Chapter 23: Guilt
"And then, if you'll believe it, Fletcher has the gall to tell me that the thirty-seven flying carpets he was caught red-handed buying off Ali Bashir were actually just a gift for his mum. She was apparently redecorating her house, and he obviously had no idea the carpets could fly."
The past few days had passed with more of the same, but each night Gawain found his feet carrying him down to the kitchen after the rest of the house had gone to bed. And each night, Harry was there, sitting at the table with a pot of tea and two cups. It had fast become their ritual.
More and more, Gawain was finding himself treasuring these late nights spent in Harry Potter's company, a sentiment that occurred much to Gawain's surprise. Sometimes it felt that these sessions chatting with Harry after the rest of the house was abed were all that was keeping him sane through the frustrations of house-arrest. The boy proved a good listener and laughed at all the right places in Gawain's stories. Now he was chortling and shaking his head in response to Gawain's story. "That does sound like Dung."
Some nights they would chat and joke and tell stories. Some nights they would sit together in companionable silence, each lost in his own thoughts. One night, Gawain had come down to find Harry asleep on the table with his head pillowed on an open textbook. Gawain had stood awkwardly in the door for a moment that night, uncertain if he should wake him. But in the end, he had left him to it and headed back upstairs on his own. Even sleep at the kitchen table was better than no sleep at all. And Gawain was realising that, while he hid it well, "no sleep at all" was quite a regular habit of Harry's.
As he'd climbed back into bed late one night, Mary had once sleepily asked Gawain where he'd gone. Gawain had told her he wasn't sleeping well and had gone down to the kitchen for a cuppa. She had accepted this with no further question and was asleep again within a minute; but Gawain lay awake wondering why he didn't tell her who he was in the habit of having tea with.
It wasn't that it was a secret, exactly. It just felt… intimate. That wasn't the right word. But Gawain couldn't think of a better one. This unexpected friendship he had forged with Harry felt like something new and fragile that he needed to protect. These conversations were a welcome break from the frustrations and monotony of being trapped in Grimmauld Place. And he found he didn't want to introduce any new variables that might threaten that. And so he mentioned them to no one.
Sitting with an elbow on the table, Harry chuckled again. "I can't say he's my favourite person in the world, Mundungus. But you do have to kinda hand it to him that he's not easily cowed by authority. You know he was the one who was supposed to be guarding me the night the Dementors attacked my cousin and me in Little Whinging a few years ago. But he left his post on some similar crack-pot scheme. I hear Dumbledore was completely furious with him. And if you can face down the wrath of Dumbledore and still be off smuggling Venomous Tentacula seeds or stealing a shipment of foreign cauldrons… Suppose he has his own sort of bravery."
The smile faded and that shadow crossed Harry's face. The one to which Gawain was becoming so accustomed. The one that said he was remembering something unpleasant. Gawain hastily tried to move the conversation along before whatever thought or memory could take hold. "Mundungus Fletcher is not one I would have pegged for being in the Order of the Phoenix. Let alone being tasked with guarding you."
Harry smiled ruefully. "Aw, well. Dung has his uses, I'm sure. And I think a fair number of people had the sad misfortune of taking it in turns to keep me out of trouble back then. Kingsley among them. Suppose that's why he finds it so hard to break the habit now," he added darkly, more to himself than to Gawain.
Indeed, just that morning, Gawain had overheard Harry having a row with Kingsley as Harry was leaving the house. Harry was in the habit of coming and going without much of a word to anyone on where he'd be or when he'd be back. Kingsley had become increasingly nervous about Harry going out on his own. Gawain thought it understandable. Plenty of people wanted Harry dead. And if word got out that he was helping Kingsley and the Gang… But any show of concern from Kingsley invariably had Harry spitting fire faster than a Ukrainian Ironbelly.
"What is it between you two?" Gawain asked after a moment, deciding to voice his thoughts.
Harry raised an eyebrow at him and took a sip of his tea. "Dunno what you mean."
"Oh, come off it, yes you do. Sometimes you and Kingsley are bantering like the best of friends. Teasing each other, having a right laugh. And then other times, you're biting his head off."
Harry looked away, not meeting Gawain's eye. He was silently nursing his teacup, but Gawain thought he saw a flash of guilt cross his face before he wiped it blank.
When Harry didn't reply, Gawain pressed. "He loves you, you know. Why does that bother you so much? You seem to hate it when he shows any concern for your well-being or acts like—" He struggled to find the right words, but Harry finished his sentence for him.
"Acts like a dad?"
Gawain blinked. That hadn't exactly been what he'd been driving at. But now he mentioned it… Harry glanced at him just long enough to gauge his response, then back into his teacup. He swallowed before continuing and still did not meet his eye. "I've had a few 'dads' over the years. Never ends well. Really don't need another one only to have him be brutally murdered like the rest. Hardly seems worth it." The bitterness in his voice made Gawain blink again.
This was not the direction he had been expecting this conversation to take. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. He had not particularly thought it through. Merely voiced an observation. But now he thought about it from Harry's perspective. And Harry's perspective did seem rather bleak. Damn. Really should have kept the conversation about funny run-ins with Mundungus Fletcher. But there was no turning back now, was there?
"Well, Arthur and Molly Weasley clearly see you as a son. And yet, they still seem to be walking around just fine, don't they?" Gawain attempted to keep his tone light and casual. He wanted to remind Harry of good parental relationships in his life. That having people looking out for him didn't have to be a bad thing.
