Chapter 11: Parchment Pieces

Dear Mum and Dad,

Dad—I'm sorry I embarrassed you in front of the teachers but Victoire really did deserve it. She ignores me when we're at school even though everyone talks to me because of you. So, she shouldn't be embarrassed in front of her friends like she is! I don't understand it at all because she's fine over the holidays. The only time she talks to me is to laugh at my hair—Al and Fred told me to ignore her and Louis is too busy with Lucia most of the time so he didn't help at all even though it's his sister. She knows it annoys me so she does it to impress her friends I think. I've been telling her I'm glad she's leaving soon but she just seems happy about it.

If it makes you feel better Jigger gave me two detentions. I think it would have been worse if it had been McGonagall so thanks for disappearing off when you did. What were you doing? You looked very stressed. Was it cool Auror stuff? People keep asking and some girl keeps cornering me in the Great Hall. Was it to do with that radio thing?

It was on in the common room and everyone's been reading the transcript in the Prophet. Dead people! Can you tell me what's going on please. I am having to make stuff up at the moment and I don't think they're going to buy it for much longer.

Also please send the Map back. I don't know if you meant to steal it, but still.

Mum—thank you for nan's biscuits. Molly ate most of them. Please send more in flavours she doesn't like.

Miss you both lots.

Love, James

P.s.: Professor Longbottom told me to say thank you for sending on the cuttings. I don't know what he was talking about but it was very embarrassing because he said it in front of everybody. Next time send him a letter because can't take much more of this.

Dear Mum and Dad,

James is moping a lot. I think it might be a bit about his detentions. He doesn't even say anything when I tell him he was being stupid and he deserves them. He must be upset about Victoire ignoring him because they spent a lot of time talking about Quidditch over Christmas. I don't think it's very fair that she keeps making fun of his hair because she hasn't said anything to me and I have the same hair as well as glasses, which must be even worse. Also, Rose's hair is definitely worse than ours.

Also Dad, what's going on with all that stuff on the radio? I keep getting asked by a lot of Hufflepuffs, and I don't know what to say so I just shrug and look thick. Mo from Slytherin that I have Charms with said I should ask you but I told him you wouldn't say much because the Ministry probably made you make an Unbreakable Vow or something. He thought that was a bit much.

If you want, you can tell me and I can pretend you didn't. I might have to start making things up like James is. The Hufflepuffs are really starting to turn up everywhere.

Hagrid says hello to you both and that he thought he saw Dad by the Lake the other day but he couldn't be sure. I think he was a bit upset that you didn't visit him when you were here so maybe just send him a letter and lie tell him you weren't on the grounds at least. He has been talking a lot about Manticores recently and it's making me nervous.

Please let me know about the dead people. Thanks for sending my socks. Rose ate all the shortbread so please send more because I didn't get any. Was nice to see you Dad.

Love from—

Al

Kingsley's address was the talk of Hogwarts, apparently. As Ginny leaned over his shoulder and started muttering darkly about Ron and Rose, Harry thought about the reactions that could follow, and quickly felt stressed about the public speeches he would have to make shortly.

'They're going to be little demons when they find out,' Ginny said, shaking her head. 'They won't leave Sirius alone, that's for sure.'

Harry struggled with how flippant Ginny was about the whole situation. He loved it anyway.

'I'm visiting Fabian Prewett tomorrow,' he said slowly, 'anything you'd like me to mention?'

'I never knew him. All I know is that he was—is—ginger.' Harry rolled his eyes. 'Shut up. I can hardly ask Mum, can I? Anyway, tell me about Scrimgeour again. Are you sure he knows?'

'He grinned at me. I think he finds it funny.'

'Don't be ridiculous, Harry, you couldn't know that. Stop being dramatic.'

'Thank you for kindly sending me crashing back to Earth.'

'Somebody's got to keep the Chosen One on their toes.'

'Please don't keep calling me that. George has only just stopped.'

Harry was half expecting to find Hugo drifting among the shelves of the record room. He already had Scrimgeour's file on his desk, and he hadn't delegated retrieving the files of Fabian and Marlene to anyone on his team. It made him uncomfortable when he knew—because he had doled them out—that his team were busy working their own cases. Or, even worse, were working on the same case he was. And were spending their hours agonising over the non-existent problem of suspects masquerading as Sirius Black et al.

