A/N (27.01.2023): Thank you all so much for your patience and for the many kind people who have reached out to check in on me over the past couple months. I've been doing well- settled into my new job and so much happier than I was before. And despite the slow update, I've actually been writing tons: first on a couple entries for the Three Broomstick Yule Bash fic fest; and second, I'm pleased to say, on my first original novel! While I doubt much will come of it, I'm excited for this next adventure. Thank you all, as always, for your constant, kindhearted support. You all mean so very much to me.
But let's get KWTL wrapped up before I get distracted by yet another shiny new project, shall we? We're on the homestretch!
Chapter 26: Nasty Exhausting Tests
Another Dementor attack? Now? And an innocent family from Hastings out for an evening walk. Gawain stared at the newspaper in his hands, but his eyes made no attempt to focus on the words. Funny how heavy a stack of thin paper could feel. Especially when that stack of thin paper only ever seemed to carry bad news and the weight of Gawain's useless idleness. He felt himself slump deeper into his seat under that weight. Absentmindedly scratching his beard, Gawain stared unseeing at the front page of the Prophet.
He didn't read the article. He didn't need to. He knew what it would say. A well-publicised Dementor attack exactly one week before the Wizengamot would be voting on Kingsley's prison reform bill… Could that really be a coincidence? Could it have all been orchestrated by the Death Eaters? By Kingsley's political opposition? A Dementor attack was horrifying enough at the best of times, but now…? There could be no doubt the impact this would have. First on the bill. More to the point, on the election.
They'd become one and the same—the bill and the election. For months, Kingsley had poured himself into the Azkaban Reform Bill. Months he had slogged on the plans. Safe expulsion of the Dementors, hiring of wizard prison guards, improvement to the health and safety standards for inmates, reallocation of funds toward rehabilitation programmes for non-violent offenders… And one well-timed Dementor attack was all it would take to have the public clamour to reject the bill. When the Dementors were in Azkaban, they weren't roaming the country looking for innocent souls to feed on.
Gawain remembered Harry's words from the day of his hearing at the Ministry. Heaven forbid that we should actually treat prisoners with an ounce of humanity. Could the Death Eaters really be behind such an attack? It would be their own comrades they would be condemning should the bill fail. Unless they had other plans that would mean they did not expect them to be in Azkaban long… Gawain shied away from that thought. They were leaderless. Surely, they could not still be so well organised as that.
Gawain stole a glance to Kingsley. He sat at the end of the table, reading his paper with an inscrutable expression. But Gawain wasn't fooled. Kingsley would be feeling this like a knife.
"Harry! Harry! We're making you Badman Dude!" Gawain, all too happy to have an excuse to set aside the ever-increasingly depressing newspaper, glanced over his shoulder at Ella's shout to see Harry entering the kitchen. The boy looked exhausted—his face pale with dark circles under his eyes. But he seemed in good enough spirits as he smiled in a mystified sort of way by means of response.
Nayana stifled a laugh from where she and Ella were stirring a pot over at the hob. "Badam Doodh" she corrected, gently. Then to Harry, she explained, "Warm milk with ground almonds and spices. It's very good to take before exams. It will energise you and balance your mind and help you remember all you studied."
Harry smiled in such a way as to make Gawain wonder if he thought it sounded as much like mumbo jumbo to him as it did to Gawain, but he said politely, "That's very kind of you," before pulling out a battered old pocket watch and glancing at it. Then he added, "But I don't have a lot of time. I want to make sure I get to Hogwarts early—"
"Nuh-uh. Don't even think about it," Amitra interrupted sternly, pointing to Harry's chair with one brightly painted nail. She had just ladled a spoonful of porridge into a bowl and topped it with blackberry jam and a generous pour of cream. "You're not going to take your exams on an empty stomach. Sit yourself down. No excuses," she added with a glower as Harry opened his mouth to argue. Harry sat dutifully, and she bustled up with the bowl and a clean spoon and an ordered, "Tuck in."
Harry took a slow, rather bemused look around the room. Kingsley had set aside his paper and was quietly watching this interaction—he wore a small fond smile on his face, but worry still creased his eyes. Gawain saw Brannagh too offer a soft affectionate smile over her newspaper, and Sandeep flashed his perfect teeth and winked at Harry as he poured his milky tea into his saucer to drink. With a silent laugh to himself, Harry obliged in tucking into his porridge just as Nayana glided over, more graceful than anyone with that large of a belly had any right to be, and contributed a steaming mug of some sort of creamy liquid.
