Moments of floating blindly gave way to the sensation of solid ground underneath James's feet again. While he blinked and tried to focus his eyes, brightness and the whistle of wind signaled that he was now, somehow, outside.
He had opened his eyes to find himself at the center of a throng of moving people. Most were robed in black, some weeping, many others solemnly silent. His first guess, although he'd never had the displeasure of attending one in person, was that he was at some sort of funeral. Given that people were moving toward him and away from the rows of chairs that had been set up, though, this one seemed to be ending. As crowds approached and passed him, James caught a few of their mutterings...
"How sad…" James heard an old woman's voice creak. "Still just a girl, really. Barely twenty."
"She was due to be married soon, too, wasn't she?" someone else queried, with about a century of Ireland behind her voice.
"Yes, to the young man at the front," the first old witch replied. Her voice was now behind James. He whirled around to follow it.
"With the blonde hair?" asked another old woman. James got the impression she had been dragged along with someone else and didn't know the details of… whatever situation this was… as well.
"Heavens, no - that's her brother," the first old witch corrected her friend. "Or one of them. It's the dark one."
"Him? A handsome young man, but…" the second old witch replied. "...he had a very odd look in his eye, I thought."
"Poor thing," the first old witch sniffed piteously. "It probably hasn't sunk in yet… sir? Sir? You may want to stand still somewhere else."
The old witches had nearly walked into a large - no, a massive - man. Even somewhat hunched over, he was easily twice their size, quite large enough to have not even registered their presence if he was staring straight ahead.
"He can't help it, Edna," the second witch sniffed, glancing up at him. "Halfbreeds like this get their size and brains from the giant side, I'm guessing-"
"Enough, Dilys," Edna sighed patiently - almost like she'd heard this sort of remark from her acquaintance before and just couldn't be bothered to deal with it today. Mercifully, Dilys said no more, and the two went off on their merry way. James felt a hot surge of anger against the women, especially as it had just hit him who this half-giant must have been.
The young Rubeus Hagrid's hair was long, dark, and bushy. With a dark, wispy scrub around his cheeks and jawline, he looked less like someone who was trying to grow a full beard and more like someone who simply had let his grooming go a bit. Perhaps this had been him in young adulthood? Twenty, twenty-five or so? Then again, it was hard to tell with Hagrid, who didn't age like full humans...
James took his eyes off him. It was then, with a bit more space to look around, that he realized that the funeral that had just let out had been situated rather near the edge of a tall cliff. Something was at the front, and a few black-robed figures were still huddled around it. Curious, James began walking in that direction. It was only at a closer approach that James realized that these people were standing around a white headstone. Especially fixated on it was a youth with long, brown hair banded back in a ponytail. James was decently close now - he thought he might even be able to eavesdrop on their conversation if no one noticed him… and it seemed that, as of now, no one had. He thought that was a bit odd, but wasn't going to complain about it.
At this distance, James could see that this person was a boy, probably not too far from James's own age. His face screwed up against the sun as he looked out over the casket and over the edge of the cliff to the distant water and horizon, his concentration was broken only by a man approaching him on his right, putting a delicate hand on his shoulder.
"It's perfectly alright to cry, you know," the man said, ironically trying to hold back his own tears, from the sounds of things.
The boy, through his teeth, muttered, "...Doesn't really help."
"I…" The man swallowed the rest of his words and trailed off. He took his hand off the boy's shoulder, clenched a feeble fist, and had started to walk away when the boy reached up quickly and grabbed his wrist.
"It wasn't an accident, was it?" he asked, the slightest dash of accusation in his voice. The blond young man looked back at him sadly. "Tell me...Titus. I need to know."
Titus, James thought, his heart leaping into his chest. Titus Scrimgeour. So this must be...
At that moment, another young man, this one with short, dark hair that was cut conservatively, was making his way toward the brothers. Even on this young face, James knew the features almost immediately. "No, it wasn't," he replied, apparently having overheard the conversation.
Titus made a pained, pensive face. James could see a shadow of Rowan in the expression. "Luc-"
"I'm not going to lie about what happened," Lucan Wenster replied icily. His past self's voice sounded nearly as cold as James had remembered it… nearly, but not quite. "And you shouldn't, either. It's an insult to her memory."
Wenster looked the boy right in the eye.
"Claudia was murdered, Rufus," he said plainly. The young future Minister of Magic nodded solemnly, his face faltering only for a moment. Rufus had clearly held his suspicions. "But Titus and I have an idea of who was responsible... and we're gonna find him. And once we do-"
"You'll kill him, right? Or bring him to trial so the Dementors can have him?" finished Rufus, with a tone that was surprisingly businesslike given the subject matter. Titus' jaw fell open sadly, as if shocked at his younger brother's suggestions - but Rufus saw it and glared. "Don't look at me like that, Titus. I'm not a little kid. I know exactly what happens when the courts get hold of a murderer - and if there is somebody out there that killed my sister, it's exactly what he deserves. So… when are we leaving?"
"We aren't going anywhere," Titus said firmly. "You are going back to Hogwarts to finish your schooling. Mum and Dad told me -"
"Bollocks," snapped Rufus. "Mum and Dad are dead, too. And if you think you're going to leave me out of this-"
"Listen to your brother… Rufus," Lucan interrupted coldly. Rufus looked up at Titus, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. Then, he turned away.
"Fine," he said, and James could see a new hardness in his golden eyes. The last two tears escaped, but that was all. "If you take too long, I'll find the bastards myself."
And he trudged away to a spot further along the cliffs to be alone.
Titus turned to Lucan once Rufus was out of earshot. "So you're absolutely sure it was Riddle?"