But Harry just snorted derisively in response and gave Gawain a rather withering look before looking back at the tea he was swirling around and around in his cup. "Right. I just got their son killed. That's much better, is it?" Damn. Forgot that bit. The disdain dripped off Harry's every word. But Gawain thought it was directed inward rather than out at him.
After a moment, Harry set down his cup with a sigh and propped his chin in his hand. He still didn't meet Gawain's eye, preferring to stare across the kitchen sullenly. Gawain thought he was looking toward one of the photos on the wall behind him, but he didn't turn around to see which. "If that's what love is, I think I've had quite enough of it, thank you very much," Harry concluded.
Gawain tried to think what to say. He thought of how the boy's mother and father and godfather had all given their lives in the name of keeping him safe. He thought of all the people who had rallied behind him at the Battle of Hogwarts at risk of their own safety. He thought of Dumbledore and Alastor and Tonks. From Gawain's perspective, he merely saw this as a great testament to Harry's character— that people could love him and believe in him so completely they were willing to sacrifice anything for him. But now, trying to see it from Harry's perspective, he supposed it was hardly a wonder that Harry would see love as the enemy. From such a young age, he had leaned to equate love with death and loss. And then he thought of Kingsley who was so forcefully pushed away whenever he crossed that line. And then another thought crossed his mind.
"And I suppose that's why you're so distant with Mary too," he said, more to himself than to Harry.
Harry blinked and finally looked at Gawain. "Mary?" he asked blankly.
Gawain glanced at him and shrugged. "She's very fond of you, you know? I think she wishes to be closer. It's just whenever—" He broke off. He didn't mean to make it sound like he was blaming the lad. It was hardly his fault after all. Gawain knew Mary so desperately wanted to find a way to be part of Harry's life, but her efforts had repeatedly been met with polite distance.
Harry stared at him in silence for a minute, his gaze filled with surprise and dismay. Then he looked away, his expression morphing into even deeper shame. "She must think me terribly rude," he said, softly.
"No!" Gawain hastened to reassure him. "No. She just… worries. And wishes she could do more." He shrugged. "She's a Healer to her core. She likes to fix things."
An awkward silence fell. Gawain wished he could say something to make it less awkward. But what the hell was there to say to any of it? Merlin, why was he so shit at this?
"So this is your plan?" he asked at last, when the silence had stretched uncomfortably, and Harry just seemed lost in depressing thought. "To hold everyone at arm's-length for the rest of your life? Not let anyone close enough to love you properly?" His wry tone made his opinion on that option plenty clear.
"Well, it was working just fine until a bunch of homeless freeloaders started squatting in my house." Harry's cheek twitched as he looked sideways at Gawain. Then his crooked smile managed to break through when Gawain finally gave and exasperated huff of laughter against his better judgment.
"Fair. There's a flaw in your plan though, of course," Gawain continued, choosing not to comment on his status as a homeless freeloader.
"Just one?" asked Harry, smiling sardonically again. Gawain supposed even Harry knew there was no real logic here.
"Well, they already love you, don't they? Kingsley and the Weasleys… your friends… Mary… So pulling away—making a hermit of yourself— it just makes them worry more, doesn't it? Which, in turn, just makes them all the more inclined to hover."
"Maybe. Doesn't mean I have to stick around to see it, though does it? Maybe eventually they'll get the hint." Gawain frowned. But then Harry continued. "And if they don't, well… there's always Canada. Or I hear New Zealand's lovely. Maybe somewhere sunnier… Wonder if they speak English in Bali…" He smiled at his own joke, but Gawain could not quite muster a smile in return. Silence stretched again, and Harry's smile slipped from his lips.
"Think they'd realise they're just making it worse. I'm just so tired of it. All of them tiptoeing around me like they're all just waiting for me to crack at any minute. And every time I look up and see one of them watching me all worried like—" He licked his lips, looking around the room as though lost, struggling to find the right words. Then he looked back at Gawain, meeting his eye properly for the first time in quite a while. "They make me feel guilty for not feeling better."
The words hung in the kitchen for a moment. The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the ticking of the clock on the wall. Still Harry met his gaze. And Gawain wondered if he expected him to have an answer to this.
At last Harry looked away and let out a breath that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "So reckon I'll just stick to my hermity ways. And instead find myself oversharing with someone who scarcely knows me at…" he glanced at the clock on the wall, "…a quarter to two in the morning." He looked back at Gawain and smiled. And despite the words, Gawain thought he saw affection there.
But as Gawain crawled into bed a quarter of an hour later, he found himself wondering why, as Harry continued to push everyone else away, he seemed to be alright letting Gawain closer. He found he could make no sense of this at all.
Gawain yawned widely as he closed the bedroom door. Mary and Ella were chatting happily ahead of him as they headed toward the stairs down to breakfast; they, at least, seemed well-rested. Perhaps he was getting too old for such late nights. But it was hardly as though there were great demands on his time these days. He could always catch a short kip in the afternoon.
A light tinkling of a small bell and some rhythmic chanting could be heard from behind the Amins' closed door. Gawain was not religious himself and had no idea what any of it meant, but he had to admit the sounds of Nayana praying each morning were really quite melodious and lovely. Some days he envied the peace that God seemed to bring some people. He wondered if life was easier with such faith. Shame he'd never been able to manage it. He trudged down the stairs after Mary and Ella.
On the first floor landing, he glanced through the door to see Harry and Ben deep in a sparring match. They were firing jinxes at each other, and Gawain was quite proud to see Ben was starting to unstick his stance. As he paused to watch, Gawain could hear nothing from within the room. Despite that he could see lips moving and a vase breaking, silence met his ears.
