Remember What I Forgot

by AlwaysThatGuy

Ten years after the defeat of Voldemort and fall of Harry Potter, footage emerges of a friend long thought dead. Finding him alive and unaware of his past, Hermione does what she does best. But with other factions in play and with nothing as it seems, how far will she go to find out the truth of what happened? H/HR.

23. Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Two

Friday, 18th September 2012

It was taking too long. Way bloody long. The fact that he didn't know exactly what the hold up was only seemed to infuriate him all the more. But he didn't move. Not from where he was standing. He kept it up, that ramrod stance that he had learnt to adopt. His shoulders back, his chin up and his gaze even.

He just watched him. Rudolphus was waving his wand around in a circular pattern. Whispering words to himself as he did so.

Every now and then he shook his head. Or he shrugged. He looked thoughtful, then he got back at it.

Dolohov was sure that he had done that repetition at least three times now. It must have been. Dolohov was no wards expert, but he knew wandwork when he saw it.

"I thought you were a charms fellow?" he called to the other man, who had paused his wand waving and was staring thoughtfully at the farmhouse. "Didn't you say that you were an expert in all things charms? Are wards not within the categories of charms?"

Greyback barked out a laugh from nearby. He had decided to keep the werewolf around. Better somewhere he could keep an eye on him, then send to another cell where he could cause dissent. Where he could start to try and turn the others against him.

You've gone mad, Dolohov, mad!

Dolohov could not wait to put the mutt in the ground.

"I am," Rudolphus called back. "On both accounts."

"Empty words, sounds like," Dolohov said as he looked down at something that had caught his attention on the ground.

The grass was disturbed here. A body had lain here. There was a tinge of copper colouring to the grass that had not been removed. The body had been killed in a bloody fashion. They had been cut down. Ambushed.

Murdered by Muggles.

Good.

"Those four better not have died for nothing. I could have used Calick in the times that were to come. Sacrificing a duellist like him had better been worth it."

Greyback turned and fixed him a with a cold glare.

"Sacrificed?" His voice lingered in the back of his throat. "Sacrificed? You set them up? Calick was marked. He was a marked Death Eater. And you sacrificed him?"

Dolohov looked coolly over at the werewolf where he stood.

"So what if I did?"

Dolohov was not the type to be scared by Greyback. He knew that there wasn't a Death Eater walking who could best him in a duel. Especially now that Calick was dead.

Dolohov feared no man, save one Dark Lord.

"You're cold, Dolohov. Ice cold." Greybacks lips had drawn back into a sneer that showed his canines. They were pronounced and grown out, even in his human form. Dolohov detested him. He detested how much he had embraced his half-breed nature.

Dolohov shrugged. "We needed to lure the Muggles into the wards. That way Lestrange could track the magical signatures to see who is helping them. With any luck, and with Lestrange actually pulling his weight, we might have an answer soon."

Greyback did not look pacified.

"Just be thankful that you weren't sacrificed with them. That the Dark Lord still has use for you. But the moment the Dark Lord is finished with you, you're done."

Greyback moved to reply when a call from Rudolphus quieted him down.

"I'm done."

Greyback gave Dolohov a look that clearly said that what had happened between them hadn't been settled, not by a long shot.

Good.

Rudolphus strode over to the pair of them. He had a look on his face that Dolohov had seldom seen. It was almost doubt, or confusion. Either way, it looked completely out of place on the man's face. Rudolphus was a cocky man. Confident, perhaps overly so. He needed to be, in order to put up with his wife.

"Well?"

"Potter was here."

Dolohov nodded. He figured as much. Rudolphus knew that was a likely outcome, so his confusion was not related to that.

"As expected." Dolohov said. Greyback grimaced.

"Does he have a twin brother?"

A silence hung in the air as the words lingered. Greyback narrowed his eyes in confusion. Dolohov stared evenly at Rodolphus. He was processing the words. It was not something that he had expected.

Rudolphus for his part, didn't look at all like he had asked a stupid question. He looked as though the question he had dropped in the air had been completely rational, normal, and well within the realms of possibility.

"What?"

"Does Potter have a twin brother?"

Dolohov let out a frustrated breath. "I heard what you said. I was asking 'what' purely in terms of trying to determine what, in Salazar's kingly name, kind of question was that?"

"An important one."

"I am unaware of Potter having a brother. And according to all the books written about him, he did not have a twin brother, so I can safely assume he did not. Why?"

Rudolphus clicked his tongue annoyingly then looked thoughtful.

"Discounting our four, the trace wards we put in detected four other magical essences present. One didn't use any magic at all, so I can't track it. One was young, but unrecorded. It showed a lot of latent and accidental use, so it is more than safe to say that it was the daughter. A mudblood witch."

"We knew about her."

Rudolphus nodded.

"That left two. One was weaker, but that was because it barely used any magic. Just a hint. It's Potter's essence. I am sure of it. The problem is the other essence, the one that has the strongest imprint; that's also Potters."

Dolohov looked thoughtful.

"Did you screw it up?"

Rudolphus shook his head. "I did the checks three times. They are accurate. You would never see a match like this, unless it was with identical twin brothers."

He looked thoughtfully back at the farmhouse. "Though, even then… These matches are identical. If the second Potter had used more magic, I would have a better reading. But it would appear, if you purely followed the readings, that Potter has a brother, and they were both present. That, or a clone."

Dolohov looked thoughtful. This was a troubling development.

"How similar?"

"Close enough to exact to not matter."

Dolohov felt the formation of an idea start to bead into the back of his mind. "This could work in our favour."

Rudolphus nodded.

"What in the name of Slytherin's great serpentine cock are you two talking about?"

Dolohov glowered at the half-breed, leaving Rodolphus to continue. "Every magical child born in this world has a magical essence. It's like our own personal magical signature. It is unique to each of us. For there to be two of the same running around? Well, that's troubling. It's something that has never been recorded in the history of magic."

Rodolphus clucked his tongue again in the highly annoying fashion.

"It would imply that there are two Harry Potters running around."

Greyback ran a hand along his pointed chin, as he jutted it out.

"And how does that help us? If there are two of them? We kill them both. Easy done. They still bleed don't they?"

"It helps us, you half-bred moron because -"

"Shut it, Lestrange," Dolohov spoke finally. "That information is between you, me and your darling wife. No one else needs to know what she's been working on."

Rudolphus gave Dolohov a half-grin and nodded. If there was one trait common amongst Death Eaters, it was their excitement when they were part of an inner circle.

None of them were immune to that feeling of being like they were part of that in crowd.

"There's one more thing."

Dolohov waved for him to continue.

"The second magical essence? The one that was weaker? That was barely used? It had something attached to it. Something that took a while for me to actually break it down, enough to figure it out."

That's troubling.

Dolohov would never say that out loud. Not a chance. For all the insults he through his way, Rudolphus had earned his place in the Charms' Fellowship. The man could make any object do anything. He was an expert at diagnosing them, too. If something confused him, and it was charm related, it was something that Dolohov would have to keep an eye on.

"Well, spit it out man!"

"I managed to diagnose it finally. It's a tracking charm."

"You couldn't figure out a tracking charm?" Dolohov hated that there was more surprise than insult in his tone.

Rudolphus grimaced. "Yes. But it wasn't like one I had ever seen before. Tracking charms are simple and easy to diagnose. This one was not. It was highly complex. It was a form of magic that was almost…"

He trailed off as he tried to find the words.

"Alien? Abnormal? It was like the very core of the magic that formed it wasn't right. It wasn't anything I had ever seen. It took me a bit. But it is definitely a tracking charm."

Rudolphus paused for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts. "The entire basis of the spell just feels wrong. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth,"

Dolohov knew that he would have to have a conversation in depth about this with Rudolphus at a later stage. But that could wait.

"Well," he asked, almost impatiently. "Can you tap into it?"

"Oh yes," he replied easily, the confusion all but gone from his tone. "I've done that. I can narrow down where that Potter is, at any one time."

"Well," Dolohov said, as a smile began to creep onto his face. "That should make things a lot easier."

Rodolphus nodded.

"He's ours for the taking."

XxxxxX

Kingsley remembered, all too well, the first time he had met Sir Richard. It had been the day of his taking office, towards the evening. The last time they had actually used the toad man's portrait.

Sir Richard had had the portrait removed very swiftly after that initial meeting.

That should have been the first clue. The removal of such a heavily warded object. But it had somehow gone unnoticed. So many things had somehow escaped notice. It was like the flow of information had slowed to a trickle. Like every piece of information was being fed to them with care and precision.

It felt now as though every piece was disinformation.

And now they were here.

For want of a word, it was another drawing-room. It was smaller. It had leather couches that faced each other and a fireplace. The walls were lined with art and mementos, likely long stolen from an Empire that had become a Commonwealth.

He should have seen this trouble coming. Sir Richard, upon their first meeting, had not seemed all that surprised. He had seemed to take it all in stride. Like it was nothing overly interesting. Just another reveal, in the long list of state secrets that he had become privy to.

Which is what it had been attributed to. Tiredness. Shock. Secret induced fatigue. The settling in period. A man of action who was estimated to be excellent at hiding his true feelings behind a wall of calm.

The man was a soldier, after all. A decorated one. One who had served his nation in war, and had served them in politics.

Nothing had seemed to faze him.

That should have been a clue.

He stood tall. Tall, still and ramrod straight. The kind of straight that from a childhood being taught 'manners'. It didn't escape notice. Not now. Not now that he had finally switched on. Not now that the wizarding world could no longer afford to pay them off, as just simply Muggles going about their day.

"Thank you for having me at your lovely home, Mr Prime Minister," Kingsley said. In his deep gravelly voice. It was the gracious, political voice he used in official functions, such as when he was addressing the ICW, or other heads of state. "I would like to hope that this will be a productive meeting."

