Chapter 7:

The First Recruits


Harry climbed back up from the basement with a sluggish gait. The previous two hours of coaching by both Albus Dumbledore and Mungo Bonham had been the most emotionally taxing hundred and twenty minutes of his life.

Harry had always suspected life as a Hogwarts teacher and headmaster were much more spiritually brutalizing than most would believe. To have it confirmed by over a century's worth of tales by his grandfather figure wasn't something he was ready for. Turns out, Tom Riddle's release of the basilisk was hardly the worst crime committed by a student during his tenure.

From fights being taken too far, to sexual assaults of students by other students, to acts of pedophilia by former members of staff, to an honest to God serial killer running roughshod for an entire month; Hogwarts was not as squeaky clean of a place as it pretended to be. All of these types of situations weren't necessarily swept under the rug or covered up as they were dealt with internally.

It brought up several disquieting questions for Harry to consider.

How do you deal with a 14 year old girl- not woman, girl - who took to molesting 11 and 12 year old boys in an act of repeating what was being done to her in her home life? In the case of Tom Riddle could you condemn the 16 year old to a life in Azkaban when he barely understood his own motivations behind his actions(at the time) let alone the consequences they would bring? While Harry disagreed with Dumbledore regarding Myrtle Warren's death being an accident, he did agree that without the hindsight of what that boy did become the course of action for attempting to correct his behavior and set him down the right path at the time was a murky prospect at best.

Despite himself he couldn't bring himself to disagree with either of the old and dead men that it would be wrong to allow that 14 year old girl to be prosecuted and placed on a sex offender registry for the rest of her life for crimes she committed while barely pubescent and while under the influence of alcohol and drugs to boot. He couldn't argue that a 17 year old who killed another student with the killing curse in self-defense should face a life sentence with dementors, nor the many other students who used the other unforgiveables; Whether it be the cruciatus as a way to escape from a bully(which was a lot like the magical equivalent of kicking someone in the nads and running for the hills) or the students who used the Imperius, either for an ill-informed prank or, as is pertinent to this situation, sexual gratification.

The internal justice of Hogwarts as dealt by teachers was a grey area of morality. On one hand what right do they have to be the arbiters of justice in place of the law? There are already institutions meant to deal with these crimes, and who have the means and authority to do it.

On the other hand, Harry had witnessed the apathetic and oftentimes self-motivated "justice" of the wizarding world. The teachers aren't blind as justice should be, sure, but neither was the actual legal system. The teachers at least cared for the well-being of their students and their futures - a huge contrast to the Muggle teachers who have no moral qualms teaching in a school system based off of the Prussian model, a system of psychological abuse and indoctrination.

But if Harry thought Dumbledore's testimony of how horrible life can be to people was bad, Mungo's was worse. For the man had been a Catholic priest before becoming a certified healer, and the things people sought spiritual guidance on, let alone spoke of in the confession booth, made even Harry's already necrotic blood run cold.

He couldn't imagine helping people recover mentally from family deaths, miscarriages, adapting to physical disabilities and the trauma of killing in war or causing the accidental deaths of others. Attempting to convince people confessing of heinous crimes to turn themselves in to the proper authorities, while also being duty-bound by his oaths to God to keep their secrets was a bit more up his alley. Regardless, the life of an honest priest was another level of social skills Harry couldn't wrap his head around. These were all things he had to advise people on, and that was BEFORE he became a healer.

Still, while their testimonies were an enormous juxtaposition to one another, the advice on consoling victims, and victimizers, were similar.

Non-threatening posture and body language. Slow, calm and reassuring speech. Avoiding words with possible accusatory or threatening connotations.

It was Dumbledore's testimony regarding the 14 year old girl, whom he refused to name, that gave Harry the most insight. She was not in control of her actions and needed help just as much as her victims, if not moreso. It was the same with many Imperius victims. It wasn't what was done to them while under the curse that distraught then the most. It was the horrible things they were made to do to others that haunted them forever.

How do you console an ten year old who was made to rape another ten year old against his will?

Well, Harry was about to find out because Bertha had been interviewing and consoling the girls in the house while Daedilus did so with the boys. Their stories made Harry's rage boil to a white hot mist, but he had to keep cool for now. His hatred for the sick and twisted population of Death Eaters and Snatchers could wait for later; the opportunity to unleash it upon them would come soon enough. For now he had a less gratifying job to do.

