as a few small conversations resumed around the table, Potter still sat quietly, staring at his half-eaten plate of food. He hardly seemed to notice when Amitra and Nayana at last began clearing away the plates. As Nayana finished up the last of the dishes, Amitra shooed the Bones children up to bed.
Gawain found himself glancing back to Mary. She looked sad and worried, and he hated to see it. Ella was sitting beside her with her head on her mother's shoulder. Mary stroked her hair soothingly.
"We should get you up to bed. It's past your bedtime," he heard Mary say gently to Ella.
"I want Da' to tuck me in!" Ella complained.
"Your da' is working, Ella. He'll come up when he's done."
"Pleeease? Can't we wait for him to finish? Just ten more minutes?"
Mary seemed beyond arguing. She sighed tiredly and pulled Ella onto her lap, arms wrapping around her small frame. Gawain heard the soft notes of Ella's lullaby floating across the kitchen even as the Gang continued their discussion. Ella was turning Potter's Snitch over in her hands as she leaned back against her mother, listening to her humming.
"I suppose Weasley is right. There's some work we could be getting done here if he can supply us with case files and such," Margaret was saying.
"Harry?" Kingsley interrupted suddenly. "Are you alright?"
Gawain turned round to see what Kingsley had noticed. Potter, was staring at Mary with a haunted expression. His face was white, and he stood frozen, eyes wide and fixed on Mary. Ella's lullaby abruptly cut off as Mary glanced to Kingsley and then she too caught sight of Potter's face. She looked at him with some alarm, seemingly worried that he was ill.
It was as though a spell was broken. Potter shook his head and looked to Kingsley. "Huh?" he asked, blinking.
"I said, are you alright? You look like you've seen a Lethifold."
"I… yeah… Fine. I just…" Potter looked back to Mary, a frown of confusion on his face. "I… I think my mum used to sing that to me. I'd… I'd never remembered that before…" Potter's voice was soft and his expression far away.
Mary's eyes widened. "I… I had no idea you'd remember… It was Lily who taught me that song." Ella was staring open-mouthed between her mother and Potter. "It was so long ago, I don't even remember the words. She used to sing it when we were children. Mostly first year, in the dormitory when she was feeling homesick especially. I don't know why it always stuck with me. I think she said her grandmother used to sing it to her."
Potter took this in silently, his expression preoccupied, eyes fixed on an unseen point across the room. When he said nothing, Mary continued. "I imagine your aunt might know it," she offered, hesitantly. "Maybe she would know the words. If you're curious."
"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Maybe. I dunno... My aunt was never really the lullaby type." Potter's mind seemed to be only partly on this conversation. Some other part of his brain seemed to be far away.
Mary saw this too. She was looking at Potter with a war of emotions crossing her face: pity, worry, and a desperation to connect. She licked her lips and then said, very tentatively, "I don't suppose you have many memories of her. Your mum."
Potter blinked again distractedly, glanced at her, and gave a weak smile and shook his head. "Not good ones anyway. Mostly just memories that would probably be better forgotten." Mary's frown deepened, but even as she opened her mouth to respond, Potter said, "I'm a bit tired. And I wanted to get some Transfiguration reading in before bed. Think I'll head up. Goodnight, everyone." And he was gone.
There was silence. Gawain contemplated the meaning of this comment. A glance around the room showed that he was not the only one. Mary was staring after Potter with a look of tragic horror on her face and Kingsley was studying his entwined hands on the table top with a crease between his brows.
After a long moment, Kingsley said softly, "I think maybe it's best if we all called it a night. We can pick this back up tomorrow."
Gawain sighed as his mind slowly regained consciousness early the next morning. He felt Mary's warm body beside him. The space in their bed which had been filled with nothing but cold and empty sheets for several nights now seemed to be filled again with warmth and love. Undone by the stress of the day, he had drifted to sleep the night before with her hand in his, their faces nose-to-nose.
Now he shifted, his mind still clouded by sleep. Not opening his eyes, he rolled and reached out to hug her closer to him. He felt her hand run comforting strokes up and down his arm.