"Not at all, Mr Minister," Sir Richard's smile was as gracious as a host could be, but having lost none of the gravity of the situation. It spoke of a long history of politics, and a man who found comfort in discomfort. "I'm very glad you could be here. Come, Come. We have much to discuss."

He moved forward and the two men shook hands. It was a firm handshake. Strong, neither party gave, or received any weakness. They were confident men borne from hard times, and it showed in their grip. It was a definite improvement on the limp-wristed handshake that Kingsley had received from Sir Richard's predecessor.

Kingsley was polite. He had learned all the muggle airs and graces during his time in service to that previous Prime Minister. He waited respectfully for Sir Richard to sit, before taking his own seat across from him.

The chamberlain moved forward and proceeded to start preparing a drink for each of them.

"You're a scotch man, if memory serves?" Sir Richard asked, waving a hand to the chamberlain.

"I am," he said, stilling the conversation. They waited patiently as the drinks were served.

Sir Richard poured them both a generous helping of scotch before placing the decanter back on the table between them. His eyes did not miss the engraving.

Victoria Regina. The crest of the Queen.

Sir Richard caught his look. "A gift from her majesty. A symbol of her gratitude."

"A queenly gift," Kingsley replied. To which Sir Richard offered a gracious nod of the head.

Kingsley observed as the man's free hand circled around that which held the glass. The Prime Minister tweaked gently at a silver signet ring that sat upon the centre finger of his left hand before he returned it to his lap.

He waited until the chamberlain had left the room before he continued.

Sir Richard raised his glass in salute. "To a safe and prosperous United Kingdom," Sir Richard raised a glass in a toast to Kingsley, who returned the salute. He was determined to stay at ease, despite all the power politics of his Muggle counterpart.

"For all who call it home," Kingsley offered, not taking his eyes from his counterpart. Sir Richard inclined his head with grace and took a sip of the drink.

Kingsley got a glance of the ring as he did so. He didn't have time to properly examine it, as Sir Richard rapidly tapped it on the table twice, as if in salute.

But he did not miss the Raven that sat atop a small globe; its claws encircled around it.

Kingsley did not recognise the crest.

"Before we really get stuck in, as it were, Kingsley, I feel like I should start by informing you that we have placed some, shall we say, contingencies, into play." Sir Richard broke his focus, as he became serious.

"Contingencies?" He kept his tone light, hoping that the conversation might stay cordial at the least.

"Indeed," Sir Richard said, steering the conversation in the direction that he knew it had to go down. "We've done you the courtesy of leaving you with your wand, so I hope you will do me the courtesy of leaving me my memory."

Kingsley stared long and hard at the man; the Prime Minister. This was a point. A bruise. A topic to push later. Whether it would be by Kinglsey or the Prime Minister, he couldn't say. He just knew that it would be coming up again.

"If you do try anything with my memory, I will miss my checkpoints. Should I miss those checkpoints, my Deputy Prime Minister will take immediate charge of the country. It will be considered a deliberate assault on the sovereignty of the United Kingdom by a foreign state, and an attempt to subvert its lawfully elected head of state."

Kingsley said nothing. This was a prepared speech and Kingsley was content to let it go. He had been on enough diplomatic missions to see that these played out.

"That, coupled with the recent attack on a Police Station will result in the escalation of hostilities between our nations. In short, Kingsley, try to interfere with my mind and we will know. Then we will retaliate in kind."

Kingsley nodded. "Do you think that's what I'm here for?"

"I hope you're here to negotiate. I hope you're here for diplomacy."

"That is what you promised. And that is why I'm here. I do not wish to interfere with you, Sir Richard, nor do I wish to interfere with your Government. I am merely seeking peace and quiet. For long, happy lives for my constituents."

"As am I," Sir Richard said, aloof, lost. He waved his hand with a false modesty. "As am I. And please, Richard will do. Adding in my title like that is entirely too pompous. The titles and 'Sirs' were all my father's bag, not mine."

"Of course, Richard." Kingsley said with a gracious nod.

Why didn't I just stay in the Aurors?

"Anyway, Richard. If we may turn to the business at hand? There are anxious people on both sides who I am sure are awaiting the outcome of this summit."

Richard gave him a gracious bow of his head to continue. "Of course, Kingsley. Fire away. I'm always happy to hear from the other side of the United Kingdom."

Kingsley swallowed the obvious meaning behind his counterpart's tone.

"It would seem that we find ourselves in an interesting position."

"Oh?"

"Yes. You see, Richard, for the first time in a very long time in our histories, I, on behalf of my people, must come and speak to you, on behalf of your own people, in order to seek something that we should all seek as a matter of course. We must talk of something that should be wanted by every person who walks these islands."

Richard raised an eyebrow.

"Peace." Kingsley followed it up with a sip. It was for dramatic effect. He knew it, just as he knew that Richard was the type of politician who enjoyed indulging in such displays of theatricality.

"I had no idea we were at war, Kingsley." Richard replied, his raised eyebrow revealing no surprise at the turn of conversation.

Yes, he did.

"Come now, Richard. Shall we dispense with the games? You invited me here to smooth the tension over, not to aggravate it further."

Richard took another sip, but said nothing. Kingsley inwardly groaned. He was going to be made to do the runaround.

"I'm willing to listen, Kingsley."

For a moment, Kingsley was almost willing to believe that the man was genuinely oblivious to the shadow war that had been heating up under his government. For a moment he had a fleeting hope that MI5 were acting independently. That they had, for want of a better word, gone rogue. Kingsley found he almost wanted to believe that they were acting independently of their head of state.

It was a nice little moment, but it was false. That much was clear.

"Your government has begun to employ magic."

Richard said nothing. There was no confirmation or denial from him.

"I would think that we weren't capable of such a thing". Richard's voice was as smooth as silk, but as hard as dragon scale.

"We would have thought the same." Kingsley said simple, allowing the game to progress. "But it would seem that your Security Service, MI5, has found a way."

"That's quite the accusation." Richard said calmly, waving his hand as if he was waving the issue away. As if that telltale piece of information was nothing more than a fly that was pestering him. But his eyes did not lie. They did not move from Kingsleys. Instead they continued to meet his evenly, without flinching, without any movement at all.

Kingsley took a sip and a small smile returned. "Please, Richard. Let us show each other the respect of honesty." He said simply, and politely. The games tired him and he longed to be back out in the other drawing room with other Aurors, leaving this part of the job to those more…interested.

"On the third of September, agents of your Government and agents of my own clashed in Croydon. You know this. No one was killed, but a few of our people were left sore and sorry the next day, not the least their wounded pride."

Richard nodded.

"You also escaped with a Death Eater that we had been hunting."

Richard did not move from where he sat. He continued his stare right into Kingsley's own eyes.

"I also have on good authority, that your agents managed to kill four more Death Eaters."

"Eight." Sir Richard said evenly. "It has since upgraded to eight."

Kingsley nodded. He did not know that. "Hertfordshire?"

That was quick. Way too quick.

Richard nodded. "Crafty buggers. Good thing we got them, too. My understanding was that they had been disguised as four of your Aurors."

"I had also heard this, Richard. I would like to reassure you that we had nothing to do with the attack on your Police. It is nothing short of a tragedy."

"And I, in turn, would like to reassure you of the same thing, Kingsley. I have been briefed about the attack on Diagon Alley. I assure you that no orders came from our government for such a cowardly attack on the civilian population."

Kingsley returned the nod. He felt it. That slight hint of hope. Maybe a war could be avoided.

"I'm glad to hear it, Richard. Whilst we had ascertained that the Policemen responsible were acting under magical control, I would hope that your side had nothing to do with that."

"Nothing at all." Richard's voice was calm.

Kingsley could detect no lie. That didn't mean he wasn't. But he had to give him a chance.

"So now. Richard continued, finally seeming as though he was arriving at his point. "Now I believe it is time we spoke together honestly. From the heart, as they say.."

"Oh?"

"My understanding is that you were an Auror. You fought in both your first and second blood wars against Lord Voldemort."

"I did." An edge crept into Kingsley's voice. This was not a topic he discussed lightly with those who weren't there.

"So, let us talk then. Let us speak of what we truly are. Let us speak as soldiers."

Kingsley shook his head. "We are not here to talk as soldiers, Sir Richard. To talk as soldiers will only lead to war. To a hammer, everything is a nail. Let us instead as who we have become. Let us talk as the men who have been entrusted with the safety of our people. In that light, let us talk of peace."

"Well said," Sir Richard said, conceding the point with a tap of his ring against the table. "Very well said. But before we begin, I truly do hope that you will concede something. Something I have dwelled on since I first learnt about what your kind can do."

"Ask away."

"You lived through it," Sir Richard said, leading off into another speech that seemed entirely too practised. "Your last war. Your blood war. You would have seen things, I'm sure. Things that any reasonable person would sooner forget. Things that you have the power to be rid of. Yet you choose to keep those memories. You choose to remember. And why's that?"

Kingsley just looked back at him. The question hovered between them. A floating fog of uncertainty that hung in the air as if the answer had eluded them both.

Kingsley didn't speak. He looked down into the deep brown depths of his drink and wondered if the answers lay there. They didn't. They never had. His wife was quick to remind him of that, when she found him late at night, lost in thought and scotch and the burning depths of flame in the fireplace.

She constantly reminded him that the answers didn't lie in the drink.

She reminded him that no matter how far he journeyed into each bottle, he would never find answers to the questions he still had.

The questions that continued to plague him so long after the cessation of hostilities.

How had he survived? Why had he? Why had he survived when others had not. When Dawlish had not?

How had he survived when Moody had not.

Both had been experienced and accomplished Aurors. Both had fought dark wizards for years.

Both had fallen victim to a Death Eater during the war.

Was it skill? Luck? The fates?

