Posted 3/7/2015
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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.
Chapter Sixty-Five - In Hindsight
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"Right," Hermione commented, biting her lip nervously as she fingered her wand. "Well, there's nothing like trying, is there? So here's how we do it. I want you to focus on..." She hesitated, wondering how to best phrase it. "On your very being, for lack of a better term. On what defines you. If... if you had to pack a trunk – a small one, mind – and had to pack only the absolutely essential parts of you, only those bits..."
"Like my friendships and my family, you mean?" Ron interrupted, settling into the chair opposite of her.
"Well, yes and no. Are you defined by your family? If I magically removed them, if I obliviated you so you wouldn't know them, would you be the same person? As for me, I'm usually thorough and opinionated. I also love learning new skills and applying myself striving to improve. As for you... Well, I guess that's something you might have to think about some time, but right now, I mostly want you to have something you focus on that you can try to protect. It's easier catching the thief if you know which door he or she will come through, if you get what I mean."
"I..." He frowned, deep in thought. After a moment, he nodded. "I guess so."
"Logically speaking, we could pick any memory at all – ideally one I do not have so I'll know for sure whether I managed to get through – but if it's something you hold dear, I suspect you'll be more determined to not let me see it. There's no other way – Legilimency is a violation of privacy, and the more private something is, the more likely it is you do not want me or someone else to see – the more protective you will be."
"So you'll poke around in my head like Snape did to Harry, yeah," Ron grumbled before hastily adding, "Not that I'm complaining about your help, exactly, just... Couldn't we do something else instead?"
"We've been over this before," Hermione groaned. "We don't have time to waste."
"Yeah, yeah, but... but maybe we could..."
"I'm not Professor Snape," Hermione replied, pursing her lips. "He likely let his personal feelings influence his actions and tried learning Harry's secrets. I'm here to teach you Occlumency."
"You think that'll make much of a difference?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't you just say you'll violate my mind or something like that? Isn't that the –"
A moment of eye contact was enough for Hermione to act. With a flick of her wand, she left the outside world behind, diving into the whirling chaos of another mind with such force that she almost felt the ripples her entry had made. Meeting no resistance, she saw pictures flicker and float past – small hands on a broomstick as elation filled the non-existent air; slobber dripping from one of the dog's heads above; a hole, a chute of sorts that Hermione both feared and urged to go down; a tearful stubbornness burning in her as Hermione stared up into Mrs. Weasley's face and at the strange rag over her arm; a tiny, warm hand holding hers... his; Hermione-as-Ron glancing up from the scribblings in the book – Hermione recognizing it belatedly as a Harry Potter story – in his hands to a very young Ginny in a worn-down nightgown lying next to her... him in bed, staring spell-bound –
And just as suddenly as she had entered, she felt the shock, fear, and pain wash over her, making her retreat at once.
The world expanded around her; Ron was violently cursing as he held his head.
"Are you out of your mind?" he yelled, glaring at her, but he glanced away before Hermione could react.
"I merely brushed the surface," she told him briskly, "and was far less aggressive than Professor Snape was likely with Harry. I didn't even search so much and merely followed your train of thoughts. It was barely a tap to the punch I could have given you. Yes, Ron, it does make a difference."
"Why did you attack me?" he growled, his temper flaring as he looked ready to curse something or someone.
"Ron, why are we doing this?" she returned with a calm voice.
"Wha –?"
"We are doing this so you can protect your mind," she explained. "I gave you a taste of what an unexpected and obvious probing is like. Do you want a repeat?"
"No! Why would –?"
"Then," Hermione interrupted with a pointed look, "I suggest you start learning how to keep people out of your head. Death Eaters will be a lot less kind than I could ever become. Occlumency is a difficult skill, possibly more difficult and dangerous than anything you will ever learn, and we're on a tight schedule. Now then, you felt the attack."
"Of course I did," he shouted, "'m not daft."
"Well, it's a start," Hermione summarised. "You already do seem to have some basic grasp of what is yours and what isn't." Seeing his blank stare, she rolled her eyes. "You recognized the foreign presence, which means you do have a sense of self. Remember fourth year and the Imperius curse? That little voice inside your head telling you what a marvellous idea it would be to hop around? This isn't that much different, actually. I want you to focus on your very being, remember? I want you to become aware of who you are. I want you –"
"To pack a trunk," Ron said, leaning back in his seat with a look of understanding.
