Chapter Thirteen: A Change of Luck

When Hermione was young, her parents had often joked about their daughter becoming a barrister. Hermione had gone to look up the word once she'd heard it. It had piqued her interest for a few months before her Hogwarts letter came. Then she'd put the dream aside.

Her readings, almost forgotten under the pile of Latin spells and arcane magical practices she'd learned, had helped in her argument with her parents. They had not understood why she had wanted to return to the wizarding world so early. They had begged. They had ordered. But in the end, they had given in, with a stern reminder that she was to write everyday and come home the second she felt she was done with her 'campaign' as they called it.

That was how she found herself in a rented room above the Leaky Cauldron, her trunk packed and ready for school and without a plan to proceed.

I should have thought this over more carefully, she tugged at the ends of her hair. Best now to start as I mean to continue. With that thought, she nodded, flipped her trunk open and retrieved a pad of paper.

The plan fell to pieces as she tried to outline her ideas. I need to clear Harry's name, she nibbled at the tip of her quill. But the Daily Prophet is doing what it can. Still…her eyes narrowed.

Downstairs, Tom was polishing up a handful of clean glasses as the afternoon lull hit.

"Hello, Tom," Hermione said as she slid onto a stood in front of him.

"Well, hello there, missy!" The gregarious face was split by a wide smile. "What can I get you?"

"Nothing, just…" Hermione made a show of looking around and leaning forward. "I'd like to ask some questions, if you don't mind."

"Questions, now." His smile faded. "What would a nice young lady want to be asking questions about?"

"Harry Potter."

The smile was gone. "What about him?"

"Do you believe all the trash that's being said about him?"

Tom's hands stopped their motion of cleaning the glasses. "Perhaps the young miss would like to talk in a more…private area?"

She leaned back from the bar. "If I won't come to harm."

A sad look crossed his face. "You're far too young to be worried about things like that," he said with a sigh. "But wars make adults of children far too fast." He jerked his head to the door set into the wall behind him. "Come along. I won't harm you, missy. Wizard's Oath."

She slid off the seat and followed him into the shadows. Her stomach was tight with apprehension and…excitement. This is perfectly ridiculous, her mind tried to holler at her. You don't go into strange places with strange men! Hermione, you know better!

But by then the door was shut and Tom the Barkeep had settled himself into a chair near a banked fire. "Tea, miss?"

"Yes, please."

He waved her into the seat opposite him. "Well now. This is a much better place to start asking questions. Wandering ears won't overhear."

"True." She took the tea from him, but didn't drink.

"Go on then."

She stared into the murky liquid and gathered her thoughts. "Why is everyone so focused on Harry? He can't be the reason why the slaughter in Ireland took place."

"Are you so sure?"

"Of course I am!" Her gaze was hot as she looked up. "He could barely walk when he left Hogwarts! He died to save us, us, the whole of the wizarding world! Then you think he'd just turn his back on the whole thing and go off killing people at random?"

Tom held up his hands. "Now, now, miss, I meant no disrespect. I happen to like the lad. Nor do I believe in the rumors going around about him."

"Then why haven't you done anything to stop them?"

He blinked at her. "I'd lose business, girl. People would take sides. I have a rent to pay, a wife and children to feed."

Hermione pressed her lips together to keep a diatribe spilling from her mouth. "But that does Harry no good. If we, the people he gave up everything for, don't try to stop the lies, then what good are we?"

"Crusades are for the young," Tom said. "I'm too old, and have too many responsibilities to start one now."

"Fine." Hermione set the cup down. "I'll go find others who aren't so old then."

"Wait, wait now." He stopped her before she could stomp from the room in a huff. "Have you any idea what you're about to get yourself in to?"

"Well," she shrugged. "I thought I'd start by going door to door. I was there, Tom." Her hands fluttered in her lap. "I even started the petition to get him kicked out of Gryffindor! If I can see the truth in the matter, then so can everyone else!"

"Some people," he leaned forward, "are blind by their own choice. You don't know the half of it, what's going on here, and I think you should, before you start knocking on doors."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he sighed. "It started with a rumor from the Ministry, after Scrimgeour declared his opposition to Fudge."

"What rumor?"

"About young Harry and his dabbling with the Dark Arts."

Hermione swallowed hard.

"Now, as I've been told, someone told someone else that they'd had a whole Slytherin family come in for questioning – after You-Know-Who was destroyed – why they were there, we don't know. But one of the children said they'd heard Harry was taking a Dark Potion."

"What do you mean?" But Hermione's voice was not as strong as it was. She knew the truth of the matter. Things were beginning to look far more dark than she had first imagined.

Tom spread his hands and shrugged. "They gave the children Veritaserum. It wasn't sanctioned, oh no. Whether or not the old families heard about it, I don't know. I don't think so, since a stink wasn't thrown up about it. And the Slytherin child was a first year, and muggleborn. Their connections to the more political side of our world haven't been formed yet."