"And that's as much as Mr Creevey would tell me." Daedilus finished summarizing what he'd managed to learn from the men and young boys in the house.

Learning the Creevey brothers had another younger brother came a slap to the face. To hear that he was the third Muggleborn in the family raised questions as to what was in the water in their mother's hometown. His good humor at learning of the boy's existence vanished as he learned about his injuries and their causes.

He'd already written down all of their names, and noticed how a lot of them shared surnames with dissidents in Voldemort's regime.

Jun Chang and Eric Creevey being younger siblings to two members of the DA, and good friends of his. The little Chinese girl would have started Hogwarts this coming year, and the even littler blonde boy would have started the year after that.

There were others. Most were distant or close relatives of dissidents in both Hogwarts and in the country at large. Hostages held as a threat to keep Voldemort's enemies in line, and who were punished by proxy when Harry's allies failed to do so. He had to wonder if photographs of these people's suffering were being delivered in unmarked envelopes to Hogwarts students.

Seemed like the kind of thing a Death Eater would do.

"Good evening everyone." Harry greeted as he entered the dining room.

The kitchen of Number 12 had never been this crowded before, not even when the entire Weasley clan had stayed over while an order meeting was being hosted there. Hestia was in a wheelchair at one end of the table, barely conscious by the looks of her, with Arabella Figg in the seat next to her. He still hadn't heard the story on how she'd been captured but her treatment hadn't been as bad as the rest, leading him to believe she was a recent acquisition.

He was surprised to discover the large number of adults present. Anabel and Ignatius Finch-Fletchley held tightly to one another. Edward Tonks, who he hadn't known was there until now, sat on a sofa near the back with Charles Abbot - Hannah's widower of a father. Both stared off into space lost in what were most assuredly dark thoughts. Most surprising of all the adults present was none other than Helen Bullstrode, Millicant's mother, who it turned out was a Muggle.

A half-blood in Slytherin? Harry had only heard of one of those before.

Then there were the children. Most were siblings or cousins of DA members, but there were a few he had never even heard of and he could only assume were randos that the Death Eaters had taken an interest in. Like Jessica Roberts(Whose name Ron's shade made the obvious joke about as soon as Daedelus told him about her) with her younger brother, Michael. There was also an Indian, dot not feather, man who didn't speak a lick of English and a black girl with hair that looked quite a bit like Hermione's. The former's name rang a bell that he couldn't quite place, the middle he couldn't even assume was a relative of the Patil Twins seeing as there were a billion people from that country, the third simply looked familiar and he didn't know why.

He looked up at the still-ruined ceiling and the pile of rubble in one corner.

"Kreacher."

The elderly house-elf popped into existence with a pop, making all present - both those familiar and unfamiliar with magic - jump in fright.

"Everyone, this is Kreacher. He is a house-elf. If you are familiar with folklore, it essentially means a brownie. He is bound to me. There is another named Dobby "

Dobby popped into existence to much less fanfare.

"Dobby is a free elf. And my friend. He is one of the most kind and caring people I've ever met, and if you need for anything, ask him and he will provide."

Dobby nodded enthusiastically to every word.

"Kreacher, on the other hand, is a grumpy old curmudgeon and probably doesn't like you."

Kreacher nodded even more enthusiastically.

"But he is also bound to do as I command. And I have commanded him to not harm, insult or in any way make your existence here uncomfortable. Try to avoid him so that we might all live in peace."

Many present nodded in understanding or agreement.

"Oh, and Kreacher?"

"Yes master?"

"When this room is not occupied, I would like you to begin repairs on the ceiling."

"Good for you, Master."

A few of the onlookers chuckled or giggled at the obvious disobedience. Harry turned to them and, with a wink, mouthed the words 'he doesn't much like me either."

"Kreacher. Begin repairs on the caved-in ceiling and any other damage to the Ancient and Noble House of Black whenever you are able to do so unseen by our guests."

"Yes Master." Kreacher answered with mirth in his eyes.