"Right. Well, if Legilimency is like talking, then I spoke at about normal volume. I could have shouted so that your ears would be ringing, which is what you might have to deal with some day, but my main worry are the whispers. You might not even notice them unless you pay close attention. They're like a melody that has you humming along without you really noticing it."
"Like thinking that hopping for the class is a good idea," Ron spoke with a pained face.
"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "You noticed the foreign presence in your head, which is good. Certainly better than I had feared. Now then, Ron. Prepare yourself." With a wry smile, she added, "and by that, I mean –"
"Focus on my very being, yes."
"It'll become better," Hermione promised. Then, following a sudden inspiration, she continued, "How about you try to protect a specific memory that I'll be looking for? Maybe that's better for now – you'll know exactly what not to think about, if you know what I mean. Once you've learned to steer me away from that one specific memory, we can work our way towards redirecting more general attacks."
"A... well, if you... It's not like I know any better than you, do I?" Ron tried, shrugging. "How about... Well, the trip down to the Chamber of Secrets might work. You were never there, so –"
"And just how fiercely do you want to protect that experience?" Hermione asked. "I'm sorry, but like I said earlier, the more private the moment, the more likely it is you will want to protect it at all cost."
"And you'll see whatever it is," Ron argued, "so even if I desperately don't want you to know, you will."
"Well, I saw a glimpse of Mrs. Weasley shouting at you, but I don't know what it was. It seemed like you had been a child back then; you were staring up defiantly. If that's not too personal for me to know..."
Ron frowned, obviously searching his memory, before nodding. "Oh, when –"
"Don't tell me," Hermione interrupted hastily.
"Oh, yeah. Better not. Fine. I'll... How do I protect it?" he wondered, carefully avoiding her gaze all of a sudden.
"Ultimately, by not allowing that thought to form. By not allowing me to steer you towards showing me that memory. But for now, try thinking about anything else. Or, you know, Chess or Quidditch. Cling to whatever you can remember as long as you don't think about whatever made Mrs. Weasley angry that day."
When he turned to face her, Ron had an almost comical look of determination on his face. With another flick of her wand, Hermione cast the spell and entered the boy's mind.
Instead of chaos, she was greeted with a hail of gibbish – the record for most goals in a single season by a team not winning the Cup was... only played five minutes before dying from a broken... fourteen, two of which ending their... 1907, when the use of switching spells required – but Hermione pushed those aside and went to work, grasping for fragments she might find useful until an image of Mrs. Weasley looking down to meet her – or rather, Ron's – eyes flashed for a moment.
Haha, Hermione whispered in Ron's mind, she had done that a lot, hadn't she? Scolding her children, mostly.
She felt a slight tingle as the thought resonated in Ron's mind and caught glimpses of a number of talking-tos he had received until she felt a shiver run through Ron's mind at one of them. Hermione immediately clung to it, pulling it to the forefront.
"... that, Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley shouted. "You will..."
Stubbornness sparked as the words were drowned out, but another memory flashed – a hideous pile of cloth in the mud as her... no, Ron's chest swelled with pride. The cloth seemed to have rattled something in his mind, though – a memory of a little Ginny holding a hideous dress with a cute glare of disgust.
Hermione withdrew from Ron's mind, smiling slightly, only to find him grumbling to himself.
"You were doing reasonably fine at first," she offered.
"At first, yeah," he replied with an angry snort.
Hermione kept from rolling her eyes. "You didn't really expect to keep me out indefinitely, did you?"
"Longer, if nothing else," he admitted.
"Well, Occlumency –"
"– is really, really difficult, yeah. Still..." Ron frowned.
"Well," Hermione added, "you can still learn from it. Did you notice anything? Any difference to the previous probe?"
He scratched his head. "Well, no. I don't know, I... To be honest, I knew you'd come, so I..."
"You flung everything you could think of at me, yes, I noticed."
