Chapter 57 – Desolation
The day following the horcrux revelation was tense—perhaps unsurprising given Harry's state of mind. Harry was not precisely petulant or self-pitying, but some of the former qualities of his character—his moodiness and tendency to snap at others with little provocation—had once again made an appearance. And though Hermione could see that he was trying to control his temper, his success was at times indifferent.
Initially Hermione had felt that his frame of mind had improved substantially after sleeping on it, as he had awoken in a quiet and contemplative mood. They had done something the previous night that none had ever done before—all three of them had slept together in the same bed. After Harry's breakdown upon entering the Room of Requirements, Hermione and Fleur had determined that Harry should not be alone that night. A quick request to the room, and they had a bed more than large enough to accommodate them all and, after smothering a half-hearted protest from Harry, they had led him to the bed and curled up with him in between, all of them falling into an exhausted slumber only a few moments later.
Upon waking that morning, Hermione gazed at the face of the young man she loved so very dearly, wondering at the vagaries of fate. If fate did exist, then it had no sense of fairness, as it continually heaped more on Harry's head than anyone should have to bear. It was all Hermione could do not to rail against the unfairness of it all.
One unexpected benefit of the situation—if it could be called that—is that it focused Hermione's attention away from the horror of Malfoy's attempted abduction and onto Harry's situation. For the first time since it had happened, her sleep had not been interrupted by nightmares, though admittedly those had lessened to a certain extent on their own. Or, it was equally possible that sleeping alongside Harry had banished the dreams. That thought filled her with a warmth the likes of which she had never before felt. If only the experience could become one which would last a lifetime.
A motion from Harry's other side caught Hermione's attention and, carefully so as to avoid disturbing Harry, she propped herself up on her elbow and peeked over the side of her slumbering boyfriend. The blinking blue eyes of her closest female friend met her gaze, and Fleur smiled.
"Did you sleep well?" Fleur asked, her voice still thick with sleep.
"Better than ever," Hermione replied.
Fleur smiled and burrowed in closer to Harry's side. "I believe I could get used to this."
"You and me both."
Hermione allowed herself to fall silent for the next several moments as Fleur came to full wakefulness.
"What are we going to do?" Fleur asked into the silence.
"Whatever we have to," Hermione replied with determination. "Dumbledore said that every magic has some way to undo it. We just need to find it."
Fleur nodded, though Hermione could tell that her manner was anything but confident. She said nothing negative about the situation, however. Instead she said, "We will have to keep Harry positive at the same time. I doubt that will be easy."
Fleur's words ended up being prophetic. When he awoke, Harry appeared to be much as he ever was, though perhaps a little quieter than usual. He thanked Fleur and Hermione for their care and concern and suggested that they make their way back to Gryffindor tower to shower before breakfast.
"Harry," Hermione asked hesitantly, "don't you want to talk about what we learned last night?"
"Not really," Harry replied. "What's the point? I think I'd prefer to focus on beating Voldemort."
Neither girl liked this response; it was not like Harry to be so fatalistic. Still, he had a right to be so, Hermione supposed. It was better than having to deal with an angry Harry. Unfortunately, that was still to come.
At his suggestion, they did return to the tower, separating and agreeing to meet once again in the common room once they had completed their preparations for the day. Unfortunately, Hermione's absence the previous night had not gone unnoticed by her gossipy and overly nosy roommates. It was equally unfortunate that said roommates were genetically incapable of keeping quiet on the matter.
"Hermione!" Lavender squealed as Hermione stepped into the room. The two girls were situated in front of their mirrors doing up their makeup when Hermione entered the room, though they soon rose to usher her over to a chair.
"It didn't escape our notice that a certain someone didn't sleep in her bed last night. Did you have a hot date or something?"
Hermione was irritated. Though the two of them certainly could not know, Harry was dealing with a serious matter which may end up in his death and all they could think about was something so completely inappropriate. Forcing herself to swallow her pique—they had no way of knowing the details, after all—Hermione fixed Lavender with a serious glare.
"I suggest you don't say anything like that with Harry around. I doubt very much he would appreciate it."
She rose to leave, but the two gossipy girls were not to be deterred.
"It must have been a really good time if you're this defensive," Parvati teased. "Come on, girl—you two have been on the path for this all year. Let us know how it was with your dream hunk."
Hermione looked at the two of them with a frown. "Do you two really think that I slept with Harry? Don't you both know me by now?"
"Of course we know you," Parvati replied.
"But I'm betting you know first hand how well he kisses," Lavender added. "We're just curious. For academic purposes, you understand."