Harry and Ben had a pre-agreed upon date in the sparring ring before breakfast each morning now. Most of the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place had found waking to the sounds of bangs and breaking china and shouted curses coming from the drawing room a little trying for their nerves. Nayana especially had been increasingly frazzled by it; with every crash, Sandeep would shoot a worried glance in her direction. Everyone in the house was becoming increasingly aware of Nayana's due-date drawing nearer and nearer and anxious about the idea of premature labour while still trapped in Grimmauld Place. Finally, just the day before, Brannagh had apparently had enough and taken it upon herself to erect some kind of sound-proofing charms around the room to ensure a more peaceful start to the day. Gawain now paused to admire the silence. It was quite an elegant piece of magic, and at last the rest of the house was able to breathe a little more easily.
Harry had even gotten Brannagh to show him how to erect the spell around the portrait of Mrs. Black in the hall, so they would not have to fear waking her up. Gawain had heard Harry telling her he hoped this charm would come up in his NEWTs, and Brannagh had dived into a story about her own Charms NEWT which had reportedly ended with some little disaster. Gawain couldn't hear it all, but the pair of them were in giggles by the end of the story. He had never heard Brannagh doing anything that could be described as "giggling" before, and it only served to leave him once again in awe of Harry's ability to charm just about anyone he came into contact with. With some notable exceptions, of course… Gawain doubted even a veela could have charmed Edward Bones these days. He was still as surly and irritable as always. And never seemed to pass up the opportunity to take a verbal swing at Harry. But Harry continued to ignore him and never rose to it.
Down in the kitchen, Mary was bustling about by the hob. She had volunteered for a turn at making breakfast and Amitra had gratefully relinquished the duty for the morning. Gawain was set to work preparing toppings for porridge, and he was busy chopping nuts and dried fruits and pouring them into small serving bowls to set out on the table. Ella and Brandon Bones were supposedly "helping" but in actuality they appeared to be inventing some sort of game that involved flicking walnuts at each other.
Harry and Ben entered just as Gawain was glancing around for the sack of brown sugar, intending to refill the sugar bowl. The pair of them was a little out of breath and their faces were flushed, but they were smiling. When they entered the kitchen, Ben loped off in the direction of the teapot. Harry, however, paused looking over toward the cooker, and Gawain followed his eyes. Mary was staring contemplatively at one of the photos on the wall as she absent-mindedly stirred the pot of porridge on the hob. She hadn't noticed Harry enter.
Harry stood quietly a few paces away, as he regarded her contemplatively for a moment. Gawain glanced back to Mary. She was leaning in to look closer at a particular photo that appeared to be Lily and James Potter's wedding day, another man beaming and raising a glass beside them. Mary jumped and looked around when Harry at last spoke.
"He looks a bit different in that photo than I remember him. Sirius, I mean."
Marry huffed an embarrassed laugh. "I was just thinking rather the opposite, actually. I remember looking at the wanted posters when he escaped Azkaban, and… I couldn't even recognise him at all…" Mary was looking back at the photograph thoughtfully. "But this is how I remember him." Gawain looked over her shoulder at the laughing face of a handsome man he never would have guessed to be the hardened escaped convict, Sirius Black.
Harry made a small hrmph in the back of his throat. "It's the only photo I have of him," he said, shrugging. "But maybe his Azkaban wanted poster would be just as meaningful in here. Think you could grab me a copy from work?" He grinned at Gawain. "That and the Undesirable Number One poster from your office. Reckon they would look nice together up on this wall. Nice little family portrait." Gawain guffawed quietly as Mary looked between the pair of them with a mystified sort of smile at their comradery and dark humour.
Harry glanced back to Mary, then back to the photo. And the smile slipped a little from his face. "Azkaban changed him a lot. More than he wanted me to know, I think."
Gawain observed Harry curiously. It was the first time he had heard the boy open a conversation like this with Mary. He wondered if this was in response to the conversation they had had last night. He wondered what had changed his mind.
Mary was eyeing Harry sympathetically. "It was really terrible, what happened to him." She too looked back at the photo. "Twelve years in Azkaban… I hated him for such a long time. Never questioned that he deserved to be in there. Then when I found out he was innocent all along…" she broke off as though there were no words. Gawain remembered the day Black had been posthumously exonerated. Mary had sat at the kitchen table in her dressing gown, staring at the Daily Prophet with tears streaming down her face. She'd hardly spoken a word that whole day.
There was a moment of silence as all three of them sat lost in his- or her-own thoughts. Then Mary gave a wry laugh. "But truth be told, we didn't particularly get on well when we were at school. Sirius and me," she said with a sheepish smile. Harry smiled at her inviting her to continue. "He was terribly funny, but… well he used to get on my nerves a bit. He and your dad were…" Mary trailed off, trying to find the right word.
"Arrogant toerags?" Harry supplied, smirking. Mary blinked at him with a surprised expression that Gawain couldn't quite read. "I think that's what my mum called them, anyway."
"How, in Merlin's name, did you know that?" asked Mary, looking quite shocked.
Harry chuckled and shrugged. "Snape's memories."
"Hmm. Well, 'toerags' wasn't exactly the word I was planning to use…" she smirked at Harry who laughed good-naturedly. "I was going to say 'incorrigible.' They did love making spectacles of themselves. Still, I suppose I preferred your dad's gang to Snape and his mates." A dark look crossed her face before she pushed it aside. "Your dad and his friends were at least good for a laugh. But sometimes it seemed like they couldn't take anything seriously. James, at least, did manage to grow up eventually—he was much less insufferable by the time he stared going out with Lily. She did him good. Sirius on the other hand…" She laughed softly to herself at some inside joke. Harry just watched her reminiscing with his small crooked smile. "No, really the only one of the lot of them I actually liked when we were young was Remus."