Not meeting her eye, he hummed. "Well, I only realized you were doing something when it was already too late. It seemed like stray thoughts, you know? Not at all odd. Only when you clung to some of it, something I'd rather not show..."
"Therein lays the danger," Hermione told him with a smile, secretly amused at her friend's rather boyish idea of hiding one of his better parts. No matter how much he had grumbled and groaned about Ginny in the past, he did care a lot about her. "But it seems we're actually doing reasonably well. I doubt you'll be a master any time soon, but... Well, it's a start and certainly more than Harry's first lesson with Professor Snape. Now then, how about another round? And this time, try paying attention to your straying thoughts. Try... Well, try hearing the whispers, if you will. The faster you learn to recognize the influence, the faster you can counter them."
"Well, I... Well, okay."
"This time, I'll look for something else – something I don't know already, so I'll have to search for it in your head," Hermione explained. "There was another memory. Something about holding hands?"
Ron grunted. "Well, fine. Could be worse, I guess."
A minute later, their eyes met; Hermione dove back in and was greeted with swirling fog and a sense of anticipation. At least he was paying attention, she mused, thinking back to the glimpse she had seen earlier in hopes of clues as to what she was actually searching. Why would Ron have held anyone's tiny hand in the first place? Never mind, Hermione thought, to not get lost in a crowd. It had likely been Ginny's hand. So why would she hold Ron's hand? Because she was told to or trusted her brother, Hermione reasoned – likely the former. Either way, Ron had had someone's trust back then.
She nudged his mind, gently slipping in the suggestion of someone trusting him. Almost at once, it seemed as if the fog was lifted – as if the air seemed lighter and warmer. A sort of disbelieving pride seemed to swell inside Ron's mind, and a few moments flashed in his mind – running towards the Gryffindor table as cheers filled the Great Hall; flying, really flying for possibly the first time; a speechless, red-faced and young Ginny; holding a wand, holding his wand and feeling a sense of belonging shoot through his body; nervously, but proudly strutting into the Great Hall with Padma Patil at his side. Hermione would have groaned in frustration – didn't she know Ron had no reason at all to be proud of going with Padma? – but as she pushed the thought aside, she found it surprisingly easy and replaced by yet another memory. Startled, she saw herself – in a way. The Hermione in front of her was sleeping on the couch in the Common Room, and a grinning Harry watched with rapt attention as Ron took her hand... Oh, so that's why she'd... Honestly, boys.
But another image flashed in Ron's mind of him laughingly retelling the story to his dorm mates in the bathroom while –
She hastily withdrew from his mind, fighting down the furious blush that spread over her face.
An uncomfortable silence ensued, in which Hermione noticed Ron pointedly looking away and making a couple awkward, half-hearted attempts at breaking it.
"Whispers," he sighed in the end. "Yeah... I... Well, I mean..."
"Oh, shush," she ordered, sniffing angrily, but whether because of him or herself, she wasn't sure. "The Chamber of Secrets," she suggested. "Recall as much as you can. Focus on what it meant to you back then."
"I... All right, I can do this. Give me a moment." He scrunched up his face before giving her a determined nod.
Feeling slightly daring, she dove back in and found his mind without fog or chaos, but the tingling sensation of a looming thunderstorm. With trepidation, Hermione moved further, but almost as if she had tripped over the Troll leg Tonks had so often, a shower of memories came crashing down – numbly staring at a lifeless body on a bed as little more than a hollow shell; Harry barely dodging a burst of dragon fire; watching an angry Hermione walk away while Dean and Harry exchanged knowing looks; staring down on a pale and sleeping Harry; seeing her sleeping self sprawled on the couch, Ron's hand hovering indecisively over the locks covering her face just as Harry clambered in through the Portrait hole; Hermione sitting in the chair to the left, somewhat pink-faced as the sun beamed down on them, whispering something about Harry's regal-looking cloak as she felt torn in two; seeing a radiant beauty enter the room that looked familiar, yet off; Hermione giving a talking-to as Harry and Ron exchanged grins behind her back; a crushing weight pushing down on her as she watched her past self chatting with Harry about advanced runic layouts like it was child's play; a stunned Draco staring at an incensed Hermione with grim satisfaction and pride; her hand nervously tapping the table as she read in a book...
