Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN:
Hi everyone, here's the long due chapter!
I just want to let you know that I have already started to post this fic in Archive of Your Own (AO3) as well as in adultfanfiction. In both sites, my author's name is the same as in here, FirePhoenix8, so you'll be able to easily find me there.
I hope you enjoy this long chappie and let me know what you think!
Part I: Chapter 32
"I don't get it," said Harry bemusedly as he took another glance at Felicity's Daily Prophet. "What are Dumbledore and McLaggen arguing about now?"
It was Sunday morning, the last day of school, and the Prewett twins and him were in an empty classroom. He had finally managed to get together with them, out of sight from their respective housemates. It hadn't been easy, but through a series of exchange of letters by owl they had all agreed on where to meet without rising suspicion from their Houses.
Earlier in the morning, during breakfast, the students had received their Daily Prophets and Harry had been confused when he had read the front page's article of Tom's newspaper.
Felicity huffed as she took her Daily Prophet and unceremoniously stuck it inside her school bag as if it was a dirty, smelly sock that was offensive to her sight. "Of course you don't understand. They don't really explain what is truly happening – they still write as if the Minister of Magic believed and supported Dumbledore's claims from the start!"
"No need to throw a hissy fit, sis," said Felix rolling his mismatched eyes.
"Of course I do!" snapped Felicity incensed, her ginger curls bobbing up and down as she swirled her head around to glower at her twin. "The gall of it! If it wasn't for Father's letters we ourselves wouldn't even know what's going on!"
"Er, right, so what is going on?" pressed Harry with curiosity.
"Just another quarrel between Dumbledore and Minister McLaggen," replied Felix, letting out a tired sigh as he dismissively flipped a hand.
"About what, exactly?" said Harry insistently, though he eyed them warily in case it had anything to do with the Dark Lord. Talking about Grindelwald was a very touchy subject, and he took special care of never mentioning the Inferi or asking about it. What had happened to their Aunt Nettie was something the Prewett twins had never again broached.
"I'll tell you about what," bit out Felicity, her beautiful features darkening with anger. "McLaggen thinks recruiting more Aurors is enough. All he's done to prepare for war is lower the NEWT requirements for those who want to become Aurors, to make the Ministry test to become an Auror easier to pass, and to shorten the years of training."
She scowled as if Charlemagne McLaggen was standing right there and she could harshly impress upon him her dissatisfaction through her glare, as she added crisply, "But Dumbledore has been trying to convince the Winzengamot that other measures are necessary." She leaned forward toward Harry, as she whispered secretively, "Dumbledore insists that the Ministry's Unspeakables should be working on creating new wards that could protect wizarding houses, towns, and areas like Diagon Alley, from muggle weaponry. He thinks Grindelwald might use muggle warfare inventions against us and he wants wizarding communities to be protected against such things."
Felix nodded with a wizened air about him. "Yeah, from those pomp things that muggles throw from the skies."
Harry stared at the boy in befuddlement for a second, before his face cleared with sudden understanding. "Oh, you mean bombs?"
"Exactly!" piped in Felicity, though her expression turned worried and concerned the next instant, as she pinned Harry with her mismatched eyes and added quietly, "Rumors say that those thingies destroy whole buildings and kill everyone around. Is it true?"
"Well, yes," muttered Harry, blinking at her. "I've never seen it happening myself, but I know a man who fought in the muggles' Great War and he always said that bombs flattened everything in the area they were dropped in." He frowned at her, nonplussed. "But Diagon Alley has wards, doesn't it? And Hogwarts and wizards' houses-"
"Not against new muggle things!" interjected Felicity quickly, her hands fretfully twitching on her lap. "Wizards don't know how muggle weapons work, and we've never been in a situation like this one, where new muggle weapons could be used against us in a war that's going on in the Muggle and Wizarding World at the same time!"
"True," said Felix, bobbing his head up and down. "According to Father, after what happened to Czechoslovakia, all the Ministries of Magic left in Europe are scrambling to get their hands on magical artifacts that can be used as weapons, against Grindelwald's muggle and wizarding forces alike."
"That's the problem," pointed out Felicity, her expression vexed. "McLaggen refuses to make his Unspeakable work on creating a new type of ward that could work against muggle weaponry because he says that they should focus on offensive measures and not defensive ones." She leaned forward to add in a rushed out whisper, "Father says that they are trying to figure out how to use the magical artifacts they have in the Department of Mysteries as weapons. And, apparently, McLaggen even paid a visit to Gringotts, trying to convince the Goblins to lend the Ministry the magical treasures and artifacts they've been stealing and hoarding since the dawn of times."
Harry brightened at that, a sudden surge of hope rising in him. "Did the Goblins agree?"
"No, of course!" snorted out Felix, rolling his eyes. "They're like dragons when it comes to their stuff. And I dare say that they couldn't care less about what happens to wizards." He shot Harry a pointed look. "They've never liked our kind, you know? They are happy enough to serve us by keeping our galleons in their vaults but that's just because they earn hefty profits from it, nothing more."
"Very true," said Felicity in small, sad voice. "If we had treated them better in the past, we wouldn't be having these problems now. They would probably be our allies instead of standing by the sidelines gleefully waiting for our downfall."
Felix loudly scoffed, before he griped acerbically, "Even if we had been all lovey-dovey with them, Goblins would have never helped us, Lissy. They care about nothing but their treasures."
"Maybe," retorted Felicity, her voice firm and strong as she shook her head. "Still, I think it's utter folly that McLaggen is once more disregarding Dumbledore's suggestions. If Dumbledore thinks wards are important then the Minister should be focusing on that!"
"Dumbledore is not a Seer, sister," pointed out Felix, looking exasperated and annoyed beyond measure, clearly having had that very same discussion with his twin many times before. "He doesn't have to be right about every little thing! Even if you think that the sun sets at his say-so and that he farts rainbows!"
"I beg your pardon!"
As the twins unsurprisingly engaged in a round of heated bickering, Harry was left bemusedly pondering about the whole matter, a frisson of apprehension ominously coiling in his stomach.
