Dear Readers, Creator's Block is still haunting me! I somehow managed to find a breath of fresh air and get this 7k chapter done though. Enjoy it! x
19 – The Hog's Head
With a plan in mind, Harry felt protected by a sense of calmness and clarity. He had spent weeks speaking over plans and visiting Hogsmeade village alongside Tom to scope out Hagrid's situation. They found that since the attack at the Burrow and the fall of the Order of the Phoenix, Hagrid was spending a great deal of time alone at the Hog's Head. If he wanted to speak to him in private, all Harry had to do was wear a disguise and enter the pub at the right time. It was a plan that kept him stable and motivated, turning an otherwise bleak and changeless few weeks into a time of careful preparation.
On the night he chose to visit Hagrid, Harry asked Tom to transform his appearance. She used strong spells and enchantments to age his skin and grow out his hair, until he had a bushy beard and moustache that made him virtually unrecognisable. Harry couldn't help but laugh when he caught sight of his disguise in a mirror. His reflection stared back through brown eyes, his thin, pale lips framing yellowed teeth.
"This is mad!" he wheezed. His voice was weak and unrecognisable. He laughed again, the sound of it disorienting.
"I'm glad you think so."
"How long will this last for?"
"Until I reverse the spell," Tom answered. "It shan't falter during the course of your conversation with Hagrid."
Harry was glad to hear it. He slipped his transformed hands into the pockets of a moth-eaten jacket they had picked up in Diagon Alley earlier that week. It was part of a thick blue and orange suit that didn't suit Harry's height. Tom had only been able to transform Harry's hands, neck, and face, leaving the rest of him vulnerable. If anyone caught sight of his arms, legs, or torso, they'd realised he was a young man, with a young body, transfigured to look elderly. It was all a costume.
"We should consider brewing Poly-juice Potion for future use," Tom mentioned quietly. "These transformations will suit our needs for tonight's task, but if we are to continue hiding our identities in order to gain information from various witches and wizards, we will need a more convincing ruse."
"That's a good idea," Harry agreed, fixing his clothes again. He wondered why they hadn't started before. "We could get some powdered Bicorn horns in Diagon Alley, then grow fluxweed before the next full moon. Though, I don't know where we'll find Boomslang skin."
"There are traders in the wizarding community who will supply it," Tom assured him.
Harry couldn't begin to imagine what sort of shops and traders Tom was aware of across Britain. He glanced at the clock above the radio she had bought him for his Birthday.
"It's nearly nine o'clock," he pointed out. "We should get going."
Tom nodded in agreement, turning away. They didn't need anything but a few galleons, the Invisibility Cloak, and their wands. Without speaking, as if a concentrated hush had fallen over the both of them, they left the safety of their house and stepped out into the Muggle world. Tom didn't say a word even when they stepped into the moonlight, but her eyes scanned the streets for signs of movement. They were secured under the Cloak, Tom's arm wrapped around Harry's, who was nervous of smelling like dust and muddy boots. He tried to keep his mind focused on the task ahead of him.
'Crack!'
Tom Apparated, pulling Harry along with her. They were spinning at a thousand miles an hour, the pressure causing Harry to lose his sense of reality, until they appeared on the outskirts of the familiar town of Hogsmeade. The sky was dark here. Clouds obscured sight of the rising moon, leaving a strained moment in which Harry couldn't recognise what was around him or who might be looking their way. They remained invisible. Calmly, without missing a beat, Tom began to move.
"Follow me..."
They headed through the heart of the village. Harry could hear their footsteps on the dry stone, but there was no one else nearby who might suspect a thing. Hogsmeade had become deserted in the last few months and he couldn't decide whether it was because of the summer holidays or the upcoming war. On the horizon, visible through gaps between winding houses, was Hogwarts Castle. Most of its windows were dark. No smoke rose from the chimneys. Harry had never seen it so ghostly, so deserted...
"Let us stand here," Tom suggested, pulling Harry to a deserted alcove of a building near the edge of town. "Can you find your way to the Hog's Head and back if I wait here?"
"Of course, yeah."
Harry's nerves were starting to pile up. He knew Hogsmeade well, but he scrambled to remember exactly what he planned to say to Hagrid and why. In seconds, nervousness turned to excitement. He would see Hagrid again. He could gain some information, some small slither of familiarity, after all these weeks of silence...
"Remember," said Tom delicately, watching Harry's expression, "Hagrid mustn't realise who you are. Tonight, you're not greeting your old Professor as Harry Potter. Your name is Egon Bach. You're a traveller, who's lived in Britain for most of his life."