Had the situation been other than what it was, Hermione might have blushed and murmured a few words before she retreated in a hurry. She was definitely not excited about the prospect of talking about such matters with the two of them who were, after all, not truly her friends—they were really more acquaintances than anything else, though she supposed they had both been nicer this year and they had become much friendlier, in all fairness. But the utter pettiness of the gossip the two girls were searching for paled in comparison to what Harry was facing, and filled her with a measure of anger for their trivial concerns.
"Sorry, but I'm not going to answer any questions like that."
After directing a final glare at the two chatty girls, both of whom appeared to be taken aback by her words, she departed for a quick shower. Unfortunately, neither girl took it as the warning it was, instead choosing to view it as nothing more than Hermione's natural reticence.
When Hermione and Fleur had rejoined with Harry and made their way to the Great Hall to breakfast, Lavender, though in a voice quieter than was her wont, tried to obtain a little more information.
"So, Harry," she said, her voice alive with girlish excitement, "did you have a hot date with your two girls last night?"
She turned to those nearby at the table and said, as though she was imparting a state secret, "Hermione didn't return to the dorms last night, and the rumor is that you and Fleur were out all night too." She turned a glance at the three in question. "Looks like things are getting cozy between the three of you."
To his credit, Harry ignored her, though Hermione could tell from his expression and the flexing of his jaw muscles that it was a near thing. Knowing that further discussion on the matter may provoke an explosion, Hermione fixed a warning glare on Lavender.
"I think you should drop the subject, Lavender."
Even that did not deter the obtuse girl. "Why are you embarrassed, Hermione? Don't worry—your relationship with Harry is about the worst kept secret in the school."
It was this that finally prompted a response from Harry. "Don't speak of things which you know nothing about," he said harshly.
Then rising, he grabbed his things and stalked from the room without a backward glance. Lavender looked somewhat taken aback at his abrupt dismissal—whatever Harry's personality flaws were, he was generally not known to be rude—and Hermione felt that something should be said to excuse Harry's behavior.
"I think you should leave Harry alone today. He's got a lot on his mind and he's not likely to take well to teasing."
With that Hermione rose to her feet and made to leave, but not before Lavender rose and put a hand on her arm. "When you see Harry, tell him I didn't mean anything by it."
"I know you didn't, Lavender," Hermione said with a sigh. "And I'm sure he knows it too. But sometimes others might be a little offended by teasing and gossip, especially when they have important things on their mind."
Lavender's expression was contrite, and not a little morose. She did not reply, but she did nod her head before sitting down. Hermione squeezed her shoulder with compassion before she made her way from the hall, intent upon catching Harry. However, Hermione and Fleur were not able to locate Harry before the start of class, and as Hermione started with Arithmancy that morning, it was the period just before lunch when she was finally able to see Harry.
Her inquiries into his whereabouts were firmly but politely rebuffed. "Sorry, Hermione, but I think I need a little time on my own to think and come to terms with this."
"Oh, Harry," she replied, engulfing him in an embrace, "I know it's hard. I just want to help."
"I know, Hermione," said Harry with a ghost of a smile. "You and Fleur are the best girls a guy could ever want. I'm the luckiest guy in world. Please just give me some time and space."
"I will, Harry," Hermione said, leaning up to buss his cheek with a kiss. "Just remember that Fleur and I are always there for you."
Harry nodded and, surprisingly, made his way toward Lavender, where he offered an apology to her for his words earlier in the Great Hall. Lavender, however, would have nothing of it.
"I should be the one to apologize, Harry. Hermione told me that I shouldn't tease you and I didn't listen to her."
The two Gryffindors having made up, Harry and Hermione made their way to the desks and sat next to each other for the class.
This began a pattern for the next several days. Harry remained uncommunicative with everyone, even Hermione and Fleur. Hermione's closeness with Fleur never wavered—in fact the ordeal brought them closer to one another than they had been before. They knew that it was their responsibility to try to keep Harry upbeat, but it was difficult to do so when Harry often sequestered himself away from the concerned gaze of his friends.
As she was left at loose ends much of the time, she began spending every moment she could in the library, searching for an answer, hoping against hope that something would present itself. But as information on Horcruxes was nonexistent, she began focusing on the dark arts and any other piece of information she could find. It seemed a fruitless endeavor. But Hermione was not about to give up. Too much was at stake.
Ron Weasley knew that something was wrong with his best friend. Though others would point to Harry's avoidance that day and the way he had snapped at Lavender that morning as evidence, Ron could see other signs which pointed to trouble. For one thing, his moods were back to what they had been the previous year, as though that year had never happened. For another, Harry, who had never been overly concerned with thinking about the past, was suddenly wistful. And Ron did not miss the fact that he was even avoiding Fleur and Hermione, the ones with whom he could be found more often than not this past year.
That Wednesday at the regular club meeting, Harry's behavior returned to a semblance of what it had been before. He was focused on the lesson for that week, which seemed to afford him the ability to put whatever was bothering him from his mind.