James knew what Lucan's answer would be, but never got to hear it; a breathy whoosh muffled everything, and James's vision faded to white...
When the light dimmed again, James next found himself inside somewhere… somewhere unpleasant, he opined mentally as he glanced at his new surroundings.
This was a dingy, brownish hovel of a place. Floorboards were broken, and there were cracks in the walls, which, bizarrely, were painted with an ugly butter yellow, yet somehow managed to lack any of the warmth or sunny feelings that should have been associated with that color. Whatever this place was, one thing was obvious: Whoever lived here hadn't done the best job of keeping it up. Maybe that was because of a lack of money. Maybe that was because the owners or renters simply couldn't be arsed.
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.
It took a moment for James to realize he was standing on stairs. He whirled around to see a woman in a drab dress that had probably once been white, thundering down the staircase in a way that belied her petite frame. Hair of a washed-out shade of light blonde sat chaotically atop her head, and her pale arms were folded across her body as she traversed the creaky old stairs, right at him, heedless of his presence.
"Hey, wait-!" James yelled out as she approached, to try to warn her of the obvious - she was about to crash into him. But she neither heeded nor appeared to even hear his shout. Instead she kept coming. James could not get away. He braced for impact…
Nothing.
When James opened his eyes again, the young woman was near the bottom of the stairs. James looked down at his chest. That's impossible, he thought. She would've had to go right through -
A faster set of footfalls alerted James to another presence on the staircase. This one was a man, stubbled but somewhat youthful, probably younger than thirty. He had a tall, strapping form, but James could not help but notice that he took the stairs at a bit of a limp. One of his legs - the left, by his gait - seemed to be bothering him.
"Well, you tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do!" the man snapped after the woman. "I'm busting my ass over there! Twelve-hour days! But he sees more potential in Demelza. 'Better management skills'... bollocks! It's only because she's pretty - and they both know it."
James followed this conversation down the stairs, and into what appeared to be the kitchen, or living room, or both. "Pretty, is she? Well, maybe you should go marry her instead. Or maybe - here's a better idea - get a real adult job instead of selling broomsticks like you're still fresh out of Hogwarts."
"What, with the Ministry?" the man shot back, and there was a trace - just a trace - of amusement in his angered tone. "We've talked about this, Tracey…"
"They've been gone five years, Saul. Five!" the young woman, Tracey, shouted back, even holding up her hand with fingers spread to emphasize the number.
"It doesn't matter." The man named Saul threw up his hands. Gesturing toward the door, he questioned, "You really think any of the rest of Britain feels any different?"
"Who's keeping track of what bloody house we were in at Hogwarts anyway?" Tracey asked.
Saul didn't say a word. He just raised his eyes to a corner of the small dwelling, where a green banner bearing a silver serpent looked to be the only thing in the house that had been well cared for…
That included the quite small, towheaded child that had suddenly appeared on the stairs, sadly peering through the posts supporting the handrail.
"That's different," Tracey answered. "That's a gift from my grandfather. You can't…"
"That thing… is gonna get us killed one of these days," Saul answered. James couldn't help but notice his voice shaking a little bit. "Just like what happened with Hestia Carrow."
"Slytherin was your house, too. And it'll probably be Steph's when he goes," argued Tracey. James took a double take at the little boy with the light blond hair, who made a face as if uncomfortable with having his name brought up. "You shouldn't be ashamed of it."
"I'm not ashamed of it," Saul retorted. "I just think it's not the best idea in this climate…" He trailed off.
"So we're stuck in this… this sorry excuse for a flat, in this… this rubbish heap of a neighborhood… because you're scared," Tracey said.
Saul swallowed hard. "Are you saying I'm a coward?"
Tracey bit her lip for a long time in the ensuing silence. "I guess I am."
Saul's face contorted horribly and he blinked very quickly - maybe to try to stem an oncoming tide of tears. "Fine, then," he said, in a breathless, broken croak. Taking another deep breath, he went on: "Since I'm never good enough, you can find someone who is."
This got Tracey's attention. "...Saul, wait -"
But Saul exploded. "WHY? WHY, HUH? So I can come home to you running me down day after day after day about how I'm an awful husband and father?! How I'll never live up to Quinn bloody Davis? Just because I won't shove my head up Shacklebolt's ass AFTER ALL HE'S LET HAPPEN TO US?! You didn't even love me from the off, did you?! You thought I was going professional, and ever since I broke my leg, you haven't looked at me the same!"
"You're being ridiculous, Saul, it was never about the mon-"
"That's all it's ever been about!" Saul spat. "THAT'S ALL IT'S EVER BLOODY BEEN ABOUT! Well, I'm done. I'm done. You and your grandfather can both go to hell."
"Dad…" the boy descended the stairs and approached him. Saul seemed to snap out of his tirade for just a moment, and looked at his son. Tears were on both faces for a long, silent moment…
"Don't even think about it," Tracey said suddenly.
Saul's lips pursed, and a quiet, tearful fury seized his eyes. Looking right at the young boy, he murmured... "You know… we don't even look much alike, do we?"
"Get out." Tracey's voice broke into a toneless whisper. Then she exploded with a room-rattling screech. "GET OUT!"
James looked back at Saul for his reaction. Then he and Saul both jumped; something glass had exploded against the wall, right next to Saul's ear. He looked at Tracey, then back at the boy. But Tracey had her wand out.
"It's kidnapping if you take him," she hissed. "That's twenty in Azkaban, and that's if I don't find you first. Now, go if you're going. I'm tired of your face anyway."
Saul's cheeks flared with a swallowed breath. Then he bolted through the door, slamming it shut with a force that James thought for a brief moment might bring the shoddily-built tenement down on their heads.
