Author's Note:
This is both a HP reworking of "Back to the Future" themes, and a continuation/soft reboot/reworking of the time travel tale "Hair of the Grim" by Nightmare Sired Muse. It also contains many concepts, lines and situations from the grab-bag that is "Odd Ideas" by Rorschach's Blot. Both are used with the permission of their original authors (except for "Back to the Future" of course). The Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I do not own Harry Potter or anything else. Full disclaimer in the Table of Contents.
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Rated M for some violence, language, drug use and sexual references. Nothing explicit.
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Canon-compliant. HP&DH compliant (except the Epilogue). HP&CC compliant (except the conclusion). FB&WTFT compliant. Pottermore compliant (mostly). Some crossover with: Naruto, Ranma ½, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Twilight and Avatar: The Last Airbender. Primarily Harry Potter though.
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Recommended Fanfiction of the Week: "The Strange Disappearance of SallyAnne Perks" by Paimpont.
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Question of the Week: I wonder why, since Dumbledore knew for the entirety of HP&HBP that he would shortly die, he didn't just give Harry the tools and equipment he'd need to save the Wizarding World directly, instead of having them willed to Harry after his death? Seems to place an inordinate amount of faith in the speed and honesty of the magical probate process ...
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Chapter 18 – Abraxas' Adventures Through the Foe Glass
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It was just a story about people and rats. And the difficult part of it was deciding who the people were, and who were the rats."
― Terry Pratchett
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Arriving at Dumbledore's Office, Harry was greeted with an enthusiastic tackle from a blonde blur. With a spike of guilt he realised this was the first time he'd seen his new wife – and boy was that still a mind-blowing thought! – since the Hogwarts Express had dropped them off in London. Resolving to treat her better from now on, he hugged Pandora back affectionately.
"Hem hem."
Eventually, they broke apart, and turned to the other inhabitants of the wondrous magical room. Nodding respectfully in greeting to Dumbledore, Harry was unsurprised to see the glowering faces of Scrimgeour and Moody also present. "Only two Aurors this time," he commented lightly to Pandora. "Seems you and I are far less dangerous than the dreaded Marauders. Auror Captain Scrimgeour, Auror Sergeant Moody," he greeted them formally. "Always a pleasure to see your smiling faces."
"The two of you got hitched in November. Less than two months later, a whole barrelful of Malfoys meet their maker, makin' you two the only viable candidates to become Lord and Lady Malfoy," Moody snapped without preamble.
"Really?" he asked, trying hard to look surprised. He wished he'd cultivated an image of being completely off the wall, like Pandora. Nobody ever knows if a nutter is faking or not.
"Hmm, is that so?" she muttered indifferently, as she tried to balance a quill on the tip of her forefinger. He couldn't help but feel a flutter of admiration.
"Yes, I'm afraid it is, my dear," Dumbledore intoned gravely. "It is my sad duty to inform you both of the loss of your beloved relatives, and the consequent increase to your already heavy burdens.
"Awfully convenient for the two of you, wouldn't you say?" Moody smiled horribly.
"If you say so," Pandora shrugged.
"We do," Scrimgeour said dryly. "Get on with it, Chief Warlock!"
Dumbledore placed a large, ornate ebony box with gilded corners onto his desk. "There are a number of difficulties in determining the proper transfer of Lordship to the next Head of House Malfoy," he explained. "Given the unusual circumstances, and the obscurity of the Malfoy Family Rules as to such situations, there is no certainty that the two of you are in fact the legitimate heirs to the House. However, as Auror Moody intimated, on a balance of probabilities, it appears as if the two of you are the likeliest candidates to take up the family mantle."
He carefully opened the box. Inside sat a large Head of family signet ring, made up of a mass of coiling white-gold serpents with emeralds for eyes. Next to it was a smaller, daintier ring, made of a single white-gold serpent eating its own tail. "Happily, there is a simple way to determine whether the Malfoy House magics will accept you two as the next Heads of the family: please attempt to call the rings to yourselves."
Harry tentatively sent a tendril of magic towards the larger ring. He jumped a little as contact produced a minor backlash similar to a static shock. Trying again, he expanded his magic, demanding that the ring appear on his finger. After several minutes of effort, it felt as if a dam suddenly broke, the resistance disappeared, and with a flash the ring was gone! Looking down, he could see it glistening on his finger and feel its weight. Another flash next to him signified that Pandora had likewise succeeded in calling the Lady's ring to her finger.
Dumbledore smiled beneficently. "That settles that. Congratulations, Lord and Lady Malfoy."
"And now my Lord and Lady," Scrimgeour sneered, "We have some more questions for you. You know the drill by now." At his sign, Moody opened his kit and showed them the contents.
"Déjà vu" said Harry. "Veritaserum, check. Legal dictaquill, check. Except you've forgotten my adult guardian being present."
"You're a big boy now," Scrimgeour scoffed.
"Nevertheless, I insist on having an adult chaperone of my choosing present."
"I'm afraid that the Potter family has gone to Wales today to tour some of their more remote properties," Scrimgeour said happily, "so I'm sorry to say that they won't be able to be here this time…"
"Kreacher!" The elf popped in. Harry pulled out parchment and quill and scrawled a quick note. "Take this note to Charlus or Dorea Potter. If you can't find either of them, take it to Fleamont or Euphemia Potter. If you can't find them, take it to Orion Black. Wait for an answer." With a curt snarl, Kreacher snatched the parchment out of his hand and disappeared. "And make sure they're awake and conscious when you give it to them!" Harry shouted. "No throwing it on their pillow while they're sleeping and then leaving!"
He had a sudden brainwave. "Speaking of elves, I believe House Malfoy has a house elf attached to it. Let's see if he has properly transferred to us as well. Dobby!"
There was a pause, and suddenly a young elf was before him. Harry was shocked at how grim and surly young Dobby appeared. This Dobby looked as if the fire hadn't yet been ground out of him, and he was merely looking for the slightest opportunity to slit his masters' throats. How had those Malfoy bastards being treating the poor creature? Obviously Dobby's abuse hadn't begun with Lucius. Now that he thought about it, he had no idea how old Dobby was or how long house elves lived.
"New Lord Malfoy has summoned Dobby?" the elf growled, glaring at Harry and Luna balefully.
"Ah yes," said Harry, taken aback. Never had Dobby looked at or spoken to him in such a confrontational manner. He was a bit at a loss as to how to proceed. "Um, I was wondering … are you happy with being the elf of House Malfoy?"
"Dobby is pleased to serve House Malfoy, even to the end of the world and to his last dying breath," the elf said, as if by rote, through clenched teeth.
"So you don't want me to free you then?" Harry asked innocently.
A shocked silence followed.
"Master would free Dobby? Just like that?" the elf asked in a shaken voice. "Why?"
Scrimgeour also seemed surprised.
"Because enslaving other beings is wrong, just like abusing other beings is wrong, and I will not tolerate either in my House any longer," Harry replied firmly. "So if you wish to be free, simply tell me and I will free you. If you do not, then tell me if you are unhappy carrying out a task I give you, and I will exempt you from it."
Dobby's eyes widened even more that it seemed possible; Harry thought they almost squeezed out the entire rest of his head. The elf pondered this unexpected development.
"Dobby wishes to be free," he finally said, in a very hesitant tone, then cringed as if he expected a blow.
"Very well," Harry said immediately. "I need for you to tie up a few loose ends for me with House Malfoy, and then I will give you clothes and you can do whatever you wish."
"Master means it?!" Dobby was still having a hard time understanding this bizarre new wizard master of his.
"Cross my heart," he smiled genially. "I will even hire you if you want to be employed by a wizard. Shall we say a galleon a day and every weekend off?"
Dobby gripped his ears and pulled, aghast at such riches being offered to him.
"Well, no need to decide now; have a think about it and let me know. You can always come find me if you need something, or even if you just want to talk. That's what friends do."
"Master Malfoy wishes to be friends with Dobby?!" The elf sported an expression that indicated he was unsure if he had mixed up his morning tea with a piping hot cup of ether.
"Of course – I hear that you are a kind-hearted, energetic and loyal elf," Harry replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Naturally I would want to be friends with a person like that."
"And I would too," interjected Pandora, beaming at the small creature.
