Undesirable #1
He didn't know why he hadn't opened it yet—Merlin knew he'd thought about it enough. The silver along its edges was beginning to tarnish from the way his fingers spun it restlessly. Looking down at it again, he watched its amber surface reflect the light like a wide staring eye.
Harry had spent nearly the entire morning staring at the locket, but at least it was better than thinking about the other one.
Flipping it over in his palm a final time, he reached for his Mokeskin pouch and slipped it away. Another day passed, and still nothing had changed. He'd played with the latches, shook it by his ear, even unfastened it a crack, only to snap it shut a second a later. He just couldn't open it, and he didn't know why.
Yes, you do, he heard a voice in his head say. It's because its hers…
Harry leaned back on his bed and closed his eyes. Perhaps he was right, and that was the reason. If he dug around enough and searched for truth, it likely was because it was Daphne's; and if that was the case—he wasn't yet admitting that it was—then he felt perfectly justified in not wanting to open her final 'gift'.
He blamed Astoria for this, reminding him of the locket after having forgotten it existed for so long. The days had been slow since his secret had come out, and it allowed his mind to ponder such things.
Just then, while opening his eyes and starting to count the innumerable cracks along the ceiling, a rich scent tickled his nose and the sound of muffled voices could be heard from the floors below. Much the same had happened earlier in the morning for breakfast, when he chose to remain in his room, torn between his hunger and wish to avoid the other occupants of the house, but convincing himself in the end it was because he was finally going to open the locket. He hadn't; and now his stomach growled bitterly.
Pushing himself up from his bed, the springs creaking under his movement, Harry decided it was time to head down. For a second, he considered having Kreacher or Dobby bring up his lunch, but it passed quickly, realizing how ridiculous it was for him to be too afraid to be seen in his own house.
The voices were louder once he stepped out into the hall. It sounded as though there were a number of people gathered in the kitchen for lunch, which surprised Harry given it was usually the time Grimmauld Place was at its most quiet. There was a clear list of individuals he could separate into the distinct categories of 'wanting' and 'dreading' to find downstairs—the sake of his meal depended on it.
Coming down the stairs from the third floor, Harry came across a person at the top of the list of the latter category.
Red-faced and puffing from the exertion of the climb, Elphias Doge appeared from around the corner at the base of the steps on the second floor landing. His jowls hung thickly, and there was a fresh yellow stain of mustard at the nape of his baggy robes. More importantly, having finally noticed Harry descending across from him, Doge stared at him with narrowed eyes and open contempt.
What is he doing here? Harry cursed his luck. At least it means he won't be there while I'm eating.
He tried to make his way past him with as little trouble possible, focusing his gaze on the rows of House-Elf heads mounted on the wall beside him. Half-way down the steps, however, he was stopped. He looked up in front of him, to where the old man was blocking his path.
"Is the horse gone, yet?" he asked, though it sounded more like a demand.
Harry sighed.
"Well?" Doge pressed impatiently.
"It's the same as I told you the other day, when Hagrid has the time, he'll come and take it to Hogwarts."
Doge's beady eyes did not seem pleased with the answer, but there wasn't much he could do besides complain some more; which, in Harry's opinion, he did enough already. "I want that beast gone. The same goes for the other one who lives in the attic," he snapped, and pushed his way past Harry and up the stairs.
Harry wiped some of the spittle which had showered on his face. Loathe as he was to admit it, he wasn't pleased either; though for reasons entirely different to Doge.
Grindelwald had taken to living in the small attic space of Grimmauld Place, and with nowhere else to keep the handsome Abraxan who he'd formed such a bond with, the horse lived up there with him. Beyond Grindelwald's looming presence keeping the house on edge, the Abraxan whined and called and kicked incessantly. Harry could hardly blame the animal, being forced to live off scraps in a cramped, dark room when it was used to wide-open fields and casks of single malt whiskey; but everyone else in headquarters hated it, none more openly than Elphias Doge.
Harry, however, didn't care how the Abraxan's displeasure echoed through the walls in the dead of night, like a ghoul trapped in a closet. It was where they chose to stay that lit the fire of irritation in his belly.