For some reason, Mary glanced at Gawain here with an apologetic smile. Gawain could not remember her ever mentioning this particular school friend, but the name did seem vaguely familiar. "Then again, Remus was the first boy to break my heart."
Harry blinked. "You and Remus?" he asked, incredulously.
Mary laughed, a blush touching her cheeks. "No, no. There was no me and Remus. But oh, I fancied him! I finally mustered the courage to ask him out for a Hogsmeade weekend when we were in sixth year. I've never seen someone look so terrified. Turned me down flat. And of course, when you're sixteen, that's the height of heartbreak." She laughed again at the silliness of youth.
Harry laughed softly. "Well, if it's any consolation, I don't get the impression that Remus dated a great deal."
"No, I don't think I saw him with a girl once, all through school or after. I wonder what became of him. I haven't seen him in years. We rather fell out of touch after… after Lily and James… Don't suppose he ever married. That made a little more sense, after I saw that Daily Prophet article a few years back—about him resigning from his post at Hogwarts after it came out he was a werewolf. Poor chap. I had no idea. But it all made so much sense once it was out in the open—"
Mary cut off abruptly from her musings. She cocked her head, staring confusedly at Harry and Gawain followed her gaze. Harry's expression had slowly shifted to one of shock and dismay as he stared at Mary. Mary now blinked at him in confusion. Then she seemed to understand something Gawain did not, because suddenly a hand came to cover her lips. "Oh…" she breathed. And suddenly a look of great sorrow had crossed her face.
Harry looked away awkwardly. "I er… thought you knew…"
Mary shook her head slowly, a lost sort of look on her face. "When?" Mary asked.
"Battle of Hogwarts," Harry supplied. And only then did Gawain catch on.
Mary sighed. She glanced at the photo on the wall again. "Merlin, it almost feels like I'm the only one left out of our whole year at school," she muttered under her breath. Harry shot her a sympathetic if a bit awkward look and shifted uncomfortably.
"OUCH!"
All three of them jumped. Harry was rubbing his arm where a jinx had just hit him. Gawain whipped around, his hand going automatically for his wand. But then he blinked as he found the source of spell. Kingsley was re-pocketing his wand and casually turning to fill the percolator with hot water from the kettle on the hob as he did so. Gawain had not even noticed he'd been there listening in.
"What the hell was that for?" asked Harry, glaring at Kingsley furiously as he rubbed his arm.
Kingsley looked entirely unrepentant. "I've decided I'm going to start hitting you with a Stinging Jinx any time I see you feeling all guilty over something you had absolutely no control over," he replied calmly. Mary was looking between the pair, caught somewhere between shock, worry, and amusement.
Harry opened and closed his mouth several times, his face a mask of annoyance. But after a moment, he drew in a deep breath and let it out before making a show of going back to the conversation with Mary and ignoring Kingsley entirely.
"He did actually marry, you know. Remus." Harry had a tone of forced-casualness in his voice. "Just last year. He married Tonks. I suppose you knew her too," he added, glancing to Gawain, then back to Mary. "They kept it very quiet, I think."
Gawain suspected his own expression must have mirrored Mary's in that moment. Her jaw was slack as she took in this new piece of information. She glanced at Gawain, clearly gauging if this was news to him too. Then they both must have reached the same realisation simultaneously, because Mary looked at Harry then, again sorrow in her gaze. "The baby the other night. Teddy, was it…?"
Harry managed a weak sad smile in acknowledgement. Mary just looked at him. Gawain thought he could read the expressions cross her face one-by-one as the implications of everything she had learned came along.
"They made you his godfather…" she all but whispered. "Oh, Harry… I'm so sorry. You and Remus must have been very close."
Harry shrugged, not quite meeting her eye. "Not sure Remus was exactly close to anyone, except maybe Tonks. I mostly just managed to piss him off a lot. Which takes some skill, since Remus was not one to lose his temper easily. But I guess we were still close enough that I managed to drag them both into a war that got them killed." He forced an awkward laugh as though this were a joke. But Gawain was quite sure he was very serious under it all.
No one else laughed. On the contrary, Mary looked about ready to burst into tears. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could manage a word—
"DO YOU MIND?"
Harry had spun on Kingsley who was again pocketing his wand as he helped himself to a newspaper from the stack on the table behind them. "Not at all," Kingsley replied unconcernedly. "I could do this all day." And he raised his mug in salute, took a sip of coffee, and turned to find his seat at the breakfast table, newspaper tucked under one arm.
Harry made an indistinguishable growl in the back of his throat, and stalked away, rubbing at another welt on his arm.
Mary stood where he left her for a moment, opening and closing her mouth for a moment, unshed tears in her eyes. Then she turned away and began spooning the porridge into a tureen to pass around the table. Gawain saw her surreptitiously wipe her face on her sleeve as she did so.
A part of Gawain was glad that Kingsley was calling Harry out on his guilt complex. Still… as Gawain gathered up the bowls of toppings to bring them over to the table, he could not help but wish he had chosen a different moment than when Harry had at last been making an effort to connect with Mary.
Breakfast felt a more sombre affair. Or maybe it just felt that way because Gawain was sitting across from Mary who was still darting looks at Harry with tears brimming in her eyes. They'd barely sat down when the fireplace flared as Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger flooed over.