It didn't help matters that he had one more thing left to do before the End of Year Feast in the Great Hall.
Indeed, an hour and a half later he was standing in the middle of an empty classroom in the dungeons, uneasily shifting from one foot to the other as Tom used a ladle to pour a potion into a flask - the very same potion his brother had been brewing and letting stew for the last six months, keeping his end of the bargain in exchange for Harry learning German in three years.
Alphard was there, as a friend and to lent moral support, Harry surmised, and Dorea too, since the girl had sternly ordered him to fetch her when he would be taking the eyesight-correcting potion.
"It seems to be of the proper color and consistency," declared Dorea approvingly as she took the flask from Tom's hand and brought it up to her face to inspect it closely.
"Of course it is," drawled Tom arrogantly, shooting her a scathing look, "I was the one who brewed it."
Harry, for his part, was eyeing the cauldron from where the potion had come from with apprehension and revulsion. There was still some left there, and it was bubbling and churning, looking like vomit and giving off an awful stench.
"Here you go, Riddle," said Dorea, holding up the flask to Harry. "Bottoms up!"
Harry grudgingly took it, his nose scrunching in disgust as he caught a horrible whiff coming from the vial. He glanced at the girl as he said in a small, piteous voice, "Do I have to drink it all?"
"Yes, you do," replied Dorea curtly, casting him an impatient look.
"Are you sure about this?" suddenly whispered Alphard to him, standing close so that they couldn't be overheard by the other two. He eyed Harry anxiously as he added in a hasty murmur, "You know that the potion's rate of success isn't that good-"
"Hush!" whispered Harry in alarm, covertly glancing at Tom and Dorea who were several feet away. "Tom doesn't know about that – it wasn't in the book." He then shot his friend a pointed look. "And you know that if I don't take it Dorea won't let me try for the Team next year."
Alphard's shoulders slumped at that and the boy remained quiet, merely giving him a brief nod of the head.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" snapped Dorea, scowling at Harry, with hands on her waist as she tapped a foot on the floor.
Harry released a heavy sigh before he pinched his nose with one hand, tilted the tip of the vial into his mouth with the other, and scrunched his eyes shut. The potion tasted as horribly as it looked and smelled, slimy clumps of who-knew-what thickly rolling down his throat as he gulped.
Abruptly, his grasp went limp, making the flask fall and smash against the stone floors, loudly breaking into shards of glass, as he was suddenly encompassed by burning waves that lashed throughout his body. Everything seemed to sizzle and spasm in unbearable scorching pain.
He heard Alphard crying out in dismay, sounding as if it came from a faraway distance, and he found himself bending in half, heaving and choking, his hands attempting to grip his throat and face which seemed to be throbbing and pulsing.
"Don't rub your eyes!" Dorea's voice yelled, as Harry felt delicate hands clutching his wrists, preventing any further movement. "Touching your eyes now is what could make you blind, boy!"
Harry hadn't even realized that he had been attempting to scratch his eyes out – his eyeballs felt as if they were blistering and melting, everything felt so hot.
"What?" Tom's voice snapped furiously. " 'Obscure Brews to Correct the Senses' didn't say anything about the drinker going blind!"
"Of course it didn't, Riddle," said Dorea with vexation, her hands releasing Harry's wrists, the girl apparently turning around to deal with his brother. "That book was written for Potions Masters. The author assumed the reader would implicitly know about the risks inherent in every brew-"
"If I have to take care of a blind brother for life I'll make you rue the day you were born, Black! I'll make you suffer worlds of pain-"
"I would like to see you try, Riddle!" said Dorea's voice sneeringly.
"Shut up you two, you're not helping matters!" abruptly roared Alphard at the top of his lungs, sounding both angered and frantic, as he grasped Harry's shoulders and gave him soothing pats. "Hang on there, it will be over soon. Right, aunt? Right?"
"Get out of the way!" bit out Tom's voice and, suddenly, a pair of hands were tilting up Harry's face, carefully and gently, as Tom's voice lowered as he added in a quiet murmur, "Keep your eyes closed and don't touch your face. Everything will be fine, I promise, brother."
"It hurts," whispered Harry in a small voice, making considerable efforts to obey the instructions, his hands twitching at his sides with the need to bring them up and rub away the incessant stabbing prickles that were painfully piercing his closed eyes.
"I'm sure it does," said Tom, sounding angered and annoyed but also clearly staving off his temper to remain calm for his sake, before his voice became as hard as stones as he added darkly, "Don't worry, if you go blind I'll make her pay. And I'll also find a way to cure you, you have my word."
Vastly comforted by that, since he knew that once his brother made up his mind he was capable of attaining anything, Harry did his best to remain still and collected instead of allowing himself to be gripped by frenzied worry.
"When will he know if it has worked?" demanded Tom's voice harshly.
"As soon as it stops hurting," replied Dorea stiffly. "When that happens, he can open his eyes again. Then, we'll know."
"You better pray to whatever you believe in that it works, Black," spat out Tom's voice, the tone very low and menacing. "If I'm saddled with a disabled twin-"
As Tom kept venting his spleen and the two of them traded threats, sneers and scathing remarks, Harry suddenly felt it happening: just as abruptly as the pain had come, it left as swiftly.
When he slowly and very carefully opened his eyes, he was encountered with the sight of Alphard's face. While Tom and Dorea were still railing at each other, his friend was standing right in front of him, his concerned expression brightening and turning vastly relieved when their gazes locked together.
"Your eyes are green," whispered Alphard, letting out a long, deep exhalation of breath. "They aren't milky – they don't look blind. How is your sight?"
Harry blinked and then stared at the boy's face. It was filled with details he had never seen before: some tiny freckles on the bridge of the boy's nose, small lines around the corners of the lips as they quirked upwards into a wide grin, flecks of blue in Alphard's grey eyes and so forth.
Marveled by a clarity he had never experienced before, Harry glanced at his surroundings, feeling awe and a powerful surge of happiness.
"It worked!" he breathed out cheerfully. "I'm fine – I'm more than fine! It's fantastic!"
