Magical Me
By Publicola

Published: 7-19-13

A Meeting with Amelia

The remaining hours of the book signing flew by, and at last I was free. By that point I had calmed down somewhat. After all, Harry wouldn't have to return to the Dursleys until the following summer. By that point, hopefully he'd never have to return to them again. I had time to kill.

I considered my next moves. During a brief gap in the foot traffic to my kiosk, I had scratched a hasty note for Dirk Cresswell, and sent it ahead with Ozymandias. Sure, he might be a Ministry employee, but I'd already met with the goblins, and they don't get more unscrupulous than that. Who knows but he might end up useful?

I had a half-hour until my meeting with Ms. Bones, and I certainly planned to arrive early. I wasn't sure if she would have a pensieve, so I called to my house-elf.

He popped to me eagerly. "Master asked for Glitzy?"

"Yes. Are elves able to pop inside the Ministry of Magic?"

"Yes, of course, Master. Elves can pop anywhere!"

I was about to respond, before the full meaning of Glitzy's words struck me: elves could go anywhere. Ain't that just a kick in the head?

I shook myself. One thing at a time.

"Ah. Thanks. That's… great news. Look, can you return home and make sure my pensieve is ready for use? I may need it for a meeting later. Put any loose memories in the spare vials. I'll call you if I need you to bring it."

Now that was a tidbit I just had to remember for later. It would be too easy to keep the habit of using house elves for errands, when their true potential was literally endless. Who knew when I might need a deus ex machina? In this world I don't have the luxury of being the main protagonist, the authorial fiat that lets the hero escape every dastardly trap and vanquish every villain. A well-placed house elf might save my life.

Glitzy popped away and I turned my attention to packing my things.

The sun was low in the sky by the time I emerged from the bookstore. Mr. Flourish thanked me profusely for my time, though he looked visibly relieved at my departure. I was certainly a mixed blessing, bringing both crowds and chaos to his store. I felt like I should apologize to the poor fellow.

I had a half-hour, but there was no chance I'd let myself be late. I made my way to the Leaky Cauldron and greeting the bartender Tom. It's considered rude to apparate in public – I wasn't sure why, but it's apparently common courtesy – so the pub had apparition ports installed in the far corner, far away from the foot traffic.

Destination, determination , deliberation. The last time I had been in the Ministry of Magic was my last day as an Obliviator. But I no longer had clearance to apparate directly to the Ministry atrium, so I made my way to the visitor's entrance. I recalled its description from the series, and scanning my memories found my most recent memory of it: the day I went in for an interview.

Destination, determination, deliberation. By the time I appeared in the derelict alleyway, I felt vaguely like a used tube of toothpaste. I entered the telephone booth and dialed in. It answered in a dulcet female voice.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Gilderoy Lockhart. I have an appointment with Amelia Bones."

"Thank you, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes."

Clink, rattle, thunk. A silver badge fell out with the words: "Mr. Lockhart, Date with Ms. Bones."

I hit my forehead on the side of the booth. Seriously? As the booth descended, I wondered whether some godforsaken wizard had decided to make the Visitor's Entrance partially sentient, and in its boredom the machine had gone insane. That would explain its odd sense of humor.

The doors swung open. "Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration."

I sighed. "Isn't it customary to not check out my wand until after the date?" I muttered under my breath as I exited the booth.

"Don't get cute Mr. Lockhart." Behind me, the doors banged closed and the booth rose with an impressive 'whoosh.'

That settled it. The Visitor's Entrance needed therapy.

Because the Ministry is located underground, the normal ordering is reversed: the top floor is Level 1, while the Atrium on the main floor is listed as Level 8 (though both the Department of Mysteries and the Wizengamot courtrooms are located beneath it, on levels 9 and 10, respectively).

The Atrium itself was breath-taking, and was much better ventilated than one would expect for an underground complex. However, I found the 'Fountain of Magical Brethren' to be rather unintentionally hilarious. How could the sculptor have possibly visualized such a wretchedly adoring expression on the face of a goblin? It beggared belief.