With a jerk, Hermione fled from his mind, blinking dazedly as the world retook shape, even if the colours seemed off for some reason.
Ron didn't seem to fare any better, pressing his palm on his temple.
"Maybe enough for today," Hermione mumbled through what seemed like a mouthful cotton.
Ron nodded dumbly, and Hermione left without another word. After a quick stop in the bathroom to wash her face, reality seemed to return to the normal dullness of Grimmauld Place. As it did, the fragmented after-images aligned themselves – she began to understand.
Peter brushed over his cloak nervously, listening to the mutterings on the other side of the door. He could remember being one of those happy, carefree students chatting about the going-ons at school or listening to his friends planning the next prank. Those had been simpler times indeed, with no one paying much attention to him. Next to Sirius or James, Peter had seemed both obedient and mediocre – certainly nothing the teachers had had any reason to keep an eye on, allowing Peter to act behind the scenes.
If only things had stayed that way! Keeping a low profile, wearing the mask of mediocrity, hiding behind others to let them face the storm had worked well for him at school. When he had realized the Dark Lord had been winning, he had been wise enough to go to him willingly. It had worked; he had survived. And when the Dark Lord had lost his power temporarily, hadn't Peter hid again? Hadn't he chosen wisely once more, hiding and letting Sirius weather the storm? The Weasley boys hadn't been overly careful, no, but they had given Peter a nice, warm place and decent food. And when Peter had had to flee again, hadn't he not only re-earned his place at the Dark Lord's side, but also found his way back to someone to hide behind? Hadn't he been favoured by luck for the most part over the last years? So why had he wanted to prove himself? What had he gained from it, if not a punishment from Lady Luck for his ungratefulness?
The door to the Entrance Hall flew open; Snape marched in with a stony face. If anything, his glare seemed to intensify – perhaps, Peter thought, Snape was somewhat grateful to get the hate for one of his childhood tormentors out of his system in a private setting. In any case, he didn't linger, but strode past Peter without a word and out of the small chamber and waiting room into the Great Hall.
He should have been happy with what he had had, Peter thought miserably, instead of longing for more. Now he had to reap what he had sown. Now he was forced to step out and weather the storm that waited for him all on his own. He didn't feel ready at all for what was to come – no amount of studying would have been enough for that, though.
"I have an announcement to make," Snape's voice drifted in. Peter couldn't think of a single instance when the students had fallen silent as quickly for Dumbledore. The realization only made Peter feel more queasy.
"Professor Sinistra has taken a leave to," Snape said, pausing, "bask in the sunshine for some time. Fortunately," and here Peter was surprised at how easy the lie seemed to come from Snape's mouth, "a replacement is already prepared to take over – Professor Pettigrew."
Peter took it as his cue and walked out, secretly glad he didn't have to walk past the House tables. For one, he could risk a quick glance at the students under the guise of a welcoming smile without drawing suspicion. For another, he didn't have to walk quite so far until he could hide behind the teacher's table.
Sure enough, most of the students looked confused or curious, not knowing who he was or who had sent him. To those, he was likely some buffoon sent by the Ministry to fill the vacancy on short notice. However, most students looked confused or curious, not all, and Peter had little trouble picking out those who had made the connection.
Little Miss Weasley was one – she glared so hard Peter thought about just running back into the antechamber and hide. Then again, it had been her that had insisted on playing Keep-Away with the lazy rat years ago; Peter knew she had an inner fire. Then there was the Lovegood girl. Spotty as Peter remembered her being in the past, she seemed more alert than ever before, almost as if she waited for an imminent event of cataclysmic proportions. Longbottom didn't look at Peter, but the other teachers and gauging their reactions.
On the other hand, Peter also saw some students blink, surprised or understanding instead of judging. Some even hid smiles as they realized how much Peter had tricked the Wizarding world.
With a curt nod to the room, Peter fell into the first vacant chair he could find and waited for his neighbours to welcome him.
And he waited.
Snape walked back to his seat without so much as a glance. Somewhere down the teacher's table, Slughorn's easily recognizable cough sounded, but only the student's whispered news and gossip disturbed the silence.