That alerted the other two and Tom and Dorea were soon crowding around him.
"See! I knew it would go well!" said Dorea dismissively, clearly downplaying the whole affair to then shoot Tom a reproving glare for his attitude.
Tom, for his part, was eyeing Harry closely with dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, apparently inspecting every inch of him.
"We were lucky," he stated in the next instant, murderously scowling at the girl before he turned to widely smirk at Harry, bringing a hand forward. "Well, at least I won't have to see you wearing your stupid, ugly glasses ever again. Give them to me."
At that, Harry plucked them out from the pocket he had stowed them away into for safekeeping, quickly taking a step back when his brother made a move to swipe them out of his hands, clearly with every intention of breaking them in half.
"I'm keeping them," said Harry hastily as he held them up to Dorea. "Can you, er… make the lenses be normal? I mean, you know, with no-"
"Oh, you want them to have no augmentation?" said Dorea, gazing at him quizzically before her expression cleared and turned triumphant. "Why, excellent idea, Riddle! You want to keep wearing them so that when you play Quidditch without your glasses the Gryffindor Team will think you're playing with bad eyesight. The misconception will give us a further advantage!"
As the girl quickly cast a spell on the eyeglasses, Harry stared at her with bemusement. He hadn't even thought about that. No, his reasons were other: firstly, he couldn't go back to the orphanage without his glasses, he had no way of explaining why he didn't need them anymore; secondly, he was used to and liked to feel the weight of them on his face; and foremost, they had been Alice's present to him, he would always treasure them due to that.
It was thus that he finally found himself in the Great Hall, at the End of Year Feast, wearing his modified glasses though now with a superb, sharp and unencumbered sight, with Tom seated by his side, not looking too content that Harry was still using his 'ludicrous, hideous, round glasses' that according to Tom made Harry look more stupid than he already was.
Even having the Great Hall all donned in Slytherin colors and banners didn't seem to have uplifted Tom's mood.
It hadn't been that much of a surprise when Headmaster Dippet had made his speech, making the final count of House points. The Gryffindors might have won the Quidditch Cup, but as expected, given the jeweled hourglasses hanging outside the Great Hall, Slytherin won the House Cup. And it was all due to Tom, every Slytherin knew that.
When the Headmaster announced it and changed the decoration of the Great Hall, even some of their housemates had nodded at Tom or shot him brief, curt approving glances.
Tom had loftily and arrogantly nodded back, since those points of advantage over the Ravenclaws were due to all the questions the boy answered with utter perfection during class or due to all the essays he had sold to Slytherins and the tutoring lessons he imparted at a price. Yet, after that, Tom had gone back to darkly scowl down at his bowl of soup.
Harry didn't think it was so much due to the eyeglasses-affair but to the fact that they would soon be back in the orphanage. His brother had certainly tried to slither out from having to return, but Harry had given him no quarter.
"I showed you the letter I received from Hutchins two weeks ago," Harry had said sternly. "His friends and Old John Bryce's have already given him a list of names – of all the Gaunts they've heard about who are living in Lancashire or Yorkshire. Hutchins says he has a whole list of names and addresses. We have to go back!"
Furthermore, Robert Hutchins had even made preparations for them. The man had insisted that the North was no place for two young boys to be traipsing about with no adult as guide and guardian.
According to the muggle, northern England was nothing like London: it was a land of 'mining towns, and mills and factories, with widespread poverty, and constant Union strikes that turn violent and dangerous since the police always break them up with the use of their batons, and even gunshots are fired when workers retaliate by throwing stones and wrecking factories or burning machinery. No, you boys cannot go without me.'
Apparently, the plan was that they would take a train to Liverpool, where a friend of Hutchins would be waiting for them. The man had generously offered his home for the three of them to stay and use as a base, allowing Hutchins the use of his motorwagon, so they could travel across the counties, towns and cities, paying visits to all those Gaunts, during a whole week.
Harry didn't know what excuse Hutchins had given Alice to explain why they would be gone from the orphanage for so long and with him, but in his letter, the man had assured him that everything was settled.
"Besides, you cannot stay," Harry had added to end the discussion. "No students are allowed to remain at Hogwarts during Summer Holidays."
"I heard that a Gryffindor did, last year," pointed out Tom, fiercely scowling at him.
"Oh, that was Minerva McGonagall," said Harry, flapping a hand dismissively. "The Prewett twins told me that was only because her mum was sick and Minerva's dad didn't want her to catch it. It seems it was some illness that is dangerous for children. So Headmaster Dippet let her stay because he's friends with Minerva's dad." He rolled his eyes. "It was a one-time thing."
"I see. It was a personal favor, then. It's all about connections and favoritisms and nepotism as always," grumbled Tom darkly, for the first time looking angered and annoyed at the very same things that he had always hailed and considered positive, useful human traits – 'corruption is what oils the world's cogs and makes it work to perfection', as his brother had once put it.
Harry had the inkling that what bothered Tom wasn't the fact that McGonagall had been allowed to stay at school once, but rather that Tom wasn't yet in a position in which he had those 'useful connections' he could take advantage of.
"I'm going back to the orphanage," Harry had finally stated curtly. "If you want to try and convince Dippet to let you stay, then do it. I'm still going."
Tom had grunted at that, remaining silent, but when Harry had been packing all his things, his brother had followed suit.
Since then, Tom had been in a very tempestuous, dark mood and Harry, no fool, had been tiptoeing around him.
"What does he see in her? He could have any witch, and he fancies her?"
At those violently and viciously spat out words, Harry gazed up from his plate of delicious food to glance at the Slytherin girls that were shooting glares towards the Staff Table.
During the Feast, all his housemates had been behaving themselves very smugly and proudly after they had won the House Cup, but apparently he had missed some new trail in the conversation.
"She's pretty," said Thaddeus Avery gruffly, a half-chewed potato dropping from his flapping mouth along with a thread of saliva.
"That's revolting - swallow before you speak, you disgusting idiot!" snapped Capricia Carrow, glowering at the boy.