Harry was sure now that Kreacher would have actually followed his earlier request without having been directly ordered. He seemed to be putting on a humorous show to try and put these guests at ease.

The old house-elf was really changing for the better.

"You are both dismissed." Harry told the two elves, and they vanished without a trace.

He sighed and surveyed the room from the doorway. Dumbledore's shade whispered in his ear that doing so may make the poor souls around the table feel trapped, as he was blocking the only exit. Harry saw the logic in that and so walked calmly over to the sink, where the dirty dishes from the dinner that Mrs Bullstrode and Mrs Finch-Fletchley had prepared for everyone.

He turned on the hot tap and began cleaning by hand one plate at a time.

"Washing dishes, or doing chores of any kind really, has always been a great coping method of mine." He spoke to the room at large. "The monotony of it. It allows my mind to shut down and be at peace. Unthinking. Other times it lets me think more clearly."

He dried off the first plate with a towel and placed it onto the rack before picking up another one.

"Everyone has their coping methods. I can't tell you what yours might be, or even help you discover them."

The second plate joined the first and he grabbed a third.

"In fact, I'm a bit out of my depth even trying to help you all with what you've suffered. But I am trying my best. I don't even have the courage to look at you all while I talk. Or even the wisdom to know what to say to you."

With the third plate done he moved onto a fourth.

"So, I'm going to cope my way, and answer any questions you all may have. Let us all figure things out together. You ask, and I answer. You speak about what ails you, and I will listen."

His audience was quiet for several whole minutes as Harry worked his way through the dirty dishes. He was putting into practice Dumbledore and Mungo's advice on patience, and it paid off. By the time somebody finally decided to pipe up he was halfway done with the bowls.

"Sooooo." Came the voice of a girl. Harry thought it was the black one he vaguely recognized. "Magic, eh?"

That earned some hearty snorts from most everyone at the table, and Harry himself.

"Oh yes! Magic has existed for a very long time." Harry answered. "So long that the people who use it, unsurprisingly called witches and wizards, have formed a separate society away from the nonmagical, called Muggles." Harry explained. "There are people born to Muggles who have magic, for reasons we simply do not understand and they are brought into magical society where they won't be a danger to themselves or others. My mother was Muggle-born. I was Muggle-raised."

Those uninitiated to the world of magic had to chew on that for a little while. The Finch-Fletchley's too to waxing on about how they found out about their son's talents and were contacted by Hogwarts. Harry tuned then out as they spoke of the beauty of the castle and how they had been welcomed into magical society

"But, why were we kidnapped? Why did we get brought into all of this?" The Jessica girl asked.

"War." Mrs Finch-Fletchley answered simply. "We were brought in as hostages of a war between wizards."

Harry nodded at her answer and kept cleaning.

"Most all of you are relatives of people who are fighting in this war. My side of the war, as it were." He explained. "My friends and allies, for the most part. Though there are a few of you who seem to have nothing to do with me whatsoever."

"But, say we believe you." The black girl started. "How have we never seen or heard anything about this war? Is it because your world is secret from ours? But then, why would we be brought in? What is the reason for this war? How will it stop?"

All decent questions. Some of them he didn't have the answer to.

"One side of the war wants peace." Mrs Bullstrode said. "They want to continue to live peacefully away from Muggles and continue practicing their culture without the poison of modernity, political ideologies and media. The other believes we should come out of the shadows and practice magic openly. And they are split into two groups. Those who believe we are superior to Muggles and should rule them, and another who believe Muggles are on the brink of ending all life on earth, which includes us."

Harry finished the last cup and turned to listen to Bullstrode's story.

"The two largest magical communities of Japan were located in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Were. The magical cities of old all over europe were destroyed during the blitz and firestorms of Churchill's fire bombings, and we still haven't recovered. And the utter cruelty in genocide we have witnessed Muggles perform against their own kind. These things, completely disregarding the hedonism in modern "music" and cinema are appalling to us of magical stock. And not just witches and wizards." She went on. "But other races in hiding from the nonmagical world as well. Needless to say me and my family are in this camp."

Nobody had ever expressed these kinds of concerns to Harry before. Were it a matter of discussing which side of the war he would choose based solely on the issues most concerning, he would certainly pick the side of Bullstrode and her stock. Were it not for the tactics and cruelty of the allies they chose.