It was worse than Peter had imagined, in part because he knew he couldn't hide somewhere anytime soon. As a student, Sirius and James would have caused some trouble before long, and Peter would have used the distraction to slink back into the shadows, once becoming unnoticed and overlooked. But as the students spread the news about his return from the dead, Peter was sure he would be watched very closely for a while, if not forever. More than that, over half of the staff had believed him dead at some time. They too would not forget. They too would realize Peter's betrayal or already know about it. They too would not forgive.
As Snape sat down, the Hall fell silent once more and watched him pick up his cutlery and begin eating.
Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw McGonagall purse her lips in disapproval and disgust. Flitwick, who sat next to her, sniffed angrily and so energetically he seemed to have jumped in his seat. Wordlessly and by unspoken agreement, both of Peter's neighbours stood and left.
It had been the signal most had waited for – the students broke out in whispered conversations and the occasional glances at Peter to make sure he was still there and who he was. Before the night was over, every child would know the story. The teachers resumed their meal, still pointedly ignoring the newest addition to their ranks.
Peter wasn't hungry in the least, too nervous to eat, much less enjoy. Instead, he thought about his next steps. He couldn't hide any more, not without finding some way to shed his old existence. Peter Pettigrew could never hide any more; even faking his death wouldn't convince people the next time Peter wanted or needed either a head start or a fresh start altogether. Neither the students nor the teachers would be welcoming to him, of that, Peter was know certain beyond a doubt. In fact, if the frowns around the hall were any indication, it was likely many owls would carry the news of Peter's return to Wizarding Britain before the night was over.
What should he do, Peter wondered. He had to adjust, he guessed. Since people would know before long and wouldn't be quite so accepting or willing to let him be, maybe he should nip it in the bud and claim his rewards before anyone could stop him. He'd have to visit the Ministry the next day, then – long enough to get his Order of Merlin, First Class, for services to the Wizarding World in person.
He glanced at the parchment. Something wasn't right about it. Ah, Harry realized after a moment, an easy mistake – nothing but a slip. The calculations were right apart from it, of course; Tom wouldn't have accepted anything less, and the magic involved wasn't really that difficult. Sure, anti-apparition and anti-Portkey wards were something most witches and wizards had no idea of or could hope to create or learn, but Tom had never been like most. In fact, he had learned a handful of different wards that fulfilled the purpose, from the childishly simple to the outrageously obscure. And since Tom had learned them, Harry now knew them as well, even if it hadn't been his hands casting the spells or making the calculations in the past.
Remembering the skills Tom had spent decades to pick up had taken less than two years, and even if Harry hadn't cast all of them yet, he was fairly sure he could do it. Magic was intent, after all – just because Tom had spent years learning the pre-defined wand movements and incantations didn't mean Harry couldn't learn to do those spells his way. Just because Tom's magic had acted and reacted differently didn't mean Harry couldn't get the spells to work for him. And if Tom had found those wards laughably easy for the most part – or had convinced himself they had been nothing less for the greatest wizard to ever live – then Harry shouldn't have much trouble either.
Laziness had held him back, Harry knew. Ron had slowed him down at school. No, Harry amended, not Ron as such – his attitude. And even then, Harry couldn't really fault him. Hermione had a talent for picking up new things at an alarming speed, which could scare anyone into keeping the head down and hope not to be seen as a challenge she wanted or needed crushed. Harry knew she had made more than a few Ravens claw their eyes out in frustration. Was it any surprise that Ron had been perfectly happy not trying to shine academically when he had had no chance to ever be noticeable next to Hermione? He might not even have noticed it, Harry mused, but Ron might have subconsciously shied away from competing with Hermione. And maybe Harry had, as well. If there was no chance of matching or outdoing her, why even try? Being average hadn't been so bad, in a way, part of Harry agreed. Another part disagreed heartily, and neither side of the argument sounded any more convincing.
He put the parchment down on the table and scanned another page. So far, he couldn't see why it shouldn't work – assuming, of course, Harry added with a chuckle, that he could arrange the marked tiles in the right pattern. If he did, then the carefully prepared wards should activate and keep anyone from leaving the warded area, setting the trap just as planned. On the other hand, he still didn't know how he'd arrange the tiles correctly. Tom had never really wasted any time for something like that – in the later years of the campaign, he had had followers to deal with the boring tasks; in the earlier years, coming up with shortcuts had rarely been of much importance for Tom.