"You're here early today," Kingsley commented over his newspaper to them.
"Tell me about it," yawned Weasley, plopping down in a seat next to Harry and fumbling for the pot of tea in the centre of the table.
"Crunch time!" said Granger, her tone bright and completely contrasting Weasley's. "NEWTs are just five days away! I'm going to be quizzing Harry and Ron in Charms this morning."
Harry had barely given them more than a brief nod of acknowledgement before spooning some porridge into a bowl and passing the taurine to Gawain. "Thanks, Kreacher," said Harry softly, accepting a stack of envelopes to flip through.
"Kreacher is wishing to speak with Master Harry about Ninky," the elf croaked importantly.
"Oh, lord. What now?" Harry sighed.
"Ninky is currently laundering the bedding from the second floor spare rooms. Not just her household's rooms," Kreacher complained. "Ninky is stealing Kreacher's duties. Master is telling Kreacher that Ninky is only here to serve her own family. Why, then, is she cleaning the sheets in rooms that is not occupied by her family?"
"Kreacher," Harry groaned. "Ninky is bored. She is used to tending a larger house on her own. She's a guest—she can do as much or as little as she wants. If she wants more responsibilities, can we not just let her do as she pleases? I wish you would learn to get along. She will not be here forever, Kreacher." He flipped through the stack of letters, boredom evident in his voice. He had had this conversation rather a lot of times, Gawain thought.
"And where does it end? Ninky will be in Master's private rooms cleaning if Kreacher does not draw a line! And then what will become of Kreacher? Kreacher can see what is happening! Kreacher is being replaced! Does Master not care for Kreacher at all? If Kreacher has no work, Kreacher has nothing!"
"There's more to life than work, Kreacher," Harry sighed.
"Kreacher. Maybe you should start to think about what you want to do in your retirement. I'm sure Harry would supply you with a pension," piped up Granger gently. Harry seemed unconcerned that his gold was being volunteered away and merely flipped through the last of the letters with an absent nod of agreement.
This, however, made Kreacher glare at Granger and begin furiously muttering something that Gawain could not make out, but which made Harry say, warningly, "Kreacher!" and made Granger say, "Oh, don't scold him, Harry!"
But Kreacher increased his volume then and went back to addressing Harry. He seemed to decide Granger's suggestion was beneath his dignity to acknowledge. "Master does not care for poor Kreacher. Master will desert Kreacher just as he did before!" he moaned. "Master will leave Kreacher behind again and Kreacher will have nothing left!"
That got Harry's full attention. He blinked and looked around, the stack of rejected letters held limply in his fingers. He stared at the elf in surprise for a moment before stumbling words came out. "Kreacher… I… I'm sorry. I thought you understood. We didn't want to leave you behind, honestly. But we had to. We couldn't come back to Grimmauld Place after Yaxley got in—"
"Kreacher is not referring to when the trespasser Yaxley invaded this house and Master was on the run. Kreacher is referring to when Master Harry walked into the Forbidden Forest during the Battle of Hogwarts."
Harry was silent for a moment as he took this in. But Granger clapped a hand over her mouth but not before a small gasp escaped her lips.
Harry stared at the elf in silence for a moment, his jaw slack. Weasley was looking between the pair of them his tea forgotten halfway to his lips, and Granger had tears brimming in her eyes. "I… Wha… What do you mean, Kreacher?" said Harry hesitantly, as though he really didn't want to know what Kreacher meant.
"Master left Kreacher behind. Master walked into the Forbidden Forest knowing the Dark Lord would kill him. Knowing that he had no heir. Knowing that he had written no will. No more Blacks. No more Potters. Kreacher's magic had no one to pass to. For a few minutes, Kreacher was a free elf, and Kreacher hated it. But Master cared nothing for the feelings of poor Kreacher. Master left Kreacher without even a thought."
The silence that followed was as complete as if one of Brannagh's sound-proofing charms had fallen in the kitchen. All was still. No one was eating or talking or even breathing. All eyes were on Harry. But he just sat there, twisted in his chair and staring at his house-elf with a look of dismay on his face.
After a moment, Harry licked his lips. "I… I'm sorry, Kreacher. I… I didn't know… I never thought…"
"Master is never thinking of Kreacher," the elf affirmed.
Harry looked quite hurt by these words. "Kreacher, I really am sorry. You know you're welcome to stay with me as long as you want…"
"And yet Master will not give Kreacher orders and Master will give away his chores to an outside elf. Master wishes Kreacher to be a free elf. But Kreacher knows his duties, and Kreacher will not stand for it. Kreacher will never be a free elf. Kreacher will take that!" And the elf snatched the rejected stack of envelopes that were still held loosely in Harry's hand, held them aloft, and lit them ablaze in his palm. Then he nodded once, so hard his ears flapped as though he had just made an inarguable point, and Disapparated with a crack.
Very slowly, Harry swivelled back to face the table, his expression wretched. Just past him, Gawain saw Granger staring at Harry, still with tears in her eyes and Weasley was awkwardly avoiding looking at him.
The rest of the room was still and quiet. No one spoke. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Gawain caught a movement at the end of the table. But Harry was quick. Before Gawain could even turn to see what it was, Harry had his wand out and snapped, "Expelliarmus!"
Gawain jumped as the spell streaked past him down the table and turned just in time to see Kingsley's wand whipped from his hand to fly across the room. Harry snatched it from the air with nimble fingers.