A wanted man and a beast hidden off in the attic of Grimmauld Place; it was as though he'd been transported two years back and was seeing the shades of Sirius and Buckbeak. Those were some of his most precious memories, and now they were being perverted before his very eyes, and he wanted them gone—if not Grindelwald, then the horse.
Harry came through the doors to the kitchen, a dark cloud hanging over his thoughts, and stopped. A pair of matching red-heads were grinning at him like a pair of loons.
"Morning mate," one of them—George—said, a look of mischief in his eyes.
"Only you?" Fred asked, with a matching twinkle.
"Bugger off," said Harry, while the twins snickered between themselves. He could see a plate of corn beef sandwiches and soup steaming pleasantly on the stove. Grabbing what he thought would be enough to appease his hunger, he plopped down at the table beside Ron and Ginny.
"Where's Hermione?" he asked.
Ron leaned in close, his eyes darting to the twins. "She's in the library, doing—um… you know—"
Harry nodded in understanding.
"You just missed Doge, he was down here for lunch with us," added Ron, taking the morning's Prophet from the table and sliding it under his arm.
"I ran into him on the stairs," said Harry.
"Grumpy old bastard," muttered Ginny darkly, between spoonfuls of soup.
"What are you two doing here?" Harry asked, turning back to the twins who stood drinking some tea by the stove. He hadn't seen them since before the incident.
"We wanted to meet the notorious Undesirable No. 1," Fred grinned.
"He's a real hero of ours, after all—reaching heights of infamy we could only ever dream of." George batted his eyelashes dreamily at Harry. He turned back to his twin and said with much enthusiasm: "Three emergency editions of the Prophet in less than a day!"
"We've got a whole wall dedicated to you now, Harry. We're like a couple of proud parents with newspaper clippings framed and everything."
Harry shook his head, tiredly. There wasn't much else he could do but laugh.
"Don't listen to them, Harry," Ginny spoke up, narrowing her eyes at her brothers. "They're just bored."
Fred blew her a raspberry in return.
"We're not bored," George said. "It's just the shop has been running really slow the last week, so we decided to close up for today and look for fun elsewhere. The news with Krum hasn't helped either."
"Krum?" Harry repeated, feeling a sudden hole open up in his stomach. "Like Viktor?"
Fred looked at him confused. "It was in this morning's paper—you mean you haven't seen it?"
Harry turned to Ron, whose eyes were averted guiltily. Tucked under his arm was a copy of the Prophet, which Harry now realized he'd been hiding. Ron slid it over.
Picking it up and unfolding the paper in his hands, Harry tried, without success, to ignore his page-filling face staring back up at him under the headline: Undesirable No. 1 – Harry Potter – Any Information Welcomed. It had been the same image for days now; a copy of a picture taken of him after Dumbledore had saved him at the Ministry frowned glumly through inky eyes. Today, however, a small headline was tucked into the corner of the front page, telling him to turn to page 3 for an exclusive.
Quidditch Star Returns to Britain to Hunt Triwizard Rival
In a shock announcement by Interim Minister Pius Thicknesse, the International Confederation of Wizards will be stepping in to aid in the effort to capture escaped Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald and current fugitive Harry Potter. Former Bulgarian International Quidditch Seeker, Viktor Krum, will be heading the task-force assigned to work in close collaboration with the Ministry at this time. When questioned further on the apparent betrayal of his close friend and former Triwizard Tournament competitor, Krum refused to comment. It appears he has taken Potter's open support of the man who murdered countless of his countrymen, including his own grandfather, very personally. Again, we would like to remind the public, having been designated as Undesirable No. 1, Harry Potter is considered to be dangerous, and we urge you to not approach him if spotted and to report any pertinent information to the proper authorities. Harry Potter is currently wanted for questioning under the suspicious circumstances of former Minister Scrimgeour's death, and for his association with Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald.
Harry lowered the paper, numbly. An image of Viktor on his broom from the World Cup Final danced mockingly before his eyes. He breathed out slowly, and listened to the dull thump of his heart.
"Mate…" Harry glanced up to see Ron's blue eyes looking at him sadly. "I'm sorry."
Harry was silent.
What can I even say, he thought after a long pause, I knew this would happen. I knew he would find out. I knew it from the moment Fleur gave me his grandfather's watch…
Harry pushed away his untouched sandwiches and soup, sick.