So, breathing in enough dust to make up for not smoking ten pipes a day, Harry shuffled nervously amongst the Ps while hoping the stacks of parchment wouldn't collapse on him. They threatened to crush him with every step he took, and he half expected wild entities to swoop above him. It felt more like a habitat than a records room; it was certainly more alive than any piece of parchment had the right to be.

Before long, he found Fabian Prewett's bundle and pilfered it from the shelf it lay forgotten on. It was joined with a fraying piece of twine to his brother's. Harry felt melancholic … it was too close to Fred and George, even now that the years spent with Fred were painfully outnumbered by those still haunted by his loss.

Fabian's body had been found in an alleyway near the Ministry, just off Tottenham Court Road. It was discovered by a Muggle leaving their bookshop late. Harry stared at the dark picture accompanying the files—two pairs of feet in sharp focus in the foreground, a blackened pool around them and the rest of the bodies. Unrecognisable torsos, a left hand unattached. A small pile of something dark, oozing and greasy looking next to the left-hand corpse; Fabian's. A Dark Mark hovering over the feet, the only thing moving. The right-hand body without a face in the dim light of the Mark and, Harry knew, without one in reality either.

He moved on to find Marlene's file.

Illogically, the Ms were four rows back from where he came. He retraced his steps and saw, beneath her name on her file, a scrawled 'see McKinnon A. P. J. H. & T.' Her family.

As he walked back to his department, keeping half an eye out for Hugo and following the brightness of the lights and the shuddering noise of the Ministry lifts, Harry gritted his teeth. How to explain this?

The Cells—quickly becoming over-subscribed with occupants—loomed in the near-distance far too quickly. As Harry slid into Fabian Prewett's prison, he was at a loss for words. Luckily, it was not a plight shared.

'You're not James Potter, are you?' Fabian said immediately, straightening his back and watching Harry through narrow eyes as he drew his wand around the doorframe casting privacy charms.

'No.'

'Where's my brother?'

'I don't know.'

'Why are you lying?'

They stared at each other. Fabian had no energy in his voice. He seemed to sense the truth had no more promise than a comforting lie. Harry thought about what Ginny had advised he do to prove his trustworthiness to these people, Order members, that he had never met.

'I'm going to tell you some things you won't believe. You probably won't want to believe them either. But, to prove I'm not a Death Eater …' Harry's Patronus came easily to him now that he had the memories of the births of three children stored in his mind. Prongs appeared instantaneously before him, his head still, drooped in calm, as Harry had barely ever seen it. He supposed Prongs could sense the lack of urgency.

'Give Fabian Prewett the message that all is well.'

Prongs paused and raised his head. He stared into Harry's eyes. He did not dissolve as he ran away as he usually did, for the recipient was in the same room.

As Prongs turned to face Fabian and Harry's voice rang out in a perfect copy, Fabian gasped. Harry knew what he was thinking; only the Order knew how to do this. It was especially secret in the Order's first iteration too, likely a new discovery of Dumbledore's in the year Fabian likely thought it still was: nineteen seventy-eight.

'My name is Harry Potter,' Harry said, gently throwing his wand towards Fabian who caught it with his mouth still agape.

'I was … I was in a duel. I think I got knocked out. I can't remember. And they—and then—'

'You died, Mr Prewett.' Harry placed the file, without the picture, onto the bed next to Fabian. 'You were in a duel with Death Eaters. You were hit by a nasty curse.'

'Gideon …'

'The same.'

In the achingly familiar way Ron looked when he was trying not to cry, Fabian's eyes filled with tears. He was muttering between long, rattling breaths. His fingers curled and uncurled compulsively around the parchment that bore his death date.

After a minute of discomfort, he looked up. 'I don't understand how I am here. You say I died.'

'You did. But you came back.'

'That's not possible.'

'It goes against everything we know about magic, yes.' Harry said. 'But here you are. Years later.'

Harry hoped he would not ask how long he had been gone for. It was cruel, to tell him such a hard truth. Fabian was grappling enough as it was. He had begun to shake even has the cloudiness receded from his eyes as he moved through the shock.

'Is You-Know-Who still …?'

'No.' Fabian's mouth opened with a question Harry could already answer, even if he wasn't sure he believed it himself. 'And he likely won't come back, like you have.'

Fabian nodded. 'Has my brother—?'