Harry nodded, getting back in focus. "Will you wait for me here?"
"Yes. I'll watch over you."
The entrance to the Hog's Head was in view at the end of the long road. Tom would see anyone going in or out of the inn, as well as most people walking through town on nearby roads.
"Right, I'll be back in about an hour..."
Harry moved out from under the Cloak, leaving Tom alone.
The Hog's Head Inn loomed over the end of a winding street, making as little an attempt as ever to look inviting. Harry didn't stop or stall, lest it should attract unwanted attention, before heading in. The stench of sharp alcohol and burning wood clouded his nose, a stark contrast to the warm summer breeze outside. There were three or four witches and wizards seated across the pub, but Harry couldn't get a good look at them before lowering his hood, revealing his face.
He took at seat at the bar, close to where a large, slumped figure sat. There was no mistaking it was Hagrid. Harry wouldn't have been able to miss him even if he tried. At the sound of Harry sitting down, the legs of a wooden stool screeching against the dry floor, Hagrid looked up. Harry's heart leapt and it must have showed in his face, but Hagrid only saw an old man in a bright suit staring up at him. He put his head back in his hands, taking no interest.
"What can I get you?"
The innkeeper spoke in a gruff, impatient tone. Harry's eyes flicked to him, noticing the scowl beneath his long, grey beard and the anger in his blue eyes. Harry scrambled to find the right words, all the while hoping to sound like he had been ordering drinks at dingy inns for fifty years or more.
"A pint of mead. Anything good that you've got."
The innkeeper turned away, unresponsive. He didn't try to make conversation. He wasn't suspicious of Harry, which was all that mattered to either of them. He slammed a pint down on the counter as soon as it was full, taking a few coins from Harry's hand before returning to the back. Harry opened his mouth to thank him, but he was gone.
Shifting in his seat, Harry brought the mead to his lips. He ignored the taste best he could.
"Don't yeh mind him," said Hagrid suddenly. "He's no' normally tha' rude ter newcomers."
Harry turned, thrilled by his own luck and trying hard to hide it. His voice was weak and wispy when he spoke.
"What's wrong with him?"
"His brother wen' missin'," Hagrid explained shortly. "He's been worryin' 'bout it fer weeks."
Harry nodded slowly, as if he understood. The innkeeper had always been irritable, in his experience, no matter whether or not his brother was gone. He turned to face Hagrid better, meeting his black, buggy eyes.
"Do you come to this pub often, then?"
"Aye, if the occasion calls fer it," agreed Hagrid gruffly. "Which is more often 'n not, these days."
He heaved a great sigh, looking down at this large hands the over-sized glass the innkeeper had given him. Harry had never experienced speaking to Hagrid as a stranger and an equal. It was odd to hear him admit his sorrows, opening up so easily. Hagrid was beaten down. He wanted to speak to someone, anyone. For the first time, Harry was glad to be here.
"Are you a local?" he asked, deciding to start from somewhere. "I'm just passing though, myself."
"Aye, I live up by the Castle. Been livin' at Hogwarts fer most me life."
"You live at Hogwarts? As a Professor?"
Hagrid nodded steadily. "The Professor fer Care o' Magical Creatures. Got myself the job a few years back."
"That's impressive," said Harry, in a voice much too wise for him. His mind was racing. "Actually – you might be able to help me with something, now I think of it."
"Aye?"
"Yeah. My nephew, he left me a Hippogriff to look after. I've been looking for a bit of help on how to raise a fully-grown male properly. He's been fighting me like mad every time I try to get close to him. I haven't got a clue how to look after him, but I'm happy to give him free reign in my fields."
Hagrid's eyes lit up for the first time. It was the perfect story: Hagrid would tell him everything he needed to know about Hippogriffs, building trust between them as two apparent strangers. Harry could move right into more interesting conversation and leave tonight with information on the people he cared most about. Hagrid would never know what happened. He would envision this stranger forevermore living on some remote farm with a Hippogriff in his care.
"It's all abou' buildin' trust, see," said Hagrid, speaking clearly. "If yeh wan' ter gain a Hippogriff's trust, yeh have to be polite to 'im. Bow to 'im when yeh approach. Keep eye-contact an' wait fer 'im to calm down. In good time, he'll trust yeh well enough. So long as yeh don' ever abuse 'im. Abuse a Hippogriff an' yeh won' live long enough ter regret it."
"Do you reckon that'll calm him down?" Harry asked, feigning surprise. "It would be a relief. I couldn't get him to trust anyone, so far."