Blinking open his eyes, he looked up into her face. She was sitting up in bed, propped by pillows. She continued stroking his arm, but her eyes were staring vacantly off across the room. She seemed lost in thought.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, yawning. Despite everything, he felt more relaxed than he had in days. Having her back was like a balm to his wounds.
"Hmm?" she asked distractedly. "Oh. No. Woke up a bit ago. Just thinking."
Gawain blinked up at her then glanced across the room to the other bed. Ella still slept deeply. Then he looked back to her. "Worrying?"
"A bit."
"It was a big road block. But I'm sure we'll figure it out. Something's got to give eventually. We'll make it home soon. I'm sure of it."
Mary blinked and looked down at him. "Oh. No. I mean… I probably should be worried about that… But strangely, I'm not so very much. We seem quite safe here, which is the only thing that really matters. It just feels like we've pressed pause on life. Logically, I know time is still passing out there, but somehow it doesn't feel like that here. Everything out there feels small. The house, my job... I know you lot will work it out eventually. I can't seem to find room in my brain to worry about all that really. We'll just pick up where we left off when we can."
Gawain considered this and marvelled. She was remarkably relaxed about all this. Gawain, by contrast, couldn't wait to get out of here and seek out justice against all those responsible for their incarceration in Grimmauld Place. But he decided to let this difference in personality and priorities lie for the time being.
"So if it's not that, what's bothering you?"
She was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was very soft and hesitant, like it was perhaps shameful. "I was actually just worrying about… about Harry."
Gawain blinked up at her. "I thought he seemed like he was healing up fine."
"Hmm? Oh, yeah. No. His wound is doing well. I'll probably have a final recheck in a couple days, but he's out of the woods there."
"And yet…?" Gawain coaxed.
"And yet… Do you get this feeling… like he's struggling more than he lets on? Like there's a deeper pain that he doesn't want us to see?"
Gawain rolled onto his back and sat up a bit. He was trying to get his wits about him. He wanted to pick his words carefully. He had not told Mary of the day he and Kingsley had walked in on Potter having something of a panic attack. And he didn't want to let that slip now. To do so felt like a great betrayal of both Potter's and Kingsley's trust. He licked his lips. "What makes you say that?" he hedged.
"I don't know exactly. I mean. I don't know him well. So I can't entirely read him. Maybe I'm just projecting his mother's personality onto him… expecting them to be the same. Suppose that's not fair…" Gawain waited as she contemplated this.
After a time, she continued. "I guess I'm just trying to understand why he stays in this house. I understand it's well-warded and he's safe from attack here. But… He obviously has people who care about him. Those friends of his, Ron and Hermione— they've been by just about every day. I heard them talking while he was unconscious. They're worried about him too. And Arthur Weasley and his wife clearly love him… I mean, to see her Boggart…" She shuddered at the memory of Potter's dead body in the kitchen. "And Arthur mentioned that they have a bed for him at their place. And the Weasley house is supposed to be well warded too. So what on earth is he doing here with us? Why not stay with them? Or with his family? Did he not go home to visit his aunt and uncle after a whole year on the run?"
Gawain had to admit he had not questioned this last bit. "They're Muggles… Maybe they just can't relate to magical problems?"
"I suppose," said Mary, though she didn't sound particularly convinced by this. "It just seems odd. There's nothing tying him to this mess we've found ourselves in. So I don't see why he doesn't just go."
"Not sure that's really Potter's style," Gawain offered. "He doesn't back down from a fight, does he? He went a full year as Undesirable Number One, being targeted at every turn. He could have fled the country at any moment, but he didn't, did he? Reckon he's the type to lead the charge if he feels that something's wrong, and he has the power to help fix it. So maybe he's just here to help."
"Hmm. Well, he is his parent's son, I suppose," replied Mary, a smile quirking her lips.
"Hot-headed Gryffindors. The lot of you." Gawain smirked as she elbowed him in the ribs.
