Chapter 20
I was taken to St Mungo's. All of us still alive were. The fallen where quickly—but very respectfully—removed from the scene to be checked for signs of Dark Magic before being released to their families for proper burials. Funerals would be paid for by the Ministry. It probably wasn't Rufus Scrimgeour's job to answer the questions of random civilians but he did deign to do so once he'd finished debriefing me. He was waiting for me as soon as the Healers gave me a clean bill of health, right outside the door.
I'd answered his questions as best I could, explaining why Dumbledore had requested that I remain in Hogsmeade and then giving my account of what had transpired. To his credit, he barely reacted the first time I used the name "Voldemort" and not at all after that. He was brusque, but that was no more than I expected. Once I was finished and he'd answered my own queries, he thanked me for my contributions and released me to go where I wished.
I went straight back to Hogwarts. I sent a Patronus to Dumbledore first—in the event he was too busy to pull out the lighter—and Apparated just outside Hogsmeade. The village was still protected against Apparition or Disapparition, but the Shrieking Shack was far enough away to be unaffected.
The passageway from the Shack to the castle was an obvious weakpoint when the Death Eaters likely counted Pettigrew amongst their ranks, and so it had been shored up by the combined efforts of myself, Moody and Lupin earlier in the year. The passageway was still technically impassable, but I'd convinced Moody to permit a single backdoor through.
Pulling my communication-lighter, I flicked it open and whispered "One-eyed witch", engaging the privacy mode. The flame connected to the modified lighter I'd hidden in the passageway and allowed me to whisper the password "Draco Nox Lumiere Pisces". There was no real meaning to the password, seeing as it was generated using the date and a table I only looked at just before making the call.
Requiring a device that could not be stolen and a password that couldn't be memorised, the security was enough to pass Moody's standards. I transformed once I was in the passageway, flying along instead of running. It was an uncomfortable experience, flying in a dark, enclosed, space but I forced myself on. I reached the Whomping Willow within minutes and soared out of the end, passing through the wall blocking the entrance like it didn't exist. Outside, I avoided the Willow's thrashing branches with ease and carried on towards the castle.
I didn't bother to change back. I spotted an open window on the Hospital Wing and made straight for it. I thought it likely that Madam Pomfrey would insist, as the Healers in St Mungo's did, on checking over the rescue party. And the rescuee. If he was alive.
—tN—tN—tN—
Harry was alive. Unconscious, but alive and in good health.
It was remarkable, really, considering he'd just been subject to a second Killing Curse.
"He survived again?" I asked, my heart beating like a drum in my ears. Albus caught my eyes and gave a slight nod, followed by an equally slight shake. 'Yes, he survived, no I haven't checked the Horcrux yet'. Sirius, pacing back and forth, did not catch the message and instead came over to me and grabbed the front of my robes with both hands. My wand was already in my hand, but I didn't cast. The man looked like he was caught between a half-dozen different emotions.
"I want to hit you, curse you, hurt you," he said, his voice breaking on every other word, "for not protecting Harry, for letting them take him. And I know that doesn't make any sense, that you're the only reason we found him at all, but I'm... Thank you, and I'm sorry."
His grip slackened and he allowed Lupin to lead him away to a chair. Aside from the past-and-present Defence teachers and Albus, Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, Hagrid, Moody and one other unidentified witch was present. I looked at the unknown person and noticed that her hair was slowly shifting between colours. Nymphadora Tonks then.
I hadn't known Tonks all that well while we were in school together. She was in the same year as Charlie, but the two didn't really interact. And, as he was the only person in that year that I had a connection to, I had no cause to interact with her either. I was confused for a moment about why Tonks was staring so intently at some bottle on a shelf but figured it out when I turned to listen to Madan Pomfrey's conversation with McGonagall and caught Tonks staring at me in the reflection on a nearby window.
Moody stomped over and snapped his fingers in her face, startling her into nearly falling over.
"Constant vigilance, girl!" he growled. "They caught you looking in an instant. Be more careful, don't let your gaze focus too much on any one spot and for goodness' sake watch out for mirrors and reflections."
