Chapter 59: Lockdown
Daphne had to admit, it was weird having relatives in the castle.
Suddenly half the unused classrooms were occupied, and an entire floor of the castle had turned into a wing for evacuees. They'd cross paths while attending classes, sometimes stopping to tell a student how they hadn't seen them since they were a baby, and asking how their gran was doing.
The Great Hall morphed to twice its size to accommodate them during mealtimes. But other than that, Daphne wasn't sure what they did all day. She supposed evacuees didn't need to do anything besides being safe, at least until things went back to normal. Right now being together with family was all that mattered.
Still, it had its weird moments. Parents started coming to the DA meetings, and their secret meetings turned into a kind of spectator sport, with family members joining in with unsolicited advice.
"Don't shoot like that! Lock your wrist!" shouted a tall, dark haired woman, using her wand to amplify her voice.
"I know, Mom!" shouted back Seamus.
It didn't take long before several people started giving impromptu lessons. Daphne was learning how to cast scattershot spells from Bill Weasley, while Percy Weasley focused on defensive shields. On their own, they were great teachers, but the brothers kept interrupting their lessons to argue, as they couldn't seem to agree on the best way to cast simple spells.
Eventually Dean and Daphne were paired off, doing shooting accuracy exercises together. She didn't feel like she was performing particularly well, at least not compared to the dream team that was Neville and Seamus. Still, her parents continued shouting encouraging comments from their conjured bleachers, and Daphne didn't know if she should wave or just focus on shooting.
Dean's spell almost hit her foot. Yes, definitely focus on shooting.
"It's not a sporting event," said Seamus glumly. "Why are they all here?"
Neville didn't know why everyone was freaking out about this. He would have given anything to hear his mum and dad cheering for him, even if their comments were super cringey. Maybe even especially then.
"I haven't seen your gran yet," observed Seamus, taking a sip from his water flask.
"Oh…she decided not to come to Hogwarts," said Neville. "We'll be leaving as soon as she finds a safe place for us."
"Why?" asked Seamus.
Neville glanced up at Seamus' extended family in the bleachers, unsure how to answer that question.
Dean grimaced, shaking off a stunner that hit his hand.
"Are you okay?" asked Daphne.
"Yeah," said Dean. "Just distracted."
"Me too. Is it the whole 'relatives watching your every move' thing?"
He shrugged. "I have to admit, having them all here is making me nervous."
"How come?" asked Daphne.
"Well, think about it," said Dean. "If you're a dark lord, and you want to destroy the Wizarding population, then we've made ourselves the easiest target. One nuke and poof, we're history."
Daphne almost missed her next shot, rocked by this suggestion. "Well…then I guess we have to train even harder then." She kept firing. "But what's a nuke?"
"Something you can't train against," sighed Dean. "I mean, do you realize how easy it would be for a wizard to get his hands on the nuclear launch codes? It's embarrassing enough that we have no procedure for protecting our school against nukes, but are we seriously going to pat ourselves on the back for learning a few shield spells?"
Daphne didn't know what launch codes were, and that worried her. She should know, Muggle studies should have warned her about this danger.
"There must be something we can do to protect ourselves," said Daphne. "What about, umm, the project that Padma is helping the Ministry with? Could that protect us against nukes, or…?"
Her partner missed the next shot, which went wild and almost hit another team.
"Dean? What's wrong?"
"You know what, I'm really tired." Dean rubbed his forehead. "I'm going to turn in early. Sorry, Daphne."
"Oh…umm…see you later," said Daphne, watching him stride out of the room.
"It's the strangest thing," said Seamus. "Last week the Ministry started recruiting student researchers. They have dispensations from all their classwork, private rooms in a secluded part of the castle, the works. Some top secret project, I'll bet. But with the entire student population to choose from, the Ministry doesn't pick Dean."
"Huh, weird," said Neville. "Who's helping them out?"
"I think it's Padma and Michael Corner, with Remus Lupin supervising them."
"Not Harry?"
"No. That's even weirder. If anyone could understand this stuff, it would be him. I haven't seen him around much at all lately, what's he been up to?"
"Yeah," said Neville. "That's what I'd like to know."
