Disclaimer:I am making no money from this. Anything recognised from Harry Potter belongs to JKR and her affiliates. Anything from the various religions comes from them and probably belongs to them. Anything totally unrecognisable is the result of my warped imagination and perverted sense of justice. No animals, humans, demons, angels, gods, witches, wizards or giant squids were harmed in the writing of this work of fan-fiction.
Author's Note: This is only Part 1. I'm hoping that seeing this up with jog my muse a bit and get the creative juices flowing. I will post the next chapter at the same time as the rest of this chapter to it will show as an update. Please review- I need something to get me going.
Chapter 2, Part 1; Impressions
Two weeks had passed since Mickey's surprise arrival and a divide had slowly begun to appear between the students in Gryffindor House. The majority seemed content with the world, their classes and their positions in the school. A smaller, more select group were not so content. Hermione Granger was a leading member. For only the second time in her life, she had received a below average grade. This time a 'P' had been scrawled across the top of her homework. For her own part, Hermione was at a loss as to what exactly 'Professor' Tristan Diamonos wanted from them. He seemed to be asking them to question the headmaster, to question whether the 'light' was really good. Hermione didn't understand how anyone could believe anything else and not be evil.
Ron Weasley was another member of the dissident group, although not exactly for the same reason. More and more, little things that Harry Potter, his former best friend had said were beginning to make sense. The year before, he had put those thoughts down to Voldemort's influence, but now he was beginning to wonder. Hermione's inability to see what Professor Diamonos was trying to get them to understand was gnawing at him, but he wasn't sure how to explain it to her without setting her off and the borderline fanatical loyalty she had a tendency to show to authority figures was proving a sore point. Dumbledore seemed to now be focusing on Neville Longbottom in much the same way he had focused on Harry, and taking her queue from the headmaster, Hermione was determined to become his 'new best friend'.
Ginny Weasley was on the fence. After her discussion with the DSADA professor, she had sat down and actually thought about what he was saying. Which did she mourn? The boy or the hero? To her own dismay, she had quickly realised that it was the Boy Who Lived. She was angry, hurt and depressed by the loss of her childhood knight in shinning armour, but when that was taken away, she realised she hadn't know Harry Potter that well. To further drive the point home, Tristan's question about her anger haunted her. Was she angry at Harry for dying or for leaving her? Less assured by her thoughts on this one, she was non the less positive at least some of her anger was directed at Harry for the destruction of her fond first year wish of marrying him in a double wedding with Ron and Hermione. Seeing the beginnings of the slow disintegration of the former best friend's friendship was a sharp reminder that those thoughts had been the fluffy pink dreams of a little girl.
Colin and Dennis Creevey were also part of this group, the death of their idol having shaken the elder's rather unstable mentality and the younger simply following in his brother's footsteps. They were fast becoming Hermione's most loyal supporters in her crusade to prove Tristan a dark wizard bent on destroying the school.
Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, Parvati Patel and Lavender Brown seemed more or less unmoved by the situation. Aware of Hermione's almost obsessive interest in her schoolwork and fanatical, in their mind, loyalty to Dumbledore, her dislike, even hatred of Tristan was totally expected. After S.P.E.W., their main aim was to stay as far away from her new campaign as possible.
Neville Longbottom was alone from the original Gryffindor contingent of the ministry crew in not showing much interest in the DSADA professor. The young man, inordinately impressed with himself for his actions in the last year, had finally begun to grow a backbone and while not as intelligent as Hermione was well aware that Dumbledore appeared to have decided that he should be the figurehead replacement for the Boy Who Lived. It was a position he neither wanted, nor in his mind, deserved. Avoiding the headmaster and his subtle attempts to make him rethink his position, Neville gained a new respect for Harry, realising in a shocking moment of insight that Harry had never been taken in by Dumbledore. His unwillingness to talk to the headmaster in his second and third year taking on a whole new meaning in that moment and giving the youngest Longbottom something else to think about.