"Mistress wishes to be Dobby's friend too?!" Dobby started hopping up and down in consternation. "Dobby will need to give this careful thought," he muttered to himself.
"While you're thinking about it, Dobby, I need you to do something for me. Is there anyone still present in Malfoy Manor?"
"Yes, master. Mistress Drusilla stays in Manor."
"Anyone else, human, elf, goblin, monster, faerie?"
"No, master."
"Throw Drusilla out and lock down the Manor – nobody gets in and nobody gets out except myself and Lady Malfoy here. No exceptions."
"Yes, Master."
"And once you've done that, I need you to gather up all the dark and cursed artefacts in the Manor, even those in the hidden rooms and warded hidey-holes, and bring them here to the Headmaster's Office. In particular, a black, leather diary with the name 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' inscribed on it. You may want to wear dragonhide gloves or something when handling it. Bring me that item first. Once your tasks are completed, I will give you clothes." I can only hope that horcrux is in the Manor somewhere. If it's not, then our job just got a whole lot harder.
"Dobby is on his way!" Pop!
"You're really going to free your elf? Just like that, for no reason?" inquired Scrimgeour, a perplexed frown bespangling his brow.
"Of course," Harry shrugged. "Why would I want an unwilling house elf?"
Pandora suddenly addressed Dumbledore. "While we're waiting on both of our elves sir, may I trouble you to draw on some of your legal expertise?"
"Certainly Miss Lovegood, this is a place of learning after all," gesturing for the irritated Aurors to hold their peace.
"What steps do we need to take to change the Malfoy family motto?" Pandora asked innocently. "I feel that "Sanctimonia vincet semper" is rather out of date, could use a shine and new coat of paint and all that."
"'Purity will always conquer'," translated the Headmaster. "What were you thinking of changing it to, my dear?"
"Originally I was going to go with 'Grimis qui manducat me duis nunquam titillandus' in honour of the school," she grinned, pretending not to hear Harry's giggles. "'Never tickle a Grim that's eating my homework'. Catchy and to the point. But that may be a tad too radical for the Families. Wouldn't want to give the poor, delicate dears a heart attack, eh sir? So instead I'll just go for the more pedestrian 'Sanctimonia cordis vincet semper'."
"'Purity of heart will always conquer'. I approve, Lady Malfoy," Dumbledore smiled genially. "It is a sentiment I can only hope will increase in these dark times."
"In a similar vein, I'd like to change the Black family motto from 'Toujours pur', 'Always pure', to 'Toujours pur de coeur': 'Always pure of heart'," Harry added.
"I'm 'heartened' to see that the Heads of House Malfoy and Black are in agreement on such an important matter," chuckled the Headmaster. "There are a number of forms that will need to be completed and filed with the Ministry and Wizengamot. I shall have one of the school elves deliver them to you by and by."
Pandora inclined her head regally. "That is most appreciated, Professor Dumbledore."
"Not at all, my dear."
"Alright, enough of this chit-chat!" Scrimgeour broke in roughly. "We didn't come to sit around and shoot the breeze all day long –"
He was interrupted by the return of Dobby, who had a very familiar black diary in his dragonhide-glove-clad hands. The elf dropped the artefact onto the floor, he couldn't let go of it fast enough.
Harry breathed out in relief. "Well done, Dobby, very good work!" he praised enthusiastically, levitating the diary to Dumbledore's desk. The elf blushed. "A present for you, Headmaster."
The Chief Warlock was busily casting diagnostic spells over the diary. His eyes widened, and shot up to Harry's. Harry nodded. Dumbledore quickly stowed the book into one of his desk drawers.
"What was that?" demanded Scrimgeour. Moody was also looking on in frank curiosity.
"An artefact of very great evil," Dumbledore replied solemnly. "One that I intend to see destroyed before the day is out."
The two Aurors looked like they were going to demand further answers, but were distracted by the return of Dobby, who dropped a sack onto the floor and disappeared again.
"Don't worry, Aurors," Harry said magnanimously, "there are many more dark artefacts from the Malfoy coffers for you to destroy at your leisure. Take them in good health."
"Consider them an accession gift from House Malfoy to the DMLE," added Pandora.
"Er, right, now onto our most important business," said Scrimgeour, trying hard to ignore the ever-growing pile of objects that kept appearing at his and Moody's feet. Eventually it became so large that they had to take a few steps backwards. "We've waited long enough. If none of your 'esteemed' guardians can see fit to make time to be here for you—"
A flash of fire in the Headmaster's Floo. Scrimgeour sighed in disappointment as a thunder-faced Charlus swept into the office.
"So Rufus, back to harass my charge some more?" he demanded. "And timing it so I'd be out of England eh?" Scrimgeour refused to back down. Moody subtly shifted his stance to keep both the men in a clear line of sight.
"The DMLE doesn't arrange its business around your or anyone else's schedules, Potter," he snapped. You don't approve? Well, too bad! We're in this for all of Britain! In case it's escaped your notice, we're in the middle of a civil war, boys and girls, and if you can't handle what needs to be done to win it, then go back to playing with your dolls and quaffles, and let the adults get back to work!"
"Oh yes, picking on schoolchildren while murderers run loose – you two are really doing your bit for the war effort," Charlus sneered back. "I'm sure your Orders of Merlin are in the owl Post as we speak."
"You think we're joking? An entire family has been wiped out! And they're just the beginning! I know you don't believe the hydra-droppings The Daily Prophet vomits out and calls news: there is no 'Malfoy family curse' or any such rot. The truth is, there's been a huge increase in the number of hitwizards in this country. Seems every psychopath with a wand in Europe and North America has jumped on the bandwagon and relocated here – we now have more mercenaries and hitwizards per capita in Britain than anywhere else in the world! Every family that can afford it has started hiring their own squads, to protect themselves and their property from all the other mercenaries. Which'll only prompt rival families to hire even more, and so on. Whole country's a giant powder-keg. Soon every magical enclave in the country will be swarming with the scum. It's only a matter of time before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gets in on it as well, lest his own forces get outnumbered. How does it feel to be living in the mercenary capital of the globe? Do you want to see gangs of hitwizards fighting it out in Diagon or Hogsmeade? 'Coz I can assure you, that's where we're heading!"
"Of course I'm aware of all this," Charlus replied loftily. "My wife's plum robes aren't just for show you know. As you're well aware, the Wizengamot is moving to outlaw all mercenaries and vigilantes."
"Fat lot of good pushing some more paper will do when certain people are allowed to wreak havoc with impunity!"
"Excuse me, gentlemen," Harry tried to move things along. He did have stuff to do today; also the gathering piles of dark artefacts were starting to affect the atmosphere of the Office. It felt like the air was getting increasingly thicker, the light dimmer. He did his best to feign nonchalance. "I'm happy to submit to Veritaserum questioning, provided I'm only asked about matters strictly related to a crime. No drifting into whatever topic takes your fancy."
"That seems sensible," Charlus agreed. "Well, what are you waiting for, man? Get on with it!"
Harry opened his mouth to accept the three drops. He'd gotten through their interrogation once before; unfortunately this time he had done quite a bit more illegal stuff. He reviewed what he'd learned from the Auror Academy about Veritaserum: it was powerful, but there were enough disadvantages that it was not admissible as evidence in court unless voluntarily taken by the defendant. The potion forces you to answer questions truthfully, but you can offer more information than asked if you want. There are ways to skew answers in particular directions: you could take the questions extremely literally, you could give responses that were technically true but avoided the spirit of the question, you could ramble on and on about inconsequential details, and so forth. And finally, the drug can only compel people to speak what they believe is the truth; if they are honestly mistaken, there is no way to know without external evidence.
He could feel the customary wooziness associated with the potion, but pushed through it, trying to maintain as clear a head as possible. "Before we begin, I have a brief statement," he droned, to everyone's surprise. "I, Peter Pettigrew do declare that I did not kill Abraxas or Lucius Malfoy. That I have not hired a single mercenary or hitwizard. And that I have not authorised a single knut from the Potter, Black or Malfoy coffers to be paid for such a purpose."