"But, then why are you here?" Mrs Finnegan asked, her Scottish accent even stronger than her son's.

"Because they threw their lot in with a Dark Lord. And that is never wise." Mr Tonks explained simply, before remembering that he was speaking to the uninitiated. "There are many types of magic. Most of it good. Most of it wonderful. But the magic you use changes you over time. There are charms, which can change the world around you in fantastical and joyous ways and whose practitioners tend to be all smiles. Transfiguration, which is focused and disciplined, and whose master's are calm and collected. Then there's dark magic..."

Harry stepped in.

"Dark magic is violence and decay and meth; all liquified, stuffed into a syringe and shot straight into your brain through your eye sockey with every use." Harry said succinctly from his brief experience with it. The explanation raised some eyebrows from those more familiar with magic. "I've been forced into situations where I've had to resort to it. And I hate it... But I understand why others adore it. Become addicted to it. It is powerful and pulls at you. Begs you to keep using it and makes false promises. And the more you use it, the more it changes you."

Mrs Bullstrode nodded to every word.

"The same is even true for when it's used on you. And I've been subjected to far more than I've subjected others to." Harry explained before undoing the buttons to his dress shirt.

Baring his wound for all present to see was intimate, and more embarrassing than he expected. But if he closed his eyes, he could almost ignore the gasps of his audience.

"And I've already been killed by it. My body just hasn't fully realized it yet. I haven't got long left in this world." Harry explained as he showed off the withering-curse afflicted parts of his body above the waist. "But out there is a war that only I can put an end to. The story is long, and convoluted, but I'm sure you will be told about it in time."

He rebuttoned his shirt and turned back around to the sink. While those present digested his comments, he filled one of the recently cleaned mugs with water and tapped the cup with a finger. It instantly turned hot and began spewing steam. One teabag later and he sunk to the floor so as to sit and enjoy his drink.

"So, one side of this war is ostensibly insane due to addiction to what amounts to an adrenaline rush and amphetamine high, and have lost all sense of justice, reasonable use of force, and humanity in fighting for what they believe in. And we were just caught in the middle of it?" Jessica Roberts concluded.

"And they've even lost sight of why they fight." Mrs Flinch Fletchley amended.

"But then what are we supposed to do?!" The black girl pleaded. "I can't even fight the old-fashioned way, what can I do about any of this?!"

Dumbledore's shade butted in.

"Your missed date is on the brink of a panic attack. She needs to know that she is stronger than she thinks she is. And that there is a way out for her."

Harry felt the light bulb go off in his head at the comment and he now recognized the girl from the coffee shop almost two years ago. The one he had asked out and promptly ditched for a date with Dumbledore recruiting Slughorn instead. The implication that Voldemort's men had been watching his interactions with such scrutiny that they even knew of her was bad enough. That they were desperate enough to track down every person he so much as had a conversation with to try and track him down was downright terrifying.

"You don't have to fight at all. Not by knife, gun nor bare hand. If you want to fight at all, you can do it by simply helping those who do. A home cooked meal, a listening ear, a clean home. These things win wars. But I don't think you want to fight at all, do you miss?" He asked her.

The pretty black girl shook her head.

"You want out of this war? Out of this world?"

She nodded.

"There are two ways I can help you with that. I can offer you a swift and painless death..."

The adults erupted into outrage at the suggestion, Diggle's exclamation of "Mr Potter!" Was even louder than Dumbledore's "Harry!", but even they were drowned out by the crying of little Jun Chang and the littler Eric Creevey.

He waited for them to tire themselves out as his once would-be date cowered in on herself.

"May I finish?" He asked rhetorically to the room of glares.

"I can offer you a swift and painless death, a release no longer available to me, or I can offer you obliviation."

When the young woman seemed confused, he elaborated

"The complete removal or destruction of all memories you have of your time in the wizarding world."

"You are experienced with the memory charm?" Hestia prodded skeptically.

"No. But I hear you are. If I do it, she will be reduced to a vegetative state, which is also an option, should she take it."

More grumbling and glares from the adults ensued, but Harry only had eyes for the girl as she stared off into space. In lieu of a conclusion she seems to come upon another question and raised her hand tentatively into the air. A hand whose fingers, Harry noticed, were far too thin from malnutrition.