"Why? Why would they do this?" questioned Harry aloud. He could feel his thoughts whirling madly around his head like the gears inside of a watch…
He flinched.
"Harry, are you okay?" It was Ginny who asked. He felt the warmth of her hand rest over his own in comfort.
"Yeah… m'fine," he lied, pulling away. He rubbed along his jaw. "I just don't get it. They're only helping Voldemort by doing this."
The twins exchanged a look. "I guess they think Grindelwald is the bigger threat," said Fred.
"I'm really quite flattered if that is the case."
Stepping in through the door like anyone else coming down for a spot of lunch, was Grindelwald. His hair was freshly cropped short, shaving decades from his ancient face. In a certain light, he looked almost a young man again.
Harry felt Ron and Ginny flinch at his side, but the twins seemed to look up at him in awe. "Bloody hell… it's really him," gawped George.
Grindelwald's eyes were alight as he took in the twins with great interest. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure," he said, extending his hand. "Gellert Grindelwald."
George took it without hesitation. "I'm George Weasley, and this is my brother Fred."
"We've always wanted to meet a Dark Lord," Fred said eagerly. "We never thought it would be you, though."
Grindelwald smiled. "I hope I don't disappoint."
"How do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Be a Dark Lord of course!" It was George's turn to smile, before Fred continued: "Harry here has been trying for years, but hasn't quite got it right yet, despite our best attempts to help."
Grindelwald turned to face Harry, a slight crease between his brows.
"Why are you down here?" demanded Harry, sparing him from the twins.
"The same reason as everyone else," he answered, gesturing around the room. "I do have your gracious permission to eat, don't I?"
Grindelwald didn't wait for an answer, already filling a plate and taking his own seat at the table. He glanced at the open paper in front of Harry. "Ah, I see your friend has finally come to kill me." There was a wet chewing sound coming from his mouth as he continued. "I remember him making a similar promise some time ago, yet here we are enjoying corn beef and hot soup in a charming household."
Something that sounded like 'Just give it time' came from Ginny's lips. A hard scowl sat firmly on her face.
Ron simply grunted, refusing to so much as peek in Harry's direction.
The frosty brush of their cold shoulders were no longer a surprise to him. It had been that way for a number of days now, ever since Grindelwald had been revealed. His friends hadn't been at the meeting, but it didn't take long for the news to spread. Strangely though, they treated him normally when on their own; it was as if they willfully ignored Grindelwald's existence when he wasn't around.
"I don't like it," said Harry.
"Well of course you don't like it. He's your friend and now he wants to kill you… or at least hates you enough to watch someone else do it." There was a hint of amusement to Grindelwald's voice, which irked Harry and made him itch for his wand.
Pushing the darkness from his mind, Harry wondered then, if Viktor was here with the ICW did that mean…
He was cut off before he could finish his thought by the screech of an owl and the rapid tapping of a beak on glass. George opened the kitchen window, and two Ministry owls flew in, dropping off 4 letters before each snatching a sandwich from the platter and leaving.
Harry picked up the thick, cream colored envelope between his fingers and turned it over. In shining emerald letters above a familiar coat of arms were the words Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hollow silence hung over the room, where no one quite seemed to know what to do.
He opened it, and a small slice of parchment tumbled out from its open slit.
To all students,
In spite of recent events, it is the duty of our institution, and that of your Ministry, to ensure the education of the young witches and wizards of our future generations. As such, all students of Hogwarts attending age are to return immediately. The safety of those of magical blood is our utmost priority. Enclosed is a list of all required books and supplies, and the Hogwarts Express is set to depart at 11 o'clock sharp from Platform 9¾ on September 1st for the start of term.
Signed,
Severus Snape
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
The letter crunched within his tightening fist, as something dangerous burnt hot inside him. It licked and sparked and boiled his blood, which pounded harshly just behind his eyes and had him craving the touch of the Elder Wand. Snape… The name was a curse.
No one spoke for a long time. Harry could hardly believe what he'd read.
"What day is it?" he finally asked, breaking the quiet.
He could see Ron shift forward, and his expression scrunch in thought. "It's… uh, the 30th."
"So, two days then."
Ron nodded, only half-listening. His eyes were distant.