His behavior was something which drew the attention of the some of the rest of the group, or more particularly, those who had known him the longest—Neville, Ginny and the Twins in particular, though Daphne and Luna did express their concern within the range of Ron's hearing.
After the meeting had adjourned that day, Harry was on the move almost as soon as he had dismissed them, quitting the room, supposedly to return to Gryffindor tower and to his bed as soon as possible. Worried for his friend and wanting to help, Ron, in the company of his other friends, approached Hermione with the intention of coaxing her to reveal all that she knew. After all, if anyone could be said to be an authority on all things Harry Potter, that person was Hermione, and it was inconceivable that she would not know what was bothering Harry.
"What's going on, Hermione?" Ron demanded. "The entire club can see that Harry's a little off, so don't try to put us off."
Surprisingly, Hermione did not attempt to prevaricate, as she was often inclined to do when it came to Harry.
"I can't say," Hermione replied. "It's up to Harry whether he wants to tell anyone about it."
Ron eyed Hermione with some exasperation. "But you do know what his problem is?"
"I do, but I can't say anything. It's not my story to tell."
"Hermione, we can't help if we don't know what is happening," Neville said.
"I know," Hermione said while favoring them all with an affectionate smile. "I know Harry appreciates your support. But I can't say anything. It's up to Harry to decide if he wants to tell you."
Ron was not exactly content to let it go, but he appreciated the fact that Hermione was clearly as loyal to Harry as ever. "Maybe I should talk to him."
"I really don't think that would be a good idea." Hermione approached and rested an affectionate hand on his arm. Ron tried not to reveal his rising pique at being told that he could not speak to his friend as he knew that Hermione would never suggest his forbearance if she did not have a good reason for doing so. Knowing that did not make it easier to bear.
"Can you talk to him then?" Ron asked, desperately wanting to help his friend. "He listens to you. I just want him to know that we're all here for him."
"I will Ron," Hermione replied. "But it's his decision to make."
Ron nodded—it was the only thing he could do in the situation. In the end Harry would decide what he wanted everyone to know. He hoped that Harry looked to recent times rather than last year when he thought of Ron's friendship in general. Ron knew he had come a long way since then.
David Greengrass was worried. In the two days since the Dark Lord's forces had struck the ministry, the attacks had not let up. Several more targets had been hit including several prominent families, not to mention a number of family businesses, generally those which were located in out of the way areas. No major targets had been hit—other than the Ministry building, of course—so places such as Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, and even St. Mungo's, were all as of yet unmolested.
But that was not what he was worried about.
The fact of the matter was that up until that Wednesday morning, David knew that none of the traditionally neutral families had been attacked as of yet, and he knew better than to think that they would be left alone this time. The alliance between most of them and Dumbledore's bloc had not exactly been published, but he would be naïve in the extreme to assume that the Dark Lord did not know about it. And then there was the fact that Morgan had been killed for voting for the execution of the eleven Death Eaters captured at the Ministry; David had voted for those executions as well, and he knew that though he had not agreed to support the Dark Lord in any manner, he had been courted, and therefore, must become a target.
But regardless of the increased danger, David could not second-guess his actions. Hearing of what Malfoy and the others had done in the service of their master had been sickening, and David knew that he could not be a party to such abominations, even to keep his family safe. And how safe would they be, when death was only a madman's displeasure away? It was in every way unfathomable.
The comfort was that those who were of a like mind with David had all prepared and made themselves as safe as they could possibly be. David's family all carried emergency portkeys and had been instructed to use them at any indication of trouble—the portkeys would take them to a private room in his warehouse, which was under the Fidelius charm with himself as the secret keeper. In fact, his youngest children—his heir, a lad of seven, and the youngest girl who was three—were already holed up in the family rooms at the warehouse, which he had added in order to house his family when the inevitable happened. Only his third daughter, Shea, was still with her parents, and David would have preferred that she was with her siblings as well. At least his two eldest were safe in Dumbledore's care at Hogwarts.
Though, David supposed that to say that Daphne and Astoria were strictly under Dumbledore's care was somewhat erroneous. Dumbledore was certainly the major player in the school, but increasingly, it appeared like Harry Potter was taking a much more active role. David had been impressed with the young man he had met at the ball the previous yuletide season, and given Harry's activities at the Ministry and the club Daphne had written about, Potter was beginning to exert more influence on events, especially those at Hogwarts.
