Chapter 34: The Last Soldier

"BLETCH!"

Tellius Nott ran out in front of James to tend to the boy Malcolm had laid down on the bridge. A moment's pause, then - "Oh, he's still breathing, thank God…"

In his arms, Brynne let out a shuddering breath.

"James Potter," Malcolm called. Somehow, even before Malcolm spoke, James had the feeling this wasn't going to be a 'thank-you-for-holding-Wenster-off' speech. "I hope you see by now the kind of havoc your hero complex can cause. Now, stay back."

"Come now, Clinton. You don't give yourself enough credit," Wenster remarked as he approached with deliberate strides. "Was it not your idea to begin student duelist training in second year? You really should know what the prizes for such a game are before you start playing it..."

"I think you've talked enough," Malcolm replied tersely. "But before I close your mouth for good, just tell me one thing. Why Meridia? She had nothing to do with this."

"I swore an oath," Wenster remarked. "It's that simple."

And, for what it was worth, James detected no trace of guile in the man's words.

"Flynn," Malcolm muttered. "He found out, didn't he? He was going to expose you, and you threatened her. You blackmailed him - and started the rumors about Meridia carrying his child, I bet..."

Brynne did a double take and looked at James. "Flynn? Rowan's uncle Flynn?"

James nodded. "It's a long story... and I'm not even sure I have all the details."

"The lot of you were always too clever for your own good," Wenster growled. "So I suppose you've figured out the rest, have you?"

Malcolm didn't respond. "Did McGonagall know?"

"Suspected, perhaps. She never did trust me. That's why I was pushed aside so quickly in favor of a brood of callow upstarts," Wenster said bitterly. "Or perhaps she felt threatened by having one of her predecessors around. In any case, she was always wary of giving me too much power at Hogwarts. Much to her disadvantage… perhaps if she had, some of this messiness could have been avoided…"

"Madam McGonagall protected Hogwarts through two wars," Malcolm replied, something strange in his tone of voice that almost sounded like… reverence. "I think she might've stomached some 'messiness' to stop a third."

"I doubt it," Wenster countered. "Even the thought of interrogating Slytherin students after the last war was abhorrent to her. She lacked the will to finish the job -"

"That's where you're wrong," Malcolm interrupted. "Or else I would not be standing right here."

"Is that so?" Wenster queried, putting on a tone of mock intrigue. "Then, let us see whose 'will' is str-"

But Malcolm had raised his left hand in the middle of Wenster's sentence, and an unseen force threw the old wizard backward. It was a bit of a cheap shot - but one, James thought, Wenster would have known was coming if he had bothered learning anything about the way Malcolm taught.

"'Finish the job'?" Brynne asked, barely audible over the noises and occasional explosions of a new duel. "What does he mean by that?"

James swallowed hard.

"James."

Brynne had stepped out in front of him.

"What did you and Phillip find out?" she asked, her blue eyes wide.

And it was at that look, that the terror James had felt ebbed away. Slowly, silently, he moved Brynne aside. "James!" she called, more loudly, as he walked by.

"Where's my wand?" he asked.

"Don't you walk away from me again, James Potter!"

James stopped, and whirled around. He had never heard her yell like that. "What if… what if I don't get you back this time?" she asked rapidly as he approached her, almost as if she was ashamed to ask the question out loud.

"You will," James said, hoping she didn't see the uncertainty he felt in his own face.

Either she must have, or he simply hasn't done a good job convincing her.

"I don't like this," she muttered, too low for anybody else to hear. "I still don't trust Malcolm, and I've never seen magic like that before…"

Brynne was making some valid points. James knew Malcolm was an extremely powerful wizard. But apparently he could also fly and had some degree of control over the wind. Even for powerful wizards, neither of those things were normal.

"...Are you afraid?" Brynne asked, at a 'no-one-has-to-know-but-me' type of whisper.

"Of course I'm afraid," he replied. Swallowing hard, he added, "But I'm going anyway. You, uh…"

Brynne looked up, almost hopeful.

James bit his lip and looked away from her, feeling his face get a bit hot. "I'll tell you later."

Condensing air billowed forth from both of Brynne's nostrils as she let out a sigh. "I'm getting that a lot lately."

"Oi."

Somebody slapped James on the back. James, still feeling a few of his injuries, winced a little but knew the person that had done it had meant no harm. He turned around slowly to find a long piece of wood being shoved into his chest.

"Don't ask me to handle your wand again." Murphy smirked trollishly at him.

James couldn't help but smirk himself at yet another of his friend's double entendres. But then he remembered what had just happened and winced. "Murph…"

But Murphy shook his head and smiled. "It's no big deal. It died a hero, like it deserved. Maybe I'll lay the pieces on his grave when we go to visit in the summer…"

James tilted his head. "Wait, what?"

"Never mind that," Murphy said. "Just see if you can't finish this. Quickly, maybe? It's cold as balls out here."

"Yeah, I noticed," James replied.

James walked past him, but heard a question from behind. "You gonna Disarm him?"

"Of course not - he's gonna see that coming," James replied as he kept walking. Plus, it's too good for him.

James walked past a broomstick that he recognized as his own Cleansweep X-V, lying forlornly on the bricks. Going in with a broom would be faster, and perhaps would catch Wenster by surprise. Unfortunately, James was reasonably convinced something had happened to his Cleansweep escaping from the Headmaster's Tower. It would fly, but not straight. Taking a deep breath and feeling the freezing, snowy air turn to fire in his lungs (and against injured ribs, to make matters worse), he gathered what was left of his willpower and broke into a run.

Maybe the damage had been recent, or maybe James simply had not focused enough to look properly, but the end of the viaduct bridge nearest the castle was showing some obvious scars from the battle. Large stone bricks and fragments were displaced. There were great chunks missing out of the ground, and James barely avoided twisting his ankle in one as he stumbled to a canter. Sparks and flashes of light were shooting off like fireworks in front of him, and Professor Malcolm, who had pushed Wenster back nearly to the castle entrance, was now giving back ground...