Saturday dawned bright and clear and a strange sight would have greeted anyone walking down the corridor that held the entrance to the headmaster's office. Minerva McGonagall stood in the middle of the corridor, staring unseeing at the gargoyle and she struggled with her self. Every bone in her body fought against the act her mind was insisting on; the betrayal of Tristan and Michael. Albus, to her mind was the leader of the light, a man who deserved respect and loyalty. While not fanatically loyal to him, Minerva was hard pressed to think of a single person she respected more. But he was hellbound. Albus Dumbledore was going to hell in the name of the greater good. There is no greater good. The words reverberated around her skull. He needed to know. She had to tell him what was going on.
The gargoyle jumped out of the way at the softly spoken password and she stepped onto the revolving staircase.
"Come in." the voice was familiar and soothing to her troubled thoughts. This was Albus Dumbledore. Michael was surely mistaken. He couldn't be going to hell. "Have a seat, Minerva. Lemon drop?"
"No thank you, Albus." She said as she slowly lowered herself into the chair across from him.
"Tea?"
"Tea would be good." She looked at him for a moment as he went through the familiar motions of creating the tea set and pouring their drinks, but she didn't speak again until he had handed her, her cup, "Albus… do you ever… do you ever wonder if you have done more evil then good?"
Albus stilled for a moment and then answered truthfully, "All the time, Minerva. But then I weigh up the good that I can do and the bad that must be done to accomplish that and I have yet to come to a point where the choice I make is not worth it."
"You're always right, then?"
He chuckled softly, "Good heavens, no. Not always. Witness how badly I handled the situation last year. I am but one man and I am human, despite what people may think. I have done the best I can with the powers I have been given."
"Do you ever think you have gone too far?"
Frowning at the question, a question no one had ever dared to ask him before, he asked, "Why the questions, Minerva? What is on your mind?"
Minerva fought not to squirm under his gaze before sighing, "I have been wondering… since Harry's death. Your treatment of him always seemed so high handed. I was wondering how you felt about it."
"I see." He nodded, lost in thought before responding, "I do wonder sometimes, if I did the right thing with him. I assumed the prophecy spoke of him, an assumption now proved incorrect. I did, arbitrarily make the arrangements that I thought would be best at the time and I spent many, many long sleepless nights as a result of them. When he came here, so meek and downtrodden, I almost thought… I believed I had made a terrible mistake, but then he rose to the challenge and with ever step he took, every victory he secured, I grew more certain that I had made the right choices. I do question myself, Minerva. But I would do much for the greater good."
Minerva nodded, a decision seemingly made. She sat up straighter, "I need to speak to you about Tristan and…"
"Where am I?" She slammed to her feet as the world disappeared in the blink of an eye. Floating in a vast sea of nothingness, she looked around, the first traces of panic settling in her gut. A figure slowly began to materialize on front of her, forming into a being similar to Michael, with massive white wings spread out on either side of her.
"Technically, you are no nowhere." The figure said, amusement colouring her tone.
"What do you mean?" the woman… thing… angel… excluded the same feeling of comfort that Michael had and Minerva found herself relaxing again her will.
"This is a place outside time, outside the natural order of things. Here is where everything begins and everything ends."
"Why am I here? Am I… am I dead?"
The woman laughed, "No. Michael asked me to keep an eye on you and make sure you did do anything stupid."
"I see."
"Why did you go to Dumbledore?"
"He has to know. He has to be told! He's Albus Dumbledore for Merlin's sake!"
"So?" The woman, "Why does that make him any different from anyone else?"
"I…" Minerva stopped, unable to think of an answer.
"Mickey talked Tris into letting you keep your memory of what happened under the condition that when you broke, you got obliviated. Sorry, Minerva."
"Wait! Doesn't… Doesn't Albus deserve a chance to redeem himself?"
The woman looked at Minerva for a moment and then said sadly, "What do you think we let him have control of Harry for?"
And Minerva was sitting in the comfortable chair in Albus's office, "…Michael…"
"Yes?" Albus leaned forward.