David, the same as many others, wondered what the Dark Lord wanted with the young man. Given what his daughters had told him of Potter's activities over the first five years of his time at Hogwarts, it was clear that the Dark Lord had focused on him. Yet why would the Dark Lord focus on a neophyte wizard, not yet out of his fifth year of schooling? For that matter, had the Dark Lord actually attacked Harry Potter rather than the parents those fifteen years ago? If so, David could not be certain what the Dark Lord saw in the young man which would give him such an impetus to kill him, but it appeared to be indisputable that something far from normal was happening between them. It had been for that reason, as much as any, that David had finally decided to throw his lot in with Dumbledore's alliance. Harry Potter would obviously be force in this world, assuming he survived the attention of the Dark Lord, and it would eventually be very desirable for the Greengrasses to be aligned with him. It did not hurt that the young man was truly likeable as well.
The days of waiting for an attack came to an abrupt halt that Wednesday, though given David's preparation, the family was not in as much danger as they could have been.
They had just sat down to lunch when the wards began the screeching which signaled the beginning of an attack. Sharing a worried look with his wife, Angelique, David stood and ushered her daughter to her mother.
"Take Shea and go to the warehouse, while I make sure the house-elves get out," he instructed.
Angelique frowned at his instructions. "We should leave as a family, David."
"I will be along immediately," David replied, worriedly shooing them away. As he was doing so, the loud sound of breaking glass reached them, the indication that the wards had fallen. "Go now, Angelique!"
Though obviously still worried, Angelique activated the portkey and she and his middle child departed from the room, leaving David by himself. He called the two house-elves to him and sent them on their way, and then hunkered down in a protected corner, waiting for the first Death Eaters to come through the door. Perhaps it was not prudent for him to tempt fate this way, but he wanted to give these Death Eaters a message before he retreated.
It was only a few moments before the sounds of approaching feet alerted him to the fact that he would soon have company. As the first Death Eater set foot in the room, David stood and cried, "Reducto!" watching with satisfaction as his spell impacted the man in his side, and sprayed the contents of his stomach over the wall behind him, as he went down in a heap, a rather large hole where his left side used to be.
The reply was a hail of spellfire through the open door, but as the remaining Death Eaters could not see him, their spells were well wide of his location. Knowing that he only had seconds, David palmed his portkey.
"You tell your master, V-Voldemort, that he will get nothing from me!" David yelled.
"You fool!" a familiar voice screamed in response. David knew that voice—it was the man the Dark Lord had sent to bully him into joining his ranks. "After we've killed you, your wife and daughters will entertain us for hours!"
"Idiot!" David spat. "My family is long gone from here, and I will be too in a moment. You may burn this house down if you like, but we've been prepared to abandon it for weeks. You'll never find us where we are going!"
With that, he activated the portkey, seeing the face of the Death Eater peek in through the door as he was leaving, an expression of malevolent rage on his face. A moment later, David landed in the private rooms of his warehouse, to the relieved smiles of his wife and children. They had been forced to flee their home, but they were all unharmed and undaunted. Now it was time to make sure the proper authorities were aware of what had happened.
"You can't take this on yourself," Sirius was saying to his only remaining Marauder friend. "You were nothing more than the messenger. If you want to blame it on someone, then put it on Voldy's shoulders."
Remus sighed and leaned back on his chair in Sirius's quarters. He had been in a funk since the explanations the previous night, and Sirius was not about to put up with it. Harry needed their support, not to mention a bit of a positive attitude. He was far too prone to moroseness himself, and seeing Remus in such a state would not help Harry's state of mind.
"I know that, Sirius," Remus said after a moment. "It just seems…" He paused and ran his hand through his hair. "We promised—promised on Marauders' honor!—that we'd protect him. Seems to me we haven't done a very good job of it. Wherever he is, James is probably furious with us."
With a grunt, Sirius sat himself in a nearby chair. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, Remus had the right of it. From his impetuous attempt at revenge on Wormtail—who still had to pay for his crimes, Sirius reminded himself firmly—to Remus's isolation, to the fact that neither of them, because of their disparate problems and circumstances, had been there for Harry's childhood, there were a lot of ways in which they had failed their friend's son. Sirius was not at all prone to much introspection—he had always been the doer of the group rather than the thinker—but it did not take much to admit that they had been at fault.
But now was not the time for self-recrimination, though a certain part of Sirius would have loved to wallow in the grief of his own making. Now was the time to be strong for Harry. Maybe in some small way they could both begin to make amends for the mistakes they had made.
"I can't disagree," Sirius finally said. "But we need to be there for Harry now." Sirius paused and sighed. "You don't know what it's been like here, Moony. Harry seemed like he had put the whole thing behind him and I thought he was happier than I had ever seen him before. This has hit him hard, and it might be difficult for even his two lady friends to pull him out of it."
Remus's attention was piqued. "Two lady friends?"
Sirius smirked. "Well, it seems our little Prongslet is as smooth as his father was. You know Hermione has always carried a torch for him." At Moony's nod, Sirius said, "Well, it looks like he finally did something about it. Though come to think of it," he said, sitting back and thinking of their interactions over the past weeks, "it may be that Hermione and Fleur took matters into their own hands."