Either fatigue or a desire not to blow up the rest of their foothold had caused the duel between the two professors to break down a bit. Wenster, who looked even more fearsome with robe-matching blood dripping down his cheek and into his white beard, pointed his wand at a stray brick to his side and wordlessly Levitated it... then sent it careening at Malcolm's face.

Malcolm saw this and raised his hand, presumably to do whatever wind magic only he could. He glanced at his left hand, snarled, "Shit!", and with the other, quickly raised his wand instead - "Protego!"

"Burned yourself out, have you? I hear it happens among your kind when untrained. Propulso!"

Another large stone came from behind Wenster, aimed at Malcolm at high speed. "Bombarda!" Malcolm blew it to fragments and then fired a spell at Wenster, who easily deflected it. "Who says I'm 'untrained'? And what do you mean by 'my kind'?"

"You haven't used these powers in well over twenty years. Hidden them away, I daresay..." Wenster accused, his wand glowing with golden light as he deflected another spell. "I'm not a fool, Clinton. I've known what you were since you were a student here."

"I could say the same to you," Malcolm growled, pointedly not addressing whatever Wenster thought he was. "I don't know why I didn't see it before…"

"It's simple," Wenster replied, raising another stone… and then another. "I was very loud about my beliefs. And by being loud, one can hide in plain sight. Society - most of it - has taught itself, and rightfully so, to beware the quiet ones. People like Dennis Creevey and Scorpius Malfoy, for example -"

"Bombarda!" James shouted, losing his temper and firing the explosive jinx at one of the floating bricks. It went off next to Wenster's head, causing him to stagger - and causing both teachers to register his presence.

Malcolm turned his head. Meanwhile, Wenster recovered, and sent the remaining slab of stone at the back of that head. "What the hell are you doing?! I thought I told you to stay back!"

James thought for a split second of letting it hit him. But, alas, he could not. "Protego!"

The stone did not shatter on impact with the Shield Charm James had aimed just past Malcolm's ear. It ricocheted off the shield (which barely held) and into the air, hanging there just long enough for Malcolm to turn on his heel and notice it. "Propulso!"

"Sabula verto," Wenster chanted, holding up his wand toward the fragment of the bridge now careening toward him. It stopped short several feet away and appeared to turn into fine dust. "Ventus."

James saw it before Malcolm did, and ducked. By the loud groan somewhere near him, he knew that Malcolm now had the dust or sand or whatever it was, in his face. "Petravertum hastus!" He heard Wenster call. Then, a second later - "Oppugno!"

James recognized the second incantation and immediately looked up - and good thing he did. Something hard, long, and sharp-looking was speeding toward Malcolm, who still had his face in his sleeve. He looked up several seconds too late to avoid this spear-of-whatever coming straight at his chest.

"Reducto!" James fired the curse hastily. The silver jet of light that issued forth from his wand barely clipped the dart that was inches away from Professor Malcolm's chest. A loud BANG ensued, and James found himself being thrown hard to his back for not the first time that afternoon.

Then he felt everything go black for a second - as if he had blinked very slowly.

Through blurred vision, he saw several flashes of green light - then red, then blue. The lights stopped, followed by an awful sound of impact.

"FLIPENDO TRIA!"

James saw the boots of Malcolm slide into view. "IMPEDIMENTA!" he heard Malcolm incant, thrusting an arm forward. Then the second arm, bathed in eldritch green light, joined it, and the wind kicked up to frightening levels. Barely above it, he heard Malcolm's voice: "GET OUT OF HERE, POTTER! HURRY UP!"

James glanced back up the bridge. His friends were there. Even if Malcolm gave them a few extra seconds, most of them were hurt and weakened from the fight… they would not escape in time. And neither would he…

The wind stopped. Malcolm staggered forward. Wenster came into view as James's eyes focused again. "Expelliarmus," he heard the Transfiguration instructor say wearily, waving his wand. Wenster hadn't been careful; the impact - or perhaps it was just fatigue, knocked Malcolm to his bum right next to where James was pulling himself to his feet.

Wenster readied a spell. James neither heard it, nor waited around to find out what it might be. Summoning all of his willpower, he raised his wand and shouted: "PROTEGO!"

A flickering bulwark of light erected itself in front of James and Malcolm just in time to send a silver jet of light in another direction. James squinted but tried not to close his eyes entirely; his head was light and his arms heavy, but he knew they were all dead if he dropped either.

"NO!" Malcolm groaned in protest, though he could apparently do nothing more to stop this. "Run, you bloody idiot, RUN!"

Another silver jet of light hit his shield, which cracked. Then a third hit, and it died.

James felt his legs turn to jelly underneath him and fell to his knees. His breaths whisper-shouted in his lungs; his heart pounded unevenly in his chest.

I failed her. Again.

"That's a shame," Wenster said. "All this talent and potential... wasted on fighting a man who only ever tried to do the right thing."

Fatigue was replaced sharply and violently by volcanic rage. A feral, wordless snarl escaped from his chest as he rose again, flailing his wand repeatedly. The bluish light endemic of a Shield Charm appeared in front of Wenster the first time, then on the second time, it flickered.

On the third time, the pane of light gave way like shattering glass, weight of something invisible.

Wenster let out a snarl of pain and staggered as his head jerked sideways. When he set his eyes on James again, the pale skin around one of them was visibly turning pink.

All at once, James felt a hundred tiny needles in his right arm. A hand that no longer belonged to him released his wand, and it clattered to the floor.

"That's enough, boys," Wenster said with simultaneous grim sternness and condescension. Even now, he sounded like the old professor talking down to his inferiors, who had not experienced as much and therefore could not possibly know as much.

Malcolm let out a sigh - and a cough - as he sat up. "You might win today… but you can't do this forever, Lucan."

Wenster squinted - the skin around one of his eyes was quickly sliding into an awful shade of fuschia. "And… why is that?"