She gave a slight laugh, but then sobered. "I dunno. Maybe I'm being silly. It's just… It seems impossible to think that he could have gone through everything he went through and not emerge at least a little scarred. And sometimes when I talk to him… He'll be there one moment. Light-hearted and funny and engaged. And then… this shadow seems to cross over his face. And I get this feeling that his mind has gone somewhere else entirely. Like he's reliving some painful memory."
Gawain was quiet as he considered this sadly. He agreed. He had seen it too. Mary continued. "And then when he was talking with Ella about guilt and grief… I couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't speaking from experience. I could have cursed Bones last night for what he said… I think I would have if his children hadn't been there. After everything Harry went through at the Battle of Hogwarts… How could he be so cruel?" Her eyes flashed with the protective fury Gawain had only ever seen her show toward her family.
They were both silent for a time as they considered all this.
"I want to help him," Mary abruptly said determinedly. "I just don't know how... I don't know how to get him to let me in."
Gawain sighed. "You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped, love." He knew that determination in Mary's voice. She would drive herself mad going down this rabbit hole. "I know you have an attachment to him. I know what he means to you because of Lily. But remember that he really doesn't know us. He has no reason to open up to us."
This was not the answer Mary wanted to hear. As evidenced by the fact that she flatly ignored him. "What do you think he meant? About having memories of Lily that would be better forgotten."
"Given that he then got up and left the room, I think he meant that he didn't want to talk about it, love. It's really not our business."
"I'm not trying to gossip!" Mary insisted indignantly. "I just… I think he's suffering. And I just think… if I understood more… then maybe I could help." Gawain did not reply to this. She really needed to learn how to turn off her inner Healer from time to time.
"He remembers her death," Mary answered her own question after a moment in which it became clear to her that Gawain was not going to speculate about this. "That has to be what he meant. He was so young… it never occurred to me that he would... But what else could he possibly mean?"
Gawain didn't know what to say to that. He suspected she was probably right, however unlikely it would be that he should remember anything from such a young age.
"I wish he would let me in..." Mary barely whispered the words. She seemed so sad and lost, and it almost broke Gawain's heart to see her that way. "He doesn't… He doesn't really trust me, I think. I don't think he particularly cares to know me. But I so want to know him."
Gawain pressed his lips to her temple. "It's only been a week. And he was unconscious for half of it. He doesn't know you. But he will. With time. And when he does, he'll love you. How could he not?"
Gawain pushed aside his copy of the Daily Prophet in exhaustion. The rest were only just filtering in. He had come down quite early, eager for the news the morning paper would bring, but now he was wondering why he'd bothered. He was increasingly intrigued by Potter's habit of tearing off the front page of the paper and wondering if he should begin doing the same.
Predictably, the Prophet's article on a terrorist attack against Aurors was full of fear-mongering and accusations. And of course, they had taken the time to get a quote from Guy Burgess who blatantly questioned the security Kingsley's administration was able to offer, none too subtly suggesting that nothing of this sort would happen under his watch. Load of dragon dung, all of it.
Margaret too lowered her paper. She met Gawain's eye for the briefest of moment before she was distracted by Susan Bones pulling out a chair next to her. The boys were over by the stove chatting with Amitra who was bustling around preparing breakfast. Edward had not come down today.
"You look tired," Margaret observed.
Susan sighed. "I'm not sleeping well. Too stressed out."
Margaret eyed her sympathetically. "You have a lot on your plate," she observed.
Susan shook her head gritting her teeth in an expression of annoyance that reminded Gawain unpleasantly of her father. "I'd have less on my plate if Dad wasn't being such a git all the time," she commented.
Margaret sighed. "He's grieving, Susan. He's lashing out because he's depressed."
"Ugh. Don't make excuses for him, Margaret. I'm grieving too!" She glared back, and even her round soft face managed a hard line. She turned to pour herself a cup of tea from the pot in the centre of the table. "Mum would be ashamed of him. The example he's setting for Maxim and Brandon... I feel like every time he steps out of the room, I have to sit them down and explain to them why everything he just said is horrible." She cut off as her brothers both came to join them. Margaret sighed, also uncertain how to continue the conversation in front of the boys.
"I'm going back to Hogwarts," Susan told Margaret after a moment. "Tomorrow maybe. Or the next day. I just told Dad."
