February 1998.
"Harry, dear," Narcissa said hesitantly. He didn't look up from his armchair which still wasn't as good as Dumbledore's, but was going there. Instead, he observed a golden coin in his hand, thinking about its origins.
That coin represented much to him, and he knew others thought the same. It was a token of how much they gave up, how hard they trained, and it represented what they all believed in. He had no doubt that, if called, DA members would respond immediately, always eager to help their leader.
He doubted anyone noticed the charm on them wasn't exactly the same anymore. After much of probing and dabbling at it, Harry finally managed to change it into what it was now. As opposed to normal protean charm, where all of the coins would match the changed one, now Harry could pick which coins he wanted to change and relay his message to.
In a twisted way, he created his own mark, whether he wanted to admit it or not, but saw no harm in doing so. After all, the whole idea behind the galleons came from Death Eaters and their mark. Hermione did admit it at some point.
"Harry!" Narcissa tried again, more forcefully, and he leveled his head up.
"Yes?" he responded, slightly tilting his head on one side.
"Well, the thing is..." she hesitated. "I couldn't help but overhear you and Draco talking about a certain plan of yours."
"And?" he asked again.
"And I'm scared!" she raised her tone slightly, crossing her arms. "I felt the same dread when Lucius started talking about his meetings, organizations, and marks." He opened his mouth to reply, but she interrupted him.
"No, Harry, just listen to me as to someone who's already been there. The things you're playing with are dangerous, and it's always harmless at the beginning, but what will you do when Aurors arrive to close you down? What will you do when ministry start pushing their influence onto you?"
Harry kept his eyes fixed on her as she ranted on, about the dangers, fears, and he could understand it. She was, always were, and always will be a mother and her thoughts will always be towards the safety of her only son.
His face was collected, calm, as he thought about her words, his piercingly emerald eyes making Narcissa nervous. He took his time to formulate an answer. He often did these days, as he realized rashness and bravery he possessed in his youth won't serve him as well anymore.
"It's Draco's choice, and you cannot take it away from him," he finally said, his voice quiet, but with a sense of finality to it. "I'm sorry, but I can't stand idly at the side and watch as our world goes to bollocks. I just can't. As long as there is something I can do, I'm gonna try my best, and if my friends want to lend me a hand in doing so, who am I to stop them."
"Harry," she pleaded again, adding all of her emotions into that one word. The word felt like a mountain on Harry's soul and he felt his eyes softening.
"I'll do my best to keep him safe," he replied, trying to keep his voice straight. She stood there for a second more, accepting offered terms with a barely visible fall of her shoulders, and finally nodded. No more words were spoken as she retreated away, in the solace of her room, to mourn yet another generation of wizards lost to the broken ideals.
Harry didn't mind it though, as he knew she hadn't experienced the full terrors of magic. Pureblood witch had it all, and while he didn't hold it against her, he knew her outlook to the world will always be flawed because of it.
Giving it no more thoughts, he pulled a golden galleon from his pocket once again, and with a hardened expression of defiance, he pressed it, pouring his magic into it, forcing it to change and invite his friends over.
So it begins.
(...)
They all came, and Harry was happy to see them, but he was no longer the same man they knew just a year ago and he could see much more now. Neville's handshake was too limp, defeated, and his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
Susan's cheeks were too red, eyes too hazy and the dark spots under her eyes told an entirely new story to Harry. The story he knew far too well, with the main characters being sleepless nights, and potions. She held too tightly to him when they hugged and Harry tried to pour all he could into it, hoping that it would help just for the one night.
Hannah's and Ernie's expressions were similar to his own; a genuine happiness to see their friends, but same haunted look they shared due to their history and every-day struggles.
Harry just recently found out that the remainder of DA paid a hefty price for their defiance in their 7th year, under the mighty hand of Riddle's government. Once Death Eaters and their regime realized they couldn't find them in school, they decided to take their pleasure in putting pressure on their families. So once the adrenaline of their victory faded, and they returned home they found the worst possible picture imaginable; their houses and manors burned to the ground, their families butchered, their gold vanished. All of it under the faded remains of Dark Mark which mocked them from the sky, untouchable.
