Chapter 17

Breakfast time was typically when owl post came in. Today was no exception. Luna, Allen, and Hermione were eating together at the Ravenclaw table, Allen glancing up at the birds for a moment before turning back to his food, since he wasn't expecting anything.

Hermione paid a small owl for her morning paper and opened it with a flick, burying her nose in the print as usual. Allen looked beside him to Luna, who was reading through the newest edition of the Quibbler. He took a roll and started buttering it, peering over Luna's shoulder at the highlights. He chuckled at one headline: Minister for Magic Scrimbingoer suspected troll.

"This is odd," Hermione muttered quietly, her voice pinched in worry. Allen straightened up away from Luna.

"What is it?"

She held out the paper, pointing at an article. The headline read, "Village in Sheffield Razed Overnight, Suspects Unknown".

Allen leaned closer, and Hermione handed him the paper. He read, "The incident occurred last night, and has been reported by Muggle news outlets as arson. Considering the large population of wizarding families in the area, however, Ministry officials have been called to the scene to investigate further. The sole eyewitness, a Mrs. Sally Farpolde, insisted the incident was not arson but the work of, quote, 'floating monsters firing bullets from the sky', which destroyed the village. Mrs. Farpolde's memory was Modified, but Ministry officials are still baffled by the claim. Since the return of He Who Must Not Be Named, some suspect this is the work of Dark wizards or witches, but ask the public to remain calm until the conclusion of the investigation."

Allen put the article down. Hermione, who'd been watching him read, frowned and said, "Allen, what's wrong?"

He shook his head. "I don't…" he murmured, not finishing the thought.

The bell rang; Allen, Hermione, and Luna climbed to their feet, Allen snatching a last piece of toast before the three went their separate ways. Hagrid had said to meet him by the greenhouses; they were putting the finishing touches on the Christmas decorations around the school with fresh mistletoe. He was already wrapped up against the cold; yesterday's snowstorm had cleared, but wind whipped around outside, blowing up flurries from the trees and grounds.

Even with thoughts of the day's work to distract him, Allen mulled over the article. It hadn't included a picture, but the sound of it was all too familiar. Dumbledore had said there was a war going on, beyond the castle walls. It was hard to believe, here in Hogwarts. Here, it was like the outside world didn't exist.

Maybe that was the reason he stayed.

As he walked slowly toward the front entrance, the news story continue to bother him. What if it was Akuma?

No, the Order would be all over it. It was too risky.

...Yet, it was the wizarding community, and before he'd stumbled on Hogwarts he'd never known that the wizarding world existed. What if the Order was the same? And he had been looking for a reason to leave, even if things were getting better lately.

He'd apologize to Hagrid for being late and hope the man would understand. Mind made up, he made a U-turn, glancing up at Timcanpy. "You remember the way to Dumbledore's office?"

xox

"Enter," called the Headmaster's voice through the door, and Allen entered.

"Sir, do you have a minute?"

"Ah, Mr. Walker. Come in," Dumbledore said, smiling and gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. Allen came inside, shutting the door quietly. Before he could speak, though, Dumbledore rose from his chair and said, "I hope you'll excuse my rudeness, Mr. Walker, but why are you not down on the grounds with Hagrid?"

Allen glanced to the side guiltily and then replied, "I wanted to ask you something before I went down." Meeting Dumbledore's eyes again he said, "Do you mind? I mean, I can come back later, if you want."

"Not at all, but—"

A flash of light; a short cry. Allen turned about sharply, and saw a bright red bird appear on a perch, flames dying on its wings. The bird preened its feathers and lifted a beady black eye to stare at Allen, then at Dumbledore. He recognized it from his first visit to the headmaster's office.

"Ah, Fawkes," Dumbledore said, unruffled by the sudden appearance of the phoenix in his office. Coming around from behind his desk he walked up to the bird, petting it on the head and smiling as it cooed. He turned back to Allen. "I was waiting for a message when you came in, and it's just arrived. If you'll excuse me a moment, I need to take this in private."