Margaret looked worried. "Are you sure? We can't be certain you'll be safe there."
"It's as safe as anywhere. I like it there. I feel useful. And I miss my friends. There's a team of us seventh years who have been helping with rebuilding the castle. It's good work. Besides… we have exams to prepare for, and I'm not getting any studying done here. Especially when I'm too busy getting into a row with Dad every day." She let out her breath in a big huff. When Margaret still looked like she wanted to object, Susan said defiantly, "I'm of age, Auntie Margaret. I can make my own decisions."
Susan busied herself helping Brandon add a copious amount of milk and sugar to his tea. She could not have been more definitive in her determination that all argument was over. Margaret sighed and went back to her newspaper
Potter entered the room at that point and moved to his regular seat next to Gawain. Susan offered him a sad sort of apologetic smile across the table which he returned with a brief half-hearted smile before looking away. He determinedly focused his attention on pouring coffee into the cup his House-elf had set out for him. Still he seemed eager to avoid everyone's eye, and Gawain felt sure that Bones's barb from the night before was still stinging. Several people were quietly watching him as they waited for Amitra to finish laying out a large bowl of beans and stacks of toast.
Pulling out the awaiting copy of the Daily Prophet, Potter tore off the front page as usual, crumpled it, and chucked it over Margaret's head to land in the fire.
"Why do you always do that?" came a small curious voice.
Potter seemed to take a moment to realise Brandon was speaking to him. He seemed to have learned not to engage with the Bones children more than necessary. "Sorry, what?" he asked.
"You always tear off the front page of the newspaper. Isn't that where the important stuff is?" Brandon was swinging his feet back and forth on his chair as he contemplated Potter with his head cocked.
"Oh. Yeah. Dunno," said Potter a bit awkwardly. "I've sort of learned that rarely is the stuff on the front page of the newspaper worth reading. I find I'm a happier person if I just avoid it." Then, after a pause, he added conspiratorially, "Plus, I really hate reading about myself. And lately, I make more appearances there than I care to see."
"Why? They're saying nice things, aren't they?" Brandon pressed inquisitively.
Potter shrugged. "Today they are. Tomorrow maybe not."
"Are you going to do something bad tomorrow?"
Potter let out a chuckle. "Generally, what I do or don't do has very little bearing on what is written about me in the Daily Prophet," he explained. Gawain found his cheek twitching in a smile. By now, the attention of most everyone in the room was on this rather wholesome conversation.
"That doesn't seem right," Maxim weighed in on the discussion, frowning. "They're a newspaper. Isn't it their job to tell the truth?"
Potter smiled at him kindly though Gawain thought he was secretly amused by his naivety. "It's a newspaper's job to sell itself. Sometimes the truth is interesting and exciting enough to sell. Sometimes it's not. And when it's not… I guess it's just easier to make something up that is."
"Do they do that a lot? Make up stuff about you, I mean."
Potter's lips quirked. There was a short pause then he said, "From time to time."
"Do you mean to tell me all this on page five isn't real?" Margaret asked, but she was grinning and Gawain suspected she was quite certain it was not real at all. Gawain curiously flipped to page five and snorted.
"Oh, lord. What is it this time? I'm afraid to look." Potter sighed tiredly.
"It's an expose on all the girls you've dated. And goodness, there's a lot of them. You seem to do alright with the ladies."
"Ah. So the usual contrived list of every single girl I've ever known or said a word to plus a few I've never seen in my life. Got it," replied Potter matter-of-factly, rolling his eyes. He flipped to page five as well, but he did not look at it. Merely tore this page off too, crumpled it, and chucked it in the direction of the fire. Then continued on the article he had been reading on page three.
"There's a photo of you and Fleur," Kingsley weighed in from down the table, smiling. "Pretty sure it's from the Triwizard Tournament and they just cropped out the other two Champions. Still. Have fun explaining that one next time you see Bill."
"Oh bloody hell. It's not Bill's reaction I'd be worried about there. Fleur scares me way more than Bill does."