Malcolm coughed. "You might get rid of me… good for you. Meridia and Flynn are still alive. They'll hunt you down. Even Ithamar. Especially Ithamar. James Potter's got more bloody family members than I've got fingers. Aurors will line up to gain favor with the great Harry Potter by avenging his son. You'll have a whole country after you." Then, unsettlingly, he laughed. "But you? You're the last soldier... fighting a war that's been over for years with no second - nobody watching your ass. And that's going to be your downfall one day."

Wenster almost appeared to think for a moment, but then turned his wand on Malcolm. "One day. Perhaps tomorrow."

He raised the wand, its tip glowing with a strange golden light.

There was an odd noise then - a pop and a high-pitched hum, almost like something tiny ricocheting...

Wenster took a false step forward, as if something had hit him, but not particularly hard-

James watched in astonishment as Wenster's wand leapt from his hand. It took a moment - a moment that felt like days from James' point of view - for the old wizard to realize it, and swipe at its cartwheeling length in the air. He missed, and swatted it further away from him, toward the edge of the bridge. Desperately, he lunged again, and a quick breeze shifted it just out of his grasp…

Lucan Wenster's wand tumbled over the viaduct's precipice, and disappeared into the white nothingness of snow and fog below.

An awkward silence ensued. Malcolm (lowering his left hand as a faint glow from it faded) glanced at James, as if wordlessly asking if he had done something - but James was just as confused as everybody else.

"How?!" Wenster shouted suddenly, whirling around. "Who did -"

It was just as he whirled around that James saw someone headed toward them, wand outstretched. He thought for a moment that it might have been Halim, whom he'd lost track of after flying away from the Headmaster's office. But he could just make out the face - and the skin on it was far too pale.

Then, he thought it might have been Ambrose, who had been left on the ground knocked out when Wenster escaped. But Ambrose was much too tall.

Then, as the form approached even closer, he thought for a wild moment, that it might have been his own father. He knew very few people with hair that color, a black so dark that the lack of light from the grim snowstorm sky rendered it almost abyssal…

It was none of these men. It wasn't even a 'man' -

"You." Wenster's shock was everyone's shock.

It had been James's last guess that had been closest.

The eyes had a faraway, looking-at-no-one expression for a long moment, as if their owner was conflicted... unsure if he had done the right thing. There was even a quick blink or two, as if he was trying to stave off tears.

"Aculeo!"

POP! POP! rent the air, echoing off the faraway hills surrounding the castle, and Lucan Wenster buckled at the knees, uttering a cry of pain James had never heard from him before. He fell to a seat and had just enough time to slide back against the crenellations at one side of the bridge before Professor Malcolm advanced on him, wand at his temple.

The other boy just stood there silently, not even reacting…

James ran to him, all fatigue forgotten. He was still having a hard time feeling his right arm, so he hugged the boy with his left. The boy hardly responded, even as James moved aside and turned. The both of them looked down at where Malcolm was holding the fallen Wenster at wandpoint. ("Incarcerous immacula.")

Wenster stared at the two boys, hissing in pain and rage. His mouth, through gnashing teeth, could only form one word in the moment: "Why?"

James knew Wenster was not talking to him.

Albus Potter's expressionless face finally moved. "We must fight evil wherever we find it… right, Professor?"

James glanced at his brother, whose emerald stare was the frightening tranquility beyond fury. The ice in that look was colder than the ambient snows, and it occurred to James then that he had never - not in the near-fourteen years of Albus Potter's life - seen him truly angry.

Lucan Wenster made a face. He seemed stung by the accusation. Or perhaps it had to do with the fact that both of his knees were in agony and one of his eyes was now purple and so swollen that he could not open. "You misunderstand me - just as your namesake did. Everything that I have done… has been for the greater good."

"You believe that? Well, then, you're the worst kind of evil," Albus replied frigidly and without hesitation.

Malcolm raised his wand, his face set in a firm line. "Potter. Both of you, I mean… turn away. You don't want to see this."

James glanced at Albus, thinking - maybe hoping? - that Albus would speak up, and give the mercy that James was searching for but could not find within himself. But he did not. Meanwhile, Wenster closed his eyes, apparently resigned to his fate, perhaps even welcoming it-

No.

"Wait!" he blurted out while Malcolm was in the middle of some sort of incantation.

Malcolm, somewhat to James's surprise, actually stopped. "What do you mean, 'wait'?"

"Not yet," James said breathlessly. He had only just remembered, there was one more thing that had to be done before Wenster was abandoned to whatever end. "Not yet."

And, ignoring Malcolm's and his brother's bewildered expressions, he took off running down the viaduct bridge, shouting her name.

Brynne

"Hey, mate, can you stand?"

"Fred Weasley, I mean this in the most affectionate way possible. Go-"

"Ah-ah - Prefects aren't supposed to be using that kind of language, Thomas."

Roxanne Weasley and the boy that was apparently named Pike, both laughed.

Brynne's face twisted for a second, despite itself. Speaking of being twisted, she was trying very hard not to look directly at the lower legs of Tommy Jordan, who was seated against the edge of the bridge, both of them extended. He'd caught an ankle underneath him at the end of the fight and broken it terribly.

"Not sure what they're all happy about," Kadric Howell said seriously, just behind Brynne. "They do realize that we're all screwed if Wenster wins, right?"

Tellius Nott had his hands thrust toward a burning blue fireball that was floating in front of the three of them, giving them some degree of relief against this cold.

"What if he doesn't? What if Malcolm wins?" theorized Tellius.

Then we're still screwed, probably, Brynne thought, but didn't say it. Bizarrely, she was finding herself hoping for the latter option. At least Malcolm would give them some degree of time to deal with whatever problems he was going to cause. She looked away from everyone. She couldn't believe after all this time, she was rooting for Malcolm to win. She knew exactly what would happen. He would claim credit over James, be hailed as a hero, and use that as a springboard for the Board of Governors to vote him in as Headmaster next term. Then he would be, in essence, the second most powerful man in Wizarding Britain.