"You can't seriously be considering going?" Ginny cut in, staring, affronted, at her brother.
Ron's face turned crimson. "I…" He paused, swallowed thickly, and shrugged. "I don't know."
Just then, a loud CRACK of apparation could be heard from outside, followed by the front door slamming shut. A large gush of flames sounded the arrival of someone from the floo as well. Walburga Black shrieked from her portrait and footsteps battered the floor. Rushing into the kitchen, out of breath, and patting the sweat from his forehead was Mr. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley joined him not a second later, still in her apron.
Their arrival must have garnered the attention of most of headquarters, as more and more Order members were roused and came piling in, each freezing at the sight of Grindelwald sitting so casually at the table. Some glared, some frowned, and some shuffled through meekly while pretending they hadn't noticed; but all had the recognizable glint of fear in their eyes.
"You've got them," Mr. Weasley said between breaths, staring at the letters. "I only just found out at the Ministry. What do they say?"
Ron wordlessly handed over his envelope to his parents, who hunched together to read its contents. A frown deepened over Mr. Weasley's brow, and he flipped the parchment over to its backside before folding it away.
"What does it mean, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her eyes shifting nervously between her husband and children.
"Nothing good," Arthur said, plopping into a seat. Several seconds went by where he didn't speak, and continued to dab at his head with a handkerchief. Eventually, he sucked in a deep breath and straightened. "If what I heard around the Ministry is true, then there isn't much of a choice."
"What!?" Ginny exploded to her feet, the legs of her chair scraping across the ground.
Arthur waited calmly for her to sit back down before continuing. "The letter doesn't say it so boldly, but choosing not to return to Hogwarts is not an option. Those who don't—and there will be many, I'm sure—will likely find themselves having visitors from the Minister's Office."
"The Muggle-borns…" Mrs. Weasley trailed off, her eyes wide as she clutched at her chest.
Mr. Weasley nodded meekly, looking ill.
"Dean…" Harry heard Ginny whisper. She looked to her father almost desperately. "They'll go into hiding won't they?"
There was a commotion near the door, and Harry turned to see Bill pushing his way to his sister, kneeling in front of her. "We'll do what we can for them, I promise."
But not all of them… Harry finished in his mind.
"I don't want to go," said Ginny, her jaw set stubbornly.
"Ginevra…" Molly exhaled softly, while Bill and Arthur exchanged a subtle look.
"I know it's a trap. I'm not stupid. They want us there as hostages, not students! Why do we have to do what they say? We're already fighting them, so why do we need to listen?"
"Gin, we don't have a choice," said Ron. "We'd only make it more difficult by not going."
Ginny's gaze snapped on her brother, fiery and baleful. "I already know you want to go, Ron!" Her voice cracked as she shouted. "We don't all have girlfriends we can't wait to go back and snog. My best friends are Muggle-borns! They're all gone! I'm not just going to sit there and pretending nothing's happened!"
Ron burst to his feet. "That's not fair and you know it! Do you think I'm happy we need to go back? That I'm leaving behind my two best friends? I'm doing it because we have to, Ginny! If we don't do it, then we're putting Mum and Dad and the rest of the family in danger, because we're too selfish to do something we don't like!"
They faced off in the center of the kitchen, flushed and panting, with their anger slowly slipping away into increasingly more contrite expressions with each passing second. Both were still too worked up to speak.
It started as rumble, callous and cold and nearly unnoticed by Harry, thinking it no more than the rattling of old pipes in the walls. However, the sound continued, long breaking the tense silence, and now filling the room with its wicked timbre. It was a moment more before he realized it was laughter; and another still, before he recognized it as Grindelwald's.
Harry felt something thick fill his throat. The man's eyes were beaming with a merriment lost to the rest of the room. No one else even cracked a smile.
"Out."
The laughter halted.
"Get. Out. Now." Mrs. Weasley's eyes burnt with a fury he had never witnessed before. Her wand was drawn, pointed, and shook in her white-knuckled grip. "You have no right to be here, especially in discussions to do with my children."
"Now, my lady I did not mean—"
"I am not your lady, and you have stretched your welcome far enough."
Harry could feel Grindelwald's gaze fixed on him, like pins pricking his neck, but he stared unblinkingly at a stretch of paint peeling from the wall across from him. The man was on his own.