"Damn! She's fit," Ben commented, his eyes widening as he took in the picture in question.
Potter grunted noncommittally in response. "Really don't know what it is with the Daily Prophet's obsession with my love life. It's really rather boring. Not like I had a whole lot of dating opportunities over the past year. But maybe that's why they feel the need to invent them…"
"Hmm, well I see at least one person on this list who I'm quite sure you really did go out with once," Nayana said. There was a secretive smile on her lips and a teasing tone to her voice as she regarded Potter over the paper she and Sandeep were sharing.
"Oh?" asked Potter, nonplussed.
"Mm. My niece is on this list," Nayana replied. Gawain was not quite sure why she was grinning so mischievously. Sandeep too seemed to be in the know, because he was laughing under his breath, his bright teeth flashing.
Potter looked rather confused. "Your niece?"
"Parvati Patil?"
"You're related to Parvati and Padma?" Potter said, still looking quite confused.
"My brother's daughters," Nayana clarified, still smiling.
"Oh…" said Potter in mild surprise. "But I never went out with— Oh!" Potter's eyes suddenly widened as he apparently remembered something. Then he looked rather horrified. "Oh… I did go on a date with Parvati, didn't I? Oh, bloody hell. That was a really bad date…" Then, seeming to realise how rude that sounded, he hastened to add, "My fault! Definitely my fault. Parvati is lovely. But I'm going to guess if you've heard this story from Parvati's perspective, I was probably not portrayed in a particularly good light…" He skewered a mushroom with his fork and popped it in his mouth with an expression on his face as though he were fortifying himself for an awkward conversation.
Sandeep was softly chuckling at Potter's discomfort. He made something of a show of trying to remember. "I seem to recall when hearing the story during Spring hols that year, Parvati and Padma described you as "Harry-full-of-himself-Potter," he volunteered, looking altogether too happy about this.
Potter winced. "Ouch. But probably fair…" he allowed
"Well, alright. Now we all need to know what you did to mess it up!" Ben demanded, grinning at Potter. Indeed the whole room seemed much more interested in the opportunity to tease Potter than if focusing on anything more serious.
Potter sighed tiredly, resigning himself to this conversation. Gawain rather thought Potter saw this as though he were taking one for the team. "To preface this, we were fourteen, okay? Go easy on me." He smiled embarrassedly. "We went to the Yule Ball together. I was required to go and to open the dancing because I was one of the Triwizard Champions, and I was rather put out about that. And I may have sort of refused to dance with her after that first dance, and I may have sort of ditched her halfway through the ball and gone off outside with Ron…" He winced again.
But around the table, several people were laughing at the drama of childhood romance. "In my defence, I was a little distracted by the fact that someone was out to kill me. I really wanted to tail Igor Karkaroff because I thought it might be him." He took a sip of his coffee before adding, "Spoiler alert. It wasn't Karkaroff."
"All in all, I'd say that's a pretty good defence," Sandeep allowed with his signature head bob. Nayana was laughing softly.
"Yeah, well. I don't think Parvati agreed at the time. She didn't talk to me again for months. I feel quite confident I will never be getting a second date there. Still. As I recall, she ended up dancing the rest of the night away with a rather good-looking chap from Beauxbatons, so I don't think she was too heart-broken." Potter laughed at himself, shaking his head.
It was nice to see Potter laughing and seeming more relaxed again. The heavy mood from the night before was starting to dissipate.
"People are always out to kill you, aren't they?" Ben said casually. "People are never trying to kill me. Really makes a body feel unimportant."
"Guess you just don't possess my skills at pissing people off. I'm really very good at it." Potter smirked at him.
"How old were you the first time someone tried to kill you?" Ben asked, curiously. Potter gave him a bit of a withering look as though he thought Ben something of an idiot. He did not speak, simply waited for Ben to catch on. "Oh! Apart from the obvious time!" Ben amended.
Potter chuckled and made something of a show of considering this question. "Er… I was eleven. Professor Quirrell. Charmed my broomstick to try to buck me off during a Quidditch match. Or was it in the time in the forest…? No, pretty sure the Quidditch match was first."