Allen nodded, already backing up toward the door. "I'll come back later, then—"

"No, Mr. Walker, you can wait here. I'll only be a few moments. We can talk when I come back."

Before Allen could try and argue the point, Dumbledore had placed a hand on the phoenix, and they disappeared in a flash of fire and smoke.

Allen blinked several times, eyes watering. He coughed, shooing away the remaining smoke with his hand.

"I'll wait then," he said to the empty room. Several of the portraits raised their eyebrows and tittered to each other. He glanced at them curiously, but had gotten so used to the moving portraits in the castle that they no longer fazed him.

He ended up walking around the room, getting another look at the gadgets and gizmos Dumbledore kept, reaching out to touch a few. Others he left alone, unsure if touching them was a good idea.

He stepped into a round alcove, one of several. Books lined the shelves, and a single narrow window and candles illuminated the space.

"It's not often I meet a child who I haven't Sorted," came a soft, croaky voice, and Allen spun around, not seeing anyone.

"Over here, lad, and look up."

He did and saw a ratty old wizard's hat. He frowned and turned around. "Whoever you are, come out now," he warned, and the croaky voice let out a wheeze, and it took Allen a moment to realize that it was laughter.

"The Hat, boy, I'm the Sorting Hat."

Allen turned back and stared at the ratty old hat, taking a cautious step forward. The brim ripped wide and some of the wrinkles seemed to form a face. Then the brim ripped wider and said, "Yes, here, boy. For a wizard you're awfully slow." Allen stared, mouth slightly open, and so the hat continued. "Though I think you're not a wizard at all, are you," the hat said matter-of-factly.

Allen continued to stare uncertainly at it. "What are you?"

"I'm the Sorting Hat. I assign incoming students to their Houses."

"Oh. Well, eh, nice to meet you," Allen said, a bit unsurely.

"And who are you, young boy that I don't know?"

"Allen Walker."

The hat seemed to straighten up, as much as a hat can, and the brim formed an O. "I see. Interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"You are."

Allen raised a dubious eyebrow at the hat. "Life must be boring as a hat."

"Touché," the hat replied. It pulled the top of its cap down, coming off as curious for some reason. "A Muggle who isn't affected by the magic of the school. How very interesting."

Allen shrugged, and took a step back. "Do you know when Dumbledore'll be back?" he asked, trying to get the hat off his case.

"Soon, so you may as well stay. That business of his is usually done quickly."

Allen took another step back. "I don't want to bother him by waiting in his office."

"How's the curse-breaking going?"

Allen froze and stared sharply at the hat. It vibrated and wheezed a sharp laugh, and then continued, "Not very well, then, I take it. Don't worry. Better men than you have had issues, but I suppose they had an advantage."

Allen frowned at the hat. "What do you know?"

"Everything that Dumbledore knows," it replied evenly. "After all, I have nothing to do the rest of the year except sit here and listen to the comings and goings of wizards."

"So what does Dumbledore think he knows?" Allen asked, trying to be casual.

"Just that you haven't been totally honest with him," the hat replied coyly.

"Dumbledore know anything that could help me?"

"That is for him to answer; I'm just a hat." The hat stared at him, and then said suddenly, "Why don't you let me Sort you? It could be fun, you know."

Allen narrowed his eyes, asking warily, "How do you Sort people?"

"Oh, it's nothing strenuous," the hat practically sung, "I just take a little peak into people's heads and poke around. Read their strengths and qualities. Come. You've been here long enough, aren't you curious?"

No, no he was not. Not if it involved something else inside his head. "I'm fine, thanks," Allen replied coolly.

"Are you sure?" the hat replied, its tone cajoling. "Sorting can tell much about a person, sometimes things that they themselves don't know."

"I'm fine," Allen replied firmly.

The door behind him opened with a soft click and Allen turned to see Dumbledore enter the office. Relieved, Allen turned his back on the Sorting Hat and came down to Dumbledore's desk.

"Welcome back," he said.