"Well, it's no' an easy time ter be raisin' Hippogriffs," said Hagrid heavily, "wha' with the changes goin' on in Britain, lately. Showin' respect to 'im should do the trick, but if I'm hones' with yeh, it's no surprise yer nephew gave up tryin' ter care for 'im himself."
"I know, I figured," Harry lied, laughing his wispy laugh. "By the time I realised he dropped by for a visit, he'd already put the Hippogriff in a chain out back and was halfway through scribbling down a letter to explain it. It's... Well, it's not an easy time for anyone. There's a war coming. I can tell that much – and I reckon most creatures sense it more than anyone."
Hagrid nodded sadly, swigging more mead. In the silence, Harry was nervous. His casual lies were moving onto real ground, which was a lot harder to deal with. He sought signs of doubt or suspicion in Hagrid's expression, but he was nothing but brooding.
"The world's becomin' downright sickenin'," Hagrid mused eventually. "It ain't easy for anyone, Wizard or Creature."
"Do you reckon it's going to affect anyone up at Hogwarts?" ask Harry slyly, daring to touch the subject. "When the school year starts? All these fights, these deaths in the news... Do you reckon it'll change anything?"
"Oh, yeah – there's no doubt 'bout tha'," said Hagrid sadly. "There won' be a student who isn't scared fer their family or a parent who won't worry 'bout it if they know this war is happenin'. Worse than tha', Hogwarts has been havin' some of its own problems..."
"It's own problems?" Harry repeated, interested. He felt too warm in his robes, as if someone had stoked up the fires in the pub, but he didn't dare to remove his cloak or roll up his sleeves. "What's happened?"
A glazed look fell over Hagrid's eyes. He seemed for a minute unwilling to talk about it. Harry heard the scratching of dry skin when Hagrid ran a hand over his beard, thinking over his words carefully.
"There's been a lot o' confusion up at the school, if I'm hones' with yeh. Ever since..."
Harry tried to wait, but determination was getting the better of him. "Since what?"
"Well, there ain't a witch or wizard 'round here who don' know," said Hagrid in a low voice. "Professor Dumbledore's been gone for a while now. No one's heard a word from 'im. There's been a lot o' talk in town, rumours an' such. Aberforth's downright given up hope that 'is brother'll come back. That's why he was so rude ter yeh."
"Rude to me?" repeated Harry, confused. Hagrid's voice had dropped down to a murmur at the name. Suddenly, it clicked. "You mean... That's Aberforth?"
"Aye," agreed Hagrid. "He runs The Hog's Head."
Harry was stunned. He looked around for the thin, grey-haired innkeeper behind the bar, but he was nowhere in sight. A hole felt like it were deflating his heart. He had heard Dumbledore had a younger brother, but he had conveniently forgotten about it up until this point. No one had ever mentioned Aberforth worked here. Dumbledore had never mentioned it. All this time, he had been so close to Hogwarts, but no one had seen it fit to tell Harry directly...
"Unless Professor Dumbledore comes back soon," Hagrid carried on, "I don' reckon anything'll be the same 'round here. Most people are worried sick abou' it."
"You – you think he'll return?" asked Harry, trying to get his thoughts straight again. He felt hurt, but couldn't work out why and was swiftly carried away by paranoia. He felt like people were watching him. He felt like if someone looked at him hard enough, they would see that he was Harry Potter and they would know he had murdered Albus Dumbledore.
Hagrid shifted in his seat, rising up his goblet of mead heavily.
"There ain't been word on Dumbledore, no' from anyone..."
He spoke heavily, a grimace falling over his face. Hagrid was his guidance, an important figure in his life, but he now appeared old and more forlorn than Harry had ever been able to see him as a student, as a friend.
"The worst par' is, if Professor Dumbledore doesn' come back soon, we'll have ter hire a new Headmaster an' the options ain't kind. The Ministry wants to have a say in who takes Dumbledore's place an' the only candidate they're takin' seriously is Severus Snape."
"Snape?"
Harry spat the word out. It was wrapped in seven years' worth of hatred and distaste, fuelled by fear of the man he'd much rather see dead. Snape was dangerous. He was too aware of what Harry had done. More than this, he had been next in line to take Dumbledore's life after Draco Malfoy. Harry couldn't believe anyone was considering having him around.
Hagrid turned to him, visibly surprised. For a tense moment, it looked as if he recognised Harry under all those enchantments. The blood drained from Harry's face. He tried to backtrack, thinking of any information a stranger might have known on Severus Snape's life.