Or maybe, the more Brynne thought about it, he'd be the most powerful. Ministers have terms and are elected for a time. Headmasters of Hogwarts were elected until death, retirement, or if the Board of Governors removed them. And Malcolm was still young. That could be thirty years. Or more. Rowan had mentioned that Albus Dumbledore had served as Headmaster for something like thirty years. But Dumbledore had been much, much older than Malcolm was now when he received the post…

Speaking of that, where was Rowan? Where had he gotten himself off to…?

She heard a scream.

She felt her blood run cold despite the fire nearby. Something wasn't right.

There it was again. This time, Kadric Howell noticed.

"Do you hear that?" he asked.

Tellius Nott shook his head.

Then, a third time, more clear… "...Brynne!"

She knew that voice. Tellius and Kadric were both looking at her.

She whirled around… "JAMES!"

He was running toward her, and before she knew it, she was running, too. Her eyes went blind in the black of his robes. An arm wrapped around her back, a hand pawed through her curls a bit awkwardly...

"I'm sorry," she heard. It worried her.

"For what?" she asked, drawing back.

James's jaw was tight, his hazel eyes shiny. He blinked hard. "I…" he started. "This is… it might…"

He looked away from her, but she guided his face and eyes back toward her own with a gentle hand.

"You need to come with me," he finally said. "It's… about your parents."

Brynne felt her breath catch in her chest for a moment. Before she knew it, she was running again.

At last, panting and gasping, she and James came to a stop. She took quick inventory of what was around her. Wenster was sitting down, bound by glowing ropes of light, and Malcolm had him pinned against the edge of the bridge, wand at his forehead. And lastly, standing there looking on, was…

She blinked hard, just to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. Maybe the cold had made her delirious or something…

"What-? Okay." Malcolm seemed very annoyed. James ignored him and almost dragged Brynne to Wenster's side. She somewhat wished he hadn't; she didn't really want to be near -

Brynne heard herself let out a sigh. Malcolm - or maybe James - or maybe… Albus? This was so confusing. But someone had done a number on Lucan Wenster's face. One of the old professor's eyes was swollen shut and a nasty indigo color, and his mouth was dribbling drying blood. He was hissing, breathing through his teeth - perhaps because of pain, or anger, or exhaustion, or some mingling of the three.

And James immediately yelling at him probably didn't help. "You know who this is, right?!"

Wenster set his eyes - well, his eye - on her. "Brynne Walter. Third year, House Slytherin. Grandniece of Amycus and Alec-"

"This is the daughter of Edmund and Hestia Walter, from Swansea," James interrupted him coldly. "And you're going to tell her why her parents are dead."

Brynne's heart thumped within her in the silence from this dual revelation. She had always figured, owing to the paucity of wizards surnamed 'Carrow' in Britain, that she was related somehow to the notorious twin Death Eaters from the Second War. But her aunt had never given specifics on the nature of that relation. In fact, Flora had always said that Amycus and Alecto Carrow were never spoken of in her childhood home. "...What?"

"Do it," James said, staring straight at Wenster and wearing a look scarier than Brynne had ever seen on him. "For once in your miserable life, give something instead of taking it away."

Wenster glared at James through his one good eye - but Malcolm's wand was still pointed at his head. So he closed the eye that wasn't already wired shut by impact and muttered, almost under his breath, "...Atlas."

James's mouth set in a firm line.

Malcolm, on the other hand, was confused. "Who the hell is Atlas?"

"Atlas Carrow," Brynne said, or more like recited. She had only ever seen the man in labeled pictures belonging to her aunt, after all. "My grandfather."

"And the elder brother of Amycus and Alecto Carrow," Wenster added in a croak. "It was only ever about Atlas. It was only ever supposed to be about Atlas. He was never nearly as extreme as his siblings, but he was a strong enough proponent of blood purity, proud of his family's status on the Sacred Twenty-Eight... He came up as a target of Gladius Leo, as most immediate family members of Death Eaters did after the war. They meant to have him stand interrogation-"

"'Came up' as a target? For what - being related to a Death Eater?" James snapped.

"At their peak, the Death Eaters had mercenaries and sympathizers aiding them everywhere, boy. Just because someone didn't take the Mark didn't mean they weren't dangerous," Wenster snapped back with what little defiance he could muster in his weakened state. "...In any case, they could never pull Atlas out of hiding. But then they received a tip that Atlas had two adult daughters, and the plan came together to abduct one, and ransom her for Atlas and his wife to turn themselves in and answer to questioning."

"But you knew Hestia and Flora Carrow were Atlas's daughters - because you taught them, didn't you?" asked James.

"Those fools panicked!" Wenster snarled. "Somebody had tipped the daughters off that Gladius Leo would be after them. It turned into a fight, and then -"

"You didn't answer my question," James said. "Who was it that found Hestia Carrow and let those bastards know about it? Who gave them the information? Who gave them the Galleons? Who mentored them all when they were students here?"

A picture flashed across Brynne's mind. She felt faint and might have even collapsed. But then, two arms were around her, holding her tight and holding her steady.

Even before Wenster spoke, she knew what his answer would be:

"I did."

Malcolm paused for a moment. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and then -

"You sick son of a bitch."

"Professor!" James shouted. Malcolm stopped. "Don't. Rowan Lester might be back with Aurors any second now…"

Malcolm did a double take.

"Aurors?" coughed Wenster. "Don't you know the law, boy? Direct intervention by the Ministry at Hogwarts requires..."

"Approval from the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, based on evidence of a 'dire breach of law'," James answered. "Which we have in that vial that contains your memories. That vial's already in Hogsmeade. Maybe even London."

"I destroyed-" Wenster started… but then he stopped. His entire body slackened. "A copy. And yours?"

James stared back at him coldly. "Also a copy. Rowan had the real one."

At this, Malcolm smiled. It looked… odd. (Not least because there was blood on his teeth.) "I'll be damned, Flynn. You found a way after all."