"Is that what happened?" Susan asked, startled. "Wow…" She looked as though something she had always wondered about suddenly made sense.
"Man… Haven't thought about him in ages. What a git…"
"I'm sorry," said Amitra, shocked. "You mean to tell me a Hogwarts professor tried to kill you?"
Potter just laughed. "Oh, I wish only one Hogwarts professor tried to kill me. No no. There were multiple of those. Man, Dumbledore sure could pick 'em…" he added wryly.
Amitra spluttered and Gawain noted Mary's eyes alarmingly wide. "Multiple?"
He began ticking them off on his fingers. "Well, first there was Quirrell. He tried a couple of times. Wasn't very good at it, apparently. Then, let's see… Well, Professor Lockhart didn't try to kill me, but he did try to wipe my memory which is kinda uncool… Then Professor Lupin... He was in werewolf form at the time, mind; he really didn't know what he was doing. So I don't blame him for that. Then was Professor Moody, but of course he really wasn't Moody, just a Death Eater using Polyjuice Potion, but yeah… definitely tried to kill me. Then Umbridge who sent Dementors after me. And then of course the Carrows, but I don't suppose they count either since they weren't exactly my teachers, were they?"
There was a resounding silence in response to this little speech. Susan still had that expression on her face as though things were suddenly making so much sense. Mary was staring at Potter with her cheek in one hand and her mouth hanging open.
Ben let out a low whistle. "So, like… How many people have tried to kill you in total?"
Potter looked at him, eyes widening in alarm. "Am I supposed to have a count of that? Like… is that what normal people would do?"
"Normal people don't really have multiple assassination attempts, Harry," Kingsley weighed in sardonically from behind his newspaper.
"Right… Must be nice…" replied Potter a sheepish sort of smile on his face. Then he turned back to Ben. "Well yeah… no idea… Kinda a lot, I guess. Like I said. I'm good at pissing people off." He shrugged as casually as if he was saying he was good at Gobstones.
"What was the most creative way someone tried to kill you," Ben asked, clearly thrilled by this conversation.
Potter let out a huff of a laugh. "Huh… That's new. No one has ever asked me that one before. Hmm… Creative…" He considered this for a moment. "I guess I would have to go with Tom Riddle—no wait for it—as a memory of his sixteen-year-old-self… in the Chamber of Secrets… with a basilisk."
"Ooh, it's like we're playing a game of Cluedo," Ben sniggered. Gawain had no idea what Cluedo was. But he found no energy to wonder about it, because he was too busy squinting at Potter incredulously.
"A basilisk…" he repeated. He had heard Madam Pomfrey mention this before, but he had thought she was joking. "Like the ruddy big snake, you mean?" he clarified.
"Yeah, that's the one," Potter replied around a mouthful of beans and toast. "But now I think on it, maybe that whole mess with Bathilda Bagshot capped the basilisk…" For the first time in this conversation, the increasingly familiar shadow crossed over Potter's face as though he were remembering something painful. It was in sharp contrast to the casualness with which he had been speaking just moments before. But he seemed to pull himself away from whatever thought was tugging at him. He forced a laugh. "Say what you want about Voldemort. The man was very creative."
The silence stretched. Potter looked around suddenly realising everyone was staring at him in some dismay. "Ah… Sorry. Didn't mean to be so depressing…" But he was smirking as though he found their reactions rather funny. Gawain, meanwhile, was quickly realising why Potter had been so completely unconcerned about the assassination attempt in the Ministry Atrium.
After a moment, Amitra cleared her throat and licked her brightly painted lips. "Well. Rather puts our predicament into perspective, doesn't it," she said to the room at large. She raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow as she looked around the room mockingly. There was a small huff of awkward laughter.
"I supposed all this we're going through now could have been a great deal worse," she continued. "And really, the timing was quite convenient for me. I'm very glad the Death Eaters waited to attack you lot until the children were mostly on summer hols when my caseload tends to be lighter. I shouldn't be missing too much at work. Quite courteous of them, really."