To this day, he still did not know. Why had he walked away unscathed? Why ahd the responsibility fallen on those that it had? Why had Harry been the one to have to bear the burdens he did?

His musing was interrupted as Richard spoke again.

"You remember it because you have to," Richard continued. "Everything that you have been through and experienced, the horror, the fear, and the shameful joy that follows, it all deserves to be remembered. They all deserve to be remembered."

Their eyes met then. They were exactly what Kingsley had said they should not be. They were two soldiers. Veterans of different wars. The more different their wars were, the closer they remained to each other.

But still they lingered in their memories. Longing to be forgotten dreams and smells. Sounds and sights. Things that could not, and should not be forgotten.

Things that could not ever be allowed to be repeated. Even if that oath was sworn at the end of every war. Even if that oath was always a lie.

But now he had the power to stop one. He knew he had to do all he could to stop it.

Kingsley took another sip and let the memories flow away from him, as they were want to do. As he had taught himself to do. It would not do well to dwell on the war, only insofar as to remind themselves of what they were here to prevent.

I should have just stayed in the Aurors.

"Perhaps, Richard, we might return to the subject at hand?"

"Of course!" Sir Richard said with an easy wave of his hand."You'll have to forgive me. When one old soldier meets another, he tends to get a bit nostalgic. The difference in our wars always makes me wonder, but yes, let us return to crux of the matter."

"Of course."

"But, perhaps." Richard continued as if he had just remembered something. It was as much an act as Kingsley had ever seen. He had returned to his theatricalities. "Perhaps it is the point?"

"I don't follow."

Richard reached into a drawer of the coffee table and produced a thick folder, which he placed on the table between them.

"Would you agree that a man has a right to his memory?" Richard began, the pointed nature of his question not lost on Kingsley, who took that moment to remain silent.

"Would you agree that a people have a right to self-governance?"

Kingsley cracked slightly. His carefully measured responses slipping briefly.

"I would say, yes. But I would hesitate to be lectured on such a topic by the British Government." There was a bite in his tone. There was a hint of anger that built up below the surface as he took his counterpart in.

Who did Richard actually think he was?

Kingsley was also a head of state, and he would be damned if he would be lectured on the evils of government by one, especially with the history of the British Empire.

"True enough." Richard agreed with an easy nod. "We aren't guilt free in our history. But whether it is fair to the people we have colonised over the years or not, I can assure you of one important fact…"

His eyes narrowed as he looked Kingsley in the eyes. The jovial soldier swapping war stories was gone now. Here was the General. Here was the Prime Minister of a proud people.

"We don't answer to you anymore."

XxxxX

Kinglsey matched the eyes of his counterpart. He only broke the look to glance down at the folder and back up at Richard.

"This folder has been comprised by members of my government in absolute secrecy. It contains mention of every documented attack on my people by your people. Every single incident that we could piece together."

Kingsley did his best not to react, but he failed. His eyes widened just that little bit. Richard caught it and pounced.

"I thought so too." Richard continued, focussing in on him. "Surprised it's a bit thin?"

Kingsley wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Since 1992, we have documented 4756 instances of probable attacks and interference on members of our government apparatus by wizards. 4756."

Kingsley felt his lips tighten. He didn't voice an answer to the previous question. Yes. He was surprised that it was that thin. He was sure there more. Many more.

"Most of them were against Police, which I suppose is only natural. But I think you will find that our medical professionals, bureaucrats, Soldiery, Social workers and everyday ordinary government employees got their fair share of a mention in this file"

Kinglsey sat back and chair. He tried to relax into what was coming. It was time for his cooler head to prevail.

"However, I think what is perhaps most disturbing is that several interferences can be attributed to Members of Parliament. Direct intervention on our own right to self determination."

His tone was hard, and his anger was real. But Kingsley wasn't prepared to bite. He knew enough to know that modern governments were always attempting to influence other nations. Even those they are allied with.

But in the event that it was ever found out, he knew the scandals it could produce.

This, this seemed different. He seemed genuinely affronted that his people were being interfered with.

Perhaps he has a point.

"And now that our agents bested yours. Now that we have begun to present that we might just be a threat to you, now is when you are willing to come in here and talk?"

"If I remember correctly, Richard, it was you who invited us. Besides we were always happy to-"

"Do not disgrace yourself by finishing that sentence, Kingsley. You are an honest and reasonable man. You lead your people with honour and distinction. I will not have you lie for the mistakes of your predecessors. You are not them, and their mistakes are not yours."

Kingsley tilted his head as he took Richard in.

"I still remember where I was on Wednesday the Fifth of July, 2000, Kingsley. I was in my office. I was the Secretary of State for the Home Department. I was in my office when that bridge came down."

Richard took a sip before continuing. "I've lost men in combat, Kingsley, much like you. But watching that light show as it consumed the very civilians I had sworn to protect…"

Richard looked away. The theatricality was gone. The anger simmered beneath the surface. "I already knew about you. I had already signed off on the expansion into our continued intelligence gathering into magic."

He took a long breath.

"But that was the day that we made some very serious and calculated decisions. That was the day we stepped up our game."

Kingsley looked down again into the depths of his drink. The answers still weren't there.

"You were here. You were protecting the man who held this office. I know who you are. I know what you did. I understand why you were posted here."

"I wish I could have been on the bridge. I wish I could have done something." Kingsley couldn't help himself. It slipped out.

Richard just nodded.

"But you weren't, and you couldn't. So, tell me then Kingsley, why were we not informed then and there that you were at war? Why were we finding bodies on our streets? Looking for our missing people? Why were our people being so altered by magic that they descended into madness? Why were we unware that there was a war?"

"I cannot speak for my predecessors."

"This is true." Richard conceded.

Kingsley nodded.

"But I will tell you this, Kingsley. If that attack had been caused by a foreign nation, we would have taken all of our allies and we would have gone to war. We would have landed troops in that nation and we would have dragged the little bastards responsible from their holes, kicking and screaming, and we would have had our justice. It is who we are as a people."

Kingsley was well aware. He had studied the histories since he took office. It was prudent. To not do so was a mistake his predecessors had made.

"We are also the type of people who do not tolerate this foreign interference. There will be no further tampering with my officials. Henceforth, any attacks on my Police, my officials, my military or intelligence agency - hell - any or any person who works for the good of this country, will be considered an attempt to usurp the lawful authority of her Majesty's government."

Kingsley drained his glass.

Richard indicated towards the carafe.

"These will be considered a direct attack on our people. They will be an act of war."

A silence as heavy as any that Kingsley had ever experienced hung between the two men.

"Am I clear, Kingsley?"

"Crystal," Kingsley did not take his eyes from his firm still hand as he poured them both another glass. "And vice versa, naturally."

"Naturally." Richard said. To Kingsley's surprise, he was gracious in his nod. The tempered anger of his tone was gone from when he made his threats.

"Although, I think we might discuss that just a bit more." Kingsley said as he took the other man.

"You have Voldemort's body." It was not a question. It was a statement. The intelligence wasn't entirely firm. No one had actually seen the body, but the evidence all screamed that they did. "I would also assume that you have Harry Potters."

Richard smiled at him. It was the smile of someone who knew that the game was beginning to step up. Like they were both approaching the climax finally.

"You sound very sure we have such persons in our custody." He said, the smile not faltering.

"We would very much like those handed back. You could call it a sign of good faith, if you will. The body is dangerous. The boy belongs with his family."

At that point, Richard leaned back into his couch once more and ran his hand across his ring again.

A nervous habit perhaps?

Richard appeared to look thoughffully over Kingsley's shoulder. It was almost as if he was glancing at the door. Like he expected an interruption.

But none came and he turned back to Kingsley.

"I would consider it a sign of good faith if you were to trust your newfound friends in the muggle world to take very good care of such things. I can assure you, Kingsley, my friend, that they are perfectly safe where they are."

Kingsley felt it in his chest. Confirmation. It was fast and loose, but it was there.

He hated feeling like he had more questions than answers.

"Is that what we are Richard? Friends?"

"Of course, Kingsley. Firm friends."

He tapped his ring on the table twice and raised his glass to Kingsley.

"To our futures, Kingsley. Yours. Mine, and all of our peoples. Long may it be shared."

XxxxxX

"'This person was never a student at Hogwarts."

Hermione let the sigh of frustration flow from within her chest. "Never?"

Headmistress McGonagall looked over at Hermione from behind her glasses. She still felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of her former head of house.

"Hermione, I have taught a number of students too innumerable to count during my tenure at this school, and I can say with all certainty that my mind is just as active and healthy as it has always been. I would remember this man, if I had taught him."

Hermione nodded, suitably chastised. "I understand, Minerva. I'm just frustrated to reach another dead end."

"You always had a knack for solving problems, Hermione. Perhaps, I could be of more assistance if I knew the context behind this individual?"

Hermione sucked in a breath and quickly explained the familiarity she had with the man, with Mr Rogers. How he had felt so unnaturally like she had known him for some time.

"And you are sure he is a wizard?"

"Positive." Despite her reaction, she still felt the frustration in her tone. "There's just something about him that doesn't sit right."

Minerva leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in front of her, exactly the way that Dumbledore used to. It was a piercing stare.

"Might you be able to explain the feeling slightly better? There are many clues we overlook in the world of magic, and emotion is one that should never be lightly disregarded."

Hermione paused for a moment. She took a moment to choose her words carefully.

"It felt right, in a wrong sort of way. Like I knew him. We were familiar. If I'm truly honest, it felt a strange form of connection. But it felt almost - unnatural. It felt just really strange. Like it was off. Like the magic was just not right. It has bothered me to no end, that I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I have an excellent memory, but I couldn't place him. But I felt like I should be able to."

Minerva nodded along. Hermione thought she might see a hint of suspicion behind the headmistress's eyes.