Dear Harry,
I hope all is well. I have some important news to share with you, and since you asked, I'll try to give you whatever advice I can.
I know you've been worried about me, but I promise, it's so safe in the Ministry it's practically boring. We'll probably be safe and bored for a few months longer. In that time, we'll be training, making sure we don't grow soft sitting around all day.
So this morning in the middle of said training, something pretty incredible happened. I was disarmed, Cedric was charging towards me, and I blasted him away with a wandless spell! It knocked him back 12 feet! Mad Eye was so impressed he offered to buy me a firewhiskey, said I'd earned it five times over.
Anyway, I mentioned that whole story because I wanted to say thank you. I never could have done that without your help. Maybe someday you should be a Defence professor, once you finish exploring the cosmos, of course.
As for the advice you asked for, I've thought over what you said. You were sparse on the details, but I think I can fill in the gaps. You've every right to be angry, Harry. I know how important this task is to you, and the fact they're shutting you out without an explanation is cruel. But I also wonder…why the sudden change? If they're worried about an attack, wouldn't they want your assistance even more? I think that's the most important question you need to find the answer to, even more than you need to change their minds. Once you know, you can do something about it.
You asked what I think you should do, so here's my recommendation…
Minerva sat in her office, penning her fifteenth letter that day to a parent when she heard a knock at her door.
Somehow, the timbre of the knock told her exactly who it was and why they were here. She stood up, the room silent and waiting. Taking a deep break, she opened the door with a flick of her wand.
"Mr. Potter," she said, nodding. "Please, take a seat."
Without a word, the boy crossed the room and sat down. He didn't say anything for a long moment, as if waiting for her to explain herself.
She smoothed her robes carefully as she sat down, as if decorum would help make this easier. If Dumbledore were here, he would have no trouble handling this conversation, while she struggled to find the words. In all her years of teaching, she'd never been in a situation like this before. There was no guidebook to help her lie to a student.
As she'd been instructed, she carefully shielded her thoughts, buried her emotions. Once she felt calm, she said in a carefully measured voice, "I know you've been wanting to speak with me, Harry. I apologize for the delay. I'm sure you have some thoughts, so…tell me what you came to say."
Harry levelled his scornful gaze on her. Behind the bitterness, there was exhaustion and sadness. "You know, I stayed up all last night imagining this conversation. There were two ways I thought it would go. The first scenario involved manipulation and legilimency, and the second…well, I won't bother explaining, other than to say there's a fair chance it would have gotten me a one way ticket home."
He sighed, running a hand over his forehead and tugging his hair. "When I realized what a dark turn my thoughts were taking, I went to Hermione for advice. She suggested that I should try to see things from your perspective. I needed to remember who the real enemy is, and it's not you. So…I gave it some thought."
He leaned forward on his elbows, staring at his knees. "I know you feel personally responsible for your students. You'd never willingly do anything to compromise their safety. You've been through a war before, and you've seen people die, including the students you worked so hard to protect. Now that it's happening again, you're terrified of handing over the responsibility of their care to others, especially to someone you see as an arrogant child."
Minerva felt her throat tighten. "Harry, you don't have to—"
"But I do," he said, raising his gaze. "I need you to understand my perspective. McGonagall, like you, I always take responsibility for what happens to the people I love. I need to be prepared for the worst, because I've learned by experience that most people won't do that, they just don't think that way. I've gotten very good at planning, at thinking through every detail and possible scenario. I'm creative and able to adapt my plans on a whim. I don't just plan to survive, I plan to win, to save everyone including myself."
He leaned back in his chair. "I know some people might see that as arrogance, but it isn't, not in this case. I'm not tooting my own horn because I want accolades. I am the best at this, that is a fact. Putting me in charge makes sense. Not because you're indulging a child's whims, but because you want to make use of your strongest players. You need to play to win, because you know what it will cost us if we lose.
"What I really don't understand is why a sane headmistress who knows the cost of failure would not make use of my skills. Especially since last week our partnership seemed to be going well, so whatever changed must have been something drastic. As much as I puzzle over it, I can't understand why you made the decision. I would like you to explain to me exactly what is going on, and what I need to do to fix it. I might just be a child in your eyes, but you owe me that, at least."
