Chapter 5 November 25, 1994
Petunia Dursley stands by the kitchen counter in an otherwise empty kitchen in a silent house. She is the only one at home. Number four Privet Drive is no longer awake with her son's screaming or laughing or eating, her husband is not watching TV and demanding she gets him his usual after-work beer. The boy is not cleaning things and prepping food so that she can relax. Nothing is as it should be. And then, she gets one of those moment when one loses all trail of thoughts, and has no idea what has her so unmoving, not doing anything, just standing about. Waving it away, Petunia starts cleaning her home like she has done since the day she moved in.
#
All over magical Britain, in a slow but steady stream throughout the eleventh month of the year, none-magical people, muggleborns and squibs forget their magical relatives and friends.
Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters make way through the land leave broken minds in their wake, minds that lose what's their rightful memories. But the mind behind this operation is not a hasty one. This process is meant to erase every trace of magic, and this cannot be done by erasing memories and leaving black holes in their wake. And so, each memory erased is replaced by one as close to an alternate reality as possible, coming from the knowledge the Death Eaters glean from their victims. They leave muggle Britain as silently as they entered it, and the muggles are none the wiser. Their minds are now ful with memories of lives that could have been and now have been, however altered by magic they are.
#
Ron Weasley knocks on the white door. Waits. Hopes. Sees the door open and sees his female best friend. His friend who does not know who he is. Hermione Granger's brown eyes look at him with no hint of their usual warmth.
"Yes? Can I help you? Do you sell anything, because in that case I'll have to say no per my parents instructions, sorry," she says and there is a polite but somewhat detached smile on her lips. Behind her, another face pops into view. Ron's heart breaks a little more. Harry Potter's green eyes are as empty of friendly warmth as Hermione's are. And there is nothing Ron can do.
"I'm so sorry, I must have been given the wrong address. Sorry. Have a very nice and good life," Ron mumbles and hurries away before the duo in the white house can say anything else.
In a hidden spot, he activates the portkey his father made him to get here and back home. The world erupts into a crazy swirl of colours around him, and Ron wishes he can stay in the swirl and forget everything awful that is going on.
#
Albus Dumbledore looks around the room. The remade Order of the Phoenix consists of old and new members, and it should warm his heart that people still want to fight against evil, but it just makes him sad that they have to be here, that he has once again been made to take this drastic step to righten wrongs.
Sirius Black, Azkaban escape, unregistered animagus, slightly mad from dementor expose, best friend of Remus Lupin and Harry Potter's Godfather, is mad. Truly, deeply mad. He's slightly surprised that there is no steam coming from his ears, no rattling from his magic causing havoc due to too intense emotions. Nothing. It is as if he is too mad.
Remus Lupin can feel the wolf tear against the wall in his mind that usually keeps the beast fairly content when not in charge. Moony, as the wolf has taken to call itself after all these year, can feel that his present pack – Sirius Black and Harry Potter – and in danger. Moony is not pleased with this. Remus Lupin isn't pleased either, but he know that if he lets Moony loose, he won't exactly help as much as destroy. Silently, mentally, he reasons with a beast that cannot be reasoned with by words. The feeling he send inside his own mind are of patience, of rewards later on, promises of revenge. Moony stills, accept his human half's reasoning, settles down for now.
Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration Mistress, Head of Gryffindor House and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, feels her age even though she is not that old by magical standard. Can she handle another war? If she has to, then she has to. Does she want to handle another war? No, most definitely no. Will she fight? Yes.
Molly Weasley worries. Worries and makes stew for everyone in the room. they will need all the strength and energy to plot and plan. Molly adds a few herbs not in the recipe – herbs that opens and calms the mind, herbs that sharpens the body's reactions, herbs that give more energy. She is not a fighter, has never been. Sure, she can duel, can even do real harm. But it's not in her nature. Molly thrives best by caring for others, by helping from the side-lines, so to speak.