Maybe he should just cast the wards each time anew, Harry sighed, sifting through his notes. It'd be more, boring work, but it'd save him hours in preparations. It'd be the smart thing as well. But Harry knew he didn't want to. Much like a riddle waiting to be solved or a puzzle needed to be completed or some resistance still remaining to bother him, he knew he couldn't just quit working on the problem before him until he'd have found a workable solution. Rubbing his eyes, he rearranged the pieces of parchment in front of him to bring order into the chaotic notes.
Finding a sufficiently sophisticated ward – check. With a flick of his hand, Harry levitated the list of potential wards in front of the wall. Another flick later nailed the list on it.
Reworking it by breaking it apart into smaller pieces, each of which to be put down to form the final ward when placed in the right spot – check. Ward stones weren't usually used that way – carved first and only then placed – but it should still work. Another piece of parchment was nailed to the wall with a bored flick.
So then, how was he supposed to place the inscribed tiles in the right spot?
Maybe he'd find a solution if he stopped forcing the issue. Maybe it was like having the word one was looking for on the tip the of tongue. What else was there to work out?
The right spots, then. If he wanted to get as many Snatchers as possible, he'd have to make it look inconspicuous for as long as possible. If he wanted team after team to walk into the trap, he'd have to find a way to have them send one after the other instead of wising up. It was probably best to look for spots all over Britain, then. Remote places like the Scottish Highlands made sense – the fewer people around, the smaller the risk of someone walking in on Harry and his would-be captors-turned-captives.
In quick succession, Harry levitated a number of sheets and nailed them to the wall, already looking over the next piece of parchment. For the ward he had chosen to truly stop everyone from leaving, he'd have to buy himself about five to ten seconds. Any sooner and there was a risk of something getting away, in which case Harry could only hope whatever it was wouldn't be able to talk after the journey. "Harry Potter did it," was the last he wanted spread around, after all.
Five to ten seconds wasn't that hard, though, he reasoned. Little more than a greeting, in fact. He could do that. It was the least pressing concern, at least.
How to put up the wards in a clever way, though? Sure, he could do it by hand. Sure, he could walk around like a fool and do it the stupid and boring way, but he didn't want to if he could avoid it. Not only was it a matter of pride, but it also gave him something to think about – something to do and distract him from his growing uneasiness.
When he had begun his assassinations, he had hoped to keep the Death Eaters from getting out of control. Whether he had achieved his goal, Harry wasn't sure, but he also knew he couldn't stop anymore. He needed to continue to stop his enemies from thinking he had given up. Unfortunately, the longer he carried on, the more insulting it would become for both the Ministry – not really all that worrying – and Voldemort. While the Ministry was more likely to try looking like it was still respecting the laws, Voldemort had no reason to. So what would he do? What would an ultimately heartless psychopath do when challenged and forced to prove himself?
Integrating the memories had taught Harry quite a bit about both Tom and Voldemort. The older he got, the less sane he got. His first years, from Hogwarts to his travels to further his understanding of magic, Riddle had been ruthless, but still relatively reasonable. But the older he got, the more power he had wielded, the more drunk on power and appearance he had become. Now, Voldemort would see the attacks on his followers as a personal insult – not without reason, of course. So what would a ruthless megalomaniac do when push came to shove and his power was tested?
And yet, what could Harry do to avert the fallout? How could he stop Voldemort from acting?
A knock on the door brought Harry out of his thoughts. Looking up, he saw Hermione looking back at him.
"Planning?" she asked with a wry smile.
"Felt like it," Harry replied with a shrug. "You know, just a change of pace and to try something completely new."
"Ah, sure. Never done that before, have you?" she gave back, snorting. "Ron's back. He brought the Daily Prophet and... Well, I think you should take a look at it."
"Or you could just tell me," Harry pointed out.
"And deprive Ron of his fun?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow. "He went out, he brought the paper, he should decide how you... He wants you to read the paper. Besides, it'll be dinner afterwards, so you'll have to come down eventually."