I made my way to the Security desk to register my wand, and after a second I was through. I made my way through the golden gates to the access lifts. Pausing for a moment, I noticed the directory off to the side.

Welcome to the Ministry of Magic!

Level Ten, Wizengamot Chambers

Level Nine, Department of Mysteries

Level Eight, Ministry of Magic Atrium

Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports

Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation

Level Five, Department of International Magical Cooperation

Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures

Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes

Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Level One, Minister of Magic and Support Staff

I cast a quick 'Tempus' and found that I had time for a quick detour. I entered the nearest lift, which I found empty except for the paper airplanes. I didn't want to imagine how many memos were crowding the air over my head. I got off on Level Four, but before I could find directions to the Goblin Liaison Office I found myself shaking hands with the man I was looking to meet.

"Mr. Lockhart! Good of you to drop by, just got your note, lovely owl, was just stepping out to reply, but can make the time if you're free, a few memos to read, nothing really, hardly worth the paper, can finish them later, whaddya say?"

That was in a single breath, and I was still shaking his hand by the end of it. Dang. I had hoped he wasn't a fan-boy. On the plus side, this would make it easier to win his trust.

"Mr. Cresswell. I'm so glad you received my note. I am actually on my way to see Madame Bones, and was just dropping by to see if we could set aside a time to meet. You're not free this evening, are you?"

His shoulders drooped. "No. Dinner party with the Edgecombes, you see. Most unpleasant family, but damnably well connected." He looked up, alarm in his eyes. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry! Please don't tell anyone."

I laughed. "No worries, I feel this same way about some of my former co-workers. In fact," I motion him closer, "if that's your attitude I imagine we'll get along quite well."

He goggled. I don't think he ever saw himself as someone a celebrity author would confide in.

I smiled confidently. "No matter. Are you free tomorrow, then, or do you need to check your calendar?"

He shook himself. "No, tomorrow's fine. What time is best for you?"

"Say, 10 o'clock?"

"Works for me. I'll put it on the docket."

"As will I. Good evening, Mr. Cresswell."

"And to you, Mr. Lockhart."

I had hardly stepped out of the lift, and returned without further ado. I continued on to Level Two. I had only once visited this level when working as an Obliviator, and that was to give evidence to the Aurors regarding an allegedly botched obliviation. As I recall, I was cleared and was rather offended at the insult to my competence, so my memories of this level were not fond. Besides the Investigation Department, this level also included the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office (Arthur Weasley's group, shunted to a remote cupboard-like office) and Malfada Hopkirk's Improper Use of Magic Office, which operated the underage Trace.

I wonder if they'd tell me how that thing worked. With all the theories in the world of fan fiction, one of them has to be right. It's like the thing with Hermione's parents: sooner or later, I will have answers!

I passed by several sets of double doors before entering through one to the main exhibit: Auror Headquarters. At this point in the day most of the cubicles were empty, though all were marked and I was pleased to attach names to faces.

Closest to the outer doors were the desks for Auror Trainees, and I was pleased to see one marked for Nymphadora Tonks among them. She had apparently made the cut right out of Hogwarts. I did notice that her name plate was heavily scarred and scratched, in a failed effort to make her first name illegible. I smirked. Some things never change.

I recognized a few of the names nearby. Auror Trainee Savage was still at his desk, and I was amused to find him a mild-mannered looking man whose primary concerned seemed to be the mound of paperwork on his desk. Further in I found desks for Trainees Proudfoot and Williamson, though both of them seemed nearer to making the cut to full Auror.

The next row of desks brought me to the desk of John Dawlish. He is described as an excellent Auror, but in the books he mostly serves as the personal flying monkey for various corrupt Ministers, and his string of botched arrests is unmatched: Dumbledore, Hagrid, Augusta Longbottom, even Dirk Cresswell. I wondered at the Ministry's competence if this was the best they had to offer.

Beyond him was an empty cubicle belonging to Kingsley Shacklebolt, then a filled cubicle marked 'Gawain Robards'. Scrimgeour's future deputy was hard at work, and hardly bothered to note my passing.