"Thank you," Dumbledore replied. Fawkes was no longer with him. Guessing Allen's question Dumbledore raised a hand and said simply, "Fawkes is delivering a message for me. Now, what is it you came to talk to me about?"

Allen turned as Dumbledore walked around his desk, keeping the professor in sight, and said, "I wanted to talk to you about a story in the paper this morning."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows curiously. "Miss Granger is keeping you up-to-date on current events, I see."

"Eh, sort of, sir," Allen said. "The paper said there was an attack last night, and from how it was described, it sounds to me like Akuma."

Dumbledore rested a hand on his desk, pulling toward him a copy of the same edition Hermione had been perusing earlier. "It is fortunate you came to me first, Mr. Walker, or else I would have called for you. I believe it was your Akuma as well."

Allen's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Really?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Normally I would consider the culprit Lord Voldemort, but from what you told me earlier in the year, and from what I know of his movements, he nor his followers committed these acts."

Allen glanced back at the paper, eyes travelling to Dumbledore's withered left hand. Unconsciously he clenched his own, and then looked back to Dumbledore.

"I know I promised to fix the stands, and I will finish that, but—"

"You wish to travel to Sheffield, and make sure it isn't Akuma," Dumbledore concluded serenely.

Allen nodded. "Yes, sir."

Dumbledore brought his hands together, leaning back against the desk. "What about the Order you are running from?"

"They won't be there," Allen replied, more confidently than he felt. "I didn't know about the wizarding world until I found Hogsmeade, so there's a chance that the Order won't have either. If they have someone there, that's my problem, and I'll take care of it. But I have to make sure. People might die if I don't check, and I can't sit here and do nothing."

Dumbledore said nothing a moment, measuring Allen up. Allen kept the headmaster's gaze. Finally Dumbledore replied, "Very well."

Allen let out a long breath, but before he could answer, Dumbledore went on. "I will allow you to go, on the condition you will be accompanied by a witch or wizard in my service on your trip. They can insure your safe travel and serve as assistance if anything were to happen."

Allen frowned. "What do you expect to happen, sir?"

Dumbledore replied with a question of his own. "Are you fit to leave the castle and face these Akuma?"

Allen nodded; that wasn't what he was worried about. "Yes, sir. Madame Pomfrey did a good job."

Dumbledore smiled. "You will need to give me a day to find someone to send with you, but you had best let Hagrid and Miss Granger know your plans."

Allen nodded. "Thank you, sir. For everything," he added.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I appreciate your help in this matter."

Allen left Dumbledore's office with an odd feeling settling in his stomach: the mixture of excitement at getting out of the castle, and nervousness at what awaited him outside.

He shook his head as he walked down the hall. Forget what could happen; if it did, it did. He had been getting caught up in the anxiety of his situation lately, so afraid that he'd gotten stuck, and it needed to stop. It was time to get on with life. Make your own path, he thought quietly. Keep moving.

xox

"So yer taking a few days?"

"Yes, Hagrid."

"Well, can't say I'm pleased, but I need ta teach my class sometime I suppose," Hagrid replied, throwing Allen a conspiratory smile. Allen chuckled. "We're almost done, too."

"I know; I'm sorry. This won't take long, I promise. But it's something I have to do."

Hagrid stared at Allen for a bit, before he nodded. He gestured to the tool shed, where cutters and baskets awaited them. "Well, 'til then, we got mistletoe ta put up. Let's get started, we've got a lot of ground ta cover."

xox

"You're doing work for Dumbledore? What work?" Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Does it have something to do with that article from this morning?"

Allen sighed, setting down his fork; the young witch was too quick on the uptake. "Yes, it does," he admitted. "I have to check something out. If it's nothing, I'll be back here in no time."

Hermione left her own food untouched. It was lunchtime; students milled in and out of the hall, no one paying them any attention. Hagrid had told Allen to eat inside, as a chance to warm up from their morning trek outside, for which Allen was grateful. He still had snow in his hair, though it was hard to tell. Luna had yet to arrive, so it was Allen and Hermione eating across from each other at the Ravenclaw table. "What do you expect it to be?" Hermione asked. "You looked really shaken this morning."