"I see," Wenster said. Then, he looked up to the sky. "Go on and have at it, then. I've done my bit. And I'm ready to leave this wretched place and see Claudia and Titus again."

Malcolm glanced at James, who stared back. But it was Albus who eventually spoke up first. "That'd make us no better than you."

Malcolm's nose wrinkled a bit. Then he grit his teeth and stared at Wenster for a moment before shaking his head and lowering his wand and swearing to himself.

"Hmph. You boys both inherited your father's mercy, for better or worse," Wenster grunted, punctuating this comment with a spit. Something (a tooth?) clattered at James's feet.

James didn't lower his wand immediately. Brynne reached out for him, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. He finally lowered his arm, and turned his head to look at her. He looked exhausted, hardened, aged, but the expression softened when their eyes met. Brynne bit her lip and felt her eyes flooding. She blinked the tears back - all but one. But James saw it. And something in his own eyes changed.

"That's the thing, Professor. I really don't think I did."

He whirled around and raised his wand quickly, before anyone could react, and pointed it at Wenster.

"BRACHIUM EXFRINGO!"

The tip of James's wand flashed vaguely red for a split second - then a horrific crack split the air. Wenster let out a snarl like a wounded animal and his head, eyes suddenly popping, turned toward his right arm, which was now bent at a couple of very odd angles. It was disgusting, frankly, and Brynne decided to save her lunch by not looking at it directly. "What have you done…..what...what have you done?!"

James had his free hand up to his mouth, almost as if he was as shocked as anyone else by his own actions. But then, he lowered that hand as well as the one holding his wand.

"The Aurors are going to come get you, and take you to London," James said with a disturbing lack of inflection. "You're going to go on trial, be found guilty, and be sent to Azkaban for the rest of your life. Maybe that's a couple of years. Maybe that's twenty. You're a hard old codger, so I'd bet on twenty. And you're going to spend every single one of those days thinking about how much blood's on your hands because you wanted revenge for Titus and Claudia so badly. You're going to stare at those walls in Azkaban for a long, long time. Maybe you'll get old enough for your memory to start going. Maybe you won't even remember their faces at the end. But I hope you never forget what you did. And I hope every time you try to move that arm and can't... you never forget how you lost."

Wenster grit his teeth against the pain, his good eye flickering toward Brynne as he held his broken arm with the other. "It was her, wasn't it? This whole time? And you? Myself - only younger… terribly ironic…"

And then, with a tilt of his head, he passed out.

Malcolm stooped down near Wenster, but immediately recoiled with an utterance of, "Merlin's…" He shook his own right arm in an odd motion, almost as if wanting to make sure it was still there and still in working order.

James stared at Wenster for a very long time, the same faraway look in his hazel eyes. Brynne went to take his hand, but he would not give it.

"Hands up!" a woman's voice shouted suddenly. They were bathed in white-hot lights that nearly blinded Brynne. Next thing she knew, she found herself being pushed away. She did not resist, but caught sight of a woman's blonde hair.

"You two again?" the woman asked. Brynne vaguely recognized the voice. "Didn't we already do this last year?"

Brynne was too shaken, and did not answer. Meanwhile, she heard a loud, insistent - "Easy, Nicks, ea-sy. That's my son you're manhandling."

"What… seriously, Director?" the man queried, apparently a bit taken aback.

"Would I lie to you about something like that?" the other man's voice asked, sounding a bit exasperated.

"Sorry, sir… I just don't… I don't really…" Nicks stammered. "...see the resemblance."

"You can't? Really? He's got his father's... nose," Malcolm's voice spoke up.

"That's not funny," the 'Director' deadpanned. "...Evening, Professor. Been a while."

"It has. Haven't seen you much this year. I'm assuming they've got you busy with the whole Robards fiasco?"

"Come on, now, you know that's…"

"'Classified', 'need-to-know basis', or some other boring government-speak. I know." Malcolm sounded surprisingly petulant.

"Thought you'd be relieved," the 'Director' said, stepping out of the fading light and into Brynne's view as he approached Professor Malcolm. He gave up a few inches to Malcolm but had hair just as dark, save for a thin silver strand or two. He looked a bit unkempt, and a thick, dark beard had grown in on his face to the point that, if not for the thin scar that was just barely visible on his forehead from this distance under his bangs, Brynne might not have recognized him. "I know you didn't much like me stepping on your toes. For what it's worth, I hated it as much as you do. I did it as a favor to the Headmasters, but academics isn't my cup of tea."

Harry Potter looked around himself, and heaved a deep sigh as he shook his head.

"What the hell happened here, Clint?"

"Honestly, I'm still trying to piece it together," Malcolm admitted. "He decided he'd try and murder Meridia during a staff meeting, so let's start with that."

"What?" Harry uttered.

"Finite incantatem - Merlin's beard..." a dark-skinned man quite a bit larger than Harry Potter or Professor Malcolm muttered as he examined Wenster. Malcolm glanced in Wenster's direction but then looked back toward Harry, making some sort of face.

Harry's own bearded face was grim as he started. "So… is anyone... "

"I don't know," Malcolm said. "I don't think so, as far as I've seen. But there were a bunch of students on this bridge - figured they'd try to put a stop to Wenster themselves. They all came dangerously close to getting themselves killed, of course… I arrived on the scene late. I had to make sure the Headmistress was alright."

"I'm sure you did. Congratulations, by the way," Harry replied. Malcolm scowled and averted his gaze.

"I never imagined Wenster would…" he trailed off. "I always thought, whatever else he was…"

"We can discuss how this happened later - the important thing now is to make sure everyone's alright that should be," Harry answered. "Sonia!"

"Director?" The severe-looking blonde woman finally let go of Brynne's arm. She flexed her fingers to try to get some of the feeling back. Given that it was also cold out here (which she had almost forgotten in the heat of the last few moments), that only worked so well.

"Check down the bridge and see what we're dealing with," Harry instructed his subordinate.