Tracey stood there for a while, snarling at the door like a wounded bull. Then, with a stifled sob, she ducked into the kitchen. When she next emerged, she was fumbling with a rather tall bottle.
Everything went white a third time.
When James could see again, he was very clearly no longer in a hovel, but in a high-ceilinged chamber with many windows. James couldn't help feeling a jolt of annoyance - just what the hell kind of order were these memory fragments arranged in, anyway?
After a second or two of looking around, he recognized the room as the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts - but the person staring across a large desk at a balding man was very clearly neither Professor Flitwick nor Professor Gladstone.
James, somehow confident that he would not be discovered, tiptoed to the side of the table to get a look at both men.
"If it's simply a matter of you not wanting me to teach Defence Against The Dark Arts anymore…" the man on the left said. It was Lucan Wenster - only now he was clearly several decades older than where James had last seen him. His hairline had started to recede severely at both temples, and his cold, hard, blue eyes were now bespectacled. "I am well-versed in multiple magical disciplines - as I'm sure you know."
"Of course I do." James looked to his right. He had only ever seen the man in portraits - which was just as well, as he died years before James was born. But the half-moon spectacles, crooked nose, and long, white hair and beard were unmistakable. Even as he smiled, there was a probing, knowing quality behind those blue eyes. "...Having taught some of them to you personally. Unfortunately, this isn't a question of your ability to teach."
Wenster leaned over the table, maybe in an attempt to intimidate Albus Dumbledore, who looked positively unmoved.
"I had nothing to do with that," Wenster said, at nearly a whisper. "Nothing at all."
"And I believe you completely," Dumbledore answered, raising his eyebrows. "Mr. Scrimgeour acted entirely on his own - something he admitted to the Wizengamot when he was questioned during the trial. Unfortunately, there are those in Britain that believe differently - those that are, in fact, concerned that their children would not be treated safely or fairly by the school if they were sent here. Your friendship with him is well known. And, objectively speaking, your rhetoric since the war ended has not been helpf-"
"Since the war ended? The war isn't over," Wenster interrupted, as if offended by Dumbledore's suggestion. "Or do you not believe that?"
Dumbledore showed his first sign of being troubled - a frown. "No, Lucan. I don't believe it is over. But, if you can believe this, I have been wrong about things before. On the off chance that it is over, or even if Harry Potter has simply bought us a handful of years… we must move forward with some semblance of... civility. That, I believe, is essential to our future here in the wizarding world, whether that future involves him or not. Civility."
Silence. Dumbledore had made his point, and was waiting to see whether Wenster had gotten it.
James had seen Wenster's act, and was waiting to see whether Wenster would have the guts to argue his point of view to Dumbledore's face.
"Does a man like Lucius Malfoy deserve civility, having given none in return?" Adjusting his glasses, Wenster finally, and predictably, asked. "He's a branded Death Eater."
"In the eyes of the law," Dumbledore said, in a way that indicated that he perhaps did not agree with the decision, "he was the victim of an especially strong Imperius Curse, and in that way compelled to do Voldemort's bidding."
Wenster looked away from Dumbledore, disgust etched in the few lines on his face. "'Voldemort.' Such a ridiculous name. I hate it."
"As do I," Dumbledore admitted, although his confession sounded more sad than repulsed. "But that aside… Lucius Malfoy is a husband to a young wife, and a father to a son barely a year old."
"A son that may be better off without his father, if we're being completely honest," Wenster suggested.
"What a thing to say, coming from a man that grew up as an orphan himself," Dumbledore commented, with the casual air of someone talking of the weather.
Wenster ignored this swipe. "Even if the charges of his Death Eater activity did not hold up in court - in exchange for a considerable sum of Galleons, I'd be prepared to bet... he and his wife are still known advocates of pro-pureblood ideology. That's been the case, ever since I taught them."
"You cannot weaponize the state against people for having opinions - even bad ones. It sounds good in theory, but it's a slippery slope to tyranny." Dumbledore sounded instructive, almost speaking to Wenster like a son. "You also cannot assume the destiny of a child based on the actions of his parents. For all we know, the Malfoy boy could well grow up to be an open-minded, good-hearted, model wizarding citizen."
"Somehow, I doubt that," Wenster answered, at almost a petulant mutter, looking away from Dumbledore, who only smiled.
"This needn't be permanent. In fact, it's very much my intention that it is not. Take a year off, Lucan," he suggested. "Goodness knows you're long overdue for a sabbatical. Rest. Travel. See the world a bit."
"I have absolutely no interest in a sabbatical. For me, that's a year of sitting around with no idea what to do with myself," Wenster bristled. "Riddle's gone, and thanks to you and your precious Wizengamot, I have no friends with which to share the experience."
"One year." Dumbledore's nostrils flared. "A lenient sentence, most would agree, for attempted murd-"
"A YEAR WITH THE FUCKING DEMENTORS!" Wenster lost his temper and slammed a fist into the table. Dumbledore must have been used to these sorts of displays, because he did not budge an inch, still staring through his half-moon spectacles with the same maddeningly serene expression as he had been this entire time. At this, Wenster's eyes went madly wide, a look of desperation James had never seen on his face before. His voice quivered and dropped to a pleading murmur. "You do know what those things do - what he'll have to hear in his head over and over…?"
"One of many reasons I have repeatedly advocated for abolishing their use as agents of the Ministry. That said, actions do have consequences. The decision was not completely mine-" Dumbledore answered, but Wenster cut him off.
"Enough," he growled, standing. A moment ago, he had been begging - but his board-straight posture and cold demeanor were back. His voice, too, was frigid as he announced: "I'll collect my things and be out of Hogwarts by dawn."