While Moody berated his trainee—it had taken me far too long to remember that he'd trained her—I caught the tail end of Madam Pomfrey's explanation.
"—aside from a bruise on his chest and some minor scrapes from where he's fallen, he really is in perfectly good health. By all accounts, he is merely sleeping. There's no lingering Dark magic whatsoever that I can find. No curses, no poisons, nothing. My professional opinion is to let him wake up in his own time. If he takes too long there's a risk he'll fall into a coma, but that, hopefully, won't be an issue. I'll forcefully wake him before it reaches that point. You can stop fretting, Minerva. The boy will be fine."
"Thank you, Poppy, I realise that this is rather outside your usual duties."
"He's hurt. He's a student. I will take care of him. That is my duty and no less."
Amidst all this, Harry still hadn't stirred. I was reminded of the aftermath of Harry's defeat of a Riddle-possessed Quirrel in the original timeline. Afterwards, he was asleep for quite a while, at least long enough to have missed the Quidditch match. He'd recovered fine then by himself so, hopefully, he'd be alright now. I wasn't a Healer and there was nothing I could do to help.
—tN—tN—tN—
"Severus has returned and has examined Harry. His conclusions match Poppy's and he believes the boy will wake soon."
Albus was facing away from me and gazing out the window of his office. We were alone, save for Fawkes, our privacy assured in the same manner as during the first meeting with Moody. It was a time for conversations about which nobody else could ever learn.
I had learned from awkward conversation in the Hospital Wing that Barty Crouch (Junior) had masterminded the attack in Hogsmeade and abducted Harry to an abandoned chapel somewhere in Wales. There, the ritual had revived Voldemort in much the same manner as in the original timeline.
The Death Eaters were called and a duel commenced. And this time there was no Portkey to whisk Harry away to safety. Nothing to bear him away from the Killing Curse.
Snape had yet to deliver his report but I could infer that Priori Incantatem was invoked. The arrival of Dumbledore and the others just moments after Riddle had recovered from 'killing' Harry was too suspicious without something interfering to control the timing.
Voldemort and his followers fled rather than engaging with Dumbledore. Well, mostly not engaging. Fiendfyre, it transpired, made an artful distraction to keep even Albus occupied whilst Voldemort set his sights on Hogwarts.
"Riddle was killed again," I said. "Will he be able to return sooner or later?"
"Sooner, I fear. Tom has allies now. While his latest destruction was likely not part of his designs, he is likely to capitalise on the opportunity to prove his immortality to any that may still harbour doubts. This time, with the Prophecy apparently defeated, he need not be so picky about who he takes the blood from."
"What about the bones? We could sabotage the gravesite in Little Haggleton—"
"Too little, too late. The very same idea occurred to me but the grave was already desecrated and emptied when I arrived. I fear our surveillance may have worked against us and driven them to seek out parts unknown."
"With more bone at hand and an enemy's blood as readily available as the morning milk, all he has to do is ask either Crouch or Pettigrew to maim themselves. He may have already done so. Really, we should have gone after the bones in the first place instead of leaving them there with only light surveillance."
"Indeed. As ever, hindsight is a most wonderful curse," Albus sighed and turned to face me. His expression was shadowed, framed by the sunset behind him. His eyes still shone though, almost recalling a certain over-dramatic superhero. I pushed that association down and kept a straight face. Now was not the time for levity. "Voldemort has returned. I have convinced the Minister, for the moment, that he is unlikely to stay dead for any length of time, so we shall, hopefully, avoid a repeat of what happened last time. We have the full support of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, thankfully. What he experienced in Hogsmeade was enough to get Scrimgeour entirely on our side and with him the last few holdouts in the Department."
"Will it be enough?" I asked, already suspecting the answer.