"Sir," Sonia replied, although she glanced down at Brynne again, as if questioning whether she should be left alone.

"We're fine," Harry insisted.

Sonia gave one more glance at Brynne - why did this woman dislike her so much? - and started to walk, then run toward the far side of the bridge, and the others.

This left Brynne alone, for the first time in several minutes, to absorb all she had heard and seen. Brynne didn't pay much attention to the conversation going on in front of her, except when someone blurted out a loud, "Are you serious?"

Even now, though, it was too much. She began to close her eyes, to shut it all out…

"Are you hurt?"

"No." Brynne answered as a reflex, before opening her eyes, before even checking to see if the person who was speaking was who she thought he was. Sure enough, Harry Potter was looking down at her, dressed in a cloak with the Ministry insignia over a suit. Currently, he had removed his glasses to wipe them on his cloak, but he soon put them back on. The only thing Brynne could think of looking at him, honestly, was how odd he looked with a beard.

"You've got a knack for being close to the trouble," Harry commented. "No wonder you and James get along so well."

Brynne swallowed hard. She was afraid to ask, but wasn't sure she'd get the opportunity. "How do you remember Dennis Creevey?"

Harry had almost walked away - but he stopped, turned, and froze. Somehow, she knew that he was debating with himself on what to tell her - or, really, whether to say anything at all. His bearded face turned grave. "I guess I shouldn't be so shocked you're asking. It's only natural you'd be curious."

"You… you worked with him, right?" Brynne asked. "I looked up old Daily Prophet clippings on his arrest. He became an Auror after he graduated Hogwarts."

Harry Potter's mouth set into a firm line, almost as if an acknowledgment. Brynne was surprised at his lack of surprise. She had been surprised to find that fact; she had always figured the Ministry would want to cover up that an Auror of theirs had gone rogue to that degree. But apparently, it was public knowledge, easily accessible to anyone who cared to dig twelve years or so into the past.

"I'd known Dennis long before then," Harry finally said gravely. "He was a few years behind me in school. But after the war, he wasn't nearly as close to me as he was to Neville - Professor Longbottom, that is. He tried to be the older brother Dennis had lost - sent owls to him at Hogwarts constantly, checking to make sure he was alright, that he had everything he needed. His family were all killed by Death Eaters - although I'm sure you already knew that. And when Dennis came out, Neville put in a good word for him to our higher-ups at the Ministry to get him working for the Auror Office, and oversaw his training personally. Dennis came out - well, he was extremely talented. And more driven than anyone I'd ever seen up to that point. When someone gets a little too eager in our line of work, it can be a red flag. Neville tried his best to keep Dennis on the right path. But I… I always had this odd feeling that there might have been some... other voices in Dennis's head. I guess - no, I know - when you lose people you love… it changes you. Not always for the better…"

He glanced over his shoulder at where, at present, Nicks (with Malcolm's help) was levitating a still-unconscious Lucan Wenster.

"Most of the wizards I've captured in my career as an Auror have had awful backgrounds behind what they've turned into," Harry said. "But so do most of the wizards that help me capture them."

There was a long pause.

"I failed you and your family, Brynne," Harry said gravely. "I'm sorry."

"That's not true," Brynne answered. She heard her voice tremble. "If it weren't for you, Gladius Leo never would've been…"

Her voice left her; she looked away from Harry abashedly.

"I'm sure today must have brought up a lot of memories that you'd rather forget," Harry said. "I know what that feels like. Trust me. If there's anything I can do to help…"

Brynne, unlike many people, had no illusions about Harry Potter being some sort of superhero. A talented wizard he was, yes, but he couldn't solve every problem in the world. Just maybe, though… maybe he had an answer for this. Maybe he was one of the few people that would have an answer for this...

She shouted after him just after he turned to walk away, and he stopped.

James

When James's eyes opened to a white-walled room the next morning, the second thing that came to mind in the silence was that he wasn't sure he would ever take Dreamless Draught again. Perhaps if he could not sleep and desperately needed to; other than that… no, thanks. There was something unnerving about slipping away into nothingness; it felt less like rest and more like something or somebody had knocked him out (which wasn't false, technically, but still…)

Immediately, though, his mind began to race. Wenster, Malcolm, Gladstone, Ambrose, Halim, Brynne, Murphy, Tommy Jordan -

Nurse Nadine. "Oh, you're up!" she said brightly as she walked past his bed and noticed him sitting up. Madam Pomfrey, perhaps fortunately, was not to be found. The school had apparently convinced her at some point, maybe after Gladstone came into power, to take the weekends off. The timing was especially fortuitous this weekend because, if James remembered correctly, she and Wenster had been old friends. Maybe the poor old witch would hear about the news of what had happened involving him secondhand and have some time to process it before coming back to work. Maybe she would even take Monday off. Most of the students and professors hadn't been born yet the last time Poppy Pomfrey had not worked on a Monday; she was due for a holiday.

Recalling this detail was fortunate for James, who couldn't see a clock anywhere near him and might have panicked that he was late for some class or another if not for remembering that today was Saturday.

THUMP THUMP.

James cringed; he wasn't sure what time it was, but given the quantity of closed curtains around this room in the hospital wing, he guessed that it was still early, and that most of the hospital wing's population were still asleep. Someone, in fact, was rattling their curtains with snoring two or three beds away. Dreamless Draught, for its unfortunate side effects, did do exactly what it advertised. James wasn't sure how the hell anybody slept through this noise otherwise.

"Oh, good lord - this early?" groaned Nadine as she started toward the hospital wing door. She started to head the person off before she even opened the door. "Visiting hours aren't until -"

She gasped.

"They told me you'd left," she said.

"I did. I've come back."

James jumped out of the bed. He knew that voice. Soon enough, a tall, round-spectacled man with black hair stepped into the hospital wing, wearing a cloak emblazoned with a Hogwarts emblem.

"Dad?" he uttered.