Everyone in the room jumped, looking between Harry and the Minister with eyes wide. Nayana had shrunk back away from the table and out of the way in case of any more flying spells. Amitra looked like she was restraining herself from scolding a group of school children for malarkey at the breakfast table. Weasley had dived for his own wand, his chair scraping on the floor as he jumped to his feet, ready to spring to Harry's defence. But then he found himself standing awkwardly at the table.
Harry had not bothered to rise, and he was now shovelling a spoonful of porridge into his mouth as though suddenly in a hurry to be gone. Weasley and Granger exchanged looks, then looked to Harry, then to Kingsley, then back to Harry. "Er… Did we miss something?" Weasley asked.
"Don't worry about it," said Harry around a second spoonful of porridge. He took another bite before he'd even swallowed the last, all while rising to his feet. "Let's go practice Charms."
"Don't you, um… want to finish breakfast?" Granger offered timidly.
"I've had enough," replied Potter. "Let's go."
Then he turned, looked directly in Kingsley's eyes, face stony, and tossed his wand back to him. "Next time, I'm keeping it," he said firmly. Then turned and left the room. Kingsley merely pocketed his wand with a small unconcerned smile and returned to his newspaper.
Granger and Weasley exchanged another mystified look before following after. At the door, however, Granger looked back toward Kingsley. Gawain caught the briefest hint of a smile between the pair of them. Then she shook her head with a small laugh and turned to hurry after the boys.
There was a rustle around the kitchen as everyone returned to their breakfast. Several glances were exchanged, but there were no words until Mary sighed and said, "Don't you think maybe he's had enough of curses flying his way, Kingsley?" But her admonishments seemed half-hearted at best.
Kingsley had the grace to look a little abashed. But still he smiled calmly. "Just thought I'd try a different tactic. I haven't been getting anywhere with words. Thought maybe this would be a language he understood better."
Gawain's back was aching. He knew this was largely due to his slumped posture at the table where he and the others were slogging through paperwork. But he was too tired to straighten up. He sat, his head propped in one hand, staring down at the same casefile that had been in front of him for the past three quarters of an hour. Aanav Mulciber. Escaped following the Battle of Hogwarts.
Martins had submitted a request to travel to India in pursuit of Mulciber. He'd done his homework— he was already cleared with the local authority to work with a team of Indian Aurors. He just needed Gawain's approval of his time away and expenses. Merlin, what wrong turns had Gawain made in his life that had brought him here: approving spending allocations for other men to go on journeys to track down dark wizards without him. He sighed, looking away from the case file and back to Martins's defence of the necessity of the trip and his budget proposal.
Gawain had to admit Martins could well be on to something. He'd been busy. He had managed to find compelling evidence that Mulciber had gotten his hands on some forged Muggle identification and boarded a commercial airliner. Martins had tracked him as far as Ahemdabad before the trail went cold. But on some digging into his family history, Martins had found that Mulciber's grandfather, Makis, had been stationed in India during the Global Wizarding War. It was apparently here that Makis met Aanav Muciber's grandmother whom he took back to Britain, along with their infant son, after the dissolution of the Empire. But Martins had found that Mulciber still had quite the network of extended family in Vadodara, a city just seventy miles south of Ahemdabad—well within safe Apparition range. It was compelling. Vadodara. That city sounded familiar. Gawain rubbed tired eyes, trying to pull from his very small repository of knowledge on Indian geography. Ahemdabad was quite a large port of entry, as he recalled…
"Time to take a break," said a gentle voice behind him. He felt a soft hand brush the hair off his forehead, and he leaned into Mary's touch, relishing the heat radiating from her skin. How were her hands always so warm? "You look exhausted. Put it away for the day. You'll get further coming back with fresh eyes tomorrow."
Gawain blinked as he looked around. Sure enough, most of the Gang had already deserted their work for the day. He sat back in his chair, and Mary leaned over to wrap her arms around him from behind. She pressed a brief kiss to his temple. He glanced up at her, but she seemed momentarily distracted by the case file before him. She was frowning at it, looking abruptly disturbed. But only for a moment before she glanced back at him and smiled softly.
Well, perhaps she was right. Mulciber could wait. He flipped the file shut and pushed it away.
"Da', guess what I did today," said Ella bounding up happily. "Nayana showed me how to make rakhi, look!" She held up her wrist to show a bracelet made of brightly coloured knotted strings and beads. "She says you're supposed to gift it to your brother and it will help protect him. But I figure whatever magic protects brothers probably protects da's too, right?" And he smiled his agreement as she secured a garishly bright bracelet around his wrist. "Don't take it off, okay? It's bad luck if you do," she told him earnestly. Gawain resigned himself to the hot pink and orange bracelet for the foreseeable future with, he thought, quite a lot of grace all things considered.
Gawain and his little family excused themselves upstairs for a bit of alone time before dinner. At least that was the plan. Ella had different ideas, it seemed. For on the first floor landing, she darted in the direction of the drawing room.
"Ella—" called Mary simultaneously exasperated and amused.
"But I have to give Harry his rakhi!" Ella insisted. "I can't wait t—" but her words cut off abruptly there thanks to the sound-proofing spell. Mary started to argue back before remembering that she could not hear her any better than they could hear Ella. In the end, Mary just sighed, exchanged a look with Gawain, and the pair of them climbed the last few steps and let themselves into the drawing room.
By the time they entered the room, they found Harry kneeling beside Ella. He was smiling mildly while Ella knotted a green and gold bracelet around Harry's wrist (Gawain found himself a bit jealous that the colours of Harry's were far less gaudy than his own). All the while, Ella chittered about what she had learned from Nayana regarding some Indian holiday or other. Gawain watched with amusement at Harry's attentiveness to her lesson. Beside them, a cauldron filled with a black-current coloured liquid was gently bubbling and releasing a bluish steam.