McGonagall was silent for a moment, her heart heavy. She had been so busy in the last few days, adjusting plans, preparing for a siege, managing all the needs of her students and their families, that she hadn't even had time to sleep, much less schedule this conversation. It was selfish of her, and she knew it wasn't fair how she was treating him. She hated that she couldn't be fair.
"Mr. Potter, you are right—I owe you an explanation, but I want you to know I do not see you as a mere child. A child would have come into my office and thrown a tantrum, but you have handled this situation with patience and maturity, like an adult would." She took a deep breath. "What I am about to say will be hard to accept, but please understand I'm doing it because I believe it is best for you and the school."
Something inside Harry's eyes turned cold in that instant, and he was silent for a time. When he finally spoke, it seemed a part of him had left the conversation, and he sounded tired. "Very well. Tell me."
"Our contract is temporarily suspended. It is not due to any error on your part, so there is nothing you need to fix. I'm sorry, but that is all I can tell you. However, I want you to know you did agree to the circumstances under which our contract might be suspended. You said that I should not feel obligated to give you an explanation if it would be a breach of security, even if you got angry and made threats. We agreed that the protection of everyone in the castle comes first."
"So you can't even…" He rubbed his hands in his hair, sighing heavily. She saw his foot tapping under his chair. "You said our contract is suspended, not terminated. What does that mean?"
"After about a week's time, I'll call you in here and we'll have a meeting. I'll explain as much as I can then, and we can decide what to do about the contract."
"A week, but—" he stopped, something shifting on his face. "Wait, why would you need a week? I assumed this was your decision, since you run the school autonomously, but did someone else order you not to work with me? Madam Bones, perhaps?"
"Harry," said McGonagall gently, but feeling a growing apprehension. "I've already said all I can. I know this is hard for you, but remember—"
"But you already defied Madam Bones by employing me in the first place," Harry went on. "So it could have been a suggestion from someone you trust. Question is, who? Flitwick? No, he doesn't seem involved enough in this situation. But that means…no…" His gaze locked on hers, flashing with hurt and betrayal. "Was it…Remus Lupin?"
McGonagall was so surprised that she said nothing, but he seemed to find his answer in her silence.
He collapsed a bit in his seat, but then he sat very still. "Remus questioned me, after the orb broke. He suspected me from the start, but then that means…" He stared down at his fists, white and trembling. His voice took on an acidic tone. "So, let me guess, he structured a narrative in which I'm conspiring with the enemy, trashed my own closet to cover my tracks? He warned you that I'm a security risk, and you've decided to investigate, which is why you're giving me a week? Yes, that explains it perfectly." He folded his arms. "Well, that redeems you a bit in my eyes, not terminating the contract shows you still have some faith in me. But has it even crossed your mind that maybe it's Remus we need to watch out for?"
"Not that I need to explain, but I am certain he is not a Factionist," McGonagall stated calmly. "Nor is he guilty of any crime. Now Harry—"
"Are you sure?" said Harry, eyes searching hers. "I'm right here telling you he's wrong about me, that he has no evidence that's not circumstantial. He asked to see my closet that day, he was looking for the orb, don't you think that's suspicious? Or what about the fact he's a werewolf whose arrival immediately precedes the security breach in our school? Or that he could be accusing me before I find evidence that exposes him? Aren't you even going to attempt to update your hypothesis space?"
McGonagall shook her head. She could see what he was trying to do, even if it wasn't going to work. If Harry could create an argument against Remus in five seconds, what did that say about Remus's opinion of Harry? The boy wanted her to trust him, or at least question her distrust.
Her head pounded. This whole conversation was going too far, and she needed to reign it in. She couldn't give Harry the answers he was looking for, not without putting the school at risk.
"Harry, I'm sorry, but you must go," she said, steel in her voice. "I've already said all I can, and I will explain the rest a week from now."
After a moment of tense silence, Harry stood up. He pulled a sheaf of papers out of his pouch and dropped it on the desk.