Finally I was pleased to find that Alastor Moody still had a desk, and that was furthest in. Master Auror indeed. He'd be retiring soon, but at the moment he remained active duty, and I recalled from the books that Tonks was his protégé. Good man. He deserved a better fate than to have his eyeball taken for Umbridge's trophy. I did not doubt that his desk would be booby-trapped to the nines, so I kept far afield.

At last I found myself before the main offices. To the left is marked "Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour." To the right, was a simple brass bar: "Amelia Bones, Head, DMLE."

Suddenly I was struck by a wave of anxiety. I was about to meet with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – probably the second most powerful person in the Ministry – and it struck me that I hadn't the foggiest idea why she had agreed to the meeting, rather than pass it off to some underling. However much I'd like to imagine it was simply a matter of celebrity, she didn't strike me as the type to be easily impressed.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I began to dread the thought that someone out there knew Lockhart's secret, and that one day I would pay for his crimes.

I shook myself. I can't let myself panic. I cast "Tempus," and saw that it was 4:56pm. Then I noticed the clock on the wall. Strange how easily we can get used to things that would never before occur to us – like using magic to determine the time, instead of just checking the clock.

Better to be early, I reasoned, and knocked on the door.

On the second knock it swung inward.

I swear, I have never seen so many paper airplanes, not even in the lifts. It was like her office was swarmed by papers vultures, all eyeing her hungrily. How my small note caught her eye, I have no idea, though I imagine I should thank Ozymandias when I return home.

Amelia Bones herself was hard at work, even though most of her co-workers had left. Her face looked drawn, strained by the exertions of a day (though I suppose she should be grateful for small blessings, namely that it wasn't in the middle of a war).

She glanced up and returned her focus to the page in front of her.

"Sit."

I sat.

A minute later she set the paper aside. "Mr. Lockhart. I do not know you except by reputation, but with your reputation, I think it prudent to begin by telling you this." She removed her monocle and fixed me with her stare. "I cannot begin to convey to you the level of shit you will find yourself in if this is a stunt of any kind."

She sighed and began to polish her eyeglass. "However, your note did seem sincere, and your owl was persistent. You have my attention. Proceed."

Credit where credit is due: this lady was seriously intimidating. A drop of sweat had already made its way down the back of my neck. Damn.

I nodded my head. "Thank you for your time. Madame Bones, do you have a pensieve?"

At this, she looked at me more closely. I felt like a bug under a microscope. "Indeed. We keep it in the Investigation Department, though it's only rarely used."

"May we use it, or would you like me to have my elf bring my own?"

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. I doubt she expected I owned one. They were practically the definition of luxury item. She chewed on her words. "By all means. Call your elf."

"Glitzy!" He appeared. "My pensieve, if you would." He popped away, and I shrugged apologetically. "I found it useful as a writing aid. So much more detail preserved in a memory."

I could be wrong, but I thought I saw a slight smile on her face as Glitzy returned with the silvery rune-inscribed bowl. I carefully extracted the memory and placed it in, before pausing.

"Before we enter, I would like your word that you will not act rashly. I had several hours to consider the event, and even now I find the implications… most disturbing."

A single eyebrow cocked, she reached for the bowl and I joined her.

I began from the moment I first heard the commotion at the front of the story. We were already observing when my memory-self appeared. The memory continued and Amelia clucked disparagingly at the sight of the two wizards brawling, before she noticed where my memory-self was standing and who he was standing with.

"Pause." At her command the image froze. "Rewind. Continue at three-quarter speed." She watched impassively as first insults were volleyed and as Harry was pushed out of the way. Then she noticed the slight flinch, and I saw her jaw drop. "Pause."

She turned to me, her eyes clouded over. "Explain."

"You saw what I did: he flinched. He expected to be beaten." I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Madame Bones, few people know this, but I was not raised in a happy home. My mother had… well, let's say a number of suitors, and few of them were kind to the little kid running underfoot. A few were… especially violent. I would have the same reaction to them, that Harry Potter did to me. Ma'am," I looked her in the eyes, "I think the Boy-Who-Lived is being abused."