Frowning, Minerva went through her thoughts from a moment ago, "I…" she shook her head, remembered the winged woman obliviating her. "He… If Michael comes back, you should consider limiting his contact with the students… He seems to have quite a negative impact on them."
Albus leaned back, disappointment in his eyes for a moment, "Yes, he did rather."
It wasn't until she had left Albus' office that she let herself shake, sitting down on an empty staircase. A hand dropped down into her should and squeezed reassuringly, "It will be alright." Tristan's voice murmured softly.
She spun around to look at him, coming to her feet in a quick move, confusion in her eyes, "What did you do to me?"
"Me? I told you the truth. Mickey too and we asked you not to tell Albus. You chose to anyway and a safety measure we put in place came into action."
"Who was that… that…"
"Angel? Her name is Seraphim. She's one of Mickey's lieutenants."
That made perfect sense, even if Minerva couldn't remember for the life of her, why.
"She said… she said that Harry Potter was Albus's chance to redeem himself."
Tristan blinked, surprised, "She admitted that? Mickey must really like you, Minerva. Come with me."
She followed him as he led her through the school until they came to his door. He opened it and ushered her in, nipping into the kitchenette for a couple of cans of coke on the way. He handed her one and took the seat opposite her, "What do you remember?"
"Mickey and you… there's something off about you… wrong with you but I can't remember what. I know you have something to do with heaven and hell and I remember that Albus is hell-bound. I remembered the conversation with Seraphim and I know some things make sense to me but not why."
Tristan closed his eyes and Minerva got the distinct impression that he was counting to ten.
"You have a partial memory block. Mickey is fond of them because they... The information is still in your mind, you just can't consciously access it until he decides you're trustworthy again."
"And until then?"
"Until then, you get to live knowing you are being denied access to the information because you can't be trusted with it." Tristan shrugged, "I was all for obliviating you completely. I don't like those partial blocks."
"So you're not going to tell me?" Minerva bristled.
Tristan shrugged, "Even if I did, you wouldn't be able to remember. Seraphim knows her job."
The anger drained out of Minerva almost immediately, she had no one to blame but herself, "What about Albus?"
Tristan sighed and sank back further into his seat, "If I was to give you a spell right now what would kill You Know Who, but that would require you to kill a hundred children, would you do it?"
"No!" Minerva gasped, "And neither would Albus!"
Tristan looked at her sadly, "No, Albus wouldn't, because in his own mind, he is too important to the wizarding world. He would trick, force, bribe and outright threaten Severus Snape into doing it for him. And, if Harry was alive, him into doing it too. Were I to give that spell to Dumbledore right now, Severus and Neville Longbottom would be performing it before the end of the week. For the greater good."
"No, he wouldn't…"
"But think of all the lives that would be saved. Voldemort will kill more then a hundred people before he is stopped another way."
It was Minerva's turn for silence as she contemplated Tristan's words. "What did…Seraphim mean about Harry being his chance at redemption?"
Tristan grunted, "Dumbledore had damned himself before the First Rise of Voldemort began in earnest. I'd guesstimate that by the mid sixties, his attitudes had been twisted enough. The decision was made to try to turn him back onto his original course and for a while it was working. Albus began to pull out of politics, turn more and more of his attention to running the school and less to controlling the world. Then Voldemort happened and he… relapsed into his old controlling ways. The decision to put Harry into Dumbledore's care was a last ditch attempt to get him to think about the repercussions of his actions. Instead of which, he foisted the baby off on the most uncaring of guardians in an attempt to turn him into the perfect weapon. Had he done what he was supposed to and cared, he would have almost guaranteed Harry would be victorious."
Minerva slowly made her way towards her own quarters, Tristan's words ringing in her mind. As much as she wanted to rage against the unfairness of the situation, she found herself agreeing with the… whatever Tristan was about how Albus would handle the situation. She couldn't remember the last time the old man had gotten his hands dirty. Hugging herself at the startling thought, she fought down the wave of panic. She still didn't believe that Albus had fallen that far, but she would wait and she would observe.