"They gave the truth serum to a child?"

"That's what's been said."

"But why wasn't anything done?"

"Because it was a rumor." Tom looked away. "Not sure if anyone actually looked into it. But once that rumor started to fly, people began to get suspicious."

"Suspicious?"

"About young Harry. About what really happened at Hogwarts."

"What do you mean?"

"Some people," the twist to the older man's lips was a decided sneer. "Some people believe that bringing the old gods back to the world was the worst thing that could have happened. That if Harry Potter had done his proper Gryffindor job, he should have been able to defeat the – the – You-Know-Who without the help of gods who've all but been forgotten."

"What!"

"Now, that's not what I believe. My family's been part of the old ways for as long as I know." He nodded to the wall behind her. Hermione twisted to see a protection charm half-hidden by the shadows. "We've all been barkeeps, my father, his father, and his father before him, all reaching back to when Diagon Alley first came about."

"That's…" Hermione blinked. "That's a long time."

"And the Leaky Cauldron's always been here. Was here when the Romans were here, though by a different name." He winked at her. "Their armies had a likin' for the drink, they did. And they were much more open to the idea that stranger things existed than people waving about with sticks."

Hermione bit her lip. "So…how are these rumors going to affect what I want to do?" She shifted the conversation back onto track.

"Well, miss, to be honest, we've gotten quite a bit of new folk hanging about the Alley." Tom ran a hand over his mouth. "A bunch of muggle born folk coming back to preach against the return of the gods – and I do mean preach."

"I don't understand."

"The idea of a single god came with the muggleborns, Ms. Hermione. The families, well I don't like using the term purebloods, but you get my meaning – we don't bear a lot of children. Not really. So when the muggleborns began coming into this world, they came in droves, and with them came their ideals."

"So?"

"So, a lot of the old culture was lost. People tend to forget that. Not the old families," he shook his head. "But the families who were founded by muggleborns long ago. They tend to think we've always been this way."

"All right, I think I can see your point."

"But the rumors, miss, are part and parcel of this world. We're a small community, compared to the muggle world. We guard what we have, because some can see us fading out, and no one wants that."

"So?"

"So, with the new murders, and with the fact that they were all muggles, people begin to mutter. People begin to wonder if that other world, the muggle one, have started to catch onto us."

"That wouldn't be so bad, though!" She leaned forward. "Think of the things we could do together!"

"Think of how fast they would be able to kill us all," he countered. "Muggles fear what they don't understand. That's a lesson this world has learned time and again."

"But it's not fair! It doesn't give them a chance!"

"That's true too."

"But," she sat back. "If I refute the rumors going on about Harry, people can change their minds about him. And if I push the idea that discovery…"

"It'll get you thrown into Azkaban before you could blink."

"What?"

"Ministry law. We don't mingle. We don't exist, not to them. Those who try, are first exiled from Diagon Alley and if they continue, they are thrown into Azkaban."

"Exiled?"

"A whole lot of people tried to get the muggle world to wake up to the fact that we were here, oh right after the first war. Fudge exiled the lot of them. They can't enter Diagon Alley, nor any proper wizarding area. Most of them went to London for years."

"And the others?"

"Tried to continue their point. They disappeared, one by one."

"That's awful!"

He nodded, keeping his gaze steady on her. "Yes it is. Especially since some of them weren't much older than you."

Her hand went to her mouth. "But what about their families?"

"Mostly muggle, and they didn't ask questions after the Unspeakables got to them."

Hermione threw her hands into the air. "That's part of what I'm talking about! Memory charms! Why we use them to such a degree…"

"It keeps people calm." Tom rose from his seat and went to the window.

"It's lying to the people!"

"Yes, it is."

"It's not right!"

"No, it isn't."

"It's not fair!"

"That it isn't, either."

Hermione balled her hands into fists so tight she could feel her nails cut into her flesh. "I want to do something about it!"

"About what? I thought you were focused on young Mr. Potter."

"I am! But, but, but everything has to change!" She bounded to her feet. "The whole way the wizarding world works!"

"And don't you think, with the return of the old gods, it will change?"

"Not if the people you described keep going on and on with their destructive rumors! And why hasn't Fudge done anything about this? Or Scrimgeour?"

Tom turned, his wand in his hand. Hermione backed up a number of steps. "Fudge hasn't done a thing because he wants the people confused. It makes them easier to control. Scrimgeour hasn't done anything because if he causes more confusion, he'll lose the vote."

"What are you doing?" Hermione filed away his words, but couldn't seem to take her eyes off his wand. "Did you tell me all that, just to Obliviate me?"