"Alright, Ells Bells," Gawain said when she at last paused to draw breath. "Harry's studying. We shouldn't disturb him."
"Nah, it's all right," replied Harry good-naturedly, straightening up. His mood from that morning seemed vastly improved. "Just give me a minute Ella. Let me add this sopophorous bean and give this potion a good stir, then you can tell me more about it while it simmers."
Harry plucked a shrivelled bean from a jar, tossed it into the air and caught it, before bringing it down on the buffet table he had levitated up from the dining room to use as his lab bench. He picked up a small silver dagger, crushing the bean with the flat end of the blade before scooping the juices into the cauldron.
"I've never seen that technique for prepping sopophorous bean before," said Mary in mild surprise. "I've always diced them."
Harry blinked, momentarily distracted. "Oh. Er… yeah. It… extracts the juices better… apparently." He shrugged with a sheepish smile. He began to stir the potion anti-clockwise.
"Hm," acknowledged Mary. She wore a small smile that Gawain could not quite read as she watched him. "What are we practicing today?"
"The Draught of Living Death," Harry replied, giving the potion one clockwise stir. The potion lightened to a pale lilac. "Just a review. Professor Slughorn tipped me off that it comes up quite often on the NEWT practicals."
"It sounds scary. What's it do?" asked Ella peering into the cauldron which was slowly lightening to be almost clear.
"It's a powerful sleeping potion. Makes the drinker almost appear dead."
"Like with Sleeping Beauty?" Ella asked.
"Er, yeah. I suppose so… Not really sure what the more, er… practical… uses would be…"
Ella looked like she was about to say something in the defence of fairy tale princess practicality, but Mary was already weighing in. "I use it quite a bit at work, actually. It's a very good anaesthetic for your more intensive and painful procedures." She gave Harry's potion a delicate sniff and nodded approvingly. "But dosing is tricky. You have to be very light-handed. Too much and you can induce a coma. And it does come with a risk for hypotension, so you have to watch for that."
Harry looked at her with a funny sort of half-smile for a moment, then he said, "Thanks. That's actually really helpful." There was another pause. "You're really good at this stuff," he remarked at last.
Mary looked surprised, though a little flattered. But she laughed and said, "I'm good at this stuff because your mum was good at this stuff. She used to help me all the time in Potions class. Don't think I ever would have made it to NEWT level if she hadn't been there to tutor me." She paused for a moment, reminiscing on some past memory. "It used to drive me a bit mad, actually. Potions came so naturally to her. She never had to study much. Meanwhile, I had to slog to keep up with her. Mostly frustrating because I had wanted to be a Healer ever since I was five, whereas Lily had very little interest in a career involving Potions-making. But I suppose I was the luckier for her skill."
"I guess there's that one school friend who keeps the rest of us afloat in every friend-group," Harry chuckled. "For my group, it's Hermione." There was quiet for minute, and Gawain thought Harry wasn't quite sure how to keep this conversation going and Mary wasn't quite sure if Harry wanted her to keep this conversation going. Finally, Harry prompted timidly, "What other subjects was she good at?"
Mary smiled seeming quite delighted by the invitation to continue. "Lily was pretty infuriatingly good at everything, actually," she laughed. "Really talented at Charms. She was always top in our year at Charms and Potions. But your dad used to beat her in Transfiguration and DADA, something that annoyed her to no end." They both laughed. "Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures were my territory. But the only class I remember Lily not excelling at was Divination. She absolutely loathed it."
"Me too!" Harry looked really quite pleased by this similarity to his mother. "Always seemed like a load of tosh. You'd think finding out I was the subject of a prophesy would have increased my respect for the subject…" he added as an afterthought. "But no. Still rubbish." He chuckled.
Mary stumbled for a moment, seeming a bit uncertain of what to say to that. But then she seemed to decide to just move past it. "She ended up dropping the class a few weeks in. She convinced Professor McGonagall to let her transfer to Ancient Ruins instead."
"Dang. Wish I'd thought to do that…"
Seeing their progress upstairs to the bedroom good and truly stalled by nostalgia, Gawain wandered over to settle himself on the sofa. He may as well leave them to it. He looked around for something with which to occupy himself, but nothing came to mind. He needed to get himself another book from the library. He had long-since returned the book on genealogy he had borrowed what felt like a year ago. He wondered if there was anything in there that might be better at holding his attention. He yawned, listening with half an ear as Harry and Mary chatted.
"Lily really loved being outdoors. Where she grew up in Cokeworth, there was a paper mill—it's where your granddad worked, but I think it's shut down now. It made the air quite polluted. It always smelled funny there. So when we were at Hogwarts, your mum was always in awe of how clean the air was. And she would always be looking for excuses to go outside; didn't matter what the weather was like. It could be pouring rain and she'd be trying to drag me out for a walk around the lake. I was…" Mary laughed, "…a little less keen on that.
"But when the weather was good, we'd go down and sit by the lake—under that beech tree where the photo downstairs was taken, actually. We'd always bring our books and notes like we were planning to study. But we almost never actually did. Most the time, we would just end up sitting around and chatting about nothing."
"And that bit sounds more like Ron and me," said Harry with a small laugh before turning back to his potion. He scanned book for the next step, then started riffling through his potions ingredients. "Oh, blast… I'm supposed to finish with three leaves of goutwort, and I used the last of my supply last week…"
"I have some mugwort up in my Healer's bag—it's quite useful in treating headaches. That should be a decent substitute, but the leaves are smaller; you'll need to add a leaf or two. I'll just run and fetch it."