Harry allowed them to catch up, deciding not to force his way into the conversation. Not yet. He didn't comment on the visible tension between DA members and his new Slytherin friends. He pretended that he didn't notice glances Ron and Hermione kept sending in his direction. He just sat on his spot, at the head of the table, breathed deeply, and prepared mentally himself for what is about to come.
"You see it too, I reckon," he heard slurry voice behind him. Not bothering to turn around, Harry just nodded, but his favorite ginger continued anyway. "And to think these poor buggers managed to defeat the biggest dark army of all the times. What a joke."
"We ain't joke, George," he quietly responded, as his friend took the place next to him. "That's why I called them over."
"We are, buddy, but you're just hoping there is some fight left in them, right?"
"Fight?" Harry asked, more forcefully than he intended, but George didn't seem bothered by it. "Hardly. I just need their help. Your help!"
George scoffed, poured himself a drink, and said, "Yeah, right." Harry turned to him, trying to figure out more from his expression, but he looked as always; a crooked, half-drunk smile combined with slightly red eyes which held the sorrow in their depths.
"Anyway," Harry started again. "There's something I won't be telling 'em."
"Yeah?" George inquired, a bit quieter than before. Harry hesitated, glanced toward the others, and noticed more than one pair of eyes looking in their direction.
"Nevermind. We'll catch up later, okay?"
"Sure."
With that, in a sort of an unspoken agreement, his friends dropped their small talks and turned towards him, with a variety of feelings behind their wary eyes; some look intrigued, others confused, and some even scared.
He hated speeches, and especially giving them, but somehow that duty always fell on him. This time was different though, as it was him alone who choose to do so. Even so, it didn't mean it was any easier than it used to be. He remembered the speech he told to DA, and smiled nostalgically.
"Remember how I told you that every great wizard started like us, at the beginning? Back in the fifth year?" he asked, and waited for a second for the positive murmurs to end. He knew that Slytherins would easily catch up to what he means. "I reckon it was the truth, sure, but what I didn't tell you is what to do next to become great. To be honest I'm not sure if I knew it at the time."
"You offed You-Know-Who," Neville interrupted him, a clear question in his eyes.
"I did, and all of you helped me to achieve that. That snake didn't kill itself, did it? Anyway, what I'm trying to say here is that I thought that was it, right? We trained, we helped each other, and we triumphed because of it, because of the friendship we all share."
"That's nice of you to say," Susan smiled to him brilliantly, showing her perfect teeth, and she looked beautiful for the second, but the picture was ruined a second later by a glint in her eye. A far too familiar glint. He smiled back reassuringly, hoping he did it right, and cleared his throat, ready to continue.
"But it wasn't it," he changed his tone. It was much darker now, and the whole group shifted, slowly gravitating towards him. "I am no more great wizard than I used to be. Nor is either of you. Time passed, and while we licked our wounds the world continued on, not waiting for us. Once I was ready to step back into it, the same old struggles awaited me there; idiots from Knocturn kept trying to curse me in the back, just to see if they can. The ministry still wants me to do their dirty work, and the war just shifted towards the new target - goblins."
He made a pause, reaching for his drink and trying to drive off the tears that threatened to appear in his eyes. It was a cruel of him, he knew, to bluntly make them remember, but the times called for it, and he was never one to quit. No price is too big to achieve the peace they all deserve; in a brand-new world, where everyone would be happy. The words sounded strange in his mind, as if he already heard them, but he quickly dismissed it and put the glass down.
"Werewolves aren't having it good either," Hannah added hesitantly.
"What are you talking about?" Ernie turned his attention towards her.
"I met Seamus in the Diagon, and we chatted for a bit. He and Lavander are kinda together now, and so we talked about her, well, you know," she mimicked the scars Lavander had with her fingers. "She got some light symptoms, and to, dunno, get adjusted to it she started hanging with some of them."
Harry raised an eyebrow. This was new to him and he felt a string of sympathy towards the girl he barely knew, but shared the dorm with for whole six years.