"These are detailed notes on how to defend the castle," Harry stated brusquely. ""There are four different plans based on whatever security risk is most pressing. Hire the best warder you can to implement them. Keep them on retainer so you can shift the wards at a moment's notice. I don't care anymore if you trust me. What matters is that everyone is safe, and that can't wait a week."
He walked off, then turned around. "Think about what I said, McGonagall. If I could be working with the Factionists, then anyone could. See you next week."
Neville knew to expect the unexpected when it came to Harry Potter. So when his friend came to him after lunch and asked if he could please "join him in a little not-experiment in which you don't have to participate at all, but your presence is absolutely vital" Neville's response was, "Well, I already finished my homework so sure, why not?"
And that was how Neville ended up spending his Saturday watching Harry Potter take apart his closet.
It wasn't a destructive sort of tearing apart, but rather slow and methodical. Harry spent hours observing and cataloguing everything. He took notes, snapped photos and spread white dust on the doors and walls, which he'd explained was to search for fingerprints. When Neville asked why, he said he was, "treating his closet as a crime scene."
Neville knew a little about Muggle investigation from Dean. He'd explained that Muggle Aurors could track people using a tiny piece of their hair or lint from their coat. That meant when Muggles examined a crime scene, they had to work very slowly to make sure they didn't miss a speck. Even with special tools and all, that process took hours.
"Umm," said Neville peering around the doorway. "Do I just err, sit here while you do work? Can't I help? It looks like you've an awful lot of stuff to investigate."
Harry snapped a photo. "According to Locard's Exchange Principle, every person who enters or exits will add or subtract material from the crime scene. So unless it's absolutely necessary, I'd rather you stayed back."
"True, but don't Muggle detectives work in pairs?"
"In teams, actually, but this happens to be a very tiny closet."
"Well…fine, but what exactly are you looking for, anyway?"
Harry set down the camera and drew out his wand, talking as he worked. "A few weeks ago someone broke through my closet wards and stole a powerful artefact that is now in the hands of the Factionists. They also blew up the rest of my inventory for good measure. Logically, you'd think there would be a formal investigation into the responsible party, so I could seek renumeration for damages and we could, you know, find the bad guys responsible for aiding and abetting terrorists. Yet for some reason, the school administration suspects I had something to do with it."
"Wait, what?" said Neville. "That's crazy! You wouldn't—but why would you destroy your own closet?"
"Ahh, don't forget," Harry wagged a finger. "I'm also Harry Potter, Destroyer of Worlds. Who cares about evidence or motive—I look like a suspect, they need a suspect, therefore confirmation bias says I am one. Nevermind they don't have any reason to suspect me over the 40 year old werewolf who discovered the robbery, swore up and down it was an accidental explosion then conveniently changed his mind so he could accuse me of doing it. There's so many suspicious things about how he acted that I don't even know where to start, but I'm the one on a government watch list while he's supervising a top secret government research team." Harry ground his teeth. "You know, there's some moments in life when you regret not taking the path of a dark lord, their methods of dealing with enemies are so much more efficient…"
Harry lapsed into a brooding silence, while Neville stared at him. "You don't really think Remus would—"
"Well, that's what I'm about to find out. See, the only fortunate thing about this disaster is that nobody bothered to properly examine the crime scene, which means I get first dibs. The robber must have left a clue—a hair, a footprint, something. I can't prove DNA was present before or after the explosion, but context is key—location, amount and type of evidence can all be damning. Besides, there are warding spells that can provide a more comprehensive picture once I locate the evidence I need. If there's anything here, I will find it and clear my name with it, even if I have to pioneer the use of forensic evidence in magical court to do it."
Harry knelt down to measure a mark on the floor, coughing into his sleeve. "Problem is, any information I bring to the school administration will be suspect as soon as I touch it. For that reason, I need a trustworthy witness to observe and make sure there's no funny business. That's why you're here. I hope you understand now why you are doing more help by observing than by investigating, though I appreciate your desire to help share the load all the same."
Neville watched as Harry cast a spell over the mark on the floor, his hand so unsteady he had to try twice, and felt a wave of sadness come over him. His friend wasn't the type to give up easily, but it didn't seem like Harry could ever catch a break. It was like some invisible force seemed to prevent him from achieving anything. If Neville were superstitious, he could almost believe Harry was cursed.