"Thanks! That would be brilliant. No rush. This needs to simmer another ten minutes yet."
As Mary left the room, Ella had wondered off to explore a breakfront on the wall nearest the door. It was an old antique piece of furniture, like everything in the house. And it was completely covered with dusty knickknacks and old Black family heirlooms. Gawain kept half an eye on her to make sure she wasn't getting into mischief.
"I have one of these!" Ella picked up a large conch shell and gesturing with it. Gawain thought about telling her to look with her eyes, not with her hands, but Harry smiled at her in encouragement so he let it go. "Nan says they're magic— if you hold it to your ear, you can hear the sea." Ella demonstrated and listened intently for a moment. Harry seemed to be supressing a laugh. "But Da' says that's just Muggle nonsense. It's actually just air bouncing around inside the shell."
Harry looked over the potion he was stirring at Gawain and smirked. "You just had to go and ruin it for her, did you?"
"Hey, I'm a realist, not a romantic," Gawain replied stretching languorously on the couch.
"I got mine on holiday in Cornwall last year, remember Da'? I found it on the beach."
"I actually seem to remember buying it for you in a Muggle tourist shop," Gawain supplied dryly. "And I highly doubt it originated in Cornwall."
A small snicker escaped Harry before it was quenched, but Ella did not seem perturbed in being caught in this lie. She just ploughed on.
"We went on holiday last year. It was so fun. I got to climb rocks and explore sea caves."
The smile slipped from Harry's face, and he turned back to his cauldron and was stirring again. Seven stirs anti-clockwise, one clockwise, pause, repeat. Ella was still chittering from over by the breakfront.
"There was this one really cool sea cave—you could only get inside at low tide. There were all these really neat caverns you could climb through and one of them had an underground lake! I wanted to swim in it, but then the tide started to come in, and Mam said it was too dangerous so we had to go back."
Gawain closed his eyes, listening to Ella chatter away. It felt like a lifetime ago, that holiday. Before the fall of the Ministry to the Death Eaters. He remembered being so anxious about taking four days of leave at such a critical time at work. But Mary had insisted that the War was all the more reason that he should spend time with his family. He had grumbled about it, but in the end, he had been surprised to find that he felt at peace there, away from the chaos of the Ministry. A short-lived peace, of course, as he'd returned to the news that Albus Dumbledore had been murdered. Leaning back, Gawain settled himself more deeply into the sofa. He could almost hear the sea crashing on the rocks, feel the chill breeze, smell the salty air. Merlin, but he really was tired. Too many late nights were catching up to him. He drew in a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. Maybe when Mary was back to keep an eye on Ella, he would excuse himself to go upstairs and—
CRASH!
Gawain sat bolt upright, eyes springing open. He stared around wildly for the source of the noise. He did not have far to look. Ella was standing, stock still, surrounded by shards of a broken vase she had evidently just knocked off the breakfront while attempting to replace the shell. It was the same vase Gawain had seen Harry and Ben break earlier, evidently repaired only to be broken again. It really needed to find a safer home.
Gawain sighed tiredly. He could repair it in an instant of course, but Ella really ought to learn to be more careful. He opened his mouth to admonish her but paused. Ella was still staring in Harry's direction, a look of fear evident in her stance. It was a greater fear than simple concern for an impending scolding. But Harry cared nothing for the Black family heirlooms. He wouldn't care.
But as Gawain followed her gaze, he saw that Harry too had whipped around at the sound and pulled out his wand. But Harry had an expression on his face that Gawain had never seen on him before. An expression he could only describe as murderous. And that look, along with the wand, was currently pointed directly at Gawain's daughter.
(A/N 26.05.2022):
(Pokes head around corner hesitantly) Remember me...?
I'm so so sorry for such a long hiatus. And then I come back with a cliff-hanger! I suppose that was a bit mean, wasn't it…? I'll try very hard to make sure I don't make you wait too long for the next chapter.
Writing has been a bit hard of late. I've been making some scary life changes that put a damper my creativity for a bit. But those scary life changes I think are actually going to really help my writing in the long run. I think… I hope….
To any interested in a personal life update no one asked for: I've recently quit my job of eight years. Facing the fact that clinical medicine has been taking a toll on my mental health has been a big and terrifying thing to admit to myself. (Side note: Please be kind to your veterinarian. We have been slowly drowning, and the problems in the profession are not going to be getting better any time soon.) This career is something I spent eight years of higher education to achieve. Then I spent another eight years in practice honing my skills. So it's been a little traumatic to find myself in my mid-thirties questioning what I want to be when I grow up. In the end, I decided to take a step back from clinical practice, and I'm trying out something very new with my degree. I'll still be practicing medicine, but I'm transitioning over to a slower-paced setting and focusing on my work-life balance.
Why am I telling you this? Well, when I found myself questioning what brings me joy in life, I found myself thinking of this. Writing. I found myself thinking of you. Readers. A big part of why I am making this change is that I hope it will leave me more time to focus on, first, finishing this story, and second, (dare I dream) maybe even one day writing an original novel.
So I wanted to take a moment to say thank you. Thank you for being so patient with the unplanned hiatus (and especially to those who very sweetly PMed me to see if I was okay). Thank you for supporting my writing. And more than anything, thank you for being an inspiration to fight for a happier life.
(Oh, and P.S. To any who are interested in the earlier scene with Kreacher. There is a companion piece from Kreacher's point of view in my Left Behind Series! Check it out if you have time.)