"I hope it's nothing," Allen replied evasively.

"You fight monsters, don't you?" she said softly.

Allen paused in eating. "Luna told you?"

She shook her head. "I guessed. That arm of yours isn't for anything other than slaying monsters. It can't be, not with those claws."

Allen didn't see it that way, but he didn't feel like getting into it. "You're right, of course," he said, a bit blandly. No point in keeping it to himself if she was guessing the right answers. But something else was bugging him. "You guys said you were in a war. What's it about, anyway? There was that bit about Dark wizards in the paper, and Dumbledore mentioned someone called Voldemort, but I don't really understand."

Hermione glanced around, then replied quietly, "Voldemort," she managed, pushing the word past her mouth like it would bite back, "plans to take over the wizarding world, eliminating any witch or wizard with mixed or Muggle parents. People like me," she added quietly.

Allen frowned. "Why?"

"For power," she said simply. "He gains power and support as we speak, and as for his supporters," she scoffed, but there was real anger behind it. "There are wizards who think they're better than other people because they're pure-bloods, with long histories of magical lineage. That's what it comes down to: prejudice and hatred and power. That's it. And...Voldemort," she forced herself, "will do everything he can to take over. That's what we're trying to stop."

"We?"

Hermione blinked and then looked away guiltily; she hadn't meant to let that slip. Allen frowned, curious. "We? Who's we?" A thought occurred to him. "Does Dumbledore have anything to do with it?"

She nodded, a bit reluctantly. "Dumbledore's leading the resistance," she said. "He's the only wizard Voldemort's ever been afraid of. Most believe that if we have Dumbledore, we can win."

Allen stirred his food around with his fork. "Oh," he said in reply.

Hermione bit her lip and then decided now was as good a time as any to put her thoughts out there. "That's why I'm surprised Dumbledore's letting you stay," she said, her voice still soft. "You're an unknown."

Allen looked up at her, meeting her eyes, waiting for her to finish. She couldn't read his expression. "Any unknown persons could be a danger," she went on. "Especially people like you who came out of nowhere and knows no one, with weird abilities no one's ever seen or can explain. And in the wizarding world, that's saying something." She sighed again, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute but needing to say this. "It's hard to know who to trust, when everything is so uncertain."

Allen looked away, his expression hidden by his hair. Finally he said quietly, "I see."

Hermione's face broke and she said, "Allen, I didn't mean—"

"No, Hermione, it's fine." He looked up and smiled, but it was so sad and bitter than Hermione felt like she'd kicked a puppy. "We don't know each other. You're just doing your job. Can't ask for more than that."

Of course, he thought quietly, pushing at his food. You made sure she wasn't a friend, didn't you?

"Allen, wait—"

He stood up. "Well, I've let you know what's up, so I need to go help Hagrid. Tell Luna hello for me."

Hermione leaped to her feet, following after him down the hall, Allen trying to give her the slip. He was fast, she gave him that; but because of the foot traffic from lunch she managed to catch him just outside the entrance courtyard, latching onto his arm and pulling him to a stop.

"Allen, let me finish," she said, panting slightly. Allen stared back, saying nothing. She let him go, and was relieved when he didn't immediately rush off again.

"I don't want to do this because it's my job," she said, taking a last breath and straightening up. "Maybe you don't want my help, but—"

"Hermione, it's not that I don't appreciate the offer," Allen said emphatically, "but I don't want anyone who isn't already involved…" He paused, searching for a word, before giving up, "involved. Do you understand?"

"Because you think we'll get hurt," she stated, understanding in her eyes.

"I know you'll get hurt," he replied back, not even bothering to deny it. "And I can't allow that to happen."

She snorted disbelievingly.

Baffled, Allen gaped at her.

She shook her head, sobering. "You're just like Harry," she replied in exasperation. "He's always off on his need to be alone and heroic. It's so idiotic."

"Idiotic?" Allen echoed incredulously. "Wha—?"