"I do not believe so," Albus said. "Which is why I have decided, as you have likely guessed, to formally reform the Order of the Phoenix. I would like to extend an invite to you to join. You said before that you would try to fight, to contribute what you could. You have done so, protecting Harry and then clashing against Tom himself. I am asking you not to stop. It will not be easy. There is a high likelihood that you or someone you know will die before this is over. But I think your strength, your talents could make a difference, could—"
"No more, Albus." I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing. I purposely did not try to banish that faces that swam before me in the darkness. "I am aware of what you will require. I am aware of the risks. But my choice was made long ago." Too high a price had already been paid.
I opened my eyes and met the schoolteacher's gaze.
"Whatever it takes. I'm in."
—tN—tN—tN—
Grand declarations aside, there was little I could do. Harry woke up soon after that, thought his survival was kept a close secret. Riddle resurrected himself successfully and was sending out feelers to his Death Eaters and old allies. The Order was assembling and performing covert operations under Dumbledore's orders, trying to uncover more information. The Ministry publically acknowledged that You Know Who had returned but had stressed that he had been fought and driven back in Hogsmeade. They said nothing of Harry, focusing on their semi-victory.
I was awarded the Order of Merlin, second class, for my part in the battle, as was every other participant. It looked nice, hanging on the wall and gleaming like bloodied corpses didn't. I attended the funerals I could and send condolences to those I couldn't.
And I worked. I closed up the shop for a few days and threw myself into my workshop, barely remembering to come up for food and water. I started and scrapped over a dozen projects before finally burning off the last of my energy and resuming my everyday life.
That was when I discovered that business was booming. It turns out that a game that teaches people how to fight monsters, created by a hero who fought Voldemort and lived, is a popular product in a burgeoning war. I sent rush order after rush order to the printers and was barely able to keep stock on the shelves. There were owl orders coming in day and night, my shop was thronged with people queueing, and my defensive spells acted five times to eject thieves. That was just in the first week.
I felt dirty. There was a war on, a war I'd failed to stop. People had died, people I'd tried to protect. And I was profiting from it. The only bright side was that I'd finished the last of the 'gamebooks' a month earlier, so my customers wouldn't have any dangerously wide holes in their knowledge.
On a more irritating note, Rita Skeeter had attempted to snoop around for a story. In her Animagus form. Which I'd already taken precautions against. I mailed the beetle in a jar to the Ministry explaining what and who she was.
My research time was greatly curtailed, though my newfound prosperity was a definite boon to acquiring new books and materials to experiment with. I didn't have anything approaching the wealth of the Malfoys or even the Potters, but I had more than I knew what to do with. I stuffed the gold in a Gringotts account and only withdrew enough to pay for business expenses, or whatever new tome or item caught my interest. Hopefully, I'd still be alive to appreciate the nest egg I was building in a few years' time.
It was a frantic month or so. Then the attacks started.
—tN—tN—tN—
Riddle didn't play subtle for long. With the Ministry on guard and actively warning people against him, his more subtle machinations were stymied. With most of his followers under watch and aurors combing the country for any sign of him, he couldn't rest. So he went on the offensive.
The offices of the Daily Prophet were set ablaze, a Dark Mark overhead and its staff bleeding onto the cobbles of Diagon Alley. In the same attack, passers-by were killed and injured. The last few doubters fell silent and the panic set in.
The Ministry had lost its primary voice and magical London had lost their unofficial heart. Diagon Alley emptied almost overnight. Many of the store-owners remained, operating at reduced hours but their customers refused to linger, scurrying from one store to another, flinching at every shadow.
Whimsik was decentralised enough to be spared the worst of the effects, but my flood of customers slowed to a trickle. There was still a steady flow of people coming in each day, but they were scared now, begging for advice that might help them survive.
The Alley was quieter, darker. The children no longer played in the streets and the residents now met in the safety of their own homes. Frank and Henry took to taking their wares around to homes just to have company. I remained alone.
I liked the atmosphere of Whimsik, usually. I enjoyed living in a place that was alive and friendly. A place that was pleasant and comforting. It was no longer that place and I did not know many of my neighbours well enough to care to bridge the gap.
Surprisingly, I was treated like some bizarre oddity. People respected me and likely looked to me for protection—a very uncomfortable feeling—but also stayed away. I knew why.