"He's – he's supposed to be a Death Eater, isn't he?" asked Harry sheepishly. "Snape, I mean."
Hagrid cowered a little, as if he'd rather not talk about the subject. "Aye, well, rumours have it tha' way..."
There was something off about the way Hagrid said this. His eyes were pained. He didn't try to contradict what Harry was suggesting, and nor did he soften the accusation by the usual doubts – saying that Dumbledore trusted Snape, or that he was never convicted of being a Death Eater. No, Hagrid was openly worried. The Order of the Phoenix had fallen and for a still, terrified moment, Harry realised that alongside their downfall had come a great conflict. Hagrid no longer had any faith in Snape, because Snape had accused Harry Potter of a murder so gruesome, a betrayal so horrid, that few chose to entertain the idea.
Harry wet his dry lips, reaching for his mead. Whether or not the Order wanted to believe it, Snape had already planted the idea of his murder in their minds. Harry was sure Snape informed the Death Eaters too that Dumbledore was gone. Maybe Lord Voldemort had ordered Snape to work up at the castle in case Dumbledore ever returned, or Snape himself had suggested it to hide in cowardice against the war. Harry was angry. He wondered how much Snape had told the Order...
He tried to get his thoughts back on focus, but Hagrid himself was lost in thought. Harry took the opportunity to glance at whoever else was in the inn. There were three or four figures sitting at different tables, two of them speaking in low voices, the others alone. Harry pulled at the sleeves of his robes, trying to calm down.
"It won't be good for the students," he said, "knowing Professors Dumbledore left without notice... There have been a lot of stories going around about strange attacks."
"Aye, it ain't good."
"Do you know the Weasleys?"
The question was direct. It arose suspicion in Hagrid, who met Harry's gaze, but didn't at once answer.
"Aye, I've taught a few Weasleys," he answered slowly. "Good students. Why d'yeh ask?"
"Well, you must have heard about the attack recently," said Harry quickly. "Someone raided a wedding at the Weasley's place. I heard it on the radio – I used to know Molly Weasley. Haven't heard from her in years. I don't know who's been hurt."
Hagrid nodded slowly, looking at Harry as if he were trying to work out whether he was from the Ministry or a Death Eater. Harry could feel other eyes on him again. He wondered if Tom was alright outside.
"Aye," Hagrid agreed eventually, only slightly less wary than before. "It's a bad bit of luck, that. What's worse is, one of their youngest – Ron, if y'know him – came down with Spattergroit not too long ago. He's as sick as a dog now, he is. I don' reckon I'll see 'im fer a good few months, at leas'..."
Harry's stomach dropped.
"Spattergroit?" he repeated quickly. "How long has he been sick for?"
"Fer abou' two weeks," said Hagrid. "I heard abou' it after the attack at the weddin'... It's a real shame. He's a good kid."
Harry didn't believe it for a moment. Hagrid was avoiding speaking about the wedding and the Death Eater raid, choosing instead to state the story the Order had been told to use if Ron wasn't going to return to Hogwarts. Regardless of whether or not Hagrid knew the truth, Harry knew one thing for sure. Ron was using his decoy. He was no longer at the Burrow. He – and probably Hermione – had fled...
"It's bad luck for all of them," murmured Harry, looking away.
They fell into silence, thinking about the Weasleys. Harry didn't know whether or not Hagrid still suspected him of being a spy, but it was clear that the attack at wedding hadn't upset him. Hagrid wasn't one to hide it well if anyone had died or been seriously injured. If Ron coming down with illness was the first thing on his mind, then Harry knew he was worried about Ron and that he didn't want any stranger – Death Eater or Ministry spy – to know anything else.
Harry took one last swig of mead to leave a good impression, before standing up.
"Well, I have to get going," he said, "but thank you for telling me how to get along with a Hippogriff. I'll give it my best shot, showing respect to him."
"Alright," Hagrid grunted, giving him one last suspicious glance. "Yeh take care, now."
Harry turned to go. He heard the clinking of glasses as Aberforth showed up at the bar behind him and saw two hooded figures turn their face away from him when he glanced their way. Worry gripped him. He exited the pub hurriedly, to the streets that were dark and deserted.
In the rush of what Hagrid had told him, Harry tried to find Tom. He lingered in the spot they had last stood together in, speaking out in Parseltongue.
"Tom?"
A hand gripped his shoulder. Harry span, reaching for his wand, until Tom dropped the hood of the Invisibility Cloak. Her head floated eerily, soon followed by her shoulders and long robes. She folded up the Cloak in her hands.