Gawain chuckled softly to himself. There had clearly been an unspoken agreement not to mention all they had learned about Harry's childhood just before his exams, but that did not stop every parental instinct in this room from being turned up to maximum. He wondered if it was going to suddenly be the mission of all the adults in the house to fit seventeen years of love and pampering into every day to make up for everything they had learned in that blasted article yesterday.
The thought made Gawain glance at Mary who was also watching the interaction quietly. But she was not smiling. She had her chin on one fist and the other arm wrapped around herself as she watched Harry hastily shovelling food into his mouth. She had waited up for Gawain's return from his evening chat with Harry the night before, something she had never done in the past. She didn't ask him anything. She knew better than that. In fact, they'd not said a word, but he'd held her in his arms for some time until she'd at last fallen asleep against his chest.
With quite impressive speed, Harry had managed to shovel down the bowl of porridge. "Right, I'm off," he said rising from his seat. He drained the last of the drink from Nayana before scooping the dishes into the sink. "Meeting Ron before the exam starts. Thanks for breakfast, Amitra. Nayana."
He waved distractedly as several good luck, Harrys and you'll do greats sounded from around the room. But it was Ella's, "Bye Harry!" that had him blink and look around.
"Hey," he said, leaning down to speak to her conspiratorially. "I'm not allowed to have anything with me during the exams. Think you can take care of this again for me this week?" He held out his hand, and in his palm sat his old Golden Snitch. It flapped its wings feebly once before curling them back around itself into a tight sphere.
Ella looked at it, then up to Harry, her face alight with excitement and pride. Then she nodded at him determinedly and said, "Yeah! Yeah, I'll take really good care of it!" She clasped the Snitch in both hands and held it over her heart.
Harry smiled at her and ruffled her hair. "Thanks, Ells," he said. Then with one final wave to the rest of the room, he Flooed away.
The following few days were some of the longest yet. They felt all the longer without Harry's quiet presence down the table. Ben was grumbling about the loss of his morning sparring practice, Ella was more restless and Mary struggled to keep her in her seat at mealtimes, and Gawain was not the only one who darted looks to the clock or to the fireplace wondering when he would be back.
Harry returned from Hogwarts around dinner time each day, looking tired, but exams seemed to be going well enough. After his Potions exam, Harry had made a point to thank Mary for the titbits she had shared about the Draught of Living Death, stating that he'd quite surprised the examiner with his knowledge of its applications as an anaesthetic. He'd also laughed that whoever wrote the test question on Polyjuice Potion had probably not expected him to have so much first-hand experience.
But it was not just Harry's absence that made the days long for Gawain.
On Monday afternoon, Arthur Flooed in on his daily visit, sharing news, collecting any letters or documents they needed discretely handed over to their contacts in the Ministry, and in turn leaving any correspondence or new paperwork he might have for them. He stayed and chatted quietly for a brief bit with Kingsley, his eyes full of sympathy. Gawain was quite sure they were discussing the Dementor attack in Hastings and the impact to the Wizengamot deliberations.
After Arthur had left, Kingsley settled himself in his usual chair at the end of the table and began sorting the post. Gawain saw him grimace as he set aside a letter with what he recognised as Marianne Macmillan's handwriting. He imagined the Press Secretary was inquiring on how they should respond to the Dementor attack to the presses. Then Kingsley was passing Gawain an envelope. Gawain took in his name on the front, recognised Martin's hand, and tore it open, eager for a distraction from someone out in the field.
The letter was short. Just Martins checking in and providing a brief update on his travels in pursuit of Aanav Mulciber. Martins had arrived in Vadodara, the city where Mulciber's extended family hailed from. He'd met with representatives from the Magical Government Ministries of India Auror Office, but had not yet had luck in catching scent of Mulciber. The last bit of the note had just been Martins's critical assessment about the comfort (or lack thereof) of Muggle air travel. Gawain couldn't help but smirk as he pictured tall and lanky Martins folded into the economy class airplane seat the Ministry had approved for him.