"You misunderstand me, Lucan," Dumbledore said, gently raising a hand in a 'let's not be hasty' type of gesture. "I mean for you to stay until the end of the term, you're more than welcome-"
"That's out of the question, Professor Dumbledore," Wenster said curtly, his nostrils flaring. "Actions have consequences, after all…"
He began to storm off. But then he paused, and turned.
"This world's in a sad place if a year in Azkaban's the reward for what Titus did - the law be damned," he said. "Titus and I were working for the greater good. Surely someone like you must-"
Dumbledore jumped to his feet. The very air in the office seemed to shift and distort for a moment, and behind the half-moon spectacles were piercing, blue eyes, locked in an expression James never thought the kindly, old wizard he had seen in portraits and on Chocolate Frog cards was capable of making. It was the silent wrath of a being more than human, and even Wenster appeared to give pause.
Neither said anything for a long moment. James glanced at each, and noticed, frighteningly, that each was trembling a bit.
Wenster fixed his face, swallowed hard, and finally broke the silence: "I'll gather my effects, then."
"Yes, that would be a good idea," Dumbledore answered immediately, and calmly. His eyes, however, were saying something else - something more along the lines of 'leave this room before I change my mind about not turning you into a very fine powder.' It was this second message that Wenster obviously got, because his exit was swift and wordless. "And send for Minerva. I need to speak with her."
White light overtook the scene again, as Albus Dumbledore sat, and folded his hands on the desk, almost looking like he had seen this coming...
Joltingly, the world around James went white again at that point.
When the sudden shine wore off, he found himself standing, once again, in the dilapidated living room from before.
Clearly, some time had passed, and the dingy old house, if it could be called that, was not better for it. The paint on the walls was more chipped, the cracks in them more pronounced. James's ears tuned into motion on the stairway just in time to see a boy descending. It was the son from earlier, but he was a bit older now, a blond mop of hair covering his ears and framing his quite thin face. He came down the stairs halfway, stared at the front door for a few moments…
He was waiting for someone.
A minute passed. Whoever it was, wasn't coming. The boy sighed and started to turn around and back upstairs.
Then, the door opened. The boy whirled around toward it, nearly losing his balance on the stairs.
A woman stumbled through the doorway.
"Sorry… 's a bit of a dump, I know..." Tracey slurred unsteadily to someone behind her. James was not an expert in drunkenness, but he had seen his uncles have a few too many at Christmas dinner. It was painfully obvious that Tracey had made only the shortest of stops at 'a few too many' on the way to wherever the hell she was now.
"I've seen worse," a man with a low voice chuckled as he entered. He had dark hair, a chiseled jaw lined with stubble, and was broad-shouldered and barrel-chested. Oddly, James thought he may have glimpsed someone that looked like him at some point before. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the bloke seemed familiar... "And none of those places had company half as good."
"Mum, it's almost midnight." The boy finally spoke. He sounded a bit irritated. And he should have been, James thought. If he was reading the context clues correctly, the boy's mother had left him alone at the house for several hours to go get absolutely blasted at some nearby bar and had now come home with some strange man that was clearly not his father.
"For God's sake, Steph," Tracey sighed, swaying only to be held up rather effortlessly by the burly stranger, who handled her with a gentle touch that didn't seem possible for his frame. She looked up at him and smiled weakly before glancing at her son again.
"I thought…" Young Stephan Vaisey started. He could not finish the sentence, and looked down at his ghostly pale, bare feet (and ankles - his ragged pyjamas might have better fit the younger version of himself from the last scene James had watched play out)
"Don't be silly, Steph," Tracey said. "I'm not him. Steph, this is an old friend of mine. We went to Hogwarts together. Listen - why don't you go back up to bed? We'll talk in the morning."
Stephan glared suspiciously at the new, strange man for a moment, then turned on his heel and started back up the stairs.
Tracey swayed and turned around. "You want a drink, Julian?" she asked.
"I think you've had enough," answered the man. "And it's Lucian." A smile was on his face. He seemed to be taking everything in stride.
"Lucian. Lucian. Sorry," Tracey gave a hiccup and then snorted. "It's been - what, fifteen years? Bloody close."
Lucian smirked. "That dress still looks nice on you."
"Oh, this thing?" Tracey pinched at it - it was a drab green and already dangerously short without its owner pulling at it where it flared over her thighs. "My grandfather got it for me to wear to the Yule Ball back in '94. Still fits. Mostly."
"Yeah, I remember that…" Lucian sighed wistfully.
"But you're thinking I'd look nicer wearing something else, is that it?" Tracey asked. "Maybe… less?"
Lucian raised his eyebrows. "Well….if you're gonna offer, I'm not gonna say 'no.'"
"That's good," answered Tracey, sauntering back up to Lucian and putting her hands up on his shirt. "I didn't bring you back all this way to hear you say 'no'..."
She pushed herself to her tiptoes, and kissed him a bit sloppily. After a second's stare, the two of them started snogging in earnest. It occurred to James as he watched them for an uncomfortably long period of time, that his first kiss with Brynne had been far more… tame. And probably better for it.
Then Tracey's hands started fumbling around with Lucian's shirt buttons. Except that Lucian didn't have any shirt buttons. It was this motion, however, that got his attention, and caused him to pull back.
"Wait a second," he breathed. "What about the kid?"
"I've done everything for that kid…" Tracey answered in a husky, inebriated murmur. "For a year straight. It's my turn to have something I want. Tonight, that's you."
And she started kissing him again. Now, he was pulling at the straps on her clothing, and James turned his back, having seen enough to know where this was probably going.
He squinted as the colors faded to white again.
"Doesn't sound too bad, does it?"
James found himself looking at the front door to the same home, with a more sober-sounding female voice asking a question behind him.