"What's the problem with that?" Ron hotly asked, making Harry proud of his first friend. He grew so much during the last year.
"No, no, I didn't mean like that," Hannah raised her hands in defense. "The thing is that people around, those who got it bad, have bitten children and so, are organizing some kind of hunting parties."
"Are you telling what I think you are?" Harry asked through his teeth, not wanting to believe that people would sink that far.
"Every full moon," she quietly answered, turning her head down.
Harry instantly saw red. The anger he was holding in burst out violently. Disappointment, hate, sadness, all of it followed shortly, and he slammed the table hard, wanting to hurt himself. To calm down just for a moment, but it wasn't to be.
His, always chaotic, magic followed, and old oak table loudly cracked lengthwise causing everyone to jump off in surprise. A thick, purple smoke emerged from the newly created crack, and small, bluish flames started to lick what was left of it. It was an impressive display of accidental magic, but quickly realized what kind of magic it actually was.
Before others could react, he reached for his wand and curtly swished it, putting off the flames instantly. He, then, started to wave with his wand in the circles, just like Dumbledore and Slughorn did in that muggle house, and ashes, and broken parts hurried back where they used to be, recreating the table in a mere seconds. In the end, he stabbed with it forward, and all of the chairs were orderly sorted, just like they used to be before everyone stood up.
He did so without a word, not even thinking about what kind of the show he was presenting his friends with, but once he saw their astonished looks, he silently cursed. It didn't help when he realized that he wasn't holding his own wand, but rather an Elder wand. He knew that everyone present recognized it, having already seen it in the past.
He caught Theo's look for a second and saw many things in his dark, brown eyes. He saw the fire he didn't know existed in a weedy boy, a fascination, a wish for the repetition. Harry saw the pure desire.
"I'm sorry guys," he finally said, falling in his chair, and others, like they were hypnotized, followed his example. "I just can't understand their hypocrisy, I mean, everyone knows that Lupin fought with us."
"We aren't like muggles, Potter," Draco simply said, and Harry furiously looked at him, ready for another outburst, but George's reassuring hand on his own, under the table where no one could see it, saved him. Draco, however, seemed to notice it, and hurried to explain. "We live long lives, and have a long memory. Longbottom, Bones, Weasley, they can all confirm it."
He made an awkward pause, as if unsure if he should continue, but said at last, "Wizards don't forget. Wizards don't forgive.
The silence that followed was heavy, and Harry knew this was something only purebloods could understand. He raised his eyebrow, nodded for himself as he thought about the words, and made a decision.
"Those are good words. We won't forget," he stopped to look at each of them directly in the eyes, and everyone looked back. He didn't expect anything less from his friends. "We won't forgive."
The looks they gave each other warmed Harry's heart, and he had no idea why. It sounded like a promise, like a pledge, like a threat.
George was first to come to his senses, and so he asked, "So what's the plan, Harry?"
"Right, the plan. So this what I thought..." he started to explain to them the real reason why he invited them over. He spoke long and in detail. He patiently listened to their questions and inquires and tried his best to answer. He held no secrets this time and told them about the vow he gave to the goblins, and the help they will receive from them.
They talked long into the night, forgetting about the time, and expressing their feelings on many different issues they could think of. When they were done, they retreated back to their homes, and left Harry with the promise they'll think about it some more, and prepare themselves for the new endeavor as best they can.
Harry counted it as a success. Not to mention that he put on a few more pounds, actually reaching a normal weight for his height, though still on the skinny side.
(...)
Harry read newspapers in a Leaky Cauldron, trying to read between the lines and figure how this whole goblin thing was actually going on. To sum it up, it was a disaster; people had no money, no place to live, and the worst of all, nothing to look forward to. The goblins held their ground and didn't give to any and every demand sent by ministry.
It was more of a cold war, with both sides gathering their strengths, and wondering about the power of their enemy, Goblins knew that wizards were superior to them in the open combat and dared not to start an open battle, but they also knew that ministry was heavily weakened by the most recent war.
Wizards, on the other hand, knew that they had no chance in conquering the bank without suffering too many casualties; something they couldn't afford. They also knew that goblins couldn't survive in their building forever, and so they cut off every possible exit in hope of starving them out.