Gawain sighed as he lowered the letter. He'd hoped this letter would provide a little more distraction. He scanned it again, and his eyes fell on the name of the city. Vadodara. Again something in the name tugged at his memory, but he couldn't grasp where he'd heard it before. He couldn't say why it was bothering him, but something about it felt like a riddle. A test. The name raised imaginary eyebrows at him, waiting for him to cotton onto something very obvious. Maybe he should ask—
Gawain blinked. And he lifted his head to look down the table. Sandeep was seated two chairs down. He was leaning on his left elbow, his shoulders tilted in Gawain's direction as he scribbled on a report. Sensing eyes upon him, Sandeep glanced up at Gawain. He smiled his easy disarming smile, and Gawain hastily returned his gaze to the papers on the table before him. So did Sandeep.
Gawain felt his mind racing, his heart pounding. For two and a half weeks they had been trapped in this house feeling useless. But this… Could this be something? A lead where he had not been expecting to find it? It wasn't much, but it was a thread. Tug on enough threads and eventually the whole damn cloak is like to unravel, came Alastor Moody's gravelly voice in his mind.
He glanced again down the table. Sandeep had gone back to scribbling his report. Gawain looked again to his own papers. He needed more to go on. More of the thread to grasp hold of. He snatched up a quill and ruffled for a piece of blank parchment, then set about scribbling a request to Marina Savage to pull a couple choice files and make a few discrete inquiries.
The hours and the days ticked by, and Gawain grew increasingly restless. He counted the days in his head like a mantra. If Monday he wrote to Marina, then Tuesday Arthur would pick up the letter with the outgoing post, then Wednesday would be the earliest he might expect a response… Potentially Thursday depending on how quick Marina could pull his requested files. He had thought about asking Arthur to rush it—to return same day—but he did not want attention drawn to these inquiries.
By Wednesday afternoon, Gawain was questioning this decision, however. He was beyond restless now. If he could just leave this blasted house, he would have had the answers he was looking for already! Sitting here patiently waiting day after day. For Arthur to come to collect the outgoing post, then to deliver it to Marina, who would then have to collect all the documents he requested, then wait for Arthur to deliver them back to Grimmauld Place… Okay, there was nothing patient about the way Gawain was waiting.
When Arthur at last arrived for his usual visit on Wednesday, Gawain had forced himself to stay in his seat. Forced himself not to stare at the stack of envelopes and files in Arthur's hands as he'd stood chatting with Kingsley and Margaret across the room. Forced himself not to dive for the large manila envelope Kingsley slid him a little later. Forced himself to casually tuck it under the report he had been reading (or rather pretending to read). Forced himself to pour another cup of tea before casually glancing around the room to ensure no eyes were on him.
When at last he was sliding a thumb under the seal of the envelope and pulling out the folder within, his heart was pounding in his chest. But the packet was too thin. He looked at the short note from Marina lying atop a single file.
Here's the first of your requests. More to follow. Still working to track down all the documents on Mulciber. Martins left his desk an absolute mess and not sure what he did with them all. Stay tuned.
Marina Savage
Gawain sighed. More waiting. But he looked at the folder within. The employee record of Sandeep Amin. Gawain allowed himself one more casual glance down the table, but no one was looking his way. Sandeep was in conversation with Ben and the pair were laughing light-heartedly about something. Gawain lowered his eyes and flipped open the folder, carefully angling himself such that no one would be able to read over his shoulder.
He skimmed through the record, turning papers slowly. Hired to the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol (1983). Secondary school at Taj Mayong (1971-1980) followed by two years with the Magical Government Ministries of India before emigrating to the United Kingdom. There. Hometown: Vadodara, Gujarat.
Gawain stared at the name of the city. He had known it before he'd requested the file, but still something about it being written so simply and unobtrusively in this record… Nayana's voice floated across his memory: Last year in India, he was so restless… Constantly on the move. He'd go to Vadodara to visit his brother's family and his parents. Then off to visit friends from school. Then to check in on old neighbours. Always coming and going.