"Pretty or not," interjected Priscilla Pucey, her eyes narrowed to slits, "she's still a halfblood!" She then swiftly turned to the boy at her side, as she demanded sharply, "You wouldn't give someone like her the time of day, would you?"
"Certainly not," drawled Abraxas Malfoy impassively, as he kept cutting his food into tiny bits, in such a poised, elegant and delicate manner, as if he was in display in some type of showcase, that Harry nearly snorted into his pumpkin juice.
Harry only realized what they were griping about when he caught sight of Professor Tilly Toke at the Staff Table, seated right next to Miss Nightingale. The two of them were very close together, whispering among themselves, Tilly Toke gorgeously smiling while the Mediwitch blushed and fretted with her hair or laughed and giggled at some joke or funny thing the wizard must have said.
Utterly surprised, Harry stared at the pair, blinking.
"Well, they have been at it for the last couple of weeks," remarked Druella Rosier, her beautiful fair features becoming marred with contempt. "He is clearly courting her in all seriousness."
"He could do much better," groused out Priscilla Pucey, viciously stabbing her food with a fork.
'Last couple of weeks?' Harry wondered to himself, though, admittedly, he wasn't one who took notice of such things, so he could have missed it altogether.
Nevertheless, the news left him in very high-spirits. Lately it seemed that all his favorite people were getting together: first Robert Hutchins with Alice, then Dorea Black making up with Charlus Potter, and now his two favorite adults in Hogwarts - his Charms Professor and Hogwarts' Mediwitch who was always so nice to him.
He was in such a cheerful mood that he even grinned and waved at the couple seated on the High Table when he left the Great Hall. His good spirits didn't last for long, though. Midway towards their dorms, they were halted by an older Slytherin carrying a note for them from Horace Slughorn.
When Tom and he went to Professor Slughorn's office to receive their pouches of galleons with which to buy their school supplies for next year, as the wizard's brief letter had instructed, they were greeted by surprising news that took him aback.
"What?" said Harry, thinking he couldn't have heard correctly.
"Professor Dumbledore has expressed a wish to talk to you," repeated their Head of House, his walrus-like, thick mustache twitching. The wizard leaned his hefty belly over his desk, as he pierced Harry with a curious gaze. "He wants to have a word in private with you, and suggested that he could kill two pixies with one stone and just give you the galleons for you boys himself, when you go see him."
Horace Slughorn paused and glanced from Harry to Tom and back, as if expecting them to clarify Dumbledore's puzzling motives.
When they remained frozen and speechless, the wizard let out a disappointed sigh and waved a hand dismissively. "I had no reason to refuse his request, m'boys. So you should best go to his office, Harry."
"I'm afraid, sir," abruptly intoned Tom, very politely and looking downcast, "that will not be possible. The Hogwarts Express will be parting in thirty minutes and my brother-" he shot Harry a harsh, chiding glance "-still hasn't finished packing." He turned to beam a charming, pearly-white smile at Slughorn. "But I, on the other hand, am all done, sir. I'll go see Professor Dumbledore myself."
Slughorn frowned at him uncertainly. "I must say that Dumbledore expressly said that it should be Harry-"
"He has packing to do," interrupted Tom, sounding deeply apologetic. "You wouldn't want us to miss the train, would you, Professor?"
Harry glanced from one to the other, and began hesitantly, "Maybe I should go-"
"Oh yes, time is ticking, you're quite right!" said Tom looking flustered and anxious, and with that, he grabbed Harry's hand and swiftly pulled him out of the office, with one last parting, "We'll see you next year, sir!"
The moment they were in the corridor, Tom dropped Harry's hand, and spat furiously, "How dare him!"
Harry glanced at him uneasily, before he released a weary sigh. His anger towards Dumbledore after the Czechoslovakia debacle had faded away with the months, and though the wizard's attempts to talk to him after class or when they crossed paths in corridors had annoyed him, he was well aware that he couldn't keep ignoring the man's existence forever.
"I will have to speak to him eventually, Tom," he said tiredly. "I might as well get it over with now."
"I think not," snapped Tom, glowering at him as they made their way to their common room. "Never forget how he has let you down. Remember all the deaths he didn't prevent. You already know that he cannot be depended upon or trusted!" His eyes narrowed to slits as he added poisonously, "I never want you to be alone with him. I never want you to even speak to him if I'm not present."
Harry eyed him uncertainly. "But maybe he wants to explain-"
"What he's doing is keeping our money hostage," hissed out Tom, so enraged that Harry's scar started throbbing painfully. "Thinks he can outmaneuver me, does he? I'll show him! As if I am going to be outsmarted by the likes of him."
His brother didn't give him the chance to say another word, and was gone so fast that it seemed that Tom had apparated himself into Dumbledore's office to deal with the man, leaving Harry blinking as he stood in front of the wall that led to their common room.
Fifteen minutes later he was standing outside the front doors of the Castle, with his trunk and Ulysses in his basket, standing in the queue for the carriages that were taking the students to Hogsmeade's station.
Tom soon arrived, pulling his trunk and with cage in hand, with a wide, smug smirk on his face.
"What's happened to you?" said Harry dumbfounded, as he caught sight of the cuts and smalls wounds scattered on his brother's hands.
"Lord Horkos wasn't too happy when I went to fetch him," said Tom matter-of-factly, shooting his vicious owl a stern look, before he pointedly sneered at Harry. "Not that I can blame him. He certainly remembers what he's going back to and isn't too thrilled by it."
Harry rolled his eyes at that. Really, that bloody owl of his brother's had become too pampered during his stay at Hogwarts' Owlery. A stint in the orphanage would do him some good. The nasty bird didn't have it as bad as Nagini, after all. She had been stuck in the orphanage's shrubbery all the while, poor thing.
"What happened with Dumbledore?" he then asked when they were alone in a carriage.
Tom scoffed snidely. "The old dingbat acted as if nothing was the matter and he had been expecting me to show up all along." He shot him a supremely self-satisfied smirk, as he continued in a low, nastily relishing voice, "But I know he must have been crushed that he didn't get the chance to have you in his clutches."