"What did Hagrid have to say?" she asked delicately.
"Everyone at the wedding was okay I think," answered Harry in a rush, "but something worse happened – two things. I don't reckon Ron stuck around after the wedding. It looks like he's on his own now, probably with Hermione. Worse than that, Hagrid says that Hogwarts is looking for a new headmaster and you won't believe who the Ministry wants to give the job to. Snape."
Tom was visibly surprised. She kept her dark eyes fixed on him.
"If the Ministry have taken an interest in Snape," she said quietly, "it's surely through the Death Eaters' influence... The Dark Lord clearly wishes to keep a loyal follower close to any news on Dumbledore's whereabouts, on the chance that he isn't in fact dead."
"That's what I thought," said Harry in a rush. "Snape probably wants to be there. Anyway, I don't care what happens up at Hogwarts by this point, as long as Snape keeps his mouth shut – I'm more worried about Ron and Hermione. Hagrid told me Ron's supposedly caught Spattergroit. The Weasleys are hiding his absence."
"How long has this story been passed around for?"
"Hagrid said he's been ill for a few weeks. Which means he left around about the same time the Death Eaters crashed the wedding."
"Which means, of course, that the Death Eaters were interested in him," Tom commented quietly, thoughtfully. "They must have been looking for you at the celebration."
The thought hit Harry hard. Ron and Hermione had to flee because of him. The Death Eaters were after Ron, so where had he gone? A low, terrified idea gripped him that someone might have taken ahold of Ron, but Hagrid's casual delivery of the coverup convinced him that surely no one was in mourning. If Ron had fled and Hagrid knew, he wasn't worried. If he didn't know and the Weasleys were worried, they were hiding it well. Harry could only guess...
"Moreover, the Ministry wouldn't have been wholly against anyone searching for you," Tom carried on, mulling over the idea. "That explains the coverup in the news..."
Harry didn't want to hear it. No one had been harmed, but dread gripped him. He felt he was alone. He tried to deal with the feeling.
"That leaves only one question, then," he murmured. "Where are Ron and Hermione?"
Tom didn't answer. She was focused on something else, the horizon over his shoulder.
Harry turned around, following her gaze. Hogwarts Castle stood in the far distance, few of its windows glittering in golden firelight. The place must have been deserted of people, except for Professors and House-Elves preparing for the new school year. Harry realised, as he stood alongside Tom, that they shared a sense of loss. The war was changing everything. Hogwarts was no longer safe. The Death Eaters were tracking Harry's path, hunting down anyone who might be in association with him, no matter how innocent. They did what the Ministry itself could not do...
It took Harry a long time to realise that Tom's attention was divided. He was trying to imagine where Ron and Hermione might have run to, when he glanced over for some reassurance, sure the dread was mutual. Tom's face was turned towards the closest street. He knew on instinct that the focused, unmoving stance present on her body was one of caution. Harry followed her gaze again. There was a figure standing down the road, a silhouette that stood still, staring.
The skin on the back of Harry's neck crawled. He couldn't see the stranger's face, but there was no denying that they were being watched. Tom had noticed it for a little too long. Her dark eyes were fixated, her movements minimal. She wasn't reacting yet. She was thinking. The stranger, surely, wasn't alone.
"Who is that?" Harry hissed in Parseltongue, unable to hide his fear. "Tom, how long have they been there?"
She shook her head once, not looking at him. "I don't believe we are alone..."
Death Eaters. Harry was sure of it. He thought about the hooded figures he had seen at the Hog's Head, witches or wizards who could have easily been watching and listening onto his conversation with Hagrid...
"Come," spoke Tom softly, reaching for his arm. "We needn't stand out in the open..."
Harry followed her touch, unable to shake his fear even when she focused on a quiet lane behind her. The figure moved when they did. A second one appeared alongside it. They were interested in Harry and Tom's movements.
"What do we do?" Harry asked Tom hurriedly. "How do they know who we are?"
"We'll use the Cloak," she told him. "We'll escape into the shadows. They heard you, or else recognised me."
Harry's heart beat hard in his chest. He no longer dared to look back. They were edging towards the crooked, dark edges of the nearest houses, guided by neither wands nor moonlight. Tom's grip on his forearm was his only guidance and he was grateful that she recognised danger so accurately. They were about to turn a corner into a skinny alleyway when Harry heard it.
"... get yer hands off of me!" a voice cried behind them, bashing against the weight of a door. "I didn't do nothin' – get yer hands off me!"