Then a different voice. Coincidences happen every day, Alastor growled at him. They don't always mean anything. But that doesn't mean you should trust them.Gawain licked his lips as he stared at the city name. What had he really been up to when Nayana thought he was visiting family and friends and neighbours? Or could Nayana know? They seemed so close—as though they told each other everything. The picture of a happy family. And Merlin, a baby on the way. Gawain glanced across to Sandeep again. He was smiling his perfect bright-toothed smile as Ben chattered. Gawain had always envied the ease to which Sandeep smiled. How quickly he could use it to disarm and enchant. What lies could he hide behind such a perfect easy smile? Was it possible he had even his wife fooled?
More to try to give his racing brain something to focus on, Gawain thumbed through the rest of Sandeep's file. He paused on a form signed by Corban Yaxley dated 1 August, 1997. It was a formal write-up for what had been called a dereliction of duty. It took Gawain a moment to realise it was referring to his refusal to sign Harry's arrest warrant. The inciting event that had sent Sandeep fleeing to India for the year. Gawain stared at it. It didn't make sense. Why? Why make a big fuss out of refusing to sign Harry's arrest warrant if he was working with them? Why go to India? What could he possibly have been accomplishing from so far away? None of it made any sense. It was a puzzle he was trying to piece together with only half the pieces and no idea what the final image should look like.
And damn it all to hell, but he was going to have to wait for any more pieces of the puzzle to arrive.
Harry dropped into his chair late that night, leaning all his weight against the back, his arms stretching over his head. "Three down. Two to go," he mumbled. His back finally cracked, and he settled more comfortably in his chair with a sigh.
Gawain sat with his elbows on the table, picking at his thumb nail. His knee was bouncing up and down of its own accord. He should probably say something encouraging. Or suggest that Harry call it an early night to rest up for tomorrow's exam. Or ask him if he wanted Gawain to quiz him on some of the material for tomorrow's Herbology exam. But Gawain couldn't muster himself to any of that. His mind was still racing with thoughts of India and the Amins and Mulciber and Martins.
Something must have shown, because Harry raised his head and frowned as he quietly considered Gawain. "Feels weird being out of the house all day. Have I missed anything interesting?"
"What is there 'interesting' that might happen here?" The words came from Gawain's lips without him thinking. Then he winced and shot a bit of an apologetic glance toward Harry. Hardly grateful words to give to one's host. But Harry didn't look offended. More curious as he looked Gawain up and down. Gawain forced his knee to still.
Abruptly Gawain found himself with a forceful desire to confide everything in Harry. To tell him of his suspicions. To finally speak his thoughts aloud and see if they made any more sense that way. To pick apart the clues with a new set of eyes.
But Gawain knew better than that.
One did not speak to an outsider of an ongoing investigation. And besides, he had no concrete proof. Just gut feeling. He could not attack another man's reputation on gut feeling. Especially not a friend's… Gawain shied away from that thought. He didn't want to think of it.
But then it was there, and Gawain couldn't help but think of it. A weight settled into his stomach.
He had known Sandeep for years. Gawain had sparred with him in the training gym at the Ministry. He and Nayana had come to their home in Yorkshire for dinner. Gawain had trusted them to watch Ella.
And Merlin, Sandeep and Nayana were about to have a baby! What could drive a man to risk so much now when he had so much to lose? Perhaps it was desperation to hold onto it?
"Must be hard… being stuck here all the time," Harry ventured.
Gawain shifted. Yes, that was part of it… but there was more to it. But that he could not tell. Instead, he turned the conversation around. "Are you sick of us yet?" he asked, a little sullenly. "Can't imagine you thought we'd be here so long. Not too late to pack up and move in with the Weasleys for a bit."
"Funny enough, I think I prefer your company to that of my ex-girlfriend who glares and leaves the room whenever I walk in," replied Harry sardonically. But Harry looked genuinely cut up over this, for all that he tried to play it cool. Gawain offered him a sympathetic wince.
"Anyway," Harry continued. "I think I'm realising I'm a bit of a home-body. Never had a home before, so never had cause to discover this about myself." He grinned as though it wasn't a terribly tragic comment. "I don't know how long it will last… but after a whole year of running all over the country, I'm really finding it nice to just stay put for a bit."
"I never was much of a home-body," Gawain conceded. "I like getting out and doing something. Katherine though… I was always in awe of how self-sufficient she was. Give her a few good books or a big knitting project, and she could stay on the sofa and not speak a word to another living soul for weeks on end." He snorted as a long-forgotten memory tugged at his brain.