It was clear that having pulled one over Dumbledore had drastically changed Tom's mood, because his brother spent the whole trip in the Hogwarts Express smirking at empty space.
Harry, for his part, soon forgot about Dumbledore and was pleasantly occupied with wonderful daydreams. Having seen Professor Tilly Toke all cozy with Miss Nightingale made him remember what would most surely be awaiting him when he returned to London.
Hutchins had said nothing in his letter about Alice, but Harry reckoned that the man had probably proposed by now, and it meant that the muggle must have already bought the cottage in Southend-on-Sea.
He could clearly picture what was going to happen. As soon as they got to King's Cross station, Alice and Hutchins would be waiting for them, and they would be adopted and taken to live in Old John Bryce's town – they would end up as neighbors! And he liked the old man very much, and he would have a glorious summer, listening to the old muggle's tales about the Great War and swimming in the sea and making sand castles in the beach and going exploring with Tom.
And then they would take a week to go looking for Gaunts with Robert Hutchins, and they would find their father and he would be able to finally ask him all the questions he wanted answers for. And he would have a father, besides Alice and Robert as parents, and everything would be as it should, at long last.
It was going to be the best summer, ever!
"This is the worst summer of my life," grumbled Harry, utterly dispirited and depressed as he lied on his bed, lifelessly staring up at the ceiling.
"I told you we shouldn't have come back," bit out Tom acidly, his dark mood as bad as ever since they had arrived at London.
It had been months of pure torture, and Harry was counting the days for when they had to go back to Hogwarts. Only three days left, thankfully!
It had all gone down the drain when they had left Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters and entered the muggle area of King's Cross station. Harry had been utterly confused by the sights: people rushing by, with trunks or suitcases filled to the seams, glancing over their shoulders with fear and apprehension; soldiers marching by, who didn't look older than twenty, beardless and pimple-faced, looking scared as they gripped their riffles against their sides; children being pulled by their hands, crying and looking confused and panicked; and altogether such a rush of frantic activity as Harry had never seen before.
"What's going on?" said Harry completely baffled as he glanced around.
Tom frowned at a group of soldiers making their way to a train platform. "It looks as if the armies are mobilizing."
Harry snapped his head around to stare at him with wide eyes. "Mobilizing? But that would mean that we're at war-"
"We don't know what it means, yet," snapped Tom shortly, his frown turning into a scowl as he prompted Harry to move along the crowds. "Let's go. The muggles aren't here. Alice and Hutchins must be waiting for us outside."
They soon saw that the street of the station wasn't any better: motorcars rushing to the curb, chauffeurs of wealthy people unloading uncountable suitcases, boxes, and crates; poor people in layers of ragged clothes, looking as if they were wearing everything they possessed, counting shillings and pounds in agitation, as they loudly wondered if the prices of train tickets had skyrocketed again.
"Everyone's leaving London," bit out Tom darkly, murderously glaring at Harry, "while we are arriving. Brilliant idea, little brother."
Harry didn't say anything to that, he was starting to feel really troubled and worried as he glanced at harried passersby without recognizing any single one of them. "Where are they?"
It was an hour later when they saw Magda puffing and huffing, panting as she suddenly appeared amongst the crowds, running towards them wearing the tattered grey dress and apron she used in the orphanage.
"Get your things, quick!" said the caregiver without wasting any time in welcomes.
"What on earth is going on?" snapped Harry crossly, stomping a foot on the pavement out of sheer exasperation and anxiousness.
"Don't you know?" Magda shot them an incredulous look. "Doesn't that posh boarding school of yours keep you up-to-date with the news?"
"No!" gritted out Harry impatiently.
Magda huffed. "Well, I haven't got the time to explain now! We must catch the last bus of the Emergency Line or we'll have to wait three hours for the next one!"
And with that, she turned heel and rushed down the street, forcing Tom and Harry to scramble after her whilst carrying their trunks and cage and basket of their respective pets.
"It's been months of utter madness here in London, let me tell you," said Magda once they were inside a double-decker bus, squashed amidst all the other bus-goers like sardines in a can. "Don't you know that the Prime Minister announced that if Germany invades Poland we're goin' to declare war?"
Harry shot his brother an infuriated look at that, highly suspicious that Tom had kept him out of the loop. The last of Alice's newspapers clippings that Tom had shared with him had said that Britain had pledged support to Poland, but not that they were threatening Germany with open war between them.
"Did you know about this? Did Alice tell you in her letters-"
"No," bit out Tom, a seething expression crossing his face.
"Well, maybe she doesn't want to worry you, does she?" pointed out Magda as she caught sight of Harry's scowl. "But that news has everyone in a fix! Folks leaving the city, left, right and center, to go the country – those who are lucky, mind you. Folks who have relatives outside London or own summer houses, that is!" She huffed as if the injustice of it all was too much to bear. "People like me don't got anywhere to go, do we?"
"What's that?" said Harry, flabbergasted at the sight of sacks lined up like walls around some street corners that he saw through the bus' windows.
"Have you been livin' under a rock, boy?" Magda cast him a disparaging look. "What do you think they're? Air raid shelters, of course! They're all over London – everything's been turned into one, the basements of factories, schools, hospitals, department stores, and even tube stations and underground tunnels. The sacks of sand mark where folk can find a shelter in case of emergency. There're sirens all over the place too!"
Harry stared at her, deeply frowning as he prompted, "Emergency…from what?"
"The Luftwaffe," she whispered anxiously in response, as if saying the name too loudly had the power to summon the dreaded German Air Force to appear above their heads. The girl even shot a fearful, apprehensive look to the skies through the bus' window they were crammed against.
Harry shared with Tom a glance that spoke volumes, before he turned to the caregiver once more, as he muttered under his breath, "Right. So things are bad here, are they?"
"Yay, but we are lucky, we are, at the orphanage," whispered Magda secretively, glancing around as if anxious that she could be overheard by the other bus-goers, "because the house is old and got a wide cellar, you know? Not our neighbors, though. We had to turn them away, we had, when they wanted to use our basement. But we can't all fit in there, can we!"