Kingsley Shacklebolt knows his value in war times. He is the calm and reasonable voice. The sharp viper that can strike seemingly from nowhere when need be. He is the observer, the one who can read others and tell what they need. In this very instant, everyone in the room needs some form of reassurance, a kind of guiding. Kingsley clears his throat. Everyone look at him.
"It's clear to me that we need a plan made from everything that we know. Perhaps, after Molly's lovely stew and good drinks, we will all feel much better and be able to share our knowledge in a way that pays off," he says calmly, lets honey seep into his voice. The heated boil of emotions calm down to s soft simmer. Kingsley leans back in the chair, catches the old and tired, but very grateful eyes of Albus Dumbledore and gives the old man a nod to show that he, Kingsley, will handle this meeting. And Albus Dumbledore wipes a tear from one eye and dips his head into a quick, but ever so grateful bow. Kingsley knows he has done good.
#
Severus Snape lets the tip of his wand touch the entrance door to the ministry of magic. The rush of darkness that sweeps through him feels like coming home. The Dark Mark on his arm pulsates. The door shimmer away and he enters the building. He walks through a corridor, enter the atrium which is no longer sporting the fountain, the registration desk or the many flying papers that carry messages. Pleased, for all of that has always made Severus scoff since it's so childish, he continues on and is accompanied by Lucius Malfoy. The blonde nods but is silent. Severus makes a sharp quirk motion with his jaw in greeting. No time to spill unnecessary words. They walk quickly. The elevator takes them down, down, down, down to the lowest level, the Department of Mysteries. Their master awaits them in the other end of a corridor, in front of a door and with the giant snake slithering around him on the floor. Severus stops, slides down on one knee, bows his head so that his hair hangs around his face like black curtains. He waits.
"Lucius. Join Xavier and aid him in his newest project."
"Yes, my Lord."
Lucius leaves and Severus feels the darkness close in on him even more.
"Severus. My spy who turned on me and now turns back to me."
Severus doesn't know if he's supposed to say anything, to explain, so he waits, still on one knee and with his head bowed, eyes fixed on the black stone floor.
"I am sure that the years have made you realize that your choice was wrong."
Silent, Severus nods sharply but doesn't dare to raise his head too much, not yet.
"Very good, Severus. Walk with me, and speak freely when I call upon you."
"Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord."
Severus stands and follows slightly behind but still beside his master. They walk through the door and stand in a room that's round with many, many doors. Lord Voldemort walks surely to one of them, and Severus follow through the black doorway. Rows upon rows of shelf with orbs fill his field of sight. Some orbs are cracked and grey, some whole and glowing.
"Tell me, Severus, what do you know of the orbs that hold prophecies?"
"I know only what I have been able to find out in books, and what little Albus Dumbledore has told me, my Lord. If an orb is whole and glowing, the prophecy inside is still valid and can hold truth, can still be fulfilled. If it is broken and dull without glow, the prophecy had either come to pass or is no longer valid, my Lord. If there is more knowledge, I do not possess it, my Lord."
"And can one use magic to get a prophecy from its shelf inside this room, Severus?"
"Only those whom the prophecy speaks about can do so, my Lord."
"Indeed."
Lord Voldemort raises his wand, which is black and gnarly, twisted like its master, and jabs it. Severus feel tendrils of magic sweep across the room. An orb appears in his master's free hand. It is cracked and dull, no longer possess an ethereal blue-white glow.
"Severus, does this, in your opinion, confirm that Harry Potter is no longer a factor that is a problem?"
"From what I know, yes, my Lord. The boy is no longer a threat and can do nothing," Severus says honestly.
Lord Voldemort laughs, and the darkness thickens.
#
Harry Potter knows that he hasn't always lived with the Granger family, knows that he isn't adopted either, just a foster kid they chose to help out four years ago, a friend of their daughter Hermione. Despite this, Harry looks upon them like family, or an almost family, and Hermione feels like what he thinks having a sister would feel like. He is very grateful. He has what he longed for during the years at the orphanage. A home. People who care for him, like him even. He can't wish for anything else.