Harry would've laughed out loud if the potion-induced haze hadn't prevented it. Scrimgeour and Moody looked as if they'd been kicked in the gut while watching their pet kneazle being hauled off to the exterminator. Dumbledore and Charlus looked relieved. That's knocked you off balance hasn't it, you Auror bastards, he thought to himself. Always so eager to make me your scapegoat, in this world and in the last one. And to think I once almost became one of you. Well, hard cheese! It was Kakarot at Gringotts Paris who did all the hiring, and House Lestrange that is so generously funding this putsch.
"Ah right. Well," hemmed Scrimgeour. "As a test question, can you confirm the accuracy of your previous statement?"
"That statement is correct. Peter has not killed any Malfoys nor hired any mercenaries or hitwizards."
"Do you know anyone who has hired mercenaries or hitwizards?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Rudolphus Lestrange." That caused a murmur of surprise.
"How do you know?"
"I saw him sign the contract." More surprised murmurings.
"When was this?"
"During Christmas Break."
Moody and Scrimgeour sat bolt upright. "You saw Lestrange after his disappearance from Hogwarts?!" Moody demanded.
"Yes."
"Why did you not report this to the DMLE?"
"Didn't see a need to."
"Were you not aware that it is every citizen's duty to report any sightings of missing persons to the Ministry?" Scrimgeour took over the questioning once more.
"I saw reward posters offering galleons in exchange for information. I did not see any notifications requiring citizens to report information to the DMLE."
Even through the warm haze in his mind, Harry could hear Scrimgeour grinding his teeth in frustration. "Did you murder Rudolphus Lestrange?"
"No."
"Was he alive the last time you saw him?"
"Yes."
"Do you know who murdered him?"
"I did not witness his murder. Nor do I know of any person who murdered him." Last time I checked, a giant basilisk was not a person. And even then, I didn't see anything.
"Was he in the company of any other person the last time you saw him?"
"Cyrillus Selwyn and Amycus Carrow."
"Did you murder them?"
"No."
"Were they alive the last time you saw them?"
"Yes."
"Do you know who murdered them?"
"I did not witness their murders. Nor do I know of any person who murdered them."
"Where were they the last time you saw them?"
"Running into the Forbidden Forest together."
"What was the nature of your dealings with them? Why were you near the Forbidden Forrest?"
Harry answered but was hit with a Silencio. He kept speaking but his words were muted. "I think that's enough, gentlemen. Mr Pettigrew has been more than cooperative with you, and it is more than clear that he has had nothing to do with the crimes you're investigating." Way to go, great-uncle! Harry mentally blessed Charlus; if the questioning had gone much longer, he would've run entirely out of wiggle room, and the full truth would've come out. Probably followed by a lengthy holiday at Casa de Dementors. Harry pondered what to get his great-uncle for a second Christmas present.
Scrimgeour glared at Charlus. "This is the second time you've interfered in an Auror interrogation, Potter. Interference in official investigations is liable to see you on a one-way trip to Azkaban, old fool!"
"You have already covered the matters you're investigating. Your current line of questioning was clearly just fishing for unrelated private House business." Charlus was unrepentant.
"Because the lad's obviously trying to hide something!" He said 'lad' as if it were a dirty word.
"What is obvious is that you're upset he refuses to confess to a crime you've already judged him guilty of, and are desperately trying to find something, anything to pin on him!"
"Spoken like a true accomplice," Scrimgeour sneered. "Perhaps we need to add you to our suspect list. In the meantime, get in my way again and I'll see you clapped in irons and dragged in front of the Wizengamot myself."
"And in that event I'd be more than happy to point out to my wife's colleagues that business between Houses is not illegal, and any dealings Lord Malfoy may have had with Lord Lestrange, Lord Carrow and Lord Selwyn is considered privileged information, unless it pertains to a legitimate investigation of a crime. And since we've already established that the late Lords were last seen alive and well by Lord Malfoy, it is clear that it does not. Any further digging could be seen as a personal vendetta held by some members of the Auror force who inexplicably hold a grudge towards a minor who has done nothing to earn it … certainly the Wizengamot may view it as a career-limiting move for the officials involved, wouldn't you say? Personally, instead of harassing students I would be searching the Forbidden Forest, as that was the deceaseds' last known location – a location swarming with Class V dangerous creatures. But what do I know?"
The argument continued for some time, and eventually drew in everyone but Harry – who continued to drowse in his fuzzy state, silently answering all questions, even the rhetorical ones, that the adults were throwing at each other – and Pandora, who had taken the opportunity to complete her History of Magic homework. The pile of dark artefacts grew higher and higher, spilling over until they covered every inch of the office's floor, and the arguing men had to wade through them as they paced back and forth.
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"I do wish you and your colleagues wouldn't antagonise those two children," sighed Dumbledore when he and Alastor were finally alone. The office was, mercifully, free at last of those disgusting artefacts, although he certainly didn't envy whichever poor clerk at the DMLE had been assigned to categorise, record and destroy them all.
"That child, as you call him, has managed to wrest control of three Ancient and Noble Houses from their former Lords in less than six months!" Moody snapped. "The last one on the backs of more than a dozen dead aristocrats. Now personally I couldn't care less if the scum that make up the dark families all fell into an open volcano at their next reunion. But that doesn't mean I'm going to just stand around and watch while someone cuts a bloody swathe through the wizarding world with impunity!"
"And yet these sad events have undoubtedly weakened the Dark Lord's resources immeasurably."
"You sound like you actually approve of Pettigrew's actions!"
"Merely an observation, Alastor, not an endorsement. And you have been unable to discover any substantive proof that young Pettigrew or Miss Lovegood actually had a hand in any of it. This is pure supposition, nothing more."
"My gut tells me that both are in this up to their neck," Moody grumbled mulishly. "And that for some reason, you're protecting them."
"I am shielding nobody from the law," Dumbledore retorted, a touch of sharpness in his voice. "I am cognizant of the potential that these children have to become powerful allies against Voldemort. Pettigrew's proxy for House Black has already helped to push through several key pieces of progressive legislation. And now he has the weight of House Malfoy to play with. But any possible alliance will fall apart if the Aurors succeed in embittering him towards the British magical government. If he goes dark, I'm willing to bet that a good chunk of his contemporaries will follow."
"You do what you think best," Alastor growled. "You always have. But know that ol' Moody'll be keeping a very close eye on your pets."
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Harry staggered back to his bunk and fell inside, not caring that he still had several classes before lunch. In a moment, he was fast asleep. After a refreshing seven hour powernap, he summoned the most subtle and devious of his house elves.
"Kreacher!" he called. "Go fetch me Lily Evans' time turner again. I don't need to tell you to be sneaky. Like last time. She cannot under any circumstances know that it's missing."
"Sneaky sneaky," Kreacher agreed. "Kreacher will get turney machine for filthy disgrace of a mudblood master."
Harry sighed. I guess it was too much to hope for that he'd start to warm up to me some. I guess a single, paltry, journey of vengeance on a bunch of muggles isn't enough to overshadow my 'disgrace' of being a halfblood, and my 'further disgrace' of displacing Orion as Head of House Black. Ah well, baby steps.
A quick Tempus revealed that it was dinnertime. Harry pulled out his mirror and quickly contacted Ron, requesting he finish his meal early and meet him on the second floor. Armed with the time turner, he made his way down to meet his confederate. Soon they found themselves huddled in conclave in a dust-filled supply room, surrounded by broken brooms and worm-eaten tables.
"What are we going to do tonight, Peter?"
"The same thing we do every night, Gilderoy: commit crimes for fun and profit!" Harry revealed the time turner with a flourish.
"Ah, time turners," Ron mused sagely, "the greatest alibi a man can have."
"Well said," Harry agreed.
"So," Ron grinned, "does your Mum know that you've 'borrowed' her time turner?"
"Ehehe," he scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her, right? Or more importantly, hurt me. And stop calling her my Mum! My Mum sacrificed her life to save baby Harry Potter 20 years ago! That girl is just some younger relative of hers that happens to share a strong familial resemblance."
"But …"
"That. Is. All. Besides, we need the time turner if we're going to finish off the Malfoys once and for all. Me and Pandora have already been invested as Lord and Lady Malfoy. Which means you and I've already done something in the past to end things. Which means we need to go back and do it. Again."
"How do you know?"