"And how did it feel when you first saw Harry?"

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip as she thought back to that moment in the rehab ward. That moment when his voice had first danced through her ears. That exact moment when he had emerged and floored her.

"I don't rightly know how to say, Minerva." She began at last. "It was… It was like something I have never felt before. Everything just felt so absolutely right, seeing him like that. I-I just…"

Unbidden, the tears sprung to her eyes as she remembered the moment. How it had felt to see him there, in the flesh. Tall, strong and most importantly, alive. When she had shook his hand and felt that spark of connection.

She cursed the tears. Now was not the time to get weepy. She needed to get her emotions in check.

Minerva gave her a soft smile and offered her a tissue, to which she gratefully accepted.

"When he first shook my hand, I felt this - this jolt. It was like nothing I can explain. Like a hit of electricity travelled up my arm. It was magnetic. And in that moment I knew, I just knew he felt it too. It was… Well it was indescribable Minerva."

"And how would you compare the two feelings? Harry, versus the other individual?"

Hermione looked away from Minerva as she made the connections in her head. She glanced over and found that Professor Dumbledore was staring at her from his portrait. He was watching her over his half-moon spectacles as if she was a particularly interesting specimen.

Hermione looked away quickly, the anger and indignation building up in her chest under his glare. It was not the time.

"If I'm honest, this known stranger felt like a perversion of how I felt when I saw Harry."

Minerva spun in her chair and looked over at Dumbledore, whose eyes twinkled. There was no mirth, none, just a hint of concern.

It angered her, if she was honest. They were back to keeping secrets from her, and Hermione was beginning to feel used. Used like a certain other person who had trusted those in power to do right by him.

Hermione took a breath to calm herself, but it did not work. Not exactly. It didn't do anything to quell that feeling she had in her chest. That feeling of wanting to curse the portrait of Professor Dumbledore from where he sat, as easy as you like, content in his position in death.

She took another breath and tried her best to clear her mind. She focussed on the seconds of her oxygen intake. The circular breathing. This time it worked. She felt her anger start to fade, somewhat.

She felt it start to float from where it had sat like a lead weight in the centre of her chest. As light as if Fawkes, in his prime, had unfurled his wings and taken flight.

She calmed herself.

She let the flow of oxygen into her lungs. She felt it there as she held it. Then she let it out.

It had come as a surprise, her disquiet at being in the headmistress's office. The fleeting fancy she had to curse Dumbledore's portrait from the wall and see it reduced to cinders upon the floor. The feeling she had to utterly destroy the man in whom she had placed so much trust. Whom Harry had placed all of his.

The man who had undoubtedly known that Harry was a horcrux.

The professor who never shared that piece of information.

The headmaster who she now hoped would be the one who might fix the situation.

Hermione let the airflow through her as she raised her eyes and made contact again with the Headmistress.

If she had known, surely she would have told me.

It was a thought she offered to comfort herself, even as Minerva continued to have a silent conversation with Dumbledore.

Finally, Minerva turned and gave Hermione another look. That look. The kind of look that made her feel like she was under the spotlight. Like she was being evaluated to her very core.

There were only three women on earth that Hermione knew could give her that look.

Hermione brought her eyes back up to meet Minerva's. She had no idea how long the silence had lasted. How long she had been under review. How long the silent conversation between headmistresses and portrait had gone on.

"Hermione, how are you, dear?"

Hermione suppressed that moment of angered surprise that threatened to bubble forth. It seemed like an abrupt change in topics

"Oh, I'm okay."

Minerva gave her a tight-lipped smile.

"And if you were to speak truthfully?" She continued, having successfully seen through the facade that Hermione was doing her best to maintain.

Hermione looked down, unable to meet the gaze of her former head of house. Her eyes found her hands, wringing and twisting in her lap. She took several long and deep breaths. Keen to calm the burning inferno of emotion that threatened to spill forth now that she was actually in the room with the one person, or portrait, who had known.

"Honestly, Minerva…" She trailed off. She was almost unwilling to speak. Almost reluctant to disclose how she felt. It was as if for once in her life-long tendency of indulging her curiosities and learning everything she could, she didn't want to know. Like she almost wanted to sit and live happily in the blissful ignorance that the people who had sworn to do their very best for those she was closest to, had done exactly that.

But it wouldn't last. It never did. She had to know. Because a part of her needed to hear it from Minerva herself.

She had to know where people stood if she was to have any chance of navigating through the tempest around them. Through the storm that was to come.

"Go on," Minerva said, breaking the silence that had dragged out between them. "Please, Hermione. I can only imagine what you have been through."

She found she couldn't speak. All the words she had prepared, the speech she was ready to unleash upon the Headmistress and former headmaster fell silent on her lips.

Instead, something different came out.

"I don't know."

Minerva gave her a tired sort of smile. The type was obviously designed to be encouraging, but with everything going on around them, Hermione found it hard to be encouraged.

She just felt like she couldn't win. Like they couldn't win. Like every chance they got to do something positive, the world came along, or someone came along, and they took it from them.

They perverted it.

She just wanted some peace and quiet. She just wanted that life she had imagined when she watched him give a bedtime story, what felt like an eternity ago. She just wanted that. Was that really too much to ask?

She took in another breath again.

I am calm. I am collected. I am rational.

"It's a shame he couldn't join us today, Hermione. I am sure Albus would also have loved to have finally seen him after so long…" Minerva leaned back in her chair and folded her hands over her stomach in a very Dumbledore way.

"He's deployed." Hermione found that she could no longer meet Minerva's piercing gaze. "Unfortunately, it's slightly more complicated than perhaps even I had realised.

Minerva stood and moved over to the teapot that she had received as a gift from Hagrid. She poured two steaming hot mugs of tea. Hermione accepted hers gratefully.

"How is he?"

She sighed. Her mug paused halfway on its journey to her lips before she thought better of it and lowered it back into its saucer.

"He's – well." She chewed her bottom lip as she fought to find the right words to describe the complex situation that they had all found themselves in.

"He's as much Harry as we could have hoped."

"But…"

There was absolutely no chance of getting away with being vague while Minerva was around.

"But he's been through a lot. Everything from waking up without his memory, to what the muggles had put him through has had an impact. That's not even mentioning the wars. He's - He'll get there"

Minerva's just nodded solemnly. Hermione saw as Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands in front of his face. He was giving her an appraising look. She ignored it.

"We feared this." Minerva said. "But we cannot say it was unexpected."

"He had been through hell, Minerva." She said, looking up to meet the even gaze of her friend. "He has endured the worst that the wars of muggles can throw at him, and yet still finds the time to be Harry."

Minerva had a hint of a smile on her face. "That is encouraging. Truly."

Hermione gave her a watery smile.

"It's just-"

"Yes, Dear?"

Hermione looked down again at her hands that held the teacup. She couldn't hope but feel a slight tremble through her hands as she tried to hold it simple.

She tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. It felt like there was gigantic block in her chest that prevented the words from coming out. She let out another long and obvious breath.

Just breath, Hermione. Just breath. It is all you have to do. You've faced down Death Eaters!

This feels worse.

"Did you know?" She finally asked, raising her eyes to meet her mentors. There would be no lie there. In those firm but fair eyes, she would find the truth. It was a truth she found that despite her initial reluctance, she undoubtedly needed.

"Did I know what, Hermione?"

"That Harry was a Horcrux."

A silence followed. The air felt heavy with its presence. It was the weight of nearly thirty years worth of buried truths. It was the weight of the hope that had once existed, crashing down and smashing into a thousand tiny pieces.

The silence was met by only Minerva's reaction. She flinched.

If Hermione was any judge, it was an honest flinch.

She didn't know. She didn't know anything.

"Is this true?" Minerva whispered. Her voice was a kind of frail that Hermione had never seen. A kind that she had hoped never to see. She had long held Minerva in the highest of esteem. The kind of person who was never brought low. The kind of person who could handle any and everything sent her way.

Everything except this.

Hermione nodded. Words failed her as an odd form of relief flowed through her veins.

She didn't know! She never knew.

Her breathing came back to her again. Like the weight had lifted from her chest. Like the air was suddenly clear and beautiful and wonderful. Like it was oxygen.

She greedily sucked it into her lungs.

"You didn't know?" Hermione whispered. Her words seemed to bounce around the room as if they had been shouted. But her volume was no more than a whisper.

She shook her head.

Hermione let out a sigh. She felt a wave of tension come from it. It was as though the truth of her mentor's answer had been hanging over her. An anvil waiting to fall to crush her beneath its unbearable weight.

"But you did. Didn't you." It was not a question, nor was it directed at the woman in front of her. Instead, Hermione had directed the question over her shoulder towards the portrait of a man who was staring entirely too expectantly at them both.

"Yes." He said, his voice steady and true. "Yes I did."

Hermione felt it boiling inside of her. It threatened to explode from her, the great wash of anguish.

He had let it happen. He had known, yet still he had let it all happen.

Hermione found she couldn't look at the portrait. She could only look down at the desk that separated her from Minerva.

"And you didn't think," she began, amazing even herself with the strength of her voice. "That that was relevant information that we might have needed to know."

"No." He said simply. "No, I did not."

"And why." A voice of anger broke through. Minerva's tone as sharp as the tooth of a dragon as she spun around on the portrait of Dumbledore. "Why would you think for one single moment that it was appropriate not to share that information."

"Because I thought it could be remedied." He said simply. He met their gaze easily. Hermione did not know if that showed a resoluteness in his decision, or the comfort of knowing that he was dead and there was nothing truly that could be done to hurt him at this point.

"Snape?" Hermione took up from Minerva. "You put Snape to the task? That was your remedy?"

Minerva turned and looked at Hermione. Her single raised eyebrow was all the question she needed.