Moony's eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "Really? I know that he's a candidate for a multiple marriage, but if this is at Fleur's instigation, that's a remarkably selfless thing for her to do."
"I don't have any information one way or another. But I can tell you that I have never seen Fleur upset at the closeness those two share. I know that she spoke about the situation with her mother and I think she simply bowed to the inevitable. That and as a Veela she is almost certain to be unable to give him a son."
Frowning, Moony stared back at Sirius askance. "Veela give birth to a preponderance of girls and have difficulty having children in the first place," Sirius explained. "That was one of the first things Jean-Sebastian mentioned to me when I contacted him about the contract."
"I can see where that would be a big deal," Remus murmured.
A sly look on his face, Sirius slyly commented, "You know, James might have had a plural marriage had Voldy not shown up."
Remus snorted. "Not with Lily as his wife. Besides, didn't he have some cousins alive back then?"
"He did," Sirius confirmed. "But they were killed by Death Eaters before Harry was born."
"Well it's all academic now," Remus stated. "And we're getting a little far afield here." Remus looked at him closely. "What do you suggest we do?"
"You know that Dumbledore will not simply let this slide. He'll turn over every stone trying to find an answer."
"And unless he pulls something out of his hat, he won't find anything, Sirius," Remus replied pointedly. "The histories were very specific."
"Every magic has a counter, Mr. Lupin," Sirius said in what he thought was a very passable imitation of Dumbledore's all-knowing voice. Remus just rolled his eyes. "You and I both know what is Dumbledore is capable of. If a solution does not exist, then he'll come up with one. It's up to you, me, Hermione, Fleur, and all of his friends to keep his spirits up and make him believe that we will find a solution."
Sirius paused and leaned back in his chair. "In fact, I can't see Hermione or Fleur letting go of this either, and you know how smart they both are. Harry's probably focused more on what this means for his future, and how to take Voldy down before he buys it himself. You know how he is. But I wouldn't put it past our resident human library and her friend to figure something out themselves."
"I'd have to say that you have them all pegged to a tee," Remus replied.
"So, are you with us then?"
"I'm in," Remus replied in his quiet conviction. "Maybe I will offer Dumbledore my assistance in researching the answer. I was always the studious one, you know."
"That's the spirit, Moony!" Sirius replied, slapping his friend's back. "Between the bunch of us, we'll drag Harry through this, even if he kicks and screams the whole way."
The pace and ferocity of the attacks were increasing, and the Ministry's forces were struggling to keep up with them. It appeared like Voldemort had an unlimited number of resources upon which to draw, and a murderous and implacable will to use them. Sitting in the remains of her office, Amelia considered the matter. At that point, Voldemort's return had only been acknowledged for a mere two weeks—less even—and his attacks had only been renewed for the past two days. But already, the mood in Wizarding Britain was approaching what it had been at the height of the first war.
In the first war, Voldemort had relied on the terror of the possibility of attack to keep the population in check, but in reality, while there had certainly been many attacks, they had been more limited, and more like surgical strikes against specific targets, rather than all-out war. They had certainly killed many, but there had also been many which had been designed simply to terrorize and cow the populace. This time, the attacks were already far more frequent, and thus far there had not been any cases where there had not been fatalities if the targets had been caught before they could flee. Luckily, the populace had also wised up a certain extent from the first war, as many had prepared themselves and their families for attack. The portkey office was almost overwhelmed with requests for emergency portkeys, leading to the piece of legislation which had just been passed by the Wizengamot that morning.
Only certain people had the authority to create portkeys, but this bill relaxed those restrictions, so that anyone who was able could now create their own portkeys, as long as they were intended to be used to escape an attack. Of course the creation of a portkey was not an insignificant thing and there would still be those who were unable to create them properly. The portkey office would still handle those situations, but in a much more expeditious manner than previously.
With that, Amelia was not certain how much more could be done to help the people prepare for the potential of attack. Kingsley had created several rapid response teams which were standing by at all times of the day and night to go to areas which were under attack, but far too often, the Death Eaters had already done what they came to do and left by the time the Ministry forces arrived on the scene. Much as in the first war, everyone needed to take responsibility for their own safety to a certain extent, as it was simply not possible for the Auror force to protect everyone at once.
Amelia herself had taken to sleeping at the Ministry. The Floo system was back up, but it was potentially compromised, meaning that to go through it was tempting fate. The portkeys could still be used, but since the attack, the creation of portkeys within the Ministry building itself had been locked down to only a few trusted officials—namely herself, Dumbledore, and Shacklebolt. And leaving the building to apparate out to her home was simply out of the question, as that would put her in a vulnerable position for the few moments she was outside. She was better off in the Ministry, and with that in mind, she had had a Fidelius placed on her home with herself as the secret keeper. Hopefully that way it would still be standing once the fighting was over.