Harry head span at once and he caught sight of yellow firelight spilling out from the threshold of the Hog's Head. Hagrid's voice rang across the deserted streets, his strong, booming tone explaining everything. Someone had recognised Harry. Someone had suspected him and now Hagrid was caught up in the mix.
"No," Harry breathed before he could help it, "No, they can't – !"
"We're being watched," Tom reminded him in Parseltongue. "Stay focused."
Harry didn't want to. He no longer cared about the dark alley ahead of them or the strangers stalking them. Tom's lead was nothing but a distraction. He could see witches and wizards in long robes apprehending the looming figure of Rubeus Hagrid, who carried his umbrella-shaped weapon.
"... stay back!" Hagrid's voice cried out across the streets. "Yeh've got no righ' ter take me! An' no right' ter – "
There was a flash of bright light. If the captors thought they could take down Hagrid with a single spell, they were sorely wrong – the light bounced off of him and sent panic to everyone watching. Hagrid yelled and brandished his umbrella, but didn't dare curse the witches and wizards that Harry recognised in the light of spellfire as being Ministry workers.
There were more whirls of colour – red, yellow, white – and still Hagrid didn't fall. His booming voice cried out in pain and anguish, but the sight of two figures approaching against the flash of colour deafened and terrified Harry. The Death Eaters were approaching fast with their wands drawn, their eyes fixed on him and Tom.
"Look out!"
Harry shouted the warning before reacting, but Tom already knew. Her spell cracked like gunfire, blinding Harry, and exploded in the mid-terrain in a whirl of sparks and smoke.
Harry stumbled in the direction Tom pulled him, running faster at the sound of the Death Eaters' fury. Tom threw spells that whipped the air and illuminated the high walls of houses, masking the winding alleyway they fled down.
"This way," Tom hissed as they reached a corner, turning into a nook between two houses.
Harry felt a wall slam against his back and caught sight of movement when a Death Eater fled furiously past their hiding spot. He stood shaking and staring around, waiting for the second figure to appear and for any sign of movement from Tom. She was tense, wand at the ready, listening for the sound of new footsteps.
A Death Eater was approaching. His pace was slow. Unlike his enraged partner, this wizard scrutinised the street with determined vengeance, sure that if Harry had run, he would be found by someone else soon enough. Tom was ready for the fight. Harry held his wand in a fist and watched her step from the wall. He was close behind her, expecting her to jump out any second.
Instead, Tom met stealth with stealth. The approaching figure had chosen to gamble and this was her most powerful response. It was a long, still moment before the Death Eater became aware of two faces staring out from the darkness. His eyes widened, but he couldn't react. That's when Harry saw something on his face. Fear. Not for the young girl who stood bravely before a Death Eater, but for the fearsome, unknown force that camouflaged itself in her skin.
There was a flash of green light. Tom's Killing Curse struck its target before their enemy could react. Harry couldn't believe she had done it, but watched closely as the Death Eater's weight slumped on powerless legs and he slipped, crashing to the floor. Tom paid no attention to the corpse. She reached in her robes and withdrew something, draping it over their shoulders. The Invisibility Cloak.
Harry didn't ask questions. He didn't say anything to Tom about how she had murdered someone so carelessly. When her delicate hand pulled at his arm once more, he followed her back down the street they had come from, to where Hagrid's fight had lit up the heart of Hogsmeade. The fight may was well have never happened. Hagrid was nowhere to be seen. There were no signs of commotion, no evidence of a struggle left. Tom swerved back towards the Hog's Head, intent upon a continued departure through another part of town.
Harry's attention was fixated on the door of the pub, where a cautious figure was emerging. He recognised the long, grey beard and thin face of Aberforth Dumbledore. Fear and awe had pulled in the attention of many of the townsfolk from behind their curtains in high windows, but Harry's stumbling footsteps went unnoticed and unheard before he slipped out from underneath the Invisibility Cloak. He broke away from Tom, facing Aberforth shakily.
All was quiet. Aberforth looked as if he had expected Harry to return, but that hadn't abolished his fear one bit. Harry kept track of where Tom was standing, determined to get back under the Cloak as soon as he got some answers.
"Where's Hagrid? Where did they take him?"
Aberforth's face swarmed with sorrow and defeat, despite how much he feared the old man he knew to be Harry Potter in disguise.
"I'm sorry, boy," said Aberforth quietly, "but Hagrid's in the Ministry's hands now. They'll soon be after you..."