"Harry left a letter when he died. One to Ron and I. They were just turned over by the muggle Government. The letter explained that he was a Horcrux. On the day of the last battle, he went willingly to his death."

Minerva spun around again and faced the portrait.

"Tell me that is not true Albus." Hermione had never seen Minerva like this before. Sure during their fifth year, she had seen some of the power of Professor McGonagall. She had seen her determination during the war. But she had never seen this. "Tell me that you did not groom the poor boy to die."

Dumbledore didn't answer. He sat back in his chair and suddenly looked like all the years that he had lived had come crushing over him like a rough sea.

"Tell me it's not true, Albus." Minerva's voice rose slightly in its insistence. It contained as much anger and burning fire as Hermione had ever heard from the headmistress.

"I cannot, Minerva. For it would be untrue. Harry had to die in order for the world to know peace."

Minerva suddenly did something that Hermione had never seen. She deflated. She slunk back into her chair and lowered herself down. And there it was. That moment. The one that caused people to break. No matter how strong they were. It was a moment like this that would bring them low.

It was the moment where they realised that a person that they had followed so loyally for so long, had perhaps not entirely been a person worthy of that trust.

"You sent my best friend to die." Hermione's voice cracked. The anger, which has been propping her up and holding her to silence branched outwards from within her chest. A weight that she recognised from within James's own mind during her ill-advised foray into his thoughts.

Dumbledore remained silent.

"And now what? Now must I send my lover to die? Must we ask him to die again? For a world he does not know? Is that it? We get him back only to lose him again?"

Hermione couldn't stop herself as the words spilt from her tongue. Words that would previously have been held back by the decorum of respect.

"Will you ask that from him again? To die. To walk idly, hand-in-hand off into the great beyond?" The tears sprinted from her eyes, tracking down her face and dutifully following the path of the one before.

The words continued to tumble from her. She felt so utterly distraught and defeated. Like she was begging. She was begging Dumbledore to tell her that it wasn't true. That it was all a lie. Begging him to tell her that none of it would matter anymore. That Harry had done his bit. That had had his death.

That James was free.

"Will you ask us all to give him up? For him to die because he committed the great sin of surviving? Did he fail? Is that what this is?"

Dumbledore fixed her a look. Then he glanced at Minerva who was also staring at him. The fire in her eyes could have ended one of the rotations of Fawkes's life.

"I won't let you. I won't let him! I won't let any of you make that happen. Not now, not ever. He doesn't deserve that. There are ways around this. There has to be!"

"Is he still a Horcrux?" He asked softly. His voice only loud enough that Hermione just made out the words. He was a defeated man on a throne that meant nothing.

"How in heavens name would I know?" For all the softness of Dumbledore tone, it was the opposite for Hermione. "He didn't even know he was one until Snape told him. Until it was too late!"

"I simply wanted him to live his life as happily as possible. I thought that maybe Snape and Draco might be able to find an alternate-

"Well, they fucking couldn't!"

Eleven-year-old Hermione Granger would have been aghast at her behaviour.

But eleven-year-old Hermione Granger hadn't been through a war yet. Eleven-year-old Hermione Granger had not yet known the love of a friend. Eleven-year-old Hermione Granger had not felt that loss.

"And happy? You wanted him to be happy? When was that, Albus?" In her anger, she dropped any pretence of using his last name, or for that matter, any hint of respect. "When was he supposed to be happy? Perhaps in his abusive household? Was he supposed to be happy living in a cupboard under the stairs? Or perhaps he was to find happiness in slavery."

There was no stopping the build-up as it rushed from her.

"You let him build up his hope that he might survive. That he might have a family. The one fucking thing he had hoped for. The ONE thing he wished for. I know about the mirror, Albus. Yes, Yes I do. You'll be surprised about what you will tell each other late at night when you can't sleep for fear of the next day. When you just hold each other because the next night you might not be around to be held.

You will be so surprised about what you can learn about someone you already know everything about."

She took a second and swallowed, hard. Catching her breath before continuing.

"But he never had a chance, did he? A family was never on the cards. It was never for him. It was never for him because he had to fucking die."

She didn't know when she had stood. She didn't know when the mug of tea had hit the carpet. She didn't even know when she had raised out an arm to point aggressively towards the impressive portrait in the back of the room.

She just knew that at some point during the release of the built-up anger, hurt and disappointment, all of those things had happened.

"Did he die?" Albus asked. He had the grace to look like what she had said had affected him. Like for all his presence as a portrait, the words had still hurt him.

But despite all of that, he retained his personality. He retained his agenda.

She lowered her arm and looked away. "I don't know. I haven't been able to get his memories back. I've tried, but they are locked away."

He nodded gravely.

"Any signs or word from Tom?"

She let out a sharp breath. "The muggles found Harry. We believe they have Voldemort's body, also."

"His scar?"

"No complaints."

Dumbledore nodded at this and leaned back in his chair. He ran his hands down through his long flowing beard in a thoughtful manner.

"I can't tell you what you want to hear, Miss Granger." He finally said. "I cannot give you those words you want so badly. I do not know what happened. There is no spell or potion known to me, or that has ever been found, that can track whether a person is a Horcrux."

She slowly sat back down and crossed her arms across her chest. In her mind, it was an act of defiance. But it only served to help her feel the rapid beat of her heart.

"Yes. I knew. I knew he was a Horcrux. I set Severus to the task of combing every piece of knowledge available to determine whether it was possible to extract one from a person. Alas, when I died, that task had not yet been completed.

I can only assume it never was. With Severus's death, I suspect that any knowledge gained in that department was lost."

Hermione looked over at Minerva. Her eyes were red-rimmed and unfocused. They were looking down at her desk.

"His death was something I strove to avoid at all costs. I made every effort to help him survive."

Hermione scoffed, but Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't heard her.

"Alas, those efforts had seemed to be in vain."

Hermione's lips curled into a sneer and she went to make a snappy retort, but Dumbledore changed the subject.

"But tell me, please, Miss Granger. The nature of your relationship with Harry?"

Hermione's eyes widened. It was Minerva who spoke next.

"What possible concern could that be of yours, Albus?"

"Please, Minerva, Miss Granger, indulge me this. I may not be able to help you in regards to the Horcrux problem, but I may be able to provide some form of assistance. You said 'your lover'. Might I imply from this that perhaps you and Harry have entered into a romantic relationship?"

Hermione looked at Minerva. There was a hint of something behind her eyes. Like recognition. Perhaps a bit of curiosity mixed in.

"Fine. Yes. We are…together.".

Dumbledore gave her an appreciative smile and Minerva gave her a genuine one.

"And, if I may be so bold, I'm sure Minerva won't prevent me this time, would I be correct in saying that there a sense of 'peace' to the nature of your feelings? Some form of feeling that it is 'meant to be'?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

She nodded.

Dumbledore smiled wider now. "Good, Miss Granger. That's wonderful news."

"I don't understand? Wonderful? Oh yes, how truly wonderful. How truly wonderful it is for me to fall in love with a man who had to sacrifice his life for the world. How absolutely spectacular it is that the man who loves me with everything that he has may have to die again, all because he didn't do it right the first time."

"Magic is a funny thing, Miss Granger." Dumbledore continued, ignoring the sarcasm. "It's a part of us. It works for us and with us. You know this. But sometimes, it works independently of us. Like our minds. We may do all we can to concentrate, but our mind decides where it wants to go and what it wants to do.

It seeks out the things we want and need. It connects to them. To the world around us. And in particular, it connects to other people. To those we care about. Our family and our friends. Our lovers."

Hermione looked at Minerva who just gave her a sad look.

"I would form the belief that the reason you had your dream. The reason you saw him in very real danger, in mortal danger, was because your magic and his had formed a connection. It linked together."

Hermione furrowed her brow as Dumbledore was talking. She knew this. They told her this before she found him.

"It's not uncommon. Please don't think that I am sitting here telling you that you two are the only young people in the history of the world that this has happened to. It happens to all of us. In varying degrees of strength.

It most certainly happened to you and Harry. And from everything I have heard, it must have been particularly strong. We don't know a great deal about these connections, but I have seldom heard of one so strong that it would reach out to you in your dreams after so long a time. Love is a powerful thing.

You grieved for the last ten years because the connection you had had was so strong and so much a part of you. Then it was gone. It was lost. That connection that made you who you were within that relationship was gone. It's a terrible thing to lose.

I can tell you this from experience. I know this."

Hermione felt a stab of pity for the man, before she rapidly pushed it away. No pity for what he had done.

"I don't understand. Our magic formed a connection. How does this help with Harry being a horcrux?"

"It doesn't Miss Granger." His tone was light, and there was a small twinkle in his eye. Not of mirth, that would be grossly inappropriate. But of something else. Something that could almost be righteousness.

"Please. Please don't tell me that this is some form of true love crap. I don't for one second believe in that, or soul mates, or any of that bullshit."

Dumbledore actually smiled then. It only continued to infuriate her further.

She liked her magic understandable. She liked it tangible. She liked her magic real.

"That's not at all, what I'm saying, Miss Granger."

"Then what exactly are you saying? Because it sounds like you are saying that I was always meant to be here. This was always meant to happen. That I never had a choice, I would have always ended up here. That this was some form of destiny, bullcrap that completely took my life out of my own hands."

"Not at all, Miss Granger," the portrait replied. "I'm saying that you are here, not just because of your choices, but because of his, also. Because of a consistent series of decisions that you made, whether you knew it or not, that led you both on the path that has brought you here. You can lament it all you like, this feeling of predestination or predetermination. But if you want the absolute truth. It is all codswallop. It is only as real as you allow it to be. You can choose now, whether you want to believe it was fate, destiny or prophecy that has presented you with this hand.

Alternatively, you can keep doing what you've always done. What you think is best. And if you were willing to take on a bit of advice, Miss Granger. I'd strongly advise the latter. It has yet to steer you wrong."