A loud knocking startled her from her thoughts and she looked up to the ruined wall of her office—there had not yet been time or resources available to return it to its former state—to see a grim-faced Kingsley Shacklebolt standing there.
"More good news, Kingsley?" she asked, aware that her own voice sounded fatigued.
"I just received word that the Greengrass residence has been attacked by Death Eaters."
Amelia sat up straight at this information; the Greengrasses had sided with Dumbledore, leaving centuries of being traditional neutrals behind them, and bringing a substantial chunk of the neutral faction with them. Albus had confided in her that it had either been ally with them, or be forcibly conscripted into the ranks of Voldemort's forces. Though she could not claim to know David Greengrass well, she fancied she knew enough of him to know what his answer would have been to that ultimatum.
"Casualties?"
"It would have been impossible to tell," Kingsley replied, entering her office and taking a seat in front of her desk, "had David Greengrass not shown up in the Auror department twenty minutes ago. He informed us himself of the attack only minutes before the Dark Mark was spotted above the remains of their home. As it is, the two eldest are at Hogwarts, as I believe you know. The two youngest were already in a safe location, and the Greengrasses escaped with the middle daughter when they heard the wards fall."
That was a relief. "And their home?"
"Destroyed by fiendfyre."
Amelia frowned stonily. Fiendfyre was so hot and uncontrollable, that it might not even have left a trace of bodies, had anyone been caught in it, hence the reason for Kingsley's original comment. It was a good thing that fiendfyre burned so hot that it burned itself out quickly, or indiscriminately setting such a fire could sweep across the country leaving devastation in its wake.
"At least the family is safe," Amelia muttered. "But it looks like Voldemort has lost patience with the neutrals."
"Former neutrals, more like," Kingsley replied. "I will have a full report of today's attacks after the teams report back. Right now, it looks like there have been about a dozen more today."
Amelia just nodded her head while massaging her temples. "It's not like the first war," Amelia said quietly.
"At least they are ignoring the Muggle world," Kingsley replied. "We were on the verge of having the magical world exposed last time."
Nodding, Amelia fixed the director with a stern glare. "How are you coming with the interrogations?"
"We've almost finished. But they are all saying essentially the same thing. We need Dumbledore here to give his assistance—this is much more dangerous than the first war."
"I know," said Amelia. "But I want all the facts before we get the council together. Let's not explain the situation more than once." Kingsley nodded. "And what of your plans to sweep the Ministry for Death Eaters?"
"We are just about ready. I've quietly identified a core group of Aurors who have been verified to be loyal. We'll need to move cautiously, but I think we can root them out without too much difficulty before long."
"Good," Amelia replied. "The Auror corps and Hit Wizards first, then the department heads, and then every worker in this building. I don't want a single Death Eater among the workers left to wreak havoc on us. Let's make this building as safe as we can—then we can ramp up our efforts to counter what Voldemort is doing out there."
"Of course, Minister," Kingsley replied. "Now, I believe I should get back to the DMLE."
Waving him off, Amelia turned her attention back to the documents on her desk, though to be truthful they really could not hold her attention. They were moving toward crippling Voldemort's ability to interfere with the Ministry's effectiveness, but it was still too slow for Amelia's peace of mind. These things did take time, but time was something which was in short supply. People were dying. It was her responsibility to save as many as she was able.
Harry's state of mind was not that far off from what Hermione had imagined. Though he tried to be the same as he ever was, he knew that his success was abysmal, and that Ron and his other friends had seen through his act in an instant. He truly tried to care, but if he was honest with himself, he knew that he did not. His friends might worry over him, but they were not the ones who had to deal with the knowledge that they had to die to free the world from the ambitions of one of the most evil men ever to walk the face of the earth. That burden was his and his alone.
The good feelings of earlier in the year—even after he had first been told of the horcrux—had evaporated leaving nothing but desolation, and even bitterness behind. It was too much to hope that he would be left alone to life his life with his loves. No, he was Harry Potter, and desolation seemed to be his lot in life, no matter what he tried to do to live an ordinary life.
So, Harry took to avoiding everyone as much as possible, even the two young women who were the center of his life. He loved them and he was even able to admit that they helped him to forget about his troubles when he was with them. But inevitably, time in their presence would remind him that he was not destined to be with them for long, and his contented and almost happy mood would turn sour. With that specter always hanging over him when they met, it was just easier to avoid them, though doing so also brought its own set of heartbreaks. He wanted to be with them. He wanted to hear Hermione's affectionate laugh, to listen to Fleur's beautiful voice as she spoke of something with excitement and passion. And most of all, he longed to find peace and comfort in their arms. But it was too painful, so he nursed his feelings of bitterness in solitude.