Then he blinked and the smile died on his lips, melting away until he felt his facial muscles fluidly morph into a pensive frown that felt more natural than the smile ever had. There was a moment of silence in the room as Gawain sat and wondered where that comment had come from. He didn't talk of Katherine. He didn't even think of Katherine if he could avoid it.
The moment seemed to rock on a precipice. Hanging where one good gust of wind could blow it away. Then, very tentatively, Harry asked, "What was she like? Katherine?"
Over the years, Gawain often found he had difficulty picturing Katherine's face when he tried to think of her. He could never get it quite right in his mind's eye. But in that moment, a figure flashed before him as clear as if she had been standing right there. In that moment, he could count every eyelash, every freckle. The sun was low in the sky, bathing her straw-coloured hair in golden light. He could feel the wind on his face as it whipped and tangled her hair about her. As she turned to look at him, she pushed a lock of hair out of blue eyes, but he knew it would fall right back across her face a moment later. A touch of sunburn kissed her cheeks—or maybe it was a blush from the way he was drinking in the sight of her. And she smiled, a dimple on her cheek, a slight gap between her two front teeth. A smile of love. And a smile of trust. Trust that he would put everything to rights. But then Gawain blinked, and the wind and the sun and the smile was gone. And before him was just Harry, looking at him expectantly.
The boy looked nervous. As though he weren't quite sure how this question would be received. As though he expected Gawain might start throwing hexes over it. Gawain merely blinked stupidly at him for a moment. "Was she much like Mary?" Harry prompted into the silence, even more tentatively.
As much to Gawain's surprise as Harry's, Gawain began to laugh. "No… No, she was not. Katherine and Mary were about as different as is possible for two people to be." For a moment, Gawain sat in silence, looking out across the kitchen, lost in thoughts he had long since boxed and tucked away.
"She was a tiny little thing," he said at last. "Frail, I'd even say. I remember I had to do a Shrinking Charm on her wedding band when we got married because even though I bought the smallest ring, it kept slipping off her finger. She was… sweet… and shy. Slow to say much, but once you got her going, she could chatter on and on. She always wanted everyone to be happy. Even if it meant making herself miserable to do it. Use to drive me mad, actually. She'd put herself through so much inconvenience, just to satisfy a whim of some random neighbour or casual acquaintance. She kept a pair of geese in the back garden—oh they were such ornery little buggers, I couldn't stand them—but she loved them.
"When first we met, she called me 'Love.' I remember blushing to my ears, hearing this pretty young thing call me 'Love.' Later, of course, I realised she called everybody 'Love,' whether she knew them or not. Her hairdresser, the greengrocer, the postman. Even those demon geese of hers. Everyone was 'Love.' But at the time, it made me feel like I was someone special." Gawain laughed at himself. And Harry merely sat quietly, grinning his lopsided grin as he listened to Gawain reminisce.
"She had the strongest Yorkshire accent you ever heard. Early on, it would always take me a few minutes to process what she was saying. I was just a city boy from the south, and sometimes it was like she spoke a different language. And when I didn't understand something, I'd have to sit and try to figure out if it was because it was a Yorkshire slang word or something Muggle that I didn't know about." He laughed to himself, donned his thickest approximation of her accent, and recited, "Ey up! Ah wor reet chuffed ta nip on intoa tarn for ur chip butty bur, ee by gum, it's proper maftin ahtside, an' ah dassn't leev t' 'ouse!" Gawain laughed at the memory. It was a sentence he had recited time and again whenever she said something that he could not for the life of him understand. And every single time it inspired a fit of giggles, and she would smack him and insist she did not sound that way and that his accent was 'reet 'orrible'.
His accent probably was 'right horrible' because Harry was now laughing too but with a rather embarrassed and slightly pitying look on his face. It made Gawain laugh harder. Slowly, the laughter died down. "I hadn't thought of that in years…" he mused, perhaps more to himself than to Harry. The smile on his face felt odd. It almost hurt his cheeks. As though it really didn't belong there.
"It's funny how much easier it is to think of the bad memories than it is to think of the good ones," Harry said quietly. Gawain just looked at him in silent agreement. He knew Harry spoke from experience.