"What do you do?" Potter asked Amitra curiously, as he spooned some beans onto another piece of toast. Gawain suspected he was really just jumping on the opportunity to turn the conversation away from himself.
"Oh, I'm in education. I help design the learning curriculum for Pre-Hogwarts students."
"Oh," said Potter with a small frown. "I was under the impression most magical children were home-schooled."
"Oh, they are. But there are still skills we have to ensure they learn properly before Hogwarts. Reading, writing, history, maths... They need to be proficient in much the same things the Muggles do. So we help make up a syllabus for their parents to follow. And there are standardised tests done yearly to ensure no additional help is needed."
Potter nodded thoughtfully. Amitra cocked her head at him. "Of course. You would have gone to Muggle primary school, did you?"
Potter took a moment to answer and Gawain suspected he was internally disappointed that his attempt to bring the conversation away from himself had just been thwarted. "Yeah. Yeah, I went to public school."
"Did you like it?" Amitra was leaning forward so far her baked beans were in danger of coming into contact with her ample bosom. Clearly this conversation topic excited her.
Potter paused again. Then he let out a small huff of award laughter. "Well, no. Can't say I did. But in fairness, I'm not sure that was entirely the fault of the Muggle education system."
"What didn't you like?" Amitra pressed. She did not seem to notice Potter's awkwardness.
"Er… I dunno… I was bullied a bit, I guess."
"You?" said Maxim incredulously. "You were bullied?"
Potter snorted a laugh. "Yeah, shocking to know that I was not always this cool," he said sarcastically. "But yeah. School was kinda…lonely, I suppose? I was the weird kid, you know."
"The weird kid? Why?" asked Amitra half smiling half frowning.
"Well, you know… I mean I was the weird kid at Hogwarts for obvious reasons. But at primary school…" Potter shrugged. "I was poor. I was the scrawny orphan with sellotaped glasses and hand-me-down clothes that were too big. And my cousin was a bit of a bully, and he would beat up anyone who tried to make friends with me. Plus all the accidental magic probably didn't help…" he added as an afterthought. There was silence for a bit as everyone tried to picture this. Potter was clearly growing increasingly awkward by this. Amitra took pity on him and tried to move the conversation along. No one much enjoyed dwelling on their awkward youth, after all.
"I always find it interesting talking to Muggle-borns about their education growing up. I hear such mixed opinions on which system is better. But you would be a particularly fascinating perspective. It's rare that I meet someone who was raised among Muggles but aware of the Magical world."
"Ah…" Potter stared at her. "Sorry to disappoint," he said slowly. "But I actually didn't know the magical word existed until I got my Hogwarts letter." He shrugged again.
Silence rang again through the kitchen.
"But… but you were famous. When did you find that out?"
"Same time… Hagrid had to explain it all to me when he came to collect me to go buy my school things in Diagon Alley. Rather out of his job description, I think." Potter grinned good-naturedly. "It was a bit of a nasty shock for both of us, really," he laughed. "But I dunno… I think Dumbledore preferred I grow up away from the fame and such. Think he hoped it would make me less of a tosser." He smiled. "He'd told my aunt and uncle to explain it all to me when I was older, but they, er… chose not to…"
Another resounding silence. Mary finally broke it with a splutter. "But… but your parents... You must have known how they died?"
"My aunt and uncle told me they died in a car crash." Gawain wondered how many times Potter could shrug in one conversation and wondered if he really thought that this action lessened the tragedy of it all. Another pause. Mary was looking angrier by the second.
"And you believed that?" Kingsley asked, frowning. He had put down his paper and was studying Potter now. Gawain thought some of Potter's childhood history was not news to him. But this definitely was.
Potter laughed. "Wow. Er. So accusatory... I mean, yeah, I guess… I had no reason not to believe it. When you're little… you sort of believe that grownups are telling you the truth. And the only memories I had from that night was laughter and green light and pain in my forehead. I guess your brain just invents an explanation, doesn't it? Maybe Dad told a really good joke just before hitting a traffic light and splitting open my head? How would I know?" He smiled as though this was something of a joke, but no one was laughing. On the contrary, Gawain thought Mary might start hexing someone at any moment. That or busting into tears. He really wasn't at all sure which.