Hermione sat back and thought about what he had said. She preferred to think about life as an equation. Change a single integer and the whole thing ends differently.

But in a way he was right. She had made a large number of choices in her life. Big ones. Small ones. Consequential and inconsequential.

And they had always been for Harry. She had always chosen him. Always.

So maybe they were connected. Maybe she had made the connection without meaning to. Maybe they had been on a collision course from the start.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was just that they were in love. Maybe that was all there was to it.

Maybe that's all there needed to be to it. Maybe love was simple enough to be just that. Just love.

"There is one thing, Miss Granger. The point I was meaning to get to, if you will allow me."

Hermione looked back up at the portrait. He was sitting back in his chair and giving her a long look. The hopefulness in his eyes had changed. They had become set. Hardened.

"You said that this mystery wizard was a perversion of what you felt when you saw Harry?"

She nodded.

"It felt wrong? Like it shouldn't be? Like a pale version of the connection you now feel with Harry?"

Hermione nodded again.

"Minerva." Dumbledore said slowly, to which Minerva turned to speak to him. "Mr Filch."

Minerva gave him a long look, there appeared to be no surprise in her tone. "Do you really think this is possible? Do you really think these events are related?"

Dumbledore turned and looked at Hermione. He gave her a hard stare, and then he nodded.

"They offered him magic, Minerva. All he had to do was provide information and all of his dreams would come true. He would receive the one gift that has kept him apart from the world his whole life. The one gift that they knew is impossible to give. We dismissed it out of hand. But perhaps we were too hasty."

Minerva nodded.. Hermione could almost hear her mind whirling a mile at a mile a minute.

"What if we were wrong, Minerva? What if we were blind?"

"They aren't giving them their own magic," Minerva whispered and Hermione had to strain to hear her. "They are duplicating others. The essences. It is as we feared."

Hermione sat back as her mind raised with the possibility. Surely not. That can't be possible. It can't be so. It cannot be done.

Can it?

Her mind raised with the possibility.

Can you transplant magic into another person?

No. No, it's impossible. The magical receptors bond only to the magic they create. There cannot be a way to bond them to someone else's. Even in the deepest, darkest tomes in the Malfoy library, the topic would not be explored.

"There's one more thing." Minerva said, as she picked the photograph back up to truly take it in.

"This man looks not much older than you, Hermione, which means I was still doing the squib tests when he would have been approaching Hogwarts age. This man who feels like Harry."

She looked thoughtfully. Her brow furrowed with fresh concentration.

"This man is not a squib."

XxxxX

"Mr Gawain Robards, I presume?"

A woman's voice broke his reverie. Brought him back from the depths of his thoughts. From the places where he had gone, that all circled around that exact same question that continued to float through his mind.

How did we get here?

Here. At the Muggle Prime Minister's office. Where Auror and Security Service eyed each other off. Each with their own suspicion. But neither with the exact knowledge of what the other could do.

The bravado was gone from the room. The initial shaping off that always occurred when opposing agencies faced off in the same room, had faded. It had resorted to a soft kind of curious, pleasantness that often occurred when those who opposed each other made the gradual realisation that perhaps they weren't so different after all.

He had seen it before. When Aurors from different countries met each other. They stood off, each side trying to get the exact bearing of the other. Each side determined to be the more professional, the more skilled, the more enlightened.

It was always a competition.

Gawain had attended too many of these events not to know how that part would go. But that was the issue, at least for him, the common ground was no longer so common.

Sure, Gawain was certain that these men and women, much like his own, greatly enjoyed pursuits such as sport, or keeping on top of their craft. The issue lay not in that, but in the fact that those worlds were so different, neither party knew exactly how to bridge the gap. Neither party knew how to break the ice.

Except of course for the queen of said ice, who had approached him and offered him a cup of tea, which he took suspiciously.

"Chief of Aurors Gawain Robards?"

It had been phrased as a question, but it wasn't. This woman knew exactly who he was. She made the point of offering him that, in order to try and level the ground.

Here was a woman to be watchful of.

"For my sins. And you, Ma'am?"

"Jane Jones. I'm the Deputy Chief of MI5," she said politely. There was no hint of arrogance. No indication that he should know who she was. There was neither any expectation nor demand of respect from what she said.

And that perhaps annoyed him even more. MI5 had long been that point of concern that they had been unable to pinpoint. One that they had just accepted was a bad job. They had tried to get squibs in there, but none had made it.

Now, they were paying the price. Now that the Muggles had become their primary point of concern, here she was here to rub in his face that they knew, and he did not.

"Ah," was all he said. "Lovely to meet you." Gawain hated politics, it's why he was content in the Chief's chair. There was enough politics in his role that he felt content never to go higher or to take his seat on the Wizengamot. He would stay exactly where he was, until retirement took him, of course.

Well, retirement or death.

"At last," she put on the end of his sentence. An unneeded addition.

Gawain nodded awkwardly at her than took another sip of tea. He didn't exactly know what to say, but he did suspect that she did.

"I would like to thank you all for coming to visit. It is always nice to have heads of state come to the table like this. I'm optimistic that by the end of the conversation there will be a highly agreeable outcome."

"How did you do it?" He didn't interrupt her. That would be rude, and Gawain knew not to be rude in these situations. He just knew that if he didn't intervene they would dance around the topic. They would flirt around the idea for hours until one of them got cross enough to just come right out and say it. Someone had to acknowledge the dragon in the room.

But Gawain was not well known for being politically savvy. He just didn't have the time, and there was just way too much at stake for it to be any other way.

"Straight to the point." She said with a laugh that contained absolutely no surprise. "I like that. You remind me of a very good friend of mine."

Gawain took a sip of his tea. He couldn't deny the curiosity. Up until recently, they had been completely outmanoeuvred, and now he was keen to get some answers so as to prevent it from happening again.

"I just wanted to know. For hundreds of years there has been a divide, a secrecy between your world and ours. You had no idea we even existed, and we were left alone. You left us alone. We lived our lives, and you lived yours. But somewhere along the line that changed. I can't pinpoint when or how that happened. And now Wizarding Britain is responsible for the largest breach in the statute of secrecy since its inception."

Mrs Jones just nodded as he spoke. It would seem strange, he thought, to lay it out there like that, but ultimately, he was the Chief of Aurors.

He was no spy chief. He was no politician. He was just an old veteran who was trying to lead his people through the next major catastrophe.

"It's actually quite simple how you got here, Gawain." She continued to sip her tea and meet his gaze with practised ease. "You got here because the world changed. Everything changed. We've all had to move quickly in order to adapt, and fortunately for us, it would seem that we have moved quicker than you."

He nodded content to let her talk. Everything she said was something he could take. Something he could use. Something he could store away to determine their next move.

"You are aware, of course, of the Second World War?" She offered.

He nodded. "It coincided with our War with Grindelwald."

"It did. That is where it all started." She turned so that she was facing him side on, and looking over the awkward social mix of Aurors and London Metropolitan Police. Watching as they eyed each other off.

"Are you aware of Hitler, and the Third Reich, Gawain?"

He nodded. "A little."

"A horrible man, who led other horrible men, who managed to convince an entire nation of ordinary men to do truly evil and horrible things. Oh yes, I'm not defending Nazis, Gawain, I despise them. All of them. Ours and yours."

He glanced at her and saw the steel in her eyes.

"You see we don't need mind control or potions to poison the minds of our people. We have weaponised ideology to the point where we can make one side the enemy, capable of nothing but evil, and our side the heroes and bastions of what is good on Earth.

It is what Hitler did it to the Jews."

She took a long sip.

"And it is what Grindelwald and Voldemort did to us. The non-magical community."

Gawain remained silent. It was the basis of many a Dark Wizards idealogy, that muggles were evil and needed to be destroyed. They were an easy target. Numerous, and with a bloody history, it wasn't difficult to turn them into nothing more than bloodthirsty beasts who didn't even have the decency to use magic.

"But you see, in our world, we have an old saying. 'The Second World War was won with British Intelligence, American Steel and Russian Blood."

"You'll be the British Intelligence, then?" Gawain knew that there was only one way to get answers with her. He had to play into the game.

It was something he despised.

Mrs Jones smiled an appreciative smile. "Indeed. But you see, the unfortunate thing for your world, is that kindness, is actually what has brought you here, brought you undone. It was the compassion of your community that exposed you."

Gawain felt his expression harden. He was looking her dead in the eyes.

"With all that was happening. The bombs, the war, the Holocaust. You see it was sympathetic witches and wizards who took great effort to rescue as many Jews as they could from the hands of the Nazis, despite the brewing of your own war. They risked everything including Grindelwald's ire, to save people from a fate they did not deserve."

"And you repayed us by…"

"By becoming suspicious. You see, we may have the most sophisticated and far-reaching intelligence apparatus in the world. Save one other nation. A nation formed from the very people that your people saved. We are experts in information, Gawain. Information and disinformation."

Before Gawain could ask, she was continuing.

"The Nazis had teams looking into magic. Looking into the occult, trying to determine how it could be weaponised. With us, it is so often about weapons. And sadly, weapons lead to medical research. It is the sad cycle of our world."

Gawain looked at her.

"The point is, our forebears found those documents. At first, they thought they were the ramblings of madmen who would do anything to keep their failing Reich alive. But then we started to talk to those who were saved. The information started to flow together. Our predecessors recognised that something was afoot. Then they went to ground."

Gawain let out a long sigh as what she was saying washed over him. He was careful to give no further reaction than that.

"This is bigger than I feared, isn't it."

Mrs Jones let out a long laugh at that.

"Come now, Gawain." Her voice contained that edge that made it sound like she was stating the obvious, even though nothing about her was. "You can't be that naive. You must be aware that we Brits are far from the only ones awake."