"Stephan Quinn Davis-Bole." James turned around, looking at a boy with a short, blond ponytail. Both of them were peering into the kitchenette area, most of which was being occupied by the body of Lucian, the man James had just seen being… well, seduced, for lack of a better term to do it justice. Tracey was there, too, looking cleaner, happier, and more sober than the last time James had seen her. "What do you think? ...Speak up, kid. No one's gonna hear you like that."
"Give him some time, Lucian," Tracey approached from somewhere out of sight, grasping onto one of Lucian's broad shoulders. "It's a big change. There have been a lot of big changes lately."
James could just barely see it as she stroked Lucian's shoulder again, but light from somewhere outside bounced off something shiny on her hand.
"How much time?" Lucian answered. "If we're doing it, we've got to file with the Ministry so the right name is on all his Hogwarts paperwork."
"He doesn't go to Hogwarts for another year and a half," Tracey answered, almost chuckling.
"I work for the Ministry. You know how slow they are with this crap?" Lucian laughed.
"Games and Sports are slow," Tracey reminds him. "This would be… Chronicles and Records, right?"
"Records and Chronicles - and they're even slower," Lucian corrected her. She rolled her eyes.
"Perfect…" she whispered.
"I'm not…" James was next to Stephan, so he heard him murmur. Lucian and Tracey both looked up. James was also (technically speaking) from several years in the future. So he knew how this conversation was likely about to go.
"What is it?" Lucian asked, an edge of criticism to his tone. "Speak up. Nobody's gonna listen if you murmur."
"I'm...I'm not changing it," Vaisey finally said, this time a bit more loudly. "I don't want to."
"Why not?" Tracey detached himself from Lucian and started into the living room. Vaisey visibly recoiled at her approaching touch, which immediately struck James as something alarming. He looked nervous at best, even as Tracey gently placed her hands on his shoulders.
"That's not my name," answered Stephan.
"Steph, listen," Tracey gave a sigh, as of someone at the end of their patience. "Your 'father' isn't coming back."
"Yeah, because you won't let him," Vaisey showed his first signs of defiance, but even then, he couldn't look his mother in the eye.
"That's not true," Tracey reassured him. "He could come see you if he wanted. You're his son."
"Am I?" asked Vaisey.
"Of course - why would you ask something like that?" Tracey replied, looking uncomfortable.
"I don't look much like him," Vaisey remarked. "Not from the pictures I've seen."
"Some boys look more like their mothers. That's not unusual," Tracey answered. "Really, you should be thankful. You're going to grow up to look and be like Quinn Davis, and he's a better man than your father ever was." She stroked his face lovingly. Judging from his reaction, though, he wasn't feeling the love much, if at all. "You know he almost became Minister of Magic once? Lost it to Nobby Leach. He wasn't bitter, though." Vaisey heaved a small sigh through his nose. Clearly he had heard this story before. Several (dozen) times. "When he conceded, he said it was about time a Muggle-born won the post. It killed his career in the Ministry to take that stance, but he did the right thing."
"Merlin's balls, Trace, you tell that story at least once a week," Lucian groaned from behind them. "If the kid wants to keep his deadbeat father's name, let him. 'Sno skin off my back. And he's not gonna look a thing like Quinn Davis until he gets that hair chopped." Things began to go white again, and Lucian's voice began to fade. "...prettier than my goddaughter…"
James was standing behind Vaisey again, but this time, he was somewhat closer to the boy James had come to know. This must have been very early in his Hogwarts life, as his hair was still about to the middle of his back.
"What's that you've got in your hand, kid?" Lucian was approaching from the kitchen. "And speak up."
Vaisey visibly gulped before talking. "It's a banner for my room. A…. a house banner."
"A Gryffindor banner," clarified Lucian, his mouth set into a firm line. Even though he knew he wasn't technically in a real place, but in a memory of Vaisey's, he couldn't help but still feel a bit apprehensive about Lucian (unknowingly) approaching his spectral form. Lucian Bole was a big man, and visibly towered over Vaisey, who was a bit tall for his age, but extremely thin.
"I bought this with my own money," Vaisey muttered, looking away from him.
"You bought this with money your mother and I gave you for Christmas," Lucian corrected him. "And against my wishes. And speak up. If you're going to defy me, at least do it like a real man."
Then a look seized Vaisey's eyes - a look James recognized from the last couple of years.
"Where's Mum?" he asked.
"Still in bed, completely knackered, of course," Lucian answered smugly. Judging by the brief look of disgust that flashed across Vaisey's face, he might have understood whatever Lucian was implying. "You should be thanking me. I don't imagine she'd be too chuffed if she were to find out you tried to smuggle a Gryffindor banner in the house. But maybe, if you go back and return it now, we can forget any of this ever happened. She's disappointed that you're in Gryffindor, but she's learning to deal with it. If you're gonna be stupid, though, and parade that around knowing she doesn't like it…"
"Why does she love Slytherin so much, anyway?" asked Vaisey. "Wasn't it a Slytherin that-"
"Don't…" Lucian interrupted him, and he looked scary now. "Finish… that… sentence."
"Well…" Vaisey swallowed hard, sounding abashed. "Wasn't You-Know-Who a Slytherin?"
"Who, Voldemort?" Lucian uttered brashly. Vaisey cringed. Lucian's lip curled upward into a sneer. "How the hell did the Sorting Hat ever pick you for Gryffindor? Gryffindors are a lot of things, but they're not cowards."
"I'm not a coward," Vaisey murmured.
"What was that?" Lucian queried. "Speak up."
"I said, 'I'm not a coward,'" repeated Vaisey, this time more strongly.
Lucian's nostrils flared. "Jury's still out on that one."
The scene went white again, and then things got weird.