Harry quickly nodded in agreement, before he paused and cast her an alarmed look. "Hang on. Why did you come to get us and not Alice and Hutchins?"
"Oh, that," said Magda, letting out a nervous little cough as she jerkily waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing terribly bad, don't fret. But you'll soon know when we're back home."
That didn't reassure Harry one bit, on the contrary, he was left so filled with misgivings that he questioned Magda incessantly, but the girl wouldn't budge and refused to explain until they were back in the orphanage.
When they finally entered the house, it was so changed that it looked completely foreign to him. Gone were all the colorful decorations and toys lying all around the place like in Christmas Holidays. Now it was grey, dark, and grim, as if the house had been stripped to its bare essentials, feeling gloomy, desolate, and oppressive.
"Where's everyone?" said Harry in puzzlement, having expected to see all the children running around and his friends waiting for him, as usual.
"In their rooms," stated Madga curtly as she helped them haul their trunks towards the stairway, "because-"
"I still don't understand why he did it, Kathy! How could he!"
The distraught, sobbed shout resounded throughout the whole house, and Harry halted, mid-motion of putting a foot on the first step of the staircase, when he recognized the voice.
He was halfway down the corridor that led to the kitchen -since through its parted door he could see Kathy Cole and Alice Jones inside, seated around the table with cups of tea in hand, Alice with her head bowed down, letting out disconsolate sobs and cries- when Magda stopped him.
"Don't go there," whispered the caregiver sharply, shaking her head at him as she pulled him away. "Alice needs some time alone."
"Be proud of him, girl!" came Kathy Cole's stern voice. "He's doing his duty, he wants to fight for our country and our liberty, lass!"
"He has two fingers missing!" cried out Alice wretchedly. "The army doctor should have turned him away not given him the all-clear!"
"He can still hold a gun, can't he? Two missing fingers from a left hand is nothing!"
To Harry, it seemed as if his world had violently tipped over, his face lost all color and his stomach began to roll sickly as he grasped Magda's apron and demanded desperately, "Where's Hutchins?"
"He enrolled in the army, two days ago," murmured Magda, a pained expression etched on her face. "As a volunteer."
Harry frantically shook his head, as he choked out hoarsely, "No. He couldn't have. He promised he would…"
He clamped his mouth shut, dropping his gaze to the floor, staring at the wood boards in silence, feeling as if he was sinking into the dark, suffocating depths of moving quicksands.
"He took me to a side before he left," whispered Magda, as she took out something from her apron's pocket. "Asked me to give you this and tell no one about it."
Snapping his head up, Harry swiftly yanked the envelope from her hands, instantly tearing it open, with his heart loudly thumping in his chest and his breathing hitching in his throat as he unfolded the piece of paper inside. It was the list Hutchins had mentioned: the names of Gaunts, with their complete addresses in some cases or just the name of the towns they lived in, in other.
At the very end, there were a couple of sentences that looked as if they had been scribbled down in a rush:
I know how much you want to find your relatives, but I ask you to wait. Do not go up North without me. I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to you up there. Wait for me. I'll be back.
"What does he say?" asked Magda, brimming with curiosity.
"It's none of your damn business!" yelled Harry at her, suddenly feeling so angry and scared and fearful that he wanted nothing more than to lash at the stupid woman for butting her gossipy nose into his affairs, his hand curling into a fist and crushing the paper within it.
"Well, I've never!" huffed out Magda, puffing like an affronted pigeon before she briskly flounced away.
At Tom's unsympathetic and impatient prodding, Harry moved mechanically as they took the stairs and dragged their things into their bedroom.
He felt utterly numb, even after he let Ulysses out of his basket and sat on his bed with the little Scorcrup on his lap licking and gently nibbling on his fingers to get a reaction out of him.
"What did you expect!" suddenly snapped Tom crisply as he stood before him, looking thoroughly vexed with Harry's behavior. "I told you he would end up fighting, didn't I? Stupid, pathetic muggle that he is, with his ridiculous and sentimental sense of honor. I told you he would end up dead."
"HUTCHINS ISN'T GOING TO DIE!" bellowed Harry at the top of his lungs, frenziedly and so enraged at his brother that he shot to his feet, making Ulysses fly through the air, as he leapt at Tom and smashed a fist into his face with all the strength that his anger and fear lent him.
In the blink of an eye, Tom's wand was painfully poking his throat, his brother's expression thunderous and so murderous with rage that Harry's head felt as if it was about to split open due to the piercing pain coming from his scar.
"You hit me," hissed out Tom, seething, furious, and half shocked and disbelieving, bringing up his left hand to touch the dark bruise already forming around his eye.
His brother's wand stabbed into his throat even deeper, and Harry trembled with the need to pound Tom into a pulp and throttle him and make him hurt until he swallowed his words and reassured him that he was mistaken and that Hutchins would be alright and would come back to be their dad and love them as he had promised.
"Go on," Harry whispered harshly, locking gazes with Tom, as he grinned nastily at him and prodded him further. "I know you want to hurt me back. Use one of the dark curses from Grindelwald's books that you enjoy casting so much. Come on, do it!" He shot him an ugly sneer as he added scathingly, "Or are you too much of a chicken?"
Tom gritted his teeth, letting out a low hiss through them. "Count your lucky stars that I can't do magic here, little brother." His dark blue eyes narrowed to enraged slits, as he spat, "This once, I'll forgive you."
Harry let out a hollow, mocking laugh at that, as he bit out contemptuously, "You're only 'forgiving me' because you're a coward. Because of our Traces."
He shot Tom a disgusted look as he turned away, extremely disappointed that his brother wouldn't be helping him vent his frustration and fear, with so much bundled, frantic energy and swirling, frenzied emotions that he didn't know what to do with himself.
Tom didn't speak to him from then onwards, though he did darkly glare at Harry and venomously sneer at him constantly, and Harry nastily snickered every time he caught sight of Tom's black eye and reveled in the satisfaction that he had at least caused that.