Gawain took a sip. This was important. This was a conversation that needed to happen. This was intelligence that the global community could use.

But something continued to nag at him. Something that sat behind all these games of give and take.

Why is she freely giving all of this away?

With the obvious exception. It would only fuel the anti muggle rhetoric to learn that acts of kindness has brought them to the brink of war.

"Oh yes," she continued, correctly assessing his facial reaction. "Intelligence organisations the world over have been doing digging, and the results have been - troubling."

Gawain was nothing if not a professional. The colour did not drain from his face and his cheeks did not blush. In fact, you could say that his face remained the same, unimpressed, stony expression that it always contained.

Even if below, he felt the weight that had come to settle in the pit of his stomach begin to grow.

"You see, we began to learn about your culture and its beliefs. Such things as how your system of laws enables us 'Muggles' no rights under the law. How you treat those without magical ability. Even those who are born of your own blood."

Gawain felt it crawling up his back, as if a cold shiver made of pure glacial liquid.

She was trying to tell him something.

"It has been so fascinating to go back through history and learn about the Separation. How you lost a war, then deleted it from existence. The fear that you have held for muggles ever since that day. The fear and the distrust."

"It was a bloody war." He kept his tone even to hide the simple truth.

She nodded. "They always are. But it does not explain how we got here, all these centuries later. No moves were ever made to rejoin the world. You fled into the shadows, building your own world underneath ours and never making an attempt to rejoin society in a meaningful way."

Gawain gave her another look. It was never discussed. It was a taboo. The purebloods sore to that. Even the History of Magic lessons in Hogwarts focussed on the Goblin rebellions and the wars with the Centaurs.

Students were never taught about the separation of the worlds. Students never learnt why.

Gawain didn't even know why.

"But I digress. I would like to speak to you about something a tad more pressing."

"Oh?"

"The Police Officers you have in custody. How are they? Are they being treated well? With dignity? They have no rights. For all I know thy are subject to torture. I do so despise torture, wouldn't you know?"

If there was one thing that Gawain could tell about this woman, was that her concern for the Muggles that were being held in custody was purely based around what she could leverage them for. It had nothing to do with their safety and well-being. She couldn't care less about that.

"They are not being unfairly treated, if that is what you mean. They will be returned to your care in due time. Once we complete our investigation into their role in the attack on our people.."

Mrs Jones nodded wth a solemness that might have been genuine, but Gawain did not buy it. Not for a moment.

"Tell me." She continued, nodding in agreement. "Veritaserum, or Occlumency?"

"I don't think that's relevant."

"Fair," Mrs Jones said, smiling at him. "You don't want to give away all of your secrets, after all. For such a truly, secret society."

"A former, secret society, it would seem Mrs Jones."

She laughed easily at that, clearly enjoying the little game.

"Well, yes. You did very well to stay so secret for so long. But secret societies always reveal themselves in the end. I'm sure, even now, you are coming up with plans to return the status quo. Plans of how to restore everything back to the natural order of things. Back to how things were before it became obvious that we were coming up with contingencies of our own."

Gawain didn't say anything. He knew that there was nothing he could say.

"I would like to assure you of one very important fact, Gawain. The proverbial cat is out of the bag now. There's no way to put it back in. We are too entrenched. What's been done, cannot be undone."

Shows what you know.

"There will be no second 'Separation', Gawain."

Gawain fixed her with a long and a proper stare. It was what had bothered him. Not that the muggles had found out, that was indeed bothersome in its own right, but not perhaps completely unexpected.

What bothered him was that they had not known that the muggles were waking up. Here was this woman, Mrs Jones, all but gloating in his face about the fact that they had been found out. That all of her intelligence had been of utter success, but it had been a catastrophic failure on the part of the magical world.

They had been exposed, and no one had known.

The pressing question continued to fill his mind, now jumbled with even more questions than answers.

How?

XxxxxX

"Excuse me, Mum."

The uneasy, meaningful silence of the Chief of Aurors and Deputy Director had been broken by the approach of a blond-haired man in an immaculately tailored suit. He reminded Gawain almost of a Muggle version of Draco Malfoy.

They had a similar height and build, with an air about them that implied that they knew their way around airs and graces. Similar angular facial features.

"Yes, Inspector," Mrs Jones greeted the new arrival lightly. "What can I do for you?"

"A Pair of Wizards have arrived and are demanding an audience with the Minister, Mum. One of them in particular is not too happy to have been told he couldn't come in by PC Wilson."

The corners of Mrs Jones's mouth lifted slightly as she turned to Gawain. "Invited guests, Gawain?"

Gawain, for his part, frowned. This was unexpected. They had planned, meticulously, for there to be no issues. No problems, or even the slightest bit of drama.

The Ministry knew that no one was to attempt to disturb the Minister of Magic. It was not an uncommon practice that the Minister was not to be disturbed.

So despite everything he had learnt, all the bait and switch of the previous conversation, it was this piece of information that made Gawain get his back up. He was angry.

There was to be no excuse. Nothing that would give the muggles even the slightest chance to start a war with their society. Nothing.

He felt that familiar bite of frustration. When he found out who it was, they had better have a bloody good excuse.

"Shall we go and see what they want, Gawain?"

"No need to trouble yourself, Jane. I'm sure I can handle this."

Gawain glanced over at Plethoby, the Gold in charge of the inside team. The man was ramrod straight as he sipped his own cup of tea. He gave Gawain a nod. It was a nod that spoke of the professional that he was. The man in charge and responsible for Kingsley's safety. He would be more than fine if Gawain was to step out for a few moments.

"I insist. Shall we?" The humour in Jane's tone couldn't be missed.

It was with a degree of reluctance and frustration that he placed his mug down and followed the woman back into the entrance hall.

His voice greeted Gawain before he had even laid eyes on him. Instantly, Gawain inwardly groaned.

Of all the bastards in all the world, why does Merlin send this one?

He was the worst possible person who could arrive at the worst possible time. And arrived he had.

The Chief of Obliviators, Samuel Treckdel.

XxxxxX

"Do you have any idea who I am?"

The pompous idiot was just short of yelling at the completely impassive man in a suit who stood between him and the front door to the Prime Minister's residence.

"I am the Chief of Obliviators. Do you have an idea what I can do to-"

"Finish that sentence, Samuel, and I guarantee you that you will see what I can do."

Gawain was livid.

The absolute fucking nerve of the man to not only arrive at this time, but to immediately start threatening Muggles? Who in the actual flying nature of Merlin's first broomstick, did this absolute numbskull think he was?

Treckdel turned to Gawain as he stepped out from behind the door. He at least had the good graces to look the slightest bit embarrassed.

But still, he did not look anywhere near as embarrassed as Garth Gyrek, who was standing nearby, clearly wishing he was somewhere else. At home perhaps, with a fresh mug of tea and his children playing in front of him.

Gawain was sure that Garth would be happy with that.

"Is there a reason you have come to interrupt our Peace summit?" Gawain's voice was calm. It was neither raised nor angry. It did, however, contain an edge so sharp it could have destroyed a Horcrux. "A Peace summit, that you have decided would be a wonderful opportunity to threaten members of the Muggle Government. A government, I might remind you, that is currently hosting us in the interest of preserving peace?"

He had always been a man capable of controlling his anger. It was a point of pride for him. A point that had carried him to his office.

But this man. This absolute imbecile, had turned up and embarrassed everyone? Did he not know what was at stake? Did he not care?

No. No he doesn't. Not at all.

It wasn't the first time that Gawain was ashamed to have been born a pureblood, and he suspected it would be far from the last.

But he put that shame aside for the moment and replaced it with something else.

Suspicion.

"Ah. Gawain, there you are." Treckdel smoothed out his robes as he tried to recover from the fact that he had just been outwardly put in his place. It was no success. There was a blush in the Obliviators cheeks that reminded Gawain of one simple and salient fact. He was old blood. He would not forget. Old purebloods like him never did.

"We have urgent business with the Minister."

Gawain turned and cast his eyes over at Gyrek. "More urgent than the Minister's current meeting with the Prime Minister?"

Gyrek gave him that look. That look that said one thing.

I tried.

"With respect sir. I pointed out that we should request to see you, but I was….outranked," The shame in Gyrek's tone was obvious.

"Gawain. The Minister needs to know this. He needs to know it, now."

Gawain turned to Treckdel. He could feel the eyes of the Muggles on them. He could see the small, well-hidden smirk on the face of the Inspector and his suited men. He could see that a female, uniformed Police officer was making absolutely no effort to hide her smile as she looked at the unfolding drama.

"Perhaps you might like to fill me in, in private. Then perhaps we can make the decision about the timeliness of this information."

He indicated towards the vehicle and Treckdel gave him a long look before throwing his robes behind him and dramatically walking toward the car.

Gawain could have sworn he heard a snicker.

He turned to the Muggles.

"Deeply sorry for the intrusion. I do assure you that we are normally, a well-mannered people."

The Muggles nodded back.

All of them of course, except for Mrs Jones. For the first time since he had met her, only an hour before, he finally actually saw her. She had temporarily taken leave of the mask she wore as a permanent fixture. It was done, gone. It had revealed an actual true and honest emotion behind it.

She was staring at Samuel Treckdel, as he stormed away towards the middle vehicle.

And her eyes burnt with hatred.

Gawain took a mental note of it, just as the mask reassembled itself before his eyes.

"No problem at all, Gawain." She said, her tone as light as if she hadn't been attempting to murder someone with her eyes.

Interesting.

"If you will excuse us. I must simply get to the bottom of this - intrusion."

He turned to leave, but stopped. Instead he turned back to look at Mrs Jones, who was watching the retreating backs of Gyrek and Treckdel as they moved towards the vehicle convoy.

"If I may, Mrs Jones." He said respectfully. "I must thank you for the conversation, it was truly - illuminating."