Harry shook his head. 'No, not yet. We don't know anything about how this works … how this is happening. But we have hope.'

Silence. Then— 'Molly! The boys! Are they—did they—'

'All fine,' Harry smiled. It was bizarre to talk about the Weasleys at such a distance. He did not, wisely, broach the subject of Fred's death.

'If everything is all right,' Fabian said slowly, 'Why am I here? Why was I arrested?'

'Not many people know the truth, at the moment.' Harry began. 'We have to find a way to prove it. Properly, so everyone will know without a doubt.'

'Oh.' He leaned back, shoulders by his ears, eyes watery, arms crossed rigidly.

'I can't tell you any more … there's nothing else to tell. I can't help you other than keep you safe here until we find a way. I hope you are being treated well.'

A long pause followed. Fabian said nothing after nodding absently in answer and moved only to push Harry's wand away from him towards the foot of his bed. Harry scrambled for what to say … he had expected countless questions about the future, about what year it was, about what the Weasleys were doing now. But Fabian stared at the wall.

After all … if Harry had woken in such a way after, say, being in Malfoy Manor or defeating Lord Voldemort, what questions would he have had? He struggled to fathom it. Inexplicably, Harry felt awkward over anything else. He knew nothing of this man other than the fact he should have shared many Christmas Dinners with him by now. He had planned to let the dead lead the conversation, not interrupt and be stumped by a little silence.

But Fabian continued to stare blankly. It was a tenuous quiet, and Harry was intruding. As if he could read his thoughts, Fabian finally spoke as Harry rose to retrieve his wand and leave him to his melancholy, hesitant because of the short amount of time they had spent together.

'What if this is all a dream?' He asked. 'What if this is what happens when you die or I'm in a coma? What if this is all happening in my head?'

Harry glanced down at himself, hand on the door-knob and wand reaching out to summon Fabian's file. He looked almost as tired and scruffy as Remus did when he was teaching.

'Do I look like someone you'd see guiding people to the afterlife?'

Fabian cracked a grin for the first time since Harry had known him. It made him look very, very young.

Harry told Ginny all about Fabian over the comfort of warm mugs of tea and the Marauder's Map spread between them (she had been watching James suspiciously). It was only when he spoke about Marlene that things changed.

'She was amazing,' Harry said. 'She was like McGonagall—so matter-of-fact, you know. When I gave her my wand she completely calmed down. She had all these ideas about why it was happening, she could give Hermione a run for her money. I'd never had thought somebody could take it in her stride like that.

'She was telling me about her own death, actually correcting her file—I could have sworn she knew she'd died and come back. Benji Fenwick—doesn't that name ring a bell?—alerted her and Fabian and Gideon about a Ministry spy. That's why it all happened, why they all died. I bet it was Rookwood. Remember him? I bet that's why nobody ever found Fenwick, he'll probably turn up in the Department of Mysteries before long—'

'You're thriving off of this, aren't you?' Ginny interrupted. Her face was inscrutable over her mug. Her eyes were determinedly seeking out James' dot on the Map again, or perhaps Albus'. Anything to conveniently avoid Harry's eyes.

Harry was speechless; he gabbled some aborted, half-hearted words.

'It's not bad,' she said. 'I just … don't want you to get your hopes up.'

They sat in a contemplative silence. Harry watched Professor Slughorn slowly wander around, incongruous as he was outside of the lower floors of the castle. 'I'm trying not to.' He began. 'It's just—'

'Harry.' Her hand raised quickly. 'Shut up.'

'Well,' He was offended. 'That's not—'

'Harry!' He decided to pick his battles and shut up. He moved to Ginny's shoulder, to look at what she was staring at.

'He looks like he's just going back to the Common Room,' Harry frowned, staring at James' dot on Seventh Floor with her. 'I don't see—'

'Look!'

He followed her finger. It led to the corridor that housed the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. It was empty, apart from a single, pacing dot that simply disappeared from the Map before their eyes.

'What were you just saying?' Harry asked weakly.

Ginny ignored him.

AN: I'm trying to avoid repetitiveness in Harry explaining the situation to the previously dead people. So there won't be many more play-by-plays of explaining what's happened to them. Or, not as many. And if there are, it'll be different. It's been decent amount of time now... I'm sure they're starting to figure it out for themselves.