Memories came in flashes now - different times, different locations.
One moment, James was standing at what he had just enough time to deduce was Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters, watching from behind Vaisey as a black-haired girl sprinted across the platform and leapt into his arms.
Then, he was in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts again, watching as an aged, intimidating-looking woman James immediately recognized spoke to the even-more-aged Lucan Wenster.
Then, he was in the Great Hall, standing behind Vaisey (McLaggen was across from him) as he watched the same black-haired girl pass by them at the table to approach another boy with white-blond hair, producing a piece of parchment from somewhere in her robes. He caught the sight of Stephan Vaisey's eyes narrowing...
Then, he was in the Transfiguration classroom, watching students leave. Wenster called for a surly, mousy-haired teenager in Gryffindor garb, asking him for a moment of his time...
Then he was watching Vaisey in some staircase tower or another, lunging at Philip Bletchley whilst other students held him back.
Then, he was in Wenster's office, watching the professor address several students, including the teenager from before, who seemed to be hanging on his every word...
Then he was watching Vaisey on the train, as he snapped defiantly at an older Slytherin boy and his friend, and one of the two laid into him with a closed fist.
Then he was back in the Davis-Bole house.
It was cleaner now, and several couches had been moved into the previously empty living room. On one was Lucian. He jumped to his feet, apparently yelling. Vaisey, though, his hair now much shorter, was on another couch, and he jumped to his feet and started speaking back. Tracey, his mother, was there as well, and jumped to her feet, throwing what looked to have been a wineglass to the floor. The argument continued between the three until suddenly, Lucian reached out and grabbed Vaisey by the shirt…
Somebody pulled on James's robes. And in the tension of the situation, he was watching, he nearly wheeled around and slugged them.
"James, we have to go." It was Rose.
"One second," James replied. Her form flashed out of sight. James whipped his head around and saw Vaisey sprawl to the ground, catching his head on the edge of a chair on his way…
Then, he was back in Wenster's office.
He jumped and looked around… where was everyone? Nobody was here…
Except Vaisey.
And Wenster.
James cursed, going for his wand, before realizing that he was looking at yet another memory.
"So why me?" Wenster asked in his low, slow voice. "I'm curious about that."
"You're one of the few people around here that makes any sense," Vaisey was looking down at his shoes, his fists clenched. He was muttering again.
"Speak up, Mr. Vaisey," Wenster requested. Vaisey recoiled horribly, almost as if he thought he was going to be struck. Seeing this, Wenster's face changed - to something almost human. "What is it?"
"He always says that," Vaisey murmured. Then James felt another hand on his shoulder.
"James, mate, we've got a situa-damn!" Murphy was there, but then he turned, looked somewhere vaguely behind him, and ominously, was gone just as soon as he'd appeared.
"Law enforcement won't help you unless you can prove what he's doing, and people like him always find ways to pass it off as an accident," Wenster said. Glancing at something to James's right, he added, "Their type are rather good at that."
"Their type need to go away," Vaisey answered with a bitter snarl. "The world's better off without-"
He seemed to catch himself. He looked up at Wenster, his eyes wide with fear. But the old professor simply raised a hand.
"Don't worry. You're safe here," he said. Vaisey's face contorted; he looked down. "You haven't heard that much, have you? You know, you remind me quite a bit of another boy I taught - a boy I failed - a long time ago. Or, rather, two…"
Stephan Vaisey gulped.
"You've heard of the Scrimgeour family, haven't you?" the wizened professor asked.
"You mean Rufus Scrimgeour?" asked Vaisey. "He was Minister for Magic once, right?"
"Yes," Wenster said. "They were -"
"Friends of yours?" Vaisey finished.
"No," replied Wenster vehemently. "They were much more than that. They were as close to family as I ever had, since my mother left me at an orphanage with nothing but my name and the clothes on my back - but that's a story for another day. That's Claudia." He pointed with his chin toward the portrait on the side wall. Vaisey turned and looked. "She was going to be my wife. Until she turned up dead in Dover. She'd held suspicions about the man most would come to know as - well, you know what he liked to call himself. I never knew what she found out, but Tom Riddle and his associates must not have wanted it getting out. They killed her... burned down her home. And her brother - our brother - Titus… he was never the same after that. We tried looking for Riddle, but he'd disappeared by then. I had a hard time with it, of course I did. I loved Claudia dearly. But Titus… Titus was her twin. That's a special bond - magic in itself, some say. He never got over it. It was like a piece of his soul had been ripped away from him. Even after he started a family of his own, he could never find peace. Finally, years and years later, right after the First War ended, he tried to kill Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy in the Ministry atrium. They were acquitted of their Death Eater activity - used the Imperius Curse defense. That was too much for Titus to take. He went after them right after the trial ended."
"Missed, did he?" Vaisey grumbled, his eyes glittering as he looked at the ground. "Might've saved my mum a lot of trouble if he hadn't. A few years after the First War ended, Lucius Malfoy and some of his Death Eaters came calling for my grandfather - looking to get him to join up, I'd guess. He said no. So they killed him. If my mum hadn't been hiding when they showed up, they probably would've done her in, too. And nobody would have known what happened. They made it look like an accident, and everyone had convinced themselves that Voldemort and the Death Eaters were gone for good by then..."
Wenster nodded, grimly acknowledging that the two had something in common.
"Titus was arrested on the spot, of course," Wenster went on. "Sentenced to a year in prison. A light sentence for attempted murder, but much too long to be in Azkaban of all places. By the time his sentence was to be over, from what I've been told, not only was his mind shattered, but his health was failing. He never made it out of Azkaban. He went to his deathbed calling for Claudia and saying, 'Take the sword. Take the sword. Take the sword.' Rufus and I were the only people that ever knew what that meant. A sad story… which brings me to the second young man I failed."