She raised a hand to stop him. Allen did, a bit wary now.

"I've been giving this a lot of thought," she continued, more calmly now. "You have your reasons for keeping secrets, I get that. I don't like it," she added hurriedly, "but I understand. Well…I'm trying to, anyway." She sighed. "What you need to understand is that if you have a chance to lift the curse on you, then you should take it. You've been so busy trying to push everyone away that you haven't gotten anything done, have you?"

Still wary, Allen said nothing; it was true that he'd done nothing about curse-breaking, after all. So she continued. "And I've been so busy trying to figure you out that I haven't helped."

"Figure me out?" Allen echoed, frowning.

She nodded. "Do you remember, when you first came, and spent time in the library, pulling out books?"

Allen nodded.

"When you weren't looking, I wrote down the titles you pulled out, and the chapters. I've been going through them, when I have spare time, trying to figure out what you could be looking for."

Allen wasn't sure what to feel as he stared at her. Violated? Deceived? At least she had the grace to look apologetic about it. "So? What did you find?" he asked dully.

She took a deep breath. "You were looking at books about memories and how curses affect them, curses that cause you to see things others can't, curses that make you hear voices…which makes me think that whatever you're fighting is causing you to have delusions of some kind."

Allen felt the air leave him. She went on, nervous but still determined. "But you're lucid most of the time, so it must be a slow-acting curse. I've never seen anything in my life that works over a long period of time, instead of being instantaneous, but I'll admit, there's a lot about magic I don't know. I do know that only after taking certain precautions can some curses be slowed, so they don't kill you immediately and you can get treatment or buy time. But that's really advanced magic, and to stop it requires magical knowledge, which you don't have because you're not a wizard."

Allen stared at her, not knowing what to do with this information. "So?" he asked, his voice still dull.

Hermione bit her lip. "I can't do anything to find a possible counter-curse without you telling me what it is you're looking for, and how the curse was placed on you in the first place."

Allen remained silent.

"I'm sorry," she said, her tone plain and genuine. "But you weren't being helpful. I was curious, and I've never let a problem go without solving it. In the past I've been able to figure things out, but now…there's simply too much I don't know. I don't know where to start. And I've decided that you have a right to know, since it's your life."

Allen continued to stare at her. As the silence stretched he said softly, "So what do you want from me?"

"Allen," she began softly, her voice calm despite her nerves, "whatever your secrets are, I don't need to know everything. But I would like you to trust me. I want to help you, but I can't do that without you giving me something to work with."

"Why do you want to help me so badly?" he asked quietly, his voice intense. She couldn't place the emotion on his face—confusion, perhaps, and maybe disbelief. His eyes were crinkling as if he might cry, or he was fighting a headache, or both. "Because Dumbledore asked you to?" he continued accusingly. "Is his approval so important to you?"

She shook her head. "That's not it." She paused, considering her words, before she stated simply, "I want to help because I can see you hurting, and I want to help because I can't look away from people in need and not do anything."

"I'm a charity case," Allen snapped, and Hermione shook her head fervently.

"No, Allen, you're not," she replied, her voice intense now, the determination in her eyes stronger than before. "And stop trying to push me away by making my help out as something it isn't. I want to help you because you need help, and because you wouldn't have stayed here if you had someplace else to go." She took another steadying breath and pressed on. "I want to help because Dumbledore sees something in you. I want to help because you're friends with Luna and I believe in her, even if she is a bit odd. She wouldn't have become friends with someone who isn't a good person, and when we aren't arguing I think I start to see it too."

She took a steadying breath, preparing herself. She had been thinking about what Luna had said, about her suspicions and not giving him the benefit of the doubt. She had a responsibility, and yes, she felt obliged to do it because it was assigned by Dumbledore. But if Dumbledore thought enough of Allen to keep him around, despite how suspicious he was and how uncertain things in the world around them were becoming, than perhaps she could too. It was relying on faith, which wasn't the most comfortable position when fact would have made her feel better. But it was all she had.