"Yes ma'am?" Harry prompted.

"But if my memories are taken away, wouldn't that leave me vulnerable to being captured again?" She asked. "Just because I forget the wizarding world doesn't mean it won't remember me."

Harry nodded.

"Quite right. Not that knowing of it would allow you to make much better of an attempt at protecting yourself." Harry explained. "Which is why I'm not offering to release you back into the wild with your memories intact. All it will do is cause you unnecessary suffering, for you will always be looking over your shoulder expecting to be spirited away yet again. And I won't do that to you."

Of all the people to pipe up, it was Eric Creevey. Harry couldn't even hide his surprise at the tiny boys high-pitched squeak of a voice and actually jumped slightly.

"Can't you just remove the memories of... What was done to us. Or what they made us do to each-other?" He pleaded, glancing briefly at the Asian girl across from him before shuddering.

Those unfamiliar with the wizarding world all looked to him with hope in their eyes. It broke his heart to shatter that hope.

"Hestia? Do you want to take a swing at this one?" Harry prompted the still unrecovered woman.

She sighed heavily but nodded all the same.

"I can do that, but that would be more harmful than leaving those memories where they are. Because while you won't remember what happened up here " she tapped herself on the forehead. "You will still remember it here and here." She tapped herself on the back of the head above her neck and then her heart.

"Your body and subconscious will remember." Mr Tonks added in. "And you will experience symptoms of the psychological trauma for the rest of your life, seemingly with no cause. You may discover on your wedding night when the love of your life is ready to take your virginity that you suddenly have panic attacks at the most chaste kiss on the neck. Or develop unhealthy coping mechanisms like covering your body with too much clothing to hide your shame or become a cutter."

"And the worst part is." Hestia added. "You will never be able to heal those psychological wounds because you will be unable to identify where you got them." Hestia finished. "So no, I won't be doing that."

Everybody sobered up at that. Even Harry wouldn't have explained that one in such detail. And those two had the fall to get uppity with him over offering the quick way out?

"Even if it would work, none of us could go through with it." A new voice said from the doorway.

Dudley entered with the gait of the undead. Eyes sunken and red, no doubt from tears for his mother and insomnia due to the horrors he had seen.

"How could we?" He went on, his voice barely recognizable. "If the option were there, who among us would actually take the chance to go back to a normal life after what we have seen, let alone experience? We can't walk away now that we've seen the face of evil."

Hestia tried to place a comforting hand on his arm to calm him down, but he flinched away from it.

"Now that I've seen what kind of terrible things people are capable of, what kind of evil I'm capable of, there is no going back. I will never no peace. Not in life and not in my soul, so long as there exists such evil in the world. I will spend the rest of my life hunting down every mother fucker, wizard or muggle" he spat the word out " who would commit crimes of rape, murder, cannibalism or mind control."

Dudley looked Harry straight in the eye, and Harry didn't recognize the person behind the irises.

"And the best place to do that, is by your side."

At the conclusion of Dudley's speech silence reigned supreme. Harry took the time to glance at the faces of those gathered. Some, like Edward Tonks, held determination. Others, like Jessica Roberts, held open rage and hate. Most had fear. The children had not but tears and sobs.

"I will make the offer one last time." Said Harry. "Who here would like to take one of the doors out and escape the hell of war that awaits you if you remain with me?"

Not a single person took him up on his offer.

"To war then." He concluded.


James Warren Jr marched into Thornberry hospital with four companions at his side. Mr and Mrs Granger had come all the way from Australia. Mr and Mrs Roberts had come all the way down from their personal campgrounds in Dartmoor. Upon returning to England he had gone straight there to meet them, only for them to show him an area of their campgrounds that had been defiled by magic of a kind he had never seen before.

The Myrtle Machine had detected ward magic, particularly spacial expansion and the kind that repel "Muggles", along with those for secrecy. It also detected something else, but it was a type of magic he had never even heard of before - but then again, his only reference was his baby girl's old textbooks and time sneaking into Diagon and Knockturn Alley. The sensors were those meant to detect the presence of ghosts, but the readings were... Wrong.