"Second?" asked Vaisey.
"Yes," Wenster said solemnly. "...Have you heard of the Walter murders?"
James's heart nearly stopped.
"Of course," Vaisey answered. "My father was terrified the same thing would happen to us. I didn't know that back then - I was too young, but..."
"They were done by a student - rather, a group of students - I had here in Gryffindor back when I was Head of House. There was one boy… he had so much hate and anger. Not entirely unjustified. We both lost loved ones to Voldemort, so we had that in common. I was trying to teach them how to harness all of that rage and turn it into his fuel. I succeeded after a fashion, I suppose…"
"Gladius Leo…" Vaisey murmured. "You started it?"
"Started it? No," Wenster said plainly. "Can't take credit for that, it would be… disrespectful. But they were a gang of children, essentially. They started as students and graduated... with no leadership, no direction… no funding. But I mentored and taught all of them. I felt responsible for them… and we were of the same mind. So I did what I could to provide the things they lacked. Funds from my ample savings… information about the associates of Tom Riddle I had attended school with years ago, and their families... A sword can be sharp, but it won't cut properly unless someone is there to swing it. I wanted a man by the name of Atlas Carrow - his brother and sister were well-known Death Eaters, and he had a pair of twin daughters that had gone to school here. We planned… I planned... to hold one of his daughters - safely - in exchange for any information on any other Death Eaters he knew about. Then release her, and destroy what was left of Tom Riddle's followers with the information Atlas gave us. Things went… wrong. It hadn't been the first time. Mr. Creevey and his comrades did a few things I didn't approve of - but, honestly, after everything Britain had been through with the Death Eaters… in my mind, it wasn't the dearest price to pay. Sometimes, you have to scorch the earth… to make sure nothing grows."
James's blood ran cold. So it was true… it was all true...
"Sir," Vaisey replied; James just barely heard him through the fog in his brain. "You know their daughter - the Walters, I mean - attends Hogwarts now, right? She's in my year."
"Barely sane, after the torture Garrick Claudius subjected her to in the process of trying to murder Professor Longbottom," Wenster replied with a sort of coldness. "She's of no concern to us."
"I've heard she likes sniffing around, trying to find out things," Vaisey told him hesitantly.
Wenster's mouth twitched. His eyes darted to the wall again - or, rather, to the portrait on the wall - that picture of Claudia Scrimgeour that James had seen the first time, but was now seeing in a new light. "I've lived a long time, Mr. Vaisey. The better part of a hundred years. And in my experience… I've found that the world can be rather cruel to curious people."
Before James could see any new revelations, there was a sharp yank on the scruff of his neck. The room went white.
When the light faded again, James registered that he was now on his backside (and judging by the dull ache, had landed on it rather forcefully). A crackling noise behind him sent his senses into overdrive as someone nearby hit the ground with a thud.
He rolled over and pulled out his wand in one motion, only to see that his would-be target was already occupied.
A boy and Rose were exchanging hexes. He was older and bigger but Rose was holding her own, her once-straight hair again messy and coiled and her brown eyes wild as she dueled furiously.
Murphy was first to jump to his feet. He shouted an incantation and a silver jet of light issued forth from it with an awful BANG that rattled the small office. The youth that was dueling Rose ducked as it barely missed his ear. James glanced at the floor near his own feet. Rowan was sprawled out, unconscious, his glasses broken.
"Temple, you're outnumbered," Murphy said with a warning tone… ever the fair officer that he'd grown up watching, he wanted to give his quarry a chance to surrender.
But Temple had been given enough chances.
"You lot shouldn't be here," he declared-
Then, he crumpled.
The ensuing silence was almost eerie. Rose glanced down at her own outstretched wand, obviously wondering for a moment if she had unwittingly cast the spell herself. Then her eyes slid in James's direction.
Meanwhile, James pulled his extended hand and wand back, taking care a second time to avoid Murphy's left ear.
It took a couple of seconds for Murphy to register what had just happened. He whirled around. "What the hell was that?"
"I Stunned him," James answered simply. "You know - Stupefy?"
"No, I would've heard that - and got my bloody head out of the way," said Murphy, giving James an askance, appraising look.
"Never mind that," James said, pocketing his wand and making for the lift. But Murphy grabbed his arm on the way by.
"Where are you going?" Murphy asked.
"Where do you think?" snapped James. It took every ounce of control he had to stop himself from decking Murphy on the jaw right then and there. "I'm gonna go find that bastard and end him."
"Are you serious?" Murphy queried, his eyes wide. "March up to a panel meeting and try to kill a Hogwarts professor in full view of half the staff? That's your plan? That's a one-way ticket to Azkaban even if you somehow managed to bring that off-"
"You think I don't know that?!" James snapped, finally losing his temper. "Maybe I don't give a damn anymore!"
"James - stop - listen -"
"NO, YOU LISTEN!" James stepped forward and grabbed hold of Murphy's shirt with both hands. "Wenster… killed… Brynne's… parents. Creevey and Gladius Leo were just glorified hitmen - they went where he sent them. Their blood, her nightmares, all of it… it's on his hands. I am not going to stop. Not until he gets what he deserves. As long as I'm breathing..."
Murphy put his hands out in front of him in a 'calm down' sort of motion. "We have to do this the right way," he said.
This elicited ringing laughter from Rose - laughter that was much too high in pitch and didn't sound anything like a signal of amusement.
"The right way? You want to know what the 'right' way is? The way that works."
And she went into her robes, producing the strangest thing. A necklace with a locket attached.
"This is why the office is empty in the first place," she said.
"Wenster's locket," James said, his mouth dry.