"The two of us were interrogated by the Aurors after breakfast. Again. Under Veritaserum. Again. Luckily I was able to get ahold of Charlus to supervise. Again. "
"A Lovegood under Veritaserum?" Ron snickered. "Wish I'd been there to see that."
"Hysterical it was. She kept rambling about the details of her experimental data, her grand plan to unite muggle and magical chemistry, and the intricacies of the Rotfang Conspiracy's plots to replace all the Aurors with transfigured dung-beetles. The best part was when she demonstrated the nargle mating dance for our edification."
"We seriously need to invest in a pensieve. Dya think she'd re-enact it for us later?"
"If you ask nicely she might. Bribing her with chocolate pudding would also work to your advantage. Now," Harry got to business, "the Aurors refused to give me any details about the circumstances of their demise, so we'll have to just make it up as we go."
"Same plan as always then?" Ron joked.
"Pretty much. Last I heard, Abraxas and his wife barricaded themselves in their Manor and activated the war-wards. Not strictly legal without DMLE authorisation, but given what's been happening to all their relatives, I doubt the Ministry is going to prosecute. Hermione told me that before I left for the Hogwarts Express. That was two days ago. So I think the best time to do something is either while our past selves are on the Express, or that night during the Welcoming Feast."
Ron nodded. "Lots of witnesses. Nobody can credibly say that we could travel all the way to Wiltshire, bump slimy and slimier off, then get back to Hogwarts without a soul noticing."
50 turns of the device, and the world shifted. They disillusioned themselves and sneaked their way to the bathroom, not a difficult feat as the students had not yet arrived for the term. Once in the Chamber's main chamber, they settled down on the most garish (yet most comfortable) couch and began to plot.
"The main problem," Ron observed, "is the wards. Even on normal settings, the Malfoys have been strengthening them and adding new layers for generations. There's no way for any human, hippogriff or house elf to get through without permission. And that's not even considering that they've been set to full alert."
"Fawkes could probably do it," Harry considered. "But there are difficulties. First of all, he doesn't know me from Mordred this time around, so I don't know if I could convince him to help. Secondly, we're essentially asking him to help us assassinate someone. I can't imagine a Light creature being okay with that. And third, Fawkes wasn't there last time I was in Dumbledore's office. Or the time before that, come to think of it. I very much suspect that Dumbledore has him travelling around the country checking those places I told him will be storing horcruxes in the future."
"That's a brilliant idea! Get the bird who can teleport anywhere in an instant to look for the bloody things, instead of searching the length and breadth of the British Isles on foot. Why didn't he do that the first time round?"
"'Coz wizards are stupid and have no common sense?"
Ron punched his arm good-naturedly. "Oi, don't speak of your own kind that way!"
"Make me!" he laughed. They mock-wrestled for a while until they tired themselves out.
"War-wards, full alert, explain what they mean," Harry queried/commanded when they had regained their breath.
Ron's knowledge of such things was patchy (he'd tended to drift off to sleep whenever Bill was explaining the technical intricacies of warding), but the gist of it was clear.
"So bottom line: one does not simply walk into Malfoy Manor."
Ron nodded.
"Nobody but a member of the immediate family can get within a mile of the place without an explicit invitation."
Ron nodded.
"Dammit. That leaves us with only one option."
"You mean …?"
"I'll grab a vial of mandrake Restorative Draught. Then I'm off to the greenhouses. Ron, you start practising your Obliviate and Imperius spells."
"Great."
"Quit your bellyaching, Mr Genius-With-Mind-Magic. You know I'd do it myself if I wasn't completely pants at it. This looks like a job for an Obliviator-and-'round-the-world-heroic-exploit-stealer-to-be extraordinaire!"
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Lord Abraxas Cedrellus Malfoy woke with a start. His wards had triggered, alerting him to the entry of single person to the Manor. Seizing his wand from the bedside table, he slipped out of bed, careful not to wake his slumbering wife. The past few weeks had been extremely stressful for both he and Drusilla, and he didn't begrudge her the few, scattered hours of sleep she was able to snatch here and there.
Both had been worried sick to death by the disappearance of their only child and heir from the supposedly safest place in magical Britain, right under Albus Dumbledore and Horace Slughorn's giant noses. They had promptly mobilised the entire weight of the Malfoy family to find him, no financial, political or public affairs route had been left unturned. Posters dotted every magical district in Europe; hundreds and then thousands of galleons in rewards had been offered; the Aurors scoured Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, the Forbidden Forest and all adjoining lands for hundreds of miles in every direction, before moving to Diagon Alley and every other magical enclave in Britain; Minister Bagnold and Director Crouch had made public appeals in the Daily Prophet; hundreds of bounty hunters, sailors, thieves and other lowlives hunted through Knockturn Alley, the docklands and all the other disreputable hovels that were hidden from the sight of decent folk; hundreds of witches and wizards had come forward to report sightings or other information on Lucius, from Russia to Australia. None of which had led to any tangible leads. But all of which had left them completely unprepared for the second hammer-blow.
Abraxas had to admit a grudging admiration for the unseen enemy who'd struck at the family so masterfully and devastatingly. He'd reached the natural conclusion: Lucius was kidnapped in order to draw the rest of the Malfoys out, to more easily dispose of them. He fully expected to receive ransom demands before long, ordering him to appear at a particular place and time to negotiate. To try to lure he and his wife, the last two Malfoys of any prominence who remained alive, into an ambush, and end the lineage once and for all.
So they had taken the prudent course and sealed themselves in the Manor, raising the wards to maximum. They had time to wait out the crisis, to grieve, to plot their vengeance, to track down the fools that dared raise their hand against their betters. No matter how cunning their foe, it was impossible for them to penetrate such immense defences … or was it? Abraxas glanced at the Foe Glass that adorned his bedroom wall. Lots of vague, indeterminate shapes, as if the mirror could not make up its mind about whether this was a threat or not. Useless piece of glass, he cursed.
Clutching his wand firmly in a duelling grip, he moved stealthily towards where the wards indicated was the point of penetration. No matter the Foe Glass's prevarications, anyone who could penetrate his wards was a formidable opponent indeed. He slipped into the shadows, took his position … and gasped out loud. His son Lucius, hair and robes dirty and dishevelled, but safe and sound in one piece, stood in the middle of the Grand Dining Room, as if waiting for his arrival. The wave of immense relief that flowed through him (causing him to sag limply against the wall and pant, swallowing great gobs of life-giving air), was soon followed by a wave of immense rage towards his son for all the worry he'd felt. It appeared his original theory was incorrect; Lucius showed no signs of kidnapping, desperate flight or any sort of rough treatment.
"So the prodigal returns," he sneered. "Where have you been, chasing Bulgarian Veela? Raping a few muggle royals? You have precisely one minute to explain why I should not flay your hide and dump you in a cauldron of sulphur for all the trouble you've caused me, and all the grief you've caused your mother!"
"Where I was is not important, Father," Lucius sneered imperiously. "What is important is what's in this box." He brandished his load.
"Oh? And what pray tell is in this box?" sneered Abraxas.
"But a trifle – just a means to guarantee the Dark Lord's complete victory," sneered Lucius sarcastically.
Curious, Abraxas' wand swung up again. As he cast his first diagnostic spell, Lucius threw open the lid. Both grabbed their ears at the mind-shredding pain, collapsing to the floor insensible as the unpotted adult mandrake screamed its indignation.
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Ron gave a gasping shudder, then flopped insensate onto the couch. Harry rushed over and began casting his limited repertoire of diagnostic spells. To the best of his ability to check, he diagnosed the situation as one of simple magical exhaustion. Relaxing a trifle, he covered his friend with a blanket and left him to sleep it off.
"It's done," Ron whispered hoarsely several hours later, as he lifted the cup of soup to his lips with trembling hands.
"You mean …"
"Yep. It worked. Mandrake got 'em both; I … the connection was severed. Violently. Magical blowback felt like being stomped in the head by a nundu." He sighed in relief as Kreacher adjusted the moist towel on his forehead. They sat in quiet contemplation for a long time.
"I can't do that again, Harry," Ron eventually said. "You know I'd do anything for you, but I can't do it." He shuddered weakly. "That curse …"
Harry was starting to get seriously worried by the condition of his friend. The exhaustion was wearing off, and in its place tremors had started. Ron stared off into the distance, not seeming to see the others in the room. Harry shared a nervous look with Kreacher. There was no way they could bring him to Madame Valentine in his current state; reeking of dark magic and suffering the aftereffects of casting an Unforgiveable.