"But… Why lie about that?" Mary asked furiously.
"Ah. Well, my aunt and uncle don't really approve of magic. I think they hoped that if they just ignored it, maybe it would go away, and I would turn out normal. Afraid I rather disappointed them there…"
Mary was struggling to take in calming breaths through the nose, but she seemed to be trembling. Gawain, meanwhile, was frowning as he thought back to their previous conversation. Potter had as good as said he didn't remember his parents' deaths. So what had he meant earlier about memories of his mother that he wished he could forget?
After a moment to process this in which no one seemed to know what to say and Potter was looking more and more uncomfortable by the minute, Amitra finally cleared her throat. "Well… They must be very proud of you now." She smiled kindly at Potter.
A choked laugh forced its way out of Potter's throat at those words. Then he flushed at the alarmed look from Amitra. "Sorry. I guess you have to know my uncle to know what that's funny…" He laughed softly to himself as though the notion was really quite amusing. "Nah. Shouldn't' think so. Like I said. My aunt and uncle… They like 'normal'. I was never very good at being normal, so they never very much liked me." He seemed quite unconcerned about this. But before anyone could express more than a soft grunt of alarm at this, he had already moved the conversation forward. "I think the only wizard they ever actually sort of liked was Kingsley. I really think you should include that in a campaign speech, mate. I can see no more promising mark for a successful political career than the ability to woo Uncle Vernon. You can brag how even Dumbledore never managed that."
Kingsley made a valiant effort to smile. Okay, maybe it was a grimace. Gawain couldn't tell. "Have you been back? Since the War ended?" he asked softly.
"Nah," replied Potter, still with that air of unconcern. "No point really. We said our goodbyes when I came of age. I mean… we never really did get on well. Never saw eye to eye on… well anything, really. I think we're all happier not being in each other's lives. Which suits me just fine. I had an owl from Hestia, though. Letting me know they'd made it home safe. I guess the house was ransacked while they were in hiding, but they were able to put everything back in its place okay."
There was quiet again. Potter suddenly appeared awkward as he realised everyone in the room was quietly dissecting this conversation. "Anyway…" he said. Then paused as he seemed to be trying to come up with a way to change the conversation topic. When none was readily available, he seemed to decide a hasty retreat was in order. "I should go… Andromeda is expecting me. Then lunch at the Burrow…"
Silence.
"I have a list of groceries from Nayana and Amitra. Anyone else need anything?"
Silence.
"Right… Well, see you later, then."
Silence.
Kingsley seemed very distracted the rest of the day as they began to try to set up a way to get some work done remotely. When Potter returned several hours later, his arms laden with groceries, Gawain noticed Kingsley watching him from across the kitchen with a contemplative frown on his face.
Potter summoned Kreacher the House-elf to help him unload the groceries and Gawain saw the Minister's eyes bouncing between the pair, his frown deepening still further.
A/N (28.10.2021): I'm so very sorry for such a long wait on this chapter. A month with no update is pretty inexcusable. Somehow this chapter just wouldn't come out onto the page. For no particular reason, writing it felt like pulling teeth. No really. I do dental extractions at work on a regular basis and I hate them. Yet somehow I would rather have been extracting a fresh-fractured carnassial from a Great Dane than writing this chapter. (If you've never extracted a tooth from a Great Dane, (1) what have you been doing with your life? and (2) trust me, it's hard).
In the end, Gawain and I exchanged some harsh words with each other, and we resolved to take a break from the relationship. I moved off to have a brief casual fling with Nymphadora Tonks. But then Tonks got way way too clingy, and I found myself really struggling to end that relationship too. So that imploded, and I came crawling back to Gawain, begging for forgiveness.
Okay, this break-up analogy is getting away from me... Suffice it to say, writer's block is a bitch. I took a bit of a break to clear my head by attempting to write a one-shot about Tonks (It didn't go great, but feel free to check it out if you're curious; it's part of my Left Behind one-shot series). And now I'm back.
…I think...
…I hope…
…I'm pretty sure…