His smile was crooked. "Of course not." He held out his free hand. "Come on, young miss. Crusades are for the young. Old men like me," his chuckle was dry, "Well, we were youths once, too."

"I don't understand."

His hand had yet to fall. "Come along, miss. I think it's time you met some other people, who can help you much better than I can."

She took a small step towards him. "Will they hurt me?"

"I've sworn a Wizard's Oath that you'll come to no harm." His shoulders rose and fell. "I wouldn't have made it if I thought I'd get you into intentional danger."

His hand was still held out to her. She crossed the room and grasped it. His wand flicked up, down and then to the side. The world vanished with a displaced pop of air.

qpqpqpqp

Harry liked the late mornings in Malfoy manor the best.

He and Professor Snape had been up late into the night, playing, of all things, a wizard's version of Risk. The pieces moved on their own, and each side like to jeer at the other, and large battles were rather disturbing. But it had been fun and Harry's side had known enough ribald jokes to keep the young man laughing for hours.

The Malfoys had gotten home late, each with a displeased expression on their face. Snape had disappeared after one look at Lucius, but Harry had been unable to get any information out of Draco. The younger blond had merely shaken his head and said it he would tell Harry later.

Harry had decided that midmorning was as much later as he could stand.

Draco was still in the mood from the night before. Harry didn't press him during breakfast – an event Harry had taken part of, downstairs, sitting in a real chair. He was smug enough to burst, since Draco had almost had a fit when Harry had made his, albeit shaky, way downstairs.

Now they were outside, with a stern reminder from Snape to not go far. Harry had an appointment with Rayne in the afternoon, he was told. Harry was looking forward to it; it wasn't everyday another wizard recognized Monty Python. He liked the older man's sense of humor.

Harry was guiding them towards the hothouse. The summer wind was brisk enough to make him feel chilled. The steamy warmth would help when he began to interrogate Draco about what was wrong as well.

Already thinking like a Slytherin, he couldn't tell if the voice was proud or derisive. He decided he was going to be proud of the thought. The door to the hothouse closed behind them. Harry could feel his shoulders relax from the moment they had entered. He liked the place. It had a soothing air he suspected Draco would need.

"Harry?"

He led the blond to one of the benches. The formal paths snaked through the undergrowth, before leading out to the small area where the fruit trees were held.

"I wanted to talk to you," Harry settled himself on the hard stone.

"About?" Draco had a guarded expression on his face.

"Last night."

The blond turned away. "I said I'd tell you later."

"Now is later, Draco."

"Much later."

"Now."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes. I can out-stubborn you, Draco. You know I can."

Fine lines appeared around the other boy's mouth, but Harry couldn't tell if they were from frowning or trying not to laugh. "I really don't want to talk about this."

"It's bad, and because you're not telling me what it's about, it has something to do with me."

"Very egotistical."

He didn't rise to the bait. "Very smart," he countered. "Draco, come on. Tell me. It's better I find out now than later." He let a wistful note enter his voice. "And besides, I hate not knowing. People have always tried to keep me from knowing things. The Dursleys, Dumbledore, to some degree." He shrugged and realized the wistfulness wasn't an act. He really did hate not knowing. It drove him wild, in fact, he realized with a frown.

Draco sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "The reason I didn't want to tell you, is that we're not sure there's anything to be worried about."

"But you are already worried."

"It's just…rumors on the wind."

"Rumors about what?"

"Someone in Slytherin might have spilled the truth about you taking the Vision Potion."

Harry's fists closed on the edge of the seat. "Well," he said. "I can see why that would be a problem. How did you find out?"

"Someone heard a rumor on the street."

"You're worried over a rumor?"

"It's a rumor that's making the rounds everywhere. It's a Dark potion, Harry. You could go to Azkaban if they prove you've taken it."

"So says Fudge."

"So says Ministry law."

Harry swallowed. "Who in Slytherin told?"

Draco opened his eyes and leaned forward. "That's the bad part."

"Someone we know?"

He shook his head. "From what we've been able to find, they brought in a Slytherin first year and their family. Questioned them."

"Who?"

"We don't know."

"But, but…" Harry shook his head. "Did the whole House know?"

"After you fell and had that vision in front of everyone? People put two and two together."

"But the Vision Potion? People go around thinking these things?"

"I'm sure it wasn't all at once. Older years put things together. Then the younger years over heard it."

"Was the House…"

"None of them were upset, Harry. Don't be worried."

"But if the first year…"

"They brought the family in because the child was accused of using magic during the summer. Fudge was on and on about correct family values at the time. Had to make a point of doing things by the book. Then," a muscle worked in the blond's jaw. "Then someone fed the child Veritaserum and things got worse."

"When did this happen?"

"Weeks ago."

"But…why hasn't Fudge moved on it yet, then?"