"I had to use all of it," Ron muttered, eyes glazed. "Every single bit of fury and hate I ever felt towards that whole stinkin' mob. For what they did to Fred. Ginny. Bill. To you and Hermione. To Dobby." His lanky frame shivered harder. "You have to want to extinguish the person. Smother their will until it's nothing. Wipe them clean. Merlin, it's sick."
"It's all over. You did it. You'll never have to do it again. Ever," Harry promised. "You avenged them. You avenged us all."
"Avenged," he repeated blankly. He looked at his hands. "Merlin, I feel so dirty."
"Then let's get you clean," Harry said softly, hoisting his friend upright. It wouldn't be long before their other selves would be arriving in the Chamber to begin the plan anew. Slowly he and Kreacher manoeuvred him out of the bathroom and into the corridor, ducking into an alcove at the sound of approaching footsteps. Nobody was visible but the footfalls continued past them and off into the distance, their other selves racing towards the Chamber. Not wanting to risk Ron near the other 'Claws just yet, Harry instead led them to the Prefect's bathroom. Damn, forgot there was a password to get into this place. He racked his brain, trying to remember what Cedric had told him all those years ago. "Um, pine something?"
To his mild shock, the doorway opened. Rolling his eyes at the thought that the Prefects hadn't bothered changing the password in over thirty years, he and Kreacher dragged Ron into the bath and turned the hot water onto full. After casting a half dozen locking charms at the door, Harry climbed into the tub, sat down behind Ron and held him to his chest. Neither bothered to remove their clothes.
"Is there anything else that can be done to help him Kreacher?" he asked wearily.
"Kreacher is not knowing. Is bad dark magic."
That sparked an idea. If it was the effect of dark magic, perhaps exposure to some powerful Light magic would help counteract it. It was worth a shot. Grabbing his wand, he cast. Expecto Patronem! Prongs sprang out, his aura filling the room with ethereal light, and waves of warm, thick, treacly joy. Trotting over to Ron, Prongs made a soft whinnying sound and nuzzled at his cheek. The boy reached up and weakly patted the silvery muzzle.
Harry and Prongs held him until the shivers subsided and Ron fell into a fitful sleep.
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Mary MacDonald rolled out of bed. Something wasn't right, she didn't usually sleep in this late, judging from the amount of light pouring in through the window. She usually had Alarm Clock Lily drag her out from under the sheets bright and early (whether she wanted to or not). Rubbing her eyes blearily, she grabbed her wand and dressing-robe and staggered to the alarm clock. As she slapped her hand down to shut the buzzing alarm off, she suddenly felt a magic tether hook behind her navel, and was jerked outside time and space.
The portkey deposited Mary in an undignified pile, knee-deep in icy sludge. As she tried to move, the mud refused to release its hold on her bare feet. "Damn it!"
"Indeed," a chilling voice hissed. "It seems that Flitwick has come through on his end of the bargain."
"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!?" Mary yelled in shock. "Reducto!"
"You're going to have to do better than that, mudblood!" the voice laughed. "Crucio!"
Mary dodged the spell and submerged herself. Knew I shoulda taken Lils up on her offer of swimming lessons, she lamented. Ah well, no use for it now. The Scotswoman hugged the bottom as she made her way to the shore.
"Where are you, MacDonald!?" Voldemort's voice screamed. "You can't run from me!"
Mary crawled up the beach and carefully made her way into the brush.
"You can't escape, mudblood," Voldemort laughed. "I know where you are. Why don't you make things easy for yourself, if you give up now then I promise to make things quick ... well, quicker then I'd planned anyway."
It took the girl nearly two hours to get close enough to be sure of getting a hit. "Reducto," she whispered. And watched in shock as the spell connected. "Reducto, reducto, reducto!" she chanted. Mary bit her lip to keep herself from screaming in joy. "Looks like ye weren't so tough after all, Mr Dobber Dark Lord," she taunted. "Now to keelhaul that traitor Flitwick."
"Petrificus totalus!"
Mary whirled to confront the next attacker and was met by a spell to the chest.
"I can work with you," the caster said. "Made a few mistakes, but that's not a big deal. You were quiet, you shot him in the back, you kept shooting, and you didn't give up. Must say that I was especially impressed with the fact that you were planning to give me a bit of payback for selling you up the river. So tell me, child, what did you do wrong?"
Mary just glared bloody murder up at her quarter-goblin captor and tried to growl.
"That's right, poor situational awareness. You let me creep up on you and you let yourself celebrate after you thought you had the kill. Get up, Miss MacDonald ... no? Well, when the spell wears off, meet me in the building 200 feet north of here. Think about ways you can improve in the meantime. Farewell."
Mary fizzled and fumed. Ye just made my list, twally-washer, she thought viciously to herself. Ye, and those other jobbies Peter, Sirius, James, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Eventually the petrification wore off, and Mary made her scratched and sore way to the building, the only structure as far as in the eye could see.
Entering, she was surprised to see the bruised and battered forms of Frank, Alice, Marlene, Lily, Apolline, Xeno and Pandora sprawled out over the fold-out cots.
"So, Flitwick got you too, eh?" offered Frank with a weak grin. "Wonder who's next on the list?"
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"No using me for experiments!" Harry said firmly.
"I don't recall promising that," Pandora replied with a dazed grin.
"Drat." Harry eyed the runic circle his wife had drawn up around him with a hint of fear, surely Ron's incessant auguries of doom had been exaggerating? If only he'd known the truth about marriage, his cold feet would have turned into full blown panic, all those weeks ago. He decided to make sure everything would be safe.
"Could we have Lily double-check this?" Harry asked hopefully.
"You don't trust your wife?" Pandora asked with tears in her eyes. "You think your beloved life-partner would do something to hurt you? Oh the shame, the horror, if only we'd had more time to properly bond as man and wife. Curse the vicissitudes of Fate that have sundered our hearts from the other, leaving us pitifully alone and unloved in this hard, cold, cruel multiverse," she sobbed.
"I trust you!" Harry said quickly. "It's just that ..."
"Great!" Pandora cheered, her tears disappearing in an instant. "Contact!"
A column of light rose into the sky and split into three parts, each heading off and disappearing. Ten seconds later, three smaller streams of light returned.
"What happened?" Harry asked, he felt woozy and everything was blurry.
"Hmmmm?" Pandora cast a couple of quick diagnostic charms. "I'm such a genius!" She laughed, raising a fist into the air. "Sometimes I even amaze myself, it's a wonder I'm not crushed under the massive weight of my massive intellect! Bwahahahahahahaha!"
"My arms are longer," Harry said in shock.
"You're also taller and blessed with perfect health," Pandora added. "Just a little down-payment from the Cosmos for the bad hand it dealt you when looks and athleticism were being parcelled out. We'll use it on Lily next – she's almost a perfect 10/10 in every respect, but there's always a little extra that can be done! In fact, why don't you go get her now."
"Okay, dear," Harry agreed after making a quick check that he hadn't lost or gained any appendages.
Once a protesting Lily Evans was safely ensconsed in the runic circle, Pandora turned to the love of her life (the non-Science one, anyway) who was trying to unobtrusively sneak away. "While you're still here, there's one last matter that needs to be resolved: your appalling treatment of your first wife. Hm, I mean second wife," nodding in deference to an outraged, bound Lily. "You've been ignoring and downright avoiding that poor little Veela ever since the beginning of term; naturally, she turned for help to someone of towering mental prowess! And I could never say no to a fellow blonde Ravenclaw partner-in-felonies!"
Hastily backing away, no longer bothering with subterfuge, Harry raised his hands defensively. "No need for you to waste your time intervening, uh, everything's perfectly all right now, we're fine, we're all fine, here, now, thankyou. Er, how are you?" he gibbered nervously.
"You are clearly not fine – your aura's been overwhelmed by the blibbering flobberwash that Apolline's overprotective Papa has been spouting," Pandora said sternly. "Fortunately there is a simple cure that doesn't involve brain grafting." She snapped her fingers.