Somebody magical had been hiding on that grassy field near the woods. Somebody who had done something terrible.

He had found blood - a lot of blood - seeped into the earth. It was difficult to spot, as the earth around the location had been blackened, along with all plant life. The only other clue he discovered was a ritual circle burned into the earth. A ritual circle in the shape of an Uroboros.

He hadn't even had time to contemplate the levels of fucked up going on in Dartmoor when the Grangers returned to English soil and contacted him. And then this happened.

"Wizard riding a flying motorcycle dropped him off." Dr Benson whispered into his ear by way of greeting. He is in room number eighty-three."

Amy Benson had been one of the first people he had de-obliviated, and had been a wealth of information ever since. One of the few Muggle doctors that witches and wizards would reach out to. She had been close to Myrtle's age, or the age she would have been, when he found her. By then most of the memory magic she had been subjected to was too ingrained. Too deep to remove. But not all. What he learned from her and the other orphans in that place set him down his current path so many decades ago.

"Thank you, Amy. Have the Aurors shown up?"

"Yes. They should be finishing up soon." Amy told him. "I daresay this may be the freshest de-obliviation you've ever performed."

She was right. It was also liable to be the easiest. It takes a few days before the spell fully takes effect, assuming it's memory blockage and not memory wiping, and a single question might wind up being enough to unravel the threads of magic.

James nodded solemnly and motioned for his entourage to follow him.

"The war is really spilling over onto our side." He explained. "Entire police squad wiped out hours away from here after the grisly murder of a family and their half dozen dinner guests? Then the person likely responsible drops the surviving victim off here?"

It really was not adding up.

They went up to the fourth floor, where rooms seventy-five to one hundred were housed, and made their way through the maze of hallways and busy hospital staff. The room itself was easy to spot on account of the squad of five Aurors who stood just out the door chatting. They always were easy to spot, not only for their poor attempts to dress Muggle, but because even when they succeeded, they still wore shockingly red dress vests and socks.

James had the frame of mind to lead his group into room eighty one not ten feet from the squad and hurriedly motioned for them to get inside, leaving the door cracked so they could eavesdrop. Fortunately, the room was empty aside from them.

"Man, Potter did one hell of a job on that guy." One Auror said. "Hard to believe I used to think he was the one on the up and up."

Potter? The name rang a bell. And by the look of recognition on Mrs Granger's face it rang one for her too.

"I dunno. I always thought the story of how he survived was a little fishy." Another Auror said. "I know it wasn't just my parents who whispered concerns that we were seeing the birth of a far worse dark lord and you-know-who somehow knew. You know?"

"I don't recon precognition is an ability he boasts, is it? Would explain a lot." A lady Auror added.

"Of course he's a seer too! Do you really think there's any kind of magic he can't do? Come on!"

"I say we lock it up and shelve this conversation before it gets out of hand. Let's hurry back and report to mom. Then get some drinks. On you this time, Maverick."

A series of agreements later and the group of wizards, and the sole witch, marched past their door. James' group all leaned away as they passed and waited for the echo of their footsteps to cease before discussing.

"Potter?" Mr Roberts asked aloud, looking to Mrs Granger. "You know this person?"

"A friend of my daughter. Harold, I think his name was. He was in her year at Hogwarts." Explained Monika. "She always raved about him in her letters. For the longest time I thought she had a crush on the boy, but it never went anywhere. Spoke very highly of him. Especially his kindness and courage."

James hummed noncommittally.

"Children are not the best judges of character. Did you ever meet the boy? If so, share your impressions. Your sense of people is more developed than an eleven-year old's."

Monika and her husband shared a glance.

"We met him once, in the Alley. He was... Off-putting." Mr Granger explained. "Especially those eyes. Cold. Sad. Stunning shade of green."

"Quiet. Reserved. Far, far too skinny and short for his age and he wore clothes meant for someone much rounder than him." Monika amended. "But yes, definitely off putting. Like he wanted the world to look away from him. But I had trouble looking away and a huge part of me just wanted to give him a big fat hug when I saw him. He always looked so... I don't know any other word for it. Sad. Honestly, I had half a mind to call CPS, until I realized the clothes were probably his parents sad attempt to make him look like one of us, er, mumbles?"