Draco turned and stared at him. "You have a point."

Harry raised his eyebrow at him. "See, I'm good from something."

Draco twitched. "You're good for more than that," he said. Harry blushed, grew flustered, and looked away.

"Still, that doesn't answer why Fudge hasn't moved yet."

"True," Draco leaned back. "It may be…" A line appeared between his brows. "Well, it could be that."

"Could be what?"

"If you were trying to keep your place as Minister for Magic, Harry, and you had a damning piece of evidence that might keep you in power, when you would play the card?"

Harry scowled. "Right before the elections."

"Exactly."

"Damn."

"Yes."

"Which is in the fall."

"Yes."

"Which gives him time to verify it."

"What do you mean? He's already verified it."

Harry shook his head. "He has the word of an eleven year old child – a child which, by and by, he wasn't supposed to administer the truth serum to. What happened to the family?"

"We don't know."

"Draco, the child could have been seriously harmed by that potion!"

"I know."

"It's for adult use only! And even then people can be harmed by it! It's supposed to be used as a last recourse."

"I know. We know. Everyone knows."

"Which is why Fudge won't play the knowledge until he knows something for sure, from a source which is not illegal."

"Yes."

"What does Scrimgeour say?"

"He's gone silent. He's moved his platform more to the people, than the old families. He wants to appear independent, as Fudge is not."

"Damn."

"Yes."

Harry blew out a long sigh, his happy mood long gone. "What do we do now?"

"Now?" Draco shrugged. "We look for the family. If we can find out for sure that Fudge did what he did, then we have a card to strike back with."

"But…" A thought occurred to Harry. "If the rumor's going about that I've taken a Dark potion, then hasn't the way the person knows come out as well?"

The other boy frowned. "I'm not sure. If it has, then there might be two rumors going around. One in support, the other against."

"Great. Dueling gossip circles."

"It could be worse. They could be working in tandem against you."

"Don't remind me."

They sat in silence for a while, each occupied with their own thoughts. After a length of time, Draco turned to Harry.

"Why did you want to come here for this talk?"

Harry blinked at him, drawing his thoughts to the present. "I like this place."

The glint in the blond's eye had taken a different turn. "I took you here last winter."

"Yes," Harry felt his face warm.

Draco leaned forward so he could touch the reddened cheeks. "I meant every word."

"I know."

Draco drew closer to Harry. "I especially liked the ending of that conversation we had."

"Which one?" Harry curled his hands around the other boy's wrists, not to pull him away, but to keep him in place.

"You know which one."

A grin curled up one side of Harry's mouth. "Maybe you should remind me of what happened. Could be I'm getting forgetful. You never know."

qp

Their laughter was interspersed with moments of long silence. Adrianna Malfoy let the branch drop back into place, shielding the boys from view. The ghost turned away, joining the shade of her husband in the warm light filtering in through the glass. She was glad the boy had returned. He was just what her Draco needed.

qpqpqpqp

The ride across the rippling waves had made the priest sick. He'd clung to the edge of the rail, clad in his motley array of current fashion and vomited up what little he'd had in his stomach.

But the pain had been worth it. He stood on the shores of the land he'd once called his enemy and let his hands fall to his sides. The call of his God was close. Very close. The hungry, warm presence was an anchor to his soul. He turned and began walking along the beach, startling families who had come to the shore for a holiday retreat.

The winding path took him past narrow cliffs and chest high waves that tried their best to batter him against the sharp rocks. Every step brought him closer to his God, the sole center of his attention. He was almost there.

The black cloud of ether detached itself from a cave that smelled of rot and pestilence. It was a scent as familiar to the priest as his own skin. The cloud resolved itself into the hazy outline of a man. The image was fleeting, but the priest dropped to his knee anyway, hands pressed against the wet sand in supplication.

Beloved, the voice resonated through his bones. It made him want to weep, but he had long forgotten how. An ethereal hand passed across his brow. I heard the screams of the first-born. You have started your work well.

"My Lord," he stayed bowed, all but shaking where he knelt.

We must have more, child of the Masraige clan.

"Yes, my Lord."

Your name, the God stirred. Your name has been forgotten in these green lands.

"Yes, my Lord. As has yours."

Then we must fix that. The God drew him to his feet. Lips which felt like rotting meat were pressed to his. The priest opened his mouth and drew in his God, supplicant, serving and sweet. He swallowed down the bitter tang of his God, praying as only his Order had known how.

Now come, the God drew him further down the beach. It is long past time we rebuilt the world into our own image.

The Priest followed in his master's wake, his mind vibrating from the knowledge his God had poured into it. There was a town, this wizarding town, some ways down the beach. He would not stop until he found it. They would not stop until all the world remembered the name of his God.

Crom Cruach and his Priest had been reunited.

End Chapter Thirteen