But now, the problem wasn't just exploding rockets, or toxic giant plant gasses—Harry was trying to avoid getting arrested for an act of terrorism. Neville really wanted to believe it was just paranoia on Harry's part. The first thing Aurors did in a criminal investigation was question the suspect under Veritiserum, and if that hadn't happened yet, he couldn't imagine Harry was in any serious trouble.
But what if he was wrong?
Neville worried his lip. His Gran knew something about the Wizarding criminal process, maybe she could give Harry some advice? Neville couldn't do much on his own, but at least he could be there for Harry. Hermione was at the Ministry, he spent most of his time alone, and it didn't take more than one look at Harry to see he was exhausted. He desperately needed someone in his corner.
Neville leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and tried to think of ways he could help.
Tonks slipped into the library, letting the door fall shut behind her. The room was practically empty, as it was late and close to curfew. A few torches lit the wall, offering just enough light to read by, or have a quiet conversation. She wasn't sure which of these to expect when she found Remus.
Carefully passing the librarian's desk, she examined the shelves in her search. Remus was so busy she hadn't seen him in days, so when he'd told her he needed to speak to her, she knew it was important.
She finally found him at a table near the back wall, in a small nook where the light fell perfectly to illuminate the yellowed pages. Remus had his back to the door, lost to the world as he poured over a book, his tapered fingers scanning the page as he read.
A soft smile flitted across Tonks' face. Their relationship was new, and maybe that explained the rush of happiness she felt at the sight of him. Still, it seemed like more than that, like seeing him was coming home. She could almost picture their future, her Remus on the couch reading a book while she puttered around with whatever project currently fascinated her.
All the same, Tonks was trying really hard not to rush things and overwhelm her timid boyfriend. As mature as he was, he still had a lot of insecurities, and he needed space and time to adjust to new things. He was sort of like a cat, and she'd found that being calm and patient seemed to slowly and surely bring him out of his shell.
Tonks crept up behind him, but he seemed so lost in thought he didn't notice her. His hand rubbed his brow, his eyes heavy with worry and sadness. She glanced over his shoulder at the page that had him so preoccupied.
"Agreeableness charm, often used by shopkeepers to influence customers, and warding that inhibits it..." Tonks paused. "Hmm, let's see. Are you planning on making a major purchase, and don't wanna get swindled?"
"Oh uhh, no," he said, glancing up at her. "I'm doing some research on mind magic for work."
"I see." Tonks glanced at the stack of books beside him, several of which she could tell by their covers belonged in the restricted section. "Learn anything interesting?"
He hesitated over his answer, his finger running over his lip as if wishing he had a pipe. "A few things. Influence magic is very easy to cast, but it's hard to cast well. The human mind resists constraints, so its own magic will quickly wear away the effect. Mind magic is more effective if paired with emotional and memory manipulation, but the longest lasting effect seems to come from influencing someone who consents to being influenced."
"Huh. Doesn't that defeat the purpose?"
"You'd be surprised how often that happens," said Remus Lupin. "People who want to quit smoking or drinking find relief in influence charms. Unbreakable vows are only unbreakable because the choice is freely given up. An undercover assassin can consent to having the memory of their objective erased, but with their kill orders written into their subconscious."
"Wait, really?" said Tonks. "They told us in Auror training that was impossible, and anyone who claims it is lying."
"Well, it's theoretically possible, but you'd have to influence a chain sequence of actions, and that's ridiculously complicated. You'd need someone else on the inside who can update plans and cast new orders, which still leaves too much room for error. In practice, it's about as likely to work as a single Imperius curse lasting several years and causing you to murder hundreds of innocent people…not that Death Eaters haven't been acquitted using that exact defence."
"Ha, you should hear Moody's rants on the subject," said Tonks, snorting. "He thinks all of Wizarding England's problems stem from the Ministry not giving all accused Death Eaters a one way ticket to Azkaban."