She was about to react, but my last words held her in place. Before she understood it as a case of abuse, but then she remembered who we were talking about.

I continued. "There's more. When I caught him, I felt his frame. The boy was far too thin, probably starved. And the look in his eyes…. Ma'am, a few minutes before this, I said a few nice things when I was signing his book. The way he looked at me, it was as though I'd promised him the throne room in Avalon! He didn't expect it at all. And then, when he was pushed aside during the fight –" I pointed "you see, there, the look in his eyes. That's more than just the expectation that he'll be beaten. No, that look tells me that, in his mind, he deserves to be beaten. Merlin, Ms. Bones! I've seen some pretty awful stuff, but this takes the cake."

A few moments passed, then Amelia said tonelessly, "End viewing."

We were back in her office, papers strewn over her desk and hovering overhead. Her face was more drawn than it was before, her cheeks paler, her eyes more clouded. She took a deep breath and seemed to center herself, before waving her wand. Some sort of silvery vapor escaped the tip, before coalescing into the shape of an imperious-looking owl.

Damn, even her Patronus was intimidating. Still, it was the coolest form of magic I'd seen thus far.

She struggled to keep her voice level. "Mr. Lockhart… Gilderoy. I cannot thank you enough for bringing this to my attention."

I tried to break in, "Ms. Bones—"

She pressed on. "Rest assured that we will be investigating this with the full force of this Department. At this time, unless there's anything else, it would be best for you to let us handle it from here." She walked around the desk to lead me outside.

I stood my ground. "Ms. Bones…"

"Amelia, actually. Call me Amelia. Can we keep a copy of the memory?"

I paused. "Thank you, and of course you can." She smiled. "However." She lost her smile. "There is something else."

She glared at me for a few seconds, before her expression fell and she returned to her side of the desk. "Continue."

"Earlier today I had a meeting with the goblins." She looked at my oddly for this non-sequitur beginning. "I brought them information that helped solve a cold case of theirs. Do you recall an attempted break-in last summer?"

She paused, then her fingers flew over the assorted files. "I remember that one—odd case, a break-in to an empty vault. And you say you solved it?"

I smiled good naturedly. "Not me, actually. I merely brought them the information. But that's the problem, because the person who should have didn't." My smile lost its good nature. "Would it surprise you to learn that the Chief Warlock knew the identity of the culprit for most of the year, and not only failed to inform Gringotts, but retained the criminal in his employ?"

At this her monocle dropped, and I'm sure it was only the charms on the glass that kept it from breaking on the floor. I was tempted to smirk. That certainly got her attention.

However, I soon grew serious. "I must ask for the same arrangement I made with the goblins. I will swear that my information is correct, to the best of my knowledge, in exchange for your magical oath that what I say will not leave this office without my consent. I fear that sharing it may put my life in jeopardy."

She took a few moments, but the severity of my words persuaded her to exchange vows.

"Dumbledore let it be known that the Gringotts vault in question contained an exceptionally powerful magical artifact," I took a deep breath, "one that could conceivably be used to return the former Lord Voldemort to life." Her face blanched in horror. "The thief sought the artifact for that very purpose. The day of the break-in, Dumbledore had the object removed from the vault by the Hogwarts gameskeeper Hagrid. It was brought to the school, where it was placed behind various traps and defenses."

I paused, then curiosity overcame me. "Tell me, did your niece ever mention anything about the corridor on the third floor?"

Amelia started at the sudden question, and hastily tried to regain her composure. "No, nothing. No doubt you'll enlighten me?"

"Yes. I'm just curious, since it featured rather heavily in Dumbledore's speech at the Welcoming Feast. You know the one, no magic in the corridors, no Zonko products, no excursions to the Forbidden Forest? Last year he added a new one: 'avoid the third floor corridor unless you wish to die a most painful death.' Given the severity of the warning, I must say I'm surprised no one mentioned it."