It was the first wizarding siege in the history of goblin rebellions.
The rumors, however, were grave. There were whispers of green lights surging towards the goblins, light mentioning of goblins retrieving behind the walls, but not before sending more arrows into the ministry crowd. In the darkness of the alleys, words of dragged bodies from both sides were heard. Worst of all, there was a rather ugly gossip going around; the Wizengamot was pushing for the free use of unforgivable curses towards any non-human being.
Harry put the newspapers down, glancing towards a clock. One minute to go. He was pleasantly surprised a few days ago with a letter from Ron, in which he called him here so they could catch up. It wasn't like they weren't on the speaking terms anymore, but they kinda agreed not to bother each other until they are ready for such a thing.
In Harry's mind, that could only mean one thing. Ron wanted to talk about something serious.
Suddenly, he appeared in the fireplace, joined by the usual green flames of floor travel. He politely nodded to the beekeeper, ordered something, and dropped few silver coins on the counter.
"Harry, mate," he said with a wide smile, heavily dropping into the closest chair. "Been good?"
"Yeah, s'okay," he responded, trying to imitate his smile, but judging from the small frown on Ron's face, it didn't work that well.
"Listen, mate. I know it's being strange lately, but..." he started, but Harry immediately raised his hand and interrupted him.
"No, it's okay. I'm kinda glad to catch up," he said, his smile widening a bit, and Ron seemed to brighten too. In a boost of the better mood, the duo quickly started to chat, just like in the old days.
It was like a Sunday in Hogwarts when they didn't have any homework. Quidditch and girls, girls, and Quidditch. Harry had no heart to brag to him about Pansy, scared that poor chap might get a stroke. Just as they finished about the Chudley Cannons, Harry noticed the shift in Ron's eyes; they somehow got darker, and Harry was sure that the real point of their meeting is going to get in the open any time now.
"Bloody hell," Ron exclaimed, and in one swift motion finished his drink.
"Bloody hell," Harry agreed, noticing the tension rising.
"I know something's going on," he blurted. God bless Gryffindors and their bluntness.
"What do you mean?" Harry wanted to clarify.
"This whole foundation thing, and giving us those 'jobs'. Including Slytherins, planning with George Merlin knows what... Do I need to go on? I get it's something good you want to do here, but it feels wrong, you get me?"
"Wrong?" Harry asked calmly, hiding himself behind it."
"Yeah, wrong. Like when you went into that bloody forest without telling us!" he raised his voice, hardly poking Harry in the chest with his finger. "I'll go in the same hell Voldemort went for you, mate, but I want to know why! I deserve to know why."
And he did deserve it. It was the heart of their relationship. They had their ups and downs, but now they were past them, and if he couldn't' confide in his best mate, who else there is.
"I'm leaving, Ron," he said gently, his eyes slowly narrowing. He thought Ron would be gobsmacked, but his mate just nodded tiredly and waved for another drink. Harry didn't want to say more before Ron processed it.
"We already guessed it," he finally said, in a low voice. He sounded tired and defeated, but his eyes showed a deeper wisdom. The understanding. "Hermione and I talked about it, but she figured you wouldn't do it at the end. It all makes sense now."
"What do you mean?"
"This whole thing of yours, of course. You want to leave, but can't leave all this behind," he said, waving his hands in random directions, and Harry gaped. Those simple words hit right in the heart. He could never explain it, and yet Ron managed to do it so simply, even elegantly.
Ron, when he saw Harry's face, smiled knowingly and said, "O Harry, give me some credit. I've been your best mate for forever."
"Yeah, I guess you did," Harry replied, and couldn't help, but smile widely, his eyes wet.
"Don't be sissy, now," he said, but Harry noticed he couldn't look him in the eyes either, trying to subtly wipe his eyes. "I need to tell you something more, though."
"Okay?"
"That magic...what you did to that table," Ron started slowly, finally founding Harry's eyes. His voice was full of hesitation, worry, and doubt.
"I know," Harry decided to interrupt him swiftly.