– X –
They returned to their safe house within minutes. Tom's guidance and the aid of the Invisibility Cloak had made it easy, through Harry couldn't recall exactly how they had done it. He realised it the moment they were secured in the cold walls of their home. Tom had taken her enchantments off of Harry and was lighting a fire. The drop in volume since the fight and the release from Apparition left Harry feeling lifeless. In the rush of conflict, he'd been able to react, speak, and think clearly. Now there was nothing. Silence. Paranoia. Disbelief. They were home. They were safe. It was over.
Hagrid wasn't so lucky. The idea ebbed at Harry's mind. Hagrid was under the Ministry's control now, detained under what had to be an incredible amount of force. They might have stunned him until he was unconscious. They might have done something worse, if he was still fighting. A low, burning sensation was the only thing that made Harry feel alive now. He was angry. He couldn't believe that the Ministry had arrested Hagrid over nothing more than a casual conversation. He wanted to know who had told them. He wanted to know who had found him out. Above all, Harry wanted revenge.
Tom was standing. She had lit the fire with a few skilled flicks of Dumbledore's wand and was watching Harry closely, aware of the thoughtful depths that resided behind his unseeing eyes.
"We've done a brilliant thing tonight," Tom told him softly. "Soon, all Death Eaters will hear about our escape."
Harry said nothing. The idea was meaningless to him. Tom noticed. She studied the way he held himself, his clenched fist, his sealed lips.
"We're safe now," she added. "You needn't stir."
Still, Harry couldn't react. He wasn't sure why.
"Come, let's find something to eat."
Harry didn't want to. It felt like betrayal to just carry on living their lives as if nothing had happened. Hagrid was in the hands of the Ministry, where he would be detained and questioned about what he knew on Harry Potter's whereabouts. He'd soon learn that Harry had visited him in disguise and that he never revealed who he really was. Hagrid would be hurt. Worse than that, who knew what the Ministry would do under Lord Voldemort's influence...
"They didn't even care about the Death Eaters," said Harry in a low voice. "The Ministry. They cared more about capturing Hagrid than anything."
"Yes," Tom agreed, unaffected by the idea. "I believe the Death Eaters have been granted something close to a pardon. The Ministry have likely been searching for a reason to detain anyone who was in association with the Order of the Phoenix, so they greeted any help they could get. They may, too, have been glad to have help in their attempts to capture you."
This told Harry one thing. The Ministry had been forced to turn a blind eye upon Death Eater activity so much that there was nothing left for them to do but capture Harry. They didn't care who got hurt in the process, nor how innocent their suspects truly were.
"What's going to happen to Hagrid now? What will the Ministry do with him?"
Tom didn't answer at once. She was trying to find the right words, or else wanted to pretend she didn't know. Harry knew what that meant. He wanted to state that Hagrid was innocent, that the Ministry had no right to capture him, but they both knew this already. Nothing could be done to change anything. Harry had made a grave mistake by contacting anyone he cared about.
Overwhelmed by fury, Harry took a seat. His mind was going around in circles. Tom stood watching him, likely unable to understand what was going on in his mind.
"It would be impossible to guess what's going on within the Ministry," she said. "All we can do it keep a watchful eye."
She put the radio on. Harry heard the spinning of the dials and the calming fuzz of white noise, but never looked up. He remained where he was seated for a long time, letting words from the news wash over him as he tried to imagine how the Ministry had changed and how they might treat the Order. He imagined it was something like how the Death Eaters had been treated in the first wizarding war. There was no mention on the radio of Hogsmeade or what had happened tonight. After an hour or so, Harry gave up listening.
It wasn't until the next day that something happened. The radio had been unsuccessful in relating any important events, but Tom slipped out early that morning to see if the Daily Prophet had any news. What she brought home wasn't a paper discussing the attack last night, but something far worse. Harry read through the main article in a daze.
DUMBLEDORE DEAD?
'Speculation and panic has arisen from the heart of many Ministry offices over the absence of Hogwarts' Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, who has been neither seen nor heard from since he was sighted last in Hogsmeade in mid-June. The Ministry has begin launching a full-scale investigation into what they consider to be the murder of Albus Dumbledore, hoping to solve the case before the upcoming school-year. Many parents of Hogwarts' students have already chosen to educate their children from home in fear that the school is not being completely honest with the public...'
Harry heard the news again on the radio that night. He read it constantly in papers throughout the following weeks, each time with further details and speculations on where Dumbledore had been, but never about how Death Eaters had attacked Hogwarts the night of Dumbledore's death. Harry felt numbed each time he heard the news. He was guilty and feared the Ministry's suspicions, yet there seemed to be no escaping it.