In those initial days, he actually spent most of his waking moments in the Room of Requirement, or at least when he was not in classes, or at mealtimes, though he did skip a fair few of those as well. He always made it so that no one else could find him when he was using the room, and although Hermione and Fleur did not say anything to him, it was clear by their looks of betrayal that they had tried to find him there. He felt guilty for shutting them out as much as he had, but it was really for the best this way.
And his time in the room had given him time to work off his frustrations. The room had, as always, provided him with a perfect practice dueling gym, complete with dummies on which to take out his frustrations, and even some which had limited ability to fight back. Harry was not certain, having no one against whom to measure himself, but he thought that even in a short time, he was improving by leaps and bounds. It was ironic—he now had no indication whatsoever that he would survive this conflict himself, but knowing that he was not going to remain to protect the girls filled him with the will to better himself so that he could make damned certain that Voldemort would not survive either. The man would pay for the atrocities he had committed, and would join the likes of Lucius Malfoy in hell—of this Harry was determined!
At least Jean-Sebastian and Apolline were not there to take him to task for his behavior. They had spent the first day after the attack in Hogwarts, before they had left to go to their new living quarters. A conversation with Dumbledore regarding their need to find a place where they could be safe—the Ambassador's Manor was clearly not in any way safe any longer—had resulted in a suggestion that they take up residence at Grimmauld Place. Though the Weasleys and the Grangers were already there, the residence of the family Black was more than large enough to house many more occupants, though it could not be said to be the finest accommodations.
Another thing Harry found out that week was that the Grangers still made their way to their practice every day as, though the Ministry knew their home address, they would not care to have any information about their place of work. Therefore, their surgery was deemed to be safe for the time being. And their house, though it had been damaged by the Death Eaters who had attacked them, still stood, and their belongings had been removed and put into storage until they could return. Muggle-repelling and notice-me-not charms had been placed to keep anyone in the area from being concerned about the place, and the Grangers had made it known in the neighborhood that they were away for some time staying with relatives. Thus, Harry was comforted in that at least Hermione's parents, though affected by what had happened, had at least been able to return to some semblance of their normal lives.
It was Thursday after lunch when Hermione and Fleur approached him before he was able to make his escape to the classroom. Looking on their well-loved countenances filled him with longing, which he ruthlessly suppressed; it would not do to dwell on it any longer. Naturally, it was Hermione who was the spokesperson if the pair.
"How are you holding up, Harry?"
"I'm fine," Harry deadpanned, attempting a little of the old camaraderie and playfulness between them. Hermione, however, did not appear to be fooled.
"Are you really?" she challenged. "We haven't seen a whole lot of you since Tuesday."
"I'm sorry," Harry said, and he reflected that he truly was. The girls had been nothing but supportive and it was not their fault that he was in no state to be with them. "I've been trying to work everything out in my own mind, you know? I just don't know what to think about all of this."
"It's difficult, Harry," Fleur said as she stepped closer and reached out to clasp one of his hands in her own. "We just want to help you."
Harry sighed and his shoulders slumped. "I know you do, and I appreciate it." He looked into both their eyes in turn. "I just… I need to work this out on my own."
"Harry, there's still a chance we could figure something out," Hermione pressed.
"That would be great, Hermione," Harry said, nodding at her in a short and clipped motion. It was always possible, given how Dumbledore liked to go on about all magic being able to be undone, but Harry could not allow himself to think about that, or he would lose his composure quickly. Such things were not his strength; if the girls, or Dumbledore, or Remus, or even this society he spoke of were able to work out a solution, he would obviously be ecstatic. But such thoughts could not be indulged in now, not if Voldemort were to be defeated.
"Harry, the others have noticed something is wrong," Hermione continued again.
Through narrowed eyes, Harry peered at her. "Who?" he asked flatly.
"Neville, Luna, the twins, Daphne and Ron, for starters. But the entire association could tell that you were off yesterday."
"Did you tell them anything?"
Hermione's face assumed a faintly injured expression. "Of course not. That's your choice as to whether you want to tell them. Besides which, it's not as if I can tell them with the oaths in place. Ron asked that I talk to you and see if you will tell them what's going on."
"Absolutely not," Harry declared. It was bad enough that the girls knew; he did not want to deal with the pitying looks of all his friends.
"Harry, they just want to help," Fleur pressed. She still held his hand in hers and Harry admitted that it was very good to feel her strength and support.
"I know they do, Fleur," Harry said to the blond witch, smiling a little at her quiet tenacity. "But there's not really a lot they can do now, is there?"
"How about the support of good and non-judgmental friends?" Hermione asked.
"That's always helpful," Harry agreed. "But you're forgetting that we have to keep this completely secret. We can't tell them much, and certainly not about what Remus told us, not with the oaths at work."