"They don't say all those things about it for nothing," Ron tried again.
"Ron! I know," Harry stopped him again, and this time he didn't press it further. Ron looked him seriously, as if judging him, and finally nodded, seemingly happy with whatever he found on Harry's face.
They both took another sip of their drinks, enjoying the comfortable silence. Once the truth was out in the open, there wasn't much more they could say to each other. They knew that the presence of the other was enough. In their own way, this was a goodbye.
"Hey, Harry?" Ron asked him just before he was about to floo home.
"What's up?" he asked back, noticing that Ron looked quite uncomfortable.
"Could you, I don't know, send a letter here and there? You know how Hermione is, she'll worry."
"Oh come on here, you big, bad macho man," Harry said in a mocking tone, spreading his arms, and Ron hugged him without hesitation, in the middle of the pub. Harry didn't mind, though, as that was all the blessing he needed.
It was short but intense. Ron turned away without another word, nodded his goodbyes, and vanished in the same green flames he appeared in. Harry's smile slowly fell as he watched now empty fireplace. It was replaced with the hardened face of the survivor. The cold mask of the warrior. His eyes gleamed harder than ever, the wand in his sleeve slightly trembling, begging him to be used.
Harry closed his eyes, shook his head, and went home.
Only once he was in the safety of his room, all of the protecting charms in their place, he dared to inspect his old wand. He didn't want to warn anyone, but it felt odd these days, and he had no idea what to do about it.
Magic he was trying to learn these days started to affect him slowly, he understood it, causing all kinds of sudden urges from within. He could feel its stain flowing through his veins and demanding more. He could hear it singing every time he grabbed the Elder wand. It felt heavy, but Harry was no stranger to having to carry heavy burdens on his own. He was sure that this kind of magic would never be able to defeat his strong morale. He believed in his righteousness, just like he believed he would defeat Riddle, (Although he was prepared to die to accomplish it.) and he was prepared to use every tool possible to become a wizard his parents would be proud of.
His wand, however, seemed to disagree. Harry held it carefully, fondly even, as he spun it in his fingers. He frowned at it, confused and disturbed, not knowing where this was coming from.
There was no phoenix calming song coming from it. There was nothing.
It was his wand; it chose him all those years ago. It was eleven inches long, made of holly, and possessed a single feather from the tail of the phoenix, donated by Fawkes himself.
And now it was silently lying in his master's hand, empty and dead. Just a stick.
AU: Okay, so I read everything I wrote so far multiple times, rewrote this chapter multiple times, and thought about how to continue this - multiple times. First thing is that I'm not sure if it is noticeable enough, but I imagined this fic to be entirely from Harry's POV. So everything I wrote, I did so believing I was Harry (lol). It doesn't need to be the truth, the correct way to go, the accurate state of things, but rather what Harry feels is so.
Another thing is that I prefer to write 'in the dark'. Meaning that I have nothing prepared, no character sheets, no outlined points... and I just do what I feel like. (Except that I follow dates from the first chapter) I'm saying that because there may be some inconsistencies because of it so I constantly go over my story to see if everything is going forward as it is supposed to go, and it kinda is.
Another, another thing is that this was never supposed to have an overly light tone, but rather going further and further in the abyss where I can we can see Harry changing into a man we see in the first chapter. It all started as a fluke, but now that I took my time and decided to finish it, I'm gonna do the whole shitload of scenes that might not be needed for the story, or even matter, because this is going to be my first, fully finished fic and I want to remember it fondly.
Another, another, another thing is that, in order to get into the character and break out from the dead-end I was in, I kinda had a few glasses of wine over the top and so here I am rambling about things you don't care about, but I'm gonna say them anyway. The real world is going to shit, so it's only appropriate for the fictional one to follow :)
The last thing is that English isn't my first language, and there are times when I've no idea what am I doing at all. I just go with something that sounds best in my head and hope for the best so all odd-looking sentences, weird phrases, and wrong speech patterns are, well, the direct consequence of not being a natural writer, and the need to use the second language.
If you wanna ask anything, review, PM, and I'll answer. If not, read it and criticize it so we can move forward. Thank you.