Nevertheless, Harry's dejection was profound after he had stuck Hutchins' letter in the hole they had under the loose floorboard of their bedroom. He couldn't even muster any interest in looking for Gaunts, even if he had the list.
He knew what it all meant.
According to what Magda had said, muggles fully expected that Poland would be next, and Harry knew that Grindelwald would not stop until he had at least conquered the whole of Europe, and Dumbledore had already proven he wasn't up to task of preventing it.
As weeks passed, he had no idea where Hutchins was, but he knew how the muggle was going to end up. Old John Bryce's tales about the Great War, that had always sounded so exciting, adventurous and courageous to him, turned into nightmares, where he saw Hutchins lying in rat-infested trenches, starved, filled with lice and ill with fever and disease as he drunk from muddy water, coiled and trapped in barb wire as his body shook every time it was pierced by artillery bullets, desperately scrambling on hands and knees as he choked and suffocated in a field infused with mustard gas, being brutally tortured as a prisoner of war, or with his head split open from a bullet and whatnot.
It became so severe that Harry felt he wasn't sleeping a wink and dark circles appeared under his eyes, and one night, during his nightmares, his frantic screams had even woken Tom up.
"I've had enough!" spat Tom, finally speaking to him for the first time as he harshly shook Harry awake. The boy looked as exhausted as Harry felt, as if Harry's nightmares hadn't been letting him sleep either, looking thoroughly ruffled and disheveled.
Tom finally glowered at him as he slipped into Harry's bed and grudgingly threw an arm over Harry's shoulders, pulling him close, as he bit out impatiently, "Fine. Hutchins isn't going to die, alright?"
"Alright," murmured Harry softly as he groggily stared at him, half taken aback by his brother's unusual display of consideration and kindness and half relieved to feel Tom by his side. He sunk into his brother's arms, cuddling up under the sheets, and had his first night of true rest since returning to the orphanage.
However, the optimist attitude that Tom faked for his sake was offset by everyone else's behavior. Harry had soon realized that everyone had gone a tad bonkers.
Billy Stubbs went around the house clutching a pillow, which he gripped frenetically over his head every time he heard a loud noise coming from outside.
"That was a motorcar in the street, again," pointed out Harry tiredly. "Why do you go around with that, anyway?"
Still crouching on the floor, with pillow over his head and eyes wide with fear, Billy gasped out, "To protect me from a bomb! What if the walls fall down on us, huh?"
Harry shared a glance with Eric Whalley at that, both of them shaking their heads and muttering under their breaths. Out of everyone in the orphanage, only Eric had remained sane, in Harry's view.
Amy Benson had once yelled at Eric and him, accusing them of being 'immature boys' and of not taking matters seriously, and from them on had stuck with her girl friends. They all went around the orphanage moving in packs and clutching each other, looking terrified and frequently sobbing on each other's shoulders.
The caregivers weren't any better.
"What do you mean that we cannot play outside?" demanded Harry utterly scandalized. "It's summer! It's hot! We cannot be cooped up in here all the time!"
"Oh yes," snapped Karen at him, "just go outside and play in the backyard so that the Germans see you from their airplanes – they'll be very happy to drop a bomb on you, I'm sure!"
"They cannot see us from up there!" retorted Eric Whalley, Harry's sole brother-in-arms in fighting for their playtime rights.
"Do you want to take the chance?" bit out Karen snarkily at them – she, who had always been the most soft-spoken and gentlest soul from the lot of caregivers, as much as Alice had once been. "Be my guest, then!"
"They've lost their marbles, they have," whispered Eric at him when the girl had left, looking thoroughly shocked. His eyes went wide when suddenly catching sight of someone over Harry's shoulder, and he added in alarm, "Alice! Let's scram!"
And they swiftly did, in a panic and scared out of their wits.
It was Alice who, from the start, had laid down the new rules in the house. They were forbidden from going out to the street, their usual trips to commercial London had been cancelled for the foreseeable future, every time one of the children dared to raise their voice too loudly, she would ill-temperedly snap at them to be quieter, and she didn't want to hear any complains about the food served or the scarcity of it.
Furthermore, Alice stuck around the radio like someone possessed, her eyes always bloodshot and puffy as if she was constantly sobbing in the solitude of her bedroom, with a case of dark circles and bad hair worse than Harry's. There was a new radio station that had begun broadcasting, giving news, suggestions and advice, and Alice was assiduously loyal to it and followed it to a T.
For starters, Blackout had been enforced in London, which meant that as soon as the sun set all lights had to be turned off, and in the orphanage they were all left in utter darkness and had to frantically grip the banisters at night to be able to reach their rooms, because candles –the only thing that could be used since their light couldn't be seen by airplanes in the sky– had become expensive and couldn't be afforded.
Then, for buying food, Karen and Magda went out, always together and rushing to get it over with in the briefest amount of time possible. Following the radio station's suggestion, the orphanage was stocking up as much as it could, mostly buying non-perishables like cans of food and sacks of potatoes and beans, all of which were strictly rationed since it seemed that everyone was doing the same and prices had skyrocketed.
Harry's tummy was constantly grumbling and even when he was awake he dreamed about tasting again Hogwarts' food and partaking of its sumptuous feasts.
Though he certainly didn't dare complain to Alice about it, not after the day he had seen her shrieking hysterically at the radio after the news it had delivered.
"The IRA just had to plant a bomb now! Twenty-five dead in Coventry? As if we didn't have enough on our plates with the Germans! Now the Irish too! The Irish!"
She had looked so sleep-deprived and demented that Harry had only mustered up the courage to ask her for news about Hutchins one day. In retrospection, he didn't know where he got the bravery and gumption from.
"Of course I've been writing to him!" snapped Alice at him, scowling as if Harry had just cast aspersions on her honor and pre-wifely duties. "The army is forwarding my letters to him – wherever he is, because he can't say where he is, can he? That's what he wrote to me last time." She let out a crazed bark of laughter, as she mimicked viciously, "I'm well, my love, do not concern yourself over me. I'll soon be back with you!" She cast Harry a dark, seething look, as she bit out angrily, her arms frantically flailing around, "As if that is supposed to comfort me! It doesn't comfort you, does it, Harry? So of course it doesn't comfort me – why should it? He should have never enlisted – he's a middle-aged man, he's in his thirties, practically ancient! Don't you agree? Don't you? Don't you?"