They were quiet for a moment, and Gawain took the time to study Harry. The lad gazed across the kitchen seeming unaware of Gawain's attention. A small smile tugged at Harry's cheek in response to whatever he was thinking. Gawain smiled himself. He liked to see it— Harry lost in a memory that made him smile. He hoped Harry was somewhere kissing a pretty red-headed girl in bright sunlight for once, rather than battling an assailant in the dark as he so often was when memory took over.
Gawain let the moment stretch for some time. But then he couldn't help himself. "Maybe you should talk to her," he said, chewing on his lip in a fruitless attempt to keep from grinning. Harry blinked out of his reverie to look at Gawain questioningly. "A girl who makes you smile like that has got to be worth hanging onto."
Colour flooded Harry's face and a small huff of embarrassed not-quite-laughter escaped his lips as he quickly looked away. "I thought we were talking about you," Harry said, not meeting his eye. And he was quick to deflect that conversation. "How did you meet? You and Katherine. I mean… A wizard city boy from the south and a muggle country girl from the north… Must have taken some providence."
Gawain allowed the change in topic, but not without a small chuckle. "On the job," he admitted, a bit reluctantly for multiple reasons. "And I'm not particularly proud of that now. If one of my subordinates tried what I did now, I'd be giving him an earful. But… it was a different time. And I was young and… well, believe it or not, I was something of a romantic back then." Harry smiled and Gawain grinned at the scepticism he saw in that look.
"It was quite early in the War—the First War, I mean. I must have been even younger than Ben. It was probably one of my first solo assignments. Definitely betrayed that trust," Gawain added with a chuckle. "I was dispatched to sort out some bother in Katherine's home village. A Muggle-baiting attack at a May Day celebration. Someone had cursed the maypole to tie up all the poor dancers. No one seriously hurt, but a big breach in the Statute of Secrecy. Lots of work for the Obliviators. I was there to interview witnesses, but no one had much hope that anything would come of the investigation… I can't say the incident was high on the priority list in the Auror Office at the time. I was still interviewing Katherine when the Obliviators were finishing up. Told them I would wipe her memory when I was done." Gawain looked up at Harry from under his brows with a small sheepish smile. "Must not have done a very good job of it."
Harry spluttered a laugh of disbelief. Gawain pointed a cautionary finger at him. "No one knows about that, so don't you go spreading it around!"
Harry mimed a zipper over his lips, but he was still chuckling and shaking his head. "And here I thought you were so by-the-book…"
"It was a bloody stupid thing to do," Gawain acknowledged. "It was a miracle I didn't get sacked. Or worse… a breach in the Statute of Secrecy like that… I was risking a lot." Gawain shook his head, marvelling at his own youthful audacity. But then he smiled again. "Oh, but she was worth it…"
The two of them sat for a while quietly sipping their tea, lost in thoughts of past loves. Abruptly Gawain realised that he was feeling more relaxed than he had in days. And he was pleasantly surprised to realise that since talking with Harry, he had not thought one thing about Sandeep or Mulciber or any of it. He savoured this little reprieve.
Gawain blinked when the clock chimed midnight. It was not an uncommon hour for them to be up, but this week with the NEWTs, Gawain had been making a point to usher Harry to bed earlier than usual. He reached over to pat Harry's shoulder twice. "Let's call it. Two more exams to go. Then you're allowed to miss all the sleep you want."
"Suppose so," replied Harry with a sigh. They got to their feet and, after a quick wash of the cups and teapot, headed up the stairs together.
Once on the third-floor landing where they would go their separate ways, Gawain paused and glanced at Harry who still seemed lost in thought. "Sleep well," Gawain said his voice muted so as not to disturb the others. Then he turned down the corridor in the direction of his bedroom.
"Gawain." Harry's call was so soft he almost didn't catch it, but he glanced back. Harry was staring at him uncertainly. He licked his lips and continued. "Thanks… for… I dunno. You've given me a lot to think about…" Gawain looked at him questioningly, not at all sure to what Harry was referring. Harry was looking more awkward by the moment. "I guess I'm still trying to figure out where to go from here. I miss her…" he glanced cautiously at Gawain to see if he needed to clarify this, but Gawain merely nodded. "But I don't want her to get hurt. And maybe more than that, I don't want me to get hurt. Somehow trying for anything like a love-life feels like fighting a losing battle."