Harry was struck by a petrifying jix from behind. A pair of strong, clawed hands arrested his fall. "Eet eez time zat you and I 'ave a little talk, my Pierre. A talk we should 'ave 'ad in Bretagne," came a gentle, mellifluous voice. The last voice he wanted to hear right now. "Allons-y, I 'ave such sights to show you!"
And with that he was in her arms and they were flying away into the glorious sunset. He had no working mouth yet he must scream.
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"Here you go, sir, happy birthday."
"Thankyou Mr Pettigrew. However, I fear to tell you that today is not, in fact, my birthday."
"Your unbirthday then," Harry waved dismissively. "Or a down-payment on all those hundreds of birthdays that I didn't give you a single present."
"Fortunately, I'm not quite that old just yet. What is this?"
"It's your ration of HA supplies, sir."
"HA?"
"Stands for the 'Hogwarts Army'. Our clandestine illegal-militia made up of Hogwarts students. We originally considered calling it the DA for 'Defence Association' aka 'Dumbledore's Army', but with the Ministry's paranoia running sky-high these days, if word leaked about our group we wouldn't want Minister Bagnold thinking you were building an army of insurrectionists to overthrow her, would we? I don't want to be responsible for you being forced into fleeing the castle, or something."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Most considerate of you all."
"Is there some reason we're having this meeting at the bottom of the Black Lake?" Harry craned his neck cautiously to look around at the giant, invisible bubble-head dome that surrounded the Headmaster's makeshift office. It was never wise to ask Dumbledore too many questions, every answer held the potential to make you regret the fact that you'd asked it.
Pandora waved cheerily to a passing school of grindylows.
"It is sometimes nice to get out of my stuffy office to do one's work somewhere with better ventilation," the old man replied cheerfully. "Unfortunately for me, my usual go-to places are all currently occupied, so I was forced to be more creative."
"Better ventilation huh?" Harry repeated dubiously.
"Indeed. But I sense that you did not come all the way down here to ask me that. I am most curious as to why you felt it necessary to inform me of your HA. Usually unauthorised clubs do their utmost to say out of my sight and knowledge."
"And have any of them ever managed to succeed at that?"
Dumbledore merely smiled, eyes twinkling.
"I rest my case. As to why, four reasons. First, as a matter of courtesy."
"Courtesy?"
"Yes, from one clandestine illegal-militia leader to another."
The Headmaster's eyes raised.
"I've referring to your own unauthorised club, the Order of the Phoenix. I know it's top secret," he tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially, "which means, of course, that everybody knows about it. Even my friendly neighbourhood shopkeepers of Diagon." He grinned. "The second reason is so that you don't get caught flat-footed in case our shenanigans land us in hot water. I wouldn't want our first discussion of the HA to be between prison bars in one of the DMLE's holding cells. Hopefully, over time, the HA will be able to operate in conjunction with your Order to carry out joint operations, or undertake surveillance, raid supply dumps, and all the rest of that illegal-militia-y goodness. But in the short term, we're all focused on training mind and body. I might be able to take down a few junior Aurors or Death Eaters in direct combat, but I'd be creamed by an experienced witch or wizard. The others are the same. The third reason is because our redoubtable Head Girl didn't want to do it behind your back."
Dumbledore and Harry both smiled at Lily, who gave an embarrassed shrug.
"And the fourth reason?"
"Because it greatly amuses me to openly describe all the crimes I'm committing right to the face of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, and highest-ranked judicial officer of Magical Britain."
And because throwing him these bones provides excellent cover for all the other, more serious crimes you've been committing, the Lynx noted dryly. A limited hangout strategy: tell smallers lie to hide a larger one.
"Most diligent of you, Mr Pettigrew," the Professor said dryly. His eyes flickered to the other students in the room who were looking rather sheepish. "And what sort of other crimes have you recidivists been committing on my watch?"
"Would you like the list? Kidding, kidding. Anyway, as I was saying, my future counterpart's memories tell me that things are going to get a lot worse before they get better. So I rounded up the more motivated sixth and seventh years and convinced them to band together so we can make a difference in this war."
"I must admit to a certain amount of surprise at who you've collected into your HA Club, Mr Pettigrew. Many of these students before me are not, shall we say, part of your small circle of intimates. What convinced them to allocate so much time and energy to your association?"
"You'd be amazed what hearing about your bleak and painful future does for your motivation. Nothing like threat of death or madness to sort out your priorities," Harry replied grimly. A couple of the other students squirmed uncomfortably in their seats.
Learning their grueseome fates in his counterpart's future certainly lit a fire under them, the Grim commented. I've never seen Padfoot study like that in his life.
"I see," Dumbledore sighed sadly.
"I haven't told them everything, only important stuff. I won't answer questions about who they get married to or what their career will be or whether they win the Quidditch League betting pool or how many kids they'll pop out, or any shite like that. Chances are, that future kid didn't know. Or if he did know, the answer to all of the above is most likely 'murdered and dumped in a ditch by Death Eaters or their ilk'. He was living through a war. Some things are best left unknown." He looked pointedly at Lily, who'd been badgering him incessantly for information about her future. "None of which matters in the slightest anyway, because we're going to change all of it so that Nobody Dies. I realise that's dreaming the impossible dream, Death is the unbeatable foe, but it's better to shoot for the stars and miss than aim for a skunk a hit a bulls-eye, amirite?"
"Not like you were ever any good at keeping this stuff a secret," interjected James. "Going on about the Triwizard Tournament and whatnot."
"Triwizard? There hasn't been one held in nearly 300 years …"
"Well that's about to change in another two decades," Harry said sourly.
"Do tell, Mr Pettigrew."
"My future counterpart got entered against his will. Forced to compete in deadly competitions against students three years' his senior."
"How was he forced?" queried Pandora, an intense look gleaming in her piercing sapphire orbs. Her fists clenched, ready to rain down bloody brimstone upon whatever degenerate parasites had forced her husband's future self into mortal peril.
"Someone entered him in a magical contract against him will. Would've lost his magic and become a squib if … he … refused to compete …"
Hmmm. That … has potential, the Otter said thoughtfully.
"Professor," Harry said urgently, "I need the Goblet of Fire!"
"Eh? What's that Mr Pettigrew."
"The Goblet of Fire – I'm sure you of all people will be able to get your hands on it. It's vital I get ahold of it, it could be a matter of life or death!"
"I quite agree," Dumbledore growled coldly. "Which is why you're never going to ask me for it ever again. Too many have died or been injured from toying with that artefact."
"But –"
"An object so ancient and so powerful is not something that shall ever be within reach of underage students while I am still in the Headmaster's chair."
"But –"
"And at this point you approached Professor Flitwick?" Dumbledore said, firmly moving the conversation along.
Grrr. You haven't heard the last of this, barked the Grim.
Harry nodded. "We needed an instructor. A proper instructor," he added, forestalling Ron's comment. "One with actual combat experience. We can't afford flail around in Amateur Hour this time around, 'Roy. It's pure luck a dozen times over that we're even still alive by this point!"
Lily winced. "That bad?"
"Unfortunately."
"But you, we, our side did win the last time around, didn't we?" the redhead persisted.
"You mean in the future?"
"Yes."
Harry sighed. "We did."
"How? Can we replicate the victory?"
"Through a series of freak occurrences, Voldie managed to nail himself with his own AK. As to whether we could replicate it … not unless you're willing to offer up your life and the life of your firstborn son …?" Harry replied, with a significant look at the girl. Lily paled and looked away.
"Why don't we mark that down as a plan of last resort," Dumbledore suggested.
"You've also been muttering in your sleep about being the Master of Death," Lily mused.
"And how do you know what he does in his sleep, Evans?!" James demanded (i.e., squeaked in shock).
She rolled her eyes. "The lazy vermin spends more time napping than reading during our study sessions."
"I can't help it," Harry whined, "those Library seats are so comfy."
"Tell us about ascending to become the Master of Death," Pandora commanded. "I assume you united the Three Deathly Hallows, as Beedle described?"
Harry nodded reluctantly. "And don't bother asking me where they are, I'm not saying," he said stubbornly.
A shocked silence descended.
"So … you're immortal?" Remus gulped.
"What? Don't be stupid, Moony, I'm as frail and mortal as the next wizard."