Harry instantly nodded, utterly scared of her, and didn't think twice before he turned tail and fled from her. After that, he gave Alice a wide berth.
Regardless, the worst thing of all had been the air raid sirens all around London. They had gone off, blaring and unbearably screeching, twice – which proved to be the most miserable nights of Harry's life.
The first time, they had all been climbing up the stairs to reach their bedrooms for a night of sleep when suddenly the sirens' wails had pierced the silence.
"THE GERMANS! The Germans are coming!" screamed Karen at the top of her lungs, standing petrified in the middle of the stairway, blocking everyone's path.
"Get a hold on yourself, lass!" said the Matron, Kathy Cole, dealing her such a forceful slap on the face that the young caregiver's head had snapped around to a side, but at least it had done the trick and Karen had been yanked out from her paralyzing fear and had jumped into action.
All the children had been hastily pulled into the basement as the sirens from the city kept blaring, and it hadn't been at all comfortable. Magda might have boasted that they at least had a cellar of their own, but it wasn't large by any stretch of the imagination.
There were some pillows and bed sheets that were distributed around, but all the cans and sacks of food were stored down there, barely leaving enough space for all of them to sit on the floor, squashed together. Harry had even ended up ensconced on Tom's lap since there wasn't an inch of space to spare.
Furthermore, between the cries and sobs of the girls, and everyone jumping at every little noise that came from the outside, fearing a bomb to drop on the house any given moment, nobody had been able to sleep a wink.
The dire circumstances, though, seemed to have resuscitated Alice's nice old way of being. She had been the one who gave soft, comforting words, and hugged crying girls and gently and motherly caressed their hair, and began to retell the fairytales of old to give all of them a sense of normalcy and peacefulness. It didn't work very well, everyone was too scared, but at least she gave it all her effort.
By morning, with all of them groaning with hunger and thirst –since Kathy Cole had refused to open the stores of food, "What if we have to stay down here for weeks? Food must be rationed!"- and sheer exhaustion, it had been Alice who had bravely climbed up to the main floor to check if all was right.
She had come down a few minutes afterwards, beaming. "It was a false alarm – the radio said!"
It didn't mean that hysterics hadn't once more erupted the second time it had happened. By the end of it, Harry was counting the seconds for when they would finally have to return to Hogwarts. As much as he loved his friends in the orphanage, he wasn't about to stay out of solidarity. The orphanage, and London as a whole, had become a very grim place.
The only flip side was that he had been able to quickly convince Nagini to forgive them and return to the house, the day he had finally slipped into the backyard, careful that no caregiver saw him or he would have to suffer such yells that would render him deaf, as had already happened every time he made bids for more liberty.
He had done his best to explain the danger she was in if, in her anger towards them, she remained living under the bushes. But the snake had only stared at him blankly as he told her about bombs, airplanes, and the Germans.
"Look," he had finally hissed impatiently, "if you want to be blown into smithereens then stay here with your hissy fit, but if you value your hide, you'll come inside with me!"
He wasn't actually certain that inside the house was safer than out, in case of dropping bombs, but he couldn't offer anything better. At least, though, they could protect her if something happened, if she was with them.
Nagini had swiftly relented as soon as Harry made a move to go into the house without her, and once in their bedroom Harry had been quick to pass her to Tom. Leaving his brother to soothe, pamper and praise her until her wounded feelings had been mollified, which took most of the summer, to Tom's ill humor and Harry's vindictive snickers.
Finally, it was three days before they had to return to Hogwarts and Harry could no longer postpone the inevitable.
"Go on," he once again insisted to Tom in a wheedling, cajoling tone of voice, "go tell Alice that we have to get out to buy stuff for school."
"You're such a pathetic little crybaby," sneered Tom contemptuously, "scared of an itty, bitty, lowly muggle chit."
"She's turned vicious when she's not all nice because the stupid sirens are blaring!" snapped Harry defensively, bristling with wounded pride.
Tom scoffed at that, shooting him a superior look before he coolly sauntered out of their bedroom.
Harry counted the seconds before he jumped to his feet and tiptoed outside, leaning over the banister of the staircase to peer down at Alice and Tom engaged in a full-blown battle of wills.
Alice was scowling, with a harsh expression on her face and hands on her hips. "What do you mean that you have to go out? Absolutely not! It's madness in the streets – it's no place for two little boys!"
"We're not little boys anymore, woman!" snapped Tom, looking darkly indignant. "We're twelve years old, and if we want to leave we don't require your permission."
"You do need my permission because you don't have the keys for the front door, do you?" remarked Alice waspishly. She then paused, looking puzzled and concerned, abruptly like her old usual self, as she inquired softly, "Are you sure that your boarding school is still operating? Most schools have shut down-"
"Our school hasn't," interjected Tom with an impatient sneer. "It's in Scotland, if you'll remember."
Alice shook her head, looking both sad and apprehensive as she said quietly, "Scotland is in the same situation as we are, from what I've heard in the radio."
"Be that as it may, our school is still remaining open," insisted Tom acidly, clearly about to lose his patience with her.
Though Harry knew he wasn't lying. They had wondered about it, but just the other day they had received their Hogwarts letters, with the list of books and other supplies they would need for second year.
"Well, if you're certain," murmured Alice hesitantly.
"I am," bit out Tom, before he swiveled around and left her in the dust without another word.
When he climbed up the stairs, he pulled Harry inside their room as he hissed out hastily, "Let's be quick, before the stupid muggle changes her mind and insists that we need her company."
And they did, though Harry would end up wishing they had gone to Diagon Alley some other day, because the experience certainly scarred and changed him; Tom would say for the better, but Harry was never sure about that.
It would seem to him that his childhood harshly ended that day, never to be gained back.