Acknowledging that perhaps their conversation was not quite ready to be over, Gawain took a few steps back to the landing. He leaned against the banister leading up to Harry's room and considered this. "I thought losing battles were something of a speciality of yours," he observed.
Harry laughed softly. "Yeah… well… I dunno. I'm more used to the type of losing battles where 'losing' means 'dying'. Not where 'losing' means 'making an arse of myself'. Somehow feels pretty different." Gawain tried not to laugh at the folly of youth to think that that the latter was worse than the former. "She's pretty cross with me. Not even sure she'd take me back now."
Gawain nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose sometimes you just have to go for it, you know? Take the risk. Accept that you might make an arse of yourself… or get yourself sacked for breaking the Statute of Secrecy into a million pieces," he added with a self-deprecating laugh. "But it's also just possible you might find yourself with something wonderful."
There was a pause as Harry considered this. Gawain wondered if it was easier for Harry to talk here. Here in the dark hallway in hushed tones with shadows obscuring their faces. He was just opening his mouth to reply when a soft tinkling noise floated down the stairs. Harry closed his mouth and lifted his chin to stare up toward the sound. Gawain too craned around. They were silent for a moment, both listening, barely breathing. Could it have been Kreacher? No one else went up to the fourth floor. But something about it had Harry's hackles raised, and so too were Gawain's. But there was just quiet.
Just when he was beginning to wonder if they'd imagined it, they heard a soft thump. Gawain and Harry exchanged glances. And as one, they drew their wands.
They stole up the stairs to the fourth floor together. Gawain marvelled at how silently Harry moved, he picked his way, his bodyweight low to the ground, avoiding every creaking stair. On the fourth floor, they paused, listening again. Harry's bedroom door was shut tight and when he quietly tugged on the handle, it didn't budge. They turned their attention to the other door. In the slight gap between the door and the well-worn carpet, a light moved.
Gawain positioned himself just outside the door, his wand raised and ready for a fight. Then he signalled to Harry. He held up three fingers, then pointed to the doorhandle and mimed opening the door. Harry nodded in understanding, then positioned himself with his own wand at the ready and his left hand on the handle.
Gawain met his eye and Harry looked back seriously. Gawain lifted one finger. He lifted a second finger.
Just as Gawain was preparing to lift the third finger, several things happened all at once. There was a loud CRACK! from within the room, followed very quickly by a muffled yelp. Gawain's immediate reaction was to duck for cover, anticipating an attack from the unknown sound. But Harry had wrenched the door open and was flinging himself inside. Gawain cursed and barrelled after him.
"THIEF!" cried a croaking voice. "HOW DARE YOU STEAL FROM THE HOUSE OF MY MASTER!"
The room was dark. A large black stooped form was crashing around the room, bumping into furniture and sending Black antiques flying. It was little more than a silhouette but the wandlight from the intruder was swinging about, cutting through the dark wildly as the intruder twisted and turned and blundered like an injured erumpent.
"KREACHER IS NOT ALLOWING IT!" cried the voice, coming from the large intruder. "NEVER AGAIN IS KREACHER ALLOWING A THIEF TO TOUCH THE TREASURES OF THE HOUSE OF BLACK! KREACHER IS NOT ALLOWING IT!"
"Oof! Get off me, you mad bugger. I'm not stealing anything!" gasped a different voice from the same form. Gawain blinked confusedly.
The man was hunched almost double. He was turned away from them, clawing at his own hunched back. Which Gawain abruptly realised was not his back at all. It was Kreacher. Ears flapping, the elf was clinging around the intruder's neck with one arm, and punching and kicking every bit of the man he could reach with his other extremities.
Just as Gawain was making sense of what he was seeing, the man made a violent twisting motion and Kreacher went flying across the room. The elf skidded across the top of a dresser sending a collection of silver-framed photographs flying. Then the man was straightening and pointing his wand at Kreacher.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, just as Gawain dove into the fray. Gawain tackled him and together they tumbled across the room. He heard the breath go out of the man's chest as Gawain slammed him against the wall, pinning him with his left forearm and holding his wand to the man's throat with his right.
Then the light clicked on behind him and Gawain was looking into the wide and shocked eyes of Ben Harrows.