"Well, what sorts of awesome powers did the Hallows bestow upon you?" Padfoot demanded impatiently. "Are you invulnerable to magical attacks? Can you commune with the dead? Can you order Death to resurrect people who've passed on? Can you kill people from a distance?"
"What are you yipping about, Padfoot? You think if I could do any of that I'd be bothering with a high school students' defence club? Instead of, oh I don't know, snapping my fingers and killing Mouldy Shorts and his Death Nibblers in an instant? Or walking up to him, shrugging off Killing Curses left and right, and ripping his heart out with one hand?"
"So you mean …" Remus began.
"I mean that the whole vaunted 'Master of Death' thing is complete bunk, I got bupkis out of it. What a gyp! Each of the Hallows were useful in themselves, of course, but it turns out all those legends about mastering death were basically garbage; some entertaining tales someone threw together to explain these strange and powerful artefacts that the Peverall brothers invented. Or stole."
James immediately puffed up to defend the reputations of his illustrious ancestors.
Ignoring him, Harry continued their previous line of conversation. "I take it Professor Flitwick informed you about our clandestine training, Headmaster?"
"Of course."
"So you see, there was no point keeping the HA a secret! Roles are divvied up into different specialities. Everyone has to learn combat skills, but on top of that there's the Mind Control Directorate, run by Gilderoy Lockhart," he gestured to Ron. "'Roy's a whizz with mind magics, he's teaching us all Occlumency and legilimency. Some are making further strides than others," he grimaced ruefully.
Ron looked displeased.
I don't know why he's so grouchy about his job, the Otter grumped. Never underestimate the value of a tool that can remove evidence so thoroughly and completely as an obliviation!
Not to mention the fact that he has his girlfriend to 'console' him; I bet Hermione's pleased to have her human garbage disposal machine back in her arms once more, snarked the Grim. The boytoy has no reason to frown.
"Research Directorate, aka the Bookworm Brigade, run by Marlene. Assistants are Remus and Alice, they plow through the Library and any other source of information they can get hold of. Finding us any information that may be useful. And to support the Science and Development Directorate – guess who's in charge of that one," he chuckled. Pandora favoured them all with a deranged grin. "Er, yes, assisting Pandora are Lily and Mary. They make all sorts of useful toys for us to play with. Lily's also stocking up on medical magics. Sports and Social Directorate, run by Frank, assistants are James and Sirius, in charge of pushing our physical skills, and making us wish we'd never been born!"
"And proud of it!" declared James.
Those three are geniuses, pure geniuses, said the Grim, wiping a tear from its eye. The jump rope is mankind's greatest invention, bar none! I can't count the number of happy hours we've watched the girls use theirs. It's almost hypnotic the way they bounce ... Sometimes, on very rare occasions, it's actually good to be Harry Potter.
It's true, times like that make me feel there truly is a benevolent god that wants me to live a happy life, Harry remarked.
Unfortunately outnumbered by the far more numerous times that you feel you've attracted the attention of a malevolent deity intent on making you Fate's Permanent Bitch, added the Otter.
Such is life, Harry supposed.
"Propaganda Directorate, run by Xenophilius and assisted by Dobby. To get the truth out there and counter the Death Eaters' and The Daily Prophet's daily lies alike. And then me, the Rat Directorate."
Also a couple of Frogs from Beauxbatons, but it might cause an international incident if they're involvement ever got out, commented the Lynx.
"And what, pray tell, does the Rat Directorate look after?" grinned the Headmaster. "I have been involved in organisations for many years and have never heard of such a thing?"
"Everything else," was the laconic reply. "Apparation, Patronus Charm, illegal Traceless wand acquisition, Auror surplus wand holsters and Dragonhide vests acquisition, Auror training manuals acquisition, offensive curses, dirty tricks. Bascially how to fight like rats and mice. Sneaky and dirty."
And the animagus transformation, the Otter added impishly. But probably better to leave that little tidbit as an ace in the hole.
Freyr, weren't James and Sirius upset about that one! the Grim chortled. At least until they wound their heads back in.
I think telling them that having a secret animagus ability could be the difference between life and death, and asking if they were willing to be parsimonious with their knowledge if it risked one of their friends dying, made them feel a bit ashamed, mused the Otter.
Peter was the one who brewed the revealing potion in the first place! sniffed the Dormouse. Those three are mediocre potions students at best!
Prek! barked the Owl, not wanting to be left out of the discussion.
"The Patronus Charm? That is very advanced magics for NEWT students."
"Extremely useful for long distance communication. Our communication mirrors are great for short-distances, but they only have a range of a couple of miles. Your communications mirror is in your pack, Headmaster. To activate, just tap it with your wand and say the name of the person you wish to talk to. If someone's trying to contact you, it will vibrate. Tap it with your wand twice for group-chat." Harry pulled out his known mirror to demonstrate. "This genius device was invented by our own James, Remus and Sirius." Pandora applauded politely. "And the second great device invented by our three geniuses – the Hogwarts Map. That's in your pack too." Harry removed his own version of the Marauders' Map and demonstrated. "You can enter your own password – 'Hermione Jane Granger'!" And with the correct password and wand tap, the outline of Hogwarts castle was revealed. "We had them replicate their original design with a few tweaks, like being able to search for individuals, and fellow HA members are highlighted in red. Since you're connected to the Hogwarts Wards as Headmaster, you probably don't need it, but perhaps Professor McGonagall would appreciate it as a Valentine's guest," he chuckled. "Ensures that all HA members can find anyone around Hogwarts at a moment's notice."
"Most impressive charms work," Dumbledore praised as he examined his new items in turn. "One can only imagine the delight of Professor Flitwick should Mr Potter and Mr Black ever demonstrate such brilliance in the classroom."
Remus snorted, and hastily choked down his bark of laughter.
"You have all certainly put a lot of time and effort into your defence club, I think 20 points for each of you would be appropriate. However, I cannot help but feel trepidation for your plans for using these devices and skills you've worked so hard on. What precisely do you mean by 'fighting like rats and mice', Mr Pettigrew?" The Headmaster's voice had gradually sharpened over the course of that last sentence.
Harry sighed. He knew it'd been too much to hope for that the Professor would just let that stray comment slide. He also knew he'd have to hash this issue out with Dumbledore sooner or later. No time like the present, yeah? "From Gilderoy's and my perspective, we have to do it all over again. The war. The death. The fighting. And we don't intend to stumble around like amateurs this time around; be the patsies of the wizarding world; go out and singlehandedly fight everyone's battles for them so that they can cower away in the warmth and safety of their own homes and wait for everything to blow over. And come back out when the sun is shining again and most of the muggleborns are gone, creating lots of new job openings, and lots of lovely abandoned property to grab. A brand new day indeed." Harry blinked. "Hah. Hadn't intended that to come out so cynically." He shook his head. "We're in a civil war situation here. You do realise that everyone in this room is probably going to have to kill people before we're through. As in, lots and lots of people. People who hopefully won't see it coming and won't have a chance to resist, or to change their ways, or to 'return to the Light'."
A sombre pall fell on the room at his cold words.
Dumbledore leaned back and sighed his own sigh of sorrow. "I did not wish this war to ever touch my students. I wish it need not have happened in my time at all. So do all who live to see such hard times. But alas, that is not for us to decide. All we can decide is what to do with the time that is given us. But I warn you all, children, do not be too eager to deal out death and judgment upon others. Even the very wise cannot see all the consequences."
"It's no more than the Death Eaters deserve," growled Ron. "They want to eat death, fine, I say we feed them their fill!"
"Deserve? I daresay those wretched individuals deserve everything you're willing to inflict on them, Mr Lockhart. Many that yet quicken deserve death. And many that have died deserve life. Can you give it to them?"
"That's too profound for me," Ron admitted. "I don't presume to be some almighty deity judging people for their sins and carrying out sentence. All I can do is whatever's necessary to protect my friends and family."
"What's necessary. Yes, we all must do what is necessary. Be wary, young ones, you are not the first to consider that path. They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, but in my limited experience, many a Dark Lord started their careers by doing what they felt was necessary, rather than what they desired, then following that road to its logical conclusions. Necessary for themselves, necessary for their loved ones, finally what was necessary for the world."
"The Greater Good," Harry murmured.