News reports began to discuss Rubeus Hagrid's detainment too, stating that he had helped Harry Potter to escape Hogsmeade for whatever reason, but these stories were always brief and full of half-hearted lies on Hagrid's intentions. Harry was angry, but he said nothing to Tom abut it. All of the Ministry's focus seemed suddenly to be directed at Dumbledore's absence. The news became worse with each week that passed.
WHO KILLED ALBUS DUMBLEDORE?
'As The Department of Magical Law Enforcement continues to investigate the disappearance of Albus Dumbledore, information on his frequent trips away from Hogwarts Castle during the last school-term have come to the surface ... Many believe that Dumbledore feared an attack in his last months of life, so investigators are being forced to suspect those who were closest to him ... A will has been retrieved from Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts Castle, but the Ministry has taken it into custody for further investigation ...'
The news reported the same facts over and over again. Harry began to notice a pattern in the way that commentators spoke about Dumbledore. He had a suspicion about what was coming, but chose not to speak about it openly. Tom seemed to know what he was thinking. Between further news and speculation on the break-in at St Mungo's, Hagrid's arrest in Hogsmeade, the Dumbledore's death, it became clear that the Ministry was setting up the stage for the greatest news story of the year.
By the time Tom brought home an edition of the Daily Prophet with a grave expression, saying it was of great importance, Harry was ready for it.
HARRY POTTER, NO.1 SUSPECT IN ALBUS DUMBLEDORE'S MURDER
There were reports that Harry had been seen in Hogsmeade. Reports, too, that he had been missing from the school alongside Dumbledore that night. Whether friend or foe, someone had tipped off the Ministry about their theories and there was nothing Harry could do now. People wanted to stop him. People feared him for murdering Dumbledore and hated him for stealing the body of a sick, innocent girl from St Mungo's Hospital.
"The Death Eaters must have been awed to learn this," commented Tom gently. "It's unsurprising that they should announce it to the wizarding world. The Death Eaters fear you, thus everyone should. I wonder only what the Dark Lord thinks of our power..."
Harry was angry. He was frustrated. He regretted killing Dumbledore for a very different reason for the first time. There was no undoing his reputation now. As much as Tom might admire how they had defeated the greatest wizard in history once and for all, Harry was haunted. He turned back to the paper, hating how the Ministry spoke of him.
"I only did it because he was going to kill me first," said Harry in a shaking, angry voice. "I only did it to survive."
"I know," spoke Tom softly.
"They'll never understand it. They'll never listen to me."
He couldn't bring himself to shout or show his anger, but it burned in his chest. It was because of this that the Ministry had sided with the Death Eaters willingly, because of this that Hagrid had been captured, the Burrow attacked, and Ron and Hermione had been sent on the run. Everyone he cared about, everyone who meant anything to him was now being harmed in every way by his very existence. He wished desperately that he could explain it, but he understood that getting close to any one of them would be a death sentence.
"The Ministry's corrupt," said Harry flatly. "They took Hagrid and I don't reckon they're going to stop arresting people close to me any time soon... If they're going to play dirty, the way I see it, there's only one way out of this for me."
"What way might that be?"
Harry slid the Daily Prophet across the table, hating any sight of what was written there.
"We have to be stronger than them," he explained. "We have to use magic they're not willing to. I want to take the Ministry down in any way I can – treat them the same as the Death Eaters. I want to fight."
There was an awe-struck, triumphant look in Tom's eyes. She may have recognised that after days of motionless depression, Harry was going to train alongside her again and help her to track down the Death Eaters who had started all of this.
"We can fight," she promised him gently. "We can become stronger."
Harry nodded stiffly. He couldn't abolish these feelings that encased him. Knowing they were in this together made him feel better, but he didn't think he'd ever feel the same again. He was infected by anger. He was going to have to become what the Ministry said he was.
There are many different ways to react to pain, Harry reflected. He was aware, dully, that he could have picked himself up in a light way, to fight for good, to become something more than what they now said he was. However, the damage he had done to his own soul and those he loved was irreversible. He had murdered Albus Dumbledore. He had taken the life of the innocent in favour of his own protection. The moment he had been betrayed by Dumbledore in secret was the moment he was doomed to fight a gruesome, grey war.
Harry couldn't mourn any longer. He couldn't bring himself to be upset over Hagrid's capture, Dumbledore's death and betrayal, or the unsure faits of Ron and Hermione. He couldn't bring himself to panic about those he loved any longer, because he felt that if he held onto that hope, that pain, that desire to change what is, it was going to kill him. He didn't give into pain a moment longer. Instead, he grew cold.