I was trying to be glib, but stopped when I saw that Amelia was beginning to panic. I had no idea her composure could be so easily wrecked by concern for her niece. The books never clarified the point, but Lockhart's memories told me that Susan was an orphan, and her aunt Amelia cared after her. I reassured her, "It's all right, your niece is fine, you'll see her when you get home."

Amelia spent a few seconds blinking furiously, but soon turned to glare furiously at me. "Finish your story, and I'll see her sooner."

Good grief, I felt like a heartless wretch. Here I was, spinning my yarn, and forgetting she had the life of her family on the line. "All right, I'll cut it short. The thief was the former Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Quirinius Quirrell."

Amelia looked alert. "I know that name. He disappeared from Hogwarts at the end of term." She paled. "You don't think he succeeded, do you?"

I almost laughed at the leap of logic, but cut off the impulse. "No, he didn't succeed. He died." This news rocked her. "Quirrell made several attempts on the artifact during the year, each of which were thwarted by Dumbledore or by Potions Master Snape, acting on his orders. However, for his attempt at the end of the year, neither Dumbledore nor Snape were present, and it was left to a student to confront Quirrell and prevent the theft. According to my source, Quirrell was killed in this encounter, and the artifact destroyed."

Amelia's mind was obviously reeling, both from the fact that a Professor's death had been covered up, as well as the fact that a student was involved. I soon reclaimed her attention, however, when I said, "Unfortunately, that's not the worst of it."

I could read her face like a book—how could it possibly be worse?

I took another deep breath. "There is a reason I paid such close attention to Harry Potter when I saw him at Flourish & Blotts. According to my source, Harry Potter was the student to confront Quirrell at the end of last year. Not a prefect, not a NEWT student: a First Year. This made me wonder how: how did he even hear of the artifact, let alone go to defend it? My research turned out several facts."

"First, Harry Potter tried to warn his Head of House. He was ignored. My first instinct was to chalk it up to the incompetence of the staff. However, on further consideration, I was no longer so sure." She nodded for me to continue.

"Second, it appears that Dumbledore went missing from the castle shortly before the theft took place, and returned shortly after Harry disappeared to protect the artifact. I don't know how he could have returned so quickly, unless it were deliberate." Amelia nodded again, more hesitantly. She was starting to connect the dots.

"Third, the defenses around the artifact were easily overcome by Harry Potter. Indeed, one might say it was an obstacle course specifically designed for him and his friends. Over Christmas break, it appears that Dumbledore removed the final defense of the artifact in order to give Harry Potter the chance to familiarize himself with it."

"I know little that concerns the remainder of the year, however, the fourth thing I learned is crucial. I learned that Harry Potter's first trip to Diagon Alley was the very day of the Gringott's break-in, and further that he was accompanied by the gameskeeper Hagrid. That is how Harry heard of the artifact; he was there when it was removed!"

"This, incidentally, led me to a much more problematic line of inquiry. That trip was Harry Potter's first time in the Wizarding World. He was by all accounts muggle-raised, and had only learned of magic earlier that very day. Yet despite his ignorance, he was being chaperoned by the gameskeeper. Now, Hagrid may be a kind-hearted man, but I don't think anyone would consider him the best person to introduce a child, much less the Boy-Who-Lived, to the world of magic!" I laughed a bit dismissively. "After all, if you'll recall, Hagrid is himself legally barred from doing magic or owning a wand."

I leaned forward, and she mimicked my movement, a good indicator. "So why was Hagrid given this errand? I believe there were two reasons. First, and don't laugh, but the man cannot keep a secret. It seems that confrontation was staged. Harry was meant to defend the artifact against Quirrell, and that means he had to learn of it. And who better that the good-natured gameskeeper who spills secrets like an over-full cup of ale?"

I took another deep breath before taking the final plunge. "The second reason is what concerns me far more: Hagrid is unerringly loyal to Albus Dumbledore. No, consider it. After the Dark Lord's defeat at Godric's Hollow, Albus Dumbledore took responsibility for Harry Potter's placement and upbringing. As we saw in the pensieve, that upbringing was almost certainly abusive. Eleven years later, it's time to reintroduce Harry to the magical world, and who does Dumbledore send? A man practically guaranteed to praise Dumbledore to the skies. Moreover, he is no sooner reintroduced to the wizarding world then he is given a quest: an object that must be defended from attack. And at the end of year, he is isolated from adult support and sent on ahead, alone, to defend the artifact against an adult wizard seeking the return of the Dark Lord."