Grunting in frustration at the situation Mickey had put him into; Tristan got another can of coke before plonking himself on the couch and glaring at the fire. He honestly liked Minerva, but he lacked Mickey's willingness to see the best in everyone. As one of the judges, it was up to him to see the truth, but he supposed, sometimes even the Blind Judges made mistakes when they were sent to Earth. Hadn't Nychta told him more then once that it was easier to hide yourself on Earth then when standing at the crossroads? Maybe he was doing Minerva a disservice, but maybe not. She had gone to Dumbledore.
Flicking open the laptop, he switched it on and waited a few moments for it to boot up before groaning. He didn't have time for this, he was meant to be on duty in twenty minutes. The blue screen continued to stare back at him, calming informing him that he wouldn't be using the laptop for a while. He turned it off and slammed the lid down. Maybe he should just start his patrol early? Of course doing that would increase the probability of him running into Snape, something he had been doing him damn hardest to avoid since coming to the school
Boredom, irritation and his privately acknowledged masochistic streak made him start the patrol. He had always been more then willing to punish himself for transgressions. Snape, however, chose not to make his attempted atonement easier and spent the last half hour of his patrol stalking the dungeons rather then Gryffindor Tower.
As he wandered through the halls, not paying much attention to his surrounding, his thoughts wandered in much the same manner as his feet. Flashes of memory, both of his life as Harry Potter and as Tristan appeared in his mind's eye and he found his mood improving almost against his will. He missed his friends and family, but he would see them again. The benefit of being a member of the Orders was that the future was spread out ahead of him, easy to see. Once Voldemort was dealt with, there would be no reason for him to remain on Earth and he could go home.
"Homesick already?" a soft voice said.
Spinning quickly, Tristan blinked in surprise as the grey-eyed woman, half concealed in shadow, leaning against the wall, "What are you doing here?"
She shrugged her shoulder, absently shaking out huge bat-like wings, "Michael made his presence felt. Tannin felt that it would make more sense to just tell you what was going on then to spend the next decade arguing with him and Nychta about whether you should have been informed. Sameal agreed and here I am."
"Oh."
"Oh?" she pushed away and stalked towards him, "Oh? That's all you can say?"
Tristan shrugged, "It's not everyday that the Queen of Hell plays messenger-girl." He smirked.
She laughed in response and then jumped into his arms.
Tristan held her close, burying his face in her neck and sighed as he felt her arms wrap around him. They stayed that way for a moment before the woman untangled herself and regained her footing on the floor, "Silver and Obsidian have been doing well these last few years."
"We do work well together."
"It must be annoying when the other Order's don't play ball."
Tristan shrugged, not quite sure where she was going with his and settled for holding her loosely and playing with her waist-length blonde hair.
"We've been noticing an increase in the deviants who congregate around the gates and we suspect that some of them are managing to get through. Tannin is trying to get permission for some of the guards to protect the other side of the gate." She finally pulled out of his arms and they began to walk along the corridor, following Tristan's patrol route.
"Gabby will never agree."
She shrugged, "He's going to try. Nychta and Michael had the right idea. This division is only causing more problems.
"I see."
The woman suddenly stopped, turning Tristan to face her, he expression was tense as she said "There are eight, not four gates from hell to Earth. Six of them are blocked. The other two, one opens into Central Park in Manhattan. The second opens in Westminster Cathedral."
"How long has that one been there?" Tristan sniggered.
"Since they undid the Catholic consecration. Don't ask."
Tristan sniggered again, "Does Mickey know?"
"We told him not to worry about the Black Country and to focus there as well. I have to get back, not sure how much longer Viv will hold the gate open for me. I'll let you know how the vote goes."
With a pale shimmer for red light, the woman disappeared after giving Tristan one last hug. He stood there watching until the last glimmer of light had faded before walking on with a sigh, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Behind him, a shape detached itself from the shadows and stepped out into the hallway. After wafting his hand through the space occupied by the woman a few moments earlier, he looked hard at his hand before turning his head in the direction of the departed DSADA teacher, "Interesting."