"He's not entirely wrong." Remus worried his lip, staring at the page. "But while it's a ridiculous claim, sometimes when you've exhausted the possible, you have to start considering solutions that are almost impossible…"
He quieted then, dark thoughts clouding his face. Tonks placed a hand on his shoulder. "Remus…what's going on?"
He closed the open book along its bookmark, sighing softly and rubbing his forehead. "Please sit, Tonks."
She shuffled into the seat in front of him, feeling suddenly scared she'd misinterpreted everything, and he was about to break things off with her. Remus turned a hesitant gaze to her, seeming to weigh each word carefully before speaking. "I have a very important decision to make, and I can't figure out the right path. Maybe you can help me."
"Okay," she said, leaning forward. "I'm listening."
"I have some information that affects the safety of our country, which leaves me with two options. I can tell my supervisors, which is my duty, and makes the most sense based on the evidence I have. But it will mean hurting someone I care about. This person would be imprisoned or worse, and it would be naïve of me to think their punishment would be fair. I could very well ruin their life.
"The second option would be to withhold the information, and if it was ever discovered I would be fired and potentially sent to Azkaban. It's illogical and reckless, but I can't help but think it is the right decision. In part because I would be following the counsel of another friend I trust with my life."
"Who?"
"Dumbledore."
She blinked. "Say what? But he's…"
He chuckled softly. "He was a very prescient man. I wouldn't be surprised if I'm still following his advice twenty years in the future."
She wanted to ask what advice Dumbledore gave him, but she knew if he wanted to tell her, he already would have. Much of Remus' work was classified as it was, and he was probably breaking a few rules involving her in this. It said a lot about how much he trusted her that he did it anyway.
"This person you're worried about hurting," she asked. "Did they do something wrong?"
"I don't know yet," he said. "If so, they're probably a victim as much as anyone, but the Ministry will not see it that way."
"And if you withhold the information…what are the consequences, besides breaking the rules?"
"I don't know that either," he said. "Potentially nothing, potentially something catastrophic."
She leaned forward on her crossed arms. "Sounds like you need more information. Can you wait? Decide once you have more evidence?"
He sighed. "I wish I could, but I feel like I have already done enough of that. I can wait a few more days, but after that…it's almost becoming its own choice, waiting until there is no more time."
"Well, I don't really feel qualified to give you advice but…I guess it comes down to who you trust more. Do you trust the rules and logic, or do you trust your intuition and Dumbledore's advice?"
"No, you have a point. But if I choose wrong…" He put his head in his hands, and was silent for a time. "I was never good at making tough choices. If I tell anyone else about this, I've already condemned my friend. I'm sorry for burdening you with this."
She put a hand on his arm. "It's okay. If we can't rely on each other, who can we rely on?"
He took her hand and clasped it in his. His fingers rubbed over hers, and he said, "Whatever decision I make, I want to ask you…" He fidgeted a moment, his jaw working before he said in a rush. "I want you to leave Hogwarts with me."
"What? When?"
"Within a few days, if possible." His blue eyes were piercing. "It's not safe in England, not safe on the whole bloody continent. Let's go to America. They're a lot more tolerant of diversity there, werewolves can find work much more easily, and we can stay there until this whole thing blows over."
"Look, I understand how you feel," said Tonks. "I'm scared too, but I'm not going to leave my students, and I know you would never abandon the Ministry. They need you, and you're not one to let fear rule your life."
"Then you don't know me very well," he murmured. "I'm always afraid."
"Remus, you're a bloody Gryffindor, I know that counts for something."
He squeezed her hand, so hard it almost hurt. "Fine, I'll admit, I need to stay. I need to live with my choice. But please…you don't know what's coming. You've never seen a war, you don't know what it does to people. The Ministry doesn't need you here, I'll protect the students—"
"Remus." She pulled her hand from his, and just looked at him.
He stood up and walked to the wall, bracing himself against it. He stood there for a time with his hands splayed against it, white and strained. "I've never had someone I'm so scared to lose," he whispered. "And I've lost a lot of friends, Tonks. I know you won't leave. But I had to…I had to try."
He looked so helpless, and Tonks couldn't think of anything to say. She hugged him, and they stayed that way a long time.
"You won't lose me," she said fiercely. "Because I'll always be right here with you."