For a brief moment I felt like Sherlock Holmes, tying off a particularly satisfying string of deductions to a confounded Watson, or Cyrano de Bergerac skewering his opponent with a clever retort over the din of swords. At the end of the refrain, thrust home.

"The abuse was deliberate, the rescue was planned, the set-up unmistakable. I can only conclude Harry Potter is being groomed, intentionally molded to behave in certain ways, and that this grooming is primarily designed to two ends. First, to ensure that Harry Potter always looks up to Albus Dumbledore, and second, to make Harry Potter see the defeat of Lord Voldemort or his latter-day followers as his responsibility, and his alone. Whatever Dumbledore has planned for him, I'm fairly sure that at this point Harry Potter would follow those plans even unto death."

I let that statement stand on its own, as we sat in silence for a minute. Then Amelia quietly swore. "Shit. You were right. It was worse. This is not a simple case of child abuse. It is hardly simple when the abuse is by all appearances condoned by the highest legal authority in the Ministry!" She nearly spat.

I softly prompted. "You understand that any investigation would have to be entirely covert. An official investigation would be stopped almost as before it could begin. Dumbledore is far too well connected to act against in any direct manner."

Amelia rested her head in her hands, the very picture of mental exhaustion. "So that is it, then? I had to remind myself several times of your magical oath, that you were bound to tell the truth. It's just… I have a hard time believing… I mean, Merlin, he's practically a god among men and you're calling him the devil. It's a little hard to take!"

Her mood swings would have amused me, if the subject matter weren't so serious.

"Yes, I know. But that is our challenge, and we must prepare. We should have a few allies. I don't trust the goblins any more than I'd trust a prison gang, but I understand both groups view child abusers with contempt. They will be feeling particular vindictive, I don't doubt. I am meeting with Dirk Cresswell tomorrow; I'll try to bring him onboard to coordinate with them."

"If there's anyone you trust with this sort of information, feel free to pass it along though with three conditions. First, let me know who you have told, so I know who is in the loop. Second, I'd ask that that you require the same sort of confidentiality oath that I required from you. And third, and this is perhaps the most vital, make sure that everyone in the loop is capable of Occlumency. It does no good to keep a secret if it can be ripped from your head, and Dumbledore is a more than capable Legilimencer."

Amelia nodded dumbly, though I could tell her mind was still actively engaged. It was just her body that wasn't cooperating.

I called Glitzy to take away the pensieve, being careful to first copy the memory within for Amelia's use. I swung out the door, only pausing on the threshold.

"One last thing, Madame Bones. I'm not sure if you receive the Evening Prophet, but if not you can read in the paper tomorrow morning. Earlier today I announced that I had taken the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. I am worried at what is going on inside that castle, and I intend to find out. I imagine you'd like to me to keep you posted?"

I almost laughed at the eagerness on her face as I turned away. It was good to have something to laugh about, even in the aftermath of such a depressing conversation.

Did I believe everything I said? I'm not sure.

I honestly don't know if Dumbledore intended to set up the confrontation for Harry at the end of First Year. However, it makes sense of the facts, and even Harry himself thought it plausible. Regardless, it got Dumbledore in trouble, and that's good enough for me. The way I read it, Dumbledore put Harry in an abusive home, and as near as I can tell, Dumbledore did so knowingly. Whatever his reasons, that fact alone would be sufficient cause for me to make Dumbledore's life a living hell.

Dumbledore wants to set Harry up as a martyr. That ain't gonna happen on my watch. I don't care what it takes, Harry will not be killing himself, even if that means drugging the Dark Lord with a 'Draught of Living Death' I.V. drip until Harry dies of old age.

Huh. Now there's an idea.