"Yes indeed. Something easy to articulate, but far harder to actualise."
"That's it!" Pandora snapped her fingers. The other inhabitants of the underwater bubble looked at the blonde magiscientist, startled at her abrupt re-entrance into the conversation. She paused to think, sucking on the ends of her two wands absently. Finally, she tucked one behind her ear and the other through the bun of her hair and announced gravely, "I am humbled by the depth of my own genius." Another shudder racked her slender frame.
Harry smiled. "What have you come up with now, my wonderful genius wife?"
"I need you to explain an idiom to me," she replied slowly. "What exactly does the phrase 'fight fire with fire' mean? One would not think that fire would be an appropriate thing to fight other fire with. Even leaving aside the fact that they would seem to be natural allies, one would suppose that water might be more effective." The girl paused. "Unless of course you're fighting a grease fire, or Fiendfyre, or Flammensectum fire, but we're not, we're just speaking of a normal fire."
"It means to to use the same or similar methods to defeat your opponent," Lily explained. "And the use of fire is an excellent way to fight other fires."
"Oh, how so?" Pandora asked curiously.
"It's used to fight forest fires. You have a fire and you set smaller controlled fires around it to consume the fuel, when the two fires meet, the second fire has consumed all the fuel and the first fire goes out. Do you understand?"
"So it's a bit like having dinner with Gilderoy?" Padora said slowly. "When you are alone, you may eat whatever you wish. When you are eating with Lockhart, you need to try to eat your fill quickly and you must be careful of losing fingers."
"Exactly," Lily agreed.
"Then the logical conclusion is to get our own Dark Lord to defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort," she replied.
"What?!" the redhead spluttered. "That's not what I meant at all!"
"Makes sense, actually," Harry mused. "When you think about it, aren't Dark Lords the way magical society moves forward …?"
Dumbledore frowned. "Explain please."
"We've had, what, two Dark Lords within 50 years of each other? Both times it forced witches and wizards to band together, the Ministry to mobilise, the Wizengamot to pass a range of new legislation. Think about it, those so-called dark creature laws would never have passed muster if the Lords weren't terrified of hordes of slavering beasties joining a Dark Lord and running rampant through the wizarding world."
Remus cringed and tried to disappear in his seat.
"Sorry mate," said Harry apologetically. "'S not how I feel. I've been looking through a few of the Library's history books with Lily, trying to get a bead on how this world and the one I remember are different from each other. One of the things that struck me was just how … stagnant, I suppose the word is, wizarding society is."
"Oi!" Alice objected, "that's our home you're talking about!"
"Sorry, but it's true. Magical Britain is a highly conservative society, the Saudi Arabia of Europe you could say. Without a powerful external stimulus, the government and institutions prefer the status quo, and strongly resist any attempts to change it. I believe keeping the muggleborn without voice or influence is one of their major mechanisms for maintaining the status quo, since muggleborn are, by comparison at least, extremely progressive. Always keen for improvement. Like pushing for a representative democratic government. Bans on dark artefacts and heirlooms. Equal rights for muggleborn and sentient creatures. House elf and goblin emancipation. Abolition of trade and commercial monopolies. Full integration of muggleborn into all levels of society. Greater coordination with the muggle government. Etc etc. All ideas that muggleborn and their Progressive allies in the Wizengamot have championed. And none of which have seen any significant success, no offence, Headmaster," he shrugged apologetically. "Nor will they. All the corruption and inward-looking parochialism of British institutions stalemate any major reform. Unless something comes along to scare the crap out the peers of the realm and bureaucracy alike and motivates them into taking the less terrifying option, whatever reform that may be."
"I remember me teachers in primary school once telling me about the New Deal," Mary offered. "It was the most significant rollout of progressive legislation in muggle America. The only reason the rich, powerful President was able to ram it through a wizengamot of rich, powerful lords was because they were all terrified of a communist revolution."
"What's a commulist?" asked Frank, puzzled.
"Not important; what's important is all the massive social reforms were seen as the minimum sop necessary to appease the masses. To discourage them from uprising and putting all the lords' heads on pikes and stealing their property."
"Same basic principle," Harry nodded.
"What are you proposing?" demanded Marlene. "We have the Dark Lord, the Light Lord," she gestured towards Dumbledore, "and another Dark Lords all facing each other in a fight to determine the fate of the magical world? And hopefully that'll terrorise the Families into doing the right thing?"
"Not another Dark Lord," Pandora corrected. "A syndicate of Dark Lords. A council of Dark Lords. A democratic assembly of Dark Lords."
"Sounds like someone's been in the pipeweed again," muttered Alice to herself.
"You said it yourself, sir," Pandora addressed the Headmaster, "those Dark Lords went down dark paths because they followed a route they felt was necessary to their minds. They did whatever seemed right in their own eyes. In other words, they had nobody to check their excesses, to give them a slap and tell them off whenever they had a monumentally stupid idea, like I do to Peter all the time."
"It's true," Harry admitted. "She yelled at me just yesterday." He still winced at the talking to he'd received from both Pandora and Apolline regarding his 'appallingly inconsiderate shunning' of the French Veela. It was, he felt, a far too vigorous a talking to, given that it had been a perfectly reasonable misunderstanding. Could've happened to any bloke who's girlfriend's father was trying his darndest to sabotage their relationship.
"So to counterbalance stupidity and hubris," Pandora continued, balancing a third wand between her upper lip and nose, "we would need several Dark Lords of equal standing, to balance each other out. Sitting on a council or committee or whatever, just like the Four Founders. Each one takes an Unbreakable Vow to never lie or hide the truth from each other, and to follow the majority decision whenever an issue's taken to the vote. That way, if one or more go off the reservation, the rest can drag them back onto the right path and curb any excesses." Her piercing sapphire orbs swept her fellow HA members. "Hmmmm, one Lord or Lady from each House at a bare minimum. That way they can take charge of organising the defence of their House, run emergency drills, get their Housemates up to combat readiness, and so forth. Bags the Dark Ladyship of Ravenclaw!" she gave her patented terrifying grin. "On second thoughts, that sounds so blasé – the Science Lady of Ravenclaw! Much better! Bwahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"
Harry eyed James. "The Light Lord Potter of Gryffindor does have a nice ring to it," he offered.
"Bugger that!" Sirius interjected, "And bugger you too for suggesting it, Wormy! There must, nay, can be only one Dark Lord of the House of Lions, and that is the Prank Lord Padfoot of Gryffindor!"
"Bite your tongue!" James grinned. "Or are you asking for a practical demonstration of the difference between regular brutality and Dark Lord brutality!?"
"Unfortunately we have no representatives for the 'Puffs," Frank mused in amusement.
"No need, I nominate Lily," Mary cried. "Oh hush, lass, ye're a born Hufflepuff if there ever was one! The Flower Lady of Hufflepuff! Nah, that's soft. Tyrannosaurus Lily of Hufflepuff! Nah. I ken, the Bleedy Lilly of Hufflepuff, all shall love Her Ladyship and Despair!" She collapsed into a fit of giggles.
"Which leaves Narcissa here as our sole Snake," Sirius drawled. "Congratulations, o Disguise Lady of Slytherin!"
The black-haired-once-more girl rolled her eyes at her fiancé's antics. "Stuck with a House of nobody," she grizzled good-naturedly.
"Guess the rest of us are your Dark Minions then," Ron said cheerily.
"We'll need to do this properly," Pandora mused. "I'll start putting together some application forms to distribute."
"Application forms?!" demanded James. "Now I really have heard everything, handing out applications for candidates for Dark Lord postions like Hogsmeade weekend forms! Honestly!"
"We're not going to call them that obviously, you dunderhead!" Pandora scolded the boy severely. "Only a fool would commit 'I am an aspiring Dark Lord' or variation thereof to paper! The applications will ostensibly be for something else, like consent forms for a Lovegood to exchange one's brain with that of a greak white shark …"
"I think that's enough headache-indcuing interaction for today's dosage of Headmaster-student relations," sighed Dumbledore. "Why don't you be on your way? By my reckoning, you're all now half an hour late for your next class."
"What's wrong, Headmaster?" Harry faux pouted. "Does the Leader of the Light not want to consort with a cabal of Dark Lords any longer? I feel so rejected!"
.