I was a survivor of the Hogsmeade Massacre. I had fought the Dark Lord and seen him bleed. I was a target of the reborn Death Eaters. In the evenings the Wizarding wireless still broadcasted—for the moment—and reported disappearances, sudden deaths and daylight abductions. Ex-aurors, former Ministry personnel, people no longer in power but had stood against Voldemort before. The people that communities could rally behind if the Ministry fell.
Within a month of the school year ending, they came to my flat.
—tN—tN—tN—
A splash of icy liquid hit my face and roused me in an instant. It wasn't actually water, but a potion of my own design that would instantly rouse someone to full alertness from a natural sleep upon contact. I'd had a phial set over my bed to wake me... In the event I was under attack.
I rolled out of bed, gaze switching to the rack of dials I'd attached to the wall. The one on the far right was lit up, the needle edging upwards every second. That was the first line of defence, the protections on the doors to prevent people from forcing their way. As I watched, the second dial lit as someone tried the window instead. The glass would have bounced off the spell with ease and then sent the attacker somewhere else, spitting them out of a reflective surface elsewhere.
I didn't spend any longer watching the alerts. I shrugged into a travelling robe as fast as I could, summoning my ready-packed bag from under my bed. I checked the dials again and saw that they weren't even halfway through. I had a little time.
With a flick of my wand, my remaining personal possessions packed themselves into another bag—magically expanded—which chased after me as I ran from my bedroom. Once in the hallway, I could hear the sounds of spells colliding with the shopfront below. I paid them no mind and hurried to the room on the other side of my flat. With another flick, my books and files threw themselves off the shelves and dropped neatly into the expanded bag that slid under them just as the first book fell.
It took less than thirty seconds for my library to pack itself away. It was less than three minutes since I'd been woken by my alarm. A few seconds later the front door gave way. Beneath my feet, in the shopfloor below, my more active defences came to life.
A shimmering mist poured out of the dark lamps, flooding the shop and ensnaring those who entered in a mind-bending hallucination. It was nothing fancy, but it would distort their sense of scale, direction and ability to recognise people. It could be broken pretty easily... If I let them focus long enough.
Two-score bludgers dropped from the ceiling and began harassing the intruders. The suits of armour I'd stationed around the first floor came to life and threw themselves at the victims that lay before them. Most minor to moderate hexes and curses would slide off them, I knew. It would slow them down while they tried to bring to bear more powerful curses.
They were deterrents, obstacles. They'd distract and delay all but the most powerful of invaders—who I couldn't hope to do anything against, really—but were unlikely to actually defeat any witch or wizard with experience. They bought time though.
There was an Anti-Disapparition Jinx over my flat, to stop me from fleeing. The Floo had probably been disrupted as well. It didn't matter.
I stood in the middle of my empty library and disillusioned myself before pointing my wand at the ceiling. I silently invoked one last trick and cast the Rocket Charm on myself.
I was flung straight up through first the ceiling, then the roof, my bags clutched tight in my left hand. My pre-prepared escape route let me pass through the top of my flat like a ghost for just a few moments. Then I was outside in the night air, looking out over London as it slept. And, of course, I was still rising.
My Rocket Charm carried me up a few dozen feet before I replaced it with a more normal Hovering Charm that held me in place in mid-air. I took the opportunity to tuck away my bags inside my robes—I was nervous about extending pockets in my clothing for prolonged periods of time, especially with hasty casting, but it was an emergency—and downed a potion I had ready. Then I stopped hovering.
As a raven, I flapped my wings and swooped through the air, dark feathers invisible against the sleeping sky. Ravens did not typically fly by night, but the potion I'd downed would let me do so for about an hour before the effects wore off. I had until then to make my way to Grimmauld Place based on the single visit a month earlier when Dumbledore had entrusted me with the location.
When the door to my flat failed, a bell had rung in Dumbledore's office. He'd know what had happened and where I'd gone and would alert Sirius before I got there. If Sirius was home.
I put aside my doubts and worries and forced myself to keep flying. I had a long distance to cover.