"More accurately... Claudia Scrimgeour's locket," Rose said. She opened it, and James could just barely make out a portrait of the same beautiful blonde in large relief behind him on Wenster's office wall.
"What?" James uttered. "How do you know about Claudia Scrimgeour?"
"I have good ears," Rose replied, not looking at him.
James stood there, stunned for a moment, as the realization hit him. "So that was you… that day at Hagrid's. You were eavesdropping. Standing in a bloody blizzard, no less..."
Rose didn't look at him. "When I said there's nothing I wouldn't do…"
"But… Malfoy…" Murphy uttered.
Rose swallowed hard and blinked. Was that regret in her eyes, just for a moment? "I had to. Maybe if we bring Wenster down…"
"...That'll make it better?" Murphy frowned. "I doubt it."
"So do I," Rose replied, staring at her feet. "But maybe it'll make it worth it. I'll take that."
She walked over to Temple's fallen form and gave it a gentle nudge with her foot.
"Out cold," she muttered, mostly to herself.
"Scorpius Malfoy might end up getting expelled because of you," Murphy pointed out, frowning very sternly. James knew that this disapproval wasn't so much because Murphy was particularly close with Scorpius; rather, it was the principle of the thing. Rose, though, turned around and answered him.
"He might," she said. "But it wouldn't be my fault. I never even said Scorpius stole the locket. They just assumed. They all hate the fact he exists. You're the one that says 'work with what the system gives you,' right? Even if the 'system' is complete rubbish?"
"That's not what I'm saying," Murphy began to argue, but then James cut across him.
"We don't have time for this," he said, snapping each word like a whip.
"You're right," Rose answered. With a deep breath, she walked over to Rowan. "Renervate," she muttered, pointing her wand at him.
A moment passed. Then, with a gasp and loud cough, Rowan Lester sat bolt upright. He groaned. "My head… what happened?"
"Temple," Rose replied. "He Stunned you."
"What?" Rowan barked in reply.
"We took care of him," Rose replied. "Or James sort of took care of him."
She glared at James, the implication obvious. A Stunning spell was too good, in her opinion, for Eamonn Temple.
"We need that memory," Murphy said simply. "It's our best chance. If we can get it to someone with Law Enforce…"
He stopped mid-word. Then turned toward Rose.
"Your mother's Acting Director," he said, giving James a quick wide-eyed glance, as if he had just remembered.
But Rose shook her head.
"Wh-what?" uttered Murphy.
"It's too risky," answered Rose immediately. "And not fast enough. My mum, right now, is in her office about to pack up and leave for the weekend - today's Friday. That's if she's not at home already. Both of those are in London. Which is nowhere near the castle, in case you haven't noticed. That's a day or two, even for an incredibly fast owl that can somehow bypass three levels of security checks..."
"The nearest Hit Wizard division is stationed in Edinburgh," Murphy pointed out.
"I know that. They can't act without my mother's approval," Rose shot him down quickly. "Not for something involving Hogwarts. She has to sign off on any sort of action personally." A smirk crossed her face. "She helped write that law and now because of it, she can't even help us."
"Hogwarts is on its own, then," James said. "Rowan, do you know to get a memory out of a Pensieve? I think I know exactly who needs to see this."
"I do, but… they've assembled the Panel by now. All of the House Heads are in Professor Gladstone...Flitwick… the Headmaster's office," protested Rowan.
"Rowan's right," agreed Murphy. "You can't expect to barge in on a Panel meeting through the front door, can you?"
James pondered that question. He felt almost sick to his stomach with the rage bubbling inside him. He wasn't surprised. He had always known, deep down. It was just that… hearing the man admit it, and so casually, at that… it made it even worse than James had envisioned it. There was no remorse. When he sent Creevey and his accomplices there that day, did he know that one of the couple was a Muggle, who would care nothing for their crusade, but fight back nonetheless for the sake of his wife and daughter? Did he know that they had a daughter? Was he expecting his men to do the same to her as they had done to the parents? Or was he planning to chalk it up simply as collateral damage?
In the end, it did not matter. Their blood, her suffering… all of it was on Wenster's hands. And if James died trying, he would make sure the debt would be paid.
As long as he was breathing.
James glanced at the picture of Claudia Scrimgeour on Wenster's wall.
"I'd be prepared to bet he doesn't have many pictures of her left, if she died when Voldemort was a young man," Rose commented. Holding up the closed locket to indicate one, she suggested, "These might be the only two."
James could practically see the wheels turning in Rose's head - to what end, James wasn't sure. Murphy saw them, too. "What are you thinking?"
"Right now?" Rose answered with unnerving airiness. "How I can get that portrait off the wall so I can set it on fire."
Murphy wasn't expecting this answer; he opened his mouth halfway, closed it, then turned to James.
"What about Scorpius?" asked Rowan. "If someone doesn't get him away from Wenster, he might wind up expelled. Maybe worse."
"We're going to have to give the Heads of House something more important to look at, then," Murphy replied. "Like everything in this Pensieve, for instance."
"No," insisted Rowan. "We need to get this to-"
He stopped short, almost as if just then realizing something. And then, he stared at James.
"...Your dad," he finished.
"What?" uttered Murphy.
"He's the one that solved the Gladius Leo case," Rowan recalled.
"I already told you once before," Rose said impatiently, "you can't. It'll be hard enough to get anything to him, and even if you do, he can't come to Hogwarts unless my mum signs off on it-"
"Unless…" James muttered to himself, the cogs working furiously in his brain now.
"Unless what?" Rowan asked. James didn't answer.
"James, what are you thinking?" queried Murphy.
James swallowed hard, knowing that, for his part, it was the only option.
"I'm thinking we're back to plan 'A'."