Harry pursed his lips, but couldn't come up with a decent counter-argument. "Well, all right. I'll just..." With a quick wave of his hand, he ripped the pieces of parchment off the wall and sorted them into neat stacks.
"One day..." Hermione threatened, staring with a hint of envy at the ordered notes on the table.
"Yes, I know. One day, I'll teach you how it's done," he told her, rolling his eyes. "Or try to, at least." As he followed Hermione out of the room, he wondered whether he couldn't fit it into their plans somehow. True, learning wandless magic wasn't something that could be done by simply being told how – and, he added, Hermione might have trouble accepting that the rules she had so closely followed in the past, particularly about proper pronunciation, weren't as important as she was led to believe – so it might take a while. Would it delay their plans? Would it unnecessarily prolong the war? Hermione learning how to use wandless magic wasn't of top priority, strictly speaking. She was skilled enough with a wand; risking her confidence in her skills just to satisfy her curiosity seemed...
He shook his head. One step at a time.
Arriving in the kitchen, they found Ron keeping an eye on Daphne who in turn watched Kreacher put away the bought supplies.
"So," Harry began with a short smile to Daphne, "everything went fine, then?"
"Oh," Ron replied with a snort, "I got everything just fine. Hermione's told you already, I guess?"
"Not really," Harry admitted. "Only that you wanted me to read something in the paper."
Ron nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Well, yeah. You know, I saw Dad today. Well, not really saw, but... He was talking to a store owner. Something funny about the stuff the bloke sold."
"How was he?" Harry asked, unsure whether he really wanted to know.
"Seemed well enough, all things considered," Ron answered, sighing. "Thinner than usual. Lost more of his hair. And tired. I also didn't like that witch that was with him. Something funny about her, if you know what I mean."
"I... No, I don't?" Harry tried.
"Well, she..." Ron drifted off, waving his hands around uncertainly. "It's like... You look at Fred and George and you know they're up to something. You look at Dad when he finds something Muggle and you know he's already making plans how to get it for his collection. You look at... I don't know. You look at McGonagall and you know she's keeping an eye on everyone. You just see it about them."
"Well, we know them and we know what to expect from them," Harry pointed out.
"This witch," Ron said uncertainly, "there was something about her. She was doing her job, I think. Seemed like she's supposed to work alongside Dad – young enough to be stuck in his department. We all know it's not really the best of places to end up. A dead-end if I've ever seen one. Perkins never really got anywhere. Dad probably won't either. This witch? She didn't seem like the kind you'd find there. Too..." He paused, narrowing his eyes. "Too sharp. Too watchful. Too much like she'd... like she'd kept an eye on Dad."
Hermione hummed, taking a seat. "Like she was sent to keep an eye on him? To catch him doing something he shouldn't? A spy, perhaps? Do you mean that?"
"Well, I guess so, but..." He shrugged. "You think Dad's important enough to be spied upon?"
"Everyone's suspicious," Harry put in. "They know he has ties to the resistance. They might think he's doing something within the Ministry."
"And they'd let him?" Daphne wondered. "Wouldn't they just drag him off like so many others?"
"Not necessarily," Hermione told her, frowning. "They could do that, I'm sure, but they might not learn exactly what he's doing. Is he spying? Is he recruiting help within the Ministry? Is he planning some attack on the Ministry itself? If they arrest him, he might have some means of suicide on him. In the Muggle world, there are stories about spies carrying enough poison with them to kill themselves if they ever get caught. Sure, it's paranoid to think Arthur Weasley might have something similar on him, but... Well, paranoia is nothing new for the Ministry, is it?"
They stayed silent for a while, each one lost in their thoughts, until Harry cleared his throat. "The Daily Prophet?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah," Ron acknowledged. "Well, here. You'll know which one I mean." He threw the paper on the table.
Indeed, Harry knew immediately which article his friend meant.
Big Changes at the Ministry
Dolores Umbridge Confirmed as Head of new Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Next to it, a picture of the toady woman grinned up at Harry.