His father caught sight of James and beamed at him. James smirked.

"You shaved last night," he commented.

"Well, it's the middle of March now," Harry Potter answered, a smirk crossing his own, now cleanly-shaven face. "Should be getting warmer soon-"

"Mum was tired of it?" James interrupted him.

"At least week ago." Harry smiled wryly.

"I thought you weren't supposed to still be here, now Wenster's been hauled off. Professor... Wenster, I mean." James cringed and looked away from his dad, who got on his case sometimes about that.

"He's no longer a Professor, safe to say," Harry conceded. "And, yes, you're right, the Head of the Auror Office and Acting Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is not supposed to be here as per the Ministry's Non-Interference Act of… I don't remember what year that was," Harry waved his hand. "But since James Sirius Potter is in the hospital wing, James Sirius Potter's parents have every right to be notified and be here on the grounds to see after him, as per Hogwarts rules."

Parents? James cringed. "Did you bring Mum?"

"Whew. Oh, God, no." Harry shook his head. "She's going to need a week to cool off. At least a week."

James grit his teeth, wondering if he'd be better served signing on to stay at Hogwarts for Easter break, which was a little under a month away.

"Fancy a walk?" Harry asked.

So James got dressed, and together they went through the castle, which was almost eerily quiet at this time of the morning. James wondered who knew what, and how badly the stories might have been distorted as they filtered down through the school's chains of command - or what remained of them, in any case. Gladstone had apparently been portkeyed to St. Mungo's to be checked out, and Malcolm had gone with her. Ambrose was still alive and right as rain after quaffing a few potions of his own making. Wenster had Stunned Halim to get away from him in the corridors, apparently, and though Halim had a prominent knot on his head after hitting the ground rather hard, he'd suffered no lasting damage. Neville had come back to Hogwarts very briefly to make sure the school had been put to order, then gone back to his wife and child in London, and was supposed to return sometime today.

Those were the facts James knew. But if tall tales involving Wenster animating the armored suits in the castle to act as his own personal army had filtered down to the first-year Ravenclaws or something, James wouldn't have been entirely surprised.

The viaduct bridge was a pleasant place - moreso now that the fighting had stopped. The sun was coming up over the horizon in the east - maybe it would take a bit of the bite out of the air, which was still very cold.

"You're getting tall," Harry commented, apropos to nothing. "We might have to get all-new clothes for you again this summer. One more thing for your mum to be cross at me about."

An amused smile crossed James's face. But his dad wasn't bluffing - James was easily up past his father's shoulder now, which hadn't always been the case.

"Officially speaking, the Head of the Auror Office was never here today," Harry said firmly. "You get that, right?"

"Sure," James answered. Not like he was going to go blabbing things his father told him to anyone else, anyway; he'd learned that from years ago.

"Thought so," Harry affirmed. Then he took a deep breath. "Lucan Wenster has been taken to London and is awaiting trial. His Pensieve was taken from his office as evidence - and if the rest of it's anything like what we saw in that vial, he's going away for the rest of his natural life."

"Good," James said grimly. "How's his arm?"

Harry glanced at James with a 'how-do-you-know-about-that?' kind of look. Then he cringed. "It's, uh… well, I hope he can learn to eat and write with the left one like John Dawlish did. It doesn't look like anyone's going to put that right any time soon. That's the worst thing I've seen happen to an arm that was still attached since…"

He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Auror work?" asked James.

"No…" Harry muttered darkly. "Second year Quidditch."

James gawped at his father for a second. "Wait, what?"

"Never mind," Harry answered quickly, cringing again and seemingly eager to get off the subject. The conversation fell silent again as they continued walking. "Watch your step." There were still large gashes in the bridge from the fight.

"Injuries that permanent…" James said, thinking aloud, "...you can only get those from a high-level Dark curse, right? Kind of like your scar?"

"I'm not sure a curse gave me the scar," Harry mused. "But... yes, usually, if an injury is caused by Dark magic and doesn't have a known countercurse that's just as powerful, it tends not to heal properly, if it heals at all. That's why your Uncle George only has one ear."

Uncle George's hair, while not long, hung down in a bit of a mop so that his ears weren't visible, partly by design. When everyone was younger, though, Uncle George would show off his 'saintlike' ear at family gatherings just to get a reaction out of the cousins - especially the boys.

The brief moment of amusement at this memory, though, was replaced by a roiling feeling in James's stomach. He'd held his suspicions for a while, and now he truly knew.

"It takes a certain kind of person to cast Dark magic," murmured James.

"To work an advanced curse well… it takes a certain... disposition," Harry finally said.

That was an interesting word, 'disposition'... he had known that he had wanted Lucan Wenster to hurt. He had been ruminating on causing the man ever since his suspicions about him were confirmed. And a truly good person didn't think like that, did they?

"...Is something wrong, James?" asked Harry.

James paused. He squinted as he glanced toward the rising sun for a moment. Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I get that you want to do the right thing," Harry said. "But you take a lot of risks that I really wish you'd leave to the right people. You trying to be a hero is-"

"I'm not a hero. I already know that."

Harry seemed taken aback by this.

At last, James looked at him. "Heroes do good for good's sake. I just think about… how to keep the people I care about from getting hurt. And when I can't do that… sometimes I think about… paying the people back that did it."

A long silence. James swallowed the lump in his throat, now gazing out toward the dawn and not meeting his father's eye. He knew how disappointed he would be. His own son, raised to do good but only wanting peace and comfort for himself and those closest to him. It was fitting, James thought, that he had never quite favored his father in the face. The two were nothing alike. If anything, Albus was much more like him than anyone else.

"Do you want to know a secret, James?" asked Harry.

James swallowed again. "Sure, I guess."

He could hear his father take a deep breath. "Beating Voldemort and ending the Death Eater Wars made me famous around the wizarding world. It gave me the Order of Merlin, put my name in history books… but when I stared him down, about to duel him for the last time, I didn't give a damn about any of that."