"Then give them a general idea of what's bothering you," Fleur suggested. "Let them support you. There's nothing that you wouldn't do if any of them asked you—let them return the favor."
It was tempting; for a long minute Harry considered acquiescing to their ideas. But it was not something with which they could truly help and Harry knew it needed to be kept secret. If he was at all honest with himself, he also knew that he could not handle their expressions of pity at knowing his plight. It was just too much for them to ask this of him.
"Not just yet," Harry insisted. "Eventually, they will have to know something, but I think it's best to keep it quiet for now. I'll tell them at some point, but not yet."
Hermione and Fleur exchanged a look and a raised eyebrow, and for a moment Harry found himself angry with them. It was his life which was on the line here—his future which was being cut short. Did they have to bother him about it, pressing him to reveal his thoughts and feelings? Did they have no compassion for the way he was being torn apart by all that was happening to him?
As soon as the thought occurred to him, he consciously forced it away. These two women loved him as he loved them, and to suggest even the hint of such a thing was in no way fair to either of them. He should be grateful for the fact that they loved him enough to care. He would not treat them in such a cavalier manner, no matter how heartsick he was at the situation. They deserved better than that.
"Look," he said, squeezing Fleur's hand, while grasping Hermione's with his free hand, "I understand that you and all the association want to help and I appreciate it. But I cannot let word of this get out now. Later we can discuss it, but for now, please keep it quiet."
"We will," Fleur replied, and then leaned in and brushed her lips across his cheek. "But we want you to stop shutting us out. Can I assume you've spent a lot of time blowing up dueling dummies in the Room of Requirement?"
Harry sheepishly nodded his head.
"Then include us please. If you're going to prepare yourself to face Voldemort, then you will need us to keep Bellatrix off your back. The next time we see that bitch, I want her head on a pike."
Bemused, Harry gazed on the intense determination of his betrothed. Fleur was so kind and gentle, truly a being of love, but that love often caused her to become a lioness intent on protecting her cubs.
"All right," Harry replied. For a moment, he was even able to forget the weight of destiny dragging him down to the depths of despair.
It was, of course, at that moment when Daphne, followed by Astoria and Tracey, chose to approach them.
"My parents' house was attacked yesterday," she said without preamble.
"Are they okay?" Harry asked with a gasp.
Daphne nodded tightly—by the rigidness of her shoulders and her carefully controlled expression, she was having difficulty keeping it together. "My father has been prepared for months. They portkeyed away at the first sign of danger." She then gave a very slight smile. "Mother is upset with father, though. It appears he stayed behind to send a message to Voldemort's Death Eaters and just managed to get away."
"Sounds just like something our Harry would do," Hermione replied with a laugh.
"The thought had occurred to me as well," Daphne said in a dry tone.
"At least they got away," Harry said, ignoring the teasing. He fixed his gaze on Tracey. "What about your family?"
"Nothing yet," was Tracey's short reply. "My parents are prepared for anything, though. And Voldemort probably wants to target those who he considers traitors," her eyes darted toward Daphne, "before the rest of us. There was never any chance of my father supporting him anyway, and he knows that."
"We've got to stop him," Harry growled while clenching his fists in anger. "The bloody bastard will drive the country to its knees if we don't."
"We're all doing what we can," Hermione said soothingly.
"No we're not," Harry disagreed. "Once a week for the club is not good enough any more. We should up the number of meetings."
The others all looked at one another. "If we all work on our homework as soon as classes are over, we could meet almost every night," said Fleur.
"We should do that," Harry said as the ideas and thoughts in his mind firmed up. It was all well and good that he improved, as he would be the one who would ultimately have to face and take down Voldemort. But all the rest of the association needed to be able to know how to take care of themselves too. The words of Alastor Moody, spoken to them at the end of the previous summer, floated through Harry's mind. "You will never improve if you do not continue to practice." It was now even more imperative that they practice, for they would undoubtedly need it at some point or another.
He turned to Hermione and Fleur who were watching him expectantly. "Let's do it. Have you finished planning the improvements to everyone's galleons?"
"We can be finished soon," Hermione replied. "We just need to go over the enchantments a final time to make sure they will do what we need them to."
"Can you have them ready for tonight?"
Hermione glanced at Fleur who nodded. "We can if we need them to be ready."
"Good. Let's pass the word around then—we'll have a meeting tonight and improve the galleons then. Let's get everyone as prepared for Voldemort as we can before he decides to target Hogwarts."
They all nodded in agreement and left, as it was now time to return to the afternoon classes. For Harry, it was still a hopeless situation, but at the very least, he was being given something more to do than sit and stew over what could not be changed. It was enough, he decided. He could live the rest of his life, however long it would end up being, for the others. He would make sure they were safe from the depredations of Voldemort—or at least as safe as he could make them.
Updated 06/04/2014