James didn't bother correcting her. There was a lot in the conversation they overheard which he didn't quite understand and it was vexxing to be out of the loop.

"Do you really think that group was all siblings, or was that person maybe referring to his own mother?" Mrs Roberts asked.

"More likely a nickname for a superior who acts in a motherly manner." James reasoned. "Wizards love their nicknames. And their puns. And their alliteration. Loooots of alliteration."

They put aside what they'd overheard and exited the empty room eighty-one, marched straight down the hall into eighty-three, and closed the door behind them.

"Who... Guuu." The obese man muttered in a waking fit before sinking back into his bed.

His eyes were half-open and he seemed to be coming in and out of consciousness, or in and out of a feverish dream. The pale, sweaty face and rapid eye movements would indicate the latter. Whatever cocktail of post-amputation drugs he was on probably wasn't a good thing to mix with mind magic.

"Is he missing..." Mr Roberts tentatively started to ask.

"Both of his legs, yes." Mr Doctor Granger confirmed, glancing at the lack of mass in the white sheets below the obese man's knees.

The man thrashed his arms meekly as he spewed out another tirade of incoherent words.

"I recognize this man." Mr Granger said. "I saw him at the train station at the end of each year. Tried speaking to him once. It was an unpleasant experience."

James digested that.

"Only at the end of the school year? Never at the start?"

The Grangers looked thoughtful for a moment, but eventually shook their head.

"And never during winter holidays?"

Another shake of the head.

Interesting. The picture their testimony was painting of this man was unpleasant. If Monika's long-winded description of the boy was to be believed, combined with the yet to be confirmed fact that this man's as the Harold boy's father(or guardian) then the fact that he would choose to stay at school for holidays instead of with his family hinted at abuse and neglect.

A decade or more of abuse against a person who would grow to learn magic, -powerful, deadly magic - was a seed that when sewn could lead to the horrors seen on this night. An entire family and all of their guests horrifically murdered. One survivor, mutilated. Like his tormentor wanted him to live the rest of his life as a more fitting punishment than death.

He had seen it before. At that orphanage.

"Will you be able to help him or will we have to wait until he recovers from the surgery?" Mrs Roberts asked

Good question. And the answer was complicated. Whether or not he could de-obliviated somebody while hopped up on - He checked the clipboard.

- opiates wasn't the question here. It was whether or not he should. He had no idea what kind of damage that could do to him. If his memories coming back to him would be distorted or the emotions attached to them deadened.

On one hand, what little conscience his still had warned that it was both unkind and potentially harmful. On the other, it would make for an interesting experiment.

"Mister Dursley?" He verbally coaxed the man as he took a seat at his bedside.

More twitching and mumbled nonsense was his only response.

"You've been through quite an ordeal tonight. But you should know that you'll be getting nothing but the best of care while you're here." He told the man to see how he responded to positive feedback.

No changes.

"I understand you have a son?" The man twitched. "A young man, barely of age. Harold is his name, isn't it?"

"Grmnnooo."

"No?"

"Name, not... Harold." He grumbled.

"My mistake. What is your son's name?"

"Duddy... Dudders... Diddy?" He scoured his mind for his own son's name but it seemed to elude him. "My baby boy."

That last part came out as a choked sob, which was followed by several more.

"Tell me about him. Tell me about your baby boy." James said.

"He's gone. He did something to him. And he took him."

"Who took him? Who took your son?"

He was hyperventilating now. James hadn't even begun poking and prodding at the limits of the spell placed on his mind and yet it was already violently breaking down at such a simple line of questioning? Either the spell was very week or poorly executed, the memories it was meant to hold back were too strong, or they were simply far too numerous.

"The Boy! The Freak!" Vernon Dursley snarled as his heartrate and breathing got so out of control that the Grangers left to get help.

"Harry Potter!"

His last words echoed through the hospital with such hate as to make the shock of seeing him bleed to death from his freshly reopened amputation wounds almost undisturbing in comparison. Mr and Mrs Robinson tried to hold him down to keep him from thrashing too much, but the damage was already done.

Perhaps James Warren should have listened to that niggling bit of a conscience that had warned him not to attempt de-obliviation on someone in such a state after all.


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