This got James's attention and he glanced back at his father, only to receive an 'I said what I said' sort of raise of the eyebrows in return. Even now that he and his siblings were of an age to have heard just about every imprecation under the sun at least once (the bulk of them were Uncle Ron, much to Mum's and Aunt Hermione's disapproval), James's parents generally went out of their way to avoid even swearing around any of them.

"I just wanted to end the war without any more of my friends or family dying," Harry said. "I wasn't excited about duelling Voldemort, even though I knew in the end that I would probably beat him. But do you know what finally did it? I saw him about to curse your mum and gran."

Harry put both hands on James's shoulders now. James tried to keep a straight face - he was still sore from yesterday and his father's heavy hands hurt a bit.

"The best option," Harry explained, "is to stay well out of things like this, and let the people whose job it is to handle it, handle it. In a perfect world, that's what I'd want you to do."

But the world isn't perfect, James thought. That's the reason your job to 'handle it' even exists in the first place.

"I'm…" Harry started again, but then stopped short, and stroked his chin. It looked awkward, and James wondered for a second if his father had grown so used to some sort of stubble on his jawline that a clean shave felt foreign to him. It looked nearly as odd as his dark beard, but he did look several years younger now. "I'd prefer you not to fight at all, James. And I hate to say it, but that's probably never going to change. You're my son, and there's always going to be a part of me that can't bear to see you in any type of danger."

James nodded respectfully. His father raised a finger.

"But... you did stand up against something you could see wasn't right. I can't be too upset with you for that. You're growing into a talented wizard, but more importantly, you're growing into a young man that has principles and sticks by them. I couldn't call myself a decent father if I wasn't happy about that," he said. "You're rough around the edges - but who isn't at fifteen? I know I was - and don't get me started on your grandfather."

An amused smile broke out over James's face despite himself. His father hadn't ever shared all the details, but James did know that his namesakes from a couple of generations past were infamous troublemakers in their teenage years at Hogwarts.

But another troubling thought crossed James's mind just in that moment. His father must have seen the smile slide off, because he frowned in response.

"Wenster had principles, too," James said - but Harry, almost as if he'd been expecting a response like this, shook his head.

"Lucan Wenster abandoned his humanity. A bit like Voldemort himself did, ironically enough." Harry paused thoughtfully for a moment. "It's easy to treat people around you as less than human when you forget that you're human yourself. As long as you remember that, though, you'll make a few mistakes - that's what humans do - but you're not likely to lose your way entirely."

James tried to feel better about this, but was having a hard time. They began walking again. After not too long, the end of the bridge came into view. Without knowing exactly how, James realized that his father intended to walk all the way to the end - and from there, Disapparate to… well, wherever he was meant to go next.

"Do you think-?" James started… but then stopped.

"What is it?" Harry asked. James shook his head.

"Never mind. You've got more important things to be worrying about," James said.

"No, I don't," Harry replied immediately and almost sternly.

James swallowed. "Do you think... I could be an Auror one day?"

It wasn't the question he had initially planned on asking, but it was something else he hadn't gotten up the courage to ask in years.

Harry, for his part, seemed surprised by the question. He raised his eyebrows. "Of course I do, James. Why would you think I wouldn't? I've only ever worried about whether you really wanted to. Whether you'd really be happy doing this kind of work."

James had never thought about that before. This had been the most exhausting school year he had ever endured. And Wenster was just one man, with no defenders except for school by-laws and a motley crew of Gryffindors that scattered to the winds as soon as some pressure was applied.

When he thought about it that way, his dad didn't look half bad for a quarter-century of fighting Dark wizards...

"That's not a decision you have to make right now," Harry said. "You're young, and you'll have all kinds of time to figure that out."

James nodded wordlessly. They had reached the end, marked by twin black flags bearing the Hogwarts emblem. The stiff March wind had unfurled them to full relief.

"I wish it was under better circumstances…" Harry acknowledged. "But I'm glad I got to see you this weekend. Happy early birthday, James."

James smiled. He hadn't exactly forgotten tomorrow was his birthday, but it admittedly hadn't been the first thing on his mind since yesterday afternoon when everything happened. All things considered, he was glad to be alive to see it.

Harry stepped off the bridge, onto a cobblestone path melded into solid Earth, and James knew that once someone reached that point they could Disapparate wherever their plans and abilities could take them. James glanced over his shoulder. Judging by this distance, Wenster had made it across the viaduct about halfway. They had managed a decent job, in the end...

"One more thing," Harry said. "Sonia found your Cleansweep on the bridge last night." James's heart skipped a beat - he'd almost forgotten about his broom in all of the chaos. He winced a bit and waited for bad news. "It took some damage, but I think I may know someone that can fix it. So I took it with me. It'll be a couple of weeks, but I should be able to send it back to you - just in time for the weather to warm up."

James shook his head. "Don't rush," he said. "I don't think I'll need it."

"Of course you need it. You're happiest when you're flying," Harry chuckled. "A, uh… little red bird told me so."

POP! Harry Potter was gone.

James stood there in sad silence for what might have been a few minutes. As he turned to cross the bridge again, that silence and sadness only became more pronounced. He was getting his broom back, that was nice, but… their conversation had been much too short. It only occurred after his father was gone, that he had so many other questions he'd wanted to ask. How does one fight evil without hating what they are fighting - or, worse, becoming what they hate? How do you look in the eye of a Dark wizard and not see the face of Voldemort, and not want to watch him die again?

What is it that Albus has that I lack? How can he calmly disarm a threat, and yet it's so easy for me to inflict pain on people? Even if they deserve it a bit, it shouldn't be that easy, right? No good person is this... merciless…

His father thought he could do it. His father really thought he could be an Auror one day. But James knew the truth - and the truth meant his father would be disappointed in him. Again.

James stopped to take a breath before continuing the long walk back up toward the castle; today was Saturday, so maybe he could grab himself a quick breakfast in the Great Hall and be well out of sight before the rest of Hogwarts showed up.