"'This is an important step in ensuring the safety of all upstanding citizens,' says Minister Thicknesse," Harry read, "'and we knew we had to find a well-respected and highly experienced expert for this position. Naturally, we immediately thought of Madam Umbridge who has proven her competence and leadership skills as Head of the Muggleborn Registration Committee as well as her versatility in her short, but successful time as Headmistress of Hogwarts.' Indeed, Madam Umbridge seems like a very good choice for the job. When asked, she replied, 'I was reluctant to take the job. It had been offered to me in the past, and I had declined, feeling the need was greater elsewhere. Now, it is time to reform the Department of Law Enforcement and make it into something we can be justly proud of – an example of the fine work that sets British witches and wizards apart from'...
"Umbridge as Head of Magical Law Enforcement?" Harry said, putting the paper down.
"Successful time at Hogwarts?" Ron added, laughing. "They must think everyone's a moron. And her, leadership skills?"
"It was only a question of time until they'd do something. Later on," Hermione told Harry, "they explain that it had been planned for a while, with Umbridge already having made plans on what to do. Of course, they don't explain just what this will entail, but..."
"Yeah, and get this – she keeps the Muggleborn Registration Committee as a new sub-department," Ron finished, shaking his head. "So now she's in charge of hunting down everyone she doesn't like."
"No, she won't," Harry said, shrugging as he made his decision. "Her as Head of Magical Law Enforcement? I veto that."
Ron and Hermione froze, sharing an uneasy look.
Daphne chuckled. "I doubt they'll ask you for your opinion."
Harry smiled. "Well, they made up my mind. Umbridge is next, then."
"I... Wait, you mean..." Daphne glanced to the others in the room before staring back at Harry. "You want to kill her? She... You want to attack a Department Head? No, the newly appointed Head of Law Enforcement? Someone who has the Aurors under her command?"
"The very same," Harry confirmed. "They've gone too far this time."
"They'll say the same about you," Hermione pointed out. "I'd say it's a declaration of war, except you've already moved past that point, didn't you?"
"An insult, that's what it'd be," Ron added, watching his friends.
"Insulting, hmm. You may be right about that," Harry mused as he already began his planning. "But you can't expect me to let that one slide, can you? I mean, this is just..."
"She'll probably be guarded at all times," Daphne spoke up. "Possibly by Aurors. They know how to fight. You'd be up against the best the Ministry has to offer. You wouldn't get close enough to do anything."
"I've stormed the Ministry with five schoolchildren. I've... grown a lot since then. The Ministry didn't stop us in our fifth year, they won't stand a chance now," Harry replied.
"So it's back to planning?" Hermione asked. "How to get to Umbridge?"
Harry tapped his chin. "Eh, maybe a bit of reconnaissance, but ultimately, I don't want to waste much time preparing. I want them to know they should choose the next Head of Magical Law Enforcement more wisely. Umbridge? No way, and I want them to know I'll do whatever I want or have to to make them see reason. I've done stealth in the past. They put Aurors in my path? I'll show them how little I care." With a smile, he added, "Insulting, eh? Well, better make sure there'll be no doubt about that. I..." He stopped as he felt the coin in his pocket heat up. Glancing to his friends, he saw them tense as well, and withdrew his quickly.
Just as he had expected, the writing had changed, stating,
RAT AT H. Astronomy.
– G
After a moment of shock, Harry blinked. "Well, well. That's –"
"Unexpected," Hermione supplied.
"Shocking,"Ron added.
"Fortunate," Harry told them, the smile returning. "Pettigrew at Hogwarts? Almost as if they'd handed him to me on a silver platter. Umbridge or Pettigrew? Hmm. Well, I guess Pettigrew can wait. Snape, Neville, Ginny, Luna, and half of the staff will keep an eye on him. The little bugger won't have a quiet moment if they can help it, and we know exactly where he is when his time has come. This is great! Finally things are going... Well, maybe not our way, but I can work with this. Pettigrew at Hogwarts, fine. But first, Umbridge." With a grin, he turned to Daphne. "You think she'll have Aurors guarding her? I kind of hope she will. Tussling with Aurors sounds like fun." To Hermione and Ron, he added, "And can you imagine Moody's face when he'll hear about it? I'll become a legend."
The lesson is obviously to prioritize when trying to decide who has to die first.