Painful silence ensued.
"I see…" Grindelwald drawled, not aiming to hide his displeasure. "Seeing as I am unwanted here, I will take my leave. Allow me at least to finish my meal, I would not like my hunger to sour my mood and spur me into any ill-judged actions." He articulated his words clearly and dangerously.
Finishing his soup at a lethargic pace, Grindelwald collected his bowl and returned it to the counter. "Good day to you all," he stated, before turning to face Ron and Ginny directly. "I wish you well in your studies. May your school year provide you with the cherished memories Hogwarts is well renowned for.
Despite the crowded nature of the room, not a soul stood within feet of Grindelwald as he exited.
"Well…" Mrs. Weasley coughed awkwardly, color filling her cheeks as she smoothed the front of her skirt. "With all that settled, I think it's best if we get Ron and Ginny's shopping done now. Don't you?" She looked to Arthur, whose mouth hung open in wonder.
"Yes—oh, of course! We should try to beat the rush," he said, recovering himself.
"We'll come down as well!" Fred pointed to George beside him. "Gotta open the store; don't want to miss out on any customers!"
"I'll join too," said Bill, smiling at them. "Someone should come just to make sure you're all safe. I'll let Charlie know to meet us there."
He knew it wasn't right of him to think so, as the Weasley's had done no wrong, but Harry couldn't help but feel a bitter shadow blacken his thoughts. The pain of exclusion tore through him; he felt undesirable.
Soon after, the crowd in the kitchen quickly dispersed, its show having run its course. The Weasley's lingered only a few moments longer, sparing him a hasty goodbye before departing in a rush for Diagon Alley.
Harry sat on his own, forgotten, running his spoon along the edge of his now tepid soup, and watched the broth swirl darkly like the thoughts in his mind. It would be the first year where he wasn't preparing to return to Hogwarts. Though now he wasn't sure if he would even want to go back.
What's left for me there? he wondered. Dumbledore's dead, and so are my memories…
A handsome, old clock of highly burnished walnut hung on the wall, and Harry glanced at its hands to see it was only half-past two. He rubbed his face tiredly and considered returning to bed, but it was far too early for that, and he'd never been one for naps.
Instead, his thoughts turned to that of Tonks and Heath, and their coming baby. He considered searching them out, but remembered she'd told him they were off for the week visiting her parents. They'd yet to make an announce to everyone, and he reveled in the fact that at least someone still trusted him. He wondered what they might call their boy. Perhaps Sirius? It would be fitting with Remus' son, James. The spirit of the two could live on, and the idea brought a gentle smile to Harry's face. He tried to remember what Remus had looked like that day; different, he knew, and happy—for the first time, happy. It had been the day before he met…
A cold shudder ran over his body, standing his hair on its end. He could hear the soft tic tic tic of the clock through the lonely silence settled around him.
It reminded him of the watch.
Harry closed his eyes in discomfort, but all he could see were a pair of dark hawkish eyes, glaring brutally back at him beneath thick, furrowed brows. Like a spark, he could see a faint flicker of green in their hateful depths, burning and spreading and flaming, until the light was all consuming and the haunting flash of green filled his vision.
Harry burst to his feet, his stomach churning, and feet negotiating his balance with the floor, as though caught in a storm. He gripped the edge of the table, steadying himself. Again, the image of Viktor zooming around on his broom taunted him from its small printed box in the Daily Prophet.
He hadn't realized he'd done it until it was over, but the morning paper was a shriveled black husk in front him, smoking, and filling the air with the stench of burning ink. The Elder Wand hummed pleasantly in his grip.
Digging into his Mokeskin pouch, with a clarity of mind he hadn't possessed since coming down for lunch, Harry removed the locket and considered its amber surface. He turned it over in his hand, and his fingers twisted at its clasp, and in a single moment of madness, he nearly opened it.
He was afraid, he realized. Afraid that when open, it would be the symbol of her final valediction.
Something occurred to him then, and Harry suddenly left the room. He walked past the troll's leg umbrella stand, around the staircase and beyond the dining room where meetings were held. At the end of the hall, through the sitting room with the Floo, was a seldom used door shaded next to a towering bookcase.