Mrs Jones fixed him with her warmest, most challenging smile. One that he trusted about as much as he trusted Leprechauns.

"A pleasure, Gawain. I do so hope you found it informative. I look forward to speaking with you more about our history."

XxxxxX

"I swear to Merlin himself, and all that he held dear, Treckdel, that if there is not a bloody good reason for this disgusting break in decorum, I will jinx you so thoroughly that you will talk in rhyme for the rest of your life."

Gyrek looked at his hands as Gawain unloaded on Treckdel. By rights, the Chief of Aurors outranked the Chief of Obliviators. Nominally, they held the same rank, and answered to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

However, the Chief of Aurors was the Senior Chief of any sub department within the Ministry of Magic. They did answer to the HMLE, however often shared a unique relationship with the Minister of Magic. One that subverted the chain of command. It was why so many Ministers of Magic had come from the Corps of Aurors.

That didn't mean that Gawain was happy to give a dressing down to another Chief, in front of one of his Golds.

"Don't you dare threaten me, Gawain. In case you forget about who my family is and our place in the Wizengamot, need I remind-"

It was then that Gyrek interrupted, before this could turn into an all-out yelling match in the rear of the Minister's BMW.

"Potters alive."

A silence descended between them. Gawain sat back against his chair and looked across at Gyrek.

"Confirmed?"

"You knew?" Treckdel spat, turning on Gawain. "You knew that Potter was still alive? You knew this and you didn't say anything?"

Gawain shrugged. "I suspected. And last I checked, Samuel, I am under no obligation to report the status of ongoing investigations to you."

"Ongoing investigations?" Treckdel laughed. "What ongoing investigations?"

"Enough, Samuel. Enough." Gawain continued, raising a hand in order to seek peace. "What have you learnt?"

The question was directed towards Gyrek, and it only served to aggravate Treckdel further. A fact that Gawain continued to ignore.

"We did the Legilimens check of the Muggle Police today, sir, in accordance with protocol. We found a memory in the mind of the Sergeant, the leader. It was shared by the other members sir. It's Potter. He's working with the muggles. He kind of stands out, scar and all."

Gyrek reached into his robes and produced a dark blue vial that shimmered in his hand. The memory.

Gawain looked at it and let out a long breath. He gave the man a nod, before reaching into a compartment located in the centre console of the vehicle. From there he produced a basin, surrounded by runes. The Minister of Magic's personal pensive.

"Let me look."

"Yes sir." Gyrek affirmed, before pouring the memory into the basin.

XxxxxX

"Monty, as I live and breathe."

The unmistakable sound of an Australian accent split the air as Gawain watched on. He watched as a stocky, blond-haired man approached the grey-clad Police officer and shook his head. A big, mouth splitting smile cut across his features.

The memories contained an element of fog, as most memories were want to do. Some faces in the background were obscured by the fog. It was not a memory the man attached a lot of value to. Something he considered quite common, or run of the mill.

"Lucky!" said Monty, smiling as he shook the blond man's hand. "I thought we were being instructed by Charlie team?"

Lucky just laughed and clasped the man on the shoulder. "Nah. They got called up, so as usual, the Army decided that we had had quite enough time home with our families for one rotation."

"I'm sure we will make sure the homeland is well safe for them, while you're gone."

Lucky shook his head. "Trust 'em with your life, not with your wife."

Monty just threw his head back and laughed. Lucky couldn't help but join in.

"Don't suppose your entirely-too-serious mate is around?"

"Yeah, he's here," Lucky said with a smile. "Bloke would be lost without me around." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at another figure who approached through the fog.

"Don't mention the medal." Lucky said, in a stage whisper as the second figure approached. "You'd hate to aggravate him." He finished with a wink.

"Well, if it isn't old 'Blank' Black, VC." Monty said, turning to shake the hand of the man who approached. "Am I supposed to salute you now? Perhaps a bow? Take a knee? Or are we just supposed to suck your cock now?"

Lucky let out a burst of laughter as the second figure began to take shape and Gawain took him in for the first time.

Harry Potter. Ten years older, bearded, and carrying himself with an easy confidence, but unmistakably him. The Harry Potter. In the flesh.

There was no mistaking that scar. Those eyes. Those eyes that reminded Gawain so much of his mother. They hadn't been close, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he had known her from her time working at the Ministry.

She had always been lovely to everyone. Even Aurors she did not know.

"''Lo Monty." Potter said, cracking a smile of his own and clearly ignoring his greeting. "You alright?"

Monty nodded. "You taking us for revals?"

"Yeah," His voice had a deep timbre, and he spoke easily. "Someone's gotta keep Lucky in line."

Lucky rolled his eyes at that.

"Anyway," Potter continued, his voice growing slightly more serious, slightly more…

Well… something. Almost like the memory became clearer.

"We have some new stuff to teach your blokes. Hence the 'non dec' you all had to sign. I'm afraid the intelligence community have identified a new threat out and about, and we've been working on some tactics on how to defeat them."

Monty raised his eyebrows at Potter.

Gawain could hear his thoughts.

A new enemy? What the fuck? What a weird fucking thing to say.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Monty continued. "You sound like you've discovered fucking aliens or some shit?"

Lucky and Potter glanced at each other. They both raised their eyebrows.

"Not Aliens, Monty. Wizards."

The pensive turned grey and when it reappeared, Monty and his men were dressed all in grey. They looked just like they had when they had been captured in Diagon Alley.

Potter, and the man known as Lucky were both standing in jeans and simple shirts. But over their shirts sat what he knew to be body armour. It was camouflage in colour and an assortment of weapons and accoutrements hung from it.

They had helmets on their heads and they were instructing the Police.

"Remember lads, you gotta get on the flanks," Potter was saying, indicating with a gloved hand at a man who was standing in front of him, holding a shield. The man grasped a pistol by his side.

"You can put as many rounds as you like into the front of them, but depending on how powerful they are, they are likely to absorb it. So, you need to put down that base of fire on their front, to keep them distracted, then you need to hit their flanks."

Potter stepped back so he was next to the shielded man He raised his fingers in the shape of a pistol and pointed it at the man's head. "You get on their flanks and you double-tap them. They don't get up that way."

The grey-clad men nodded at him.

"Now, let's run it again. Don't forget your distraction devices. They haven't yet learnt about them, so use them as best you can to keep them focussed on anything but you."

The grey-clad men began filing out of the room.

Potter turned to Lucky. "They'll get there."

Lucky nodded. "Be a short war if they don't."

The world turned grey and Gawain found himself floating.

The next thing he knew, he was seated back in the expanded rear of the vehicle. Treckdel and Garth were both looking at him.

He sat back and looked out the window towards the Prime Minister's residence, where the most important meeting of their time was taking place.

"Thoughts?" he finally asked, looking at the two men who were already in the know.

"It's damning evidence, Robards," Treckdel said immediately. "You saw it. He's violated the Statue of Secrecy in the first place, and committed treason in the second. We know the muggles were imperius'd that much is clear, but they were trained how to fight us by one of our own. It's clear. You saw."

Gawain didn't say anything. He continued to look out the window. He felt tired. He felt really tired. This was all going to hell, and it was happening entirely too quickly for his liking.

"Garth?"

"The memories could have been modified." Garth said thoughtfully, as Gawain turned to take the man in. "We don't know that Potter was actually doing that. Why would he? The man's been missing for ten years. Do we really think he turned on us like this?"

"The man was missing for ten years, Gyrek, no wonder he turned on us. Anything could have happened. He was only at Hogwarts for seven, plus that extra year of the war. We don't know what happened."

Gawain pinched his nose between his fingers. This was all happening. He hated it. But what he hated most of all, was how orchestrated this all felt. It was just so bloody convenient, so bloody planned.

A silence descended upon them as they stared at Gawain. Waiting for him to speak.

He finally did.

"Weasley."

Garth raised an eyebrow. "Ron?"

Gawain nodded, his eyes still closed behind his fingers. "Ron. His mysterious source. The one who provided him with all that information. Has to be Potter. Who else would he go through such lengths for?"

Garth opened his mouth as if to argue. He wanted to speak out. To defend his mate. To offer some form of alternative. But none came. Nothing came. It made too much sense.

"Your own man, Robards?"

Gawain ignored Treckdel for a moment. "Reach out to Ron. We need to talk. He has information we need, it would seem that he succeeded in his mission. He just must have failed to tell me…"

"The Wizengamot will want Potter brought in, Robards. He needs to answer for everything that has happened." Treckdel announced.

"The Wizengamot needs to put faith in the Ministries law enforcement apparatus to investigate." Gawain shot back.

Treckdel smiled then, a big toothy smile, one that made the inside of Gawain's stomach turn. "But they already know, Robards. They are signing the warrant for Potter's arrest as we speak."

XxxxxX

Hello,

And welcome to Chapter Twenty Two of Remember What I Forgot.

This chapter has been a long time coming. Some answers provided, some questions asked.

Firstly, let me apologise for the long delay with posting this chapter. Work became insanely busy for me and I have had next to no time to write. In addition, I found this chapter really difficult to write. I got writer's block a few times while writing and seemed to stall in the mud. One scene was redrafted four or five times.

In the end, I need to offer a massive thankyou to LancashireWytch, my wonderful beta, for all her hard work. She has been nothing but incredibly supportive and helpful in writing it. Without her, this chapter would not have been posted.

Also a big thankyou to my friends over on the 'Sanctuary' Discord. You can find me there when I can be. Without their gentle (spoiler, not gentle) prodding, I would still be treading water with this chapter.

In the end, I was over staring at this chapter and trying to make it perfect. So in the end I decided to post it.

Next time, the Weasley Reunion. Let's have some happy times again eh? I'd like to write some happy times.

Cheers,

ATG