"I should have given you a chance when you first came here, and I want to try to now. I want you to give me a chance too," she replied simply. "This is my olive branch." She paused to steady herself. "When you get back from your trip, you can find me in the library in the afternoons and on Sundays, working. If you really want help in finding your counter-curse, then you know where to find me." She waited a moment, hoping for some response.

It didn't come; Allen had looked away. She sighed, bit her lip, and then nodded once, as if coming to a decision. "That's all I wanted to say."

Minutes passed without a word between them. At last Allen raised his head. He looked uncertain as he met her gaze, like his didn't know how to move with this, fear and hope mingling in his eyes. It was the most honest face he'd ever shown her, and it hurt to look at. At last, Hermione took a step back and said, "See you later, Allen."

She left him in the courtyard. Allen stayed put for several minutes, standing in the cold. At last, he turned away and went down to meet Hagrid; he had work to do. He could think about Hermione's offer while he did.

xox

Luna met Allen down at the greenhouses at the end of the day, where he told her he was going to Sheffield.

"Do you think there are Akuma there, and that's why you have to go?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I have to make sure. I hope I'm wrong."

"What about your Order?"

He shrugged. "I'll worry about it if there's a problem. If I never heard of wizards before now, maybe the Order hasn't either. So no one's there to see the problem, and that leaves just me."

"Hmm," Luna said. "Are you sure you're not looking for trouble?"

"Me?" Allen replied innocently. "Look for trouble?"

Luna's lips quirked in an indulgent way. "Just be careful."

"I'm always careful!" he replied indignantly.

Luna just shook her head. "Do you know who's going with you yet?"

"Not yet," Allen replied, sobering. "Dumbledore said he was sending one of his people with me. Um, speaking of that, what's he mean, his people? Cause I was talking with Hermione earlier, and she said," he paused, thinking she had said a lot of things, "well, she said that he was the leader fighting against Voldemort."

Luna nodded. "Everyone knows that. What's your question?"

Allen rubbed at the back of his head, and they entered the courtyard where Hermione had left him that afternoon. "This war of yours. What's happening in it?"

Luna readjusted her bag, shifting it to the other shoulder. "We don't really know," she said simply. "People are disappearing, and some have died. But the Ministry's keeping it hushed up for the most part, so all most of us know is rumor and whatever news we can get word-of-mouth. Dumbledore leads the resistance, that's true; but people don't want students knowing what's happening."

Allen frowned. "You should know."

She nodded. "I agree. We have our ways, though." She smiled. "Have I told you about the D.A.?"

He shook his head, though it sounded familiar. "What's the D.A.?"

"Well, last year, before the Ministry accepted You Know Who was back-"

"What do you mean, before-?"

"Let me finish, Allen." She hummed, and then said, "Actually, let me start a bit further back. You know Harry?" Allen nodded. "Well…"

Luna finished her story at dinner, where Hermione was mysteriously absent. Allen wasn't altogether surprised, and he still didn't have an answer for her. He was also so busy processing what Luna had told him: about the D.A., about Harry Potter, about what Hermione's bespeckled friend meant to these people, and about Voldemort.

Perhaps Hermione understood more about Allen's struggle then he gave her credit for. He'd never even bothered to ask. Perhaps in his attempts to keep everyone away from him he'd failed to notice that he might not be alone. Perhaps –

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Looking up, half a chicken wing in his mouth, he looked up in the eyes of a nervous Hufflepuff second year, holding a scrap of paper out to him. "It's from Professor Dumbledore," the girl said quietly.

Allen took out the wing, gave the girl a smile as he took the note. "Thanks."

She stared and then ran off. Turning back Allen unfolded the note.

"Your Portkey departs at 11 o'clock tomorrow morning. Be ready to go in the front atrium by 10:45 for a quick briefing."

He showed Luna the note, asked her what a Portkey was, finished his dinner quickly, and left to get ready.

Excitement boiled in his stomach, pushing him along with nervous energy. He was raring to go; the morning couldn't come fast enough.