The door creaked as he entered, casting him in the gloomy shadow which flooded from within. The library was a dull, cramped room, nothing more than a study, and far from opulent. Bookshelves lined the walls: some open, some locked shut, and some requiring ladders to reach the spines of the ancient books all coated in dust. At the center of the room, dimly illuminated by the flickering haze of candlelight, was Hermione.
She hadn't noticed him, even as he drew closer, his footsteps being drowned by the rug underfoot. Her head was burrowed into some unnamed heavy text, so that the only part visible was her shock of brown, frizzy hair.
"Hey," he called softly.
Hermione didn't stir. Her world was in her own head; and not for the first time did he wonder if she'd thrown herself too far into her research.
Rather than call out again, Harry sat down across from her and gently lowered the book from her hands. Startled, white eyes stared back at him, before warming with recognition.
"How's it going?" Harry asked.
Hermione closed the book with a thud, and tucked a stray length of hair behind her ear. "Oh! It's not—well, I wasn't exactly doing research right now. I was actually just reading for pleasure… but if you want, I can tell you—"
"Hermione," Harry cut her off, touching her arm. "I'm asking how you are doing."
A soft blush colored her cheeks. "I'm… I'm doing okay, Harry, thanks." She smiled and looked behind him, as if expecting someone else to come in through the door.
"Ron went out to Diagon Alley with Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys," he answered her unspoken question. "The Hogwarts letters came in today."
"They're going?"
"They don't have a choice. Not like us…"
She nodded, looking very small all of a sudden as her eyes glossed over.
"I still don't know how to feel, you know… about losing my parents," she started, wiping at her face, and giving him a watery laugh. "They're not dead, but they're gone. The more I think back on it, the more I realize they've been gone for some while. We drifted apart over the years, the more they realized that being a witch wasn't just a phase and I… I was never going to be their Hermione again." She swiped furiously at her eyes again, and Harry offered her a handkerchief from his robes. He waited as she dabbed and sniffled and composed herself once again. "I suppose I should be thankful to Minister Scrimgeour for one thing, at least I know they're safe."
"We'll help you find them, Hermione, when this is all over. If that's what you want?"
A lone tear trickled down the paleness of her cheek. "I think I'd like that," she said.
They sat in companionable silence for some time, with Harry watching Hermione, as she stared off lost in the clouds of her memories. He'd never considered himself the fortunate one; but perhaps, this one time, he was. He lost his family long ago, and death to him now was simply another flower planted in his garden.
Hermione had returned to her book when he finally spoke up again: "Have you figured out how to open it yet?"
He could see her eyes stop scanning the page in front of her.
"I haven't yet, no," she answered honestly, before quickly continuing. "Though there isn't much I haven't thought of or tried. I've pulled out every type of book I can imagine—there are so many in here, it's remarkable—but none of them mention Horcruxes even in passing. I've researched complex locking charms, indestructible jinxes, and cursing breaking, and none have given me so much as a hint on how to unlock the locket." She threw her hands into the air in frustration. "I've even looked into the secrets behind passphrases! The only possibility I could see is if—"
Something stopped her, just as it had stolen away Harry's attention. A loud knocking sound could be heard from the front door. It paused, before returning again, this time harsher. Harry stood and moved to the door. Outside the library, the knocking was more clear, almost seeming to shake the walls with each pound of the fist. It echoed throughout the house, coming faster and more panicked.
Harry pulled out the Elder Wand and ran to the front door. He pulled it open and froze. He blinked once, then twice, each disbelieving. It felt as though his heart had been pulled from his chest and thrust mercilessly back in.
Beneath the steel gray sky, where a fall rain had just begun to surrender its first tears over the end of summer, a figure stood on the steps to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, wrapped in a shimmering blue cloak. Each droplet seemed to be swallowed by the enchanted fabric, growing brighter and more vivid, until it rivalled the brilliance of the flowing silver hair which peaked beyond a hood. Pale eyes searched his own, wanting, and he felt a part of his soul which had withered since leaving France come to life.
"Fleur…"
AN:
Hope you all enjoyed! I hope to have another one out soon.
As always, your thoughts, feelings, and constructive ideas are much appreciated. Please leave a review, as I appreciate and read them all (they're also great motivation).